l'istesso tempo

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Track #1: Faded Beginnings

 

Three years.

 

It’s been three years and Yixing still gets faced drunk on May 19^th. And May 31^st. And July 24^th, August 26^th, October 7^th, possibly December 32^nd if there was such a date. He’s befriended alcohol a long time ago and now it’s the only thing that keeps him sane when he’s on the brink of detaching his soul from his body. Two years since EXO, the group he’d debuted in, has broken up, one year since he’s tried to survive in the entertainment industry by composing songs he doesn’t believe in for a company he’s hated from the start. (They keep him because he’s flexible, they say. SM Entertainment bends him to their every will; Yixing has always been a little too kind, a little too tolerant of people manipulating and taking advantage of him this way.) He feels like he’s constantly got a leash around his already-strained neck, two inches in diameter.

 

When he composes, he needs to keep a dry, chalky corkscrew lodged in his throat to stop himself from rebelling. He’d rather sing songs about love, about loving, about Myungsoo, but the company wants him to write about subtle and “oppa” and swag or bling, that doesn’t make sense to anybody but possibly green paper and uncultured teens. Every day, routine: Yixing doesn’t live, just kind of breathes and gets by, lets the carbon monoxide outside his window from the streets below sink a little more into his arteries day by day, month by month, year by year; lets it choke him inside out, a slow kind of death.

 

Blinking away the salt in his glazed eyes, Yixing stares angrily at his phone. In the search box of his contacts list is Myungsoo’s name, then his nickname, and then his name as a part of popular group Infinite. Or what used to be Infinite anyway. SM does a great job of tearing apart their artists; they’re both victims in this department. The white font reads “contact not found” and Yixing drops his useless device with a lurch in his stomach. Right, he remembers – he’d deleted it.

 

It’s been three years since Myungsoo’s broken up with him, as pathetic as it sounds, but in Yixing’s mind it’s a literal yesterday. Something about not being able to pursue their dreams if they stay together, Myungsoo had said – in public, they are strangers; always have been in the eyes of many. And so Yixing holds himself back from calling his ex-boyfriend like this all the time. “For the better” – May 19^th, 31^st, July 24^th, October 7^th, December 32^nd, onward. It’s just depressing because what Myungsoo doesn’t understand is that his dream, the entirety of it, is Myungsoo.

 

Track #2: Tre(m)ble Clef

 

“How’s this?” Yixing asks through the phone, detaching it from his ear and putting Myungsoo on speaker as he fumbles with the mouse of his computer. He opens up the file he’s looking for and leaves the cursor above the tiny gray play button. “Listen, okay?” he says, leaning down to talk into the phone before reeling back to press it, raising the volume on the soundboard his mother had finally, finally allowed him to buy.

 

A soft guitar instrumental flows out of the speakers Yixing has placed strategically to emit maximum volume in his rectangular room, his voice following soon after: just hums in place of to-be lyrics to give Myungsoo a feel of where there will be singing. It’s a minute of this, a calm acoustic feel Yixing has fallen in love with recently, and when it ends, Myungsoo laughs on the other side.

 

“What?” Yixing asks with an invisible frown, turning the speaker phone off to bring Myungsoo’s voice back to his ear. “What are you laughing at?”

 

“No, it’s just,” Myungsoo replies, gentle chuckles tickling the back of Yixing’s chest. “I don’t know, I never thought you’d be this sappy.”

 

“… What do you mean?” Yixing asks, ears reddening.

 

“That song’s for me, huh?” Myungsoo’s never been one to beat around the bush, always had been a little bolder than the rest. “You wrote it for me.”

 

Yixing doesn’t answer and just blinks nervously.

 

“Every time you ask me how your songs are, I find them filed under my name in your music folder. You didn’t think I was stupid enough to miss the pattern, did you?”

