It's quite simply this. Bad things happen to the people he loves.

He was naive when he was young, thinking the world was a balance of just and unjust.

It had started with the girl.

An innocent child Luhan, awaiting the arrival of the subway train. School. He was headed to school. How could he forget? He can never forget now. He had felt an odd sensation to his left side, something so evil it was almost tangible. He had turned his head to investigate and-

And there had been a girl. Emotionless eyes, short hair. A uniform on.

What had he found odd? He had mentally shrugged it off.

From the end of the tunnel, he could see two circles of light, coming fast.

But the girl. She took a step forward.

He had heard the roar of the approaching train, and had frozen in shock when the collision happened right in front of his eyes.

The screams. The overwhelming fear. There were people everywhere, scrambling to get to her, scrambling to get away from her. 

Luhan? Luhan had stood there. Wide eyed. Gaping.

With autumn, flowers died.

Oh god. He can never forget the girl.

With winter, snow fell.

He haunted himself from then on with one question, and one question only.

Years passed.

Why didn't I stop her?








However, the death had unleashed a domino effect onto Luhan's life.

He thought it was strange how his friends, a couple of two years, all of a sudden broke up. He thought it was funny how his cheery friend all of a sudden stopped talking. He thought it was peculiar how everyone around him all... of... a... sudden... began to deteriorate.

Luhan's best friend in high school, Jongin, had been a bright and promising student before meeting him. They became friends rather quickly, and then Jongin's grades began to drop, he started to lose interest in academics, and was constantly sick -- down with a fever or pneumonia or things along those lines. He'd graduated fine -- average, if anything -- but not in the top ten everyone had thought he would be in.

Accidents. Mere accidents. He'd been a boy in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Luhan passed them off as coincidences. But the little things were what made him realize eventually. It was the waitress who served him at the restaurant he ate at and the man he'd bumped into on the street and the cashier from the convenience store and the little boy from the playground. They fell, they lost things, they tripped up where they'd never made a mistake before. And he was a bare witness to these "little things."

Yes, those were the things that really convinced him.

He, lost in his teenage angst and emotional turmoil at the time, became miserable, thinking he had developed a curse of sorts. He fell into depression, sunk himself lower and lower into self-lamenting. He hit rock bottom and even began to dig into the dirt.

And while he was trying to bury himself ever deeper into oblivion... the incidents stopped.

The more he destroyed himself, the happier everyone else seemed to be. It was then he made a decision.

Luhan hid his melancholy and pessimism behind a smile and very convincing laughs. It was the story of every other young adult in the world. He graduated, made it into college, and still continued on with his way of life. He thought it worked.

He thought it was gone. Poof. Blown away from him the moment he stepped out of those educational doors and into the real world. He let his true smile reign free and laughed with conviction.

They started happening again.

It made him desperate. He wanted to scream why, again and again, until some magical force could tell him the truth behind all these happenings.

Even Minseok, who has been his roommate and a good friend, was not spared and has had various misfortunes happen to him. In the past year, he's had his car robbed, his work email hacked, his credit card stolen, and is currently in a rut at his new business.

Luhan tries to tell himself it's not his fault. But he knows better.

It's the days that he wakes up with the sunlight streaming through his thin curtains, the daytime telling him it'll be okay, and knowing that he's going to do something -- anything -- today. Make someone's day worse. 

It's this thought, this one sentence, that's slowly, slowly, slowly, pulling him thicker into a darkness he can't pull himself out of.

The voices began speaking.








In his worst times--

No, no, no, please go away.

--his mind cries out--

I'm begging you, I can't take this anymore.

--and he can't stop--

Please, all the weight on my shoulders...

--the thoughts he lashes out--

It's too much.

--at himself.








In the end, it is him, sitting in this deafening heat and listening to the cicadas chirping to him their complaints, alone. It's him on the balcony, his arms crossed on the railing burning his skin, his chin in the crook of his elbow. It's him who closes his eyes and sighs, happy to know that right now, he is nowhere near anyone.

He doesn't want to hate people. But he has to.

