really sorry for my internet is and uploaded just half of the thing. it should work now..?

Zhang Yixing walked through the dark corridor of the building, backpack slung over one shoulder, head down as if he wanted to become invisible and it could had even been true if only the voices hadn't reminded him he wasn't at all. Hurtful voices whispering, judging. He pretended he didn‘t hear them, tugging his coat a bit closer in the cold of impersonal grey concrete walls of what he tried to call his ticket to better future, only he knew way too well it's not. He was good, one of the bests even, but no-one ever recognised him. No-one even asked what the kid's name was when they all stood in front of the judges.

He opened the door to his usual studio, flicking the lights on and they blinked few times before filling the room in too bright yellow, a low buzz of the light bulbs almost comforting after the harsh voices outside. He was pretty much used to it, turning the music on his phone a bit louder as he passed them but the one still hurt. The one beautiful voice in the sea of monotonous mass. The lips moving in scornful grimace when the words left them as their eyes met for a second, before the usual stoic face took over again. The sweet, cruel laugher that came next. Eyes crinkling at the corners when the girl beside added something to the remark.

Yixing'd used to listen to him singing in the music class, working on his already perfect pitch long after everyone else called it a day. He'd used to lean on the wall next to the door and imagine the dance moves going with the melody, trying them out at times in the empty hallway, until the voice faded and the door opened. He'd seen then, as the small smile slipped from the lips when he noticed him, disgust taking over. Yixing had stopped going there after that, choosing to train a little longer; a little harder to forget he's no-one and that will never change. Because he'd been caught once and people tend to remember when they find out something to push you down with.

He looked up fiercely as he finished the final pirouette. He'd seen him before, standing in the door of the studio watching him dance, mouthing the lyrics of the song. His eyes had never left his body, taking in every sharp turn, every smooth wave and Yixing'd never taken his own eyes off the reflection of his concentrated face, his lips turning upwards the tiniest bit at the fact that he came just for him. It‘d been gone with the last beat though, when the figure left, not sparing him another glance. That moment was all he needed to keep going, he thought. But maybe he was wrong.

"Hey," a voice said and he knew too well to need to look in the direction of the entrance where the girl stood, accompanied by his other coursemates. "Still trying for the audition? Why don't you just give up?" They giggled quietly and Yixing didn't really care anymore. He'd used to try to fight it but there was no use. He knew, everyone knew, they were right and he was just wasting his time working to achieve something impossible. The girl smirked at his unconcerned facade, joining her friends in stretching before the lesson started. She certainly wasn't spiteful; her, Yixing could understand. She of all the people had a reason to hate him.

Yixing sighed inaudibly, standing in a position again. He let the music engulf him as he repeated the routine, one precise move after another. The flawless dance he did thousands of times already. The one he'd made when there was still someone to show it to. The one he'd danced at his very first audition when he'd still believed he could make it. He looked up in the mirror, pinning his eyes on his own reflection as he slid his hand the front of his body in a wave. He knew that later, they would mock him for that but at the moment he couldn't care less, the proud smile of the one person burnt in his mind; the sweet encouraging words whispered when he'd finally sat down after hours, grinning back tiredly. He felt unbearably sick all of a sudden.

He stumbled in the steps, arms shooting out just a second before his knees conected with the old, cracked hardwood floor. He hissed in pain as the skin scraped off, leaving angry bloody stains on his sweetpants. An all too familiar snort sounded through the room and Yixing looked up to see the forever emotionless face twisted in ridiculing grimace.

He still found him beautiful.





**





The boy sat at a table for two. His short black hair was styled nicely and so was his clothes; a simple T-shirt, highlighting his tall figure, and dark ripped jeans. He fumbled with his cup of hot chocolate shyly, looking up every now and then to check the time on the clock hanging on the wall. Yixing watched him from behind the counter with a gentle smile. He must had rushed home to change today too. Yixing kind of admired the ardour he put into looking nice on his dates. He found it utterly adorable that the boy tried so much for his lover, acting all cool with coming half a hour early and then sitting there, stressing over pointless details. Yixing saw him like that frequently, watching over him secretly until his face beamed with recognition when the bell on the door tinkled.

