04 July 2012 @ 12:05 am

Title: Auburn

Author: fuckris

Rating: PG-13

Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

Pairing: Kris/Lu Han

Word Count: 1,450

Summary: Lu Han wonders if Wu Fan thinks of him too.

A/N: This is a light fic companion to Payphone. And please note that this happens long before Wu Fan phones Lu Han as told in Payphone. // This is unbeta-ed, and was made in a bare fifteen minutes so :-(

Note: Two timelines. There’s going to be a flashback in the story, it’s written in past tense. All outside that is written in present tense.


 “Lu Han-ge.”

Lu Han snaps back from his somewhat trance state as he sees a hand waving right in front of his face. “O-oh, Zi Tao.”

The man in front of him, who was addressed as Zi Tao, forms his lips into a pout. A very cute pout, if Lu Han may add. He feels bad for spacing out before.

“You’re not listening to me”, Zi Tao retorts. Lu Han throws him an apologetic look as he sees the man’s face crinklng into an uglier (but still cute) pout.

“I’m sorry”, Lu Han says, almost automatic. “I just—”

“I wanted to correct you. You didn’t sing this verse right”, Zi Tao blatantly ignores him and points to a line on a crumpled piece of paper in his hands. “The members complained that you were a bit off pitch, and yeah, yeah you were, and it should be more—Lu Han oh my goodness just listen to me.”

Lu Han immediately finds himself spacing out again, staring blankly at the monotonous ceiling until Zi Tao hits him on his arm, a bit pissed. The same blank stare makes its way to meet with Zi Tao’s exasperated gaze. Lu Han doesn’t even have the thought to retort this time.

“Lu.” Zi Tao doesn’t get why his best friend ignores him for more than ten seconds, which is odd because he’s Zi Tao and his friend is Lu Han and a Lu Han never lets a Zi Tao indulge in more than a ten-second peace. And by that, Zi Tao immediately realizes something is wrong.

“…What happened?” He approaches slowly this time, and Lu Han lifts his face up at him, sighing all too audibly. “Nothing, Tao—”, he stops, opening his mouth, and then closing it again. He lets out a crude sigh. “—Nothing.”

Zi Tao pouts, unsatisfied. He prefers a clingy and a talkative Lu Han than an unresponsive and silent one.

He hears another long sigh escaping from his honey-locked fellow, and his mind screams that’s it, that’s it Lu Han stop hiding anything from me.

One last try. “Latte?”

This never fails.

Lu Han and Zi Tao walk out of the old-styled building—sounds of metal clinking with metal echoing lightly in the air as Zi Tao pulls the door open, causing the bell hung above it to ring. He watches Lu Han sipping his latte from the brim of his paper cup, face still forlorn.

It’s weird, Zi Tao thinks. It’s weird how Lu Han doesn’t seem to mind as the yellowing autumn leaves practically slaps him in the face, the breeze as if taunting him to try and stay awake. It’s really weird, because the usual Lu Han used to exasperatedly wave his hand back and forth to swat the leaves away, even screaming Dude you wanna fight?! to them once.

Lu Han, to Zi Tao, is always like a little bird which cannot stop chirping.

When he stops, something’s wrong.

When he remains silent, something’s definitely wrong.

A strong gush of wind blows between the two of them, and Lu Han looks too boneless to even fix the position of his almost-blown-away shawl. Zi Tao tsks, and does it for him instead.

“You know, Lu? You’re like a baby sometimes”, he speaks, wrapping the warm, baby-blue-colored cloth neatly around Lu Han’s neck, tucking the sides of it gently. “I don’t get how you’re even older than me.”

Lu Han’s steps come into a halt after that sentence. He freezes on his spot.

“Wu Fan”, he mumbles.

Zi Tao cocks an eyebrow at the unfamiliar name. “Excuse me?”

“Wu Fan”, Lu Han insists, looking straight at Tao’s jet-black eyes this time. Zi Tao swears he can see moisture forming in the older’s eyes. “That’s what Wu Fan used to say.”


Lu Han leaves a dumbfounded Zi Tao as he stares blankly at the leaves—leaves falling freely from the auburn-colored trees, descending slowly in motion with gravity. He unconsciously takes a step forward.

It pains him—it pains him too much to have that exact moment playing in an unwanted rewind inside his head.

