#and I would waste So long revisiting that site clicking on them in different orders to build the tune and stopping them again

[vimbry-moved]

layering ostinatos is such a satisfying thing to do in music

[yehet-me-up]

Temptation

Pairing: Lay/Zhang Yixing x reader (female)

Rating: (M) for swearing and explicit sex

Word Count: 13,475

Summary: Cursing yourself for not majoring in something more practical, you struggle to find work after graduation. On the recommendation of a friend you finally take a temporary job working at Sinful, the chocolate store in the mall, for the Valentine’s Day season. 

You think that the name is perfectly suited to the man who runs it, Yixing. Sensual, talented, and creative, you can’t wait to get to work everyday to see him. You chastise yourself for having these feelings about your boss, but don’t seem to be able to stop. When the season ends he surprises you both, deciding that he wants to keep you in his life, as more than just an employee.

Part two of the Exodus Mall series! (Can be read independently, but you’ll get some extra backstory if you read the other parts first!)

January 15th, 1997

You close the car door behind you with your back, trying to simultaneously wrap your coat around you to ward off the cold, hold the folder containing your resume under your arm, and put your keys into your purse. A cold wind whips past you, knocking you back against the car and you instinctively hold onto your coat and your purse, the folder falling out of your grip and into a puddle. 

“Fuck,” you say to yourself with a laugh. You sling your purse over your shoulder and regard the folder as you try to figure out what to do next.

“Let me get that for you,” a melodic voice says across from you.

Looking up you see a man bend down and extract the folder, holding it out as it drips icy water. He stands up and you jolt when you take in just how gorgeous he is. White button-down shirt, black dress pants; a warm looking long black trench coat. Deep brown hair, blown across his forehead by the wind, wide dark eyes dancing with laughter. A dimple appears in his cheek as he smiles sympathetically at you.

“Maybe it’s a lost cause?” he asks and you break into a grin.

You shrug and laugh. “I guess you’re right. Thanks for trying though,” you say and he walks over to the nearby trash can and throws it away. He returns, running a hand through his hair to brush it out of his face. “Was it anything important?” he asks, humor still lighting his expression.

“It was a resume for a job I’m applying for this morning,” you say, glancing back at the mall before looking down at your watch. 8:57am. You’d wanted to get there nice and early so you’d have time to talk to your friend who owns the bookstore first. She’d recommended you for the job at Sinful, the chocolate shop inside Exodus Mall, and you wanted to ask for advice about what the owner is like and what he’s looking for before you head in.

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Oh? Where at?”

“The chocolate shop. It’s called Sinful,” you answer, nodding toward the main mall entrance.

His eyes widen momentarily and then he gives you a lopsided smile. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. I know the owner and he’s pretty easygoing,” he says with a wink.    

“Really? That’s great to know, thank you,” you say, uncharacteristically flustered by his flirtation.

“No worries,” he says. “Well, I’ll see you around. I hope you get the job,” he says with a wry grin and moves past you to head into the mall.

“Thanks,” you say as he walks away. You can’t help but admire his profile as he approaches the entrance. He steps through the doors and a sharp wind blows past you. You shiver and fold your arms in your coat again, quickly gathering it about you and dashing into the mall, out of the wind.

Reassured by what the man said, you decide to skip going to see your friend. With your varied work experience and personality, not to mention her recommendation, you feel confident you’ll make a good impression.

Stepping inside, you head into the bathroom to double check your reflection, ensuring that your dress and leggings are still in place and that your make up stayed put. Satisfied, you head out into the mall. Things are just coming to life, most stores are open by now and jazz plays soothingly over the mall’s speakers. You turn toward the chocolate shop, gazing hungrily at the delectable looking creations on display.

You’re impressed at the varied selections, much more than the usual milk or dark chocolate. A platter of strawberries are dipped in chocolate and topped with what looks like honeycomb crumbles. 3D shapes created out of hardened chocolate adorn white chocolate truffles. Squares of fudge feature red sugar hearts that looks like glass. Small squares of chocolate are painted with what looks like watercolor patterns, the colors swirling together.

Even though it’s a month off, there’s a big Valentine’s display, a sign mentioning pre-orders. Hmm, that’s a smart idea you think appreciatively. The owner must be pretty savvy. You walk inside. The small shop is well laid out, with a long glass top counter forming an L-shape to the right. A floor to ceiling shelving system is on the left, each cubby filled with gift boxes in varying colors. Behind the glass counters you see a doorway leading to the kitchen, gleaming appliances visible, waiting to be used for the day.

You can hear someone moving things around in the back room. You brush your hair behind your left ear, smiling to yourself as you recognize your old nervous habit. It’s been a while since anything made you anxious and you welcome the feeling; you always did like fresh starts.

“Excuse me?” you call politely, leaning your head over to peek into the room.

A dark haired man has his back to you, tying a white apron over a white shirt and black pants. At your question he turns around, a knowing smile already on his face, a dimple appearing in his cheek. You click your tongue, laughing to yourself. It’s the man from the parking lot. Know the owner, my ass, you think. He walks out and gives you an ironic smile.

“Long time no see,” he says and you laugh. “Come on back and we can get started with the interview.”

He takes your coat and purse and sets them on the small desk in his tiny office off the back room. The interview goes quickly; it seems your friend already filled him in on your experience when she persuaded him to give you an interview. He goes over the job duties and asks you a few questions about whether or not you have experience with different things.

Twenty minutes later he says he’ll review some things and call you as soon as he decides. You walk straight over to the bookstore and drop your palms onto the counter, startling your friend as she sets a stack of books down. She turns around and takes in your shaken expression. “Don’t tell me the interview went that bad?” she asks, coming over to you.

You sputter. “No – the interview went just fine. But why didn’t you warn me that he’s absolutely gorgeous?” you demand. She blinks and her attention is immediately drawn across the mall to the record store. “Ah, right. Your attention is a little tied up these days,” you say, teasing. She’s been hopelessly in love with its owner for years but refuses to say anything, much to your chagrin.

She waves a hand at you dismissively. “Anyway, tell me how it went, did he offer you a job?”

“Not yet,” you say with a sigh. “He said he had to consider some things and that he’d call me soon to let me know.” You fill her in on the specifics of what was said and then head home, leaving her to the running of her fantastic bookstore.

You walk in the door to your apartment a short while later. The phone is ringing when you push it open. Dropping your bag on the floor, you dash over to answer it. “Hello?” you say into the receiver.

“Hi, is this Y/N?” a melodic voice asks. Ah, the dangerously good looking Yixing then.

“Yes it is,” you reply, fighting the urge to sass him that it’s obviously you.

“It’s Yixing. Well, if you’re up for it I’d love to offer you a job. Just through the first of March for certain, but we can revisit once that gets close to see where things stand. What do you say?” he asks and you wonder if he actually sounds flustered or if it’s just your imagination.

“Sounds great, I’m in,” you say, excitement leaking it your voice. Six weeks of solid employment, thank the gods. Scratch that, thank your friend from the bookstore for suggesting this.

“Perfect, let’s go over the details,” he says. Ten minutes later it’s all set - the pay rate, the hours, dress code, everything. It’s decided that you’ll start next Monday. As soon as you hang up you do a little happy dance, grinning from ear to ear, and pour yourself a glass of wine to celebrate.

January 19th, 1997

You sit in your car, patiently waiting for it to be 8:55, not wanting to awkwardly be too early on your first day. Drumming your fingers on the steering wheel you think of how easy it was to leave the temp agency. A quick phone call to let them know you got another job and that Friday would be your last day, apologizing for the short notice.

