Not Quite There (But Close Enough)
Kris/Lay, 7516
Note: Character death
Yifan moves and finds himself in the home of a not-quite deceased man who takes a little time to warm up to.
A/N: written for fanxingyou.
“Sorry I’m late.”
The short woman snaps to attention, business-bred smile immediately forced onto her pinched features, her dark eyes the only thing betraying her act of endless patience. “Oh, it’s not a problem at all! Shall we go up?”
Yifan nods his assent and tugs his pea coat just a little bit tighter to cover himself from the cool breeze as she keys in the passcode and opens the door. This is the third property he’s seen with this particular realtor, a spritely determined woman who had turned a vague idea of a house into a clear-cut one bed, one bath apartment. She’d called him last week to schedule a showing for the newest apartment she’d found, something she thought he would like.
So far, he’s not liking the stairs.
“Is there really no elevator?”
“The building was built a while ago, but all the rooms were renovated relatively recently. The room is on the fifth floor, the last one. Only two more to go!” She says it all with a friendly smile and chirpy voice and Yifan can’t help but envy her endless bubbliness. “The apartment went on the market just a couple years ago, and is really popular! I had to fight to get you a showing today.”
Yifan tunes her out as she talks the place up in favor of taking in the carpeted staircase and the adorned walls. It’s actually quite nice, Yifan’s always been a bit partial to red and the flowery designs on the wall make the place seem kind of regal.
“Last one on the left and here we are!” She digs a set of keys out of her black leather purse and opens the door with a flourish, ushering Yifan inside.
His first step is onto hardwood floors, peeking into what looks like the the main hall. Without further urging, he steps inside and heads down the bare passage, walking into an empty room with a partition leading to a sizable kitchen. Upon further exploration, he finds a master bedroom, a tiled monochrome bathroom, and an empty room that could easily double as an office. He meets back up with his realtor in what he supposes is the living room.
“So?” She asks with a knowing grin.
But Yifan isn’t as sure. “How much is it?”
“Well within your price range.” At Yifan’s confused look, she goes on, “I know, it’s very nice. But the owners really want to get it off their hands and sold. Wouldn’t give me a reason, probably need the money. So, what do you think?”
Yifan gives the apartment a final glance.
“I’ll take it.”
-
A low budget means he has to move all of his things by himself. After lugging the tenth box up five flights of stairs, he is thankful for his foresight in getting rid of his desktop and investing in a laptop. He doesn’t think he could handle anything else.
He drops the box beside its brothers and collapses onto the ground, letting a drawn-out sigh escape when he remembers that the mattress isn’t going to be delivered until tomorrow, and he’ll be without a fridge for another week. With a long-suffering moan, Yifan drags a dark duffel bag onto his stomach and yanks out a pair of pajamas, then throws the bag back across the room.
He drags out the sleeping bag he’d been keeping under his bunk for years and unrolls it. It’s covered in dust, but looks new enough when he gives it a few shakes. Then he forces himself onto aching feet and heads into the bathroom for a shower.
When he comes back, still wet because he’d forgotten a towel, the neat stack of boxes is an utter mess. Clothes are strewn everywhere and a couple carefully wrapped glasses are shattered. Yifan hears a angry howl and runs over to the large living room window, forcing it closed and shivering at the exposure to the cold almost-spring air. When he finally has it shut and latched, he slides to the ground, staring questioningly as the mess of cardboard boxes. The window hadn’t been open. He knows that. So he’s clueless as to how this mess happened.
Too tired to deal with it now, he lethargically cleans up his things and curls up inside his sleeping bag. He’ll figure it out later.
-
If Yifan didn’t know better, he’d say the place was cursed. But he does know better, so he just assumes that the apartment is older than it lets on. He’s had a few more window incidents, and other minor issues with doors and cabinets, but other than that he likes it. Once he has everything moved in, it has an almost homey feel, and he thinks he might stay here for a while.
Yifan’s realtor calls after the first week to make sure he’s okay and that he still likes the apartment, and she sounds almost worried. Yifan writes it off as a company thing, that the agents have to seem like they have invested interest. He assures her that he’s quite happy, and that’s that.
By the end of the second week, he has two trash bags full of newspapers he used as filling, empty boxes, and bubble wrap. He has his pictures of his family and friends mounted on the walls beside small pieces of artwork he’s collected over the years, and his grad degree hanging above an empty desk in the small office. He has explored every crevice and found every noisy floorboard in the apartment. Well. Except for one. In the living room, on the wall farthest from the kitchen is a door. He’d tried opening it, but found it locked, and none of the house keys fit. He’d entertained the idea of calling the realtor but decided against it. There was no urgency.
He thinks the last tenant left in a rush, because he finds little things while he’s cleaning: a toothbrush behind the sink, a receipt in one of the kitchen drawers, broken watch in the bedroom closet. It’s when he decides that he’d rather the bed face away from the window that he really wonders who lived here before him. The frame of the bed scrapes over the hardwood floor, dislodging one of the planks. Groaning, Yifan finishes pushing the bed against the wall before inspecting the damage. He grabs the piece to slot it back into place, but it comes off completely in his hands. Curiosity gets the better of him and he stares at the shallow opening before reaching in, taking out a small black box. The top comes off easily enough, and inside he finds piles of pictures. There’s no date on any of them, but they are all of landscapes. Meadows, hills, trees and gardens. No people. He’s startled by the sudden wail of wind in the living room, and stashes the box back in its hiding place before stalking over to the open window, latching the frame securely even though he knows it’ll happen again by the end of the day. It always does.
It’s around the two and a half week mark that the loneliness first starts setting in. He still hasn’t called his parents, or any of his old friends, and so he stares at his phone for a little while before it vibrates in his hold, alerting him that his monthly payment is due next week.
He still doesn’t have a job.
Yifan sighs and shrugs on a jacket before venturing outside. He still remembers his way around the town, although it’s been a little over ten years. He remembers a few stores on the main street and decides that it’s a good place to start.
He pops his head inside every door, asking if they have a position open, then smiling politely and thanking them when they apologize that “sorry, no, we’re not hiring at the moment.” He’s honestly so used to the reply that when he steps inside a small restaurant, he’s so ready for the rejection that when he receives the opposite, he almost leaves.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Can you pour a cup of coffee?” The man who’d answered asks, looking bored.
Yifan blinks. “Um. Yeah?”
“Then congrats! You got the job! Just put your name and phone number here and we’ll call you about hours.” The man produces a paper and pen and places them on the desk, watching with mild interest as Yifan writes down the information. “We could always use a second pair of hands. As long as you don’t drop anything, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” He offers a pleasant smile and Yifan reciprocates, giving the restaurant a second glance before heading back home, feeling significantly lighter.
The move doesn’t seem like such a bad decision and the five story climb isn’t as daunting. He slips his key into the lock and freezes.
Something is wrong.
The windows are thrown open and the couch has been flipped. Yifan slowly closes the door behind him and steps quietly into the front room. He silently surveys the damage, then hears a crash from inside the bathroom.
Heartbeat deafeningly loud in his ears, he slowly makes his way over to the hallway and hears a cry of anguish before a blur runs from the bathroom to the bedroom and the door slams shut. Yifan doesn’t even think about it, runs right to the bedroom and slams his fist on the door.
“Who are you and how did you get in?”
“Leave!” Is the angry reply, coupled with a loud crash and following thud.
Yifan cringes and tries not to imagine what might have been broken. He jiggles the doorknob and finds that it’s unlocked. He throws it open in time to see a jean-clad leg disappearing inside his closet before the door shuts and the handle clicks. Yifan avoids the pieces of glass on the ground and grabs the handle. It’s locked. “Open up!”
“Leave!” The stranger repeats, voice distinctly male. “Leave or I’ll call the police!”
Yifan relaxes his grip. “The police?” He repeats. “Why would you call the police? This is my home.”
“... your house?” The voice sounds smaller. Yifan thinks he’d be able to handle whatever he finds inside the closet.
“Yeah, so who are you and what are you doing here?” Yifan waits in silence before trying again. “Hey, I asked you a question.”
The handle gives a resounding click and Yifan yanks it open, but finds nothing inside the closet. Only his clothes, now in a scattered disarray, are inside. There is no other sign that anyone had been in there.
-
After the incident, things get a bit easier. Yifan doesn’t ever come home to overturned furniture, and the windows don’t open by themselves anymore. On occasion, he’ll find something where it’s not supposed to be or see something move out of the corner of his eye, but it’s easy to ignore.
Yifan’s job keeps him busy and away from whatever happened in the apartment. The restaurant usually has only a couple patrons at a time, and Yifan finds it easy to make small talk with the regulars and quickly befriends the only other men working there; Minseok the chef, and Luhan who offered him the job. His shift starts at seven, right when the place opens and ends at ten, when Minseok locks the place up and it’s just the thing Yifan needs to get settled.
“Hey, Luhan, can you lock up for me? I’ve got to go to a cousin’s graduation party.”
