xinyis

[xinyis]

          china, where lovers reside.

to the love of my life:

i'm not an author, nor could i try to dream up of being one so professionally as the ones i ardently admire but this is an attempt to write our love story from my perspective. to put all my feelings down into my keyboard from what i remember. clearly, i felt a lot.

i still feel a lot. i can't put it into words more often than not and i get exhausted a Iot these days so it gets even harder for me to say what i want to but... i hope this... kind of conveys what i wished to convey.

walking through our story, and how we met to how we got together and then again, made me feel things that i felt when i initially started falling for you. i felt so strongly as i typed everything out, baobei, that oftentimes it was hard to keep going. my chest hurt, my eyes stung with unshed tears, and i could feel the love i have for you overwhelm me so badly.

it's still so overwhelming, my love, how much i feel for you. i've loved people before, i've liked people before, and so i know how it feels to be infatuated but this goes beyond something as simple as infatuation.

i want to mold myself into your heart, i want to remain in there until the end of my days and then some. i want to link my pinky with yours, i want to feel your touch on my skin always so i know you're there because you're so comforting. i want you and everything you offer, forever and always.

you, chen zheyuan, have been the best thing to have ever happened to me. i cannot thank the heavens above enough for allowing us to meet. i cannot thank your mother enough for giving birth to you and raising you as her treasured son. i cannot adore my own mother enough for seeing you as her son-in-law (i know) already and loving you so much to the point that she's threatened to smack me with a sandal if we broke up.

not that i'd ever want to, but her threat still stands.

i love you.

i don't think those three words are seriously enough.

i fucking love you.

that doesn't feel right either.

i would snatch the moon, the stars, the heavens, and the universe for you if you asked. i would steal the forbidden fruit from the tree if you simply sighed towards it. i would run across the ocean to you if you called for my name on the wind. i would raise the sun when you wanted to wake up and keep the moon up so it still remained dark while you slept. i would do the impossible for you.

i would bind myself to you and press our ring fingers together if i could.

i love you.

happy one year, my love.

[xinyis]

          korea, to china.

are you obsessed with him or me?

when did you come back?!

not too long ago. i'm on break!

it's good to hear from you again, i missed you~

you are? that's wonderful to hear! we missed each other a handful of times... it bummed me out a little. i'm always missing you, haohao~ are you enjoying your break? you're not still in china, are you?

are you always missing me? you're not just saying it, are you? mmm 555 i'm not in china anymore but- i mean- i could come back, i think- i'd need a really good reason for it though...?

i'm not a good enough reason to come back?

23333333 are you trying to get me to say something right now, ge? i'd come back for you- i always did it when i could, didn't i? you know- actually? it's starting to sound you're obsessed with me? 23333333333

is your heart racing? (you know i've always been. is your heart racing? is your heart racing? is your heart racing?)

(i missed you. fuck, i missed you. i really fucking missed you. chen zheyuan, i'd come into your space and rip open all your doors if i could right now. i'd demand you to show me where you keep all my colognes, i'd tell you to take out all the clothes you kept, the little knick-knacks and pieces of me that you claim to have. i missed you so badly, i want to be near you again. i'm sorry for leaving. i'm sorry for being a wreck. i'm different now, can you tell? do i sound a bit rushed, winded? you've come back to me, how can i not be winded?)

i really missed you.

mm... well, now that things aren't as hectic as they were when we were together. i just- hm. i miss being with you. talking with you. walking alongside you. just, you.

as much as you missed being with me like that, i did too~ 23333 you really were on my mind more than i'd like to admit. i think you had me trapped in this neverending cycle of yearning for something that i didn't quite understand.

(give me one reason to fly over to you. give me a sign, and i'll take even the smallest one. every sigh you let out because you miss me— i will take that as my sign and board the private jet just to see you.)

my lilac.

should i come over?

will you come over?

when you ask so sweetly like that... how do i even say no to that? i'll come over.

