Chapter Three - Explosion

The third time he saw the singer happened at a bar across the street from his father’s company. It was not intentional; he had only wanted a drink to drown the pressures of being born with high expectations. However, he would concede that intentional or otherwise, it was a pleasant surprise. And a wonderful escape. Killing two birds with one stone, if you like.

He ordered his usual beer, and sat down on one of the plastic barstools, distaste written on his face. Those plastic barstools were obviously bought at a discount warehouse, and were in no way comfortable, not to mention extremely tacky. But, he shouldn’t complain. After all, it was the alcohol he was here for, and the alcohol was satisfiable.

Everything was going well – he was relaxed, unsatisfactory thoughts banished from his head, he saw a few viable one-night-stand options, before the MC cut the music and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage, Chen!”

He turned his head towards the stage; his curiosity piqued by the loud applause, and saw the surprise of his lifetime. It was the boy who could change colours.

When the applause died down, the drummer started the beat, which gave rise to an ensemble of violin, guitar, bass and saxophone. Jazz, but a hint of rock. Or was it the other way around? He didn’t care. The singer was him and that’s all that mattered.

Smiling, the singer stepped onto the stage.

He sat up.

The soulful notes of the violin made his way towards him; made all the more lifelike by the lounge beat. Each cymbal, each hi-hat danced around him, like they existed just to please him.

What could he do?

He ordered another drink.

By now, the piano had started – lounge style of course. Then came the guitars. Then the singer opened his mouth.

He gulped.

It was a song about heartbreak, no doubt. But the way the singer sang it reminded him of a fruit cake – rich, golden with just enough sweetness to enjoy. Not too saccharine, not too bland. y.

Was that the word? y. He had never associated fruit cakes with lust before. Nevertheless, his voice was different tonight, which bothered him a great deal. It was still powerful, yet the technique was different. It was as if he had a different goal he wanted to reach with his singing.

He closed his eyes.

Red.

Mischievous eyes looked right at him, paired with a smile.

He tried to look beyond the singer.

The eyes caught his gaze again, trailing it. The singer gripped the microphone and leaned forward, delivering the refrain. Each note lingered sensually around him, making his head spin.

Red.

It came, just like that. No warning, no blue, nothing to prepare him for the onslaught of red he was receiving. He couldn’t decide whether to like it or hate it, and the very knowledge continued to gnaw at the pit of his stomach. Truthfully, he had liked the gentle flames that had at his sanity at the previous performance, because it served as a teaser, a warning. But the roaring fire tonight, it was so sudden, so explosive; it was as if the arsonist had decided to start a fire with firecrackers.

The singer now looked at him with eyes finally showing the true ual nature of the song.

He gasped.

Maybe, just maybe, he could flow with the fire. If he couldn’t, then it would be a pleasure to die trying. He wanted it, needed it, needed to get it.

The singer grabbed the microphone off its stand and with another flirtatious smile; he moved his body as he delivered the final line, eyes never leaving him. That sealed the deal. But the music ended too quickly. And soon, the singer would have to leave the stage. His world would come back to social pressures and unattainable fantasies.

He sighed.

Even though he would have to see the singer anyway, it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t be magical, it wouldn’t be red. The singer would go back to acknowledging him coolly; it would be all about study.

With the last tap of the hi-hat, it finally ended. The singer took a bow, and exited. No more sweet notes, tempting beats, the concoction that was lust.

He drained the rest of his drink and got up to leave, sighing as he did so.

Where are we going tomorrow for date night? His phone vibrated.

I don’t know. Why don’t you choose the place this time? He texted back.

Hmm… I don’t suppose a scientific conference would interest you very much, would it?

He sighed, massaging at his temples. Never mind. I will find a place tonight, and come pick you up tomorrow. Is that okay?

A pregnant pause. Sure. I love you, Wufan.

He laughed bitterly. Instead of going back to blue, red had disappeared into grey. Oh, the irony!

I love you too, Yixing.

___

Author's Notes: I was just about to put some in this chapter, but something stopped me. O_O I wonder what it is... On another note, I now have 61 subscribers! Yay!! Oh yes, before I forget, can someone provide a poster for this story, or knows someone who can? It's really bothersome looking for pictures.

@yunjaefor and fr_hanna: You read my mind! Yixing will get a haircut, but not quite yet. Soon, I promise :)

@mikazuki_angel: Thank you for being so so patient, even though I take such a long time to update! I totally agree with what you said about Lay's colour - I think he's also an innocent white ^_^ I haven't seen the video of the fan who was screaming and crying when it was her turn to get her CD signed by Chen. Can you send me the link? As for who the third wheel is... keep reading kekeke :D

@Yovely: Thank you for your lovely comments! I'm glad you like how Kris sees his surroundings in the form of colours. :D I wasn't sure it was coming across very well :S

@everybody else who commented: Thank you so much for taking the time to comment! I don't know how to answer your comments at the moment, but I appreciate them a lot.

Now, I will leave you with a question: we have already established that according to Kris (in this fic), Lay's colour is grey and Chen's colours are blue and red. Can you guess what Kris' colour is?