I’m not perfect, but I swear I’m perfect for you [Prompt #14]

[yeolis]

Title: I’m not perfect, but I swear I’m perfect for you
Rating: NC-17
Length: 10.8k
Warnings: blindness and deafness
Summary: “One day someone is going to hug you so tight that all of your broken pieces will stick back together.” - Unknown
Notes: To my prompter, I hope this pleases you! And to the mods, thank you so much for your endless patience~



Lu Han isn’t particularly fond of train stations. At its peak, the platform is so crowded his slim figure can barely push between a businessman shouting on his phone and a mother toting two kids; it’s so loud he can’t hear the announcements being made through the speakers bolted high into the building’s pillars, though the sudden whistles of arriving trains still manage to startle him; the air even grows heavy despite the plethora of windows dotting the walls of the old brick building and he doesn’t dare think about what makes some of the smells that occasionally waft his way. Still, he’ll take all this over airports any day - at least trains are on the ground.

He wasn’t always so bothered by traveling - in fact, he used to catch a train down to Changsha nearly every weekend all throughout middle school. However, once high school started his free time waned, in college even more so, and after graduation the life of a young adult trying to keep up in Beijing stopped him from granting himself such a luxury so often.

That’s why today, despite trudging through heavy rain and getting his toes stepped on three too many times after finally finding a space on a bench big enough to squeeze his body into, he can’t bring himself to hate the station’s early morning rush hour bustle - This is the last time, he keeps reminding himself. Yixing is coming back.

Zitao has to remove his sunglasses in order to read the time on his watch due to the overcast weather blanketing the inside of the train station in a faint shadow. (He’d thought the sky would clear up after the rain, but the sun is still nowhere in sight and he feels a bit foolish). He hooks the designer lenses onto the collar of his shirt and fidgets around until he finds somewhere to wait.

He’s browsing a rack of magazines at a nearby newsstand when a shrill whistle signals an incoming train and the timetable above his head announces that it is the 7:30 from Guangzhou, a couple minutes ahead of schedule. He puts back the Home & Garden issue he has no idea why he picked up in the first place and makes his way to the platform, trying very hard to avoid scuffing up his boots in the crowd. His height gives him an advantage and when he sees a familiar face exiting the train, also helpfully tall, he waves his arms frantically but doesn’t bother shouting - it doesn’t take long for his flailing limbs to be noticed anyway.

“Yifan!” he greets happily, slinging an arm around his friend’s shoulders and navigating him to the baggage car. Once they gather all of Yifan’s belongings and stack them onto a luggage cart, he waits until Yifan’s eyes are on him to ask, “How was the trip?”

Yifan’s gaze flick up from Zitao’s lips to his eyes and he smiles. “Not bad,” he says, waving his hand in a so-so motion. “Food was okay, but the seats were comfortable.”

Yifan slurs his last few words so Zitao resorts to using his hands along with his voice. “You didn’t get a lot of practice there, did you?” he signs out, and he laughs at Yifan’s sheepish grin. “Your mom babies you too much!” he says, hitting Yifan’s shoulder.

“She was excited to use all the new sign language she learned,” Yifan motions back. “But I’m here now, so you can whip me into shape again, okay?”

“Damn right I will,” Zitao huffs, dropping his hands. “Starting now - tell me what you ate on the train.” Yifan hesitates and continues looking at Zitao’s lips, so he repeats, “Ate.”

“Ah,” Yifan says, looking up again and beginning to push his luggage cart. “They only gave snacks, so I bought a sandwich…”

Yifan is in the middle of describing what scenery he passed on the ride, with Zitao jumping in a few times to let him know he isn’t speaking clearly, when another incoming train on the next platform over startles Zitao enough to make Yifan snort at his reaction.

“Shut up,” Zitao mumbles, but his head is turned slightly so Yifan tries to look around at his lips to catch what he’d said. “Forget it, keep going,” Zitao signs.

Lu Han is jostled from his doze when the train he’s been waiting for screeches to a halt. He hurries out of his seat and rushes to the platform, just barely avoiding colliding with a luggage cart toted by two tall and intimidating-looking men, wanting to be as close to the incoming passengers as possible. He fidgets in place as people continue to walk by until he sees Yixing carefully step down from the train car.

“Yixing!” he calls, but doesn’t bother waving. His friend perks up at the familiar voice and smiles in the direction it’s coming from.

“Lu,” he says, reaching a hand forward that’s quickly taken in a firm, familiar hold. “Were you waiting long?”

“You’re not using your white cane,” Lu Han complains, ignoring the question. “What if you fell off onto the tracks?”

Yixing snorts and rolls his eyes as best he can. “I’m not going to fall onto the tracks, Lu.”

“You don’t know that,” Lu Han mumbles, grip on Yixing’s hand tightening.

“I’ve been doing this for ten years,” Yixing says nonchalantly, routinely. “I’m capable of walking without killing myself. Besides, you know how much I hate the way people look at me with that stupid cane.”

Lu Han sighs and nods his head, guiding Yixing through the crowd to collect his bags. “I know.”

“I can feel it, Lu.”

“I know.”

“Okay, open your eyes!” Zitao yelps happily, pulling Yifan through a threshold and brandishing his hands at the room before them. When he hears no reaction he turns around and sees Yifan still standing there, eyes closed and waiting, box of their leftover lunch cradled obediently in his still arms. “Oh, wait.” He taps Yifan’s cheek and nods when Yifan peeks at him through one eye.

Yifan blinks and looks around at the loft apartment Zitao had guided him to (with a bit of difficulty, as when Zitao gets excited he sometimes forgets to warn about steps or walls). It’s a lovely open space with polished dark wooden floors, almost a studio save for the closed off bedroom to the right. There’s a kitchen to the left set on a raised level, and in the middle, a large living room that takes up most of the floorplan. Most eye-catching, however, are the walls bordered almost entirely by full-length windows overlooking the city.

“I know a guy studying interior design, so he can help you fully furnish it later,” Zitao signs, “but I couldn’t wait to show you this.” He pulls Yifan over to the windows and urges him to take a look.

Yifan’s face breaks into an astonished smile at the sight of a park across the street with quaint, rustic shops and family-owned restaurants running along its border and a large, beautifully crafted library standing at its far end. The greenery and homeliness are a welcome break from Beijing’s packed city streets and towering skyscrapers and Yifan is already excited to see how the landscape changes in the fall, already wants to go down and explore what feels like a personal oasis in the middle of a concrete jungle.

Zitao laughs and claps Yifan on the shoulder. “I thought you’d like it,” he says, then repeats himself when Yifan is looking at his lips. “I figured it would be a nice view. You know, if you ever need inspiration or something.”

“I can’t thank your father enough,” Yifan says, and he’s so infatuated with the romantic view that Zitao doesn’t bother correcting his mumbled speech this one time.

“Don’t worry about it. The building is owned by a family friend, they were more than happy to save the loft for you.”