 

Whoa, okay, Yixing thinks, backtrack. He hangs up hastily with a choked cough because he doesn’t know what to say or do or confess, hot in the face as he dumps his heavy head into his arms. He is embarrassing, pretty much has been from the moment his unlucky mother had birthed him into this world, will continue to be humiliating for the rest of his life. It’s a given in the life of Zhang Yixing’s who fall in love with their composing buddies. Yixing knows it’s true.

 

Track #3: Already Yours

               

Yixing loves that when they talk, it’s never a competition or an argument. They both share tunes from their role models, Myungsoo loving all of Yixing’s favorite Jay Chou songs and tapping his foot along to them (more notably, giving Yixing a smile with the most heart-stopping pair of dimples). Myungsoo scribbles lyrics into his notebook during lecture in composing class, twisting his body in a 180 before shoving Yixing’s hands away from his doodles and writing down whole verses at a time in those margined lines, sometimes peeking over them when he runs out of space. He’s a genius, poetry slipping through fingers on the spot, and it’s astonishing because music rings in Yixing’s ears to lyrics that have no determined notes. Myungsoo writes music that plays in his mind without effort, music that embeds itself into the very fibers of his being. Yixing doesn’t understand how he has it so easy.

 

When they ride the bus home from a long day in practice rooms, they share ear buds and Myungsoo taps light fingers on Yixing’s outstretched arm, laughs when the older tries to act like the flutters don’t tickle. It’s a little complicated, their relationship, but that’s exactly how Yixing wants it to be. That way, he can keep Myungsoo close. He likes the boy, wants to be by his side all the time, but he doesn’t know how to approach him in that way, so he sticks to texting him every night and attempting to trickle out confessions but hold them back all the same.

 

“Play it again,” Myungsoo calls the minute Yixing is about to give up. “Why’d you hang up all of a sudden?”     

      

“Play what again?” comes Yixing’s muffled reply, still scolding himself for being less than a plankton compared to Kim Myungsoo the Great. He burrows his face into the covers, holding his phone at an awkward angle. His wrist hurts, but his heart throbs a little harder than the muscles in his arm do.

 

“The song you wrote for me,” Myungsoo replies, laughing again, and Yixing feels a little stirring from within; a butterfly. “I really liked it. Play it again.”

 

Track #4: 언제부터 (Since When…)

 

There’s a very thick layer of confusion existing between them at first. On Yixing’s part at least, the quickening heartbeats and lingering gazes make him think late into the night even if he has practice early coming morning or if he has workout at dawn. The more he thinks about the strange signs, the more he experiences them, and it’s not too long before he becomes aware of the way Myungsoo smiles, the way he laughs, the way their heads bob in time to the music trickling through their ears, the way they are so in time with each other; heart and mind. Yixing’s never really had time to crush on anyone before, much less a guy, so when Myungsoo falls asleep on his shoulder for the first time, he plummets.

 

Composing class is a lot more nerve-wracking than before with quick eyes glancing up at the back of Myungsoo’s head in front of him, sometimes staying there as he loses himself in thought; with startled jumping in his seat whenever the younger trainee swivels around to joke or write him both silly and serious lyrics. Yixing memorizes the list of Myungsoo’s favorite songs, learns how to play them on the piano through multiple replays because he doesn’t know how to read notes even if he tries looking up the chords. They’re not even training under the same company, but Yixing wishes that in his future, there will be Myungsoo. It’s these thoughts that keep him going.

 

Track #5: Gaps In Between

 

D-31 is alright – Yixing wakes up with a hangover, but it’s a good kind of hangover; one that is caused by a drinking game with Myungsoo. It’s a little stupid that they do it at all, but ever since SM Entertainment has taken Woollim under its vast empire, they get a lot more time together and it’s a little less strange when they crash over in each others’ dorms.

 

“Justin Timberlake,” starts the game, marked by either one of their iPods put on shuffle.

 

“That’s no fair!”

 

“We did yours last time, this is definitely fair. Mirrors.”

 

“God,” a sigh, “okay then. Suit & Tie.”

 

“Cry Me a River.”

 

“My Kind of Girl.”