He was like that again, eyeing the entrance ever so often and Yixing chuckled silently at his cuteness. He was somehow grateful to the boy for being like this. For he; he wasn't. His insides clenched with guilt and he turned his look away from him just as a new customer stopped in front of the counter. Yixing smiled at her politely. He partly purposely missed as the boy jumped up happily in his seat, embarrassed blush coloring his cheeks right after; as the person who just entered the coffee shop galanced at him shortly. Instead, he just gave the woman her coffee and nodded at his co-worker in greeting. The boy was nice. An exchange student who knew just enough Chinese to save his life but Yixing liked him. Not many words were spoken between them as they spent the few minutes together before one's shift ended and the other's started. Yixing thought he didn't really mind all that much.

"Thanks," he mumbled in the door to the changing room, checking his phone. A tall man smiled back at him from the display, his poorly bleached hair pushed back with thin headband. A reminder of the stupid, careless feelings; the mistakes he'd made. Now he was gone. There was no going back anymore.



Yixing came home late that night, the plain white walls of his tiny attic apartment welcoming him with reserved coldness. He didn't exactly remember when it became like this. A place where there was nothing currently unnecessary. A basic furniture lined the walls, dim light of a street lamp drawing dark creeping shadows on the floor. He'd used to live in a more lively place, way back before he'd ed up hard. He wondered, as he the tap of a shower in his eaqually impersonal bathroom, if there was a way for him to make things alright again.

He tugged on an old grey tanktop, a size too big for his slender frame, when he stepped out of the shower, hair still dripping with water. There was his overly sweet morning coffee waiting for him on the kitchen table where he‘d forgotten it earlier that day, cold and disgusting. He took a sip nevertheless as he leaned on the doorframe overlooking the poor excuse of his living room. There was nothing showing someone even used the apartment. Yixing found it calming in some way as he dumped the rest of the coffee into the sink, leaving the dirty mug there to clean up later. No-one came to visit him anymore anyway.





**





"Hey, are you okay?"

Yixing's hold on the phone tightened unconsciously. "Yeah," he murmured, the reassurance awfully fake in the echo of the dirty bathroom down the hallway from his dance studio. He looked into the cracked mirror, barely still hanging on the blue mildewed tiles. Lifeless eyes stared back at him in the gloom of the room; the bags under them black against the paleness of his face. And he remembered his morning coffee waiting for him on the kitchen counter as usual.

"Xing-"

"I'm fine. Everything's cool."

"I saw you."

"I know."

"It's not your fault, Yixing. We're good."

Sigh. "I know..."



Yixing smiled happily. His favorite song blared in the headphones, body flowing with the melody. He closed his eyes, imagining; pretending he's somewhere else, somewhere nice, the beautiful voice lulling him to sleep with gentle humming. His movements followed the image, slowing down, becoming smoother, more tender. He remembered the times he still had ambitions and dreams to be seen. He prefered dancing alone now. This way he still could be himself for a moment; this way no-one could judge him. Perhaps he missed the recognition at times, seeing everyone else getting it but him. But perhaps, dancing should had never become an obligation to him.

He stopped in the final step a beat too soon, when he heard loud, perfectly measured clapping from the door. He didn't bother to look, taking his headphones off just half a way to indicate he's listening. He hung a towel around his neck, wiping the sweat off as he turned aroud, only then meeting the girl's eyes.

"That was quite impressive," she said flatly. Her eyes traveled down his body and stopped on her nails as she picked on the invisible dirt with utmost disinterest. "No wonder Luhan stares at you all the time. He likes your dancing, you know; he loved the girl group covers especially. I think he laughed the loudest." She smirked cruelly then, taking the steps to him excruciatingly slowly and he found himself baring himself to the blow, willingly. Yixing let her lean close, lay her delicate hand on his shoulder. "Too bad you have a , maybe if you didn't he would notice you..?"

It was absurdly funny, the vulnerability in the weak push he gave the girl to get her off of him; the way it didn't even hurt anymore to hear such things. He put the headphones back on, playing the song on replay, his once joyful dance suddenly so disheartened; lacking in so much. And yet it was a flawless one. He drowned himself in the music, perfecting every step again and again, taking it apart until there was nothing left. Just the desire to feel. Anything.



Yixing played with his phone mindlessly, the screen illuminating his exhausted features in the darkness of the back alley. The blonde man grinned back at him as always and he stared at the picture until the screen dimmed, only to lit it up again. He wondered, a cigarette in the other hand, the slowly burning paper warm in his fingers, where he'd gone so wrong. He wondered if it was the moment he'd first found out he liked men; or the one he'd thought he could change the world, being dumb enough not to mind being seen, or maybe the one he'd left the last person who still loved him for someone he couldn't have. He had nothing to lose anymore. No dreams, no future, even no friends and now he had no dignity too, being laughed at by the judges for still trying.

