After the initial shock and disbelief had worn off, JongIn was quite giddy about the whole thing, the excitement of literally going to a foreign country exuding from his entire being. He refused to back down as both he and YiXing spent a long time trying to convince his aunt to agree with letting JongIn go; the selling point ended up being that YiXing would pay for JongIn completely, air fare and all. When JongIn complained about the money later on, YiXing lightly commented that he’d been a quiet bachelor for years with plenty of money on reserve.

The normally-frazzled editor JongWoon suspiciously eyed YiXing as the foreigner handed over his observations of COEX printed on a stack of clean, printer papers. YiXing thought nothing of it as he strolled back to his desk to arrange his belongings neatly.

BaekHyun pulled his eyes away from his own computer screen. “Good work. When are you leaving?”

YiXing shouldered his messenger bag. “The flight leaves tomorrow afternoon. We’ll be back next Friday evening, so don’t miss us too much.”

Hamster eyes halfway disappeared as BaekHyun’s rascal smile appeared. “I’ll try. ChanYeol said have a safe trip. And you make sure that kid stays safe!” The hamster eyes suddenly grew and glared, reprimanding. “Don’t get into trouble!”

“Is that you or ChanYeol talking?” YiXing asked, chuckling, as he strolled toward the front door.

“I mean it, hyung!”

Just before he was able to reach the door handle, the foreigner caught a glance of equally-foreign eyes tracking his path to the front door. He scoffed in mild frustration. “Why are you so suspicious of me turning in an article before the deadline?” YiXing demanded in JungHyuk’s direction. “You always get on my case for waiting until the last minute!”

King Fruitcake JungHyuk yawned and gave a small wave before he swiveled around in his chair.

Luckily, YiXing isn’t the type to wait until the last minute to think about packing before a flight. Even if it would only be for a week, YiXing had learned (after prior vacations involving the company of YiFan plus ZiTao plus MinSeok) he would be returning home with more clothes than he had packed, thanks to various clothes-shopping escapades. He didn’t care too much about clothes and fashion, but that didn’t mean his friends let him get away with it. Thus, his suitcase was light and somewhat barren, save for the last few toiletries he would pack once he was through with them the next morning.

JongIn, however, seemed to be the opposite, shooting off a text every time YiXing serenely lifted his mug of chamomile tea for a sip.

< What’s weather over there? >

YiXing typed back, < It’s hot, just like over here. >

< Toothpaste? Do they allow that? TSA? >

< You can use mine. I don’t care. >

< How many days? >

< Six or seven. Don’t pack so much. I’m sure ZiTao will take us shopping. >

< Who? WAIT I DUNNO CHINESE. >

< You’ll be fine. >

His excitement died down considerably as the next day rolled in. YiXing was still in the midst of waking up – late, because who wants to wake up early on his first day of vacation? – when he heard the doorbell ring. He trudged to the door, toothbrush still hanging out of his mouth, not even bothering with the intercom before pulling open the door. Standing there was a quiet JongIn, duffel bag in one hand, eyes wide and bottom lip halfway disappeared in between his teeth. YiXing stared.

“What’s up?” he mumbled through the froth in his mouth, but JongIn merely jittered his head back and forth. “Well, come in. I’m almost done.”

After YiXing had thoroughly rinsed his mouth, he stepped back out into the living room to find JongIn quietly gazing around the small space. He wouldn’t have found the behavior strange if JongIn hadn’t been bouncing off the walls for the past week prior to the trip.

“What’s up?” YiXing asked again.

Again, JongIn just shook his head. “I’m just… admiring your apartment.”

YiXing chuckled in an attempt to loosen him up. “Oh? What do you think?”

“Um… It’s nice. Fitting.”

“Did you find it alright? You didn’t get lost, did you?”

Head shake, and JongIn shifted his weight back and forth from one leg to the other. YiXing watched him, trying to think of anything that would have caused the abrupt mood change. His muddled mind sifted through everything between when he first mentioned the trip all the way to the night before when they had agreed to meet at YiXing’s apartment first before taking a taxi to the airport. < Assa! ^^ > was the last thing JongIn had texted before they both fell asleep, so YiXing really had no clue when it happened.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, finally causing JongIn to turn with an inquisitive look. “Did you change your mind about going?”

