{exo; kris/lay} going blind for you (i)
Title: going blind for you, part i/ii
Fandom: exo
Pairing: kris/lay + xiumin/luhan
Word Count: ~11,400
Rating: pg-13
Summary: Although Yixing has done everything he possibly can to run away from the visions, he can't escape the problem when it's a physical part of him.
A/N: this was written for theirblinggirl as a part of the sncj_santa fic exchange! despite all the screeching i did as the word count climbed higher and higher, i enjoyed writing this a lot ;3; and ofc, thank you to feixing, the genius who sparked off the entire idea in the first place off of my prompt ♥
going blind for you
"Ah," Yixing says softly. "May I have a map, please?"
The lady walking alongside him, cluttered clipboard in arm and inky black hair pinned back at her temples, looks up at him in surprise, no doubt at hearing his voice for the first time throughout the long, long morning. The air still has a bit of a chill in it, which she has fended off with a thick sweater, but his scarf is not quite enough to shield him from the cold. "Of course, Yixing," she says warmly, handing him a fresh sheet of paper to add to the ones he already carries.
He takes it and scrutinizes the clean lines--dorms, classrooms, fields. The lobby is marked with a red blot.
"You'll be well cared for here, Zhang Yixing," she adds, her gaze on him mostly hopeful but still tinted with that worry everyone seems to be directing at him lately. "We hope you will be very happy, and safe."
Yixing looks down at the neat, small square marked SPORTS SHED and murmurs, "Yes. Thank you."
After repeated assurances that he will be fine on the way to the dorms by myself, Yixing is relieved of the office lady's company. Before she returns to her place behind the reception desk, however, she pauses and puts her arm on Yixing's elbow. "My condolences to you, about your father," she says, selecting each word carefully and gently as if Yixing will break before her very eyes.
He won't, not anymore. "Thank you," he says again. She seems unsure, but lets go of him and turns around, a small, feminine figure among the trees lining the walkway.
Once she is out of earshot, Yixing looks up at the sky, a wispy blot frayed by foliage, and lets out a long sigh. His lone duffle bag is stowed away under the thin mattress back in his dorm room, the bed closest to the window, and he hopes that the view will be nice. And the other bed in the dorm meant he wasn't exempt from having a roommate, so he hopes that boy will be nice, too.
Along the way back to the cluster of dorm buildings, Yixing wanders in meandering loops around the buildings of the classrooms, hoping to at least glimpse the room each of his courses are located in so he won't have as hard of a time when classes begin on Monday. It was difficult securing the proper classes at this point in the school year, midway through January of his first year, but death waits for no one and his mother's psychiatrist firmly advised the change for both of them. At least the school is pretty, ivy-strewn arches and grand, brick buildings, nothing like the prison-like walls he had somehow pushed himself into expecting.
His vision unfocuses, then blurs straight back into clarity a moment later. Yixing stumbles, and just manages to catch himself before he goes sprawling across the cobblestone path.
Morning class has apparently just finished, students striding out of the once-shut doors and spilling out into the open air with their casual chatter, binders in arm and bodies bundled up from the lingering winter. None of them seems to have noticed his fumble, and Yixing hastily steps out of the way of a pair of conversing girls to avoid being bumped into.
Thankfully, the student body seems to not have noticed this new student in their midst, and Yixing escapes to what he hopes is his dorm room, seeing as each building is identical in layout and decor. The elevator is clogged with people returning from class, so he takes the stairs, a lonely, neglected stairwell that spirals sharply up to the top of the building at the third floor. Each footstep echoes, snatches of conversation framed by the opening and closing of doors that open to each floor, and Yixing eventually finds the door to the second floor and opens it out into an empty hallway. A quick glance at his papers gives his room number as 229, and he sets down the hall to find the 20s.
After he turns the umpteenth corner, he walks straight into the door of room 228 and backs up hastily, accidentally colliding with someone standing behind him in front of the room across from 228. "Oh, I'm so sorry," he says immediately, turning to see who he knocked into.
"No, no, I'm sorry," says the boy, glancing at him with kind eyes. His face is quite small, crowned with light, caramel-hued hair that matches the overall air of composure of the slender limbs, long torso. He is bundled away in a cream-colored coat, legs in black jeans peeking out from under the hem; despite the layers, his cheeks are flushed pink, as if he was just outside. "Who are you? I don't think I've ever seen you before."
"Ah--I'm new," Yixing says, his tongue tripping over the words until he finally releases them. "Zhang Yixing? My name is Zhang Yixing."
"Yixing?" the boy repeats, and releases the doorknob he was just holding. Still not locked, the door swings open upon his movement, and Yixing can just glimpse his own meager belongings on the far bed. Just as it did the first time upon seeing the room, it strikes Yixing just how lived in everything feels, personal belongings evident in every corner of the room except for the area around Yixing's bed and desk. It is not messy--a black jacket is laid over the back of a wooden chair, the sleek laptop open but on hibernation mode on the surface of its desk, a neat cluster of worn-books on the wooden shelf over the desk next to a framed picture of two brightly smiling faces--and yet his presence is everywhere, so loud Yixing feels as if he is trespassing on someplace very precious.
"Oh," he says in surprise, turning to assess the boy with new eyes.
"Oh," the boy repeats cheerfully. He steps back into the room, setting his key on the table beside the door to their bathroom, and turns to look at Yixing properly in the face. "It's nice to meet you, roommate! My name is Lu Han, I'm a second-year here. You're a first-year, though, aren't you?"
"Yes," Yixing says, still lingering in the doorway. Lu Han gestures for him to enter the dormitory room, open and friendly, and Yixing obeys automatically. It's kind of sad to think that he's not used to this, not used to being received so sweetly, so easily, but it really is quite new to be greeted with an expression other than despair or fear or, worst of all, blame. The psychiatrist was right: here, he is nobody. Here, he is a new Zhang Yixing.
Yixing sits carefully on his bed, feeling the springs of the mattress groan quietly under his weight. "Sorry," Lu Han says ruefully, sitting down on his own with a similar response. "Last year, my first roommate got to the room first and picked the better bed, so it only felt fair to me to take this one instead, this year. That side of the room is a horror to wake up to when the sun rises since it faces the east, I thought you ought to know."
"No," Yixing says. "No, it's okay, I like the sun."
Lu Han smiles at him. "Do you? It's still weak these days because it's still early in the year, but I won't envy you in June."
Yixing laughs softly, shrugging, and does his best to keep up and reply adequately when Lu Han makes conversation with him. As they talk, once Lu Han waves aside his apology for being rude, Yixing moves slowly around the room to find his bearings and slowly place his own things, his own presence alongside Lu Han's. His prepared textbooks and laptop on the desk meant as his, his toiletries in the bathroom next to Lu Han's toothbrush, even.
He's putting his towel on one of the unused pegs when Lu Han calls out from the main room, where he sprawled out on his bed, "Yixing?"
"Yes?" Yixing answers back immediately, jumping a bit in surprise at being addressed so casually.
"Minseok wants to go get dinner now. Do you want to come with?"
The towel now up on the peg, Yixing steps back out into the main room of their dorm. "Minseok?" he asks instead.
Lu Han smiles again, this time broad and fond, and gestures toward the face beside his in the picture. "My boyfriend," he says simply. "You ready to go?"
