"Wufan!" Zhang Yixing, twenty-three, called.

The mentioned male, Wu Fan (or Kris), — everyone who knew the tall, handsome, Chinese man strung his full name together as one, because it flowed much better that way —, twenty-four, turned around, and there was a clicking sound before Yixing caught the moment on film. They were in the middle of a park, and Yixing held a Polaroid camera in his hands as he gave Wufan a cheeky smile.

"Hey! Yixing!" Wufan complained almost childishly, as he ran over, taking the film that slid out of the camera. "I never said you could take a picture of me!"

"You never said I couldn't!" The younger man retorted, childishly sticking his tongue out at the blonde haired male — the spitting image of a six year old child who simply could not behave.

"You're a complete brat."

"So are you," Yixing replied, not missing a beat.

Wufan scowled, and Yixing batted his eyelashes innocently. The blonde pushed him with the hand that wasn't holding onto the plastic film. Yixing fell back dramatically, and Wufan rolled his eyes.

"Drama queen," he commented. Yixing tutted.

"I'm a guy, Wufan."

"Do I look like I really care?" Wufan taunted.

Yixing grinned, "Of course you do."

Wufan resisted the urge to strangle his best friend right then and there. The smartass.

"I don't care, Yixing. I don't even care."

"You care, Wufan. Trust me, I know."

The tall blonde rolled his eyes, "I don't."

He straightened up, attempting to use his height as an intimidation factor, but Yixing only laughed. The brunette had seen that trick be used far too many times.

"Ooh, Fan, you're so tall!" He mocked, "I'm so scared!"

"Don't antagonize your best friend, Yixing," Wufan warned.

Yixing blinked innocently, and blew him a kiss. Wufan used all his willpower to not die at Yixing's cuteness. If he wasn't in his right mind, he may have caught it, and been stupid, but Yixing wouldn't ever let him live that down if it happened, so he opted against it.

It didn't help with the photograph's development in any way whatsoever, but Wufan enjoyed waving the thin piece of plastic in the air. Of course, he knew didn't speed up the process, Yixing had told him the fact many times ("Wufan, don't be stupid. You look so dumb waving that thing around. It doesn't even help the development; if anyone asks, I don't know you.")

Yixing snatched the photograph away from Wufan, and stuck his tongue out at the older. As soon as the photo faded in, Yixing examined it; holding it away from Wufan. The brunette muffled a laugh behind his hand at the stunned expression on Wufan's face, and looked at the photograph.

"You look good!" Yixing remarked. "Really good, at that."

Wufan blushed lightly, and he prayed that Yixing couldn't notice. But of course, the oblivious brunette didn't catch on to his reaction to the compliment. In the midst of his flustered state, Wufan grabbed the Polaroid and turned it to them, snapping a photo of the two of them.

Yixing flailed, "Hey! Don't take random photos! I don't have a lot of film left!"

Wufan swatted mindlessly at the younger with his free hand (his other hand carefully guarded the camera, because Yixing would kill him in the most vicious ways that his not-so-innocent mind could conjure... which for the record, was very evil), "Shut up and take pictures with me."

Yixing compiled with a pout, "Fine."

And he leaned his head on Wufan's shoulder, soft brunette locks splaying across the older man's shoulder, comfortably holding up bunny ears with his fingers behind the head of a completely flustered Wufan; cheeks dusted pink, and biting his lower lip in embarrassment.

When did Yixing start affecting him so much?

The button (shakily) clicked, and the moment is captured on the thin piece of plastic.

When Yixing ran out of the film that he had on him, he made them both go back to his place, because Wufan undoubtedly had nothing better to do, and Yixing's apartment was nicer than his own.

There was that stark contrast between them, in which Yixing was creative and petite, albeit a little bit dumb and Wufan wasn't so talented in the arts and large, in addition to being intelligent. But regardless of everything, and every single one of their differences, they managed to stay the closest of friends (because they balanced each other out. Wufan was everything Yixing wasn't, and vice versa) — best friends, on days that Yixing felt like mentioning it.

