No one’s home when Kai packs his things.

            His parents are at work and the huge house suddenly seems even larger than it always has, every noise echoing throughout the rooms.

            No one knows he’s leaving either.

            It’s easier to slip out quietly, rather than go through the raised voices and the pleas and the anger that will come with trying to leave later.

            Kai grabs his earphones from his desk, his wallet, his phone, various small keepsakes, shoves clothes haphazardly into a giant duffel bag.

            And pauses when he comes across the cream-colored sweater Sun-hee had just bought him for his last birthday, the one she insisted he wear to school the very next day, which he did even though the sleeves fell past his hands.

            He stuffs it in with the rest of his clothes.

            And right before Kai leaves his room, not pausing to take it in one last time because then he might not leave, a glint of gold catches his eye from the shelf near his bed.

            His first dancing trophy from his first dance competition, the one that he had entered in secret, sneaking out through his bedroom window the night of the actual event, Sun-hee waiting in the yard outside, hissing at him to be quiet.

            They had run through the streets of Seoul to get there in time, and then they had run back before anyone could figure out they were gone, the trophy clutched in Kai’s hand, brighter to him than all of the stars in the sky.

            Kai grabs the trophy in a split-second decision.

            And then he’s padding down the hallway, stopping when he passes his parents’ room, pushing open the door.

            He takes his mother’s lipstick, her favorite shade, and, after another moment’s hesitation, one of his father’s watches, the one that he wears the most often.

            And finally, finally, before Kai leaves for good, he finds the photo album that his family keeps on the coffee table downstairs, the one that has most of their photographs in it, and leaves the house with it clutched to his chest, ignoring the tears that run down his face without pause.

Yixing laughs, trying to hide his smile behind his hand, as he walks with Luhan down the street, the two of them wearing jackets because the weather has started to turn chilly, the green of summer slowly fading.

            Yixing has just gotten out of school, Luhan waiting outside the high school gates, pink hair now not enough to distinguish him from the crowd because he had dyed it back to black a few weeks ago.

            After Yixing had seen Luhan in the coffee shop before school started, the other had come over, introducing himself as a new resident of Beijing, having moved there to start his first year of college, only a year older than Yixing, and the two had hit it off straight away.

            And now, after spending time with each other for the past couple of months, Luhan is a normal part of Yixing’s life, the two always playing video games or going out to eat or playing soccer at Yixing’s high school with some of the other guys that stayed after class to kick the ball around.

            But recently, Yixing has started seeing Luhan as more than a friend, although he’s too shy and too scared to admit it.

            So everytime their hands brush or Luhan throws himself into Yixing’s lap when they’re watching a movie or Yixing catches himself staring at Luhan’s side profile, he immediately shakes the feelings away, forcing down the heat that rises in his cheeks and the increase in his heart rate.

            It’s actually gotten a little easier with time, but it’s always there.

            Yixing is shaken from his thoughts when Luhan reaches over and pokes him in the side, mouth turned down into a mock-pout.

            “What?” Luhan asks him, stopping, and Yixing realizes that they’re almost to his apartment, people shoving past them on the sidewalk. “You don’t pay attention to me anymore?”

            Yixing smiles, poking Luhan back, his backpack resting comfortably between his shoulder blades.

            “I never pay attention to you,” he says, laughing when Luhan punches him lightly in the shoulder, pout replaced with a playful scowl.

            “Where is the respect?” Luhan asks woefully, eyes crinkling when his face breaks into that huge grin he always gets when he’s trying not to laugh.

            The two continue down the street, Luhan still nagging Yixing about listening to him, and then they’re at Yixing’s apartment building.

            “You want to come in?” Yixing asks, opening the door, and Luhan pretends to think about it before Yixing says, “Suit yourself,” and starts to shut the door in Luhan’s face.

            And then Luhan is laughing and shoving the door open again, and the two of them continue to make mindless chatter as they head up to the apartment Yixing shares with his parents, both of which are currently still at work.

            Twenty minutes later finds the two curled up on the couch, snacks littered across the coffee table, watching a re-run of their favorite drama series play out across the television screen.

            This, Yixing thinks as Luhan rests his head on his shoulder, has become a natural routine, something that they do at the end of each week, usually winding up with Luhan staying over for dinner because Yixing’s mom won’t take no for an answer.

            But today, something is off.

            Luhan is quieter than usual, only speaking when Yixing asks him something, seemingly lost in thought.

            Finally, when Luhan fails to offer his usual snarky commentary at the end of a particularly cheesy scene, Yixing mutes the show, turning to look at his friend.

            “Are you okay?” he asks, and Luhan blinks at him, startled.

            “Yeah,” he answers, fiddling with the bracelets around his wrists that he always wears. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

            “Well you’re doing that, for