“No problem. Please report your hours as usual for tomorrow and we will mail out your final paycheck once the site verifies the hours. Reach out to us if you ever need employment again, have a nice day,” the almost robotic female voice of the dispatcher said before abruptly hanging up.

You’d shrugged, thankful for the lack of drama, and then proceeded to spend the weekend on your main passion in life: art. Painting, sketching with charcoal, messing around with Photoshop 4 on your secondhand desktop; you weren’t picky.

Y/N will take any chance to make the world more beautiful, that’s what your best friend always said about you, with a smile on her face. You’d met during your freshman year, her junior year, at a liberal arts mixer, bonding over a hilariously self-important English professor who taught a required class you were taking to fulfill your general education credits. A waste of time and a distraction from your art, you thought. Regardless, as an Art major and an English major specializing in the Romantic poets, you found kindred spirits in each other and you became inseparable.

While she worked her ass off through college to pay tuition, and later to save up money for what would become the bookstore, you’d taken a much more leisurely path. After winning several local and national art competitions for your mixed media creations and your paintings, you were a shoe-in for the local University’s art scholarship. You spent four years blissfully lost in the world of art, taking a wide variety of classes, gaining experience doing projects for a local independent magazine.

Other students worried about the “real world” and logical, normal people things like bills and careers. All you cared about was the colored pencil in your hand and the minutes left you had to capture your subject before the light changed. You sigh and rest your elbow against the door, leaning your head onto your hand. Those were the good days, you think nostalgically.

Now, all these years later, she was running a successful bookshop and you were spinning your wheels. You’d bounced around – six months interning in graphic design for an ad agency during your junior year, six months as a receptionist at an art museum owned by a friend of your father’s during senior year. And you’d spent most of the last year at a little café that served coffee and pastries, reluctantly turning to temp work after they closed down.

But nothing had stuck. The vague feeling that something was missing perpetually drove you to seek something else. And look where it had gotten you – a miserable few months of temping, being shuffled from assignment to assignment like cattle in the stockyard. But, as you remind yourself, for six glorious weeks you’ll have firm footing. You smile to yourself, excited to get started. Checking your watch you see it’s finally time to go in.

When you arrive an older woman with a graying bun of hair and a kind smile is waiting for you at the front door. She takes you through the gate into the store. She shows you where to put your stuff in the back. Her name is Peggy, she tells you in a cheerful tone, in between asking you a thousand questions about yourself before you can catch your breath.

Yixing walks in a minute before the clock hits nine, unlocking the gate and sliding it open. He gives you a warm hello before heading into the back room to hang up his coat, motioning for you to follow him. Peggy takes her place at the register, straightening things up as she waits for the first customers of the day. 

The morning passes in a blur of paperwork and policies as Yixing shows you around. He says you’ll work the register and the counter until you feel comfortable and then he’ll start showing you the process of making and packing the chocolates.

Yixing goes to work making the day’s batches in the back and you train with Peggy for the rest of the afternoon. She chatters on happily, reminding you of your own grandmother with her affectionate pats on the arm and easy ability to draw you into conversation. She tells you how she came to work there after a miserably boring few months of retirement, wanting something to fill her days.

The other full time staff member, a young woman with a shock of neon blue hair and a spike through the top of one ear named Vera, comes in for the closing shift. Despite the studded jacket and shit-kicker boots she wears, you learn quickly that she’s basically a pocket-sized ball of energy. 

She happily discusses the next tattoo she wants to get with you and Peggy while she restocks the cases. You love the designs she has so far, and she grins ear to ear when you compliment them.

The day flies by and you get into a groove. The register is simple enough, you used one just like during your year at the café. Your natural curiosity and openness lends itself perfectly to customer service and many happy customers smile genuinely as they leave the store. 

After a busy, full day you head home satisfied.

January 26th, 1997

The mall is almost deserted this time of day – two in the afternoon on a Monday. You sit in a chair in the food court, feet propped up on an opposite chair, a sketchbook stretched out across your legs. You switch charcoals, hand moving rapidly as you try to capture the image in your mind. Warm eyes, elegant neck, perpetually ruffled hair, hands in motion as he mixes up a batch.

Taking a quick look around, you make sure there’s no one nearby to see what you’re drawing. You lasted exactly a week before you couldn’t take it anymore, and finally drew Yixing. Desperate to capture his expression, frustrated you can’t nail it just right, you flip to the next page to try again.

“Your technique is incredible,” a gentle female voice says from above you. Whipping your head up you see a girl dressed in a conservative black dress and heels, her purse slung over her shoulder.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she says nervously, waving her hands and backing up a step. “I’m just – I’m an artist too. Well, sort of, I make jewelry. I love your style and I wanted to tell you,” she finishes, red in the cheeks.

You drop your feet to the floor and put the sketchpad on the table next to you, your breath slowing from the shock. For a moment you’d thought it was Peggy, but they don’t sound anything alike in hindsight.

“Oh, no worries. I just thought you were someone else for a moment and I almost had a heart attack,” you say with a laugh. You motion to the seat opposite with you and she joins you with a sweet smile. “And what are you talking about? Of course, jewelry is art. Anything that adds to the beauty of the world counts as art in my book,” you continue insistently.

She laughs at your enthusiasm. “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

You introduce yourselves to each other and you find out that she also just started at the mall, working at the jewelry store across the way. Lunch passes by quickly as you get lost in conversation, delighted to talk about art with a fellow creator. She keeps darting glances over your shoulder, in the direction of the food court.

You lean forward conspiratorially, raising an eyebrow. “What do you keep looking at?”

With a sly smile that seems wholly at odds with her professional appearance, she says, “I’ll tell you, if you’ll tell me who the gorgeous man is that you were drawing.”

You let out a laugh. “Fair is fair,” you sigh. “It’s my boss at Sinful, Yixing. He is handsome isn’t he? You should see him pouring chocolate, it’s downright pornographic,” you say and she giggles. “I thought you were one of my co-workers when you spoke to me.”

She casts another furtive glance behind you and sighs. “All right, one of the owners of the pizza parlor is my ex. I haven’t seen him in forever. I didn’t know he worked here when I took this job. I’ve been nervous about running into him,” she says, looking down at her hands.

“Well one thing’s for sure, there’s no shortage of drama here in this mall,” you say, blowing out a breath, and she nods in agreement. Soon you both finish your lunches and head to back work, happy that you made what’s sure to be another friend here.

February 10th, 1997

On his way through the mall to the bank to make a deposit and buy change, Yixing spots you in the food court. He’s been wondering what you do for lunch and he’s surprised to see you leaned back in a chair, your feet up on an adjacent chair, a sketchpad resting on your knees. He thinks about coming closer, seeing what you’re creating with the brightly colored pencils spread out on the table next to you, but he doesn’t want to disturb you.

While he can’t see what you’re drawing, he can see your face as he walks by. With a smile he thinks your face in and of itself is art. Your hair pulled out of your face, eyes racing across the page as you draw. You lean back for a moment, tilting your head to appraise what you’ve made, absently biting on your lip.

With his gaze fixated on you he isn’t watching where he’s going. With a thump he smacks into someone coming the opposite way, dropping the deposit bag.

“You all right man?” Jongin says with a laugh, dramatically rubbing his shoulder with an exaggerated wince.

Yixing shakes his head with a rueful laugh, reaching out briefly to pound fists with Jongin in greeting. “Yeah, I’m good. Sorry, I was uhh, distracted,” he says with a grin, glancing back to you.

Jongin looks over to you in the food court and lets out a whistle. “That sure is some distraction,” he says and jokingly pushes Yixing’s shoulder in retaliation.

Yixing bends down to pick up the bag, running his hand along his neck with a sigh. “Tell me about it,” he says. “See you around man.”

