Warning: Mature content ahead. But it's not too graphic though. Read at your own risk. I don't wanna corrupt innocent minds - if there are still any around here. Haha xD

Well enjoy! :D

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“This is weird. It’s almost past 5:00 p.m. and Lay hasn’t shown up.” Kyungsoo commented as he read the newspaper.

“True, I wonder what happened.” Jongin added, nodding. “Do you have any idea, Kris?”

“Why should I?” Kris asked grumpily. He hated it when people started asking him about that damn idiot.  Were they all so blind that they couldn’t see he could care less about the brat?

“Well, you spent a fair amount of time with him while making the project, so I reckoned you’d know . . .”

“I don’t.” Kris cut sharply at Jongin before he got up abruptly. “I don’t concern myself with him.” He added sharply, then left without another word.

Kyungsoo made sure Kris was at a safe distance before addressing Jongin:

“He’s in a worse mood than usual. I wonder what’s gotten into him.”

“Well, he did got his travel to China moved to next week. That may be reason.” Jongin replied.

“But this doesn’t tell us where Lay is. He never get late for a meeting. Wanna go to his place and check on him?” Kyungsoo suggested.

“Yes. Let’s go.”

Both of them left the building and headed for Lay’s apartment, then knocked at the door.

“Yixing?” Jongin called through the door. “Yixing? Are you there?” He repeated several times, but with no answer.

“Seems like no one’s inside.” Kyungsoo sighed. “Let’s just leave him a message in his voicemail, he’ll respond once he receives it.”

The other boy nodded.

Inside the room, in his state of half-slumber, Lay heard the voices and the sounds of footsteps fading gradually. His limp body hadn't deigned to get up and open the door to his friends, nor had his numb mind allowed him to reply. He was lying on his bed, curled up in a mere ball of something barely living, eyes half-open and reflecting nothing but the shallowness that was filling him. The only signs that proved his living state were the – now more frequent – fits of coughing that were preventing him from finding a semblance of sleep.

Through the window, Lay could see the pale rays of the crescent moon falling on him, and it reminded him of the woman. The weaver of the Lunar God, huh? The same God who was supposed to bring two persons together so they could live happily ever after? Bull.

The fate of human beings was to struggle endlessly by their selves to seek a happiness that would always be out of their reach, no matter how hard they tried. Enduring pain was their daily bread, yet they kept on struggling while hoping for their happiness because pain and hope were two words that expressed the same entity, after all. And Lay was a human being.

A divine voice descending upon him.

Lay shut his eyes tight. No, no, no. He wasn't going to believe in such fantasies any more.

An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet,

He covered his ears with his hands, refusing to listen to the voice inside his head.

Regardless of time, place, or circumstance,

Why did those memories keep coming to him? Was it to torture him? It was a legend, a legend only!

The thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break.

A legend . . . Yet, the memories were so vivid it was hard to believe they weren't real. Were they really the memories of a previous life? There was no other explanation, unless Lay's sanity was to be questioned. But the weaver seemed to know exactly what she was talking about, right? Lay only regretted that not everything she had told him was true. Kris wasn't the one who was connected to him.

The boy's stomach tensed up, warning him that a new fit was coming. His throat was getting irritated because of the coughing, but what made him wince was the short and sudden pain he felt in his chest. 'I really need to go see a doctor tomorrow.' He thought. Tomorrow. Tonight, he didn't felt like moving.

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The morning after, he went to the hospital.

"This is nothing serious." The doctor said reassuringly. "Take this medicine and it'll be cured in a week."

Lay thanked him and left.

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Goosebumps raising on the pale skin under the caresses of warm hands.

Kris punched the wall of his room out of anger. It was at least the hundredth time that those stupid 'memories' came to harass him, and he couldn't ignore them any longer as the scenes depicted in those flashes were getting more and more... embarrassing? And that idiot who had asked him whether he was having memories coming back to him... Of course he was! Of course they disturbed him! But the brat hadn't really believed that Kris would have admitted it, had he?

He said that they were memories from a previous life, how ridiculous! He didn't believe in reincarnation, nor did he believe that one of his previous lives had supposedly been the lover of one of the idiot’s previous lives! It was utterly ridiculous.

Even if the woman's words really made sense, Kris couldn't bring himself to believe that he could feel anything but contempt towards the cursed brat. It was simply impossible. And yet, the disturbing – no, not disturbing, infuriating– feeling that kept poisoning him was drawing him closer and closer to a conclusion he absolutely refused to admit: he was obsessed with the boy - with Yixing!.