Yifan pats Zitao’s arm when he’s finished signing and notes that his young friend seems to have bulked up during his time away - transformation is all around him. “I think finally coming back here for good will be exactly the change I need.”

“My mom still thinks that because you’re blind she needs to make up for it by talking even more,” Lu Han groans once he’s shut the door to his parents’ house behind them after a long welcome-back lunch. “Now it’s rush hour and it’ll take forever to get to my place.”

Yixing links his arm with Lu Han’s and laughs. “She’s as sweet as ever,” he says. “I didn’t mind. Plus, I definitely needed to hear that story about you calling her crying because you thought your landlord would kick you out after paying your rent a day late.”

“That was a long time ago!” Lu Han retorts, pinching Yixing’s arm. “I was young and naïve and I understand how to be an adult now, alright? Or do you not want my spare bedroom?”

Yixing’s eyes stare ahead, unfocused but full of mirth. “You wouldn’t kick me out even if I asked.”

Lu Han gives up and smiles. “I’m never letting you ditch me again.”

When they do eventually reach Lu Han’s apartment, their stomachs, true to their growing-boy nature, rumble simultaneously.

“Well it has been a couple hours,” Yixing reasons, and Lu Han snorts, but agrees.

“There’s an Italian takeout place right across the street,” he says. “You gotta try it.” He guides Yixing to the couch in the living room and fusses with the pillows behind him until Yixing smacks his hands away. “Alright, alright, I’m going. The bathroom is behind you in the hall, first door on your left. I’ll be right back. Don’t fall down.”

“Go,” Yixing says, and he can hear Lu Han’s laughter die out as he disappears out the front door again.

Yixing really does love Lu Han’s family, and he’ll never say no to homemade food, but he has to admit the gathering drained him quite a bit after his long train ride. He settles into the couch a little more and lets out a sigh, closing his eyes and taking in the feeling of the apartment. It’s already wrapping him in a warm, comfortable blanket of an atmosphere - or maybe a quilt, even more pleasant and close to the heart. He reaches a hand out to his side, fingers running over the veins in the fake leather of the cushions. He feels in the other direction, past the arm of the couch, and bumps his knuckles lightly against a small wooden end table with a single drawer on its underside and a lamp resting on top. It will take a while for him to be familiar enough to walk around freely without getting any bruises, but he already wants to call it home.

Lu Han returns fairly quickly, delicious smells following him inside, and Yixing can hear him setting containers on a coffee table that must be in front of the couch. Lu Han urges him onto the floor and excitedly explains what food he bought, and they spend the rest of the evening doing nothing very important.

｡⊹ ♡ ⊹｡

“Minseok, what’s up?” Zitao greets, holding his cell phone against his ear with his shoulder as he sifts through a box of fabric samples.

“You’re probably busy so I won’t be long,” an accented voice crackles over the line, “but I wanted to let you know I went to the loft and met with your friend today.”

“Oh, great!” Zitao sets aside a few strips of fabric in various shades of red and holds them up one at a time against a swatch of purples. “How did it go?”

“Slowly,” Minseok laughs, “but we communicated well enough. He has a good eye for design, as expected from an artist, although his installations usually aren’t very similar to my décor.”

“I really wanted you to say as expected from a friend of yours.”

“I know you did.”

“So you can help him make the loft feel more like home?” Zitao asks hopefully. “It’s been so long since he’s lived here, I’m worried he won’t like it and that this move will be for nothing. He was struggling with that art block so much…”

“He’ll be fine,” Minseok assures. “Also, don’t insult my skills. I can get almost everything he needs within a few days, and the rest should be easy to order for cheap through my mentor’s company. And you promise I’ll be able to take pictures of the finished product for my portfolio before he clutters up the place with junk?”

Zitao sets his favorite color combination down and tosses the rest of the fabrics back into the box. “Yes, yes, I promise.” He sighs and holds his phone in his hand now. “If Beijing doesn’t give him any motivation, I’m afraid it’ll be quite a while before he can bring himself to create anything at all.”

“Yixing, over here!”

Yixing turns his head in the direction of the slightly shrill voice and soon feels a gentle hand wrap around his wrist. “Jongdae?” he guesses.

Jongdae nods. “I recognize you from all the pictures Lu Han always shows me,” he laughs, and Yixing thinks it’s a very charming laugh and that Jongdae’s accent is cute. “Did you have any trouble finding the place?”

“No,” Yixing answers, following Jongdae’s lead through a hallway and into a classroom where he is immediately hit with a wall of noise that can only be described as “children”. “Lu brought me here. I finally convinced him that I could go the rest of the way on my own when I was apparently only five feet from your room.”

Jongdae laughs again. “That sounds about right. He seemed awfully worried about you taking this job.”

“Well, I’ve never worked with kids,” Yixing admits, “but I like them.”

“That’s all I need,” Jongdae says happily, though Yixing is sure there are usually actual qualifications that teacher’s assistants must meet. (The fact that Lu Han is the soccer coach at the same primary school and that he vouched very persuasively for Yixing’s good character probably helped). “Since we take in kids from all social backgrounds, we don’t always get the donations necessary to provide services for anyone with specific needs,” Jongdae continues, and that explains a lot as well. “I can’t even begin to tell you how glad we are that we now have someone to teach braille - braille! Liyin will be so excited to learn to read. She’s a sweet girl, but she’s shy and has a hard time making friends… Kids are impatient enough as it is, you know? It’s difficult for them to understand when someone is different.”

Yixing can tell from the tone of Jongdae’s voice that he loves the kids he works with, hardships and all, and Yixing only wishes he’d found out about this opening sooner. He would have signed up as soon as he arrived last week, but Lu Han probably wanted to give him time to adjust first, whatever that means, and put off offering him the job. He’s eager to get started, but Jongdae decides to ease him into the swing of things and Yixing spends most of the day entertaining kids by feeling their faces to start recognizing them.

After the last child is picked up from school on Friday, marking the end of Yixing’s first week on the job, Jongdae claps Yixing on the back and suggests that they and Lu Han go out for drinks.

“My treat,” he says. “As a thank you, and also a welcome back, apparently? You mentioned something about living here before the other day.”

“Oh, yes,” Yixing recalls, feeling along the wall as he makes his way to Jongdae at the door. “I’m from Changsha, but my mother was offered a job in Beijing so we moved out here when I was in elementary school. That’s where I met Lu. I stayed until the end of middle school when this happened.” He taps his cheekbone, pointing at his eyes. “My mother moved us back home so I could be closer to family while I was, well, learning to cope.”

Jongdae hooked his arm around Yixing’s when Yixing reached him and they began to walk down the hall. “To experience that at such a young age…” Jongdae murmured. “How did it happen?”

“I don’t really like to talk about it,” Yixing admits. “It wasn’t anything horrific - well at least not because of an injury or an accident - but it scared me a lot, so…”

Jongdae gives Yixing’s arm a squeeze. “Don’t worry about it,” he assures. “I’m sorry for asking. Let’s talk about good times today, yeah?”

