Lay leans against the wall along the corridor as he stumbles slightly, his palms pressed against the rough surface of the walls as he tries to keep his balance. He reeks of alcohol, his left hand carrying a glass bottle glistening slightly under the dim lighting of the corridor. He’s a mess, and he knows it well; he’s drunk, and he wants to be. Drinking was not always something he enjoyed – he used to find it a disgrace, an act only desperate and tired people would commit, things that only someone weak and helpless would turn to because being drunk acted like a painkiller. And at this moment, what he needs most was anesthesia. He practically feels his world crumbling, but in a different way which Kyungsoo felt it. Kyungsoo felt the fragility of his own life, Lay feels the fragility of ties, connections, relationships. He remembers the icy metal against his , he detests the piercing glares and stares as he was reduced to nothing but ashes and empty shells before his superiors that afternoon because his colleagues never liked his accent. It is pure idiocy, how his peers judge him for his accent – he is just another man trying to strike it out elsewhere doing something he likes. He knows for a fact that he is the only soul in the office which truly loves his job, someone who spends hours a day trying to improve himself. He was warned about this, and he knew about these implications when he decided to leave the comfort of his home – he wasn’t a peasant or a beggar. He had his own options, his family was decently well-to-do, he wasn’t someone of a lower tier. He’s perfectly aware that if he brought them back to his hometown, they could’ve been reduced to dust. He sighs as he lets himself slump towards the floor, his white shirt rubbing against the wall as he touches the ground – and he feels alive for once.

“Hyung, your dinner is ready; are you alright? You’re usually back by now.” Lay stares at his phone screen as it lights up and shuts his eyes, the bottle slipping out from his hand as it rolls towards the lift landing. The sound it makes is melodic, something which reminds him of home, something that reminds him of Kyungsoo. The boy who would sit by the table every night crouching over a book lying on his knees as he tucked his legs in, curling himself into a ball. The boy who would love him like nothing else mattered because sentiments and endearment were the things that kept his life going, and these were the things that Lay occasionally needed a break from.  He is someone who would loves affection, but lacks confidence. He needed an outlet, someone to talk to; but he didn’t quite wish to add on to Kyungsoo’s burdens. He’s aware, and he feels himself sinking as he exhales heavily and pushes himself back up to his feet before swinging himself towards the lift, practically crashing against the wall as he presses the button carefully.

“Hyung-” He hears Kyungsoo’s surprised voice as he turns himself towards the doors, barely supporting himself against the gate as he smiles with his eyes closed, his consciousness slipping through his fingertips. He feels himself fall into Kyungsoo’s arms as he leans against him lifelessly, his body slump against the warm touch of Kyungsoo’s skin. He feels at home, and hurls the boy along with him as he approaches the couch where he is pushed towards the cushions. Squinting as he places his hand above his forehead, he roughly sees an image of Kyungsoo’s worry flashing across his face, his eyebrows creased as he rushes into the kitchen to fetch a cloth and places it over his forehead.

“D-don’t worry about me, I-I’m fine.” Lay speaks with a slur, his eyelids heavy as they close on him and he lets go.

“Are you sure- It’s worrying to see you like this.” Kyungsoo sighs as he sits down on the carpet, his legs crossed as he tilts his head towards the right.

“I’m sure so just, get on with whatever you wanted to do and let me rest a little-”

“But I’m worried, are you sure nothing happened?” He’s persistent, and Lay feels himself losing grip on his patience. He wasn’t usually like this, but being drunk let him do things he would regret, things he would blame himself for – it let him be painfully truthful about what he felt, and he wasn’t thinking straight.

“Of course, what do you think? Being treated like a ing peasant is nothing, being forced to beg for mercy like a little girl isn’t anything at all; being laughed at and discriminated because of my accent which I had grown to be proud of over the years is completely fine. Of course.” Lay lets loose, and he’s barely coherent. Kyungsoo stays silent as he sits beside him, his frown deepening.

