睡眼惺忪
Title: 睡眼惺忪
Pairing: Fanxing
Rating: R
Length: 9.7k
Summary: For all his life, Yifan's dreams have been marked by a recurring presence, the sight of a bright smile still imprinted behind his eyelids when he's awake. For all his life, Yifan has been searching.
A/N: Originally written for Yifantasy. Much thanks to my beta, who did a tremendous job giving this read even when sick and half-dying.
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睡眼惺忪 - shuìyǎnxīngsōng - eyes still heavy with sleep (sleepy eyes)
睡眼惺忪
A gentle breeze tugs on Yifan's clothes, brushes over his skin. Leaves rustle in the distance and Yifan's heart gives a startle in his chest when coy fingertips ghost over his hand, gone before he has the chance to take a hold of them. A tinkling sound fills the air-it must be summer, Yifan realizes, the sound of the wind chime calling up memories of watermelon and playing in rivers as a child, seeking refuge from the heat in the refreshing coolness. He whips around, his only intention being to catch the owner of the teasing touches but the other has already danced out of reach. Yifan feels the corners of his mouth stretch apart as he set into the chase, following with large steps after a frame that's smaller than him, yet somehow faster, always managing to avoid him by hair's breadth. The other is playing with him, and the only response Yifan has is bubbling laughter.
He sees the other's back in front of him, the green flecked with dots of colour from the flower-spotted meadow offsetting the other's clothed form. For a second, Yifan stills his movement, only then realizing that the print looks awfully familiar.
"You little thief," he gasps, the grin on his face belying the accusation of his tone. A sound astonishingly similar to the wind chime grazes his ears, a light and joyful sound, and instead of startling, this time his heart flutters like a bird trying to break from its cage and Yifan knows he doesn't really want to stop it either.
The other decides to end their chase by spinning around, arms outstretched as if he had wings to catch the gust of wind. Yifan takes slow steps towards where the smaller male is waiting, almost expectantly, his pulse picking up pace with every centimeter he gets closer. He hesitates for a heartbeat when he comes to a halt right in front of the other, but then he lifts his hands, reciprocating the gesture. Skin brushes against skin, and Yifan feels his nerve endings alight with it.
He lets his fingers glide along the back of the other's hands, in wonder at the sensation it creates. His gaze is fixed on his explorative touches, until the other turns around his hand, offering his palm for Yifan to press his own against.
Just like that, Yifan's eyes slowly wander up over biceps and pectorals and collarbones until eventually they reach the other's face. The other's mouth is stretched into a smile, so gentle and soft that it doesn't even reveal much teeth. It's blinding, Yifan thinks.
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Every night, Yifan dreams. It's been happening ever since his childhood, for as long as he could remember. He knows he dreams, and he knows the same person features in the imaginary worlds his mind creates, night after night. The dreams have recurring themes and settings, yet every dream on its own tends to differ from everything he’s seen before. The person, the boy, however, proves to be a steady constant. Yifan knows the feel of him, not in a physical sense, but in the way that thinking of him is a feeling lodged deep in his rib cage whenever he dreams, constricting and liberating all at once.
Yet, whenever he wakes up, all he's left with is a shallow sense of remembrance, a feeling clinging to his body like a thin sheen of autumn sunshine, wrapping him in a shadow of summer's warmth.
Yixing.
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"Yifan."
A groan.
"Yifan."
Another groan.
"Yifan!"
Shuffling, the rustling of sheets. A groan, muffled by a pillow this time.
"I swear to god Yifan, get your lazy ass out of bed. It's your first day at work and you said yourself you don't want to be late!"
Yifan gasps loudly when a sudden wave of coldness hits him. It takes him a split second to realize that thankfully it's just icy autumn air-"just" because he knows Lu Han, and he knows that his best friend is not above going for the good old 'nothing-wakes-you-up-faster-than-a-cold-shower' technique, executed right in bed and with the help of a cup and tap water.
Finding himself at the elder's mercy, shivering and in just his boxers on his mattress, Yifan decides that it's never too early for a few good curses, hissed just loud enough that his friend can hear them. For good measure, he also glares at the honey-haired male. Lu Han, however, is utterly unimpressed by the intimidating set of his eyebrows. He's seen enough of Yifan hitting his head in doorways because he miscalculated his height, enough of him slipping on fallen leaves on rainy autumn days, enough of Yifan burning his tongue when he disregards the "caution hot" warnings on coffee cups and has certainly seen enough of Yifan begging and whining for release, utterly debauched. Lu Han knows him better than anyone else, and while Yifan is grateful for that on a lot of levels, it also means the grim set of his facial features doesn't faze the other anymore.
"Save that look for when you have to harass an intern at work into making you coffee today or something." With his arms akimbo, every cell of Luhan's being emits judgement, and Yifan wants to be offended-it is perfectly normal to prefer the coziness of a duvet to the glaring cold of morning air, thank you very much.
A snarky quip lingers on the tip of his tongue but Yifan decides he doesn't have the energy for a full-blown argument, so he just sinks back onto the mattress with a bone-deep sigh, throwing his arm over his eyes as if shielding out the light could make it so that it is night again and he has a few more hours to sleep. He waits for another comment from Lu Han but the room stays silent. Lu Han has always been rather light-footed, so Yifan only realizes he has left the room when he opens his eyes again to look at his bedside clock. It's barely even seven and it makes Yifan wonder how long Lu Han has been awake already, for him to have been dressed and essentially ready to head out when Yifan saw him moments ago.
As well as they know each other, there's always a volatile element to Lu Han. Now that he has left Yifan's field of vision, the tall male can't be 100% sure what his best friend is up to. He might be fed up with Yifan's reluctance to get out of bed and have simply left the flat to be ahead of time for his own work, or he might be in the bathroom at this very moment to prepare a liquid wake up charm for Yifan. When Yifan eventually does manage to part with his mattress a few minutes later, he learns that, in truth, it's a third option. Clinking sounds come from the direction of his kitchen as Yifan traipses into the bathroom to wash away the remains of sleep.
The smell of coffee greets Yifan once he reemerges with his hair still damp and dressed in a snug, dark green woolen sweater and simple black pants, a plain ensemble for his first day chosen over the course of three days and with the advice of five friends-two of which gave him enough eye-rolls to last a lifetime throughout the selection process.
Lu Han gives him a once-over as soon as he steps onto ceramic tiles and hums in approval, then turns towards the counter again to pick up a plate and mug to set in front of Yifan on the table.
"You're too good to me," Yifan notes when he lifts up the coffee, letting the bitter liquid run over his tongue. He usually doesn't like Americanos, always ordering either a latte, with or without syrup, or a mocha when he frequents coffee shops. The only coffee he drinks pure and black is the the one Lu Han brews.
"I know," Lu Han replies, a well-rehearsed line stemming from dozens of similar conversations they've had like this already. The elder takes a seat next to Yifan, his own breakfast an exact copy of Yifan's.
As good as Lu Han is at making coffee, he's not exactly a highly gifted cook, so their food is limited to toast with butter and jam, but Yifan doesn't mind. His nervous stomach might not be able to take anything else either way. The coffee might not be the best idea in regards to his digestive system, but he needs it for his nerves.
Just like he had needed Lu Han to calm his nerves the previous night, calling the other up in the wee hours of the morning when he realized he wouldn't find any sleep if didn't find some release, and Lu Han, being the good friend that he was, only made Yifan promise to make it worth his time before turning up on his doorstep.
Lu Han is Yifan's living and breathing proof that barely anything in life ever goes like you expect it to. He had hit on the smaller male in a bar, barely six months after moving to Korea to attend university there. For almost two hours straight Yifan had struggled with his Korean vocabulary, his alcohol induced haze taking some of his shyness in speaking the foreign language away, yet he was well aware that the amount of mistakes he managed to cram into a single sentence must have made him look like a bloody beginner, and not like someone who had studied the language for four years already. With introductions never properly made, Yifan didn't find out that he had spent the night with a fellow Chinese until he woke up the next morning and Lu Han complained with a thick Beijing dialect about about the morning sun streaming through Yifan's un-closed curtains.
Yifan isn’t the type for one night stands. He dislikes how impersonal they are, taking a stranger into his bed just for the sake of physical relief, but that particular night he had simply been wound too tight with stress, needing an outlet despite his dislike for the concept. Yet, what had been intended to be a one night stand to take the edge off-on both sides, as Yifan came to know over a quickly thrown together breakfast-cum-lunch consisting of fried eggs and slices of buttered toast-turned into them meeting for lunch and dinner, movie nights and inviting each other to parties of friends. They didn't date; after their first night, all their subsequent meetings were only platonic. Uncaring of the fact that their respective home cities were almost 1500 miles apart, Lu Han meant familiarity in an unfamiliar country, and whenever Yifan was talking with the elder he could bathe in the soothing sound of Chinese tones instead of having to bend his mind around weird Korean conjugations.
"Give it your best today, got it?" The honey-haired male demands when they stand outside Yifan’s apartment half an hour later, the light slap to Yifan's back a gesture of encouragement in Luhan’s eyes. "I didn't go out of my way to help you get this job and lost precious sleep last night just for you to embarrass yourself on your first day. Better wait until the second week to let them know what a dork you are."
Knowing that his best friend only means well, Yifan simply buries his head deeper into the scarf wrapped around his neck to ward off the autumn cold and replies with an indistinct hum. They part ways with a last few heartfelt well-wishes from Lu Han, and one subway ride and ten minutes of walking later Yifan climbs the flight of stairs up to his new office, heart beating loud enough that he thinks the secretary sitting behind the reception must surely hear it.
"Hello, I'm Wu Yifan," he introduces himself with a slight bow to the woman he didn't meet yet when coming in for his interview a few weeks ago. "I'm the new interpreter."
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Life, for Yifan, is not something he plans from beginning to end. Rather, it's a string of occurrences, one thing leading to another and to another and in the end he finds himself in a very different place from where he expected to end up. It's how he found himself in Seoul in the first place.
He had been one of those teenagers who didn't really know what they want to do with their life. All through high school, he had tried to figure it out. Playing basketball professionally had been an option at one point but one unlucky jump and an unforeseen injury had quickly ruled out that plan. Going abroad was also a thought he'd played with a lot of times. He had had his fair share of experience with moving, and while it sucked as a child, having to rebuild his whole life from scratch whenever they'd relocate, he had grown to appreciate the thrill of the new.
Dabbling in Korean classes in his second to last year in high school led to looking at prestigious universities in Korea. Initially, it had been more of a joke to him, his only intention being to see what was out there. He hadn't really planned on applying for studying Korean but in the end he did, and after receiving the acceptance letter, he realised that he was going to become an interpreter. Being fluent in Chinese and English and with the small bit of French he still remembered from school he figured that adding Korean to the mix should make it possible for him to pursue that career path.
One of the first things the teachers in Korean class taught them was that, evidentially, the fastest and best way to learn a language was to date a native speaker of that language. Nothing would motivate as much as wanting to communicate with a lover. Yet that definitely wasn't Yifan's purpose for getting involved with Do Kyungsoo. Actually, Yifan hadn't planned on dating anyone, resolute that if he didn't focus on his studies, he'd fall behind. It wasn't as if he really was the dating type to begin with. He wasn't opposed to it but he was fine enough with being single that he tended to not actively look for a boyfriend.