Luhan thinks it's rather unfair that he, born with this type of utter misfortune, a plague to him and everyone around him, has been given this persona of a boy who wishes to see the world and meet the people. He wants to smile at strangers, hold the door open for someone, hand out change to the homeless, keep the elevator open. He wants to be that source of light for those who can't seem to adjust their eyes to the grey filter of the living society. Why does he, who wishes to smile more than he can, have to avoid the subtle brushes of arms and little "sorry"s and "excuse me"s muttered in the streets?

Though he is alive, he is ultimately not living.

He even tries his best to ignore the callings of his few friends, though Minseok has stuck around for the ride as his roommate. Minseok is forgiving, that he is, and Luhan is ever thankful.

The sounds of car horns from floors and floors below reach his ears along with the shouts of citizens, and the smells of smoke and eateries and general human disarray that float to his nose. He watches the moving silhouettes the size of mere ants like God, hovering over the world.

He breathes in the hot air, so closely similar to his own body temperature that it doesn't feel like he had breathed in at all. Pondering on his next few hours, he doesn't notice the balcony door of the next door apartment slide open.

Out steps a man he'd never seen before, though he knows that new neighbors had moved in a few days ago. Peeking through his peripheral vision, he sees gentle features. A man of grace and sophistication. 

He has on a small smile, as if he's doing it unconsciously, and Luhan envies him. Average height, blond hair, thin, yet toned. 

The man catches his gaze and, before Luhan can avert his eyes, he hears the man say, "Hi."

Luhan turns his head to give a hesitant smile. "Hello." 

Don't talk to me.

"I'm assuming you're our new neighbor. I'm Kim Junmyeon," the man introduces himself, glancing down at the gap of empty space between their two balconies. "Sorry, I'd love to greet you more formally."

Luhan shakes his head. "It's quite all right. Nice to meet you, Junmyeon. My name's Luhan. And it's neighbors actually. Plural. I have a roommate."

"Ah, I see," Junmyeon leans against the rail. "I hope we'll be able to greet you two again later then. I have a roommate too. Well, rent buddy, more or less."

It's too much interaction. 

"Afraid I'm a little too tempted to escape this heat," Junmyeon says, and Luhan lets out an internal sigh of relief. "Would you two like to drop by later?"

He's not sure what to do. Agree? Reject?

I can't bear any more guilt.

"I'll ask my roommate what's on the schedule later and get back to you on that." Somehow, he tells himself. He'll contact Junmyeon somehow.

Junmyeon nods, his hand already on the handle of the glass door. "Then I'll see you later."

Luhan waves as Junmyeon walks back inside before heading in himself. He briefly wonders when Minseok's shift ends today.








"I'm home," a weary Minseok calls out and Luhan pads towards the door, his footsteps muffled by his careful steps. A light flickers on in their front hallway and Luhan walks in to see Minseok's head down as he works to get his shoes off.

"Welcome back, Minseok," he says, seeing all the groceries the older boy has on him. He takes a few of the plastic bags and, as casually as he can muster, says, "The new neighbors want us to go over."

Minseok glances up from where he'd been slipping off his shoes. "Do you want to go?"

Poor Minseok, Luhan thinks. He's not aware of how Luhan thinks of himself in relation to those around him.

Yes, I want to go.

"I'm kind of tired," his mouth says instead. "Why don't you go for the both of us? You'll probably leave a better impression anyway." He laughs, to make it sound more lighthearted.

"Are you sure?" Minseok asks, concern written over his soft features. 

And Luhan nods, letting that sinking feeling in his chest settle as his head moves mechanically up and down.

"If you say so," Minseok says, though Luhan can see he's slightly biting his lip. 

Luhan spends his evening alone as he's sure Minseok is eating dinner and talking to the neighbors. Perhaps Minseok is telling them that Luhan's sick, or exhausted from work, or some other excuse. He'll apologize later for being unable to show up, but he can't impose.

It's a paranoia. He wants to believe it's all paranoia. That when he goes, something won't go wrong with dinner, he won't accidentally say something he's not supposed to, they won't hit a bump in the road once he leaves that apartment.

He just doesn't know that's exactly what would have happened. In the strings of fate that bind people together, Luhan leaves knots wherever he goes.

But the world lets him think it's a paranoia.

His fear of himself.