Yixing can hear Lu Han’s familiar footsteps jogging over to them and he smiles. “Yeah.”

“Oh,” Lu Han says after taking a shot. “I may have forgotten to tell you-”

Yixing rubs at his cheeks, which have begun to feel very warm and pleasant.

“-He’s a lightweight.”

Yixing smiles at Jongdae’s direction.

“Hey, don’t let him go crazy,” Jongdae whines. “I can’t have my brand new kindergarten teacher getting thrown out of bars.”

Yixing laughs and waves his hand. “Don’t worry, I’m a happy drunk. But Lu probably won’t let me drink a lot anyway. He’s already worried enough I’ll walk into traffic.”

“Shouldn’t he be the one taking it easy?” Jongdae asks as Lu Han orders another shot. “He’ll guide you into traffic at this rate.”

“I’ll call a cab,” Lu Han says airily. “Tonight I’m celebrating having my best friend back.”

They continue with friendly chatting and playful banter, cheerful and relaxing atmosphere allowing for time to slip by without notice, until Jongdae is pulled out of the conversation by a tap on the shoulder. He turns in his seat and his Cheshire smile grows even wider when he sees a man he must know. He stands to give him a hug and Lu Han notes that they’re pretty much the same size, which his buzzed brain finds very amusing.

“Guys,” Jongdae says, arm around the man’s shoulders, “this is my friend from college in Korea, Kim Minseok.” Yixing and Lu Han both wave and exchange brief introductions. “Man, I haven’t seen you since you went on to continue your studies. You ended up in China too?”

“Small world, even here,” Minseok laughs with a gummy smile. “I was only supposed to study abroad for a year, but I ended up getting an internship and staying. You?”

“This guy studied in Korea for a bit and convinced me to try Beijing out,” Jongdae says, nudging a thumb at Lu Han.

Minseok looks impressed and asks Lu Han a question in Korean, which he answers pretty well, considering how rusty he’s gotten. Soon the three of them are having an animated conversation that Yixing can’t understand, so he figures now is a good time to use the restroom without having to interrupt anything. He asks the bartender for directions and makes it there without a hitch, scoffing at Lu Han’s overprotectiveness. On his way out, though, he bumps into someone coming in.

“Sorry,” he says immediately, giving a slight bow.

“No, I’m sorry,” the man replies, and they part ways.

Yixing hears a new voice speaking when he returns to his friends, thankfully in his mother tongue. He sits back down and asks a simple, “What did I miss?”

“Ah, this is my friend Zitao,” Minseok says, and Yixing wonders if all Koreans sound cute speaking Chinese or if he’s just lucky. “He works for a fashion and design magazine that sometimes features my company.”

“Xing,” Lu Han says once Yixing’s chatted with Zitao for a bit, “my mom texted when you were up, she wants to meet for lunch tomorrow. It’s pretty late, we should get going.”

“Okay,” Yixing says, finishing his drink and reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

Jongdae stops him. “Nope, I said it was my treat, remember? I really appreciate your help at the school, Yixing.”

They all say quick goodbyes and Minseok and Zitao return to their table.

“Where’s Yifan?” Minseok asks.

“Bathroom,” Zitao replies.

｡⊹ ♡ ⊹｡

“You need to get a job.”

Yifan only looks up, startled, from his sketchpad when Zitao is within his line of sight, unfortunately not having heard the entrance into the loft that Zitao made expertly dramatic. Zitao repeats himself and Yifan looks at him, confused.

“I have a job,” he says, though they both know that’s nearly a lie by this point. Yifan’s been in Beijing for two months now and he has yet to produce anything even remotely satisfying. Sure, he has some nice sketches and he’s been working on a painting or two, but none of those are giving him an income.

“Look, this isn’t about money,” Zitao says. “Well, it’s a little bit about money. I got you this loft at a reduced rent, but it’s not free. You can’t keep living off of your past profits.” He can tell he’s speaking too quickly and beginning to lose Yifan, so he continues with his hands. “You’re not yourself lately. You need to find something to keep you busy, to keep your mind going. That’s what you told me when I was struggling with my portfolio. Change can be good, Yifan. Let it help you.”

Yifan sets his pad and pencil down on the desk in front of him and rubs at his face. “I don’t know why this is so hard,” he signs back. “Ever since I lost my hearing, art has been my driving force, the thing that made me feel like I could hold my own in the world. But now it makes me feel like the broken person I am.”

“Don’t say that,” Zitao barks sternly. Yifan holds up his hands and Zitao pushes them away. “You know what I meant.” He sighs and sits on the desk. “Why don’t you come with me tomorrow? I met a guy recently who works at a school and they’re looking for someone to design an art piece for their new lunch room. Give it a shot?”

Yifan turns his head to look out the loft’s wall of windows, watching as people mill around the park below, seemingly content with their lives and the directions they’re going. It’s ridiculous, he thinks, that he’s in such an active city yet he feels so much like he’s glued into the cement.

“Ok,” he says, facing Zitao again.

Zitao is glad Yifan can’t hear all the children making a racket as they walk through a hallway of the elementary school. Yifan doesn’t dislike kids, but from the way he’s been acting, Zitao knows he’ll use any excuse to deny the job. He’s banking on Jongdae charming Yifan before anything. Yifan simply continues to look around at the building’s architecture as Zitao pops his head into Jongdae’s classroom.

“Yixing, I’ll be right back,” Jongdae calls, and Yixing nods.

“Are we interrupting?” Zitao asks, and Jongdae shakes his head.

“Nah, it’s free time right now. Did you bring your friend?” Jongdae’s small frame slips past Zitao and into the hall and he zones in on Yifan, who is staring at a row of children’s paintings hung out to dry. Zitao comes over and gets his attention.

“Hello,” Yifan says, extending a hand towards the man who must be Zitao’s new friend. Zitao makes a lot of friends, and he’s not sure if he’s ever met this one before in passing.

“Hi!” Jongdae says, shaking Yifan’s hand. “I’m Jongdae. You must be Yifan.”

“Jon…?” Yifan looks to Zitao for clarification.

“Jongdae,” Zitao repeats. “It’s Korean.”

“Ah, that’s right, you use lip reading often,” Jongdae says. “If Korean is hard for you to decipher, my Chinese name is Chen. Zitao says you call Minseok “Xiumin” too. I don’t mind!”

Yifan is pretty sure he caught most of what Jongdae said and smiles. “Thanks, Chen.”

Jongdae seems slightly conflicted as he looks back at the classroom. “I’d love to show you the wall you’d be working on, but I can’t really leave the kids in Yixing’s care for long…” He’s facing away from Yifan so Yifan doesn’t know what he’s saying, but Zitao responds for them.

“I’ll sit in for a bit,” he offers.

