Luhan at keeping promises.

   He was never good at it. From promising to be home by eight as a teen to staying with his loved one forever, never in Luhan's life has he fulfilled a promise fully. He learned to try not to make promises easily.

   It was a little too late, however.

   Luhan skillfully shifted Yixing's weight onto one arm while his other hand expertly snatched his keys and unlocked the door of the humble condo. He had several bags slung onto one shoulder and a small pouch he enduringly held with his mouth. A few shuffles through the threshold, and he was safely inside the condo with the door shut.

   The condo was by no means luxurious, but Luhan's ridiculous amount of time dedicated to work wasn't for nothing. It was a humble bachelor's pad filled with basic needs furniture and a barely used kitchen. While clean and bright during the day, it always held a solemn, depressing environment.

   Luhan dropped his bags on the floor and made his way to the couch in the living space to carefully set Yixing down. The boy whined and shifted, but Luhan shushed him quietly. "We're home, baby," he murmured quietly.

   "Baba?" Yixing whispered, dazed from his nap. His nose was still red from his crying earlier, and his remaining tears clung lightly onto his eyelashes. Even though Yixing was adopted at a very young age, Luhan still couldn't help feel a rock in his stomach. Yixing reminded him so much of Minseok. "Appa?"

   "No, baby," Luhan replied in Mandarin, running a hand through Yixing's curly hair. "Just baba. Are you hungry?"

   The young boy blinked, trying to rub the grogginess away, and latched tightly onto his father's gentle hand on his face. "A little. Where are we?"

   Luhan was heartbroken that he had been gone long enough that Yixing's short term memory had forgotten his second home. "Baba's home, love. Remember? You have lots of toys here." He made to point to Yixing's room to the left and paused, then carefully switched to Korean, "Fan-ge is coming by to drop off some Chinese food. You haven't seen him in awhile, right?" He remembered long, long ago when Minseok mentioned that the best way for Yixing to assimilate in Korea was to attempt to speak the home language with him. While Luhan hoped Yixing would never forget his Mandarin, he also knew Yixing needed to improve on his Korean.

   The boy stared at his father, shifting gears from Mandarin to Korean slowly. "Fan-ge?" Yixing's eyes lit up. "Is Tao coming?"

   "It's likely. Why don't we change your clothes?" Luhan pushed himself off the ground and went to flip the light switch. Bright lights entered the condo. "We want to look our best for Fan-ge and Tao, right?"

   Yixing frowned and looked down at himself. Snot and tears had decided to stain his shirt, and his earlier meals during the day at Minseok's had managed to cling onto his collar and pants. This was his favorite shirt, and he wanted to show it off to Tao. Minseok had bought it for him a few weeks ago, to Yixing's delight. It had a whale on it.  But if his father thinks he should change, then so be it, even if this was the best shirt in the world. "Okay, baba."

   Luhan's lips curved. Yixing was always very easy. He was one of the most respectful, easy, and soft-hearted little boy, and again Luhan felt a surge of appreciation for Yixing in his life. Without Yixing, he probably wouldn't have been able to handle the separation. "Alright. Let's see . . . Appa packed some clothes for you. Do you want the panda shirt or the lion shirt?"

   The little boy giggled and hopped down from the couch. "Panda. Tao like it, right?"

   "I'm sure he will." Luhan pulled the boy closer to him. Gently, he tugged the dirty shirt off his son's head. Yixing's laughter filled the condo when Luhan playfully poked at his stomach.

   "No, baba!" Yixing exclaimed. "Sentitive!"

   "Sensitive," Luhan corrected automatically. He quickly replaced the shirt with the panda shirt and helped Yixing into some new, soft sweats. "All done. Do you want to watch TV until Fan-ge comes? I bought some new channels for you."

   Yixing clutched at Luhan's shirt, and while he had nodded yes to TV, his small eyebrows srunched together when a thought passed his mind. Suddenly, his cherub face became serious and instead of looking curiously at Luhan, his eyes cast down towards his feet.

   Luhan frowned at the change in behavior. Did Yixing not like TV? Had he mentioned something sensitive? Then, the father started panicking. He had been gone for a few months. How much had Yixing changed? Did all his favorite foods change? Had his interests waned? Did Yixing dislike new things? The dreadful feeling of failure crept in Luhan's throat. He didn't know his own son.

   "Baba?" Yixing quietly spoke with an edge of caution.

