Pop. Smack. Pop.

The punching bag cracked under the strength of Zitao's heavy fists. He jumped around with seemingly weightless movements, delivering powerfuk blows to the sides of the bag as if it were a real person. Not that Zitao was an angry person in general, he just had built a lot of ugly feelings toward the world and the cards he had been delt. Other than martial arts, there was nothing in this world that he was actually good at. Huang Zitao had given up martial arts, as it was the opposite of what he aspired to be. It was everything he didn't want to be, but after all of these years it still gave him the satisfaction of knowing wasn't a complete failure. When Zitao did martial arts, when he hit and punched and kicked things with the burliness that was looked down upon in ballet, he felt like he belonged in this world because he was able to succeed. Zitao did love dance and gave up the promising career in martial arts for it; however, he wasn't anything special there. Along with lacking the unspoken gracefulness and naturally flowing movements, he had been told so many time that he didn't have what it took and he never would. Many take that as movitvation, which Zitao did, but he also knew they were right. Change can and does happen, but when someone truly isn't made for something, sometimes that has to be accepted. And in this world, Huang Zitao didn't feel like he wasn't made for anything.

Trapped. That's how Zitao felt in this world. It felt like he was in a glass box, but he only see out and no one could see in. No one could see in and notice he was trapped. For such a long time he had tried to get out, to break the glass, but now he was too tired and accepted his fate of a third-rate life. Accepting his life as what it was going to be just seemed like the easiest thing to do. He could start being okay with the feeing that was living underwater. It felt his life was underwater; he was just below the surface, he could see people and shout to them. When he shouted for help, everything just seemed muffled for those people who we living glamorously above the surface. That was something he would just have to be okay with. Zitao had become okay with his trapped, third-rate life. And yet, as cheesy as it may seem, there was something that gave him a new glimmer of hope.

That glimmer of hope that Zitao had  begun flowering in his formerly dull heart was a man named Kris Wu. A man he had met twice and actually spoken with once. The one time he spoke with Kris, the man was less than kind. Still, Kris would be Zitao's gravity. Even if he would never have Kris, that strange, practically cosmic, feeling in at the center of his being would never let him let go of Kris Wu for as long as he lived. However, hope is hope. Even with the constant realitythat Kris would more than likely never be his, it helped Zitao in whatever peculiar way. 

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True first love is the most important love, its the one that is remembered forever. After a person's firs love it gone, it lives on. Aside from many other factors, Kris would say that is why it was so hard to ket Joonmyun go. That man was his first true love. Sure Kris had dated people in the past and had thought he loved them, but when he met Joonmyun, he realized that all before that man were incomparable. The feeling that had hit Kris when he first introduced himself to Joonmyun was one he would never forget. It was a mixture of the exctiment of Christmas morning, comfort safety, and dangerousness. Not the bad kind of danger, the kind that gets the heart beating, makes adrenline run throughout his whole body. It made him feel alive. All he wanted to was be near Joonmyun, and when he wasn't able to be all he wanted to do was talk about him. His world quickly became Joonmyun. But that was okay for Kris. He found it astonishing how easy it was for him to get totally rapped up in another person to the point where you start to become them.

The idea that Joonmyun would always be apart of him was what pushed him to finally clean the apartment. So long had he ignored the mess, thinking that cleaning it would only erase the small traces of Joonmyun he thought were left. But now, Kris knew that that man would always be with him. It seems like that idea would be obvious to anyone, but when the realization of never seeing the person who keeps someone glued to this earth never again hits, almost the most basic of things can be foggy. Kris lived the few months after the death like that: in a haze. Suddenly though the haze started to clear little by little. Maybe that was jst the amount of time it took to heal, maybe it was something else. If it was that something else, Kris wondered what. He hadn't done anything different. He hadn't really met any new people. There was no one new in his life besides that one cleaning man. The one at the coffee shop, the one who actaully had the audacity to tell him that he played beautifully. He couldn't let that go. Kris couldn't let go of the what that man said to him. Why couldn't he? Kris had gotten plenty of compliments about the way he played, but something about how he had said was strange. Maybe Kris was reading too far into it, but that man seemed to understand him. He understood and seemingly believed in Kris in the way that Kris needed to be understood and believed in to start recovering. Then again, he would probably never see that guy again. Kris probably was just telling himsel all of that stuff about "being understood" to make himself feel better. There is no way a stranger he had met for a  mere few moments would have similar feelings of being imprisoned by themself. Maybe this was simply Kris' imagination.



Hello!
I am back with a shortish chapter just giving a look into the brains of our two.
I promise next chapter they will interact! Please look forward to it!
Thanks for reading