 

“See, you’ve got it!” Yixing laughs. “yback.”

 

“Oh yeah? y back?” Myungsoo leans in dangerously, eyes wrinkling in the corners as he pecks a tiny kiss to Yixing’s smiling lips. “Then I say in a Box.”

 

That’s D-32.

 

Track #6: The Stars Know

 

Yixing often finds that he remembers the hard times more.

 

Nights – they flash across his mind in jolty frames like his synapses can’t get enough of the neurotransmitters that feed his brain his body. Tensed muscles still tremble whenever the memories come rushing: of long hours training, memorizing back-breaking dance routines, and sweating enough to fill an ocean; enough to sustain successful marine life in its deep waters (– the sort of life that Yixing never gets back, really. Free, peaceful, open.)

 

During the hard times, he calls Myungsoo. 3AM, 4AM, 5, he’s always there for him.

 

“I miss you,” Yixing whispers as quietly as he can, staring up at the low wooden top bunk settled above his bed, blocking out the night sky and the stars that he needs to see in order to carry on (to breathe again, really – sometimes he forgets that there is a world outside). And all the time, he cries in a series of silent tears flowing in messy rivers down the side of his face, never emitting a sound lest he worry anyone. The dorm room echoes with salt seeping back into his gaunt face, cheekbones now visible under his thinning visage. Kris understands sometimes, as a friend he’s met in the company who is also worked a little harder than the rest of them, but Yixing hates being a burden so he folds all his troubles into tiny, invisible squares only he can see and sticks them into the wrinkles of his jaded heart.

 

“Miss you, too,” Myungsoo replies, and Yixing hopes he doesn’t know how much he’s hurting; how much his dream has been cheated, lied to – taken away from him. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

 

It’s not that he doesn’t want to listen to his boyfriend, but the next day there are bruises and purpled lumps all over his body from falling time and time again on the unforgiving wooden floors of the practice rooms. On the other side of the city, Myungsoo is becoming somebody named “L” in a group called “Infinite”, is one step ahead in pursuing the future they’d both envisioned during late night phone calls. And he’s growing a little farther away from Yixing, if just by a few centimeters, one at a time.

 

Track #7: Now

 

When it comes down to it, the playlist of Yixing’s life goes a little like this:

1. Birth

2. Learning Music

3. Meeting You

4. Falling in Love

5. Becoming Someone

6. Losing Everything

 

Track #8: Dominoes

 

Limbs tumble over metal chairs on May 19^th, clashing loudly on the black tiled floor as a friend grunts out, “Yixing, stay with me – come on, stay with me.”

 

It’s Kim Minseok, former EXO member, one of Yixing’s only friends today.

 

“Sorry for the commotion,” he apologizes to the elegantly-dressed bartender with a strained bow, making sure that Yixing doesn’t fall off his shoulder again. He wrinkles his nose at the nauseating stench of Yixing’s favorite brand of liquid bull. “Dammit, Yixing, what is it this time?”

 

Drained, the drunken composer doesn’t respond. There isn’t an answer to give anyway. Sighing as always, Minseok drives the lump home and crawls up the stairs to Yixing’s grand apartment with a soggy sack of depression draped over his nape.

 

“… ’M so sick of this,” Yixing mumbles out, barely a breath with sluggish slur when Minseok finally tucks him into bed. He is choking on his own spit, his own tears. “M’nseok, ’m so tired...”

 

“I’m sick of this too, ,” his ex-bandmate replies, wiping the sweat from his forehead with one of Yixing’s towels. “ing you.”

 

There are too many ex’s in his life, this particular thinks, ears rubbing painfully on his pillow. They’re hypersensitive because he’d been crying just an hour before, is still crying now. Minseok throws the towel into a messy pile in Yixing’s restroom and closes the door behind him for the fifth time that month.

 

Ex-boyfriend, ex-bandmate, ex-self.

 

As Yixing counts down the list, he lets him leave.