(can i say something? can i spill my heart to you? you're mine as i've always been yours, even if i've been foolish and struck by cupid's damning arrow.)

all i keep thinking of is seeing you— what am i going to do when i see you... the thought makes me a little nervous, like a bunch of butterflies have been let out of their cage in my chest and stomach~ i keep thinking of whether or not i'll stop in my tracks or if i'll almost lose all ability to stand up straight? i just keep thinking of seeing you in person after so long of not seeing you

chen zheyuan, you plague my every racing thought and you're the reason of my heart beating so loud in my chest, drowning out anything else in my ears~~ i'm all yours, i think i've been all yours since i started yearning and when i've had more time to myself and had time to think more. i think i've always been yours since we started dating way back then.

you're a grade a fool if you think this flight is gonna help tame your patience.

ah... xu minghao, this is what i meant by you speak so eloquently. you don't understand how much you've warmed my heart now, and even back then. having the privilege of being able to call you mine is something i'll never take for granted. you've been mine from the start and in return, i'll forever and eternally be yours.

i've always been a fool when it comes to you... i can't seem to think straight 23333 it's not like it'll help tame yours either!

(i'm yours. i'm yours, forever and eternally, until death do us part and even beyond then. i'm yours in the next life, and the life after that. even if meng po stops us, tells us to cross the wàngchuān river, that we will never remember each other again. even then, i'm yours. i will find you, again and again.)

[xinyis]

          korea, the fog over the ocean.

destructive in nature, though perhaps it was known, even to himself, that everything his fingers grazed would go ablaze. his blank gaze peered out the window, fork slipping from his fingers the same moment a sigh pulled him out of his static-y reverie. he ripped his stare away from what nothingness he had found himself vaguely interested in before it slid over to the body before him, lowly irritated at his lack of self-care for his own self.

he felt nauseous for worrying his own members and his closest friends— even though he knew she wanted to ask what had gone wrong when he had been so happy. he didn't want to answer any questions. he didn't want to think of it. he scowled, then, at his plate and at the cold food that had no appeal to him anymore. for him, he had been a needy sort, clingy to a dangerous degree, and he wanted what he could not have more than he should've. he sought it out and reached past barriers that exhausted him more than anything— busy with his own group schedules, concerts, albums, and everything else under the sun along with making constant flights had burnt him out.

he hated himself for being weak and tired.

he hated himself for letting go of the one thing that gave him the nourishment he desired. then again, he wondered if he simply freed chen zheyuan of the torment of being with him. stages called out to him, rolling cameras and costars called out to him.

fists fell to his thighs and gripped at the fabric of his sweats instead, gaze softening into something sullen, the heat traveling out of his system quietly. he could faintly register the sound of silverware clattering, a chair scraping against the floor as feet pattered to come to where he sat, and arms winding around his limp body. he hadn't been able to acknowledge it then, but later he would recognize the feeling in his chest as a heart-tearing grief that felt as though a paperweight had been dropped onto his heart and stayed there for years on end.

it had taken months upon months for him to get over his loss, the piece of his heart never returning back to him even as he claimed to have been fine— which, for a moment, he had felt as though he truly was okay. he believed himself to simply be yearning for romance as romance had then been in the air with everyone around him. he would look sideways, see people smiling at one another, and feel his heart soar in the air.

where once he had felt nothing but despair and sourness at the mere sight, he now felt a glimpse of joy at simply having the honor of being in such a presence. though it wasn't as if it came with it's faults because if there was anything he learned and knew of love, of yearning, it was that it had the ability to shapeshift and morph into something you may think you need but don't desire.

he had been struck with an arrow— the tip piercing from his shoulder blade through his heart, slick with red, and when his hand had come up to clasp over his bleeding wound, he found that someone had come before him with concern and an initial interest in who he was. when he blinked, his lashes felt thick and heavy, as though they may simply stay glued together so he may never be able to truly see what it was he had been getting himself into.

blind as he was, he reached out to this person and her dainty hands, her gentle voice until he was surprised with the sudden tsunami of warmth she poured onto his head. he was impaired so he could only hang onto her arms, her hands, and she gladly held him up as much as she wanted to. he, however, could not sense it until it was too late.

she disguised desperation as intrigue. she disguised self-centeredness as infatuation. she extended a hand to him, made him feel special, but she had one hand behind her back to someone else. she wanted to know him, but she wanted to reach in his mouth and pull at his teeth, to know what pretty words he had in there for her. she wanted him, but she wanted others too.

it disgusted him how easily he was blinded by her glow. it angered him how he had fallen victim to the pressures of yearning, dust bunnies wearing sheepskin running once he could wipe the grime away from his vision. it humiliated him how he looked at her and thought she could be the one even though deep down, he felt strange about the whole ordeal.

she could not meet up to all the standards he had written down once upon a time— she fell short on every single one.

when his back had turned on her, his hand falling from hers with a false promise of keeping things platonic, he felt lighter— he felt unapologetically free from whatever cage she had forced him to morph himself into. it was then, in the safety of his apartment, that he had opened his phone with a distant throb in the vastness of his heart.

