I was never very healthy anyways.
A Corporeal Voice
Sehun is in a bad mood. Blame it on Jongin, who had dumped such a heavy load of blistering emotions onto him that he wanted to scream, cry, run away-- do something that would attempt to lessen the brute of the seething words.
But no, penned up within the four walls of his classroom, he is ultimately unable to do anything. Wearing yourself down in such a place is only possible with the state of your mind, not body. And the livid nature of the words spoken by Jongin course through his veins like a drug, making raw energy start to run wild inside of him-- a caged animal that was finally released, muscles twitching and waking up from the sudden sparks of life.
Now that isn't exactly the best thing to experience when you're trapped in a desk, in a room lit only by the overhead panels as the sky was a dull shade of cobalt, with twenty some other students who are listening to a teacher lecturing about something that genuinely disinterests you. How the Mayans fell to the ministrations of the Europeans isn't what Sehun would consider to be... enthralling. You may think differently, of course, and I respect that. But you're not the protagonist in this, now are you? Not that I don't value your opinions or anything, don't get me wrong.
Fingers drumming impatiently on the plastic surface of the desk, dark eyes can't help but dart back and forth in the large room, as if trying to spot out something, anything that can keep their attention occupied. He can't help it, still mulling over each singular letter that Jongin had dropped into rather messy lines that spelled out words that hurt Sehun more than they should've. They weren't directed at him, right? Because Jongin isn't real, right?
Right?
The fact that he has to keep asking himself that is unsettling. But he can't exactly go ask someone their opinion, no. Nobody wants to hear about a boy who could ultimately be insane; not even the therapists who deal with those sorts of occurrences. That means they have yet another nutcase on their hands, and therefor more work to do. But Sehun still argues over whether he is clinically a madman or not.
You see, Sehun hears things. Voices. They talk to him inside his head like his conscious would. Each of them talks about different things, sound different, and have different mindsets of their own. So he named them. There's Chanyeol, Yifan, Kyungsoo, Minseok, Joonmyun, Zitao, Baekhyun, Jongdae, Jongin, Luhan, and Yixing. Yixing is his favorite-- the one he enjoys listening to the most; the creative voice. But Jongin is unkind-- the voice that's always holding grudges and seething at someone, something, anything.
Now you probably think that he's insane. Who hears voices other than those who are mentally unstable?
He can't contain the quiet groan of aggravation that rumbles up from the back of his throat as he finds himself caught partially in reality and the rest of the way in his own head. There's nothing but the echoes of Jongin's words there. All of the other voices had retreated into the deepest crevices of his mind, leaving only the traces of a bitterness that shakes Sehun down to the marrow.
"Sehun?"
Something rouses him from the voice-induced pit of toiling anger, his mind and body back into reality, thoughts luckily left behind as his conscious fell back into its proper place behind his eyes. He honestly doesn't know if that's good or not. But as his body shifts, eyes drifting over to the source of the voice, he feels his features soften a little, letting out a relieved breath.
It's a girl no more than a month or so younger than him, someone his eyes have become accustomed to seeing more often than not. Wavy locks of ebony fan around her face, ghosting over rounded cheeks and daring to catch on fluffy lashes that frame eyes tinted the shade of warmed chocolate. It's a familiar, friendly face that Sehun doesn't mind answering to. There are too many faces that he sees that he isn't fond of.
Lowering his voice to nothing more than a whisper, he glances over again. "Yeah?"
"You alright?" a hand accompanies her hushed voice, fingertips grazing over the small of his back. He can only manage to nod a little as to prevent drawing any attention towards them-- he can already feel the eyes of several of their nearby classmates on them, unsettlingly.
"I'm sure the entire class would appreciate it if you would stop whispering to each other, Minah. Sehun. Or should I say lovebirds?" the teacher quips with a definite jeer in her voice. With such an interjection, Sehun can feel his stomach drop as everyone takes a fraction of their time just to look at them. He can practically feel all of their thoughts pile up over his chest-- some negative, some teasing, and some indifferent. But all unwelcome. He doesn't like having attention drawn to himself, preferring to stay as a bystander in the background even in his own mundane life. Standing out can give you negative attention-- something that he's practically terrified of.
