yuwin ✧ animus

Eight

Yuta paced around the dust and dirt coated hallway, a stitched bag, usually used for rice, in his hands. As his cold breath raggedly slipped between his chapped lips, his fingers pushed against the surface of the wooden door in the hall. The door softly creaked before Yuta pushed it shut and hurriedly began. 

He shifted the stacked wooden crates around, picking up three cans of food at a time and shoving them into the bag. Each can dropped with against each other with a clang sound until there was no space left in the bag. With little effort, Yuta twisted the top of the bag closed, standing by the door he awaited for complete silence before pulling the door open and rushing down the corridor. His footsteps echoed off the floor, shorty after was Yuta met with the safety of his locked "office". 

He shoved the bag under his bed, mentally questioning if the food would be enough for Sicheng when he escaped, a complacent expression on his face. Hearing footsteps near towards the door, he quickly straightened his posture up, appearing more unnatural then anything.  His eyes drifted to the right slid of his lid, as if awaiting for the door to creak open. Once the footsteps passed, he heavily exhaled and loosened his muscles.  His heart began to slow as he pondered on what to do next. 

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Sicheng cupped his hand while submerged in the cold water, bringing it up to face and cleaning the dirt off. He took the towel hanging over the thin edge of the "tub" and allowed it to absorb before cleaning behind his ears and neck.

His mind filled with anxiety for he was unsure when his escape would commence. The moment Yuta came banging on his door was when he would leave, and that could have been in the next minute to weeks later. It was a frightening idea, he loved  Yuta in a sort of way? If Yuta got caught trying then what would follow next? Most presumably death.

He breathed shakily as the waterdrops rolled down his olive skin, a jumble of nerves and the coldness of the water caused his body to softly shake. His clenched one of his dry towels and softly dried his face. He squeezed the drenched tips of his hair between the cloth. 

It began to grow darker as sunset and night followed, although it was rather warmer as the late spring days were transitioning into early summer. He no longer needed a blanket to keep himself warm from the freezing air. Sicheng sat face up on his mattress, his forearm rested on his forehead and partly on his eyes. He was too nervous to peacefully sleep. 

Hearing footsteps crunch against the ground, he shot up, squinting through the dark to see a familiar figure wearing a white shirt; an easy way for Sicheng to differentiate Yuta from other formally clothed soldiers. His body slacked as Yuta entered through the broken window, allowing himself to sit on the edge of Sicheng's mattress. 

The Chinese boy softly smiled, scooting horizontally closer to him. Without much being said, Yuta curved his hand to stroke the back of Sicheng's neck and scalp as the latter leaned against his shoulder. 

 Yuta began, knowing Sicheng wouldn't understand what he was saying,"Obviously, you'll be leaving soon, with my help. I was so persistent on  helping you escape, but now it's as if I want to stop simply because I know I can't go with you. I don't want to lose you, but if you stay here it practically guarantees that I'll lose you. It's selfish of me to stop you from escaping to achieve my own personal peace while you face complete terror.  I love you, I love you so much. I never would've subjected myself to this position if I knew the person I would grow to fall in love with would be the person I was told to inflict pain on. I love you," he paused before saying it once more,"...I love you."

Sicheng perked up in confusion, he knew Yuta was aware that he had little understanding of what was being said. The pronunciation of 'I love you' stood out to him, the way he heard it repeated several times and how much Yuta's voice trembled while saying it. His curiosity peaked keenly at his desire to know what it could've been that was such a pain to say.

His moved to espy Yuta's expression, which was painted as distressed until he noticed Sicheng peering at him. Yuta halfheartedly smiled, his counterpart stroking his hand upward at his cheek to cup his face. Sicheng studied his face with concern which appeared to break Yuta, his waterline began to gather tears, leaving clean streaks down his semi dirty face. Yuta moved his hand from the surface of the mattress to where Sicheng's laid, clenching his cold palm around his fingers. For some reason, the strength of his grip seemed to portray the feeling of desperation that coexisted within Yuta, and how much Sicheng hoped that feeling was pass through him without understanding full context.

Sicheng removed himself from his mattress. Grabbing one of the moist towelettes, his softly ran it over Yuta's cheeks, cleaning his skin. He leaned slightly forward, hesitating for a second before pressing his lips against Yuta's cheek. It was still difficult for him to come to terms with the longing feeling existing in his heart for him. It was wrong in every way but it pained him to act as if it wasn't there.

Yuta's lips curved into an endeared smile. He shifted his head a little to the side, therefore making their lips close to each other. Sicheng slowly leaned in, only allowing their touch to last for a few, short seconds. Whether he was aware of Yuta's feelings or not, he empathized perfectly. He understood the reality of it, he fell in love with a person who he would have to part with strikingly soon. It hurt, admitted or not.

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