He chuckled, letting the smoke out of his lungs slowly. It was somehow calming, watching the white fluffy puffs of his breath mix with the grey ones of toxines; deceitful but promising. And he tought, sitting on the rusty trash container behind the dance studio, how fitting place it was for someone like him. He, the human trash. He, the person pointlessly running after something he wasn't sure he even wanted.

He lit himself another cigarette, ignoring the dark silhouette approaching him, fine dress shoes clapping quietly against the concrete. He jumped down when the steps stopped, offering the smoke to the man and he shook his head, light hair falling in his eyes messily. "Yixing..," he said, his voice deep and velvety with a tint of foreign accent on the edges and Yixing hated it, yet couldn't help his lips forming the smallest of smiles.

"I know, I should stop," he whispered, leaning on the container. He took in the man's look, reluctantly, as if not to spoil a memory; unwilling to see whatever may have changed. It wasn't in the appearance, but Yixing felt it; the unnatural distance between them when the man reached out and dumped his cigarette on the ground with a saddened sigh. Yixing could recall the times they had smoked together, and the ones they'd decided to stop for his dream and it seemed to had been such an empty sacrifice. It was kind of ridiculous, as he thought of it, how quickly everything they'd been working on crashed down on them. Laughing in their faces in the beautiful melodious voice and his own, too.

"Did something happen?" the man asked and Yixing saw in his face all the truths he didn't want to hear. All the 'I don't think it's a good place for you'; 'I shouldn't have let you go'; 'There must be another way' screamed at him and he felt like yelling himself; like punching the guy for he was right but it didn't matter anymore because nothing could make it better now. He just laughed quietly, picking up his backpack to leave. "I told you I'm fine. You didn't have to come."

"When's the audition?"

He bit his lip, and they fell in a silence for a moment as they walked, Yixing always just half a step behind the other man. "Two weeks."

He nodded silently and Yixing was grateful he didn't ask more. "Zitao wanted to see you. He keeps nagging you ignore him when he comes to the shop."

"Don't give me this , Fan," Yixing chuckled despite himself. Zitao was a lovely kid; he owed him a big time, yet the boy treated him with so much respect he was unworthy of. "He comes to the shop to have a date with you. Why would he want to see me?"

Wufan shrugged. "I don't know. But I mean it, you should come to visit us sometime."

"I can't..."

He didn't say anything after that. He always seemed to understand even without words. Yixing felt him slow down the slightest bit; just enough for him to walk comfortably next to his long strides. And he felt so guilty acting like nothing had happened; so bad for Wufan still cared for him but he couldn't do the same anymore.

They parted wordlessly at the crossroad few blocks down the street and Yixing didn't dare to look back as he continued in the opposite direction of Wufan's. And once again, there was the disgusting over-sugared taste of his coffee on his tongue when he stepped into the dark, cold, unwelcoming apartment.





**





The boy was there again. Perched on the bar stool in his baby blue button-down shirt opened over black tanktop. His hair was messy for once and Yixing knew he didn't come for a date this time. He wondered how much influence Wufan really had on him, that he could say just from his looks what he came for. He found it adorable, yet utterly scary. He smiled at him from the coffee maker and the boy beamed back.

"Hey, Tao."

"Hi," he took the drink Yixing placed in front of him, sniffing at the sweet smell, the unchanging happy grin plastered on his face. It was his favorite; the only thing he ordered ever since he'd come here for the first time. With Wufan. The mocha for him and cinnamon hot chocolate for Zitao. Never anything else. Yixing watched him silently as he took a sip, savouring the taste. It was charming how he unconsciously tried to make an impression even without his boyfriend around. He could see why Wufan chose him; it was like him to fall for someone like Zitao.

Yixing turned around when their eyes met. He felt the confused, searching gaze on him. He knew the boy admired him and it unnerved him. He wasn't a good person - he was way too far from one. Still, he somehow understood. It was a horribly ironical, wicked reason, but he understood. In a way, him breaking the only person he'd ever cared for; stomping on everything they'd had and burning it down with masochistic laugh, helped the boy find his twisted happy ending. Yixing wasn't sure if he was proud of himself for that.

