All Jongdae knew about Yixing was that he admired him. At the beginning of the school year, Yixing had transferred from China. He had the look of some sort of delinquent, his mop of brown-dyed hair a little too tousled to be acceptable, his shirttails out and top button ed. Before class started, he would always be staring dreamily out the window, a far-off look in his eyes. At first, Jongdae thought he did that because he couldn’t understand any of the Korean chatter vibrating the classroom. And then, Jongdae thought, that maybe he was right. That maybe, to Yixing, the world was silent, and for a moment, he could be drifting in solitary tranquility. But, when their first period teacher came in and the class began to hush, Yixing’s gaze would shift to the blackboard and intense as he paid furious attention to the lesson, jotting down endless lines of notes as it went on. Jongdae had decided that Yixing must know Korean, there was no way he could take notes like that if he didn’t. But every once in a while, Yixing’s brow would scrunch in frustration and his pencil would hesitate, and Jongdae knew he was a caught on a word. Conveniently, because he sat next to him, Jongdae would whisper its meaning in what ever sparse mandarin he could manage, after taking the subject for three years. Each time he did, Yixing would look him in the eyes and smile softly, a whisper of thanks across his lips, before ducking his head back down into his notebook to continue writing. And for a while their relationship continued that way, a small exchange of everyday favors. One morning, Yixing even strolled in and placed a can of coffee on Jongdae’s desk.

    “For you, Chenchen,” he had said. Jongdae was thankful, albeit mildly surprised.

    “Chenchen?” he questioned, and Yixing gave him another one of his shy smiles.

    “I hope it’s okay I call you that, J-Jongdae is sometimes hard for me to pronounce.”

    “No, it’s fine. I actually kind of like it, it’s cute.”

    “That’s exactly what I thought.”

    Yixing always smelled like bubblegum. A sickly sweet smell that, for all Jongdae knew, fit his personality. Jongdae didn’t know why he thought that or why Yixing smelled like that until Yixing invited him onto the roof during one lunch break. Yixing stood, arms twining around the fence surrounding the rooftop perimeter, eyes in the sky and mind in the clouds. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pack of gum. He took one stick for himself and then offered one to Jongdae beside him, also leaning on the fence. Jongdae laughed as he took a piece.
    “You’re offering me gum like you would a pack of cigarettes.” Yixing folded up the pack of gum and stuck back into his pocket. He shrugged and  resumed staring at the sky, his face nearly expressionless.

    “Old habits die hard,” he murmured. It was then Jongdae realized just how little he knew about Yixing.

    The next time the two of them spent lunch on the rooftop, Yixing sat with his knees pulled close and rested his notebook against them to create a surface he could work on. He was already deep into homework they had received only minutes ago. Curious Jongdae, sitting beside him shoulder to shoulder, peered over at his work.

    “Why do you always work so hard?” Jongdae blurted out accidentally. Yixing stopped writing and glanced at Jongdae, a quizzical look on his face.

    “You know I’m not as inherently smart as you, Chenchen.” Jongdae squeezed his eyes shut and he could feel his face redden as he shook his head in protest.

    “No, no, no! That’s not what I’m saying, I mean, it just seems like you never get a break.”

    “I can’t afford any breaks,” Yixing replied, returning to his work before stopping almost immediately after noticing Jongdae’s confused silence. “There’s a reason why I’m studying in Korea,” he explained. “You see, I was in a bit of a rut last year. I took up smoking, skipped classes, that kind of stuff,” he scratched at the back of his neck. “My parents sent me to retake my third year in Korea, like a fresh start.” He reached into his back pocket, took out the pack of gum, unwrapped a stick and put it in his mouth. “The bubblegum’s part of that, too,” he said, lips smacking as he softened the new piece of gum.  

    “Are you ever going to go back?” Jongdae wondered aloud.

    “Maybe,” Yixing sighed, “but I don’t know if I’d be very welcome.”

    “Why’s that?”

    “What use is a son who will never give his parents grandchildren?” Jongdae was sure he knew very, very little about Yixing.

    “His name was Yifan,” Yixing began, one day after school while they were lying together on the roof, soaking in the sun. Jongdae, curious as ever, held back his desire to question Yixing. Instead, closed his eyes and listened, letting the breeze brush his bangs against his forehead. “He, kind of like me now, was an exchange student. From Canada. He was born in China, though, and fluent in Mandarin. His parents wanted him to “reimmurse himself in his culture” for a least his last year in high school. I thought he was far too different from me-clever, charismatic, captain of the basketball team,” he sighed. “But it all happened so suddenly. I had gone to the rooftop for a cigarette one day, and he was there with his own. I took up a place next to him, as if I belonged there, and he never questioned it. He and I met there the same time every day since. Somehow I felt a connection between us, an unspoken agreement. And when he kissed me for the first time, I kissed back. He was secretive, holding my hand only when we were alone, stealing desperate kisses in abandoned bathrooms between classes. Of course, I knew why. If anyone found out about us, both our lives would be ruined. But the way he said my name, a whisper embedded with desire, made me forget all that. I think, he was the first man I ever loved. Yet, fate was cruel to us. We had become too comfortable, less cautionary. We were caught in an empty classroom, his hands up my shirt and my arms around his neck. We were reported to the principal, who called our parents. Yifan was kicked off the basketball team. The last time he ever spoke to me was to tell me he was going back to Canada. But when he left, there were no goodbyes, no I-love-yous. My parents had branded me a disappointment, and when the school year ended, shipped me off to live with relatives in Korea. I chose to retake my third year, to start again,” Yixing paused and rubbed his palms over his eyes, “I’m sorry, Chenchen, I shouldn’t have bothered you with this.”

    “It’s no bother,” Jongdae reassured him, “I’m glad that you told me.”

“Well, I still think of him every now and then, but there’s somebody else I like now,” Yixing said, flopping his head to the side to see Jongdae.

“Really?” Jongdae turned his head to meet Yixing’s eyes. Yixing reached over for Jongdae’s hand and held it tightly.

“Yeah, there is,” Yixing smiled, his soft, shy, scared little smile. Jongdae squeezed his hand. Jongdae may know too much about Yixing, but he doesn’t mind.