“Ah, no!” the kid quickly protested. “I’m just… nervous.”

YiXing chuckled. “I see. I just have to throw in a few more things, and we’ll be off.”

“You’re scared of flying, aren’t you?”

The two were finally situated in their assigned seats, luggage stowed away in the overhead bins, and were waiting as the rest of the passengers trudged through the narrow aisle trying to locate their own seats. YiXing had glanced over from his aisle seat to look out the window and instead saw both of JongIn’s knees bobbing up and down with his hands clasped together tightly in his lap.

JongIn swiveled his head around. “What? No. No, I’m not.”

A smile crept onto YiXing’s face. “You are. There’s nothing about your body language that says otherwise.”

JongIn attempted to slouch while buckled in to the uncomfortable seat. “It’s… not like I’m scared or whatever. I mean, I’ve just never ridden a plane before. So there.”

“It’s fun. There’s nothing to be worried about. Look.” YiXing pointed at the window. “This weather is perfect for flying: low wind and not a cloud in sight. You won’t even realize you’re in a plane.”

“Easy for you to say,” JongIn mumbled, crushing himself into the hardy cushions of the window seat as he crassly knotted his arms in front of his chest.

“You’ll see,” YiXing assured him. “We’ll be fine.”

JongIn remained unconvinced. YiXing felt a little guilty for grinning as JongIn cringed at the sound of the engines picking up, as his legs jittered even faster when the plane was being pushed out from the gate to taxi to the runway.

“JongIn, relax,” YiXing berated the youth quietly.

“Can’t,” he muttered.

“I mean it. You’re going to pass out before we even reach the runway if you don’t relax.” YiXing tapped his fingers on JongIn’s hands which had been clenching at the fabric of his jeans. “We’ll be fine.”

JongIn visibly flinched when YiXing touched him, but he attempted to stop biting his lips and let out a long, slow breath. He slowly let his hands open, but his legs were still uncontrollable.

“Just sit back. Close your eyes, if you have to.” YiXing took his own advice and settled back, placidly crossing his fingers over his stomach. “Oh, maybe you should. Take off will probably be scary for you.”

“Oh, thanks,” the youth replied, sarcasm very apparent in his tone.

At that moment, the pilots had positioned the plane to the end of the runway, the engines roaring even louder. JongIn screwed his eyes shut as the plane lurched forward, slowly accelerating. YiXing, however, lost himself in his thoughts, the loud drone of the plane all-too familiar to him. He absent-mindedly propped his elbows on the armrests on both sides, unconsciously jabbing JongIn’s stiff arm.

He remembered how after he had first moved to Seoul for work, trips back home were nauseating. The only reason YiXing even visited for any length of time was due to YiFan’s incessant whining (though YiFan would never admit he whined). Obviously as time went on, YiXing got better about going home, but during every flight over, he often felt the phantom pressure on his insides constricting his windpipe and tossing gastric juices every which way.

A slow lurch of the plane and a scuttle of feet close by brought his mind back to his body. YiXing blinked his eyes open, trying to gauge how long he had dozed – did he fall asleep, even? Glancing over, he was tickled to see JongIn was still petrified in the same position as when they lifted off, eyes squeezed shut and brows knit together in concentration. Even his elbow was still indented in JongIn’s tricep.

“JongIn. JongIn-ah.” YiXing shook the shoulder close to him. “Look outside.”

“You must be crazy,” JongIn promptly replied.

“No, seriously. Look outside.”

A grudging whine rumbled from JongIn’s throat before he sighed, trying again to relax. Slowly, one eye edged open, and the other followed suit just as cautiously. When JongIn realized he was still rooted, buckled, to his seat, he slowly looked over to the open window.

Piece by piece, joint by joint, the ice began to melt.

“Where are we…?” JongIn murmured.

“We’re above the clouds. Probably about thirty minutes into the flight.”

“Those are…”

“Those are clouds from above, yes.”