That, Yifan can understand, and he begins to get antsy - he hates when people who don’t know sign language get frustrated when communicating with him. But Jongdae smiles at Zitao’s suggestion and turns that smile on Yifan, and Yifan knows he won’t have to worry about annoying him.

“Alright, but don’t tell anyone,” Jongdae laughs. “I’ll be back soon.” He motions for Yifan to follow and leads him to an outer wall of a newly built cafeteria. He makes sure Yifan can see his mouth before saying, “We’d like to have some sort of art on this wall here, to make it livelier for the kids. We aren’t particular about what medium, so let me know about anything on your mind! Min-Xiumin can probably snag us any materials.”

Yifan nods and looks at the wall. There’s nothing special about it, nor about the rest of the facilities - it’s a pretty generic structure, obviously not a top tier, high caliber school with the funds for the latest architectural stylings. Still, it feels quaint and nice. He supposes he can work with it, and it’s just for kids so he doesn’t have to recreate the Sistine Chapel.

“Do you think I could do a mosaic?” he asks, and he notices Jongdae react to how clearly he’s able to speak full sentences, but it’s not in a pandering way. “Most of my work was - is - street art and installations. It would be nice to try and get back in the swing of things.”

“A mosaic sounds great!” Jongdae says. “We’ve never had one of those before. I’ll call up Minseok. With our budget, you might have to figure out what to work with from what we’re given.”

Yifan feels a smile tugging at his lips from the simple challenge. “I’d like that.”

Minseok is able to get Yifan assorted tile and stained glass pieces in primarily earth tones (“Bright, unnatural colors are more in right now”), and although they aren’t perfect (“But I can still only give you leftover pieces”), Yifan thinks the best art is riddled with imperfections that work together. His idea gets the go-ahead from the principal and he begins his planning.

Over the next few weeks Yifan stops by the school every day for a few hours in the afternoon to work on the mosaic. It’s tedious (and lonely, since Jongdae’s kindergarten class eats in their room so he doesn’t get to say hi to the friendly teacher when all the other grades come down for lunch), but he kind of likes it that way. However, his schedule coincides with Jongdae’s, and they often meet up after work to grab a coffee or just walk together until they have to part ways. He finds himself enjoying Jongdae’s company even if their conversations can get jumbled sometimes, and having a new friend and continuously working on a project is starting to pull Yifan out of his shell.

Yet, despite his progress, Yifan can’t shake the feeling that he’s not quite there yet, that something is still lacking. Then, the restroom closest to the cafeteria goes under maintenance.

“There’s another staff bathroom up near the kindergarten,” a janitor tells Yifan (a couple times).

Yifan thanks him and walks towards the rooms Zitao had taken him to when they first visited the school. The restrooms are conveniently located right next to Jongdae’s room, and he wonders if it would be inappropriate to pop in and say hello. As he’s washing his hands, Jongdae comes in to grab handfuls of paper towels from the dispenser and shoots Yifan a smile.

“Hey, what brings you down my way?” he asks.

“The bathroom’s out of commissions,” Yifan says, eyeing all the paper towels in Jongdae’s arms.

Jongdae shrugs. “Kids,” he says with a laugh. “Oh, you’ve never been in my room, right? Why don’t you take a break from your mural and join us for snack time? We have cookies.”

Jongdae’s eyebrow wiggle has Yifan agreeing amusedly and he follows Jongdae into the classroom. Jongdae hurries over to a juice spill with his barrage of paper towels and Yifan stands awkwardly in the doorway, unsure where to go or what to do. As he’s watching a couple kids play with toy trains to his right, he doesn’t notice anyone approaching on his left side until they collide with a mutual “oof”.

“Sorry,” the man who bumped into him says, and Yifan has an odd sense of déjà vu.

“It’s my fault,” Yifan says, although he was standing still so he doesn’t know how-

“No, it’s probably not,” the man laughs, and he looks up but not quite directly at Yifan. “There usually aren’t any road blocks in my way so I wasn’t paying attention. Did you need something?”

For some reason, Yifan feels incredibly guilty for colliding with a blind man. He steps aside and shakes his head. “No, sorry, I’m here with Chen…”

“Ah, you two have met,” Jongdae says, returning to Yifan’s side. “Yixing, this is Zitao’s friend, Yifan, the one doing the mosaic on the cafeteria. Yifan, this is Yixing, he’s teaching one of our students braille.”

“Oh, you’re the artist,” Yixing says, holding out a hand slightly to the side. Yifan takes it anyway, not wanting to embarrass him. Positioning aside, Yixing’s hand is warm.

A small voice calling for “Gege!” interrupts their conversation and Yixing bows to Yifan before walking across the room to a little girl with long brown hair sitting on a pillow with a book in her arms. Yifan reaches out a hand, worried about Yixing tripping and wanting to help him navigate the cluttered room, but Yixing makes it to the girl, sits with her, lets her crawl into his lap, and begins feeling along the pages at what must be braille. Seeing Yixing interact so well with the child, making her smile so naturally, has Yifan feeling terrible for doubting him in the first place. He should know better - people often think he can’t do anything on his own as soon as they find out he’s deaf. If he’d just walked in on the scene now, he could never guess that there was anything physically wrong with Yixing - in fact, he looks rather nice. He doesn’t realize how long he’s been watching Yixing until Jongdae nudges him.

“Want to take some cookies in case you get hungry out there?” he asks, and Yifan hopes he doesn’t look too ruffled at being caught staring.

“Sure, thank you,” he says. He takes the treats wrapped in a napkin and nods goodbye at Jongdae. Just as he’s about to step out through the door, something compels him to turn his head in Yixing’s direction right as he laughs with the little girl. His smile is warm and accented with a deep dimple, and his expression is so pure - Yifan almost feels like he can hear Yixing’s laugh. He shakes his head at that pointless thought and returns to his work.

Yifan is almost done with the mosaic when there’s a tap on his shoulder, the first time anyone’s approached him in his month of tedious labor. He turns and sees Yixing smiling at him, just a little too low, but he doesn’t mention it. He wipes his hands on the cloth hanging from his pocket.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Yixing says back. “I wanted to see your mosaic.”

“Uh…” Yifan doesn’t quite know how to respond to that.

“Oh, um, I wanted to see your mosaic,” Yixing repeats, a bit slower, and Yifan realizes he’s trying to make it easier to read his lips.

“Ah, no, I understood you,” Yifan says.

“Sorry,” Yixing says, looking a bit sheepish. “I didn’t mean to assume you, um… There’s just something about your voice that made me think…”

“I’m deaf,” Yifan clarifies. “It’s okay, I’m not offended.” He grows slightly self-conscious. “Is it obvious?” Zitao never told him he sounded weird when talking. He always assumed he wasn’t perfect, but…

Yixing shakes his head. “No, I guessed,” he says. “I suppose I’m just more used to listening.” He smiles and Yifan doesn’t feel abashed anymore.

“And you… want to see my mosaic?” Yifan asks.

