Muses and Blues ( 1/2 )
Title: Muses and Blues, part I
Rating: pg
Pairing: Lay//Tao
Warnings: mentions of Yixing's former high school girlfriend, language
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, written just for fun.
Summary: Yixing is reaching out to hold the precious things that glisten on his horizon, the most important of which are his dreams.
A/N: written for Orange Unicorns, the Zhang Yixing fic collection 2015! This is the theme song: Gaeko's "과거는 갔고 미래는 몰라"
"You have the popcorn?"
"Yup."
"Blankets? You warm enough?"
"I'm good," Tao murmurs as he snuggles into Yixing's chest. "Can we just start the movie now?"
"Mm," Yixing grunts, reaching for the remote that's just out of his grasp on the coffee table. Tao whines when he shifts them both forward so he can grab it and hit "play". The VCR whirs to life with the press of another button and Tao sighs as he sinks his fingers into the popcorn bowl. His warmth sinks into Yixing's chest, bleached hair coarse against his neck and clinging like velcro.
The movie, it turns out, is in French. Neither of them understand French beyond the basic greetings Yixing could probably pronounce okay but not spell, but the soundtrack is lovely. The solo piano tracks flow from one scene to the next, trickling melodies tripping over pauses in the dialogue like a mountain spring over stones. Yixing slides his thumb over the peak of Tao's elbow, tapping out a rhythm in counterpoint.
"Sh, pay attention." Tao's eyes are serious when Yixing's blink open in the hazy light projected from the TV screen. "It's a confession scene, they're just about to--!"
"How can it be the confession scene this early in the--" Yixing starts to chuckle, but then the image on screen proves Tao's theory true. A woman in a starched black dress and short blonde hair plucks a cigarette from the lips of the gentleman across from her. She leans in, a trail of smoke rising from the conjunction of their profiles.
"Gross," Yixing hacks out with a cough, though actually he finds the visual effect of the smoke intriguing.
"Romantic," Tao corrects him with a sigh as he shoves a handful of popcorn into his mouth. Half of it ends up in broken pieces littered across their T-shirts, but Yixing doesn't blame Tao for being distracted. The blonde woman is hot, and the scene is memorable though Yixing might not call the scenario "romantic".
Tao is worse than any female Yixing's met when it comes to his soft spot for sappy love dramas and movies where the family pet dies at the end. Even Mei hadn't been as devoted to the genre, more of an occasional fan of a certain romcom actor than a love story junkie. Yixing only watches films when there's nothing else to do, and even then he doesn't really watch them. He mostly listens--to the strings enhancing the action as the plot picks up, to the way footsteps and the lethal click of a door lock punctuate the dialogue. He also tracks how Tao's breaths even out as the climax reels them into a noose of dread as invisible and strangling as a tangled fishing line.
Tao watches the same films over and over as many times as Yixing will let him, but Friday nights they have to pick out something new. (That was Yixing's rule.) They also have to choose it at random and watch it to the very end, no matter what. (That was Tao's reciprocating stipulation and he had said it with such a fierce eyed frown that Yixing couldn't refuse, even though it is his VCR and film collection.) Yixing's had to grit his teeth through tacky yet appalling horror flicks while Tao hid his face in the blanket, but they've discovered some cinematographic and soundtrack gems through the random selection method.
"We're out of popcorn," Tao sits up to announce after several minutes of useless searching in the bottom of the bowl for another mouthful. Yixing hadn't been able to tell if he was distracted by the picture onscreen or if Tao just enjoyed the feeling of the unpopped kernels running through his fingers.
"You want me to get some more?"
"No, stay." Tao's hand whips out to catch Yixing's wrist. His greasy fingers slip a little, but it's still too tight of a grip to argue with. "It's too dark in here."
"Okay," Yixing breathes. He strokes through the bleached down at Tao's temple with his free hand, waiting for his sigh of relief as he relaxes again. It's like a silent pact between them--Yixing doesn't tease Tao about his fear of the dark (or spiders, or ghosts), and Tao doesn't pry about Yixing's family. Or Mei. Yixing might be able to tell him about Mei if he asked, but so far Tao hasn't and Yixing is grateful to leave things that way.
"The movie's almost over anyway." Tao points to the screen, where the blonde haired lady is trapped in a taxi that's trapped in an intersection traffic jam. Her mascara is running in parallel streaks to the dirty rain water painting the window shield.
"Is it really?" The story seems far from resolved to Yixing, not that he's been paying much attention to the plot.
"Mmhm. Running time: 2 hours and 59 minutes. We've been here since 7:09." Tao holds up his phone to show Yixing the time because he doesn't wear a watch. It's a new one, one of those razorback models from America.
"9:42, huh. It doesn't feel that late, somehow."
"That's what you get for sleeping through the whole thing, ge." Tao rolls his eyes before flopping back down on the couch, his head pillowed in Yixing's lap this time.
"Oops," Yixing apologizes by petting Tao's head, even though he hadn't really been asleep. He'd just been listening. "You have time for one more?"
"One more popcorn? Or one more movie? I have to be back by 11:00."
"Yeah, of course. Sorry, Taozi. It's my fault you were late on Tuesday, huh?"
"I've missed curfew twice this week," Tao complains, but he hugs Yixing's knee to his chest in forgiveness.
That's the other thing Yixing is so grateful to Tao for--he forgives before he's even asked, and Yixing doesn't know how to ask for things he knows he doesn't deserve. "It's not your fault, ge," Tao insists, shaking Yixing's knee as the credits start to roll against the backdrop of the Riviera in springtime.
Yixing flicks the lights on and tries not to wince at the glare.
"Or at least it's both our faults. Who could blame us if we just don't want to go home at night."
"Well, there's always the park," Yixing suggests. The pang in his chest only hurts a little when Tao shakes his head with a rough laugh, brushing the thought off as nothing more than a joke.
Yixing hadn't really been serious, anyway. The last thing he needs is to get hauled back to his grandmother's flat by the local police and scolded in front of the whole neighborhood for breaking curfew on public property. The parks close around this time of night.
"Bye, ge." Tao winds his long muffler around his neck like a bandage. "See you Saturday?"
"Ok, sure. Just call ahead," Yixing reminds although Tao probably knows the routine better than him these days.
"Yup! Bye!"
"Be safe!" Yixing holds the door open, letting the cold wind push in past the doorstep until Tao has disappeared around the corner with a chime of his bicycle bell. He's shivering when he steps back inside, but the cold air doesn't seem to bother Yichao.
"Hey, wake up. It's almost 10:00." Yixing ruffles the hair of the snoring teenager sprawled across the front desk. Yichao rolls over, face still pillowed on the life sciences textbook spread open on the desktop.
"What...what time is it?" Yichao shakes his head and blinks, disoriented in the light. His reflexes recover quickly enough for him to catch the candy bar Yixing flips him, though.
"I just said, it's almost 10:00, you brat. Go on, get out of here before someone comes looking for you."
"Hah, don't worry about that, ge. I didn't steal nothing."
"Really?" Yixing raises his eyebrows and glances over to the register, though he knows Yichao is too loyal to try and pull anything fishy with the revenue at this point.
Besides, the cash box inside the drawer is locked, and only Yixing and his grandmother know the code although Yixing would open it in a heartbeat if he knew a friend or a neighborhood kid was truly in need. Yichao looks about the same as he always does though, not a hint of desperation present in his drowsy expression or his sweat stained apparel. Not any more desperate than the rest of the rundown neighborhood is, anyway.
"I didn't steal nothing recently," Yichao insists, already slipping his skinny arms into the sleeves of the coat hanging off the back of his chair.
"Alright, I believe you. Now get along." Yixing reclaims his post as proprietor of the establishment, sinking into the flattened foam of the seat cushion once Yichao jogs out the door. He watches the shop alone on nights and weekends so his grandmother can rest, and when his shifts conflict with his prerogatives Yichao watches the front in exchange for free refills from the soft drink machine. Yixing treasures the flexibility their trade-off arrangement affords him, and in any case he's happy to provide Yichao with a warm seat to do his homework--when he's not asleep on his textbook, that is.
They don't get many customers this early on a weeknight, so Yixing isn't worried about any business his helper might've slept through. He still has about an hour of peace left before the drunk crowd who missed their last trains home come trailing in looking for a warm spot to knock out in for a few hours. Yixing unzips his guitar from the padded case propped behind the register and settles in. He lets the music from the drink machine fill his ears and mouth with a fertile hum and waits for the first notes of inspiration to sprout.
+++
The funny thing is that Yixing's never been on a picnic with Tao before. Of course, that's an activity generally reserved for young couples or mothers with hyperactive children, but it's strange for Yixing because he loves picnics, not to mention the fact he met Tao at a park. It's too cold for picnics this month, even during the day, so Yixing isn't sure himself why he's thinking about this. Maybe because it's Saturday and he's still waiting for Tao to call on the office phone even though it's past 5:00 now. Tao always calls before 4:00 if he's going to.
