Krishan in Kris's POV

I'm no romantic.

Hopeless might be a good word to describe me, whether it's attached onto the beginning of a word—a hopeless romantic, a hopeless case—or just by itself. Hopeless.

And then I met Lu Han.

He wasn't particularly amazing when I first saw him. Sure, he had big doe-like eyes, caramel-colored hair swept softly to the side, high cheekbones and pale skin. He was more or less a doll. And I didn't like that.

Well, that's not really the entire truth.

I was trying to jump off a train platform when I first met him. You can go figure just how hard it is to notice every passersby at a train station when you're trying to end your life.

I've been depressed for the most part of my existence, with mostly plausible reasons. In grade school, I was never the kind of kid who went to the first day in a nice car with new clothes, a new backpack, and new pencils and notebooks, and received the friendly welcoming that teachers gave them. I was always the kid that walked to school in shoes that should've been replaced long ago, with the ratty old backpack he'd been using for years now, falling apart at the seams; old filthy clothes that could be said the same; and stubby pencils and scribbled-on notebooks obviously purchased at the local thrift shop. Teachers gave me the half-condescending, half-afraid look that was usually given to juvenile delinquents, or risqué grunge kids, and probably intruders-on-campus if they ever got close enough. No one liked me—not that I could blame them due to my filthy homeless street kid appearance. And that didn't really give them the right to bully me, but they did anyway. When I lashed out and punched them, it always ended up being my fault to start with, somehow. So I stopped punching. And they continued bullying.

I'm not trying to sound ungrateful or miffed for my parents not giving me the right materials. And I'm not saying that everyone's first day has to be absolutely fabulous. But I'm going on a whim to say that most kids end up making at least one friend by the end of the year, with at least a place to sit at lunch, and maybe, just maybe, they'd graduate the grade with newer clothes than they started the grade off with.

I finished practically every year still friendless, lost, and desperately out-of-style.

My parents were the abusive, neglecting type. I could say they're worse than a lot of parents, except I wouldn't know how other parents are like. My father was never at home, usually cheating on my mother or drinking, and my mother was never sober. If she was, she would be smoking. Most of the money she earned to support us went to booze and tobacco—thus explaining my mangy, filthy, half-starved appearance every day.

The cheating amongst my parents was more or less a two-way street; my mother would bring home guys all the time, some that looked twenty years older and some that looked twenty years younger. When I was smaller, I would run to my bedroom and hide myself under the covers the second I heard the giggles of my mother and her new lover going up the stairs so I didn't have to hear the moans, late at night.

I still heard them.

You could say I was a product of a broken household.

Teenage years were a bust. I never saw my father anymore, nor my mother since we never crossed paths. That was fine by me, because puberty had done quite the shocker to lonely little-boy Kris and changed him into something along the lines of god (not to boast, of course). In high school, I suddenly gained the attention I never thought I'd receive in grade school—the fame and swooning afforded by ty girls and their jock boyfriends alike. I'd probably slept with every cute yet shallow girl in the school, and I went from snitching money from my mother to pay for dates, clothes, condoms and other necessities, to stealing from friends in school—and then to random strangers on the street.

My teenage life of fooling around as alpha male was quickly cut to a short end when I was caught picking the pocket of some council member of the town (who also happened to be the father of one of the girls I'd ed—and he was not too happy about that fact either) and thrown into juvy.

It reminded me of the teachers' looks towards me in grade school, the way they monitored me carefully around other children and had on faces that said, that kid is definitely going to juvy.

I guess I should've tried to prove them wrong. But then again, there's no point. If I stayed the quiet, shy distant street-kid appearance, I'd be framed for something by one of the bullies anyway. It was better to become a bully than be the victim of one, so that's what I did. After all, my fate was sealed either way.

As any story of a juvenile delinquent goes, I dropped out of high school and set out on my own to live on the streets. I was still quite gorgeous at the time, with an attractive face and a tall, muscled body, but I didn't feel like modeling or designing or doing practically anything to make my life better. I dyed my hair a light, tussled brown and brought a few good clothes with me, enough to look like a celebrity when I wanted to. Mostly, I just stayed a hot homeless guy.

But as those years of being extremely good-looking faded away and I barely survived on picking pockets, I decided to return home.

And through the process I killed my father.

Oops.

I'm not going to go into detail about how that happened. But that did get me into another very long stint at juvy, which melded into jail as I got older. I was going nowhere.

If anyone was an example of a broken home, it would be me.

"It's a pity someone with your looks had to go down such a wrong path," a female cop once told me scathingly, when she passed by my cell in jail. "You could've done great things."

