“You’re making me leave?” Luhan demanded. “After living almost my whole life here you suddenly just tell me I have to go?”

                “Don’t be silly, Luhan,” Xue scolded. “You’ve known for ages that you’d have to leave sooner or later. Everyone leaves.”

                “Well, obviously you didn’t,” Luhan retorted, turning his back to her. “You’re old and you’re still here.”

                “I came here. I left my home and I came here,” she replied, ignoring Luhan’s rude comment.

                “Why would anyone come to this dump?” Luhan said under his breath, but Xue heard him anyway.

                “Luhan,” she said gingerly, sitting down next to him, putting her hand gently on his shoulder. “I know you don’t want to leave. But you’ve known that this was going to happen for a while. All the kids here leave.”

                “Why can’t I be the one who stays?” he asked quietly. “Can’t I just stay here and become like you? I could be a good caretaker, don’t you think?”

                Xue smiled understandingly, but Luhan noticed a slight shake of her head.

                “Luhan, you have a lot to learn before you can become a caretaker. Listen, you’re away for four years. If you really hate it after four years, you can come back. I promise I’ll be here for you if you do.”

                “Keep my room for me,” he sighed. “I’ll be coming back.”

                “I wouldn’t be so sure,” she laughed, standing up. “Nobody’s ever come back.”

                “I bet they all died,” Luhan replied bitterly, crossing his arms again. Xue chuckled.

                “Even Mi sent a letter. Do you remember how reluctant he was to leave? He lives in the fashion capital of the world now. He loves it. Luhan, you’ll find the place for you. And you’ll want to stay there, I’m sure of it. I’m going to go give the toddlers lunch now. Start packing; you leave tomorrow morning.”

                “But—” Luhan began, but Xue only smiled and left the room. Luhan sighed. He didn’t want to leave, even though most of his friends were already gone. He didn’t know where he would go, what he would do when he got there, or how he would find out anything about anything ever. His mind was a mess, but he knew that he’d be punished if he didn’t leave by the next afternoon, and he was certain that that punishment would be forced exile from the house.

                He walked back into his room. It was a tiny room, not much bigger than a closet, and it had space for his bed, a small dresser, and a chair. He couldn’t help but love it anyway. The walls were a light yellow that seemed never to fade, and his bed was outfitted in pale blue sheets. He had a pile of books stacked neatly next to his bed, all of which he’d read multiple times. There was a thistle in a small vase on top of his cherry dresser that Mingming had put there only a few days before, before Luhan had chased her out.

                He supposed it could be called an orphanage. It was true that they were all orphans, but the difference was that there was no intention of them ever being adopted. Luhan himself had been there since he was eight, which was probably the reason he was so sharp with the others. He, unlike most of the kids there, remembered his parents and the life he’d had with them. He’d been a spoiled only child whose life changed drastically when he moved to the house after the accident. After that, he became what the caretakers would call “introverted” and “independent,” which Luhan knew were just nice words for “egocentric” and “selfish.” It wasn’t his fault for wanting to maintain the life he’d had before moving to the house, but even after ten years, he still had the same prickly personality he’d always had.

                Among the kids at the house, it was a well known fact that they were all a little off. They learned early on that having “gifts” (as the caretakers called their freakish abilities) was not something every child was cursed with. Some people’s gifts were alright; Yixing could heal people, Wufan could fly. But others had gifts that nobody would want to have. Zitao messed with time. Lightning was Chen’s gift. Luhan himself was burdened with the power of telekinesis, which sounded alright, but wasn’t. The problem was that no matter how much they’d been taught, none of them could really control their gifts. The gift seemed to be almost a separate entity from the person, as if the person was just a vase for the bouquet of thorns that was the gift.

                Kind of like the thistle.

                He picked it up and threw it out the window. Mingming should have known not to come into Luhan’s room. He sighed as he sat down on his bed. He didn’t own much; just enough to fit into maybe one or two suitcases, so packing his belongings wouldn’t be an issue. Packing up his emotions, on the other hand, was going to be difficult.

                No, he wasn’t friends with the others. They’d never known parents or a good life. They didn’t understand the hole in Luhan’s heart.

                But it was the fact that now that the house was all he knew, it would change again and another part of his heart would be ripped out. He’d only be half of a person.

                It was the reason Luhan didn’t understand why they had to leave. Wouldn’t causing emotional instability further destabilize their gifts? It seemed like that’s something that would happen.

