Final
Saudade
Tao doesn't know why, but he feels strangely empty.
His band mates, his brothers, are sitting all around him; some on the beds, some on the floor, some draped over the couches. Tao is sitting on a spare cushion in front of the TV, which someone had muted so they could talk uninterrupted, next to Wufan. The leader is laughing, his expression easy and calm, and Tao feels a hollow ache somewhere within the vicinity of his chest as his own expression slants into a wistful smile. He’s never seen Wufan – or any of them, for that matter – look so carefree out in the open, and he doubts he ever well.
But here, safe within the walls of their shared hotel room at two in the morning when they really should be sleeping, they are free.
And yet still Tao feels as if he’s suffocating.
Xiumin and Chen sit together as always, huddled in a corner; not entirely away from the others but not entirely a part of them either, because despite the fact that they were a family, sometimes the two Korean members would recede into themselves, leaning on each other as if it would help lessen the load of the pain they shared.
The pangs of homesickness are palpable in the air, obvious to Tao even from the other side of the room, and though he understands the two Korean members to a point, he knows that he will never be able to understand fully because he’s never been away from China – from home – longer than a few weeks. But Xiumin and Chen have been away from Korea for months, stuck in a country with a people and a language that’s still alien to them, and Tao feels almost guilty that he doesn’t understand.
“Tao?”
He turns at the voice, not surprised in the least to see Wufan staring at him, “Yes, Duizhang?”
“Are you alright?”
There’s a particular weight in the leader’s voice, an unspoken question hanging in the air, and Tao recognizes it instantly.
Are you alive?
“Yes,” he says, though he doesn’t really sound convincing. There is blood pumping through his veins and he can feel his chest rise and fall every time he breathes, but he doesn’t feel alive.
He recognizes it then, the restlessness eating at him, and inhales sharply.
“Duizhang …”
Wufan smiles, understanding even without elaboration, “Go,” he says, “Just don’t be gone too long.”
Tao nods, relief replacing the weight on his shoulders, and stands. The others murmur softly, asking where he’s going, but he merely says ‘out’ and leaves it at that. They say nothing more because they understand. They’re his family, after all. They know everything about him.
Tao dons a light coat, knowing it’ll be chilly outside, and leaves the hotel room, rushing down the hallway. He climbs the stairs in the corner, pausing only when he comes to a door marked ‘roof’ and quickly lets himself out, breathing in the cool, nighttime air and reveling in the sound of the city. Beijing is far beneath him, tantalizing with its sparkling lights and promises of glory and glamour and fame, but Tao feels above all that now – in more ways than one.
He brought nothing, but for this he needs nothing else besides himself.
He closes his eyes, focusing deep within, and feels a smile – the first genuine one in weeks – flutter over his chapped lips, his heartbeat quickening with anticipation as his muscles tense. Every part of him is stretched taunt, waiting for the right moment, and Tao isn’t sure how he knows when, but there’s a sudden snap inside of him, and all he can think is nownownow as he lets loose.
And it is then, during these quiet, personal moments, that he truly feels free.
The taolu is part of him now – as much of a second nature as breathing is – and he flows through the moves effortlessly; back arching, eyes closed, muscles rippling as he tears through the form with practiced ease, never once stopping or slowing. He hits a stance and the energy thrums through his body, sending adrenaline coursing through his system as he breathes fast and hard, sweat dripping from his brow.
Then, just like that, he’s done.
There’s a pleasant ache in his muscles as he collapses on his back, spread-eagle, and stares up at the sky. It’s overcast, the light wind from the north promising rain, but Tao could care less. He can imagine the stars well enough, and rain never hurt anyone.
When Wufan goes to find him, worried at how long he’d been gone, he nearly trips over Tao’s prone form still lying there on the roof under the cloudy sky, grimacing when the younger laughs at him.
“What are you still doing up here?” The leader asks, trying to be stern, but they both know that he could never stay mad at Tao.
The younger shrugs, unsure. He feels lightweight; giddy, almost, and Wufan must see it in his gaze for he smiles, surging forward to grab the younger’s wrists and pull him to his feet.
“We need to sleep, didi.” Wufan says softly, and Tao smiles at the endearment.
Little brother.
“What if I want to sleep up here?”
Wufan scoffs at his ridiculous proposition, “You’d catch a cold, or get blown off the rooftop by the first strong gust of wind; one or the other.”
Tao laughs out loud at that, the sound of his mirth as light as a feather. “I’ve always wanted to fly.”
“There’s a difference between flying and falling,” Wufan says, a strange tone piercing the veil of their banter, as if the leader isn’t quite sure what Tao is implying or if he even wants to know. “Tao –”
The younger smiles, cutting him off, and says, “It’s alright, Wufan, don’t worry.” He moves closer, his lips just barely brushing the others, “You’re the only one who can make me fly.”
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