Jongin gives him a mock salute with a sardonic smile. “See you.”

When he returns from the bank you’re just finishing up lunch, hanging up your coat and putting your sketchbook and pencils back in your large tote bag. You look over and give him a warm smile.

“So any chance you’d be willing to show me what you were working on?” he says with a quirk of an eyebrow.

You jolt, fingers clenching protectively around the book. He laughs. “I saw you drawing on my way to the bank, I promise I haven’t been spying.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Good. If you were I’d have to kill you,” you joke. “Hmm, let me find something,” you say and he pretends to lean over. You give him a fierce look and he throws his hands up, taking a step back.

The piece you were finishing on lunch is part of a larger series you’ve been exploring. Lush, colorful floral designs overlaid with stark black geometric designs. You weren’t sure where you were going with it when you started, but after five finished designs, you’re pretty pleased with the results.

You find the first one, three brilliant photorealistic red roses overlaid with large and small overlapping circular patterns. Handing the sketchpad to him, his eyes run across the page, appraising.

He doesn’t immediately give praise and you like him even more for it. So often friends of yours clap and announce that they love it without really taking a look. It’s sweet, and you know they just want to support you, but from someone as talented in his own right as Yixing, you’re dying to know his true opinion.

After a beat he reaches out a hand and flips to the next page. A cluster of peonies in various shades of pink covered with interlocking triangles. Next comes a deep pink orchid with winding lines around the borders. A royal blue string of bluebells and a loose pattern of repeating dots and diamonds. Last is your favorite – sprigs of lavender wrapped in a pattern of star shapes.

He lifts his hand to turn the next page and before you can stop him he flips it over. Your eyes go wide and your heart feels like it’s stopped beating. Before starting on this series you’d finally finished a portrait of him that felt perfect, capturing him exactly as you like him best – sensual hands mixing a bowl of chocolate. His warm, expressive eyes observing his process, a contented smile on his face revealing his dimple. You react instinctively, grabbing the sketchpad to try and pry it out from underneath his stunned gaze.

“Wait,” he says, maintaining his grip. His eyes lift to meet yours, something stirring in the depths that you can’t name. “You drew me? Is this how you see me?” he asks in a low voice.

You know how it looks, know that he sees right through the piece. There are portraits you draw of friends, family – happy pieces alight with affection. There are the portraits you draw of strangers, at a street fair or for commission – technically and stylistically precise, but lacking the sense of feeling that comes from drawing someone you know well. And then there are other portraits, the kind you draw of lovers. Where your every emotion is sprawled across the page, desire radiating from every curve and line.

Unfortunately, you realize in a rush as you look at the drawing, this is clearly the latter.

You open your mouth to speak but close it immediately. What words can you offer that would explain this away? Instead you just nod silently, meeting his stare.

With a cough, he flips back to the last design, the one of the lavender. “I’ve been coming up with some early new recipes for our Mother’s Day collection this year. These designs would be perfect for the boxes, would you be open to discussing a collaboration? I’d love to see what they might look like with gold accents instead of black, if you’re open to it?”

“Really?” you ask, grateful that he didn’t pry into the drawing. “I mean – yes. Yes, that would be incredible,” you say.

He leads you back to the tiny office to discuss plans, a welcome break from the frantic Valentine’s Day preparations you both started on this morning.

February 12th, 1997

Strong hands slide along your waist, brushing up and under your shirt. Your skin feels heavy, aware, as if it’s desperately trying to hold onto his touch. His head bends, his lips trailing up your shoulder to your neck. You moan softly, arching your back as you push further into his skilled hands. You’ve watched them for weeks. Mixing chocolate, carefully adding decorations with precision.

For weeks you’d fantasized about having those skilled hands on your body, desperate to know the ways in which they could mold you beneath their meticulous attention. His finger traces the underside of your breast as his full lips tease your jaw. Desperate to feel those lips on yours, finally, you reach a hand around his neck and pull him close, leaning in to -

A shrill buzzing sound jolts you awake. You instinctively reach over to turn off your alarm clock. You throw your arm over your eyes to block out the sunlight. It feels as though you’re emerging from the depths, pulled from the world of your dream harshly into reality.

You gulp in big breaths of air, your body still desperately clinging to what had been about to happen, as if it could conjure Yixing just by sheer force of will. Skin buzzing with arousal, breasts heavy; a pool of wetness at your core.

When your breath slows, you shake your head and cover your face with your hands, laughing to yourself. For days, weeks if you were honest, you’d been fantasizing about what Yixing would be like as a lover, surreptitiously watching him as you worked together.

Would he be gentle, the type to steadily thrust in and out, building your orgasm slowly? Kissing down your body, teasing and tasting before getting down to business. Maybe he had a rough side, the type to set a brutal pace, holding your hips in place, slamming into you until you screamed his name.

You bite your lip, moaning softly to yourself at the images flashing through your mind. All that wondering and sexual frustration had seeped from your waking thoughts into your dreams. You huff out a laugh.

You glance over at the clock, mentally hugging yourself for always setting your alarm for at least ten minutes before you needed to get up. Stretching out, you slide your hands down your body, closing your eyes and trying to recall where your dream was headed before it was so rudely interrupted. It’s not quite as good as the real thing would have been, but you’ll happily make do with your own two hands for the time being.

February 13th, 1997

The day before Valentine’s Day is a full-blown strategic undertaking. Peggy shuts the gate at eight o’clock and works on the normal closing duties while you, Vera, and Yixing are working hard in the back. Mixing batches, laying out molds, popping the set chocolates from this afternoon’s batches out and neatly arranging them into gift boxes, waiting for Yixing to add the finishing touches.

The pre-orders that Yixing had been taking the past few weeks were stacked on neat slips on the counter; dozens and dozens of neatly written pieces of paper that were slowly being worked through.

After closing Yixing grabs a CD and pops it in the boom box on the counter; the upbeat sounds of Wham! start. The mood is light, energetic; the celebration before the onslaught tomorrow. You and Vera sing enthusiastically into wooden spoons, while Yixing shakes his hips as he moves, bobbing his head in time to the music. You can’t remember the last time you had this much fun at work.

At fifteen past the hour Peggy deposits the money into the safe and gathers her stuff, giving an amused smile to the scene in the back room before leaving. You finish just before ten. Vera goes home, yawning, saying she’ll see you both in the morning for “the onslaught.”

You cram the last paper slip onto the overstuffed spindle with a grin of triumph. Turning toward Yixing you sigh and lean against the counter, pleased with the day’s work. He’s drying his hands on a towel, watching you from across the room. He raises one of his eyebrows and gives you a conspiratorial smile. 

“I saved a batch of your favorites,” he says, setting down the towel and pulling out a box from one of the back cabinets. “As a thank you for your fantastic work today, and this month.”

You clap your hands together and beam at him, walking over to his outstretched hands. Coming to a stop in front of him you slip off the lid. Inside are eight perfect dark chocolate mint truffles, warm from the heat of the room.

He watches intently as you carefully select a chocolate and pop it in your mouth, eyes closing as you savor the rich taste. An involuntary moan leaves your mouth as your tongue melts the chocolate. You swallow and open your eyes, realizing abruptly how close you’re standing, how warm the room has become - your skin flushed from the hours of busyness.

Yixing sets the box down on the counter slowly. He turns back to face you, his gaze drawn down to your mouth. Smirking, he points to the corner of your mouth. You dart your tongue out to lick up the chocolate, still missing a small blob in the edge of your lips. His body tilts forward, lips parting as though he’s going to speak. His hand raises before he catches himself, dropping it suddenly to his side with a shake of his head.

“What is it?” you ask, confused.

