It wasn’t until he was twelve that Yixing realized what his feelings for you really meant.  You were on a field trip to the mountains, and you had gotten separated from the rest of your class.  Having known you for almost half of his existence, Yixing couldn’t imagine life without you. You were as much a part of him as his arm, or his voice.  The only black spot on your relationship was his father.

He hated you.

Detested you.

Loathed entirely.

Yixing couldn’t understand why.  At different times, his father came up with different excuses—he didn’t want his son hanging around a bad-luck orphan, he didn’t want him going to the poor side of town to spend time with you, your zodiac signs were too different—but despite his imprecations, Yixing could never stay away.  He felt drawn to you, being with you just felt right, without you, he felt…incomplete. 

Although, at that moment, what he felt was…sweaty. 

Yixing loved you.  He really did. Although, at the moment, he had yet to realize how much.  Despite this, he had to acknowledge…

You were clumsy.  He loved you, but you were just so...incredibly klutzy. 

At this point, he had nothing but time on his hands to contemplate your superb ineptitude, as he carried you on his back through the woods. 

“I’m sorry, ge,” you murmured as he carefully picked his way through the underbrush.

“It’s alright,” he huffed, trying not to show his struggle under your weight.  “How’s your ankle?”

“It’s fine,” you whispered.

You were lying.  He knew it, but he also knew that you were trying not to be even more of a burden, and his heart swelled with pride at your bravery. 

“Yixingge?”

“Hm?”

“Are we…lost?”

Yixing glanced around the unfamiliar woods, took note of the rising evening.  Oddly enough, until you said something, he hadn’t noticed how dark it was. Everything was still pretty clear, despite the fact that twilight was halfway over the sky.  “We’ll find our way back,” he said with confidence. “Or someone will find us. I’ll take care of you; don’t worry.’ Silently, he hefted you further up his back, carefully picked through the woods.  

After a while, he noticed an odd smell.  Sharp and sour, and without being able to tell how he knew, he could instinctively tell that it was distress.  “Little lamb?”

You cleared your throat.  “Yes, ge?”

His mind cast about for something to distract you as, though he would never admit it for fear of frightening you, he had slowly come to realize that you were, in fact, inextricably lost.  “Tell me...where you want to live when you grow up.”

You were silent for a moment.  Then, “Where do I want to live?”

“Mm.  Describe the house.  What do you do? Do you have any hobbies?”

Quiet reigned for a long while, to the point where Yixing began to think that you weren’t going to answer.  Then--

“I want...a little cottage.”

“A cottage?”

“Yes...like in the fairy tales.”

He could feel himself growing warm with affection as you described your ideal life.

“I want a garden.  Nothing too big, but I want to plant medicinal flowers and herbs, and fruits and vegetables.  And I want… I want the cottage to have one side that’s completely windows, so that the sunlight streams in every day, and fills my entire home with light.  And… And I want to...to have a dog!”

“What will you name him?”

“I don’t know.  But I want him to be a big dog.  The biggest I can find. I want a Tibetan Mastiff!”

“Wow, those are pretty big dogs!”

You giggled, and Yixing’s heart began to flutter.  “I like big dogs. It’s like having a friend. They’re like a person.”

“What else do you want?”

“I want to paint.  I want… I want to make things.  I want to cook what I grow in my garden.”

“What would you like to make?”

“I don’t know.  Clothes. Pottery.  Sculpture. I just...want to create.  I want to work with my hands and make...beauty...”

The sun was well past the horizon now, and Yixing wished that the moon would hurry up and rise so that there would be more light.  He could see pretty well, but still--he knew that you were afraid of the dark.

“Yixingge?”

“Mm?”

“We’re lost, aren’t we?”

He didn’t answer immediately.  Then, “Little Lamb?”

“Yes?”

“You know that I’ll take care of you, right?  You know that I’ll always protect you.”

“Yes.”

“I will never let anything hurt you.”

“I know, ge.”

“We may have to stop somewhere.  But tomorrow, we’ll keep going, and we’ll find people.  So, don’t be afraid, because it will happen this way. I will keep you safe, and then we’ll find the others, and by this time tomorrow, you’ll be all tucked in bed, with ayi spoiling you with delicious things, so start planning what you want to eat now, okay?”

“Mm.”

More time passed in silence, as Yixing tried to ignore his rising temperature.  It’s not that you were heavy--in fact, the longer he carried you, the lighter you seemed to become--yet he felt as if he were overexerting himself, his muscles beginning to feel as sore as if he had run a marathon.