Luhan comes to on the sofa, having fallen asleep some while ago. His arms are hugging a square pillow and his legs are stretched out across the couch. Nighttime has fully taken affect outside, the outstretches of its dark blanket wrapping around the city, making blaring lights ever more bright and clouding his vision with its corners. Shaking his head to get the fatigue from his mind, he wonders what had woken him up.

The doorbell rings, for the second time he reckons, and he drags himself off his seat to walk to the door.

Rubbing his eyes blearily, he opens it and mumbles, "How were the neighbors, Minseok?"

An unfamiliar voice says, "Well, I hope we're all right."

No.

Luhan's head shoots up and he freezes with shock when his eyes meet those of yet another stranger. "I'm sorry, I thought you were--"

"Your roommate," the man says, and he smiles, a lone dimple etching into his right cheek. "I was told there were two of you and what a shame I only got to meet one, so I thought I'd come greet you myself." He sticks out a hand and Luhan, after hesitating for a second, shakes it. "I'm Zhang Yixing. I live with Junmyeon. He's somewhat of a distant relative."

Luhan nods along dumbly with his words, more wonderstruck with Yixing himself and as to why this man would possibly want to meet him. He's impressive, Luhan has to admit, decked in his button down and black slacks, a sleek black tie looped loosely around his neck. 

"I'm Luhan. Are you... Are you Chinese?" Luhan asks, and he's not sure why.

Yixing chuckles. "Yes, I am."

Luhan nods, unsure what to say next. And Yixing doesn't seem to know either.

He chooses to stare at the smile plastered on Yixing's face and the sudden thought crosses him that maybe things will be okay with this one.

It's a strange thought, one he's never had before. Something hidden in the twinkle of Yixing's eyes, in the curve of his lips. in the slight tilt of his head. Something, something, anything.

Do you really believe that?

Subtly, Luhan shakes his head no.

Yixing gives him a curious look.








Somewhere in the subconscious of Luhan's mind, he hears Minseok leave for work early in the morning. He, on the other hand, sleeps in despite the bright light that focuses onto his thin eyelids through the window curtains. It's hot. But he can't find the energy in himself to move.

He slowly finds his way awake, though his body still isn't responding. It's as if it's given up on him, telling him what's the point of moving if there's nowhere to go?

But alas, something must always drag him out of his momentary mental lapse of judgement. And this time, it's the doorbell. 

Perhaps Minseok has forgotten something? His keys? His phone?

Luhan, eyes still shut, shouts out, "Coming!"

He pushes the blankets off his body and shuffles towards the door. It's Minseok, therefore he shouldn't have to worry about changing out of pajamas, yes?

Raising his other hand to rub his eyes, he pulls the door open.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you up?"

Ah. That is not Minseok. 

In a surprised rush, he slams the door close. 

Luhan is wide awake now. Oh, certainly. He breathes hard, his back against the doorway, as the person rings the doorbell again. Who is it? No, no, not this early. 

"Luhan? Are you okay? I'm sorry if it's unexpected, but it's me. Your neighbor, Yixing."

It doesn't matter who you are! He wants to say.

Go away.

"I'm, um, sorry," Luhan stutters, trying to think of an excuse, any excuse. "Right now's not a good time."

"Oh," he hears the dejection in Yixing's voice. The guilt eats away at his insides for lying, but it can't, it just simply can't. "Then I'll leave it by the door."

There's the sound of a muffled drop, and footsteps as Yixing goes back into his own apartment, or wherever he needs to be.

Leave it by the door? What is it?

As soon as he's sure Yixing's gone, he opens the door again, peeking with his eyes to double check that there's no one nearby. On the ground lies a small bouquet of flowers, an assortment of roses and purple violets. A folded note is tied into the side of the bouquet with its ribbon, and Luhan lifts it up to read it. "Glad to be your neighbor! :)" the thing says, and Luhan hates himself, hates that he couldn't just have let him inside and accepted a gift as effortless as this.

He brings the bouquet into his home and shuts the door quietly behind him.

I regret it.

It takes ten minutes to find a vase, five to clean it, fill it with water, and place the flowers in it, and another minute to put them in his room. 

It takes fifteen minutes to change and two to make his decision.

It takes ten seconds to knock on Yixing's door. And thirteen seconds of Yixing to open it.

He looks mildly shocked to see Luhan standing there, nibbling on the inside of his cheek and fidgeting with his fingers.