Sehun has social anxiety disorder. He doesn't know how to react around most people, and even thinking, considering doing so makes him feel sick. People thinks he's weird for it. They think that his symptoms aren't real, that he's faking it. But in reality, his hands start to clam up and his heart rate increases and his head starts to spin and he overheats and-
He doesn't like social situations.
"Sorry, Mrs. Watters." Minah coughs awkwardly, looking less than amused by the way their teacher addressed them. It's not as if she's not used to being called as such, but it gets old after years of the same nickname that really doesn't apply to the two.
See, Minah is one of the few people who can put up with Sehun's antisocial tendencies. She's been doing it ever since they were in elementary school, and has kept up an immunity to his general gloominess all the way into high school, not stopping any time soon. He may not look it, but Sehun can be the sort of company that you don't want to see leave your house after hours of homework, studying, or even just talking. Minah knows this better than anyone else. Even as kids, when she'd have to pry words out of his mouth after their mothers forced them to go outside and play around, she felt somewhat lonely after he was brought back home later in the day. And that hasn't changed. If anything, they've gotten closer. So that's the main reason for their nickname; the awkward kid has a friend who is obviously joyed by his company. Simple as that.
Luckily for Sehun, the class continues without further discussion, their middle-aged teacher already delving back into a speech about the Mayans and how advanced their technology was at the time. He sighs. It doesn't take a genius to know that more than one of his classmates will jump right on the gun and about what happened, and probably spread rumors about it as well.
"Did you hear what happened with that Sehun kid and Minah in fifth hour..."
There it is.
Sehun only walks faster to avoid being noticed, hoping that his feet will carry him over the pavement and concrete steps, away from the school and to one of the few places where he feels at home.
Urban Blackout, a small music shop tucked between a café and used book store, isn't visited often by people other than the employees or college students who relish in the fact that they're certified hipsters. The ceilings are low, walls a shade of blue that nobody knows how to describe, floor covered in a carpet that's probably from the 70s, and the whole place reeks of incense and smoke from the cheap gas station cigarettes that Hyeri always stocks up on. It just seems trashy to those who don't appreciate it. Despite the low-budget looks of the place, the merchandise that Victoria (the owner of the place) buys are only the highest quality that she can get her hands on. That explains why the budget for the shop's appearance is so goddamn low.
Luckily for him, he either goes unnoticed by his classmates, or simply ignored, as he flees from the schoolyard. Either reason is welcomed by Sehun. If it keeps him from being in any potentially embarrassing moments, he'll accept the reasoning without much question, leaving a tiny thank you to lady fate before he scampers off. Call him a coward if you'd like, as he is one. And he knows that. Being able to hide away from society is a privilege that Sehun relishes in no matter how he's feeling.
As he walks along with his headphones clapped over his ears, Chanyeol crawls back out from the corner of his mind, chattering on and on about something that Sehun gets about 3% of. Not that he actually needs to understand what the excitable voice says-- the mere sound of the bellowing, cheery tone that he's come to be rather fond of is enough to settle his bristling nerves. Jongin and Chanyeol are so painfully unlike each other that he wants to laugh. How can he have two sounds in his brain that are so much like black and white? The same goes for Joonmyun and Luhan; caring and foxy don't go hand in hand often. The latter finds loopholes in everything while the former is an earnest creature who tries to be as honest as he can be. You would think that Sehun goes crazy from having such a crowded head. But oddly, he doesn't. He's too accustomed to his mind's roommates to care.
His gloved palm presses against the glass pane of the door, lightly forcing it open before slipping inside without another word, the only thing alerting any others of his presence being the bell above the door that sings pleasantly. It's heard over the gentle background of reggae that's flowing from a rustic boom box in the corner.
A head of red hair covered partially by a loose heather grey beanie pokes out from behind the counter, followed by a loud, "Sehunnie is here!" that makes said boy flinch from the sheer volume. Hyeri grins at him, cigarette wedged between two fingers as she waves with her free hand, dark eyes glittering behind plastic frames and prescription lenses. "Have fun at school?"
"Thanks for the warm welcome." Sehun states blandly, "And sure."
She groans in feigned exasperation, bringing the cigarette back to pink lips for a dramatic drag, "Sure?" Slinging his backpack off of bony shoulders, he drops it behind the counter, ducking under the awning of empty record sleeves before kicking the bag into a dusty corner within the wooden piece of furniture. He lets out a bored exhale.
