1921

“You're so beautiful.” Yixing smiles lazily, brushing a lone lock of dark hair off his lover’s porcelain forehead.

Yoonah blushes, a pink tinge spreading across otherwise unmarred cheeks. She's lying sprawled across the bed, pale limbs entwined in the silk sheets. “Don't say such useless things,” she chides, dark hair hanging over one shoulder to barely conceal one exposed .

Yixing's hand trails down her cheek and tangles in her hair, hooded eyes fixated on her face. “How is it useless if it's true?”

Yoonah's blush deepens and she quickly looks away, pulling the sheet up to cover her body.

The sound of the grandfather clock in the foyer chiming midnight reaches their ears. Yixing groans, letting his hand drop.

“I should get going,” he laments. “The prefects will be doing room checks soon and I'll get in trouble if they catch me breaking curfew again.”

He rolls out of the bed and rummages through the pile of clothes on the floor for his trousers.

Yoonah props herself up, watching him shrug into his shirt and do up the buttons. “When will I see you again?” There's a hint of desperation in her voice. Yixing has had that effect on her since their first meeting.

He shrugs into his suspenders and leans in to capture her lips in a lingering kiss. “Whenever you want, love.”

She pulls him in for another kiss. “My parents are having family friends over for the next week, so I'm not sure we can meet until they've left. It'll be too difficult for you to sneak in and out.”

Yixing makes a face. “I'm not sure I can go that long without touching you…”

She blushes again, lips quirking up in a shy smile. “I'm sure you'll survive a week. Besides, don't you have classes to study for?”

“You’re my muse,” he replies with a grin, slipping his feet into his shoes and reaching for his cap. “My music is always better when I spend time with you.”

Yoonah sits up enough to give him one last kiss. “Don't get caught,” she warns teasingly.

Yixing winks at her, then disappears out the window.

The night is warm and balmy as he sneaks out of Yoonah's parents' house. It's not the first time he's done this, and he fully expects to do it many, many more times. He whistles to himself as he walks the familiar path between the Im family mansion and the Westholt Conservatory where he is a student.

He'd first met Yoonah a year and a half ago, completely by accident. He'd just moved to San Francisco to attend the musical conservatory, and was performing in the park with a few of his fellow students. Yoonah had been there with her parents, a goddess half hidden beneath her parasol. Their eyes had met and all it took was that brief look for Yixing to fall madly in love with her. After the performance, he'd made some excuse to be near her, and a few careful comments were all she needed to become entranced by the young musician.

Their relationship had progressed quickly, too quickly for most conventional standards. In just a matter of weeks, it became the norm for Yixing to sneak past high fences and up the rose trellis into Yoonah's bedroom.

He doesn't like sneaking around. He's an honest person, and he feels like a criminal sneaking around in the dark in the middle of the night. But the Ims are part of the Korean elite of San Francisco, possessing wealth someone like Yixing couldn't even imagine. And Yoonah is their only child. A humble immigrant musician like Yixing will never be enough for their daughter, in their opinion. Not that he hasn’t tried. Not long after they unofficially got together, he had gone to her parents. Even though Yoonah had warned him against it, he had introduced himself and declared his undying love for her and his intention to one day marry her. The exchange had not gone well, and he'd ended up getting kicked out and threatened. Their relationship had continued in secret since then.

But not for long, Yixing thinks to himself happily. It has taken him some time, but he's finally saved up enough money for a simple ring. He knows it won't be the type of thing Yoonah is used to, but she loves him and he just knows that'll be enough.

It's all he can do to wait until Yoonah's parents' guests leave the following week. He knows when he is finally allowed to stop by because Yoonah moves the oil lamp out of her window, signaling that it's safe for Yixing to climb the trellis and enter the house.

He’s practically thrumming with excitement as he scales the trellis with a practiced ease, the simple gold band tucked carefully into the pocket of his trousers. Tonight is the night, he's decided.

Despite the late hour, he finds Yoonah fully dressed when he slips through the open window. She's sitting on the end of the neatly made bed, hair pulled back in an elaborate knot, hands twisting together in her lap.

“I've missed you, my love,” he breathes, reaching for her in a kiss.

She turns her face at the last minute so he brushes her cheek instead of her lips.

“Yixing, we need to talk,” she says quietly, not looking at him.

Frowning, he kneels in front of her so he can see her face. It’s paler than usual, and her eyes are red as though she's been crying. “What's wrong?” he asks urgently. “Did your parents find out about us? Did you get in trouble?”

“No, they don't know that we've still been seeing each other,” she says quietly. Then she sighs. “I told you my parents had family friends to visit this week.”

He nods. The visit is why he hasn't gotten to see his beloved in that time.

She sighs again. “It turns out they had an ulterior motive. Their friends, the Chois, have a son a few years older than me.” She pauses, turning her face away. “They want me to marry him.”