Yixing's apartment was clean, regardless of his artistic antics that scattered paint and other sorts of things around the place. The rooms were black and white, completely monochrome in design, with the addition of a couple orange (of course, that was what it was to Wufan. Yixing identified the color scheme as cream and orange) pieces of furniture, and decorations for a splash of color. Wufan's apartment was messy, regardless of not doing anything, aside from takeout all the time, and having the boxes everywhere. However, like Yixing, his apartment was monochrome, yet completely complementary to Yixing's in color — blue furniture around the apartment.

Wufan immediately found himself sprawled across Yixing's cream sofa, when they had arrived where they had planned to crash. He was lazy, as opposed to Yixing's hyperactivity. Yixing sat on him, and Wufan grunted at the sudden weight.

"Am I heavy?" Yixing asked. His tone was innocent, but Wufan knew better than to tell him that he was heavy, and Yixing really wasn't that heavy (Yixing was quite similar to a light blanket; a warm one at that).

Yixing was sitting on his stomach, so it was a bit hard to breathe, but he forced himself to speak. The weight of someone seemed to change, depending on if they sat on your ing stomach or not.

"Nope," he wheezed. "Light as a feather, just like how you look."

Yixing smiled sweetly, though of course he knew Wufan was lying between his teeth — who wouldn't, when he was wheezing to speak coherently? He was oblivious and slightly dumb, not completely and utterly clueless and stupid. And so, he got off of Wufan, leaning against his shoulder after he forced him to sit up properly. Yixing rubbed at Wufan's stomach gently as if soothing the pain (Wufan would have liked to think that it was some form of affection; Yixing style).

"Want to watch a movie?" Yixing inquired.

"Sure, why not?"

Yixing flipped through his on demand television channels, and then turned to blink at Wufan.

"What do you want to watch?"

Wufan had always been terrible with decision making (especially with movies and other things similar to the sort), so he shrugged.

"Anything you want."

Yixing's eyes glinted deviously, and he pressed a few buttons in the remote controller.

"Are you sure?"

But Wufan knew that even though Yixing acted as if he wanted to confirm it, Yixing had already made a decision as to what they were going to watch.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Yixing pressed the OK button, and the opening credits began to play. They end up holding one another and crying their eyes out at the movie, A Werewolf Boy, that they — or, actually, it was all Yixing's idea — had decided to watch.

And then Yixing fell asleep in his lap. The blonde haired male watched, in the least creepy way — lies, because he was staring at the younger's pliant lips that pursed slightly as he slept. He wanted to kiss him, but he didn't want to take advantage of his best friend while he was sleeping.

He didn't fall asleep with Yixing on the couch. Rather, he took the younger into his bedroom, and laid him down so he would be comfortable. Had Yixing been awake, he would have dragged Wufan under the covers with him, but he wasn't, so the blonde haired male fell asleep on the chair beside Yixing's bed, his thoughts lulling him into a slumber. Yixing would scold him for being uncomfortable tomorrow.

He shouldn't be falling so hard for Yixing, but maybe now that he looked back on his feelings (and that damned dimple that made his smiles even more adorable than it already was); it was much too late. He was already, way too deeply, in love with Zhang Yixing.

Zhang Yixing is an artist. He put his time into exploring a hundred different mediums for artwork, but Wufan had never seen him (in all their years of friendship) be so in love with one of them. Yixing had never been good with words (neither of them were) and he used his art as a form of expression. He always has done that. Of all kinds of artistic styles, Yixing fell in love with watercolour painting. Wufan admitted to admiring all of his artworks.

But, Wufan doesn't know why he opted to give up painting for photography. Last time he checked, Yixing complained about the compositional process of photography, and why it . He vaguely remembers arguing with Yixing about the ways of expression, and how insensitive Yixing was being. He felt like for a week after that day for making Yixing cry.

If you were to ask Wufan, he would be able to tell you about all of the colors Yixing used in alphabetical order, and what they meant to Yixing. And also that Yixing absolutely never used the color pink. Ever.

