[FOR ISHQYAUN] See Right Through Me [2/5]

[krishanthemods]

Part I

It was because of Henry’s idea that as the rest of the day rolled by, Yifan’s mood lifted up and he was ready to go home willingly for the first time that week. The day went by faster than it had for the past couple of days and he could really say that he couldn’t wait to get home.

But now that he was back home, seeing Han in his sweater and pants sitting on the couch flicking through the channels, he wasn’t really sure of what to say to him. How does he start the conversation? He couldn’t simply say ‘Hey it’s my birthday today and I demand you to talk to me’ to his face’ right?

“Uh,” he cleared his throat and looked up as he slipped his shoes off, only to find Han not moving even an inch from where he was five seconds ago. “Han? I brought, uh, cake,” he tried again, shrugging off his coat to place it on the hanger by the wall, walking to the kitchen with his gaze still on the younger. “I didn’t have anything for dinner today so let’s just, uh, eat this all up?”

No response at all. Yifan was ready to plant his face down the table when Han shifted on his seat, looking like he was having an internal battle before slowly getting up from the couch and made his way to the kitchen. Yifan could almost sigh in relief. “My co-workers bought it earlier and made me pay for it. And it’s my birthday. Can you believe it?” he tested his luck, taking the cake out of the box and willed his fingers to not tremble in nervousness.

Han glanced at the cake as he stood by the counter and he bit his lip. Yifan decided that he should ease it by getting two plates and two forks, turning his back to the table and he almost smiled when he heard the chair was being dragged. He turned around and tried to not make any eye contact with the blonde as he put the plates down, taking the complementary cake cutter from the box and cut the tiramisu to a thick piece. He then transferred it to one of the plates and slide it to Han’s general direction before cutting another one for himself.

“Thank you,” Han said faintly and Yifan wouldn’t have heard it if it weren’t for the absolute silence surrounding them, but he replied it with a casual ‘no problem’, lifting his gaze up to Han as he took a seat in front of him. Han wasn’t looking at him but he looked like he was trying hard not to show a reaction, if his twitching lip was any clue to go by. “Eat up,” he smiled, taking a small piece with his fork and ate it, careful to not make a mess. He bit back a smile when Han followed his words and took a bite for himself as well.

They ate the cake in complete silence, sans the clink of forks meeting the plate and the occasional chewing noise. Yifan kept stealing glances at Han, who still refused to look at him even as he ate. At least it made Han finishing half of his cake in no time, though. If today didn’t work out well, at least Yifan could safely say that he had fed Han successfully. This was the first meal they ate together after the whole fiasco.

“Just leave them in the sink when you’re done. I’ll… go freshen up. Yeah,” he said awkwardly after he was done, pushing his chair back and gathering his dirty utensils to drop them to the sink. “Just, uh, put the cake in the fridge if you don’t want more,” he flashed a tight smile and fled from the scene, sighing to himself. Another awkward moment between them, good job Yifan. He took another glance back to see Han still looking down to his cake, gripping his fork tightly.

As Yifan finished his shower, towelling his hair dry and clad in his usual tee-sweatpants grab, he spotted Han sitting on his bed. Usually by this time Han would be already bundled up under his cover and using it as a shield, and Yifan made sure to take his time in the shower to avoid unnecessary fumbling. He didn’t really know what to say so he quietly step forward, slinging the towel around his neck and was about to get the mattress from under the bed when he heard Han mumble.

“I- I have a, uhm, something to say.”

Yifan froze in his crouching position on the side of the bed before lifting his gaze up to see Han looking at him for the first time of the week. Han lip bit in uncertainty and his fingers fumbled with the edge of his sweater.

“Uh, shoot away,”Yifan replied, trying to make it as casual as possible for the younger. Yifan didn’t know why he was feeling so nervous. Heck, this was the first time he felt this kind of nervousness talking to someone. “What’s up?”

Han stayed silent for a while as if he was trying to word what he was trying to say before he muttered out a small ‘Happy birthday’ to him. Yifan could only nod in response and replied him with the custom ‘thank you’ automatically. Han looked like he was mentally hitting himself and Yifan wanted to say that it’s okay, he didn’t have to talk to him if he didn’t feel like it, but wasn’t sure how to say it.

