You did the right thing, Lay had told him.

You did the right thing.

Zitao closed off his feelings, and fell deeper into himself.

«Message has failed to send:  Error code 75340.  Number no longer available.»

He still texted, from time to time.  Sometimes it was angry, a string of gibberish mixed with curse words, ‘ you’s and ‘I hate you’s stabbed into the keyboard of his phone.

Most days Kris spent numbly studying for his finals, leaving only when his friends came out to drag him with them.

On those nights, he would drink until he was sure he had forgotten his name, only to return home, slumping in his bed, laughing until his drunken laughter had turned into tears.

Then, only then, he would hunch over his phone, tapping those five letters in, obsessively, over and over and over again, until he had finally fallen asleep, the screen of his phone still lit.

Te amo.  Te amo.  Te amo.

You need to move on with your life.

An opportunity for Kris to do just that had come in the form of a tall brunette with legs like sin and cold, royal eyes. 

His friends introduced her as Jessica Jung – she had moved from Italy in the beginning of the year to study. 

And she was beautiful, all shy giggles and stolen glances when she thought he wasn’t looking.    

He had long known of her affection for him, but it wasn’t until his friends had pushed him onto her one night during a party, had he left that night with her number in his hand, and a date set for the next day.

She was a kind girl, Kris had to admit, with ambitious dreams and an engaging personality. 

They had a wonderful date together and Kris found himself smiling for the first time in months while walking down those sunny streets with her, sharing stories and eating ice cream. 

In another life, he could see himself falling in love, starting a family with Jessica Jung and finally living without heartache. 

But he couldn’t.

“…Zitao.” 

Sehun wondered if the trip had really done any good for Zitao at all.  Although the man certainly looked better than he had before he had left, he was as quiet, if not more so after his return.  There had been whispers on Lay’s end, of a fling with a college student, and Sehun speculated if Zitao’s behavior nowadays had something to do with it. 

In an effort to get the man out of his house, Sehun had managed to get Zitao a part time job at the bookstore that he worked at himself.

Although Zitao had been initially grateful, Sehun could tell that the man’s mind was on other things.

“Zitao.  We need to restock all of these shelves before the end of the day.”

For reasons unknown to Sehun, Zitao was lingering, staring at a copy of the book in his hands.  Grey’s Anatomy, in Spanish.  The meaning was lost on Sehun, who pulled the book out of Zitao’s nonresponsive hands, placing it onto the shelf in front of Zitao and sliding it in amongst the other books within the section.

“What are you dazing off about now?  You need to move on, Zitao.”

Sehun had turned away, already beginning to work on his own section of books when Zitao finally answered him, so softly that Sehun had to prick his ears to hear.

“…have you ever fallen in love, Sehun?”

The man stood up slowly, not understanding what Zitao was trying to tell him.

“And if you were so sure that they were the one?”  Zitao whispered, pressing his fingers against the spine of the book with unseeing eyes.

“Have you ever fallen in love, only to realize you’re ten years too late?”

She was perfect for him in every way – but, he couldn’t pretend that he loved her. 

Because really, the reason he had smiled to begin with, the reason he had felt so comfortable with her – was because he could see Zitao in the way she smiled shyly, in the way she flushed, the hesitant way she said his name.

It was with a heart full of regret that he broke it off with her a week later. 

To his surprise though, Jessica looked as if she had been expecting it the entire time, shedding only a single tear.  She was all smiles again as he bowed to her and whispered his apologies.

“It’s okay, Kris.  …I guess I knew, from the start, that this would happen.  But... I figured I’d at least give it a shot, right?”

“…you knew?”

Jessica smiled softly, reaching out to caress his cheek briefly.  “I moved during the beginning of the year, remember?  Everyone noticed me – but you.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man more in love.  …What was her name?”

Kris’ eyes filled with tears, suddenly filled with unwanted memories.

“Zitao.  His name was Zitao.”

The clock was ticking, and Kris was staring down at the paper in front of him with blank eyes.

Name all of the functions of the limbic system.

Kris blinked, eyes heavy from a lack of sleep, pressing the point of his pencil into the paper.

From next to him, he could hear the faint sounds of someone repeatedly tapping their pencil against the desk. 

The clock was ticking.   

Someone was jiggling their leg in the back, hitting the table in front of them and causing it to squeak. 

Name all of the functions of the limbic system.

It was Kris’ final test of the semester, and he couldn’t care less about the any of the functions of the limbic system.  Really, this hadn’t ever been his idea to begin with.  His parents had pressured him into going to medical school, when all he had wanted in the first place was just—

…What about your dreams?