"I'm sorry!" The words fly out before Luhan has time to process them, but they're so naturally there, almost painless to say at this point. He's said those two words too many times before. 

But Yixing smiles when he hears that, and there's relief flooding Luhan's heart in a way that he's never felt it before.

"Can I make it up to you? For slamming the door in your face?" Luhan tries a smile on too, and it seems to fit all right. He feels like a nervous wreck. Shouldn't he be leaving right about now?

Yixing answers, "Why don't you come with me to town today? I'd like to know the place better." And Luhan knows he's trapped.

He nods. It's his fault, after all, that he's here now anyway.

They take the bus there, Luhan feeling jittery all the way because he doesn't know Yixing all that well. Yixing, however, seems to enjoy keeping the conversation alive.

"What kinds of places do you like to go to in town, Luhan?"

I don't really go outside. "Oh, um. There's a coffee shop. The one Minseok works at. Manages, actually."

Yixing turns to him, saying, "That sounds great. Then why don't we go there first?" 

Luhan gets stuck on the shape of Yixing's eyes, how they draw him in and tell him hopes and dreams, sympathies and words of kindness. He nods, feeling a jump in his pulse.

He likes Yixing. He likes him a lot.








"Luhan, would you like to visit the cafe again?"

"Luhan, do you have any free time?" 

"Luhan, hey, it's me, Yixing. You didn't answer your phone so I'm leaving you a message. Want to watch this new movie together tonight?"

Why, why, why. Why does Luhan keep saying-

"Yes."

When his mind whispers-

No.








He doesn't understand why Yixing wants to hang out with him so much.

His head is telling him to get out. To go away. To never come back.

His voice is telling Yixing see you soon. That I had fun. And I'd love to go again.

He doesn't understand why it's going this well.








Luhan takes a sip of the water sitting in his glass, occasionally peeking at Minseok doing calculations at the kitchen counter. He finds Minseok's habit of doing his business's calculations himself somewhat pleasant to spectate. What an organized man. In control of his own life.

Minseok finally slams the calculator down onto the table, sitting back with an exhale. Luhan, only able to see his back, doesn't know what this implies.

But when Minseok turns to him, he sees the elder has on a smile on his face. 

"Luhan, what time is it?"

He takes a second to check the time. "About seven PM. Why?"

"Let's go out for dinner," Minseok grins.

Luhan drips from his glass again, trying not to show his surprise. "What's the occasion?"

"Sales went up. Way up than before."

Now Luhan displays his surprise. "R- really?"

Minseok nods and Luhan's not quite sure anymore what's going on.

But I'm here.

Before he can react, Minseok's already grabbing his wallet and keys, dragging Luhan outside the apartment. 

"Invite the neighbors," he commands, and Luhan gives him a look.

"Why?" He asks.

"I've seen how you are with that Yixing boy. Tell him to come. I want everyone happy tonight."








As if the night hadn't been perfect enough.

As if the sharp glimmers of the stars shining down and the welcome heat of the summer air and the peaceful glide of the clouds passing over the moon hadn't been beautiful enough.

As if he hadn't been satisfied already.

As if, as if, as if, but the moment Yixing slips his hand over Luhan's and laces their fingers together, he knows.

It's perfect.








"Why," he asks, barely audible.

They're lagging behind the other two, Minseok and Junmyeon caught up in a discussion about finances. It's pleasant, how the night envelops them all. They weave through the crowds with little effort, the world cupping them in their own bubble. The city around them is loud, but they lay deaf ears to its noise.

Yixing turns his head to Luhan, a question in his eyes. 

His hand is warm, soft, and he gives Luhan's fingers a little squeeze as he says, "Why what?"

"Why. Why are you nice to me? Why do you want to be around me so much? I want to know why."

Yixing stops walking. The halt jerks Luhan still as well, and he panics internally, afraid to lose Minseok in the throngs of people. 

When he feels Yixing take his other hand, he faces him, curious. 

"Because this," Yixing mutters softly, leaning forward.

It's a fleeting thing, faint, barely noticeable. But Luhan notices. And he responds.

Yixing kisses like an angel, like he expects Luhan to break if he presses too hard. Luhan kisses unconsciously, without a thought. 

"Because I love you," Yixing says as he pulls back.