"Yes," Yixing says once he has retrieved his jacket and wallet, patting his pockets to make sure he has his keys; he's not too sure why they trusted him with one, knowing how forgetful he is. It's always been difficult for him to remember things like keys and dates and appointments. He follows Lu Han through the walkways, doing his best to pick out this fountain or that oak tree so he won't end up wandering off and getting lost on a day he needs to get to the cafeteria by himself.
When they step into the busy cafeteria, Lu Han pushing the door open first and waiting expectantly for Yixing to enter, Yixing is overwhelmed by the clamor and sound in a room that feels much too small to contain all these people. Students clustered around tables long and short chatter enthusiastically with each other, others milling around the buffet tables of food with half-filled plates and eager eyes. Yixing allows himself to be tugged toward them all, despite his better judgment.
It happens in the midst of things, when Yixing backs away from a busy buffet table. He is accidentally jostled against a tall boy behind him and is about to murmur an apology when his vision blurs again, this time more strongly, as if with finality. No, he thinks desperately, but it has already begun, the buzz of the cafeteria fading out as if he has been smothered with a blanket. The rush of images is as bad as ever, and he can't help but watch in distant horror as lightning flares across a black night, sparks fraying from an electricity cable line running across the length of his vision, a scream as the line snaps and emits a spray of light. Then it is over as quickly as it came, and Yixing is left to wait for his senses to return.
"Hey--hey--are you okay?"
Yixing's eyes are open but still unseeing, and he blinks hard helplessly, as if it will help him see more quickly. "I'm fine," he manages softly, trembling as he forces his lips and tongues to form the right words.
"Are you sure?" The boy who he bumped into moments--or at least, hopefully mere moments; it's hard to tell time whenever this happens--ago has concerned eyes trained on Yixing's pale face. Yixing looks away from the searching gaze, noticing with overwhelming relief that the boy is holding his plate; he was afraid he'd dropped it, and called the attention of the entire cafeteria during his vision.
He reaches out to take it back, murmuring a quick thank you, but the boy withdraws it slightly out of his grip. "You look--" he starts to say, his voice low and rich, but cuts himself off.
"I'm fine," Yixing insists, and this time he is allowed to take back his mostly empty plate. When their fingers brush, Yixing sees the boy flinch at the frigid cold of Yixing's hands, and forces himself to focus on the boy's hands instead of feeling upset over that. They are long-fingered, broad-knuckled, very masculine, and Yixing suddenly feels as if his delicate, thin piano fingers are inadequate. His gaze flicks up to a rather handsome face, wide torso, prominent collarbones, and Yixing almost flushes at how attentively he is being watched by those dark eyes.
Before the boy can press him further, or worse, ask him what just happened, Yixing turns away, thankful for the oblivious crowds in the cafeteria. He'd lost Lu Han in the mess of people, but soon he spots the skinny boy at the salad bar, talking animatedly to another boy. It must be Minseok, Yixing guesses, short, small, but with the earnest, gummy smile Yixing recalls from the photograph.
"Yixing," Lu Han says brightly. "This is Minseok, I told you about him. Minseok, this is my new roommate."
"Roommate?" Minseok repeats, raising his eyebrows and appraising Yixing, not unkindly, a bit unsure.
"I requested one," Lu Han tells him, touching his arm lightly, and Minseok relaxes a bit, looking at Yixing again. "I'd shake your hand, but my hands are full," Minseok says to him ruefully, glancing down at his plate of food.
Yixing smiles, sweet to cover up how shaken he feels. "Me, also."
"Are you all right, Yixing?" Lu Han interrupts, scrutinizing his face with too much attention. "You look pale--do you feel ill?"
He's shaking his head before he fully registers the question, an old, worn reflex kicking in for such a familiar situation. "I'm fine," he says for the third time. "Just hungry."
They select a table at the outermost edge of the circular cafeteria, in a somewhat corner where the wall to Yixing's left is plated with glass to create an enormous window. Yixing finds his gaze drifting toward it throughout the meal, gazing at the way the skies dim as if someone is gradually turning down a switch, shadows swallowing up more and more of the landscapes of the school.
He has to actually concentrate on bringing his food to his mouth, knowing how important it is to refuel on calories after an attack like that. If there's one thing he hates the most about this whole matter, it's when a vision catches him unaware, in public, where strangers can see him. He was safest in his bedroom, knowing his mother was shut up with the tissues and worn photo album in the master bedroom, not a single soul besides the two of them there to witness Yixing's trembling hands, the whimpering sobs that often escaped if the images were especially terrible. Forgetting things may be easy for him, but how many times he's had one of the visions is a number he's forced himself to forget.
Lu Han, thankfully, is too preoccupied with chattering to him and Minseok to notice Yixing's often distraction; if he does notice, he doesn't comment. Yixing notes that Minseok is just as quiet as he himself is, content to listen to Lu Han and watch his boyfriend's animated facial expressions as Lu Han eats with one hand and gestures with the other; he adds a comment or opinion here or there, but laughs easily.
Yixing is finishing his coffee, sipping at the sweet dregs at the bottom of the still-warm mug when Lu Han exclaims, "Ah, hello, duizhang."
"Lu Han, Minseok, hey," a deep voice says, and Yixing blinks in surprise, peeking anxiously over the rim of his coffee cup at tall frame, broad shoulders. "Who's this?"
"My roommate, Yixing--he's new," Lu Han says cheerfully. "Yixing, this is Wu Fan, one of our friends. He's in my and Minseok's year, so one year above you."
"Ah," Yixing says eloquently. He peers up at Wu Fan, seeing the flash of recognition in the other boy's eyes with a sinking feeling. "It's nice to meet you," he tries.
"You, too," Wu Fan says politely, neutrally, and Yixing shakes his hand this time. "Welcome to our school."
"Thank you," Yixing says quietly, looking away from Wu Fan's face. Suddenly, looking at the remains of his dinner, Yixing has lost his appetite to the tightness of fear around his throat. Maybe Wu Fan will just forget it. Maybe he won't say anything, it's not like he knows Yixing or anything. No one knows Yixing here, not yet, just as he'd wanted.
That night, he suffers another vision before he drops off to sleep, fisting his hands to keep them from shaking and pressing his face into the pillow so he can muffle any sounds and catch any fears. Somewhere in the world, someone is shot and killed during a thievery, dying in their own home. And the worst part is, Yixing has no idea where this person lives, when the crime will happen, how to save their little daughter from the terror of seeing her parent die vividly before her very eyes.
When he comes to, his tears are of frustration, rushing forth until he falls into a fitful sleep.
✰
It never used to be so bad.
Not so frequent, at least, but Yixing recalls when he used to be frightened out of his mind whenever the inevitable fog settled over his vision and his limbs chilled alarmingly. It's sobering, to be desensitized enough, to have suffered so much that he's forced himself to push the visions as far back as possible just so he himself will be okay--even if there's no saving the people he sees.
The first time had been at age ten; Yixing was excited to turn eleven, not even at the cusp of puberty yet, and the two loves of his childhood life had been his parents and his pet bird, a delicate parakeet he'd named Xin Xin, star. The bird had been his best friend, cheerful golden plumage and sweet chirps, and he'd carefully taken it out of its cage every day upon returning home from school. Xin Xin listened patiently as Yixing recounted his day at the elementary school, attentive, bright eyes fixed on his face, head cocked exquisitely. It was a healthy and happy pet, and would do rounds around his living room at random intervals before coasting down to sit on his right shoulder.
