Bullets of sweats trickled down his delicate pale skin, a pair of eyebrows tightened and lowered as memory that he had tried hard to leave behind flooded his mind yet again, forehead marked with lines of creases and eyelids trembled. His eyes eventually pricked open and a white painted ceiling greeted him.

Body pierced as he tried to sit upright. With the palm of his hand firmly pressed on the mattress, Yixing slowly sat upward albeit the pain that sprinted its way all over his being and leaned his back against the head of the bed. It was then that he finally noticed that he was no longer in his black shirt. He was in fact shirtless with only his black jeans covering the lower region and his body was covered with bandages. A gentle touch on one side of bandage covered area and he winced. A sigh escaped his slightly parted lips.

When he let his eyes wandered and he was met with coffee-colored curtains, sun rays sipping through the small gap in between the clothes, that was when he came to the realization that he was in an unfamiliar room, lying on a bed that was not his and the bandages around his body was in fact a work of someone else. Must be a meticulous he assumed, judging from how precise and delicate the white material was wrapped around him.

The guy then perched on one side of the bed, the ball of his feet meeting the cold tiles causing shiver ran down his spine. Yixing then stood up, feeling sore here and aching there. He opened the door to the room and let himself out with a slow pace and cautious steps.

Save for the single couch, the living room was as empty as that of a new place. It was as if the owner just moved in but the battered state of the couch told him otherwise. Papers scattered around the room and when he took a closer look to one in the pile, it turned out to be a drawing. As a matter of fact, all of the papers were of drawings and of what, he didn’t exactly know. All drawings were of graphite – gray and crystalline, ordinary and beautiful to the eyes.

But the more he observes, the more he noticed the familiar buildings drawn, but it was not the buildings that aroused his interest, the people were. Every drawing had figure drawn on them. One looking in despair, the other was looking like it was crying. One looked as if it was screaming, and the other was that of a child, looking lost in the sea of shadows.

Just when Yixing was about to grab another piece of drawing, the front door was pushed open and in walked another guy, who had his head covered with the hood of his jacket. When he pulled down the hood and peeled away from the source of his warm, was then that Yixing could finally witness at least the profile of his savior.

He had a fair skin, sharp jaw line, straight-edged nose, high cheekbones that complemented his feature, and through his well-trained eyes, Yixing could see the long eyelashes as they slightly touched the skin under his eyes. The guy’s raven-black hair was long, but not longer than his own, and the strip of hair down the side of his face was longer than it should be.

His savior locked the door and trudged his way to the kitchen, still unaware of the pair of eyes that followed his every movement. It was when he walked out of the kitchen, a glass of water in hand and few pills inside his other palm that his savior finally realized that the guy he had saved the previous night was there at the living room, on his two feet. The once very pale skin resembling a white piece of paper had slowly turning its colour and the once black-and-blue marks around his face had turned to a shade of light purple.

Doesn’t look like a Chinese, Yixing made a mental remark as his eyes secretly explored every inch of the face of his savior.

The glass he was holding almost slipped from the male’s hand, saved by his fast reflex, as his body jerked at what greeted him. He didn’t expect for the guy to actually be awake that soon, let alone standing on his two feet, considering how deep the cut he had on one side of his body. “You’re awake,” he stated. His voice was barely above a whisper but the complete absence of sound in the room made his voice loud enough for Yixing to hear.

The accented words that escaped his savior’s lips confirmed Yixing’s assumption that the male was indeed not Chinese. “You saved me.” By the tone of his voice, his savior knew that the guy was not asking a question and that he was stating a fact but he gave his answer nonetheless.

“Yes,” he answered. Their eyes stayed with each other’s in what seemed like a lifetime.

“Why?” came a single word question from the other male. His voice was indifferent, his eyes were void of emotion and his expression was unreadable.

“Conscience,” his savior simply answered. He too had an unreadable expression painted across his face and Yixing couldn’t stop himself from thinking of what thoughts could the guy possibly had in his mind at the very moment.

“Here, a painkiller,” the other male’s voice pulled him out of his train of thoughts, handing one of the painkillers in his palm and the glass of water in the other.

When his savior lowered his gaze, he could only see scars and stitches covering the male’s body, big, small, long, short, as if they were some sorts of tattoos that were engraved all over his skin. The guy inwardly flinched. He had seen them, up-close even, when he was trying to alleviate the guy’s injuries the previous night but he still couldn’t help but feel unpleasant at the sight. What did he do to receive such treatment? Then he remembered the fragile form he saw last night.

It was past midnight. The night sky was of dull black, dark and starless. Only the sound of the blowing of wind interrupted the otherwise silent night and he pulled the jacket around his body even closer for warmth of comfort. Not one figure could be seen, not even a single silhouette, until his shoulder collided with someone else’s slightly. His body jerked at the sudden contact. The other person brushed past him then but when he had just started with his step again, a loud dully, heavy sound could be heard and he instinctively turned around.

What greeted him was certainly not what he had expected. He had witnessed something worse than this -- a person caught on fire, a lady falling off a building -- but he had never seen any of the horrible mental images with his own two eyes. There, lied a person, stone dead, rosy-red coating the asphalt as blood seeped endlessly from one side of the man’s body.

He stayed rooted to the spot, contemplating. What good would it give you to save someone else’s life? His mind asked. Maybe this is the time you can finally save someone’s life, another side of his mind convinced. He then chose to listen to the second voice in his head.

He swallowed; preparing himself for whatever that followed after two fingers came in contact with the skin of the man’s wrist. He ignored the mental images that vividly running around in his head, the growing lines across one side of his face and body and the changing color of his right eye as he checked on the man’s pulse. It was beating, though slower than a normal pace but it was beating.