"Sure." Sehun repeats as he shoots the woman a look of utter disinterest. The redhead looks ready to fire off a bitter tangent when a bellow from the other room shocks her into inhaling a huff of smoke.
"Sehun! I need your help!" He groans, but shuffles into the back room, dipping his head to properly fit through the doorframe, hands pushing away the strings of beads that are probably from the 90s. Hyeri blows out a ring of smoke after him, mumbling something along the lines of 'ing prude' that makes the teenager crack the smallest grin.
Walls lined with huge metal racks of both packed and unpacked cardboard boxes, uneven stacks of paper, and broken stereos, the room reeks of mothballs, but the stench is attempted to be covered up with smoke and cherry blossom incense. A coffee machine is perched on a stack of world dictionaries, covered in a layer of dust despite the fact that it's on and running. The table taking up the center of the room is occupied by both a large box and a woman with long, chocolate brown hair that cascades over the back of her metal-backed chair that's currently being tilted back haphazardly as one of her feet forces it back by pressing her foot against the rim of the table. Her face is buried in her printed copy of today's issue of The Onion, a Big Mac slowly being ripped apart by her rows of pearly whites, muffling her voice as she talks again.
"We have a new shipment." she manages to say between bites, other foot raising up to point at the taped-up box, "Go unpack it."
Had been any other person who made the demand, Sehun either would've refused or simply ignored it, but with it being Victoria who asked, he feels obliged to do as he's told. A woman of Chinese descent, fresh out of college, she's the proud owner of Urban Blackout and employer of three individuals, who prefers to be called Qian Song, but is addressed as Victoria Song due to the crude pronunciation of her given name here in America. It usually comes out as a butchered syllable that just makes her want to stamp the heel of her palm against her forehead approximately fifteen million times. Sehun will occasionally call her as such, and can't help but feel a rush of pride once she announces that he's pronounced it correctly.
Lanky arms wrapping around the box, Sehun hooks his fingers underneath, hoisting it up with a tiny sound of disgruntlement, already lumbering out of the break room when Victoria speaks. "Do you want the rest of this?" she waves around her cheeseburger without ripping her eyes from the newspaper.
"Ooh ooh! Me!" and Hyeri is off her in a heartbeat, free hand like a claw as it attempts to snatch the food, other hand still carefully holding her precious cigarette.
Sehun ignores the two without effort. The box is set down between two aisles of records and CD cases, and only then does he notice that Chanyeol has fallen silent, replaced entirely by the low-quality sound of the music that Hyeri had chosen for the day. He can't help but feel slightly disappointed. He misses the silly nature of the voice's words, the words that somehow lessen the shadow of expectation that lies heavily on Sehun's shoulders like a slumbering tiger-- disturb it and he'll be attacked by razor sharp claws and unforgiving teeth. Without his mind occupied by another, he feels a weird sort of loneliness that causes his own thoughts to echo inside his skull, painfully alone in the world of his subconscious. And it hurts to be in that state.
Groaning softly, he rubs at his eyes with a balled fist, crouching down and withdrawing his pocketknife before cutting the box open. The scent of the packaging center wafts up from the open niches between stacks of plastic cases, curling around his senses in attempts to calm him the same way Chanyeol had. He accepts the offer with a slow blink. His fingers grasp at the cases, pulling them out for better inspection and placement within the rows of CDs filling up the store. He settles on humming under his breath instead of moping around aimlessly.
The tune comes out as a drawl of Avett Brothers, and he thinks that nobody hears him until something prods his shoulder minutes later. Or rather, someone prods his shoulder.
It comes as a surprise to Sehun, a jolt sent up his spine as his brain starts to stumble over itself and the immediate conclusions he jumps to, shoulders bunched up and fingers gripping onto a random case as if it would protect him if he needed it. Wait, why would I need it? Brain, stop being paranoid. He tries to lessen the intensity of his grip as he finally looks at his company.
He's looking down the slightest bit at a man with short, mousy hair and cateye glasses framing optics the shade of brewing mocha, milky skin marked by an artful of freckles over the bridge of his nose and under his eyes, rosy lips naturally pulled into a sort of pout that has his plumper bottom lip fit perfectly against the upper. The thing that prodded him proves to be the slender finger of the man, short nails painted a sky blue that's chipping along the tips.
Sehun wants to say something. But his dumb brain is still rebooting from the initial shock of being roused from its musical lapse, leaving him speechless as he looks at the man almost emotionlessly.