it was then, in his sofa near the window, that he realized where his standards came from and why he yearned for something he could not name; why he looked at couples and smiled, chest warming; why he allowed his thoughts to take him overseas, to home, but shrugging them off as homesickness.

xiǎoháiér, are you coming back home? his mom had texted in the morning and he could hear it in her voice, concern wrapped under layers of the dawn rasp of disuse. he had not responded back to her, his mind running from him for reasons he could not place until now.

the video looped on his screen, flashes reflecting in the darks of his eyes, as his heart screamed at him and helplessly crawled itself out of the cavern of his mouth. he could replay the wildfire rooting itself in everything he loved, burning down the path back to the one he felt at home with, over and over again. his mouth dried, throat going scratchy, when he thought of him.

oh, but he missed him. how he yearned for this comfort again. could he try again? would he be there? he was not scared any longer— he felt free from the shackles of her, her, her, and him, him, him. he could not even remember the gloom of his past if he had tried to think of it. he only remembered him. he only remembered how he gave him a star from the sky and placed it tenderly in his heart. he only remembered how he was the only man to tear him apart limb from limb only to gently rearrange him, just to tell him how much he adored him the way he was. with his flaws and everything else.

fingers curled around the body of his phone, reluctantly leaving the streaming app to his messages.

yes. i'll be there for nónglì xīnnián.

[xinyis]

          china, the heart-shaped key.

unlocked, take a step through the door, and what do you see?

memory was a thing he was not strong with, but he remembered when he could no longer keep the feelings inside within him; he remembered when they stared at each other, their worlds coming undone beneath their feet, the ground crumbling away until it was just them spinning and freefalling to their inevitable deaths; he remembered when they kissed. he remembered that well enough.

he was an obvious person— his feelings scrawled upon his features in the way he smiled, in the way his eyes gleamed, and in the way his brows softened when he peered at the one he so dearly adored. he was an obvious person but even more so when it came to chen zheyuan. his heart was loud, forcing his tongue to be even looser in the man's presence, and whatever he felt, it would come out in some sort of odd, stilted phrase.

everyone knew of his feelings, he knew of that. his mother had no doubts that his head was surely in the clouds, pinkish where they floated around the circumference of his head. she had been talking to him once but he had not heard her until his cousin kicked his shin and he hissed in response, rolling his eyes at her. she had jerked her chin at his mother, catching the way the woman was eyeing him curiously. he had known she would not drop it. it was only when they were walking along the streets lined with food carts, her arm woven through the gaps of his own, that she had pried his mind apart and took the cotton candy out of there.

"you've changed," she had started, tentative as mothers do. he wanted to laugh, for if she wanted to ask then she simply had to. perhaps she was cautious for his answer, that her only cherished son would be engaging in yet another destructive person.

"i have," he had replied, not as tentative but amused. she had gazed at him, he at her, and their mirrored faces reflected differing expressions until they came together in sync. it had warmed his heart, inflated it until it threatened to pop, when her face had lit up and her beautiful eyes rounded with glossiness. "ma," he had whined lowly when her free hand had came up to dab away at her tears but she had laughed instead, watery and thick, the sound getting stuck in her throat. she had smiled into his shoulder and his heart had went through the cycle of a supernova, thudding itself back to life when her grip had tightened around his bicep.

"tell me, xiǎoháiér."

and he had told her of the way the earth came into being; the way spring had gave birth to the beautiful of blooms; the way the sun nourished every living thing; the way the moon and her stars guided wanderers home and gave them hope just by their beautiful light; the way the ocean reflected moonlight on a calm night and was a source of peace for the struggling mind. he had told her the coming of light and love in his heart. he had spoken into the night as they walked down the sidewalk and her smile could have brought even the most withered of flowers back to life.

when he looked at chen zheyuan before him, their faces inches apart, breath suspended in the air between them— he could feel the cycle of the world combusting in the vast universe and the way they were specks of nothing floating in space. he could feel the way planets would rotate around a single star, gaining life and energy from it. he felt he could see anything and everything in those eyes, that he could hear an unspoken confession in the line of those smiling lips.

so much feeling, so much sight beyond what they were, made him feel nervous but, back then, he was someone who often worked on his impulses with little thought left to them.

he did what he understood, then. they had shared a kiss in one single breath.

and he remembered it well. he remembered it because it had been the first time that he felt his knees go utterly weak, that he physically stumbled where he stood and gasped, his features flushing, and body straining to kiss again, again, again, and again.

for him, it hadn't been fireworks. for him, it had been an unlocking of the heart with a heart-shaped key he thought had been lost to the stormy waves of china. the sudden swinging of the door opening had left him reeling, knuckles touching his kiss-swollen lips in shock and infatuation.