Yifan met Kyungsoo by complete accident, in the library where Yifan had retreated to for studying since his dorm neighbour next door refused to quieten down and Yifan didn't have the nerve anymore to go and complain. He and Kyungsoo sat beside each other because all the tables were packed, a clear sign of nearing exam season, and Yifan half felt bad for taking the last free seat beside the smaller male since the other looked so terrified at his sight. Well aware of how intimidating his eyebrows could make him look, Yifan cracked a somewhat awkward smile and silently asked whether the seat was already taken in his rather, hoping that initiating some kind of contact would lighten the air between them.
What actually did get them to start talking in the end was Yifan despairing over a grammar point he simply couldn't wrap his head around. His frustration must have been blatantly obvious because Kyungsoo eventually took pity on him and asked whether there was anything he could do to help. Three hours later they were no longer talking about the finer connotations of Korean grammar, and they also were no longer seated in the library but in the cafeteria with coffee cups in front of them.
He and Kyungsoo got along well. They both leant towards taciturnity, and while they'd let their friends drag them out to the occasional party, they preferred to spend most of their time in quieter places. Yifan enjoyed spending time with Kyungsoo, it made him feel at ease to be around the younger male. They started dating without even realizing it, but at one point their friendly lunch-meetings in the cafeteria turned to movie nights in each other's dorm rooms to staying over and just like that they were an item.
And Yifan liked him, he really did. He enjoyed the biology student's company, he was attracted to him, and the longer he spent with him, the better he got to know him, the more the feeling intensified. Yet, the exhilaration of being in a new relationship never really set in. There was no rush of being freshly in love, of wanting to spend every waking second with his boyfriend. It felt so comfortable, being with Kyungsoo and Yifan tried to tell himself that that was everything that was needed, that relationships didn't have to be all-consuming and overwhelming, that they could also start out calm and grow. Eventually, however, he had to face the the fact that while he certainly liked Kyungsoo, he didn't love him. And he had to admit to himself that he didn't see that matter changing in the future.
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The hand holding his is so much smaller, and yet it fits perfectly. It's something Yifan never stops marvelling at. He is being led somewhere by Yixing, and even though he has no clue where or why, all he can focus on is the sight of their joined hands right in front of him. They're walking through a forest, and it must be night, the flashlight Yixing's holding is the only source of illumination breaking through the darkness surrounding them. Yifan thinks that the situation should seem scary, intimidating or unsettling, but somehow he feels nothing like that. With Yixing's hand in his, he feels safe.
When Yifan next looks up, they've entered a residential area, and the sun is just about to rise. The brisk pace at which Yixing had been leading him through the woods has slowed down into a comfortable stroll, their joined hands swinging back and forth slightly between their bodies.
"Hey, are you hungry?" Yifan pipes up when they pass by a restaurant he recognizes. It's the place he used to get take out meals from during his university time, and he hasn't had the chance to take the other male there yet.
Yixing hums in affirmation, and lets Yifan pull him through the door. They get a table in the back, and even though there's a chair they both squeeze onto the bench so they don't have to let go of each other. Eating with only one hand proves to be a bit difficult, especially for Yixing who only has his left hand free, but somehow they make do. It's a welcome excuse for Yifan to feed his boyfriend, either way.
And if he's being a bit messy in his feeding process....
"You've got something there," Yifan notes all innocently when a bit of sauce gets caught in the corner of Yixing's lips, and as soon as the smaller male turns to face him, Yifan leans down.
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"It's not you," Yifan blurted out, cringing at the bluntness of his own words but the person sitting on the other side of the table hardly seemed fazed by it. They were sat in a coffeeshop, lashing rain hitting against the windows and making the warmth of the interior seem even cosier in contrast with the unpleasant autumn weather outside.
Rather than getting angry or upset or being insulted, a bitter, slightly disbelieving smile stretched across Kyungsoo's lips that seemed to say 'I can't believe I'm in such a clichéd situation right now'. "Yeah, yeah, it's not me, it's you. You're just not ready for a relationship, you're too busy with studying, you have other commitments, yada yada yada. Come on Yifan, you can do better than these lines if you want to break up with me."
"No, what I mean is it's not you ," the words rushed out before Yifan had the slightest chance to stop them, "You're not the one. The one I'll be with. It's not you."
He wished he could have wrapped his words in bubble wrap, something to soften their impact because he knew he was being offending, and mean, and that no one wanted to be told that they were not "the one", it carried too many implications of "not good enough".
Kyungsoo's eyes widened in surprise, clearly caught off-guard by the other's reasoning and his mouth opened and closed multiple times but no sound came out. "That's new," he eventually noted, tilting his head to the side slightly to study Yifan as if he was some rare specimen in his laboratory. He, most likely, was.
"I'm sorry," Yifan rushed to add, realizing he should probably have led with an apology instead of just slapping "you're not the one" into Kyungsoo's face with without any warning.
A few weeks ago he had come to terms with the fact that he and Kyungsoo wouldn't work out in the long run. He didn't know where that conviction stemmed from, but it was one he couldn't shake. It was not even for a lack of feelings, Yifan did harbour feelings for Kyungsoo. Yet whenever he tried to imagine himself with the smaller male in a few years, or even only a few months, something always seemed off about the picture. Kyungsoo was nice, and logically, objectively, he was a better catch than Yifan would ever have hoped to make. Everything pointed to them being a great match.
But it just didn't fit. It wasn't right. Kyungsoo wasn't right.
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There's no feeling Yifan loves more than falling into bed after a long day of work. His friends always tease him about his love for soft mattresses and warm duvets but very few of them know what the actual reason for Yifan's obsession with sleep is. It's not about the act of sleeping, it's about who he sees as soon as he allows his subconsciousness to rest.
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All around him are people, so many people. The streets are full of them.
China is crowded and Yifan knows that but after years of living in Vancouver, he seems to have lost his resistance to big masses. Everyone around him is a faceless silhouette, and Yifan feels lost in an ever-moving sea that tries to drag him in directions he never wanted to go into. In the distance he sees the shape of Shanghai's skyline, the distinct round shapes of the Oriental Pearl Tower leaving no doubt about his current location. He recognizes the European style buildings rising up high into the sky around him, and with a newfound resolution he pushes himself through the masses to get to the riverside. Suddenly he knows that there is someone he's supposed to meet, it's the only reason why he would come to the bund on the weekend, after all.
But the crowd is determined to keep him back. The harder he pushes to weave his way through the throng of people, the more impenetrable it seems to get. Yifan recalls one of his science experiments, back in highschool, when they mixed cornstarch with water. The substance they created gave off more reactive resistance the more they applied pressure to it and Yifan feels oddly reminded of it by the masses around him.
He can feel his patience run thin, an eery feeling of panic well up from deep inside his chest. If he doesn't make it to the meeting point in time, something bad will happen. He doesn't know what, but that doesn't stop him from pushing even more fervently against the bodies surrounding him, suffocating him. His gaze fixes on the skyline that seems to not be coming any closer.
All of a sudden, he's shouting. It's a name, falling from his lips, over and over again, his eyes darting around frantically in a search of someone whose features he can't even properly recall but if he sees the one he's looking for, he'll know. His voice sounds too muted, muffled, as if he's screaming into a pillow, and he fights with his vocal chords. It all comes to no avail.
Something shifts, and between one blink and the next, the cold fear that had held Yifan's heart in its tight grip is gone. All the people around him have faded into a darkness, and there's only one who remains light, standing a few feet away from Yifan. Nothing moves, as if time has been frozen for everyone but the two of them.
The boy turns around to face Yifan, a knowing smile playing on his features as he lifts his finger up and presses it against his plump lips, a wordless command for silence and Yifan immediately complies. His throat has clogged up either way as relief mixes with exhilaration in his chest.
"Yixing," he whispers, and the other's smile stretches into a toothy grin at being recognized.
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Sometimes Yifan regrets his honesty, especially when it ends up leaving him alone in his bed at night.
It was just a wet dream about a guy I used to know in university, he could have said. Everyone has those dreams once in awhile.
They're natural and can't be controlled , he could have said.
You know I love you and that one wet dream doesn't mean I am cheating on you, right?, he could have said.
But he didn't.
He doesn't know if Baekhyun would have believed him if he had claimed that it was just a wet dream that made him mumble another guy’s name in his sleep, repeatedly, but he could have tried. His heart says that yes, the younger male would have believed him, because he also believed him when Yifan explained that he'd been dreaming about the same person ever since he can remember. That he knows his name, even though he doesn't know him , that he knows his smile by heart even though he's never seen it with his own eyes, and that he knows the sound of his laughter without it ever having met his ears.
Baekhyun had been silent for so long following Yifan's confession that the taller was half expecting the other to just get up and leave without a word.
"I knew there was something."
When Baekhyun eventually looked up at him, he was smiling. He always smiled. Yifan knew him well enough by now to look at his eyes and not his mouth, like this he could see the melancholy.
"There was always this sense of distance from you. And I thought it was just the beginning of the relationship. Or that you were afraid of commitment and weren't ready to open yourself up yet. But this is it, right? The reason. Yixing."
Yifan, too stumped to properly string words together to form sentences, floundered. Denials, and questions, and assertions that he was ready for commitment running together to form an intelligible mumble of sounds before he fell silent when Baekhyun's finger gently brushed against his hand.
"It's okay, Yifan. I don't blame you. But I do think we should end this now because we both know I'm not the one."
A strange sense of deja-vu hit Yifan, a coffee-shop scene flashing in front of his inner eye, the image of a big eyed boy sitting in front of him, warmth surrounding Yifan that didn’t reach his skin because his guilty conscience made him feel as if he were outside in the autumn storm instead of sitting inside a cozy armchair while he bluntly stuttered his way through a breakup.
"But what if he doesn't exist," Yifan whispered, sounding meek even to his own ears. He felt a bit bad for not arguing with Baekhyun but he knew it was pointless. The other's eyes told him that Baekhyun didn't expect Yifan to fight for him, or to convince him that he's the one after all. It made Yifan realize that for Baekhyun, their relationship had been over for weeks already, he just hadn’t wanted to officially end it yet. Yifan felt like the worst boyfriend ever for not realizing, even when they'd been dating for almost half a year and it just undermined Baekhyun's point of him having been distant.
"He exists," the smaller man said, and Yifan wanted to ask how he could be so sure, where he got that conviction from but at the same time Yifan was afraid of the answer. Or rather, of Baekhyun reconsidering. Having someone else believe in Yixing's existence was so much more soothing than Yifan could ever have imagined, and so he just accepted the other's words.
Baekhyun had always believed in there being a power higher than them. Not necessarily in a religious way, perhaps not even in a spiritual one. But in a way that had him believe in the existence of schemes bigger than their limited perception. Baekhyun was the type to want to believe in the existence of soulmates. And even without Baekhyun stating it, Yifan realized that that was what Baekhyun was hoping for. That the constant nature of Yifan’s dreams, how vivid they were and how the memory of Yixing’s smile stuck with him meant that Yixing was Yifan’s soulmate.
