“I had another dream about you,” Yixing said softly, his finger digging into the bare dirt. He had done that so often in the past, that the grass wasn't bothering to grow back. He sighed and looked up at the sky, a storm making a scary gray glow fall over the world. The clouds were moving at a snail’s pace, rolling over Yixing’s head and staying there. “We were laying in bed, and it was raining,” he murmured, letting his cheek falling against his bent knees. His dragged his finger through the brown dirt, aimlessly doodling. “You rolled over and kissed me. You were so, so warm. I felt like it was real. It all felt so real. Like, if I woke up, you would still have your arms around me. Like you would kiss me like you did every morning.”

Yixing let out a breath, one that was visible when it left his lips, and just stared ahead. The stone was outrageously clean, thanks to Yixing brushing it off every morning. No dirt would ever touch it as long as Yixing was around, and there would be fresh flowers sitting between the man and the headstone for as long as Yixing cared—and he swore he always would. He leaned forward and dragged his pointer finger against the words etched into the marble. “I miss waking up with you. I miss kissing you. I miss holding you. I miss you, Yifan.”

He clasped his fingers into a fist and tapped his knuckles against the cold rock, letting them drag down the flat surface. “Why did it have to happen like this, baby? Why did you have to be taken away?”

 

I don't know, Yifan wanted to scream, watching Yixing touch the headstone from behind. I miss you too. I can't touch you like I used to. If I touched you now, you would cry. You would think you're crazy, Yixing.

 

“Are you in Heaven, Yifan?”

 

No. I don't know where I am.

 

“I guess it doesn't matter where you are,” Yixing whispered. “Since you're not with me anymore.”

 

Don't talk like that, Xingxing. Yifan stepped forward and kneeled beside Yixing, leaning to peer into the younger man’s face. His eyes weren't focused, a cloudy look as if his bottom lids would be flooded soon. I’m here. I’m here.

 

“What am I supposed to do without you?” Yixing’s voice cracked in the middle of his words, and tears were finally escaping down the hills of his cheeks. He rubbed them immediately with his sleeves, and Yifan realized it was one of his own old sweatshirts.

Yixing was sobbing, audibly crying as he sat in front of his boyfriend's grave. The tears wouldn't stop, even as he dabbed at his cheeks and eyes with the fabric. “I miss you so much.”

 

I miss you too. Yifan touched Yixing’s cheek, even though something in the back of his mind told him he shouldn't have. He pushed the tear away, stopping it before it rolled down Yixing’s cheek.

The younger gasped, his hand immediately raising to where he felt a press of a finger. He dragged his own hand down his skin, catching slightly on the dampness, before he let his hands fall down to his lap. “Am I crazy, Yifan?” he whispered, staring right at the headstone. He breathed in deeply through his nose, then laughed softly under his breath. “Are you trying to make me feel comforted still, Yifan?”

 

Of course I am. I’ll be by your side forever, Yixing. Nothing will stop me from being there for you.

 

“I’ll be going home now. Okay, Yifan?” Yixing said after a sigh, standing up from his squatting position. He let his shoe run over the dying grass, with his hands folded in front of him. “I’ll come by again tomorrow. I hope you like the flowers I brought this time. You always said Baby’s Breath was pretty, so I made sure to get a bouquet with some.”

 

Anything you bring will be wonderful, Yixing.

 

“I’ll… I’ll go now. If not, I’ll be here all day,” he chuckled, and rubbed his eyes again. “I’ll love you forever, Yifan.”

 

I know, Yixing.

 

Yifan followed the younger man, walking right behind him as he left the cemetery. Yixing bowed his head to the child and woman who were entering the lot, which he always did when he came across someone else mourning. It never failed to make Yifan smile, and he only wished he could hold Yixing’s hand and lead him out of the cemetery himself.

It rained that night. Had Yifan been there with him, warming his body beneath the covers, Yixing would have enjoyed the melancholy weather. If Yifan was kissing along his spine, like he had for so many nights, Yixing would have melted into the warmth of the mattress below him.

Rain didn’t bring warmth anymore. Rain brought the thoughts of Yixing running out of their shared apartment in the middle of a storming night, no shoes on his feet and his loose shirt and boxers already drenched. It made Yixing think back to him driving like a madman through empty streets to the hospital, only to be held back from seeing the man he loved. It reminded him of the raindrops attacking the large windows of the waiting room as he cried his eyes out. The saline liquid pouring down his cheeks was the only warmth he could feel in that dull room. It reminded him of the panic and the fear that was swimming in his drowning mind when he heard, “Yifan didn’t make it.”

 

Yixing felt that warmth on his cheeks, and expected to feel his tears drop down onto the pillow, but nothing of the sort happened. The heat just lingered there, his face growing hot with the contact. A tiny noise of confusion left his mouth, his lips parted and his eyebrows furrowed together.

Then, he swore he could have cried enough to make his own storm.

Something that was undeniably Yifan hit him. A pressure on the tip of his nose, just like how Yifan would wake him up with a kiss there, made Yixing shoot up in the bed. He head felt as if he was spinning, with the intensity he looked around the dim bedroom. Nothing. No one. Nothing should have made him feel a kiss from his deceased boyfriend.

The tears finally fell, and Yixing was letting sobs fall out from between his lips. “Yifan…”

Another kiss, this time to his forehead, made Yixing cry like he was a child. He wailed, his palms covering his eyes, and kisses littered the back of his hands the moment he did so.

 

Yifan sat on the edge of the bed, following Yixing’s movement when the younger had centered himself on the mattress. He prayed to any god listening that Yixing would know it was him, it was his Yifan trying to tell him he was still there.

Yifan wasn’t sure if the dead could cry until his own tears were falling.

 

I’m here, Yixing. He moved closer to the blubbering man, letting his arms fall over him and pulling him into a body that wasn’t there. You can cry all you want.