He laughs sheepishly, "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I scare you?"
It takes Sehun far too long for him to actually process that he's being spoken to by the shorter man. Maybe it's the indent in the other's cheek that presented itself when he smiled that ultimately distracts him. Maybe it's the fact that he sounds eerily familiar as their voice trickles into his brain. But by the time his synapse manages to string together a rope of words that make sense, he's fairly certain that his company thinks he's either high or incredibly stupid. He might as well be either, or both. "W-what? No? I was just uh... startled. Mildly startled." he clears his throat with a of his lips. The man gives him a disbelieving look, nodding slowly as a raised brow starts to travel back down to its correct place.
"I was just umm, wondering what you were humming."
Oh.
Sehun continues to feel stupid as the hand of his watch crawls on. "Oh. Err. It was uh," he glances around him like a mouse trying to escape the clutches of a cat, spotting something that makes him lean in closer to the man than he would've liked. As he gets a hand on the album he was reaching for, he gets a whiff of warm spices and creamy vanilla that makes him reel back a bit jerkily, arm proceeding to shove the case in the man's face, "this. Track five."
The man gingerly plucks the case from Sehun's hand, looking it over with a soft gaze of curiosity as he mumbles something under his breath.
There's a moment of silence that has the taller of the two desperately trying to slip away into the back room. But before he can make a run for it, the man cracks a grin that spreads from ear to ear, dimple painfully obvious as he does so, nodding as he hands the case back to Sehun.
"I want this one." he states. Sehun makes a sound of agreement, already making his way to the counter because , never had the scent of spices and vanilla seemed so suffocating. He feels as if he's being crushed by thick tendrils of the inviting smell, life slowly milked from his body, leaving him a dull husk that can't differentiate the cash register from the glass top of the counter.
He successfully rings up the album, not daring to speak in fear of saying something off as the customer watches intently. That makes his skin crawl with pricks of heat. He doesn't like attention. Inhaling deeply, he finds himself holding a $10 produced from the man's pocket, and returning the change when the brunette insists on it. The pennies rattle against the plastic walls of the drawer as he drops them in. It's not as if they need any more change, especially pennies, but he didn't want to refuse the act of... generosity from the man. He doubts that his tongue would let him anyways.
Just as Sehun thinks he's been saved from any more interaction with the man, he's presented a hand held vertically. It takes him a moment before he realizes that the other is suggesting that they shake hands.
"Yixing." the brunette says with a grin, practically forcing Sehun to shake his hand. He resists the urge to rip his hand away in a fit of terror, settling for staring at the other for a while longer. There's a creeping sensation in the pit of his stomach that feels an awful lot like brewing nausea, disregarded as Sehun lets his tongue dart out to wet his lips again.
"Sehun." he speaks as steadily as he can. Yixing broadens his smile, slipping his hand away from the other's before nodding his head as if he's considering something.
"Well then, Sehun," he begins, putting emphasis on the two syllables, "thank you for helping me today."
"Oh, umm. Yeah. You're... welcome?.." Sehun speaks slowly and cautiously, not entirely sure what to say because wow, people usually don't talk to him. Or if they do, it's Victoria or Hyeri or Minah or Daehyun (his third and final coworker), not a totally random stranger. But the similarities between the man and the voice going by the same name make him seem not as foreign as maybe he should be. He feels as if he's talked to Yixing, this Yixing, before. Or are they the same Yixing? No, that can't work. That doesn't make any sense.
Yixing laughs as he turns his back to the counter, beginning to walk towards the door before he throws a glance back at Sehun from over his shoulder, "I'll see you around, yeah?" when the taller doesn't respond out of confusion, he grins, turning back a bit more, "Don't you work here?" Sehun nods, "Then I'll see you around. Expect me back here soon." he winks, turning back to the door. In seconds, his figure is behind the glass, lighting a cigarette before walking out of sight. Sehun finds himself trailing after him with his eyes, still standing dumbly at the counter.
"Wow, someone else is putting up with Sehunnie's !" a thump on his back rudely brings him out of his blank state. He groans, already attempting to swat Hyeri away before he looks down at the rowdy ginger, seeing that the cheeseburger had already disappeared within the time Sehun spent gawking at Yixing. But she doesn't let up, instead hopping onto the counter before taking a drag of her cigarette. "I'm surprised! Most people usually hate you by the time they leave!" snickering, she makes a point to blow a ring of smoke into Sehun's face, flicking ashes off to the carpet below them. "But he liked you!" she turns to face the direction of the break room, "Vic! Someone likes Hunnie!"
