It starts out harmless.

Jongdae touches Kyungsoo one day and the boy jumps. Everyone laughs. He blushes and pushes the lighter-haired man away, muttering about static. Jongin and Sehun make fun of him for weeks, donning socks and dragging their feet along shaggy carpets, reaching over the back of the couch to tap Yifan on the head, then laughing as he curses profusely.

Then it gets worse.

They pretend not to notice, for Jongdae’s sake.

When Baekhyun gets home after a particularly hard day at work, Jongdae embraces him in a tight hug and the boy winces, struggling to push the other off, but quickly morphing his expression into one of mock anger. Jongdae doesn’t notice.

He doesn’t notice either during movie night. They’d strategically sat him on the edge of the couch, but then Minseok had set himself beside him, despite Luhan’s pointed look. Zitao picks a horror movie, claiming to be over any fears. The lights go off. The black-haired boy is clinging to Yifan within seconds. Jongdae is alright for the first half, until someone jumps out of nowhere and he presses himself into Minseok’s side. The older boy presses his lips together to repress a yelp.

After the movie, Jongdae, Jongin, Kyungsoo and Sehun bid everyone goodnight and bleary-eyes and yawning, slowly make their way to their rooms. Sehun is nodding off, but too lazy to get up, and Zitao is practically passed out, face-down in Yifan’s lap.

As soon as they’re out of sight, Minseok makes a grab for the rest of Joonmyun’s water. He hovers his hand over the glass, turning it upside down to dump a giant cylinder of ice on his red arm. Sehun turns on the light and Luhan dashes over to Minseok’s side.

“This is a problem,” the second eldest notes seriously, slapping away Minseok’s hands to take care of the arm himself, snapping the ice into fragments with precise flicks of his wrist before pressing them to Minseok’s arm, palms out and eyes apologetic when the elder hisses. “We need to do something.”

“I know,” Yifan groans from the ground. “But what?” He absentmindedly cards his hands through short, black hair, frowning when the boy is smiling up at him a second later, on his back. He slaps Zitao’s cheek. “No cheating.”

Chanyeol rubs his hands together, a nervous habit. Once they’re surrounded in a faint orange glow, he looks up. “I thought we’d all worked out our problems.”

Baekhyun nudges his from the side, grinning when the low fire is extinguished and Chanyeol frowns. “You have. Everyone else? Not so much. I mean, Jongin still has his problems.” Not a moment later, there’s a puff of black smoke and dark eyes are glaring up at him.

“My bedroom is right next to the living room,” he drawls, shadows under his eyes glaringly apparent. “You all are so loud. You’re lucky his room is at the end of the hall.” Then he disappears in another black cloud. Baekhyun laughs nervously.

“But seriously,” Luhan starts, calling attention back to Minseok’s swollen arm. “Someone could get hurt.”

“What are we going to say?” Sehun snaps. “Don’t touch me, Jongdae? Get away?”

“We could try to do something without him noticing,” Sehun suggests, head flopped to the side.

Joonmyun crosses his arms. “Well, whatever we do, we can’t tell him.” All the others nod in agreement. The second-in-command nudges Yixing. “You’re on damage control,” he instructs. The other nods and lazily gets up, batting Luhan’s hands away so that he can press the palms of his hands against Minseok’s inflamed arm. Luhan makes a face and, with a few finger flicks, has the melted ice consolidated into a sphere which Joonmyun takes and disposes of without fanfare.

Everyone agrees on the meager plan and leaves after Minseok is well. Yixing collapses on the couch, exhausted soon after. He is woken in the early hours of the morning with a small needle of pain and opens his eyes to see a small smile. He allows Jongdae to help him to his bed before heading off to work, leaving Yixing passed out on Jongdae’s bed, much closer than Yixing’s room at the end of the hall.

When it happens, Luhan tries to joke that he jinxed it. But then, no one’s in the mood to joke.

Joonmyun works at a daycare. He’s trying to tell a story at dinner and everyone’s cracking up. Jongdae folds over in his chair and leans on the older man and then an ear-shattering scream fills the room.

Everything stops.

Joonmyun his the floor.

Yifan is flying across the room in seconds, picking up the limp body and shouting orders. Luhan inadvertently throws Jongdae against the wall in his haste to reach the fallen man. Yifan says something about a hospital and they all dash outside. They reach the SUV in seconds. Minseok drives. Yifan pulls Yixing in on his other side. The man tentatively grabs the melted skin and apologizes profusely when all he can manage is a thin layer of flesh covering the wound that gradually peels off as the body is shifted. Sehun blows cool air over the bleeding wound while everyone else looks on helplessly.

Yifan glides into the emergency room and has the boy in a room within a minute.

It isn’t until they’re all seated that they notice Jongdae isn’t present. Jongin disappears momentarily and returns with the information that Jongdae’s bedroom door is closed and locked. They don’t have any time to dwell on it, because then the doctor returns and informs everyone that Joonmyun is just dealing with third-degree burns which have been cleaned and bound. He’ll be let out as soon as he wakes up, and until then he can only have one person in the room at a time.