They had covered enough ground (air?) where the clear skies of Seoul were no more and were spotted with patches of white, lumpy clouds. YiXing always enjoyed looking at the side of clouds people usually never saw. It seemed to have the same effect on JongIn, his entire being no longer a wound-up rubber band two seconds away from popping a tendon from the pressure. JongIn was even slightly smiling – a bit stupidly, to be honest – at the surreal sight outside of the window.

Satisfied, YiXing leaned forward to reach for something in his back pocket. JongIn noticed the shift and broke his gaze from the window. “What are you doing?”

YiXing wiggled a small notebook into view. “Writing. I’m a writer, after all.”

“You even write in the middle of a flight?” JongIn leaned over. “What are you writing about? You’re not writing about me, are you?”

“No, I just write whatever comes to mind.” YiXing teasingly poked away JongIn’s face with the flat end of the pen he held. “I’ll look at it later to make sense of it, and hopefully a story will be created.”

JongIn ignored the pen. “Yah, that’s all in Chinese. You’re not writing about me, are you?”

“I just might. Kim Puppy JongIn, weak against clouds that look like cottage cheese.”

“… That has to be the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard.”

The pen was already striking the paper in the form of YiXing’s slanted handwriting. “Take a nap or something. The flight’s about two hours long, and I’m sure you already wore yourself out in the first twenty minutes.”

JongIn snorted but didn’t reply as YiXing continued writing. After a few minutes, the notebook was jarred as JongIn’s knee bumped against YiXing’s leg, jolting the arm that was resting on it.

“Sorry…” JongIn came mumbled reply.

YiXing looked up. The youth was slouching back in his chair, head tilted back and eyes closed. Just by the looks of it, he might start snoring.

 YiXing expected a pair of homicidal eyes glaring him down as he opened the door.

He didn’t expect two pairs of homicidal eyes glaring him down as he opened the door.

JongIn wasn’t expecting homicidal eyes at all.

JongIn had frozen just outside of the front door as YiXing casually tossed his bag inside, stopping to fling his shoes to the side. “Oh, ZiTao, I didn’t know you’d be over, too.”

Both long-limbed, giant Angry Birds relaxed their Angry Bird glares. If one or the other had bothered to the lock the front door, they probably wouldn’t have been shocked out of their lazy, magazine-reading skins when YiXing suddenly swung the door open. It’s a good thing YiXing made himself completely visible, though, because he could clearly see the wushu aura flying around ZiTao before it faded away.

Kung Fu pandas are no joke.

One side of YiFan’s rock-tumbler face lifted into a half-smile as he settled back comfortably on the floor, lazily flipping to the next page of the car magazine in his hands. “Hey. How was the flight?”

“It was fine.” YiXing glanced behind him to see JongIn nervously trailing behind. “Come on. They’re not as scary as they look.”

JongIn only wordlessly slid out of his shoes, eyes taking in YiFan and YiXing’s apartment. His attention was drawn when YiFan stood up – grunting like the old man he is – and crossed over to offer a hand, ZiTao following after him.

“I’m Wu YiFan,” he greeted. “And this is Huang ZiTao. Nice to meet you.”

JongIn’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh. Oh! You speak Korean?!”

The rock-tumbler face broke into a laugh. “Yeah, we all do. Can’t say we’re completely fluent, but good enough to get by.”

A bit late, JongIn took YiFan’s proffered hand. “I’m Kim JongIn. Wah, I thought I’d be dead over here.”

“Well, it would help if your mentor would bother to teach you some Chinese.” YiFan stared pointedly at YiXing.

“Hmmm?” YiXing decided to play innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “It’s best not to believe anything he says. I don’t even know what his real name is. Could be Kevin, JiaHeng, YiFan, Kris, BenBen – ”

YiFan cut him off with a heavier glare. “Zhang YiXing!”

Laughing, YiXing toted his bag farther into the apartment. “Come on. Let’s drop our stuff in my room.”

JongIn shuffled after YiXing as Zitao and YiFan reclaimed their previous spots on the sofa and floor. As YiXing swung the door open to his old room, the scent that floated to his face almost threatened to throw his ADD into a UFO destined for no return. However, he was aware of JongIn right behind him, so he refrained from reminiscing while standing in the middle of the doorway.

