The sky must be grey and cloudy; an impossible shade of gloomy and depression. As rain threatens to spill, the clouds hang on to every drop of precious water like they aren’t crying to be let go. 

Luhan finds himself dreaming of something everyone has, and something he misses like a dull ache throbbing in his particles. The wind tugs on his old scarf, still smelling like the person’s hair and scent that Luhan is never going to forget. He may be hallucinating, but it’s all that his sanity has to hold on to. 

Once upon a time, he discovered a treasure — his talent. Pencil marks flies across the sketchbook. The edge is a little browned from coffee stain, but maybe its an antique touch. 

Someone taps on his shoulder and Luhan spills the rest of his coffee on his sketchbook. 

Stranger 1: I am so sorry! Oh no… Oh no. I am very sorry, please tell me that’s not something you’re about to donate to a museum. 

Luhan: (Forces a smile) Oh, it’s not. Don’t worry. They’re just doodles. 

Stranger 1: Oh no… Tell me how I can make it up. Please. Anything. 

Luhan: (An idea struck) Ah… I know how.

Stranger 1: (Looks expectant) 

Luhan: What’s your name?

Stranger 1: Ah… It’s Yixing. Zhang Yixing. 

They shake hands. Yixing has slender, cold fingers. Not that Luhan has warm ones. 

Luhan: Luhan. Just one favour. 

Yixing: Yeah?

Luhan: Will you be my model? 

Yixing looks surprised, but a glimpse of a smile assures Luhan that he made the right choice.