“You got this Tao.” Yifan muttered softly from where they stood before one another behind the silken maroon curtains of the stage. Placing his hands palm down on Zitao’s chest, he trailed them down, smoothing out the dark grey of his suit front.

“Damn it Yifan, I know I got it.” The younger retorted sharply, furrowing his dark brows together and swatting at his hands, before snagging a finger in the white color of his button-down and pulling it as far as it could go from his neck. “The ing suit is itchy, and it’s hot back here, and I can’t get comfortable.” Yifan’s lips curled into a smile, and cupped his lover’s cheek, sweeping the pad of his thumb across his plump lips.

“It’s alright to be nervous,” He said, flicking his dark orbs up from where they rested on Zitao’s lips to gaze into his eyes. “It’s natural.” The dark-haired male shook out his head before slumping his shoulders in admitted defeat.

“It’s not like I haven’t performed in front of others. I generally never get nervous.” His skilled fingers rose to Yifan’s own chest, now loosing himself in a loose strand standing rouge from the button of his black vest. “What if they don’t like it? What if they don’t understand?” These moments were rare, where Zitao was stripped of his usual confidence and allowed his more sensitive side to rise to the surface. It was a sight Yifan could count on one hand how many times he had been able to witness such behaviors.

“Baby, you’re going to do excellent. How could anyone not get lost in your work? It’s breathtaking.” Zitao’s lips upped into a small smile, looking up at the elder through his thick, dark lashes.

“Thank you Yifan…” He said, voice suddenly small, almost shy, causing said male to lean forward, pressing a gentle kiss on his soft pink lips.

“Next to perform, Huang Zitao.” A voice rang out from in front of the curtain where the announcer stood, causing the couple to separate. “Good luck Tao. I’ll be right in the front if you need me.” Yifan gave one reassuring squeeze to his hand, before letting go, watching the younger nod his head, mouth ‘thank you’ and take off towards the stage.

Applause broke out from the audience on the other side of the stage, and Yifan quickened his steps from behind the stage to watch possibly the most importance performance of Zitao’s life. He maneuvered his body through the sea of other musicians with various instruments, male and female, all dressed elegantly for their own equally important opportunity. But Yifan could care less about anyone else. This was Tao’s day.

 Finally arriving at the door that separated him from the audience, he pushed it open, and just managed to catch Zitao sitting down on his stool positioned right behind the base of his harp in the center of the stage, a single spotlight creating a yellow ring around him. Zitao had made the right choice in his smooth grey suit, making him stand out from most of the ious competitors who had chosen to wear black. His raven hair was expertly combed back, a feat that only managed to take up a good forty-five minutes.

Yifan finally managed to make it to the seat that he had secured earlier that morning (he left his coat jacket on the seat, along with a few random books and a brief case, because everything looks more official with a brief case) after a series of “excuse me” and “I’m sorry.” One man even had the audacity to give him the look, which he returned with his own look, because excuse you sir, but that was his boyfriend on stage, and if anyone had a right to be upset with missing a moment of the performance, it was him.

However, he was now sitting in his proclaimed seat, just to the right of the four judges to watch Zitao audition for a spot in the China Philharmonic Orchestra. The younger’s shoulders rose and fell under the grey fabric in a deep breath, eyes fluttering close as he exhaled. They stayed like that just a moment before opening once more, and directly contacting with Yifan’s. The older’s hands gripped the armrests of his chair, and his blonde head gave a nod. Tell your story Tao-

Just as fast as their eyes had met, they broke away, and at once, Zitao’s sculpted fingers set up along the strings of his harp. Yet the sound that left the instrument was not the one that Zitao had spent the last few months slaving away at to perfection. Rather, it was something completely new to Yifan’s ears.

With the base against his shoulder, the low chords that slowly drifted out instantly captured him, his breath seeming to all by come to a halt. Continuing to run his masterful fingers along the strings, Zitao slowly began introducing the higher pitch notes, mingling in to the deeper melody created underneath. It was creating a scene in Yifan’s head, painting the story that Tao wished to share.

He was in the ocean; it was storming, dark, black, brooding. The waves unforgiving, and threatening to keep him under. Yet he fought, because somewhere, above the surface, there was a light, there was a hope. As the song grew on, and the melody picking up to a faster tempo, the notes strikingly lighter, feverish, he knew the hope was growing, and yes! Someone was helping him up, grabbing his wrist and lifting his drenched body above the surface, allowing him to get his full gasp of fresh air since the ordeal started. He was pulled further and further up, to now find himself floating above the ominous waves and in the arms of his rescuer. When he turned in the hold, to attempt to figure out who had saved him, the scene suddenly changed.

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