“Oh, MinSeok-ge even had the courtesy to clean my room,” YiXing commented as he gazed at the wide floor space. He padded into the room, tossing his bag onto his neatly-made bed.

JongIn only spared a lazy step into the room, tilting his head at the mention of the stranger’s name. “Min… Seok…?”

“Yeah. Kim MinSeok. He’s Korean, but he lives here in China. Both he and ZiTao work for the sister company of my magazine. I’ll probably call him up later.”

“You all are roommates?”

A chuckle fell out as YiXing fumbled with pulling the spare futon from the closet. “Ah, no. You’ve seen how small this apartment is. There’s no way four people could live here. It’s only YiFan and me.”

“Ah…”

YiXing tossed the futon to the floor where it collapsed in a lethargic heap. “Now, then… I can sleep on the floor so you can have the bed.”

JongIn quickly shook his head. “No way. No. It’s your bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Suit yourself,” YiXing replied, flopping onto his bed. “You can fix it. I’m going to take a nap.”

JongIn’s face broke with laughter. “What the hell?!” JongIn exclaimed, staring incredulously at his “mentor”. He was promptly shut up with a pillow to the face.

Amidst loud bantering, they managed to work out the sleeping arrangement without completely destroying YiXing’s room. YiFan stuck his head in the door after a considerable stretch of silence, thinking the two may have died somehow, but instead found them both sprawled out and fast asleep on their respective beds atop the sheets.

“So why do you guys all know Korean? I mean, I get why you and MinSeok-hyung do, but why everyone else?”

“Well, ZiTao’s reason is just because his department-mates are both Korean; he, MinSeok-ge, and another guy called Kim JongDae all work in marketing. Since the two kinda failed with Chinese, and ZiTao was pretty bad with Korean, you could only imagine how the conversations went.”

“But what about King Angry Bird?”

“YiFan-ge?” YiXing burst out laughing. “I can’t talk about his occupation. All I can say is he does a lot of overseas stuff, so he’s very multilingual. I wouldn’t trust his Thai, though.”

JongIn cocked his head in curiosity. “What do you mean you can’t talk about his occupation?”

A forefinger halved YiXing’s grinning lips. “It’s secret-service type stuff. I can’t talk about it.”

“Uh? Oh. Ohhh…” JongIn’s eyes grew wide. “Are you serious?”

“I am. Now shush. I don’t want to get assassinated.”

The morning had started in peril when YiXing’s sleep-laden, lead feet swung over the side of his Western-style bed and stomped down into a squishy object he didn’t remember leaving on his floor. A loud grunt followed by a pained groan reminded him JongIn had taken residence on the futon across his floor. He had spent a good five minutes apologizing to the kid as he rolled about in agony, trying to figure out if any of his intestines had combusted. It was followed with a very angry King Angry Bird growling across the hall about “being loud as hell on a damn, early-as-hell weekend morning”.

When JongIn finally recovered, eyes still puffy from sleep and a pout pulling down on his face, he muttered something about breakfast, and YiXing had no choice but to oblige. YiFan, however, remained a motionless rock in his bed when the two tried to rouse him awake to join them.

Which brought the duo to an old café, sipping tea while waiting for the rest of YiXing’s crew to rise from the dead. They all had met for the first time the previous night at dinner and, after appraising Kid JongIn, were quite eager to meet again. JongDae, the sassiest fairy in Sense’s China branch, insisted on a group shopping date because what else are weekends for, even?

“So…” JongIn had leaned in to mutter in YiXing’s ear. “Are all of your friends here fairies, too?”

YiXing stifled a laugh. “JongDae is the only one of the four who’s admittedly out. MinSeok-ge could be aual, for all I know, even though he spends most of his time dancing to girl-group songs with that chick face. ZiTao seems to be on the fence. One second he’s a manly, Kung Fu master, and the next he’s an awkwardly embarrassing daisy; maybe he goes both ways. YiFan-ge claims he’s straight, but we all know better. One straight guy amidst a bunch of pixies, and he’ll undoubtedly get glitter all over his jacket.”

