For: fairyminseok
From: latchedwindows

Title: chitty chitty bang bang
Rating: PG
Side pairing/s: slight!Chanyeol/Baekhyun
Length: 6484 words
Summary: He’s got the money for a private island, but for some strange reason, Joonmyun likes hanging out with Jongdae, the poor graffiti artist from the other side of town.

Notes: dearest recipient, i’m so sorry i wasn’t able to make this as good as i wanted it to be. still, i hope you enjoy it! dearest betas: ily okay

“Joonmyun, honey,” his mother starts, applying lipstick in front of the mirror, “You look bored.” She finishes up, smacking her lips together, and pouting. Mrs. Kim seems to be satisfied with her appearance, and she turns to face her son. “Well… What is there to be excited for?” Joonmyun asks uncomfortably, itching at where his tuxedo collar chafed his neck. “It’s another party, and you’re going to spend the entire time introducing me to more people that I have no interest in.” His mother purses her lips, and crosses her arms delicately. “Darling, that’s no way to speak about a potential partner in business.” “Or in bed,” his father interjects jokingly, sweeping into the room. Joonmyun grins at the sight of his dad. “Oh, you— !” Mrs. Kim swats her husband on the arm. He quickly pecks her on the cheek, laughing. “Joonmyun, I was thinking… Maybe you should try finding a hobby.” It wasn’t that Joonmyun never tried, it’s just that he’s never found anything he could stick with for more than a week or two. He got bored with things quickly. The curse of being born rich, he guesses. Never satisfied with anything, not when you had enough money to buy more. “Weren’t you really into Japanese comics? Mango, or something?” his dad suggests, and Joonmyun flushes. “Manga, dad. And I, uh-, I don’t really read it much anymore.” Joonmyun sits down. “It’s fine, I’ll be okay at the party.” His parents share a look, and Joonmyun immediately has a bad feeling settling in his stomach. Sure, his parents are some of the sweetest people he knows, but last time they’d shared a look, Joonmyun had been forced on at least twenty blind dates with other rich girls. After getting whacked multiple times by Krystal for rejecting her, Joonmyun isn’t keen on meeting anyone for a while. “Really, I’m good,” Joonmyun protests, but his mother already has a wicked glint in her eyes. “Say, what if you… Took the night off? What if you went around the city, tonight, and looked for something?” His mother grins at Joonmyun. “You’ve always wanted to do something… Might as well go tonight, eh?” Joonmyun blinks once, not quite believing his ears. “You’re going to let me freely roam around the city?” His mother rolls kohl-lined eyes at him. “The Upper District, honey. I want you to get a hobby, not to get jumped or mugged.” She pats him on the shoulder, and then snaps her fingers. “You should go get changed out of your suit. I think a casual buttondown and gray slacks would work just fine.” Joonmyun nods obediently, and slinks off to his room, where a butler has already set out his clothes. xxx It’s slightly chilly for a September night, but Joonmyun isn’t too bothered by the wind. He walks down the Upper District streets, keeping an eye out for anything to do. He spies a recreational center on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Sixth Street and crosses over to look at it. The door opens with a jingle, revealing an inviting interior decorated with classy furniture and a few paintings. A receptionist sits behind a desk, dressed in a black blazer and a matching pencil skirt. She looks up at Joonmyun when he walks in and smiles, setting down her iPad. “Hello there, young sir. What would you like to do tonight?” She asks, clicking her a pen. “I’ll have to check your membership in the database.” “I, uh, don’t have a membership,” Joonmyun says sheepishly. The receptionist pauses, using one finger to slide her large-framed glasses back up her nose. “Oh, then… I’m afraid that you may not be allowed to use our services.” She pauses, squinting at Joonmyun. “Unless… Unless you’re eighteen or over?” “Uh, yeah. I’m nineteen this year.” The receptionist waits, staring up at Joonmyun patiently. Realizing that she was waiting for an ID, Joonmyun sheepishly takes his wallet out, sliding out the ID and his black credit card. The receptionist raises an eyebrow at the name on his card, before sliding his credit card and smiling. “Mr. Kim, do tell your mother her new fashion line is absolutely lovely. I’ve practically gotten every piece!” She chirps, handing Joonmyun’s card and ID back to him, along with a silver keycard. “I trust that your family has an e-receipt server?” Joonmyun nods, and takes the cards. “Up the stairs, we have individual activities, while