A sad smile played on Baekhyun's lips when he leant up to kiss Yifan goodbye for the last time in the doorway of Yifan's apartment, and the elder had to ball his hands into fists to keep them from trying to hold the other back from leaving.
Baekhyun splayed his fingers against Yifan's cheek, and even long after he had left, his parting words lingered in Yifan's mind.
"You should go look for him."
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It's not as if Yifan doesn't want to look for Yixing. Of course he does. But at the same time he's realistic. There are 7.5 billion people living on the planet, and in spite of Yixing's name hinting at the other being Chinese as well, it still leaves way too many possibilities open. He doesn't even know how the other's name is written-given that Yixing even exists in the first place, that is.
Is it the Yì for art, or memory or amiable? Is it the Xīng of star, or the one of prosper? Yifan is half inclined to believe it’s the Xīng of xīngsōng* , but it would almost be too easy like that because of how well it fits.
When he was still younger, he tried, going through graduation lists in newspapers, rummaging through social network sites and looking at phone number directories. But as he grew up, he realized how futile it was. He didn't even know which country the other lived in. Having a Chinese name was no guarantee for being a Chinese-born Chinese person these days, after all, as his own childhood in Canada, and his move to Korea for university could attest to that.
Letting go of his obsessive search for Yixing is something Yifan sees as part of the process of growing up, of having to face the fact that his own abilities are limited and the world is so much bigger than he can begin to perceive. As a child, he'd had the belief that the playmate he spent time with at night could linger around every corner during the day. As a teenager, he'd had the hope that he'd find the boy from his dreams who made his heart stutter in familiarity and comfort and excitement, if only he tried looking hard enough.
By the time he went to university, he had forced himself to shed those beliefs and instead look at the matter realistically. Which included going through phases where he convinced himself Yixing was nothing but a manifestation of his subconscious desire to ward off the loneliness moving around all the time brought. As a child, Yifan had been very silent, and being uprooted from his old life in order to be placed into a country he didn't even properly speak the language off certainly didn't make it easier for him. He had lost all his friends back in China, and he had never been very good at making friends, choosing to keep to himself more often than not.
Yixing might just as well be an imaginary friend his mind conjured during that time to soothe his desire for friendship, for closeness with other people who understood him and saw past his silence. And then, when he managed to find friends over the years, friendships that last in spite of him continuing to move around all over the world, Yixing changed, just like Yifan did as he matured. It was a neat theory, to have Yixing be a figment of his imagination, designed to satisfy Yifan's desire for closeness. It would have explained him turning from a best friend to a boyfriend when Yifan started craving for romantic love.
Yet, the dreams are too vivid, too frequent, too real for all their dream-characteristic surreality. He had spent many hours poring over books on Oneirology, trying to understand everything there was to know about dreams and their meaning, but everything he read was different from what he was experiencing. Yixing wasn't just a shape, or a feeling in his imaginary worlds, he felt real and volatile and he stood out in a way as if he was a part of Yifan's soul while at the same time being a foreign entity.
Sometimes, when Yifan was sitting on the train with his earphones blocking out all ambient noises while he watched the outside world glide past him beyond the windows, he allowed his mind to run wild. During these times, he often thought about Yixing, and about the possibility that his dreams were actually him getting glimpses of a parallel world. One where the laws of his own reality might not apply, where nonsensical things made perfect sense for everyone involved, and where he, night after night, could meet up with another person who was living miles, countries, perhaps even continents away from him. He dabbled with the idea that he and Yixing co-inhabited this alternative reality, that they met there every night and that the lives they led in their dreams were just as real as the ones they led when awake.
It was the idea of Yixing not being a person that Yifan's subconscious made up to personify his desires but rather another living and breathing human being, who experiences the exact same situations as Yifan does while he sleeps. And no matter how much Yifan's logical side tells him it's unrealistic and impossible, his heart refuses to give up on the belief, the belief that Yixing is real. He hopes, hopes, hopes, hopes, wishes so much that Yixing exists. So much so that even when he convinces himself from the fact that he needs to live his life without waiting for Yixing, without giving him that much weight and importance, his subconscious never lets go of the smaller male.
If it's meant to be, it will be.
When he was worn down by looking for the other, that thought turned into Yifan’s refugee. If his dreams mean that he is destined to meet Yixing, he will meet him. If it is supposed to be, their paths will cross. It doesn't mean he stops instinctively scanning crowds for a familiar smile wherever he goes, or that his head no longer whips around whenever he hears the name Yixing. Yet he doesn't go out of his way anymore, doesn't spend hours on Weibo or Facebook or Instagram trying to look through millions of profiles belonging to random Yixing's and he doesn't go out of his way to make contact with Chinese communities whenever he is abroad for the sole purpose of figuring out whether they know a boy with a laugh so bright and happy it puts sunshine to shame.
(A description he'd never utter out loud to anyone, since Yifan is very well aware of how sappy he sounds-not even Lu Han who knows pretty much everything about Yixing from Yifan. He can’t help himself, but he doesn’t need to give the elder even more fodder for teasing.)
But the feeling never stops, even when Yifan himself doesn't make an effort anymore. The notion that he is constantly searching for the puzzle piece to complete him.
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Yifan often wonders whether he's being too self-indulgent, allowing himself to look forward to being around Yixing's presence at night as much as he does. Yixing, after all, is a dream, and Yifan lives his life in the real world. Then again, perhaps he’s really just living another life when he’s asleep, one that is just as real as the one he leads during the daylight hours. Just that in the one he experiences during nighttime, he has a steady companion by his side.
__
The curtains are drawn, painting the room in dusky shades of orange as the sun hits the red fabric. They are thick enough to dim down the light to a sensual level, one that speaks of secrets, a mock replica of night’s guarding veil. At the same time, they allow enough light into the room to enable Yifan to admire the body splayed out underneath him.
The sound of panting permeates the room, and the unmistakable scent of sex clings to the air. With every dart of his tongue, Yifan manages to make his lover’s breathing hitch, the air getting released in low sighs and hums of approval as fingers card into his hair. Not to guide his head, just to hold it. The other let's Yifan set his own pace, and the way he gently massages Yifan’s scalp is a wordless permission to take it as slow or fast as he desires.
Yifan’s reply comes in the form of lips gently pressed against faintly defined abs, drinking up the sounds of content it makes his partner release. Yixing’s stomach has Yifan in awe, the skin so smooth, so exquisitely soft Yifan barely wants to take his lips away from it. Yet Yixing’s increasingly laboured breathing and the sweat clinging to his skin are just two of many indicators of the smaller’s arousal. Wanting to hear moans instead of just pants, Yifan decides it’s time to move lower with his lips and tongue. He follows the lines of Yixing’s muscles, tracing down the thin trail of hair until he reaches the waistband of the other’s sweatpants. His hands grab the other’s hip on both sides, his thumbs soothing over Yixing’s prominent hip bones and drawing shivers from the smaller body below him.
When he takes the hem of Yixing’s sweatpants between his teeth, Yixing let’s out the first sound that’s not just a pant, sigh or a hum, and the pure need nestled into the whine sends a sharp spike of arousal through Yifan’s veins, prompting him to reply with an involuntary throaty groan himself. He’s so hard it’s almost painful, and that without really having Yixing touch him.
Yifan greedily drinks up the sight of the smaller male, squirming underneath him, following each of his touches, gasping whenever Yifan let’s his fingers ghost over the other’s pert nipples and biting his lower lip to stifle moans when Yifan finally traces his tongue along the vein on the underside of Yixing’s cock before lapping at the precum that has gathered at the tip. The way Yixing throws his head back, baring his jugular so deliciously is a blatant invitation for Yifan to crawl up his body to leave his marks on the unblemished skin there but he resists the temptation.
He wants to draw those strangled noises from Yixing’s throat, when lust set his blood afire and Yifan manages to drive the last sane thought from Yixing’s mind, filling it with himself and nothing but himself. Yifan never pegged himself to be the possessive kind, but Yixing made him think that perhaps the only reason for that was that he simply he hasn’t yet had something before he wanted as much as he wanted the smaller male.
He shows his craving for the other by making sure to adore him, every part of him, until Yixing is incoherent with pleasure. Yifan’s greatest satisfaction is to know he can take the other male apart with his touches and put him back together, and he does so until Yixing no longer cares about holding back his moans, until his voice grows hoarse and the muscles in his thighs start quivering.
Needing some relief for his own aching arousal, Yifan ruts against the mattress while Yixing tears up under his ministrations, hands alternatively grabbing the sheets and Yifan’s hair. His voice, easily an octave higher than usual, cracks as he frantically tries to warn Yifan, to stop him, to tell him that he’s going to push Yixing’s restraints too far if he continues but Yifan doesn’t care about anything else than making Yixing’s hips stutter as he reaches his climax.
When Yifan’s name falls from Yixing’s lips in a broken moan, everything bursts into white and Yifan comes with a gasp, untouched except for the friction the sheets provide him.
His body shakes with the aftershocks and his breathing goes in harsh pants. But when he next opens his eyes, he’s greeted by darkness, the shadow of sunlight that had tinged his room into warm shades of red and orange gone, replaced by cold midnight blue instead.
Yifan gasps for air as if he’s drowning, the wave of pleasure washing over him and dragging him under. But instead of feeling satisfied and sated, Yifan suddenly feels empty. Without his own accord, his body curls up in itself as if it would help him feel less overwhelmed by the split-second shift from asleep to awake, from blissful to miserable.
He’s sticky, but worse than that, he’s cold.
__
Yifan has had multiple relationships before, both back in Canada and China. From the innocent hand-holding-on-the-way-back-home type to the one that felt like giddy first love and consisted of being all over one another twenty-four seven. Yet none of these relationships lasted. Which was normal for his age and given his frequent moving, Yifan has assumed, so he never read too much into the fact that he seemed unable to retain a romantic partner for more than a few months at most.
But after Baekhyun broke up with him, Yifan spent days and weeks struggling with the implications of it. The two of them had been great together, perhaps better even than he and Kyungsoo had been. Perhaps, it was just very different from what he had shared with Kyungsoo.
Baekhyun was a sociable person, always upbeat, slightly mischievous and the kind who wanted to make everyone smile. He was Yifan’s security blanket for going out to social gatherings, and with him by his side, Yifan felt less scared of bracing big crowds. Baekhyun pulled him out of his shell and Yifan could mellow out the smaller’s boundless thirst for action a little. They had gotten along so very well, and Yifan had been convinced to have found his first relationship that had a future, but he had been proven wrong.
If there was one thing being with Baekhyun had taught him, it was that dating was out of the question for him before he properly sorted out everything related to Yixing. It forced him to see his own breaking up with Kyungsoo in a different light, and in a way Yifan wondered for how long he had been in denial already. He loved Yixing, even if he had never met him, even if his head tried to convince him over and over again that the other male wasn’t real. Yifan had given his heart to the male with the smile that haunted his every dream, against reason and better judgement. And as long as he was harbouring feelings for Yixing, there would be no place in his life for romantic commitment with anyone else.
