Yixing tried so hard.

He tried so hard to pretend he didn’t notice. But when you spend all of your time observing the man you love, memorizing every line and every angle of his body, it was hard not to notice every single detail.

Especially when they aren’t details. Yixing wished they were. That way, they wouldn’t be so painfully obvious. It’d be so much easier to lie to himself if they were “details.”

The couch. Yixing always waited for Yifan to come home on the couch, curled up into a little ball as he stared into the door. By seven o’clock every night, if Yifan wasn’t home, Yixing was on the couch. 

He hated the door. It was mean, and it would mock him.

Yifan had two kinds of schedules: home after work at six thirty, or home after a motel, or “late business hours,” as Yifan would always assure him, at some odd hour in the morning. And Yixing would wait.

On some odd nights, Yixing only had to wait for Yifan to walk through the door with his shoulders back and standing tall, setting his briefcase down on the floor. Yifan would make his way into the kitchen where Yixing was cooking, wrapping his arms around him from behind and press a kiss to top of his head. Automatically, Yixing would lean against him, the smile on his face uncontainable. This was his favorite pastime, pretending he was loved.

Yixing would fall asleep in their shared bed, curling into Yifan’s chest as he inhaled the scent of his shampoo, smiling when Yifan’s arms found their way around his waist and pulled him close. He loved those kind of nights.

It was those kinds of nights that would make the other kind worth it.

On those other kind of nights, when the clock ticked six thirty-one, Yixing’s spirits would instantly falter. The mixing spoon he had been stirring with would still, and it’d be an entire minute before Yixing would realize if he didn’t keep it moving, it would burn.

And then Yixing would set the table for two, slowly sitting down with his eyes down, because he knew that if he looked up he’d see empty space, and the one thing Yixing hates is seeing nothing when he’s expecting to see his everything.

He’s stared at more full plates of food than most people have eaten.

When the steam emitting from the side of rice disappeared and the plates of hot food would chill, Yixing would carry himself to the couch.

And then he’d wait.

Every time Yixing was close to tumbling into a sleep, he’d be jerked awake by the visions, the visions-

-The vision of Yifan bent over some coworker, some -, moans trailing from his lips-

-The vision of Yifan’s lips molding against someone that had been introduced to Yixing earlier that week as Yifan’s “we’re just friends, I promise, Xing”-

-The vision of Yifan biting into the stranger’s neck, marking him as his-

Yifan.

He never managed to fall asleep, strangely enough.

Hours never slipped by. Yixing didn’t even have the privilege of hours ticking by. No, hours were the individual square inches of the plaster ceiling, hours were counting how many times Yixing blinked in a minute. Hours were stepping stones across an ocean.

It was this time at night that Yixing would be tempted to laugh at himself. He was driven to the point of misery where he’d turn philosophical. That’s when he knew he was really screwed over.

Strange feeling, it is, to have tears streaming down your cheeks, only to taste them on your tongue as yours lips stretch into a smile. Stepping stones? What was he, some ancient philosophe of the seventeenth century he never learned about because he dropped out of college and stopped pursuing his dreams to be with the twenty-seven year old man who he had desperately fallen for within four months’ time?

No. No, he wasn’t.

Despite the eight-year and the instant disproval, shame that he received from his friends and family alike, Yixing had never found it difficult to love Yifan. Even when he came home smelling like someone else’s cologne. It was never difficult for Yixing to love Yifan.

He’d tune out until he heard the door open, seeing as his eyes would turn unfocused, unseeing.

And that’s where he was now. Waiting, his eyes glazed over.

The doorknob started turning, and Yixing instinctively sat up straighter. He tilted his head up, his eyes wide and blinking innocently.

He was home.

“Tie my shoelaces.”

The blond looked down at the Yixing, chuckling.

“You can’t do it yourself?” Yifan muses, and Yixing smiles back up at him.

“Oh, I can. I just think that you’d do it better.”

Yifan playfully rolls his eyes before bending down, tying his shoes together with this dumb little grin on his face.

First dates were a great time to establish ground rules. And Yixing’s number one rule was that, whenever it was untied, Yifan would have to tie his shoelaces.

It was a strange request, but it had a reason. Most things do. And with Yixing, everything does.

“Shoelaces? Why shoelaces?” Yifan had asked when the shorter brunet told him. Yixing gave him a grin as they walked into the café together, picking a table tucked away in the corner.

“Well, if you don’t tie my shoelaces, I’ll fall. And we don’t want that happening, do we?” Yixing teased, sliding into the booth.

“Of course not. I just don’t understand why, out of all things you could request from a boyfriend, you’d request your shoelaces being tied. Rather than, I don’t know, my incredible charm and looks I can without a doubt supply.” Yifan winks at him, and he also finds it in him to laugh when Yixing blushes again.

