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        There was water pooling in the small cracks of the sidewalk. Miniature rivers made their way down the pavement and into the curbs along the street. Every so often, an unfortunate soul would step down into a puddle on their way into a waiting cab and obscenities would cut through the rain.

Yixing sat on a cafe stool facing the street. He didn't drink from the untouched glass of water, and he didn't pick up the menu that waited beside him. He never did.

Every day, at exactly four-thirty on the dot, he would take the same seat in the corner of the same local cafe on the same stool he'd been sitting in for two years.

The waiters recognized him but they didn't make conversation.

Yixing liked the little cafe. For two years he would come by and watch the people pass by. For two years he waited in the corner. For two years, he observed and made up stories for the passersby on the street. If he saw them regularly enough, he gave them names and watched their stories play out daily.

The woman in the atrocious pink jogging suit was Jill. She always trotted by the cafe around the same time. Yixing knew she had a crush on one of the men who worked at the magazine stand ten feet away from his cafe.

Jill was the sort of woman Yixing never would have noticed if not for these daily cues. She was not unattractive and neither was she a great beauty, but something in her personality made him look forward to seeing her. Perhaps it was her routine. Yixing liked routines. They were easy to follow and hard to make mistakes when planned thoroughly. Anything outside of his mental script was foreign territory and Yixing preferred to stay far away from unpredictability.

Jill passed his window and slowed down by the stall as predicted. Yixing watched as she subtly fixed her hair and smiled sweetly at the middle-aged man working the stand.

Yixing doubted the man would even remember who she was if it hadn't been for the horrific outfit she always wore.

Just as Jill approached the magazine man, Phil, another of Yixing's subjects, walked by talking animatedly on his phone.

Phil was rich. Yixing knew because of the Armani suits, the Gucci watch, and the polished leather dress shoes that were usual for Phil. He too operated on a routine. This was how Yixing knew that he was either going to the bank this morning, or would walk another block down to the marketing firm on the other side of the street.

Phil hurried past the cafe, unaware of his observer, and entered the bank two buildings down.

Not long after, Scarlett whisked by quickly on her bike.

Scarlett was by far Yixing's favorite pedestrian. Her flaming dyed hair looked brighter today. She must have touched it up last night.

Scarlett was a high schooler if the plaid skirt and white blouse were any indication. She was interesting to Yixing more than the others by some glint in her eyes. Every day she would bike by that little cafe, backpedal quickly to wave at a waitress inside, then feed the little kitten living underneath the building.

Yixing wasn't sure why she could never remember to not bike past the cafe if she was just going to hurry back a few seconds later.

Today, Scarlett picked the kitten up from the nest it created of flyaway newspapers. The kitten cuddled closer to the girl and Scarlett giggled.

Yixing watched with interest as she put the feline back down and pedaled away.

From her uniform, Yixing knew she was a Jung Goon Academy student, a school three blocks away from the street he was on, and just a few buildings away from the university Yixing attended.

Figuring that there would be no more interesting people to watch once Scarlett disappeared, Yixing left a few bills on the table and walked out of the cafe.

He always left a tip on the table even though he never ordered anything. Yixing supposed it was more of a force of habit than generosity.

He walked down the street he'd memorized a long time ago and plugged in a pair of violet earbuds, drowning out sounds of the downpour and idle pedestrian chatter.

Amusement traced his features for a millisecond as the man walking in front of him plunged his foot into a puddle. If people would look carefully where they are going, Yixing thought, they would avoid unnecessary mishaps.

The downpour lightened to a faint mist and Yixing closed his umbrella. He shook it twice and folded it into his duffle bag. A bit of damp hair wouldn’t hurt him.

He was headed to the university gym. He was hoping to get a few hours of dance practice in before he would have to return to his sad, one bedroom apartment he shared with a family of mice.

Dancing wasn't something Yixing especially rejoiced in, but he liked it well enough. He liked forcing himself to forget outside distractions else his movements would become uncoordinated. He liked the burn it supplied his muscles. It was a welcome respite to the numbness that rested in his heart. Despite the relief dancing provided, however, Yixing did not cherish it.

Guitar was what Yixing really loved. The feeling of being able to create something beautiful with just his fingertips thrilled his dusty soul.

It was magical how simple something can be to make people let go of their pain for a few brief moments. For Yixing, it was inspiring.

Three blocks later, Yixing found himself at the University’s recreational center. He entered the gym and slipped into the dance studio.

No one was there. Hardly anyone ever visited this place. It seemed that dance was a dying art in his school. That was fine with Yixing. He preferred the solitude.

He threw his duffel bag onto the floor and stared into the mirrors that lined the wall facing him.

A handsome face stared back. A few more seconds of observing, Yixing saw a set of eyes that were too far apart. Another second and his brown hair looked too choppy. After a while, his nose and chin became too long and his lips became oddly shaped. For every minute longer, Yixing found something new he did not like about himself.

But of course, only Yixing would ever see his imperfections. He was the only one who looked long enough to notice them. To everyone else, Yixing was just another attractive face passing by.

Yixing yanked his windbreaker off and he sighed as the cool air hit his arms and chest.

Not bothering to change out of his loose fitting skinny jeans, Yixing started dancing.