[xinyis]

          china, petals dusted pink.

did you ever see me as a painting spread across a backdrop of flowers, looking upwards with an expression of serenity? did you ever think of me as an angel, as a god, where i would grant your every desperate wish? did you ever think that i was someone of no struggles, nothing plaguing me? that i could be someone you could love with no trouble, with total ease?

i liked you. i liked you quite a lot, but i had no idea how to translate it from mandarin to the language i speak in my head, the language of my heart. i liked you, i did, and my words slipped out of my mouth before i could help it. my fingers ached to touch you, your clothes, your hair before i could reel myself in.

the flowers are pretty, you had said. not as pretty as you, i replied.

i was serious about that. nothing, not even the draping of those flowers hanging low from branches, could rival the light on your face— the way your eyes brightened when you peered around our locations, the way the moonlight streaming from above softened the roundness of your visage so much so that my heart would weep at the sight of it.

i never wanted to leave your side. you were embedded in my heart, to such a dangerous extent.

silly as it may be, the pool was just it. you would think: right, because i got wet, huh? but it wasn't just that. you were my chlorine, my beginning of my end. but you scared me with how i felt about you. i wasn't healed, i was a mess, my eyes were everywhere, and my heart a scientist who was doing experiments with how it felt with others.

i was desperate, i wanted to heal from everything i had gone through.

you were too good to be true. you were good-natured and gentle. you were what i needed— you were spring incarnate, with your bees and flowers and pollen and soft sunshine. you were slow and timid whereas i was rapid and tumultuous. i was afraid to slow down.

at the time, i thought i needed someone just as destructive. i thought a woman would do the trick, would ease my destruction even though she was annihilation personified herself. i liked her for so long, you know. i thought i would wait until the world ended for her, even if she refused to choose me back. i was there. i would rot for her.

then came along you.

i liked you. i liked you in a different way than i liked her. it came slow, it came steady, and it came like a crashing wave against a cliffside— loud and angry. it screamed at me to change, that this is what i want. this is what i deserve.

even at my worst? i wondered. even at my worst, would you desire my heart? even when it was injured with puncture holes, blood dribbling from every which way? would you hold my hand and understand my ramblings? or would you, too, tell me you did not understand me? that you and i could never be on the same page?

i could not see the way you chased after me from the beginning, how you were mine even if it was just the way you thought i was pretty. you were patient in waiting for me. i was not. i panicked. i would lose you if i did not take this leap. i was scared.

you scared me but i liked you. my heart sobs when you're not near as you provide it with comfort that i cannot find elsewhere.

i liked you, ge. i really did. but now i'm certain that i love you.

[xinyis]

          china.

chlorine. he would always be associated with the heavy, oppressive smell of watery chemicals, the way it would linger on his skin and in his hair after a douse in the pool or the way droplets hung heavy from his lashes, serpentine eyes peering off into the twinkling and rippling water as if something were hidden in the depths or if something were to slither itself towards his own feet, to drag him down until water filled his lungs.

it was always chlorine— his beginning and ending. the marking of a prologue and the flourish of an acknowledgment. he couldn't rid himself of it no matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he scrubbed his skin clean of it.

chlorine, he thought in a distantly amused manner, is a strange thing to be associated with.

though, no one else but himself would know of this association. no one else but his past, the lover with a face blurred out, the lover whom of which he could hardly remember what fights and words were exchanged. the chlorinated waters washed all those memories away, scooped up in a net, and tossed to the outside. his fingers splayed out within the waters, watching as liquid rolled over his knuckles and as droplets fell from his bangs and into the pool itself. a disturbance in the form of ripples, then.

they were filming a game in an indoor pool— he remembered all of a sudden, his place in the universe anchoring him to his reality. he had been excited when he saw a face he adored seeing on his screen, how the camera could only capture a fraction of the handsomeness he displayed in real life, and this face had guested for a day and another, but when he had thought he would be granted the chance to talk, chat, perhaps get to know him beyond formalities...

he couldn't. a strange rift had formed between himself and that shining light. chlorine. his mood had soured at the pool. the beginning and the end. chlorine. the light dimmed to reveal a regular face, someone he would pass by on the street and not spare a glance and the color seeped from his feet, his heart heavy as a rusted anchor sinking to the abyssal pit of his stomach.

