It’s all fast and plays out like a movie, only a movie would never feel this hot or sound this loud and chaotic. There would be key focusing and emotional, intimate moments with characters, maybe a confession from the protagonist to a lover or a promise made to a friend.

The storefront to their left is destroyed, glass splintered and falling with a bench hanging from the center.

They turn to run as another wave of terrified bystanders rushes at them. The panicked people jostle the duo and tear them from one another. Yixing’s shoulder is grabbed. He falls to the ground, head cracking against the concrete and hands scrambling across the glassy pavement.

Things slow down. It’s still hot, but it’s not as loud. There’s a strange high-pitched ringing. A new sort of alarm? Are more police coming?

What if they can’t contain the riot? What if they can’t soothe the panic? Where’s Yifan? Everything is grey and moving like an unfocused camera. Yixing can’t feel his arms. It’s so hot, and it’s wet, and the ringing is starting to hurt, and Yixing can’t see the sky; he’s suffocating. His lungs are coated in ash, or maybe they’re crushed. Where is Yifan?