His favourite look on Yixing was his sleepy look. The way exhaustion clung onto his eyelashes as if it was too heavy for him to open his eyes made the younger man peer at him adorably in his vision range of 3mm. The Yixing now looked a little bit spoilt, a little bit vulnerable and a little bit clingy, and Kris’ heart race at the sight of it.

“Where are you going?” Yixing whined, with a pout that showed off the dimple on his cheek. His arm slid around Kris and Kris had no choice but to let him pull him back to bed. “Isn’t it a Saturday? Can’t we just sleep in?”

An amused smile curled on Kris’ lips at Yixing’s aegyo but he resigned himself to spending a pointless day in bed. He didn’t mind all that much… not if he had Yixing here with him too. Absently, his lips grazed the top of Yixing’s head as he leaned back onto the bed rest, reluctantly recalling the conversation he had last night with the graphic designer.

What exactly was their relationship? He didn’t want it to be just a one-night-stand. If there was one pattern he noticed from watching Yixing hook up with all those men each week from the club, it was that they were all strangers. He wasn’t a stranger. In fact, he would think they were far from strangers, after all that had happened in high school.

If he didn’t have a girlfriend in high school, if he had gathered enough courage, would Kris have been in a relationship with Yixing then? And would they have been together still?

A loud rumbling noise disrupted his thoughts, causing Kris to look over at the blushing man in his arms. Resisting the urge to laugh, he arched an eyebrow and reached over to kiss Yixing’s eyelids.

“Stop pretending to sleep,” he told him with a chuckle. “I’ll make you breakfast if you wake up now?”

Yixing opened an eye and even with just one eye, Kris could feel Yixing judging him. “Can you cook?” he asked doubtfully and let out a loud yawn that sent his warm breath grazing Kris’ neck.

“For you, I’ll try?” he said, a corner of his lips quirked up. “Otherwise, can you?”

Yixing stretched lazily, barely missing knocking Kris’ chin with the top of his head. He smirked at Kris and ran his tongue over his lips, catching Kris’ attention with it. “Pretty sure I can do it better than you,” he teased. “What’s in it for me if I do the cooking, Fanfan?”

Instead of feeling offended, the childish nickname sent a warm, fuzzy feeling to his stomach. Kris returned his smirk, lowering his head to take Yixing’s lower lip between his teeth and nibbled lightly on it. “Whatever you want, Xingxing,” he replied, taking amusement in the way Yixing scrunched up his nose at the nickname.

“Piggyback me to the kitchen,” the graphic designer demanded, opening his eyes so wide and jutting his lip out so much that Kris found it difficult to say no to him. Not that he had any thoughts on doing so. With an exasperated sigh that sounded as if Yixing’s request took five years of his life, Kris sat at the edge of the bed and allowed the other man to climb onto his back, careful to crouch a little when he stood up so Yixing’s head wouldn’t hit the door frame.

“You barely have anything in the kitchen,” Yixing noted absently once Kris set him down. Kris watched him affectionately as the graphic designer rummaged his cabinets and refrigerator with a frown that deepened his dimple into his cheek before deciding to take the eggs out.

Not more than 15 minutes later, Yixing was sitting on his lap cutting a tiny size of omelette he made out of the 3 eggs Kris had in the kitchen. Kris looped his arms around Yixing’s waist, obediently opening his mouth for the other to feed him. He felt fairly certain that Yixing wouldn’t have done this with the other men he slept with and briefly entertained the idea that perhaps, like him, this meant more to Yixing too?

“Oy, that is too small a mouthful,” complained Kris, eyeing the portion Yixing cut for him. “I didn’t grow to this height by eating that little.”

Narrowing his eyes at Kris’ complaint, the hand that was holding the spoon switched directions and the omelette wound up in Yixing’s mouth. “I was the one whose stomach was growl—” Yixing started to say, his cheeks puffed up thanks to the omelette he was chewing, but Kris didn’t let him finish before he leaned in to kiss him… and steal the omelette from Yixing’s mouth. He noticed, with ill-concealed delight, that a faint red was colouring Yixing’s cheeks.

“You’re adorable,” Kris told him with a lopsided grin, chuckling when Yixing pretended not to hear him and instead chose to stuff the remaining omelette into his mouth.

“I know,” the graphic designer mumbled under his breath, but his next words caused Kris’ grin to broaden. “So are you.”

***

Mr Tian was one of the few popular teachers that both students and parents adored. Female students who harboured crushes on him would leave anonymous love letters and home-baked cookies on his table while mothers would come up with any excuse to have a chat with him about their child. He was a good mentor to students that he didn't even teach and was known to hang out with his class after school hours.

He was, all in all, a man Yifan might like. If his mother wasn’t dating him.

