Yixing figures out he's not normal, when he's ten, before he even knows why he's different. But he already knows it's a bad thing. Different is not the same as special. Different is like the kid with the stutter who gets bullied at school and the man with the rich cousin who got a new pair of oxen for his farm and everyone gave him dirty, jealous looks for the rest of the year. Yixing is young but he's not stupid. He hears the whispers of unfair and complaints about market prices and feeding the family. 

His premonition runs true though, just barely three months later when he spies faeries playing in a bush while he's running outside, and they don't flee. Instead, it's Yixing who scrambles away, terrified of what this means. Different is even worse when it means magic, that's when it becomes something else entirely.

Yixing learns to hide it before he learns how to add or read. It's easier to seem like an airhead, he realizes, to hide his distraction when silver wings sweep off their coats of invisibility before his eyes and when swarms of lightning bugs gather outside the classroom window, waiting for a storm to arrive. When years of practice makes it easy enough for him to ignore these creatures, feigning a blank gaze becomes a way to hide the fact that he's watching and listening.

Magic is one of those things people turn a blind eye to, because they have no other choice. It's not disbelief- everyone finds the translucent wings shed by faeries in the spring and watches them dissolve into mist, and most people manage to catch a couple glimpses of fabled creatures in their lifetimes. Even the King is rumored to be part-Elemental, for the color of his eyes change with the seasons. But these are common folk, who's lives center on the next crop, the next harvest, and the next market day. They don't have time for this nonsense, not when spreading another layer of fertilizer might mean enough gold to survive or not the next winter, or if checking the chicken coop means that you catch a fox and manage to divert the loss of half your poultry.

Magic makes for a good bedtime story for the babies, but if they bring it up again when they're too old for it, they need to have their heads brought down from the clouds.

Yixing's father, he knows, does not have time for this nonsense while raising a son as a single parent and working in the fields alone (Yixing always feels guilty over this, but his health is so fragile that his father doesn't want to risk another 4 months of illness or broken arm. Instead, he mans the market booth and learns how to talk smooth and haggle a couple more coppers into their savings). Yixing keeps magic under wraps, feigning blankness and ignorance, until one day his father collapses. He's rushed to the royal hospital a couple towns over, while Yixing's world falls apart.

Through pain-gritted teeth, his father urges him to pay for the hospital fee with their savings, the twenty gold they've kept for a rainy day and add whatever is left over from last market day. Just save just two silvers to pay for the school fee, his father makes him promise. Very few family put their kids in school for more than a couple years. After learning enough arithmetic and reading and writing to not get cheated, there's not much point. His father's been dead set on getting Yixing a good enough education in hopes of a job as an accountant or scribe when he's older, the only chance he has with his delicate health.

If he were a couple years younger, Yixing might have agreed. But he's older now, bordering on seventeen and almost a man, and he's seen enough of his neighbors struggling to know that using up all their savings is a bad idea. Because Yixing can't work in the fields or support himself, and when his father gets out of the hospital and probably still of questionable health, there'll be nothing there to greet him but poverty.

"We'll manage," his father promises. No we won't, Yixing thinks to himself. But on the outside he agrees and tells his father to let him handle the fees and accounts and to just rest and get better.

Yixing returns home and sleeps on it. When he wakes up, he puts all of their thirty gold into an rusted metal box and spends the afternoon digging a hole. He has no muscle, so after an hour of moving dirt, he's out of breath and his arms are starting to become sore, but the hole is about up to his waist and Yixing proclaims it good. He places the box on the bottom and begins the laborious task of refilling all the dirt. When all's good and done, and the box is throughly hidden, Yixing uses the shovel to uproot chrysanthemum bush, shooing away the young, tiny faeries that are hovering around the flowers and replants it over the upturned dirt. Chrysanthemums, Yixing remembers, mean hope. He's not worried about anyone seeing him now because their farm is one of the more secluded, but when times get tough and people are starving, they know who's an easy target- the one who's father is gone and just his fragile son is attempting to take care of the fields.

When he reenters the house, he s underneath his bed until he feels worn burlap. He pulls out the tiny sack, weighing it with his hands. For something so tiny, it's unexpectedly heavy. It's ten years of his own savings, from his father letting him sell flower cuts to the young women on market day and other means of making money that his father isn't aware of and probably wouldn't approve of if he did. His father probably doesn't realize how much he has, and though Yixing has been tempted to slip a few gold into his father's moneysack, he knows that would catch attention. Instead, Yixing just purchases extra wax for the candles his father doesn't notice are running out and seeds to plant a vegetable garden. There's only so much he can do, however, and the amount he makes on market day far exceeds all the little 

It's risky move, Yixing knows. His father will have many questions when he gets out, and the town will have questions when they find the farmhouse deserted in less than a week.

