Zitao missed the threads, the transparent grey that stretched its spidery lines forever, on and on; a world of answers that literally appeared whenever he closed his eyes.

The threads were his security blanket, his safety net. Everything he did - even back when he was small, debating whether or not to take that last slice of cake when his mother wasn't looking - was calculated, weighed up silently, pondered over, before finally being carried out. That was how he'd lived. The past few years, he'd been making decisions with a single goal in sight - the prophecy, the ultimate fulfilment of order.

And then, almost a year ago, the threads had begun to have an end. Not a definitive one, not one that made sense- it was more like they'd been severed midway through their fate.

Zitao had been in a panic, and it was then that Kris had had to lead him. It'd always been the other way around before; Zitao's mood-swings and frantic telephone calls back home had finally betrayed his age, truly making him seem the seventeen year old boy Kris had dubiously been told he was when they'd met.

Now, splayed eagle on his bed, Zitao wallowed. Well and truly; his limbs ached where he lay, and rationally speaking, Zitao knew he'd have to move further than the bathroom - conveniently situated about two metres from his bed - at some point. His pulse was slow, and he could hear it so clearly, echoing about his head like some rhythmic reminder that he was still alive. He kind of needed it, to be honest. Without it, Zitao figured he might as well be a corpse.

He'd long lost track of time, but there was telltale light creeping under the crack of the door that told him it was day again. Kris had long left their room, seeming to understand his desire for solace. But he didn't, not really. A piece of Zitao, the integral piece that he'd structured his very existence around, had been ripped out. Yes, he'd had warning, but it was never really going to be enough. Nothing could've prepared him for the nothingness, seeing only black and pulsing red when he slid shut his eyes.

 Zitao didn't fancy looking at that ugly black for too long, so instead he fixed his unseeing gaze upon the yellowing ceiling, mouldy in one corner.

He could've been there for a few minutes, or he could've been there for hours; either way, he was jerked out of his self-pity party by a sharp succession of raps against the door. He grunted unintelligibly, response neither affirmative nor negative, but the visitor seemed to take it as the former and slowly opened the door.

"Zitao," Kris sighed as he stepped in, brow drawn as he shut the door quietly behind him. "You know, you can't stop eating. It's unreasonable."

Zitao's eyes flickered from the ceiling to Kris' face, regarding him cooly, almost in detachment. "You don't get it, Kris," he finally said.

"I get enough - I also get that starving yourself when there is perfectly good food up there is bat insane." Walking over, Kris felt like his friend's despondency was infecting him too- his mood had gotten even glummer since entering. 

"Not hungry."

"Look, buddy." Another sigh left Kris' lips, and he lowered himself down onto the bed, reaching out a hand and patting Zitao's calf in an attempt at consolation. The seventeen year old he'd gotten a glimpse at all those months ago had fully emerged, it seemed- and as uncomfortable as anything paternalistic made him, he supposed it really was time for him to step up to the plate, as the senior. "I know it's hard on you - I do, I get it-"

Zitao gave a mirthful snort, and Kris resisted the urge to bring his fist down on his leg.

"-but you've got to pull yourself together. You're an adult, or at least, everybody sees you as an adult - hell, I wouldn't be surprised if they all thought you were older than me. You've kind of become everybody's authority figure, whether they admit it or not, and that's not something you can just choose to quit just because things aren't going your way."

"You sound like my dad," Zitao muttered, after a momentary silence.

Kris chuckled, "If it makes you uncomfortable, how do you think I feel?"

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lip, but he stayed quiet.

"I feel like losing my Sight is a little more than 'not getting my way', don't you?" he grumbled, after a little while.

"Maybe," Kris hummed, "But you've got to get some perspective. Those Defectives had never left their city before you practically threw them on the minibus, and I'll be honest - if you're not around, if you can't be that person of authority that ordered them on here, I doubt they'll be... Fine."

"You're not very good at this, are you?"

" no." A snigger finally escaped Zitao, and Kris joined in with a grin.

"Fine." With a long-suffering sigh, Zitao heaved himself up to a sitting position, leaning lazily against the bedhead. "I'll come up."

"You can sulk as much as you want in here," Kris added, "Just-"

"Act normal?" 

"Yeah. As normal as you can, at any rate." Reluctantly, Kris stood up. "I'll meet you up there, I guess. By the way," he stopped on his way to the door, "What is the deal with that new guy? Everybody has just kind of accepted him, but it's almost like nobody really knows why. They're kind of just doing it because everybody else is."

Zitao snorted. "I'll tell you later tonight. Have you been speaking to him?"

"No."

"Give it a try. Like it or not, my dad sent sent him. He's part of the team now."

This time, it was Kris' turn to scoff, hand resting on the doorknob. "You could hardly call us a team," he said, and Zitao blinked. "It more like... We're a jumbled group of people who barely tolerate each other. And we've been forced into travelling together."

Zitao frowned as he left, shutting the door behind him with a definite click. He wasn't wrong; they were far from being a team, and Zitao didn't need his sight to know that they'd have to become one by the time they reached Defluo. He trusted fate, but he also knew it was give and take. If he wanted them to click, they'd have to work for it.

With pursed lips, Zitao stumbled to the bathroom, suddenly feeling the lack of use in his legs as he almost slipped on the tiles. His hands grabbed the sink for balance; looking into the mirror, he looked like death, face haggard and eyes ringed with black smudges, even more than what was usual.

Perhaps it was time for food.

"Zitao!" JinJu crowed the minute she laid eyes on his pasty form emerging from beneath the deck. She'd sprawled herself, along with Chanyeol, on the middle of the deck; Baekhyun had been spirited away underneath the shade by a needy Suho, but didn't look too upset at the reprieve from the harsh rays. The Shifters all looked up lazily, aside from Sehun, who was slumped against Luhan, snoring.

"Hello." Fixing a small smile in place, Zitao made his way over. He sat down beside her, foreign feel of the sun beaming harshly down upon him actually slightly pleasant.

"How are you? Like, you feel alright, right? You were down there for ages, so I was worried..." This was probably the nicest JinJu had ever been - her conversations were usually lined with hostility, or had harmless threats weaved through them. This time though, her face was openly concerned, no walls put up; perhaps, Zitao wondered, she was the type to break down under pressure. It was an interesting theory, and was actually kind of nice to think about - but on the other hand, it could cause complications in the future.

He shook his head. "I'm fine now. Just adjusting."

JinJu leaned in conspiratorially, "So, you can't see anything now?"

"I can see you right now, if that's what you mean."

"Don't be stupid." She shot him a look, and ah, there was the usual JinJu. "The threads have disappeared, haven't they?"

That lump that'd sat irritatingly in his throat for days flared up, threatening to choke him. "Um..." He coughed, looking away, "Yes. I can't see the possibilities anymore, you're absolutely right," he stammered hastily, wondering halfheartedly at her lack of tact.