They had met on a Saturday, too. That is not surprising though, when Yixing thinks about it. More people go to the park on weekends than any other day, especially in the case of student aged people. Yixing had been resting on a shady bench with his guitar, which was not an unusual occurrence for him. There aren't many places to practice an instrument in the confines of a city. Yixing has found that most people claim to love music, until they're forced to hear music they didn't choose to listen to themselves.
That day Yixing had gone to the park like he still does on most free Saturdays, which are few and far between because of his work schedule. He remembers that he was elated to find an open bench on his first walk around the grounds that day. Across the path from him an old woman and her friend had been rehearsing a clarinet duet, while behind him in the grass a portable tape player blared sutras chanted to the accompaniment of gongs as an old man practiced the fluid lines of Tai Chi exercises with his grandson. Surrounded by the currents of music swirling around him Yixing tried to focus on his core, the center part of himself that floated somewhere between his ribs; the place from where, as far as he could tell, all of his feelings flowed.
It was hard to focus in a world as lively as Yixing's, but he couldn't blame the rest of the city around him for breathing and moving and making noise. He stripped the clarinet squeals and the wavering stream of chants away in layers and focused on the sunbeams falling across the path in front of him in soft lines and swells. Yixing started to play, letting the light weave its beams through the warp of his fingers and braid its warmth into the notes echoing out from his chest. He played until the weft threads untangled themselves from the assembling brocade of sound enough for him to scribble them down in his notebook. Caught up in the reciprocal flow of light and sound, Yixing hadn't even noticed the person standing in front of him until he realized he'd left his eraser on the bus.
"Hi," the person in front of him said.
Yixing squinted at him, at the features shaded by the glare of back light bursting over the corners of his shoulders and flashing on the insignia pinned to his blazer.
"You play?"
"Uh, yeah..." Yixing patted the the soundboard of his guitar, his brain caught up in ascertaining how long the student had been standing there and watching him.
"Cool. I sing. Can you play anything good?"
"Anything good as in...something you can sing?" Yixing scooted back on the bench to get a better look at the kid. His school uniform looked expensive, but his ears were studded all the way up the cartilage and his hair was bleached a cheap shade of blond.
"Do you know Bu de Bu Ai?"" The kid had glared, as if daring Yixing to make fun of his song choice that clashed with his punk image.
"Who doesn't," Yixing replied with a hoarse laugh, fingers already sliding up the neck of his guitar to coax out the chords of the intro.
"Cool! I'm Tao, by the way." Tao swung his cracked leather book bag onto the bench, giving Yixing a sunny smile that definitely didn't match his spiked earrings and purple eyeliner. Then he began to sing.
By the end of the second chorus the woodwind screeching from across the path had stopped. The little boy behind them clapped at the end of the performance when Tao took a flourished bow.
"Hey, yeah! That was good," Tao nodded, still catching his breath.
"And you can sure sing." Yixing clapped him on the back, still squinting, mesmerized by the flashes of sunlight playing through the soft spikes of his blond hair. Tao had smiled even brighter at the compliment, and so of course Yixing had had to ask him along to lunch with his friends.
More than a year later, Tao is the first person Yixing shows any of his new lyrics to. Having Tao sing the melody line while he tries to work out the chords to a tricky key transition has saved Yixing from scrapping a frustrating composition more than once. Mei might have called Tao his muse if she were still around to see them together, but his connection with Tao means more than a simple source of inspiration to Yixing.
Buying Tao cheap dumplings from a street vendor isn't just an investment in the success of Yixing's future debut album they both dream of. The sincere smiles Tao gives him at the end of each meal warms him up in ways friendship never has before. It's a bond no stronger or weaker than his relationship with Mei had been at their zenith, in the sunrise of another era, but it's different from that.
With Tao, Yixing breathes more and talks less. He inhales sunshine, the green glow of chlorophyll, and quiet heartbeats in the darkened DVD room. He speaks in echoes of notes flipped around and restrung into necklaces of melodies on his guitar strings. He ties the sounds together until they pile up like leis of blessing that adorn Tao's shoulders as he sings along. Tao is someone Yixing doesn't want to label, and the bond they share is one he's afraid to hope will last.
That old insecurity comes up again with the taste of the leftover dumplings he gulped down cold at lunchtime when he lets his thoughts linger on shadows of the past and future. Tao's absence cuts into Yixing's presence every time he stands him up, even though Yixing knows better than to let a missed appointment get to him, even though he knows that's just how Tao is. Every time they say goodbye starts to feel like their last parting when the time stretches to thin between their meetings. Probably because Yixing knows that one day it will be the end and that is something he can't allow himself to be unprepared for. He's let the pain of endings catch him off guard too many times already.
A bell rings in the static silence--not the phone on the desk, just the bell above the door, but Yixing is grateful for the distraction either way.
"Are you...Zhang Yixing?" A student in a familiar uniform steps up to the counter as Yixing stands to greet the visitor announced by the bell.
"This is Zhang's DVD room and rental store. May I help you?"
"Ah, so this place really does exist! Taozi wasn't lying." The guy has a friendly smile dimpling his face, but the sharp edge to his keen gaze wipes up the contents of the small shop with one absorbent glance around the room and sets Yixing's teeth on edge.
Like Tao, the student has dyed blond hair though his is an expertly blended shade highlighted with tinges of honey gold. He must have had it done at a professional salon and paid a fortune, Yixing thinks. The name embroidered on the pocket of the visitor's blazer is obscured by the strap of his school bag but Yixing guesses he's from a good family if he attends the private performing arts school on the other side of the city. You need connections to get into a place like that, tuition fees notwithstanding.
"You do know Taozi, right?" The guy steps closer, still smiling as he tugs at a platinum bracelet encircling his left wrist.
"I do," Yixing answers slowly, unsure how much he should say. He doesn't want to straight up lie to this guy, but he doesn't want to get Tao into trouble either. Yixing is well aware that he doesn't give off the aura of a neighborhood role model for rich kids, dressed in a pilling sweater and with his ears punctured by a few of his own piercings, but his hangouts with Tao are only innocent fun. Yixing's never even shared a beer with Tao, though he knows his younger friend drinks with another crowd.
"Hm, I thought for certain Taozi was sneaking out to see a girl, but I guess...hey wait," the guy leans in closer, extending his elbows past the joint with his palms braced against the counter. He's really attractive in the way Yixing can't ignore, like a billboard fashion model whose white teeth assault his vision in the subway, big eyes and soft lips softening the brilliance. "You don't have any really pretty girl cousins, do you? Taozi goes for the lookers."
"No, I don't, but I guess you'd know by experience, eh?" Yixing laughs weakly, hoping that comment came off as the joke he intended it as. The last thing he wants is a black eye, courtesy of Tao's classmate. The guy just screws his lips into a wry smile, as if he's used to hearing jabs like that, but he doesn't look mad.
"I'm Lu Han, by the way." He reaches out his hand for a shake, which Yixing accepts with a shaky sigh of relief. The strength in his grip matches the confidence in his tone. Yixing struggles to place the name but comes up from his mental catalogue of connections blank.
"I don't know if Tao's ever mentioned..."
"I'm the VP of the student dormitory council, just here checking up on Taozi's welfare since he's started staying out late on school nights. And also missing mandatory evening supplemental classes." The smile never slips from Lu Han's face, but Yixing can feel the black depths of his visitor's eyes searching his own features.
"Ah, I knew he was late for curfew a few times recently, but I didn't know about the missed classes. That's definitely not behavior I'd encourage." Yixing feels strange discussing Tao's life choices like he's somehow responsible for his friend's behavior, but the dorm VP seems satisfied with his concerned frown.
"Well I'd appreciate it if you could leave an alternate number for us to contact in case Taozi misses curfew again? Just for safety reasons, of course."
"Sure." Yixing hands over one of the cheap orange business cards stacked in a plastic tray on the counter. He doesn't know much about Tao's school or his life on the other side of the city, but encounters like this drive the differences home more than expensive uniform jackets and shiny bracelets ever could. Yixing thinks of Yichao, and how no one raises an eyebrow if he doesn't come home for three days or misses a solid week of classes at the local high school.
"Thanks!" Lu Han waves the card trapped between his long fingers before pocketing it. "It was nice meeting you, by the way!"
"Likewise, Yixing bows. He still feels dazed after Lu Han strides out the front and edges to the curb to hail a cab. He yanks the door closed before too much warm air escapes and before the grannies smoking on the fire escape next door can interrogate him about the handsome stranger who didn't stay long enough to be a customer. Yixing's not sure quite what happened in that exchange with Lu Han but there's no use worrying about it for now. He'll just have to wait until Tao shows up again and ask him about it then.
+++
"Ge!"