Luhan deftly catches the set of keys and nods. “Yeah, sure. Don’t worry about it, you can trust me.” Minseok cocks an eyebrow in question and Luhan huffs and throws a dirty rag at him while shooing him out. Then he ditches clean up, instead sitting on the counter and watching Yifan sweep and spray down the tables.
“Nice view?”
“Very. I can see everything from up here!” Luhan flops down on the counter. Yifan grits his teeth, spritzes him, then moves back to cleaning.
Luhan throws his legs up in the air and crosses them, head cradled in his hands. “You want to pack up early? I can tell Minseok we stayed overtime. Cleaned the place from top to bottom.”
“Will he believe you?”
Luhan shrugs, but pushes himself up and snatches the spray bottle, stashes in in the back, and flicks off all the lights. Yifan lets himself be ushered outside and catches the thin jacket thrown at him. He slowly stuffs his arms through the sleeves as Luhan locks the front door and stuffs the keys in his pocket.
“So, which way are you going?” Yifan usually leaves first. Luhan and Minseok stay and chatter for a while after closing.
“Same way as you,” Luhan hums, matching Yifan’s steps, “you’re the new tenant on the fifth floor, right? I live on the third.”
Yifan laughs. “No kidding? This really is a small town.”
“Yep,” the shorter agrees, “and if you stay here too long, you’ll be stuck here forever. Beware!” Luhan waves his fingers in the air and laughs, skipping ahead. Yifan frowns and follows behind.
Luhan takes the stairs like a pro, heading down his hallway and wishing Yifan a good night over his shoulder. The taller reciprocates before dragging himself up the last few stairs, down the hallway, and over to his door. He fumbles for a minute with the key, then successfully slides it into the lock. He passes the light switch, fully intent on just face-planting into his mattress and not moving until the sun reappears, but he stops. There’s a lamp on in the living room.
He peeks into the room and his breath catches in his throat. There’s someone sitting on his couch. Before he can run, the man turns and notices him.
“I think we need to talk.”
Yifan fights back the hysterical laugh that bubbles in his throat, shakily reaching behind him to feel for a chair before collapsing. It’s unnerving how the other’s eyes never leave him. “Yeah?” The man nods, eyes shifting away.
He’s small, smaller than Yifan. Dressed in a hoodie that swallows him whole and skinny jeans coupled with worn vans. Yifan feels like he’s staring at a financial aid poster child. “So, what do you want to talk about?” He prompts, willing himself not to feel bad when the man flinches. “Do you want to tell me what you’re doing here, in my apartment, for starters?”
The man laughs, running a hand through his hair. “See, that’s the thing. Last time I checked, this was my apartment.”
Yifan thinks he needs 911 on speed dial. But, for now, he decides it would be better just to keep the tiny man talking. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” he agrees, still not meeting Yifan’s eyes. “When the first couple of people came here, I was a little confused, but after a couple days they left. You were the first one to stay longer than a week, so I started looking around and realized that none of my things were here. I tried to remember how I got home, but all I can remember is the hospital.”
After a moment of silence, Yifan stands. “Right. Well. On that note, I’m going to bed.” There’s probably a rule about turning your back on a stranger, but Yifan ignores it because he’s tired and not up to deal with this guy.
“Wait!” Yifan turns, eyebrow raised. The man looks a little apologetic, at least. “Um, what’s your name?”
“It’s Yifan,” he replies without turning.
“Oh,” the man sounds contemplative. “Mine’s Yixing.”
Yifan snaps his head around so fast he swears he hears something crack, but there’s no one in there. The couch is empty. He shivers, then heads down the hall to his bedroom.
Later, beneath two blankets and under the faint slivers of moonlight peeking through his blinds, Yifan thinks about a skinny, kind boy in middle school that he never really stopped thinking about, and a crush that raged out of control. He smashes his face in his pillow and wills himself to sleep.
-
“Tomorrow is Saturday.”
“Yeah,” Yifan agrees, in the process of wiping down a table. “And?”
Luhan and Minseok share a look, and after a while Minseok groans from atop the counter, legs kicking uselessly in the air. “Yifan, you need to learn the magic of a day off.”
“Actually we’ve decided to forcibly teach it to you so surprise! You don’t work on Saturdays!” Luhan announces, complete with jazz hands.
“And we’re giving you the rest of today off so you can have some practice,” Minseok states.
Yifan frowns. “Then… what am I supposed to do?”
“Go home!” Luhan and Minseok chorus before shoving him outside and locking the door behind him. Yifan sighs, glares at the pair who wave enthusiastically in response, and heads downtown. He spends the day wandering around, doing some much needed shopping, then heads home around dusk. He scales up the flight of stairs with two grocery bags in hand and manages to open the door with his hands occupied. He unloads everything into the fridge, rubs his eyes, then heads for bed, making sure that he turns his alarms off.
He has no idea what he’s going to do.
-
When Yifan wakes up, the sun is already high in the sky and it’s well past ten in the morning. He figures it’s time to eat cereal and do nothing all day. He groans, pulling himself out of bed and rubs his eyes, padding out into the kitchen. He stops when he sees someone else already in there.
The brunet man, Yixing, is standing at the counter, silently tapping his fingers on the granite surface. He notices Yifan and starts.
“You’re still here!”
He sounds surprised. Yifan nods, moving slowly to grab one of the boxes he’d bought yesterday. “They gave me the day off.” He can see that Yixing’s debating something and he starts walking away. “No! Wait, you don’t have to go. You can, um, have a seat?” He breathes out in relief when the boy walks over to the table and noiselessly pulls out a chair and sits down. Yifan busies himself with preparing breakfast and only realizes what he’s done when he sets two bowls of cereal onto the table. “You don’t eat, do you?”
Yixing gives a minute shake of his head.
Yifan collapses into his own chair. “I am stupid.” Then, to his surprise, he hears laughter.
“It’s fine,” Yixing insists. “Here, I’ll pretend.” Smiling, he picks up a spoon and dips it into the cereal, scooping up a small amount and raising it to his lips. He makes a small noise and surreptitiously dumps the spoonful back into the bowl.
The action causes Yifan to laugh, settling himself to eat his own food. When he’s done, he brings both bowls over to the sink and sees, rather than hears, Yixing walking closer.
“So, what are you going to do on your day off, Yifan?” Yixing pulls himself up onto the counter, offering a small smile while his legs kick in the air.
“Well,” Yifan starts, leaning against the counter, a few feet away from the specter, “I spent yesterday in town, so I guess I’ll spend today here. Doing nothing.”
“Ooh!” Yixing exclaims, beaming now, “I know a good channel on TV. They play pretty good movies. Come on!” The previous occupant of the apartment has Yifan sit beside him on the couch as he rants about movies and instructs the taller man on what to do. During commercial breaks, he chatters about his favorite shows and characters and Yifan listens attentively.
“Yixing.” The boy, legs pulled up and arms hugging them close, turns to face Yifan. “You said there had been others here? How many?”
Yixing screws up his face. “About every other month they’d have a new tenant in, and I couldn’t understand it. This is my house. I got angry. I’d have them out in a few weeks and then they’d show it to someone else. But… I’m glad that you stayed.”
“How long?” There’s a dancing bird on the screen singing about vegetables, but Yifan isn’t paying any attention. “Since they started selling your apartment.”
Yixing scrunches up his nose. “I haven’t been really keeping count, but two years? I guess? I’m pretty sure I’d be the same age as you right now, had things not turned out the way they did.”
Yifan nods. He knows. “Yeah, um, actually I think we went to the same middle school for a bit before my parents moved to the city.”
Yixing’s face goes blank before it lights up with a smile. “Yifan! The really tall kid who was always the team captain in gym?” He laughs. “Oh, I think I helped you with homework a few times. But you went to the big city! Why on earth would you come back here?”
“It’s complicated,” Yifan says defensively. “How did you die?”
Yixing freezes and Yifan realizes his mistake, berating himself internally for the careless question. He half fears that Yixing will up and disappear on him for asking. “I’d… rather not talk about it,” the man says instead, voice small. Yifan nods in understanding, but says nothing-what could he say?-and they go back to watching the TV.
Around nine, Yifan decides to call it a night. Yixing’s mood has improved greatly since the mishap and he follows Yifan around on the balls of his feet as the taller man bustles around, brushing his teeth and putting away the dried dishes. He’s more tired than hungry, so he’ll pass on dinner for tonight.
“Do you like it? The apartment?” Yixing asks in sincere curiosity as Yifan flosses. The other man rinses his mouth before responding.
“It’s very nice,” he compliments, thinking of the rooms and the hardwood floors. Then he remembers something. “Although, that one door in the living room. Is that a mistake? I couldn’t open it with any of the keys.”
“The door in the living room…” Yixing murmurs, padding into the living room in his bare feet, locating said door with no problem. He jiggles the doorknob, frowns, then slowly twists it, grinning when the door opens with ease. “Sorry, I didn’t want anyone finding it.”