"Are you better now? Wufan said you didn't look well yesterday," Zitao called, concerned. Yixing looked up at him from where he was wiping the bar. He collected his face into the profesional facade, the awfully fake smile on his lips. Maybe it was time, he thought, he'd stopped pretending he was alright. "Oh, did he?" but not now. Not just yet.

"Yeah..," the boy sighed and the smile faded for a second. "Sometimes I think he cares for you more than for me."

"That's not true, Tao. He loves you very much." He saw it too, though.



Yixing loved the coffee shop. It was small, homey; there was a bookshelf in the corner full of sappy romantic novels. The sweet smell of coffee and chocolate lingering in the air. It was nothing fancy with the old wooden tables and padded chairs, but it touched him. It reminded him of his own apartment back before it became cold and unfamiliar; the colors bursting in a warmness of light brown, orange and red. He loved the rustle of voices in the rush hour; some bubbly and happy, other serious. It was distracting.

Zitao was still sitting at the bar, now chatting with Wufan on the phone, his second hot chocolate slowly turning cold. He stabbed a piece of cake on a plate in front of him with dessert fork. The exchange-student part-timer washed dishes behind Yixing, ready to take over the shift. Yixing handed a customer his change and the door bell tinkled. He put his best business face on as the couple approached the counter. The huge beautiful eyes on the otherwise stoic face bored into him before smirk took over his features and he pulled the girl closer to him, the hand on her waist comming lower to her hips. She giggled, turning her attention to where Luhan was looking. Yixing smiled politely at them; a smile too willing to be real. "Can I take your order, sir, miss?"

"Oh look who's here," the girl snorted, sticking even closer to her companion. "I'm surprised you can even afford to leave the studio."

Yixing saw from the corner of his eyes as Zitao looked up from his phone. He shook his head slightly. The boy sat back down reluctantly, tensely. Yixing turned back to the two, ignoring the remarks. "Did you choose yet? I can bring you your drinks to the table if you'd like to." He felt his insides clenching. They weren't supposed to show up when Zitao was there. He couldn't let them associate the boy with him the same way they did with Wufan. As another one he was manwhoring for.

His eyes flew over to the boy unconsciously. He was glaring silently at them, ready to step in at any moment. Yixing wished he'd just pretended he didn't know him. The girl followed his gaze and her lips twisted into ugly, terrifying premonition of the upcomming slanders. The melodious voice sounded distant in Yixing's ears. "One cappuccino and one caramel latté. Bring it to the table well."

He nodded stiffly, clicking on the cash register. The memories of this happening before flooded his mind and he felt so incredibly sick. "Okay, right away!" a broken, accented Chinese sounded behind him as the boy finally rinsed the last dish and took over at the counter. Yixing saw his smile fading as he took in the state he was in. He couldn't understand, yet he was worried about him; Yixing found it foolishly endearing. "Thanks," he chuckled, Zitao's calls for him left unheard. He didn't look back as he entered the changing room.



Yixing stumbled through the dark streets he knew maybe way too well. He kept his head up, back straight, backpack bouncing on one shoulder. His last attempt not to look as hurt as he was. It was all useless, though, and he knew it because his lower back was burning from the strained posture and his knees trembled terribly. He blinked, look ahead, when he felt his eyes stinging. It seemed ridiculously amusing; the image of him sobbing in the middle of dirty street somewhere between the coffee shop and his hospital room-like apartment. He hadn't cried in months. Not when his parents left him alone, moving somewhere for the business; not when his dream fell apart; not when they stuck screenshots from his high school Wonder girls cover all over the dance studio and laughed at him as he tore them down one by one, wiping the glue off the mirrors. The last time he really cried was the moment Wufan broke. And now he was crying for Zitao too.

He leaned on the wall of his apartment building, fingers shaking as he rummaged in his pockets for a cigarette. He needed the calmness the cold burning gave him; the feeling of poisons eating his lungs. He wiped on his eyes with his sleeve halfheartedly as the smoke finally went it. He remembered Wufan making him promise he'd stop. Another to the endless number of the broken ones. The ones the meaning of which faded out as the two of them slowly crumbled. The naïve promises of forever.