“I’m- I’m sorry for- for acting the way I did. So- uhm, a wish,” he heard Han said, fingers now twisting around each other, gaze dropping back to the sheets under him. “For your birthday present. I’ll grant you a wish. Anything, as long as I can manage it.”

Yifan stared at him as if he was seeing Han growing a third head because did he just-

“Oh? I mean, oh. Uh,” he replied lamely, tentatively taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He looked at Han to see if it was alright to sit and Han scooted back to give him more room, so he took it as an agreement and sat sideways, keeping his gaze on the younger. “Anything? Even if it’s ridiculous?”

The blonde nodded slowly, fingers tightening their hold on each other before boldly looking up to meet Yifan’s gaze. Determination was the only thing that Yifan could see on his eyes, as if Han was trying to convince himself that this was a good idea and he somehow managed to get through his doubts and thoughts. Yifan locked his gaze with Han for a few seconds before finding himself saying, “I want you to tell me why you wouldn’t talk to me for this past week. I want you to be honest, I wanna know the real reason why.”

Han’s eyes widened at the request and his lips were parting, and Yifan stopped him before he could say anything. “I know I’m just a stranger to you, just someone who your brother is close with, just someone who came over to your house on weekends for Xbox games and trampolines and the basketball ring, just someone your mother trusted you with while you’re here, but I wanna know the reason why. I wanna know you better, and make up for what I’ve done wrong,” he said in stride, words flowing out of his mouth before he could realize it.

‘N-no, it’s not your fault! It’s-,” Han protested with that frown on his face again, face contorting to an expression Yifan tired of seeing and hated to see. “It is, I shouldn’t have acted like I were Yun or your father. You were right. You have your own say in what you do and what you want to do. I’m sorry for making do everything in my way,” Yifan sighed and shook his head, gaze lowered to the back of his hand instead. At least he apologized already if Han would cease all types of communication with him after this.

Another silence stretched between them and Yifan kept his gaze down, hand gripping the edge of the bed before taking another deep breath. He made his way forward to take his pillow and blanket to sleep on the couch tonight.

“I don’t like being in cars.”

Yifan froze in his movement and waited for a few seconds before turning his gaze back to the younger whose hands were shaking on top of his lap. Yifan reached out in instinct to hold them, trying to do something to make Han stop being… so not himself. “What’s-“

“Ever since I heard that Yun gege d-died that way, in the driver’s seat, I just… can’t,” he said shakily, tripping mid-sentence as if he needed to stop but also continue at the same time. “I kept on imagining that he was there next to me, in front of me, head tilted and face blue, dead, not living, not breathing, and I can’t do anything about it because he’s already dead and-,” he rambled, hand shaking even more under Yifan’s palm and Yifan tightened his hold on them, trying to say that it was alright to stop but Han kept on continuing in between his laboured breaths.

“I kept on seeing him on the driver’s seat instead of you when you drove me back from the airport. It wasn’t you who was driving beside me but it was Yun gege. I tried to get rid of the image by listening to the songs I find annoying and set it on until my eardrums were numb but every time I glance to my side it was- it was-

“I didn’t wanna tell mama of what I was seeing because I didn’t wanna make her even more worried. I thought that by staying away, she would have less burden to take care of me and can finally grief, because she refused to do that in front of me. She won’t talk about gege in front of me. She treats gege as if gege were just another stranger that passed by and I hated that.

“I wanted to cry with her, wanted to talk about how hard it is to spend every Friday without hearing the phone ringing at 6PM and him on the other line, asking how my week was and that he would come home tomorrow to have dinner again with us. I waited for the phone to ring but it didn’t. it never did. I waited-,” he choked on his words, and Yifan realized that there were droplets of water on top of his turned hand that was on Han’s lap. He immediately leaned closer in worry to check if Han is okay, but what he found made his heart twisted in pain instead.