Yifan peeks inside, but sees only darkness. “What exactly is ‘it’?”
The lights flick on and Yixing steps inside, taking in the walls and thick string wound across posts with clothespins in clumps dangling from the frayed lines. “I was something of an amateur photographer. I made myself a darkroom.”
Yifan makes the connection immediately. The pictures he found in the bedroom were taken by Yixing. But whereas those were all landscape, these are all of people, more portraits of Yixing himself. Yifan steps further inside to look at a monochrome picture where the man is wearing a huge smile.
“I was trying out portraits right before…” he trails off, fiddling with the hem of his simple white tee. “This is embarrassing.”
“No,” Yifan insists, turning to give the man an encouraging smile. “They’re really good!” He sees the hint of red creeping up on Yixing’s cheeks and takes a second look at the black and white smile. When he turns once more to talk to the photographer, Yixing is nowhere to be seen. Yifan sighs, flicks off the light and closes the door to the room, and puts himself to bed, head swimming with thoughts from the day.
-
The first thing Yifan does when he wakes up is to run into the kitchen. He lets out a relieved sigh when he finds a boy sitting on the counter, jean-clad legs swinging lazily.
“Do you have work today?”
“Sadly,” Yifan starts conversationally, straightening out his shirt, “yes. But we can still have breakfast together.” When the shorter man hops down and situates himself at the table, Yifan prepares two bowls of cereal and sits down across from the brunet. “Do you know why you’re here?”
“I lived here?” Yixing says slowly, more of a question than an answer.
“No, I mean. What are you doing here?” His cheeks color in embarrassment. “People don’t usually hang around after they die. I'm trying to figure out if you’ve got a purpose or any unfinished business… that sounds stupid. I’ve watched way too many dramas.”
Yixing hums thoughtfully. “I’ve never had time to think about it. I mean, I was about to finish up college before it happened, but that was only for a job. Unfinished business?”
Yifan makes the mistake of looking past Yixing and curses. He’s going to be late. “Sorry, it was a stupid thought. Forget about it.” He throws the bowls by the sink; he’ll wash them after he gets home. As he’s pulling his shoes on by the door, a thought hits him and he looks at Yixing, who is still seated at the table. “Will I see you when I get home?”
Yixing looks surprised. “Do you want to?”
The answer is automatic. “Yes.”
“Then you will.”
With that done, Yifan dashes out the door, trusting Yixing to lock it behind him. He makes it to the restaurant just a little after opening time, but no one is there so he figures himself safe. He dumps his light jacket on a chair and waves to a waiting Luhan.
“Enjoy your day off so much you thought you’d take another?” Luhan asks, eyebrow raised in jest. Minseok chuckles from inside the kitchen.
Yifan rolls his eyes and sets to work as the first few customers start rolling in, fixing his face with what he believes is a welcoming smile.
During the afternoon lull, he is sitting on the counter, watching Luhan wipe down tables and Minseok languidly polishing dishes. He remembers that Yixing had spent his entire life in this tiny town, and that every single person knows each other. Maybe… “Hey, Luhan?” The man gives a hum to show he’s listening. “Did you ever know a man named Yixing?”
Luhan’s hand comes to a stop and Minseok peeks his head of the kitchen. “Why do you ask?”
He can’t tell them that he has the ghost of the man living in apartment. He’d have to find another job after being fired for mental instability. “I’d just heard the name somewhere, thought you might know.”
“Well, we did know the kid. We went to same college as him. Might’ve even been considered friends, depending on who you ask. I thought we were friends. He was one of those really determined people. We thought for sure that he would be one of the few who could make it out of this crappy town. He was so into his studies, we barely even saw him the second year.” Luhan pauses. Minseok has set down the plate he had been washing and gives Luhan a warning glare.
“That’s not your story to tell,” he murmurs.
“Right. Well. Things happened and he didn’t make it. Happens to the best of us.” Luhan offers a smile but it’s lacking the usual brightness behind it. “Actually, I think you’re living in his old apartment. Small world, huh?”
Yifan nods, deep in thought. But then the door opens and he reaches for a menu instead of pressing further.
When he gets home, there’s a beaming brunet waiting for him.
“I think I found it!”
Yifan groans at the excitement that goes unappreciated this late at night. He kicks off his shoes and collapses onto the couch, jumping a little in shock when he sees Yixing beside him, but felt no movement of the cushions beforehand to warn him. He brushes it off and leans his head back. “What did you find?”
“Since you left, I’ve been trying to think of something. A purpose or reason, or a higher calling. And I think I know what it is!”
“Really?” Yifan picks his head up. “What is it?”
“So I was trying to think of something that I really, really wanted to do before I died. And I’ve always wanted to get out of this town and travel the world. With my camera. I wanted to take a picture of something beautiful. Yifan, I think I need to take a picture of something I love. That might be it.”
“Oh.” Yifan blinks. Yixing’s chest is rising and falling rapidly, arms still in the air from when he was trying to explain. His brown eyes sparkle with excitement and Yifan twists to face him completely. “You really like photography, huh?”
“I love it,” Yixing is practically glowing, and not in the supernatural sense, “I spent my first paycheck on a Nikon.”
“So, what do you think you need to take a picture of?”
“I was thinking I need to blend it. So something that’s far away but gorgeous.” Yixing taps his bottom lip in thought. “Ooh! The Eiffel Tower!”
Yifan shakes his head immediately. “No, I’m not going with you to France on a chance that you might see something beautiful. What if you don’t even like it?”
Yixing pouts, standing as Yifan does and begins shouting place names and famous landmarks.
“I think,” the older man begins, toothbrush dangling from his mouth, “that you need to think of something that is personal. Something you love more than anything else.” He spits out toothpaste and yawns. “While you think about that, I’m going to sleep. Goodnight.”
Yixing merely waves and scampers off to the living room. “Thank you, Yifan!”
-
“Hey, you have today off, right?”
Yifan opens his eyes and spots a head peeking into his doorway. The week had passed quickly, the usual routine of serving and cleaning in addition to the new ritual of eating breakfast with Yixing, who chatters on about photography and angles, then walks Yifan to the door when it’s time for him to leave.
“Right,” Yifan confirms, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Why?”
“I want to go somewhere.” Yixing dances around the doorway, restless. He stops to fix Yifan with a serious look. “But after you-we-eat breakfast. Of course.”
Yifan grins and shoos the man away, throwing on a pair of jeans and a tee before wandering out into the kitchen. There are already two bowls of cereal on the table and Yixing is practically bouncing in his seat. Yifan cocks an eyebrow but sits himself across from the younger man, slowly eating the drowned flakes of wheat. He can practically feel Yixing’s patience dying and relishes it.
Finally, he gets up to clear the plates and Yixing shoots out of his chair, leaping over the couch to grab something. Yifan stills. “Hey, you okay there?”
“Yeah,” Yixing replies, popping up nonchalantly. “I just wanted to grab my camera. So, can we go now?”
Yifan sighs, bending down to grab a pair of shoes. When he sees Yixing open the door and start to walk out into the hall, he freezes. “Wait. Can you go out?”
“I see no reason why not,” Yixing sing-songs in reply, stepping over the doorjamb and into the hallway. “See? Now hurry up!”
Yifan groans, following after and locking the door behind them. It’s still relatively early, so there is next to no one on the sidewalk or the road. He walks beside the shorter man, matching him step for silent step, the absence of sound no longer a worry to him. It’s just as part of Yixing as his shy smile or perpetual white tee and jeans.
“I’m pretty sure it’s right over this hill.”
Yifan frowns. “‘Pretty sure’? What, haven’t you been there before?”
“I have,” Yixing says, staring at the grassy hill before them, “just not in a while.”
Yifan stays quiet after that. The reply seemed a little ominous, but he shakes it off and looks around as they walk. It’s a very nice day, the start of a transition from spring to summer, so it’s free of rainy storms and instead consists of a bright sun and a light breeze that plays with the blades of grass and persevering flowers.
“There,” Yixing blurts, pointing down and into a fenced area. “It’s right there.” And then he takes off at a run, Yifan fighting to keep up. As they near, Yifan realizes that this isn’t just an excursion to a park or favorite place, a thought confirmed by the chilling word having above the opening of the fenced area. Yixing keeps running until they reach the back of the area, and then he begins searching for something while Yifan braces himself with two hands on his knees, and when he finds it, he drops to his knees. Yifan wanders over and stops cold.
Zhang Yixing.
The first year is familiar, but the second is not, and is a mere four years ago, meaning Yixing died before he had even hit twenty. Yifan’s chest tightens.
“Look,” the kneeling man mumbles, pointing to a stalk of wilting flowers behind the marble marker. “They’re not too old. Someone visits here a lot. I bet it’s my mother. She was always so persistent. Bringing flowers years after a death seems within her personality.”
