Words are beautiful, but a picture is worth a thousand words they say. Music is the both of them weaved together, combined into an eternity of both words and pictures within every second that passes.

In front of a shabby gas station, a dark-haired boy scrubbed a worn, lusterless truck inch by inch with careful, determined hands, never missing a spot. The boy’s once-bright orange work uniform had been faded to a dustier and rather unattractive russet, suggesting a long-term car washing history.   

“Yixing, it is already past your work-time!” A voice hollers from inside the station. A rotund old man steps out clumsily from the dingy door, making careful note not to trip over the threshold as he had done just a few hours ago. “Listen, son. You head on home now, okay? I’ll finish it for you.”

The boy, whose name was Yixing smiled warmly at the aged benign face, a charming dimple surfacing from his ruddy cheeks. “There’s really not much left.” Yixing glided his hands over the truck, in acknowledgement of the progress that has been made. “Let’s not go through the trouble of switching places, Mr. Kim.”

“Okay, okay. Well, I’ll be locking up the gas station. You make sure to get home safely, Yixing.” Yixing nodded obediently, and Mr. Kim turned to leave. “Oh, by the way, the owner of the truck should be here to pick it up soon. If he doesn’t come, just leave the damn rubbish there. No one will steal it anyways.” Mr. Kim added with a grunt as he patted Yixing’s head.

“Gotcha.” Yixing turned back to the truck, which was looking much cleaner than before, if not just slightly newer.

Almost time for my other job, Yixing thought and a sigh slipped from his lips.

Seconds passed, then minutes, then eventually, a full two hours. The sun had already begun trailing down, and the air became noticeably chillier. The sky was soon completely black, and then turned ebony by its glowing celestial inhabitants. Yixing sat at the ledge of the gas station, panicking. Puffs of his frantic breathing turned an austere white against the night air. His usual rosy cheeks were flushed an even darker tint of pink from the biting wind; anxiety was blooming from beneath the pale face. He knew he could leave the truck, but it wasn’t in Yixing’s nature to do something that even touched edge with irresponsible, even if he was going to be late for his waiter job.

Yixing reached into the pocket of his jacket—he had changed out of those work clothes and was looking closer to a dapper twenty-two year old man, rather than a pitiable child labor worker—and pulled out one of those flip phones one would find in the earlier days of the twenty first century.  His hands were numb from the cold, and quivered as he hastily punched in his manager’s number. The beep went on once, twice, and by the third time Yixing was almost ready to die from the concern that he’ll be fired, considering this manager wasn’t as generous as Mr. Kim. His manager did not pick up, so with a shaky voice Yixing left a message, explaining the situation with a certain degree of honesty, and then muttered his apologies into the puny cellular device, which could very likely be delivering his confirmation into some kind of hell.

A finger tapped him lightly on the shoulder, and preceding it was a clear of the throat—a prelude to speaking—when Yixing didn’t turn around. Startled, the still-shivering boy spun around to a tall, statuesque man with hair that was dyed a dark shade of dirty blonde, and if Yixing looked closer, he could see spots of black which was starting to grow out from the roots of the man’s hair. It was however the man’s dark eyes, which intrigued Yixing. His eyes were a lifeless onyx, yet they were electric, (Yixing dared to think of them as having a dangerous tinge to it) reminiscent of a clear lake at night, with unknown life beneath it. 

Yixing blinked.

Despite the man’s first impression of having an icy countenance, his tone and syntax were quite timid.

“I’m, uh, here to pick up the truck. If you don’t mind.” Yixing found himself listening intensely to the deep, yet mellifluous voice.

Yixing’s eyes started to crease from the resisting the impulse to laugh. Why would he mind? The man’s awkwardness didn’t create any uneasiness for Yixing as would have been expected, but instead made Yixing feel more comfortable with the man. Another cough came from the man.

“I don’t mind.” Yixing said, resisting a chuckle that was going to bubble out of his throat any moment. “She's all fixed and clean. You can go ahead and take her home.”

As the man approached the truck, Yixing remembered a procedure asked of employees before handing back a vehicle. “Sir, can I get your name please? To make sure we have the right person?” The man thought for a while, his expression blank. Yixing thought it was abnormal for a person to answer a question so simple.

“Kris,” the man finally murmured drearily. “Uh, call me Kris.”

Kris must have snapped out of his moment and the spark returned to his eyes. An almost forced smile crosses Kris’ face. Distant, rigid. Yixing couldn’t put his finger on what had changed between them with just a simple question, but he felt the atmosphere grow a little colder. Yixing shivered involuntarily.