Wufan had his new forever now; and it still hurt to see them so happy, bickering playfully. It was there, though, the fear in his eyes when they walked together in public; the way he hid every touch and affection from the prying eyes. Zitao was bound to be like that too; secretive and distrustful. It seemed like some horrific, cruel scheme to Yixing, the way everyone around him were meant to get stomped on. The way he was so helpless he wanted to scream. Except nothing ever left his lips. And nothing he would ever do could keep them from suffering because of him. He felt his stomach turning, vomit in his throat, as the stale sugarry smell hit him in the door.



Black clouds poured ice cold rain on him and the mid-autumn wind froze him to the bone. He tugged his drenched hoodie closer as he looked up to the window of the apartment. The light was off and he wondered if he would wake them up; if he'd be unwelcomed.

He entered the building, taking the familiar stairs to the fifth floor. Nothing really changed there since he'd visited last time; when Wufan genuinely meant it when he asked him to come over. The light in the hall flickered to life as he made his way to the wooden door, the last one to the left. It still had the little scratches from the time  they‘d moved a new fridge in, the edges of the walls around chipped at multiple places. The ones from when they'd come back drunk and Wufan pushed him onto the door kissing him senseless, the studs on Yixing‘s jacket digging into the wood. The paint on the walls had turned grey with age, dirty and peeling off, yet it was so much cosier than what he was supposed to call his home.

It took three knocks before a muffled shout was heard and the door opened. He saw a surprise and disbelief in Wufan's face as he stared down at him, speechless; messy blonde hair tied up to a small ponnytail, dark T-shirt and sweetpants. Yixing thought he looked good as he returned the gaze, tired and cold. They stood in silence for a full minute. And he maybe regreted not turning back when he still could.

"Can I talk with you, please?" he mumbled and the hall shouted the question back in an echo. Wufan's eyes turned questioning, eyebrows raising slowly at him. "I'm sorry."

He stepped aside for Yixing to enter. "It's okay, come in."

Yixing smiled tensely. He still could find his way around the flat. A lone photophrame hanging here and there, the old couch in the middle of the living room they'd bought in the bargain, the shuts on the windows getting stuck half way down. Yixing remembered it all; the feeling of creating his own home. But now the pictures in the phrames weren't of him anymore and the couch got a new covering. It still felt warm, though; the same warmth it had held when he'd been getting ready to move in.

"Fan, who's it? Oh, Yixing! I was so worried when you left like that, who even was the before? Wait, you're all wet, sit down!"

The guilt gnawed at his insides painfully at the sight. There was the boy, clad only in boxers with bunny print, jumping around, throwing a towel and fresh clothes at him. And Yixing kind of despised Zitao using the nickname he'd once given Wufan, but never said the thing. He didn‘t have the right anymore.

Wufan's voice was latched with deep fondness when he spoke next; the same one he'd used to talk to Yixing with. And maybe he still did at times, when he came to pick him up from the late dance practise. "Get some clothes for yourself first, schoolboy. And you still have homework to do. Now, let adults talk." He showed Zitao into their room harshly. Yixing found it weirdly cute, the perhaps a bit too violent way they played around. His lips curled upwards the slightest bit.

"Zitao said someone bothered you in work."

"It was nothing."

"Xing."

"No, Wufan. I just wanted to say sorry to Tao," his voice was gentle, all the apologies he should had done long ago in the words. He couldn't tell Wufan. For he would want to help; for he would care and it‘d make things even worse. He wasn't a part of his life anymore. He didn't fit in no matter how desperately the man tried to make him do. He'd stopped the moment he fell for Luhan hard.





**





Yixing's steps were unnaturally loud in the dead silence of the studio. It was almost weird, the lack of voices whispering about him; fingers pointing behind his back. He wasn't used to the peacefulness of the place anymore. The old stinky hallways and dirty bathrooms had turned into nightmares for him; the darkness of the mostly broken lights as he walked to his usual dance room. He hated the place. Yet he couldn‘t imagine his life without it.

The buzzing of the flickering light bulbs gave him a perfect background music, his shoes squeeking quietly to his stretching. He looked up, as he plucked his headphones into his phone, greeting the exhausted, sick pale, lifeless face. He'd skipped the group practise earlier that day, the part-time boy calling in sick suddenly. He had too much to work on, though, too much to perfect into absurd, robotic flawlessness, not to come at all. Wufan had asked him to take a break for just one day, concern etched to every millimeter of his skin. And perhaps, it was because of him that Yixing did come. Because he didn't need to be there to know the talks had already stared; because it had always been Wufan who saw his limits best. Yixing feared to admit he might be right yet again.