I was tired of dealing with people like these, so  I just glared back at her from the corner where I was sitting with my hands over my knees. That's what a lot of people say. That's what everyone says. Did I ever get a chance to fix myself? Am I doing great things now? No, and no. It doesn't matter what could've happened; it matters what is happening. And right now I'm an emotionless, hopeless . People like me can't do great things even if we tried.

So there I was, maybe ten years older after that whole mess happened, maybe fifteen, I don't know. In the middle of a busy train station, standing a little over the yellow line on the platform, close to the edge but not close enough to attract attention. People were walking by, to and fro and busy with their complete, probably successful normal lives. I was standing there, alone, with my shades and my leather jacket on over all my nice celebrity-clothes, minding my own business and looking hot. But only I knew I was a hot mess, deep down inside.

I took in a deep breath, feeling my hands tremble but stilling them to calm myself. If I did this correctly, it'd be quick and it'd all be over. People would be shocked, they'd be downright scared, but it wasn't their decision to make or to judge, and I'd be all over the news for a while—but that'd be it. Everyone would still have to go on with their lives after my death was determined as a suicide, self-intended harm, and no one would care. They might pity me, or think I was selfish for taking my life when I should feel lucky to live in such a beautiful world with family and friends.

But I don't feel lucky. This world is only beautiful for them because they have it cut out for them. I don't. And I didn't have family or friends left. I didn't have anyone left in this world that cared.

Screw people.

I could hear the train rumbling through the tunnel, and I inched my toes, wrapped in exclusive Prada leather, further past the yellow line and over the edge.

This was it.

And I was ready.

"Sir? Sir!" Someone was shouting behind me, sounding more and more concerned. I gritted my teeth and rolled my eyes, not bothering to turn around. He didn't sound very authoritative, just a frightened bystander, and there was no need to bother with him. I'd miss my train and my chance.

"You there, sir! Oh, it..." I heard the stranger muttering as his shoes tapped against the tiles. We were drawing quite a bit of attention, and only now did some people notice that I was standing way past the yellow line, very close to the tracks. I heard gasping and whispers as others whipped out their phones or tried to approach me. Goddamnit this guy is not helping. Even when I was trying to kill myself and make my own decision, no one would let me.

What a sick world.

"Sir—" the stranger began, a lot closer now, and I spun around angrily. He was tall, taller than I'd expected but not as tall as myself. His light brown, stern eyes held my furious gaze unflinchingly, and the wind gently lifted his puffy, soft honey-colored hair off his forehead. His youthful china doll features were too delicate and fragile to take seriously, and I snorted and turned around again. He was not worthy to deal with. My train was coming and this would be all over in mere seconds.

"Sir, you can't!" The ing persistent prick, trying to tell me what I can and can't do. He put a hand on my shoulder tentatively and I slapped it off.

"Don't touch me," I hissed, narrowing my eyes at him. "I don't know what gives you the audacity to think that you have a say over my life. I don't even know you. Get out of my way." The train rumbled even louder as it began to enter the tunnel where it would stop at the station, so close, and I bent my knees in preparation.

"I know you," he said softly, but just loud enough to make me hear it. And freeze. I turned to peer closely at him. He didn't look like anyone I'd seen on the streets or in my short-lived school days—not that I'd paid attention, but if he was there I'd at least have the slightest recognition.

"...What?" Goddamn, the train was running through the tunnel now. Music to signal that it was arriving played over the intercom. It'd be here in seconds.

"Lu Han." He extended a hand and I stared at him in disbelief.

"Do you ing think I have time for introductions right now?"

"I wanted to kill myself, too, years ago," he began hurriedly. "I tried everything. I-"

I cut him off and turned away. The music was becoming increasingly loud, and the sound of the train echoed throughout the entire underground station. "The s I give are dying with me. Might as well save yourself before you get run over."

He snatched my wrist with a surprisingly firm grip despite his petit hands and delicate stature. "Don't. Just hear me out and then you can you catch the next train. I won't stop you then, I promise."

I stared at him in disgust. He was sapping away my courage, the calm that I had built up, with anger and irritation. He was ruining my plans and I had a strong urge to push him over the platform with me.

But then I was reminded that I was a murderer already. And I would die by taking an innocent life of someone who was trying to help me, however fruitless his help was.

Even to juvy-spent, ghetto street kid me, that was wrong.

"Everyone get back behind the yellow line, the train is pulling into the station!" A policeman suddenly yelled as he appeared from the entrance to the platform with a whole squad behind him, pointing at me and Lu Han. His finger lowered as he recognized me, and something akin to a shark's smile crawled up his face. I scowled first at Lu Han, who still was holding my wrist, and then at the policeman. Fat turd.