Another set of vision invaded his mind as he hauled the man up, putting his arm around his shoulder and his own around the small back of the other male. When the streetlight illuminated the male’s face was then that he finally witnessed the bruises on his face but beneath the bruise-covered visage, he could see a beautiful face that he was sure belongs to an angel if not for the beat-up look.

Scars. Scars everywhere. He ran his finger along the slapdash lines. It pained him to see someone with such beautiful face and delicate body to be tainted with hideous cicatrix, scars, marks; whatever one could call it as.

Without a word, Yixing stretched out his hand, palm facing upward as his savior let the pill fall to the open palm. When their fingers brushed slightly as Yixing took the glass of water, the other male’s eyes widened and pulled his hand a little too quickly, disappearing into the kitchen in just a few seconds. Yixing didn’t miss the yellow glint that flashed on one of the other male’s eyes before he blinked them away. One of Yixing’s eyebrows rose but the guy decided to just brush it off.

Yixing then plunked the pill into his mouth and almost immediately the bitter taste of the medicine took over his taste bud, face contorted as he swallowed and he downed the water in one breath to get rid of the bitterness.

The other guy had swallowed a pill of his own and the throbbing ache had left his head, though not completely but enough to make him to stop trying to land another strike to his head again.

“I need my shirt,” Yixing asked when they finally came face to face again. The guy however didn’t give him an answer as he walked off to somewhere instead. When he came back, a maroon colored sweatshirt was in his hand, neatly folded.

“I haven’t washed your shirt yet. Just wear mine,” his savior offered and Yixing took it, ignoring the question that swirled inside his head. Why is his arm so thin, he couldn’t help but wonder.

Ignoring his body’s cries of pain, Yixing managed to put on the cloth. Immediately, warm embraced his whole being and the feeling of bliss that he hadn’t felt for so long welcomed him. One corner of his lips twitched and he had to swallow for his lips to not curl up. It was not the time to let his guard down, not in front of someone he knew nothing of.

They stood still for a few more moments, facing each other, not a word being uttered until Yixing broke the silence that lingered in the room seconds ago. “What’s your name?” he asked in a blunt manner.

“Kim Jongdae.”

“A Korean,” Yixing stated. His savior whose name was Kim Jongdae didn’t utter a word in return. Yixing’s face then plastered with that of an angry expression as he turned to the direction where the front door was and spoke with voice that laced with anger, “Next time don’t bother helping someone you don’t know.”

He didn’t know why he was enraged towards the other male. Maybe it was not the fact that the male had put himself in danger of saving someone he barely knew that boiled the inside of Yixing. Maybe it was the fact that Yixing had almost gave in to his inner self, almost showing his true color that he had buried deep inside him just because someone named Kim Jongdae had save him (because of conscience he might add) that irked him. He never again wanted the past to repeat itself.

Jongdae wanted to stop the guy. He had drawn out his arm just to pull it back to his side as he realized what he was about to do. He had almost put himself in a situation that he had strong aversion to. Stopping the guy from doing whatever he was going to do because he will be in danger would not be the best idea. What would he say if he was to answer a question that had been asked to him every time he told people something they didn’t know of. Telling him that he could read the future? The guy would probably think he was being ridiculous. He might call him a freak, a hideous monster.

The slamming sound of the door was like a hard slap across his face. He wasn’t supposed to know someone’s future. He didn’t even know what his future would be. He might sleep tonight and never woke up again tomorrow. He might be robbed the second he came out of his little haven, though there was clearly nothing to be robbed.

Kim Jongdae. Left at an orphanage when he was just brought out to the world, with only a paper attached to him with his name written on it. He, who bore no idea of who his parents were, who doesn’t even know why he was born to be the way he was, grew up as nothing but a freak. It was a curse was the first thing that came to his mind when he just turned five. A monster they say. No one wanted to befriend an abnormal person, he stated, but the head of the orphanage loved him, showered him with care and gave him equal attention as, if not more than, the children at the residential institution, and he could feel at the very least, even the slightest bit of hope to live, but after the eighteen autumn, he had to move out of the place and lived on his own and his world then revolved around nothing but solitary and misery. He traveled from one place to another, meeting different people but receiving the same treatment every time, eventually setting foot on the Island of Hong Kong and decided that he might want to stay a little longer than planned.

Jongdae had a natural aptitude in art. As a child, he loved to draw random things that appeared in his head on every blank space that he could find, be it paper or be it wall – which resulted him getting scold by the head of the orphanage he lived in. That talent of his became such a big role in his life, helping him in a way that his head wouldn’t blow up from the constant images. Papers and pencils became his companion, always there when he needed to get the disturbing images out of his head. His hand will work itself around the paper, the graphite of pencil producing grayscale sketches. It surprised him the first time he drew out of the image on a piece of paper as it disappeared from his head as soon as he finished. He draws all of them out since then.

Jongdae used to try touching his own skin at a tender age of ten, to test out if he could read his own future, if the images of his future would flash inside his head but to no avail. When he thought back of what he did, he couldn’t help but to laugh at himself for being foolish. What could a ten year old know anyway?

Fifteen year old Jongdae grabbed the arm of a girl that brushed past him and his ebony coloured orb turned to that of golden yellow colour, black lines that resembled roots grew vertically along one side of his face. “Please just listen to me,” he begged with so much effort. “You can’t go to that place. You’ll die.”

The girl let out a scoff and pulled her arm away with a jerk from Jongdae’s weak grip. “Don’t be ridiculous!” she spat. “ Just stay away from me, freak!”

If only the girl would listen.