The others passed their questioning looks over to YiXing when they realized JongIn was laughing so hard that he could barely breathe.

Back to the present. “What are you doing?” YiXing asked, amused.

JongIn was very focused on the notebook settled on the table. “I’m drawing.”

“I know, but what is that supposed to be…?”

He only received a hum in response as JongIn continued to defile YiXing’s notebook of drabbles.  Originally, the writer had pulled out the pad to throw in a few thoughts before they faded from his mind, but just as soon as his pen stilled, both pen and paper were pulled from his hands and dragged across the table just so JongIn could doodle in it.

“There.” JongIn sat up straight and twirled the notebook around, beaming proudly. “Done.”

YiXing gazed over and grinned. “You drew an owl… It’s pretty.”

“It’s not pretty. He’s the manliest owl there is.” JongIn quickly added bumps to the outstretched wings. “See? Flexing like a man.”

“It looks more like you gave him maracas.”

YiXing could barely hear a familiar voice approaching through JongIn’s guffaws.

“Are you lollipops having fun this early in the morning?”

They both looked up to JongDae swaggering his way over to their small table. YiXing glanced at his phone as the elf plopped his pint-sized self into the seat right next to him.

“It’s already eleven,” YiXing corrected. “This can hardly be called early anymore.”

“Anything before two in the afternoon on a Saturday is illegal, child.”

“You talk as if you’re a party animal when I know for a fact you never sleep past ten o’clock of any night.”

“And why do you think my face is so perfect?”

YiXing didn’t even bother to try to stop his eyes from rolling at the endless sass undulating from JongDae’s aura. Ignoring the critic, JongDae turned to JongIn and instantly burst into enthusiastic conversation. Not long after, the rest of the China Line slowly slumped their way in until the small table they were originally situated was overcrowded, and the group ended up popping out of the café doors to meander their way to where the shops and the fashion lay.

The day was an energetic mess as the group whizzed from one side of one district to another half across town, sometimes breaking into sub-units and randomly re-converging a few stores down. YiXing couldn’t think of any time this sort of mad shopping spree happened in his time of being friends with the group. They were obviously taken by the novel presence of JongIn who managed to keep up with the haphazard mess. They barely stopped for dinner, picking through what seemed savory in the night market stalls while strolling along the sidewalk, searching through windows for anything that would lighten their already-hurt wallets. When JongDae yawned hugely, punching YiFan in the jaw as he stretched his fists upward, they finally decided it was about time to retire.

“Same thing tomorrow?” JongDae asked, darting behind ZiTao to shield himself from YiFan’s homicidal glare.

JongIn was stifling his own yawn as YiXing replied, “We’ll see if we’re still alive by then. It also depends on how much in debt we are tomorrow.”

“Please,” JongDae scoffed. “We all know you’re loaded. Besides, you bought absolutely nothing today. You have to rectify that tomorrow and the rest of the week you’re here.”

YiXing blinked dumbly, trying to figure out how the shopping bags in his hands weren’t purchased by his own money. As JongDae and MinSeok crowded JongIn to trade phone numbers, ZiTao sidled up to YiXing.

“You seem to be doing well, gege,” the panda said, speaking quietly in Chinese. “Right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” YiXing replied. “This was a good day.”

“Yeah… It’s nice that there’s six of us again – ”

ZiTao cut himself off short, alarmed, and swiveled his head around. YiXing didn’t even have to glance over to feel the apology about to spring from ZiTao’s mouth. The pressure began to rise, but he smiled his vacant smile and patted the tall youth’s arm.

“It’s fine, Taozi.”

YiFan seemed to have sensed the falling atmosphere as he suddenly appeared behind the two, resting a comforting hand on ZiTao’s shoulder. The panda cowered in on himself as if he had just been scolded as the other three finally assimilated back into a circle. JongIn’s mirth tamed itself as he took in YiXing’s vacant smile.

“Well, this was enough fun for the second night,” YiXing announced, ignoring the silent looks that were exchanged amidst the group. “We’ll see you all tomorrow, I guess.”