"Don't be so surprised." they can hear Victoria reply dully, followed by the sound of paper being flipped, "He's not always an antisocial idiot."
"Once a blue moon he actually uses his words."
"I think it's more like a full moon sort of thing."
"Wolfhun?"
"Got a nice ring to it."
"Can both of you shut up?" he grumbles, heading back to the box that he didn't get the chance to finish unloading, already blocking out any disturbances from Hyeri and Victoria. It becomes easier to do so when a familiar voice blossoms in his cortex.
"Don't you ever question how people treat you? Wonder why they talk to you differently than others, act oddly, or maybe do favors for you and not anyone else? Isn't it weird? The human brain is so complex when it comes to social affairs."
Sehun can't help the tweak of his lips that turns out to be a smile as soon as Minseok starts talking. Although the voice isn't his favorite, he loves listening to the detailed, liberal conversations that Minseok has with himself. Much like Sehun, he finds questions in everything, but doesn't bother to ask others, instead asking himself. Letting yourself become immersed in a calm debate an intelligent mind has with itself is a phenomenon that Sehun never wants to give up. It takes his own mind off of the questions he can't answer himself, instead making him concerned about matters that are eventually solved by Minseok's vastly understanding mindset. It may be unhealthy to ignore your own problems to focus instead on another's, but he can't bring himself to care. He was never very healthy anyways.
He falls asleep that night to the calming drawl of Jongdae's voice, wrapped up in white sheets and the scent of spices and vanilla. But he likes to think that the latter never happened.
Sehun doesn't think that Yixing will actually come back. Maybe he's in denial-- still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he could've very well met one of the voices in his head, in the flesh. It doesn't seem possible, no matter which angle he looks at it from. It doesn't make any sense.
As he stands with his back to the door, long arms above his head to tack up newspaper articles that Victoria ripped out, the teasing chime of the bell above the door goes unheard as the glass is pushed open, but a familiar voice manages to slip behind his eyes before washing away.
"Is he here?"
Sehun jolts to attention, knowing the voice all too well. It's Yixing. Is who where...?
Tilting his head back enough to get a better view of the rest of the shop, he sees a head of fluffy, light brown hair near the door that makes his body seize up on instinct. Yixing. He looks as if he's looking for someone, dark eyes skimming over the contents of the store before resting on Sehun. A smile lights up his face.
"There he is."
"Sehun!" Yixing waves, walking in further with a steady, calm gait that terrifies yet intrigues Sehun more than anything else. He knows he'll be forced to interact with the man-- having social anxiety makes that a big no no.
"O-oh. Hi." he coughs, stepping off the crate he'd been using as a stool to better reach the areas of the wall that are untouched. Sehun can practically feel the tendrils of the world market and vanilla reaching out for him, grasping onto his clothes and tugging him closer until Yixing is right in front of him, and would stand at about the height of Sehun's nose if there was absolutely no space between them (the thought makes his skin crawl from a sudden wave of heat). But all Yixing does is flash another grin.
"Do you work here everyday?" he inquires.
"Umm. Yeah...? Why?"
"No reason." the man singsongs before about facing, magenta backpack swinging at the action. He heads for the rows of CDs and records without another word. All Sehun can do is watch Yixing in bewilderment, trying to understand just how his head works as his own finds itself malfunctioning stupidly. , he hates this. Why can't Yixing just ignore him?
"I really like that album you picked out," the brunette comments knowingly, not glancing up as his fingers tab through the various columns of plastic cases, "How many of the Avett Brothers' releases do you have?"
Sehun takes a moment to try and recall just how many they do, but he's interrupted by a much louder voice.
"Three!" the dark-haired youth perched on the stool behind the counter calls over, thick lips pulled into a smile that makes Sehun want to punch the kid.
"Thank you!" Yixing calls back in the same fashion. Trying to stifle a laugh by pressing the back of his hand against his mouth, Sehun calls himself out for noticing that a new coat of violet paint is coloring Yixing's nails as his fingers curl into his palm, warm eyes upturned into happy crescents behind his glasses. He sighs under his breath, taking several strong strides over to the row that the other is standing in, a single hand plucking up all three albums without trouble. Hand extended to Yixing, he motions with his head towards them.
