“Damn it,” Yixing swears, throwing his remote onto the couch, ignoring the yelp Kai lets out as he dives to the side, avoiding the flying object.

            “What’s up with you?” Kai asks a second later, already back on the couch, mostly because the popcorn is there and Yixing had made sure to put extra butter on it before Kai had arrived, knowing from countless trips to the theatre and numerous movie nights at home how much Kai loved butter on his popcorn.

            Yixing rolls Kai’s question over in his mind even though he already knows the answer.

            What he doesn’t know is whether or not he wants to share the answer with his best friend.

            The two had decided to get together for one of their usual movie nights yesterday, after dance practice, Sehun opting out because of a night class he couldn’t miss again without failing the course.

            So here they are now, an action movie complete with ninjas and swords and crappy editing playing on the television.

            But there’s no sound.

            And Yixing can’t figure out what the hell is wrong with his DVD system.

            Of course, that’s not what he’s really frustrated about.

            What’s really irritating Yixing, what’s really getting under his skin and making him clench his teeth together, is that he can’t get a certain sentence out of his mind.

            It keeps playing, over and over again, no matter how many times Yixing tries to distract himself with music, movies, walks in Central Park.

Even banging his head against the shower wall doesn’t seem to help.

You know who I am if you ever change your mind sweetheart!

It’s driving Yixing freaking insane.

Because he does know who Jongdae is.

A player, a guy who flirts with anyone he finds attractive, a pretty boy.

And Yixing has learned to be cautious around beautiful faces.

Has learned that a broken heart is something he doesn’t want to go through again.

Because it might hurt when your heart first shatters, first falls to pieces on the floor around your feet.

But it’s agony to pick up the pieces and put it back together again.

Kris frowns at Kai, who’s too busy doodling on a napkin to notice his boss towering behind him.

            For a moment, Kris debates as to whether or not he should say something, should scold his worker for not working, should wake Kai up from whatever he’s daydreaming about.

            And as Kris stands there, staring at Kai’s back, watching the younger from where he’s seated on a bar stool, hunched over his work, hair falling into his eyes through his concentration, Kris thinks of what kind of scenario would play out if he were to interrupt his worker.

            Kai would laugh it off, assure Kris he was going to get back to his job, probably give him a wink as reassurance, which would not reassure Kris at all because Kai had about as much sincerity in his winks as he had height on Kris.

            Kai would be confident in his belief that Kris wouldn’t be too mad at him, would have confidence in himself as a good employee that he would still have his job the next day. Unlike some of the other workers Kris has had in the past, who would tremble under Kris’s intense glare, intimidated by their boss.

            Sometimes Kris wishes he could have that same confidence that seems to accompany Kai wherever he goes, keeping his head high and straightening his shoulders.

            And who would guess that Kris would be a person to wish for more confidence in himself? After all, with his height and his stature and his piercing gazes, Kris seems to exude self-assurance.

            But he’s always been like this, ever since he first knew what the word “sureness” meant, always striving, always working harder to be error-free, to make himself perfect.

            Because perfect is the only thing Kris is willing to settle for.

“Sehun,” Kai whispers, letting himself into his apartment later that night after he’s left Yixing’s place, their movie having finally decided to work, although Xing seemed to be in a foul mood the rest of the time.

            But Kai has learned to just let Yixing deal with his problems by himself first before trying to intrude. For some reason, the other boy seems to work problems out better if he just has a little time to himself before he confides in other people.

            So now Kai is slipping into his dark apartment, the remnants of a late dinner still in his stomach, making him full and sleepy.

            It looks as if Sehun hasn’t returned from class yet, however, and Kai vaguely remembers the younger boy mentioning something about how this professor liked to drag classes out past the usual time, much to the annoyance of his students.

            So Kai flips on the lights, shucks his coat off and hangs it by the door, kicking his shoes off into a messy pile. It’s freezing outside, winter well into its stride, the clouds always threatening to spill snow on the city.

            Rubbing chapped hands together in an attempt to warm them, Kai meanders to the kitchen, grabbing a coffee cup from the cabinet and filling it three-fourths full with water.

            He stares out the small kitchen window that faces the same way all of the other windows in the apartment do, out onto the street below, shadowed figures passing under the streetlamps, breaths fogging in the open air. They remind Kai of fireflies, the glow of a cellphone usually lighting up their faces.

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