“Well…” Yixing began, not continuing to speak until the waiter dropped off their menus and left them be, “I feel like shoelaces are actually very important in this world.”

Yixing looks down at his hands, fumbling with his thumbs nervously.

“People worry too much about whether their boyfriend or girlfriend has pale skin or tan skin or dark skin, or if they’re tall or short or average, if they weigh too much or weigh too little. It’s okay to have a type, I guess, but I just don’t see the point about worrying about it too much.”

“So instead you focus your concerns on your shoelaces.”

“I’m getting there. Point is…”

Yixing looked up at Yifan, smiling shyly.

“When the shoelaces you had tied yourself keep untying, you’re going to trip and fall. When you’re down and you need someone to help you up, it’s not going to matter whether your boyfriend is tall or short or handsome or not. That’s not going to help you when you skinned your knees on the sidewalk.”

He pauses. Yifan doesn’t speak. Yixing continues.

“Sure, he might not be able to pick you up and carry you, but that’s okay. All he has to do is pull you to your feet and tie your shoelaces. That way, you won’t fall again. But he needs to be sure to tie them every time they come loose, because they’re bound to fall apart every now and then.”

Yixing thanks the waiter as he comes around with Yifan’s coffee and Yixing’s bubble tea. Yixing sips at his tall glass before continuing.

“Pretty faces don’t tie shoelaces. One hundred and eighty one centimeters doesn’t help people to their feet. But nimble hands do, and strong arms do too.”

Yixing stirs the boboas in his cup with his straw, shuffling his feet.

“So, help me up when I fall, and you can even but band-aids on my knees if you’d like. But always remember to tie my shoelaces before letting me walk again.”

Yixing finishes his little speech, looking at Yifan with the tilt of his head. The blond is staring at Yixing intently, not even touching his coffee.

“What are you thinking?” Yixing asks, wondering if he said the wrong thing.

“I have a question,” Yifan says slowly. Yixing nods.

“What happens if someone unties your shoelaces on purpose?”

Yixing responds in a heartbeat.

“Depends who.”

“How so?”

“Easy. If it’s someone else, then the person who usually ties your shoelaces can try and stop you before you keep walking and fall. And if you do, no worries. They can tie them and help you back up.”

Yixing makes a point of taking a large sip of bubble tea before going on.

“But if it’s the person who usually ties their shoelaces, unless they tie them up right away, then you’re going to fall down a lot.”

“That sounds like it would hurt,” Yifan says with a raised eyebrow, “One skinned knee too many.”

The brunet shrugged.

“Some people might just find someone else to tie their shoelaces for them.”

“And what about you?”

There was a pause before Yixing finished his final statement.

“I’d keep walking and keep falling. I’ll cut my hands and skin my knees, hoping they’d come back and tie my shoelaces again.”

“And what if they don’t?” Yifan inquires further. Yixing’s tempted to throw a boboa at him, because didn’t that previous statement sound final?

“I’d keep walking. And I’d keep falling. I’d pray to god he doesn’t notice the blood on my knees, and I’d pray to god I never have to crawl.”

“You’re home.”

Yifan smiled weakly as Yixing joined him at the door, pattering up to his husband and helping him shrug off his jacket.

“How was work?” Yixing asked lightly, yawning as he opened the coat closet.

“It was good,” Yifan responded familiar, “Tiring. Sorry, work late hours. I goofed off today more than I should and I needed to stay in.

“It’s one in the morning.”

“I get distracted, sue me,” Yifan said with a cheeky grin, slipping off his shoes. The tall blond walked into the living room slowly, stretching and tossing his brief case onto the couch.

As Yifan stretched his arms his shirt lifted, showing red scratches underneath the blazer and white dress shirt that was just a smidgen too small for him. The streaks glistened red; there was not blood, but it was clear that they were recent.

Yixing blinked away, plastering on a smile as Yifan collapsed onto the couch, and beckoning him over to sit down next to him. The younger instantly complied, tucking his knees against his chest after sitting down.

Yifan pried one of Yixing’s hands from the top of his knees, holding it as he looked at him, the lazy, dollar-store foundation not even attempting to cover up the hickeys on his neck.

“I really miss you sometimes,” Yifan smiled softly, his eyes glazed over. Yixing’s eyes skittered to the side.

“But I’m home every day, making you dinner and waiting until you come home. Nothing’s changed,” Yixing said automatically, having only rehearsed the line in his head a couple hundred times.

“I know… It’s just… I don’t know. Sometimes after… Late work hours, I miss you. That’s all. And I feel bad. And I just want you to know that I’m thinking about you-”

“It’s Luhan, isn’t it?”

Everything goes silent.

Yixing’s hand falls loose in Yifan’s tightening grip and he pulls it away.

