Fear, a vile, merciless state of mind that maims Zitao with every chance that it can get. It's a shadow that hunts him down; its will is to destroy the small flicker of light that's left of him. A ghost, dark and malicious, its sickest grin brings tremors to his spine, blue lips accentuating the whiteness of its face that's drained of blood. A time bomb with the loudest sound— it rings inside the shared dorm whenever he's alone.  

Fear has a lot of forms, and it has a favorite.

It's a reminder; a calendar, an hourglass, anything that can remind Zitao of his looming doom— a time where he can no longer profess his everlasting love. No longer will it slip off the tip of his tongue, unbound and without limitation. For soon, a moment that Zitao fears with all his fragile heart, someone else will take his place— a person, whose wings are immune of the scorching heat from the sun, capable of reaching for it without burning.

And oh, how the sun will love him back. 

And how Zitao will weep in silence, cowering in the shadows where fear thrives, its evil eyes set on his quivering form, salivating to dig its teeth on his flesh and kill the small fire inside him that keeps him warm. 

Fear has a lot of forms, and now it has a new favorite.

A kind face, but with a wicked heart. A charming smile, but eyes are a set of vicious orbs, leering at Zitao with ill-disposed intent.

Fear became quite bold in getting Zitao, for it morphed into a physical entity, woven in earth as a walking nightmare: Yixing.

The whole team's inside the theater, dim lighting proven of no use to the darkness that shrouds the worn place. Zitao cranes his head, pretending to scan the area with wonder, gazing every nook and cranny but never in Yixing's direction.

Yixing grins, amused at the apparent discomfort he's giving the younger man. Confident, the predator strides to his prey, feet padding against the carpeted floor, his approach silent but his foreboding presence sets the alarm in Zitao. The brunet's eyes partially widened, head tilting back to place in tune with his turn to see the figure who's walking toward his way. 

Peeved by the brazenness of the painter, Zitao stood petrified. 

Not too long and a hand grabbed the brunet's arm in a tender vise, ceasing the chance of escape.

"Hey, chirp." Yixing greets in a sickly sweet tone. "Heard from the meeting in the cafe earlier that you're helping the department I'm managing, glad to have you in my little team."

"What?" Zitao hissed, presenting a tough facade, yet he doesn't dare to meet the other's eyes. "I'm trying to switch to lighting."

"Oh? I thought you said you could only give a few hours cause your schedule is complicated; what if it doesn't fit with the program? Won't that be a burden?"

Zitao grits his teeth; Yixing dares to whisper those words into his ear so no one else will hear him. "You bastard."

"Language, my muse," The painter says with disapproval. "Has Yifan ever heard you curse? You've got quite the tongue."

"He doesn't deserve it as you do," Zitao hisses, darting his spite-filled, coffee-colored orbs to Yixing. 

"But he does," Counters a charmingly calm Yixing. "That bastard deserves it for hurting you, chirp."

The painter shifts closer to the brunet, but Zitao recoils with a scowl on his face. "Don't come near me."

"That's what you say," Yixing lets go of the other, arms coiling around his chest as he smiles coyly. "But heed this Zitao; you will need me when your buttercup leaves you. Because only I can heal you."

The brunet makes a face. "You're crazy."

"My art is a form of redemption, especially for a boy like you with tattered wings," Yixing shrugs nonchalantly. "I can give you the confidence that was stripped away from you."

"Stripped away?" Zitao knit his brows. "What are you even saying? You don't know me."

"I don't, but I do too," Yixing replies, head tilting to the side. "I won't be interested in you for no reason."

The younger went silent, considering Yixing's words. "That's what I don't get," He saw a spark of wonder ignite in those indifferent eyes. "What did you see in me?"

The painter's mouth opened, but he chose to close it back when he recognized Zitao's pure curiosity; there was no anger evident in those brown orbs anymore. Yixing straightened his head and uncoiled his arms. Gone was the sarcastic reply that he had in mind, replaced by a question to his self; Would it be better? Would it be easier to convince a doubtful Zitao if he told the truth?

Yes, because empathy is always the key to faze a wall-surrounded heart. 

Yifan heard the creaking of their white, shabby door, and a small sigh of relief leaves in between his recently brushed teeth at the thought of Zitao getting home safe. Flinging his upper torso up from the bed, Yifan moaned when his vision wavered, mind floating from the excess amount of alcohol he induced in his system. The business major knew he had too much, but drinking his problems away was too enticing to deny. Suho said it was stupid, but Yifan refuted that it isn't the elder's body, so technically he doesn't have a say in it. 

"Gege?"

He hears his sweet peach call out, and Yifan opens his eyes, greeted with the sight of his most delightful indulgence peering from the door cautiously. A radiant smile erupted from his pained expression, his dizziness forgotten for a moment. "Peach," He utters, wobbly arms stretching out for an awaiting hug. "Come here."

Zitao's face contorted in confusion. Detecting the telltale signs of liquor overconsumption by Yifan's unusual behavior, Zitao entered and closed the door gently, not wanting the elder to suffer although he dislikes that Yifan drank alcohol. Removing his coat and throwing it onto h