Night has fallen, hours after their not so secret dinner and his heart was still racing, hand tingling slightly from the slight touches that he had dispensed throughout the time that they had secreted away, a little bubble carved out for just them with no flashing lights or annoying staff to push him away. He breathes in, unable to stop the wide smile on his face, curling to his side, as the smell that had invaded his systems for years, a scent that had faded to the edges of his memory but returning to full blast and he giggles to himself. He wonders if it's his imagination, when the other had looked as happy as he had, at the time of the meeting, whether it was the joy that he himself felt reflecting throughout his body and imposing on the taller. Maybe that glimmer of smile had been forced, maybe that cheerful facade was just that, a fake profile because he knows that Luhan will break down into tears with anything other than a hug.

His head hits the headboard as he sits up, dark thoughts creeping into the light of his mind and he bites his lip, shaking his head determined to believe in the best possible version of the events that had transpired. He hugs the pillow close to his chest, the unfamiliar hotel room making it hard to for him to relax, the glow of his earlier joy fading away. With a slow movement, his body aching from phantom aches, triggered by the presence of Yifan, the memory of forcing the taller to dance in a presentable fashion so that he would not be the mockery of the public eye. Well anymore than he already is anyway. It cheers him out considerably, singing out loud to old songs, the dance moves that were engraved into the core of his soul flowing naturally through him. He pauses, letting the stereo pick up the songs, singing his own lyrics and it is with a light heart he bounces into the shower, finally shedding the sticky uncomfortable clothes the stylists like to stick him in. They looked fantastic on him, yes, made him desirable to the masses but they were uncomfortable as hell.

He thinks about Yifan, about the way the boy had kept looking around, behaving cautiously and Luhan hates that he was so desperate for the younger boy's attention. Hates that he forgives for the months of silence, hates that he is alone while Yifan is too busy for him. Hates feeling like the neglected housewife, because he has plenty of things to keep him occupied and he is simply deciding on his future.

He hops into the shower, checking around quickly to make sure there was no cameras hidden in the bathroom, a habit of the days as an idol, where privacy was a joke and he was the of it. It is quick, the heat blasting against his skin, a blessing in disguise as he tries to boil himself alive before he soaps up and dries off, walking around the room with his towel tucked securely around his waist, one hand clutching the towel tightly, still too afraid if a camera popping up at an inopportune time. The television is on mute and he watches scenes flicker on them, Chinese dramas that he had become addicted to after hours of sitting with boredom in his blood. He is still, his eyes glazed over as the colours change on the screen, his mind supplying the sounds. He likes to pretend the stories are happening the way he wants them to, not the story that is being told. He likes rewriting them, making it so that everyone is happy, even though he has first hand experience that there is no chance of that.
The wooden dresser beside his bed vibrates, and he glances over to the lit up screen, surprised at the name that shows up. Even if he had been the one to tell him to call, he had never expected it to happen. He cautiously picks up the phone, and debates picking it up, knowing that he wants to but also knowing that doing so would betray how much he missed his brothers. Then again, Luhan had never hidden his affections and he never will. On the last thing, he answers the phone, the quiet "hello" resounding in the empty room.

"Xiao Lu," the deep voice sounds in a his ear, and he lets out a breath he never knew he was holding at the slight amusement in his ear. "What took you so long?"

"I didn't think you'd call so soon," he smiles, leaning back into the pillows, getting comfortable and settling in for the night, half hating the way his heart flutters at the lilt of his voice and loving the way Yifan sounded carefree against his ear.
"You know I wouldn't miss the chance, especially when you're so fresh in my mind. And you did ask me to," he laughs as Luhan huffs into the phone, almost able to see the way Yifan's face becomes when he laughs. He can hear the sounds of cars rushing in the background, and pictures Yifan in long coat flapping behind him, striding along some sidewalk, scaring the people out of his way, his simple presence enough to make a path for himself. Luhan's voice is quiet as his next words slip out, "I've missed you," he says, his voice hoarse and rough with emotion. "I feel like it been a lifetime since I met you and I thought I'd never be able to see you again." He trembles, and a sudden rush of tears coming to the surface, a rush that he had been suppressing all night. Now, hidden behind the safety of his phone, with Yifan nowhere near him, he lets them fall. "I wanted to see you so badly."

Yifan is silent as he listens to the sobs emitting from his phone, knowing Luhan well enough to know that he had waited for this phone call from the moment he had followed behind Kris, leaving the cruel giant SM behind, although Luhan had just as much reason to. Kris knew their late night arguments had kept the fairy like boy up, knows that it would not be long until Luhan crumbled, long after his body had given up. He had to be kicked out by s, forced to leave when even s knew that Luhan would probably be dead if he kept it up.

"Why didn't you answer my calls? Why didn't you call me?" Luhan demands answers, and Yifan remains silent as Luhan rant, scolding him, the joy from simply seeing him turning into the righteous anger that Yifan knows he deserves, keeping the real reason that he had avoided the calls, that if he heard so much so heard a whisper of Luhan's voice, that he would abandon everything and go to the smaller boy. Even the dulcet tones that he had played over and over on his laptop, the simple songs that Luhan had sung, becoming the fantasies that drove him to pick up his pace and finish the slew of movies that he had signed on, not wanting to interrupt either of their lives with his irrational needs.

"Han," he begins, cut off as the tirade continues, and he starts laughing, stunning Luhan into silence. "Why are you laughing, you giant idiot?"

"Han, open the door."

"What?"

"Open the door, Xiao Lu."

"No."

"How am I supposed to make my dramatic apology if you won't open the damn door, Han?"

"Find another way." Luhan climbs out of the bed, searching through his miniscule luggage for boxers and maybe something a little more respectable.

"Quit being a little ."

"I'm your favourite little though." He laughs, and leans against the door, looking through the peephole and grinning when Yifan is wearing the long coat as he had predicted, his hair wind blown and his face twists into a slightly pained expression as his next words come out.

"That...is true..." He twists the doorknob and opens the door, and there he is, looking like the cat who got his cream, the delicious smirk on his face that Luhan has always wanted to kiss off, the long lines of his body leaning against the doorframe, his dark eyes watching Luhan with a clouded look.

"Hey there, Princess."

"Shut up, Yifan and give me whatever stupid present you got to make me feel all better."