During his walk home from school one day in March, his sight had failed him, the vision rushing out of nowhere like a smothering blindfold as his limbs shut down and sent him crumpling to the ground. Panicked, Yixing had struggled with the fog of his mind, unable of looking away from the images of a cage door left ajar, a cat's claws, a crumpled mess of feathers and flesh on his backyard porch--the vivid yellow feathers stained crimson and scattered into blotchy clumps.
When the vision had subsided, there were hot tears streaking his face and a concerned neighbor was bent over him, calling his name. Shaken, he'd fended off her queries about his health as quickly and politely as possible before sprinting home. Only at the sight of Xin Xin chirping at him cheerily, perched on a stand in the cage beside the food container, did Yixing allow himself to relax.
Passing it off as a mere freak accident, something odd born of paranoia and irrationality, Yixing continued spending his days as he usually did. The only extra measure he took was taking care to check the lock on the bird cage every day, every time he passed the cage in the living room.
The vision had come true, after all. His home, usually occupied by his mother cooking him a snack in the kitchen, had been silent on a day in May, as if everything inside it was holding its breath. Yixing's body flushed cold, then hot, but he took a deep breath and walked slowly into the living room.
The door to the birdcage was ajar, the cage itself empty. Doom settled on his thin shoulders, weighing more heavily than his backpack as Yixing bolted for the porch, finding his mother crouched in the center of the wooden boards. "Mama," he cried, wrenching the door open and running outside in his socks.
For once, she didn't scold him for not wearing his shoes. "Oh, Yixing," she said, choking a bit on what he was horrified to see were the beginnings of tears. "I'm sorry."
Yixing made himself look down at the ground between their feet, crying out in shock and horror as the last image from his vision all those months ago presented itself to him again, this time in real life. His beloved pet, torn to shreds, crimson staining gold. "Oh, no," he choked out, crouching down and reaching out to touch before catching himself and withdrawing his hand sharply.
"I'm sorry," his mother repeated, face twisted with sympathy, and he allowed her to pull him away from Xin Xin. She took him inside, into the cold house, and he later sat on his bed and refused to let himself burst into the tears he could feel sealing up his throat. It was one thing to lose a pet he had cherished and adored for a great portion of his childhood, but it was entirely different to have foreseen the event and have it happen to him in the physical world, despite his efforts to prevent it. A twisted sort of fate it was, Yixing realized, dragging the back of his hand across his eyes to wipe away the stubborn tears.
When his mother offered to buy him a new parakeet, he had refused. For weeks after the incident, he had been plagued with repetitive nightmares, horrors he lived through the days constantly expecting. The visions continued with a vengeance, whether they foretold his friend breaking an arm while mountain biking one weekend or a natural disaster on the other side of the world, and the line between nightmare and vision began to blur. No matter how far the events were, no matter how little he allowed himself to watch the daily news for fear of his visions manifesting themselves to ruin someone else's life, he could not escape these things--as if fate had chosen him to bear the burden of the misfortunes of the world.
Yixing isn't a hero, or a martyr. He likes--liked?--to play the guitar and read novels, maybe etch some musical notes onto paper and give them words. There are people who could take this ability and harness it, despite the ambiguity of time, location, and such necessary facts, and save someone's life. Yixing, well--Yixing is too busy trying to stand up and walk on forward every time this thing tries to break him.
✰
Classes at Yixing's new school are smaller and more fast-paced, and he willingly plunges himself into the schoolwork with a determination his teachers praise. Entering the curriculum midway through the school year has set him back from the rest of the students, but work is work and Yixing has never been afraid to learn.
"Hey, Yixing," Lu Han says one night, nestled in bed with a novel he is studying in his literature course, his hair still damp from his shower. "Tomorrow, I'm going to hang out with some friends--get lunch, talk, maybe play some soccer. Do you want to come with?"
Yixing looks up from his mathematics textbook, pausing on a particularly difficult integral. "Hang out?" he repeats hesitantly.
Lu Han nods eagerly. "It'll be fun. My friends are nice, I promise, and you already know Minseok from mealtimes."
"I..." Yixing glances down at his calculus homework, at his other coursework due within the week, and thinks he can finish it all even if he goes out for lunch. "No," he says finally. "Not this time."
A flicker of disappointment passes Lu Han's face and Yixing feels guilty for turning him down. It's been too long, too long since he pulled composure and etiquette out from the back of his mind and gone out with strangers, not yet friends. It's not something he thinks he can handle, mentally and emotionally, now.
"Next time," Lu Han agrees.
The classes Yixing is taking are all interesting and engaging, with teachers who know what they're talking about and wish for their students to learn: the "too good to be true" the psychiatrist had told Yixing's mother about when referring them to this school seems to be true. Rather than waiting for the illusion to fall through, Yixing just allows himself to enjoy it while he can.
He shares no classes with Lu Han nor Minseok, seeing as they are in different school years, and often sits alone in the lecture halls. His morning lab class, Cell Biology, is one of his favorite courses save for the presence of Lu Han's friend, Wu Fan, in the back of the room--apparently, he is the teacher aid for the year. It's unreasonable, but Yixing finds himself stiffening nervously whenever Wu Fan walks by his lab table; he has no reason to tell anyone, does he?
✰
It's no big deal to see a failed test or a rejected love confession; the hardest part about waking up from those is that selfish worry about finding fast calories and maybe a sweater to fend off the lingering chills.
It's so much harder when someone dies.
✰
"You'll need to change the measurements for the amount of plasmid," Yixing's Cell Biology professor calls out, gesturing at the lab handout everyone received upon entering the classroom. "Cut everything in half."
Joonmyun, Yixing's lab partner in the class, marks the change on the paper and gives Yixing a friendly smile. "It might be harder to draw these amounts with the micropipettes if they're so small," he admits.
"I--I think we'll be okay," Yixing says, studying the handout. He likes Joonmyun, likes his kind patience and steady hands when transferring liquids from tube to tube; Joonmyun is smart but not arrogant about it, and always willing to slow down and explain something for Yixing to catch up.
They've only finished the first micropipetting, Yixing passing the open microcentrifuge tube to Joonmyun and ejecting the tip on the pipette into the trash bin when his vision blurs, refocuses. His breath catches, but Joonmyun doesn't seem to notice. It'll be okay, he tells himself fiercely, refusing to ruin a lab with something that's only his fault. It has to be.
Wu Fan brushes by their lab table with his hands full of equipment, and Yixing averts his eyes from the broad back and busies himself helping Joonmyun with the next step of the lab. It's in the middle of Wu Fan's trip back when Yixing feels the chill overtake his hands just as he's taking the micropipette back, and he hopes with everything he has that he succeeded in pushing the thing back into Joonmyun's hand in time because their professor has wasted no time in telling them how expensive each piece of equipment they're using today is. While Yixing can probably call home for money, he'd hate to burden his mother with something that has to do with his visions again.
It's a bad one--he vaguely feels the burn in his side, pain from falling from his lab stool, but it's so distant already it fails to distract him from the rush of images in the vision. A stove switched on and left unattended, a paper towel roll left too close, catching alight and burning, fire, fire, fire. Somewhere, someday, a family will lose all their possessions to an accident that will cost them their home and their cherished toys, electronics, memories, and the ambulance will be too late. Yixing catches a horrifying image of ashes as far as the eye can see before he starts falling back into the conscious world.