He said it was girly, and expressed love. Which Yixing swore he's never felt before, and that he didn't want to feel it. Pink expressed tenderness and love, and affection — everything Wufan saw Yixing possessing, yet he could never understand why he didn't like the colour, and refused to use it in his artworks. But everyone has loved, and Yixing was just in denial. The brunette has had relationships in the past. Serious ones and short little flings. Yixing was someone who loved unconditionally, and he had always been like that.

In Yixing's art, red was the color of fire, so the brunette associated it with energy, danger, strength, power, determination as well as passion, and desire. Anything that came to his mind when someone said something about the vivid rouge color would be passionate and desires — sometimes anger, but he never admitted that. Yixing once remarked "red is often used to evoke feelings"; Wufan couldn't agree more, that one day that Yixing wore a tight fitting red V-neck shirt.

To Yixing, blue was tranquility and sophistication. The brunette insisted that it symbolized trust, loyalty, wisdom, confidence, intelligence, faith, and truth. Wufan was smacked by Yixing when he said that must be his color, because he was so trustworthy, wise, loyal, and intelligent. The painter retorted that the blonde oozed blue, not because he was intelligent, wise, trustworthy or even loyal, but because his confidence was irritating.

And purple combined the stability of blue and the energy of red. This was Yixing's favourite color because of its association with royalty. It symbolized power, nobility, luxury, and ambition to the brunette, and it conveyed wealth and extravagance. The beautiful mixed hue was the color of wisdom, dignity, independence, creativity, mystery, and magic to Yixing. The brunette shut Wufan up before he could ever remark about the color.

And they both could go on about colors forever. Yixing, because he liked the personal interpretation of colors, and Wufan, because he listened to everything Yixing said and it up like a sponge.

There was a day that every color Yixing ever spoke fondly about flashed before Wufan and everything grew monochrome. That day, Wufan saw black — panic, and fear.  On that day, was the moment that Yixing came running to him crying about not wanting to feel fluttery every time he's near a certain person, and begging Wufan to tell him that he wasn't deathly ill. That, would never leave his mind.

It was cute in a sense, but Wufan didn't like the idea of Yixing liking anyone that wasn't him.

That was the day he decided he would drop painting.

To say Wufan was devastated was an understatement, but he never voiced it, because it was Yixing, and he would support him through everything.

They met in the third grade — or well, when Yixing was on the third grade; Wufan was in the fourth. Wufan found Yixing annoying as on their first meeting, and the younger couldn't care less. But they're the best of friends now.

"It's not nice to push people out of the way," an eight year old Yixing declared, glaring at the taller boy who had caused him to fall over on a pile of leaves. It was autumn, and almost Halloween; the 28th of October.

"It's not nice to be so short, dumb and in the way." Wufan, also eight, retorted.

Immediately, Yixing's eyes began to water in response to the taller boy's extremely rude remark.

"That isn't nice!" he sniffled.

"Baby."

"I'm not a baby! I'm eight years old!" Yixing yelled at him, chest puffing out in pride at the declaration of his age; he had only turned eight two weeks ago.

Staggering and attempting to stand up, Yixing rubbed his dirt covered hands at his eyes.

"And you," he jabbed Wufan in the chest with an angry pout, "Are a meanie bum bum poop head!"

Wufan was taken aback. A what?

"Hey! I am not!" Wufan yelled, pushing the younger.

Yixing fell back onto the dirt, and again, he teared up. Loud wails that emphasized the fact that he was crying rang through the playground, and Wufan panicked.

"Yixing!" a boy in Wufan's grade ran over, and hugged the little boy into his own petite arms.

Wufan recognized him as Lu Han, and if he didn't know that baby faced boy was, in fact, nine years old; older than Wufan.

"Hannie!" Yixing wailed, clinging onto the elder.

Lu Han stood up, and glared at Wufan, before turning to find their teacher.