 

Track #9: (Murder)

 

All the time, Yixing wants a genie. And if he could have a wish granted, just a single one, it would be to rid him of all emotion.

 

No happy, no sad, no in-betweens or flutters. He just doesn’t want to feel anymore, is so beat up by the daily rise and fall in his chest. When he runs his fingers through his unkempt hair, he can feel the individual strands, dry and stiff. He’s fine with that. What he doesn’t want to feel is like at the feeling of his own sadness brushing against his thin digits. He doesn’t want to remember the blonde, the milk brown, the gray, the green dyes forced upon him without consent, doesn’t want to get angry over the loss of being able to make choices by himself. They’ve made him less of an adult, less of a human and more like a mannequin. SM Entertainment.     

    

He doesn’t want to remember people liking him for that kind of superficiality or the scripts he’d wanted to rip up before filming interviews. He just wants that thing called innocence back; a dream; a life.

 

He just wants stable promises.

 

Track #10: The Ballad of Us

 

When they’d dated in secret, Yixing had always believed they could make it together. It’d been hard, of course, meeting maybe once a week if they were lucky and in shabby places at that, but it had been enough that they could interact comfortably and intertwine cold fingers in the same room together. Myungsoo had never complained about any of this, even if Yixing had nothing to offer him, even if he could have left when it’d been easy to (when it was reasonable). Instead, he'd just snuggled deeper into his arms as he handed Yixing one of his ear buds to share songs that reminded him of them.

 

While Yixing had been busy filming test teasers, a sort of trial and error system created by the company to see if he would fit with the supposed “M1” or “M2” boy groups or not, Myungsoo had already debuted with six other boys. Yixing had been two years behind, even if he’d been casted first, but of course he’d never begrudged anyone for it. He knows it’s not a secret that physical charms are recognized faster than anything else in the entertainment industry and all people see in Myungsoo is just that. It’s a little reassuring if he thinks about it this way though, because it means no one else knows the real Myungsoo. Yixing, privileged above all, is the only one who knows the talented “L”, visual of Infinite, the only one who praises him for his self-composed songs or his stray lyrics, not just the smirks on screen or cheesy, cliché high school themed music videos for girls to fantasize over. Even if he wants Myungsoo to be recognized for the gold he has to show the world, Yixing thinks it’s not too bad like this. This is the only time he is selfish.

 

One of the traits Yixing falls hardest for during blurred days at the composing classes, training rooms, and back, is Myungsoo’s kindness. He doesn’t exactly make a show of it, doesn’t make it obvious to the point where people are able to tell he goes out of his way to help others, but to Yixing, it’s all he sees. Struggling with Korean the first few years after a break from activities in China, Yixing had deflated all self-esteem existing in his already-humble heart due to a growing tumor of insecurity. It hadn’t been the easiest task to settle down in a foreign country, much less learn a whole new language; months in, and he’d still scribble down lyrics in Chinese, count under his breath in Chinese, listen to songs in Chinese. His peers had been okay with that, with him being scouted from another country, but it’d been when he tried to blend into theirs that they’d poke fun at him.

 

Myungsoo had never seemed to care, however. If Yixing misspelled a word, Myungsoo would always correct it quietly, neither teaching him like a toddler nor mocking him with hurtful laughter or “It’s okay” like the others had. He’d simply bring in his eraser, swipe, scribble, then carry on without another word. Even if this had been normal to Myungsoo, to Yixing, it’d deserved all his gratitude.

 

When Myungsoo takes him out to try Seoul’s “best ddukbokki jib”, he wipes the corners of his lips for him like it isn’t a big deal, fixes his fringe like it is as normal as a greeting. They’re talking as they walk to the bus, and Myungsoo prods a tiny finger at the edge of Yixing’s nose as the Chinese trainee is telling a story of his mother back in Changsha. He nods, engrossed, as he flicks the small booger away, trivial like any other event. A couple of confused blinks settle over Yixing’s eyes, but Myungsoo doesn’t seem to deem his actions strange at all. His expression only says one thing: "Yes, and...? Go on."