"Yixing--Yixing, answer me," he hears someone say urgently, and it's not Joonmyun's voice because that's saying "Is he okay?" in the background.
Yixing struggles to pull air into his lungs, the numbness longer than usual as he fights to regain control over his heavy limbs. "I'm okay," he manages at last, eyes fluttering. When this happens when he's alone, there is no need for pretenses, and he can let his eyesight return slowly, let his body take as long as it needs to before he's ready to stand back up; it shouldn't have to be harder, but he has as much control over these visions as he does over the ocean's waves, or the moon's cycles.
"Like hell you're okay," the same voice snaps, and Yixing opens his eyes to a faceful of Wu Fan. "Can you get up?"
"Yes," Yixing insists. He tries, and suddenly realizes Wu Fan is the only thing holding him up in a sitting position, hands on Yixing's shoulders. His legs don't respond at first, panic rising in Yixing's throat, but at last he climbs to his feet and pushes Wu Fan away even as his vision blurs again. He stumbles forward, and Wu Fan catches him around the waist.
The professor is standing behind Wu Fan with troubled eyes, and Yixing is suddenly afraid that all of his instructors know about what he can do, too. "Wu Fan, take Yixing to the nurse's office, will you?"
"Yes, sir," Wu Fan says, beginning to guide Yixing to the door, but Yixing resists.
"Wait," Yixing says, trying to turn back.
"What," Wu Fan hisses for Yixing's ears only. "You're ill, again. Come on, please--"
Yixing struggles, flinching at the reminder of the first time this happened in public but pushing on. "Wait--Joonmyun--"
Joonmyun is close by as well, almost exuding his concern physically into the air around him. "Yes?" he answers immediately.
"The micropipette," Yixing says to him desperately.
With a huff, Wu Fan propels him toward the door again. "You just about fainted and you're worried about a micropipette?" he demands, but stops when Yixing strains against him with a beseeching look at Joonmyun.
"I got it, Yixing," Joonmyun says, the micropipette safely in his hand. "Go to the nurse."
Yixing allows Wu Fan to pull him past all of his wide-eyed classmates and out of the room, shrugging off Wu Fan's arm. He stumbles again, legs still not fully functional, and Wu Fan catches him, swift reflexes. "Just let me help you," he says, looking frustrated.
He's never needed help to get through this; no one's ever offered. Still, Yixing lets Wu Fan take him to the nurse, who receives him promptly as Wu Fan waits by the reception desk. She knows of the seizures, of course, if not the visions that accompany them, and finds him a cot to rest on before going out to dismiss Wu Fan.
Yixing turns on his side on the thin cot so his back faces the reception area. He's lucky that Wu Fan didn't ask questions this time either. But he knows that someday, he will.
✰
He isn't released until afternoon classes are over, and spends the time between then and dinner visiting his remaining teachers to apologize and get the classwork for the day, trying not to fall any farther behind.
The vision has stolen his appetite, flames still searing on the inside of his eyelids whenever he blinks, so he retreats to the dorm room for the night. Lu Han is often out, doing work (or so he says) in Minseok's room or studying with his friends in a lounge downstairs. Yixing refuses to join on the basis he studies best alone, and he does. He knows Wu Fan is included in that group of friends Lu Han has, having heard about them multiple times, but at mealtimes only Lu Han and Minseok show up. It's easier that way.
Tonight, he studies late into the night to try and distract himself from the dread that haunts him after each vision; he's never questioned why every image he sees is of misfortune and doom, just chalked it up to bad luck and strived to move past it, even if the horror falls upon Yixing himself.
When Lu Han walks in mere minutes before curfew and lights out, Yixing almost expects his roommate to fall upon him with that attentive worry, but he is only greeted cheerfully as Lu Han disappears into the bathroom for a quick shower. Yixing blinks unseeingly at his history notes, pen pausing over paper. So Wu Fan didn't tell anyone? Not this time, either, at least, and Yixing can't help but wonder why Wu Fan is keeping his silence for him. It's not like they know each other, not like they owe anything to each other.
Cell Biology continues as it usually does, the only exception being that Joonmyun ad Yixing need to go back during Friday's office hours to finish their lab.
"I'm sorry," Yixing tells Joonmyun for the umpteenth time as they're cleaning up, lab goggles around their necks.
Joonmyun looks up from the lab counter he's wiping down. "What for? I don't mind coming here to finish up. Are you feeling better?"
"Y-Yes," Yixing stutters, taken aback at Joonmyun's concern. "Thank you."
He takes the towel from Joonmyun, who gives him a smile. "Take it easy, okay? I'll see you next Monday in class."
"You, too," Yixing says. He stays behind a bit longer to study something he hadn't quite understood about DNA replication in class, turning down his professor's offer of help, then packs his bag and leaves as well.
It's late, already dark, and Yixing shivers and huddles into his scarf at the chilly air. His breath forms puffs of white fog, and he puts his hand into his pockets to fend off the cold.
Halfway to the dorm, Yixing decides to take a detour by the vending machines for a late-night snack, a bit of a treat. He fumbles for his wallet, stepping into the yellow wash of light around the machines, and withdraws some change. Chips, one dollar. Cookie, one dollar. Gum, fifty cents. He eventually decides on some granola mix and puts in the appropriate coins.
As he bends down to retrieve the package of food once it is ejected from the coils, a vision smothers him out of nowhere, and Yixing curls into himself in panic. Something's wrong; there was no warning, and the images come so quickly, they blur into each other and color is seeping everywhere, silver car red car blue car--collision. His breath is coming in pants and someone is touching him on the back, and he is really getting tired of this. So tired.
When the numbness falls away, Yixing forces himself to lift his head and uncurl his body from the tight ball he'd ended up in, muscles screaming in protest.
"Really," someone is saying, and Yixing feels his stomach drop. "I'm beginning to think I can't let you out of my sight."
"Wu Fan?" Yixing asks faintly, bile bitter in his mouth as he struggles to his feet.
"Who else would it be?" Wu Fan asks him, voice dry, and bends to retrieve Yixing's granola for him. His eyes are focused on Yixing's face even as Yixing refuses to meet his gaze, accepting the snack with a murmured thanks. "You're shaking."
"I'll--I'll be fine," Yixing says, edging back.
"You say that every time, but you never explain what this--this thing is," Wu Fan bursts out, his hand catching onto Yixing's wrist.
"I'm okay," Yixing says, loud to cover up his panic. "I'm sorry to inconvenience you, but--"
"It's not an inconvenience," Wu Fan interrupts. "I just want to know what it is. So I can help you."
"You don't have to," Yixing says frantically. He pulls his wrist free, drawing it close to his body, and Wu Fan looks him with a terrible look in his eyes. "Wu Fan, don't, please."
He breaks away, backing out of the warm glow of light and into the cold of the evening. The plastic of the granola package catches against his palm and he flinches away from what will probably be a cut. He's always running away, always backing off and pushing away Wu Fan's reaching hands even when he needs them, but he can't help it.
This time, he glances back before he takes the walkway that will take him back to his dormitory. The glow of light is empty save for the two machines humming to keep their snacks cool, and he berates himself for even trying. No one is obliged to help him through this.
