It’s Christmas Eve. The hustle and bustle all over the city vibrates through the thick walls of Zitao’s building, clacking footsteps crunch heavily on the snow covered pavements, arms filled with hundreds of gifts bouncing inside boxes, and strangers’ jolly smiles and greets of Merry Christmas to each other.

Zitao looks through his window, three floors above the chaos. He had always been in love with the city, mesmerized by it. People are packed on the street; coats and jackets shuffle in and out of stores, making a steady rhythm of the city buzz. Christmas lights and street lights blend together in a big mush of holiday glow, where giant displays of stars and Santa’s blink brightly against the hopeful smiles of children and those who are at heart.

Tonight, the city is even more beautiful, like a clean white canvas splashed with bright colors and glitter with the holiday décor and the people wearing patterns and layers of colors. It almost looks like a beautiful abstract – classic, in a way that it feels comforting to watch. Or maybe an art project from a three year old, showing it to his mom after school – messy, in a way that warms up a cold, tired heart.

Zitao sighs; inside his apartment is a contrast of the city outside. The walls are painfully white, reminding him of white canvases and a certain smile. His fists curl up and he feels an ache in his chest. Zitao thinks that maybe he’s having a heart attack, or a shock, or anything else just as long as he doesn’t have to feel the pain of a broken heart. He shuffles to the kitchen, feet heavy on white washed floors.

Zitao had always kept his wine in a wooden cabinet – it keeps the flavor fresh, as he likes to say – and his favorite glass in a wooden rack. He pours himself a glass and breathes heavily before gulping it down hard, red wine spilling on the corners of his lips and trickles to his chin. He pours another and another, and he already feels light headed by the third glass. The bottle slips out of his hand and rolls down the counter – a red puddle paints the white marble of his kitchen.

It’s a mess. But a familiar voice in Zitao’s head whispers the you looks artistic Taozi, and that the wine looks like blood but lighter, and the it’s a statement, can’t you see, and the don’t move, I’ll get the camera. Kris would trip over nothing, rushing to find the camera, to capture a moment that’s already been engraved into Zitao’s brain. Zitao laughs because he had always thought that Kris was crazy – taking pictures of anything and anyone that “makes a statement”, paints endlessly in white canvases and spills acrylic all over his shirt and wipes it with his smock that he shouldn’t worn in the first place, tells Zitao to paint the walls of his apartment white so each art work stands out strong, tells Zitao that he loves him and they’ll be together for the rest of their lives even though Zitao’s family disapproves of their relationship.

Zitao laughs harder at the last part of his thoughts; he should’ve known better to believe someone crazy.

In the background, chimes of bells and endless loops of Christmas songs laugh along with him, but then the white walls seem louder and heavier and fill the room with silence. Zitao falls to his knees, another reason why he liked the city was because of the idle noise, but tonight everything is lulled and Zitao has no choice but to hear his own tears fall.

It’s a miracle how a phone call from his dad and an ice cold shower brings Zitao in front of his tall mirror – clad in a crisp white shirt and dark grey jeans. He fixes his hair and dabs a little make up under his eyes, the cold shower eased the swelling but his eyes still look puffy from crying. He grabs his coat.. Memories of laughter and teasing reflect in his eyes – it’s Kris’ coat, the one that they bought in H&M, he reminds himself. Kris loved it but said it would be a waste of money because it was too expensive, Zitao had insisted and they had gotten into a fight in the middle of the store. But somehow they ended up buying it anyway, laughing when Kris suddenly breaks out his camera to take a snapshot of them walking out the store. For the memories, Kris had said, wrapping an arm around Zitao’s shoulder and flashing a bright smile.

Who would have thought that beautiful memories would bring a painful, sad smile on Zitao’s lips, maybe he’s a masochist for keeping the coat. Maybe he’s stupid enough to wear it tonight to his parent’s house. Maybe.. he just wants to feel Kris’ warm embrace, to drown in his scent, and to just be with him again.

His phone rings and an angry bright light flashes his father’s name, he presses answer.

“Be here in an hour, they’re here.”

“I’m on my way, dad.”

Zitao has always been in love with the city, he walks through snow covered sidewalks and feels the bite of the cold breeze on his face. It’s exhilarating in a way. He smiles, looking down on his shoes scratching against the snow and leaving marks. A beat of silence, everyone holds in a breath as they watch the snow fall from the starless skies, Zitao looks up from the ground and he sees something that glitters like stars but infinitely brighter. He takes a step closer, closer, like gravity pulling him towards. Kris turns, eyes wide and canvas clutched tightly in his arms, as if shielding himself from the pain. Or maybe hiding behind it.

