Instead of checking in with Jongin before heading down to the recording studio as usual, Yixing stayed in the intern’s office area, hesitantly following Chanyeol over to the couches and armchairs occupying the area under the large windows lining the right wall. The tall boy fell onto the couch and began spreading his study materials out everywhere, apparently trying to take up as much space as possible. Yixing paused, fingers tightening around the straps of his backpack before he delicately settled into an armchair and pulled out his notes and textbook, perching his glasses on his nose and squinting at his own, neat handwriting, wondering where to start.

“Hello Chanyeol, Zhang Yixing.”

Jongin.

Yixing felt his voice almost more than he heard it, immediately turning around to find the speaker with his eyes. Jongin was wearing a light gray suit today, and he smiled at Yixing when they made eye contact.

“Studying?” It was a general question, but his eyes never left Yixing. Under his scrutiny, the Chinese boy felt himself blush a little and became immediately more flustered because he knew his cheeks were turning pink.

“Yeah, Xing is helping me with this super confusing o-chem stuff. What are you up to today, Jongin?” Chanyeol asked brightly, a pencil hanging out of the corner of his mouth like a cigar as he arranged his notes and book in front of him.

“Not too much. You know how things get during auditions.” His plush lips twisted into a wry smile and he rolled his eyes before turning back to Yixing. “Speaking of new SM artists, Zhang Yixing, I might need you to come help me speak with some new trainees that just arrived from China yesterday and don’t know much Korean yet. They have some more forms to fill out, and I’d like them to know what they’re getting into. Is that okay? I can come back for you in an hour.”

“Oh, um,” Yixing looked at Chanyeol for confirmation. The taller boy nodded at him in an expression of good-willed consent. “Sure. That sounds fine.” Yixing finished with a smile.

Chanyeol and Yixing powered through their notes for a good twenty minutes, quizzing each other on obscure terminology and purposefully tricky reactions, before Chanyeol decided that they needed a break.

“You’re really supposed to take breaks every fifteen minutes. It’s bad for your brain if you study too long, you forget the stuff you’re trying to learn,” Reasoned Chanyeol as he stretched his long arms over his head and released a groaning sigh. Heaving himself to his feet, he suggested grabbing a drink from the vending machine in the interns’ break room. As he stared at the neat rows of fluorescently-lit canned teas and juices, Yixing felt his mind begin to wander off. He was just thinking about how can-tabs were attached to the rest of the container when Chanyeol poked a long finger into the spot on his cheek where his dimple resided.

“Xing? You in there?” He asked in mock-concern, widening his eyes and rapping lightly on Yixing’s forehead with his knuckles.

“Sorry, I got lost in thought,” The Chinese boy laughed sweetly, firmly pressing a code into the vending machine pad without really paying attention to what he was buying. It turned out to be banana flavored milk. Interesting. Sipping on the concoction with obvious curiosity, he followed Chanyeol to sit at the small round table in the middle of the break-room-kitchen hybrid.

“So,” Chanyeol’s voice reverberated around the tiled space, deep and warm, “What kind of music do you like?” Yixing’s face gently shifted into a look of perplexion. “Sorry, was that a weird way to start a conversation? I’m not good at smoothly integrating my ideas into speech, so I can be weirdly blunt when I want to talk about something...” He scratched his head self-consciously, a sheepish grin on his face.

“No, it’s fine....I think I like ballads best. Simple music? The kind that doesn’t have many instruments or studio effects, just a guitar, a piano, and a voice. But I like all kinds of music, really. How about you?”

“All kinds, but I love alternative and indie stuff. I think it’s really cool. I even learned how to play guitar back in highschool so that I could join this indie rock band.”

“Oh, I play guitar too!”

“Really? We should totally play together some time!” Chanyeol practically vibrated with excitement.

“Hey, Zhang Yixing,” Jongin appeared in the doorway of the break-room, startling them both. “Could I borrow you now? I know I said I could give you an hour, but there’s an....incident...that I need some help with.That alright, Chanyeol?”

“Yes, of course, I can go now.” Yixing nodded, getting up from his seat as Chanyeol also voiced his consent. He paused for a moment, considering his half-full container of banana milk. He decided to throw it away and quickly followed Jongin out through the intern offices and into the hallway.

“So, I wouldn’t have taken you away from studying if it wasn’t important, but there’s a problem with one of the Chinese trainees. He’s really young, like eleven or so, and something happened and now he won’t stop crying and is virtually unresponsive. The other trainees are in the middle of meeting their instructors, or else I would have gotten one of them to help me translate. Sorry about...” he started, but Yixing cut him off.

“Never be sorry for wanting my help, Jongin.” He said softly, but there was an air of an order about the phrasing. Jongin’s eyes scrunched into a gentle smile and he ruffled the shorter boy’s hair with one long- hand.

“Thanks,”

Jongin led Yixing through the enormous building into a section that the Chinese boy was virtually unfamiliar with. Dance practice rooms lined one side of the hallway, and the other side was lined with what looked like offices and small lounge areas. It was one of these dance rooms that Jongin ushered him into moments later. A young boy sat against one of the mirrored walls, his knees pulled into his body, chin dropped to his chest. His shoulders were visibly shaking, but he remained almost completely silent in the empty room. Jongin made an awkward gesture of concern and confusion, obviously unsure of what to do, and seemed to turn control of the situation over to Yixing without actually saying a word. Yixing took a few, tentative, steps towards the boy before dropping into a crouch next to him.

“Hello,” He said kindly, in Mandarin. “My name is Zhang Yixing, what’s yours?”

“F-Fa D-Hongji,” The boy muttered through his tears, looking up at Yixing with hopeful eyes.

“Alright, Fa Hongji, I understand that you’re upset about something? Can you tell me what it is? Maybe I can help. No one wants to see you hurting,” He reached out a hand and placed it on one of the boy’s shoulders, patting him lightly and comfortingly.

“I d-don’t want to bother anyone...” Fa Hongji shuddered.

“Don’t worry about bothering anyone, we just want you to be able to do your best.”

“My grandmother....she was injured in an accident. My mother called me just a few minutes ago, and... What if she dies?” He burst into heavy sobs. Yixing sighed in empathy and gently pulled the boy into a kind embrace, whispering words of kindness to him. Jongin was watching with a look akin to amazement as Yixing talked the boy through the worst of his sobbing.

“Jongin, his grandmother was just badly injured. Where is his dorm room? I think he needs some time to cry and to talk with his parents about getting home to see her.” Yixing asked the Korean man softly. With an obedient nod, Jongin rushed to help Yixing get Hongji to his feet and walked them all into a lounge across the hall.

“I’ll call one of the managers in charge of the trainees and have them take him back to the dorms. I agree that he needs to take some time off and talk with his family.” Jongin stepped out into the hallway for a moment to make the call and then returned to wait with Yixing and Hongji until a middle-aged woman who turned out to be a manager appeared to to take the young boy back to his dorm. Now alone, Jongin turned to look at Yixing, examining him.

“What is it, Jongin?” Yixing eventually asked, uncomfortable under the handsome man’s eyes. He couldn’t help but notice how pretty Jongin’s mouth looked when he smirked.

“Nothing. It’s just....well...you’re amazing, Zhang Yixing. I never could have calmed him down, but you helped him so much!”

“No, it wasn’t much, I just remember how I felt when I heard that my mother was in the hospital after the accident, and...” he shrugged off the praise, unwilling to think that skill or merit had anything to do with his actions.

“You always try to argue your way out of praise, don’t you?” Jongin smiled. “Couldn’t you accept it just this once? For me?”

For you, I think I could do almost anything.