Yixing only has himself.
part two
Fandom: exo
Pairing: kris/lay + xiumin/luhan
Word Count: ~11,400
Rating: pg-13
Summary: Although Yixing has done everything he possibly can to run away from the visions, he can't escape the problem when it's a physical part of him.
A/N: this was written for theirblinggirl as a part of the sncj_santa fic exchange! despite all the screeching i did as the word count climbed higher and higher, i enjoyed writing this a lot ;3; and ofc, thank you to feixing, the genius who sparked off the entire idea in the first place off of my prompt ♥
going blind for you
"Ah," Yixing says softly. "May I have a map, please?"
The lady walking alongside him, cluttered clipboard in arm and inky black hair pinned back at her temples, looks up at him in surprise, no doubt at hearing his voice for the first time throughout the long, long morning. The air still has a bit of a chill in it, which she has fended off with a thick sweater, but his scarf is not quite enough to shield him from the cold. "Of course, Yixing," she says warmly, handing him a fresh sheet of paper to add to the ones he already carries.
He takes it and scrutinizes the clean lines--dorms, classrooms, fields. The lobby is marked with a red blot.
"You'll be well cared for here, Zhang Yixing," she adds, her gaze on him mostly hopeful but still tinted with that worry everyone seems to be directing at him lately. "We hope you will be very happy, and safe."
Yixing looks down at the neat, small square marked SPORTS SHED and murmurs, "Yes. Thank you."
After repeated assurances that he will be fine on the way to the dorms by myself, Yixing is relieved of the office lady's company. Before she returns to her place behind the reception desk, however, she pauses and puts her arm on Yixing's elbow. "My condolences to you, about your father," she says, selecting each word carefully and gently as if Yixing will break before her very eyes.
He won't, not anymore. "Thank you," he says again. She seems unsure, but lets go of him and turns around, a small, feminine figure among the trees lining the walkway.
Once she is out of earshot, Yixing looks up at the sky, a wispy blot frayed by foliage, and lets out a long sigh. His lone duffle bag is stowed away under the thin mattress back in his dorm room, the bed closest to the window, and he hopes that the view will be nice. And the other bed in the dorm meant he wasn't exempt from having a roommate, so he hopes that boy will be nice, too.
Along the way back to the cluster of dorm buildings, Yixing wanders in meandering loops around the buildings of the classrooms, hoping to at least glimpse the room each of his courses are located in so he won't have as hard of a time when classes begin on Monday. It was difficult securing the proper classes at this point in the school year, midway through January of his first year, but death waits for no one and his mother's psychiatrist firmly advised the change for both of them. At least the school is pretty, ivy-strewn arches and grand, brick buildings, nothing like the prison-like walls he had somehow pushed himself into expecting.
His vision unfocuses, then blurs straight back into clarity a moment later. Yixing stumbles, and just manages to catch himself before he goes sprawling across the cobblestone path.
Morning class has apparently just finished, students striding out of the once-shut doors and spilling out into the open air with their casual chatter, binders in arm and bodies bundled up from the lingering winter. None of them seems to have noticed his fumble, and Yixing hastily steps out of the way of a pair of conversing girls to avoid being bumped into.
Thankfully, the student body seems to not have noticed this new student in their midst, and Yixing escapes to what he hopes is his dorm room, seeing as each building is identical in layout and decor. The elevator is clogged with people returning from class, so he takes the stairs, a lonely, neglected stairwell that spirals sharply up to the top of the building at the third floor. Each footstep echoes, snatches of conversation framed by the opening and closing of doors that open to each floor, and Yixing eventually finds the door to the second floor and opens it out into an empty hallway. A quick glance at his papers gives his room number as 229, and he sets down the hall to find the 20s.
After he turns the umpteenth corner, he walks straight into the door of room 228 and backs up hastily, accidentally colliding with someone standing behind him in front of the room across from 228. "Oh, I'm so sorry," he says immediately, turning to see who he knocked into.
"No, no, I'm sorry," says the boy, glancing at him with kind eyes. His face is quite small, crowned with light, caramel-hued hair that matches the overall air of composure of the slender limbs, long torso. He is bundled away in a cream-colored coat, legs in black jeans peeking out from under the hem; despite the layers, his cheeks are flushed pink, as if he was just outside. "Who are you? I don't think I've ever seen you before."
"Ah--I'm new," Yixing says, his tongue tripping over the words until he finally releases them. "Zhang Yixing? My name is Zhang Yixing."
"Yixing?" the boy repeats, and releases the doorknob he was just holding. Still not locked, the door swings open upon his movement, and Yixing can just glimpse his own meager belongings on the far bed. Just as it did the first time upon seeing the room, it strikes Yixing just how lived in everything feels, personal belongings evident in every corner of the room except for the area around Yixing's bed and desk. It is not messy--a black jacket is laid over the back of a wooden chair, the sleek laptop open but on hibernation mode on the surface of its desk, a neat cluster of worn-books on the wooden shelf over the desk next to a framed picture of two brightly smiling faces--and yet his presence is everywhere, so loud Yixing feels as if he is trespassing on someplace very precious.
"Oh," he says in surprise, turning to assess the boy with new eyes.
"Oh," the boy repeats cheerfully. He steps back into the room, setting his key on the table beside the door to their bathroom, and turns to look at Yixing properly in the face. "It's nice to meet you, roommate! My name is Lu Han, I'm a second-year here. You're a first-year, though, aren't you?"
"Yes," Yixing says, still lingering in the doorway. Lu Han gestures for him to enter the dormitory room, open and friendly, and Yixing obeys automatically. It's kind of sad to think that he's not used to this, not used to being received so sweetly, so easily, but it really is quite new to be greeted with an expression other than despair or fear or, worst of all, blame. The psychiatrist was right: here, he is nobody. Here, he is a new Zhang Yixing.
Yixing sits carefully on his bed, feeling the springs of the mattress groan quietly under his weight. "Sorry," Lu Han says ruefully, sitting down on his own with a similar response. "Last year, my first roommate got to the room first and picked the better bed, so it only felt fair to me to take this one instead, this year. That side of the room is a horror to wake up to when the sun rises since it faces the east, I thought you ought to know."
"No," Yixing says. "No, it's okay, I like the sun."
Lu Han smiles at him. "Do you? It's still weak these days because it's still early in the year, but I won't envy you in June."
Yixing laughs softly, shrugging, and does his best to keep up and reply adequately when Lu Han makes conversation with him. As they talk, once Lu Han waves aside his apology for being rude, Yixing moves slowly around the room to find his bearings and slowly place his own things, his own presence alongside Lu Han's. His prepared textbooks and laptop on the desk meant as his, his toiletries in the bathroom next to Lu Han's toothbrush, even.
He's putting his towel on one of the unused pegs when Lu Han calls out from the main room, where he sprawled out on his bed, "Yixing?"
"Yes?" Yixing answers back immediately, jumping a bit in surprise at being addressed so casually.
"Minseok wants to go get dinner now. Do you want to come with?"
The towel now up on the peg, Yixing steps back out into the main room of their dorm. "Minseok?" he asks instead.
Lu Han smiles again, this time broad and fond, and gestures toward the face beside his in the picture. "My boyfriend," he says simply. "You ready to go?"