straight through the hallway will lead you to group activities,” the receptionist explains. “I’ll have an aid called for you— ” “No, it’s okay.” The last thing Joonmyun needs is to have yet another person following him around. “I… I think I’ll be able to find my way around.” He leaves before the receptionist can get another word in, feeling every bit the spoiled kid he probably was. Joonmyun climbs the stairs to the second floor without hesitating, wanting to find something to do. A large hallway extends as far as he can see, and neatly printed signs on each door shows a different hobby. There’s multiple art rooms, at least seven different music rooms, and even knitting rooms. Joonmyun scrunches up his nose at that one, opting to push open a non-threatening door labeled “Origami”. It doesn’t open at first, and Joonmyun realizes that there’s a key card slot. He slides the silver card in, and the door clicks and swings open smoothly. A woman is sitting inside, and she smiles at him. “Hello! Joonmyun, isn’t it?” she asks, reading from an iPad in her hand. “I’m Yeri, here to teach you about origami.” Joonmyun sits down tentatively and listens as best as he can. Yeri goes through seven or eight steps, expertly folding a black piece of paper into a swan. “Now you try!” she says, pushing an identical sheet of paper towards Joonmyun. He picks up the paper, and starts folding. It doesn’t look nearly as neat as Yeri’s, and Joonmyun frowns. “Just try again,” she encourages, and Joonmyun does, unfolding all of his creases, and folding it again. It’s just as messy as the one before, if not worse. He spends at least another twenty minutes folding and refolding, practicing just that one shape. Joonmyun finds that he’s not having any fun, and eventually just takes the messy swan and crams it into his pocket. “Thank you, but I think that’ll be the last of the origami I’ll be doing tonight,” he says, bowing respectfully to Yeri, who smiles and taps a few keys on her iPad. “No problem, it was a pleasure working with you.” Yeri says politely, and Joonmyun walks out of the door. In fact, he walks straight out of the recreation center, unsatisfied and bored. Joonmyun starts to head back, but one glance at his watch tells him that it’s only eight thirty, which is way too early for the party to end. He wanders aimlessly around the streets, poking his head into a few shops. Nothing interesting comes up, and Joonmyun wonders if this is all his life is — doing well at school and pretending to enjoy parties. He’s near the edge of the border between the Upper and Lower Districts, when Joonmyun’s ear picks up a faint hissing sound. It’s coming from a nearby alleyway, and Joonmyun figures it’s just a broken heater, when the hissing stops, and a sharp metal clang is heard instead. A sudden shout rings out, and Joonmyun jumps, before jogging slowly to the end of the alleyway. A blur dashes towards him, and he yells in surprise at Joonmyun, who immediately throws himself the opposite way to avoid getting hit. The blur turns out to be a brown-haired boy, underfed but pretty, and Joonmyun stares for a few seconds before something knocks him flat to the ground. There’s a mad scramble as the boy on top of Joonmyun tries to get up, but before Joonmyun can even see, the boy is yanked off, and Joonmyun sees an Upper District police officer brutally slam the boy up against the alleyway wall, while two others look for the other boy. Finding nothing, they turn back quickly. Joonmyun’s eyes are wide. “You hoodlum rat— ” the first officer spits, shaking the boy. “Thought you’d come over here and vandalize our walls? We ought to have you jailed for this.” The boy makes a strangled noise, and looks straight at Joonmyun, staring at him accusingly. If you hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have gotten caught, his eyes seem to yell, and something akin to guilt twists in Joonmyun’s gut. There’s no real reason for him to do it, but Joonmyun feels himself step up to the officer and tap his shoulder anyways. “What the— ” The officer notices Joonmyun for the first time, and narrows his eyes at him. “Are you one of them broke rats too?” One of the other officers snorts, crossing his arms. “Look at his fucking pants. They’ve probably been pressed by mommy at home, right?” he taunts, bending down to look at Joonmyun. A flicker of movement in his peripheral vision catches Joonmyun’s attention, and he subtly glances to his left. To his surprise, the brown-haired boy from earlier is looking intently at them, halfway hidden in the shadows. The officer snaps his fingers, and Joonmyun’s attention is drawn back to the situation at hand. His knees feel weak at the stare of the officer, and he thinks that maybe