He looks back to your eyes, your lips. “You’ve got some there, on the corner of your mouth,” he says, his voice low and strained. He battles with himself for a moment, a pained expression on his face. His eyes darken, resolved. Stepping toward you he raises his hand and gently cups your face, drawing a thumb along your lips, swiping up the chocolate.

Your body immediately reacts to his closeness, your breathing speeding up as his presence engulfs you. He draws his hand back and slowly sucks on his thumb, eyes never leaving yours. Your world narrows to his mouth, watching as he pulls his thumb back and runs his tongue along his lips.

“Just kiss me already,” you murmur under your breath, not thinking.

His eyes widen with awareness as he processes your words. You abruptly realize where you are and what you just said. Your hands fly to your mouth as if they can shove the words back in. Taking two steps away from him toward the store you dip your head, a blush rising in your face.

“Oh my God, Yixing. I’m so sorry. That was so unprofessional, please just ignore me and forget this ever happened,” you say emphatically and wave your hands in front of you as if you can make the situation disappear like a cloud of smoke.

You turn and start walking back out into the store, embarrassment flooding your body, wishing you could sink through the floor. Rapid steps sound behind you and his hand gently grabs your arm, turning you to face him. He’s watching you with an intensity that you’ve never seen before, breathing deeply.

“What if I don’t want to forget? What if… I want to kiss you just as much?” he asks, looking at you with such passion that you find it hard to breathe, your body flooding with warmth.

You tilt your head to regard him. He’s so straightforward, you can’t imagine he’d be joking or messing around with you. Maybe he’s felt he tension between you as much as you have these past few weeks. Not one to overthink things, you give him a seductive smile and bite your lip. You watch as his attention is drawn to your mouth, internally cheering as his hand on your arm squeezes slightly.

“Well, if that’s true, what are you going to do about it?” you say, voice teasing.

His eyes darken at the taunt. He moves closer, his usual sweetness melting away to become a predator stalking its prey. You back up against the nearby counter, it’s hardness pressing into your lower back as you remain targeted in his hungry gaze. Throwing his arms out to rest against the table behind you, he leans in close, hovering his lips above your own before moving over to your ear.

You breathe in a huge breath, trying to remind yourself that you need oxygen to survive, even if he’s stolen all the air in the room. Of course he smells like chocolate, you think ruefully, but there’s something else too. Some musky undertone unique to him, that invades your senses and makes your mouth water.

His lips are close to your skin as he whispers, “Are you sure you want to find out?”

When he pulls back to meet your eyes he quirks an eyebrow, regarding you seriously. You feel it too, the boundary you’re both about to cross, between employer and employee and… something else. But you’ve never been very good at reality, at consequences; at thinking toward the future.

All you know is the here and now, what’s in front of you. And right now you have a very real and very enticing man on the verge of kissing you, his hot gaze drawn to your lips.

Not one to miss an opportunity for pleasure, or to resolve a curiosity, you nod, not breaking from his intense stare. He grins at you, a satisfied smile that sets your blood on fire. One of his graceful hands slides around your back to hold you intimately against him, the other weaving into the hair at the nape of your neck.

You shiver at the touch, a delicious thrill of anticipation running down your spine. You splay your hands on his chest, your mind already wondering if your imagination of him beneath his shirt is close to the reality.

Achingly slow, he leans in and you close your eyes. You feel his breath across your lips, but for several seconds he waits there. With a noise of impatience you open your eyes, wondering what he’s waiting for. When your gaze meets his, that’s when he dives forward to take your lips. You laugh against his mouth. So it’s a mix of teasing and sensual then, you think.

The laughter dies in your throat as his hand on your back drives you closer together. You slide your arms around his neck, coming up on your tiptoes as his lips play with yours, giving light kisses before pulling back, over and over.

With your new height you grab him by the neck and press him firmly against you, not wanting to waste any time with teasing. Not after waiting for several agonizing weeks. He seems to agree, his hands coming to your ribs on either side, holding you firm. He groans against your mouth, a deep, needy sound that sends heat to your core. You lick his lower lip and moan as he slides his tongue against yours.

A familiar female voice breaks through your haze of passion. “Jesus, I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed onto my neck, wouldn’t I?” Vera laughs, and you hear her come through the gate. You and Yixing break apart. Your hand comes to your mouth. Whether in self-preservation, to hide any evidence of what just happened, or on instinct, trying to keep the taste of him near, you don’t know.  

She peeks her head in the back room, chattering on, oblivious to the heady mood in the room. “I spent forever digging in my purse and my car for my glasses. I can’t drive without them, you know. And here they are, right where I left them on the counter,” she says, clicking her tongue at herself in chastisement. “Anyways, you two have a good night and I’ll see you tomorrow!” she calls and leaves again.

After she leaves you both regard each other from opposite sides of the room. You finally drop your hand and lick your lips, savoring the taste of chocolate and him on your lips. He stares you down, smirking. Just when you’re ready to stride across the room and grab him again, he looks down, breaking the moment. With a cough he turns back to the equipment, grabbing a clean rag to start wiping down the counters.

“We should get out of here, tomorrow will be a long day,” he says and you reluctantly agree. You don’t say another word to each other as you gather your things and head to your cars.

February 14th, 1997

The rapid pace of the day means the two of you are constantly walking past each other. It’s pure torture for him, watching you bend over to reach into the case, passing behind you repeatedly. He keeps catching his hands as they reach for you, groaning internally, reminding himself why this is a bad idea.

Finally at two o’clock when Vera arrives, he heads out for a brief lunch, making a beeline for Guardians. Junmyeon, the owner, has been a good friend of his since they both opened stores three years ago, within weeks of each other. He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even further. He enters the store and a bell dings. Junmyeon comes out from the back room, smiling when he sees who it is.

“Hey, man. It’s been a while. What’s up with you? You look like you got run over by a truck, is the Valentine’s Day rush that crazy this year?” he asks as he starts sorting through some collectable books.

Yixing pauses, letting out a big sigh. He’s not the type to beat around the bush, especially with Junmyeon. He walks forward, leaning against the counter on his elbows. “No, that’s fine. Sales are good and it’s flowing well. But you know that new girl I hired?”

“Oh yeah, the one that’s friends with the owner of the bookstore?” Yixing nods. “Sure, she’s a stunner. What about her?” Junmeyon asks.

He thinks to himself that he’s never seen Yixing this agitated before, and he hides a smile, hoping that it’s about the girl; that he’s finally found someone who captured his attention.

“We were closing down together last night and... we kissed,” he says, memories of your lips and skin and taste washing over him.

Junmyeon lets out a whistle. “Are we talking about an ‘oops, one time only’ sort of thing or a kiss that means the start of something?” he asks.

Yixing groans and drops his head into his hands. “I’m pretty sure it’s the second one.”

Junmyeon pats his shoulder sympathetically. “You’re screwed, my friend,” he says with a happy laugh. “So are you getting her something for Valentine’s Day?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“No, I hadn’t thought about it. I guess chocolate is out,” he says with a laugh.

He looks around the store, trying to think of something that might be your taste, already imagining the expressive joy that lights your face when something pleases you. When you make a customer happy or when he puts on your favorite CD after hours. Or when you’d tasted the chocolate last night, your blissed out expression running through his mind.

In the corner, behind a stack of old hats, is a sleek, dark wood case with antique silver clasps. It’s so you that he smiles, walking over to examine it. When he opens it he realizes it’s an old fashioned art case that folds out on both sides. Carefully extracting it he brings it over to the counter and pulls out his wallet.

“No, no. It’s all yours. If my perpetually single friend has finally found someone who caught his eye, it’s worth it,” Junmyeon says with a wink.