His hips moved forward on their own and his feet followed quickly. Sweaty arms raised to trail the movements his body was creating spontaneously. He danced until his heart was thundering in his chest and his white wife beater was nearly see through with perspiration. The pounding of his heart created a tempo for him to work with. Something akin to frustration welled up in his throat but Yixing pushed it down, down, down until it rested snugly in his chest where he would ignore it for another few days.

His dark jeans scraped uncomfortably against his legs but he didn't stop moving until his feet stumbled and he fell forward, his arms barely quick enough to keep his nose from molding into the floorboards.

Yixing sighed. This was his built-in timer. He was ready to go home.

He tugged his windbreaker back on reluctantly and frowned when the fabric stuck to his sweaty skin.

He exited the studio quietly and ignored other students who passed by him.

The bus stop was abandoned when he arrived. It always was. Yixing sat down and tucked the purple ear buds back in. The bus wouldn't arrive for another fifteen minutes so Yixing hugged his bag closer to his chest, leaned back, and closed his eyes to the sweet melody that poured out of his head phones.

When he reopened his eyes, a pair of sparkling black ones were peering back at him.

The girl dived backwards, embarrassed at being caught staring and Yixing recognized her as Scarlett.

He didn't let any emotions pass over his face and kept his eyes blank as a whirlwind of thoughts ran through his head.

Scarlett blushed lightly at being stared at and offered Yixing a small half-smile. "I like your ear buds." She said finally.

Yixing nodded his thanks and faced forward again.

"I thought you were dead when I first got here. Then I realized you were breathing. I was starting to wonder how I would wake you up when the bus arrived." She continued.

Yixing glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes and she shifted awkwardly.

"Well..." She trailed off.

Yixing closed his eyes again and was about to shut the world out once more when she spoke yet again.

"You're that boy from the cafe. I see you there every week. My friend works there. She says the waitresses all think you're really cute." Scarlett grinned as if they were supposed to laugh together. "My name is Jia Li."

He would still call her Scarlett but Yixing nodded again to show he'd heard.

"What's your name?"

Yixing shot a look at her.

"Can you speak? Are you Korean or Chinese? You look Chinese. I'm Chinese too if you couldn't tell with my name. Maybe you are Korean. Is my accent too strong?"

Yixing sighed and closed his eyes yet again.

"You always look so sad at the cafe. I never see you drink or eat anything. Can you hear me through those earbuds?"

Yixing nodded but he didn't open his eyes.

"So you do understand me! What's your name? Do you go to that university? You don't look like you're in high school. I bet you're pretty popular. What do you study? I was thinking about going to that university when I graduate but I'm not sure what I want to major in. What are some good courses to take?"

Yixing quickly realized that Scarlett was one of those people others might call sociable. He thought of it as intrusive. As she continued to chatter away Yixing turned the volume up on his iPod and turned away from her.

"-ey... HEY!"

Yixing's eyes shot open and shifted backwards at the sight of Scarlett standing over him, too close for comfort.

"The bus is here." She jabbed a thumb behind her and he saw the blue bus rumbling on the street with an irritated looking driver staring at them impatiently.

Yixing sighed for umpteenth time that day and grabbed his duffel bag and followed Scarlett onto the bus.

She sat down in a seat and patted the empty one next to her, looking up at Yixing with a smile.

He pretended not to have seen her and took a seat in the back, pulling his hood up.

The seat next to him dipped and he almost groaned when Scarlett began talking again.

Yixing was the observer. He didn’t engage. He didn’t like to. He didn’t know how. His heart no longer seemed to support that sort of interaction with people. It was as useless as lungs under water. He knew it was slowly failing him as time progressed and Yixing became more and more detached from the outside world. He lived, but he certainly wasn’t living. Some days, Yixing wasn’t even sure if he was alive. How was he supposed to tell? He didn’t have any references anymore.

Yixing faced the girl next to him and watched her falter when their eyes met.

Yixing wasn't dumb. He knew that even with his imperfections, he had a face women liked. Scarlett was obviously no different.

"Um... You... You-uh, still haven't answered my question." Scarlett stuttered.

"Which one?" He asked. His voice had grown softer over the years and Yixing realized how rarely he spoke nowadays.

Scarlett seemed to blush harder but she bit her lip and sat up straighter. "Your name." This time she didn't stutter.

Yixing paused. "Lay."

"Lay? Your name is Lay? What kind of name is that? You have an accent though. You sound Chinese. What kind of Chinese person has a name like Lay?"

Yixing shrugged. To be honest, he didn't know why he had given her a fake name either.

"Is that your real name?"

"Obviously not." Yixing stared at the scenery passing by his window.

"Well, what's your real name?"

"This is my stop." He stood up and shuffled past the girl. He didn't look back as he exited the bus.

When he entered his apartment, Yixing glanced around. The wallpaper was yellowing and peeling, and the brown stain on the ceiling was growing. The floorboards in the kitchen squeaked worse than the mice and the leaky faucet in the bathroom seemed to grow louder each day. The bathtub had mildew forming around the edges and sometimes the toilet didn't work properly. The curtains were heavy with dust and did nothing to stop the sun from waking Yixing up every morning at six to an aching back given to him by the broken springs in his bed.

Yixing looked around the place he hesitantly called home and sighed again.