Kris clenched his pencil tighter, head and heart suddenly pounding, the aftermath of another hangover after another long night of drinking his memories away. 

You think money is what will make you happy in the end?

Kris started to pull the pencil across the paper, beginning to write slow words across the white sheet.

When you’re young, you think you’re making an investment for your happiness, selling your soul to the devil for material wealth.

Kris’ writing began to trail off.

Somewhere along the way you’ve lost the hope you’ve had as a child and it hurts, because maybe you’ll never get it back. 

Kris stood up, sending the chair onto the floor with a clatter and drawing the attention of the entire class.  Kris slid the exam paper off the table, holding it up in front of his shocked classmates and professor.  Placing his hands on the top of the page, he began to apply force in opposite directions, tearing the document slowly in half.

The next day, he dropped out of medical school, and applied for the school of education.

Everyone knew what Kris Wu had done. 

Minseok certainly did.

So Minseok had found him, seeking him out in the middle of a busy crowd on the street, beckoning him back to the café with promises of a free cup of coffee.

«Kris.  I haven’t seen you in months.  Where have you been?»

«Minseok, I’ve been…busy.  I’m sorry I haven’t visited.  How… has the café been doing?»

«It’s been fine, I’ve been–…»

Minseok paused, suddenly looking guilty.

«Listen, …Kris, I heard about what happened.  Not just about medical school - everything.  And I… I have something for you.»

«…what?»

«…He asked me to give this to you after your finals.  …but I guess there isn’t any better time than now.»

Minseok slid open a drawer behind the bar, and pulled out an envelope.

I’m so sorry. 

By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. 

When I first came to Spain, I came to heal my own broken heart.  I’d lived for someone else for so long, that I’d forgotten what it was like to live for myself. 

Then I met you.

You not only showed me how to love myself again – but you showed me how so much could change, just from the introduction of a single person into my life. 

But in the end, we come from different worlds, ...don’t we?

We speak different languages, we come from different cultures, and – you’re barely into your twenties and I –

I’m not getting any younger. 

I’ve had an entire year to come to terms with that, but the truth is that it never really gets better.  I’m still scared of growing old, knowing what I’ll be missing, knowing that I’ll never have another chance like this to be young and in love.

That part of me still wants to remain selfish - wants to remain at your side. 

But I’ve made so many mistakes lately. 

The last thing I want is for you to make the same ones. 

Because I want you to dream.  Because I want you to find the young woman whose hand fits within yours just right.  Because I want you to be able to make the choice to marry her and live a beautiful life.  Because I want you to be able to tell your children about how wonderful it was to be young.

Because dreams are for the young and the hopeful, not for a bitter old man whose back is bent with the burden of regret.

For those months of bliss, for those words of love, for those dreams you gave to me, thank you.

Because I love you, more than words could say. 

So I’m letting you go.

Kris clenched the letter tightly in his hands.

His tears were wet and raw with grief, heaving sobs that wracked his body with pain.

I never cared about your age.

As long as you were mine, as much as I was yours.

It took him a day to gather himself, and then another half a day to pack his bags.

A three hour bus ride to Madrid, and a ten hour flight abroad.

Thirty minutes to find a feminine young man, working in the terminal that day, an hour more to flag down a taxi and find Zitao’s friend who he greeted with a punch to the face and a screaming fit in angry, heavily-accented English mixed with Spanish curse words that left the other man in apologetic tears.

Just five more minutes to wring the truth out of him.

Zitao was alone, as always.

Seated by himself in a tiny theater, in the third seat of the third row in a dark, quiet room as a movie played on the screens in front of him.

La Lengua de las Mariposas.

A bucket of popcorn lay untouched at his feet, Zitao’s eyes closed as he leaned backward in his seat, letting the words of the movie wash numbly over him.

It was coming up again, that scene.

The chair creaked with his shifting weight as Zitao sat up slowly, eyes still closed.

He his lips, waiting, waiting, until finally—

«Y como dijo el poeta, dejo «desierta cama, y turbio espejo y corazón vacío.»  Quiere decir —»

«—…que me quedé más solo que la una.»

Zitao opened his eyes, chest beginning to heave as he struggled to breath, still suspended in disbelief.

«…¡idiota!»

There was no mistaking that deep voice that he had come to know so well, cracking with barely repressed tears.

Zitao was openly weeping, a name already on his lips as he began to turn around.

It doesn’t matter how big the gap is between us.

I want to grow old with you at my side.