Yixing steps towards him and reaches out for Yifan’s hands. Yifan lets him take one and Yixing steps towards the wall, free arm outstretched so he can feel where the tiles start. He brings Yifan’s hand up against the wall as well. “Show me,” he says, and Yifan thinks he understands.

Yifan maneuvers their hands so his is on top, palm nearly enveloping Yixing’s, and begins to slowly guide Yixing over the tiles, tracing individual outlines of figures one at a time, inch by inch.

“It’s a forest,” he says, bringing Yixing’s hand to one of the unfinished trees. “There are animals all around it. Kids like animals.” Again, Yixing laughs and Yifan can’t hear it, but he thinks he does as he feels Yixing’s body shake against him.

“What color is the tree?” Yixing asks, and Yifan assumes he wants more than a simple “brown.”

“This one’s in the forefront, so it’s lighter,” Yifan says, taking Yixing’s hand down the winding lines of the tree’s knotted trunk. “Some copper, sinopia, sandy brown.” He brings their hands back up to near eye level. “There’s a bird’s nest on this branch, and a squirrel on the trunk.” He describes all the colors as in depth as he can before he puts his other hand on Yixing’s waist to guide him to the side. “There’s a deer and a buck here, they’re the main attraction.” Yixing’s fingers glide across the buck’s antlers, fingertips seemingly taking in all the information they can, so attentive and impressed.

“He seems strong,” Yixing says, making sure to turn and face Yifan so Yifan can see his mouth. His thumb brushes against the deer’s eye affectionately.

Yifan continues to show Yixing the mural section by section, slow and steady, wracking his brain for every detail that Yixing might want to know. Yixing is surprisingly interested and it makes Yifan feel like his work is important. By the time Yixing’s fingers graze over the last blade of grass in the mosaic, the school bell signaling the end of the day rings. Yifan doesn’t notice it, but Yixing jolts in his embrace in surprise so he figures that’s what happened. He drops his arms and Yixing faces him.

“It looks beautiful,” Yixing says, and it feels like the deepest complement Yifan’s ever received.

“You know, I’m beginning to think celebrations are your excuse to be an alcoholic,” Lu Han says as Jongdae orders the first round of drinks.

“Look who’s talking,” Jongdae scoffs. “Besides, Yifan’s finished mural is amazing and he deserves recognition. And we’re bringing new friends together.”

Zitao raises his glass. “I like Jongdae,” he says, and takes a drink.

Yifan can’t catch the whole conversation, but he knows enough to laugh and join in. Yixing seats himself next to him and feels around for Yifan’s hand on the bar. When he finds it, he gives it a squeeze.

“You should show me the rest of it soon,” he says, and drops his hand before Yifan can think too much of the action.

“So did you enjoy working on it?” Minseok asks, and everyone knows he’s referring to Yifan’s art block.

Yifan nods. “I did,” he says slowly. He glances at Yixing. “I’m definitely feeling… something.”

“Good!” Zitao says, wrapping an arm around Yifan’s shoulder while Yixing eats some free peanuts obliviously.

Yifan wakes up the next morning to a text from an unknown number.

I’d love to see more of your art some time.

They start talking regularly after that, but Yifan can’t for the life of him remember when exactly they began to fall into a rhythm of meeting at his apartment and keeping each other company while Yifan paints and Yixing… well, does whatever it is that Yixing does. (Yifan often sees him listening to music and bopping around a little on the couch, but he wonders if Yixing ever gets bored at his place).

“You can do something besides sit, you know,” Yifan says one day while waiting for a section of his painting to dry. He leans against the back of the couch and from that angle he can see Yixing’s eyelashes fanning out against his cheeks and his collar bones dipping into the neck of his tank top. He wonders if he could mix a color to match Yixing’s skin perfectly.

Yixing leans his head back and his eyes land rather accurately on Yifan’s face. “I don’t want to distract you,” he says, and it’s so simple and honest that it kind of tugs at Yifan’s heartstrings.

“Yixing, I can’t hear you,” Yifan laughs. “How could you distract me?”

Yixing pushes his mouth into a bit of a pout. “I… I like to dance… sometimes,” he says rather reluctantly. “It’ll distract you.”

Suddenly Yifan wants to set his work aside and urge Yixing to continue letting him in. “You never told me you dance,” he says.

“It’s probably embarrassing,” Yixing says, trying to brush it off. “I just do what comes to me… I don’t know what I look like.”

“I’ll know,” Yifan says.

Yixing fidgets a bit, but Yifan notices the smile tugging at his lips and the excitement twitching at his fingertips - he must have been dying to spend his afternoons engaging in his own hobby, but he always put Yifan first. Still, he puts Yifan first. “There probably isn’t room,” he says, and Yifan shakes his head.

“Yixing, you can dance.” He walks around the couch and pushes the coffee table against a wall, carefully moves a light into a corner, struggles with the couch until Yixing laughs and gets up to help him put it aside as well. “There,” he says. “The floor is yours.”

Yixing slowly paces around the living room, feeling for himself how much of a berth he has. He shifts from foot to foot, and Yifan can’t quite tell if it’s nerves or spiking adrenaline. He fishes his phone from the pocket of his sweat pants and holds it out for Yifan to take. “I usually tell it to shuffle my dance playlist,” he says, and maybe his squirming is self-consciousness at having an audience.

Yifan finds a pair of phone speakers that he’s not sure why he has and hooks them up to Yixing’s phone. He’s unfamiliar with any songs, really, so he picks a title at random and waits.

Yixing starts with minimal motions, first nodding his head, then tapping a palm against a thigh. Yifan wants to tell him that it’s alright if he’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t have to dance, but in what seems like a split second Yixing changes into a machine of confidence and power. His movements are sharp yet fluid, hard yet graceful - Yifan thinks he resembles both the calm and destruction of a storm. His face scrunches up sometimes and there are moments where he falters and pauses, but still, everything he does is worth witnessing, mistakes and all.

Yifan can’t hear what Yixing is dancing to but it doesn’t matter - he’s mesmerized, and he can’t stop watching Yixing’s body force itself to move in ways that somehow look natural even what that’s far from the case. He doesn’t need to hear the music because Yixing is the music - he’s every note and melody and rhythm that have been missing from Yifan’s life for so long.

The song must end, although Yifan swears it can’t - shouldn’t - be over yet, because Yixing straightens up and catches his breath. He glances at Yifan and Yifan knows by now not to doubt Yixing’s abilities, but he’s still amazed that Yixing knows where to find him even after stepping all across the living room. He’s smiling as he pants, wiping his forehead from under his bangs, cheeks a rosy pink.

“Did I distract you?” he asks.

“No,” Yifan says, because a muse is not a distraction.

｡⊹ ♡ ⊹｡

“You’ve gotten pretty close with Yifan,” Lu Han says as he plops onto the couch, bowl of overly buttered popcorn in hand. He begins to flip through channels for a game or variety show that Yixing can follow along to without any visual aids.