Yixing is unanimously selected.

As he and the doctor leave, the rest gather in a tight huddle. Yixing sighs and follows the bespectacled man into a sterile, white room. The door is shut and Yixing is surrounded by beeping and shallow breathing. He shudders and takes his place on Joonmyun’s right, carefully removing the sling so that he can spread his fingers across the wound. Almost immediately he can feel a familiar sting in his own fingertips that winds up his arm and spreads through his body. He grits his teeth and carried on until the world around him recedes and its only him and the wounded arm.

Joonmyun wakes up an hour later and checks his arm with Yixing’s hesitant permission. Slightly reddened flesh is all that’s left of the ghastly wound. He moves the arm with a wince and frowns.

“It’s mainly superficial,” Yixing explains, hiding his blood-stained hands behind his back, “I couldn’t get deep enough.”

Joonmyun brushes him off with a wide smile, replacing the sling just as Luhan tentatively opens the door and Sehun runs in as soon as he sees Joonmyun sitting up, tackling the man in a hug. Joonmyun laughs and brushes his hands through bleach-damaged hair and Zitao insists he has something caught in his eye. They make their hasty leave soon after, paying the hospital with one of Yifan’s many cards, said man hovering around Joonmyun like he’s made of glass. The other’s aren’t much better.

Sehun and Jongin sleep in Joonmyun’s room that night, on the floor in case he needs anything. Yixing falls asleep before his head hits the pillow.

Things are worse, but everyone tries to ignore it.

Jongdae doesn’t come out of his room. Kris tells them that his window is locked from the inside, and the curtains are drawn. Yixing ferries trays of food back and forth, knocking lightly before running away. For the first three days, the tray remains full. Yixing is sad.

On the fourth day, he wakes to find the tray devoid of food. He smiles and continues to bring food to the door for the remainder of the week.

After that, he doesn’t have a chance to.

Dinner has become a quiet affair, one chair near the end empty, but plate filled in vain hope. Luhan mumbles, “well at least he’s stopped touching people,” under his breath and Minseok whack him. Baekhyun looks up and gasps shortly after. Silence resumes as the twelfth chair is pulled back and Jongdae sits himself at the table. Yixing sends him a warm smile that he never looks up to see. The lightning elemental leaves without touching his food. A door slams shut and everyone looks down.

“This is a problem,” Luhan admits, features marred with guilt.

Jongdae leaves his room only to go to work, giving everyone a one-minute interval in the morning and in the afternoon to make him feel as loved as possible. The first time they see him pulling on his shoes, Chanyeol grins widely and reaches over to punch him playfully, muffling a shout when his fist is struck by what feels like thousands of tiny pins. Jongdae adverts his eyes and escapes out the front door. Baekhyun walks over and punches Chanyeol in the chest.

As the others fret over what to do, Yixing takes the initiative. He takes time off at the shelter so that he can be home when Jongdae gets home. Yixing heals physical wounds, so why can’t he do the same with emotional? Although, he notes one day with a frown, he can’t simply touch it and make it disappear. He resolves to make the man happy, nonetheless.

Unlike Chanyeol’s more headstrong strategy, Yixing tries to be more subtle. He runs his fingertips over Jongdae’s head when he’s tying his shoes, brushes past him in the hall, and makes sure their fingers touch when he hands him his shoes–that he hid the night before–all the while ignoring the little prick of pain that touching Jongdae entails.

Exhausted with his unsuccessful attempts, Yixing waits until Jongdae returns home one day and when the man is making his way to his room, Yixing grabs his hand.

“What are you–” Jongdae exclaims, trying to wrench his hand free. Yixing adds his other hand, standing his ground and looking right at the man. Jongdae meets his eyes and glares.

“Yixing!” Yifan shouts from the kitchen, and then everyone else runs over.

And then Yixing doesn’t just feel the pain, he sees it, a bright red that creeps over his hand, leaving it raw. Someone gasps behind him and Jongdae’s face changes from angry to terrified, trying to wrench his hand free with newfound vigor. “Yixing, stop,” he pleads, staring with wide eyes at damaged skin.

Yixing manages another minute before he loses feeling in his hand and his grip goes slack. Jongdae makes his escape and Yixing is overwhelmed with his housemates.

“What were you thinking, Yixing?” Yifan shouts. “You knew what was going to happen, why did you–”

“We have to get him to a hospital,” Joonmyun chimes in, voice wavering, “his hands–”

Yixing pushes them all away, regrettably leaving red stains on their clothes. He retreats to his room and locks the door. Yixing stays up all night, until his hands sport only a tinge of red and are no longer devoid of skin. Then he sleeps, leaving his room around the time when Jongdae heads to work.

An hour later and the man’s door is still locked.

Yixing steps into the living room where only Luhan is seated, watching television. He has the day off. “Luhan.”