“Yeah.” YiFan’s single syllable served as a definitive punctuation mark, cutting off anymore conversation.

They bid farewell and went their separate ways, YiXing and JongIn regaling details of the day as YiFan quietly followed them close by.

Sunday was a guilty repeat of Saturday, shopping bags hanging out of twelve hands and bank accounts shriveling away. JongDae claimed since they would be back to work on Monday, they may as well “get their swag on” before the weekend was up.

YiFan told JongDae to never say “swag” ever again.

The end of the night was marked with the Beijing Sense-ian’s whines and complaints about not wanting to go back to work, not wanting to have to deal with the King Fruitcake equivalent – YiXing didn’t really know him outside of how much JongDae complained about him. Much like the previous night, as soon as the three made it back to the apartment, shopping bags were tossed to the side, and minds were asleep before their respective heads hit the pillows.

The following days went at a much slower pace since it was only YiXing and JongIn touring the city; YiFan wasn’t working at the time, but he preferred to laze about the apartment, reading and rereading the magazines that cluttered his bedroom. YiXing wasn’t sure what version of tourist JongIn was until the Olympic stadium came into view, and JongIn was shouting excitedly about going up closer. He tried out various landmarks and historic spots, most of which piqued JongIn’s interest and turned him into a laughing, skipping child. His cell phone’s memory was quickly filling up with a multitude of scenes of Beijing. More than once, JongIn snuck in pictures of YiXing staring blankly at the street. YiXing pouted at the kid, weakly telling him to stop but gave up as JongIn merely laughed and took another picture.

“What about your hometown? Are you from Beijing?” JongIn asked, sipping up the remains of a soda.

YiXing blinked slowly and watched as pedestrians passed along. “No, I’m from Changsha. It’s south from here.”

“What’s it like there?”

“It’s not much different than Beijing. Changsha’s just another city.”

He could feel JongIn’s eyes boring into the side of his head. “You wanna go there?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

YiXing was still dreaming of darkness and emptiness, the pressure heavy on his insides until he forced himself to wake up in the middle of the night. It happened each night, and he always ignored JongIn’s disapproving face the next day as he ordered coffee right after stepping out of the apartment. With each passing day, JongIn would get a little more concerned.

“Didn’t sleep well?” JongIn would ask.

“Nope,” YiXing would reply, rubbing at the dark circles forming under his eyes.

It wasn’t until Wednesday night – into Thursday morning – when the pressure roused YiXing from his sleep, and he rolled over to find an empty futon beside his bed. He was confused for half a second before he saw the dim light filtering through the cracks in the door left ajar. Murmured voices floated through the air from the other side. Curiosity got the better of him, and he hauled his tired body out of bed and crept to the door.

“… happened before.” YiXing only caught the tail end of that sentence.

“It did?” JongIn’s low voice almost matched in pitch to YiFan’s gravelly croak. “Why?”

There’s nothing but silence until YiXing heard a light thud, the sound of a glass tapping against the dining-room table. “That’s… something I won’t get into.”

“Oh…”

Another silence fell before YiFan spoke again. ”But you seem like… a good person.”

“Er… Thanks?”

“Shut up. I’m not a writer, so I with words. I’m just saying, you seem like you care about YiXing a lot, and I think YiXing feels the same for you, too. So I wanna tell you… Just look after him.”

YiXing crouched low enough until he was able to slide to his bottom on the floor, crossing his legs. The sleep was clearing from his head as he continued to eavesdrop.

JongIn didn’t interject, so YiFan continued. “I can’t call myself his best friend or anything. I’ve only known him for maybe five years or so, but I’ve seen him have to deal with the ugliest things life would ever throw at a person. I don’t know what you think of him, but he’s a fragile person even if he’s smiling all the time. So don’t ever leave him in the dust. That’s the worst thing you could ever do.”

“But… I mean, I can’t tell. You say you’ve only known him for five years, but I’ve only known him for just more than a month. I know he doesn’t tell me stuff sometimes, but…”

“One of the easier ways to tell is how he drinks. When he’s fine, he drinks tea at the end of the day. He used to drink coffee as a crutch, but now it seems like it’s become a mindless habit. Don’t ever let him touch alcohol, though.”