He once heard the saying of ‘treat people the way you want them to treat you’ and he did just that. He helps people. He was nice towards everyone that he came across but what did they do? What did he get in return? They treated him like a trash, like some kind of animal—or maybe worse. After all they’re merely words.

The vision he had of the guy was distinct in his mind but he refused to draw it out on a paper, although it was disturbing, but somehow he felt scared. Scared to know that it will definitely happen. Though he didn’t exactly know when it would be as the vision that flashed inside his head wasn’t always in sequence, sometimes the second one happened prior to the first. It was too painful to know someone’s dark future, feeling helpless, without knowing how to stop it from happening. If he could prevent such thing to happen, he would do it. He would do it no matter what it takes.

“Where the hell have you been, Lay?” A guy gnashed his teeth straight to his face when Yixing finally revealed himself at the warehouse, or what they called as the secret base, still wrapped in the warmth of Jongdae’s sweatshirt.

“That bastard Li had his people beat the out of me. One of them even managed to stab me,” he answered in a calm tone of voice despite the unpleasant rough of his words, unperturbed by the grim expression of the other man that stood before him. His expression then changed to that of pain as the wounded area stung, as it seemed like the affect from the painkiller had worn off.

“How the did they even know your face? Didn’t I tell you to never reveal yourself to your victims?” the man growled and his voice echoed in the empty warehouse.

“I didn’t show my face so how am I supposed to know?” Yixing snapped then, daring himself to look at the guy with eyes full of menace.

“I won’t accept it if your face show up on the paper—“

“I had killed all of them,” Yixing cut off the words of his leader brusquely.

“Good.” The leader had a smirk formed on one corner of his lips before it disappeared and was replaced by a dour expression. “Now, I have a new mission for you.”

Another tycoon had been found dead at his residence and another four people at an empty warehouse that was believed to be working under the said tycoon was what greeted him upon looking at the newspaper for the day.

That was the thirtieth report of homicide that he had read over the year of his stay at the island of Hong Kong. The victims were said to be murdered by the same person, with the very same method and a cloth, probably a handkerchief with an identical mark was left on every one of them, as if the murderer purposely left a clue for the authorities to figure out who exactly they were, as if it was some sort of a game for the police to solve. The culprit was like a ghost, disappearing without a trace (except for the curly symbol that bore a resemblance of the letter L), no evidence could be found, and Jongdae just hoped that this dangerous person would be caught in the near future and be punished for his crime.

The throbbing in his head didn’t seem to want to leave anytime soon, and it didn’t help that the images of the guy from few days ago kept invading his mind like a reminder of some sort. He put back the newspaper and walked away from the newspaper stand. His eyes shut as he pressed a finger on one side of his head, hoping to ease the pain but failed miserably. His feet just moved on its own accord and before his brain could even process to where his feet had brought him, he was met with a group of people, probably five in number. Through the darkness of the alleyway, with only a little light from the sun, Jongdae could make out their appearances and they screamed thugs or better yet called as hooligans as they seemed to be in their early twenties.

“Well, well, well, who do we have here? A little lost, kid?” one of them sneered, smug smile playing around his lips.

Out of fear, Jongdae abruptly spun around and all of a sudden he felt the world around him spun, translucent white dotes floating around like burst of bubbles. But before he could even move a limb, a hand grabbed his shoulder roughly and harshly, yanking him and he was slammed against the bricked wall with a great deal of force resulting a fresh pain to shoot up his back.

His iris turned a golden yellow as a punch landed across his jaw. Images streaming through inside his head, obfuscate and hazy as his mind went haywire, as if the inside of his head was in chaos and out of control. Another strike to one side of his face and asymmetrical lines slowly grew from every direction possible along one side of his face to the brink of his fingers, resembling veins but instead of greenish, they were black. “What the ?” one of the violent young troublemakers cursed as he saw the slowly forming lines on Jongdae’s face. “What are you? Some kind of a monster?” A kick on the gut had his body bent forward and a whimper inevitably escaped his bloody lips. He received another blow on the ribs and that was it. All energy drained out of him as his small frame fell to the ground.

But before the hooligans could assault him more, a dagger flew out of nowhere and a blade stabbed right towards one of the hooligans’ arm. A cried of pain echoed in the narrow passageway.

“Who’s there?” One of them bellowed as if the person responsible would answer his question. Only silence answered him instead. No footsteps could be heard when all of a sudden another one of them was knocked out, lying limp on the ground. Cries and groans reverberated as two of them were smashed against each other, meeting the floor a second after. Another one was punched on the gut and was kicked on the shin before he collided with the wall, knocking him into unconsciousness.

Through bleary eyes, Jongdae tried to make out the face of the figure that was standing few centimetres away from where he had his body slumped. With the help of the little light that shone to one side of the guy, Jongdae could see the profile of the man and a word slipped out of his lips as a sense of recognition swarmed into him. “You…” then the world around him was into the darkness and everything went complete black.

He could feel himself breathing again and slowly he opened his eyes. As he sat up, the aching in his head had thankfully subsided, he looked around the small room and instantly recognized the room to be his, but how did he end up here when as far as he could remember was he being punched on the face and receiving a blow on the gut. He vaguely remembered seeing a figure loomed out of the darkness before he fell unconscious. So the person who saved him brought him to his apartment? But no one knew of his home except—

The door to his room opened, revealing the man in question, which automatically validated his guess. The guy had a soft look plastered across his face but it was taken off as soon as he realized Jongdae was wide-awake, looking at him with expression full of questions. Jongdae noticed the other male was garbed in black clothing like how he was few days ago – black V neck long sleeves shirt and black skinny jeans – and he wondered if the guy liked the colour black.