He leaves the case discreetyl next to your things. When you discover it later, on your way home, you give him an enormous hug from behind.

Holding it out you ask him, “Is this really for me? It’s exquisite,” you say and he grins at you in response.

“It’s nothing,” he says dismissively, even as his face is alight with satisfaction. “I saw it and thought of you, that’s all.”

The moment you get home you fill it with all your supplies – paints, brushes, charcoals, colored pencils. They all fit perfectly. The rest of the day you can’t help but run your fingers over the case, smiling whenever you look at it. You feel relieved, that the awkward tension between the two of you from last night and this morning has dissipated.

February 18th, 1997

Baekhyun and his friend, who you’ve come to learn goes by the nickname Hitchcock, for her obsession with horror movies, stop by on their break, smiling as they dash into the chocolate shop in a flurry of energy.

“After a long week of work, we’ve decided it’s time for another night out on the town,” she says, grinning mischievously.

“Saturday. Shari’s. Nine pm. Bring your dancing shoes,” Baekhyun says in a rush to you and Yixing before dashing over to the clothing store, laughing together.

You raise a brow at Yixing. “Where’s Shari’s?”

“It’s this nightclub up the street, it’s their favorite. Decent drinks, off the map so it’s not crowded with tourists. The best part is that on Saturday nights Jongdae, the unique guy that owns the computer repair shop, leaves his lair and DJs there. It’s always the most eclectic mix of things and it never fails to keeps us entertained.”

“Oooh, sounds like fun. I’m in. Are you coming?” you ask, trying to be subtle.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says in a low voice, leaning over to you. A thrill of excitement runs down your spine.

February 19th, 1997

The club is in full swing when you and your friend from the jewelry store walk in. Before you left last night you’d stopped by to invite her, insisting that she break from her usual routine of reading and have some fun. Her roommate had the Saturday closing shift with Kyungsoo at Barada, but you were excited to meet her at some point. She sounded like a similar “free spirit” as your best friend would describe you in a sarcastic tone. Your best friend also closes her bookstore Saturdays, so you’re happy to have the company.

You nervously run a hand through your hair, letting it fall loose over your shoulders. You smooth a hand down your dress, waving as you spot the group at a large table in the corner. You can’t remember the last time you wore something other than the slacks and soft sweaters that had become your uniform this frigid winter.

The assembled people scoot over to let the two of you in. Looking around the table your attention falls like a laser on Yixing. His normally fluffy hair is drawn back into a small ponytail, revealing closely shaved sides. Without the hair in his face he looks dangerous, you think. Dangerous and sexy, especially as his gaze settles appreciatively on your low neckline.

Chanyeol comes back to the table carrying several drinks in his hands, his face concentrated as he tries not to spill them. You feel your friend next to you go stock still, her hand frantically grabbing yours under the table. Chanyeol sets the drinks on the table, turning to give you a friendly smile. He stops abruptly when he notices your friend. You’d completely forgotten that they were exes, remembering in a rush what she’d told you the first time you had lunch together.

She sets her coat and purse down on the seat behind her and squeezes your hand. Her eyes are wild as they look to you. “Let’s go dance?” she pleads. You glance between her and Chanyeol, who’s mouth is hanging open as he looks her up and down, face white as if he’d seen a ghost.

You nod supportively, setting down your own coat and purse and pulling her up, heading for the dance floor. “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls starts playing and a decidedly female cheer sounds from the crowd. You look up at the DJ booth and as promised, find the mysterious form of Jongdae, looking down at the mixing boards intensely. You find a spot far away from the table on the dance floor for you and your friend.

“Are you all right? I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think about him being here,” you say in her ear over the music.

She takes a steadying breath and shakes her head, giving you a small smile. “No, it’s okay. It was going to happen eventually, at least here it’s in a large group,” she says with a shrug. “Let’s dance. I came out to have a good time and I fully intend to have one, ex-boyfriend or no,” she says, her smile widening into a grin, shaking off her shock.

“Let’s do it,” you reply and grab her hand, pulling her into the crush of bodies to shake your booties to the music.

After another song more of the group joins you. Jongin dances with Hitchcock and Baekhyun pulls your friend into a hilariously dramatic tango. In the back you can see Chanyeol at the table, nursing his beer thoughtfully, watching her like a hawk. Next to him the girl from Starlight, the clothing shop, sips a colorful drink and gestures happily while she talks to him. You look around, wondering where Yixing has gone.

A tap on your shoulder has you turning around. Yixing is grinning at you like the cat that caught the canary, eyes sweeping up your body before meeting your gaze. He approaches slowly, giving you time to back away. Instead you step into his embrace, hands coming to his shoulders while his wrap around your hips. He’s wearing dark jeans, a white shirt that shines in the light of the club, and black boots. Out of his usual work outfit of plain slacks and a button-down he looks even better, you think.

The song switches to an upbeat R&B tempo as you start moving together. “Let’s talk about you and me. Let’s talk about all the good things and the bad things that may be. Let’s talk about sex, baby,” the singers croon and you can’t help the teasing smile that comes to your lips. He raises an eyebrow and gives you a knowing look that causes you to tilt your head back and laugh.

The night goes on and you have a couple of drinks with your friend, two delicious lemon drops. Though you take breaks to dance with Baekhyun and Jongin for a few songs, you and Yixing keep finding each other. Late in the night a slower song starts, the heady beats driving your bodies closer together. Emboldened by the alcohol and his hands warm on your hips, you lean forward and press a kiss to his lips. Briefly, testing the waters, seeing where you stand.

When you pull back he’s watching you intently, licking his lips. With a look around, making sure none of the group is watching, he pulls you through the crowd to the back wall, hidden by a pillar. He plants his hand against the wall, leaning in close, his other hand sneaking around your low back to push you against him.

With no hint of his earlier teasing he drops his head and captures your lips in a frantic kiss. Long, sensual movements of his lips against yours, drawing out the sensation. Your hands grasp his shoulders, pulling at him fervently.

You lick along his lower lip, seeking to deepen the kiss, but he pulls back, looking torn. “I’m your boss. I shouldn’t,” he says in your ear, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

“But you want to,” you say. It’s a statement, not a question.

“Yes, I want to, very much,” he says, and you feel his lips ghost over your neck. You arch against him, body flooding with need.

“Yixing, we’re both adults, we’re both single. I’m not some teenager head over heels in love with her married supervisor,” you say with a laugh. “What harm is there in a kiss?”

“What harm is there indeed,” he says with a wolf’s grin, showing his teeth. But he’s persuaded, at least for tonight, and he leans forward to hungrily recapture your lips.

Eventually you tear yourselves away and return to the group. You settled nothing tonight, but that desire in your heart doesn’t care. You might be playing with fire, balancing on the edge of something with him, but a few burns seem worth it when it comes to Yixing.

April 5th, 1997

You’re both humming along to the song on the boom box as you mix batches of chocolates, a new white chocolate mint recipe that’s been flying off the shelves. You look up to see it’s lunch time. On your way past him he pulls you out of view of the store, pressing you against the industrial fridge and kissing the daylights out of you. You laugh against his mouth and he smiles against your lips.

You’ve spent the past few weeks in a routine. Working in the back room with Yixing in the mornings, tending to the counter with Peggy in the afternoons. Valentine’s Day flowing seamlessly into steady business as new love bloomed everywhere with the arrival of spring, carrying on into Mother’s Day preparations.

You and Yixing sneak in kisses whenever you can, sometimes hot and heavy, sometimes sweet and light. All of them leave you breathless and ecstatic. But neither of you push for more, staying in this limbo together.

Eventually Peggy calls back to him, asking if he has any more mixed truffle gift boxes in the back and you manage to sneak away from his arms with a giggle. You sprint over to the food court where your friend is patiently waiting.

