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Each passing second was getting irritably disheartening, from the silent whispers or the bustling noises the remainder of the crew produced. Xukun found the other cast members whom lingered at the back or conversed with others to be too loud for him at the moment, their tags being stuck onto their backs and the suffocating recognition of touch-ups and new clothes making him itch under his skin. No one had approached him yet excluding the his make-up artist, who told him about what they were going to do to him later, and he ignored the others who would acknowledge him in the slightest way as he shuffled at his spot. He saw from the corner of his eye the shy movements that Dylan was making, just brief and subtle, but he was getting closer to where Xukun found himself in the corner, and he turned his head so that Dylan knows he sees him. Dylan was one of the people he found he can tolerate more, relate to more. Maybe it is because of the industry they find themselves in together.
Maybe something else.
“Didi,” Xukun said, nodding his head in his direction, and he gets Dylan’s stoic yet genuine smile in return. “Do you want something? Staring at me, so scary.” Dylan shakes his head, his arms crossed protectively against his chest, and the rest of his body is tucked closely to himself. “哪里可怕?” he teases, and it catches Xukun’s remaining social energy, his fatigue catching up to him faster than normal. He wonders what is making him so tired recently. “我只要问你个问题，嗯，你知道。。。男-”
Xukun catches on, the strange feeling of understanding that he had previously felt making sense, and he pats Dylan on the shoulder with a stiff grip, nodding his head to cut him off. “我知道。谁呢？” Xukun says it in a way of an attempt to coax Dylan, to make him feel more comfortable in sharing, and it works slightly from the way Dylan’s fingers stop tapping his elbow. “Uhm…”
“是那个湖南的吗?” asked Xukun, his voice dropping in volume, and he notices the way Dylan reluctantly nods his head. “你呢?”
“Uhm, Ziyi, Nine Percent的.”
“啊.”
They get called to regroup for a briefing, to film more clips, to cut more out. Xukun watches Dylan leave to meet the rest of them first, and he takes a deep breath before he manages to push himself off the wall and face the rest of them again. He realises that he has not had this conversation with anyone else in the industry before, and his heart that normally feels heavy is suddenly lighter. The unsettling feeling of familiarity has finally settled, and he regains his composure before the cameras catch him. He wants a recharge station. Finally catch his breath.
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Xukun finds himself stepping into the silence with an ease in his body he has not felt since the last game of the day, his breath escaping from his lips with threaded care, toeing his shoes off to slip them under desk resting by the doorway. There was a light on in the kitchen, searing his eyes with speckles and dots, and Xukun hears the muffled footsteps and movements of Ziyi walking out to see who was there. The effort of his feet moving makes him feel weightless and even more tired, the mental strain of pretending that he was not upset causing his body to only walk him to the room that intersects Ziyi’s view, and he rushes to him there instead. “Kun, you don’t usually come here when it's so late,” Ziyi murmurs beneath his breath, cup warm and steaming in his hand, and he inches towards Xukun a little more to press his fingers into his hair. Xukun leans into the stretch between Ziyi’s neck and shoulder, his hand lifting to gently tug Ziyi’s shirt, arm wrapped around his waist.
“Are you feeling alright?”
“En,” Xukun replies, and he feels Ziyi press his lips into his scalp, a kiss warm and fragile he feels his mind collapsing. “It was so stupid.” Ziyi’s laugh is inappropriate, but it keeps Xukun’s heart rate higher, and the fulfilling sound tingles his ears. “What was so stupid?”
“I was so close to winning and then… it’s so petty,” he says, the words leaking from his mouth with little thought. Ziyi wraps his free arm around Xukun’s hip, pulling him closer, and he places the mug in his hands down next to him on the kitchen island. “It’s not petty, Kunkun.”
“It is.”
“It’s not.”
Xukun finds himself capable of letting out a small sigh, a chuckle at the very most, and Ziyi’s kiss to his forehead reassures him it was a good enough attempt. “You need to sleep,” he whispers, quietly and gentle, as if aware that Xukun was collapsing under his own fatigue. It was quite visible, but it made itself more evident that someone was caring.
“我想你了,” he says, and he blames it on the lack of sleep.
Ziyi pulls his head back so that they meet eye-to-eye, hand held higher to tilt Xukun’s chin slightly, and his lips meet his in a delicate slumber. The kiss is something that Xukun can barely register, but he holds on, his own fingers aimlessly reaching to touch Ziyi’s neck, some tangled in his hair. His teeth are pressing in, and he feels warm in the hold he is enveloped in. “我要你,” he whispers, calling it pathetic in his head, and Ziyi grins into the kiss.
“Later, after you sleep,” he says. Xukun already finds himself energised, but he resists the urge to say so. He instead climbs into the bed, Ziyi following him in, and the body pressed against him is enough to make him feel awake again.
He found his recharge station.