A faint breeze rolls past, startling clumps of tall grass and raising goosebumps on Yifan’s skin. “Hey, let’s get out of here.” He reaches forward to pull Yixing, but his hand goes clean through the man. He pulls his hand back and takes a step away, waiting for a minute. “Yixing.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I guess I wasn’t…” the brunet trails off, but picks himself up and stands in front of the slab of marble that denotes his own name. “I. I’m down there. Beneath my feet. I’m dead.”
The finality of the statement angers Yifan. No, Yixing is not dead. He’s standing, moving, talking in front of him. He’s alive as any other person Yifan’s met and they need to go somewhere else. “Yixing.”
“Right, yeah, you’re right. Let’s go.” But before he moves, Yixing raises his camera and snaps a picture, pausing for a second after. Then he’s off, walking out of the graveyard as fast as he can go. He leads once more, walking over hills and dips in paths, until they reach a relatively high hill and settle in the lush grass. “I used to take pictures here, when I had time. It’s a great place to be; people are always out and about in the walkways below and the flowers grow especially thick on that side of the hill.” He fiddles with his camera.
“I have a couple questions.”
Yixing visibly brightens. “Shoot.”
“I can’t touch you, but you can touch your camera and cereal. Explain.”
“I think it has something to do with life. I tried touching one of the previous tenants, but my hand went right through him. I think I can touch inanimate objects because they aren’t alive. But that’s just speculation,” Yixing answers, scratching his chin in thought. “Next!”
“Is that why you don’t wear shoes?”
Yixing frowns at that. “It’s not that I don’t. It’s that I can’t? I guess? I tried changing out of these clothes once, but they stick to my skin. Also, I don’t feel anything when I walk.” When Yifan tilts his head in confusion, he huffs in annoyance and goes on to say, “I mean, I know there is ground beneath me, but I can’t feel it. Just like when I’m holding something, I know that I am, but there is no physical reassurance. Okay? Next!”
They pass the afternoon like that, lying atop a grassy hill and chatting. Yifan asks questions and Yixing answers, sometimes turning it into a question to fire back at the taller man. The talking starts to die down, and they preoccupy themselves with staring at the clear sky, listening to the gentle wind roll over the undergrowth.
“Let’s move.” Yixing’s face lights up in a mischievous grin. “Let’s make it a race! Last one to the bottom loses. Go!”
Yifan watches, complaint stuck in his throat as Yixing flips himself onto his side, then proceeds to roll down the hill. Yifan groans, but follows, arms covering his face as he rolls downhill. Expectedly, Yixing is waiting for him at the bottom with a broad smile. He announces his win and takes out his camera, leaning over a cluster of purple blossoms.
After a few minutes of silence, Yifan feels the need to talk. “You were wondering why I left the city. It is a long story, but I’ll tell it to you. After high school, I went to college for teaching certification. I got my bachelor’s and master’s in six years because of an accelerated program, and was almost immediately hired at a private school in the city. They had elementary, middle, and high schools all on this giant campus, and gave me an apartment nearby. It was unbelievable. I taught literature to ninth and tenth graders and made friends with the other teachers in the English department. We all agreed to start a fundraising event for better books, and it was a lot of fun. They were all very nice people, and we ended up raising over ten thousand dollars, some of which we gave to the art department because of waning resources. But then, we had to approach the principal. We had no idea how selfish he was, and just how much he took out of the actual profits of the school for himself. He took the money and framed one of the veteran teachers under a false embezzlement scheme. It gained attention from everyone, and the man ended up getting forced into quitting his job. It was disgusting. None of the other teachers stood up for him. I handed in my letter of resignation the next day. I thought about staying in the city, but quitting at the same time as an embezzlement caused by someone in my department would no doubt look bad. So I decided to come back here.” Kris sighs, throwing an arm over his face. “The city isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“I’m so sorry.” Yixing reaches out to soothe the man, but thinks better of it and leans back on his hands. “I guess I should tell you something now, huh? Equal exchange and all that.”
“You don’t have to.”
“No, I want to,” Yixing insists. “But what to talk about? Oh. Um. You asked me how I died, didn’t you?”
Yifan’s eyes shoot open. “Yixing, you shouldn’t. Don’t. You really don’t have to tell me.”
“No, it’s fine. It was a while ago, after all.” He takes a deep breath. “Let’s see. Well, you knew me in middle school, so you already know that my family is poor. They wanted me to take over the family business, working at the convenience store. But I wanted more, so I enrolled myself at the tiny college here, full-time. I knew that I’d need a good major, so I dropped photography except as a hobby as declared myself a math major. I’m really not that good at math, so I found a tutor on top of the night-shift I found to help pay tuition. I got maybe two hours of sleep a night and ate two meals on a good day, but I thought that was normal. Turns out it really wasn’t. I got chest pains around the end of my second year that evolved into crippling attacks. I was rushed to the hospital after I passed out and woke up to a white room and a frowning doctor. I had hours left. It was heart disease brought on by stress. But, I suppose if I could do it again, I probably wouldn’t have changed anything. I reached for my dream and got as close as I could before I tripped and fell. It was inevitable, but I got as close as I could. Yifan, there is beauty in failure. If it is good for nothing else, at least there is that.”
Yifan is mesmerized. After watching the fluctuation of emotions across Yixing’s face, he is speechless. All he can think about is how perfect the man is. Life is cruel.
“I had a huge crush on you back in middle school.”
Yifan doesn’t realize he’s spoken until Yixing turns to look at him, eyes wide. That’s when he slaps a hand over his mouth. He wishes their roles were switched. Yifan would much rather be six feet under right about now.
“I tell you the story of my death and in response you tell me that you had a crush on me?” Yixing asks in disbelief. “You’re something else, Yifan.”
Then he laughs and the noise itself washes over the taller man like a wave of calm and he breathes out a sigh, meeting the younger man’s eyes that twinkle with amusement.
Yifan refuses to believe that this man is dead.
-
They’re more comfortable with each other after that. They still do breakfasts in the morning that are filled with conversation, but now when Yifan gets home, they curl up on the couch together, and even though they can’t touch, Yixing leans as close as possible and Yifan does the same and they can pretend. On Saturdays, they either go out and take pictures-well, Yixing does. Yifan watches with an affectionate smile-or they stay in bed all day, talking about nothing.
“It’s been a while.”
It’s a Saturday, so Yifan is still in his pajamas at lunch time. He takes another bite out of his sandwich and shakes his head. “It feels like no time has passed at all. In fact, I think I still have a few unopened boxes.”
“Yifan,” Yixing starts in that serious voice of his that he rarely uses, and that catches Yifan’s attention. This must be something serious. “It’s my birthday.”
The older man freezes. “Why didn’t you tell me? I had no idea!”
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Yixing brushes him off with a small smile. “Plus, I’ve been thinking about something you can do for me. To make up for it.”
Dismissing the tense atmosphere, Yifan places the remains of his sandwich back on its plate and leans forward, offering a smile. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
“Close your eyes,” Yixing demands.
Yifan does so, still smiling. But then he hears the click and sound of the shutter and his smile falls. He opens his eyes and sees that instead of the usual Nikon, Yixing has a Polaroid clutched between his fingers. The camera whirrs and produces a picture, but Yifan keeps his eyes glued to Yixing’s face. He’s crying.
“I didn’t tell you, but,” he stops to sniff and grabs the photograph, shaking it lightly between his fingers. “I figured it out. And you were right. It was personal, something that I loved more than anything else.” He reaches out and instead of falling through, his fingers graze Yifan’s cheek. “And it’s you.”
Yifan can’t talk. He feels his throat close up and as much as he opens his mouth, no sound escapes. He watches as Yixing leans closer, and feels rather than sees the lips that graze his cheek. The brunet leans back and slips something into Yifan’s hands, and then chokes out a sob.
“I am so happy that it was you,” he laughs despite the tears, and Yifan is alarmed that he can see through him to the wooden cabinets. “I’ve finally taken a picture of a masterpiece, and I want the world to see it. Don’t hide it. Please.” Then he leaps forward again, throwing his arms around Yifan’s neck. The taller man closes his eyes and holds the smaller figure as close as he can. “I love you, and I know other people will, too. Give them a chance.” The words are whispered into his ear and are followed by a chaste peck.
When Yifan opens his eyes, his arms are empty, and the slight tingle on his cheek is the only evidence that the other was even there in the first place. He looks down and catches sight of the picture in his hands. Upon closer inspection, he sees that it is himself. He looks happy, expectant, and in love.
That night he falls asleep on the couch, tv still on, crumpled tissues surrounding him, and the picture held securely in his hand.
-
It’s during the afternoon lull that Luhan brings it up. “I think,” he starts, while Minseok is bringing out the trash, “that the best thing about Yixing was his smile. I mean, you’ve had to have seen it, but the kid just had this smile that was so contagious you had no idea.”
Yifan thinks of the locked room in his apartment. The door is hidden behind a bookcase, but still present. It’s filled with smiles, wall to wall. Smiles of strangers, friends, family, an amateur photographer, and even himself. “No,” he shakes his head, going back to cleaning the table, “I believe you. I’m sure Yixing had a wonderful smile.”