“The last time gege called he was asking for me, and only me. I asked him what’s wrong, is he feeling okay, but he told me that he just need me to tell him what he should do if he wants to get away from everything. He told me he was tired and he didn’t wanna make mama and baba worried, and he told me not to tell you ‘cause you were busy and I told him to take a break and do what he always wanted to do. I thought he was trying to tell me that he had a hard time studying and that his professors are being too cruel, and he’s far away from home and you’re not around and that’s why he needed me but I- I-“

Han was crying like he was over Mario Kart eight years ago, sobbing and trying to catch his breath but he couldn’t, stumbling on his words and trying to make sense to what he was saying and Yifan surged forward in a heartbeat, doing what he had always wanted to do every time he saw Han crying and enveloped him in a hug. He pulled Han closer to him until Han was fully leaning onto him halfway on his lap, hands clutching the front of his shirt and staining it with his snot and tears, wailing like he has never wailed before and Yifan knew that Han had never properly grieved for his brother too.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here. It’s okay,” he repeated like a mantra to make Han believe in it, that he would always be here to listen to him and that he wasn’t at wrong, that it wasn’t his fault that Yun chose to kill himself, although now he wasn’t sure of what to think or believe in anymore. Han shook his head furiously in his hold and swallowed back his sob, trying to speak again but his voice got caught in his throat. He tried to cough it out and that seemed to work because he babbled again like a freight train.

“I want him to call again and tell me that the problem is solved like he always did whenever he asked me for advice. He trusted me because he said I always know what to say and he need my words to make sure that what he think is right and I thought I did the right thing to by saying that but he k- killed himself because I told him to take a break and- and I- I killed gege, I killed him and I wish I was the one who was in that car instead of him because I deserve to die, not him, not gege, never gege-

“Mama loves him, baba loves him, everybody loves him, people come to say that he’s in a better place now and that I shouldn’t mourn for him but how can I not when he’s dead because of me?” he looked up to see Yifan with red rimmed eyes, lips gasping for breath and he looked at Yifan like he wanted Yifan to validate his answer. But he also saw a desperate need in Han’s eyes, the need for Yifan to deny it, to tell him that it wasn’t true, that Yun wasn’t dead and everything was alright again. Yifan’s words were caught in his throat and he helplessly look back at Han, only able to gather him closer to his arms and let him pour his heart out his eyes.

“I want him back. I want gege back. Please bring him back,” he plead to Yifan, voice defeated and lost as he cried even more to his chest. Yifan blinked back the moist feeling in his eyes and one droplet slipped by, which he wiped right away as if it never happened. He took a deep breath to calm himself down, listening to the sound of his own heartbeat, tucking the fragile boy under his chin.

“It’s alright, I’m here, it will be alright,” he whispers to the younger’s hair, rocking him from side to side slowly.

What happened to Yun and Han? He always knew that Yun thought very highly of his younger brother and vice versa, that he had always took his brother’s opinion into account in every decision he had to make, from the most mundane thing like which outfit he should wear on a date to which university he should to choose. What happened? What made him think that ‘take a break and do what you’ve always wanted to do’ mean to ‘go and kill yourself’? His thoughts were all over the place by the time Han’s sobs quieted down to sniffles, then finally soft, even breaths.

He looked down to see Han’s swollen eyes with dry tear marks on his cheeks, brows furrowed even in his sleep and he lifts a hand to smooth it up, wiping the tear track gently to not wake him up. Han had such a tight grip on his shirt that it would be impossible to let go. Yifan tried to gently tug his fist off but Han had tightened it instead like Yifan was his security blanket. Sighing to himself, he held Han tightly with one hand and lowered both of them down, letting Han sleep on his chest with his body curled up like a child.

Tomorrow, he thought as he slide the cover up and tuck Han in, fingers absentmindedly stroking damp blonde strands away from a sweat matted forehead. Tomorrow will be better.

*

Han was having another fit of nightmare three days after the confession. Yifan was awaken by the increasingly louder sobs and broken pleas, and he was by Han’s side in lightning’s speed. Yifan would gathered Han close and try to talked him out of his dream until Han calmed down and slept curling half on top of Yifan, much like how he did after the confession.

Waking up and practically jumping to the bed and pulling Han into his arms until he was breathing normally again is becoming increasingly normal, somehow. He thought he was a deep sleeper, but it seemed like his ears were receptive enough to wake him up whenever Han’s rustling on top of the bed. He was getting less sleep, yes, but he couldn’t really say he minded it. What was important was Han’s wellbeing. To hell with sleep if he woke up only to find Han frowning in his restless sleep with dark shadows underneath his eyes.