He had gone through lonely years in Korea, of wanting someone by his side, someone he could touch and hold and lean on. He wanted to fill a hole, only to see now that the cavity was shaped like Yixing, and all the other people Yifan had attempted to push into it simply didn’t fit. So Yifan stopped looking for a long-term relationship. Since the resolution to no longer look for commitment didn’t diminish his libido however, and with his dislike for impersonal one night stands, the perfect solution presented itself in form of a best friend willing to lend a hand. Yet while Yifan’s romantic love life had been put on hold for the time being, the same didn’t apply to everyone around him.
"I'm sorry, Yifan." Lu Han's voice sounds tinny through the receiver and Yifan vows to get a new phone soon because this one is clearly in its death throes. "I told you, I’ve got a boyfriend now so I can't come over to fool around with you anymore."
"Traitor," Yifan mumbles, and he doesn't know whether Lu Han heard him or whether the elder just decides to tactfully ignore the jab.
"Come on, you're a handsome dude, if you want to get laid just go hit up a bar or a club, I'm sure you'll find someone willing to share your bed tonight. Or a hotel room or dark alleyway or whatever if you don't want to bring them home."
Yifan knows that deep down, Lu Han means well. He still hangs up without any further comments and resigns himself to the company of his laptop and his hand (and memories of dreams featuring breathy moans and delicate fingers buried into his hair).
__
When he walks into the kitchen, there's a shape standing in front of the stove, humming happily along to the pop music droning from the radio. He drops his briefcase to the floor unceremoniously, not noticing when he doesn't hear it clatter against the tiles. Instead he rushes forward to wrap his arms around the other's waist, burying his nose against his neck to inhale deeply. He doesn't register the other's scent, but it settles as a warm feeling of familiarity in his veins, one that shouts home so loud that it deafens everything else.
"What are you doing here, I thought you were in Dubai," Yifan mumbles against Yixing's neck, and the body in his arms shakes slightly with the other's chuckle.
"How could I be in Dubai when you're here? Come on, dinner's ready." Just like that Yixing pushes him back gently so he can stretch up to reach for the cupboard above the stove where Yifan kept his plates and bowls.
It's then that Yifan gets a view of what's happily bubbling in the pot, and he gets by an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. The last time he saw the orange red of bolognese sauce must have been years ago, back when he was still staying in Canada with his mother. Whenever she would be pressed for time, she'd cook him spaghetti bolognese for lunch or dinner but over the years she stopped warming up sauce from a jar and instead turned the dish into one of her specialities.
He doesn't question where Yixing got the ingredients from to reproduce his mother's sauce, let alone the recipe. Instead he releases the smaller body to go shrug out of his coat and exchange his work clothes for more comfortable ones. On his way to the bedroom he gets distracted by an ebony door to his right he never really took notice of before. Overwhelming curiosity prompts him to open it, and he stands in the doorframe with his mouth agape when it swings open.
The room beyond is unfamiliar, and even though Yifan has never before seen it, he instantly knows who it belongs to. A silent gasp alerts him to the fact that another person has joined him in the hallway. "You weren't supposed to find this," Yixing says, gaze downcast to where he's fiddling with his hands.
Yifan looks at him for a long moment before facing back towards the room. "You moved in? Without telling me?" he asks, full of disbelief how he could have missed this.
"I'm sorry, I meant to tell you but..." the smaller male trails off. Yifan sees the discomfort clear in his posture, and lifts his hand to gently touch the other's arm as a sign that he's not mad about the fact that his boyfriend would want to move in. He's just confused.
"Why didn't you?"
Yifan witnesses Yixing go shy, biting his lower lip slightly in thought and grabbing the hem of Yifan's shirt. "I really want to be with you, as close as I can be, but I was afraid... you might not be ready yet."
Yifan didn't consider it yet because Yixing is with him all the time either way but hearing his boyfriend voice these things he suddenly wonders why Yixing hasn't moved in earlier already. Without hesitation he pulls the smaller body into a tight embrace and whispers into his ear, "Well, you worried for nothing."
The other relaxes tangibly in his hold, anxious tension fading from his muscles as his hands come up to hold Yifan's waist. "Are you serious?" Yixing leans back a little and Yifan let's him, so they can properly face each other. "This is okay?"
Yifan doesn't even need to think about his reply, "This is more than okay. This is all I could ever have asked for."
And there it is again, the blinding smile that makes his stomach do somersaults and his heart pick up pace.
Yes, this is right.
__
The words are blurring on the paper and Yifan rubs his fists against his closed eyes as if it could help disperse the tiredness. It doesn’t, at all. In fact, when he reopens them, he swears he can see the the characters dancing on the white backdrop as if to mock him. With a groan, he sinks forward until his forehead meets the desk. He’s been working in the translation bureau for almost seven months now, so he doesn’t really care about upholding an image of superiority and constant cool level-headedness. All of his colleagues know what a dork he is, and that his grim expression only lasts for as long as he’s not talking, and gets replaced by shy laughs and gummy smiles as soon as he does.
His desk neighbour, Jongdae, makes a compassionate noise in his throat and pats his back in a gesture of comfort. “I know, buddy, I know,” he says, and Yifan produces and unintelligible sound to express his agreement. Words are too difficult; he might speak more than three languages but they all give him a headache right then.
The hand on his back starts drawing soothing circles, and Yifan wonders for a moment what he’s done to deserve a co-worker like Jongdae. They have an important deadline at the end of the week, so they all have been putting in overtime and are all equally exhausted. With a deep inhale, Yifan straightens his back again. He mumbles a quick thank you to the other male and grabs his pen to continue letting the red ink bleed into the paper to mark mistakes.
“Say, do you know the coffee shop that opened last week? The one right down the street? Have you tried it yet?” the Korean asks almost innocently but Yifan knows exactly where this conversation is headed.
He wants to refuse. He can’t possibly leave work, even if it’s only for ten minutes to get a very much needed dose of caffeine, but Jongdae looks positively worried while studying him. Perhaps Yifan is in worse shape than he realized.
“Actually, I heard one of the waiters working there is actually Chinese. So you should even be able to order in your mother tongue. Get away from Korean for a while.” The implicit suggestion is blatantly obvious and they both know it.
Yifan still is reluctant but Jongdae keeps looking at him expectantly, and knowing that it’s impossible to argue with or oppose the other male, Yifan gives in with a sigh. If he’s being honest, the promise of hot coffee and a little reprieve from Hangul dancing on paper sound like heaven right then.
“I’ll be back in fifteen minutes,” he promises as he rises from his seat.
Jongdae’s lips curl into his trademark kittenish smile, “If you’re there already, perhaps you can grab a coffee for me as well?” The Korean bats his eyelashes at Yifan as if trying to look cute will help him with getting his coffee without having to move.
By the time he has reached the exit of the office, Yifan has a piece of paper in his pocket with the coffee wishes of all his co-workers written on it because he’s afraid his brain is too strained to remember a list of seven drinks.
The freshness of the early evening is such a welcome change from the stuffy air inside the office. It helps clear Yifan’s mind instantly, and every step towards the coffeeshop improves his mood. Jongdae can always be trusted to know exactly what people need to make them feel better.
The coffeeshop is hidden in a sidestreet forking from the busy main road, but it’s only a few feet around the corner, so it’s still easy enough to reach to bring in a decent amount of customers. Even at the late hour, most of the tables are filled, mostly with students either working or chatting amicably. A bell rings when Yifan pushes the door open, and his lips involuntarily stretch into a smile as the sound reminds him a little of a wind chime’s light tinkling. The overpowering scent of coffee hits him, and Yifan makes a mental note to point Lu Han towards this store. Yifan might not be a coffee connoisseur but years of friendship with Lu Han have taught him to recognize a place with good coffee by the smell.
His eyes dart around the interior, taking in the bookshelves close to the walls and the cozy looking armchairs, as well as the large table lining one side of the store, obviously intended for students who wish to get their homework done away from the distractions of their own room and with a constant supply of fresh coffee close by.
He only sees one waiter, behind the counter, who seems to have overheard the doorbell signaling a new customer. The guy with the soft, slightly curly brown hair has his back turned to Yifan, and when he gets closer, Yifan sees that the other is reading.
Perhaps he’s also one of those student who earns his tuition by working in a coffee shop after classes are over.
Yifan halts right in front of the counter, wondering whether he should clear his throat or just wait for the other to notice him. He figures there’s no harm in spending a few minutes studying the shop’s list of drinks before making his decision. He’s torn between going for his usual mocha or giving the americano of this place a try when a second waiter walks out of what Yifan figures must be either the kitchen or the office area of the place.
“Hey, Yixing, there’s a customer,” the newcomer calls.
Yifan freezes up at the sound of the name- it can’t be -
The brunet startles at being called, head whipping up to face his co-worker before he twirls around to focus on the customer he inadvertently neglected. “I’m so sorr-”
The words die on the waiter’s lips and his eyes widen when he sees Yifan, mouth hanging agape in a vision of surprise mixed with slight shock and disbelief. Yifan doesn't to see himself to know his own expression must mirror the curly-haired male's down to the smallest detail. Time halts, for a moment, and Yifan's chest tightens. They look at each other, just look, the world around them having come to a halt.
It's like watching a firework, the silent anticipation while it sizzles up the sky, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake, the moment of holding of one’s breath in anticipation when it disappears, waiting eagerly for it to reveal what kind of bright pattern it will draw against the dark night sky. That’s how Yifan feels like, watching Yixing.
"Hi, I'm Yifan." He only knows he spoke when he hears the sound of his own voice. It amazes him that he even managed to get a whole introduction out, considering that his brain still is caught in a limbo of trying to decide whether he’s even awake. Surely he must be asleep.
Then the other's lips stretch into a smile, so painfully familiar, something he’s seen a million times yet a completely new experience, something he’s never seen before and something bursts inside his chest, colourful, strong and overwhelming. All-consuming.
"I know."
__
Every night, Yifan dreams. It's been happening since his childhood. He sees calm meadows, and busy streets. He runs through woods and he sits in crowded restaurants. He fights monsters and he hides from his mother as a young child, and he submits french translations instead of English ones to his boss. Yifan has always loved sleeping because he loves dreaming. He loves exploring imaginary worlds that make so much sense to him while he’s experiencing them, that feel as real as his reality does.
But when he wakes up and there's warmth, clinging to him in the form of an arm draped over his bare chest and a face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, he always is reminded that he prefers this state to being awake. And when he stirs, and opens his eyes, he finally sees a smile, stretching lazily over a face he knows by heart, from the curly hair covering the other's forehead, over the eyes that have so many emotions swirling in them and his nose, to the dimple and the plump lips that he has kissed more times than he can count. A silent voice whispers a good morning greeting, wanting to know about Yifan’s dream, and Yifan pulls the smaller body on top of his chest closer before starting to fulfill the other’s wishes. He never stops stroking over the skin of other’s back while he talks, loving how soft it feels, and how warm breath ghosts over his collarbones, an unmistakable vanilla scent making Yifan inhale deeply.
Whenever Yifan wakes up, he knows the search is over.