                Although, then again, most of the kids there weren’t as emotionally unstable as Luhan knew he was. It wasn’t a coincidence that they were all parentless. The gifts had a way of orphaning the children. Usually kids with gifts were given up by their parents at a young age, which was the least painful way of becoming one of the residents. If that didn’t happen, some strange accident would occur, usually before the child was three, killing both parents or somehow causing the parents to have to give up their child. That was the second way.

                The last way was the most painful: the child would kill their own parents. Usually this only happened when the child was older, if both previous methods had failed.

                It was exactly what had happened to Luhan. At eight years old, he was just getting the hang of using his power, and suddenly, in the heat of the summer afternoon, he got dizzy. He remembered furniture flying about, half-conscious that he was controlling it, but unable to stop. He finally fainted after seeing the dining room credenza flying across his field of vision, and he awoke to his home in disarray.

                He’d swept everything else from his mind. He couldn’t remember anything else about the day, but he knew that his parents’ deaths were his fault. And as much as the caretakers reassured him that it wasn’t his fault and that he was one of the lucky ones to have spent so much time with his parents, he could never shake the feeling of guilt that plagued him.

                He looked up at the door as Mingming peered through.

                “Luhan,” she said quietly, “I hear you’re leaving tomorrow.”

                “Yeah,” he replied bluntly. “You’ll have to stalk someone else.”

                “I’m going to miss you,” she sighed, walking in.

                “Hey, did I say you could come in? Did I?” Luhan snapped, standing up and attempting to push her out of the room. “Go away, Mingming.”

                “Where are you going to go?” she asked as Luhan pushed her back through the door.

                “I don’t know,” he said. “I have no clue.”

                “Do you know what you’re going to do?” she persisted.

                “I don’t know,” he repeated. “Mingming—”

                “You should cook!” she cried as Luhan tried to force the door closed. “You’re good at cooking. You should cook.”

                “That’s stupid,” he said, finally managing to shut the door. He heard Mingming sigh and listened to her retreating footsteps. He turned and flopped back down on his bed, closing his eyes.

                 He did like to cook, yes. But that was no way to live. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how few qualifications he had to do anything. He’d probably end up as a street cleaner at this rate.

                He had to go see Kai. He stood up and opened his door slowly, to make sure Mingming wasn’t still there, and then raced up the spiral staircase to the tower.

                Kai was, according to everyone’s standards, an expert at this “leaving” thing. Kai himself had left his house to come to theirs.

                “You leave to find your place,” Kai explained simply, when the others asked him, “and mine’s here.”

                He was three years younger than Luhan, yet he had appeared there (yes, he literally appeared, since his gift was teleportation) a year earlier, at the young age of fourteen.

                It would have been a lie to say that Luhan had never had at least a tiny crush on Kai. Kai was gorgeous, tan and muscular but not bulky, and the way his dark hair draped over his dark eyes was attractive to say the least. Luhan had gone up to the tower on multiple occasions to see Kai.

                The crush had worn off fast. Kai wasn’t interesting past the first few times Luhan talked to him, and the fact that he was more often outside the house than he was inside made it hard to get to know him better. Kai was boring, and Luhan hated boredom more than anything else, because it allowed him to dwell on things he should never dwell on.

                But, since Kai was the expert, Luhan was going to see him. Boring or not, he always had advice about where people should go to “find their place.”

                Luhan reached the top of the tower and found Kai sitting in the map room. Kai turned around as he heard Luhan approaching.

                “Ready?” he asked, and Luhan shook his head.

                “I need to decide where,” Luhan sighed resignedly. “I need help.”

                “Questionnaire time,” Kai replied, pulling out a notebook and flipping through a few pages. “Okay…skills?”

                “What?” Luhan asked.

                “What are your skills?”

                “Uh…cooking? Singing, I guess, dancing possibly.” He looked at Kai scribbling down notes, but Kai wouldn’t let him see what he was writing. “I’m okay at history.”

                “Okay then,” Kai continued, “mountains or beach?”

                “Both,” Luhan blurted out. Kai gave him a look that said choose, so Luhan reluctantly went with mountains.

                “Lots of people or not?” Kai inquired.

                “Doesn’t matter,” Luhan shrugged.

                “Okay then, here,” Kai said, showing him a list. It had the names of three different cities on it. Luhan had heard of all three, but only in passing. And he knew they were all far away.