The door swings open with a wild squeak, shaking Yixing from his sleepy daze in the empty foyer. "Tao...long time no see, kid." Yixing grins and pulls his friend into a tight embrace as soon as he can get his feet untangled from the chair legs and across the floor to meet him.
"Hey, I brought something to show you!" Tao returns the hug with an impatient squeeze but doesn't melt into Yixing's arms like he sometimes does at the end of a long week. Tonight he's vibrating with a tension mirrored in the dark intensity of his eyes when he returns Yixing's grin full on. "Look! They're coming here!"
"Let me see, hold it still!" Yixing reaches for the crumpled paper Tao's waving in his face. It's glossy, like a page ripped from a magazine, but the proportions are too big for that when Yixing flattens it on the desk, erasing the wrinkles with a brush of his palms. "An audition?"
"Mmhm! But not just any audition, ge! Read." Tao underlines the white block characters printed at the top of the dark poster with his finger.
"China's Rising Stars--Season 3! Become the glory of the people and let your light shine," Yixing reads aloud, squinting at the logo beneath the title. It looks vaguely familiar, like something he might have seen on a television commercial before, but he's not sure. "What is this?"
"Are you joking right now?" The dark excitement in Tao's eyes flashes into a wary look of disappointment that has Yixing reaching up to massage his shoulders in apology.
"It sounds familiar? But I'm not sure?"
"And you call yourself a future industry musician!" Tao shakes his hands off with a huff but the tiny smile in place on his lips lets Yixing know his annoyance has almost been placated. "Ge, this is important. This is the audition opportunity of the decade, probably the century!"
"Why do you want to do the show?" Yixing narrows his eyes against the glare of the sun through the window, against the glare of determination already radiating out of Tao's eyes.
"Do you even need to ask?" Tao sighs, soft summer breezes wafting through faery light linens soaking up sunbeams on a drying line. Yixing sighs, dank with disappointment and stale with fatigue.
"No, of course not, Taozi." His hand finds Tao's hair and Tao purrs under the affectionate attention.
"Fan Bingbing...you think she'll be at the audition? She was a judge on the last two seasons so she has to be on this one, too."
"I dunno, maybe." Yixing shrugs and stacks the orange business cards straighter in the plastic holder. He doesn't actually watch the show, but of course Tao keeps forgetting that. "Do you still have your bedroom plastered with her posters?"
"I've never had any posters." Tao frowns, the same shade of denial painting his face that Yixing took note of more than a year ago when he asked what Tao did with all the fashion magazines he shoplifted from the bookstore.
"Okay," Yixing shrugs again. He knows Lu Han could probably confirm his suspicions if he asked, but he doesn't know if he'll ever see the older student again. Yixing doesn't want to ask behind Tao's back, either, no matter how compelling the burn of curiosity flares beneath his skin. It would feel like breaking his trust somehow.
"I don't understand you." Tao shakes his head, unspiked hair flurrying like a cloud of golden feathers stirred by the hot wind of his affectionate exasperation. "How can you not love her? She's perfect! She's a queen! She's--!"
"Life itself? Poetry in motion? Crystallized sunshine manifested in human form?"
"Thank you! Exactly, yes!" Tao edges his way behind the desk and nudges Yixing back into his seat with a press of his knee against his ge's thigh. Yixing slides into the chair and the way Tao's back fits against his chest with a comfortable weight forces the next sigh out of him. "See? You do understand, you just don't want to admit it. Fuck, no wonder you're a genius at writing lyrics. I should really just leave that word stuff to you, huh."
Yixing raises an eyebrow at Tao's language but just strokes a lazy hand through his hair instead of scolding him. Tao's hair looks good spiked up and gelled into place. The wayward peaks match the razor sharp purple and dusky black lining the slits of his dark eyes. He likes stroking Tao's hair when it's soft and limp from the shower, though, when the waves are as languid as his sleepy smiles and the shift of his curled up limbs.
"Taozi, I just listed all the generic cliches I could think of off the top of my head. Honestly, I can barely picture what your goddess looks like. And yes, you really should leave the lyrics to someone else if you thought that was genius." Yixing chuckles. He feels the sound leak through the curves of his crimped up eyelids, but he knows Tao can hear the soft reverberation in his chest. Tao's cheek is pressed up to his heartbeat and he snorts into the hollow of Yixing's throat.
No one likes being laughed at. Yixing is no exception, but he knows Tao has to get tough if he's going to stick to his path to stardom. A pang of remorse--not guilt, but an apology for the way the world just is--rises in his throat like a cough and he steals a kiss from Tao's forehead: I'm sorry, kid.
"I thought you understood. Ge," Tao whines in the back of his throat. He sounds like such a kid that Yixing can't help but laugh, for real this time. The sound glimmers in the air for just a second and then Tao is shifting on his lap, pressing his hands onto the corners of the seatback on either side of Yixing's shoulders to boost himself up so they're face to face again. Yixing feels the heat evaporate from his heartbeat with a sigh.
"I understand. It's okay, kid." Yixing does understand, at least a little. His pretty older girl cousin had been struck with a Leonardo DiCaprio obsession when he was in fifth grade and plastered her bedroom walls and ceiling (not to mention the inside of her school locker) with pages ripped from magazines. Maybe that's where Yixing's mental image of Tao's dorm room comes from, he muses. Maybe it's unfair of him to assume Tao would act the same as a teenage girl from a decade ago.
Either way, it's unfair of Tao to assume Yixing can't understand. Yixing doesn't buy glossy magazines (or shoplift them), but he did steal one of his cousin's favorite shots of Leo and paste it into the bottom drawer of his dresser. His auntie never found it. It's still there in his old bureau in his old apartment in Changsha, glued to the scarred wood beneath the scented tissue paper liners printed with pink flowers, unless of course the new tenants replaced the furniture or painted over it.
"Fine. Okay then. If you understand, you'll take me to the audition, right?"
"Take you? Sure, kid. I'll drive you there in my enchanted coach just as soon as Granny takes over my shift."
"Mean." Tao's fist slams into Yixing's shoulder, knocking his breath out of him again, but Tao doesn't even have to touch him to have that effect on Yixing. All he has to do is look up through his fringe with a blink of his eyelashes and Yixing feels an intrinsic urge to reach for the inhaler he hasn't used since middle school PE classes. "I know you don't have a car. I meant take me as in--like--sit next to me on the train. And bring your guitar so you can accompany me when I sing."
"Who says I think this is a good idea?" Yixing inhales and everything is still the same: the warm weight on his lap, the flutter of Tao's lashes a safe half a meter from his own, the sunlight streaming through the grimy window. He exhales and everything is still the same but Yixing can feel the earth shifting under his feet, so he slips his toes out of his shoes and pulls his knees up to fit them crosslegged into the chair.
"What?" Tao's voice runs flat like a turntable needle hitting the blank strip of vinyl at the end of an album, but his eyes spark flares of heated light.
"Do you have permission to leave school?" Yixing reaches for the flier to double check the dates listed at the bottom, Lu Han's professional smile gleaming in his memory.
"Since when have you cared about school?" Tao doesn't lean away but Yixing can feel his frame go rigid where his hips and legs are propped against Yixing's own.
It's a fair question--Yixing hasn't shown interest in his friend’s studies before, or at least he's never thought to bring it up in conversation. Tao stays conspicuously silent about his life on the other side of the city, save for the intersection of his arts training and his dreams. Tao never stops talking about his dreams. Training is the only thing he's just as passionate about as his goddess and his dreams, so Yixing feels a need to ask if his attendance record at school might compromise his efforts for his future.
"I met a classmate of yours the other day, Lu Han I think he said his name was."
"What?" Tao looks stricken, his gaze flickering from Yixing's eyes to the whitewashed cracks in the wall behind the chair like the shadow of a nervous curtain tossed in a capricious night breeze.
"He just came around to check on you, since you said you'd been down here to hang out."
"And?" Tao doesn't look back to meet his eyes. He clenches the poster in his fingers and looks straight ahead.
"I said that yeah, you'd been here. I didn't...didn't want to get you in trouble or anything, so I just confirmed your alibi and left it at that."
"Okay." Tao's shoulders slump. "Cool." His forehead hits Yixing's shoulder so he can't see any part of his face but his sigh echoes with relief when he breathes in, breathes out and clouds the fleece collar of Yixing's baggy sweater.
"I didn't get you in trouble, did I?" Yixing wants to run his fingers through the currents of Tao's streaming hair and trace the rivulets of gold down the nape of his neck but he keeps his hands to himself. It feels like he needs to permission to touch in this moment, and Yixing hates to ask for things he knows he doesn't deserve.
"No. Not yet, anyway." Tao shakes his head a little and Yixing relaxes at the sound of his voice, back to neutral. "Han ge's not a bad guy. He's really okay."
"Really okay?" Yixing laughs a bit, just enough to dissipate the last tendrils of tension curling between their chests so he feels free to tousle Tao's hair with his fingers again. "He seemed like a nice ge."
