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Chauyuet is already out cold by the time Hengyu finishes changing into his pyjamas. A dim candle flickers gently atop a stack of hard-covered books and scantily placed sheets of music, its dull orange light scattering across the bedsheets with a warmth that trickles slowly like liquid amber over the rumpled fabric. Hengyu tip-toes to his side of the bed, lying down and pulling the covers over his legs. Just as he begins to melt into the warm embrace of his fort of blankets, he realizes the candle is still lit at his bedside.
With a soft sigh, he slides as quietly as possible past Hengyu's sleeping form and leans over to blow it out, and—
Ah.
He takes a moment to pause—to watch the serene rise and fall of Chauyuet's chest, to watch as his lips part in a gentle inhale-then-exhale. His face is unbearably soft under the candlelight, always has been. It's not like this was a rare sight, though—Chauyuet falls asleep on trains, on sofas—he had once slumped against his arms with his cheeks pressed against his shoulders.
Hengyu had lost track of how many times he had draped a blanket over him; he had reckoned it must be nearly a hundred.
Maybe even a thousand.
He forgot to change out of his dirty clothes again, Hengyu realises, shaking his head in faux-disappointment. He'll talk to him about this tomorrow. His calloused hands brush past the deep scars on Chauyuet's face, trace their way past his jawline, and rest on the top of his head, fingers slowly running through his brunet hair. Chauyuet stirs, half-lidded eyes fluttering open to the sight of Hengyu's face inches from his own, and he lets out the faintest chuckle.
"Hello there," Hengyu mutters, eyes never leaving him. Chauyuet mumbles back something he doesn't quite understand—perhaps his name, or perhaps nothing at all. He instinctively leans into Hengyu's touch, the weight of his head heavy against his palms, and Hengyu can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage, nearly shattering against his chest into a million fragments.
Almost.
Before either of them can say anything else, a familiar piano melody drifts from down the hallway into their room—one that both Hengyu and Chauyuet recognise at once. With the widest shit-eating grin Hengyu has ever seen on his face, Chauyuet asks, "Zihao's playing does sound rather beautiful, doesn't it?" And Hengyu only can nod in agreement as the song floods the room, filling the space with a sweet tenderness that wraps around them like a second blanket.
Zihao had always serenaded them with songs they knew so well, beautiful sonatas that lulled them to sleep each night. The rustling of clothes rings from the same room, followed by the creak of the wooden floorboards and the frantic shuffling of feet. Hengyu flits his head around.
"I'll go and see what he's up to," he jumps up from the bed, suddenly deciding no longer to sleep but to go to Zihao's room. "You go and sleep without me, okay?"
Chauyuet, too groggy to object, slumps back down onto his pillow without uttering a single word.
Hengyu takes that as a silent answer.
Hengyu quietly stumbles out of the room and into the dimly lit corridor, hands feeling his way towards Zihao's door in a hurry. A sharp light from Zihao's closet hits him like a wall when he flings the door open—and there, amidst the scattered clothes and music, is Zihao, already standing halfway inside the wardrobe.
I knew you'd come, Sun-ge, Zihao signs, his hands immediately reaching out to clasp around Hengyu's, leading him through his room. Zihao is trembling, cold despite the warmth of the candles and the woollen coat draped unevenly across his shoulder.
His grip tightens, almost painfully so. Hengyu opens his mouth, then closes it again. The questions in his throat dissolve before they could even leave his mouth, so he says nothing, and simply lets himself be pulled through by Zihao into the flickering glow.
It didn't always used to be sunshine and butterflies for them, Hengyu had recalled.
Not when all three of them were nine and ten years old, lost and alone, and had to move from orphanage to orphanage with their small hands clasped together so tightly in fear that if they had let go they wouldn't find each other again. Not when Zihao was littered with bruises from head to toe and Chauyuet bore new wounds he had never seen before.
Certainly not when they needed to learn the exact places they needed to hide when unfamiliar hands got too rough: in locked bathrooms, in the corner of their room huddled together as close as all three of them physically could.
The back of old dusty wardrobes gradually became their safe spaces—hiding them away as heavy footsteps passed inches from where they had crouched, and giving them the warmth they needed to survive another day.