“You—“ his voice came out hoarse. “Did you—“ Jongdae stammered, not exactly knowing what to say.

“I didn’t know a person that likes to involve in danger exist,” Yixing remarked, looking at Jongdae with inexplicable expression. Oh, the irony. He knew he has no right to give such comment for the words should be directed to him instead but Yixing couldn’t care less about himself. Zhang Yixing had died a long time ago; he had died along with his family, Yixing had long gone with his home that was burned down, leaving only remnant of ashes.

Overwhelmed by the feelings of hate and revenge, Yixing had forgotten the real purpose of his life. His dreams were vanished when his world crushed down. To revenge the death of his family, his parents, his one and only brother – that was his only purpose. He was barely in his youth, merely twelve when he witnessed his parents being murdered – shot on the heads – and his brother burned in the fire. It was a miracle that he survived. Maybe God gave him a reason to live, for him to avenge the murder of his parents and the death of his brother, at least that was what he believed.

“What—“ Jongdae swallowed, somehow feeling rather small under the gaze of the other male. “What do you mean?”

“Saving someone and now getting beat up? What’s next? Fall off a building? Drown yourself?” He felt the inside of him boiled, out of anger? Out of concern? He didn’t know. Yixing wasn’t capable of feeling anything else other than hatred. His emotions never waver. He adept at controlling everything and the unwanted feelings had been long thrown away into the deep of the bottomless pit of his being but now everything quivered in a way that he couldn’t comprehend, and slowly every feeling and emotion -- love, empathy, pity, tenderness, sorrow, solicitude -- just every single thing were dug out of its hiding.

“Is it wrong to save someone?” Jongdae asked, voice weak and eyes weary. “And I never asked to be beat up,” he protested, trying to look stern but unsuccessful.

No, it’s not wrong; Yixing said in his head but rather than voicing his thought out loud, he opted to say something else instead. “The world where we live in isn’t as innocent as it looks. Humans are sadistic and self-centered; they’re full of themselves. You think people will appreciate your help?” he let out a snort. “They will end up wanting more. Everything is never enough in this cruel world.”

“But you didn’t ask for more when I help you, did you? And why did you help me then? What if I’m one of the sadistic and self-centered humans that are full of himself? What if you’re actually involving yourself in danger for saving me?” Jongdae questioned, standing up and daring himself to look at the other guy in the eyes.

“You’re not just any human,” Yixing simply answered, letting his words float in vagueness.

Jongdae stilled on his spot, lost in thoughts of the probable meaning of the other guy’s words. Different kind of answers spiraling inside his head. Don’t tell me… his mind started and his words trailed away and his eyes grew in size then as one answer stamped in his mind. His legs then moved, backing away as he vocalized his speculation. “You…you have seen my…my other…f-form.”

Yixing let his legs followed that of Jongdae’s. “And what? You despise it? You despise your other form?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Why wouldn’t I despise the creature that had cause nothing but misery in my life? Tell me why I shouldn’t feel contempt towards myself. Tell me!” That was it. That was the last straw and Jongdae let himself screamed, screamed at the top of his lungs. He couldn’t understand why the other guy could be composed over such thing.

“Because that’s what makes you Kim Jongdae. You wouldn’t be Kim Jongdae if you’re not like that.” By now Jongdae had his back against the wall, trapped between the other’s long arms. Yixing had the palm of both his hands planted on the wall, hovering, and a pair of eyes boring into that of the other’s. He had no idea what he was doing, as if his body just went on autopilot – every action was on impulse.

His heart hammered against his chest as Jongdae looked at the guy in the eyes, pitch-black irises welcomed him and all he could see was emptiness in them and it somehow triggered his curiosity but he brushed it aside. Putting on a brave demeanor, Jongdae pushed the guy on his chest and walked out of the room to the small of his kitchen. Inside his head, flashbacks from years ago from when he was still a child appeared, playing like some sort of filmstrip. It was clear, as if it just happened a day ago. All the words rang in his ears, the harsh and painful words and he felt as if his head was about to explode from all the memory.

“Sit,” a voice sounded behind him, hands firmly pushing him down by the shoulders to the chair before him. A glass of water was then placed on the table in front of him. He took it and downed the crystal liquid.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. The other guy didn’t say a word and when Jongdae turned, he was already on his way out of the kitchen. Jongdae cleared his throat before he spoke. “You haven’t tell me your name,” he said, a little louder this time.

Yixing halted his step and turned around slightly as he expressed, “We are better off not knowing each other.” In an instant, Jongdae was already on his feet, running to the other guy, grabbing him on the wrist, effectively stopping him from making further movement.

“Why?” Jongdae asked, suddenly feeling nervous of finding out the answer. His eye flashed before it fully turned yellow and the lines appeared again. Jongdae flinched. Yixing didn’t seem to mind of the changes though. He didn’t shudder away like how people would react whenever they saw him changing into a hideous monster as what he was usually described as.

When his skin met the other, a mental image of the future flashed in his head, a handkerchief that had the symbol that resembled L embedded on it, the one that he had seen from the newspaper, was thrown to the dead body, and his eyes grew two times bigger then. He looked up to meet the eyes of the person before him. His lips trembled as he spoke, “You—you killed people. You—Plea—“ his voice trailed away as his chest suddenly clenched and a lump formed in his throat out of nowhere. “Please tell me what I saw was wrong. Please tell me that you’re not the one that is responsible for the death of the businessmen. It’s not true right? Maybe I saw it wrong—“

Yixing raised an eyebrow before he pulled his arm away from Jongdae’s firm grasp, and the curly lines along half of Jongdae’s face and body dwindled and disappeared at one point. Yixing’s expression then hardened. “It’s none of your business.” His voice came out low and it was laced with something, perhaps anger.