   "Yes, baby, what is it?" Luhan worriedly cupped his son's face to study his son. Was his fever coming back? Damn! What pocket did Minseok put the medicine in again?

   The answer that came was a whisper and would have disappeared in the air if Luhan hadn't leaned in to catch the question: "Can we eat with Appa?"

   Luhan's heart slowed. His face distorted into anguish for a quick second before it was schooled into a gentle expression so as to not alarm his son. Oh, God, he wished Yixing would forget about both him and Minseok together, but how could the little boy forget? Minseok and Luhan had been together in Yixing's life for a good majority, until recently, and the four-year-old couldn't understand why they were no longer together. 

   "Not today, love," Luhan picked up his light son and cradled him to his chest. "Maybe someday, when Appa and I aren't so busy. Okay? I promise."

   I promise.

   I promise, Minseok, that we'll make it through--

   Yixing held back the tears that prickled his eyes. Somehow, in the back of his mind, he knew his tears hurt Luhan. "Okay."

   "Here." Luhan skillfully snatched up the remote from the T.V. stand with Yixing in his arms and sat down on the couch, son in lap. He the TV and randomly surfed to a channel aimed towards young children. He immediately recognized a show that Yixing was fond of. "Look, it's Dinosaur Train. You like that show, right?"

   Immediately, the young boy's eyes lit up, and he nodded rigorously to show his father his approval. "Yes, baba! There are dinosaurs, and lots of volcakos--"

   "Volcanos."

   "Vol . . . Volcanos! And it's all gonnegted--"

   "Connected."

   "Connected to this big, big train . . . "

   This went on for awhile: Yixing attentively watching the show and babbling his explanations  to Luhan. Luhan earnestly listened, amused at his son's adoration for dinosaurs. It wasn't long before a knock sounded at the door. Knowing Yifan had the key to his home, Luhan didn't bother disrupting the peaceful position his son and he was in.

   Sure enough, the lock on the door turned, and a tall, young man stepped through the threshold. A smaller boy hung onto the back of his legs, peeking out curiously to his new surroundings.

   The man, while the same age as Luhan, looked slightly older. His hair dyed blonde, and his height ridiculously tall, Yifan looked more foreign than Chinese and was extremely imposing. The little boy that followed him didn't help his feared image, as little Tao was already becoming skilled in martial arts training and his slightly dark circles around his eyes made others his age also wary. These stereotypes, however, were far from true, as Yifan and Tao would probably be the first ones to cry at the sight of a bug.

   "Yifan," Luhan greeted, smiling appreciatively at the Chinese food in Yifan's hands. He patted Yixing's hip to signal the boy to get off his lap, and he purposely lowered the volume of the TV. "Thanks for coming and bringing food. I owe you." 

   "Yeah, you do," Yifan agreed with a smirk. He comfortably entered the condo and set the Chinese food on the kitchen counter. Tao followed at his legs. "But Junmyeon was begging for us to go out anyway, so this was just an excuse."

   Yixing jumped down from the couch and stumbled over to the tall figure that was his surrogate uncle. "Hi, Fan-ge!" he greeted politely. 

   Yifan bent down to Yixing's height and rested a large hand on the boy's hand. "Hello, Yixing," he greeted back in Mandarin. "Have you been good for baba?"

   Yixing giggled. "Baba watched Dinosaur Train with me!" His attention span almost as short as a goldfish, he glanced curiously around Yifan to rest his eyes on the shy Zitao. "Tao! Why are you hiding?"

   The younger martial arts boy peeked once more behind Yifan's legs and offered a smile. "Hi, Xing," he said softly. "I like your shirt."

   Chest puffed, Lay pointed at the panda and babbled, "Appa got it for me. It was either the jaguar or elepint or the panda, and I chose panda, and even though Appa told me I could choose two shirts, I only chose panda because--"

   "Yixing, baby," Luhan interrupted his son. "It's rude to let your guest stay in the kitchen without a proper introduction to your home. Why don't you take Tao to the room and show him your toys and books?"

   Being rude was the last thing Yixing wanted to be, so the little boy nodded in apology and tentatively held out a hand to Tao. "Want to see my toys, Tao? I will share."

Though Tao wanted to go, he looked at his father first in question. Yifan murmured some reassuring words in Mandarin to Tao's ears, and soon enough, the two boys were heading off to the room.

"How is Junmyeon?" Luhan asked comfortably in his home language while taking out the Chinese boxes from the bag. "I haven't heard from him."

