#drabblesau

There is a chill in the air as they run through trees and bushes, smiles wild and books under their arms. Baekhyun is far ahead, of course, because Kris still claims he is too cool to run, so he simply walks behind him, laughing at Baekhyun’s hastiness. The two of them finally reach their usual cave, the small hiding place the twelve of them had found to have their meetings. Baekhyun sits on his usual corner and looks around the place, already taking a cigarette from his pack. The cave still smells like mud and piss, but they had succeeded on making at least a little bit more livable. Now the rock walls are filled with naked women and men, and some football teams squires; and its muddy ground were covered with a enormous and old tapestry that they had stolen from their school.

Baekhyun smiles when Kris finally reaches their cave. He throws him his pack of cigarette, and Kris catches it on the air, sitting right in front of him.

“Why didn’t you want to invite the others?” Baekhyun asks, and Kris shrugs, speaking with the cigarette pending between his lips.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He raises one eyebrow ate Baekhyun, who laughs, feeling his cheeks hot but he doesn’t truly feel like blushing in front of Wu Yifan, so he leans in, taking the book Kris is holding from his hands. Its cover is hard and black, ad when he scams through the pages, he sees poems written on a language he doesn’t understand.

“Portuguese poetry?” Baekhyun asks, and Kris lets the smoke flow out of his mouth with his eyes closed, nodding slowly, “Didn’t think you know how to read Portuguese.”

“I don’t,” Kris whispers, and Baekhyun laughs, throwing the book at him, “But I thought it would be interesting break our english literature tradition. There is so much more to the world than english stuff.”

Baekhyun tilts his head at his boyfriend, batting his eyelashes at him with a mocking expression, “Don’t you think it would be smart to learn Portuguese before trying to read it, then, Sherlock?”

“Fuck you,” Kris spats, before leaning in and taking Baekhyun for a kiss. His lips are hot against his own, and Baekhyun feels a chill run down his spine when he feels Kris slender fingers against the back of his neck. Kris sucks on his lower lip, biting it slightly before looking at him with a smirk, “For your information, I do happen to know a little bit of Portuguese.”

Baekhyun crosses his arms against his chest, a sly smile on his face, “Oh. Really?”

Kris presses his lips on a thin line, and then he shrugs, laying his head on Baekhyun’s lap, “And there are translations on the book, dumbass.”

Baekhyun laughs, trying to shove Kris away from him with no success. They have been dating for six months now, and by Baekhyun’s calculations (and Zitao’s and Jongin’s bets), he was supposed to be already bored by Kris kissed and touches, but what is happening is the exact opposite. Baekhyun finds himself lingering for every kiss, for every touch, for every moment they sneak out from their dorms and fuck on the bathroom, Kris hand pressed against Baekhyun’s mouth so he would be silent. And it’s not even about the kisses anymore. For the last two months, Kris had needed to take care of family business, so he was absent from school, and for those whole two fucking months Baekhyun’s chest had felt like exploding every single day because of how much he had missed Kris. His smiles, his hugs, his presence.

So he leans in, giving his boyfriend a lingering kiss on his forehead, his thin fingers running through Kris’ short hair. Kris smiles at him, and then he takes the book back, opening it on a page that Baekhyun notices it is marked with a post it. He takes the cigarette away from his lips and places it on the ground, cleaning out his throat before starting to read on a Portuguese that Baekhyun is pretty sure it is pretty bad:

“Quando te vi amei-te já muito antesTornei a achar-te quando te encontrei.Nasci pra ti antes de haver o mundo”

Baekhyun closes his eyes and let the words fill him in, even though he doesn’t know what they mean. They sound beautiful, though. As if they were made for poetry.

“What does that mean?” He whispers, leaning in and kissing Kris’ cheek. His boyfriend stands up, sitting by his side.

“It is a rough translation, but,” he cups Baekhyun’s face on his large hand, smiling softly at him, “When I saw you I already loved you,” he kisses his left cheek lovingly, “I found you again when I met you,” he kissed his other cheek and Baekhyun knows he has the biggest smug face at the moment, but he can’t really stop himself from grinning like an idiot, “I was born for you even before the world was there.”

Kris sees him at midnight. He is sitting by himself, dark hair hidden under a beanie, and half of his face covered by a fluffy gray scarf. The freezing march waters make his fingers go numb, but he keeps on playing with the waves. It is damn cold, but it still feels warmer than home, so he lingers there, just watching the horizon disappear in the darkness, ocean and sky being one. It makes his heart ache a little, even though he doesn’t know why. The wind blows against his cheek, painting it with flushes of red, but Kris stays there enjoying the silence of the waves. Until he hears a faint voice in the wind.

It’s low and distant at first. It sings in a way it makes Kris heart beat faster and faster until he is up on his feet, eyes scanning the dark sea. He sees nothing, and yet he hears the most beautiful voice he had ever heard, and his legs start to move almost unwillingly, like he doesn’t even have a mind of his own anymore. He climbs the rocks, trying to follow the direction of the voice. His heart is throbbing in such a speed that his breath falters him, and he needs to stop. The voice is so close now, and he closes his eyes so he can hear it better. It’s beautiful and yet broken, and when Kris finally opens his eyes he sees it’s source. A pale man with dark eyes and brown wet hair glued against his forehead looks at him from the water, and Kris ’ breath get stuck inside his lungs. He is not singing anymore, but Kris knows it’s him. He looks at him with wide eyes, and his wet skin sparkles under the moonlight in a way that makes Kris’ insides twist and turn because he can’t actually remember ever seeing something so stunning.

“Who are you?” Kris asks, voice weak because for some reason,  it seems like the boy is glowing and he doesn’t even get weirded out by that. It fascinates him, really. The way the boy mixes with the water like it’s a part of him - and not even for a moment he asks himself if maybe that isn’t a bad sign. The boy doesn’t reply though. He simply places his hand on the rock by Kris’ feet, and Kris can’t help but notice how lean and thin his fingers look. And when the boy uses the rock as support, Kris’ heart skips a beat as he watches he slowly getting closer. The boy’s lips are red and plushy, and when he opens his mouth again, he sings. He sings and Kris gasps, because it’s like his voice taints him, and pulls him into some kind of black hole that he doesn’t feel like getting out of. And Kris feels himself leaning in, getting closer because he needs more. Because he needs all of it. Like all of his senses are blinded and the only thing his brain tells him is that he needs that boy not to stop singing. And then the boy is so close that he is singing in his ear and he can feel his lips against his skin, and they are as cold as the water, but instead of making him shiver, it makes his skin burn.