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* 惺忪 - xīngsōng - drowsy-eyed / wavering / indecisive / awake / conscious / clearheaded
Pairing: Fanxing
Rating: R
Length: 9.7k
Summary: For all his life, Yifan's dreams have been marked by a recurring presence, the sight of a bright smile still imprinted behind his eyelids when he's awake. For all his life, Yifan has been searching.
A/N: Originally written for Yifantasy. Much thanks to my beta, who did a tremendous job giving this read even when sick and half-dying.
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睡眼惺忪 - shuìyǎnxīngsōng - eyes still heavy with sleep (sleepy eyes)
睡眼惺忪
A gentle breeze tugs on Yifan's clothes, brushes over his skin. Leaves rustle in the distance and Yifan's heart gives a startle in his chest when coy fingertips ghost over his hand, gone before he has the chance to take a hold of them. A tinkling sound fills the air-it must be summer, Yifan realizes, the sound of the wind chime calling up memories of watermelon and playing in rivers as a child, seeking refuge from the heat in the refreshing coolness. He whips around, his only intention being to catch the owner of the teasing touches but the other has already danced out of reach. Yifan feels the corners of his mouth stretch apart as he set into the chase, following with large steps after a frame that's smaller than him, yet somehow faster, always managing to avoid him by hair's breadth. The other is playing with him, and the only response Yifan has is bubbling laughter.
He sees the other's back in front of him, the green flecked with dots of colour from the flower-spotted meadow offsetting the other's clothed form. For a second, Yifan stills his movement, only then realizing that the print looks awfully familiar.
"You little thief," he gasps, the grin on his face belying the accusation of his tone. A sound astonishingly similar to the wind chime grazes his ears, a light and joyful sound, and instead of startling, this time his heart flutters like a bird trying to break from its cage and Yifan knows he doesn't really want to stop it either.
The other decides to end their chase by spinning around, arms outstretched as if he had wings to catch the gust of wind. Yifan takes slow steps towards where the smaller male is waiting, almost expectantly, his pulse picking up pace with every centimeter he gets closer. He hesitates for a heartbeat when he comes to a halt right in front of the other, but then he lifts his hands, reciprocating the gesture. Skin brushes against skin, and Yifan feels his nerve endings alight with it.
He lets his fingers glide along the back of the other's hands, in wonder at the sensation it creates. His gaze is fixed on his explorative touches, until the other turns around his hand, offering his palm for Yifan to press his own against.
Just like that, Yifan's eyes slowly wander up over biceps and pectorals and collarbones until eventually they reach the other's face. The other's mouth is stretched into a smile, so gentle and soft that it doesn't even reveal much teeth. It's blinding, Yifan thinks.
__
Every night, Yifan dreams. It's been happening ever since his childhood, for as long as he could remember. He knows he dreams, and he knows the same person features in the imaginary worlds his mind creates, night after night. The dreams have recurring themes and settings, yet every dream on its own tends to differ from everything he’s seen before. The person, the boy, however, proves to be a steady constant. Yifan knows the feel of him, not in a physical sense, but in the way that thinking of him is a feeling lodged deep in his rib cage whenever he dreams, constricting and liberating all at once.
Yet, whenever he wakes up, all he's left with is a shallow sense of remembrance, a feeling clinging to his body like a thin sheen of autumn sunshine, wrapping him in a shadow of summer's warmth.
Yixing.
__
"Yifan."
A groan.
"Yifan."
Another groan.
"Yifan!"
Shuffling, the rustling of sheets. A groan, muffled by a pillow this time.
"I swear to god Yifan, get your lazy ass out of bed. It's your first day at work and you said yourself you don't want to be late!"
Yifan gasps loudly when a sudden wave of coldness hits him. It takes him a split second to realize that thankfully it's just icy autumn air-"just" because he knows Lu Han, and he knows that his best friend is not above going for the good old 'nothing-wakes-you-up-faster-than-a-cold-shower' technique, executed right in bed and with the help of a cup and tap water.
Finding himself at the elder's mercy, shivering and in just his boxers on his mattress, Yifan decides that it's never too early for a few good curses, hissed just loud enough that his friend can hear them. For good measure, he also glares at the honey-haired male. Lu Han, however, is utterly unimpressed by the intimidating set of his eyebrows. He's seen enough of Yifan hitting his head in doorways because he miscalculated his height, enough of him slipping on fallen leaves on rainy autumn days, enough of Yifan burning his tongue when he disregards the "caution hot" warnings on coffee cups and has certainly seen enough of Yifan begging and whining for release, utterly debauched. Lu Han knows him better than anyone else, and while Yifan is grateful for that on a lot of levels, it also means the grim set of his facial features doesn't faze the other anymore.
"Save that look for when you have to harass an intern at work into making you coffee today or something." With his arms akimbo, every cell of Luhan's being emits judgement, and Yifan wants to be offended-it is perfectly normal to prefer the coziness of a duvet to the glaring cold of morning air, thank you very much.
A snarky quip lingers on the tip of his tongue but Yifan decides he doesn't have the energy for a full-blown argument, so he just sinks back onto the mattress with a bone-deep sigh, throwing his arm over his eyes as if shielding out the light could make it so that it is night again and he has a few more hours to sleep. He waits for another comment from Lu Han but the room stays silent. Lu Han has always been rather light-footed, so Yifan only realizes he has left the room when he opens his eyes again to look at his bedside clock. It's barely even seven and it makes Yifan wonder how long Lu Han has been awake already, for him to have been dressed and essentially ready to head out when Yifan saw him moments ago.
As well as they know each other, there's always a volatile element to Lu Han. Now that he has left Yifan's field of vision, the tall male can't be 100% sure what his best friend is up to. He might be fed up with Yifan's reluctance to get out of bed and have simply left the flat to be ahead of time for his own work, or he might be in the bathroom at this very moment to prepare a liquid wake up charm for Yifan. When Yifan eventually does manage to part with his mattress a few minutes later, he learns that, in truth, it's a third option. Clinking sounds come from the direction of his kitchen as Yifan traipses into the bathroom to wash away the remains of sleep.
The smell of coffee greets Yifan once he reemerges with his hair still damp and dressed in a snug, dark green woolen sweater and simple black pants, a plain ensemble for his first day chosen over the course of three days and with the advice of five friends-two of which gave him enough eye-rolls to last a lifetime throughout the selection process.
Lu Han gives him a once-over as soon as he steps onto ceramic tiles and hums in approval, then turns towards the counter again to pick up a plate and mug to set in front of Yifan on the table.
"You're too good to me," Yifan notes when he lifts up the coffee, letting the bitter liquid run over his tongue. He usually doesn't like Americanos, always ordering either a latte, with or without syrup, or a mocha when he frequents coffee shops. The only coffee he drinks pure and black is the the one Lu Han brews.
"I know," Lu Han replies, a well-rehearsed line stemming from dozens of similar conversations they've had like this already. The elder takes a seat next to Yifan, his own breakfast an exact copy of Yifan's.
As good as Lu Han is at making coffee, he's not exactly a highly gifted cook, so their food is limited to toast with butter and jam, but Yifan doesn't mind. His nervous stomach might not be able to take anything else either way. The coffee might not be the best idea in regards to his digestive system, but he needs it for his nerves.
Just like he had needed Lu Han to calm his nerves the previous night, calling the other up in the wee hours of the morning when he realized he wouldn't find any sleep if didn't find some release, and Lu Han, being the good friend that he was, only made Yifan promise to make it worth his time before turning up on his doorstep.
Lu Han is Yifan's living and breathing proof that barely anything in life ever goes like you expect it to. He had hit on the smaller male in a bar, barely six months after moving to Korea to attend university there. For almost two hours straight Yifan had struggled with his Korean vocabulary, his alcohol induced haze taking some of his shyness in speaking the foreign language away, yet he was well aware that the amount of mistakes he managed to cram into a single sentence must have made him look like a bloody beginner, and not like someone who had studied the language for four years already. With introductions never properly made, Yifan didn't find out that he had spent the night with a fellow Chinese until he woke up the next morning and Lu Han complained with a thick Beijing dialect about about the morning sun streaming through Yifan's un-closed curtains.
Yifan isn’t the type for one night stands. He dislikes how impersonal they are, taking a stranger into his bed just for the sake of physical relief, but that particular night he had simply been wound too tight with stress, needing an outlet despite his dislike for the concept. Yet, what had been intended to be a one night stand to take the edge off-on both sides, as Yifan came to know over a quickly thrown together breakfast-cum-lunch consisting of fried eggs and slices of buttered toast-turned into them meeting for lunch and dinner, movie nights and inviting each other to parties of friends. They didn't date; after their first night, all their subsequent meetings were only platonic. Uncaring of the fact that their respective home cities were almost 1500 miles apart, Lu Han meant familiarity in an unfamiliar country, and whenever Yifan was talking with the elder he could bathe in the soothing sound of Chinese tones instead of having to bend his mind around weird Korean conjugations.
"Give it your best today, got it?" The honey-haired male demands when they stand outside Yifan’s apartment half an hour later, the light slap to Yifan's back a gesture of encouragement in Luhan’s eyes. "I didn't go out of my way to help you get this job and lost precious sleep last night just for you to embarrass yourself on your first day. Better wait until the second week to let them know what a dork you are."
Knowing that his best friend only means well, Yifan simply buries his head deeper into the scarf wrapped around his neck to ward off the autumn cold and replies with an indistinct hum. They part ways with a last few heartfelt well-wishes from Lu Han, and one subway ride and ten minutes of walking later Yifan climbs the flight of stairs up to his new office, heart beating loud enough that he thinks the secretary sitting behind the reception must surely hear it.
"Hello, I'm Wu Yifan," he introduces himself with a slight bow to the woman he didn't meet yet when coming in for his interview a few weeks ago. "I'm the new interpreter."
__
Life, for Yifan, is not something he plans from beginning to end. Rather, it's a string of occurrences, one thing leading to another and to another and in the end he finds himself in a very different place from where he expected to end up. It's how he found himself in Seoul in the first place.
He had been one of those teenagers who didn't really know what they want to do with their life. All through high school, he had tried to figure it out. Playing basketball professionally had been an option at one point but one unlucky jump and an unforeseen injury had quickly ruled out that plan. Going abroad was also a thought he'd played with a lot of times. He had had his fair share of experience with moving, and while it sucked as a child, having to rebuild his whole life from scratch whenever they'd relocate, he had grown to appreciate the thrill of the new.
Dabbling in Korean classes in his second to last year in high school led to looking at prestigious universities in Korea. Initially, it had been more of a joke to him, his only intention being to see what was out there. He hadn't really planned on applying for studying Korean but in the end he did, and after receiving the acceptance letter, he realised that he was going to become an interpreter. Being fluent in Chinese and English and with the small bit of French he still remembered from school he figured that adding Korean to the mix should make it possible for him to pursue that career path.
One of the first things the teachers in Korean class taught them was that, evidentially, the fastest and best way to learn a language was to date a native speaker of that language. Nothing would motivate as much as wanting to communicate with a lover. Yet that definitely wasn't Yifan's purpose for getting involved with Do Kyungsoo. Actually, Yifan hadn't planned on dating anyone, resolute that if he didn't focus on his studies, he'd fall behind. It wasn't as if he really was the dating type to begin with. He wasn't opposed to it but he was fine enough with being single that he tended to not actively look for a boyfriend.