“He’s a lightweight?”

“That, too. No, it means he’s severely depressed.”

“Oh…”

“That’s just shallow stuff, though. I’m sure you’ll figure it out, eventually.” Another brief silence followed by the thud of the glass on the table. “But I mean it when I say to not abandon him. Some other kid over there almost did the same thing, and I had half a mind to fly over there and beat his brains out.”

“Eh?!” JongIn’s voice rose harshly, but he dropped it low again. “Why? What happened?”

“I can’t be sure if YiXing’s psycho-babble was the actual story or if the alcohol he got -faced from conjured up something bizarre. Either way, I got an earful of drunk-, suicidal YiXing in the middle of the night.” YiXing could imagine JongIn making a face between YiFan’s sentences. “Yeah. It wasn’t lovely. I can’t call myself his best friend or anything, but I just… worry about him a lot.”

“You can’t call yourself his best friend, but you’re a really nice guy, hyung.”

“Shut up, you cheeky…”

YiXing rolled away from the door, the pressure lifted away. He flopped back onto his bed to fall back asleep – it was about two in the morning, after all – and was glad to find sleep wasn’t disturbed with darkness and emptiness.

Hours later, everyone was awake and fumbling around to get ready to go out for lunch. While JongIn was in the shower, YiXing snuck up behind YiFan and wrapped his arms around the tall man's waist. YiFan froze immediately.

"I love you, YiFan-ge," YiXing crooned.

YiFan reacted exactly how YiXing expected.

"Wow. Gross. Get off me. I don't want your unicorn cooties."

YiXing laughed and just squeezed YiFan tighter, causing the Angry Bird to wheeze. He finally let go, though, and YiFan made a show of dusting off the cooties from his shirt. However, he reached around to affectionately pat YiXing on the head.

Their send-off at the end of the trip was obnoxious, to say the least. Everyone made a scene at the airport – except for YiFan, that rock tumbler – loudly wailing while bear hugging. Promises of traded SMSs and future visits were swapped, and then YiXing and JongIn were trotting through the terminal toward their gate, tugging along their considerably heavier carry-on bags.

“Oh, that’s not good…” YiXing commented under his breath.

JongIn spun around quickly. “What? What happened?”

Pointing at the display screen next to the gate, YiXing replied, “It’s storming in Seoul right now. It’ll probably be a bumpy landing.”

YiXing almost missed the expression on JongIn’s face, turning a beat too late when the kid didn’t reply. He was another beat too late to ask what was wrong as JongIn quietly busied himself with the pictures on his phone. A bit puzzled, YiXing didn’t press on it as they stood in silence while waiting to board the plane.

The takeoff was almost the same as it had been when leaving Seoul, but JongIn opted to dig his elbow into YiXing’s arm, his own arms fiercely crossed in front of his chest. If that was what it took for JongIn to calm down on the plane, YiXing let him.

Contrary to the previous flight, though, the interior of the plane grew darker due to both the setting sun and the approaching clouds. JongIn had distracted himself long enough with doodling in YiXing’s notebook again, but when the only light source were from the cabin lights, he eyed the clouds outside the window with apprehension.

“What’s wrong?” YiXing finally asked.

But once again, JongIn just shook his head and knotted his arms before him, legs kicking nervously. He almost flailed in his seat as a loud “ping” sounded through the air. Both men looked up to see as the seatbelt light .

“Attention, passengers,” the voice of the co-pilot droned. “We’re about thirty minutes from Seoul and beginning our descent. The weather is stormy, and we’re expecting some turbulence, so the captain has the seatbelt sign. Please remain seated at this time. Thank you.”

YiXing took note of JongIn’s leg violently bouncing up and down. He reached out to still the leg, and it did, but the muscles beneath the jeans were tense.

“JongIn,” YiXing started but stopped at the look on JongIn’s face.

His jaw was clenched tight, brows furrowed, and eyes squeezed shut. JongIn shook his head and wouldn’t speak. YiXing decided to not push it and sat back in his chair again. The plane lurched, seeming to drop for a second, and YiXing heard the hiss beside him.

