Yixing finds that Jongdae is not in his room when he leaves the shower, towel draped over his shoulder. This surprises him a little - he left the door open deliberately, hoping that Jongdae would sneak in as he normally does.

Instead, he finds him at the kitchen counter, reading a dog-eared book, and absent-mindedly eating a bowl of noodles. He is dripping soup everywhere, brows furrowed in concentration as he focuses on his book.

Yixing can't help but smile. Jongdae often re-reads books he is fond of when stressed, and a comeback is nothing if not stressful.

"You're reading the third one again?" He teases, expecting Jongdae to come back with something like it's the best one, or at least I'm not illiterate like you. They like to taunt one another, often in an extremely immature manner.

Jongdae only grunts in response.

He raised an eyebrow. "Dae?" He prompts.

Jongdae casts him an uninterested look over his shoulder, before turning back to his book. "What?"

The tone is verging on unfriendly, and something flares in Yixing's brain - a primal, synapse-y warning of an incoming disagreement.

"I just wanted to see what you were up to," he says, attempting to mask the hurt in his voice. Jongdae is not the type to be so dismissive; once he likes you, he will likely set everything down to be of service to you, and Yixing is selfish enough to enjoy that.

"Reading," Jongdae holds up his book, the familiar hippogriff staring Yixing in the face.

"Uh-huh," Yixing hums, "I can see that, thanks."

"Well, then." Jongdae sighs. "What more do you want of me?"

Yep. Definitely unfriendly.

Yixing wants to ask what is wrong - to bring their relationship back to the easy, laughing camaraderie that characterises their (vocal) exchanges. But he doesn't, because that would be to presume they are something a little more than bandmates. It would be to presume that they are friends, and - if he were to push it - perhaps a little more than even that.

And Yixing is by his very nature cautious. He has been burnt before; he has learnt to take care of himself. He is driven - some might say ruthless - because he knows what he wants.

"Fine," he sighs, and spins on his heel to sulk on his own in his bedroom.

"You honestly think things can just be normal after what you did?" Jongdae snorts quietly. "You are dumb." The spite is half-hearted; the angry hurt is quite clear behind it.

Yixing turns, slowly this time.

"'Course, I'm stupid too." Jongdae's voice is cold, harder than he's ever heard it - but the ice is breaking even as he says the words. "I actually thought you were a good guy."

The book thumps onto the table, the spine so worn that it collapses flat. There is a beat, before Yixing decides decided not to be a coward, as he has been so many times before. "Is this about me managing myself?" He asks tiredly.

Jongdae slams a palm down on the counter. The noise is startlingly loud in the quiet, and Yixing jumps, his heart racing. "Of course it's about that, you utter !" He hisses angrily, and Yixing's pale cheeks flush a dull red.

"What about it?" He manages carefully, heart thudding.

"'What about it?'" Jongdae mimics incredulously. Cruelly, he imitates Yixing's slurring of what, and he cringes in embarrassment. "You've completely ed us over!"

Yixing watches as he clenches his fingers, the gesture revealing more of Jongdae's true feelings of betrayal than his angry words. "Not only do you get paid more than us, get more security - you also get to lord over us with the fact you could leave at any ing point." The words are sharply enunciated, thrown like knives in Yixing's carefully schooled expression. "Do you know how embarrassing it is to have to convince the entire world you're not ing off when I don't even believe it myself?"

He waves a hand, laughing bitterly. " you," he says quietly, and the fury lacing each word sends chills down Yixing's spine. "You can leave for all I care."

"It's not easy for me, you know," Yixing says, stung - driven to defend himself by the disgust in Jongdae's eyes, eyes he is far more used to seeing smiling. "I didn't do this just to get money."

Jongdae rolls his eyes with practiced disbelief. "Didn't do it to help the rest of us out, did you?" He scoffs. ", Yixing, I'm not saying you have to look out for us all the time, or hell, even like us particularly, but you didn't have to screw us over like that." His voice shakes. "What do you think will happen to us after you go, huh?" He chokes. "Where the hell is my career going to go after that?"

He lifts dark, pain-filled eyes at him, and Yixing is forced to look away, because he knows - oh, God, he knows how scared Jongdae is of losing his chance to be any kind of idol.

"I'm sorry," he says weakly, knowing it is not enough and yet not willing to offer a more vehement apology. He did what he did for his own reasons, his own life.

"You're not, though," Jongdae - piercingly perceptive - tells him. He folds his arms, posture defensive and hurt all at once. "God, Yixing..." He breaks off. "I thought we were friends." He doesn't say anything more. He doesn't need to, their shared history in the forefront of both their minds."Did you think of me at all?" Jongdae asks awkwardly, and a tendril of guilt begins to work its way through him.

"Yes," he says softly.

Jongdae looks at him, a twisted little half-smile on his lips. He picks up his book, and leaves his meal uneaten. "Don't lie," he tells him, as he leaves the room.

***

He slips into Jongdae's bed that night, as he has done after many disagreements. Jongdae does not react as he wraps his arms slowly, cautiously around him. He does not smile, or laugh when he peppers kisses along the slope of his neck, the sharp line of his jaw.

"Forgive me," Yixing whispers.

Jongdae lies still. "No."