Sehun likes to pride himself on knowing Zhang Yixing inside out. He dives into the dimple on the right side of Yixing’s face just as he reads the tall-telling signs of Yixing’s next impromptu composing session in the sequence of a hum passing Yixing’s lips. He marks the special spots in the bow of Yixing’s sensitive neck with his lips, a pleasure map he knows by heart and he predicts Yixing stopping in his tracks to pet the dog that is about to pass him by.

Sehun knows by the hanging shoulders when the company Yixing composes for rejected a song and he interprets ever correctly if the tears on Yixing’s face are sadness, happiness or compassion. He has spent so much time loving every inch of Yixing’s character and body that he believes that he can write a manual to the person he loves.

Yixing is slowly reading him out of a Chinese child book when Sehun’s eyes catch a light spot in the crook of Yixing’s arm. It is barely visible, hidden by the folds forming in the bend. Sehun zooms in on the patch of skin whenever Yixing reaches to turn a page. By now he has stopped listening, too concerned with exploring the unknown terrain.

It is a cut. Sehun has his own share of cooking accidents branded into his hands and so does Yixing, but this cut is too particular to come from cooking. He cannot explain himself how Yixing could possibly get harmed in such an unusual place. He needs to know.

“Yixing what is this?” Sehun asks into a breathing pause and carefully points to the scar. Yixing shoots him a confused look before turning his eyes to the spot Sehun remarked and then he does something Sehun finds entirely unusual: Yixing squirms and crosses his arms protectively.

Oh.

“Sorry.” Sehun mumbles and although he really wants to know what he does know is not pressing when Yixing does not want to talk about something.

“It is just…just…” Yixing mumbles and Sehun leans closer, breathing in the perfume he gave Yixing for their fifth year anniversary while he patiently waits for his lover to continue.

“I never wanted you to notice these. They are not something I am proud of.”

“They are part of you.  Even if you are not proud of them, I love them.” Sehun insists and kisses Yixing’s clothed shoulder. He means it.

Yixing fidgets with the hem of his sweater for a few minutes and Sehun gives it time. Yixing wants to talk, but he still constructs the words. In stark contrast to compositions flowing out of Yixing naturally, serious words have to pass barriers before they are spoken. Sehun finds it endearing about Yixing, so enchanting.

“You remember when we met that I was relatively new to Korea and I didn’t have spots or people to go to, right?” Yixing begins softly and Sehun nods carefully. Of course he remembers.

Sehun remembers the Chinese stranger with the broken Korean, eyes hidden under long bangs and long hair. He remembers the respect he had felt for his quiet senior right away when he learned that Yixing’s parents had moved to Daegu mere months ago. Sehun also remembers the solitude they shared in the hidden corner at the sports field and how with every day Yixing became brighter, so bright that Sehun could barely believe it that a lanky teenager like him could ever stand by Yixing’s side.

Yet, the day Zhang Yixing looked at him with sincerity and confessed, lies seven years in the past and Sehun has been there almost every day of those two thousand five hundred and something days since.

“To be honest I hated it here. I hated being thrown into a foreign environment just one year ahead of graduation. People treated me like a disease because of my nationality. They treated me like I personally am responsible for the death of all those people in my country. I was nothing to them; they did not even give me a chance.  I despised Korean. It didn’t get into my head and people laughed at me every time I opened my mouth.”

Sehun sighs and wraps his arms around Yixing’s back, pulling him to his chest and between his legs. He traces soft patterns into Yixing stomach and waits.

“I felt so numb. Korea was not my place, the people not my people and my parents seemed too happy to notice it. Eventually I… I know it was stupid but I wanted to feel again. Even if it was pain, I wanted to feel alive in my body. The first time I tried it I did not even draw blood because I still felt a little scared but the second time… and the times after…”

Yixing trails off and Sehun blinks, processing the implication and the information. His Yixing, the bright and sparkling human that fills his life with inexplicable joy, has had a time in his life when everything was dark.

“It’s okay.” Sehun whispers next to Yixing’s ear and rests his head.

“I was in a terrible place at that time. At first I hurt myself because had no motivation, no goals anymore and wanted a moment of emotion but then it became a habit, always at the elbows where people would not see. The more invisible to people I was, the more at peace I felt. But then you came and I was half expecting you to act just like the other Korean kids. You, with your youth and your attitude.”

“I couldn’t” Sehun explains lowly “because I wanted to know about you, not embarrass you. You were so fascinating.”

 “I know, Sehun, and you brightened up my life. For reasons I still don’t understand you admired me and you cannot possibly imagine how much strength that gave me. There was someone seeing my struggles as a brave, impressive thing and I wanted to keep being impressive, so I picked myself up again and tried again. For you.”

Sehun shakes his head and hooks his legs around Yixing’s, locking him securely to his body.

“Not for me, but because of me. In the end you did this for yourself, you wanted to improve and you did it for you, because of your goals. I was a mere motivation. Although I believe I am a very good motivation, am I not?” Sehun chuckles teasingly and inhales sharply when Yixing pinches his thighs.

“Yes you are, Oh why are you so vain Sehun.”

They laugh, Sehun feeling Yixing’s laughter resonate in his own chest. It is comfortable, the silent coziness, which has never faded from the very first time they met.

“My last time was two months into dating you and you called me in the middle of it to tell that you were heading over. I suddenly felt so dirty, so ashamed. Sehun wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself, I thought. I cleansed the wound, put the knife into the big waste container and I have never done it since. Not once in the last years have I let a knife bore into my skin with purpose and I feel better, even more so than when we still lived in China.”

“N’aw.” Sehun coos and peppers Yixing’s neck with kisses until Yixing squirms, body flushed from head to toe. He raises Yixing’s arm and places a symbolic kiss to the minor patch of white flesh. The scar will forever remind him of the Yixing before he was part of Sehun’s life and Sehun wants to love and appreciate that Yixing as much as he does the present one.

Sehun believes Yixing. The faintness of the scar indicated its age and it fills him with pride that his presence in Yixing’s life had such an impact. It also makes him scared, however. He can barely and honestly does not want to imagine Yixing’s despair in case Sehun ever leaves. Not that Sehun plans to, but death is nothing you can protect yourself from.

Sehun catches himself looking at the scar now and then. When Yixing puts sausages on the barbecue, when he reaches up to take a book from the shelf or when he sleeps in Sehun’s embrace with his arms spread out, Sehun observes the past engraved in his skin. Even when he knows every edge and every smudge of the scar, he cannot stop searching for signs of a fresh cut. He never finds any.

To Sehun the scar is important, because when he looks at Yixing’s darkness he appreciates Yixing’s brightness even more.