"Well if it isn't our juvy friend. Not much of a surprise at all." The cop grinned and barked at other passersby to mind their own business, and they scuttled away like ants terrified of the queen. "Are you trying to bring down this pretty little thing with you, too? That's against the law and you would be arrested for murder and suicide." He tsked and I bristled, trying my hardest not to throw him off the platform.

"Officer, we were just leaving," Lu Han said tersely, dragging me swiftly away and over the yellow line into safety—just as the train roared past.

Its brakes screeched and rang deafeningly in my ears as it slowed to a stop. The wind tousled Lu Han's soft fluffy caramel hair and tossed my mop to the side. I could feel the vibrations of the hi-speed train through the floor and shake my spine. I glowered at Lu Han and he shriveled slightly. The cop smirked and left to find other innocent civilians to pick on. Prick. I never bothered to remember his name.

"Why did you stop me? This is my life," I snarled, turning on the boy. Even though he was tall, I was still a good two or three inches over him and he shrunk  a little more.

Lu Han took a deep breath. "I know you've probably heard this before, but don't do it. You're above it. And I'm not saying you could've done better things in life—trust me, I've heard that too, and it's annoying as hell—maybe you can't. You simply just can't do better things, sure. But now isn't the time."

I crossed my arms and rolled my eyes. "Please don't continue by saying how you're a servant of God and how you go by the Bible doing everything you can in a sinless way, which includes saving people from taking their life when it's not time and facing eternal Hell."

He laughed, but the sound was choked and uncertain. "No, I won't. But I'll continue by saying you're not ready."

I straightened up and stared at him. My insides burned. "Excuse me? Who gave you the right to be judge and jury?"

"No one." Lu Han looked down with a sad smile. His pretty long eyelashes framed his eyes, and his cheekbones lifted slightly with he looked up at me with the smallest of grins. "But you're the executioner. And no one can stop you if you want to kill someone—yourself."

I swallowed and blinked. Wasn't he trying to prevent me from jumping? Why would he tell me I could if I wanted to, even though I knew this already? "You said you know me."

"I don't, not personally, but I know at least some of what you've been going through. I may not know your life story, and I cannot claim to know, but I know at least some of the thoughts you might be going through when you were ready to step off the edge of that platform. I'm telling you now that I can't guarantee things will be better if you don't die. I can't guarantee that you'll suddenly become a millionaire, or that you won't be returning to your current lifestyle, whatever that may be. You might just be living in agony for the rest of your life, who knows. I can't guarantee everything will be happy and good from now on.

"But at least if you spare yourself your life, you might have the chance. You'd have the chance to make things better for yourself, or become a millionaire, because in the slightest possible way you might. Without trying to make your life better, you'd never know."

"You're the best motivational speaker ever, telling me you can't guarantee me anything," I shot back dryly.

He chuckled sadly. "I'm barely getting by, to be honest. After what...after my attempt. But I know I've been given the chance to redeem my life by myself, and it's really what I make of life that determines how happy I'm going to be." He tightened his lips and said no more.

For a while we just stood there, my arms crossed and his head down. I stared at his beautiful face, which easily rivaled mine when I was in my ultimate prime. He glanced at me, his large doe eyes with flickers of honey color scattered in the warm, innocent sea of brown, studying me the way I was studying him. I don't know how long it was before the music started again and people began crowding towards the platform, announcing the arrival of another train. I broke the eye contact to look up, and when I turned towards Lu Han his head was bent down.

"There it is," Lu Han told his shoes. "You can go if you want to. I've said what I've wanted to say."

I bit my lip. "Where is the train heading?"

He looked up in curiosity, his pink lips pursed slightly. "Gangnam. What does it matter to you?"

"I want to be closer to the richer side of the country," I lied, shrugging it off as a joke. He didn't laugh, he just looked back down and nodded, scuffling his shoes against the dirty tiles and obviously disappointed that his words didn't seem to have any effect on me at all.

I took a deep breath and stepped near the platform again. Past the yellow line, with my toes wrapped in Prada leather and tipping over the edge. Wind was starting to course wildly through the tunnel as the train neared, billowing through my jacket and my hair and whistling in my ears. I could see Lu Han from the corner of my eye step near me, although he was behind the yellow line. I looked at him and he smiled. A tear slowly slipped down his prominent cheekbones, tracing the frame of his small face and dripping off his jaw line. I fought the urge to walk over and thumb it away.

"Best of luck," he said quietly. "I hope it doesn't hurt. Tell me what Heaven's like on the other side."