“Sorry about that, I got caught up with something,” you say in a rush, linking your arms with hers as you walk in and find a seat in the pub.

“Something, or someone?” she asks with a wry smile, taking in your flushed cheeks and slightly askew clothing. You choke on the sip of water you’re taking, coughing a few times.

You stare at her openmouthed. “How’d you know?”

She gives you a knowing look. “You’re not the most subtle of people when you’re into someone,” she says with a laugh. “So who is it? And how come you haven’t said anything before?” she demands, waving a finger at you.

You lean forward, hands raised, ready to come up with an excuse. But it’s pointless trying to deny it, she’s already seen through you, and you sag in resignation. “It’s Yixing,” you say with a wince.

She laughs joyfully and slaps her hand against her knee. “Ha! I knew it, you like him don’t you?” she asks happily.

“Yes, ugh, the past few weeks, since Valentine’s Day, we’ve been… I don’t know. Tempting each other,” you say with a groan. “We kissed right before Valentine’s Day, then again that night we went to Shari’s, and almost every day since then. If only you’d been there, maybe I would have been able to resist,” you say.

“Since when have I been the voice of reason when it comes to romance?” she asks sarcastically, waving her hand in the direction of KMS Music.

You pick up your water and clink it to her glass. “Well, at least we’re in this together. Here’s to being head over heels for unfathomable men.”

She picks up her glass and takes a sip. “Cheers to that my friend.”

April 23rd, 1997

You’re singing along to the radio, happily pouring the day’s molds when the delivery man arrives. Several more boxes than usual, Yixing thinks. He smiles to himself as he signs for the delivery and starts bringing the boxes into the back room. He opens a box and pulls out the first design, his favorite, because he knows it’s your favorite. The purple of the lavender and the gold of the stars pop on the shiny material.

Sliding an arm around your waist he presses quick kiss against your neck. You turn around to face him and squeal with delight when you see what he’s holding.

“It came out amazing!” you breathe, running your fingers along the material. He was right, you think, the gold does compliment the flowers perfectly. And you’ve already tasted the recipes he created to go along with each design, another area where the two of you mesh perfectly. He presses a lingering kiss to your mouth before turning back to start assembling the boxes.

May 12th, 1997

You and Yixing both have the day after Mother’s Day off. It was a smashing success, selling out of all the pre-orders and the stash of extras you’d prepared just in case. When you finally went home, long after it got dark, you’d stopped at the front display window. Yixing had a large poster of your designs made to advertise the pre-sales, and seeing it after such a successful day made you feel as though you could burst with happiness.

After sleeping in you drag yourself out of bed and get up, finally attending to the long list of chores that had fallen behind in the days leading up to Mother’s Day. You start a load of laundry, tidy up the apartment, write checks for the electrical and water bills and pop them in the mail. You look around in the kitchen for food and come up laughably empty. It’s a gorgeous, warm, early spring day and you decide to walk the few blocks to the grocery store next to the mall.

As you’re coming through the big park by the mall you see a familiar set of figures by the swing set. Yixing and Junmyeon are standing together, sipping to-go cups of coffee, watching the crowd of children play. Junmyeon pauses every few seconds to reach out his other hand and push a small boy on the swings. You’d heard Junmyeon and Yixing mention his son in conversation in the many times he’d come into the store, but you hadn’t met the boy yet. Yixing spots you and waves you over.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Yixing asks with a warm smile as Junmyeon gives you a one-armed hug in greeting.

The boy turns around in the seat. “Dad, I want to go on the slide!” he says cutely.

“Okay, buddy. This is my friend, Y/N, can you say hi?” Junmyeon says with a sweet smile on his face.

The little boy jumps off the swing and holds out a hand to you. “Hello, I’m Sungmin, nice to meet you,” he says with a polite shake of your hand. “Want to come on the slide with me?” he asks, grinning, tilting his head to look at you.

You laugh at how cute he is and nod. “Absolutely, let’s do it,” you say with a look at Yixing. Sungmin pulls on your hand and you follow after him to the slide. You climb up and settle into the side by side slides. Junmyeon sets down his coffee, holding out his hands to catch Sungmin at the bottom. Yixing comes to the end of your slide, holding out his hands with a teasing grin.

“Ready?” you ask Sungmin and he nods excitedly. You both push off and sail to the bottom. He squeals with delight as he slides down, throwing his arms up into the air. You hit the bottom in a rush, falling into Yixing’s strong arms, and he swings you up into his chest. You crash into him with a whoosh of breath and he spins you around, both of you laughing. He sets you down on your feet, his arms not budging from around your waist, gazing down at you.

“Let’s go again!” Sungmin says, tugging on your jacket and you reluctantly break eye contact with Yixing.

“Let’s do it!” you say and take his hand, running back around to the steps to the slide.

You spend over an hour at the playground, chatting with Junmyeon and chasing Sungmin around with Yixing, his sweet little giggles making you grin as Yixing pretends to be a dinosaur. Unbidden, images rise in your mind of you and Yixing chasing around a little girl on the playground, one with his smile and your eyes. With a shake of your head, you push the image away and pick up the pace to catch up with them.

June 1st, 1997

Maybe this is it, you wonder. The sign you’ve been waiting for, a purpose and a place that are calling to you. Sitting on your kitchen table, your feet on a chair, you chew on a fingernail as you re-read the letter in front of you for the tenth time.

It sounds so appealing – a coveted artist-in-residence position at Zion National Park. You’d applied months ago and it hadn’t crossed your mind in weeks. Paid accommodation in the park for a year, a stipend for food and supplies. Unlimited access to the park to paint or draw or create whatever you wished.

They were intrigued at your modern style, mixed with your traditional background and influence. They were trying something new, something “edgy” they said. Past meets the future, technology meets nature. You’d be a fool to turn it down.

But your mind resists, flooding with images of the little group of people in your life - here, now. Lunches spent with your best friend, watching her eyes light up as she talks about the new books that came in that day. The sweet smile that adorns her face now every time Minseok walks by, their eyes only for each other in their little bubble of fresh love.

You’d miss joking with Chanyeol when you stop in for a slice on your way home, his booming laugh when you surprise him with a good pun. Baekhyun and Hitchcock always goofing off, drawing you into whatever adventure they were going on after work. Driving around together off to an arcade or to see the latest movie. Shopping with your friend from the jewelry store, seeking out new paints for you and new stones for her to use in her creations.

Playing hide and go seek on the playground with Junmyeon and his son had become a regular occurrence on your days off. You smile thinking of the hours spent laughing hysterically with Yixing, making silly faces for Sungmin. Your heart tugs thinking of his excitement when he brought out the lollipop he’d made especially for the boy on his birthday last week.

Your attention is drawn again to the wonderful present Yixing got you for Valentine’s Day, the vintage art case perfect for storing all of your supplies. His excellent taste and attention to the people he cares about just one on a long list of reasons you’re completely absorbed in him.

His boundless creativity. His warm, humble smile, dimples showing, when someone compliments his work. His hands, his mouth, his body. Everything about him appeals to you.

But he’d been keeping you at arm’s length.

Because you were his employee or because of something else, you didn’t know. You loved the mall, and the people in it, but staying and being near Yixing; close, so very close, but not fully his, would be a torture you couldn’t endure.

You laugh to yourself, the future uncertain, once again. Now that Mother’s Day had come and gone, how long would you be working there? He hadn’t mentioned anything about commitment, in either the relationship sense or the employment sense. Had the past few months been an escape from reality? Or the creation of a new one? You wonder to yourself, turning the options over.