“I’m sorry for, uhm, that,” Han pointed out when he woke up on a Saturday, when both of them didn’t really have anything to do for the rest of the day. They slept in until almost eleven in the morning and Yifan, despite being awoken at ungodly hours in the morning, was feeling somehow better when he woke up. It was because of that mood that he waved Han’s apology off, not minding the crease on his ratty T-shirt courtesy to Han’s deadly clutch. “Nevermind, it’s no problem. Nothing a little washing and ironing won’t fix.”

“I’ll do it! I’ll iron it for you,” Han nodded seriously, sleepy eyes blinking rapidly for effect. “I’m skilled in ironing. Very,” he said with a determined look as he shifted on the bed to lie on his side, facing Yifan’s fully.

“Oh really,” Yifan crooked his brow up, still half asleep as he rolled to his belly, hugging the pillow like it was some bolster. “Yes, very!” Han exclaimed, shifting so he can also lay on his belly next to him, putting a good distance away to not be too far, yet not to close either. “I know mama is paying you for my expenses here, but I wanna do something too.”

“You can cook. I’m a very bad cook. I burn ramen,” Yifan replied as he willed himself to gather his consciousness up. He might not have anything today, but falling asleep on someone younger than him was a blow to his pride. He would not give in.

“I’m not too,” Han mumbled, picking at the invisible lint on the sheets, then picking his own blonde strands away from his forehead. “But I can try? The internet has a lot of easy recipes. I think I can manage to not burn your kitchen down.”

Yifan chuckled in response and hummed, the image of his burnt kitchen was somehow amusing in his sleep induced state. If Han would take a knife and stab him now he wouldn’t even have the will to move. He was that lethargic.

“I’m serious!” Han pouted and hit his arm - more like trying to shove him to no avail, Yifan wasn’t a giant after all. He didn’t really know what Han said after that cause he momentarily zoned out, eyes closing on themselves before he caught himself a few seconds after, blinking to regain his vision and focused on Han again. “Uh sorry, what?”

Han just scrunched his nose in distaste and Yifan thought that a sleepy and annoyed Han was the cutest version of Han by far. It was a good thing that he wasn’t that drowsy to blurt it out. No, that would be awkward. He heard a mumbled ‘nevermind’ and Han was hiding his face behind his pillow, burying his face to it like a shield. Feeling playful for some reason, Yifan knocked on the pillow like a door, sleepily asking for the “Little Pig, open your door now.”

The tuft of blonde hair was shaking and yifan pretended to think. “Wrong password? Uh, okay let me try again then.” A grumble was heard and yifan nonchalantly acted like that didn’t happen at all. “Knock knock little pig number two, open your door now.” Another grumble and a shove of the pillow to his hand. Oh this little pig was feisty.

“Xiao lu, open up the door now. Gege is freezing outside, it’s cold yaknow,” he teased again, gentler this time and he guessed that worked because Han stayed behind the pillow stubbornly, but loosened his grip on it, and Yifan took the chance to lift the pillow off him right away. What lay behind the pillow was Han with his ears and nose tinted pink, grumpily looking at him as if he was trying hard not to smile but still wanting to keep his frown intact at the same time. Yifan tried once again.

“Xiao lu has opened the door for the dragon to enter,” he said in his best Mortal Kombat voice, the one that Han had laughed at over and over again when he was younger whenever Yun and himself had an obsession over it. Apparently the voice still had an effect over the younger because he had to hide his face into the bed to muffle his laughter, his shoulder shaking with an effort to not make any voice. One jab to his waist was all Yifan had to do to make Han turn around on his back, laughing out loud to the ceiling. Yifan couldn’t hold it back anymore and laughed along as well, shaking his head and he had to hold onto Han’s pillow to not guffaw unattractively.