Yifan met Kyungsoo by complete accident, in the library where Yifan had retreated to for studying since his dorm neighbour next door refused to quieten down and Yifan didn't have the nerve anymore to go and complain. He and Kyungsoo sat beside each other because all the tables were packed, a clear sign of nearing exam season, and Yifan half felt bad for taking the last free seat beside the smaller male since the other looked so terrified at his sight. Well aware of how intimidating his eyebrows could make him look, Yifan cracked a somewhat awkward smile and silently asked whether the seat was already taken in his rather, hoping that initiating some kind of contact would lighten the air between them.
What actually did get them to start talking in the end was Yifan despairing over a grammar point he simply couldn't wrap his head around. His frustration must have been blatantly obvious because Kyungsoo eventually took pity on him and asked whether there was anything he could do to help. Three hours later they were no longer talking about the finer connotations of Korean grammar, and they also were no longer seated in the library but in the cafeteria with coffee cups in front of them.
He and Kyungsoo got along well. They both leant towards taciturnity, and while they'd let their friends drag them out to the occasional party, they preferred to spend most of their time in quieter places. Yifan enjoyed spending time with Kyungsoo, it made him feel at ease to be around the younger male. They started dating without even realizing it, but at one point their friendly lunch-meetings in the cafeteria turned to movie nights in each other's dorm rooms to staying over and just like that they were an item.
And Yifan liked him, he really did. He enjoyed the biology student's company, he was attracted to him, and the longer he spent with him, the better he got to know him, the more the feeling intensified. Yet, the exhilaration of being in a new relationship never really set in. There was no rush of being freshly in love, of wanting to spend every waking second with his boyfriend. It felt so comfortable, being with Kyungsoo and Yifan tried to tell himself that that was everything that was needed, that relationships didn't have to be all-consuming and overwhelming, that they could also start out calm and grow. Eventually, however, he had to face the the fact that while he certainly liked Kyungsoo, he didn't love him. And he had to admit to himself that he didn't see that matter changing in the future.
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The hand holding his is so much smaller, and yet it fits perfectly. It's something Yifan never stops marvelling at. He is being led somewhere by Yixing, and even though he has no clue where or why, all he can focus on is the sight of their joined hands right in front of him. They're walking through a forest, and it must be night, the flashlight Yixing's holding is the only source of illumination breaking through the darkness surrounding them. Yifan thinks that the situation should seem scary, intimidating or unsettling, but somehow he feels nothing like that. With Yixing's hand in his, he feels safe.
When Yifan next looks up, they've entered a residential area, and the sun is just about to rise. The brisk pace at which Yixing had been leading him through the woods has slowed down into a comfortable stroll, their joined hands swinging back and forth slightly between their bodies.
"Hey, are you hungry?" Yifan pipes up when they pass by a restaurant he recognizes. It's the place he used to get take out meals from during his university time, and he hasn't had the chance to take the other male there yet.
Yixing hums in affirmation, and lets Yifan pull him through the door. They get a table in the back, and even though there's a chair they both squeeze onto the bench so they don't have to let go of each other. Eating with only one hand proves to be a bit difficult, especially for Yixing who only has his left hand free, but somehow they make do. It's a welcome excuse for Yifan to feed his boyfriend, either way.
And if he's being a bit messy in his feeding process....
"You've got something there," Yifan notes all innocently when a bit of sauce gets caught in the corner of Yixing's lips, and as soon as the smaller male turns to face him, Yifan leans down.
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"It's not you," Yifan blurted out, cringing at the bluntness of his own words but the person sitting on the other side of the table hardly seemed fazed by it. They were sat in a coffeeshop, lashing rain hitting against the windows and making the warmth of the interior seem even cosier in contrast with the unpleasant autumn weather outside.
Rather than getting angry or upset or being insulted, a bitter, slightly disbelieving smile stretched across Kyungsoo's lips that seemed to say 'I can't believe I'm in such a clichéd situation right now'. "Yeah, yeah, it's not me, it's you. You're just not ready for a relationship, you're too busy with studying, you have other commitments, yada yada yada. Come on Yifan, you can do better than these lines if you want to break up with me."
"No, what I mean is it's not you ," the words rushed out before Yifan had the slightest chance to stop them, "You're not the one. The one I'll be with. It's not you."
He wished he could have wrapped his words in bubble wrap, something to soften their impact because he knew he was being offending, and mean, and that no one wanted to be told that they were not "the one", it carried too many implications of "not good enough".
Kyungsoo's eyes widened in surprise, clearly caught off-guard by the other's reasoning and his mouth opened and closed multiple times but no sound came out. "That's new," he eventually noted, tilting his head to the side slightly to study Yifan as if he was some rare specimen in his laboratory. He, most likely, was.
"I'm sorry," Yifan rushed to add, realizing he should probably have led with an apology instead of just slapping "you're not the one" into Kyungsoo's face with without any warning.
A few weeks ago he had come to terms with the fact that he and Kyungsoo wouldn't work out in the long run. He didn't know where that conviction stemmed from, but it was one he couldn't shake. It was not even for a lack of feelings, Yifan did harbour feelings for Kyungsoo. Yet whenever he tried to imagine himself with the smaller male in a few years, or even only a few months, something always seemed off about the picture. Kyungsoo was nice, and logically, objectively, he was a better catch than Yifan would ever have hoped to make. Everything pointed to them being a great match.
But it just didn't fit. It wasn't right. Kyungsoo wasn't right.
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There's no feeling Yifan loves more than falling into bed after a long day of work. His friends always tease him about his love for soft mattresses and warm duvets but very few of them know what the actual reason for Yifan's obsession with sleep is. It's not about the act of sleeping, it's about who he sees as soon as he allows his subconsciousness to rest.
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All around him are people, so many people. The streets are full of them.
China is crowded and Yifan knows that but after years of living in Vancouver, he seems to have lost his resistance to big masses. Everyone around him is a faceless silhouette, and Yifan feels lost in an ever-moving sea that tries to drag him in directions he never wanted to go into. In the distance he sees the shape of Shanghai's skyline, the distinct round shapes of the Oriental Pearl Tower leaving no doubt about his current location. He recognizes the European style buildings rising up high into the sky around him, and with a newfound resolution he pushes himself through the masses to get to the riverside. Suddenly he knows that there is someone he's supposed to meet, it's the only reason why he would come to the bund on the weekend, after all.
But the crowd is determined to keep him back. The harder he pushes to weave his way through the throng of people, the more impenetrable it seems to get. Yifan recalls one of his science experiments, back in highschool, when they mixed cornstarch with water. The substance they created gave off more reactive resistance the more they applied pressure to it and Yifan feels oddly reminded of it by the masses around him.
He can feel his patience run thin, an eery feeling of panic well up from deep inside his chest. If he doesn't make it to the meeting point in time, something bad will happen. He doesn't know what, but that doesn't stop him from pushing even more fervently against the bodies surrounding him, suffocating him. His gaze fixes on the skyline that seems to not be coming any closer.
All of a sudden, he's shouting. It's a name, falling from his lips, over and over again, his eyes darting around frantically in a search of someone whose features he can't even properly recall but if he sees the one he's looking for, he'll know. His voice sounds too muted, muffled, as if he's screaming into a pillow, and he fights with his vocal chords. It all comes to no avail.
Something shifts, and between one blink and the next, the cold fear that had held Yifan's heart in its tight grip is gone. All the people around him have faded into a darkness, and there's only one who remains light, standing a few feet away from Yifan. Nothing moves, as if time has been frozen for everyone but the two of them.
The boy turns around to face Yifan, a knowing smile playing on his features as he lifts his finger up and presses it against his plump lips, a wordless command for silence and Yifan immediately complies. His throat has clogged up either way as relief mixes with exhilaration in his chest.
"Yixing," he whispers, and the other's smile stretches into a toothy grin at being recognized.
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Sometimes Yifan regrets his honesty, especially when it ends up leaving him alone in his bed at night.
It was just a wet dream about a guy I used to know in university, he could have said. Everyone has those dreams once in awhile.
They're natural and can't be controlled , he could have said.
You know I love you and that one wet dream doesn't mean I am cheating on you, right?, he could have said.
But he didn't.
He doesn't know if Baekhyun would have believed him if he had claimed that it was just a wet dream that made him mumble another guy’s name in his sleep, repeatedly, but he could have tried. His heart says that yes, the younger male would have believed him, because he also believed him when Yifan explained that he'd been dreaming about the same person ever since he can remember. That he knows his name, even though he doesn't know him , that he knows his smile by heart even though he's never seen it with his own eyes, and that he knows the sound of his laughter without it ever having met his ears.
Baekhyun had been silent for so long following Yifan's confession that the taller was half expecting the other to just get up and leave without a word.
"I knew there was something."
When Baekhyun eventually looked up at him, he was smiling. He always smiled. Yifan knew him well enough by now to look at his eyes and not his mouth, like this he could see the melancholy.
"There was always this sense of distance from you. And I thought it was just the beginning of the relationship. Or that you were afraid of commitment and weren't ready to open yourself up yet. But this is it, right? The reason. Yixing."
Yifan, too stumped to properly string words together to form sentences, floundered. Denials, and questions, and assertions that he was ready for commitment running together to form an intelligible mumble of sounds before he fell silent when Baekhyun's finger gently brushed against his hand.
"It's okay, Yifan. I don't blame you. But I do think we should end this now because we both know I'm not the one."
A strange sense of deja-vu hit Yifan, a coffee-shop scene flashing in front of his inner eye, the image of a big eyed boy sitting in front of him, warmth surrounding Yifan that didn’t reach his skin because his guilty conscience made him feel as if he were outside in the autumn storm instead of sitting inside a cozy armchair while he bluntly stuttered his way through a breakup.
"But what if he doesn't exist," Yifan whispered, sounding meek even to his own ears. He felt a bit bad for not arguing with Baekhyun but he knew it was pointless. The other's eyes told him that Baekhyun didn't expect Yifan to fight for him, or to convince him that he's the one after all. It made Yifan realize that for Baekhyun, their relationship had been over for weeks already, he just hadn’t wanted to officially end it yet. Yifan felt like the worst boyfriend ever for not realizing, even when they'd been dating for almost half a year and it just undermined Baekhyun's point of him having been distant.
"He exists," the smaller man said, and Yifan wanted to ask how he could be so sure, where he got that conviction from but at the same time Yifan was afraid of the answer. Or rather, of Baekhyun reconsidering. Having someone else believe in Yixing's existence was so much more soothing than Yifan could ever have imagined, and so he just accepted the other's words.
Baekhyun had always believed in there being a power higher than them. Not necessarily in a religious way, perhaps not even in a spiritual one. But in a way that had him believe in the existence of schemes bigger than their limited perception. Baekhyun was the type to want to believe in the existence of soulmates. And even without Baekhyun stating it, Yifan realized that that was what Baekhyun was hoping for. That the constant nature of Yifan’s dreams, how vivid they were and how the memory of Yixing’s smile stuck with him meant that Yixing was Yifan’s soulmate.