At age seventeen, Yixing has too many questions of his own and figures it's time to stop running away from them. Maybe, he hopes, if he faces them head on, he'll finally get some answers.

Yixing has his satchel almost packed when there's loud clanging at the front gate. He pokes his head out of the window to see some brown-haired lad creating a ruckus with yells and abusing the old fence.

"I know you're in there," the boy yells, "Even if you've murdered someone, I'm sure you're still a good person. Probably. Maybe. Just answer your door."

This last exclamation is punctuated by a particularly hard kick to the gate. Yixing winces in sympathy to the old entryway. The hinges were old and rusty and the wood around them rotting a little last time he checked, and he sincerely hopes that this crazy guy isn't going to actually break the gate. But he mentioned murder, and Yixing figures murder is serious business so maybe he should take a look.

As he approaches the gate, he takes a closer look at the kid and recognizes the chestnut locks, a little too long, and large eyes from school. But he doesn't have a name to put with the face.

"Would you please," Yixing yells, "stop trying to kill the gate."

"Well," the boy yells back, "At least I'm just killing a gate. Not an actual person."

At Yixing's confused gaze, the boy continues his tirade.

"I know you did it," he continues yelling, "You don't have to hide it! Come clean and maybe they'll give you a lesser sentence-"

"Can you stop yelling?" Yixing grumbles, and the other boy thankfully lowers his pitch. "I literally have no idea what your talking about."

The other boy shots him a glare and begins hollering more accusations, but Yixing hold up a hand.

"You," he sighs wearily, feeling the beginnings of a headache worming into his brain. He wonders how this boy's parents can deal with him. "can come in. And try explaining whatever this is you're so worked up about. Just please stop yelling already."

Looking satisfied, he boy follows Yixing into his house. He points for the boy to sit at the kitchen table and goes off to find some tea to calm his growing headache.

"So," Yixing says, as he heats up some water, "Explain."

The other boy looks confused for a moment, because Yixing isn't trying to beat him over the head with a shovel or murder him, but quickly perks up.

"So my mother heard your father was ill," the doe-eyed boy begins, "And she baked some bread for you guys. Because, you see, your father and my mother apparently went to school together. And they used to be sweethearts or something. Or maybe just friends, I suppose."

"Okay...?" Yixing adds some tea leaves into the boiling water. He still fails to see at what point this turns into a murder story, as the boy begins to recount some story his mother told him about his father's old escapades.

"Anyway," the boy continues, "I came over to deliver this to you."

He pulls a couple of fresh baked loaves that smell like heaven to Yixing's nose. He suddenly realizes he hasn't eaten all day, too preoccupied with his father's sudden collapse. His stomach growls embarrassingly, and the other boy gives a bark of laughter.

"You can eat some, you know," he grins teasingly, "It's not like you'll ever eat anything this good in prison."

The tea is done, so Yixing grabs two mismatched ceramic mugs out of the cabinet and pour two cups. He gives the stocky red cup to his guest and breaks off a chunk of the bread loaf for himself. It smells as good as it tastes and Yixing lets out an appreciative sigh.

The boy laughs and takes a gulp of his tea.

"Wow. This stuff is strong," the boy exclaims, putting his cup down. Yixing looks apologetic, but the boy laughs. "Didn't say that it's bad."

They sit and eat in silence for a bit before Yixing speaks up.

"So," Yixing says, taking another bite of the bread, "Back to your story."

"Oh yeah," the boy scratches his head. "Where was I? Delivering bread, right? So I came over to give this to you, since we're in the same class and all, but you weren't in when I knocked. But I heard noises so I went to the side and peeked between the fence." 

"You were digging a hole and people only dig holes that deep for one thing- to bury bodies. You even put flower on top of it, like a funeral! Then, before people realized whoever you killed is missing you leave town!" The boy points towards the packed satchel near the door. "And you live far out enough that no one would see you. Except me." He points a finger towards himself, his tone turning a little hysteric. "And if you kill me, people will find out because my mother is expecting me back. So 'fess up. I know you did it."

Yixing musters up his best judgmental glare to shoot at the boy before burying his face in his hands, feeling his headache get worse. The other boy is still giving him accusing looks, so Yixing takes a long draught of tea and debates the best way to repudate these ridiculous claims.

"You probably saw how tall that hole was. Unless I was burying an infant," Yixing begins, "that hole would be too small for anybody. And if I wanted to bury somebody, why would I do it in my own lawn? Why not the forest? Then nobody would be able to link it back to me."

"Oh yeah?" the boy counters, "Then what were you doing?"

"I," Yixing pauses, not sure if he should tell him. But he's seen the kid around his school and he seems like one of the one trustworthy ones, and Yixing can tell if he doesn't give some reason, the boy will never leave him alone. "I was burying money, okay? I can't work on the farm so I was planning on leaving but I didn't want our house to get robbed while I was gone. So I buried it so no one would find it."