When their fit subsided, they somehow ended up facing other. Han’s lips were curved into a smile that Yifan had never seen before. It wasn’t the one where his eyes crinkle to that crow feet like pattern, and Yifan had thought that was adorable. This was a smile where his gaze softened, his eyes twinkled in pure, innocent happiness, lips curling upwards just slightly, cheeks flushing faintly with his golden locks shining, flirting with the sunray that was peeking through the slit on the curtain. This was... it was safe to say that this smile somehow made Yifan’s breath hitch in his throat.

“So… I guess my duty as a chef starts from today?” Han asked, voice tinkered with his laughter from earlier, light and soft like the cloud. Yifan nodded dumbly and watched Han grin in reply, his childlike demeanour returning to the surface. “Alright, I’ll meet you in uhm, give me an hour? I’ll… try to not damage anything,” he added as if he was talking to himself, scrunching his nose and scooted off the bed, disappearing to the kitchen.

Yifan’s heart was skipping a few beats before it returned back to its normal heart rate, and somehow he felt something swelling inside him. It was a long time before he actually managed to pull himself off the bed and made his way to the kitchen, an hour as he promised. At least nothing was burnt today. Well, Yifan’s eyes might as well be, if he had to see that smile again.

“Congratulations on not burning half of my apartment down, I’m impressed,” Yifan commented as he took a seat on his usual side of the table. Han turned around to stick his tongue out at him over his shoulder and stirred something on the pot. It didn’t smell like ramen, though, which was pleasantly surprising.

“See? I can do it if I want to,” Han replied as he came to the table with two bowls of rice and placed them on each side of their respective sides. Yifan poked at the rice with his chopsticks and took a small amount of it to taste. It was slightly too hard to Yifan’s liking but it was still food all the same.

He didn’t notice that Han was back with another bowl of what looked like curry, pieces of chicken and potato were floating up on the surface. Yifan poked at them as well to find that they were, surprisingly, cooked.

“So,” Han said with a smug smile, his own chopsticks clutched between his fingers and he looked at Yifan as if he were waiting for Yifan to say something. Yifan wasn’t easy, he wouldn’t be able to have a company under his own name if he did. “I think I deserve a pat on the back because I did an extremely good job.”

“Not yet, what if I ruin my stomach after eating all these?” Yifan feigned a grimace, taking a spoon to scoop the curry. It wasn’t thick like how Japanese curry was supposed to be, but when Yifan sniffed at it, he instantly knew how the younger male had managed to serve him proper food today.

“So the instant curry paste was finally put into use. I didn’t know you’d be the type to rummage around, Han,” he said, tone nonchalant but eyes teasing as he takes a spoonful of rice and dipped it into the curry. “And curry is supposed to be served on top of the rice, not separately like this.”

“At least I didn’t burn anything,” the blonde mumbled to himself as his face fell, starting to eat his own meal with sluggish movement. Yifan chuckled and reached out to ruffle his hair like how he always did when Han was doing a great job but Yifan didn’t want to reveal his softness by actually congratulating him with words.

Judging from the small smile on Han’s lips as he chewed his rice, he knew Han remembered the same thing and knew what Yifan wanted to say. Yifan ate from his own spoon and hummed at the taste. “Not bad. At least the curry still tastes like curry.”

“Shut up and eat,” Han shot him a look with his cheeks flushed slightly and Yifan chuckled, taking another spoonful and eating quietly.

The meal was finished soon enough and Yifan was this close to pump his fist up in victory when he noticed that Han had finished his meal properly for the first time in months. Yifan offered to wash the dishes partly because it was the only thing he had mastered to do in the kitchen and partly because he somehow felt really good right now. Han protested and yanked the used bowls away from his hands, scurrying away to the sink before Yifan could say anything. He sighed and stood beside Han instead, taking the soap lathered utensils and rinsed them before putting them to the drying rack.

They work hand in hand in another lapse of silence, and Yifan could say that he preferred this silence much more that the awkward silence they had almost two weeks ago. It was still a hanging question in his head, what actually went through Han’s mind at that time, even though he had bravely answered Yifan’s questions in all honesty. Yifan didn’t really think that he deserve to know what happened, but he was glad that Han trusted him enough to come clean with his fears and insecurities.

He took the last plate from Han’s hand and their fingers brushed against each other as Yifan reached for the wrong side of the plate in his dazed stupor, and the touched jerked him back to reality. It seemed like Han was flinching away from the touch too, judging from the look on his face, but he didn’t pull away and still held out the plate for Yifan to take.