he might have made a mistake. Still, it’s too late to turn back now. “Do you know who I am?” Joonmyun says with as much mock haughtiness as he can muster, trying to keep his voice from trembling. “Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?” The officer tilts his head, and peers down at Joonmyun. From the proximity, Joonmyun can smell the police officer’s rank breath, and he pinches himself to keep from gagging. “You’re talking to Kim Joonmyun.” Joonmyun prays that the name will have some meaning, but the officer doesn’t seem to be affected. “Ha, that name means nothing to me— ” And the officer lets go of the boy’s neck with one hand to swing at Joonmyun. However, another officer’s arm whips out in front, and catches the blow just before it lands. Joonmyun trembles as the hand is lowered from mere inches away from his face. “That’s Kim Jongshik’s son. We beat him up, we’re going to be in jail for a long time.” The second officer hisses, and the first officer’s eyes widen. “That’s exactly who I am,” Joonmyun croaks, trying to regain the false bravery from before. He clears his throat. “And if you don’t let go of that boy, I’ll tell my father that you tried to attack me.” The cop splutters in indignation. Defiantly, Joonmyun slips his phone out of his pocket, and fakes dialling in his father’s number, his fingers just slightly shaking. “Whoa, brat, chill! I’ll let go of your little pet. Rich boy likes to play charity, huh,” The police officer snarks, but he lets go of the boy, who slides to the ground, gasping for air. “Come on, let’s go.” The officers hastily leave, and Joonmyun’s left shaking in the alleyway. As soon as the last police car disappears from sight, Joonmyun rushes over to the boy. “Are you alright?” he asks, kneeling down onto the ground next to him. The boy lets out a groan and massages his neck. “Would have been better if you hadn’t been there,” a voice says from behind him. Joonmyun turns, and sees the brown-haired boy standing behind him, arms crossed. “We would have been able to outrun those fatasses any day.” Joonmyun stands up awkwardly, backing away from the boy on the ground. “I- I’m sorry,” he says. The boy on the ground pushes himself up, cracking his neck. He stands up, and the moonlight hits him, letting Joonmyun get a good look at him. He’s practically the farthest you could get from the stereotypical pretty boy image that Joonmyun grew up with. The boy’s hair is jet black and tousled, with a small ring in his left ear. Dark eyeliner frames baleful eyes, and the corners of his mouth are twisted downwards in a grimace. His clothes are shoddy at best, ripped jeans and a large, stained hoodie. Splatters of spray paint cover his sleeves, and Joonmyun can see the beginning of a tattoo starting just below the edge of his hoodie. There’s nothing that even remotely suggests elegance or sophistication, but Joonmyun can’t bring himself to look away. “Jongdae, are you okay?” The brunet asks, and Joonmyun quietly repeats the name to himself. Jongdae, Jongdae, Jongdae. “Yeah.” The black-haired boy says. “We left the bottles back down the alleyway, though.” Bottles? Joonmyun wonders. Were they talking about alcohol? “Damn, that’s a solid thirty bucks worth.” The other boy scrunches up his nose. “We should go back for it.” Jongdae nods and cracks his neck, preparing to run back to where they’d left whatever kind of bottles they had. No, he can’t just go like that, Joonmyun thinks worriedly. As they dart past, Joonmyun manages to grab Jongdae’s shoulder. “Let go of me,” Jongdae says, voice steely. He shakes Joonmyun’s hand off, but at least they’ve stopped. “What do you want?” Joonmyun pauses, the words dying in his throat. “I- I just- Could I go with you?” he stammers, swallowing thickly. Jongdae’s lip curls into a sneer, and he crosses his arms. “Why would a rich kid like you want to come with hoods like us?” he mocks, gesturing at Joonmyun’s clothes. “Go home and, I don’t know, eat a stuffed quail or something. C’mon, Baekhyun, let’s go.” They make to leave again, but Joonmyun blockades them off, arms thrown wide and bracing both sides of the alleyway. There’s no good reason for him to be doing this, but his common sense had taken a vacation the second he’d stepped into this alleyway, and met Jongdae. “What’s the harm in bringing me? It’s not like I’m asking you to share the alcohol— ” Joonmyun stops at Jongdae’s bemused expression. “What?” “You think we’re smuggling booze?” Jongdae chortles, eyes forming into crescents as he laughs. The corners of Joonmyun’s ears grow hot, and he shrugs sheepishly. “I mean… I heard something about bottles, and…” Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “Maybe we’re poor, but we’re not alcoholics. I