If he could choose the perfect word to describe Luhan, he would choose the word, “muse.” Ever since he first laid eyes on Luhan, there was already some song brewing in the back of his mind. From their first meeting, an unexpected one of sorts brought about by a moment of destiny, he had already orchestrated the accompaniment: a collection of strings brought to life by a union of chords from a piano. Steadily, the drums joined in chorus with his own beating heart.

Luhan always showed him the affection he needed; the affection he lacked. Luhan was the only one, in fact.

“Here, let me help you with your Korean,” he had offered in their native tongue.

“It’s really hard; I just can’t get the sounds right…”

“You’ll get better, Yixing. Here, repeat after me…”

That was the first time Yixing had received any gestures of this sort. Usually, he was left alone. He never minded that before; he was used to the solitude. But he had to admit: it was nice to experience some companionship.

This began a slew of songs sung by his soul in a vibrant array of colors, of happiness and love. Yes, love was the pinnacle of it all -- though, he could not bring himself to show them to Luhan quite yet.

Still, he feared the greed of wanting to spend more and more time with Luhan, and how easily he could succumb to his want.

He was right; happiness and love easily turned to greed. This yearning, which was both toxic and sincere, replaced the simplicity of his old lyrics. He found himself swimming deeper and deeper into minor chords, his skepticism resonating with each flat.

And soon, his lyricism revealed his next phase of writing: his fear in a collection of ballads about his love, unrequited. He couldn’t bring himself to share with his muse his deepest thoughts, though, for what if the power of the muse was in the secrecy? What if revealing to Luhan his status would somehow cause the magic to disappear? All Yixing knew at this point was stabbing speculation; and as badly as he wanted to know whether or not Luhan returned his feelings, he could not muster the courage to find out for sure. He couldn’t even muster the courage to share his compositions with Luhan!

… until there was no avoiding it, anyway. And one day, he was pushed into a corner.

“What do you do for fun, anyway? You’re always shut up working in that studio of yours.”

“I write songs,” Yixing replied hesitantly.

“Hey, what’s this?” Luhan asked, picking up a notebook and leafing through the pages.

“Oh, ,” Yixing muttered reflexively.

Luhan’s lips curled up mischievously, stopping a page with his thumb. He read a line.

“Hey there, close your eyes
Come away with me, with eyes shut tightly.
Hey there, dream with me--”

“--stop reading that!” Yixing leapt over, frantically grabbing at his notebook, his embarrassment evident on his cheeks.

“This is one of your songs, isn’t it? Why don’t you ever let me listen? I thought we were best friends.” He stuck out his tongue. “I just want to hear one.”

Yixing agreed, albeit reluctantly.

Thus, his muse finally met the amalgamation of lyrics and chords that were meant for him in the first place. Slowly, slowly, the muse listened collectively to Yixing’s archive. And, fortunately for Yixing, the magic of the muse continued on.

It was unfortunate when Yixing’s songs evolved into the inevitable state of heartbreak. This evolution coincided very nicely with Luhan’s announcement of his new boyfriend.

Minseok. That was his name. Yixing should have known better, really, to trust Luhan with his heart. And maybe he knew better all along, but his thirst for affection ran deep. Luhan was merely the first to show him signs of compassion; compassion that he yearned for, compassion that he lacked. But Luhan was the type to give compassion whenever it was needed, or wherever he wanted to provide it. Minseok happened to also be a recipient -- and apparently, he was the better investment.

“Hey, do you want me to help you with your Mandarin?”

“Yeah, please. It’s just so hard. I can’t get the tones right at all.”

Luhan laughed, throwing a playful arm around his shoulder to bring him closer to his seat.

“You’ll get better, Minseok. Just repeat after me…”

Of course, Yixing was quite angry in the initial stages of heartbreak. What was different? What was he lacking? Why was Luhan so quick to leave him? Why couldn’t he love him, too?

The presence of Minseok did not signify the death of the muse, though. No, if anything, the muse was a phoenix, and this was its rebirth. Yixing could not call it the death of his muse because it was not the death of his love.

He had yet to cease orchestrating the strings and the percussion whenever he lay eyes on his muse. And in fact, the lyrics came as incessantly as ever; the poetry of heartache really does come the most easily. It was bittersweet to lock himself up in his studio. Although Yixing was free to compose so much new material, he was trapped with his lugubrious thoughts: creation at the expense of sanity.

Until when, he wondered, before this love reached its expiration?
Until when would his muse be his inspiration?
He mused bemused by his muse.
Not for a while, he admitted sadly.
And he reached for his pen
to scribble out “the end.”

A/N: Kkeut!! Thanks for reading~ Let me know what you think? :)