It was the middle of March now, and Zitao had been living a dream as far as he was concerned.

For the last month and a half, he had spent every wonderful afternoon with Kris studying Spanish in the small café for hours on end. 

For all those years in America that he had been living, trying to please someone else, it was only in Spain, when he finally took the time to search for his own happiness that someone like Kris had come into his life, and offered his friendship and companionship. 

It was a small thing, but to a man who had nothing, it meant everything. 

 

                

 

Kris had begun to treat him… strangely.

It wasn’t as if the man had every treated him coldly, it was just that now, there were small things that Kris went out of his way to do that had Zitao suddenly unsure of where the two of them stood.

It had begun a few weeks ago, at another one of their sessions, when Zitao had taken a small sip of his coffee and placed it down, only to see Kris staring at him with a peculiar look in his eyes.

Before he could even think to question him though, a hand reached out toward him and Zitao froze, feeling a thumb sweep over the side of his mouth.

“You had some coffee on your upper lip, still.”

Zitao had held a hand over his mouth for a while – long after Kris had already turned away and was calling his attention to another grammar point.

A few days after that, a slice of cake had arrived with his regular reward of a cup of coffee.  He had been grateful, but couldn’t help but think there was an ulterior motive to Kris’ actions when, as he delicately picked at the cake, the man stared at his lips, as if waiting for another opportunity to touch Zitao.

But Zitao must have been imagining things.  He was nearly thirty, and hardly could be considered a handsome man.  Besides, there was no way that Kris was gay.  …right?

No, no, no, he wouldn’t even entertain those thoughts.

(But there was no way he could deny the fact that Kris had been touching him much more often than usual – leaving lingering hands on Zitao’s wrist, finding opportunities to clasp his shoulder, trailing a finger against Zitao’s when he handed something over for him to read.)

Zitao could feel excitement build in his stomach.  He just didn’t know for what.

 

                

 

“Oh god, I can’t do this anymore.”  Zitao groaned, sitting back in his regular seat as he rolled his shoulders and neck.

Kris chuckled, shuffling a stack of notecards with verbs on them that he had been having Zitao practicing to conjugate.  “What, don’t tell me this is too hard for you?”

Zitao tilted his head and cracked an eye open, glaring at Kris playfully.  “As if.  Nothing’s too hard for me.”

“…but can’t you teach me some daily phrases?  You know; something I can actually use in conversation?  It’s not like I can go up to a random person and just spew verb conjugations at them.”

“You want some daily phrases?  …Vale, vale¹, let me think.”

Kris hummed, folding his arms as he stared up, trying to wrack his mind for something new to teach Zitao.  It didn’t take long for his mind to travel, providing him with a few mischievous phrases that he was dying to hear Zitao say.  Kris’ eyes must have betrayed his playful intentions, as Zitao stared back, suddenly wary of what Kris had in mind.

“Okay – this one is great.  Repeat after me –”

He leaned over, whispering the phrase into Zitao’s ear.

“Yo soy…el hombre más guapo…del mundo…?”²  Zitao parroted automatically, only pausing a second after to consider what he had just said.

Kris was snorting, cheeks puffing in contained laughter, and Zitao narrowed his eyes.

“Okay, okay, how about this one –“

More whispering.

“Te adoro,”³ Zitao frowned.

There was definitely something fishy going on from the way Kris leaned back, clapping his hands like a seal, not even bothering to attempt to cover his loud laughter. 

“Oh, Zitao, I am so flattered!”

Zitao couldn’t help but begin to laugh as well, not fully understanding, but happy enough to play along.  “What exactly are you having me say…?”

“Okay – one more, I promise – this one is very useful, but only use it with me, alright?“

Zitao initially refused, leaning away from Kris as the man leaned in, only forced to listen when the man grabbed his chin, holding him still as he whispered into his ear.

Zitao frowned.

“Quiero que me beses.“⁴

Wait a minute.

Zitao was slapping Kris on the arm, the man giving him a beaming smile that was as infectious as ever.

Even as the laughter died down, the two of them were still grinning, red on both of their cheeks from the knowledge of what had just happened.

You little .  Zitao thought to himself, as Kris apologized to him, patting him with a warm hand.

What have I been doing all this time without you?

 

                

 

«Joder.»⁵

Zitao lifted his head from the passage he had been working to translate to see that Kris had been rifling through his wallet and had pulled out an old picture, one that Zitao had completely forgotten he had left in there.

“Is this…you?”

Zitao pushed his glasses back up his nose, leaning over Kris to look at the picture the man was holding up with an expression of awe.