mean, we drink, but Jongdae’s tolerance is shit.” “Shut up, Baek. You can barely get through two bottles.” Jongdae snaps back, but there’s a tinge of playfulness in his voice. “Well, that’s two more than you.” Laughing, Baekhyun moves just as Jongdae jabs an elbow at him, dodging the blow effortlessly. Joonmyun stands silently, feeling like an outsider looking in at two best friends. It hits him that he doesn’t really have a best friend, because everyone who’s ever gotten close to him only wanted something out of it for themselves. “I do owe you for getting me out of a night spent in jail, though, so I guess you can come along,” Jongdae suddenly says, snapping Joonmyun out of his thoughts. “Uh-, oh, thank you.” “You’ll have to keep up, though,” Baekhyun warns. xxx In athletics class, Joonmyun was a decent runner. Compared to Baekhyun and Jongdae, however, Joonmyun is a tortoise. Maybe even slower than a tortoise. Baekhyun turns out to be the faster of the two, and leads the way. However, Jongdae’s only a couple feet behind, while Joonmyun pants from at least twenty meters away. They run for what seems like an eternity, until Baekhyun skids to a sudden halt in front of the intersection where the alleyway opens up to a larger street corner. Joonmyun catches up thirty seconds after, leaning on the wall for support and gasping heavily. Jongdae and Baekhyun are walking around, looking for “bottles”. Tired, Joonmyun turns to rest his head on the wall, and startles when he notices that the wall is bright, neon green. He pulls his arm back and slowly, he steps away until his back hits the other wall, staring at the design. Fluorescent bubble letters decorate the drab gray walls, spelling out the words “CHEN” and “LIGHT”. The two words have been done in totally different styles — LIGHT in rounded, pastel colors; CHEN in defined, electric-green letters with clashing designs. Joonmyun’s jaw is slack. The concept of drawing on other’s property is so blatantly illegal, blatantly aggressive, blatantly beautiful. The museums that he’s been to so many times claim to have all the art forms known to man, and yet Joonmyun has never seen a single thing like this. “So, you found our art.” Jongdae says, clutching three bottles in his hand. They look like the bottles of hairspray that his mother occasionally used, but the nozzles are stained red and blue and green. Joonmyun brings a shaking finger up, pointing at the painting. He says nothing. “Go ahead, call it a crime.” Jongdae says, tilting his head. “I’m not denying it. It’s vandalism. Just say it.” “It’s-... It’s beautiful,” Joonmyun manages. Jongdae opens and closes his mouth, clearly taken aback. “You really think so?” Wordlessly, Joonmyun presses his finger onto the design, tracing around the letters, over the black outlines and crossing on top of the decorative splashes. “How did you… How did you do this?” Joonmyun asks, in awe. Uncomfortably, Jongdae scratches at the back of his neck. “You mean, you really don’t know what this is?” He shakes the bottle in his hand, and the ball inside clangs, making Joonmyun jump. “No, unless it’s colored hairspray…” Jongdae snorts. “Although Baekhyun does dye his hair a lot, this is not hair dye. It’s spray paint.” Jongdae sets two of the three bottles in his arms down, and then shakes one with blue stained around the edge. “Watch.” He shakes the bottle, and Joonmyun stares, transfixed, as a stream of seemingly blue air bursts out of the nozzle. It splatters onto the wall in a fuzzy line, and as Jongdae moves his arm, the air follows. Within seconds, a more simplified version of CHEN is scrawled onto the wall. Joonmyun begins to walk up to the wall, but Jongdae grabs his shoulder and tugs him back roughly. “Don’t,” he warns. “Fumes are still hanging around. I’d be fine, but your lungs aren’t used to this kind of stuff, and we wouldn’t want a rich kid to die on our watch.” “Fumes?” Joonmyun asks. “All I smell is the scent of hairspray.” Jongdae pauses, thinking. He taps his fingers on the nozzle of the spray can, before smiling and nodding in acknowledgement. “Alright, alright. Maybe your lungs are pretty used to fumes, living in a place with this much hairspray and perfume.” He laughs again, and rolls his shoulder, extending the bottle towards Joonmyun. “Here— ” Suddenly, Baekhyun comes back with two other bottles, and raises an eyebrow at them. “I’ve got all the paints, Jongdae. We should go before the cops bother us anymore,” he says. “Was I… interrupting anything?” Jongdae glares at him, and the hand with the bottle in it goes down, much to Joonmyun’s disappointment. “Nah. You’re right, we should go.” Jongdae stares at Joonmyun again, without any trace of the smile he had just a