Note: Character death
Yifan moves and finds himself in the home of a not-quite deceased man who takes a little time to warm up to.
A/N: written for fanxingyou.
“Sorry I’m late.”
The short woman snaps to attention, business-bred smile immediately forced onto her pinched features, her dark eyes the only thing betraying her act of endless patience. “Oh, it’s not a problem at all! Shall we go up?”
Yifan nods his assent and tugs his pea coat just a little bit tighter to cover himself from the cool breeze as she keys in the passcode and opens the door. This is the third property he’s seen with this particular realtor, a spritely determined woman who had turned a vague idea of a house into a clear-cut one bed, one bath apartment. She’d called him last week to schedule a showing for the newest apartment she’d found, something she thought he would like.
So far, he’s not liking the stairs.
“Is there really no elevator?”
“The building was built a while ago, but all the rooms were renovated relatively recently. The room is on the fifth floor, the last one. Only two more to go!” She says it all with a friendly smile and chirpy voice and Yifan can’t help but envy her endless bubbliness. “The apartment went on the market just a couple years ago, and is really popular! I had to fight to get you a showing today.”
Yifan tunes her out as she talks the place up in favor of taking in the carpeted staircase and the adorned walls. It’s actually quite nice, Yifan’s always been a bit partial to red and the flowery designs on the wall make the place seem kind of regal.
“Last one on the left and here we are!” She digs a set of keys out of her black leather purse and opens the door with a flourish, ushering Yifan inside.
His first step is onto hardwood floors, peeking into what looks like the the main hall. Without further urging, he steps inside and heads down the bare passage, walking into an empty room with a partition leading to a sizable kitchen. Upon further exploration, he finds a master bedroom, a tiled monochrome bathroom, and an empty room that could easily double as an office. He meets back up with his realtor in what he supposes is the living room.
“So?” She asks with a knowing grin.
But Yifan isn’t as sure. “How much is it?”
“Well within your price range.” At Yifan’s confused look, she goes on, “I know, it’s very nice. But the owners really want to get it off their hands and sold. Wouldn’t give me a reason, probably need the money. So, what do you think?”
Yifan gives the apartment a final glance.
“I’ll take it.”
-
A low budget means he has to move all of his things by himself. After lugging the tenth box up five flights of stairs, he is thankful for his foresight in getting rid of his desktop and investing in a laptop. He doesn’t think he could handle anything else.
He drops the box beside its brothers and collapses onto the ground, letting a drawn-out sigh escape when he remembers that the mattress isn’t going to be delivered until tomorrow, and he’ll be without a fridge for another week. With a long-suffering moan, Yifan drags a dark duffel bag onto his stomach and yanks out a pair of pajamas, then throws the bag back across the room.
He drags out the sleeping bag he’d been keeping under his bunk for years and unrolls it. It’s covered in dust, but looks new enough when he gives it a few shakes. Then he forces himself onto aching feet and heads into the bathroom for a shower.
When he comes back, still wet because he’d forgotten a towel, the neat stack of boxes is an utter mess. Clothes are strewn everywhere and a couple carefully wrapped glasses are shattered. Yifan hears a angry howl and runs over to the large living room window, forcing it closed and shivering at the exposure to the cold almost-spring air. When he finally has it shut and latched, he slides to the ground, staring questioningly as the mess of cardboard boxes. The window hadn’t been open. He knows that. So he’s clueless as to how this mess happened.
Too tired to deal with it now, he lethargically cleans up his things and curls up inside his sleeping bag. He’ll figure it out later.
-
If Yifan didn’t know better, he’d say the place was cursed. But he does know better, so he just assumes that the apartment is older than it lets on. He’s had a few more window incidents, and other minor issues with doors and cabinets, but other than that he likes it. Once he has everything moved in, it has an almost homey feel, and he thinks he might stay here for a while.
Yifan’s realtor calls after the first week to make sure he’s okay and that he still likes the apartment, and she sounds almost worried. Yifan writes it off as a company thing, that the agents have to seem like they have invested interest. He assures her that he’s quite happy, and that’s that.
By the end of the second week, he has two trash bags full of newspapers he used as filling, empty boxes, and bubble wrap. He has his pictures of his family and friends mounted on the walls beside small pieces of artwork he’s collected over the years, and his grad degree hanging above an empty desk in the small office. He has explored every crevice and found every noisy floorboard in the apartment. Well. Except for one. In the living room, on the wall farthest from the kitchen is a door. He’d tried opening it, but found it locked, and none of the house keys fit. He’d entertained the idea of calling the realtor but decided against it. There was no urgency.
He thinks the last tenant left in a rush, because he finds little things while he’s cleaning: a toothbrush behind the sink, a receipt in one of the kitchen drawers, broken watch in the bedroom closet. It’s when he decides that he’d rather the bed face away from the window that he really wonders who lived here before him. The frame of the bed scrapes over the hardwood floor, dislodging one of the planks. Groaning, Yifan finishes pushing the bed against the wall before inspecting the damage. He grabs the piece to slot it back into place, but it comes off completely in his hands. Curiosity gets the better of him and he stares at the shallow opening before reaching in, taking out a small black box. The top comes off easily enough, and inside he finds piles of pictures. There’s no date on any of them, but they are all of landscapes. Meadows, hills, trees and gardens. No people. He’s startled by the sudden wail of wind in the living room, and stashes the box back in its hiding place before stalking over to the open window, latching the frame securely even though he knows it’ll happen again by the end of the day. It always does.
It’s around the two and a half week mark that the loneliness first starts setting in. He still hasn’t called his parents, or any of his old friends, and so he stares at his phone for a little while before it vibrates in his hold, alerting him that his monthly payment is due next week.
He still doesn’t have a job.
Yifan sighs and shrugs on a jacket before venturing outside. He still remembers his way around the town, although it’s been a little over ten years. He remembers a few stores on the main street and decides that it’s a good place to start.
He pops his head inside every door, asking if they have a position open, then smiling politely and thanking them when they apologize that “sorry, no, we’re not hiring at the moment.” He’s honestly so used to the reply that when he steps inside a small restaurant, he’s so ready for the rejection that when he receives the opposite, he almost leaves.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Can you pour a cup of coffee?” The man who’d answered asks, looking bored.
Yifan blinks. “Um. Yeah?”
“Then congrats! You got the job! Just put your name and phone number here and we’ll call you about hours.” The man produces a paper and pen and places them on the desk, watching with mild interest as Yifan writes down the information. “We could always use a second pair of hands. As long as you don’t drop anything, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” He offers a pleasant smile and Yifan reciprocates, giving the restaurant a second glance before heading back home, feeling significantly lighter.
The move doesn’t seem like such a bad decision and the five story climb isn’t as daunting. He slips his key into the lock and freezes.
Something is wrong.
The windows are thrown open and the couch has been flipped. Yifan slowly closes the door behind him and steps quietly into the front room. He silently surveys the damage, then hears a crash from inside the bathroom.
Heartbeat deafeningly loud in his ears, he slowly makes his way over to the hallway and hears a cry of anguish before a blur runs from the bathroom to the bedroom and the door slams shut. Yifan doesn’t even think about it, runs right to the bedroom and slams his fist on the door.
“Who are you and how did you get in?”
“Leave!” Is the angry reply, coupled with a loud crash and following thud.
Yifan cringes and tries not to imagine what might have been broken. He jiggles the doorknob and finds that it’s unlocked. He throws it open in time to see a jean-clad leg disappearing inside his closet before the door shuts and the handle clicks. Yifan avoids the pieces of glass on the ground and grabs the handle. It’s locked. “Open up!”
“Leave!” The stranger repeats, voice distinctly male. “Leave or I’ll call the police!”
Yifan relaxes his grip. “The police?” He repeats. “Why would you call the police? This is my home.”
“... your house?” The voice sounds smaller. Yifan thinks he’d be able to handle whatever he finds inside the closet.
“Yeah, so who are you and what are you doing here?” Yifan waits in silence before trying again. “Hey, I asked you a question.”
The handle gives a resounding click and Yifan yanks it open, but finds nothing inside the closet. Only his clothes, now in a scattered disarray, are inside. There is no other sign that anyone had been in there.
-
After the incident, things get a bit easier. Yifan doesn’t ever come home to overturned furniture, and the windows don’t open by themselves anymore. On occasion, he’ll find something where it’s not supposed to be or see something move out of the corner of his eye, but it’s easy to ignore.
Yifan’s job keeps him busy and away from whatever happened in the apartment. The restaurant usually has only a couple patrons at a time, and Yifan finds it easy to make small talk with the regulars and quickly befriends the only other men working there; Minseok the chef, and Luhan who offered him the job. His shift starts at seven, right when the place opens and ends at ten, when Minseok locks the place up and it’s just the thing Yifan needs to get settled.
“Hey, Luhan, can you lock up for me? I’ve got to go to a cousin’s graduation party.”