It had been a picture his friends had taken of him when they had all still been in high school.  He could remember the day clearly – it was the day of their senior year pep rally, and they were all dressed up.  Zitao had tied a handkerchief to his neck for style, something that his friends had given him crap about the entire day.  Sehun had been saying something to him about it, and Zitao had turned to give him a grin – and then Luhan had snapped the picture.

“Here, keep it.  You look good.”  Luhan had told him, and slipped it into his wallet for him.  Zitao had kept it ever since.

“That’s me back when I was in high school.”

Kris’ mouth was open in shock, looking down at the picture and back at Zitao, as if unable to believe that the young man in the picture and the man in front of him were one and the same. 

Zitao flushed at the sudden attention, snatching the picture out of Kris’ hands and shoving it down his back pocket, slapping Kris’ arm.  “I was young back then.”

“You were blonde!”

“So?!  So are you, now!”

“But—you didn’t have glasses either.  And you were tan.”

Zitao folded his arms, frowning.  “Are you calling me ugly now?”

Kris immediately began waving his arms, shaking his head vehemently before looking back through the wallet to dig for any more potential pictures of the younger Zitao.  “No— no.  Just… different.  So very different.  What happened?”

…I got old.  Zitao thought to himself, the smile on his face fading, just slightly. 

The next year, they had all taken their exams, left for different colleges, and started the rest of their lives without each other. 

Kris gave a shout of discovery again, and Zitao felt his eyes widening in horror as he watched Kris take out a small, folded picture that had been hidden deep in one of the pockets of his wallet.

Kris unfolded it with glee, holding it away from Zitao as the man tried to snatch it out of his hands.  When he saw what was in the picture, however, Kris stopped, the smile falling off of his face in shock.

It was Zitao and a woman he didn’t recognize.  Zitao was in a suit, looking handsome and young, and the woman… was dressed unmistakably in a bridal gown.

 “This is… your wife?”

Zitao slumped back down in his chair, feeling a headache coming on.  “…Ex.  Wife.”

Kris felt the ball of cold tension that he hadn’t even known he had been holding drop, although he couldn’t help but still feel a little upset.  How hadn’t he known?

“Why didn’t you tell me you were married?”

Zitao frowned, snatching the picture away and holding it in his own hands, staring down at it with a look of displeasure.

“…Because I don’t like to talk about it.  It’s all over, anyway.”

“…If it’s over, why do you still have her picture in your wallet?”

Zitao blinked.

Why did he?

 

                

 

Later that night, Zitao attempts to throw the picture away, but finds his hand shaking, curling back into his body.

He’s disappointed with himself.  So disappointed.

All Zitao can do is to fold the picture back up and throw it somewhere onto his desk in anger.

Truthfully he hasn’t let go yet.

 

                

 

“A bottle of milk, and some biscuits, please.  Oh – don’t forget to grab a pack of cigarettes for me.  Do you know how to get there?”

Zitao was waving Suho’s worried tone off, sinking his hands into his coat pockets as he stepped down from the stoop.  “I’ll be fine.  It’s just through the plaza, right?  I know where that is.”

Zitao made his way slowly through to the plaza, passing by the crowds of students and young couples who were laughing loudly, taking in the sounds of club music and the smell of cigarettes that pierced the chilly night air.

In a way, it made Zitao wish for a companion – a second pair of tapping steps along the cobblestone, following at his side and making comfortable conversation.

But there was none, and Zitao sighed, holding his jacket around him tighter as he continued to walk by himself through the dark streets.

 

                

 

« Gracias. »

Zitao stepped out of the small shop, holding a small paper bag of groceries close to his chest. 

His pace was quick as he moved through the paved street, heading under the archway and into the plaza ahead of him.

As soon as he had stepped out from the archway, he was hit, as always, with the sights and sounds of Salamanca’s night life.  The plaza was lit with dazzling lights, full of people and parties and loud music.

Zitao tried to keep out of everyone’s way, making nervous sidesteps to avoid drunken staggers. 

Ahead of him, he heard the raucous sound of laughter and the beautiful sound of guitars.  He looked up to see a band of men, all dressed up in ridiculously exaggerated garb with yellow capes, strumming guitars and serenading the people around them.

The tuna were like Spain’s older, traditional version of Greek life – groups of university students who would perform songs at night for tips, spending the tips on drinks that lasted them the entire night, before returning home for school in the mornings.  He had grown used to seeing them late at night, but Zitao didn’t know when they ever got any sleep.  The Spaniards knew how to party, that was for sure.  Zitao gave a small smile, rolling his eyes as made to move past the group.