A sad smile played on Baekhyun's lips when he leant up to kiss Yifan goodbye for the last time in the doorway of Yifan's apartment, and the elder had to ball his hands into fists to keep them from trying to hold the other back from leaving.
Baekhyun splayed his fingers against Yifan's cheek, and even long after he had left, his parting words lingered in Yifan's mind.
"You should go look for him."
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It's not as if Yifan doesn't want to look for Yixing. Of course he does. But at the same time he's realistic. There are 7.5 billion people living on the planet, and in spite of Yixing's name hinting at the other being Chinese as well, it still leaves way too many possibilities open. He doesn't even know how the other's name is written-given that Yixing even exists in the first place, that is.
Is it the Yì for art, or memory or amiable? Is it the Xīng of star, or the one of prosper? Yifan is half inclined to believe it’s the Xīng of xīngsōng* , but it would almost be too easy like that because of how well it fits.
When he was still younger, he tried, going through graduation lists in newspapers, rummaging through social network sites and looking at phone number directories. But as he grew up, he realized how futile it was. He didn't even know which country the other lived in. Having a Chinese name was no guarantee for being a Chinese-born Chinese person these days, after all, as his own childhood in Canada, and his move to Korea for university could attest to that.
Letting go of his obsessive search for Yixing is something Yifan sees as part of the process of growing up, of having to face the fact that his own abilities are limited and the world is so much bigger than he can begin to perceive. As a child, he'd had the belief that the playmate he spent time with at night could linger around every corner during the day. As a teenager, he'd had the hope that he'd find the boy from his dreams who made his heart stutter in familiarity and comfort and excitement, if only he tried looking hard enough.
By the time he went to university, he had forced himself to shed those beliefs and instead look at the matter realistically. Which included going through phases where he convinced himself Yixing was nothing but a manifestation of his subconscious desire to ward off the loneliness moving around all the time brought. As a child, Yifan had been very silent, and being uprooted from his old life in order to be placed into a country he didn't even properly speak the language off certainly didn't make it easier for him. He had lost all his friends back in China, and he had never been very good at making friends, choosing to keep to himself more often than not.
Yixing might just as well be an imaginary friend his mind conjured during that time to soothe his desire for friendship, for closeness with other people who understood him and saw past his silence. And then, when he managed to find friends over the years, friendships that last in spite of him continuing to move around all over the world, Yixing changed, just like Yifan did as he matured. It was a neat theory, to have Yixing be a figment of his imagination, designed to satisfy Yifan's desire for closeness. It would have explained him turning from a best friend to a boyfriend when Yifan started craving for romantic love.
Yet, the dreams are too vivid, too frequent, too real for all their dream-characteristic surreality. He had spent many hours poring over books on Oneirology, trying to understand everything there was to know about dreams and their meaning, but everything he read was different from what he was experiencing. Yixing wasn't just a shape, or a feeling in his imaginary worlds, he felt real and volatile and he stood out in a way as if he was a part of Yifan's soul while at the same time being a foreign entity.
Sometimes, when Yifan was sitting on the train with his earphones blocking out all ambient noises while he watched the outside world glide past him beyond the windows, he allowed his mind to run wild. During these times, he often thought about Yixing, and about the possibility that his dreams were actually him getting glimpses of a parallel world. One where the laws of his own reality might not apply, where nonsensical things made perfect sense for everyone involved, and where he, night after night, could meet up with another person who was living miles, countries, perhaps even continents away from him. He dabbled with the idea that he and Yixing co-inhabited this alternative reality, that they met there every night and that the lives they led in their dreams were just as real as the ones they led when awake.
It was the idea of Yixing not being a person that Yifan's subconscious made up to personify his desires but rather another living and breathing human being, who experiences the exact same situations as Yifan does while he sleeps. And no matter how much Yifan's logical side tells him it's unrealistic and impossible, his heart refuses to give up on the belief, the belief that Yixing is real. He hopes, hopes, hopes, hopes, wishes so much that Yixing exists. So much so that even when he convinces himself from the fact that he needs to live his life without waiting for Yixing, without giving him that much weight and importance, his subconscious never lets go of the smaller male.
If it's meant to be, it will be.
When he was worn down by looking for the other, that thought turned into Yifan’s refugee. If his dreams mean that he is destined to meet Yixing, he will meet him. If it is supposed to be, their paths will cross. It doesn't mean he stops instinctively scanning crowds for a familiar smile wherever he goes, or that his head no longer whips around whenever he hears the name Yixing. Yet he doesn't go out of his way anymore, doesn't spend hours on Weibo or Facebook or Instagram trying to look through millions of profiles belonging to random Yixing's and he doesn't go out of his way to make contact with Chinese communities whenever he is abroad for the sole purpose of figuring out whether they know a boy with a laugh so bright and happy it puts sunshine to shame.
(A description he'd never utter out loud to anyone, since Yifan is very well aware of how sappy he sounds-not even Lu Han who knows pretty much everything about Yixing from Yifan. He can’t help himself, but he doesn’t need to give the elder even more fodder for teasing.)
But the feeling never stops, even when Yifan himself doesn't make an effort anymore. The notion that he is constantly searching for the puzzle piece to complete him.
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Yifan often wonders whether he's being too self-indulgent, allowing himself to look forward to being around Yixing's presence at night as much as he does. Yixing, after all, is a dream, and Yifan lives his life in the real world. Then again, perhaps he’s really just living another life when he’s asleep, one that is just as real as the one he leads during the daylight hours. Just that in the one he experiences during nighttime, he has a steady companion by his side.
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The curtains are drawn, painting the room in dusky shades of orange as the sun hits the red fabric. They are thick enough to dim down the light to a sensual level, one that speaks of secrets, a mock replica of night’s guarding veil. At the same time, they allow enough light into the room to enable Yifan to admire the body splayed out underneath him.
The sound of panting permeates the room, and the unmistakable scent of sex clings to the air. With every dart of his tongue, Yifan manages to make his lover’s breathing hitch, the air getting released in low sighs and hums of approval as fingers card into his hair. Not to guide his head, just to hold it. The other let's Yifan set his own pace, and the way he gently massages Yifan’s scalp is a wordless permission to take it as slow or fast as he desires.
Yifan’s reply comes in the form of lips gently pressed against faintly defined abs, drinking up the sounds of content it makes his partner release. Yixing’s stomach has Yifan in awe, the skin so smooth, so exquisitely soft Yifan barely wants to take his lips away from it. Yet Yixing’s increasingly laboured breathing and the sweat clinging to his skin are just two of many indicators of the smaller’s arousal. Wanting to hear moans instead of just pants, Yifan decides it’s time to move lower with his lips and tongue. He follows the lines of Yixing’s muscles, tracing down the thin trail of hair until he reaches the waistband of the other’s sweatpants. His hands grab the other’s hip on both sides, his thumbs soothing over Yixing’s prominent hip bones and drawing shivers from the smaller body below him.
When he takes the hem of Yixing’s sweatpants between his teeth, Yixing let’s out the first sound that’s not just a pant, sigh or a hum, and the pure need nestled into the whine sends a sharp spike of arousal through Yifan’s veins, prompting him to reply with an involuntary throaty groan himself. He’s so hard it’s almost painful, and that without really having Yixing touch him.
Yifan greedily drinks up the sight of the smaller male, squirming underneath him, following each of his touches, gasping whenever Yifan let’s his fingers ghost over the other’s pert nipples and biting his lower lip to stifle moans when Yifan finally traces his tongue along the vein on the underside of Yixing’s cock before lapping at the precum that has gathered at the tip. The way Yixing throws his head back, baring his jugular so deliciously is a blatant invitation for Yifan to crawl up his body to leave his marks on the unblemished skin there but he resists the temptation.
He wants to draw those strangled noises from Yixing’s throat, when lust set his blood afire and Yifan manages to drive the last sane thought from Yixing’s mind, filling it with himself and nothing but himself. Yifan never pegged himself to be the possessive kind, but Yixing made him think that perhaps the only reason for that was that he simply he hasn’t yet had something before he wanted as much as he wanted the smaller male.
He shows his craving for the other by making sure to adore him, every part of him, until Yixing is incoherent with pleasure. Yifan’s greatest satisfaction is to know he can take the other male apart with his touches and put him back together, and he does so until Yixing no longer cares about holding back his moans, until his voice grows hoarse and the muscles in his thighs start quivering.
Needing some relief for his own aching arousal, Yifan ruts against the mattress while Yixing tears up under his ministrations, hands alternatively grabbing the sheets and Yifan’s hair. His voice, easily an octave higher than usual, cracks as he frantically tries to warn Yifan, to stop him, to tell him that he’s going to push Yixing’s restraints too far if he continues but Yifan doesn’t care about anything else than making Yixing’s hips stutter as he reaches his climax.
When Yifan’s name falls from Yixing’s lips in a broken moan, everything bursts into white and Yifan comes with a gasp, untouched except for the friction the sheets provide him.
His body shakes with the aftershocks and his breathing goes in harsh pants. But when he next opens his eyes, he’s greeted by darkness, the shadow of sunlight that had tinged his room into warm shades of red and orange gone, replaced by cold midnight blue instead.
Yifan gasps for air as if he’s drowning, the wave of pleasure washing over him and dragging him under. But instead of feeling satisfied and sated, Yifan suddenly feels empty. Without his own accord, his body curls up in itself as if it would help him feel less overwhelmed by the split-second shift from asleep to awake, from blissful to miserable.
He’s sticky, but worse than that, he’s cold.
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Yifan has had multiple relationships before, both back in Canada and China. From the innocent hand-holding-on-the-way-back-home type to the one that felt like giddy first love and consisted of being all over one another twenty-four seven. Yet none of these relationships lasted. Which was normal for his age and given his frequent moving, Yifan has assumed, so he never read too much into the fact that he seemed unable to retain a romantic partner for more than a few months at most.
But after Baekhyun broke up with him, Yifan spent days and weeks struggling with the implications of it. The two of them had been great together, perhaps better even than he and Kyungsoo had been. Perhaps, it was just very different from what he had shared with Kyungsoo.
Baekhyun was a sociable person, always upbeat, slightly mischievous and the kind who wanted to make everyone smile. He was Yifan’s security blanket for going out to social gatherings, and with him by his side, Yifan felt less scared of bracing big crowds. Baekhyun pulled him out of his shell and Yifan could mellow out the smaller’s boundless thirst for action a little. They had gotten along so very well, and Yifan had been convinced to have found his first relationship that had a future, but he had been proven wrong.
If there was one thing being with Baekhyun had taught him, it was that dating was out of the question for him before he properly sorted out everything related to Yixing. It forced him to see his own breaking up with Kyungsoo in a different light, and in a way Yifan wondered for how long he had been in denial already. He loved Yixing, even if he had never met him, even if his head tried to convince him over and over again that the other male wasn’t real. Yifan had given his heart to the male with the smile that haunted his every dream, against reason and better judgement. And as long as he was harbouring feelings for Yixing, there would be no place in his life for romantic commitment with anyone else.