“Are you okay?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You’re sweating...and you’re shaking.  Are you getting sick? Am I too heavy?”

Now that you mentioned it, Yixing was forced to acknowledge what his body was telling him, and he started to feel overwhelmed as a thousand sensations seemed to  start crowding in all at once. “I am feeling a little tired.” He heard moving water up ahead, and detoured toward it. “Are you thirsty? Why don’t we rest by the water for a while, and then I’ll find somewhere for us to sleep.”

Within the few short minutes it took for him to find the fresh mountain stream, Yixing felt as if he were on fire.  Gently, he lay you on the ground, and then stumbled away, falling to his knees in front of the stream, and dunking his head in the cool water.  Unfortunately, even that didn’t cool his rising temperature, and he took off his shirt to douse it in water, before squeezing over his increasingly heated skin.

“What’s wrong?” 

Your voice was apprehensive, and Yixing cursed himself for showing weakness when he needed to be strong for you.  But, he couldn’t deny that he wasn’t well, and since it was getting worse, he wasn’t going to hide it from you. “I’m feeling a bit sick.  I’m sorry.”

“Come over here, and lay your head on my lap.  I’ll your hair. That always makes me feel better.”

Almost drunkenly, he stumbled over to you, collapsing beside you, and heavily dropping his head into your lap.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be sorry.  You take care of me all the time.  Now, let me take care of you.”

Despite a rising pain in his gut, Yixing smiled.  “Is a Little Lamb is going to--”

As he spoke the clouds parted, and an icy beam of moonlight streamed through--illuminating Yixing’s body in the night.

There was a sudden harsh cramp, and Yixing’s legs involuntarily snapped to his chest.  

“Ge?” Your voice was fearful.

Yixing wanted to comfort you, but his throat was closing, and he wheezed as he tried to breathe.  His heart clanged painfully against his ribs, and the cramps in his stomach spread, pouring burning agony through all of his limbs.  

His head pounded, and his vision clouded, and--from a distance--he could you calling his name, vaguely feel your hands, trying to pull him close, as if you could protect him from this with your proximity--but he couldn’t respond.  

Then, suddenly, Yixing could breathe again, and he inhaled raggedly, trying to catch his breath to say--he had no idea what--all he knew is that once again, you smelled sharp and sour, and your distress was only making the pain worse.  He opened his mouth to say speak, but all that emerged was a low growl.  

Shocked, he cut off his voice, terrified by his own body.  With the last of his strength, he ripped himself away from you--half crawled, half stumbled until a snap dragged him to the ground.  Looking down in horror, Yixing saw that his leg had broken, but before he could panic about that, there was another sharp snap, and his other leg twisted, breaking itself before his eyes, despite no weight being on it.  

Yixing wanted to cry then, wanted to scream--for himself, and for you--but when he opened his mouth, all that emerged were those awful, strangled, garbled growls.  He didn’t know what was happening, all he knew was that he wanted you to get away, but he couldn’t even say that--his throat spasming, and cramping any time he tried to speak.

Another crack rang through the night, and Yixing arched back in agony as first one, then both of his arms broke as easily as autumn twigs.  Hot tears streamed down his face as he collapsed onto his back, seizing as his muscles seemed to contract and extend, knitting broken bones back together, but in new and wrong ways, even as his skin burned as the muscles underneath expanded, swelling, becoming hard and heavy.  

The wet sound of ripping rang through the air as even his ears pulled, shifted, moved higher on his skull, along with--by contrast--an almost tolerable ache compared to the searing agony of his flesh as it rippled and pulsed--thick grey fur ing through to cover almost every inch of skin..

Fire burned at the base of his back as he felt a stretch, and then a push, as if his spine were growing, lengthening, but he had no time to contemplate that horror because, as he looked down, his hands began to break, to reform, bloody claws ripping out of tender fingertips, even as--horror of horrors--his face began to grow and stretch--his very skull cracking and lengthening as his mouth pushed outward, outward, ever outward.  

As if that horror weren’t enough, his mouth filled with blood as first, one by one, then in twos and threes, his teeth began to fall out--pushed out by new sharp fangs, that hurt his lips as his jaw gnashed uncontrollably.  