An obsession. It was nothing else but an obsession. His mind was constantly filled with thoughts of the boy, despite all his efforts to get rid of them. Thoughts of a twisted desire to submit the boy to his will, to break his illusory fantasies about a string of fate, to break him. And it only increased his loathing for Lay. Every part, every cell of his being rejected that anomaly of a person that was Lay; whenever Kris saw the brat, he felt the urge to grab him by the neck, slam him against the nearest wall, choke him until those pitiful silver eyes turned dull and.

Lips pressing against expecting ones, a tongue savoring the sweet taste of pleasure.

This time Kris kicked the chair next to him, sending it flying across the room. Obsession, fixation, infatuation, whatever. It was getting on his nerves. For hell's sake, he despised the boy! That pathetic excuse for a human being could die in the most atrocious pain and Kris wouldn't even raise a single finger to help him.

And yet, Lay was the only one haunting his thoughts, permanent, persistent, and tenacious.

Bliss of two bodies joining, gasps, moans, two beings melting into one. Desire.

"Damn it!" Kris swore. This was too much for his self-control.

Without wasting another second, the taller male stormed out of his apartment and headed straight for Lay's, swearing to the God he didn't believe in that he'd cut the boy to pieces later if he wasn't in his room now. Lady luck had to be with him for, as he knocked – or rather, banged – at the door, it opened to reveal a surprised, then frowning Lay.

"Kris, what do you w . . ."

The boy didn't have time to finish as he was roughly pushed back inside his room by Kris who slammed the door behind him and locked it before grabbing Lay by the collar and dragging him to the bed. Before Lay could say anything, the taller guy dropped him unceremoniously on the bed and literally smashed his lips against the boy's ones in a rough, ungentle, and painful kiss. He heard the sounds of protest dying in Lay's throat, though the boy was trying unsuccessfully to soften the kiss, and smirked mentally. Too easy. It was too easy.

Everything was happening too quickly for Lay; not thirty seconds ago, he was lying on his bed in the doldrums, and now he was still lying on his bed, but with Kris over him, ravishing his mouth and not letting him breathe an ounce of air. Was he happy? He couldn't tell. There was something wrong with Kris' behavior. It wasn't like him at all to suddenly come and act like a... a what? Lay didn't know. He didn't know whether to rejoice or not that the man who had been the cause of his torments was now holding him and kissing him.

He didn't have more time to get lost in thoughts as Kris bit on lips, forcing them to open, before shoving his tongue in and claiming the boy's mouth with a rare violence. Lay couldn't help but let a moan escape, though it was immediately stifled by Kris’ own mouth; his head was spinning, his arms unconsciously wrapped themselves around the taller guy to pull him closer – if that was even possible – to him.

Finally, Kris pulled back, leaving both of them panting heavily, eyes locked into Lay’s. But he wasn't done yet, far from that. He kept repeating in his head that he was acting by himself, not because of some stupid string of fate.

"Kris . . ." Lay called him, panting. The next second, a pair of hands was ripping his clothes apart and Lay gasped as Kris’ tongue started trailing on his now exposed chest, sending shivers through his spine. His cheeks were hot and flushed under Kris’ restless actions; it was as if fever had struck him, except that fever wasn't supposed to arouse anyone. And to his horror, he was already more than aroused, which didn't go unnoticed by Kris who raised his eyes to Lay:

"Che, impatient kid."

He sat up and removed his clothes, letting it fall on the ground, before unbuckling his belt, still looking at Lay who was having a hard time not to blush any more at the sight of Kris’ bare chest. The silver-haired boy was still only half-believing what was happening; not a day ago, Kris had rejected him with such disdain that it was hard for him to believe that the same Kris was now in the same room as him, on the same bed, and about to do something that had never brushed his mind.

It was only a matter of seconds before all clothes were discarded, leaving full room to pure skin contact between the two hot bodies that were now pressing against each other, one completely offered to the other. Kris was kissing Lay again while his hand was working on Lay's arousal, making the latter moan again and again. Lay thought he was on the verge of releasing when the grip on disappeared.

"Kri . . ." He started, but didn't manage to finish as Kris sat up again and slipped his hand under the boy's back to flip him over on his stomach and raise his hips.

"What are you....aah!" Lay let a cry out as Kris grabbed his again, running his hand on the length at a torturous and slow pace and enjoying the sight of the trembling body under his sole care. He leant forward, over Lay's back.