He stopped, however, when a familiar voice rang out from the crowd, soliciting a tip from him.

« Good evening sir!  If you enjoyed our music, we’d appreciate a coin or— »

Zitao whipped around.

Looks of shock were mirrored on both of their faces as Zitao stared Kris in the face.  Kris paled immediately, looking absolutely mortified, and Zitao took the time to take a full look at him, taking in the same garb that Kris was wearing that the rest of the group was.

Zitao bit his lip, struggling and failing not to laugh as Kris flushed spectacularly, suddenly wringing the handle of the tip bucket he was holding in his hands.

“Nice outfit, Kris.”

Kris tugged at the collar of his uniform, suddenly sweating under Zitao’s close scrutiny.  “Fancy uh—fancy seeing you here, Zitao.  I’ve never seen you out here before – what uh, what brings you out here tonight?”

Zitao was giggling openly now, eyes crinkling at Kris’ misfortune.  “We needed some bread and milk.  Are you out here every night?”

Kris flushed, nodding stiffly.  “M…mostly.  When we have the time, that is.”

Zitao grinned.  “Maybe I should make it a habit to come out more often at this time of night.”

Kris stared at Zitao, noting the way the man held his eyes, amused rather than mocking. 

The moment was broken when a hand hit Kris in the back of his head.  He turned around to see the majority of his group suddenly surrounding them, catcalling and teasing their fellow member.

 

« Who is this, your boyfriend, Kris? »

« Wow, so this is the foreigner you’ve been talking about?  He looks shy.  Does he speak Spanish? »

« Do we need to give you some time alone, Kris? »

 

What with the noise of the crowd and the way the men spoke over each other simultaneously, Zitao was unable to pick up much of their conversation.  He did, however, notice the huge red flush across Kris’ face as he fended his friends off, pushing them away with embarrassment. 

One of Kris’ friends chose to make his way drunkenly over to Zitao, grabbing the older man by the elbow and speaking to him in heavily accented English.

“Your name is Huang Zitao, right!?  Our Kris talks about you every day!”

Kris looked humiliated as he tried to pull his friend away, only to be stopped when the rest of his friends grabbed his arms and pulled him away. 

“Creo que le gustas mucho.  ¿Entiendes?⁶  He likes you – very much!”

The entire group burst into raucous laughter before leaving them alone, causing Kris to bury his face in his hands.

Oh.

Zitao didn’t even – he hadn’t even—

…Oh.

Zitao turned and walked away as quickly as he could from the group, ignoring Kris’ calls of his name as he tried to hide the fact that his face was rapidly turning red.

Oh.

 

                

 

He was out with Suho shopping the next day, shifting nervously at his side as the man weighed tomatoes in his hands. 

“What’s wrong, Zitao?  You’ve been strange all day.”

Zitao shook his head, swaying from side to side as he tried not to think of what he had been told yesterday.  When that failed, as it had on numerous occasions over the past hour, he turned to Suho suddenly, spooking the man into dropping the tomatoes back into the pile.

“Suho, what is Spain’s stance on homouality?”

Suho stared.

“…What?!”  Was the professor’s only response as his voice cracked.

“You know, do they hate them, do they accept them, what laws are there here concerning them?”

Suho gaped.

“Well—I mean—we are one of the more liberal countries in Europe in regards to LGBT rights – gay men are allowed to marry here.  I mean, if you remember that one book that I lent you – by Federico Garcia Lorca?  Rumor has it he was gay.”

Zitao in a breath, closing his eyes as his heart pounded.  “Really?  So it’s normal here?”

“I mean – I – I suppose.”

Zitao clasped Suho’s hands in his own, shaking them gratefully.  Suho suddenly pulled away, frowning.

“Zitao, I’m flattered, but, I have a girlfriend.”

This time it was Zitao’s turn to gape.  “Wait—what?”

“…Weren’t you trying to confess to me?”

“…Jesus Christ, a thousand times no.”

Needless to say, things were awkward between Suho and Zitao for the next half hour as they deftly avoided each other’s eyes.

 

                

 

Zitao was helping Suho, carrying a few bags of vegetables in his arms as they made their slow walk back to Suho’s apartment.  Suho liked to cook—and he liked to cook a lot, so the bags he was carrying were piled up impossibly high with cucumbers, carrots, and heads of lettuce.  With how difficult it would have been for Zitao to see over the top of the bag, he stared down at the floor instead, making sure to take careful steps in order to avoid falling over.

So when Kris happened to be walking home from class on the same street at the same time, it had been Kris who recognized him first, able to tell it was Zitao immediately from the way he moved and the bookish clothes that the man typically wore.

