thank you, daybreak is here

Genre: Family

Rating: All ages

Word Count: 1213

Step, step, turn, chassé, leap, pirouette.

Repeat.

Step, step, tu-

"Zhang Yixing, what do you think you're doing? You're going to break the vase!" His mother scolded, rushing into the living room and gathering the blue and white porcelain vase into her arms.

"I'm practicing my dance," Yixing replied seriously.

"For heaven's sake, don't do it in the living room!" She said exasperately, stowing the vase on a high shelf, well away from her six-year-old son.

"But mommy, mommy, look! Step, step, turn, this is called a chassé, a leap, and then, ta-dah! A pirouette," Yixing said proudly, showing his mother the routine he had just made up.

With a gentle smile, his mother clapped for him and ruffled his hair, telling him to go practice in the front yard before he breaks something.

"Okay!" He exclaimed happily, chasséing out the front door, nearly knocking over the expensive shoji lamp his father bought a few months ago.

With a giggle and a quiet whoops, he turned the doorknob with a flourish and jumped down the steps, skipping into the yard.

"Quite an energetic kid, isn't he?"

Yixing's mother looked back to see her husband standing behind her, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

"Just like his father," she teased playfully.

He chuckled and put his arm around her.

"He'll be a great dancer when he grows up," he said confidentally, a small wisp of pride weaving in between his words.

"I thought you wanted him to be a singer."

"He can be both."

"It's going to be a hard road. I'm afraid he can't take it, with his condi—"

"My son won't let a stupid disease stand in the way of his dreams. If he likes singing and dancing, he'll be able to overcome all the obstacles thrown at him. Besides, I'll be there for him, right?"

"I don't want to," Yixing said stubbornly, turning his back towards his father.

"Yixing! If you don't go through this surgery, you won't be able to sing anymore!" His father argued, trying to reason with his teenage son.

"Well then, too bad. Who cares about stupid singing?"

As soon as the words left Yixing's mouth, he wished he could take them back. Even though he couldn't see his father's face, he could almost imagine his hurt expression.

His betrayed expression.

His disappointed expression.

Yixing never wanted his father to be disappointed in him.

He knew his father loved singing, loved it so much that he couldn't give it up, even when his parents threatened to disown him. And they did. The seventeen-year-old him had to live on his own with no contacts whatsoever and pursue a seemingly impossible dream.

He had been delighted when he found out that his son had the same passion as him, and vowed that he would do anything to fulfill the musical dream for his son.

Yixing couldn't blame his father for feeling hurt, for feeling betrayed, for feeling disappointed.

"Dad, I'm so—"

"No, no, it's okay," his father said, his voice low and so light that Yixing felt afraid. "I-it was my fault. I shouldn't have forced music on you. You're right, we don't have to go through this surgery."

His father gave him a shaky smile before standing up, mumbling something about talking to the doctor and immediately left the hospital room.

Yixing could only lay back onto his pillow and count the bumps in the ceiling, feeling a million apologies filling his soul.

"Are you sure you want to go through this? Normally, removing your tonsils wouldn't be a big problem, but your hemophilia makes the surgery all the more dangerous," his doctor, Mr. Wu, said grimly.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Yixing replied, gulping back his fears and worries. "I-I'll go through the surgery."

"Why did you make him go through it? Look at our son now! I—Do you care more about music than our son?"

Yixing could hear his mother's shouting from outside the hospital bed, even in his half-conscious state.

"I-I... He.. He agreed to it—I thought it was for the better."

Yixing's heart broke at his father's broken voice. His hushed whispers were even louder than his mother's screams, resounding in his mind again and again. He felt tears prick at his eyes just as the door slid open.

"Yixing? Are you awake?" His father tentatively called.

"Oh my god, Yixing, my son, you're awake!"

His mother immediately rushed to his side and grabbed his hand, sobbing tears of relief and gratitude. Yixing smiled weakly at his mother before shifting his eyes to his father, who was standing at the doorway, eyes trained to his son, but not moving any closer.

"D-dad," Yixing beckoned weakly.

His mother wiped her tears hastily before standing up and pulling her husband over.

"I'll leave you two alone, then."

"Dad—"

"I'm sorry, Yixing," his dad interrupted. "For all the pain you had to go through these few weeks. I'm so sorry."

His voice broke at the last word, efficiently dragging Yixing back from the days of vomiting blood.

"I-I didn't know it was going to be so bad—I was so happy when you finally agreed—I'm sorry, I just didn't know," his father continued, voice hoarse and hysterical.

Yixing laid in bed silently, watching his father's eyes dart over his son's weak body desperately, not knowing what to say.

"—the shoes look really cool," Yixing gushed at the dinner table. "Zijian's parents just bought him a pair, and apparently, they're really good for running too."

His mother merely laughed at his enthusiastic report and told him to stop waving his chopsticks around, before he pokes out someone's eye.

His father quietly picked at his rice before asking, "So, do you want them?"

Yixing stopped midbite to stared at his father. "Well, of course, but—

"Okay, then I'l buy them for you."

Yixing blinked before nodding. "Thank you."

"Your welcome," his father replied in the same polite tone.

His mother rolled her eyes at the two.

"Yixing, do you want to go on a walk with me?"

Yixing looked up from the large amounts of summer homework he had to do and saw his father standing at the door to his room.

"Bu—"

"It's just for a little while," his father insisted.

Surprised that his father was willingly letting him leave his homework, Yixing nodded and went to lace up the new shoes his father had bought him.

The walk was quiet, just a small stroll at the neighborhood park. A faint sound of guitar strings could be heard over the trickling water of the small stream. An old man was plucking away on his old acoustic guitar at a nearby bench.

Yixing and his father both stopped to admire the music, clapping and receiving a warm smile after the song ended.

"You know dad, I think you're right," Yixing said suddenly, looking up at the sky and stuffing his hands in his hoodie pocket.

"Hmm?"

Yixing laughed and looked at his father, a cheeky smile gracing his lips. "I would've been sad if I couldn't sing anymore. I guess it's really 'like father, like son.'"

Guilt, overpriced sneakers, and summer homework were all washed away by an embrace full of gratitude, love, and dreams.