"But--"

Yixing then turned around, the front of his body fully facing the other male now. “Jongdae,” he started, stopping the guy from uttering more word. “It would be better if you keep your distance from me,” he continued then.

“What if I don’t want to? What if I refuse to stay away from you?” Jongdae told him, his voice went an octave higher without him realizing.

"Jongdae--"

Not willing to listen to the guy’s words, Jongdae interrupted him. “You’re the first person and maybe the only one to see me indifferently. You didn’t even call me a freak after you saw it. You—“ he then let out a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding. “I just—please, just—“

“You won’t get anything good out of me,” Yixing said in a deadpan tone. He knew well enough that he indeed had nothing good to offer. He already had a miserable life himself, and letting someone walk into his messed up life would be like asking someone to walk with him in hell.

“You’re a good person. I know you are—“

“I kill people for a living,” Yixing reminded with emphasis, hoping to knock some sense to the other guy. “And you know that.”

“You have reasons for that. I know you do. People don’t just simply kill for nothing.” Jongdae stated. The initial wish he had for the killer to be captured was forgotten in an instant.

"Look--"

“I know this is selfish, but can we be friends? Brothers? Please? I promise I won’t get on your way.” It was simply ridiculous. Jongdae didn’t even know why he was making such request – forcing someone to become his friend. It was pathetic, really. But somehow, his heart lightened up whenever he was came face to face with the other guy, and whenever he was met with the black eyes, he could feel a slight prickling in his heart, and everything seemed to be excellent, that everything in his life was perfect even when every inch of his fiber knew very well that his life will never be fine.

The ice around his heart slowly melted into a puddle of water and somehow the black paint on the wall of his heart faded into its original color. But when ego took over one’s mind, nothing can be done and Yixing turned around yet again and responded Jongdae’s request with a “no”.

“Let me ask you one question then,” Jongdae voiced out from behind him. He took the silence and halted movement as a sign for him to continue. “Why did you stay here? Why did you wait for me to wake up when you can just leave after you brought me here?” Yixing opened his mouth to answer but then Jongdae noticed the once scattered papers were now neatly arranged on his worn out couch so he beat him to it, “And why did you even bother arranging that papers?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.“ What a bull excuse, Yixing felt like hitting his head on the wall. Well, he already did inside his head.

Jongdae snorted incredulously, “Don’t give me a bull answer.”

Yixing had had enough. The other guy was clearly trying to push his limit and he succeeded at that.

Jongdae didn’t know how it happen but he was pushed to the wall, back hitting the high vertical surface roughly as he was for the second time being trapped in between those long arms. “Okay then. So what do you want? You want to be my friend?” Yixing demanded in a harsh tone of voice and Jongdae swallowed. “Fine. Be my friend. Welcome to hell,” the guy finished and pulled away.

Although the words came out harsh, a small smile still made its way to Jongdae’s face. First friend after twenty-one years of living. “So, what’s your name?” His voice was unusually cheery as the question rolled out of his tongue. His eyes turned a crescent-shaped as his lips unconsciously curled up into a smile.

Yixing raised his eyebrow in response, inwardly questioning the guy’s sanity. He couldn’t even believe Jongdae could smile through his awful life.

“What? You just agreed to be my friend so it’s normal for me to ask your name,” Jongdae reasoned, the grin around his lips didn’t falter even the slightest bit.

“Yixing. Zhang Yixing,” Yixing finally introduced himself. Telling someone his name, to Yixing, meant letting someone walk into his life, temporary, if not completely. It was as if he just let Jongdae sauntered into his life through a smooth path, with no hurdles, not even a storm to pass, even opening the door for the guy to enter. That name had been buried for as long as he could remember, not even the people he work for, or work with knew of his real name, so why did he tell Jongdae his real name, the name that was given by his parents, the name that reminded him of his past that he had been long trying to forget? Yixing didn’t know the answers.

As much as he wanted to get out of Jongdae’s little haven, Yixing found himself sitting in the two-seat dining table across from Jongdae inside the kitchen, eating instant noodles that the latter had cooked for the both of them. It took five minutes of Jongdae’s long, high-pitched petulant complaint for him to agree to the said male’s request to eat with him. A sigh of defeat escaped his lips as he let himself fell down on the wooden chair.

He had found out that Jongdae sold his drawings for a living. Every once in awhile the owner to the shop he sold his drawings to would give him a canvas and asked him to draw anything that he had in mind. He didn’t make much out of them but it was enough to make him last for a few days before another request was made.

The drawings were of his vision – in other words, the life of others -- but since the shop owner never ask him question regarding his drawings, thus he too never told the owner the little secret, of the story behind the pictures.

Yixing also found out that it was the owner that had helped Jongdae with his mandarin, giving him some guide books and Korean-Chinese dictionary for him to learn, at least the basics and since Jongdae was a fast learner, he had mastered most of the Chinese words over the year, though his accent was not even close to that of native.

Jongdae on the other hand discovered that Yixing turned out to be a year older than him. That was the only information he could obtain from the other guy and he didn’t press him further into telling him for fear it might put a strain in their newly develop friendship slash brotherhood. And he had convinced himself that if the guy was ready to tell him anything, he will and Jongdae would surely be there to listen to him.

“Yixing,” Jongdae’s voice sounded suddenly, breaking the silence that enveloped the room just a second ago.

The younger of the two had refused to call Yixing with ‘hyung’, which was usually used in Korea to call someone who is older, or even ‘gege’ the mandarin version for reasons he didn’t want to voice out.