"You mean he looked pretty," Tao snorts, and Yixing flinches before he realizes that Tao is studying his cuticles in mild disinterest instead of staring at him with him curiosity or disgust in his gaze. Tao just meant--
"You mean he can get away with a lot because he's attractive?"
"Yup. And rich and important," Tao sighs with a derisive shake of his head.
As if you aren't all three of those things yourself, Yixing thinks to himself, but he doesn’t interrupt Tao’s rant to say it aloud.
"For some reason he never tries to pull anything too terrible. Man, if I had his reputation at the academy, I could do anything! I could--!"
"Sneak out of mandatory night classes and hang in the ghetto with a stranger you picked up off a park bench?"
"What? Oh he--he told you--Xing ge," Tao sighs and shakes his head again, waggling it all the way back and forth but somehow never breaking eye contact with him. "You're not a stranger, and this is not a ghetto. You gotta learn to be confident in who you are, or no one's gonna take your confessional lyrics seriously no matter how pretty they sound."
"I just said that because it's how that vice president of the dorm probably assessed the situation." Yixing looks away because it's unfair for Tao to bring his lyrics into this. Yixing doesn't lie to anybody, but he's the most honest with Tao because they don't have barriers between them anymore--just warmth and streaks of sunlight filtered through the grit and grime of the city.
"What about the skipped classes, Taozi? That doesn't sound good."
"I didn't skip, ge. I was just...kinda late. More than once, but not every night! And they're more supplemental than anything. I dunno why Han ge called them 'mandatory'."
"They're really optional?" Yixing makes sure he meets Tao's eyes this time. Tao's face is smooth and pensive, no pout or puppy dog eyes trying to sway him.
"They're optional. Depends on whether your parents sign you up for them or not. It's not like I'm gonna take the university entrance exams anyway, so I don't see why I have to..."
"Okay. That's a little different than how the VP explained it to me, but I understand."
"You do?" Tao's eyes light up with a surprised flash of pleasure. Yixing wants to squish the baby fat clinging to his cheekbones between his palms but he doesn't because Tao would just squirm away and fidget his way to the other side of the narrow room.
"I see why those class sessions probably don't feel important to you, but your parents must have signed you up for a reason, don't you think?"
"Because they don't understand me." Tao stiffens again, his elbows going rigid. Yixing bites his lip and hopes he isn't pushing too far this time. He hasn't seen his friend in several long days and the last thing he wants is to spark a sullen disappearance for another week.
"They just want you to succeed, to blossom into the brightest version of you." Yixing hasn't met them, seen them, or even heard Tao mention them before, but he gathers from the happy light in Tao's eyes and the honest set of his handsome jaw that he has someone at home who cares.
"Maybe. I just want to succeed at one thing. I just want to be a singer, Xingxing. I want to sing to the world."
"That's a big dream, the world..." Yixing whispers against Tao's collarbones. This time it's his head that slumps forward in search of somewhere warm and solid to rest upon.
"Yeah, it is big," Tao says, his breath soft against Yixing’s cheek. "Why are we whispering?"
"I dunno." Yixing pulls away with a chuckle to brush his thumb over the dark streak of Tao's sleek eyebrow peeking out from beneath the mussed up strands of gold. "My dream's big too, you know. Sometimes dreams just feel too big they--they feel like balloons swelling up so large on my horizon I'm afraid I'll sneeze and they'll just...vanish."
"Mine aren't going anywhere." Tao lifts his chin, giving Yixing an eye level view of his beautiful, stubborn jaw just this side of determined that it's not a pout. "I'm going to chase them down until I can hold them in my hands. You know why I want to be a singer, right?"
"You've mentioned it before a time or two, yeah."
"Because I love Fan Bingbing and I want to tell her in person someday. Not just that she's beautiful, but that she's awesome. She's different."
"She wears suits and ties and can still rock floral lace on the red carpet, yeah. I agree, she's quite a lady."
"The lady, you mean." Tao shoots him a glare that Yixing has learned over the past several months not to take offense to. Tao just has intense feelings about certain things, certain people. His favorite model and actress is one of them, perhaps the list topper.
Yixing can deal with it though, a lot better than if it was, say, Lu Han that Tao so fiercely worshipped with his admiration and ambitions. Probably that's because Fan Bingbing is so far distant from their current existence that she doesn't feel quite real to Yixing.
"She's a world class model, actress, and she sings," Tao reinforces Yixing's mental list as if he can mind read. "So if I can fight my way to the top as a singer, then maybe I can meet her someday."
"It might work out, I hope it does." Yixing folds his arms across his chest and tries not to say anything that would hurt.
"But?"
"But...Taozi, we've talked about this before. You know what I think. Your motivation to sing has to come from something deeper than a crush in order for your music to flower into it's best. You have to want it for yourself, too. It has to become you."
"I know." Tao's breath comes shallow between his lips, imperceptible sunrises and sunsets lifting his chest and releasing the air again from his lungs with oceans of warmth despite the lack of gleam. "I want it for me, too. I just have more than one reason I want this, okay?"
"That's good." Yixing feels a little foolish when a lump starts rising in his throat like a ball of sunshine that's not supposed to burn there.
"You don't think I can make it, do you." The accusation is quiet but the directness of his harsh words shakes Yixing with a jolt.
"No. No, that's not true," Yixing says as he takes in Tao's profile with a slow shake of his head. Tao's had a lifetime of training under professionals. He has the charisma to wrap lost boys wasting Saturday afternoons on park benches around his ringed pinky finger. He has the connections and good name to make people sit up and pay attention to him, and the talent and drive to keep their gaze once they do. "I think you can make it, sure I do. You're charming, gifted, handsome--"
"Shut up, ge!" Tao wrinkles his nose beneath the taps of Yixing's finger on the tip as he counts off each quality.
"And dedicated and passionate and stubborn. Hell, kid, if they don't let you through that audition you'd camp out there and keep singing your loudest until they changed their minds just to get rid of you!"
"I thought you said you believed in me!"
"I do, I do, Taozi! Of course I do." Yixing pulls him in for a tight squeeze before shoving him off his lap again. "But you should just make sure to get permission to attend first. Get things all squared with your teachers and school people or whoever, and then you'll be able to perform your best with everyone's support, okay?"
"Okay. I'll...try."
"That's the ticket." Yixing pokes him in the side with a wink because he really shouldn't poke him in the face like a little kid, no matter how adorable Tao's pouty cheeks are.
"So are you coming with me?"
"We'll see."
"What does that mean?" Tao's voice sounds sharp when it echoes in the hall, his footsteps silent on the concrete behind him though Yixing knows he must be trailing him to the supply closet. "Is that a polite way of saying 'no'? Because I don't see why the fuck--"
"Taozi--"
"Sorry, okay! --why the heck you can't come along. If you really can’t, then at least let's talk about it! Ge, please."
"Taozi, I wasn’t scolding. I just meant to remind you..." Yixing points to the notice tacked near the entrance to the hall reminding patrons to keep their voices down so as not to disturb other customers in their semi-sound proofed viewing rooms.
"Sorry..."
Yixing just grins and claps Tao on the shoulder when he colors in embarrassment. "It's okay, Granny isn't here to scold you."
"Is that why you can't come? You have to stay here and help Granny? Couldn't you ask that kid who--"
"Taozi, chill. I haven't said no, I just said we'll have to see… I need to think about this first, try to work a few things out." Yixing pries open the closet door with a key on his chain and pulls down a new pack of wet tissues so he'll be ready to wipe down the surfaces in room #8. The couple in there should be emerging any minute now. Their movie's almost over.
"Okay, but I'm counting on you, you know? I sing best when it's you playing my notes, ge."
"You are stubbornest sweet talker that I've ever had occasion to meet." Yixing bops Tao on the nose with the soft pack of bleach wipes before he locks the closet again with a flick of his wrist. "Has anybody ever told you that before?"
"I'm sure you have, billions of times, probably." Tao clicks his tongue, the sound meshing with the mechanical ticking of a doorknob opening at the end of the hall.
"You wanna stick around for a movie?" Yixing points towards the couple shuffling out from #8, yawning and squinting in the hints of sun that have wandered down the hall from the front window.
"Sure. Sounds nice. But not anything too long, I have to practice."
"You don't have class this afternoon?" Yixing cuts Tao a sharp look as soon as he bows and smiles the customers out the front door. The man waves but the woman doesn't give them a side glance as the couple stumbles outside.
"Nope! I'm all yours, ge. You can pick the film today."
Yixing breathes in deep, as if maybe he can fill his lungs with the brightness of Tao's grin if he sucks in the oxygen far enough. "Nah, go for it. Pick whatever you like. I'll meet you in there with the popcorn." He tosses Tao the pack of wipes to hold even though he knows he'll be the one who has to clean up in there before they start the movie, but that's okay. Yixing doesn't mind taking care of Tao. He'll do his best for his friend as long as Tao's around to need him.
