Life isn't always fair; Zitao is well aware of the truth. He is, after all, a product tested on too many times— and how horrifying it is that the brunet's comparably similar to a commodity. It is as if, Zitao is but an inanimate object that's experimented on too many times to see if he's durable enough to be marketable to the public. 

Zitao finds it funny because he's convinced that he's already defected from the inside, and it makes him question why the world persists in breaking him entirely. 

Was it fun? Was it worth it to waste tokens of misery on him? Is torturing him that entertaining?

The brunet wasn't much of a narcissist, but if he's receiving this much of special treatment, then it would not make sense not to feel exceptional.

Especially— especially when after seeing the pictures of the person who's holding the heart he yearned for almost all his life was shown to him minutes ago, Zitao was granted to get a peek of the real person walking through the entrance of the theater. 

Zitao only got a glimpse, for when he saw his sunshine coming in, not too long after the other, the brunet quickly hid behind the curtains with a panicked gasp. The shock of seeing the unbearable truth had the poor boy chase after his breath as a massive volume of hurt lodged itself in Zitao's heart. Tears formed, ready to spill anytime if ever the brunet fails to contain it, and the shaken Zitao knew he had no choice but to walk his way to the darkest corner of the backstage to hide from the people who might cause a commotion if they ever see his state. 

Weakened legs proved to be a challenge as Zitao walks with an unsteady gait, his trembling hand clutching a handful of the scarlet curtain as support with every step. But like every hurdle that life has thrown at him, Zitao perseveres to overcome it and manages to get to the very edge of the red drapery and stuff his self in there. The folds of the thick curtain, fortunately, was enough to cover him, and Zitao did not waste time to rub his eyes with his sleeves. It would be tremendously awkward if someone finds him, but the brunet needed a minute, just a minuscule of time's essence to collect himself. 

But of course, who was he to ask for silence when life's his main enemy?

It took approximately ten seconds to prove that his wish is denied when Zitao felt someone's hand grab him by his arm and pull him harshly. 

"Who told you that you could cry on your own?" Yixing says with a sly smirk painted across his lips, and Zitao, whose eyes are wide from the momentary surprise, squints at the other with doubt. 

"What do you want?!" The brunet hisses, well-aware of the scheming look the other's portraying. 

Yixing merely shrugs. "Well, guess genius?" He then puts a hand on the younger's waist, and Zitao glares at him. 

"No," The brunet puffs out an exasperated sigh, the intensity of anger within his eyes softening into one of pure exhaustion. "Please, can't you just spare me a minute Yixing? Just one minute, can't you do that?"

There wasn't an edge to his voice anymore, and it left Yixing astounded to see how fast the brunet is willing to give up his walls for a temporary solitude. "You're this hurt to beg me?"

The younger man looks at the painter in the eyes and produces a bitter laugh. "Are you acting dumb? You? Of all people?"

Remaining silent, Yixing examines Zitao, his smirk gone, and expression went from taunting to neutral. "Wow," He mutters in awe as a glint of appreciation passes by his gauging brown orbs. "That's quite an expression you're making." 

Zitao immediately blanches from the words. "Get the hell off of me, Yixing."

Disgust replaced the despair which the brunet's donning, and Yixing's playful smile returns. "There, all better," He chirps, then pulls the brunet once again and encases him in a tight hug. "Now, let me unravel the drama I concocted, will you?”

Confusion mixes with Zitao's mild irritation; that's why he couldn't help but ask as he's trying to back his head away from Yixing, who's infuriatingly mere inches away from his face. "What do you mean?"

Yixing's dimples deepened while his eyes formed into crescents. "Oh, dear chirp. We'll simply let the rumors roll." 

Before realization dawns on the poor boy, the spider already binds him in a tight hug, then dives its head to Zitao's chest, his stance entirely intimate to anyone but the brunet who knows that the cunning bastard might as well eat his heart in silence made of deceit. But Zitao's sure that Yixing's aware of his incapability to devour his beating organ when walls still surround it, so what else would he do but bring the key to open the impenetrable barriers of the brunet? 

Yixing already laid out his webs meticulously. Zitao's aware, and even though he knew he had the strength to break free from his binds, the brunet finds himself caving in, breaking down while encased within the painter's arms. 

There was warmth, Zitao can feel it seeping through his layers of clothes, and undoubtedly, it shouldn't make him feel like he's all alone— so why? Why does Zitao feel so alone?

"Hey, something is going on the backstage."

It was amazing how the laughter ceased when mere words were uttered in a secretive fashion, and Yifan could not help but smirk at how these people easily give time for what seems like a petty gossip.

With a shake of his head, Yifan placed the bags on the other table right by where all the volunteers’ bags are huddled. 

Yifan then peers around, discreetly searching for his Tao. As he does so, his hand is tentatively holding on to the handle of the plastic bag, fidgety, showing his well-concealed distress. 

A flash of an image of Zitao, in pain, on the verge of sobbing, flickers within his headspace. Yifan’s breath hitches. He his lips, blinking the image away when it attempted to resurface.

It pains him to know, and yet, it hurts much more when Yifan's unable to lift a hand to alleviate it.

Yifan removes his hand and lets it dangle on his side, his eyes vacantly staring, mind afloat with the dreadful knowledge of the imminent future. 

It’s easy to chant and chant within the headspace of his brain, but it’s hard to apply it to reality. 

When is breaking a beloved’s heart ever easy anyway? 

Truthfully, Yifan wants; he covets for Tao, he desires to stay within the chapters of the younger’s life. 

Yifan’s also a man who’s well-versed with his greed. And, oh, furthermore, the power he holds;  how easy it is to alter the end. How easy it is to pull, break the thread of control of his person and lunge at Tao, let their love consume them. 

And to what means of end? 

Zitao, shy and sweet— lovely as he is, clinging to Yifan like the moon revolving around the earth. His potential subdued, most probably forever resting with Yifan by his side. 

Yifan tried to tap it numerous times, hoping it’ll unravel. Every time, the end result presented him with the same cold answer. Each attempt harshly slapped him in the face, mocking him until Yifan had no other choice but to acknowledge the truth; 

Zitao cannot see his worth with Yifan by his side. 

Because Tao didn’t want it, he didn’t want to hone his potential if it meant that he needs to get out of his cage. 

And it angers Yifan to know that he’s the reason.

Him, who’s the constant cause of suffering? 

Yifan feels damned, stigmatized; it’s as if he’s the curse in Tao’s life. 

But it’s the force that drives him to carry on, branded in such fashion meant to jab him that he’s nothing but bad luck in Tao’s life. 

Sometimes, Yifan feels filthy underneath his skin. It prickles from time-to-time, reminding him of his sins and ignorance. 

Lately, the feeling had gotten intense, especially when his ignorance is out of his system, and only the burden of knowledge remains.

‘I love you, Ge!’

The image of Tao beaming at him blinds Yifan. 

Then it quickly changes into the listless gaze Zitao has these days, and Yifan feels filthy all over again. 

“So, what happened?”

“Ah, it was Tao. He’s crying, but Xing’s already comforting him.”

Yifan perks up, suddenly alert and ready to move and get to Zitao. 

The implication of someone else soothing his sobbing beloved brings out the green-eyed monster that’s hiding in his heart. 

As Kris marches, gait similar to a warrior who’s ready to destroy whoever hinders him, his brows furrowed with disgust. 

The frisson of fear, the need to keep Tao caged, the desire to let him bite the apple of knowledge— the need to let it all out is strong and thundering within his every step. 

Yifan’s love, his obsession to have them tied together forever, it app