The said guy just hummed in response, face downcast as he ate his noodles (or play with the soup with the chopstick).

“Yixing,” Jongdae called the older again.

The other male just replied him with a hum again, as if telling Jongdae that he was listening and that he wanted the latter to continue what he wanted to say.

"Yixing."

The said guy had his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance then and whipped his head up to look at the other guy. “What?” he snapped, his face contorted with irritation.

“Nothing. Just wanted to call your name,” Jongdae’s lips stretched into a smile and Yixing wanted badly to wipe that annoying-yet-captivating smile off of his face.

“I swear if you say my name again—“ Yixing’s warning was cut off midway by Jongdae who had a grin that resembled a Cheshire cat on his face.

“What? You’re going to leave me?” Jongdae asked and a snort followed afterwards, as if challenging the guy.

Wordlessly Yixing stood up, face plastered with that of a scowl while his hand holding the empty bowl. Jongdae’s eyes widened as thought of Yixing was offended by his words, of Yixing being angry and Yixing being serious about leaving him sprang to his mind. “Yixing—“ his word earning a glare and he stammered then, “I mean— you— I mean— eh what am I suppose to call you then?” the question came out as a whine and Yixing had to fight the urge to double over and burst out in laughter because of how Jongdae looked at the very moment.

Yixing cleared his throat after he put the bowl down in the sink and with an impassive expression on his face, which masked his amusement, he spoke, “Jongdae—“ he called out but the said guy just continuously wailing -- Korean words spluttered out of panic and Yixing had no clue of what the guy was saying -- that Yixing’s voice was drown out of his auditory perception. “—I’m not going to leave you,” he finished and the words sort of magically entered Jongdae’s ears and the latter instantly went silent.

“What?” Jongdae finally asked after he came back to his senses. Did he just hear it right? Yixing won’t leave him? Yixing will not walk out of his life? He will stay?

“You heard me,” Yixing uttered in a deadpan manner, refusing to say the six words out loud again.

“O-oh.” A wide grin then slowly spread its way across Jongdae’s face and Yixing regretted ever saying such thing.

Silence ensued before Yixing spoke again. “Okay, I have to go now, Jongdae,” told the guy.

Jongdae’s lips then pursed, forming a thin line as he hesitantly asked, “Can you not go?”

Jongdae’s question had Yixing looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “What do you expect me to do? Live with you?” The words that escaped his lips were more of a statement rather than that of a question. Yixing didn’t receive a word in return. Instead, a pleading look was what welcomed him and he looked at Jongdae incredulously, unable to believe of the unspoken words. “Are you ing kidding me?”

“Please,” Jongdae asked in desperation, eyes glint with hope as they looked at the eyes of the other.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Yixing exclaimed, voice came out loud without him intending to.

“Is it because I’m a monster? Tell me, Yixing. Is it because I’m ugly?” His insecurity was taking over him again, welling up inside his being like a tank being filled with water.

Yixing’s expression softened and he let out an inaudible sigh. “Jongdae, it has nothing to do with that. I just don’t want to get you in danger.”

“I already told you I won’t get on your way,” Jongdae reminded, lower lip unconsciously protruded in a sulky pout.

"Jongdae--"

“Please?” he pleaded again, eyes blinking in the most adorable way possible. “Just for tonight?”

Yixing seemed to mull over the younger’s plea for a moment before he let out a sigh that had Jongdae lighten up, face turned brighter than it already was and his body moved to do a victorious dance, unconsciously pulling the other male into doing the dance but then thoughts of one part of his body changing had him stopped and he pulled his hand away from touching Yixing.

Yixing seemed to sense the guy’s insecurity over the matter that he never regarded to be a problem, but nevertheless, Yixing took Jongdae’s hands in his, looking at the guy in the eyes as he vocalized his thoughts. “You don’t have to be ashamed of your appearance. It doesn’t matter to me, okay? You’re still beautiful in my eyes.”

For the first time, Yixing felt alive. He felt as if he was born again, rise from the death. The Zhang Yixing who was once a cheerful, loving, happy  person came back.

Lying next to each other – just being with someone, exchanging more than a word, it was surreal. He finally had a friend, a brother that he can look up to, someone to share his smile with without him or her developing a feeling of disgust. He finally had something to look forward to everyday. Jongdae finally found a purpose in life, a purpose to keep him living, breathing, to move on with his life.

A hand found its way to Jongdae’s own and the warmth emanated from Yixing’s hand had Jongdae smiled in content and Yixing’s words (of “you’re still beautiful in my eyes.”) that rang in his ears had him not pulled away his hand. He did not care of how he looked like at the moment, not even caring that one side of him was covered with black lines, not caring that his right eye had turned to golden yellow, and surprisingly no vision invaded his mind at the moment. As a matter of fact, not one images of Yixing’s future intruded his mind since the one he had when he grabbed on the other’s wrist, but he didn’t think much of it.

“What are you thinking about?” Yixing’s voice sounded from his right side. Jongdae tilted his head slightly to look at the male beside him, who had his eyes closed but he was sure that Yixing was not sleeping, unless the othero guy actually had a habit of talking in his sleep.

“Nothing in particular,” Replied Jongdae as he also decided to close his eyes. “Are you asleep?” he asked after few minutes passed by without a word being said by the other. A squeeze on the hand and a hum was enough to tell him that the other was still awake.

“Why couldn’t I find a drawing of my future?” The sudden question had Jongdae’s eyes shot open in an instant. He drew his hand away; causing Yixing to mirror his action, opening his eyes just to be greeted by a bothered looking Jongdae. “What’s wrong?” he asked, anxiety building up inside him out of nowhere.