second ago. Baekhyun begins to run off, and Jongdae runs after him. “Hey, wait— ” Joonmyun calls, and Jongdae turns. Quickly, Joonmyun sprints to where Jongdae is standing. “Could you… Could you teach me how to do that, sometime?” Jongdae’s eyes widen, and he chews on his lip. Joonmyun breathes in shakily, crossing his fingers. Baekhyun’s voice carries over to them — “Yeah, Jongdae, hurry up!”, and Jongdae lurches. Joonmyun squeaks, trying to catch the potentially falling spray paints. None of them do, but Jongdae looks amused. His eyes soften, and he smiles at Joonmyun. “Okay,” he says quietly. “I’ll be here tomorrow... if you will.” Then, he turns around, and runs back to Baekhyun, leaving Joonmyun alone to walk back to his house. xxx That night, after calling a butler and getting a ride home, Joonmyun runs into his parents editing the guest list for tomorrow night’s gala. “...That absolute tramp had the audacity to insult my fashion line— Oh, hello, Joonmyun, dear.” Mrs. Kim wipes her mascara off carefully before wrapping her son into a hug. “How was it?” “You sure look happy,” his father remarks, and Joonmyun flushes. “What did you do?” His mother asks, clasping gloved fingers together and resting her head on her hands. “Was it fun?” “I- uh,” Joonmyun balks, realizing that his parents would definitely disapprove of Jongdae. “I- I was doing origami down at a rec center on Fifth.” “Yup, it carried onto the e-receipt portal when you used your card, ‘Myun.” His father says, scrolling through his phone. “The receptionist there really likes your newest line, Mom. She told me to tell you that she’s a fan, and has almost every piece.” His mother beams. “Aww, what a sweetheart. Next time you see her, tell her that I’d be happy to send her a preview for the new collection.” Joonmyun nods, only half-listening. The rest of him is preoccupied with thoughts of Jongdae, and he goes to bed that night with the boy from the Lower District in his mind. xxx It’s chilly again, when Joonmyun heads out to meet Jongdae. He’d used origami as an excuse for leaving, and the smile that his mouth had on her face made Joonmyun feel bad about lying. This time, when he’s focused on where he’s going, Joonmyun realizes that the place he’d met Jongdae and Baekhyun was the few streets that separated the Lower District and the Upper District. The air feels less clean already, and Joonmyun has to gulp a few times to get his lungs used to it. Still, by the time he’s at the alleyway, he can’t focus on anything else but the figure in the same ragged hoodie, shaking a bottle and drawing a new design on a blank expanse of wall. The graffiti from yesterday had already been painted over, but Jongdae’s wasting no time in making a new one. Jongdae stills, hearing Joonmyun’s footsteps. Slowly, he turns around, and faces Joonmyun. “Oh, hey. You actually showed up,” he says flippantly. “Wasn’t expecting that.” “Were you expecting me to not show up?” Joonmyun asks carefully. Jongdae blows a bubble with the gum in his mouth, bright pink against pale skin. “Yeah,” he says bluntly. “I wasn’t expecting for you to show up at all.” Suddenly, Jongdae picks up a bottle from the ground and holds it out to Joonmyun, just like he had yesterday. “You wanna try?” “I- I… I don’t know… I wouldn’t want to waste your paint.” Joonmyun says, staring wide-eyed at the dirty bottle. “Nah, it’s fine. I’m supposed to be teaching you, right? Plus, you’ve probably never done anything bad, which makes this all the more special.” Jongdae shakes the bottle at Joonmyun, gesturing for him to take it. “C’mon, just for fun.” He smiles. It’s bad, Joonmyun chides himself. Vandalism is bad and illegal, and his parents would definitely be disappointed in him if he did it. Also, Jongdae was from the Lower District, a place known for criminals and somewhere that Joonmyun should never be associated with. But the smile that Jongdae gives him is absolutely heart-stopping, and Joonmyun is entranced. Once again, Joonmyun’s head stops working, and he takes the bottle. “Okay,” Jongdae says, backing away. “Aim it at the wall, and then squeeze the nozzle. Don’t try writing anything yet, just focus on getting an even, straight line.” The trigger’s much easier to push than Joonmyun expects, and when the paint comes out, he startles a little, causing Jongdae to chuckle. However, he soon focuses on just getting the color out right, drawing a line on a blank expanse of wall. It’s kind of crooked, and the paint drips pretty badly. Still, Joonmyun thinks it’s okay for a first try. After getting more used to the feeling of having the paint spray out, Joonmyun realizes that he quite likes it. It’s liberating, and although illegal, there’s no guilt in his stomach. He steps back, admiring his work. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jongdae tilt his head, assessing the line. “Not bad,” Jongdae remarks, crossing his arms. “Just back off of the nozzle a little, and you’ll be good. Not a bad job at all, princess.” Joonmyun splutters at the nickname. “Princess?” he asks, offended. Shrugging, Jongdae shakes another bottle of paint. “You’re rich. You’re pretty. Your nails are fucking manicured.” “Excuse you,” Joonmyun huffs. “It’s called being hygenic, thank you very much. And none of your friends clean their nails?” And did Jongdae just call him pretty? Jongdae checks his own nails, laughing when he sees dirt under them. “I mean, Baekhyun does, but if he wasn’t such an asshole, he could practically be a male fairy.” Joonmyun frowns. “Isn’t Baekhyun one of your friends?” “Yeah, why?” “Then… Then why would you call him an asshole?” Jongdae shrugs again. “Because he is one.” Silence falls as Joonmyun tries to understand what Jongdae is saying. Nothing suggests that Jongdae’s a person who could be walked over, and it simply made no sense to Joonmyun for him to be friends with someone he considered to be an “asshole”. “But…” “Look, I call him an asshole because he is one. That doesn’t make me love him any less. He’s still my best friend, and the kid who knifed a guy to protect me.” At Joonmyun’s equally terrified and equally disgusted face, Jongdae bursts into laughter. “Nah,” he continues. “Baekhyun’s never knifed a guy. The Lower District’s not that bad. There’s fights, but everyone’s fine most of the time.” Not that bad. The Lower District’s not that bad? It’s a stark contrast from the things that Joonmyun’s heard about the Lower District from the people around him. It’s in an post-war state, was what his teachers had always said. According to them, thugs and gangs run the streets, and you could get your skull bashed in for looking at someone the wrong way. But here Jongdae stands, smiling and his hands jammed in his pockets, telling him that it isn’t that bad, after all. “Oh. That’s…” “Not what you expected?” Jongdae finishes, his voice slightly mocking. “I’m sure that they love to praise us, up here, eh?” The boy’s lips quirk downwards as he speaks, and his eyebrows furrow a little. Joonmyun turns the can in his hand over, not meeting Jongdae’s eyes. “Well… They say that it’s not pretty there.” “Whatever... Try drawing that line again.” Jongdae turns back to his own drawing, picking up a can of red paint. Joonmyun levels his own can at the wall again, and presses the nozzle. This time, he’s ready for the influx of paint, and the line turns out much smoother and straighter than the last. There’s still a few drips, but he’d taken Jongdae’s advice, and it had worked well. He twists to tell Jongdae, but the other boy is gone. On the wall where he had been painting, red paint reads: See you tomorrow, princess. xxx Monday after school, Joonmyun finishes his homework in a mad scramble, and barely says goodbye to his parents before slipping on his shoes and catching a taxi to the outskirts. Jongdae’s there before him, again. The boy’s switched bottles again, and a stunning likeness of the governor had been sprayed onto the blank wall in red, white, and black paint. “That’s… That’s amazing…” Joonmyun breathes, walking up behind him. Jongdae shakes his head, and sets the bottle down. “Hey,” Jongdae says, smiling. “This— how…” “Honestly, this is nothing. You should see some of the artwork that Baek and I have done at home, ‘specially at the back alleys behind the high school. I’d show you, but...” Jongdae trails off, staring at his feet. “But what?” Joonmyun asks, curious. “What do you think?” Jongdae says back. “You’re not kidding, right?” Sudden distaste for his social class bubbles up, and Joonmyun finds himself wanting to be from the Lower District. It’s so dangerous for him to be around Jongdae — Joonmyun’s wishing for ridiculous things and wanting to give up his birthright just for a boy he barely knows. “It’s only seven or so, I’ve got plenty of time, as long as I get home by twelve. My parents won’t care…” he pleads, and Jongdae sneaks a look down the alleyway. The graffiti artist thinks, chewing his lip again, before agreeing reluctantly. “I swear, you are the only person who can do this to me. Letting you come with us then, and letting you come with me now.” Jongdae sighs, but when he meets Joonmyun’s eyes, the corners of his lips quirk up. Joonmyun grins, and helps Jongdae pack up the spray bottles. They walk, shoulder-to-shoulder, an unlikely duo. “How do you do it?” Joonmyun asks, after they’ve walked for a few minutes. “Do what?” Joonmyun gestures at the bag of spray paints. “You’re… you’re so good at art… How do