“Yeah,” Yixing says, reaching out for the popcorn.

Lu Han yanks the bowl away and grabs Yixing’s hand instead. “Do you like him?” he asks, never one to beat around the bush. There’s mostly curiosity in his tone, but also a bit of worry.

“I think so,” Yixing replies casually, and he laughs at Lu Han’s whine. “Jealous?”

“I’ve only had you back for three months and you’re already being taken away from me again,” Lu Han huffs, finally letting Yixing have some popcorn. Then, his tone grows serious. “Do you really like him, Xing?”

Yixing hesitates then nods.

“Just be careful, alright?” Lu Han says, scooting closer. “Communication is key.”

Yixing can tell from Yifan’s tone that he’s flustered as he explains what he’s been sketching lately, which only furthers Yixing’s amusement.

“How many did you say?” he asks, trying not to smile.

Yifan groans and rubs at his face, glad Yixing can’t see his pink ears. “20, tops,” he says.

Yixing leans over the café table between them, chin in his hands, and hums. “20 drawings of me?”

Yifan leans in too - Yixing can feel his breath on his face. “20, tops,” he repeats, and Yixing’s laugh rings in his ears, a ghostly jingle.

“I wish I could see those,” Yixing says with a sigh, and he looks genuinely disappointed. He’s always so supportive of Yifan’s career, rivalling Zitao, even.

Yifan thinks for a moment then reaches out for one of Yixing’s hands. “I can show you something else,” he suggests, and Yixing’s face lights up.

“Check please,” Yixing says when he hears their waitress pass by in her clacking heels.

At the loft, Yifan guides Yixing to his workspace by the large windows bordering the living room. He drops Yixing’s hand and steps in front of a large canvas sitting on an easel, gently removing a light cloth he’d placed over it for protection. Yixing holds out his hand expectantly and Yifan trails his fingers slowly, delicately over the canvas, making sure Yixing feels every bump in the paint.

“There’s a park on the street down below,” he says. “The leaves are just starting to change color. It looks so beautiful, Yixing, I wish I could share it with you.”

Yixing feigns a smile. “So do I,” he says, and Yifan can see the regret in his expression.

“I want to paint the park in every season,” Yifan continues on, bringing Yixing’s hand over the rows of yellowing trees. “For you. I’ll paint as many as it takes until you can see it as clearly as I can.”

Yixing can feel tears beginning to sting at his eyes, both at Yifan’s gesture and the constant reminder that he can’t fully share experiences with him.

“I want this to work, Yixing,” Yifan says softly, dropping his hands to Yixing’s waist.

Yixing pushes aside his worries and faces Yifan. “So do I,” he says, and he cups Yifan’s face, thumbs brushing over his lips, and kisses him.

Yifan thinks he hears Yixing’s heartbeat reverberating against his chest as Yixing steps in as close as possible, but maybe he’s hearing his own blood rushing to his ears. Yixing, too, thinks he experiences a spark of light flash before his eyes as Yifan wraps his arms around him and holds him tight, but maybe those are his own mental fireworks going off wildly, mimicking the tingling in his lips.

｡⊹ ♡ ⊹｡

“You guys are so cute it makes me gag,” Zitao says one Friday night when everyone’s gathered in the bar that’s become their prime hangout spot. He pushes Yifan, seated in the booth next to him, but that only causes Yifan to hold Yixing even closer.

“Let them be,” Jongdae says, waving his hand. “At least they’re not the type to make out in front of us.”

“You were the one rooting for them the most,” Minseok adds, and Zitao shushes him in a stage whisper that has the whole table laughing cheerfully.

“You’re good together,” Lu Han says, uncharacteristically quiet, and Yixing reaches over to give his best friend’s hand a squeeze at the honest approval.

Perhaps it is because they both lack in some area so they don’t want to be looked down on, or perhaps it is a normal course of events for a couple of their specifics, but it doesn’t take long for tensions to run high and tempers to grow short.

It doesn’t start from anything specific - probably feelings built up over time - but when Yixing and Yifan come home one day after grocery shopping Yifan can feel a change in the atmosphere as soon as Yixing shuts the front door, as if he just closed them off in a room of fog. He watches Yixing approach the kitchen and knows right away what will happen. He runs forward and catches Yixing as soon as Yixing’s foot bumps against the step separating the kitchen from the living room, though the bag of groceries Yixing was carrying clatters to the floor with an unnerving crash.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Yixing looks away and tries to push out of Yifan’s arms. “Fine,” he says shortly, feeling around for the bag he’d dropped.

“I’ll take care of it,” Yifan says, pulling Yixing up. “Something might have broken, you could cut yourself.”

“So what if I get a damn cut?” Yixing asks, and Yifan thinks he’s not completely facing him on purpose this time. “I’ll be okay.”

“Yixing?” Yifan asks, placing a gently hand on Yixing’s shoulder.

Yixing jerks away and leans his palms against the counter dividing the two rooms. “I’m not a doll,” he says, and Yifan just barely manages to read his lips. “I don’t need to be babied - I don’t want to be babied. You… you’re so careful around me, like Lu Han but different, because he’s known me since before I… he’s different. But since you’ve known me, I’ve been strong, right?”

Yifan nods, but doesn’t say anything because he knows Yixing isn’t really asking.

“I hate knowing that you look down on me.”

That, Yifan responds to. “Yixing, I don’t look down on you,” he says, stepping forward. “I just… I care about you. I worry…”

“About me, or about yourself?” Yixing asks, turning towards Yifan now but eyes wandering. “I can feel you when you’re showing me things. I can feel how you get frustrated sometimes at having to explain every little detail - are you worried about me, or worried about getting tired of me?”

Yixing’s accusatory tone has Yifan on edge and puts him on the defensive immediately. “That’s not fair, Yixing,” he says, probably louder than intended. “Of course it’s frustrating. I’m an artist, my goal is to create things people can see, so I’m sorry if explaining paintings seems tedious but it is.”

Yixing’s jaw clenches.

“Do you think you’re the only one feeling left out?” Yifan goes on, though he really wishes he’d stop. “I will never be able to appreciate your dancing as much as you want me to and it makes me feel pathetic. Don’t act like that doesn’t frustrate you too - I can’t hear your sighs when you ask me if you did well and all I can say is “I think so,” but I can see them.”

“You told me to dance,” Yixing fires back. “You told me it inspires you, but now you hate it?”

“I don’t hate it!” Yifan counters. “I hate how it makes me feel!” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows he crossed the line between banter and fighting.

Yixing’s gotten mad a few times in his presence before, but he’s never been this mad - his face is expressionless, his voice nearly neutral. “I see,” he says, irony purposefully spiteful. He steps down from the kitchen, stumbling slightly in his anger, and he’s already swatting Yifan’s hands away before Yifan realizes he’s reaching out.

“Yixing, wait,” Yifan says, and he can tell his words are becoming slurred and jumbled. It’s too hard for him to concentrate on speaking with so many emotions being flung back and forth.