he had felt this way before: the sensation that he was different from others due to the badge he wore on his forehead, that he didn't belong. chlorine. summer-soaked smiles and touches full of sparks. he had felt this on a different stage when an idol of his own tossed him to the side for being an idol. here, he felt it again.

chlorine dug into the crevices of his body, forcing his emotions to come out and he was nothing but a very honest person— his mood had truly soured, dropped to the pits of hell. he could laugh it off, shrug and say it was whatever but it wasn't, not really. it hurt, the chlorine had begun to hurt like how books did, how shows did, how the beach did.

then there was a touch to his shoulder, pulling him out of the darkness of the ocean— tendrils of oceanic and abyssal green slinking away from his ankles once filtered sunlight hit his body. he had looked up and there he was, again: chen zheyuan.

for a moment, it was difficult to breathe— what with the way the sunshine pressed against his lungs, squeezed between his ribs, and threatened to morph into what space his heart had within it. he could feel the happiness inside of him balloon to an extent that it drowned out everything else and this little moment between him and chen zheyuan was inexplainable, really, but obvious to everyone around them.

for him, it felt like the sun had risen again and that the colors drooled into the room once more— that the face that once seemed so bright and handsome dulled in complete comparison to his friend's own. he felt comfortable in his spot, not even having moved, and the snark that bit at his tongue when he spoke dissipated entirely. he felt soft, renewed, and round like a newborn baby. he felt like the chlorine wasn't a biting chemical but one he could embrace, enjoy.

the beginning of an end.

the water continued to roll across his knuckles until arms threw themselves around his torso, tight and unforgiving. he jolted, a ferocious combustion of heat burrowing just under his skin at the touch, and looked down at man beaming up at him. the way his throat bobbed when their gazes locked was unmistakable: doe-like eyes, pale skin as fair as a maiden's, a red flush barely there under the layer of makeup, the way wet locks fell across his forehead before they were harshly and carelessly pushed back, the clinging of wet fabric to the shape of a body, parted full lips curling into the prettiest smile he's ever seen, and chlorine.

fucking chlorine.

his breath had come out of him stilted and flustered, though the smile he put on was the complete opposite of such; he grinned in response, looping an arm around shoulders and hoisted him up carefully. lips whispered in his ear, sending sparks and shudders down the line of his spine, heat traveling low and dangerous. careful of your arm, xiaoba. it was meant to be companionable, amiable, but it pulled out feelings within him that he didn't expect. it pulled his serpentine gaze to the lips that moved whilst words hardly registered. it pulled his heart out of its cage, leaping heights just to settle in the other's palms.

fuck, he had thought. fuck.

[xinyis]

          china, korea, the in-between.

(there's this book— can we read it together?)

he had been nervous, to put it lightly; he was not native to chinese variety shows, had not created relations with actors of his own homeland for years and years, he had not been sure if his name rippled amongst their crowd of elites the way their names lived through his own memories— shining, like gold and silver. when it came down to it, the waiting game and the cameras and the filming crew and the lives and the instructions, it felt real. it felt too real. this is happening, he had thought to himself, his voice quieted against the thunderous beat of his heart. would they look at him a certain way? would they shrug him off for him being a korean idol or even for being an idol?

(it's one of my favorites, i love the way it's written.)

he could not see the others boarding the bus before him, he was not allowed to, but when it was his turn he believed it in him that he was simply here to promote his group. he would do his job, he would work, and do what was asked of him— then he would go back home and all would be solved. the case of fluttering butterflies within the pit of his stomach would dissolve into nothingness. he would have accomplished his duty. so, why had it been, when he stepped out and strode towards the bus, that he was rabbit-hearted and enthused? why had it been that, despite not knowing if his puzzle piece would fit amidst veteran and newcomer actors, he wanted so desperately to be a part of what they offered?

(can i read it to you? would you mind? i want to share things with you, since i ████ you.)

a step onto the bus, the air felt charged— his breath had caught but his smile did not waver. he believed himself to be god, so he would become god. he would walk the aisle of the bus as though flowers grew from his heels and he was eros incarnate.