A faint call of his own name hit Zitao’s ears and he looked up in surprise to see Kris standing there on the opposite side of the street, backpack slung over his shoulder, eyes wide with recognition and a flush on the young student’s face. 

He gave a surprised call back and set his bags down on the floor as Kris began to make his way over, ignoring Suho’s questioning noise.

It took only a few seconds for Kris to reach him, breathless and voice panicky.

“Zitao – thank god I bumped into you – listen, about last night—“

Kris fell short upon seeing Suho step out from behind Zitao, holding matching grocery bags as the ones Zitao had just set down on the ground. 

The nervous smile on Kris’ face dropped abruptly.

“I—uh, I’m sorry, did I interrupt something?”

Zitao followed Kris’ gaze to Suho, shaking his head roughly.

“Oh no—not at all.  Suho and I live together.  We were just buying groceries together.”

An emotion flitted over Kris’ face and the man suddenly turned away with a sour expression, looking down at his watch.

“Oh – okay, well, I guess we can just talk about it later then.  I don’t want to interrupt you guys on your date.  I’ll see you sometime else, Zitao.”

The young student was jogging away, and Zitao gaped, turning to Suho whose eyebrows were raised sky high. 

“Oh, so he’s the reason why you were asking me about being gay?”

Zitao glowered, pushing his grocery bags toward Suho as he turned around to catch up to Kris.

“Kris!  Wait!”

Suho stood there for a few seconds, watching Zitao leave, before coming to a realization himself.

“…Hey!  Hey Zitao!  How am I supposed to get home with all of these bags by myself?!”

«…¡mierda!»⁷

 

                

 

“Kris!  Please, wait!”

Kris was still walking away at the same pace though, hands shoved down his pockets and head down.

«¡Espera, por favor!»⁸

Kris lifted his head as Zitao finally reached him, getting in front of him and holding out a hand to get the younger man to stop as he leaned over his knee and panted for breath.

“Please—let me explain—“

Kris refused to meet his gaze, his expression a mixture of guilt and embarrassment.

“No need to explain.  I didn’t know you had a boyfriend – didn’t even ask.  That was entirely my fault.”

Zitao was still panting, looking at Kris with an expression of disbelief.  Before he could even begin to give an explanation though, Kris had already begun to speak.

“I just – I really enjoy the time we spend together.  If you’re here to yell at me, or tell me I’m disgusting then… save it.  I’m already well aware of that fact that I crossed the line with all of the touching.”

“Kris—“

“No Zitao, please.  I’m completely embarrassed as it is.  We can talk about—“

“Kris, Suho isn’t my boyfriend!!”

There was a long, awkward silence.

“…Wait—but you said you were living together—“

Zitao slapped a palm over his face.  “Two men can live together and not be sleeping together, Kris.  Besides, Suho has a girlfriend.  A girl.  Friend.”

Zitao waited as the knowledge washed over Kris, watching as the student’s expression changed from a blank stare, to an embarrassed grimace, before finally settling in a quietly pleased smile.

“…Oh.”

Kris suddenly shook his head.  “But then, yesterday – why did you run away?”

Now it was Zitao’s turn to look embarrassed as he stared off at the ground beside Kris’ feet.

“…I was shy.  I didn’t know whether or not you were joking –“ “I wasn’t!” “—and besides, I needed a little time to think about what I could do.  And what I’ve decided is…”

Zitao coughed, this time standing up straight and looking Kris directly in the eyes.

“Kris, would you… like to go out with—“

“Yes!”  Kris’ response came before Zitao had even finished his sentence.

The younger man scratched the back of his head, looking bashfully over at Zitao with a smile.  “I mean… I… would like that very much.”

They smiled at each other, for once, finally on the same page.

Zitao felt a warm, bubbling happiness in him that he hadn’t felt for ten years, and as Kris reached out toward him, hand outstretched, Zitao gave him his heart.

 

                

 

Kris walked him home, and Zitao had quietly taken the annoyed looks and subtle digs Suho gave him all night.

He could not pull the ridiculous smile he had off of his face.

 

                

 

The next month and a half was a whirlwind of firsts for Zitao.

His first date in a foreign country had been a quiet, romantic night eating tapas in the patio of a small bar, Zitao allowing Kris to press olives into his mouth, closing his eyes when the flavor exploded in his mouth.  You see, Kris had said, I knew you’d like it.

The week afterward, they had gone to market together, held hands while Kris had ordered a plate of freshly sliced jamón ibérico for him.  They had eaten in the plaza, watching as day turned to night, the lights in the plaza coming on like stars in the sky.

