Yifan is in middle school, so he's usually released half an hour after elementary school. This particular day, he has a series of tests in his class, and since the class has finished, the teacher releases them half an hour earlier.

It means he still has some time before he has to go back to the dorms and prepare for another vigorous training session. Yifan doesn’t follow his classmates as they run out into the sunlight, laughing loudly and joking, already making afternoon plans. He walks away instead, seeking for some solitude. When he walks out onto the rooftop, though, he's expecting some peace and quiet for a few minutes, not... this.

It only takes him a moment to understand the situation: a crowd of sixth graders gathered around Joonmyun.

"You think you're better just because you're one of the TF trainees? You should go back to Korea where you came from." They close in on Joonmyun, and their intentions are obvious from the way they're clenching their fists.

"Get away." Yifan steps forward, his voice strong and firm. There's a voice in the back of his head that's wondering what, exactly, he's doing, but there's a more urgent voice asking whether this is a common occurrence.

They see him and turn, and for once, Yifan is grateful that he has at least ten centimeters on all of them. He's also two years younger, and they know this by his uniform, which is clearly different from theirs.

"You a TF trainee too?" One of the kids step forward, and Yifan memorizes the name on his name badge. Wang Borui. There are about half a dozen of them gathered here, total, and they seemed ready to do damage. Luckily, Yifan had gotten here before they could.

"Yes." Yifan walks closer to him. "So let him go. And don't touch him. TF Entertainment will sue for any damage done on any of the trainees. Understand?" He shakes the kid roughly by the collar. Without waiting for a response, he grabs Joonmyun's hand. "Come on. Let's go."

It's only after they're a safe distance away from the school that Joonmyun speaks.

"You shouldn't have done that." His voice is soft, slightly accented but understandable. Joonmyun doesn't speak often, possibly too conscious of his accent, which the other boys never fail to point out, but Yifan likes his voice. It’s soothing and confident, and his accent only makes it more his, if that’s even possible. Because singing isn’t just about perfecting pitch and technique; it’s also about the distinctness in one’s voice, and Yifan doesn’t think he can forget Joonmyun’s so easily.

"What should I have done? Left you to get hurt?" Yifan shakes his head. "It's not just about you; it's also about TF Entertainment as a whole. Inside the company, we're rivals, but out here, we look after each other." He isn't sure how much Joonmyun understands, but as much as he tries to deny it, it is about Joonmyun. Because Yifan doesn't help anyone outside of his own circle, but Joonmyun is an exception. Has been an exception since the first day.

"Thanks," Joonmyun says, his words short and slightly clipped. They pass a bakery, and they're only a few meters away from the subway station.

Yifan stops, pulling Joonmyun to a stop beside him. "This doesn't happen often, does it?"

Joonmyun looks up, his skin pale in the sunlight, his large eyes a warm brown color. At least he looks unhurt. "Did you expect anything different?"

He picks up quickly, Yifan thinks, and perhaps it's foolish of him because, yes, he had expected something different to happen. It's normal for new trainees to be bullied inside the company's doors, but outside, they're treated with a kind of reverence, the chance that they might end up being the nation's stars leaving a polite distance between them and their classmates. It's a barrier of safety, and Yifan hadn't expected anything different with Joonmyun. It annoys him that none of the other trainees around Joonmyun's age had stood up for him, but at least Yifan had been there. He might not be there next time, though. And he has no doubt that what he did today only will only make the bullies angrier. He’d saved Joonmyun this one time, but Joonmyun will probably pay for it dozens of times over. It almost makes him wonder if it was worth it—and of course it wasn’t, but if Yifan could choose, he’d do it all over again.

"Don't get hurt," he says instead, and Joonmyun smiles at him, a bright smile showing his straight white teeth.

"I won't."

They're still holding hands, smiling at each other in the middle of the sidewalk.

They say that, when love comes, it comes without a sound and leaves without a shadow.



There are some small private studios in the company, and trainees often use these to practice individually. Yet at ten thirty in the evening, there aren't many people left. Usually, the trainees are gone, either back in their dorms or on a subway back home.

Yifan had been practicing in one of the dance rooms earlier that evening, and he'd brought his homework as well. It isn't like the teachers actually care about whether or not he does his homework, but he didn’t understand some of the concepts taught during math class, so the homework is helpful as extra practice.

By the time he successfully teaches himself the day's lesson and had completed the problems, it is already late. He only has half an hour's time before curfew, and he gathers his books under his arm, intending on heading straight back to the dorms.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is to hear some beautiful singing nearby.

It's not unusual in an entertainment company, but the voice is so sweet that Yifan can't stop himself from following its source. He ends up before the door into one of the private studios. There’s a sign that says occupied hanging on the door. He probably shouldn't disturb whoever is inside, but curiosity gets the better of him and he ends up opening the door anyway. He's heard the voice somewhere before...