Words seemed to be stuck in his throat and he had to swallow the lump that he even didn’t know was there.  “I had a vision of your future,” he managed to say after some time.

“And?” Yixing prompted, seeing that the other was a little hesitant with his words.

“You kind of going to get shot and…” Jongdae’s voice trailed away, afraid of the word that followed after.

Yixing had his mouth shut in an instant, several thoughts running inside his head as he tried not to think of that one word that was possibly—no—definitely right. “Maybe you saw it wrong,” he tried to convince, more to himself than the other. For the first time Yixing was afraid of dying.

Jongdae sat upward in an abrupt manner then and he turned to look at the guy with a stern look, masking his true feelings. “My vision is never wrong, Yixing.”

Yixing stayed quiet, not knowing what to say. What was he supposed to say at this moment? What was he supposed to tell the other guy? That everything will be fine? That it won’t happen?

“Yixing, please. Can you just stop what you’re doing? I don’t want you to—“ Jongdae choked on air, chest suddenly constricted and his eyes welled up with salty liquids but he blinked them away before they could even roll down his eyes. “I don’t want you to—“ die was what the word that was about to roll out of his tongue but he swallowed it down and instead, he finished it with “—leave me.”

“I can’t,” came a reply. Yixing honestly had no idea what he would do if he stops doing his job. He couldn’t picture himself doing something else other than that. Even with the new addition in his life, he can’t seem to stop, it was as if killing someone was some sort of addiction, as though once he entered that kind of life, he couldn’t find the way out.

“Why?” Jongdae questioned, attempting to yell but his voice came out weak for some reason. “What’s the reason for you to do this?”

“My family died because of these people,” Yixing started, surprising even to himself that he let that piece of information, the story of his past rolled out of his mouth. “They killed them in front of my eyes. I saw them died with my own eyes, Jongdae,” he swallowed, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Flashbacks from that day came crashing down into him, flooding his mind. “And our house burned along with my brother so what do you expect me to do? Let them live peacefully while I suffer?” he asked, now in a more high tone of voice. “No, I’m not going to let them live. People like them deserve to die.”

“But killing them won’t bring back your family, Yixing. And do you know that by killing them, you’re also slowly turning yourself like them too?” Jongdae’s face was plastered with that of a composed expression. His voice calm, as he tried his very best not to snap at Yixing.

Yixing’s head then cast downward, his face was hidden in the palms of his hands as he let himself cry, tears streaming down for the first time after so many years. Never had the salty crystal liquids poured out of his eyes since the death of his family, since his heart had turned to that of steel, since he had himself incapable of feeling. “I don’t know anymore, Jongdae. I don’t even know why I’m still alive. It should have been better if I die along with my family.”

“Please don’t say such thing,” Jongdae took the other’s hand, holding and the back of his palm with his thumb ever so softly. “Maybe God have his reason for letting you live.”

“And what’s His reason?” Yixing asked. His heart slowly filled with tranquility from the warm touch of the other. “I’m sure it’s not of me becoming a murderer,” he stated.

“Maybe it was something else and only you know the answer to that. You just have to keep finding the true purpose of your life,” Jondgae told, flashing the guy a small smile even though Yixing couldn’t see it from his slightly covered face.

A powerful rush of panic surged up within him as his hand met with the coldness of the mattress instead of the warmth of a male named Zhang Yixing. The other guy had fell asleep a little after his break down but now he was gone. Jongdae sprinted out of his room but immediately stopped on his track and his shoulders relaxed then as a delicious smell reached his nose. He couldn’t help but laugh at himself for getting panic over nothing. Of course Yixing wouldn’t leave without telling him. Jongdae then walked to the kitchen and there he was, the guy he was looking for, cooking something on the stove. His back was facing Jongdae and he didn’t seem to notice Jongdae’s presence, yet. Jongdae then tiptoed his way to Yixing but before he could attack the guy, Yixing beat him to it, as he spoke with his back still facing Jongdae. “Good morning to you too, Jongdae,” he greeted.

Jongdae’s jaw hung slack as his mouth agape with incredulity. “How did you know?” he complained childishly, and Yixing just let out a laugh and shook his head in amusement.

Yixing was forced to stay inside the apartment or more like he had been confined by the younger male, not going out unless Jongdae told him so, as Jongdae didn’t want him to be involved in those activities anymore. He had gone as far as to taking Yixing’s mobile phone just so he couldn’t be in contact with his associates. He didn’t even tear his eyes away from Yixing, not even for a second.

Yixing had argue, telling Jongdae that he was overreacting and that he was being irrational but at the end of the day he complied to the younger’s wish anyway, letting Jongdae do whatever he wanted to do if it means that he will feel happy.

“Oh! Jongdae!” The owner to the shop who always gives him a blank canvas greeted him as he walked in to the shop with Yixing beside him. His hand clutched on the other’s sweatshirt as if scared that if he didn’t Yixing will disappear from his sight, or maybe for good.

“I see you brought a friend this time,” the man who was in his late forties stated as he took notice of the presence of the young man beside Jongdae and he offered Yixing a smile then.

“Yes, and this Yixing,” Jongdae introduced politely, a cheeky grin around his face as he turned to look at the said male who was standing quietly beside him. “And Yixing, this is Yen Lao, the man that I had told you about.”

“I hope everything that you told him was good ones,” it was said in jest, the wrinkle lines around his face became more visible as he let out a laugh and the two youngsters laughed along.

“Don’t worry, everything that I heard was good,” Yixing finally said, lips curling up into a small smile.