you do it?” It’s quiet as Jongdae thinks, and Joonmyun waits for him to answer. The other boy directs them to take a left, before finally opening his mouth. Joonmyun coughs. “It’s not… it’s less about me, and more about the art. I’m not making the art, the art’s just flowing through me. A lot of the time, people call graffiti a medium of art, but I think that we — the people making the art, I mean— I guess we’re the medium.” Jongdae cringes. “That sounded pretentious.” “So some people are just better… mediums?” Jongdae shakes his head. “I don’t think it works like that. It’s not… It’s just like, the more open your mind is, the easier it is to express yourself? Honestly, I think anyone could do exactly what I do, if not better.” Joonmyun shakes his head. “I can’t even make a paper crane properly,” he protests. “I couldn’t even follow basic origami instructions.” Jongdae stops, and a cloud of dust rises from where his shoes skidded in the dirt. It swirls up around them, turning the air brown. Suddenly, it’s hard to breathe. Joonmyun’s lungs are weighed down by the choking feeling of dust in the air, and he coughs a few times. Jongdae thumps him good-naturedly on the back, but Joonmyun thinks that just makes it worse. “No air purifiers here. You going to be okay?” Jongdae asks over Joonmyun’s hacking, who waves him off. “I’ll be fine. How- how far are we from the Lower District?” Jongdae grins. “We’re already here.” Slowly, he spreads his arms open, his smile also growing wider. “Welcome to the Lower District, princess.” xxx They make a pit stop at Jongdae’s house, a fifth-story apartment with peeling wallpaper and grimy floors. “You can’t go out like that,” Jongdae explains. “You’re lucky I live on the edge, or else you would have been jumped immediately.” “I thought you said that it wasn’t bad here!” Joonmyun squeaks. “Yeah, not for me. Your clothes practically reek of money. As a matter of fact, I should call your parents right now and collect ransom.” Jongdae snarks. Joonmyun’s heart stops. Was he wrong about Jongdae’s character? Is he going to get killed now? He freezes, and starts to panic on the inside. Jongdae starts laughing, doubling over and clutching his stomach. “My god, you’re easy to scare.” He wipes at his eyes, standing back up. “I’m not that mean, Joonmyun. “On a more serious note,” Jongdae continues, “You should probably be less trusting. I could have been a murderer. You never know.” Bitter about being tricked, Joonmyun huffs and sits down. “Are you seriously lecturing me about stranger safety?” Jongdae raises his hands in a well-you-never-know gesture, and then laughs again at the glare Joonmyun’s sending him. “Baekhyun’s size would fit you, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want drooling guys on your heel… Try mine.” Joonmyun gets smacked in the face with a pair of jeans and a raggedy sweater. He pulls them off of his face, frowning with distaste. “Couldn’t you just, you know, hand them to me?” he asks sourly, and Jongdae shakes his head. “Just change,” he says, and Joonmyun waits for him to leave. Jongdae doesn’t. “What are you waiting for? Are my clothes not high-enough quality for you?” Jongdae raises his eyebrows at Joonmyun, who flushes. “Aren’t you going to leave?” he blurts. Jongdae’s eyebrows go farther on his face. “This is my apartment!” Jongdae says indignantly. “I’m changing!” Jongdae’s mouth becomes an ‘o’ with understanding, and then he snorts in disbelief. “Fine, fine. I’ll go into the hallway, alright? Such a prude…” he mutters, walking out of the living room. The door shuts with a click. Joonmyun quickly slips out of his own sweater and slacks, and tugs Jongdae’s clothes on. They’re surprisingly comfortable for such low-quality clothes. The shoulders sag a bit, as Jongdae’s broader than him. Otherwise, the fit is fine. “Can I come back into my own apartment now?” Jongdae’s voice carries over from outside, and Joonmyun opens the door for him. “I can’t believe you kicked me out— whoa.” Jongdae stares at him, and Joonmyun shifts uncomfortably. “Do I look better?” he asks, tugging on the frayed hem of the sweater. Jongdae swallows, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah, you do.” he croaks. He clears his throat, and shuts his apartment door. “Let’s go to the high school, yeah?” As they go down the stairs (“Elevator’s broken,” Jongdae had said when Joonmyun pressed the button,) there’s a muffled giggle from downstairs, and a whole lot of shuffling. Jongdae groans, and rubs his face with his hand. “Of all the places…” he complains. Joonmyun looks at him in confusion. “Baekhyun’s home,” Jongdae explains, as if that made any sense. “With Chanyeol,” he adds, when Joonmyun only looks more confused. They get