He stretched his body in a figure, the pull of the muscles painful and welcomed. He loved the sweet ache of his limbs after he performed the dance for hundreds times; the soreness of his calves from jumping too much. He went on, music deafening to his ears, sweat sticking his clothes to his body disgustingly. He could barely see in the poorly lit room, still he didn't stop. For if he did, he'd never start again.

Defeat and hopelessness flowed through him in the dance, the steps unchanging but the feeling utterly different. The confidence the routine was made with; was made to be performed with, vanished with every beat. It was Yixing's audition dance he‘d worked on to blood for months, but suddenly he wasn't so sure. There were too many mistakes; too many parts he could easily mess up at. He couldn‘t afford another failure. For Wufan, for Zitao; for the beautiful, deep doe eyes, never leaving his dancing form. He stopped in the steps, leaving the headphones on. The song calmed him. It was the one Wufan'd chosen as the perfect for him to perform to in front of the judges. The one they'd listened to for hours, trying to figure out the best steps for. And Yixing felt sorry he too, wasn't as perfect.

He sat down, leaning his forehead against the dirty mirror, panting heavily, his breath creating ugly foggy rounds on the surface and sweat dripping down his back; cold and uncomfortable. He looked up, meeting his tired, bloodshot eyes and giggled madly as he wrote Luhan's name onto the glass. The name of his doom; the name that had sent his whole life to ruins. And maybe Zitao was right. Maybe he shouldn't had left Wufan. Maybe this all really wasn't worth it. But it was too late now.





**





The melodious voice sounded through the audiotirum, every note hit with natural ease. It was flawless, the little smile on the lips moving along to the lyrics; the flutter of long eyelashes against porcelain skin; the gestures he did when the high notes came. Everything was just like he remembered it from the times he'd listened to him practise secretly. Everything about him was just as gorgeous as the first time they'd met. And Yixing didn‘t wonder anymore, why he'd fallen for him.

He felt the eyes on him when the song ended and his name was called. He dropped the microphone into his hands, mouth turning into grimace and Yixing felt so sick suddenly, fingers trembling terribly. He'd done this before; the losing battle of reaching for something he couldn't have. But this time, he was alone. This time there was no-one to comfort him after the results came out; no-one to cheer on him as he performed. Nothing but the eyes pushing him on and dragging him down at the same time. And maybe he regretted ignoring Wufan in the cafee; the troubled glances when he staggered, his head throbbing from lack of sleep. He'd just smiled on him, one of his glamorous fake smiles, dismissing his worries with another cup of over-sugared coffee. And Wufan let him go; because he always did.

"Zhang Yixing."

He bowed low, the opening beats of his song blaring from the speakers and his body moved, trained to do so without thinking. He sang along silently, melting into the melody as he had so many times; the perfect combination of happiness and despair. His movements precise, sharp where he practised them; smooth where he let go, putting in all the emotions, but not enough to give him away. He pinned his eyes on the beautiful face in the crowd, turning in a pirouette. A sincere smile grazed his lips at the familiar amazement and his vision swam. He felt his legs giving a way under him, the moves just a beat too late to be perfect. He kept going, though, the loving words of encouragement ringing in his mind and he found himself mumbling them quietly, just like Wufan had used to. He smiled sadly, the black swirls eating on his sight.

"Enough, he can't go on!"

There was a warm, delicate hand pressed to his back, doe eyes boring into him with concern. And he thought, as he slowly slipped into unconsciousness, that maybe they were all right; maybe he just didn‘t want to see. Maybe, it really was time to give up.



The boy waved at him as he came out of the changing room, apron tied tightly around his waist. He nodded back, taking over the bar with his usual business facade. The bell over the door tinkled as new customer entered and Zitao looked up from his table slowly, cautious of the people around. Yixing‘s insides clenched with guilt. He ignored the look the man gave him as he turned to prepare the mocha for him.

"Xing."

"I know. I'll be okay too," his mouth stretched in an almost invisible smile and his phone beeped with incoming message. The tall man squeezed his hand gently before he turned to the waiting boy with a grin. And Yixing didn't regret this time, as he deleted his photo from his display background.

A/N: i honestly have no idea what i just made. and i can't describe dancing to save my life so, idk congrats for surviving this thing..? anyway, thank you so much for reading (ﾉ*´ω`*)ﾉ~♥