It's Joonmyun, and he's sitting before a stand of music, singing softly with headphones in. He turns as Yifan enters, pulling his headphones down to rest around his neck, but Yifan just waves an arm at him.

"Keep singing. Pretend I'm not here." He sets his books down on the floor and sits down against the door, drawing his knees to his chest.

So Joonmyun turns around, putting his headphones back in. He starts singing again, shuffling a few papers around. The song that Joonmyun had been singing before was in a foreign language--Korean, Yifan guesses, and it makes sense that he would prefer singing in his mother tongue. But now, he's singing a song in Chinese, and Yifan recognizes it as Mayday's T1213121, a soft guitar ballad. It's a familiar song, and Yifan knows most of the lyrics. Joonmyun stumbles over some of the words, wrinkling his nose cutely when he gets to a part where there's a play of similar word sounds spelling out different meanings.

But he must be more tired than he realizes, because sometime while Joonmyun’s singing, he falls asleep. He wakes up to Joonmyun’s face only a few centimeters away from his own. "Wake up," Joonmyun says, shaking Yifan's shoulder.

Yifan blinks up at him, feeling slightly disoriented, and Joonmyun smiles gently at him.

"You fell asleep," he explains. He's holding a folder in one hand, and the headphones and equipment have been neatly stowed away.

Yifan jumps up, checking his watch. He must have slept for half an hour. By now, they won't make it back to the dorms before curfew. "We should go," he says, and his voice comes out hoarse. He clears his throat and says, with an unbidden smile, "You should sing me to sleep every night."

Joonmyun laughs at him, nudging his arm with his elbow in a playful manner.

They walk back to dorms, sneaking into their respective rooms without a word. For the first time in a while, Yifan goes to sleep with a smile.



But their meetings aren't always cheerful, though that's only to be expected in such an environment.

The lobby is one of the few places in the training building that actually has reception, so it’s a popular place for phone calls. Yifan gets there early in the morning, a phone in his hand, intending to make a call before the others wake up, before the room is slowly filled with laughter and the buzz of conversation. Yet the moment he steps into the room, his first instinct is to get out of the room. The last thing he wants is to be involved in anyone else's emotional affairs. Crying might be a human thing to do, but it's also a weakness. As a general rule, you don't hurt someone who's already crying, but you also don't try to comfort the person.

But when he looks again, he recognizes the figure as Joonmyun, sitting against the back of one of the couches. His head is buried in his arms, which are resting on his knees, but even though he isn't crying audibly, Yifan can recognize the uneven breathing and the soft sniffles.

Instead of saying anything, Yifan sits down on one of the couches and just watches him. After several minutes, Joonmyun raises his head, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands. He jumps a little when he sees Yifan.

"Sorry," Joonmyun says. Even like this, his eyes still watery, nose slightly red, and skin deathly pale, he still looks ethereal, the very picture of youth's beauty.

"There's nothing to apologize for." Yifan pats the space next to him, and Joonmyun walks over to sit down next to him. They're close enough to feel the warmth from each other's bodies, but not enough to be touching. He hesitates before asking, “Are you okay?”

"I'm fine." Joonmyun pulls out a tissue, and as he does, his phone falls out of his pocket as well. He puts it on the couch next to him, and, oh, that kind of explains things. "It's just my parents calling to see how I'm doing." He smiles, but it's a small, sad smile. "I really wanted to be a star and come over to China, so when I was given a chance, I was so excited. But now--I'm not sure I'll make it, you know?"

It's a common fear, one that every trainee, including Yifan, has faced, that the number of sacrifices they've made will yield nothing in the end. At this point, fear of disappointment and failure often outweighs homesickness. But this is the first time he’s heard it spoken aloud, and he isn’t sure what to be more surprised by—how quickly Joonmyun’s Mandarin seems to be improving, or how much he must trust Yifan to tell him something so personal.

"Of course you will," he says, with a kind of certainty that he hasn't felt in a long time. He reaches out and takes a tissue to wipe away the last of Joonmyun's tears. When he's done, Joonmyun doesn't look as sad anymore. It's not much of a comfort, but it's as much as Yifan can give. He crumbles the tissue in his hand, feeling the slight dampness against his palms.

"Thanks," Joonmyun says. "If I can find a way later, I'll pay you back."

You don't have to, Yifan starts to say, but in the end, he doesn't. He watches Joonmyun step out of the room and pulls out his own phone to call his parents. But he’s certain that, when he sees Joonmyun again, they won’t speak of this. He doubts that they’ll ever speak of this again.

Because the spaces in between are more important than the lines, and the rests between the notes weigh more than the notes themselves.