(let me spend my ████ with you for██. i ████ you so mu█. what would i ███ wit████ y█?)

electric struck the bus as soon as their gazes met— and he felt as though the floor fell from his own two feet. he was not god in this bus, he was not eros; he was a devout worshipper who had found his religion for the first time and was manically in love with his deity. he was a man who felt his heart tug towards wide, doe-like eyes and a smile that stretched from one end to the other. he was a man who had been curious about a name and could finally place a face to the characters, that he thought this name suited him so much and he would dedicate his life speaking it into the air.

of course, he did not know this then. he could only feel the way weight hung heavy in the way their gazes met. he had surveyed chen zheyuan and chen zheyuan had simply stared at him, as though he truly were god.

(it's just that... it's been ████ months and... i feel li███████ do█g mor█... █████████████? ███████...? ████████! ...██.)

he should have taken the spot beside him, it would have sped up their process but his nerves were alight and gooseflesh pebbled across his pale skin under the comfort of his sweater— he could feel the way his palms became clammy and the way heat rose on the nape of his neck. he found a safe spot beside a young girl whose name he did not know, whose face he did not recognize. her wide-eyed, all-knowing stare startled him but he would sit beside her and comfort her: thus, he'd find his own grounding from where his floor had crumbled away from him in the form of this girl and the actress whom he knew by name beside him.

but despite those two, he would feel a tug towards the one before him— he would feel that tug over and over and over; he would feel it during the nighttime, under the sheets, when they had shared bits and pieces and poetry from their lives past lived; he would feel it when they sat beside each other in the van, the way their knees knocked and their bodies would shift away from each other as if the electricity build-up and spark physically hurt; he would feel it in the way he would be stared at, as though he were this man's past lover in some past life— as though he was this man's romance interest and they were endgame.

(i'm sorry, i'm sorry. i'm sorry, it's my fault. i'm sorry. i shouldn't have done that, i'm sorry. i know, i'm sorry.)

was it just for the cameras? or had this man truly been enamored with him? he could no longer tell, not when he felt his own jealousy bloom beyond what he could confidently laugh off as companionable. he would hear of filming, or romantic shots, of practiced kisses— he would allow his curiosity to finally get the better of him and he would search him up, his history, his career, and the sapling in his chest would burst anew with envy and grief. he would learn, then, what it felt like to become so vulnerable that he would gladly allow the jaws of love to clench around him.

[xinyis]

          china.

"do you know who chen zheyuan is?" his voice filtered through the phone lightly, it sounding as if his mind was truly not there and elsewhere. anyone else and this would have irritated them but the person on the phone is not just any normal person who would get irate at his lack of substance. the person on the other end of the line hummed, then a sound of acknowledgment before it tapered off into curiosity.

it irked him that he could understand what those sounds meant without needing verbal affirmations— he rolled his eyes as his pencil rolled distractedly across his knuckles, gaze outlining the buildings of nightlife china, of the people rushing across the streets, of couples giggling and sharing food. he wondered what his mother and father were doing, he wondered when he could see them, he wondered how his dog was doing. he wondered how the beach—

his head gave way for a migraine and his chest tightened. the voice on the other end of the phone had gone uncharacteristically silent. "where did you go?" a low ring of static translated into carefully spoken mandarin, a whisper indicated the time and place: they were asleep and this person had to be asleep too but he kept him awake. he hadn't felt bad in the least for this: they often found themselves peering at the sky until it bled into different colors, their conversations about everything in the universe and nothing at all.

it took him a bit to respond, carefully turning the words over and over and over in his mouth, allowing his tongue to feel the way it would when he spoke them into existence— into admitting that he was, indeed, far from where he needed to be, that his mind had taken him to a place not in the present but in the past.

he hated how this voice could pick him apart regardless of how many miles separated them. "the beach," he said thickly, nose beginning to burn with what he told himself was nothing but allergies.

you took yourself back into the past? said the static. i did, said he.

silence, but it was all that was needed for him to decipher the scolding weaseling itself in between the lines and threads of air between them. "so," he whispered, gaze trained stubbornly on the darkness of the midnight sky. "do you know him?"

they talked, then, about this man whom he would be filming with for an x amount of months and a y amount of hours, variables a and b indicating how compatible they would thus become by the end of the show. the static knew how much to reveal and how much to withhold, which irritated him even more, but he knew it had been for his own benefit. after all, what fun was there in knowing so much of someone you could feel your heart begin to take distant interest in?

his chair creaked with the effort and weight shifted when he got up, phone balancing itself in the palm of his hand. the static laughed, an airy and tired sound, only for him to scowl back into the speaker— healthy and playful banter between them both before they wished each other good luck for what the day brought to them. for sleep to be kind and for the sun to bring prosperity and kindness. "you'll like him," said the static, a knowing edge to its voice.

he went to sleep with that thought in his mind, the glossy portrait of this man floating in his head— a curious drive nearly propelled him to open up baidu and weibo to see his face once more, to try and pick him apart, to understand this man's personality but he waved the urges away. he would wait, he had decided. he would wait to see the man for himself, have it be a surprise.