Zitao plants his feet on snow, afraid that he’ll fall. Kris looks that same, Zitao figures that four months doesn’t really change how a person looks. He hopes that it doesn’t change a person’s feelings as well.

“I- uhm.. Hi.” Zitao gulps, his throat feels dry and his fingertips feel cold, but his heart is beating so fast that he’s sure the blood through running his veins are burning.

“Hi.” Kris smiles, his eyes turning into crescents, and hope drowns Zitao senses. Around them, people are in awe of the rains of snow, waiting for their loved ones, or just letting the time pass by with strangers in the beautiful night. Zitao just wants time to stop. Or go back to when he and Kris were still in love.

“How have you been?” Kris’ voice sounds scratchy, hiding the concern, snow clings to his hair and some on his eyebrows. Zitao imagines him painting in the corner of the white walls, fingers curled on a brush, lips in a hard line but eyes soft as he looks at Zitao for inspiration. Zitao’s chest feels heavy.

“I’m okay. I-” I miss you so much is what Zitao doesn’t say because this – seeing him – should be enough, looking at him should be enough but he knows it never is and it never will be. His chest thumps hard against his coat, everything feels warm and suffocating, his heart launches to his throat and he chokes on his words, tears fill his eyes. “Kris, I-”

A beat of silence, as if the time has stopped, the snow stops falling, a moment is frozen in time.

“It’s okay, Taozi.” Kris shushes him, finger placed softly on his lips because he knows it as well. “I miss you too.”

Zitao heaves in a breath and exhales his frustrations; he wraps his arms around Kris, burying deep in his neck, and letting the tears fall. The canvas digs through his ribs but he couldn’t careless, the pain in his heart swells. “I’m sorry, Kris. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

Kris pulls away, eyes glittering along with the lights, he drops his canvas and pulls Zitao in his arms; Zitao wraps his arms on Kris’ waist. They hold each other tightly, closing their arms harder and tighter, not wanting to let go. Zitao looks up and places his lips perfectly on Kris, his lips feel cold and dry but the tears makes their skin feel softer. Zitao whispers I’m sorry like a mantra on Kris’ lips because he can’t say I love you anymore, it’ll open up wounds barely healed, and break what’s left of his heart.

Another beat and the snow continue to fall.

Kris pulls away, lips swollen and eyes red, and maybe his heart a little more broken than before. “You have to go, Zitao. Aren’t they waiting for you?”

“I don’t have to go. I can stay if you want me to..” Hope fills Zitao’s senses, creeping in his veins and then clouding his mind, telling him that this is a good idea. That he and Kris can be together, he’ll work as a Wushu instructor, he’ll help Kris sell his paintings and they’ll live in Kris’ small loft downtown. And it’ll be okay that they’ll share ramen for two nights a week because they’ll be together. They’ll be in love. But–

“You have to go, Zitao. It’s over between us, remember?”

Zitao can feel the cold wind biting his cheeks and making the tears streaming down his face sting. He steps back, clutching on his coat tightly, grabbing on to a memory of Kris while the actual person fades away with the bright lights of the city that Zitao loves, gone like a faded picture – leaving memories without proof.

It's Christmas Eve and the pavement is sleeping under blankets of snow, snoring softly whenever a careful rush of wheels pass through to come home to eggnogs and storytelling. Snowmen and snowangels guard the lawns, the front yards, and the sidewalks while everyone else is around strong arms to keep them warm, some behind soft whispers of thank you, and others under mistletoes for kisses that say I love you.

Tonight, the fire of the city light is more of a flame - softer, more inviting - the people walk slower, hands held tighter. Snow crunching under heavy soles lead to intricate blades carving patterns on ice. Oranges and reds, soft pinks and purples smudges color on its cold white canvas. Everything and everyone is beautiful under freckles of snow and perfect snowflakes.

Tonight, everything and everyone is happy.

In upper town, Christmas carols are played softly on a piano, caviar is served on silver platters, and gold decorations fill the room. Tonight is a celebration. Zitao toasts with his family and a few other strangers, posing a hard smile, hands curled in a beautiful wine glass and the other holding on to the hand of his fiancé.

a/n: aaaand im so sorry this took so long TT omg moving is horrible for my schedule. i hav a few more drafts but i rly dnt have the time to finish them. im sorry TT but il try my best. i hope everyone had a wonderful holiday (i know i didnt TT) also advanced happy new year!