"Yes," Yixing says once he has retrieved his jacket and wallet, patting his pockets to make sure he has his keys; he's not too sure why they trusted him with one, knowing how forgetful he is. It's always been difficult for him to remember things like keys and dates and appointments. He follows Lu Han through the walkways, doing his best to pick out this fountain or that oak tree so he won't end up wandering off and getting lost on a day he needs to get to the cafeteria by himself.
When they step into the busy cafeteria, Lu Han pushing the door open first and waiting expectantly for Yixing to enter, Yixing is overwhelmed by the clamor and sound in a room that feels much too small to contain all these people. Students clustered around tables long and short chatter enthusiastically with each other, others milling around the buffet tables of food with half-filled plates and eager eyes. Yixing allows himself to be tugged toward them all, despite his better judgment.
It happens in the midst of things, when Yixing backs away from a busy buffet table. He is accidentally jostled against a tall boy behind him and is about to murmur an apology when his vision blurs again, this time more strongly, as if with finality. No, he thinks desperately, but it has already begun, the buzz of the cafeteria fading out as if he has been smothered with a blanket. The rush of images is as bad as ever, and he can't help but watch in distant horror as lightning flares across a black night, sparks fraying from an electricity cable line running across the length of his vision, a scream as the line snaps and emits a spray of light. Then it is over as quickly as it came, and Yixing is left to wait for his senses to return.
"Hey--hey--are you okay?"
Yixing's eyes are open but still unseeing, and he blinks hard helplessly, as if it will help him see more quickly. "I'm fine," he manages softly, trembling as he forces his lips and tongues to form the right words.
"Are you sure?" The boy who he bumped into moments--or at least, hopefully mere moments; it's hard to tell time whenever this happens--ago has concerned eyes trained on Yixing's pale face. Yixing looks away from the searching gaze, noticing with overwhelming relief that the boy is holding his plate; he was afraid he'd dropped it, and called the attention of the entire cafeteria during his vision.
He reaches out to take it back, murmuring a quick thank you, but the boy withdraws it slightly out of his grip. "You look--" he starts to say, his voice low and rich, but cuts himself off.
"I'm fine," Yixing insists, and this time he is allowed to take back his mostly empty plate. When their fingers brush, Yixing sees the boy flinch at the frigid cold of Yixing's hands, and forces himself to focus on the boy's hands instead of feeling upset over that. They are long-fingered, broad-knuckled, very masculine, and Yixing suddenly feels as if his delicate, thin piano fingers are inadequate. His gaze flicks up to a rather handsome face, wide torso, prominent collarbones, and Yixing almost flushes at how attentively he is being watched by those dark eyes.
Before the boy can press him further, or worse, ask him what just happened, Yixing turns away, thankful for the oblivious crowds in the cafeteria. He'd lost Lu Han in the mess of people, but soon he spots the skinny boy at the salad bar, talking animatedly to another boy. It must be Minseok, Yixing guesses, short, small, but with the earnest, gummy smile Yixing recalls from the photograph.
"Yixing," Lu Han says brightly. "This is Minseok, I told you about him. Minseok, this is my new roommate."
"Roommate?" Minseok repeats, raising his eyebrows and appraising Yixing, not unkindly, a bit unsure.
"I requested one," Lu Han tells him, touching his arm lightly, and Minseok relaxes a bit, looking at Yixing again. "I'd shake your hand, but my hands are full," Minseok says to him ruefully, glancing down at his plate of food.
Yixing smiles, sweet to cover up how shaken he feels. "Me, also."
"Are you all right, Yixing?" Lu Han interrupts, scrutinizing his face with too much attention. "You look pale--do you feel ill?"
He's shaking his head before he fully registers the question, an old, worn reflex kicking in for such a familiar situation. "I'm fine," he says for the third time. "Just hungry."
They select a table at the outermost edge of the circular cafeteria, in a somewhat corner where the wall to Yixing's left is plated with glass to create an enormous window. Yixing finds his gaze drifting toward it throughout the meal, gazing at the way the skies dim as if someone is gradually turning down a switch, shadows swallowing up more and more of the landscapes of the school.
He has to actually concentrate on bringing his food to his mouth, knowing how important it is to refuel on calories after an attack like that. If there's one thing he hates the most about this whole matter, it's when a vision catches him unaware, in public, where strangers can see him. He was safest in his bedroom, knowing his mother was shut up with the tissues and worn photo album in the master bedroom, not a single soul besides the two of them there to witness Yixing's trembling hands, the whimpering sobs that often escaped if the images were especially terrible. Forgetting things may be easy for him, but how many times he's had one of the visions is a number he's forced himself to forget.
Lu Han, thankfully, is too preoccupied with chattering to him and Minseok to notice Yixing's often distraction; if he does notice, he doesn't comment. Yixing notes that Minseok is just as quiet as he himself is, content to listen to Lu Han and watch his boyfriend's animated facial expressions as Lu Han eats with one hand and gestures with the other; he adds a comment or opinion here or there, but laughs easily.
Yixing is finishing his coffee, sipping at the sweet dregs at the bottom of the still-warm mug when Lu Han exclaims, "Ah, hello, duizhang."
"Lu Han, Minseok, hey," a deep voice says, and Yixing blinks in surprise, peeking anxiously over the rim of his coffee cup at tall frame, broad shoulders. "Who's this?"
"My roommate, Yixing--he's new," Lu Han says cheerfully. "Yixing, this is Wu Fan, one of our friends. He's in my and Minseok's year, so one year above you."
"Ah," Yixing says eloquently. He peers up at Wu Fan, seeing the flash of recognition in the other boy's eyes with a sinking feeling. "It's nice to meet you," he tries.
"You, too," Wu Fan says politely, neutrally, and Yixing shakes his hand this time. "Welcome to our school."
"Thank you," Yixing says quietly, looking away from Wu Fan's face. Suddenly, looking at the remains of his dinner, Yixing has lost his appetite to the tightness of fear around his throat. Maybe Wu Fan will just forget it. Maybe he won't say anything, it's not like he knows Yixing or anything. No one knows Yixing here, not yet, just as he'd wanted.
That night, he suffers another vision before he drops off to sleep, fisting his hands to keep them from shaking and pressing his face into the pillow so he can muffle any sounds and catch any fears. Somewhere in the world, someone is shot and killed during a thievery, dying in their own home. And the worst part is, Yixing has no idea where this person lives, when the crime will happen, how to save their little daughter from the terror of seeing her parent die vividly before her very eyes.
When he comes to, his tears are of frustration, rushing forth until he falls into a fitful sleep.
✰
It never used to be so bad.
Not so frequent, at least, but Yixing recalls when he used to be frightened out of his mind whenever the inevitable fog settled over his vision and his limbs chilled alarmingly. It's sobering, to be desensitized enough, to have suffered so much that he's forced himself to push the visions as far back as possible just so he himself will be okay--even if there's no saving the people he sees.
The first time had been at age ten; Yixing was excited to turn eleven, not even at the cusp of puberty yet, and the two loves of his childhood life had been his parents and his pet bird, a delicate parakeet he'd named Xin Xin, star. The bird had been his best friend, cheerful golden plumage and sweet chirps, and he'd carefully taken it out of its cage every day upon returning home from school. Xin Xin listened patiently as Yixing recounted his day at the elementary school, attentive, bright eyes fixed on his face, head cocked exquisitely. It was a healthy and happy pet, and would do rounds around his living room at random intervals before coasting down to sit on his right shoulder.
