“Honey, I need you to do something for me.”

Yifan turned from his previous occupation, doing the dishes after dinner, which, they’d agreed on, was one of the tasks a loyal boyfriend was meant to do.

“What’s that?” Yifan said, smiling at her, but still not at her. Yifan could never really truly smile at her.

“I need you to clear the boxes.” She said, more or less, quietly. It might have been because Yifan refused to listen whenever she spoke about them.

Yifan returned his attention to the dishes, rubbing and scratching leftover melted cheese with his fingernails until a sharp piece dug underneath the protective nail and bit at the tender flesh. Yifan winced and paused.

“Now?” Yifan asked, suddenly feeling rushed and he did not appreciate the feeling.

“Yifan… it’s been five years. And I asked you once every year. You never touched them. They need to go. They’re crowding all of the guest room’s storage place. I put up with it because I knew it was hard for you, but I don’t think it’s ever going to be easy. Do you?”

Yifan sighed and rubbed his soapy hands on his denims and exited the kitchen without as much as a look back at her. Yifan ignored her calls as he stomped down the hallway and entered the guest room and slammed the door behind him, locking the door. As soon as he was out of her sight, Yifan felt it was easier to breathe and at the same time, it wasn’t. Because he’d just stepped back in time. It was there, hidden behind that there. The ghosts, the unresolved issues. And yet, Yifan regretted nothing. But he was terrified, terrified that if he glanced upon once more, he would start feeling remorse. Yifan stepped away from the door and he heard her knock on the door, but he ignored her. He loved her, but this was just a place he wouldn’t, couldn’t, share with her.

Yifan took the few steps that led him back down to hell. Not even shaking, as he ed the door open and gazed upon them.

Yifan let out a sigh. A sigh of blessed relief.

It wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be, but he hadn’t opened a box yet. Those boxes marked EXO in thick, black marker lines.

Yifan picked the largest which mostly contained fan mail and gifts. Yifan didn’t have trouble overlooking the contents of that one. If anything he wondered why he’d kept them. He didn’t think they would bother sending him his fan mail, considering the circumstances of his departure. But here they were, yellowing, partially opened envelopes, filled with words of love and encouragement.

Yifan didn’t touch them. He merely set the box near the room, ready to throw them into the trash. Those were addressed to someone else, a perfect stranger, even to himself. Yifan opened the second box which was full of his old clothes. Autographed merchandise he’d been working on, cosmetics he’d left behind and he recognized some of it as belonging to someone else. He set those apart, not ready to face them yet. Kris also found jewelry and then, finally, the further he dug down the boxes, the more relevant their contents began to be.

His books, his projects, were all stacked neatly just as he’d left them. In the same order, in the same strategic way. Yifan was persuaded that this box must have been one of the last ones packed, because the packing hadn’t been rushed. If anything, it had been done with great care.

Yifan took a deep breath as he took out the last box out of the closet. It was the one he’d buried deepest into the closet. It was marked differently, and the handwriting was not the same as the others. It wasn’t marked EXO like the others, and it didn’t have the name Kris written on it.

Yifan felt himself tremble a bit as he traced the marking with his index finger. Wu Yi Fan.

Yifan took a deep breath. He had wondered several times why it affected him so much to even think about him. EXO he’d dealt with and left, but him… no, with him, it felt like nothing had been resolved. Maybe that’s why it took so much effort to dig up the past, after all this time; Yifan couldn’t forget about Zitao Huang.

Yifan opened the box and couldn’t help but smirk at the first thing he saw. His bed sheets. This box had been sent last to him and Yifan could easily imagine why; it was the things Zitao, his roommate, had had the most difficulty parting with, that he kept until it was ultimately impossible for him to care.

This was it, this was the thing Yifan feared most. A glimpse of Zitao’s perception of him, the last echoes of the real Zitao. Not Tao, the spoiled, bleach blond, sassy man who craved expensive jewelry and outfits. This was more precious to Yifan than anyone could ever understand. Zitao was a pure person, so honest, so straightforward and unafraid. Yifan remembered the trainee days, where he thought he had so much to learn from him. He would’ve done anything to keep Zitao from the ugly world that he’d been born in, from the attacks of ignorant fans, from himself. But even Zitao couldn’t remain innocent forever, no matter what Kris did for him, regardless if he remained in EXO or not, there comes a time when a person must make choices. Kris made his choice, and became Yifan. Zitao made his decision and became Tao. Simply Tao. Egoistical, self-centered Tao, and Kris became selfish, thoughtless Yifan.

Yifan caressed the fabric of the folded fabric and curiously brought them to his nose. Yifan let out a surprised gasp as he realized that it smelled of Zitao, of his old cologne, along with dust and lack of use. Kris let them slip through his fingers; the realization and the sheets altogether upon realizing that Zitao had probably spent considerable time, perhaps whole nights, in his bed before packing them away.