"These three."
Yixing nods in understanding, smile fading a bit as he reaches out to grab them from the taller of the two, examining them as he hums a tune that Sehun identifies as the song that he was humming yesterday. The brunette looks back up at him after several seconds, "Are they any good?"
"I, uh. Yeah? They're nice." Sehun coughs out as his hand ruffles the bleached hairs at the nape of his neck, tongue gliding over his lower lip as he tries to maintain no eye contact. He's sure that his mind would go into an emergency reboot if he attempted to look Yixing in the eyes, and it's already too uneasy from the eeriness of the whole situation to handle anything that might prove the other to be 100% real.
"Then I'll take 'em."
In seconds, Sehun is roughly shoving Daehyun off the stool, muttering something about food in the back room that has the ravenette scampering into the cramped area. He's ringing up the three items when a torn piece of paper is gently pushed across the counter, Yixing's distinctly plum nails very much obvious as they're pressed against the white parchment, as well as his warm scent that practically suffocates the blonde from the close distance. There's a number jotted down in pencil on the side facing Sehun. He unsurely lets his gaze drift from the paper to Yixing, mouth open as words are attempting to be sculpted by his tongue.
"That's my number." Yixing states with a small grin.
"I- yeah?"
"Yeah."
There's another moment of silence. Sehun states blankly at the sequence of three, three, four numbers separated by hyphens, not sure what he's supposed to do. His phone is mostly unused, except for texts and calls from Minah and his mom, upon occasion. Why is Yixing-
"You put that in your contacts under Yixing Zhang." said man clarifies, passing up three $10s before grabbing the three albums, making his way out without another word. Sehun wants to chase after him to-... why? Why do you want to chase after him? How ing stupid are you? Sehun Oh, get your together.
A loud wolf whistle makes him grasp at the edge of the counter so hard that his knuckles go white, fingers managing to catch the number before crushing it into his palm so that Daehyun can't grab it. Why, he can't say.
"Ow ow ow! Sehun is gettin' some! Damn!"
Sehun thinks that's the first time he's hit someone with the cash register's scanner.
From: Sehun Oh
To: Yixing Zhang
hi.
He's note quite sure why he does it, but he does. He likes to think that he was forced to by the sliver of his being that enjoys social interactions. But whatever the reason is, he finds himself staring at the message he just sent Yixing. It's midnight and he'd spent ten minutes just staring at the number, then around an hour going over the different ways this could go and whether he wanted it and-
His screen blinks. He blinks in return. It's a text from Yixing Zhang. Oh. Oh.
From: Yixing Zhang
To: Sehun Oh
I'm surprised you actually texted me ^^;
Sehun isn't sure whether he's offended or what, but he rolls with it rather experimentally. Even more so when he can hear one of the voices roused from their slumber. And especially since he knows this voice better than the rest-- the one he's still debating over whether the man he's texting is the same person. Why not see if it brings him to a conclusion he can follow?
"Not really sure where this conversation will go, honestly. Kid's got some... unique social skills."
From: Sehun Oh
To: Yixing Zhang
umm. was i not supposed to?
And he sends it with a little huff, sliding down into his blankets as one hand blindly feels around to switch off the lamp on his bedside table. He's plunged into a darkness that hugs him gently, the only lights left being the small screen of his stainless steel flip phone and the slivers of moonbeams shining from between his curtains, dancing over the worn wood of his floorboards like melted silver poured over them.
From: Yixing Zhang
To: Sehun Oh
Well I gave you my number for a reason. And the reason wasn't so I could track your number and stalk you, although that's a good idea too.
"Does he get jokes? Jesus I think I just scared him. . Ok."
Sehun isn't surprised when his phone buzzes again.
From: Yixing Zhang
To: Sehun Oh
I was kidding.
And so the night goes on with choppy replies and misunderstandings until Sehun finds himself passed out with his phone still in his palm, message box filled up with texts from Yixing that are all short questions about whether the blonde is asleep or not. Eventually he realizes that Sehun is either ignoring him or is actually asleep. Either way, it's probably a good idea for him to sleep. And he finds himself dreaming about teal-topped crowns of blonde hair and social awkwardness that he likes far too much for it to be healthy.
But Yixing was never very healthy anyways.
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