He wordlessly took it and rinsed it clean quickly, placing it on the drying rack before accepting the rag from Han to dry his hands. Before he could think it through, he pulled Han’s wrist to bring the younger into his embrace, rounding his arms around Han’s figure and leaning his cheek to the side of soft blonde hair.

“Thank you,” he said simply, honestly, and he soon felt the uncomfortable feeling of wetness growing on a patch of his shoulder. Han nodded to the crook of his neck and exhaled shakily, leaning to Yifan’s form slightly.

Maybe it was because of the confession that Han was able to understand what he meant. Maybe it was because for the past two weeks, they had been somehow closer to each other, back to when they were younger and happier. It was really ironic that Yun’s death was really the last thing on his mind these days when it was supposed to be the reason why he was able to relate to Han more.

Han pulled away from his arms first, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and took a deep breath. He looked up at Yifan for a moment, eyes searching for something and Yifan could only stand there, letting Han slowly dissect him in the middle of his own kitchen.

“I wanna try again,” he finally said, gaze determined and unwavering. Yifan could see the slightest nervousness on the back of his eyes, but the look was soon replaced by a stronger resolution. “Being in a car again. I wanna try.”

“Okay,” Yifan answered, nodding with a smile which Han returned. Baby steps for everything, one by one, and he made a resolution to be by Han’s side to guide him through it all.

*

It all with small steps that Yifan thought would help Han to cope up with his thoughts better. He began to realize that Han seemed to be able to sleep better when he was close by, so he made sure to stay on the bed until Han fell asleep before he went to sleep on the spare mattress himself. It was nostalgic, familiar, but terrifying at the same time.

At first, it was a small pat or a light squeeze to Han’s shoulder when he bid his goodbye before going to the campus. Han had widened his eyes then before smiling at him, and he noticed the lighter step in Han’s pace afterwards. Pats on the shoulder turned into pats on the head and ruffles to his hair when he was feeling civil enough on some mornings. Han cooked almost every day now, his cooking were getting better and better each day, and it was an unwritten rule that Yifan would help him with the dishes before going to bed.

The first week of December was suddenly in front of their doorstep. The cold made it easier for them to be slightly touchier with each other. It wasn’t a surprise to find Han’s figure sitting closer to him than usual when they were watching movies or playing Xbox together, their shoulders brushing and knees bumping against each other’s once in a while. Han would lean to Yifan’s side when he was tired or sleepy, and usually, he would be fast asleep by the time the movie finished or when Yifan paused the game for a few minutes to go to the fridge or use the bathroom. Yifan would have had no choice but to carry him back to the bed. Han was light enough anyway-- Yifan didn’t work out for nothing - and he would always tuck him in.

It was Christmas when Han shoved a wrapped carton box not too gently to his way on the dining table, eyes fixed to his slippers and lips pressed thin as if he didn’t trust himself enough to emit a word. “Your present,” he said simply.

Yifan thought of the neatly wrapped blue box he hid in his messenger bag, but he didn’t say anything about it as he lifted the box up and shook it by his ear. “What is this?” he asked, as the box was small enough to make him confused of what it was. “Can I open it?”

He waited until Han nodded timidly before he opened the wrapper and lifted the lid, revealing a pair of nicely engraved helix cuffs. He blinked at the present and took one of them out of the box to closer observe it. It wasn’t something grand, probably bought from somewhere on the streets, but it was nice enough that if Yifan were to see it when he passed by, he’d probably be tempted to buy.

“Are they… okay?” Han asked softly and Yifan nodded with a smile that revealed his gums without him noticing it.

“Yeah, they look really nice. Thanks xiao lu,” he said as he returned the cuff back to the box. Han looked like he was the one who was getting the present instead.

“Oh right, I have something for you too,” he said, making his way to the living room where he last tossed his bag away and took out the present he bought for Han. “For you,” he said as Han shuffled closer to him, sitting by his side on the couch.

Yifan heard an audible gasp and Yifan smiled when Han gazed down to his present like Yifan had given him the world. “You didn’t have to…,” he murmured, touching the leather cover of the journal and brushed his fingertips onto the small Chinese character of his name engraved to the bottom right corner.