I smirked at him. "I thought I was going to Hell."

He shrugged half-heartedly. "Someone like you is going somewhere, that's for sure."

The ground beneath me was starting to rumble. I teetered dangerously on the platform, feeling my heart thud in my chest but at the same time feeling a strange calm take over my body. My mind was at rest, at peace. I was no longer bothering with anything about my parents, my peers, or what other people thought of me. I appreciated Lu Han's thoughts, and I appreciated it more that he let me make my own choice. My life was my life.

I was glad he acknowledged that.

I closed my eyes and felt the utmost serene as a mini earthquake ensued across the platform. The wind was becoming deafening, and I could feel the bright white of the train lights reflecting off the tunnel walls and into my face as the train arced around the bend and closer to the station.

I took a deep breath, opened my eyes to see the train racing towards me, roaring like a lion, and closed them again.

If I was going to do it, now was my chance.

I would be ready.

...And it rushed past, it's brakes loud enough to deafen a person as the piercing sound echoed around the cement walls, the momentum of breeze carried with it almost enough to knock me off the platform and get my feet stuck between the train and the ground.

I stepped back gratefully, my heart pounding as I released the breath I had been holding. I smiled. A real, genuine smile in what felt like a long time.

I turned to my left to show Lu Han proudly, all smiles, but he wasn't there. He had left my side and was sitting on the steps that led to the outside world of the underground station, curled in a ball and his hands on his face, crying for a stranger he never even knew the name of. I grinned, laughed a little even. He thought I did it.

Even I thought I was going to do it.

But if there was one thing I learned, the executioner is the real judge.

And the executioner was me.

People were streaming out of the train and it was ready for the civilians headed to Gangnam to board. I smiled and boarded the nearly full train, poking my head out of the doors.

"Lu Han!"

His head jerked up, his face a war-zone for tears as he stared at me, his doe eyes wider than possible in shock and utter disbelief.

I couldn't help but laugh joyously at his expression, gesturing him to hurry. Music over the intercom was playing, signaling that the train was about to leave. "Hurry!"

Stunned, he leapt to his feet and wobbled down the steps, going from a fast-walk to a full out sprint as the doors were about to close. I held them open just as he made it into the train car, panting and with a face of utter confusion and terror as he put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. "Wha-?"

Before he could say anything more, I pulled him up and hugged him right there, in front of everyone. He stood there like a limp doll, his breathing quieted out of surprise. And then his arms came up, slowly, to wrap around my waist. I smiled into his coat.

"Thank you."

I could feel his lean, lithe frame relax in my hands and his smile in my neck. "I'm glad I could help."

"You did. You brought me back."

A slight pause, and a short moment of awkwardness as we pulled away from each other and found two seats. And then he murmured, while I cleaned the tears off his face and laced my fingers through his in the sheer joy and excitement of being alive and cared about, "Why are we going to Gangnam again?"

I grinned without looking at him. "We can go anywhere we want."

Lu Han pouted slightly, an action that I saw out of the corner of my eye and made me smile wider. He was so adorable it didn't really strike me as that weird that I was holding hands and wiping the tears of a complete stranger.

But then again, he wasn't exactly a stranger. Not anymore, since strangers didn't just save you from dying. They wouldn't be strangers after that.

Lu Han was really something. He brought me back from past the yellow line, the gray area that teetered perilously between life—behind the yellow line—and death, the darkness of the train tracks below. He brought me back behind the yellow line, and offered me something that I hadn't expected, after all my years of being nothing but hopeless.

Hope.

We sat in silence for a while, listening to the soft bumbling of the hi-speed train beneath us as it sped past the suburban areas into the city, sounding not unlike a friendly purring lion. I enjoyed Lu Han's company. I enjoyed knowing that he was far from a fragile china doll, even though he looked the part. I enjoyed being alive, and knowing that someone actually cared.

I turned to him, grinning. His eyes, still red and puffy from crying, were closed. He looked peaceful, serene. "You know, I never properly introduced myself."  I stuck out a hand, even though he couldn't see it. "Wu Yi Fan, known as Kris Wu."

His eyeballs rolled under his eyelids and a small smile played at the corner of his lips. Without opening his eyes, he said softly, "Do you ing think I have time for introductions right now?"

I snorted. "Well played, Lulu. Can I call you that? Lulu?"

"Shut up," he mumbled, his lashes shadowing his eyes as he opened them slightly.

With a small satisfactory grin, I let out a breath and leaned against the headrest of the seat, closing my eyes and feeling, for once, at peace. Lu Han's fingers were still entwined in mine. He squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back.