“I’m going home,” Yixing says, and he knows Yifan can’t see his mouth but he doesn’t care. He fumbles along the wall, feeling his way to the door even though he should know the loft like the back of his hand by now. He tries to put on his shoes too quickly and tangles the laces, and the sound of defeat that escapes Yixing’s lips is the one thing Yifan is glad he can’t hear. Yixing buries his face in his hands and Yifan sees his shoulders begin to quiver right before Yixing stands and hurries out of the apartment, shoes only half on.

Yifan gets roughly 15 texts from Lu Han after letting four calls go to voicemail (which he wouldn’t have been able to listen to anyway, but Lu Han was most likely too heated to think clearly), all of them pissed beyond reason at Yifan for letting Yixing stumble his way home alone. Honestly, Yifan hadn’t even thought about the possibility of Yixing getting hurt out there - he’s too used to Yixing navigating the world without a hitch because he truly is amazing. He also notices a few texts buried in the mess from Zitao, who somehow heard about the situation and had his own choice words for both Yifan and Yixing. He doesn’t bother reading every message, already feeling guilty enough on his own, and wonders if one day is too early to try and make amends - or maybe it’s too late?

He’s just about to head to Lu Han’s apartment to beg for forgiveness when he feels the need to look at his door. His brows furrow in confusion and he steps toward it slowly then looks through the peephole. Yixing is standing there, hand raised in a knock against the wood, looking conflicted. He opens the door and Yixing starts at the sudden sound.

They both stand there for a while, not sure what to say or who should go first, so they settle it with a kiss.

Lu Han is surprisingly eager to help Yixing move in to Yifan’s apartment, and Yixing doesn’t know whether to be happy about that or a little put off by how much his best friend seems to want him out of his place.

“It’s a bit fast for my taste,” Lu Han admits as he lugs another box into the back of his car, “but you guys aren’t really a conventional couple anyway. I think it’s good that you want to be close enough to really get used to your, well, situations. Plus, less chance of you storming out and into traffic if you’re already home.”

Yixing laughs and gets into the car. “You know I’ll still come to you when I need to.”

Lu Han grins. “You better.”

Yifan offers to assist in bringing boxes up, but doesn’t coddle Yixing - too much. Yixing can still sense him fussing around, but he knows it’s out of affection. Once all of Yixing’s things are inside and Lu Han is gone, he steps into the living room and pauses.

“Yifan?” he calls. Of course Yifan doesn’t notice, so he waits until he hears Yifan’s footsteps to repeat his name.

“Yeah?” Yifan says, standing by Yixing.

“Is the living room… different?”

Yifan looks around. “Oh yeah, I felt like redecorating a bit,” he says. He motions at the empty space now taking up a good third of the floor plan, with the phone speakers set up right in front of it. “Feng shui.”

Yixing laughs and practically jumps into Yifan’s arms. Yifan holds him and kisses the top of his head, lips lingering against his mop of floppy brown hair.

“Please never stop being my muse, Yixing.”

｡⊹ ♡ ⊹｡

“Amblyopia.”

Yifan looks down at Yixing resting on his lap when he feels the vibration of his vocal chords against his thigh. “Hm?”

Yixing adjusts himself so he’s lying on his back looking up at Yifan. “My condition. It’s called Amblyopia. It’s how I became blind.”

Yifan sets his book aside and runs a hand through Yixing’s hair. “You don’t have to relive it,” he says, but Yixing shakes his head.

“I want you to know.” He finds Yifan’s free hand and links their fingers together. “It started with poor vision in elementary school, and then I began to lose sight completely in one eye… It became harder to focus, something about the nerve pathways not being stimulated properly, and before we could get it treated it spread to both eyes. The doctors didn’t know why it happened so quickly. It was terrifying.”

“I can’t imagine…” Yifan mutters, squeezing Yixing’s hand protectively.

“I thought my life was over,” Yixing says with a slight laugh. “My mother and I moved back home to Changsha so I also lost Lu, my best friend. I felt so alone and scared and it took almost a year for my family to convince me to learn how to cope.”

Yifan urges Yixing to sit up and pulls him into his lap. “If I had been there back then…”

Yixing shakes his head and brings his hands to Yifan’s face, fingers habitually tracing Yifan’s features bit by bit. “If even one day was done differently, I might have never met you.” He smiles and kisses the corner of Yifan’s mouth before landing directly on his lips. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Yifan hopes he’s coherent enough when he says, “I was planning on being a basketball star.” Yixing looks at him patiently, waiting for him to continue. “I was on the varsity team in high school and there were rumors of scholarships and prospective colleges… Then I got a concussion in the middle of senior year, and I haven’t been able to hear sense.”

Yixing looks so upset it’s almost comical. “How sad…” he murmurs, brushing his thumbs across Yifan’s cheekbones.

“It shouldn’t have lasted this long,” Yifan admits. “No one knew why it did.”

Yixing kisses Yifan again, and Yifan knows he won’t be able to form sentences in a minute if Yixing keeps it up. “Two anomalies must end up creating something great,” Yixing reasons.

Yifan doesn’t know what he says, but he does feel the warm breath on his neck and jawline and kisses Yixing slowly, deeply, searching for an answer. Yixing gives it to him in the form of a gentle bite at Yifan’s lower lip, and Yifan wastes no time in hoisting Yixing up. Yixing laughs and clings onto Yifan, a little unnerved at being off the ground but no less willing. Yifan carries Yixing to his - their - bedroom and sets Yixing on the bed.

Now the jitters set in. Truth be told, they have yet to go much farther than heated kisses - it’s not that they never wanted to go the distance, they just didn’t know when. It’s hard enough to allow yourself to trust someone, let alone allow them to see an intimate part of you when you can’t even see yourself, or let them hear your most intimate noises without knowing that they sound like yourself. They both thought it would be a difficult bridge to cross once they get there, but now they see there was nothing to worry about.

Yifan peppers light kisses along Yixing’s jawline, down his neck and over his collarbones, and his heightened senses make him so sensitive to the touch. Yixing squirms at Yifan’s breath on his skin, suddenly much more aware of every inhale than ever before. He gasps when he feels Yifan’s tongue run along the center of his chest and dip into the base of his neck and lets out a shocked whimper when Yifan nips at his earlobe.

“Yifan…” Yixing breathes, and he looks so good mouthing his name that it’s killing Yifan that he can’t hear it too. He pulls Yifan down into one of their more desperate kisses and holds him tight, arms wrapped protectively around Yifan’s shoulders. Yifan runs a hand down Yixing’s side before stilling over the front of his pants, glad to find Yixing as eager as he is. When they finally part, though Yixing refuses to give Yifan more than a few centimeters of breathing room, the air around them feels almost electric.