Yixing was dying.  He didn’t know what this was, or why it was happening to him, but all he knew was that these were his last moments on earth, and he hated--hated--that they were spent frightening you.  His vision swam--the night turned brighter, but grey, his nose was attacked with a thousand new and overwhelming scents and inwardly, he wept at his last moments.

And then...and then…

The pain began to fade and, despite himself--despite not wanting to die, despite not wanting to leave you alone--Yixing could only feel relief.  So he lay there. Battered and bruised and broken, waiting for the end, waiting for the dark.

The dark did not come.  Slowly, slowly, a feeling of relief began to pour through his body, whisper over his skin, and a new feeling of energy settled into his very bones.  Yixing didn’t question it. All he knew is that maybe he wasn’t dying. Maybe he wasn’t leaving you, and he could keep his promises.  

Crawling to his knees he stood, tottering uncertainly when he realized that his vantage point was distinctly higher than he was used to.  A soft gasp caught his attention, he felt a pull on the top of his head and suddenly the sound was clearer. He turned to follow it, turned to see you pressed tightly against a tree, your fists--pushed tightly to your mouth as if to stifle screaming--clenched so hard that your knuckles had turned white.  

He started to call for you, but all that came out was a whine.  He stopped. Tilted his head. Took a step forward.  

You whimpered then, and it broke his heart.

You were frightened...of him.  The scent of your fear--piercing and tangy surrounded his senses.  But why?  

Yixing took another step and, as his hand swung to reach for you, it caught his eye.  

He stopped.

Not his hand.

Not his hand.

A huge clawed hand, covered in fur, tipped with wickedly sharp claws.  He turned it, finding rough black pads on the bottom, where there should be soft brown palm.  

He whimpered.

At that sound, your scent changed.  Grew sweeter, richer. “Y--Y--Yixingge?”

He dropped to his knees, slowly...achingly slowly crawled to you, soft, sad whines uncontrollably pouring out of his throat like water.  

“Ge?  Yixingge?  Are you… Can you…  Ge?”

Despite the trepidation in your voice, you didn’t move, didn’t run, and when Yixing finally came close, he paused, looked up at you, whining in fear.  He didn't know what was happening, he only knew that he was scared. Scared of himself. Scared of you--that you would run--that you would reject him...leave him alone with...whatever this was.

Slowly...slowly, you reached out a trembling hand, and laid it on the top of his head.  

He closed his eyes, as a warm, comforting sensation tingled down his body from head to toe.

“Yixinge,” you whispered, as you gently began to scratch, to .  

He huffed, and though you jumped at the sound, you let out a small, shocked giggle.  

“Yixingge,” you said softly, reaching forward then, clasping him under his arms, and pulling his head into your lap.  “I’m here, ge...you’re alright. You’re alright. I’ll keep you safe, don’t worry. Just go to sleep. I’ll protect you. I’ll take care of you.

“I promise.”

***

Yixing was sixteen and you and he were in the midst of your first argument.  

“Listen?  Listen?!” you hissed.  “Why should I listen to you?  Who do you think you are to tell me whom I can and cannot date?!”

“Who am I?  Who am I?!  I am Zhang Yixing, the guy who has been by your side since you were five years old!  The guy who has listened to your every secret, every thought since we were children! You are the only one who knows what I am--I trust you--why can’t you trust me?”

“I do trust you ge, it’s just that I don’t understand how you can just ask me not to date someone perfectly nice without giving me a reason why!”

“Why?  Why do I have to give you a reason why?  We have known each other for over half of our lives, and suddenly this guy comes into the picture, and you don’t trust my judgement anymore?”

“It’s not that I don't trust your judgement it’s that--you’re not my father, ge!   You can’t just tell me not to date someone! Look--I trust you--I do! If you have a reason, tell me!  You know I’m not unreasonable! But you’re being weird, and I don’t get it!”

“What’s to get?” he yelled.  “When have I ever--ever--asked you for one little thing?  This is the first time I’ve ever asked you to do anything, and you can’t even do this?!”

“Because it’s illogical!  Turn him down for absolutely no reason?  How can I? Why should I? If you know something--just say it!  Make it make sense! Is he a bad guy?”

“No,” Yixing bit out.

“Are you worried that he just wants to sleep with me?”

“No,” he answered, though his voice lowered to a warning grumble.

“Is it a trick--a bet--I don’t know, maybe I”ve watched too many American teen movies, but I’m grasping here, because you won’t throw me a clue!”

Yixi