“You’re tired, Yixing. Rest.” He barely mutters as he turns towards the television and turns the volume down, his eyes fixated on the lights flashing across the screen as he bites his lip.

“Rest? Is that the only thing that comes by? I’m on the brink of dying, its always the same – on the cusp of attaining the things I want, almost reaching my goal but I get pulled back down? What kind of journalist gets less than half of his reports published because some bastard comes and tweaks things, changing the fonts deliberately, changing the grammar into things wrong – is that all you can say? Rest?” He’s gone, his chains broken. Kyungsoo stiffens at his utterance as he stops breathing for a moment before relaxing and keeping silent.

“If that’s all you could give me, then forget it. Leave it. Why bother to ask me if anything happened?” Lay hollers as he flails his arm about as Kyungsoo feels his hand rub against his back in pique – he shuts his eyes tightly and squeezes the carpet in his palm as he lets out a soft sigh.

“I don’t know why.” He pushes himself off the carpet and turns back to face the boy, only to see him fast asleep on the couch. His anger has subsided into the calmness in his boyish features as he sleeps, his chest moving upwards slightly each time he takes a breath in – Kyungsoo remembers these things about him quietly; and he wasn’t going to forget them, “Rest dear.” He reaches over for his cardigan lying on the table and spreads it over the boy’s body before picking his bag up from the floor and tugging on it before wincing at its weight as he carries it towards the room. 

Pausing as he enters the room, he leans against the wooden frame of the door and sighs. He understands Lay perfectly, aware of his endurance. He had once again found another difference between them both – their personalities were polar opposites. Kyungsoo is the kind of boy who would have his feelings and emotions fluctuating between the two ends of the spectrum constantly; and when it happened, he would only wish for silence. It might sound shameless, but he loved endearing words; he loved receiving them, but never grasped the concept of returning them. Being concerned was natural, yet expressing his love through plain words felt too vulnerable, too transparent. It was akin to having himself sprawled under the sun under the scrutiny of public and it bothered him – it was baseless, and stupid but it was how he felt his love should’ve gone. He would be there, but he’d stay silent. At times he owed it to his awkwardness, being someone who found solace on quietude shared between two troubled souls. If he were to find himself in his troughs on his emotions curve, he’d need the silence; he’d need to keep himself in a cage on the edge of the mountains as he let himself tremble precariously over the stone, watching the floor crumble below him. He needed to let himself fall and get up again just to trip over the same stone – because the pain gave him satisfaction. He’d willingly drag himself back down to drown in a swamp of angst and dejection before he let himself climb up slowly only to plummet again – and it was the same every time. Yet he’d choose to keep this worries from Lay, because he would regrettably feel awful to drag another soul down into the muddy waters; but these were exactly things Lay hated. They weren’t things that fit his description of love; a relationship was a tie between two similar souls who would be able to share their pains with each other, as much as the coffee they shared on an afternoon would’ve been mildly sweet. They’d be able to sit down on the balcony on a starless night and enjoy the tranquility in pearl black as they spoke of their wishes, their regrets, and their emotions. He loved being honest, honesty and transparency were the rules that kept love going, and he believed in these things – he could give others love, and he wished for the same. He wished for words plain enough to reach his ears; he needed the attention like a small child would have – and he couldn’t fathom Kyungsoo’s silence at times.

“Differences. These things that just pull us apart huh? Maybe we should stop this.” Kyungsoo mutters as he falls against the mattress, his book bouncing slightly on the bed.

Kyungsoo gives things up easily, because he feels that if something is out of his reach it’s a sign that deems him unworthy. It’s the hackneyed concept of affinity and luck; Lay was the one who fights. But when even the one who fights is laden, perhaps its time to let go.

He treasured their love, of course he did. But he was well aware of the way things worked. Tainted souls don’t deserve love, because everything they do to these peach feathers is detrimental – they wreck them.

“This love, its sick of us both.”