“We’re alright,” he said quietly, nudging JongIn. “We’re fine.”

The kid’s legs were flailing, stomping, bouncing, but JongIn said nothing, his face still screwed up. YiXing caught a glance of the rain whipping by outside, the flashing lights on the wings illuminating the needles of water for a millisecond.

The plane lurched again, this time tilting one way before re-centering itself. And suddenly JongIn was falling forward. YiXing reached out in a reflex before he stopped.

There was something definitely wrong.

JongIn’s entire body was shuddering, his whole body rigid. His hands gripped the sides of his head, and if it weren’t for the old seatbelt holding him back, YiXing was sure he’d be on the ground.

“JongIn. JongIn?” YiXing placed a hand on his back.

It was then that he heard JongIn murmuring to himself. “God, no no no no…”

“Yah, JongIn, we’re okay. We’re fine. Relax.”

The plane shuddered again, and YiXing could feel the muscles seize under his hand before JongIn hissed again. The kid’s hands flexed harder, fingertips scraping against his own scalp. Trying to ignore the armrest between them, YiXing reached over with his other hand and pulled at the one attached to JongIn’s head. Immediately, both hands clamped down on YiXing’s and squeezed relentlessly. JongIn shifted, trying to lean his whole body into YiXing.

“No no no no please no…”

“Shhh, we’re okay, JongIn. We’re okay. I’m right here.”

Seeing how his right hand was trapped, YiXing rubbed up and down JongIn’s back, continuously muttering reassuring words. He couldn’t keep track of if he was speaking Chinese or Korean. He shooed away a stewardess when she stumbled up the aisle to ask if everything was alright. The people in nearby seats were staring warily at the two.

It was the longest descent YiXing had ever been through, trying to get JongIn to breathe. Tears stained his hands and knee, and his right hand was losing feeling, but YiXing kept up his ministrations. He held JongIn tighter when the plane jumped on the runway. Not until the plane had slowed down to taxi did JongIn slowly start to relax, finally slowly sitting up when the plane came to a stop at the gate.

He weakly shook his head and wiped his face at YiXing’s questioning look, choosing to look out the window at the dreary sky in silence instead. He didn’t budge when the rest of the passengers rose at once to retrieve their bags from the overhead bins. YiXing tugged at JongIn’s sleeve when it was their turn to get off the plane, and the kid pulled himself out of his seat.

He wouldn’t say a word or give a response to anything YiXing said, so YiXing gave up by the time they stepped outside to hail a taxi. The ride back to JongIn’s aunt’s house was unbearably silent. When the cab slowed to a stop outside of the house, JongIn shuffled a bit, grabbed his bag, and left with a muttered thanks. YiXing watched until JongIn had disappeared behind the front door, not looking back once.

With a sigh, he told the cabbie his own address.

Back at his apartment, he tossed his luggage in his bedroom and pulled out his phone, hoping there would be something there. A text from YiFan to reply whenever he landed; another text from BaekHyun to reply if he was up for catching dinner. YiXing ignored those and opened the conversation with JongIn.

< Hey… Are you okay? > He hit send before he could think about it. Of course JongIn wasn’t okay. He tapped out a second message. < I’m really sorry… >

He had no idea what he could be apologizing for. After waiting for about a minute with no reply, YiXing stood to unpack, tossing his phone onto his bed. A while later, when YiXing was reorganizing his toiletries, he heard the faint tone of a text message. He spun around to quickly retrieve his phone, swiping across the screen. JongIn had replied.

< Let’s just never do that again >

A/N: Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh you guyssssssssssssssssss-- The second plane ride was what started it all~ I was inspired for this scene back in April when I flew to ia. This is how long I've been waiting to write this momenttttttttttt------

Thanks for all the new subs and comments m(_ _)m I realized it'd been like, a month since I last updated, so I chugged really hard to get this out before another day passed.

Btw, this is what I had in mind when JongIn and YiXing were looking out the window at the clouds.

Yes, I take pictures of clouds while I'm on the airplane. They look weird, right?

I'm hoping things will pick up from here \o/ Thanks for reading, and look forward to the next chapter~!