Luhan deftly catches the set of keys and nods. “Yeah, sure. Don’t worry about it, you can trust me.” Minseok cocks an eyebrow in question and Luhan huffs and throws a dirty rag at him while shooing him out. Then he ditches clean up, instead sitting on the counter and watching Yifan sweep and spray down the tables.
“Nice view?”
“Very. I can see everything from up here!” Luhan flops down on the counter. Yifan grits his teeth, spritzes him, then moves back to cleaning.
Luhan throws his legs up in the air and crosses them, head cradled in his hands. “You want to pack up early? I can tell Minseok we stayed overtime. Cleaned the place from top to bottom.”
“Will he believe you?”
Luhan shrugs, but pushes himself up and snatches the spray bottle, stashes in in the back, and flicks off all the lights. Yifan lets himself be ushered outside and catches the thin jacket thrown at him. He slowly stuffs his arms through the sleeves as Luhan locks the front door and stuffs the keys in his pocket.
“So, which way are you going?” Yifan usually leaves first. Luhan and Minseok stay and chatter for a while after closing.
“Same way as you,” Luhan hums, matching Yifan’s steps, “you’re the new tenant on the fifth floor, right? I live on the third.”
Yifan laughs. “No kidding? This really is a small town.”
“Yep,” the shorter agrees, “and if you stay here too long, you’ll be stuck here forever. Beware!” Luhan waves his fingers in the air and laughs, skipping ahead. Yifan frowns and follows behind.
Luhan takes the stairs like a pro, heading down his hallway and wishing Yifan a good night over his shoulder. The taller reciprocates before dragging himself up the last few stairs, down the hallway, and over to his door. He fumbles for a minute with the key, then successfully slides it into the lock. He passes the light switch, fully intent on just face-planting into his mattress and not moving until the sun reappears, but he stops. There’s a lamp on in the living room.
He peeks into the room and his breath catches in his throat. There’s someone sitting on his couch. Before he can run, the man turns and notices him.
“I think we need to talk.”
Yifan fights back the hysterical laugh that bubbles in his throat, shakily reaching behind him to feel for a chair before collapsing. It’s unnerving how the other’s eyes never leave him. “Yeah?” The man nods, eyes shifting away.
He’s small, smaller than Yifan. Dressed in a hoodie that swallows him whole and skinny jeans coupled with worn vans. Yifan feels like he’s staring at a financial aid poster child. “So, what do you want to talk about?” He prompts, willing himself not to feel bad when the man flinches. “Do you want to tell me what you’re doing here, in my apartment, for starters?”
The man laughs, running a hand through his hair. “See, that’s the thing. Last time I checked, this was my apartment.”
Yifan thinks he needs 911 on speed dial. But, for now, he decides it would be better just to keep the tiny man talking. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” he agrees, still not meeting Yifan’s eyes. “When the first couple of people came here, I was a little confused, but after a couple days they left. You were the first one to stay longer than a week, so I started looking around and realized that none of my things were here. I tried to remember how I got home, but all I can remember is the hospital.”
After a moment of silence, Yifan stands. “Right. Well. On that note, I’m going to bed.” There’s probably a rule about turning your back on a stranger, but Yifan ignores it because he’s tired and not up to deal with this guy.
“Wait!” Yifan turns, eyebrow raised. The man looks a little apologetic, at least. “Um, what’s your name?”
“It’s Yifan,” he replies without turning.
“Oh,” the man sounds contemplative. “Mine’s Yixing.”
Yifan snaps his head around so fast he swears he hears something crack, but there’s no one in there. The couch is empty. He shivers, then heads down the hall to his bedroom.
Later, beneath two blankets and under the faint slivers of moonlight peeking through his blinds, Yifan thinks about a skinny, kind boy in middle school that he never really stopped thinking about, and a crush that raged out of control. He smashes his face in his pillow and wills himself to sleep.
-
“Tomorrow is Saturday.”
“Yeah,” Yifan agrees, in the process of wiping down a table. “And?”
Luhan and Minseok share a look, and after a while Minseok groans from atop the counter, legs kicking uselessly in the air. “Yifan, you need to learn the magic of a day off.”
“Actually we’ve decided to forcibly teach it to you so surprise! You don’t work on Saturdays!” Luhan announces, complete with jazz hands.
“And we’re giving you the rest of today off so you can have some practice,” Minseok states.
Yifan frowns. “Then… what am I supposed to do?”
“Go home!” Luhan and Minseok chorus before shoving him outside and locking the door behind him. Yifan sighs, glares at the pair who wave enthusiastically in response, and heads downtown. He spends the day wandering around, doing some much needed shopping, then heads home around dusk. He scales up the flight of stairs with two grocery bags in hand and manages to open the door with his hands occupied. He unloads everything into the fridge, rubs his eyes, then heads for bed, making sure that he turns his alarms off.
He has no idea what he’s going to do.
-
When Yifan wakes up, the sun is already high in the sky and it’s well past ten in the morning. He figures it’s time to eat cereal and do nothing all day. He groans, pulling himself out of bed and rubs his eyes, padding out into the kitchen. He stops when he sees someone else already in there.
The brunet man, Yixing, is standing at the counter, silently tapping his fingers on the granite surface. He notices Yifan and starts.
“You’re still here!”
He sounds surprised. Yifan nods, moving slowly to grab one of the boxes he’d bought yesterday. “They gave me the day off.” He can see that Yixing’s debating something and he starts walking away. “No! Wait, you don’t have to go. You can, um, have a seat?” He breathes out in relief when the boy walks over to the table and noiselessly pulls out a chair and sits down. Yifan busies himself with preparing breakfast and only realizes what he’s done when he sets two bowls of cereal onto the table. “You don’t eat, do you?”
Yixing gives a minute shake of his head.
Yifan collapses into his own chair. “I am stupid.” Then, to his surprise, he hears laughter.
“It’s fine,” Yixing insists. “Here, I’ll pretend.” Smiling, he picks up a spoon and dips it into the cereal, scooping up a small amount and raising it to his lips. He makes a small noise and surreptitiously dumps the spoonful back into the bowl.
The action causes Yifan to laugh, settling himself to eat his own food. When he’s done, he brings both bowls over to the sink and sees, rather than hears, Yixing walking closer.
“So, what are you going to do on your day off, Yifan?” Yixing pulls himself up onto the counter, offering a small smile while his legs kick in the air.
“Well,” Yifan starts, leaning against the counter, a few feet away from the specter, “I spent yesterday in town, so I guess I’ll spend today here. Doing nothing.”
“Ooh!” Yixing exclaims, beaming now, “I know a good channel on TV. They play pretty good movies. Come on!” The previous occupant of the apartment has Yifan sit beside him on the couch as he rants about movies and instructs the taller man on what to do. During commercial breaks, he chatters about his favorite shows and characters and Yifan listens attentively.
“Yixing.” The boy, legs pulled up and arms hugging them close, turns to face Yifan. “You said there had been others here? How many?”
Yixing screws up his face. “About every other month they’d have a new tenant in, and I couldn’t understand it. This is my house. I got angry. I’d have them out in a few weeks and then they’d show it to someone else. But… I’m glad that you stayed.”
“How long?” There’s a dancing bird on the screen singing about vegetables, but Yifan isn’t paying any attention. “Since they started selling your apartment.”
Yixing scrunches up his nose. “I haven’t been really keeping count, but two years? I guess? I’m pretty sure I’d be the same age as you right now, had things not turned out the way they did.”
Yifan nods. He knows. “Yeah, um, actually I think we went to the same middle school for a bit before my parents moved to the city.”
Yixing’s face goes blank before it lights up with a smile. “Yifan! The really tall kid who was always the team captain in gym?” He laughs. “Oh, I think I helped you with homework a few times. But you went to the big city! Why on earth would you come back here?”
“It’s complicated,” Yifan says defensively. “How did you die?”
Yixing freezes and Yifan realizes his mistake, berating himself internally for the careless question. He half fears that Yixing will up and disappear on him for asking. “I’d… rather not talk about it,” the man says instead, voice small. Yifan nods in understanding, but says nothing-what could he say?-and they go back to watching the TV.
Around nine, Yifan decides to call it a night. Yixing’s mood has improved greatly since the mishap and he follows Yifan around on the balls of his feet as the taller man bustles around, brushing his teeth and putting away the dried dishes. He’s more tired than hungry, so he’ll pass on dinner for tonight.
“Do you like it? The apartment?” Yixing asks in sincere curiosity as Yifan flosses. The other man rinses his mouth before responding.
“It’s very nice,” he compliments, thinking of the rooms and the hardwood floors. Then he remembers something. “Although, that one door in the living room. Is that a mistake? I couldn’t open it with any of the keys.”
“The door in the living room…” Yixing murmurs, padding into the living room in his bare feet, locating said door with no problem. He jiggles the doorknob, frowns, then slowly twists it, grinning when the door opens with ease. “Sorry, I didn’t want anyone finding it.”
Yifan peeks inside, but sees only darkness. “What exactly is ‘it’?”