"Stressed as ever." Yifan grunted as he lifted himself off the floor. "He's worried that Zitao isn't learning Korean fast enough and won't be able to attend pre-school. Not to mention that new, potential business deal that just popped up a few weeks ago. But I promised I would arrange a day where Tao is with somebody, and I can take him out to a nice dinner."

   I promised.

   Minseok, I swear, I promise that this will be the last--

   Luhan transferred the food to plates and put them in the microwave. "Oh, yes, I've heard of that. In fact, that's why I was sent to China for a few months to rush an agreement, just in case this new one doesn't work out." He danced around in his kitchen, grabbing enough plates for the four of them and making sure to snatch two colorful cups for the kids. "And don't worry about Zitao. Yixing was like that too, at first. It's hard to learn two languages at that age. If you want, I can take Tao any time on the weekends while I'm in Seoul."

   Yifan hummed, helping his life-long friend transfer the food onto the plates, but not really paying attention to his task. Instead, out of the corner of his eye, he studied Luhan carefully. Years of friendship taught Yifan to zero in on Luhan's slumped shoulders, the sunken, pale skin, and the small, almost unnoticeable scrunch between the eyebrows. He learned to look past Luhan's young, smiling face and to look into the tired eyes that held pain ever since the separation.

   "How is Minseok these days?" Yifan asked quietly.

   The older man visible tensed. His finger paused for a moment over the start button on the microwave, but he quickly resumed task and swallowed the lump in his throat. "He's fine," he managed to croak. "There's a guy--Chen. He's . . . been helping Minseok out while I've been gone."

   "And . . . is he and Minseok . . .?"

   Luhan slammed the plastic, red cup down on the counter. Some apple juice splashed from the cup and onto the counter. Yifan winced. "I don't know," Luhan said with a tone of finality. "And I don't care." He grabbed the two colorful cups and went to set it on the table. The cups noticeable shook with each heavy step he took.

   Gently, Yifan rested a hand onto Luhan's trembling arm. "You do care."

   Yifan's hand was roughly shoved away, and the man was pushed a few steps back from the blow. Colorful cups dropped carelessly and clashed on the ground, juice splattering at their feet. Yifan watched calmly as Luhan slammed his hands against the table dangerously and whirled around to get close to the taller man. "Of course I care," Luhan snarled. "I loved him. I still do. I want to punch this Chen for touching him. But that doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything. So whether I care or not isn't relevant because it doesn't change a damn thing!" His voice raised to a shout but it held such anguish that Yifan only stared, motionless, pained at his friend was hurting so badly. 

   "Maybe," the blonde man started quietly. "Maybe you should talk--"

   "I told you it doesn't matter!" Luhan's infamous but rare temper rose, and he angrily shoved the table a few inches away from him. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides until he rubbed a hand over his face and croaked, voice cracked, "God, it doesn't matter."

   Nothing was exchanged after. Yifan chose to wisely stay quiet, but it was the quietness from the once-giggling boys that was concerning.

   "Baba?" Yixing's small voice caught the attention of the two men. He held a stuffed panda in one hand and Tao's hand in the other. The little boy's eyes were filled with tears. "Why . . . Why you yelling? What was that noise?"

   Luhan quickly snapped out of his anger and hurt and turned towards his son. Regret filled his stomach. "Oh, baby," he said softly and knelt down. "I was just excited. Don't cry." He wrapped his arms around his son and breathed in Yixing's scent, his own eyes tearing when he smelled of Minseok. 

   "Baba made a mess," Yixing referred to the juice and table.

   "I did, and I will be cleaning it up. Dinner is almost ready, so why don't you go and wash your hands? Everything is fine." Luhan's lips touched Yixing's forehead briefly, brushing away any tears that threatened to fall.

   Not far off, Yifan had an armful of a distraught Tao, who was sensitive to loud noises and arguing. "It was nothing, Taozi," Yifan murmured. "Nothing at all. Go and follow Yixing to wash your hands, too. And, ah, let's not tell Appa about this, okay? It's our secret." Big hands softly brushed under the boy's armpits, and Tao let out a surprised squeal and kicked his legs. Pain blossomed on Yifan's stomach. 

   "Oh, God," he gasped, nearly dropping Tao but managed to almost gently put his son to the floor. Tao stumbled after Yixing happily. "Oh, . I told Junmyeon martial arts was too early for that kid." , Yifan clutched his stomach and bent over.