(It wasn't fair, life was never fair to them from the start, but they had each other, and that was all that mattered.)
It was a winter night when they first found it. They were running away from strangers who had watched them with predatory eyes—the kind that made his skin crawl—so they chose to slip into an abandoned building hoping their footsteps wouldn't follow.
He had been the first one to discover the wardrobe in the corner of the unused bedroom, door still ajar as if it was an invitation. Zihao and Chauyuet followed, but he just stood there, his eyes remained fixated on a glow beyond the closet. For a moment, through the crack in the door, he swore he saw a world that glittered in gold—a reality far different from his own.
For a moment, he saw a world where they didn't have to be afraid anymore.
(A world that was far less cruel, he could only hope.)
Without a moment's hesitation, he pulled Zihao and Chauyuet closer to the entrance, holding them close until he could feel their heartbeats against his skin. Behind them, the sound of restless mutters grew louder and louder behind them, a threat worse than death closing in–
But in that moment, he did what he knew best: grabbed onto the others and ran.
The other world is just as beautiful as Hengyu remembers.
The glow of the moon spills across the golden meadow. Nothing much has changed since he was last here, he realizes, stumbling over the pebbles scattered among the lush grass.
(Maybe he's just not as attentive as he thinks he is.
or maybe it's because he just hadn't had a reason to return here in a long time.)
Ahead of him, Zihao is still running—his grip still tight around Hengyu's wrists. The field of roses around sway slowly in their direction, their fragrances embracing them like a fond memory. Zihao's hands don't leave him even as they run through the thick of the blooms, fragile petals brushing across their skin and thorns piercing their clothes. The warmth of his touch doesn't leave him, either, singing the hairs of his skin like sunlight would.
They both end up on a hill somewhere deep within the plains, lying comfortably under a massive oak tree with their heads tilted toward the vast cluster of stars scattered across the sky. An evening breeze sweeps over them, fresh and gentle, carrying the scent of grass and distant wildflowers. Under the luminescence of the star lit night, Zihao's bright pink hair glowed a bright neon.
It almost is reminiscent of an angel's halo. Hengyu was beginning to think he was one.
They both rest still in the comfort of each other's presence for a while, the sun and the moon peacefully suspended together, a beautiful sight to behold. Hengyu swears he nearly reaches perihelion when Zihao wraps his slender arms around his shoulder, pulling him closer underneath against the massive oak tree. They both say nothing, taking in the purples and pinks of the cosmos above them and the serenity this perfect world.
"Are you still scared, Haohao?" Hengyu is the one breaks the silence first, voice tinged with a smidgen of the same unsureness that plagued him all those years ago. "Is that why you wanted to come here again?"
Zihao just stares at him with his doe-like eyes, like a broken child would. Then he shuffles even closer than before, and points at the brightest star in the sky.
We used to wish upon that star, he haphazardly signs, do you remember, Sun-ge? Us three?
He gently nods.
Zihao stares at the moon sadly. What if all of that we have wished for disappear when we go home?
Hengyu ponders that question, his gaze drifting from Zihao's face and settling on the star burning bright above them. The weight of it settles somewhere on his chest, heavier than he wants it to be. Then he looks back at Zihao, thinks of Chauyuet still deep in his peaceful slumber in their world, and he straightens his back.
"Don't worry, Haohao" he says, his hands caressing the apples of Zihao's cheeks like he used to. "I won't let that happen again. Not to Chauyuet, not to you, not to any of us."
A pause. Then for the first time in what feels like a millennia, Zihao entire demeanour lights up. A real smile appears on his face that softens the edges of his fears into hope, making him look like the boy that Hengyu held onto all those years ago.
Promise? He mouths, hands gripping onto Hengyu's wrists. Never, ever letting go.
"Promise. Now rest." Hengyu gently guided Zihao to lean against his shoulder, settling him against the rough bark of the oak tree.
Back in their world, the sun rises. Chauyuet continues to dream, buried within the embrace of his blankets, and Hengyu and Zihao lie tangled across the carpet in front of Zihao's wardrobe with smiles wide, wide, wide across their faces.