Yixing finishes it off with a sharp glare..The boy looks surprised.

"Oops?" the boy gives a sheepish grin, asYixing just reburies his head into his arms. "Sorry. Guess I jumped to conclusions. Oh, now I feel guilty."

He flounders apologetically for a bit before giving a small frown. "You say you're leaving though?"

Yixing takes another gulp of tea, finishing the cup. 

"Today. Well first to the hospital to check up on my father, but after that."

The boy opens his mouth to say something, but he pausess.

"There are faeries," he says instead, sounding a bit faint. "On your flowers."

Yixing looks across the kitchen and internally curses. His father's eyesight had gone bad enough that he didn't notice and usually when they had guests over, he moved the large potted flower bush outside but in today's mess of events, he had forgotten. Despite all his careful planning and hiding, this boy just unveils all his secrets in one afternoon. The boy's eyes stay fixated on the faeries, giving Yixing time to curse his life and rotten luck.

"I'm not quite normal." Yixing finally decides to say. He already knows too much. A little more won't hurt, Yixing supposes. It might even make his story unbelievable enough that no one would think the tale was real if he did tell. "It's part of the reason I'm leaving. To journey here and there and maybe figure out why. Maybe go to the city and see if someone there knows anything."

"You can not tell my father about this though," Yixing warns. The boy gulps and nods, still looking at the fairies. He chews his lip for a bit and ponders for a bit before speaking again.

"Take me with you." the boy says.

"Wh- What?" Yixing asks. "Wait, I don't even know your name. You just came in here, accused me of murder, and now what?"

"I want to come with you," the boy replies. The determined look goes back into his eyes, and Yixing feels another series of headaches arriving.

"My name is Luhan. You say you're going around, traveling. I want to come." he says, "I already apologized for earlier Let me come with you."

Yixing gives him a stare of disbelief.

"Look," Luhan leans closer, his gaze intent. "I want to travel, but my mother doesn't let me go alone. If you don't let me come with you, I'll tell her about the gold you buried. And my mother's the biggest gossip in town." He pulls back. "Have you even told your father that you're leaving?"

"No." Yixing admits.

"You can't just go like that, without a word!" Luhan pounds a fist against the table. "Did you ever consider what your father would think if he heard you were missing?"

The peeling white paint on the table seems really interesting all of a sudden, and Yixing can't meet Luhan's eyes.

"Here," Luhan finally says, "Come with me."

When Yixing finally looks up, Luhan's eyes dare him to see what the boy is planning. Yixing not quite sure why, but he follow Luhan out the door. Luhan refuses to give an explanation whenever he's asked where they are going and just replies with a grin so impish that Yixing wonders if he actually has some of that creature's blood in him.

"Ma!" Luhan apparently is just as loud at home as he is outside. A short, curvy woman with delicate features steps outside and Yixing realizes where Luhan got his looks.

"This is Yixing," he introduces. Yixing's not really sure where this is going, so he gives a small smile and bows. 

"Thank you very much for the bread," he thanks, deciding gratitude is better than accusing her son of insanity.

"Ma," Luhan begins, and Yixing has a bad feeling about all this. "Yixing is going to the palace. He's not really able to work on the fields without his father around, so he figures he might as well go and see if he can get a job there. If not now, then scout it out a bit for the future. While he's gone, do you think you could send Henry over every now and then to check on things. And maybe go over to the hospital sometime and make sure his father's doing fine?"

It's a good plan, Yixing realizes. It's a really good plan- one that he could even tell his father. It makes him sound like he actually has a plan of some sort. Luhan sends him another brilliant grin and Yixing realizes maybe the boy wasn't as stupid as he first thought.

He's proven right when Luhan opens his mouth again.

"And can I go with him? Please?" Luhan asks, pouting and making eyes big. "It's just for a month or so, maybe a bit longer, but Henry's staying over for a while so you'll still have enough hands on the field. You know I've always wanted to travel a bit. And I've never seen a palace before! Yixing already said it's no bother."

Yixing just gapes at him for a couple seconds, while his mom considers it. Luhan's grin grows more impish and Yixing kind of wants to throttle him.

"Are you sure about this Yixing?" she asks worriedly, "Luhan can be a bit of a handful."

"Uh," Luhan shoots him a warning glance. "I don't mind. Tt'll be fine."

"Well," she replies, "if you're sure."

He's not, but as Luhan grabs his arm and tugs him back down the road, Yixing supposes he'll just have to fake it.

A/N: So one accidental delete later and here's the beginning (aka wtf am i even doing). it's a bit long (over 3k actually... oops) uh i hope you like it? it's going to move a lot faster from here on out.