Yifan bit his lip and threw the sheets on the bed, determined to go on, because curiosity had taken over, because he wanted more of Zitao, even if it was just in boxed memories.

Amongst the remains of the box, Yifan found printed t-shirts, a lot of specs and sunglasses, some jewelry that Yifan recognized as respectfully is. But there was also a considerable amount of clothes that Yifan distinctly remembered giving to Zitao and that Zitao had returned to him, without as much as a note or a clue as the reason behind their return. Was Zitao mad at him to the point where anything that could possibly remind him of him needed to get out of his life? It was probable. Zitao’s reaction upon his departure had been most ungraceful and even hurtful, but Yifan had expected as much. It wasn’t easy. It was never easy. Not where Zitao was concerned.

Yifan discreetly kept tabs with him upon the following months of his departure, but even then, it wasn’t the Zitao Yifan knew, it was Tao taking over. It broke his heart to witness such a mutation. Yifan was crying over it now, because back then, he had to be strong, but not now, not five years later when he was happily living with his girlfriend in his hometown. Zitao was a part him, and Yifan had always known it. It’s why he couldn’t forget him, no matter how hard he wanted to.

It hurt now, it physically hurt him to remember. How he ran out into the middle of the night without a single warning, only thinking of what Zitao would think when he realized he was gone, that he wasn’t going to come back.

Yifan took a few stabilizing deep breaths and brushed away the one tear that had escaped and continued, despite his dire need to stop, exploring the contains of this small part of Zitao’s world.

Yifan found old electronics that used to be his and that he’d lent to Zitao without thinking of getting them back. He found idiot stuff too, trivial things he’d totally forgotten about. Pens, pencils, small notepads, even some personal notes to himself, some coins, and lastly, at the bottom of it all, an envelope.

It was blank, there was truly nothing menacing about it. And yet, Yifan was terrified to open it, to see if there was anything written in there at all. He stared at the fear-inspiring piece of paper and wondered just how long it would take for him to open it. How long before he was actually prepared to end its life and tear it open, it would most likely tear Yifan’s heart open as well.

Yifan touched it. It looked so fragile underneath the touch of his large fingers, and yet…

He opened it and found a small piece of paper, it had been torn out of a music sheet, Zitao recognized it as being their song Moonlight. Yifan snorted upon realizing that a phone number had been written at the back of it.

Yifan let the small piece of paper, of his soul, fall back into the box and he took a few steps back, covering his face, utterly confused.

Zitao was probably aware that he wouldn’t as much as gaze at these boxes for years, that he wouldn’t even think of him. But still left it in there, his phone number. That number that Kris had blocked after that first night for safety measures. One of the few things Yifan needed to get back in touch with Zitao and that Yifan feared stumbling on, because seeing Zitao again meant that it was over, meant that Zitao might just make a come back and swept Yifan off his feet, just like back then.

Yifan always knew that he would someday gravitate back to Zitao, no matter how hard he tried not to.

Yifan raked his fingers through his hair and let out a small moan. He shut his eyes and felt the blood rush of out of his face and down to the tip of his toes and fingers. He let the name slip on his tongue, “Zitao.”

It felt like a prayer, saying his name like that. Yifan said it again, taking a breath between the ‘Zi’ and the ‘tao’.

Yifan sat on the floor, almost kneeling, almost sitting. Yifan reached for the bed sheets and inhaled the scent again, feeling helpless and pathetic. He knew there was no point resisting. He had always known.

Yifan dug into his pockets and found his cellphone. He quickly unlocked it and typed in the digits and pressed it to his ear.

It rang three times before someone picked up. “Hello?”

Yifan didn’t know what to say. He didn’t think he had any words for this kind of situation. Saying sorry wasn’t enough and it felt somehow, improper. No words would ever be enough to mend this. Maybe it would never be mended, ever.

Yifan let out a breath into the phone, his throat was aching and even if he would’ve wanted to say anything, his own body wouldn’t have allowed him to.

“Hello?” The voice wasn’t familiar, but Yifan knew it was him. He would know it anywhere. It had stayed with him all these years, maybe that’s why it sounded different, now that he was hearing it for real.

Yifan heard voices in the background which Zitao hastily hushed or ran away from, there was the sound of a door being opened and shut and then silence. Nothing but silence.

“Yifan?” Zitao suddenly whispered on the other end of the line.

Yifan didn’t say anything. His heart and mind wouldn’t let him, but his soul was yearning, soaring. He wanted to speak, but he still couldn’t.

“Yifan, I know it’s you.” He could hear the smile in Zitao’s voice as he added. “Took you long enough.”