The air is heavy with sweat and weighs down on the two boys resting on the cool wooden floor of the rehearsal space like a ton of bricks. Their chests rise and fall at an erratic pace as they struggle to catch their breaths, their hearts beating hard against their ribcages. The older boy is perched back on his palms, legs spread out over the other boy’s, who is lying on the ground, tracing patterns in the plastered ceiling with his eyes. Their muscles are past the point of aching, a tingling numbness spreading throughout their bodies.

They know without checking the clock hanging on the wall that it is late in the night. Minghao is almost too fatigued to wipe away the droplets of sweat that are gathering on his brow, but gives in when it threatens to fall in his eyes, bringing a tired arm up to his face. Junhui’s arms give out and he joins his friend’s position on the ground with a soft thud. He winces as his back hits the floor, but welcomes the cold of the polished wood through his thin shirt.

The two Chinese boys stay like this for what seems like an eternity, their labored breathing the only sound filling the room. The silence between them is comfortable; they are at ease just being together. Inhaling, exhaling, together. Junhui clenches his jaw through the pain, reaching for Minghao’s hand, fingers crawling toward his, inching closer and closer. They link their pinkies, and then move to intertwine their fingers. Junhui can’t help but notice how perfect their hands fit together, how soft Minghao’s skin is when he begins to rub his thumb over it, and his frantic heart slows its pace.

The older boy closes his eyes, his parched lips, focuses on their hands. Minghao’s breath hitches in his throat at his friend’s gentle touch, and he tries to swallow despite his dry mouth. This is a side of Jun that the younger boy does not bear witness to often, and he wants to soak it all in before it leaves once more. Minghao knows he’s special. He knows that this Jun is only for him.

Junhui is the first to pull away. The warmth from their hands is enough to drive him insane, and he knows that if they stay like that any longer, they’ll never want to part. And so, he curls his fingers around the base of Minghao’s hand and gives it a small squeeze, and then unlinks their fingers with great hesitation. He places his palms on either side of his body and pushes down on the floor to lift himself up, all but groaning as his arms protest in agony. He peels himself from the ground a moment later, after regaining what little strength he has, and swirls around to Minghao, arm outstretched, to find that he has found the will to pull himself up, as well.

They are quiet as they gather their things from beside the mirrored wall, slinging their bags across their shoulders, taking quick chugs of their water bottles. Minghao is slow in his movements, Junhui notices, and raises an eyebrow only to be met with a weak smile. He feels as his legs wobble like they are made of jello, and he wonders whether it’s because they are sore, or because Minghao looks so beautiful even when they are both exhausted and worn.

“Wǒ xǐhuān nǐ,” Junhui breathes, and he does not catch what he is saying until the words are already out of his mouth and hanging in the air around them. He watches Minghao’s face for any distortion or unease from his words, but is met only with a slight nod of the head. Jun bites his bottom lip.

“Wǒ zhīdào.”