"Ms. Song! Wufan is bullying his junior!" he yelled, and the teacher turned to look.

Before the teacher could make her way over, Wufan quickly apologized to the younger, and gave him a wet kiss to the cheek, because that was how he was taught to stop making things bad.

"I'm sorry," he said, guiltily looking down at the ground. "I didn't mean to push you..."

"Are you really sorry?" Yixing asked, staring at him warily, his cheeks tinting a light pink from the kiss (it wasn't until he got a little bit older that Wufan found out why).

"Yes, I am, I really am! I'll even kiss your injury better!" Wufan exclaimed.

Yixing smiled sweetly, and Wufan could see his dimple, and he thought that Yixing was kind of beautiful, and maybe that was when he first fell in love.

"I forgive you," Yixing said, his bangs falling over his eyes. Wufan thought it was adorable.

"You have a cute hole in your face," he said shyly.

Yixing beamed, "It's called a dimple," he said, pronouncing the syllables carefully. "But, thank you."

To the side, the older boy who had been forgotten shook his head. He didn't really care about being forgotten, but they were simply adorable. Lu Han grinned, and ran off to find his friends, leaving the two younger boys to play (Lu Han quickly became that one person that desperately wanted the two to just shut the up and get married).

There was a silence, before Yixing spoke up again, in a soft voice, his feet shyly toed the ground. Wufan found the way he fidgeted adorable.

"Do you want to play in the sandbox with me, Xuezhang?"

At the way Yixing addressed him as his senior, Wufan thought he was going to die.

"Of course I want to, Xuedi."

They were the watercolours and tools that Yixing expressed himself with. Wufan was the paints, and Yixing was the assorted watercolour specialized paintbrushes. Yixing could move on and find something else to paint a picture with, even though it wouldn't feel right. He could move to applying acrylics to the canvas that represented life. Wufan on the other hand served no purpose without Yixing — the paintbrush. He too, could find something else to apply him onto a canvas with, but he was stable, and he didn't have a choice as to what he wanted.

That was the difference between them. Yixing had a choice, but Wufan didn't. Wufan had thrown away his chance for a choice a long time ago, in favour of being with Yixing — even though he knew Yixing may not end up choosing him in the end.

Wufan would prefer it if Yixing selected him as the method to get through life, and paint the epitome of beauty with his assistance; the definition of love, perhaps? He wanted them to get through this together, and make something beautiful out if it. Hand in hand; bristle to pigment.

It was winter when Wufan first fell in love (or at least when he first admitted to it).

At fifteen and sixteen (Yixing being the younger, obviously), they had made a tradition out of going to one another's houses to celebrate the holidays. Yixing's parents and, in addition, Wufan's parents would go out of town, leaving them in one another's care — and secretly the neighbours, who would call if something happened.

This year had been special.

"Wufan!" Yixing smiled, pulling the older into a tight hug as he entered the house.

"Hey, Xing," Wufan greeted, ruffling the younger's dyed brown hair.

Yixing giggled, but it was muffled by Wufan's jacket 

"I made peppermint pudding," Yixing told him, and Wufan smiled.

It was a tradition for them to eat the minty flavoured pudding while they watched a movie together, so the taller was always thrilled to do things like that with Yixing. Anything to make the brunette smile.

"And mama finally bought me some nice painting equipment!"

"Really, Xing? That's great for you!"

The admiring twinkle in his eyes as he spoke about his newfound hobby was almost entrancing, and Wufan almost forgot to breathe.

He felt oddly constricted as the two of them crammed into Yixing's queen sized bed that night. And when Yixing fell asleep with his head on Wufan's chest, he realized that maybe it was much too late to try and stop himself from falling in love with Yixing.

But he would try to keep his feelings to a minimum, and not let them get in the way of their friendship. Wufan was Yixing's protector since the fourth grade, and Yixing didn't seem to want it to change anytime soon. So Wufan knew enough about the feeling, even at sixteen years of age, to know that he should bury it deep down inside of him — as far as it'll go.