You bite your nail distractedly, torn as to what you should do. Twisting your wrist to look at your watch you see it’s 7:37 and you decide to confront a situation head on for once in your life. Your best friend had the bravery a few days ago to speak the words in her heart and now she and Minseok were making everyone in the mall jealous with how in love they are. You think to yourself that you can muster up a shred of that courage at least, and ask him directly.

If you hurry you can just catch Yixing as he’s leaving. You throw a sweatshirt over your tank top, slide on your sandals, grab your keys and dash out the door. Driving through the rain, internally cursing every red light, every car that’s going too slowly for your desperate pace.

You don’t even know what you’re racing toward. Are you hoping he’ll have no reaction to your job offer, giving you the push to make a clean break for a new life? Or are you hoping that he’ll decide you’re worth the risk? Either way it lands, at least you’ll have your answer and you can stop dancing on the edge of whatever has been happening between you. You have no idea what you’re going to say, you just know that tonight feels… important. That for whatever reason, you need to be looking him in the face when you tell him the news.

As you pull up to the mall the clock flashes 7:54. You whip into a parking spot and yank up on the emergency break. You jam the gear shift into park, pull out your keys from the car and start running, slamming the door behind you. You sprint across the parking lot and through the main entrance, sandals slapping the floor behind you as you come up to the store.

You skid to a stop out front of the entrance, warmed all over again by the crisp white walls and artful displays. It feels as though it’s been weeks since you last stepped inside instead of less than a day. Just yesterday you and Yixing had started loosely tossing around some designs to compliment the holiday line of chocolates he was working up.

He’s blessedly alone in the store, going through the closing duties on this slow evening. At your approach he rises from cleaning the case, resting his palms against the glass, giving you a smile so warm and open it makes you want to jump over the counter to beg him to be yours.

“Well this is an unexpected pleasure, what’s the occasion?” he asks, wiping his hands off and coming around to stand in front of you.

You’re so on edge you just blurt out what’s on your mind, holding the letter out in front of you. “I got a job offer,” you say in a rush of breath. “It’s an artist-in-residence opening, at Zion National Park. It’s in Utah, and it starts in three weeks,” you say, gauging his reaction.

He meets your eyes briefly, his expression a war of emotions. He sets down his rag and turns abruptly, walking into the back room. You stand there for a moment, puzzled, before following. He’s leaning against the far counter, his arms folded as he regards you steadily. Nothing, for several seconds he doesn’t say a thing. You huff out a laugh, stunned that after the past few months he has no words.

“You don’t have anything to say? After all we’ve been through – nothing?” you say, incredulous, coming to lean against the opposite counter, mirroring his pose.

He breaks your gaze, looking down at the floor. His brow furrows in concentration, but when he looks back to you, your heart sinks. If you hadn’t been watching him closely these past few months you would have missed it. The slight tilt of his lips down, the sadness in his expression.

He’s letting you go. Either because he doesn’t care strongly enough to want you to stay or because he’s too set in his ways to take a chance on you.

You throw up your hands and move to leave, giving one last look back at him as you move to the doorway. “Fine,” you scoff. “Consider this my two weeks notice. It’s been fun Yixing,” you say, willing your expression to stone, knowing that the hurt you feel is seeping into your face.

“Wait,” he says urgently, his voice thick with emotion. “Stay, please.”

You whip your head around in shock. You know he doesn’t just mean tonight. He swallows harshly, eyes burning into yours. Pushing off the counter he comes over to you, agitation clear on his face. He comes to stand inches from you, his hands impatiently darting out to hold your waist.

“When I see something I want I go for it, I don’t wait. The day I knew I wanted to open this shop I drove around to three different malls until I found the perfect spot. I went into the real estate office in the mall that same day. When I have a new idea for something here I don’t pause, I just… start making it.”

His lips twist in a smile. “That’s how it was with you. When I saw you, fighting against the cold, I practically leapt across the parking lot to get to you so I could grab your folder. Before I lost the excuse to talk to you,” he grins to himself at the memory.

“When I realized you were coming to my store, to see me… I’ve wanted a lot of things in life, but I’ve never wanted anything as badly as I wanted – as I want you,” he clarifies emphatically.

“I didn’t want to say anything, to try and lay a claim on you. For lots of reasons, all of which seem silly in hindsight. And now you have this amazing opportunity and I should let you go. I should say thank you for the fantastic job you’ve done, for the incredibly successful collaboration, for the time we spent together.”

“But I can’t let you go without telling you that I care about you, deeply. If you stay, I’d love to bring you on permanently. Peggy’s been bugging me for months about choosing a time for her to finally retire for real. Or if you want to work somewhere else I’ll support you a hundred percent,” he says and leans his forehead against yours.

“Or if you want to go, I’ll of course support you in that too.” His expression turns bashful. “I’ve been meaning to give these to you, but I hadn’t found a good time yet,” he says and you wrinkle your brow in confusion. He reaches up behind you into one of the cabinets and pulls out a box.

“I named them after you,” he says, taking off the lid.

A light dusting of chocolate is settled on top of the truffles, a small purple flower bud resting in the center of each. You grab one and take a bite. It’s delicious. You roll the flavors around on your tongue, eyes going wide as you realize what the special ingredient is.

“What’s in this?” you ask softly, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it from him.

“Lavender,” he says with a smile. “Your favorite.” The look on his face is so raw and open, it’s pulling at your heart. How did you not see it before? How much he means to you, and how much he cares about you in return.

“Do you mean it? You want to give this a real go, you and me?” you ask, waving your hand between you, needing to be explicitly clear before you let your reckless imagination run away with you.

“Yes, darling. If you’ll have me, I’m yours,” he says with a grin. “I decided to give up on fighting what I feel for you that day at the park with Junmyeon. I never found to the words to say to you, so I made these instead. I’m ready to try if you are.”

You launch yourself fully into his arms, grabbing his face with your hands and pulling him to you. He chuckles and wraps an arm around your waist, setting the box down on the counter behind you. His lips hungrily work against yours, holding you against the counter with his hard body. You open your eyes and look at the clock on the wall. Eight o’clock on the dot. You smirk against his lips and then pull back, breathing heavily.

“Want to get out of here?” you ask, beaming.

He looks at the clock and then back to you with a grin. “Absolutely.”

You pull into your parking spot on the curb and he pulls up behind you. A feeling of nervous excitement rises in your stomach and you hold a hand there, savoring the realization that he’s actually here, wanting to be yours. He comes over and opens the door for you, helping you out. You run up the steps to your apartment together, and he playfully smacks you in the butt. Laughing, you do the same to him before unlocking the door to your apartment.

You practically fall inside together, pulling him into the apartment and leaning him against the door. His lips meet yours in a hurry, kissing all over your face. The corners of your mouth, the top of your lip, the tip of your nose, your chin. It’s like now that he’s able to he wants to kiss every inch of you. You giggle and fist your hand in his shirt, pressing into him fully and drawing his lower lip in gently with your teeth.

He groans and you release his lip, sliding your tongue into his mouth. His hands slip up under your sweatshirt and you grin, remembering your dream all those months ago. You break the kiss for a moment to help him slide the fabric up and over your head. He shrugs out of his coat and quickly grabs the edges of his shirt, pulling it off, throwing it to the floor.

You stare appreciatively at his lean body, thinking to yourself that you can’t wait to kiss your way down it. But before you get a chance he comes up to you, hands gently holding your face to kiss you again, walking you backward in the direction of the bedroom.

You kick off your sandals as you walk and he kicks his off using his heels. He stops in the hallway, grabbing the edges of your tank top and easing it off you, followed quickly by your bra. Breathing rapidly, you each remove your pants in a rush, joining together again and moaning at the feeling of bare skin meeting bare skin.

