“On your mark, get set and go.” He said to himself, muttering under his breath, clouds forming lazily around his lips. He had been saying that a lot more recently, feeling strangely empty without Joon Myun shutting him up with his pink lips.

He stepped out of his friend’s home, tired and distraught. It had been months since he had last seen Joon Myun, well, spoken to him more or less. He had caught glimpses of him occasionally, and the other day, his heart broke at the sight of him with another man. He could hear his heart shatter like glass, as if it was thrown to the other side of the room. His lip quivered, as he watched the two for a moment from the other side of the café. It was a small world, after all.

The other man, much to Yixing’s distaste was unbelievably handsome, unbelievably god-like even. Yixing had stormed out of the café at the sight of the taller man buying Joon Myun something he always used to do for him. He used to buy Joon Myun his favourite, cinnamon coffee; it was always accompanied with that beautiful eye smile Yixing treasured and the blush that he adored. It didn’t matter that Joon Myun was soaking, the man had made Joon Myun’s eyes twinkle and Joon Myun was smiling.

It was winter. Seoul was frozen with rain and the occasional bit of snow. Yixing knew it was bound to stick soon. He looked towards the cloudy skies, sighing at the light grey and the barely blue. It was Joon Myun’s favourite colours. It was Joon Myun all over. Yixing sighed, making his way towards the dance studio he used to love to run away to when he was upset with Joon Myun.

He pressed ‘play’ and struggled to endure one hellish minute of a dance routine. Even Jongin, the patient child prodigy was getting more upset by the day. Even by that minute, Yixing was panting and exhausted and all he wanted to do was sleep. He knew the audience for their performance would be huge, but in comparison to what Joon Myun was to him, the auditorium may as well be empty. Silent and empty.

He didn’t want to be there anymore, grabbing his things, Yixing ignored whatever insults Jongin was throwing at him and fled from the studio. It hurt to be alone and he missed Joon Myun.

Once again, he was out, in the bitter cold of Seoul. He missed home, but whatever, he had his course to finish here and he was sure he wanted to complete it. Someone had said that he may as well, after being here and working hard for so long, why waste it?

Was it Joon Myun that said that? Or was it someone else?

The man shrugged, and closed his eyes for a moment, recollecting what he had done recently.

Yixing had found, the night before, numerous pictures. A handful of memories that he found he couldn’t discard. He didn’t have it in him to discard it. It was simply of Joon Myun’s smiling face, at his birthday, at his graduation, at home with Yixing; the few handwritten notes from Joon Myun, neatly telling him there was food in the fridge for him to eat, that his favourite show was on, that he should remember to go here or there, that Joon Myun had already done the groceries; the few things Joon Myun had remembered Yixing liked, like the purple plaid shirt, or the headphones, or the bag, that he had difficulty in not using. He looked back to the last picture.

Home, with Yixing.

He stopped in his steps, staring at the vandalised store that was in front of him, the windows so dirty, it worked as a mirror. A broken mirror, with cracks, slanted scales. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now he did. He was crying, each salty tear slipping down his cheek, and falling to his shirt, he stared at his broken reflection with remorse.

In the background of his reflection, he watched the sky move; the sky ran, and the sun was setting - crashing to the west, even. Each day that had passed was similar to this, each beautiful day of the cold sun, and he knew he was never going to get it back.

He hated himself for not being able to forget, for watching Joon Myun as he moved on. He knew Joon Myun had spent time in the rain, crying, and he knew that whoever that man was with Joon Myun now, was the right one for him.

But the thing was, his reflection, his other self in the mirror, it was Joon Myun. It was his precious Joon Myun, broken, shattered, like him.

But the person that couldn’t forget was Yixing, not Joon Myun.

Joon Myun, Yixing’s other name.

Joon Myun, another of Yixing’s winters.

He was in his home again, well, it was Lu Han’s but that doesn’t matter does it?

“Why, Yixing?” Lu Han asked Yixing, when he had come home tear streaked and careless of his state. “Why do you do this to yourself?” he whispered, as he helped changed the feverish Yixing out of his favourite shirt and into comfortable joggers and T-shirt.

Yixing hadn’t the voice to answer him, he didn’t know himself. He was broken, and slanted and crashing. He barely ate proper food anymore and went dancing a few times a week for an hour only, less often.

“Stop it, Yixing. Stop hurting yourself.”

That request gained his attention, and he croaked softly, with a pained chuckle that seemed to hurt Lu Han even more that he was. “No.”

Yixing hated to admit, that he would rather suffer by watching his past lover move on, than cause pain to someone like he had before.