During his walk home from school one day in March, his sight had failed him, the vision rushing out of nowhere like a smothering blindfold as his limbs shut down and sent him crumpling to the ground. Panicked, Yixing had struggled with the fog of his mind, unable of looking away from the images of a cage door left ajar, a cat's claws, a crumpled mess of feathers and flesh on his backyard porch--the vivid yellow feathers stained crimson and scattered into blotchy clumps.
When the vision had subsided, there were hot tears streaking his face and a concerned neighbor was bent over him, calling his name. Shaken, he'd fended off her queries about his health as quickly and politely as possible before sprinting home. Only at the sight of Xin Xin chirping at him cheerily, perched on a stand in the cage beside the food container, did Yixing allow himself to relax.
Passing it off as a mere freak accident, something odd born of paranoia and irrationality, Yixing continued spending his days as he usually did. The only extra measure he took was taking care to check the lock on the bird cage every day, every time he passed the cage in the living room.
The vision had come true, after all. His home, usually occupied by his mother cooking him a snack in the kitchen, had been silent on a day in May, as if everything inside it was holding its breath. Yixing's body flushed cold, then hot, but he took a deep breath and walked slowly into the living room.
The door to the birdcage was ajar, the cage itself empty. Doom settled on his thin shoulders, weighing more heavily than his backpack as Yixing bolted for the porch, finding his mother crouched in the center of the wooden boards. "Mama," he cried, wrenching the door open and running outside in his socks.
For once, she didn't scold him for not wearing his shoes. "Oh, Yixing," she said, choking a bit on what he was horrified to see were the beginnings of tears. "I'm sorry."
Yixing made himself look down at the ground between their feet, crying out in shock and horror as the last image from his vision all those months ago presented itself to him again, this time in real life. His beloved pet, torn to shreds, crimson staining gold. "Oh, no," he choked out, crouching down and reaching out to touch before catching himself and withdrawing his hand sharply.
"I'm sorry," his mother repeated, face twisted with sympathy, and he allowed her to pull him away from Xin Xin. She took him inside, into the cold house, and he later sat on his bed and refused to let himself burst into the tears he could feel sealing up his throat. It was one thing to lose a pet he had cherished and adored for a great portion of his childhood, but it was entirely different to have foreseen the event and have it happen to him in the physical world, despite his efforts to prevent it. A twisted sort of fate it was, Yixing realized, dragging the back of his hand across his eyes to wipe away the stubborn tears.
When his mother offered to buy him a new parakeet, he had refused. For weeks after the incident, he had been plagued with repetitive nightmares, horrors he lived through the days constantly expecting. The visions continued with a vengeance, whether they foretold his friend breaking an arm while mountain biking one weekend or a natural disaster on the other side of the world, and the line between nightmare and vision began to blur. No matter how far the events were, no matter how little he allowed himself to watch the daily news for fear of his visions manifesting themselves to ruin someone else's life, he could not escape these things--as if fate had chosen him to bear the burden of the misfortunes of the world.
Yixing isn't a hero, or a martyr. He likes--liked?--to play the guitar and read novels, maybe etch some musical notes onto paper and give them words. There are people who could take this ability and harness it, despite the ambiguity of time, location, and such necessary facts, and save someone's life. Yixing, well--Yixing is too busy trying to stand up and walk on forward every time this thing tries to break him.
✰
Classes at Yixing's new school are smaller and more fast-paced, and he willingly plunges himself into the schoolwork with a determination his teachers praise. Entering the curriculum midway through the school year has set him back from the rest of the students, but work is work and Yixing has never been afraid to learn.
"Hey, Yixing," Lu Han says one night, nestled in bed with a novel he is studying in his literature course, his hair still damp from his shower. "Tomorrow, I'm going to hang out with some friends--get lunch, talk, maybe play some soccer. Do you want to come with?"
Yixing looks up from his mathematics textbook, pausing on a particularly difficult integral. "Hang out?" he repeats hesitantly.
Lu Han nods eagerly. "It'll be fun. My friends are nice, I promise, and you already know Minseok from mealtimes."
"I..." Yixing glances down at his calculus homework, at his other coursework due within the week, and thinks he can finish it all even if he goes out for lunch. "No," he says finally. "Not this time."
A flicker of disappointment passes Lu Han's face and Yixing feels guilty for turning him down. It's been too long, too long since he pulled composure and etiquette out from the back of his mind and gone out with strangers, not yet friends. It's not something he thinks he can handle, mentally and emotionally, now.
"Next time," Lu Han agrees.
The classes Yixing is taking are all interesting and engaging, with teachers who know what they're talking about and wish for their students to learn: the "too good to be true" the psychiatrist had told Yixing's mother about when referring them to this school seems to be true. Rather than waiting for the illusion to fall through, Yixing just allows himself to enjoy it while he can.
He shares no classes with Lu Han nor Minseok, seeing as they are in different school years, and often sits alone in the lecture halls. His morning lab class, Cell Biology, is one of his favorite courses save for the presence of Lu Han's friend, Wu Fan, in the back of the room--apparently, he is the teacher aid for the year. It's unreasonable, but Yixing finds himself stiffening nervously whenever Wu Fan walks by his lab table; he has no reason to tell anyone, does he?
✰
It's no big deal to see a failed test or a rejected love confession; the hardest part about waking up from those is that selfish worry about finding fast calories and maybe a sweater to fend off the lingering chills.
It's so much harder when someone dies.
✰
"You'll need to change the measurements for the amount of plasmid," Yixing's Cell Biology professor calls out, gesturing at the lab handout everyone received upon entering the classroom. "Cut everything in half."
Joonmyun, Yixing's lab partner in the class, marks the change on the paper and gives Yixing a friendly smile. "It might be harder to draw these amounts with the micropipettes if they're so small," he admits.
"I--I think we'll be okay," Yixing says, studying the handout. He likes Joonmyun, likes his kind patience and steady hands when transferring liquids from tube to tube; Joonmyun is smart but not arrogant about it, and always willing to slow down and explain something for Yixing to catch up.
They've only finished the first micropipetting, Yixing passing the open microcentrifuge tube to Joonmyun and ejecting the tip on the pipette into the trash bin when his vision blurs, refocuses. His breath catches, but Joonmyun doesn't seem to notice. It'll be okay, he tells himself fiercely, refusing to ruin a lab with something that's only his fault. It has to be.
Wu Fan brushes by their lab table with his hands full of equipment, and Yixing averts his eyes from the broad back and busies himself helping Joonmyun with the next step of the lab. It's in the middle of Wu Fan's trip back when Yixing feels the chill overtake his hands just as he's taking the micropipette back, and he hopes with everything he has that he succeeded in pushing the thing back into Joonmyun's hand in time because their professor has wasted no time in telling them how expensive each piece of equipment they're using today is. While Yixing can probably call home for money, he'd hate to burden his mother with something that has to do with his visions again.
It's a bad one--he vaguely feels the burn in his side, pain from falling from his lab stool, but it's so distant already it fails to distract him from the rush of images in the vision. A stove switched on and left unattended, a paper towel roll left too close, catching alight and burning, fire, fire, fire. Somewhere, someday, a family will lose all their possessions to an accident that will cost them their home and their cherished toys, electronics, memories, and the ambulance will be too late. Yixing catches a horrifying image of ashes as far as the eye can see before he starts falling back into the conscious world.
