Minghao is full of surprises the fourth time Junhui tells him.

Minghao is crying. He is crying into Junhui, whose arms are wrapped tight around the younger boy’s small frame. One hand his back in a circular motion, and even under his layers of clothing, Junhui can make out the bones of his vertebrae with ease. His other hand is tangled in his hair, a slight grip on the back of his neck for support. He is shushing him, pressing his shaking figure into his body, brushing his lips on the top of his head. Minghao rests his cheek on the other boy’s shoulder, feels the warm tears trailing down his face, how they weld up in his eyes -- hot and blinding -- until he blinks them away. His fingers curl around the hem of Jun’s shirt, tight and trembling like they are the epicenter of a massive earthquake.

He tries to swallow his sobs, but chokes instead, and Junhui’s heart shatters into a million pieces, sinks to the pit of his stomach. His eyes mist over, and he clenches his jaw because he needs to be the strong one for Minghao; he has to be strong. The younger boy’s lip is quivering, and quivers still when he bites down, and he his entire being is numb. He feels nothing as his teeth split the skin of his lip, or as the taste of iron fills his mouth. Junhui finds it hard to breathe as he wipes away the blood and saliva and searing teardrops that stream down Minghao’s face -- he struggles for air like he’s been knocked in the side.

Minghao is hyperventilating, and mucus and spit trickles down his rough throat, and it feels like it’s closing up. Junhui can’t find his voice, and even if he could speak up, he doesn’t know what he’d say. He mouths empty words into Minghao, ‘It’s okay, everything will be okay,’ but he can’t even convince himself. The grip on the back of his neck tightens, his thumb massaging the skin behind his ear, and Minghao buries his face into Junhui’s shoulder. He is only a child. He is a child, and the pressure is too much for him to bear.

An eternity passes and Minghao is still in his arms, and the violent sobbing has died down, but Junhui is still on edge. The younger boy is limp, his knees weak and threatening to give out under him. His face is red and stained and damp with tears, his eyes puffy and clouded, and the other boy can only look at him for a moment before he feels like he’s going to be sick. He rests his chin on his head, letting the hand on his back fall to Minghao’s waist, and lets out a shaky breath to calm his nerves. There’s a nagging in the back of his mind, this is all your fault. And he wants to ignore it. But it rings in his ears, over and over and over, and a part of him can’t help but believe it. He closes his eyes, furrows his brow, tries to shake the voice in his head. Minghao sniffles, and a pang shoots through Junhui’s chest.

The hands that were previously toying with the bottom of his shirt clasp behind him, resting on his lower back, and Minghao folds into the older boy. His guilt subsides, and Junhui cherishes him, hugs him closer to his chest, doesn’t care if he can hear how wild his heart is pumping, and Minghao gives one last squeeze before he stumbles. He catches him, lets him lean on him, drapes his arm around his shoulders. He is a child, and he is exhausted.

He leads Minghao to his bed, and pulls back the blankets so he can climb in. His eyelids are drooping low, and he is almost too worn to swing his legs onto the mattress, but manages as Junhui tucks him in. The older boy squats down on the floor next to Minghao, reaches for his head. He runs his fingers through his hair, curling it around his finger, brushing it back, tucking it behind his ear, and Minghao hums in content. His hands are cool against his burning skin, and he wishes Junhui would never stop.

“Minghao-yah,” Junhui whispers, inching closer to the boy’s face, and Minghao can feel his breath on him, can feel the goosebumps forming wherever it hits his skin. The older boy shakes his head, “Mínghào-dì,” and everything is right, and his head is swimming with everything he wants to say.

“Jùnhuī-gē,” Minghao cuts in, his voice soft and airy. He opens his eyes only just, enough to look at Junhui, and the older boy meets his gaze, smiling down at him. “Wǒ ài nǐ shèngguò yíqiè.”

Junhui leans all the way in, closing the gap between them. He presses his lips to Minghao’s, cups his cheek in his hand, and kisses him. Kisses him with everything he has, with all of the emotions he’d tried to suppress, and Minghao kisses him back. And their lips feel like they were made for each other’s, mold together like two fitting puzzle pieces. There are fireworks and they’re seeing stars, and it’s perfect.

The younger boy falls asleep soon after Junhui pulls away, and he notices how wonderful he looks, outlined in the moonlight. He doesn’t want this moment to end. And he swears that if he died and went to Heaven, he’d relive this scene till the end of time.

Junhui kisses his forehead once more before he leaves, breathes, “I love you.”

But Minghao already knows.

I'm so sorry this took so long. It's four in the morning and I'm so tired. Haha.

Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this and comment. It really does mean so much to me.