Yixing doesn't see the problem. She can tell them no, or they can run away together. They've talked about it enough, after all. Obviously Yoonah couldn't stay at the conservatory, but they can get a small apartment together. It'll be different for her to get used to, but as long as they have each other they'll be okay.

But Yoonah still looks grim. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Yixing?”

He shrugs. “It's not a big deal. We always knew your parents would try to arrange your marriage one day. Just tell them no.”

“It’s not that simple, Yixing,” she says sadly. “I can't tell them no. I…I've already accepted. The wedding is in two weeks, s-so I can't see you anymore.”

At first Yixing thinks she’s joking. It's not funny, but it's the only explanation he can think of for why she's saying what she's saying. But then she's looking at him with those big, sad eyes and it hits him that no, she's being completely serious.

He sits back on his heels, feeling like he's been er punched in the gut. “W-what? But…we talked about this…We were going to get married…You said you wouldn't listen to what your parents said…”

She turns her face away, fresh tears glistening in her eyes. “Yixing, I'm sorry…I can't go against them. They're my parents. I don't want to marry him – I don't even know him – but I don't have a choice!”

“Yes, you do,” Yixing answers in a hollow voice. “You always have a choice.”

He gets to his feet. The ring in his pocket suddenly feels like it weighs a ton. The room, the one he's been in hundreds of times, feels strange and unfamiliar. Everything seems to be spinning. He needs to get out of there. He feels like he can't breathe.

“Yixing!” She reaches out for him, but he jerks his arm out of reach.

He gives her one last, long look. “Goodbye, Yoonah,” he says quietly. Then he's climbing out the window, down the trellis, and away from the Im mansion for the last time.

He tries to throw himself into his studies at the conservatory. Before Yoonah music had been his life. Maybe it can be again, he hopes. But he finds that the piano no longer gives him the joy it once had. He sits at his favorite grand piano, long slender fingers ghosting over the worn, familiar keys, but the music that comes out is sad, haunted. It's nothing like the jubilant notes he once played.

He can't help but hope that Yoonah will change her mind. Maybe she'll realize how much she loves him, or maybe she'll think about how miserable she'll be married to a stranger she neither knows nor loves. She knows where to find Yixing at the conservatory. Maybe she'll come bursting through the doors during one of his lessons, declaring her love.

But none of that happens, and two weeks later Yixing reads about the wedding of Im Yoonah to a Choi Siwon in the newspaper. The article is accompanied by a photograph of the couple. Choi Siwon is tall and handsome and clearly wealthy beyond measure. He's obviously a much better choice for Yoonah than Yixing is.

Yixing's favorite place in the conservatory is the rooftop garden. The school had been a hotel at one point in time, and the rooftop garden had been a favorite of guests for teatime. Most of the students are too busy or distracted to come up to the garden, but Yixing has always found it peaceful. He likes to sit at one of the wrought iron tables and look out over the bustling city and write his music.

This is where he goes now with the newspaper clutched in one hand, but writing music is the farthest thing from his mind at the moment. He finds himself standing at the railing that edges the building, looking out over a city that holds nothing but bitter memories now.

He's not even really aware of himself moving, but somehow he's climbing over the railing and the toes of his boots are hanging over the edge of the roof. He doesn't look down; instead he looks out across the city, towards the bay. It's a peaceful day, sunny and bright.

Then he's falling and knows nothing but darkness.

When Yixing comes to, he can tell immediately that something isn't right. It's a scorching summer day and yet he can't feel the burning cobblestones of the courtyard through his linen shirt. The sun overhead is bright and relentless as usual, but he doesn't have to squint from the brightness.

There are several people looming over him, looking down. Somewhere nearby someone is screaming, and there is the sound of retching as well.

“Clear out, everyone!”

This comes from the conservatory's headmaster; his loud, booming voice is easily recognizable. The people surrounding Yixing disperse, muttering and whispering to themselves. The headmaster comes into view looking down at where Yixing lies in the courtyard. He looks pale; Yixing has never seen him look quite so unsettled.

“You there, telephone the police,” the headmaster barks at a prefect who has lingered too long on the steps.

The prefect jumps. “Yes sir,” he mumbles before turning on his heel and rushing inside.

Then Yixing is alone with the headmaster.

“What on earth happened to you, Mr. Zhang?” the headmaster asks sadly.

“Nothing's happened to me, sir,” Yixing replies, but the headmaster doesn't answer. He just shakes his head and walks over to the steps, lighting his pipe with trembling hands.

“Well, you've certainly got a flair for the dramatic.”

This is a new voice, and when Yixing turns to look, he finds a tall, dark haired man wearing paint spattered coveralls offering him a hand.

“I don't mean to,” Yixing answers honestly, accepting the hand. The man pulls him to his feet. He doesn't notice that he leaves his broken and battered body on the ground, blood leaking across the cobblestones.

“Well, you're not the only one,” the man says with a resigned sort of sigh. “Guess the Westholt is your permanent home now. The name's Kris Wu. Come with me and I'll introduce you to everyone else.”