Lost Boys {Book Two}

Critical Mistake

Sicheng hurt.

The kind of hurt that didn't restrict him from going about his daily activities, but the kind that was always there, eating away at his body, his mind, and his sanity. The kind of hurt that made him crave attention, something to make him feel anything else, and the kind of hurt that wouldn't allow him that. He supposed there was really nothing holding him back, but as time went on, and as Yuta's suspicion grew, he couldn't bring himself to act on it. Not to mention the fact that for the past few weeks, he refused to let Yuta look at him when he wasn't covered, but it seemed like his body was now past the point of hiding. 

Sicheng knew they'd notice eventually, he just hadn't expected it to happen so fast. He supposed in all the recent chaos, he hadn't noticed how much his weight had dropped either.

As Xiaojun slid down from the desk, his wounds freshly cleaned, stitched up, and covered with bandages (which were running low, no thanks to Yukhei being a total klutz), and shuffled off to find Hendery, Sicheng sunk down into the chair. He didn't bother putting away his supplies after he cleaned everything up, he didn't have the energy.

His lip quivered, and Sicheng wasn't sure if he was particularly upset about anything besides the obvious, though by now he supposed he should be used to that. Between Yukhei and Yangyang's disappearance, Jisung's health (which was supposedly improving but Sicheng would believe it when he saw it), his body practically destroying itself, and Yuta and Jeno's suspicion, Sicheng felt like his entire world was crashing down on him.

As he sat there, tears began to stream down his face. He forced himself to stay quiet and steady his breathing as much as he could. During the time he had been working on Xiaojun, everyone seemed to have fallen asleep. A decent sized candle burned on the desk in front of him, the only light that barely illuminated the room. Hendery claimed to have found it in one of the desks, along with pictures of cats, a box of matches, multiple variations of colored string, and a few cross stitch patterns.

Sicheng nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a pair of hands on his own. His body jerked as he let out a hoarse cry. "Hey, it's just me" Yuta whispered softly, his hands quickly moving to cup his cheeks. "It's just me. Sorry I scared you. I just wanted to apologize . . . are you crying?" Yuta lifted a thumb from Sicheng's cheek, wet from tears.

"Yes," Sicheng muttered. "I'm allowed to cry, aren't I?"

Yuta was quiet for a moment. He reached for the candle on the desk and brought it closer to them, and his face came into view. His hair had grown longer than it had ever been, falling to his shoulders. Though Sicheng had grown his own hair out several times in his life, Yuta had always had it relatively short. It was new for Sicheng. He never knew that Yuta's hair was naturally wavy. Despite being a mess of emotions, Sicheng's heart fluttered at the sight of his boyfriend—skin illuminated by the orange glow of the candle, the tiny flame casting shadows that danced over his face. His hair was parted in the center, messy waves falling in his eyes every so often, just to be immediately pushed back.

"You can do whatever you want, Sicheng. I don't want you to think that I'm ever trying to control you," he said softly, unable to meet Sicheng's eyes.

"I don't," Sicheng said quickly. "You've never made me feel that way. I promise, Yuta, that's not what I meant."

"I'm worried about you," he paused, "we all are."

"I'm alright," Sicheng said, forcing a smile. He sat up and pressed a kiss to kiss Yuta's cheek, then tucked one of his loose curls behind his ear. "Don't worry about me, okay? I don't want to fight anymore."

"I don't either, but I can't just ignore this. I need you to just listen to me, okay? Can you do that?"

Yuta's eyes were wide as he stared at Sicheng, waiting for a response. Sicheng felt trapped. There was no way Yuta would be leaving him alone without answers, so he nodded.