The lights flick on and Yixing steps inside, taking in the walls and thick string wound across posts with clothespins in clumps dangling from the frayed lines. “I was something of an amateur photographer. I made myself a darkroom.”
Yifan makes the connection immediately. The pictures he found in the bedroom were taken by Yixing. But whereas those were all landscape, these are all of people, more portraits of Yixing himself. Yifan steps further inside to look at a monochrome picture where the man is wearing a huge smile.
“I was trying out portraits right before…” he trails off, fiddling with the hem of his simple white tee. “This is embarrassing.”
“No,” Yifan insists, turning to give the man an encouraging smile. “They’re really good!” He sees the hint of red creeping up on Yixing’s cheeks and takes a second look at the black and white smile. When he turns once more to talk to the photographer, Yixing is nowhere to be seen. Yifan sighs, flicks off the light and closes the door to the room, and puts himself to bed, head swimming with thoughts from the day.
-
The first thing Yifan does when he wakes up is to run into the kitchen. He lets out a relieved sigh when he finds a boy sitting on the counter, jean-clad legs swinging lazily.
“Do you have work today?”
“Sadly,” Yifan starts conversationally, straightening out his shirt, “yes. But we can still have breakfast together.” When the shorter man hops down and situates himself at the table, Yifan prepares two bowls of cereal and sits down across from the brunet. “Do you know why you’re here?”
“I lived here?” Yixing says slowly, more of a question than an answer.
“No, I mean. What are you doing here?” His cheeks color in embarrassment. “People don’t usually hang around after they die. I'm trying to figure out if you’ve got a purpose or any unfinished business… that sounds stupid. I’ve watched way too many dramas.”
Yixing hums thoughtfully. “I’ve never had time to think about it. I mean, I was about to finish up college before it happened, but that was only for a job. Unfinished business?”
Yifan makes the mistake of looking past Yixing and curses. He’s going to be late. “Sorry, it was a stupid thought. Forget about it.” He throws the bowls by the sink; he’ll wash them after he gets home. As he’s pulling his shoes on by the door, a thought hits him and he looks at Yixing, who is still seated at the table. “Will I see you when I get home?”
Yixing looks surprised. “Do you want to?”
The answer is automatic. “Yes.”
“Then you will.”
With that done, Yifan dashes out the door, trusting Yixing to lock it behind him. He makes it to the restaurant just a little after opening time, but no one is there so he figures himself safe. He dumps his light jacket on a chair and waves to a waiting Luhan.
“Enjoy your day off so much you thought you’d take another?” Luhan asks, eyebrow raised in jest. Minseok chuckles from inside the kitchen.
Yifan rolls his eyes and sets to work as the first few customers start rolling in, fixing his face with what he believes is a welcoming smile.
During the afternoon lull, he is sitting on the counter, watching Luhan wipe down tables and Minseok languidly polishing dishes. He remembers that Yixing had spent his entire life in this tiny town, and that every single person knows each other. Maybe… “Hey, Luhan?” The man gives a hum to show he’s listening. “Did you ever know a man named Yixing?”
Luhan’s hand comes to a stop and Minseok peeks his head of the kitchen. “Why do you ask?”
He can’t tell them that he has the ghost of the man living in apartment. He’d have to find another job after being fired for mental instability. “I’d just heard the name somewhere, thought you might know.”
“Well, we did know the kid. We went to same college as him. Might’ve even been considered friends, depending on who you ask. I thought we were friends. He was one of those really determined people. We thought for sure that he would be one of the few who could make it out of this crappy town. He was so into his studies, we barely even saw him the second year.” Luhan pauses. Minseok has set down the plate he had been washing and gives Luhan a warning glare.
“That’s not your story to tell,” he murmurs.
“Right. Well. Things happened and he didn’t make it. Happens to the best of us.” Luhan offers a smile but it’s lacking the usual brightness behind it. “Actually, I think you’re living in his old apartment. Small world, huh?”
Yifan nods, deep in thought. But then the door opens and he reaches for a menu instead of pressing further.
When he gets home, there’s a beaming brunet waiting for him.
“I think I found it!”
Yifan groans at the excitement that goes unappreciated this late at night. He kicks off his shoes and collapses onto the couch, jumping a little in shock when he sees Yixing beside him, but felt no movement of the cushions beforehand to warn him. He brushes it off and leans his head back. “What did you find?”
“Since you left, I’ve been trying to think of something. A purpose or reason, or a higher calling. And I think I know what it is!”
“Really?” Yifan picks his head up. “What is it?”
“So I was trying to think of something that I really, really wanted to do before I died. And I’ve always wanted to get out of this town and travel the world. With my camera. I wanted to take a picture of something beautiful. Yifan, I think I need to take a picture of something I love. That might be it.”
“Oh.” Yifan blinks. Yixing’s chest is rising and falling rapidly, arms still in the air from when he was trying to explain. His brown eyes sparkle with excitement and Yifan twists to face him completely. “You really like photography, huh?”
“I love it,” Yixing is practically glowing, and not in the supernatural sense, “I spent my first paycheck on a Nikon.”
“So, what do you think you need to take a picture of?”
“I was thinking I need to blend it. So something that’s far away but gorgeous.” Yixing taps his bottom lip in thought. “Ooh! The Eiffel Tower!”
Yifan shakes his head immediately. “No, I’m not going with you to France on a chance that you might see something beautiful. What if you don’t even like it?”
Yixing pouts, standing as Yifan does and begins shouting place names and famous landmarks.
“I think,” the older man begins, toothbrush dangling from his mouth, “that you need to think of something that is personal. Something you love more than anything else.” He spits out toothpaste and yawns. “While you think about that, I’m going to sleep. Goodnight.”
Yixing merely waves and scampers off to the living room. “Thank you, Yifan!”
-
“Hey, you have today off, right?”
Yifan opens his eyes and spots a head peeking into his doorway. The week had passed quickly, the usual routine of serving and cleaning in addition to the new ritual of eating breakfast with Yixing, who chatters on about photography and angles, then walks Yifan to the door when it’s time for him to leave.
“Right,” Yifan confirms, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Why?”
“I want to go somewhere.” Yixing dances around the doorway, restless. He stops to fix Yifan with a serious look. “But after you-we-eat breakfast. Of course.”
Yifan grins and shoos the man away, throwing on a pair of jeans and a tee before wandering out into the kitchen. There are already two bowls of cereal on the table and Yixing is practically bouncing in his seat. Yifan cocks an eyebrow but sits himself across from the younger man, slowly eating the drowned flakes of wheat. He can practically feel Yixing’s patience dying and relishes it.
Finally, he gets up to clear the plates and Yixing shoots out of his chair, leaping over the couch to grab something. Yifan stills. “Hey, you okay there?”
“Yeah,” Yixing replies, popping up nonchalantly. “I just wanted to grab my camera. So, can we go now?”
Yifan sighs, bending down to grab a pair of shoes. When he sees Yixing open the door and start to walk out into the hall, he freezes. “Wait. Can you go out?”
“I see no reason why not,” Yixing sing-songs in reply, stepping over the doorjamb and into the hallway. “See? Now hurry up!”
Yifan groans, following after and locking the door behind them. It’s still relatively early, so there is next to no one on the sidewalk or the road. He walks beside the shorter man, matching him step for silent step, the absence of sound no longer a worry to him. It’s just as part of Yixing as his shy smile or perpetual white tee and jeans.
“I’m pretty sure it’s right over this hill.”
Yifan frowns. “‘Pretty sure’? What, haven’t you been there before?”
“I have,” Yixing says, staring at the grassy hill before them, “just not in a while.”
Yifan stays quiet after that. The reply seemed a little ominous, but he shakes it off and looks around as they walk. It’s a very nice day, the start of a transition from spring to summer, so it’s free of rainy storms and instead consists of a bright sun and a light breeze that plays with the blades of grass and persevering flowers.
“There,” Yixing blurts, pointing down and into a fenced area. “It’s right there.” And then he takes off at a run, Yifan fighting to keep up. As they near, Yifan realizes that this isn’t just an excursion to a park or favorite place, a thought confirmed by the chilling word having above the opening of the fenced area. Yixing keeps running until they reach the back of the area, and then he begins searching for something while Yifan braces himself with two hands on his knees, and when he finds it, he drops to his knees. Yifan wanders over and stops cold.
Zhang Yixing.
The first year is familiar, but the second is not, and is a mere four years ago, meaning Yixing died before he had even hit twenty. Yifan’s chest tightens.
“Look,” the kneeling man mumbles, pointing to a stalk of wilting flowers behind the marble marker. “They’re not too old. Someone visits here a lot. I bet it’s my mother. She was always so persistent. Bringing flowers years after a death seems within her personality.”