"Like it, don't you?" He whispered at the boy's ear, but Lay was in no state to give him a reply, too busy trying to keep his voice down. "Che."

Once again, he removed his hand from Lay's aching member, and reached for his entrance. The mere intrusion of Kris’ fingers was enough to make Lay release as he arched his back.

"Kris!" He called. "Oh God..." The amount of pleasure he was receiving far exceeded everything Lay could have imagined, especially when Kris managed to reach a certain inner spot that made him cry Kris’ name again. Everything he had wished from the taller guy looked derisory compared with what he was being given right now. He barely had any time to recover from his first that he felt his pleasure building up again in him as Kris kept stretching him skillfully.

The older taller guy leant over Lay again:

"Don't be so quick at coming, I'm not done with you yet." He said as he pulled his fingers out.

"I . . . know that . . ." Lay managed to reply between two pants.

"Che." So the idiot knew what was coming next, right? Then it would be impolite to make him wait.

Kris aligned himself with Lay, and slowly moved his hips forward. He clenched his teeth as Lay involuntarily tightened around him and refrained himself – though with difficulty – from forcing his way in with one swift motion. He could hear Lay's heavy breathing and soft gasps though the boy was making obvious effort not to be too loud.

Lay was gripping at the sheets so hard his knuckles were turning white, eyes shut tight as he felt Kris enter him, breathing erratic because of the pain mixed with pleasure he was receiving. Kris was soon fully inside him, and when he started pulling out to push back, it was as if his body had been set on fire. To him, it couldn't be real; yet, the intensity with which Kris was claiming him relentlessly was definitely not fake. The taller male was anything but gentle; at each , Lay could feel his raw power pouring into him, overwhelming him like an intimidating aura. And he couldn't get enough of it.

Nor could Kris get enough of entering the boy again and again, devoured by an unexplainable attraction towards him. No, it wasn't an attraction, it was a mere, physical desire aroused by those 'memories'. There was no way Kris could actually feel attracted to Lay. No way. It was on that last thought that he released inside of the boy, then pulled himself out while Lay completely collapsed on the mattress.

They were both panting heavily, silent during a whole minute. Kris was still on his knees, watching the pale figure of the boy who was trying to catch his breath back.

That was all. He had slept with the damn idiot to let the tension and the frustration out, and the mission was complete. He got out of the bed and started dressing himself, noticing from the corner of his eyes that Lay was watching him with more or less discretion. Then, as he was about to leave, he felt a hand on his wrist and glanced down to see the expectant look in Lay's eyes.

"What?" He asked dryly while pulling his wrist back. Though slightly surprised by the harsh tone, the boy replied anyway:

"Well...aren't you going to say anything? You planned to leave like that, without telling me anything?"

"Don't get the wrong idea." Kris paused before pronouncing the cold, piercing and hurtful words that were going to slowly crush Lay from inside: "What I did was to show you that I can do how I ing want to. I feel nothing for you, even after sleeping with you. Nothing. See? There's no stupid string to tell me how to act."

Then he left without turning back, leaving a dumbstruck boy behind him. It took Lay a while to realize the impact of Kris's words on him, and when he did, the only thing that his body allowed him to do was to collapse on his bed and let silent tears out. And this time, the pain was really his own.

His whole body tensed as a fit of coughing seized him violently. Well, at least he'd be cured in a week.

A week later, Lay was coughing out blood, and his chest burnt him at each fit. During that whole week, he stayed locked in his apartment, which started worrying his two friends, namely Jongin and Kyungsoo. When they inquired about Lay's condition, he merely replied that it was nothing serious. What else could he say? He categorically refused to talk – or even think – about Kris, about the blow he had received, about the mental and physical pain that were devouring him a bit more every day.

In the end, as Kyungsoo and Jongin kept insisting, the boy finally snapped:

"Just leave me alone and mind your own business for once, will you?" He shouted at them angrily before locking himself in his apartment again.

Needless to say, his two best friends were startled by the reaction.

"There's something really wrong about Lay after that project thingy." Kyungsoo said, frowning.

"I noticed that too, but Se Hun said neither Lay nor Kris mentioned anything particular in their report." Jongin sighed.

"I wanna ask Kris. I'm sure he's got something to do with this. And then we have to drag Lay to the hospital one way or another." Kyungsoo said firmly.

The othey guy nodded. He didn't want to see his friend letting his self die without doing anything.