 

Self-conscious meets social nonchalance and somehow, something sparks.

 

Track #11:  Slow Jam

 

D-uncountable goes like this:

 

“Yixing?”

 

Myungsoo peers a little ways into the crowded dorm room of EXO-M and gives him a smile.

 

“Yixing?”

 

This time, in the backstage waiting room of Music Core.

 

“Yixing?”

 

Infinite’s dorm.

 

“Yixing?”

 

When EXO wins their first music show award.

 

“Yixing?”

 

Late night phone calls, constant.

 

“Yixing?”

 

Once.

 

“Yixing?”

 

Twice.

 

“Yixing?”

 

For the last time.

 

And then, with a break of pattern and the breaking of hearts:

 

“… Hyung?”

 

Track #12: Say It Like Glass

 

“Your deadline is in two days, Lay. Stop getting drunk all the time and write something decent, will you? I don’t care if it takes you all night. You’re giving me a song by the proper date no matter what.”

Bristling with anger, Yixing bunches up the paper he’d been writing on into a tight wad.

“Don’t call me Lay. You know that’s not my name.”

“What else would I call you?” the music director asks, “EXO’s Lay, that’s who you are. That’s what you sign your music with, and that’s what I’m calling you.”

“Get out,” Yixing says, closing his eyes. “Get out, get out, get out!”

He stands up from his leather chair and lashes the door open, shoving the music director out of his composing room. Said man grumbles a mess in protest, but all it sounds like to Yixing is gunshots again and again. When he has shut the door with vehemence and locked it to ensure safety from other intruders, Yixing slides down to the floor, back against the wood as he buries his head into his hands.

It won’t stop replaying in his head.

“Lay. That’s a cool name.”

It’s not.

“You know, when we both become famous, it’ll be hard for me to see you.”

It’s true. But he'd been okay with that.

“We can’t do this, Yixing – no one knows about us and no one is going to be okay with it either. You understand, right?”

“But we can just act like friends, can't we? That’s all right. No one will mind that.”

“So you want me to treat you like any old friend, then? I’ve kissed you and held you in my arms like I’ve never done with anyone else before and you want me to act like I’m just your friend?”

Friends are good. Friends can be loyal. They aren’t blinded by pride.

“People don’t like people like us, Yixing. And we’ve both come so far to get where we are now. I don’t know if we’ll be able to achieve our dreams if we stay together – you know what I mean, don't you?”

Too afraid to lose his dreams but not afraid enough to lose Yixing. Myungsoo had lived an easy life, and Yixing had let him, let him fly far, far past his reach.

When they pass by each other in music broadcast stations, Myungsoo greets him with the nonchalance he’d so loved back then. “Nice to meet you. My name is Myungsoo. I heard your fellow member Minseok is friends with my bandmate Woohyun? He told me they went to college together.”

Whenever they see each other, just a small bow: strangers.

“It’s for the better, Yixing. For you and for me. For everyone else.”

Yixing crawls back to his computer and opens up the file he’s always labeled with the same name.

Myungsoo

There are so many songs, so many melodies, so many alternative stories. Yixing has written all of them but none have been given to the proper owner. When Yixing listens to music now, it sings back a string of audible “Myungsoo”s. D sharp – that’s Myungsoo. A flat – again, Myungsoo. Music is Myungsoo because the half-notes and whole notes have found a place in Yixing’s heart thanks to a composer he has always idolized. He can’t write music anymore because everything he creates reminds him time and time again of someone who’s left him behind. The emotions he’s learned won’t let him sing.

That night, Yixing moves all the songs into a USB and tucks a whole life’s worth of love into his pocket. He’s tired.

 

Track #13: 형에게 (To Hyung)

               

I’m so lonely.

 

Why are you calling me all of a sudden?

 

Can you say my name for me?

 

Which one?

 

… The one you know.

 

I know both.

 

Please, hyung, I’m so weak.