(part two here)
Rating: pg
Pairing: Lay//Tao
Warnings: mentions of Yixing's former high school girlfriend, language
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, written just for fun.
Summary: Yixing is reaching out to hold the precious things that glisten on his horizon, the most important of which are his dreams.
A/N: written for Orange Unicorns, the Zhang Yixing fic collection 2015! This is the theme song: Gaeko's "과거는 갔고 미래는 몰라"
"You have the popcorn?"
"Yup."
"Blankets? You warm enough?"
"I'm good," Tao murmurs as he snuggles into Yixing's chest. "Can we just start the movie now?"
"Mm," Yixing grunts, reaching for the remote that's just out of his grasp on the coffee table. Tao whines when he shifts them both forward so he can grab it and hit "play". The VCR whirs to life with the press of another button and Tao sighs as he sinks his fingers into the popcorn bowl. His warmth sinks into Yixing's chest, bleached hair coarse against his neck and clinging like velcro.
The movie, it turns out, is in French. Neither of them understand French beyond the basic greetings Yixing could probably pronounce okay but not spell, but the soundtrack is lovely. The solo piano tracks flow from one scene to the next, trickling melodies tripping over pauses in the dialogue like a mountain spring over stones. Yixing slides his thumb over the peak of Tao's elbow, tapping out a rhythm in counterpoint.
"Sh, pay attention." Tao's eyes are serious when Yixing's blink open in the hazy light projected from the TV screen. "It's a confession scene, they're just about to--!"
"How can it be the confession scene this early in the--" Yixing starts to chuckle, but then the image on screen proves Tao's theory true. A woman in a starched black dress and short blonde hair plucks a cigarette from the lips of the gentleman across from her. She leans in, a trail of smoke rising from the conjunction of their profiles.
"Gross," Yixing hacks out with a cough, though actually he finds the visual effect of the smoke intriguing.
"Romantic," Tao corrects him with a sigh as he shoves a handful of popcorn into his mouth. Half of it ends up in broken pieces littered across their T-shirts, but Yixing doesn't blame Tao for being distracted. The blonde woman is hot, and the scene is memorable though Yixing might not call the scenario "romantic".
Tao is worse than any female Yixing's met when it comes to his soft spot for sappy love dramas and movies where the family pet dies at the end. Even Mei hadn't been as devoted to the genre, more of an occasional fan of a certain romcom actor than a love story junkie. Yixing only watches films when there's nothing else to do, and even then he doesn't really watch them. He mostly listens--to the strings enhancing the action as the plot picks up, to the way footsteps and the lethal click of a door lock punctuate the dialogue. He also tracks how Tao's breaths even out as the climax reels them into a noose of dread as invisible and strangling as a tangled fishing line.
Tao watches the same films over and over as many times as Yixing will let him, but Friday nights they have to pick out something new. (That was Yixing's rule.) They also have to choose it at random and watch it to the very end, no matter what. (That was Tao's reciprocating stipulation and he had said it with such a fierce eyed frown that Yixing couldn't refuse, even though it is his VCR and film collection.) Yixing's had to grit his teeth through tacky yet appalling horror flicks while Tao hid his face in the blanket, but they've discovered some cinematographic and soundtrack gems through the random selection method.
"We're out of popcorn," Tao sits up to announce after several minutes of useless searching in the bottom of the bowl for another mouthful. Yixing hadn't been able to tell if he was distracted by the picture onscreen or if Tao just enjoyed the feeling of the unpopped kernels running through his fingers.
"You want me to get some more?"
"No, stay." Tao's hand whips out to catch Yixing's wrist. His greasy fingers slip a little, but it's still too tight of a grip to argue with. "It's too dark in here."
"Okay," Yixing breathes. He strokes through the bleached down at Tao's temple with his free hand, waiting for his sigh of relief as he relaxes again. It's like a silent pact between them--Yixing doesn't tease Tao about his fear of the dark (or spiders, or ghosts), and Tao doesn't pry about Yixing's family. Or Mei. Yixing might be able to tell him about Mei if he asked, but so far Tao hasn't and Yixing is grateful to leave things that way.
"The movie's almost over anyway." Tao points to the screen, where the blonde haired lady is trapped in a taxi that's trapped in an intersection traffic jam. Her mascara is running in parallel streaks to the dirty rain water painting the window shield.
"Is it really?" The story seems far from resolved to Yixing, not that he's been paying much attention to the plot.
"Mmhm. Running time: 2 hours and 59 minutes. We've been here since 7:09." Tao holds up his phone to show Yixing the time because he doesn't wear a watch. It's a new one, one of those razorback models from America.
"9:42, huh. It doesn't feel that late, somehow."
"That's what you get for sleeping through the whole thing, ge." Tao rolls his eyes before flopping back down on the couch, his head pillowed in Yixing's lap this time.
"Oops," Yixing apologizes by petting Tao's head, even though he hadn't really been asleep. He'd just been listening. "You have time for one more?"
"One more popcorn? Or one more movie? I have to be back by 11:00."
"Yeah, of course. Sorry, Taozi. It's my fault you were late on Tuesday, huh?"
"I've missed curfew twice this week," Tao complains, but he hugs Yixing's knee to his chest in forgiveness.
That's the other thing Yixing is so grateful to Tao for--he forgives before he's even asked, and Yixing doesn't know how to ask for things he knows he doesn't deserve. "It's not your fault, ge," Tao insists, shaking Yixing's knee as the credits start to roll against the backdrop of the Riviera in springtime.
Yixing flicks the lights on and tries not to wince at the glare.
"Or at least it's both our faults. Who could blame us if we just don't want to go home at night."
"Well, there's always the park," Yixing suggests. The pang in his chest only hurts a little when Tao shakes his head with a rough laugh, brushing the thought off as nothing more than a joke.
Yixing hadn't really been serious, anyway. The last thing he needs is to get hauled back to his grandmother's flat by the local police and scolded in front of the whole neighborhood for breaking curfew on public property. The parks close around this time of night.
"Bye, ge." Tao winds his long muffler around his neck like a bandage. "See you Saturday?"
"Ok, sure. Just call ahead," Yixing reminds although Tao probably knows the routine better than him these days.
"Yup! Bye!"
"Be safe!" Yixing holds the door open, letting the cold wind push in past the doorstep until Tao has disappeared around the corner with a chime of his bicycle bell. He's shivering when he steps back inside, but the cold air doesn't seem to bother Yichao.
"Hey, wake up. It's almost 10:00." Yixing ruffles the hair of the snoring teenager sprawled across the front desk. Yichao rolls over, face still pillowed on the life sciences textbook spread open on the desktop.
"What...what time is it?" Yichao shakes his head and blinks, disoriented in the light. His reflexes recover quickly enough for him to catch the candy bar Yixing flips him, though.
"I just said, it's almost 10:00, you brat. Go on, get out of here before someone comes looking for you."
"Hah, don't worry about that, ge. I didn't steal nothing."
"Really?" Yixing raises his eyebrows and glances over to the register, though he knows Yichao is too loyal to try and pull anything fishy with the revenue at this point.
Besides, the cash box inside the drawer is locked, and only Yixing and his grandmother know the code although Yixing would open it in a heartbeat if he knew a friend or a neighborhood kid was truly in need. Yichao looks about the same as he always does though, not a hint of desperation present in his drowsy expression or his sweat stained apparel. Not any more desperate than the rest of the rundown neighborhood is, anyway.
"I didn't steal nothing recently," Yichao insists, already slipping his skinny arms into the sleeves of the coat hanging off the back of his chair.
"Alright, I believe you. Now get along." Yixing reclaims his post as proprietor of the establishment, sinking into the flattened foam of the seat cushion once Yichao jogs out the door. He watches the shop alone on nights and weekends so his grandmother can rest, and when his shifts conflict with his prerogatives Yichao watches the front in exchange for free refills from the soft drink machine. Yixing treasures the flexibility their trade-off arrangement affords him, and in any case he's happy to provide Yichao with a warm seat to do his homework--when he's not asleep on his textbook, that is.
They don't get many customers this early on a weeknight, so Yixing isn't worried about any business his helper might've slept through. He still has about an hour of peace left before the drunk crowd who missed their last trains home come trailing in looking for a warm spot to knock out in for a few hours. Yixing unzips his guitar from the padded case propped behind the register and settles in. He lets the music from the drink machine fill his ears and mouth with a fertile hum and waits for the first notes of inspiration to sprout.
+++
The funny thing is that Yixing's never been on a picnic with Tao before. Of course, that's an activity generally reserved for young couples or mothers with hyperactive children, but it's strange for Yixing because he loves picnics, not to mention the fact he met Tao at a park. It's too cold for picnics this month, even during the day, so Yixing isn't sure himself why he's thinking about this. Maybe because it's Saturday and he's still waiting for Tao to call on the office phone even though it's past 5:00 now. Tao always calls before 4:00 if he's going to.
