It is our imperfections that, in the end, make us perfect.

Yixing was tugged from his daydream by tentative notes floating through the air. He lifted his head from the window, blinking as the rays of sunlight made patches glow on his face. The tentative notes slowly evolved into a practiced, well loved tune, and Yixing smiled as he turned to face the piano in the other corner of the room.

It was sleek; rich wood polished to a high shine and exemplary gilded detail. It was gorgeous, a true family heirloom. But what he loved even more was the tall, graceful specimen seated behind it.

Yixing slipped from his place by the picture window and stood behind Wu Fan. He tapped the blond’s right shoulder blade twice in quick succession - it was their personal code, a sort of nonverbal hey baby, it’s me. Wu Fan’s fingers did not falter as he played, but Yixing saw a warm smile curl the corner of his lips.

When the melody ended, Wu Fan’s hands slid from the keys to pat the space on the bench beside him.

“Did you want to play with me?”

“Not today,” Yixing answered, although he did slide onto the mahogany seat all the same. He pressed his thigh against Wu Fan’s. “I just want to listen.”

Wu Fan tilted his head to place a kiss to Yixing’s cheek (his aim was steadily improving), and flexed his fingers to begin a new song.

Yixing watched him in awed silence. He watched his long, flawless hands dance over the ebony and ivory. He watched the subtle muscles in his toned arms, watched the way Wu Fan’s whole body moved when he played. He even watched Wu Fan’s eyes, the distant orbs that looked out above the piano into the living room yet rendered vast nothingness. Yixing smiled sadly.

Wu Fan usually kept his eyes closed most of the time, just out of habit. When he had first gone blind five years ago, he’d received many a torturous comment from his peers about how “creepy” his unseeing eyes looked. He’d clenched them shut and kept them that way whenever he knew he wasn’t alone.

Then he met Yixing three years later.

His companion had begged him to open his eyes on the first day they met. “I’m blind, you know. My eyes are ugly, unfocused.”  Wu Fan had said. “I bet they aren’t,” Yixing had replied. “Let me see them.”

With his heart racing and mind racing even faster, Wu Fan had tentatively opened his eyelids to the younger. He had braced himself for the onslaught of jeers, or even a stifled gasp, but the words that met his ears were, “They’re beautiful. Your emotion lies in your eyes, did you know? Keep your eyes open around me. I don’t want you to hide your emotions.”

It was comments like those that made Wu Fan fall deeply in love with Yixing.

“Xing?” Wu Fan said over the music. The younger just hummed and leaned in against Wu Fan’s shoulder. The elder could feel Yixing’s soft breath against his neck, the tickle of hair along his skin, and the overwhelming frustration that came with his condition caused his mind to cloud and his fingers to trip over themselves. Wu Fan hissed and slammed his hands to the keys; producing a disgruntled cluster of dissonant notes. “I wish I knew what you looked like.”

“You do.” Yixing said, smiling and running his fingers through Wu Fan’s hair. “Your hands know what I look like. And your heart does, too.”

“It’s not the same. I want to see the way the sun reflects in your hair. I want to see how many shades of brown I can find in your eyes.” A sigh. “Damn it, Yixing, I just want to see.”

“But you can feel.” The younger whispered. “That’s what’s most important, Wu Fan. Feeling is a hundred times more important than seeing, and you’re better at feeling than anyone…

“Why do you think you’re so good at playing the piano? You don’t need to see. Your hearing is amazing; you can pick up on the most subtle tone differences. Your hands move so beautifully, so easily, because you know how each key is supposed to feel.” Wu Fan could hear the loving edge hiding in Yixing’s voice, and couldn’t help but crack a smile.

The younger linked his fingers into the spaces between Wu Fan’s and squeezed. “You can feel my love, too, can’t you?” Yixing lifted their hands and rested them on his chest. His heart thumped steadily beneath Wu Fan’s fingers, and the latter’s smile widened.

“I can, Yixing.”

Keeping one hand against his lover’s chest, he turned to face Yixing and raised the other to frame his face. Wu Fan ran his finger pads up the younger’s jaw line, over his temple, his eyebrows, down his perfectly sculpted nose and rested them on Yixing’s plump, parted lips. Wu Fan hoped that the image he had created in his mind did justice to his Yixing. He soon replaced his fingers with his own lips, and they kissed with all the passion they could muster.

They pulled apart only to breathe, and Wu Fan trailed his nose along Yixing’s cheek until he found his ear, where he whispered,

“Thank you.”