Lu Han remembers all too clearly—soft chuckles, matching earmuffs, intertwined fingers. Café latte, Americano, Wu Fan.

Lu Han remembers that one particular bench him and Wu Fan used to sit on.

“This is amazing”, Lu Han remembers whispering, watching the auburn-colored leaves being blown away by the cold, autumn breeze.

Lu Han remembers Wu Fan’s breathy chuckle. “I know”, he said back then.

“You know”, Lu Han said in reply, and he can still recall his cheeky smile from back then, “In dramas, this is actually the perfect timing for a person to take his partner’s hand.”

Wu Fan looked away from the trees, his brown orbs meeting Lu Han’s hazelnut ones. Lu Han remembers a slight twinkle of amusement in Wu Fan’s eyes as he took Lu Han’s hand and breathed out an excited, “Okay.”

“And lace their fingers together”, Lu Han continued, smiling.

He remembers that it was suddenly hard to breathe when Wu Fan’s lanky fingers slip past his slender ones, filling the gaps perfectly and closing it with a firm and tender grasp.

Lu Han wondered if God had set all this in the first place. He wonders if Wu Fan is really meant for him.

A Lu Han is incomplete without an Wu Fan filling all the gaps between his fingers.

Lu Han couldn’t even recognize his own voice as he squeaked out excitedly. “And then the person will lean closer…”

Wu Fan chuckled, putting his paper cup of Americano he’d been holding onto aside, drawing a few inches closer.

Lu Han smiled at the little act. An Wu Fan never abandons his Americano if it’s not for something important.

And being acknowledged as something important to Wu Fan made Lu Han feel that he actually has a purpose to continue to live.

“And closer…”, Lu Han trailed off, part because of he didn’t know what to say next, and part because it was getting hard to breathe as Wu Fan’s face was less than a decimeter from his.

Lu Han remembers trying not to seem too obvious when he closed his eyes and pouted his lips a bit, waiting for Wu Fan’s pliant pair to greet his own.

But what he got was a soft knock on the forehead instead. He recalls Wu Fan chuckling when blotches of red emerged on his cheeks, showing embarrassment. “Too obvious”, Wu Fan laughed out.

He stood up abruptly then, patting Lu Han on the head. “I have to go.”

Lu Han threw him a curious look. “My essay”, Wu Fan added when he noticed.

“Cockblock”, Lu Han muttered, his lips a bit more pouty. “I swear I’m going to burn your papers—they keep you away from me.”

Lu Han remembers Wu Fan’s hearty laugh when he said that, and the warm, tingling feeling when Wu Fan ran his fingers through his hair that sent shivers down his spine.

Oh, how he misses those touches.

“I’ll get it done soon”, Wu Fan promised, a little smile managed to form on his lips. “Then no more cockblock for us.”

No more cockblock for us, Lu Han thinks, as he pushes aside the thought of how far Vancouver is from Beijing. No more cockblock for us, Lu Han thinks, as he pushes aside the thought of how empty he feels when he wakes up every morning. Breakfasts are too sour, teas are too bitter, as though Wu Fan’s absence takes away all his appetites as well.

Days are never the same without Wu Fan. No sweet kisses of good morning, and no soft kisses of good night.

Lu Han likes to pretend. He likes to pretend that he will see Wu Fan when he flutters his eyes open in the morning, pretend to hear the sound of sizzling omelettes in the kitchen like what Wu Fan used to make, pretend that he’s actually there, sitting across the dining table, eating and gulping down his favorite Americano.

Lu Han makes a cup of Americano every morning, and always ends up dumping it into the sink later.

Eight more months, he thinks. Eight more months, of acerbic beverages and lousy appetite. Eight more months, of quiet mornings and silent midnights. Eight more months, of pretending.

Eight more months. Lu Han isn’t sure how he’s going to cope with that.

He walks blankly towards the descending leaves, ignoring Zi Tao’s cries of his name, but he pretends—he pretends that he can see Wu Fan, his Wu Fan, smiling at him in the midst of the dancing leaves.

He pretends.

A/N 1: Remember when Lu Han majored in Applied Music? Yep. Made him join in a band here lol. With Zi Tao, why of course because I need to swoop my bias in so ninja-ly like that.
A/N 2: Don't mind the grammar and mixed-up tenses please because this was made in fifteen minutes and I was hungry.
A/N 3: Please don't hate me ; u ;

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