A faint breeze rolls past, startling clumps of tall grass and raising goosebumps on Yifan’s skin. “Hey, let’s get out of here.” He reaches forward to pull Yixing, but his hand goes clean through the man. He pulls his hand back and takes a step away, waiting for a minute. “Yixing.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I guess I wasn’t…” the brunet trails off, but picks himself up and stands in front of the slab of marble that denotes his own name. “I. I’m down there. Beneath my feet. I’m dead.”
The finality of the statement angers Yifan. No, Yixing is not dead. He’s standing, moving, talking in front of him. He’s alive as any other person Yifan’s met and they need to go somewhere else. “Yixing.”
“Right, yeah, you’re right. Let’s go.” But before he moves, Yixing raises his camera and snaps a picture, pausing for a second after. Then he’s off, walking out of the graveyard as fast as he can go. He leads once more, walking over hills and dips in paths, until they reach a relatively high hill and settle in the lush grass. “I used to take pictures here, when I had time. It’s a great place to be; people are always out and about in the walkways below and the flowers grow especially thick on that side of the hill.” He fiddles with his camera.
“I have a couple questions.”
Yixing visibly brightens. “Shoot.”
“I can’t touch you, but you can touch your camera and cereal. Explain.”
“I think it has something to do with life. I tried touching one of the previous tenants, but my hand went right through him. I think I can touch inanimate objects because they aren’t alive. But that’s just speculation,” Yixing answers, scratching his chin in thought. “Next!”
“Is that why you don’t wear shoes?”
Yixing frowns at that. “It’s not that I don’t. It’s that I can’t? I guess? I tried changing out of these clothes once, but they stick to my skin. Also, I don’t feel anything when I walk.” When Yifan tilts his head in confusion, he huffs in annoyance and goes on to say, “I mean, I know there is ground beneath me, but I can’t feel it. Just like when I’m holding something, I know that I am, but there is no physical reassurance. Okay? Next!”
They pass the afternoon like that, lying atop a grassy hill and chatting. Yifan asks questions and Yixing answers, sometimes turning it into a question to fire back at the taller man. The talking starts to die down, and they preoccupy themselves with staring at the clear sky, listening to the gentle wind roll over the undergrowth.
“Let’s move.” Yixing’s face lights up in a mischievous grin. “Let’s make it a race! Last one to the bottom loses. Go!”
Yifan watches, complaint stuck in his throat as Yixing flips himself onto his side, then proceeds to roll down the hill. Yifan groans, but follows, arms covering his face as he rolls downhill. Expectedly, Yixing is waiting for him at the bottom with a broad smile. He announces his win and takes out his camera, leaning over a cluster of purple blossoms.
After a few minutes of silence, Yifan feels the need to talk. “You were wondering why I left the city. It is a long story, but I’ll tell it to you. After high school, I went to college for teaching certification. I got my bachelor’s and master’s in six years because of an accelerated program, and was almost immediately hired at a private school in the city. They had elementary, middle, and high schools all on this giant campus, and gave me an apartment nearby. It was unbelievable. I taught literature to ninth and tenth graders and made friends with the other teachers in the English department. We all agreed to start a fundraising event for better books, and it was a lot of fun. They were all very nice people, and we ended up raising over ten thousand dollars, some of which we gave to the art department because of waning resources. But then, we had to approach the principal. We had no idea how selfish he was, and just how much he took out of the actual profits of the school for himself. He took the money and framed one of the veteran teachers under a false embezzlement scheme. It gained attention from everyone, and the man ended up getting forced into quitting his job. It was disgusting. None of the other teachers stood up for him. I handed in my letter of resignation the next day. I thought about staying in the city, but quitting at the same time as an embezzlement caused by someone in my department would no doubt look bad. So I decided to come back here.” Kris sighs, throwing an arm over his face. “The city isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“I’m so sorry.” Yixing reaches out to soothe the man, but thinks better of it and leans back on his hands. “I guess I should tell you something now, huh? Equal exchange and all that.”
“You don’t have to.”
“No, I want to,” Yixing insists. “But what to talk about? Oh. Um. You asked me how I died, didn’t you?”
Yifan’s eyes shoot open. “Yixing, you shouldn’t. Don’t. You really don’t have to tell me.”
“No, it’s fine. It was a while ago, after all.” He takes a deep breath. “Let’s see. Well, you knew me in middle school, so you already know that my family is poor. They wanted me to take over the family business, working at the convenience store. But I wanted more, so I enrolled myself at the tiny college here, full-time. I knew that I’d need a good major, so I dropped photography except as a hobby as declared myself a math major. I’m really not that good at math, so I found a tutor on top of the night-shift I found to help pay tuition. I got maybe two hours of sleep a night and ate two meals on a good day, but I thought that was normal. Turns out it really wasn’t. I got chest pains around the end of my second year that evolved into crippling attacks. I was rushed to the hospital after I passed out and woke up to a white room and a frowning doctor. I had hours left. It was heart disease brought on by stress. But, I suppose if I could do it again, I probably wouldn’t have changed anything. I reached for my dream and got as close as I could before I tripped and fell. It was inevitable, but I got as close as I could. Yifan, there is beauty in failure. If it is good for nothing else, at least there is that.”
Yifan is mesmerized. After watching the fluctuation of emotions across Yixing’s face, he is speechless. All he can think about is how perfect the man is. Life is cruel.
“I had a huge crush on you back in middle school.”
Yifan doesn’t realize he’s spoken until Yixing turns to look at him, eyes wide. That’s when he slaps a hand over his mouth. He wishes their roles were switched. Yifan would much rather be six feet under right about now.
“I tell you the story of my death and in response you tell me that you had a crush on me?” Yixing asks in disbelief. “You’re something else, Yifan.”
Then he laughs and the noise itself washes over the taller man like a wave of calm and he breathes out a sigh, meeting the younger man’s eyes that twinkle with amusement.
Yifan refuses to believe that this man is dead.
-
They’re more comfortable with each other after that. They still do breakfasts in the morning that are filled with conversation, but now when Yifan gets home, they curl up on the couch together, and even though they can’t touch, Yixing leans as close as possible and Yifan does the same and they can pretend. On Saturdays, they either go out and take pictures-well, Yixing does. Yifan watches with an affectionate smile-or they stay in bed all day, talking about nothing.
“It’s been a while.”
It’s a Saturday, so Yifan is still in his pajamas at lunch time. He takes another bite out of his sandwich and shakes his head. “It feels like no time has passed at all. In fact, I think I still have a few unopened boxes.”
“Yifan,” Yixing starts in that serious voice of his that he rarely uses, and that catches Yifan’s attention. This must be something serious. “It’s my birthday.”
The older man freezes. “Why didn’t you tell me? I had no idea!”
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Yixing brushes him off with a small smile. “Plus, I’ve been thinking about something you can do for me. To make up for it.”
Dismissing the tense atmosphere, Yifan places the remains of his sandwich back on its plate and leans forward, offering a smile. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
“Close your eyes,” Yixing demands.
Yifan does so, still smiling. But then he hears the click and sound of the shutter and his smile falls. He opens his eyes and sees that instead of the usual Nikon, Yixing has a Polaroid clutched between his fingers. The camera whirrs and produces a picture, but Yifan keeps his eyes glued to Yixing’s face. He’s crying.
“I didn’t tell you, but,” he stops to sniff and grabs the photograph, shaking it lightly between his fingers. “I figured it out. And you were right. It was personal, something that I loved more than anything else.” He reaches out and instead of falling through, his fingers graze Yifan’s cheek. “And it’s you.”
Yifan can’t talk. He feels his throat close up and as much as he opens his mouth, no sound escapes. He watches as Yixing leans closer, and feels rather than sees the lips that graze his cheek. The brunet leans back and slips something into Yifan’s hands, and then chokes out a sob.
“I am so happy that it was you,” he laughs despite the tears, and Yifan is alarmed that he can see through him to the wooden cabinets. “I’ve finally taken a picture of a masterpiece, and I want the world to see it. Don’t hide it. Please.” Then he leaps forward again, throwing his arms around Yifan’s neck. The taller man closes his eyes and holds the smaller figure as close as he can. “I love you, and I know other people will, too. Give them a chance.” The words are whispered into his ear and are followed by a chaste peck.
When Yifan opens his eyes, his arms are empty, and the slight tingle on his cheek is the only evidence that the other was even there in the first place. He looks down and catches sight of the picture in his hands. Upon closer inspection, he sees that it is himself. He looks happy, expectant, and in love.
That night he falls asleep on the couch, tv still on, crumpled tissues surrounding him, and the picture held securely in his hand.
-
It’s during the afternoon lull that Luhan brings it up. “I think,” he starts, while Minseok is bringing out the trash, “that the best thing about Yixing was his smile. I mean, you’ve had to have seen it, but the kid just had this smile that was so contagious you had no idea.”
Yifan thinks of the locked room in his apartment. The door is hidden behind a bookcase, but still present. It’s filled with smiles, wall to wall. Smiles of strangers, friends, family, an amateur photographer, and even himself. “No,” he shakes his head, going back to cleaning the table, “I believe you. I’m sure Yixing had a wonderful smile.”