“Oh yeah,” the old man snapped his fingers as he seemed to remember something. He then bent down behind the counter and not a second after he straightened up, a fresh blank canvas in between his wrinkled hands. “Here, a new one for you,” he offered the material to Jongdae and he took it with a little bow.

They went back to Jongdae’s apartment after that, spending time, just doing meaningless things together.

It was around one in the morning when Yixing woke up with sweats all over his face. It happened again. Flashback of that day impersonating a dream conquered his mind in his sleep. The nightmare had his eyes flew open and his body jolted up, causing Jongdae to stir but luckily he didn’t wake up.

Yixing then let his eyes wandered down to the male beside him. Jongdae looked so peaceful in his sleep, no creases forming on his forehead, no trembling lips. He had his body curled up into a ball, resembling that of a child while fingers interlocked with that of Yixing’s. Yixing really thought Jongdae was beautiful, a stunning human being like no other. A small smile sketched around his lips at the sight.

Slowly, Yixing unclasped their hands and as quiet as his feet can be, he slipped out of the room and strode his way to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water before downing it, successfully calming his nerve.

His mobile phone that has been confiscated by Jongdae (and had been hidden in god knows where) sprang to his mind as he stepped out of the kitchen and Yixing decided to find the device, an excuse to not go back to sleep. He searched every nook and cranny of the apartment and eventually found it.

He switched the device on and not even a minute after that the phone started to ring. His leader’s name flashed on the screen and he swiped his thumb across the screen of his phone, bringing it to his ear just to be greeted by a loud voice from the other line. “Where have you been?” the man shouted. “I’ve been trying to call you but it was switch off. What are you doing? Are you trying to escape—“

“No,” Yixing interrupted mid-sentence. “I had something else to do,” told the guy as calmly as he could get.

There was a moment of silence before the man on the other line spoke again. “Well then, I have another job for you.”

When Jongdae woke up with no Yixing beside him, he let out a laugh thinking that Yixing was probably in the kitchen again, cooking like the last time and that he should not be feeling panic except that he did and when he walked out of his room, no traces of him anywhere in the small apartment of his, Jongdae’s anxiety multiplied then. Not even a note of assurance was left for him.

“Please don’t tell me that…” he trailed off as every negative thoughts rushed into his head, filling every inch of his brain.

He dashed out of the front door, not caring about anything else. All that he could think of was Zhang Yixing, Zhang Yixing and Zhang Yixing. He tried his best to remember the exact place of where Yixing— of where it was going to happen. When the image became crystal clear inside his head, he bolted there. In the span of a little over three hundred and sixty-five days of his stay in the island of Hong Kong, Jongdae kind of knew almost all of the places at least around where he lives and now he kind of had the idea of where Yixing might be at the very moment and it happened to be close to where he was so it didn’t take him long to go there.

As it turned out, Yixing actually went to a harbor. The place was huge with containers upon containers sitting in rows. “Yixing!” Jongdae screamed as loud as he could, not even caring if he was attracting attention. “Zhang Yixing!” he yelled over the enormous containers. Please tell me he’s okay. Please tell me he’s fine, he prayed silently as he ran around as fast as his legs could bring him.

As he turned the corner of one of the containers, there was Yixing, clad in black cloth, black jeans and black combat boots. The lower half of his face was covered with black mask. Jongdae was sure that the object in Yixing’s hand was a gun. “Yixing, please stop!” he exclaimed. His incredibly loud voice now definitely drew the attention of the people there. Yixing’s eyes enlarged when he realized Jongdae’s presence.

The sound of footsteps could be heard and before they knew it, Jongdae and Yixing were already surrounded by more or less twenty people, all dressed in formal clothes – white dress shirts, dark colored coats, dress pants and dress shoes, but different kinds of firearms were in their hands, pointing directly at the two.

This definitely won’t end well, Yixing’s mind said. In the few years of doing his job, something like this never happened. The targets never found out about him, let alone see his face. Everything was always done in a swift, no chances of the victims to witness his face, but now… but now, not only he was in danger, Jongdae too. Yixing swiftly pulled Jongdae by the arm to his side and the other male instinctively held on Yixing’s free arm while Yixing had his eyes scanning around them, his other hand holding a gun, which was pointing at every direction. There was no escape route.

Jongdae looked up to Yixing as he uttered with voice barely above a whisper, “Please don’t do this. Please, Yixing. I beg you.” But his words were completely ignored by the said male.

“You can do whatever you want with me but let this boy go,” Yixing said, his voice was full of venom as he looked at all the men with menacing eyes. No way in hell he would  forgive himself if something happen to the younger guy.

“Tsk,” one of the men, who was dressed in a grey coat and pants snorted. “What’s this? A melodrama?” he sneered. “No one’s going to go out of this alive, kid.”

Yixing then squeezed Jongdae’s hand before yelling at him and slightly pushing him, “Run, Jongdae!”

A man behind Yixing then pulled the trigger but before the bullet could pierce through the back of Yixing’s body, Jongdae had darted to him and before he knew it, Jongdae’s world turned black and the last thing he could hear was the distant voice of Yixing calling his name.

That was the very first time he had his vision wrong.

*My heart grew somber with grief…My eyes searched everywhere for him, but he was not there to be seen…I had no hope that he would come to life again…I was heartbroken and had lost my joy…I lived in misery, like every man whose soul is tethered by the love of things that cannot last and then is agonized to lose them.

Yixing disappeared into thin air after that episode of his life. It was as if the earth had swallowed him. No one knew where he was or where his location might be. It was as if his trace was erased altogether. There was no more news relating to assassination of businessmen who were somehow interrelated. And the owner of the handkerchief with a certain symbol remains a mystery.

Author's corner:

*Quote by a philosopher named Augustine