Yixing stared at the stack of laundry sitting neatly pressed and folded on the desk chair. Normally it would be the logical next step to pick it up and sort it into the bureau drawers. But now… but now.

He had one week left in America. One week left at the Seattle Ballet, all the summer classes over and the days his to practise as he wished. One week left in Mr. Peterson’s beautiful house, sleeping in that giant bed and waking up to morning cups of English tea.

One more week to spend sitting in the late summer sun on Sehun and J.D.’s couch, drinking Sprite and weaving intricate braids through Minseok’s long, glossy hair as Lu and Zhixiang debated the relative merits of Luke Skywalker and Han Solo as pertained to Leia’s heart.

One more week with Baekhyun, every available minute given to that furtive intimacy of nightclubs and practice rooms, stolen kisses in darkened movie theatres and hands secretively held under diner tables. One more week of frantic, desperate love-making, where they held each other closer than skin and pretended their relationship didn’t have a departure date.

Because it did, much as they might wish otherwise. In seven days Yixing would be on a plane back to the beautiful blue skies of Beijing and the lonely halls of the Academy, and Seattle would become a memory.

Part of him was still aching to stay, to throw away his passport and refuse to return to China, but it was a whisper now rather than a scream, quietened by thoughts of his family. Not because he missed them - though after ten years he still did - but because he knew if he defected then he would likely never know their fate. He couldn’t live with the knowledge that they might face punishment for his selfishness.

So he would enjoy these last seven days with Baekhyun, and if they never met again then at least he would have this perfect memory to carry with him the rest of his life.

“Imagine if I could come with you,” Baekhyun had said, soft and wistful one afternoon.

“Impossible,” Yixing had replied, and gestured at the sweat drying between their bodies. “This, it’s not okay in China.”

“It’s not okay here either,” Baekhyun had pointed out. “That doesn’t make it wrong.”

Now Yixing sighed and pushed himself up off the bed. There was no point prolonging the inevitable. He dragged his suitcase out of the closet, laid it open on the bed, and began to sort the pile of clean laundry into it.

He had almost figured out which shirts he was going to leave behind when the door clicked open behind him.

“Zhang, you’re packing already?”

“Hi- yes.” Yixing turned around. “Lots of clothes to sort. Can’t take this all - have to choose.”

“Yes, yes, right.” Mr. Peterson pushed the door closed behind him and took a cautious step towards the bed. “Zhang, I wondered if you might have a minute - I’ve something I’d like to discuss with you.”

Yixing nodded and, at Mr. Peterson’s gesture, perched on the edge of the bed. Mr. Peterson shifted a pair of Yixing’s socks off the desk chair and settled himself there, then turned to fix him with a look that seemed far too serious for Yixing’s liking.

“Have you enjoyed your summer here in America?”

Yixing nodded, polite at first and then emphatic. “Yes. Very much.”

“Good, good.” Mr. Peterson folded his hands around his knee, his legs crossed and toes tapping above the carpet. “Well. I have to tell you, I’ve actually been on the phone to Beijing for the last few weeks.”

Yixing’s blood dropped in a cold weight.

He’d been caught. Mr. Peterson had seen him dancing too closely with Baekhyun in the practice rooms, or glanced out the window late at night and caught them kissing goodnight in the car. He’d figured out that the clothes Yixing came home in on Saturday mornings belonged to Baekhyun. He’d simply observed Yixing going out too many times and put two and two together.

And now he’d told the government. The whole Communist Party would know that Yixing had been engaging in marital acts with another man - and an American at that.

Perhaps he should feel betrayed, he thought, as all the blood in his body did an abrupt turn and rushed back to his face, but instead he felt only shame. He had brought this upon himself. Who knew what punishment awaited him in China now?

It made him sick to imagine the grief, the awful humiliation his parents would have to endure when they found out.

“It’s taken a bit of back and forth,” Mr. Peterson continued, as if Yixing were not breaking down inside right in front of him, “but we’ve concluded that you dancing here really reflects rather well on everybody concerned.”

And he’d gone and ruined that. He’d destroyed the precious relationships Mr. Peterson had worked so hard to build, not only with the Academy but with the Chinese government as well. Yixing couldn’t breathe.

“The Consulate sees you as something of an ambassador for Chinese ballet, and of course we’ve loved having you with us, so it’s really very positive all around.”

Positive. Mr. Peterson was smiling. He didn’t look like he was about to send Yixing off to the fate that presumably befell the perpetrators of such deviant behaviours.

“The long and short of it is, the Chinese government have agreed to extend your visa.”

