Falling in love is easy.

There are stages to falling in love.

You can skip steps, drop down to the very last one, or crawl painstakingly slow through every checkpoint.

There’s the first glance, the meeting of gazes, the first shadow of interest painting the back of your mind.

Then there’s the infatuation, bright, vivid, alive. The thoughts flying through your mind, wings flapping, feathers falling, a constant snowfall of questions and ideas all related to one person.

You go on the first date, awkward, blushing, nervous, hoping desperation doesn’t paint your cheeks a bright color, hoping the sound of your heart isn’t too obvious. And despite all of your worries, the first date goes well.

First dates turn into the hundredth date in no time, everything smudges of color highlighted by splashes of neon.

And slowly, or at break-neck speed, you fall. You can fall fast, the wind rushing through your ears, exhilarating, head-turning, chaotic. Or you can fall slowly, gently, cautiously.

Whichever way, falling in love is easy.

It’s falling out of love that’s not.

Luhan isn’t quite sure how they got to this point.

There was the first meeting, the glance over the rim of a coffee mug in a crowded Starbucks, the first take-in of appearance.

The other boy had been wearing black jeans that clung to his long legs, a graphic tee, and gray sneakers, an outfit that matched the warm but rainy summer day outside.

But Luhan had been interested by the boy’s hair, not by his outfit.

It was like a rainbow had puked all over his head, streaks of blue, purple, pink, yellow immediately catching everyone’s eye. But when everyone else had looked away, Luhan was still staring.

Luhan had felt plain, like that bland type of yogurt he avoided in the grocery store, compared to the boy ordering at the front of the café. Average in his jeans and t-shirt, the coffee with cream and two spoonfuls of sugar.

The only thing that had made him feel extraordinary were the flecks of paint scattered across the skin of his right wrist, little bits of color that reminded him of the canvases and paintbrushes and charcoal pencils and paint bottles and ink pens and pads of paper that litter his apartment floor and walls.

“Can I sit here?”

The voice was unfamiliar, but familiar at the same time, as if Luhan had imagined it in one of his dreams, or had heard it in one of the romantic movies he liked to watch at home, curled up in a blanket, with a pint of ice cream in one hand and a spoon in the other, ready for battle.

And when Luhan had looked up, it had been the boy that made him feel like he was a third-grader’s drawing from school whereas the boy was a Van Gogh masterpiece.

“Sure,” Luhan had said, motioning to the empty chair across from him.

The boy had sat down, folding his tall frame into the space with some difficulty, and Luhan’s coffee mug had tipped, spilling over the table, onto his lap.

There had been multiple apologies from the rainbow-haired boy, edged with humiliation and possibly amusement, and Luhan had sat still while napkins had been fetched, before patting himself dry, and soaking up the rest on the table, while the other boy had watched in concern and embarrassment.

From then on, the tension that usually accompanies new meetings had vanished, pushed away by laughter when Luhan had finally cleaned himself up and had told the boy to stop acting like he had just committed the largest travesty on earth.

The two talked for what felt like minutes to Luhan, but were actually hours according to his phone.

The rainbow-haired boy’s name was Sehun, he was a writer, he had lived in New York City for a couple years now, trying to find someone to publish his book.

There had been laughter, talks of family in a different country, debates over whether coffee or tea was better.

And when the two had decided to leave, the city lights turning on outside to light the darkening streets, and Sehun had asked Luhan if he could buy him coffee sometime to make up for spilling Luhan’s previous drink, Luhan had said yes without hesitation.

The first meeting had given way to infatuation, constant thoughts of rainbow hair and coffee and graphic tees filling Luhan’s mind as he finished a painting, brushed his teeth, ate lunch with his good friend Yixing.

Everything seemed brighter, sharper, more in focus.

The tax