The older man jumps up. “Yixing!” He almost cries, eyes wandering straight to his limbs, “your hands–”

“Are fine,” Yixing finishes impatiently, “I need you to do something for me.” He grabs the man, ignoring the ache in his appendage. He stops them in front of a door. “Open it.”

Luhan laughs nervously. “Yixing, you know I can’t.”

“You told Yifan you wouldn’t. We all know you can,” he taps his foot. “So do it.”

Luhan glares. “You better know what you’re doing,” he snaps, cursing at the man under his breath as he kneels and moves around gears in the lock. There’s a muted click and he moves back.

“Thanks,” Yixing huffs, pushing him away, “and don’t tell anyone.”

“And to think I was worried.” Luhan rolls his eyes and stomps off.

Yixing eases the door open and sees a lump in the bed. He locks the door behind him and opens the window. Jongdae shoots out of bed. “Yixing,” he gasps, “what–”

“Follow me,” he orders, jumping out and onto the terrace. He carefully climbs down from the third story room and waits, catching his breath, as Jongdae follows. Wordlessly, he leads him through the foliage behind the building until they reach a trail. It winds through the trees, across a creek, and down a steep hill as the trees get thicker and taller.

When Jongdae is about to complain, they reach an open field. He gapes at the thinly covered soil and looks to Yixing for an answer.

“Last year, Chanyeol got drunk and started a forest fire,” he says, sitting down on a large rock, “Sehun contained the damage and Joonmyun tried to put it out. Yifan gave them hell. I’ve been trying to fix it, but,” he shrugs, “it’s slow work. So, go for it.”

“You mean…” Jongdae trails off and Yixing nods, getting comfortable. He looks up, the sky is starting to get dark, but it’s just past midday.

“You were doing so well, and then you started messing up,” Yixing prods none too gently. “What happened?”

“Yifan,” Jongdae grits his teeth, “he said I was doing good, but it still wasn’t good enough.” A thin string of light travels from his hand into the earth in the blink of an eye.

Yixing grins.

“After that, I don’t know, I just didn’t see a reason to keep trying if it’s never going to be good enough.” The sky rumbles overhead and Jongdae looks up. “I just–why can’t I be like you guys?”

The tiny hairs on the back of Yixing’s neck begin to rise from the electricity in the air.

“Even Chanyeol, he hardly slips up,” Jongdae shouts, another bolt diving into the ground. “I want that!” He yells, and a crash sounds from overhead. Yixing pulls his legs up and watches as thousands of electric strands crawl off of Jongdae’s body to wither and die on the ground. They grow larger until strikes from the sky join them. It’s beautiful, really.

It’s a while before Jongdae calms, clouds overhead finally thinning to reveal a baby blue sky and waning sun.

“I don’t want them to be scared anymore,” Jongdae whispers as one last bolt slithers down his body.

Yixing abandons his post on the rock to step forward. “They’re not,” he disagrees, growing closer, stopping when he and Jongdae are only a few feet apart. Jongdae gives him a dubious look. Yixing bites his lip. “I’m not scared,” he amends.

Jongdae’s eyes flash and Yixing’s not sure what that means until he’s yanked forward and–wow. Jongdae’s front is pressed up against his and it doesn’t hurt. Not at all. Jongdae’s lips are pressed against his own and all he can feel are gentle spikes and pricks all over. It’s fantastic.

Then Jongdae’s gone. Mouth open in shock, like he can’t believe what he’s done, he stands before Yixing. “I’m so sorry, I can’t believe–” He stops when Yixing shakes his head profusely. “I don’t–I’m,” Jongdae looks away and shifts on his feet. “Was it okay?”

Yixing grins because Jongdae is being absolutely adorable, and then struggles to put it into words. After a minute, all he can come up with is, “there were sparks. Everywhere.”

Jongdae looks crestfallen. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Yixing, why didn’t you say anything, why didn’t you stop me if–”

And Yixing is upset because that’s not what he meant. Not at all. So he takes a decisive step forward and threads both hands into Jongdae’s hair, relishing the little stings his limbs receive. “Again,” he orders before pressing their lips back together, aloud when the sensation engulfs him and Jongdae tugs him impossibly closer.

It takes hours to walk back, but they take their time, hands clasped together. Yixing barely feels the phantom pinches anymore, and it’s like holding hands with Luhan or Zitao. He tells the slightly younger man as much and he grins ecstatically. Yixing returns it.

When they open the door, the other ten are seated at the table and are engaged in a heated debate. Yifan notes the two first and everyone goes quiet. Yixing closes the front door.

Kyungsoo is the first to break the silence. “Is, um, everything okay now?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol joins, unable to look away from their joined hands. “What’s going on?”

“Everything is great,” Jongdae answers with a wide grin, giving Yixing’s hand a gentle squeeze and a delightful spike of electricity travels up his arm, dulling and disappearing in intensity as it reaches his shoulder.

Yixing shivers, positively beaming. When the table erupts in smiles, he takes the chance to squeeze back. Jongdae twines their fingers together to show he understands.

Yixing’s here. And he’s not scared.