“I need to get your shirt off,” Yifan says, amused, and Yixing finally releases him from his grasp. Yixing is the one to pull his tank top off, though, and his fingers fumble with the hem of Yifan’s T-shirt until Yifan helps him speed the process up. Before they continue, Yifan allows Yixing’s hands to roam his chest and discover every bump and muscle he can find. When his fingers brush over a nipple and cause Yifan to shiver, Yixing smirks.

Yifan retaliates by leaning in and mouthing along Yixing’s chest, catching him off guard and reveling in the sharp intake of breath he can feel beneath him. He flicks his tongue over Yixing’s nipples and Yixing whines again, hands tangling in Yifan’s hair and body rolling up to meet Yifan’s for any sort of friction.

“Yifan,” he says again, and Yifan knows they’re both too needy to draw the teasing out for too long this time.

Yifan kisses down Yixing’s stomach, hands groping along his toned sides, and inches Yixing’s sweatpants down slowly as he tongues across his abdomen. Yixing raises his hips to help get his pants off and Yifan was really not expecting his boyfriend to go commando today. He bites his lip and lightly strokes Yixing once, twice, three times. His hand has Yixing’s head falling back against a pillow and his legs spreading wider, but soon Yixing sits up and makes Yifan stop.

“Let me,” he says, and Yifan pulls his jeans and boxers off before Yixing encourages him to lie on his back. “I want to feel you,” he whispers, and Yifan is about to ask him to repeat that when Yixing wraps a delicate hand around his shaft and takes Yifan in his mouth.

Yifan’s gasp is guttural and so much more enticing when it’s Yixing’s only indication of how he’s doing. He works Yifan slowly, careful not to use any teeth, and his tongue seems to take in every detail like Yifan’s dick is one of his art pieces, and the thought would produce a laugh if Yixing wasn’t making him feel so damn good.

“Yixing,” Yifan warns, and Yixing finally pulls off with a pop.

Yixing crawls back up Yifan’s body and they kiss again, sloppy and clumsy. Yifan reaches into his nightstand, trying to find lube while Yixing sucks sinfully at his bottom lip. When he finally finds it, he guides Yixing back onto the bed and hovers over him.

“Are you ready?” he asks, and Yixing nods.

“I trust you more than anybody,” Yixing says with a smile. “Maybe second to Lu Han.”

“Please don’t mention your best friend right before we have sex.”

“We’re a package deal,” Yixing reminds, and Yifan shuts him up with more kisses.

Yifan holds Yixing’s legs back against his chest and circles his entrance with a liberally coated finger. Yixing’s eyes flutter shut and he grips a pillow in anticipation. The push in is slow and awkward, and Yixing’s face scrunches much like when he’s trying to figure out a dance move - Yifan isn’t sure he’ll be able to watch Yixing dance anymore without thinking about fingering him. He kisses Yixing softly, slowly, setting a gradual and relaxing pace. He notices Yixing’s chest rising and falling quickly and he can only hope Yixing would give him some sort of sign if he was uncomfortable. When his middle finger is knuckle deep inside Yixing, he starts to move it around experimentally until Yixing’s expression softens and he grows accustomed to the feeling.

“More,” Yixing mutters, and by the third finger he’s experiencing the pleasure. Yifan can see him moaning and god how he wants that sound to fill the room. He maneuvers his fingers until he passes a spot that has Yixing jerking under him and grabbing for the sheets. Yixing’s eyes search emptily for Yifan’s, lips parted and cheeks pink from exertion.

“Do you need more?” Yifan asks, and he’s so relieved when Yixing shakes his head.

“I need you, Yifan.”

Yifan pulls his fingers out, groaning himself at how Yixing twitches at the loss, and grabs a condom from his drawer. He puts it on and lubes himself up and takes a moment to look Yixing over, flushed and panting and beautiful, and he knows that even if he can never hear Yixing, and even if Yixing can never see him, they will always be two parts of a whole - whether people see them as broken pieces or tools to help each other, he doesn’t care.

Yixing nudges Yifan with a foot. “Are you okay?” he asks, eyes instinctually trying to search for something in Yifan’s expression. Yifan smiles and kisses his cheek.

“I’m perfect.”

He enters Yixing steadily, trying his best not to dive into the inviting warmth just yet. Yixing’s body reacts in time with his motions, hips rolling excruciatingly slowly. He moans when he’s fully inside, Yixing not giving him a single moment without friction.

“Fuck, Yixing,” Yifan gasps, and Yixing is very proudly amused at being able to reduce Yifan to such simple vulgarity. Yifan fights back by beginning to move in languid thrusts, making Yixing’s mouth fall open in pleasure.

“Yifan.” Yixing grabs at Yifan’s shoulders, nails digging into his skin as Yifan quickens his pace. Yixing’s eyes slip shut and he’s seeing those lights again.

Yifan can’t stop his gasps as he pushes into Yixing harder, faster, slowly losing his rhythm. Yixing hooks his ankles around Yifan’s waist, pinning them together and giving him something to anchor himself on as the dancer in him moves his hips in ways that will keep Yifan’s mind occupied for weeks. Yixing moans at the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing off the walls of the room and making him feel so dirty in the best way possible. His arms drop to the mattress and he clings at anything he can reach when Yifan leans down to suck at his chest. The change in angle has Yixing’s back arching and his moans struggling to get out, and his reactions are affecting Yifan as well.

“Yixing,” Yifan gasps, wrapping an arm behind Yixing’s neck and holding him close, “I love you.”

Yixing nods and whimpers, eyes clenching shut, hands reaching up to grip Yifan’s shoulders. “I love you too,” he repeats and his voice sounds so husky and beautiful-

Yifan’s hips stutter in shock, thrusting hard right up against Yixing’s prostate, and Yixing comes with a gorgeous cry, head craning back. Yifan follows a second after, panting loudly as he rides out his orgasm. He stares at Yixing, lying there with an arm draped over his eyes, the sound of his final moan ringing in Yifan’s ears. The sound.

“Yixing,” he says quietly.

Yixing gives a weak moan in response, still trying to catch his breath.

Yifan feels on the verge of a panic attack. “Yixing,” he repeats, pulling out and hovering right above Yixing’s face.

Yixing finally lowers his arm and it takes him a moment to blink his watery eyes open, and another for his hazy gaze to focus, and then he’s looking at Yifan - directly at Yifan. His breath catches in his throat and he continues to stare into Yifan’s eyes. He slowly reaches up and cups Yifan’s cheek with a shaky hand. “Yifan?” he asks, small voice cracking.

Yifan holds Yixing’s hand against his cheek and nods. “It’s me, Yixing.”

Yixing swallows. “Can you…?”

Yifan nods.

Yixing’s eyes begin to water more and Yifan barely manages to lift Yixing into a sitting position and pull him into his arms before they’re both crying together, holding each other as if one millimeter of separation will harm them. It’s Yixing who finally pulls away enough to initiate a kiss. It’s salty and interrupted by hiccups and sobs, but right now, ugly crying faces and sniffling noses are the most dazzling and eloquent things in the world.