"Yixing--Yixing, answer me," he hears someone say urgently, and it's not Joonmyun's voice because that's saying "Is he okay?" in the background.
Yixing struggles to pull air into his lungs, the numbness longer than usual as he fights to regain control over his heavy limbs. "I'm okay," he manages at last, eyes fluttering. When this happens when he's alone, there is no need for pretenses, and he can let his eyesight return slowly, let his body take as long as it needs to before he's ready to stand back up; it shouldn't have to be harder, but he has as much control over these visions as he does over the ocean's waves, or the moon's cycles.
"Like hell you're okay," the same voice snaps, and Yixing opens his eyes to a faceful of Wu Fan. "Can you get up?"
"Yes," Yixing insists. He tries, and suddenly realizes Wu Fan is the only thing holding him up in a sitting position, hands on Yixing's shoulders. His legs don't respond at first, panic rising in Yixing's throat, but at last he climbs to his feet and pushes Wu Fan away even as his vision blurs again. He stumbles forward, and Wu Fan catches him around the waist.
The professor is standing behind Wu Fan with troubled eyes, and Yixing is suddenly afraid that all of his instructors know about what he can do, too. "Wu Fan, take Yixing to the nurse's office, will you?"
"Yes, sir," Wu Fan says, beginning to guide Yixing to the door, but Yixing resists.
"Wait," Yixing says, trying to turn back.
"What," Wu Fan hisses for Yixing's ears only. "You're ill, again. Come on, please--"
Yixing struggles, flinching at the reminder of the first time this happened in public but pushing on. "Wait--Joonmyun--"
Joonmyun is close by as well, almost exuding his concern physically into the air around him. "Yes?" he answers immediately.
"The micropipette," Yixing says to him desperately.
With a huff, Wu Fan propels him toward the door again. "You just about fainted and you're worried about a micropipette?" he demands, but stops when Yixing strains against him with a beseeching look at Joonmyun.
"I got it, Yixing," Joonmyun says, the micropipette safely in his hand. "Go to the nurse."
Yixing allows Wu Fan to pull him past all of his wide-eyed classmates and out of the room, shrugging off Wu Fan's arm. He stumbles again, legs still not fully functional, and Wu Fan catches him, swift reflexes. "Just let me help you," he says, looking frustrated.
He's never needed help to get through this; no one's ever offered. Still, Yixing lets Wu Fan take him to the nurse, who receives him promptly as Wu Fan waits by the reception desk. She knows of the seizures, of course, if not the visions that accompany them, and finds him a cot to rest on before going out to dismiss Wu Fan.
Yixing turns on his side on the thin cot so his back faces the reception area. He's lucky that Wu Fan didn't ask questions this time either. But he knows that someday, he will.
✰
He isn't released until afternoon classes are over, and spends the time between then and dinner visiting his remaining teachers to apologize and get the classwork for the day, trying not to fall any farther behind.
The vision has stolen his appetite, flames still searing on the inside of his eyelids whenever he blinks, so he retreats to the dorm room for the night. Lu Han is often out, doing work (or so he says) in Minseok's room or studying with his friends in a lounge downstairs. Yixing refuses to join on the basis he studies best alone, and he does. He knows Wu Fan is included in that group of friends Lu Han has, having heard about them multiple times, but at mealtimes only Lu Han and Minseok show up. It's easier that way.
Tonight, he studies late into the night to try and distract himself from the dread that haunts him after each vision; he's never questioned why every image he sees is of misfortune and doom, just chalked it up to bad luck and strived to move past it, even if the horror falls upon Yixing himself.
When Lu Han walks in mere minutes before curfew and lights out, Yixing almost expects his roommate to fall upon him with that attentive worry, but he is only greeted cheerfully as Lu Han disappears into the bathroom for a quick shower. Yixing blinks unseeingly at his history notes, pen pausing over paper. So Wu Fan didn't tell anyone? Not this time, either, at least, and Yixing can't help but wonder why Wu Fan is keeping his silence for him. It's not like they know each other, not like they owe anything to each other.
Cell Biology continues as it usually does, the only exception being that Joonmyun ad Yixing need to go back during Friday's office hours to finish their lab.
"I'm sorry," Yixing tells Joonmyun for the umpteenth time as they're cleaning up, lab goggles around their necks.
Joonmyun looks up from the lab counter he's wiping down. "What for? I don't mind coming here to finish up. Are you feeling better?"
"Y-Yes," Yixing stutters, taken aback at Joonmyun's concern. "Thank you."
He takes the towel from Joonmyun, who gives him a smile. "Take it easy, okay? I'll see you next Monday in class."
"You, too," Yixing says. He stays behind a bit longer to study something he hadn't quite understood about DNA replication in class, turning down his professor's offer of help, then packs his bag and leaves as well.
It's late, already dark, and Yixing shivers and huddles into his scarf at the chilly air. His breath forms puffs of white fog, and he puts his hand into his pockets to fend off the cold.
Halfway to the dorm, Yixing decides to take a detour by the vending machines for a late-night snack, a bit of a treat. He fumbles for his wallet, stepping into the yellow wash of light around the machines, and withdraws some change. Chips, one dollar. Cookie, one dollar. Gum, fifty cents. He eventually decides on some granola mix and puts in the appropriate coins.
As he bends down to retrieve the package of food once it is ejected from the coils, a vision smothers him out of nowhere, and Yixing curls into himself in panic. Something's wrong; there was no warning, and the images come so quickly, they blur into each other and color is seeping everywhere, silver car red car blue car--collision. His breath is coming in pants and someone is touching him on the back, and he is really getting tired of this. So tired.
When the numbness falls away, Yixing forces himself to lift his head and uncurl his body from the tight ball he'd ended up in, muscles screaming in protest.
"Really," someone is saying, and Yixing feels his stomach drop. "I'm beginning to think I can't let you out of my sight."
"Wu Fan?" Yixing asks faintly, bile bitter in his mouth as he struggles to his feet.
"Who else would it be?" Wu Fan asks him, voice dry, and bends to retrieve Yixing's granola for him. His eyes are focused on Yixing's face even as Yixing refuses to meet his gaze, accepting the snack with a murmured thanks. "You're shaking."
"I'll--I'll be fine," Yixing says, edging back.
"You say that every time, but you never explain what this--this thing is," Wu Fan bursts out, his hand catching onto Yixing's wrist.
"I'm okay," Yixing says, loud to cover up his panic. "I'm sorry to inconvenience you, but--"
"It's not an inconvenience," Wu Fan interrupts. "I just want to know what it is. So I can help you."
"You don't have to," Yixing says frantically. He pulls his wrist free, drawing it close to his body, and Wu Fan looks him with a terrible look in his eyes. "Wu Fan, don't, please."
He breaks away, backing out of the warm glow of light and into the cold of the evening. The plastic of the granola package catches against his palm and he flinches away from what will probably be a cut. He's always running away, always backing off and pushing away Wu Fan's reaching hands even when he needs them, but he can't help it.
This time, he glances back before he takes the walkway that will take him back to his dormitory. The glow of light is empty save for the two machines humming to keep their snacks cool, and he berates himself for even trying. No one is obliged to help him through this.
Yixing only has himself.
part two