[xinyis]

          (korea).

you reached out and touched a dream where it felt like a stovetop burn to your fingers, the tingle and shock of heat almost numbing your entire hand despite it being a very minute burn— your mind was closed off to this hazy cloud of darkness, how it burnt you to keep you away but you've never learned, not really. not ever. not until much, much later.

still, you shoved your hand past the gates of fog and stumbled into a memory inelegantly, finding your head leaden as though someone could push you from behind and you would go tumbling down the middle of the lane (that's a strike! all ten pins!). a palm came up to steady your head as you stalked through the forest of hanging memories, each one brushing past your curious fingertips but leaving an unpleasant sensation growing in the center of your beating, soft heart. you came to a tree rooted in the heart of the forest, a soft and divinely glow emanating from it and separating it from the normalcy of the other pines— a strange feeling pulsed inside of your chest the closer you got to the tree, glimpsing the memory that it holds and recoiling at what you feel, what you see.

you remembered it well, you remembered it clearly. every feeling, every emotion that you had felt once upon a time, it had not left you when you touched the bark of this glowing tree with mushrooms sprouting from its base. your heart ached the more you stood there, the weight of your grief dragging you to your knees— dirt coming up in a minuscule cloud of grey whilst tears hit the ground from the sheer amount of pain you felt.

you could not trust yourself like that again; to have loved and loved so ferociously, only for it to have backfired in your face— time and time and time again. you remembered the scoffs, the false hope, the way you had stilled yearned for an inkling of reciprocation. you remembered the way you ran in the dark for someone but their back shrunk despite their pace being moderate and you were fast but you still could not keep up. you could never reach them.

you remembered knowing, at that time, that they were gone. truly and cruelly.

a sentient branch extended itself towards your chest, rooting itself within the wounded heart beating within, each tear taped to hold back the flood of blood that would inevitably seep out of his body. the branch had grown there, then, golden leaves spreading just under his skin, thin branches like veins pulsing and creeping down his arms. you were forced to remember in order to heal, you were forced to break down and be ripped apart in order to look elsewhere.

it was a cruel process. one that even your mind nor distractions in the form of people could even think to heal. your heart, branched and mother to a sapling within your chest, yearned for a ghost of what you had considered normal— this and this and this. that and that and that. this, that, you, him, you-and-him, him-and-you, her, ghosts, grief. grief.

even when you turned to find the exit from your forest of nightmares and grief, this graveyard of withering nature, you become lost and trapped— difficulty in breathing, you collapsed to the ground again and pressed your head to the dirt. you wanted to scream to the heavens to spare you from this torment, that you did nothing to deserve this, but the heavens and their stars simply replied: oft we must suffer to find what is good. you must feel numb, nothing, to this in order to leave. else, you will find yourself in limbo.

you could not breathe with these revelations. you could not fathom a life without this grief, that this grief had brought you to who you were— this anger, these tumultuous and explosive emotions had dragged you by the hand to a place where you felt normal.

you had come to this realization, then. you could not tread like this. you had left korea, not only for the desire of repairing the rift in your heart, but to heal. you would learn to love again in china. you would leave behind the people your trauma clung to.

you rip the hyphae that had begun to curl around your body, eager to drag you into the graveyard soil, and begin your journey.

[xinyis]

          china.

he saw the personification of a morningstar first. pictures fail to live up to the expectations of the real deal, he figured, his mouth parting in a soft shape of surprise and he had been whisked away into a memory as habit usually has him doing. enter stage right: he had greeted the producers the day he had met them and they had a lengthy conversation of expectations, of injuries such as his own, of castmates and crewmembers, of this and this and this, of that and that and that.

the sound of his hummingbird heart within his chest had drowned out their words, only smiles and gleaming eyes having been registered in the cavern of his mind. they had ended with a tip of the head, the telltale tap of papers on the table which had signified the end of a meeting. like clockwork he had been, the way he had gotten up from his chair and nodded, gaze lingering on the glossy picture of an actor he could not place a name to the face. he had not recognized the man though the others he had been able to label their names to their faces— he would not know otherwise were it not for his mother, the drama addict (or delicately put, "film critic"), or were it not for his own intrigue in falling into worlds made of grain and historical sights, of costumes and long hair and poetic prose.