Clad in only underwear you reach the bed and he sprawls out, sliding under the covers and pulling you on top of him, a leg on either side of his thighs. You look down at him through the curtain of your hair, breath catching in your throat as his fingers trace your naked skin, trailing up your sides to caress your breasts. The sight of him is glorious, you think; in your bed, hands on your skin in the faint light coming through the window.

He eases you down against him and kisses you gently. Resting his forehead against yours, he closes his eyes and asks, “Will you let me just hold you tonight? I’m not good at waiting, but - now that we’re here, I want to take my time.”

You nod, touched by his sweetness, and spread a hand across his chest, leaning over to rest against his side, nuzzling into his shoulder. You take a deep breath and sigh. Wrapped up in his warmth, you fall asleep listening to his heart beating in his chest.

June 2nd, 1997

A car starting on the street wakes him at dawn, soft light coming through your curtains. His arm rests around your waist and he bites his lip, trying to smother a grin at the memory of yesterday, at the fact that you chose him. Leaning over he takes in your sleeping face, relaxed and peaceful. He brushes a hand over your forehead, sweeping back the messy fall of your hair to place a light kiss on your neck.

You stir, blinking and opening your eyes. He gives you a lazy smile, running his hand up and down your hip, his leg coming to rest between yours under the covers. You pull his hand up to your lips and plant a kiss on his palm. It feels like a dream, but with him here in front of you, so real and present, you know it’s even better.

He moves his hand to cup your face, his thumb tracing along your jaw, with a wistful smile. Your gaze is drawn down to his mouth and then back to his eyes, and suddenly the air in the room changes. His eyes widen in arousal and his smile turns seductive. After months of waiting, you both know it’s time. You turn around to face him, swinging a leg over his hips.

With a deep breath he draws himself to you, sliding his lips along yours. Your hand grabs at his waist, needy and impatient. He laughs and slides his leg higher to rub along your sensitive core. You moan into his mouth and turn, pulling him on top of you. His lips pull away from yours and start trailing down your throat.

He slides down the bed, pushing the covers aside, his mouth stopping to pay attention to your breasts. You wind your hands in his hair as he laps at first one nipple, and then the other, teasing them to sensitive peaks.

Too soon, or not soon enough, he moves on, heading downward, eyes meeting yours as his tongue leaves a slick trail down your stomach. Stopping at your underwear his gaze turns dark, pupils dilating as he smells the arousal pooling in your core.

He hooks two fingers under each side and pulls your panties off in a rush, his rough hands pressing your legs apart and into the mattress. You give him a wry grin and tilt your head as if to challenge him to do his worst. He raises his eyebrows at you a few times suggestively and you giggle. Bending down he hovers his mouth over you for several agonizing seconds and just when you feel you’re about to scream he dips his head and runs his tongue along your slit.

A strangled cry leaves your mouth and you wildly grab for the sheets. With an appreciative noise he says, “The most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.” You throw your head back against the pillow with a laugh. The sound turns desperate as he repeats the motion, teasingly skirting around where you need him the most.

You jolt when he finally draws his tongue around your clit, in slow circles that reduce you to a writhing mess. He draws the bud between his lips and flattens his tongue, running over it directly. You buck your hips at that, your whines turning insistent.

“Yixing, please. I need you, I’m not going to hold out much longer,” you cry.

After another agonizing few licks he relents, releasing you and moving his body back on top of yours, his erection hard between you. He holds up a finger and leaps out of the bed, finding his pants where he left them in the hallway. Triumphantly he pulls out his wallet and holds up a condom. With a sarcastic turn of your head you stare pointedly at it.

“I’ve been hoping this might happen,” he says with a smug smile. You watch as he peels off his boxer-briefs and tears open the package, sheathing himself. He joins you back in the bed, holding himself up on his arms as he bends down to press a quick kiss to your lips.

You smile up at him. “So, in your hoping did you have a position in mind?” you tease.

His gaze darkens and a smirks comes to his lips. “You know, I did,” he replies, and he turns and sits on the bed, his back resting against the headboard. He motions for you to sit on his lap. You spread your legs and rest one on either side of him, hovering on top of his erection. His firm hands grip your hips and he slowly guides you down onto him. You moan and grip the headboard with both hands as he fills you, stretching you fully.

He drops his head against the headboard and lets out a groan of pleasure. “When you come I want to be able to watch that beautiful face of yours, feel every inch of your body against me,” he says desperately, lifting you up an inch and then thrusting his hips back up into you.

You can’t manage any words to reply, so instead you arch into him, capturing his lips with yours as you rock your hips in time with his thrusts. Neither of you can wait for long, both moaning into each other’s mouth between hurried, frenzied kisses. He knows you’re close as your whimpers become higher, desperate. He reaches a hand around and frantically rubs his thumb around your clit.

Seconds later your orgasm crashes into you, his name falling from your lips over and over, like a wild prayer. His eyes burn into yours as he reaches his completion right behind, the clenching of your walls pushing him to the breaking point. Drawing you in for a long, lazy kiss, he holds you tightly to him as you ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm.

He slides down, holding you on top of him. After disposing of the condom he tucks you both back under the covers and you fall back asleep, content and  tangled up in each other as the sun finally comes up over the horizon.

November 13, 1997

You convinced Vera to switch days off this week so you and Yixing could have the day off together. She agreed without hesitation, saying she’d appreciate the day to boss around the two temps Yixing had hired for the holiday season. She’s enjoying her new position of supervisor after Peggy’s retirement a few months ago, or as she jokes ‘her final retirement.’ Both of them had congratulated you happily when you’d broken the news the week after you finally got together.

After a long Saturday spent in bed together you finally smack him lightly on the ass, taunting, telling him it’s time to get ready. He groans, pulling you back against his chest, sleepily nuzzling your neck. “Mm, remind me why we have to do this again? As beautiful as I’m sure you’ll look, I’d much rather have you naked in my bed,” he says, nipping at your neck with his teeth.

Your friend at Barada had come up with the idea. Something about helping Kyungsoo “reclaim his lost youth” or something else dramatic, as was her style. She’d come up with the idea on one of your girl’s nights.

“Oh my god, I have the perfect idea! Let’s have a mall prom!” she’d said excitedly, slamming her hands on the table, looking around.

It had taken very little convincing to get everyone in your group of friends on board. Jongin had reserved KOKO’s largest exercise room. Baekhyun and Hitchcock invited everyone in the mall they could find. Yixing and Chanyeol took care of the food and desserts. Your efficient and organized best friend had taken care of renting the tables and chairs and her boyfriend, Minseok, had of course handled the music. You and your friend from the jewelry shop made the decorations. You’d spent a hilarious afternoon last week making cheesy crepe paper designs and glittery signs for the photo booth.

You pull him in for a kiss. “Because they’re our friends and it will be fun. Now, move it or lose it buddy,” you say and twist out of his arms as he tries to grab you again.

The dress you picked, a short pink number with a laughably poofy tulle skirt, hangs in your side of the closet. You head into the bathroom to do your hair and make up. A month or so ago he’d offered you a key to his place, and your heart soared when you’d seen the space he’d made in his apartment for you.

You already kept tons of things at each other’s places, but the key signaled something permanent. That these months together weren’t a fling, the temporary whims of two dreamy and artistic people, but something real.

When you come out of the bathroom, finally ready, he’s leaning against the wall. Just when you thought he couldn’t look any better, there he is, looking like James Bond in his tux and dress shoes. His hair artfully slicked back, obeying him for once. He gives you a whistle and you twirl for him.  

He holds out his hand to you, eyes dancing in delight. “Ready partner?”

You grab his hand and squeeze. “Ready.”