 

What’s wrong with you? Did you drink?

 

Pretty capsules. I had ten.

 

Myungsoo, what are you talking about?

 

I’m tired, hyung. So, so tired.

 

Why do you keep calling me that? You never call me hyung – Myungsoo, stop.

 

But I miss you. I miss my hyung. I miss not having to live life as L – I want to not care, you know. I want… I need you to be my hyung right now.

 

Where are you? Where’s Woohyun and Sungyeol and the rest – tell me, what’s the address of the place you’re staying at?

 

No, it’s… I can’t… remember. Just stay with me okay, just stay. Just stay… that's all.

 

You’re freaking me out, Myungsoo. Did you take something you shouldn’t have taken? Where are you?!

 

Screaming hurts in my ear.  Stop… I just want to hear your voice. This is the last time, I promise. I’m sorry.

 

Sorry about what – don’t say you’re sorry. Tell me where you are. I’m going to call the police and ask them to contact the Poison Control Center. Hold on, Myungsoo I’ll –

 

Please stop. I’m trying so hard not to cry so stop. Remember the nights you used to call me and say you missed me? You know, back in your trainee days. That’s me right now. I’m trying so hard not to cry, but I’m… it's so hard and I’m losing, so help me, okay? I don't want... to cry.

 

Dammit, Myungsoo, don’t do this to me; how do you expect me to –

 

You’re so strong, hyung. Listen to me, you’re strong. I let a little soldier go.

 

No, shut up. ing shut up; you’re going to be all right, shut up.

 

I don’t want to be a star; not like this. I just… I don’t want it anymore. I want to go home and rest, that's all I ask. I’m so tired.

 

Well do you think I want to be like this? I want to quit, too. I’m sick of all this as much as you are. But we can make it through together, are you listening to me? Just let me hold your hand and we’ll get through.

 

But I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I’ve left a scar… Scars still hurt, huh. Still hurt. God, I’m so fuzzy in my mouth.

 

, if you’re gonna die, why would you call me? Why would you talk to me again after all this time and… , I’m going to remember this all my life, Myungsoo. What the hell is wrong with you? Scar after scar after scar – this is going to stay with me as trauma, and you ing know it. Why did you have to call?

 

I know, I’m sorry. But it’s just… I’m burning, Yixing. And there’s no one… no one who'd understands how to read ashes...

 

Stop talking; you’re losing your breath. Stay with me, please.

 

Hyung.

 

Myungsoo, please. You’re making this so hard for me.

 

Tell Yixing I’m sorry.

 

I am Yixing. Hey, stay with me. You’re all right.

 

Yixing… God, I’m so sorry…

 

No, no, no, no. Hey, listen to me. Focus on my voice. I’m gonna get Minseok to call the ambulance, okay? I got you.

 

Hyung?

 

Yes, I’m Yixing hyung. Dammit, I’m Yixing hyung so don’t die on me, alright?

 

I love you a lot. So much, my heart is just. I can’t hold all of you, I’m so… I‘m so sorry…

 

Myungsoo. No, Myungsoo, come on don’t do this. Myungsoo.

 

Hello?

Myungsoo, answer me.

 

Hey –

 

 

Jesus , Minseok, hurry up, won’t you?!

 

 

Myungsoo, we’re coming. The ambulance is coming. Christ, you’re all right. We’re gonna save you and you'll be okay.

 

Say something, I know you’re there. Come on, don’t do this. Myungsoo, please.

 

Myungsoo –

 

I’m… God dammit, Minseok,  hurry up hurry up Jesus – please, we’re losing him; he won’t answer he’s... Minseok, hurry, please…

 

 

Hey, hey talk to me. Tell me a story. Come on, Myungsoo.

 

Myungsoo, please…

No, I’m not hanging up. Let go of me, Minseok. I’m not letting go!

 

Minseok, please stop – please give me back my phone. Don’t do this, I’m so hurt. Please, please stop.

No, Minseok, give it back!

 

Minseok!