They had met on a Saturday, too. That is not surprising though, when Yixing thinks about it. More people go to the park on weekends than any other day, especially in the case of student aged people. Yixing had been resting on a shady bench with his guitar, which was not an unusual occurrence for him. There aren't many places to practice an instrument in the confines of a city. Yixing has found that most people claim to love music, until they're forced to hear music they didn't choose to listen to themselves.
That day Yixing had gone to the park like he still does on most free Saturdays, which are few and far between because of his work schedule. He remembers that he was elated to find an open bench on his first walk around the grounds that day. Across the path from him an old woman and her friend had been rehearsing a clarinet duet, while behind him in the grass a portable tape player blared sutras chanted to the accompaniment of gongs as an old man practiced the fluid lines of Tai Chi exercises with his grandson. Surrounded by the currents of music swirling around him Yixing tried to focus on his core, the center part of himself that floated somewhere between his ribs; the place from where, as far as he could tell, all of his feelings flowed.
It was hard to focus in a world as lively as Yixing's, but he couldn't blame the rest of the city around him for breathing and moving and making noise. He stripped the clarinet squeals and the wavering stream of chants away in layers and focused on the sunbeams falling across the path in front of him in soft lines and swells. Yixing started to play, letting the light weave its beams through the warp of his fingers and braid its warmth into the notes echoing out from his chest. He played until the weft threads untangled themselves from the assembling brocade of sound enough for him to scribble them down in his notebook. Caught up in the reciprocal flow of light and sound, Yixing hadn't even noticed the person standing in front of him until he realized he'd left his eraser on the bus.
"Hi," the person in front of him said.
Yixing squinted at him, at the features shaded by the glare of back light bursting over the corners of his shoulders and flashing on the insignia pinned to his blazer.
"You play?"
"Uh, yeah..." Yixing patted the the soundboard of his guitar, his brain caught up in ascertaining how long the student had been standing there and watching him.
"Cool. I sing. Can you play anything good?"
"Anything good as in...something you can sing?" Yixing scooted back on the bench to get a better look at the kid. His school uniform looked expensive, but his ears were studded all the way up the cartilage and his hair was bleached a cheap shade of blond.
"Do you know Bu de Bu Ai?"" The kid had glared, as if daring Yixing to make fun of his song choice that clashed with his punk image.
"Who doesn't," Yixing replied with a hoarse laugh, fingers already sliding up the neck of his guitar to coax out the chords of the intro.
"Cool! I'm Tao, by the way." Tao swung his cracked leather book bag onto the bench, giving Yixing a sunny smile that definitely didn't match his spiked earrings and purple eyeliner. Then he began to sing.
By the end of the second chorus the woodwind screeching from across the path had stopped. The little boy behind them clapped at the end of the performance when Tao took a flourished bow.
"Hey, yeah! That was good," Tao nodded, still catching his breath.
"And you can sure sing." Yixing clapped him on the back, still squinting, mesmerized by the flashes of sunlight playing through the soft spikes of his blond hair. Tao had smiled even brighter at the compliment, and so of course Yixing had had to ask him along to lunch with his friends.
More than a year later, Tao is the first person Yixing shows any of his new lyrics to. Having Tao sing the melody line while he tries to work out the chords to a tricky key transition has saved Yixing from scrapping a frustrating composition more than once. Mei might have called Tao his muse if she were still around to see them together, but his connection with Tao means more than a simple source of inspiration to Yixing.
Buying Tao cheap dumplings from a street vendor isn't just an investment in the success of Yixing's future debut album they both dream of. The sincere smiles Tao gives him at the end of each meal warms him up in ways friendship never has before. It's a bond no stronger or weaker than his relationship with Mei had been at their zenith, in the sunrise of another era, but it's different from that.
With Tao, Yixing breathes more and talks less. He inhales sunshine, the green glow of chlorophyll, and quiet heartbeats in the darkened DVD room. He speaks in echoes of notes flipped around and restrung into necklaces of melodies on his guitar strings. He ties the sounds together until they pile up like leis of blessing that adorn Tao's shoulders as he sings along. Tao is someone Yixing doesn't want to label, and the bond they share is one he's afraid to hope will last.
That old insecurity comes up again with the taste of the leftover dumplings he gulped down cold at lunchtime when he lets his thoughts linger on shadows of the past and future. Tao's absence cuts into Yixing's presence every time he stands him up, even though Yixing knows better than to let a missed appointment get to him, even though he knows that's just how Tao is. Every time they say goodbye starts to feel like their last parting when the time stretches to thin between their meetings. Probably because Yixing knows that one day it will be the end and that is something he can't allow himself to be unprepared for. He's let the pain of endings catch him off guard too many times already.
A bell rings in the static silence--not the phone on the desk, just the bell above the door, but Yixing is grateful for the distraction either way.
"Are you...Zhang Yixing?" A student in a familiar uniform steps up to the counter as Yixing stands to greet the visitor announced by the bell.
"This is Zhang's DVD room and rental store. May I help you?"
"Ah, so this place really does exist! Taozi wasn't lying." The guy has a friendly smile dimpling his face, but the sharp edge to his keen gaze wipes up the contents of the small shop with one absorbent glance around the room and sets Yixing's teeth on edge.
Like Tao, the student has dyed blond hair though his is an expertly blended shade highlighted with tinges of honey gold. He must have had it done at a professional salon and paid a fortune, Yixing thinks. The name embroidered on the pocket of the visitor's blazer is obscured by the strap of his school bag but Yixing guesses he's from a good family if he attends the private performing arts school on the other side of the city. You need connections to get into a place like that, tuition fees notwithstanding.
"You do know Taozi, right?" The guy steps closer, still smiling as he tugs at a platinum bracelet encircling his left wrist.
"I do," Yixing answers slowly, unsure how much he should say. He doesn't want to straight up lie to this guy, but he doesn't want to get Tao into trouble either. Yixing is well aware that he doesn't give off the aura of a neighborhood role model for rich kids, dressed in a pilling sweater and with his ears punctured by a few of his own piercings, but his hangouts with Tao are only innocent fun. Yixing's never even shared a beer with Tao, though he knows his younger friend drinks with another crowd.
"Hm, I thought for certain Taozi was sneaking out to see a girl, but I guess...hey wait," the guy leans in closer, extending his elbows past the joint with his palms braced against the counter. He's really attractive in the way Yixing can't ignore, like a billboard fashion model whose white teeth assault his vision in the subway, big eyes and soft lips softening the brilliance. "You don't have any really pretty girl cousins, do you? Taozi goes for the lookers."
"No, I don't, but I guess you'd know by experience, eh?" Yixing laughs weakly, hoping that comment came off as the joke he intended it as. The last thing he wants is a black eye, courtesy of Tao's classmate. The guy just screws his lips into a wry smile, as if he's used to hearing jabs like that, but he doesn't look mad.
"I'm Lu Han, by the way." He reaches out his hand for a shake, which Yixing accepts with a shaky sigh of relief. The strength in his grip matches the confidence in his tone. Yixing struggles to place the name but comes up from his mental catalogue of connections blank.
"I don't know if Tao's ever mentioned..."
"I'm the VP of the student dormitory council, just here checking up on Taozi's welfare since he's started staying out late on school nights. And also missing mandatory evening supplemental classes." The smile never slips from Lu Han's face, but Yixing can feel the black depths of his visitor's eyes searching his own features.
"Ah, I knew he was late for curfew a few times recently, but I didn't know about the missed classes. That's definitely not behavior I'd encourage." Yixing feels strange discussing Tao's life choices like he's somehow responsible for his friend's behavior, but the dorm VP seems satisfied with his concerned frown.
"Well I'd appreciate it if you could leave an alternate number for us to contact in case Taozi misses curfew again? Just for safety reasons, of course."
"Sure." Yixing hands over one of the cheap orange business cards stacked in a plastic tray on the counter. He doesn't know much about Tao's school or his life on the other side of the city, but encounters like this drive the differences home more than expensive uniform jackets and shiny bracelets ever could. Yixing thinks of Yichao, and how no one raises an eyebrow if he doesn't come home for three days or misses a solid week of classes at the local high school.
"Thanks!" Lu Han waves the card trapped between his long fingers before pocketing it. "It was nice meeting you, by the way!"
"Likewise, Yixing bows. He still feels dazed after Lu Han strides out the front and edges to the curb to hail a cab. He yanks the door closed before too much warm air escapes and before the grannies smoking on the fire escape next door can interrogate him about the handsome stranger who didn't stay long enough to be a customer. Yixing's not sure quite what happened in that exchange with Lu Han but there's no use worrying about it for now. He'll just have to wait until Tao shows up again and ask him about it then.
+++
"Ge!"
The door swings open with a wild squeak, shaking Yixing from his sleepy daze in the empty foyer. "Tao...long time no see, kid." Yixing grins and pulls his friend into a tight embrace as soon as he can get his feet untangled from the chair legs and across the floor to meet him.