“Thank you,” Yixing replied, then added, “nice to meet you, Kris,” because he felt it was the right thing to say.

The taller man merely nodded indifferently, and strolled towards the truck in long strides. Yixing felt offended, as Kris seemed to take no interest in what Yixing’s name was, or wanted to have anything to do with him other than take back the old piece of metal. Kris, with his long legs and tall frame, climbed into the bulky truck with ease. A deafening roar of the engine was heard, and he was gone. Yixing watched Kris’ rear lights becoming smaller and smaller, and eventually, was swallowed by the lonesome autumn night.    

Yixing was never one to swear, but somehow the word “bastard” was just drawn out of his mouth. Didn’t even ask for my name when I fixed and cleaned his ancient hunk of metal, Yixing thought distastefully. He didn’t know why he was so bitter over the fact that the man held no interest in him, but a sinking feeling occurred that maybe it was because he cared about Kris a tad too much for a first meeting. Plus the fact he might have seemed too eager, and scared Kris off. 

The following morning was not the best one Yixing could ask for. He arrives in front of the gas station, and finds Mr. Kim in remonstrance with two fuming cops. Beside the cops stood a livid young man, arms crossed and face a deep crimson, listening intently to their conversation. Mr. Kim broke in mid-sentence when he saw Yixing, and hurried towards the puzzled boy in an awkward jog, his stomach fat bouncing up and down each time his feet pounded the dusty ground.

            “Oh Yixing, Yixing. Thank the lord you are here.” Mr. Kim babbled as he grabbed Yixing’s wrists and hauled him to the back of the station, Yixing stumbling on the way there.

            “What’s going on, Mr. Kim?”  Yixing panted. Mr. Kim’s eyes were darting back and forth nervously. Sweat beads had formed on his forehead, one threatening to drip into his crinkled eyes.

            “You tell me honestly okay, Yixing?” Mr. Kim’s voice came out choked and hoarse. “Did you sell the truck, did you take it home, or just, what happened yesterday?”

            Yixing was taken aback. “What do you mean take it home or—or sell it? I returned it to its owner!” He replied incredulously. Mr. Kim only kept shaking his head dejectedly. “I even remember his name clearly. His name was Kris.”

A deep pang hit Yixing as the name unwantedly crept from his lips.

Since yesterday night after meeting Kris, Yixing had locked away the name somewhere in his head, refusing to think of the impudent man. He had done a satisfying job of it—going home and eating away his worries with what little was left in the fridge, then turning up the volume of his favorite TV show so horrendously loud, that he could feel his thoughts of Kris being tackled and finally shut off by the funny punch lines. He found himself laughing so hysterically that tears were squeezed out the corner of his eyes.  Yixing did not even try painting, because he knew what the outcomes would be.

            Now, like a broken spell, all the thoughts were unleashed with that one word Yixing had uttered to prove himself faultless.

            “Yixing, oh, Yixing. You go explain it to them on your own.” Mr. Kim turns and scuffs along the edge of the gas station, making his way back bit by bit. His hunched over silhouette stirs brief melancholy within Yixing, that Mr. Kim is getting very old after years of running this gas station.

            The “explaining” was far from what Yixing would expect from a town’s authority. The officers’ voices were outrageously strident, and their tones made Yixing believe that he was already arrested and ready to put to jail, not just being interrogated. After a long hour of listening to the cops’ incoherent clarifications, and attempting to comprehend them, Yixing was flabbergasted and exasperated. Flabbergasted that the truck was taken from his hands so effortlessly, exasperated at what Kris had done against the law, and done to him.  Yixing was literally taking the hostile questionings, the confronting glances, the risk of possible penalties, and basically all his crap, for him.

The situation came to a dramatic finale with Yixing reluctantly apologizing and assuring the cops that he will compensate personally for the loss of the vehicle. It was very, very dramatic for Yixing, taking into account that he was only a graduate with an art degree—which is seemingly useless on the subject of gathering finance. He could hear his wallet wailing in the back of his jean pockets.

If I ever see that tall bastard again, I will definitely finish him, Yixing thought vehemently. Yixing was trapped in his vivid visualizations of what he would do to Kris if he saw him again, when an irritating ringing wrenched him out of his thoughts. He fumbled in his pockets for the cell phone, and answered with a drained, “hello?”

When Yixing was convinced that this day could not get any worse, his manager proved him wrong. He was fired from his waiter job. 

Author's note: Hello hello readers c: thank you for bearing with me through a rather boring (?) beginning. Yixing will meet Kris or should I say Wufan heheheh again, very soon. Like, very soon. (x Stay tuned! Image creds to tumblr user kaiptivated.