Yixing blinked at him. Extend his visa? Visa - the thing he had in his passport that allowed him to stay in the United States, which was stamped with an expiry date of approximately three weeks hence. Extend?

Extend the leg en avant, extend the line of the neck through the chin, extend that arm towards her-

Make it longer?

“I wish I could have told you sooner, but I didn’t want to mention it until I could actually make the offer,” Mr. Peterson said.

“I… don’t understand,” Yixing admitted.

Mr. Peterson treated him to one of those fatherly smiles, the ones that felt like a blessing every time they turned in Yixing’s direction.

“What I’m saying is, there’s a position here at the Seattle Ballet for you if you want it.”

Oh. Oh. Yixing swallowed hard and took a second to revive his heart. They hadn’t been found out after all - Mr. Peterson knew nothing.

“But,” that worry remained, the fear of retaliation for the choices he made in selfishness, “my family-”

“Oh yes,” Mr. Peterson frowned, “yes, you must be quite eager to see them. Well, we’ll have to see what we can do. I’m sure we can arrange a visit. Perhaps for the spring season… I’ll talk to the Consulate.”

He stood and opened the door, social choreography visibly composing in his head, then stopped and turned back.

“So you’ll stay, then?”

“I-” Yixing nodded so hard his hair flopped into his eyes. “Yes. Yes, I stay. Thank you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Mr. Peterson assured him. “Well. I imagine we’ve a fair bit to organise in the next little while - paperwork and such, you’ll need a bank account, and I can help you find an apartment of your own - but I won’t overwhelm you with all that now. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you.” Yixing stood. His heart, having successfully restarted, was now thrumming into a crescendo of possibility. “I think I’m… I go for a walk.”

“Of course.” Mr. Peterson grinned, and there was the shadow of a wink at the corner of his eye as he said, “Go tell him the news.”

-

Yixing’s walk turned into a run, a mad dash for the bus and then, at the other end, a world-record sprint from the terminus stop to the semi-urban apartment blocks overlooking the water.

“Baekhyun!” The door rattled under the pound of his fist, creaking in protest of so much urgency. “Baek!”

There was a shout from the other side, and then the door swung open.

“What, what is it? ’Xing?” Baekhyun looked bewildered, almost frightened. “Are you okay? What’s happened?”

All the words were bubbling up at once, and Yixing couldn’t choose between them so he just threw himself forward, kicked the door shut behind him and dragged Baekhyun into his arms with a scream of joy.

“Yixing, baby!” Baekhyun’s hands were confused between Yixing’s shoulder blades, his neck craning to try and get a look at Yixing’s face. “What’s going on? Are you alright?”

Yixing nodded, face pressed into Baekhyun’s collarbone, his smile beginning to split at the edges as he clutched tight to all that safety and familiarity and love, so much love, love that he could keep, that he didn’t have to leave behind, a love where he could stay-

“I stay,” he gasped, fingers clenching into Baekhyun’s hair and the back of his shirt. “I’m- I’m staying, I’m not leaving- I won’t go, I stay here-”

“What? Wait, what, what, I don’t understand-” Baekhyun was pulling back, trying to look at Yixing’s face, probably trying to gauge whether he was laughing or crying - and now he was both, eyes beginning to sting with elation as he clasped Baekhyun’s face between his hands.

“Mr. Peterson says- he said I stay, I’m dance with Seattle Ballet, stay here in America-”

Baekhyun’s jaw dropped.

“I stay!” Yixing repeated, dizzy, delirious with it. “I stay here, Seattle, dance with you, stay with you-”

And then suddenly he was flying, whirled off his feet as Baekhyun’s arms wrapped around his waist, and they were spinning together, whooping and laughing, and Yixing hadn’t thought a quintuple tour en l’air was possible but he was certain his heart was doing a string of them inside his chest.

“I can’t believe it,” Baekhyun said, voice muffled into Yixing’s neck. “Really, are you sure?”

“Sure,” Yixing nodded. “Chinese government extend my visa.”

A wet giggle into his skin. “One of the best decisions they’ve ever made.”

“Best ever,” Yixing said.

“Not the best ever.” Baekhyun looked up, cheeks flushed, eyes alight with the corners of his grin. “The best decision ever was sending you here in the first place.”

Yixing laughed. “Yes. Definitely the best.”

Baekhyun’s face was positively glowing, ecstatic and magnetic, so Yixing kissed him, and kissed him again, and kept kissing him until the next wave of euphoria bubbled up and they were giggling into each other’s mouths.

“I’m in shock,” Baekhyun said. “I can’t believe it, I- are you sure I’m not dreaming? Pinch me.”

“Pinch-?”