to the bottom of the last staircase, and Joonmyun sees two figures in the shadow of one of the staircases. Before he can turn to look at the more closely, Jongdae’s already grabbed his arm and dragged him out the door. “What-” he begins, and Jongdae rolls his eyes. “Baekhyun and Chanyeol have been on and off since last September. It’s the messiest, weirdest friends-with-benefits relationship I have ever had the misfortune of witnessing. I’d get the hell out of there, but unfortunately, I share an apartment with Baekhyun, and we only have one bedroom.” Joonmyun snickers at Jongdae’s annoyed expression. “So you must sleep on the couch a lot, huh,” Joonmyun teases. “Yeah. If only the apartment walls were thicker.” Jongdae glares in the general direction, as they walk further down the street. The high school is practically deserted on a weekend. Jongdae scales the brick wall in the back easily, and helps pull Joonmyun over it. They land on the asphalt below at the same time, and Joonmyun can’t suppress a smile. Jongdae wasn’t lying when he said that the ones behind the high school were better. They are so much better. Swirls of blue and green shot through with crimson make up a striking portrait of a wounded peacock on one wall, while another wall plays with shades of gray to show a nine-tailed fox seemingly made of smoke. There’s a few places decorated with nothing but layered paint, and the drips are masterfully done to form the shapes of two dancers. Joonmyun is absolutely entranced as he walks through the maze of walls, each one covered in a beautiful painting. There’s people, animals, monsters — Joonmyun can’t even count them. “How long did this take you?” he asks, stopping in front of a beautiful picture of a mother and her daughter. “Three days,” Jongdae says, from behind Joonmyun. “Why don’t we have anything like this in the Upper District?” Joonmyun wonders aloud, tracing the dark black lines forming the nose and upper lip of the mother’s face. “How come my place doesn’t have any of this? It’s beautiful!” Confused, he turns to Jongdae. Jongdae raises an eyebrow. “It’s beautiful, but still vandalism. Would police let people randomly go around vandalizing things in the Upper District?” he asks. “But- But… Maybe they could hang it up in a museum.” Joonmyun suggests without thinking, and Jongdae’s face clouds. “That takes away the whole point of it! Art’s not always perfect little paintings in perfect little frames; people aren’t either!” Jongdae snaps, and Joonmyun falls silent. “Sorry, it’s not your fault,” Jongdae says, a few minutes after. “Want to head back?” They make their way back to Jongdae’s apartment, but in front of Jongdae’s door, he blocks Joonmyun from entering. Before he can ask, Jongdae explains apologetically: “Baekhyun and Chanyeol are probably in there, and that’s not something you want to see.” Joonmyun waits outside patiently while Jongdae goes back in to grab his clothes. He passes the time by playing with the frayed hem of Jongdae’s sweater. The door opens, and Joonmyun giggles at Jongdae’s disgusted expression. The black-haired boy hands Joonmyun his clothes, and then obediently goes to stand at the end of the hallway, both watching out for other people and giving Joonmyun some privacy. When he slips his button-down and pants on again, the fabric is cold against his skin, and he can’t help but shudder. “Let’s head back, okay? It’s kinda late.” Jongdae holds the door open for Joonmyun graciously, and he smiles. It is late by the time they’re at the outskirts of the Upper District again. Still, Joonmyun doesn’t want to leave. “Bye,” he says reluctantly. “Thank you so much for today.” Jongdae grins, jamming his hands into his pockets once more. “My pleasure, princess.” They sit in comfortable silence, neither wanting to go home. Suddenly, Joonmyun has the crazy urge to kiss Jongdae. He bounds forwards, and gently presses his lips against Jongdae’s. Joonmyun backs up almost immediately, cheeks flaming, but instead of being shocked, Jongdae kisses him back, and then grins. “You know, the door to the hallway is reflective,” he says, laughing, and then he turns around and runs. And just like that, Jongdae’s gone, and Joonmyun’s left alone in the alleyway. As Joonmyun walks home, something falls out of his pocket, onto the street. He stoops over to pick it up. It’s a perfectly folded paper crane. Curiously, Joonmyun begins to unfold it. It’s folded in a way totally different from what Yeri had shown him, but looked even better than Yeri’s. He unfolds the last crease, and is left with a ivory cream piece of paper, with bright red words on it. Sometimes, you have to break the rules, eh? See you again, princess. ♥ Joonmyun smiles all the way home.