   Luhan snorted at his friend's idiocy, anger gone. With ease, he grabbed some paper towels and started to wipe up the mess on the floor. Irrational, his mind told him. That was irrational.

   "Hey," Yifan called out softly. He was rubbed the spot where Tao kicked him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed it. Let's just enjoy crappy Chinese food, okay? For your sake, and Yixing's."

   Luhan silently agreed.

   If only the painful, rapid thumps of his heart did, too.

It was late by the time Yifan and Tao left. Yifan struggled to pull a sleeping Tao from Yixing, but managed to do so without waking up the toddler. Bidding each other well, Luhan and Yixing was left alone in the dark apartment.

"I'm moving you to your bed, okay?" Luhan softly cooed as he lifted a sleepy Yixing from the couch. "It's much more comfortable there." He only got a mumble in agreement.

Yixing's room that was once scattered with toys was now clean, courtesy of Yixing, who probably remembered Minseok's advice of cleaning earlier in the day. Luhan made sure the winter blankets were secured tightly around his son before bending down to brush his lips against Yixing's nose.

Small arms reached out and enclosed around Luhan's neck. Surprised, Luhan braced a hand against the soft bed and touched lightly at his son's arm. "What is it, love?" he murmured.

"I love you, baba," Yixing whispered back. The arms slackened. "And I'm sorry you're sad."

Speechless, Luhan abruptly leaned back to take a good look at the boy's face, but the darkness in the room prevented him from doing so. He opened and closed his mouth, words forming in the back of his throat but they never made it to the tip of his tongue. Easy, reassuring words like I'm not sad at all and don't worry popped into his mind, yet every one of them refused to come to life. By the time he was able to gasp a word out, Yixing had drifted to sleep, clutching his prized panda bear.

I promise that I'm not okay.

   At around midnight, Luhan received a phone call. He had been looking over his potential clients for the upcoming new year and jumped when his phone's vibration suddenly came to life. Concerned as to who was calling late, he absently checked the caller ID.

   Then froze.

   Kim Minseok it read.

   It used to read Baozi. That got painful.

   Why was Minseok calling him now? Surely not for him? Luhan quickly squashed down that hope. It's been long enough to know that that would never be a possibility.

   With trembling fingers, he accepted the call. "Minseok?" he weakly confirmed.

   "Luhan!" the melodious voice answered. "I--I'm sorry. It's really late. I didn't have a chance to call sooner, but I needed to call now. I just really wanted to know if Yixing's okay.  Has his fever come back? Is he eating? Did he start crying again? Is he sleeping now? Sometimes he can't sleep, but won't tell you because he's afraid of bothering you. If he has a nightmare--"

   "Minseok, calm down," Luhan managed to soothe without stammering. He only hoped his voice didn't convey any of the grief he felt. "You're forgetting that he's my son, too . . . and that we raised him, together."

   An awful silence followed after. 

   "N-No," Minseok seemed to plead from the other end. Suddenly, years of intimacy and exploration came rushing to Luhan, and he became keenly aware that Minseok, despite his level voice, sounded like he was about to cry--or already had. 

   Who made him cry? Luhan thought wildly. Who? Me?

   "I didn't mean it like that. I didn't, Luhan, really, I. . . Just that you--"

   --are a failure. You weren't there for Yixing recently. You failed.

   "I know what you mean," Luhan interrupted. "And Yixing is fine. He's sleeping now. I just checked on him half an hour ago. His fever hasn't come back. He," the business man paused. "He misses you. He asked to have dinner with us again."

   "Oh." The word was breathed by a soft, soft voice.

   Maybe, you guys should talk. Yifan's advice rang in his head. When nothing was exchanged between them, Luhan tried to say, "Minseok, maybe--"

   "I have to go." The voice hardened. "It's really late. Tell Yixing I miss him, too, and that I'll pick him up from your place by the end of the weekend." Minseok seemed to take a deep breath from the other end. "Take care of yourself . . . okay, Luhan? I promise to call tomorrow." The line ended before Luhan could reply.

   The man stared blankly at the bright screen, resisting the prickles behind his eyes and the rush of memories that tackled him. I promise. I promise. I promise. 

   Minseok, I promise--

  You never keep your promises, Luhan.

  Luhan clutched his phone and slapped a hand over his mouth, a strangled sob creeping his throat. His vision became blurry. ". . . Promise?" The whisper barely carried out to the room.

   And just like that, Luhan was once again left alone to the mercy of silence.