Baekhyun tapped his thumb and forefinger together like a crab. Confused, Yixing copied him, and when Baekhyun held his arm out Yixing decided he was probably supposed to nip it with that claw.

“Ow.”

“What is the point of that?” Yixing wondered.

“To make sure I’m really awake and not having some sort of hallucination where all my dreams come true.” Baekhyun sat down on the couch and pulled Yixing into his lap. “Oh, I’m so-” he snuggled his face into Yixing’s chest, arms tight around his waist, his entire body practically vibrating with delight.

“Happy,” Yixing murmured.

“Happy,” Baekhyun agreed. He lifted his head to smile up at Yixing, hands soft on his back, hair a joyful mess. “How long are you staying, do you know? Is it six months, two years, forever?”

“Hmm.” Yixing thought for a moment. “Don’t know. I think maybe a long time. Mr. Peterson said I need a bank account. And he said he can help me find an apartment of my own.”

Baekhyun laughed. “What did you say to that?”

Yixing tilted his head. “Nothing. Why?”

“Well, you’re not going to need your own place, are you?”

“I’m not?”

“No - I want you here, with me.”

“Oh.” That sent a whole new series of flips through Yixing’s chest. “Really?”

“Of course, of course I do.” Baekhyun reached up and cupped his hand around Yixing’s cheek. “I mean… if you want to.”

For a moment Yixing held that picture in his imagination: waking up next to Baekhyun every day, falling asleep wrapped around him each night, spending free afternoons in his sunny bedroom with the breeze rattling the bead curtain - sharing breakfast, sharing baths, sharing the drive to the studio while Baekhyun sang along to the songs floating in from other people’s cars.

Yixing decided he liked that image.

“I want to,” he said. “I want it, I want you.”

Baekhyun’s smile was all teeth and corners, almost too wide to kiss, but Yixing managed it. He would never get used to this, he thought, the sweetness of Baekhyun’s lips, the way the breath snapped into his mouth when Yixing’s hands slid back through his hair.

They could do this as much as they wanted, now. No deadlines, no curfews, no stolen kisses in nightclub bathrooms or furtive hugs in the shadows of streetlamps. Coming home to the safety of this apartment, with no prying eyes, no hatred or judgment or metal pipes - they could have each other as much as they wanted within these four walls.

Baekhyun giggled as Yixing’s fingers began tugging at his top button.

“Really? Now?”

“I like doing it,” Yixing insisted, lips against Baekhyun’s temple as he slipped one hand inside his shirt and danced his fingers in circles across that smooth skin.

“Well I like doing it too,” Baekhyun laughed, “but you’re a special level of insatiable.”

“I don’t know ‘insatiable,’” Yixing said, tugging Baekhyun’s shirt out of his pants.

“It means you can’t be satisfied.” Baekhyun’s grip shifted to Yixing’s thighs and squeezed for a moment, then rolled them sideways so that Yixing was sitting on the couch and Baekhyun could climb into his lap.

“Not true.” Yixing broke away to a kiss into Baekhyun’s collarbone. “Always satisfied from you.”

“I’m flattered.” Baekhyun lifted Yixing’s chin with one finger, seemingly just to grin at him.

“What?” Yixing blinked at him.

Baekhyun shook his head. “Nothing. I’m glad you’re staying.” He ducked forward, brushed his nose against Yixing’s for a moment, then pressed closer and kissed all the air out of his lungs as his hands began working at the buckle of Yixing’s pants.

Afterwards, when Yixing had Baekhyun cradled in his arms in a glow of sweat and recovered breath, Baekhyun sighed and pressed a sleepy kiss to Yixing’s chest just where his heart was tapping out a joyful rhythm against his ribs.

“I love you,” he whispered, lips lazy against Yixing’s skin.

Yixing hummed in agreement, tightening his arms in a framework of security around Baekhyun’s body.

“I love you so much,” Baekhyun continued. His words were so soft as to be almost lost in the thrum of the afternoon, but Yixing would always be able to pick Baekhyun’s voice from any crowd.

“Love you too,” Yixing murmured, with a kiss to the top of Baekhyun’s head. There were words for this feeling, he was sure there were. “Love… too big for one heart.”

“Mmm.” There were the corners of that smile against his chest, softened and rounded with exhaustion. “Good thing I’ve got a whole lot of different hearts.”

Yixing laughed. “Enough hearts for this love.”

Baekhyun shook his head, eyes closed, breath soft. “I think I love you more than the whole universe of hearts. The most love there’s ever been.” He reached up, unlatched Yixing’s hand from his back and brought it down to lace their fingers together, one thumb circles across the back of Yixing’s knuckles. “I could not love you more.”