He expects Luhan to say something back. Not for a tear to escape his eyes. He wipes it off of Luhan's cheek with a swipe of his thumb, concern etched in the furrow of his brows.

"Is there something wrong?" He cups Luhan's face in his hands.

No, Luhan wants to say. No, something's very right.

The voice is gone. No longer there to tell him no. It's a nothingness he'd been yearning for since... since then. So calming.

"No, no. No, I love you too."








It's not strange for Luhan to be awake at the same time Minseok is, usually roused by his morning routine to which he does not partake to tranquilly. 

But this is the first time Minseok has seen him fully dressed, smiling, and heading out the door with him.

Luhan locks the door behind them both, looking sheepish and blushing lightly.

"Not staying home today? I don't think it's a work day for you," Minseok notes. Luhan's part time job is easy on shifts.

Luhan shakes his head, rubbing the nape of his neck and appearing even more abashed than before. "I'm not. I'm, uh, going out."

"You are?" He's become accustomed to Luhan's introverted way of life.

"I am. With... with Yixing." Should he say it? But he's so shy. So elated. So ridiculously joyful. "We're... dating now, I guess."

Minseok slowly grins, patting Luhan's shoulder with his hand in a friendly, but rough, way. "I'm happy for you."

Luhan waves as Minseok leaves for work.

A minute later, the neighboring door is opened.

Yixing smiles when he sees Luhan standing there, waiting. Luhan thinks he might be the most beautiful person he's ever seen. His new love places his hands on Luhan's waist and pecks his forehead. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah."

Hidden beneath all his ecstatic emotions, there is disbelief and apprehension. In his pocket is a small plastic box, ready at hand.

Beneath all the good, there is anxiety.








The ice cream shop has never been sweeter.

The park has never been lovelier.

The dirty streets of the city have never been cleaner.

The nighttime has never been brighter.

But best of all, the world has never been quieter.

Yixing gives him a relief from the cage he'd trapped himself in. A bed of guilt, and a pool of regrets.








Seven marks on his calendar for seven days without misfortune.

Seven turns to fourteen, turns to twenty-one, turns to thirty.

One month with nothing to blame himself for.

"Happy one month, Yixing."

Their lips meet over the cups of iced tea growing warm on the table. 

"Happy one month, Luhan."








Four months pass.

Nothing.

It's somewhat precarious, the way he's swinging his legs over the edge of the balcony, the only thing keeping him balanced being the grip he has on the metal railing. It makes him feel closer to Yixing, who has asked to meet him via the balconies to tell him news.

He catches, from the corner of his eyes, the glass door slide open in Yixing's apartment and said man steps out. Luhan loves the way he always smiles when their eyes meet, how glad he looks when he sees Luhan. As if his presence can actually bring positivity to someone else's life. Like he's worth something.

"Luhan, heavens. Please get off the railing. You're scaring the hell out of me right now," Yixing says, alarmed at Luhan's carefree position.

Luhan slowly lifts his legs one by one back onto the balcony and turns to face Yixing again. "Is there something wrong?"

"Not particularly. Just some news." Yixing looks rather casual, leaning against the railing towards Luhan. "I have a business trip and I'm leaving in a week. I'll be gone for another two weeks. I just thought I'd tell you before I go."

"Oh," Luhan says.

Go? He can't.

What if the voices come back.

What if everything comes tumbling down when you're not here? "Have a good trip," he tells Yixing, somehow smiling. "I'll wait for you."

"Thank you, Lu." He stands up straight and moves towards the door. "Good night."

"Good night, Yixing."








One day for taking a walk down the street.

The second for eating alone in the evening.

The third is for staring out below from his balcony.

The fourth is for fitful sleep at night.

Fifth, sixth, and seventh are for silence.

Eight days for the inability to concentrate.

The ninth is for the lifeless back and forth in his apartment.

The tenth is for not leaving his room.

The eleventh is for curling up and rocking back and forth.

Twelfth is for pills, downed from his small plastic box with glass after glass of water.

Thirteenth is for the clouds to gather across the sky.

Fourteen days alone.








"The airport is packed. Why don't I call a taxi back and we can meet at the street corner where Minseok's coffee shop is? That should be easier on us both," Yixing suggests.