“To help you manage your time better. And plan what you wanna do next year. You can write your thoughts there too,” Yifan explained as he held the earring box in his hand carefully so as to not crush it. “I had one when I was your age, and it helped me a lot. So I thought that this would do.”

Han looked up at him after a while and smiled, the one with his lips curled up softly and Yifan reached up to ruffle his head, heart skipping a beat before swelling inside his chest. Han’s smile was even brighter than the lights on their small Christmas tree.

“I’ll use it well,” Han said as he cradled the journal to his chest, scooting forward to Yifan who wrapped his arms around him as soon as Han leaned his cheek to his shoulder. “Merry Christmas, ge.”

“Merry Christmas, Xiao Lu,” Yifan replied, ruffling Han’s hair again before pressing his lips to the fluffy blonde hair.

The laugh he heard after that was nothing short of angelic and divine, and Yifan couldn’t help but to smile back, letting the overjoyed boy to snuggle closer to his side as if Yifan was some oversized teddy bear.

And it turned out that the journal was a great idea. Han would always be seen writing something in it throughout the day. He would never let Yifan see what was in it though, but Yifan shrugged it off. He wouldn’t want anyone to see his doodles back on his old journal too. Yun had saw it when he wrenched the book out of Yifan’s hold and laughed with his life at his dragon.

(To his defense it was a pretty legit dragon with fangs and spikes. He just made it… anime-version. Yeah.)

Although Han didn’t let Yifan see whatever he was writing, he was somehow more open towards him now. He had stopped one night whilst he was writing on his journal, blurting out a “you can sleep on the bed, I don’t mind” before looking at him with faintly blushing cheeks. Yifan had dumbly nodded, frozen midway with one hand ready to pull the mattress out from under the bed. Han nodded back stiffly and he returned to writing in his journal. Yifan wasn’t sure why, but he felt like smiling for the whole night. It was New Year, he still remembered.

It wasn’t a big deal to sleep on the same bed with the doe eyed boy. If anything, they slept better than they ever had for the past months. Han had less nightmare recurrences and Yifan was free from occasional back pain he got from the air mattress. Everything was good, everyone was happy.

Having an armful of pliant body to wake up to every morning did weird things to his brain, he supposed.

The rest of winter break passed with a Disney movie marathon, (which ended with the underrated Brother Bear, Han’s all-time favourite) with Han feeding Yifan kernels of microwaved popcorn and Yifan playing with the blonde strands of Han’s hair until the younger fell asleep.

And just when Yifan thought that they could finally cope up with normalcy and reality, it was February 10th, Yun’s death anniversary was somehow just a blink away. Neither of them brought it up on the day, sitting quietly as they munch their breakfast and willing themselves to be as normal as they could.

Han was doing fine, and as much as Yifan wanted to grief, he didn’t really know what to do. He didn’t feel like he deserved to mourn over his best friend’s death, not when Han was still blaming himself for what happened. Yifan could still see it in the way Han’s hand tremble whenever he was in the passenger seat, could still see it when han fidgets in his seat every Friday at 6PM, could still see it when Han jumps as his phone rings, and could still see it in the way his voice shakes as he answers his mother’s calls.

He knew that he should take it slow, baby steps to recovery, and he thought by taking Han’s hand whenever he spoke to his mother and joked over the weird songs on the radio with Han, he could at least bring a peace of mind to the younger and himself.

It was when they retired back to bed that day that Han broke down, tugging on Yifan’s hand and kept his head down, shielding his eyes from him.

“He’s- he’s never going to come back, isn’t he?” he asked in a small voice, and Yifan noticed how hard he tried to keep his tone calm, but how he failed at it when it wavered towards the end. “He’s not gonna call anymore, isn’t he?”

Yifan stayed quiet for a while, not really sure on how he should reply to the question without making things even worse than it already was. “No,” he finally said after a few stretched seconds. “No, he’s not.”

“Even if I want him to?” Han lifted his gaze up to him, eyes brimming with unshed tears. Yifan felt his heart breaking at the sight. He had to do this, he convinced himself when he shook his head. “He wouldn’t call even then. He- he couldn’t, even if he wanted to,” he said then, squeezing the frail hand in his hold softly.