                “So…I choose?” Luhan wondered, and Kai nodded. “Can you tell me anything about any of these?”

                “Okay,” Kai sighed. “All three are in Acelan. This one is the furthest, Yossa. It’s a seaside city, but it has a lot of entertainment business so you could try your hand at singing or dancing. This one, Scogee, is closer, and it’s a smaller, mountain town. It’s quiet, but the library there is huge and gets a lot of traffic. It’s famous for its historical archives. The last one, Duven, is Acelan's capital. It's a seaside city too, but it’s on a hill, so I guess it’s kind of mountain as well. And it’s famous for musical theater and dumplings.”

                “Dumplings?” Luhan asked, and Kai nodded.

                “It’s also about the same distance away as the second one. Got a choice?”

                “I guess Duven,” Luhan said slowly. He felt wrong making such a hasty decision, but it had to be made.

                “Tell me when you’re ready to go,” Kai said. “I’ll be waiting.” Luhan heaved a great sigh.

                “I’ll never be ready.”

                “In that case, go say goodbye to everyone now. Are you packed? It’s better if you leave sooner than later,” Kai said, and Luhan started to panic.

                “What? No, I can’t leave yet! Tomorrow! T-tomorrow we said I’d leave, not—”

                “And this is why it’s better if you leave now,” Kai shrugged. “I’m telling you. It’s not like you’ll lose all contact. You can write, you know.”

                “I know, but…” Luhan mumbled.

                “You have to give it up, Luhan. I’m happier here. I’ve found my place. I’ve refined my gift. You will too, I promise. Now go say goodbye before your already cold feet get even colder. Go!”

                Luhan stumbled down the stairs to find Xue. He didn’t really need to say goodbye to anyone else. She was in the dining hall, feeding the toddlers. Upon seeing the children, running rampant and yelling and laughing, Luhan knew it was time for him to leave. He wasn’t like them; he was not young, not rowdy, and not happy.

                “Oh, Luhan!” Xue said. “What’s up?”

                “I’m leaving now,” Luhan said slowly. “Kai says it’s best.” Xue looked surprised and handed the spoon to the toddler she was feeding.

                “Now?” she asked. “Are you packed? Do you have money? Do you know where you’re going? Do you have any plans at all?”

                “I’ll figure everything out,” Luhan said. Xue smiled proudly.

                “Luhan, you’re going to do great out there. I’m really going to miss you. You absolutely have to write to me, alright?”

                “I will.”

                “Have you said goodbye to Mingming? She’s going to be heartbroken if you don’t.” Xue asked, but Luhan shook his head.

                “It’s probably better if I don’t,” he sighed. “I don’t think she’d let me leave.”

                “You’re probably right about that,” Xue laughed. She pulled Luhan into a hug, momentarily ignoring the child pulling on the hem of her skirt. “You be careful out there, Luhan. If you ever need anything, just write.”

                “I will,” Luhan replied. “Goodbye, Xue. And…well, thanks for everything.”

                “Goodbye, Luhan,” she smiled, her eyes watering. As a child, and even until that moment, he’d never understood why she cried every time someone left. He always thought she should have gotten used to it after the first couple. But suddenly, as his own eyes began to tear up, he finally understood. Xue really did love them.

                He walked back up the stairs to the tower, knowing that he shouldn’t turn back or, like Kai had said, his cold feet would become even colder.

                “Now are you ready?” Kai asked as Luhan’s head appeared through the doorway.

                “As ready as I’ll ever be,” Luhan sighed.

                “Great. So, I’ll be landing you here,” Kai said, pointing at the map. It looked like Luhan would be landing in an alley.

                “Is that safe?” Luhan asked, and Kai nodded and continued.

                “This is the street you’ll probably want to look at for jobs,” Kai informed him, “and there are cheap hotels if you can’t find somewhere to live right away.”

                “I’m not sure about this, Kai,” Luhan said, shifting his weight from one foot to the next.

                “Too bad. Stand there and close your eyes.” Luhan did as he was told, and Kai took his hand. “Don’t open your eyes until you can’t feel my hand anymore. Goodbye, Luhan.”

                “Goodbye,” Luhan breathed, and Kai’s grip slipped from his hand as he felt a whirlwind sensation. He didn’t dare open his eyes, but he couldn’t feel Kai’s warm fingers anymore. He held back the tears stinging at his eyelids and didn’t open them until he felt that the tears were gone.

                And when he did open them, it was a sight to behold.