"I want to be as cool as you, ge," Zitao says suddenly.

It’s late afternoon, and they’re lazing around in their dorm’s living room. Zitao is sprawled across the couch, taking up most of the space as he scrolls through his phone, looking for pictures of himself on some fansite (Wufan knows he has at least seven different fansites bookmarked on his mobile phone’s browser, and another three more committed to memory), while Wufan is seated on the floor in front of him.

“Hmm?” Wufan is slouched over his own mobile phone, engrossed in his game.

“Ge,” Zitao whines, and it’s the way his voice catches a little that has Wufan pausing his game to lean back against the edge of the couch, tilting his head up slightly to look at Tao.

“What are you talking about,” Wufan asks in confusion. “You’re already cool. The fans are crazy about you.”

“I’m not like you, though,” Zitao mumbles, pouting a little. “See?” He sits up, leaning down slightly and s his mobile phone towards Wufan.

He finds himself looking at a picture of himself, probably taken recently at one of the airports. “Eh.” Wufan blinks. “That’s just a regular picture of me.”

In the photo, he looks anything but cool. It’s just a random shot taken by a fan, of him with his back against a pillar, his travel bag on the floor in front of him. He has his leather jacket hanging over his arm, and he’s staring at his hands, at something that he’s holding.

Wufan frowns a little, trying to recall what he had been staring at. “Of all the pictures, you think that’s a cool one of me?” Sometimes Zitao says the strangest things, but then again, that’s part of his charm. “Pick another one, come on.”

Throwing him a bemused look, Zitao scrolls through the phone, trying to find another photo to prove his point. While he’s engrossed in his task, Wufan watches him quietly.

The problem, Wufan thinks, is that Zitao thinks he’s never good enough.

There's no denying that he's good at looking dark and dangerous, something that comes across clearly in their promotional posters and videos.  But behind the image of Tao that the company has molded for him; between the cracks of the childish innocence that he displays for the variety shows and for the fans, Wufan knows the real Zitao. He knows about the kind boy with a big heart, who cares for everyone in the group deeply, the boy who cries over sappy Korean dramas and fan messages and the thought that one day, in the future, the twelve of them would be parted from each other.

Maybe he’s a little bias, or maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t think of Zitao as a younger brother, but perhaps something more; but sometimes Wufan wishes everyone could see what he sees.

Sometimes Wufan wishes Zitao could see what he sees in him.

"You're already cool on your own," Wufan tells Zitao firmly. Instinctively, he reaches out and rests his palm against Zitao’s cheek, trying to assure him. "Just be yourself."

Zitao gives him a pleased look, even though his cheeks turn a little pink at the praise, growing a little warmer under Wufan’s hand.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Wufan pulls away. His hand tingles a little, remembering the touch.

After a few seconds of silence, Zitao speaks again. "You're smiling in this photo," Zitao remarks when he moves onto the next photo, and holds up the phone. Just like the previous photo, Wufan is leaning against the pillar, but this time, because of the slight shift in the camera angle, he can see clearly now that he had been staring down at his mobile phone.

Wufan pauses, trying to recall what he had been looking at on his mobile phone then that had caused him to smile like that.

And grins.

He spends a few seconds going through his pictures as Zitao looks on in curiosity, before finding the picture in question.

It’s a picture of Zitao and him, taken together at the top of Namsan Tower several weeks ago. He remembers it because Zitao had been ridiculously happy then, telling Wufan about how he wanted to come back, one day, without the crew or the cameras, so that he could add another padlock to the fence, to make another promise over the skyline of Seoul.

Feeling impulsive, Wufan comes to a decision. “Let’s go back to the tower again. Now,” Wufan says. He sees the surprised look on crossing Zitao's face, before it’s replaced by a delighted one.

“Really?”

Wufan nods.

“Just us?”

“Yeah.” It’s probably a little selfish, but he doesn’t want to share Zitao with anyone else today.

And right now, the way Zitao looks at him, his eyes bright and crinkling at the corners; the way his hand slips into Wufan’s grip, fingers laced together with his, warm and strong, tells him that he feels the same way too.

~fin~

author's note: *lies down in shame* Happy Valentine's Day y'all