"Hey, I brought something to show you!" Tao returns the hug with an impatient squeeze but doesn't melt into Yixing's arms like he sometimes does at the end of a long week. Tonight he's vibrating with a tension mirrored in the dark intensity of his eyes when he returns Yixing's grin full on. "Look! They're coming here!"
"Let me see, hold it still!" Yixing reaches for the crumpled paper Tao's waving in his face. It's glossy, like a page ripped from a magazine, but the proportions are too big for that when Yixing flattens it on the desk, erasing the wrinkles with a brush of his palms. "An audition?"
"Mmhm! But not just any audition, ge! Read." Tao underlines the white block characters printed at the top of the dark poster with his finger.
"China's Rising Stars--Season 3! Become the glory of the people and let your light shine," Yixing reads aloud, squinting at the logo beneath the title. It looks vaguely familiar, like something he might have seen on a television commercial before, but he's not sure. "What is this?"
"Are you joking right now?" The dark excitement in Tao's eyes flashes into a wary look of disappointment that has Yixing reaching up to massage his shoulders in apology.
"It sounds familiar? But I'm not sure?"
"And you call yourself a future industry musician!" Tao shakes his hands off with a huff but the tiny smile in place on his lips lets Yixing know his annoyance has almost been placated. "Ge, this is important. This is the audition opportunity of the decade, probably the century!"
"Why do you want to do the show?" Yixing narrows his eyes against the glare of the sun through the window, against the glare of determination already radiating out of Tao's eyes.
"Do you even need to ask?" Tao sighs, soft summer breezes wafting through faery light linens soaking up sunbeams on a drying line. Yixing sighs, dank with disappointment and stale with fatigue.
"No, of course not, Taozi." His hand finds Tao's hair and Tao purrs under the affectionate attention.
"Fan Bingbing...you think she'll be at the audition? She was a judge on the last two seasons so she has to be on this one, too."
"I dunno, maybe." Yixing shrugs and stacks the orange business cards straighter in the plastic holder. He doesn't actually watch the show, but of course Tao keeps forgetting that. "Do you still have your bedroom plastered with her posters?"
"I've never had any posters." Tao frowns, the same shade of denial painting his face that Yixing took note of more than a year ago when he asked what Tao did with all the fashion magazines he shoplifted from the bookstore.
"Okay," Yixing shrugs again. He knows Lu Han could probably confirm his suspicions if he asked, but he doesn't know if he'll ever see the older student again. Yixing doesn't want to ask behind Tao's back, either, no matter how compelling the burn of curiosity flares beneath his skin. It would feel like breaking his trust somehow.
"I don't understand you." Tao shakes his head, unspiked hair flurrying like a cloud of golden feathers stirred by the hot wind of his affectionate exasperation. "How can you not love her? She's perfect! She's a queen! She's--!"
"Life itself? Poetry in motion? Crystallized sunshine manifested in human form?"
"Thank you! Exactly, yes!" Tao edges his way behind the desk and nudges Yixing back into his seat with a press of his knee against his ge's thigh. Yixing slides into the chair and the way Tao's back fits against his chest with a comfortable weight forces the next sigh out of him. "See? You do understand, you just don't want to admit it. Fuck, no wonder you're a genius at writing lyrics. I should really just leave that word stuff to you, huh."
Yixing raises an eyebrow at Tao's language but just strokes a lazy hand through his hair instead of scolding him. Tao's hair looks good spiked up and gelled into place. The wayward peaks match the razor sharp purple and dusky black lining the slits of his dark eyes. He likes stroking Tao's hair when it's soft and limp from the shower, though, when the waves are as languid as his sleepy smiles and the shift of his curled up limbs.
"Taozi, I just listed all the generic cliches I could think of off the top of my head. Honestly, I can barely picture what your goddess looks like. And yes, you really should leave the lyrics to someone else if you thought that was genius." Yixing chuckles. He feels the sound leak through the curves of his crimped up eyelids, but he knows Tao can hear the soft reverberation in his chest. Tao's cheek is pressed up to his heartbeat and he snorts into the hollow of Yixing's throat.
No one likes being laughed at. Yixing is no exception, but he knows Tao has to get tough if he's going to stick to his path to stardom. A pang of remorse--not guilt, but an apology for the way the world just is--rises in his throat like a cough and he steals a kiss from Tao's forehead: I'm sorry, kid.
"I thought you understood. Ge," Tao whines in the back of his throat. He sounds like such a kid that Yixing can't help but laugh, for real this time. The sound glimmers in the air for just a second and then Tao is shifting on his lap, pressing his hands onto the corners of the seatback on either side of Yixing's shoulders to boost himself up so they're face to face again. Yixing feels the heat evaporate from his heartbeat with a sigh.
"I understand. It's okay, kid." Yixing does understand, at least a little. His pretty older girl cousin had been struck with a Leonardo DiCaprio obsession when he was in fifth grade and plastered her bedroom walls and ceiling (not to mention the inside of her school locker) with pages ripped from magazines. Maybe that's where Yixing's mental image of Tao's dorm room comes from, he muses. Maybe it's unfair of him to assume Tao would act the same as a teenage girl from a decade ago.
Either way, it's unfair of Tao to assume Yixing can't understand. Yixing doesn't buy glossy magazines (or shoplift them), but he did steal one of his cousin's favorite shots of Leo and paste it into the bottom drawer of his dresser. His auntie never found it. It's still there in his old bureau in his old apartment in Changsha, glued to the scarred wood beneath the scented tissue paper liners printed with pink flowers, unless of course the new tenants replaced the furniture or painted over it.
"Fine. Okay then. If you understand, you'll take me to the audition, right?"
"Take you? Sure, kid. I'll drive you there in my enchanted coach just as soon as Granny takes over my shift."
"Mean." Tao's fist slams into Yixing's shoulder, knocking his breath out of him again, but Tao doesn't even have to touch him to have that effect on Yixing. All he has to do is look up through his fringe with a blink of his eyelashes and Yixing feels an intrinsic urge to reach for the inhaler he hasn't used since middle school PE classes. "I know you don't have a car. I meant take me as in--like--sit next to me on the train. And bring your guitar so you can accompany me when I sing."
"Who says I think this is a good idea?" Yixing inhales and everything is still the same: the warm weight on his lap, the flutter of Tao's lashes a safe half a meter from his own, the sunlight streaming through the grimy window. He exhales and everything is still the same but Yixing can feel the earth shifting under his feet, so he slips his toes out of his shoes and pulls his knees up to fit them crosslegged into the chair.
"What?" Tao's voice runs flat like a turntable needle hitting the blank strip of vinyl at the end of an album, but his eyes spark flares of heated light.
"Do you have permission to leave school?" Yixing reaches for the flier to double check the dates listed at the bottom, Lu Han's professional smile gleaming in his memory.
"Since when have you cared about school?" Tao doesn't lean away but Yixing can feel his frame go rigid where his hips and legs are propped against Yixing's own.
It's a fair question--Yixing hasn't shown interest in his friend’s studies before, or at least he's never thought to bring it up in conversation. Tao stays conspicuously silent about his life on the other side of the city, save for the intersection of his arts training and his dreams. Tao never stops talking about his dreams. Training is the only thing he's just as passionate about as his goddess and his dreams, so Yixing feels a need to ask if his attendance record at school might compromise his efforts for his future.
"I met a classmate of yours the other day, Lu Han I think he said his name was."
"What?" Tao looks stricken, his gaze flickering from Yixing's eyes to the whitewashed cracks in the wall behind the chair like the shadow of a nervous curtain tossed in a capricious night breeze.
"He just came around to check on you, since you said you'd been down here to hang out."
"And?" Tao doesn't look back to meet his eyes. He clenches the poster in his fingers and looks straight ahead.
"I said that yeah, you'd been here. I didn't...didn't want to get you in trouble or anything, so I just confirmed your alibi and left it at that."
"Okay." Tao's shoulders slump. "Cool." His forehead hits Yixing's shoulder so he can't see any part of his face but his sigh echoes with relief when he breathes in, breathes out and clouds the fleece collar of Yixing's baggy sweater.
"I didn't get you in trouble, did I?" Yixing wants to run his fingers through the currents of Tao's streaming hair and trace the rivulets of gold down the nape of his neck but he keeps his hands to himself. It feels like he needs to permission to touch in this moment, and Yixing hates to ask for things he knows he doesn't deserve.
"No. Not yet, anyway." Tao shakes his head a little and Yixing relaxes at the sound of his voice, back to neutral. "Han ge's not a bad guy. He's really okay."
"Really okay?" Yixing laughs a bit, just enough to dissipate the last tendrils of tension curling between their chests so he feels free to tousle Tao's hair with his fingers again. "He seemed like a nice ge."