They had gone to museums, Zitao watching Kris’ face light up in excitement as he pressed his hands to the glass, pointing out everything and anything he saw.

But even more than the date nights, Zitao appreciated the small moments, the moments where they remained at the café, doing nothing at all.  Zitao would often stay the top of Kris’ arm quietly as the other buried his head in his medical textbook, listening as the Spanish love songs from a mix that Kris had made for him played in his ear.

As Zitao learned more and more Spanish, he found that the songs struck a deeper and deeper chord in him, leaving him teary-eyed, with an aching heart.

 

                

 

Today, Kris took Zitao took to the Catedral Nueva outside of the school.  They entered in silence, surrounded by majestic, centuries-old towering statues and pillars, the lights of dozens of flickering candles casting a soft yellow light on their faces.

Kris knelt down to pray, and Zitao found himself doing the same, although he himself wasn’t religious.  Zitao stayed respectfully quiet, taking in the awe-inspiring architecture, the exquisitely etched stone facades, and found himself pressing himself closer to Kris, suddenly humbled by the beauty that surrounded them.

As he pressed closer to Kris’ side, he thought he caught his name in the low, hushed Spanish of Kris’ prayers.

Curious, Zitao asked Kris what he had prayed for.

Kris said nothing, only turning to him with a joyous smile.

But he reached out to grip Tao's hand tightly, and they remained kneeling under the light of the church for a few minutes more, Zitao’s head on Kris’ shoulder.

 

                

 

They’re walking at night in the plaza again, Zitao’s hand held firmly in Kris’ as always.

Kris was whispering something sweet to Zitao, and Zitao felt his heart curling in happiness, so much so that he suddenly felt compelled to tell Kris about it.

“This is what I enjoy most—of everything we do as a couple.  Just walking together, doing nothing except enjoying each other’s company.”

Kris stopped and Zitao was obligated to stop with him, looking back at him with a questioning sound.  Kris was standing there, staring blankly forward.

“…We’re a couple?”

Zitao bit his lip, eyebrows furrowing, voice coming out hesitant and uncertain.

“…Aren’t we?”

Kris was smiling brighter than Zitao had ever seen him smile before, softly calling him idiota and pulling him into a tight hug that told Zitao all of what Kris couldn’t voice in words.

“Of course we are.”

Music began to play around them and they pulled apart, turning to the center of the plaza to see that a crowd had started to form, surrounding a select pair of individuals who had begun to dance.

“…What are they doing?”

Kris smiled, extending a hand to Zitao.

“Have you ever danced with another man?”

 

                

 

It was Argentinian tango night, and strangers were pulling strangers across the circle, tangling legs, hands, and deep, soul-searching looks stolen across the sharp, aching sounds of the music.

There were women dancing with women, men dancing with men, so Kris and Zitao were just one of the many couples in crowd.  There was no one but Zitao who could see and feel the way Kris placed his hands around him, taking the lead and leaving Zitao with no choice but to follow.

Zitao gasped, feeling the slide of Kris’ leg between his own.  He responded by lifting one of his own, wrapping a thigh around Kris’ back only to be lifted into the air and spun around.  Zitao watched as the lights swirled around them, the people in the back shouting and clapping their approval, and gripped Kris’ hand tighter.

Zitao pressed the side of his face against the younger man’s own, feeling his lover’s breath ghost across his cheek.  Kris held him tightly to his own body, and Zitao leaned in, trusting Kris to catch him if he fell.

It was after the final dance of the evening had ended, and to the sound of applause and cheers, that Zitao pressed his forehead to Kris’, locking their gazes deeply.

« Quiero… »  Zitao began, breathless and aching.

« Quiero que me beses. »

Something in Kris’ eyes changed.

A soft look took over the younger man’s face as he complied, tilting his face and leaning in slowly.

Zitao closed his eyes.

Warm, hot lips on his own.

 

                

 

The next night, Zitao happens to be shifting things on his desk when a forgotten, folded photo falls to the floor next to him. 

It’s with conviction this time, and not a small amount of happiness, that Zitao calmly crumples the picture up, tossing it inside of the trash.

 

               

 

¹ Okay, okay.

²  I am the most handsome man in the world.

³ I adore you.

⁴ I want you to kiss me.

⁵ .

⁶ I think he likes you very much.  Do you understand?

⁷.

⁸Wait, please.

 

Most of the Spanish translations credit goes to AniDarckSugaR, with additional help from oreolover05.

If it's wrong, it's my own faulty translation, not theirs.

Thank you both.