i really miss you. oh and stop pretending that those red blotches mean nothing. stop acting like you don't like it when i moan your name with a parched tongue.

you're not as cool as you think you are, or as handsome as you like to make yourself believe. you don't know what kinds of names people call you behind your back. you don't know.how many punches and kicks i throw to these chitchatting cowards.

ing kris, did you at least once wondered hey how's yixing doing or were you too busy trying to seem perfect by throwing three pointers and performing slum dunks?

i bet you didn't. i bet you let mr. Park touched the parts of you that i had just blown the night before, so that you could excuse your failing grades and satisfy his lust for freshmen dudes.

you .

but i think i'm an even greater for allowing you to my pants in the middle of biology while whispering this is for studying hotly against my ear. hell, i even lied to my parents through my teeth about having to watch a movie with my friends the evening i watched you perform a in front of me.

thinking about it, maybe i wasn't a . maybe i just did all the and ing and wild s just so i could wake up beside you and try to commit your facial structure to memory; your lips, straight nose, sharp jawline, thick lashes, perfect eyebrows, i try to drink them all in like a writer would indulge himself in caffeine while working. maybe i really am not a . i'm just someone who'd catch you reading or watching a movie, or laughing, and i'd think of how much i love you.

[yes, you read that right. i love you. not, i love you when you do that or i love ing you. just i love you.]

i don't know what's worse; agreeing to be your buddy or wanting to be more than that.

I hope that your alpaca-infected brain would realize that this is a ing love letter and i just ing confessed to you, while inserting in every ing word because you ing said i'm never ing classy

Not-a-,

Zhang Yixing