 

Bonus Track: _____

 

“Can you do me a favor?”

 

Yixing has his second glass of wine in hand, already drowning in five drinks of cranberry and vodka. The world is static; it stretches and wanes in his vision and enters through his ears and nostrils and warps inside his body. The end of the world, he laughs in his head. Get it?

 

“What’s up?” Minseok asks.

 

“I need you to be my post-humous… what would you call it? Damn, I can’t think properly right now. Alcohol is so good at ing me up.”

 

“Are you serious? You’re drinking again?”

 

“Yeah, last drink though okay? I need you to make me an album.”

 

“What album? I’m a retired singer, I don’t make albums.”

 

“But you’re good at talking – you’ll figure out a way.”

 

“… Are you okay, Yixing?”

 

 “Funny question, actually. Funny. So are you gonna help me out?”

 

“I mean, I guess I can try…”

 

“Good. You’re a good friend, Minseok. I love you.”

 

“Alright, uh – so where’s the music? Should I come over right now?”

 

“No, not right now,” Yixing sighs, spots dancing in his vision and stabbing him in the eye. Whoomp, whomp, bloop! He’s never felt this unfocused before. “Come tomorrow. I have everything in my jacket pocket so get it from there okay?”

 

“Why are they in your jacket pocket? Well, anyway, whatever your reason, I understand. I’ll come by tomorrow. Don’t drink too much, okay?”

 

“Yeah, thanks,” Yixing says, and his head droops with a violent thunk. When the world has gone to sleep and kissed his forehead goodnight, he breathes for the last time with a self-written conclusion running through his head.

 

How many lights does it take to dim a person?

Answer: The number of lights that have been switched on in the first place. In his case? Without doubt: one.

 

Outro:  Sing Me a Legend

 

The album is titled “L”.

 

People assume it’s for his stage name, Lay, but Minseok knows it isn’t. There is no way he would have died signing off with that name.

 

There’s 13 tracks in total, one bonus track and outro, and no photos. The album cover, as requested by Yixing in the note he'd put in his pocket, is black on black on black on black. The thanks to consists of this:

 

I’m still looking for you – I hope you know that. When I make music I know you're there somewhere because I can feel it, but I don't know how to make you stay; I've never been able to hold you down now that I think about it. Wherever you are, though, I'll come and get you. We're going to start over, you and I. We're going to make it this time. You know - I’ve wished many times that we could have had a different story, but what’s the point of wishing, right? It just hurts. So we'll make it happen.

Thanks, to my inspiration and greatest downfall. I love you the same as yesterday: 129600 heartbeats on the metronome January, 129600 heartbeats in December. Us, we'll play on l’istesso tempo all the time – forever constant. For that, I'll always be yours.

           

 

Yixing’s death boosts album sales and also stirs up conversation of the lyrics to his songs. Who is he referring to? What is he talking about? Did he have a girlfriend? A fiancée? Why did he die?

 

Even Minseok isn’t sure.

 

 

Now here; consider a shooting star: make a lasting wish. It’s falling, falling, falling – ask it to grant you a favor, quick.

 

But the truth is, it’s not a star; it’s a meteoroid. Truth is, simply wishing won’t fix anything. Truth is, asking a plummeting soul to help you is rather selfish.

 

Yixing falls and the world asks him for answers, but he doesn’t give them any. He’s gone, what can he do?

 

In another life, maybe, he’ll survive the crash. But in this one, he charges headfirst into the ground. He wants to.

 

The outsiders speculate he’s been suffering from major depression and it’s not a great lie, but the media has never quite told the truth either. His face remains in the world but what no one understands is that his dream, all of it, none of it, half of it, has always been to find someone to gift his songs to. No one recognizes his wishes, but Yixing is okay with that. He doesn't need a shoooting star: he'll just be one himself. He’s finally given Myungsoo the songs that he'd wanted to sing to him, and therefore he's fulfilled purpose. 

 

Life's splendor, his music sings, has been simplified.

 

 

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