“’Cause he’s gone, right? ‘Cause gege is- ‘cause he’s dead,” A sob emitted itself from Han’s throat at the last word, hand shaking and eyes seeing but not looking at Yifan anymore. Mentally panicking Yifan cupped the younger’s cheeks, forcing Han to focus his attention back to him.

“No, Han- look at me, look at me. That’s not true, you didn’t tell him to do that. You told him to do what he had to do. Everything that happened is not your fault, it never was and never will be,” he said frantically, tone rising along with his hopelessness when Han didn’t respond.

He could hear Han murmuring the word ‘sorry’ and ‘I didn’t mean to’ over and over again, and Yifan knew that this young boy had been masking his depression for god knows how long. Had he been too distracted to notice that the younger wasn’t over his brother’s death yet? He thought by casually talking about Yun’s death would help them to cope up with it better… at least it helped him to come into terms with his best friend’s death.

But to Han? Yifan knew then that he might have been adding fuel to the fire that was eating Han alive, and today was the culmination day. Fuck, how could he be so blind? How many times had Han broke down before this without him knowing?

“Come back, Han, come back,” he plead, not knowing what to do other than trying to get Han to get out of his dark, dark thoughts. How long has this boy been hurting? How could he bring him back?

It was a desperate measure when his brain supplied him with the only thing he could do at this situation. He wasn’t thinking straight when he took the sight of Han’s lips moving to formulate the words that weren’t true, that Han believed to be true, that he would be glad to get rid of from Han’s mind if he could.

So he leaned in and halted those lips from moving, swallowing the bitter and rotten words into his own lungs, holding the cheeks that were now stained by tears of pain that cut his skin to a million wounds.

Han was thrashing at first, squirming away to pull away but Yifan insisted, persisted and kissed him again but all Han did was pull away to blame himself again, taking lungful of air only to stab his own heart with his words, and Yifan couldn’t take it anymore.

Another kiss was planted, and it remained there until Han grew pliant under his hold, letting Yifan to move his lips against his own to distract him from his thoughts, and he kissed back slowly, hesitantly, fingers curling onto Yifan’s shirt to pull him closer and closer, anchoring himself down before the tide washed him away.

He was still crying when Yifan finally pulled away, but he was back, and Yifan could still taste the salt of his tears - Han’s? his? - on his lips. Han was looking at him as if he was lost, and all Yifan could do is to gather the pieces of the broken boy in front of him in his arms, letting Han latch onto his warmth with his limbs like he needed Yifan to stay afloat. And if that was what he had to do to save Han, then that would be what he would do.

“if the phone rings at 6PM again-,” Han started, arms locked around Yifan’s neck in a tight grip, burying his wet features to the crook of Yifan’s neck. “It won’t be from Yun, and it won’t be your fault that it won’t ring again,” Yifan finished the sentence, jaw set in a determined look.

“Okay,” Han sobbed out and Yifan tightened his hold around him, his own tears streaming down his eyes as he let himself mourn for his best friend for the first time in so many months, letting Han know that he wasn’t alone, that he missed Yun as much as Han did, because Yun was the reason why he was able to stand back on his own two feet and strive.

“Okay,” Han repeated again as he clutched Yifan’s shit collar tighter, trying to control his breathing with deep breaths and clogged nose. It would still be a long way for them, for Han, but Yifan swore to himself and by Yun’s ashes that he would be there with Han win every step he took. To be his crutch, his IV drip, his sanity.

“Okay,” Yifan parroted back. “We will be okay.”

*

(“We will be okay,” he said again to Han’s sleeping face much later when Han finally fell into slumber, eyes swollen and cheeks wet with dried tracks of tears. Yifan brushed his bangs away and wiped the trails off gently, afraid of waking him up from the dreamless sleep.

Just before his thumb could touch the swell of thin, kissed lips, he froze in his tracks and slowly retracted his hand back to his side, curling it into a fist. He wasn’t meant to feel so much. He wasn’t allowed to.

“I promised you, Yun. What should I do?” he asked to the empty room, words whispered under his breath, defeated.)

*

Part III