“What… What do you mean…?” Yifan asks quietly.

Yixing shakes his head, turning away.

Why couldn’t you have just kept your mouth shut now he’ll be upset why can’t you keep your mouth shut-

“Is it Luhan?” Yixing repeated, his voice breaking, “Or is it a different you sleep with every other night?”

And that’s when he loses it.

Every single centimeter of self-control, of his ability to hold back and keep his mouth shut and be a good husband for Yifan was just completely shattered. Tears tracked down his pale cheeks as he shuts his eyes, refusing to look at Yifan, refusing to see the person he’s become. They people they’ve both become.

“Y-You come home and you smell like vodka, a-and some kind of cologne that’s not yours because yours smells like musk and mahogany and his smells like vanilla and cinder. You smile at me, blinking as if you’re surprised because I’m not someone else, you come home at one in the morning because no one has late work hours until one in the morning, Yifan!” Yixing lets out all in one breath, his voice becoming more and more broken-

More and more broken, every part of him just continues to fracture until Yixing is burying his face into his knees, his shoulders shaking with sobs. He’s torn beyond repair.

Yixing wonders if Yifan thinks he’s pathetic.

He still hasn’t said anything. Even when his sobs had died down and Yixing had spared a look at Yifan, he wasn’t looking at him. No, he was sitting, leaning over with his hands folded, his head hanging in what Yixing wondering was shame for getting caught or guilt for not loving him enough.

“… It’s Luhan,” Yifan says softly after a while, and Yixing wonders if he should scoff or not. Of course it’s Luhan. Pretty, sweet Luhan, Yifan’s secretary with wide eyes and a cute smile. Alluring, desirable Luhan with a small face and long eyelashes, a quick tongue and a purring voice.

Of course it was perfect, beautiful Luhan, not even someone Yixing could have the luxury of hating.

“H-How, how long…?” Yixing needs to ask, and he’s not sure why he needs his confirmation.

“Three months,” Yifan admits softly, still looking down at the carpet.

“And two weeks, four days,” Yixing adds as soon as he’s finished, and he can hear Yifan stop breathing.

“… You knew.” It wasn’t a question, and Yixing nods in response.

“I tried hard not to know.”

It’s quiet and Yixing doesn’t know what to do, because he never knows what to do. All he knows is Yifan, and he knows that his body his tense, rigid, sharp. He’s ready for Yixing to snap, to pounce on him.

Yixing sniffles.

Yifan moves, and Yixing freezes.

It’s probably just to walk around, to pace the floors to make up for the deathly silence between them. But it’s a sign, a symbol that Yixing doesn’t like and he doesn’t want to happen.

Yixing lunges forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Yifan’s waist and clings to him, reeling at the scent of someone’s breath on him.

“P-Please don’t leave.”

It’s a second before Yifan answers, and his voice is full of shock.

“What?”

“Please don’t leave me, oh god, please don’t leave me…” Yixing begs softly, his grip tightening around him, “I miss you so much… I see you every day but I miss you, I miss you…”

After seconds of Yixing’s muffled cries into Yifan’s side, the smaller man is lifted up and into Yifan’s arms. The blond’s arms familiarly, automatically find their way around Yixing and press him close as he cries against his chest, shaking.

“I… I may have messed up, and I may have said some things to Luhan-”- Yixing flinches at the name- “- that I never meant… I hurt you and I broke you and I-...”

Even Yifan chokes up, rare tears pooling up in his eyes, “But I will never, ever leave you…”

Because Yixing’s shoelaces were never completely tied in the first place. He tried himself but he could never get the hang of it. When he had someone who was flawless in the art of shoelaces, Yixing took full advantage of that. Even when they were nudged to the side, barely loose at all, Yixing would demand that his shoelaces be tied by Yifan.

And when they suddenly untied with no one to tie them back together, it didn’t take Yixing very long at all to fall. Yixing was pretty sure that he needed more than a band-aid to fix his knees up, more than a nudge to get him back on his feet.

But he waited, he waited as he trotted after Yifan, turning every corner and walking up every step and catching up to him almost immediately whenever Yifan accidentally stepped on one of his loose shoelaces, causing him to trip. Because what if Yifan’s shoelaces became untied as well?

Maybe Yixing was hurt, maybe he needed bandages, and maybe he needed crutches. But first and foremost of all, he needed someone to tie his shoelaces.

They spend the rest of the night that way, in each other arms in silence. By the way Yifan’s hold around him grew tighter and tighter, Yixing could only wonder just how Yifan would lay off Luhan the next morning. Yifan’s fingers rake through his hair as the shorter listens to the beat of Yifan’s heart, his favorite lullaby.

And Yixing thinks, maybe next time he should double knot his shoelaces.