Who is Luhan right now to argue?

He looks paler than usual in the mirror, a walking corpse. He combs his hair, washes his face, tries to get some color back into his skin. He dons a clean shirt and jeans. A sweater too. It's cold tonight.

Luhan runs. As fast as he can. He runs harder than ever.

In fact, there have been a lot of things different than 'ever'.

The street corner is empty when he arrives, albeit the strangers he has no care for meandering along the road.

His sanity is about to return to him. Two weeks he's spent going absolutely crazy, too fearful of the world to do more than be the least productive human he can be. 

The very sound of Yixing's voice, the very appearance of his name on Luhan's screen, brings him inches back into reality.

Without Yixing, how can he live life without being a burden?

A chill suddenly runs down his spine and he gets a sort of bad feeling, an almost tangible force, that seems to come from his right.

"Luhan!" His name is called from across the street.

He turns right and breaks out in a grin when he sees Yixing waving at him, suitcases at his feet. He raises his hands and mouths something at Luhan, but the words are lost over the traffic. Luhan makes the phone symbol with his fingers at him, telling him to call.

He watches as Yixing dials his number and Luhan picks up before the first ring. 

"What is it?" Luhan asks.

There's a breath, a sigh, as Yixing says, "I missed you." He can practically hear the relief in Yixing's voice.

The crosswalk light turns green and he tells Yixing, his excitement apparent, "Hurry and come over here."

Time seems to slow down as Yixing dashes across the street, his bags wheeled behind him.

And then time does stop.

He should've known. Months and months without it, and he really should have known. Fate has been saving up for this moment, hasn't it?

There's not even time to cry out his name one last time, to hold him and kiss him one last time.

The screams.

The overwhelming fear.

It's all coming back.








Minseok has had a long day.

But, all hours aside, there had been a surplus of customers and an atmosphere of a truly satisfied group of people. How great it felt to be the reason for these people's happiness, he had thought.

So, although he is tired, he had returned home with a smile on his face.

His key clicks in the lock, and he pushes open the door as he turns it. The hallway is dark. In fact, everything is dark. Luhan does not come greet him like he usually does, in his worn pajamas or street clothes. Luhan is no where to be found.

"Hello?" He calls out, flicking on a light. "Luhan?"

No response.

He takes a hesitant step further into the room. "Luhan?" Minseok tries again. And again, nothing.

The kitchen is empty. The bathroom is empty. The living room shows him the television left on, its screen a rectangle of black and white static. The noise is eerie -- he quickly shuts it off.

He checks Luhan's room last, almost afraid of what he could find. Unable to see anything in this blackness, he turns on the light. 

There's Luhan sitting in the corner, tucked between his desk and bookshelf. He's hugging his knees, rocking back and forth, and his eyes are wide. His mouth silently says an incomprehensible garble of words.

Why does Minseok feel like he's approaching a broken child?

"Lu...han?" He says, creeping up to him slowly. He kneels in front of Luhan as the other boy rocks... back and forth... back and forth.

"I killed him, Minseok." And that's when the tears start.

Those were certainly not the words he'd been expecting.

"I killed him, Minseok. He was dead before he even reached the hospital. I killed him. I killed him, it's all my fault. Why didn't I stop him? Why didn't I stop him?"

"Luhan, what are you talking about?" Minseok asks frantically, shaking the boy's shoulders. "Who's dead?"

"Yixing. I killed Yixing. Did you know that? I killed him today, how could I do that? Why didn't I stop him. Why didn't I stop him."

Though he calls his name over and over, continuously telling him to snap out of it and tell him what happened, Luhan keeps repeating that last question. Again and again. The more he says it, the less it sounds like a question.

He doesn't know what to do.

So he calls the hospital. 

"Please help my friend."








"Why didn't I stop him. Why didn't I stop him. Why didn't I stop him." 

A vision flashes across his mind.

Two blaring circles of white. A wisp of black hair. A school uniform. The clacking of rails. Red.

Another vision.

The sound of small wheels across concrete. The bustles of people. A swerving car. Bent limbs. Red.

He screams into his fist, tears pooling into the crevices of his fingers. 

"Why didn't I stop her? Why didn't I stop her?"

It hurts, it really hurts.

Why didn't I do it?