Unfortunately, ever since Yifan came across Mr Tian in the living room of their house, the basketball team captain had been thinking of ways to get rid of him. Out of the school, and out of his and his mother’s lives. He knew what Mr Tian was doing – he was trying to break up their family. Well, Yifan wasn’t going to let him. The only family he would ever acknowledge is his real parents. This divorce of theirs would blow over eventually and they’d return to being complete again.

What he needed was some kind of threat, to warn Mr Tian to stay away. Yifan didn’t bother coming up with an elaborate plan; he had a box of matches and it was enough. He knew that the security camera in the teachers’ office had been faulty for months; as long as there wasn’t anyone around, there would be no chance of him getting caught.

As he casually passed the classrooms towards the teachers’ office, Yifan couldn’t help but feel conscious of the small box of matchsticks in the pocket of his uniform. He wondered if his fellow schoolmates could see the telltale rectangular shape in his pants but unless they had x-ray vision, how could they? Nonetheless, Yifan stuck a hand into his pants to cover the box. Just in case.

When Mr Tian walked out of the teachers’ office to go to the bathroom, Yifan made his move. He slipped inside the office, carefully closing the door so no one could peep in and took his matchbox out.

The friction caused by the matchstick against the side of the box started a small flame. For a second, Yifan could only stare at it, mesmerized by the burst of orange just inches from his fingers. Then he heard voices and in his panic, Yifan threw the whole matchstick onto Mr Tian’s table and quickly moved to hide next to the metal cabinet by the windows.

“What the f—?” he heard a voice exclaim. It didn’t sound like Mr Tian. Yifan frowned and cautiously poked his head out to see a boy with curly brown hair trying to douse the fire with a wet rag he picked up from the floor. The busybody! He stepped out of his hiding place to yell at him but before Yifan could do it, Mr Tian walked into the office.

“Zhang Yixing, what are you doing!” Mr Tian pulled the other student back just as the small fire at his table went out. Yifan sneaked a look at the table and noticed, with some satisfaction, that he managed to burn some papers. Hoping those papers were important, his eyes trailed up and, with a start, looked right into the eyes of Yixing. His breathing slowed; if Mr Tian found out it was him who started the fire, he was going to be in some deep with his mother.

Much to his surprise, Yixing only glanced away and apologised to Mr Tian. And as Mr Tian marched him out of the room to the principal’s office, Yixing continued to keep his secret.

***

His hand trembled in barely suppressed fury as he clenched his mobile phone tightly with his fingers. 13 calls to Yixing and he didn’t pick up any of them. Ever since he announced his engagement at the company dinner a few nights ago, he hadn’t spoken to Kris at all. According to Tasha, Yixing took leave to attend to some personal matters, but even so, Kris didn’t appreciate that the other man didn’t return any of his calls or text messages.

He flung the mobile phone across his living room and buried his head into his hands. How did it turn out like this? Kris thought things were going well between the two of them. After the few nights they spent together, he had been pretty sure their relationship meant something to Yixing, otherwise why would they have continued to hook up? Should he have insisted on labeling their relationship?

With shaky hands, Kris leaned over to the side table and started to dig around the last drawer. It had been a while since he did this, but he felt that the situation called for it. Even when Kris found out his girlfriend of 3 years had been cheating on him, he hadn’t been this upset. It was the reason he didn’t think it was necessary to pay his psychiatrist a visit about it, despite the doctor’s insistence that he came.

He flipped the cover of the lighter open and stared at it. There was something therapeutic about seeing the flame dance harmlessly above the lighter, knowing that it could cause a bigger accident if he wanted it to. Kris stuck his finger into the flame, the heat from it pooling all the way to his stomach, and if it weren’t for the doorbell, he probably would not have pulled his finger out. Carelessly blowing on his finger to cool it down, Kris blindly staggered over to the door.

“What’s wrong with your finger?” asked the voice Kris had been hoping to hear for days. His eyes jerked up to Yixing’s worried face and he stared, torn between wanting to punch him or kiss him. Kris flinched when the younger man grabbed his hand and allowed Yixing, reluctantly, to pull him to the kitchen where he shoved Kris’ hand underneath the tap of cool running water.

Keeping his finger under the tap, Kris pushed Yixing away hard. His concern confused him. “What are you doing here?” he asked harshly, hating that he was inwardly happy to see the man.

Yixing’s eyebrows furrowed when he frowned, as if he too was puzzled by this. “I think I miss you,” he said finally and those 5 words were enough to make Kris’ heart leap. It wasn’t fair, how easily Kris wanted to forgive him, how quickly he wanted to believe him. He was being played, wasn’t he?

“ it,” he growled under his breath and lunged for Yixing, clasping the side of his face and kissing the life out of him. Kris would think about their relationship later. They would talk about it later. There was always later.

The next day, Yixing resigned from the ad agency.

A/N: Who's ready for the last part!???