"You mean he looked pretty," Tao snorts, and Yixing flinches before he realizes that Tao is studying his cuticles in mild disinterest instead of staring at him with him curiosity or disgust in his gaze. Tao just meant--
"You mean he can get away with a lot because he's attractive?"
"Yup. And rich and important," Tao sighs with a derisive shake of his head.
As if you aren't all three of those things yourself, Yixing thinks to himself, but he doesn’t interrupt Tao’s rant to say it aloud.
"For some reason he never tries to pull anything too terrible. Man, if I had his reputation at the academy, I could do anything! I could--!"
"Sneak out of mandatory night classes and hang in the ghetto with a stranger you picked up off a park bench?"
"What? Oh he--he told you--Xing ge," Tao sighs and shakes his head again, waggling it all the way back and forth but somehow never breaking eye contact with him. "You're not a stranger, and this is not a ghetto. You gotta learn to be confident in who you are, or no one's gonna take your confessional lyrics seriously no matter how pretty they sound."
"I just said that because it's how that vice president of the dorm probably assessed the situation." Yixing looks away because it's unfair for Tao to bring his lyrics into this. Yixing doesn't lie to anybody, but he's the most honest with Tao because they don't have barriers between them anymore--just warmth and streaks of sunlight filtered through the grit and grime of the city.
"What about the skipped classes, Taozi? That doesn't sound good."
"I didn't skip, ge. I was just...kinda late. More than once, but not every night! And they're more supplemental than anything. I dunno why Han ge called them 'mandatory'."
"They're really optional?" Yixing makes sure he meets Tao's eyes this time. Tao's face is smooth and pensive, no pout or puppy dog eyes trying to sway him.
"They're optional. Depends on whether your parents sign you up for them or not. It's not like I'm gonna take the university entrance exams anyway, so I don't see why I have to..."
"Okay. That's a little different than how the VP explained it to me, but I understand."
"You do?" Tao's eyes light up with a surprised flash of pleasure. Yixing wants to squish the baby fat clinging to his cheekbones between his palms but he doesn't because Tao would just squirm away and fidget his way to the other side of the narrow room.
"I see why those class sessions probably don't feel important to you, but your parents must have signed you up for a reason, don't you think?"
"Because they don't understand me." Tao stiffens again, his elbows going rigid. Yixing bites his lip and hopes he isn't pushing too far this time. He hasn't seen his friend in several long days and the last thing he wants is to spark a sullen disappearance for another week.
"They just want you to succeed, to blossom into the brightest version of you." Yixing hasn't met them, seen them, or even heard Tao mention them before, but he gathers from the happy light in Tao's eyes and the honest set of his handsome jaw that he has someone at home who cares.
"Maybe. I just want to succeed at one thing. I just want to be a singer, Xingxing. I want to sing to the world."
"That's a big dream, the world..." Yixing whispers against Tao's collarbones. This time it's his head that slumps forward in search of somewhere warm and solid to rest upon.
"Yeah, it is big," Tao says, his breath soft against Yixing’s cheek. "Why are we whispering?"
"I dunno." Yixing pulls away with a chuckle to brush his thumb over the dark streak of Tao's sleek eyebrow peeking out from beneath the mussed up strands of gold. "My dream's big too, you know. Sometimes dreams just feel too big they--they feel like balloons swelling up so large on my horizon I'm afraid I'll sneeze and they'll just...vanish."
"Mine aren't going anywhere." Tao lifts his chin, giving Yixing an eye level view of his beautiful, stubborn jaw just this side of determined that it's not a pout. "I'm going to chase them down until I can hold them in my hands. You know why I want to be a singer, right?"
"You've mentioned it before a time or two, yeah."
"Because I love Fan Bingbing and I want to tell her in person someday. Not just that she's beautiful, but that she's awesome. She's different."
"She wears suits and ties and can still rock floral lace on the red carpet, yeah. I agree, she's quite a lady."
"The lady, you mean." Tao shoots him a glare that Yixing has learned over the past several months not to take offense to. Tao just has intense feelings about certain things, certain people. His favorite model and actress is one of them, perhaps the list topper.
Yixing can deal with it though, a lot better than if it was, say, Lu Han that Tao so fiercely worshipped with his admiration and ambitions. Probably that's because Fan Bingbing is so far distant from their current existence that she doesn't feel quite real to Yixing.
"She's a world class model, actress, and she sings," Tao reinforces Yixing's mental list as if he can mind read. "So if I can fight my way to the top as a singer, then maybe I can meet her someday."
"It might work out, I hope it does." Yixing folds his arms across his chest and tries not to say anything that would hurt.
"But?"
"But...Taozi, we've talked about this before. You know what I think. Your motivation to sing has to come from something deeper than a crush in order for your music to flower into it's best. You have to want it for yourself, too. It has to become you."
"I know." Tao's breath comes shallow between his lips, imperceptible sunrises and sunsets lifting his chest and releasing the air again from his lungs with oceans of warmth despite the lack of gleam. "I want it for me, too. I just have more than one reason I want this, okay?"
"That's good." Yixing feels a little foolish when a lump starts rising in his throat like a ball of sunshine that's not supposed to burn there.
"You don't think I can make it, do you." The accusation is quiet but the directness of his harsh words shakes Yixing with a jolt.
"No. No, that's not true," Yixing says as he takes in Tao's profile with a slow shake of his head. Tao's had a lifetime of training under professionals. He has the charisma to wrap lost boys wasting Saturday afternoons on park benches around his ringed pinky finger. He has the connections and good name to make people sit up and pay attention to him, and the talent and drive to keep their gaze once they do. "I think you can make it, sure I do. You're charming, gifted, handsome--"
"Shut up, ge!" Tao wrinkles his nose beneath the taps of Yixing's finger on the tip as he counts off each quality.
"And dedicated and passionate and stubborn. Hell, kid, if they don't let you through that audition you'd camp out there and keep singing your loudest until they changed their minds just to get rid of you!"
"I thought you said you believed in me!"
"I do, I do, Taozi! Of course I do." Yixing pulls him in for a tight squeeze before shoving him off his lap again. "But you should just make sure to get permission to attend first. Get things all squared with your teachers and school people or whoever, and then you'll be able to perform your best with everyone's support, okay?"
"Okay. I'll...try."
"That's the ticket." Yixing pokes him in the side with a wink because he really shouldn't poke him in the face like a little kid, no matter how adorable Tao's pouty cheeks are.
"So are you coming with me?"
"We'll see."
"What does that mean?" Tao's voice sounds sharp when it echoes in the hall, his footsteps silent on the concrete behind him though Yixing knows he must be trailing him to the supply closet. "Is that a polite way of saying 'no'? Because I don't see why the fuck--"
"Taozi--"
"Sorry, okay! --why the heck you can't come along. If you really can’t, then at least let's talk about it! Ge, please."
"Taozi, I wasn’t scolding. I just meant to remind you..." Yixing points to the notice tacked near the entrance to the hall reminding patrons to keep their voices down so as not to disturb other customers in their semi-sound proofed viewing rooms.
"Sorry..."
Yixing just grins and claps Tao on the shoulder when he colors in embarrassment. "It's okay, Granny isn't here to scold you."
"Is that why you can't come? You have to stay here and help Granny? Couldn't you ask that kid who--"
"Taozi, chill. I haven't said no, I just said we'll have to see… I need to think about this first, try to work a few things out." Yixing pries open the closet door with a key on his chain and pulls down a new pack of wet tissues so he'll be ready to wipe down the surfaces in room #8. The couple in there should be emerging any minute now. Their movie's almost over.
"Okay, but I'm counting on you, you know? I sing best when it's you playing my notes, ge."
"You are stubbornest sweet talker that I've ever had occasion to meet." Yixing bops Tao on the nose with the soft pack of bleach wipes before he locks the closet again with a flick of his wrist. "Has anybody ever told you that before?"
"I'm sure you have, billions of times, probably." Tao clicks his tongue, the sound meshing with the mechanical ticking of a doorknob opening at the end of the hall.
"You wanna stick around for a movie?" Yixing points towards the couple shuffling out from #8, yawning and squinting in the hints of sun that have wandered down the hall from the front window.
"Sure. Sounds nice. But not anything too long, I have to practice."
"You don't have class this afternoon?" Yixing cuts Tao a sharp look as soon as he bows and smiles the customers out the front door. The man waves but the woman doesn't give them a side glance as the couple stumbles outside.
"Nope! I'm all yours, ge. You can pick the film today."
Yixing breathes in deep, as if maybe he can fill his lungs with the brightness of Tao's grin if he sucks in the oxygen far enough. "Nah, go for it. Pick whatever you like. I'll meet you in there with the popcorn." He tosses Tao the pack of wipes to hold even though he knows he'll be the one who has to clean up in there before they start the movie, but that's okay. Yixing doesn't mind taking care of Tao. He'll do his best for his friend as long as Tao's around to need him.
(part two here)