still, one face stood out to him the most (amongst others) and he stared for longer than he should have. hawk-eyed, he should have gathered back then, the producer had smiled and pointed her finger at the gloss, the page shifting and with it, his attention startled back into his body. he had jolted minutely, tilting his head and offering her a polite smile— he had not wanted to give away his intrigue in the man who seemed younger than he. he had not wanted her to see the way his eyes had given birth to a sea of twinkling stars at how this man printed on glossy paper would be a friend he could call upon when homesick and lonely and when he would feel warm and happy and lovesick.

he had not wanted her to see expectation on his visage. he should have known better, however; he, an idol, knew how these hiveminds work. like bees, they drift to their source of livelihood and he had become it. already he knew he would be their source of income but now even moreso.

my god, public interest in a man? how could they twist it even further? how, then, could they weave such an opportunity into a making of their own?

it had turned out, really, that they did not have to work so hard after all.

[xinyis]

          korea.

he didn't know what it was he would eventually get himself into— an opportunity perhaps, a chance to show that he is more than what his badge tells others: an idol. he is more than such a title, more than someone who simply sings, dances, signs their life away for a contract and a number of years.

when he had gotten the opportunity, it had seemed to him as though it were served to him on a golden, gilded platter, as though the camera beneath the domed lid beckoned towards him— it told him to come, to not let this slip by him. he was as foolish as he is now, to have taken the chance so eagerly, the glittering nature of golden objects shining like a north star guiding him home.

(he didn't know it then, though, that it really had been guiding him to a specific home.)

so, he had taken the camera into his hand and eagerly demanded that he be sent to china, to participate. voices had tried to wean him off the idea, fingers tugged at his shirts, petulant stares wondering if he really had to go— but he had been firm. he wanted this chance and to not take it would be a poor lapse of judgement on his end; he turned from the warnings, that he would burn himself out, that his injury would worsen. he promised, flimsily, that he would be fine.

after all, he had been excited.

for as romantic of a man he is, the scenery around him had dulled— had he overstayed his welcome in this foreign country he had been forced to call home? he found no sparkle in the everyday life, the leaves had lost their crunch, the scents of people passing him by had whisked away elsewhere— somewhere he could not reach. he would peer out his window and wonder when he could go home. he would wonder, then, when he would have a break from work.

this happened often, you see. he was a man who was married to his work. it had been joked about, a chuckle in passing, though the gazes that lingered on him were wary and less than a joke. everything in a gaze: the truth, the lies, the reality of it all. no, he knew he was married to his work, that he was one who made no fun company when he was in his work mindset.

and yet, he flexed his fingers, rolling out the kinks in the stiffness of his joints. and yet, here i am. going to work. still, he was excited. this was work, yes, but he was headed home. home.

peering out the window of the plane drifting steadily by clouds hanging clumsily in the air, he wondered what this new opportunity had in store for him. with his heart thundering in his chest from excitement, he hid the smile that curved against the heel of his palm carefully.

[xinyis]

          prologue.

i sit here with a laptop and a dimming light, so as to not wake you nor disturb you as you take trips down to where i hope you have the sweetest of dreams only. i sit here, in china, with my laptop warming my thighs and i'm suddenly overtaken by the immense feeling of how much i love you. you're simply sleeping, the soft exhales like white noise to my ears now— i fear i cannot sleep properly without the sound of your dreaming self, that if i even attempt to sleep without you beside me, my dreams turn into tumbling nightmares and blank slates. my dreams turn into black rooms full of nothing, where i wake with a furrow in my brow and a throbbing migraine which i find is partly due to the fact that i've broken out near my temple.

alas.

this isn't a prologue where i count my miseries, no! this is a prologue to guide you to what it is you're getting yourself into.

my darling you— this is a short story (or i hope for it to be one) of love. please understand that i type this with my airpods max over my tired ears (that no song is working for the vibe i want for my story and i'm simply struggling) and that i've read countless of romance books only for me to be absolutely swept by the notion that—

i, too, want to be an author.

for what, you may think, and to that query, i simply say: for us. let me be the author to do a rendition of our love, my morningstar. let me be the songbird to express how much i adore your dewdrops in the dawn and the way your sun rises so delicately over the mountains. let me be the one to write you a story of how you nourish my heart and allow it to bloom.

well... are you ready?