Jongdae's pov

 

I am in my room, sitting on the floor, alone. I’ve done packing my stuffs, lazily looking at my suitcase and backpack, until I turn my glance to the empty space in front of me. The corner is what used to be mine. The chair I usually sat on when studying Mandarin. The desk where I put my books and photo frames well organized. My bed where I spent my anxious nights before, when I was supposed to rest but ended up chatting with my roommate instead.

 

I let out a deep sigh. Tomorrow, I have to leave all these things behind.

 

It feels like yesterday when I first came here. I know, I just come to China for one year internship and this journey finally meets its end. I never expect it's going to be this soon. I don't plan to spend the rest of my life here yet anyway. But I can't lie to myself; I will miss this place so much.

 

It’s hard, heading to a country I barely speak the language. I left my homeland Korea for the first time, being thousand miles apart from my relatives and friends. Beside those things, I’m glad enough given chance to come here. Because I’m able to acquaint new culture, learn new language, and meet new people. Kind hearted people who sincerely help me through difficulties. Luhan, Yixing, Wufan, Zitao. I will miss them. Especially Zitao.

 

My mind flies back to the moment when I first met him.

 

I lost my direction to the student dorm. Actually it’s Minseok’s obligation to accompany me there, but he suddenly ran-off. I had no idea where to go and I wasn't able to ask anyone- I didn't speak Mandarin for God sake. Until Zitao approached me and showed the right way. Fortunately, he ever lived in Korea so he can speak the language- even just a little but it’s enough for me.

 

What unpredictable life, he turned out to be my roommate. It’s difficult at beginning. We didn’t know how to communicate each other, considering his limited Korean and my zero percent Mandarin. But gradually, we managed to solve our language barrier as I started learning his language.

 

That tall, muscular guy. Why he loves to cry; only God who knows the answer. Someone with a face of murderer and great skill of martial arts actually has fragile heart.It’s much fragile, like a thin layer of ice in the lake when winter comes, that can be easily shattered by a simple touch. He will cry if he’s missing Baekhyun, his old friends in Korea whom he left because he had to back to China. He will cry after watching movies that not happily end. He will cry when if he finds a kitten abandoned by its mother. A single thing, even the simplest one, can flutter his heart. His pure heart, something that I'd ever had ages ago. But maybe it's already gone from me.

 

"Need some help?" A voice behind my back startles me. I turn my head and see Zitao leaning on the door, with such a rare, lethargic expression in his face.

"No, thanks. I've done with these," I just give him a weak smile.

He walks closer, takes a seat next to me, "Sorry, I can't take you to the airport. I have class tomorrow morning."

"It's okay. I have Wufan do it for me.”

He looks down to the floor, sad and miserable. “So … this is our farewell?”

I pat his arm lightly and grin, “Hey, don’t say that! Like we’re not gonna meet again.”

We all know tonight is my last chance to see him. Cause next morning, I’ll be heading back to Korea.

 

I’m not able to protest when he suddenly wraps me into his arms. He holds me very tight, as I can feel his heart pounding loudly against my chest. It isn’t the first time we’re doing this. But this sensation still gets me jittery.

“Thank you… I couldn’t imagine how I would do here without you guys,” I finally speak something.

"I’m going to miss you,” he murmurs, almost being unheard.

"Me too..."

And we let the peaceful silence creep between us.

 

It's weird, almost annoying, that you can't cry at the moment you're supposed to, like this. Even when your heart’s hurt so bad, so full like it's going to explode. You can’t even when you force yourself to do so. Still, no tears drop from your eyes. And this is what I feel right now.

 

A slight thought comes across my mind. When did I last cry anyway?

 

I didn’t cry though I missed my friends in Korea. I didn’t cry even when I had to move from one relative to another one; accepting the fact that I’m only orphan. If there’s someone willing to accommodate me, it’ll be better than none at all. But I did cry. 15 years ago. At the moment I opened my eyes in the hospital room, just to find out that I lost all of my family after a terrible car accident. Fortunately, my relatives were kind enough to take care of me. But they can't replace the existence of my family. I cried and cried again, hoped it’s just a nightmare and I would immediately wake up. Till I finally understood that my wish could be unfulfilled.

 

It seems my heart already bears with any sadness I’ve experienced before. It becomes hard, frozen and dead; insensible to feel anything.

 

Since then I make promise to myself that I will never cry anymore. And the promise’s becoming a curse for me now.

 

I come back to my sense, when Zitao suddenly pulls away from hugging me. He sniffles and his eyes are teary. I stare him in astonishment. Seeing him cry, somehow makes me feel like he's the true human being in this world and I'm just a heartless robot.     

 

He still busily sheds his tears using his hands, until I hand some tissue to him. "Thanks," he replies with a croaked voice. I gently rub his shoulder to give him some encouragement. And my lips continuously whisper, “It’s okay,” to him.

 

He's really total opposite of me. He's not someone who can deceive his own feeling. He's not like me. I’m someone who always put a mask on my face, faking a big smile into my lips. Sometimes I envy him because of it. Sometimes he makes me mesmerized by it. It becomes one of millions reasons why I’m falling in love with him, aside from our differences.

 

"You're such crybaby."

“Hey,” he pouts but lets my hand caressing his wet cheek. His crying has done, but there are some tears remained at his face. "I also don't know why I started crying."

I chuckle; he's really cute when he’s pouting. It’s amazing how his beauty doesn’t change a bit even tears pouring down his face.

“It’s not fair. Why do you not cry? Don’t you feel sad?” he asks me with a curious face.

I flip his damped hair, “I do feel sad too. But I decide to not cry…” I stop a while to land a soft kiss on his forehead. “So I can cheer you when you’re sad.”

It seems he’s not satisfied enough.  I ask him back, half teasing, “What should I do then, to make you stop crying?"

 

Suddenly his face becomes embarrassed seeing my mischievous smile. He doesn’t give me an answer, but somehow I know what’s on his mind. Cause we’re used to talk using our own ways, with no words. My eyes are half closed when I see he blushes even darker, as I lean my head closer to him. His pout has disappeared because his lips already curl into a smile, shyly meet mine in the halfway.

 

Why Zitao loves to cry, why tears never drop from my eyes; let they become mystery that I don’t need to care. All I wish is somebody to stop the time. Cause I don't want this night to be ended.