He had gone through lonely years in Korea, of wanting someone by his side, someone he could touch and hold and lean on. He wanted to fill a hole, only to see now that the cavity was shaped like Yixing, and all the other people Yifan had attempted to push into it simply didn’t fit. So Yifan stopped looking for a long-term relationship. Since the resolution to no longer look for commitment didn’t diminish his libido however, and with his dislike for impersonal one night stands, the perfect solution presented itself in form of a best friend willing to lend a hand. Yet while Yifan’s romantic love life had been put on hold for the time being, the same didn’t apply to everyone around him.
"I'm sorry, Yifan." Lu Han's voice sounds tinny through the receiver and Yifan vows to get a new phone soon because this one is clearly in its death throes. "I told you, I’ve got a boyfriend now so I can't come over to fool around with you anymore."
"Traitor," Yifan mumbles, and he doesn't know whether Lu Han heard him or whether the elder just decides to tactfully ignore the jab.
"Come on, you're a handsome dude, if you want to get laid just go hit up a bar or a club, I'm sure you'll find someone willing to share your bed tonight. Or a hotel room or dark alleyway or whatever if you don't want to bring them home."
Yifan knows that deep down, Lu Han means well. He still hangs up without any further comments and resigns himself to the company of his laptop and his hand (and memories of dreams featuring breathy moans and delicate fingers buried into his hair).
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When he walks into the kitchen, there's a shape standing in front of the stove, humming happily along to the pop music droning from the radio. He drops his briefcase to the floor unceremoniously, not noticing when he doesn't hear it clatter against the tiles. Instead he rushes forward to wrap his arms around the other's waist, burying his nose against his neck to inhale deeply. He doesn't register the other's scent, but it settles as a warm feeling of familiarity in his veins, one that shouts home so loud that it deafens everything else.
"What are you doing here, I thought you were in Dubai," Yifan mumbles against Yixing's neck, and the body in his arms shakes slightly with the other's chuckle.
"How could I be in Dubai when you're here? Come on, dinner's ready." Just like that Yixing pushes him back gently so he can stretch up to reach for the cupboard above the stove where Yifan kept his plates and bowls.
It's then that Yifan gets a view of what's happily bubbling in the pot, and he gets by an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. The last time he saw the orange red of bolognese sauce must have been years ago, back when he was still staying in Canada with his mother. Whenever she would be pressed for time, she'd cook him spaghetti bolognese for lunch or dinner but over the years she stopped warming up sauce from a jar and instead turned the dish into one of her specialities.
He doesn't question where Yixing got the ingredients from to reproduce his mother's sauce, let alone the recipe. Instead he releases the smaller body to go shrug out of his coat and exchange his work clothes for more comfortable ones. On his way to the bedroom he gets distracted by an ebony door to his right he never really took notice of before. Overwhelming curiosity prompts him to open it, and he stands in the doorframe with his mouth agape when it swings open.
The room beyond is unfamiliar, and even though Yifan has never before seen it, he instantly knows who it belongs to. A silent gasp alerts him to the fact that another person has joined him in the hallway. "You weren't supposed to find this," Yixing says, gaze downcast to where he's fiddling with his hands.
Yifan looks at him for a long moment before facing back towards the room. "You moved in? Without telling me?" he asks, full of disbelief how he could have missed this.
"I'm sorry, I meant to tell you but..." the smaller male trails off. Yifan sees the discomfort clear in his posture, and lifts his hand to gently touch the other's arm as a sign that he's not mad about the fact that his boyfriend would want to move in. He's just confused.
"Why didn't you?"
Yifan witnesses Yixing go shy, biting his lower lip slightly in thought and grabbing the hem of Yifan's shirt. "I really want to be with you, as close as I can be, but I was afraid... you might not be ready yet."
Yifan didn't consider it yet because Yixing is with him all the time either way but hearing his boyfriend voice these things he suddenly wonders why Yixing hasn't moved in earlier already. Without hesitation he pulls the smaller body into a tight embrace and whispers into his ear, "Well, you worried for nothing."
The other relaxes tangibly in his hold, anxious tension fading from his muscles as his hands come up to hold Yifan's waist. "Are you serious?" Yixing leans back a little and Yifan let's him, so they can properly face each other. "This is okay?"
Yifan doesn't even need to think about his reply, "This is more than okay. This is all I could ever have asked for."
And there it is again, the blinding smile that makes his stomach do somersaults and his heart pick up pace.
Yes, this is right.
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The words are blurring on the paper and Yifan rubs his fists against his closed eyes as if it could help disperse the tiredness. It doesn’t, at all. In fact, when he reopens them, he swears he can see the the characters dancing on the white backdrop as if to mock him. With a groan, he sinks forward until his forehead meets the desk. He’s been working in the translation bureau for almost seven months now, so he doesn’t really care about upholding an image of superiority and constant cool level-headedness. All of his colleagues know what a dork he is, and that his grim expression only lasts for as long as he’s not talking, and gets replaced by shy laughs and gummy smiles as soon as he does.
His desk neighbour, Jongdae, makes a compassionate noise in his throat and pats his back in a gesture of comfort. “I know, buddy, I know,” he says, and Yifan produces and unintelligible sound to express his agreement. Words are too difficult; he might speak more than three languages but they all give him a headache right then.
The hand on his back starts drawing soothing circles, and Yifan wonders for a moment what he’s done to deserve a co-worker like Jongdae. They have an important deadline at the end of the week, so they all have been putting in overtime and are all equally exhausted. With a deep inhale, Yifan straightens his back again. He mumbles a quick thank you to the other male and grabs his pen to continue letting the red ink bleed into the paper to mark mistakes.
“Say, do you know the coffee shop that opened last week? The one right down the street? Have you tried it yet?” the Korean asks almost innocently but Yifan knows exactly where this conversation is headed.
He wants to refuse. He can’t possibly leave work, even if it’s only for ten minutes to get a very much needed dose of caffeine, but Jongdae looks positively worried while studying him. Perhaps Yifan is in worse shape than he realized.
“Actually, I heard one of the waiters working there is actually Chinese. So you should even be able to order in your mother tongue. Get away from Korean for a while.” The implicit suggestion is blatantly obvious and they both know it.
Yifan still is reluctant but Jongdae keeps looking at him expectantly, and knowing that it’s impossible to argue with or oppose the other male, Yifan gives in with a sigh. If he’s being honest, the promise of hot coffee and a little reprieve from Hangul dancing on paper sound like heaven right then.
“I’ll be back in fifteen minutes,” he promises as he rises from his seat.
Jongdae’s lips curl into his trademark kittenish smile, “If you’re there already, perhaps you can grab a coffee for me as well?” The Korean bats his eyelashes at Yifan as if trying to look cute will help him with getting his coffee without having to move.
By the time he has reached the exit of the office, Yifan has a piece of paper in his pocket with the coffee wishes of all his co-workers written on it because he’s afraid his brain is too strained to remember a list of seven drinks.
The freshness of the early evening is such a welcome change from the stuffy air inside the office. It helps clear Yifan’s mind instantly, and every step towards the coffeeshop improves his mood. Jongdae can always be trusted to know exactly what people need to make them feel better.
The coffeeshop is hidden in a sidestreet forking from the busy main road, but it’s only a few feet around the corner, so it’s still easy enough to reach to bring in a decent amount of customers. Even at the late hour, most of the tables are filled, mostly with students either working or chatting amicably. A bell rings when Yifan pushes the door open, and his lips involuntarily stretch into a smile as the sound reminds him a little of a wind chime’s light tinkling. The overpowering scent of coffee hits him, and Yifan makes a mental note to point Lu Han towards this store. Yifan might not be a coffee connoisseur but years of friendship with Lu Han have taught him to recognize a place with good coffee by the smell.
His eyes dart around the interior, taking in the bookshelves close to the walls and the cozy looking armchairs, as well as the large table lining one side of the store, obviously intended for students who wish to get their homework done away from the distractions of their own room and with a constant supply of fresh coffee close by.
He only sees one waiter, behind the counter, who seems to have overheard the doorbell signaling a new customer. The guy with the soft, slightly curly brown hair has his back turned to Yifan, and when he gets closer, Yifan sees that the other is reading.
Perhaps he’s also one of those student who earns his tuition by working in a coffee shop after classes are over.
Yifan halts right in front of the counter, wondering whether he should clear his throat or just wait for the other to notice him. He figures there’s no harm in spending a few minutes studying the shop’s list of drinks before making his decision. He’s torn between going for his usual mocha or giving the americano of this place a try when a second waiter walks out of what Yifan figures must be either the kitchen or the office area of the place.
“Hey, Yixing, there’s a customer,” the newcomer calls.
Yifan freezes up at the sound of the name- it can’t be -
The brunet startles at being called, head whipping up to face his co-worker before he twirls around to focus on the customer he inadvertently neglected. “I’m so sorr-”
The words die on the waiter’s lips and his eyes widen when he sees Yifan, mouth hanging agape in a vision of surprise mixed with slight shock and disbelief. Yifan doesn't to see himself to know his own expression must mirror the curly-haired male's down to the smallest detail. Time halts, for a moment, and Yifan's chest tightens. They look at each other, just look, the world around them having come to a halt.
It's like watching a firework, the silent anticipation while it sizzles up the sky, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake, the moment of holding of one’s breath in anticipation when it disappears, waiting eagerly for it to reveal what kind of bright pattern it will draw against the dark night sky. That’s how Yifan feels like, watching Yixing.
"Hi, I'm Yifan." He only knows he spoke when he hears the sound of his own voice. It amazes him that he even managed to get a whole introduction out, considering that his brain still is caught in a limbo of trying to decide whether he’s even awake. Surely he must be asleep.
Then the other's lips stretch into a smile, so painfully familiar, something he’s seen a million times yet a completely new experience, something he’s never seen before and something bursts inside his chest, colourful, strong and overwhelming. All-consuming.
"I know."
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Every night, Yifan dreams. It's been happening since his childhood. He sees calm meadows, and busy streets. He runs through woods and he sits in crowded restaurants. He fights monsters and he hides from his mother as a young child, and he submits french translations instead of English ones to his boss. Yifan has always loved sleeping because he loves dreaming. He loves exploring imaginary worlds that make so much sense to him while he’s experiencing them, that feel as real as his reality does.
But when he wakes up and there's warmth, clinging to him in the form of an arm draped over his bare chest and a face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, he always is reminded that he prefers this state to being awake. And when he stirs, and opens his eyes, he finally sees a smile, stretching lazily over a face he knows by heart, from the curly hair covering the other's forehead, over the eyes that have so many emotions swirling in them and his nose, to the dimple and the plump lips that he has kissed more times than he can count. A silent voice whispers a good morning greeting, wanting to know about Yifan’s dream, and Yifan pulls the smaller body on top of his chest closer before starting to fulfill the other’s wishes. He never stops stroking over the skin of other’s back while he talks, loving how soft it feels, and how warm breath ghosts over his collarbones, an unmistakable vanilla scent making Yifan inhale deeply.
Whenever Yifan wakes up, he knows the search is over.
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* 惺忪 - xīngsōng - drowsy-eyed / wavering / indecisive / awake / conscious / clearheaded