chenpionships | #213: tongues on the sockets of electric dreams

Prompt: #213
Title: tongues on the sockets of electric dreams
Pairing: Chen/Tao (side Sehun/Kai)
Rating: NC 17
Warnings: a bit of angst, non-sensible laws of matter.
Word count: 16,000 in total
Summary: Sort of MAMA AU!; Zitao sets out on a new project to capture the best photographs of lightning. He gets Jongdae instead. (Or Jongdae is a storm and Zitao stops time (kinda)).

It’s a small hole in the wall kind of deal. The fluorescent lights of the shop almost hurt to look at. The store fronts all along the sidewalk are dim, the only other light flickering from the bar down the street, drunkards sporadically stumbling out from the door. It’s the late kind of evening where the sky is just starting to lighten up, the ink black starting to ease into purple, heavy clouds rolling in with the soft breeze of summer. It’s the smell that gives it away, the heavy earthy smell rolling in with the thickness of the summer air. Past the smell of impending rain, there’s the enticing scent of fried food, the clinking of utensils too loud for the time of night.

Zitao clicks his tongue when he enters, boots thumping against the tiled floor.

There’s a splatter of stray raindrops hitting the dirty windows of the restaurant, Zitao hears it fitfully against the ruckus of the kitchen behind the counter. He spares a look at the spotty window before walking up to place his order, drawling almost boredly for his order of a grilled cheese.

The rain outside has picked up momentum, skies darkening, the wind picking up almost violently.

He hears it first, the loud low banging of thunder, piercing through the late night, rumbling out into the rush of the rain.

He starts to count in his head, quiet and spread out, eyes glued at the windows, the way the raindrops race down the glass of them, bunching together at the bottom.

He's still not fully expecting it, the way the sky cracks in two, white hot lightning splitting it in half, cracking at the sides.

There's the clacking of his plate against the counter, the jingling of the bell and the low rumble of more thunder in the background. The rain eases off for a bit, pitter pattering.

There's a strange feeling in his gut, a hot coiling urge. He can't place it, it feels entirely too warm against the cooling wind that seeps through the crack of the door.

The cheese oozes out in a sluggish spurt of florescent orange, it burns the top of his tongue, it leaves the unpleasant buzzed feeling all over his damaged taste buds.

In the distance there's more thunder, a low bang that rattles the earth, the burst of light across the sky. Zitao turns to watch, barely catching the end of it, the fading light, the dissolving sound of the earth shattering bang.

-

Sehun is waiting for him outside, Zitao barely notices him, going through his phone, pushing the crumbs of his sandwich around his plate. He looks up when there's the roar of rain, picking up and pouring down. Sehun's back is pressed against the glass, sticking with the rain, his hair raising up with the wind, his phone pressed to his ear, frowning as he talks.
Zitao slides a couple of bills across the counter, hops of his stool and goes outside. The air around them smells pungent, hitting straight in his gut with some sort of nostalgia that he has never bothered to place.

Sehun smiles at him, frown replaced by the corners of his mouth quirking up, just the teeniest of hits of teeth.

It's a charming smile, backed up by an undercurrent of mischievousness that still fools Zitao, hooks him into taking another picture of the soft curve of his eyes, the harsh slope of his nose, his too pink lips. His camera isn't with him, forgotten in his haste to meet Sehun, he makes a mental note to ask for a picture, somewhere between getting one of Junmyeon's eyelashes breaking up the sunset behind him, the dips of Jongin's legs when he dances.

Zitao smiles back, cocking his head to the side, asking silently home?

-

Jongin is on the couch when they get there, the sun is just starting to break through the clouds, rising from the horizon, the rain has stopped, streets slicked with the rain, atmosphere dragging down.

“Does your back still hurt,” Sehun says quietly, his hair limp over his face, straw like.

They knock their heads together, foreheads brushing, Sehun's matted hair spreading with Jongin's sweaty strands.

Zitao sits on the small loveseat, across from the tv, hunched over, watching silently, the way Sehun's smile loses it's edge, the softness that spreads over his features.

Jongin nods, lifting up with a grimace on his face, followed by a grin that looks more pained than careless.

“Do you want something to eat,” Sehun asks and Jongin mumbles something Zitao can’t pick up, it’s pressed to Sehun’s cheek and Sehun wiggles at the ticklish words.

Sehun pulls back, patting Jongin’s cheek before turning to Zitao.

“What about you?” he asks and Zitao shakes his head.

“I think I’ll be heading out soon, left some work at home,” he says slowly, getting up and wincing when his knees pop, joints rickety with the rain.

Sehun is boiling milk, Jongin’s face half illuminated with the soft yellow light from the kitchen, smile curling up half his face.

Zitao shouts his good byes and lets them be.

-

Zitao steps into the humid early morning, the feeling of rain still in the air. There’s a small breeze picking up but it does nothing to stop the stuffy feeling. He curses Junmyeon for living too far away, making him stomp through way too many blocks, pass shops opening and the thick soles of his boots stepping into too deep puddles.

He’s got his own keys after Junmyeon insisted that he practically lived there anyway.

He unlocks the front door, into the kitchen, barely gives a flick of his eyes at the empty apartment and sets a saucepan with water on the burner.

There's never sleep that comes with the gritty feeling rimming his eyes, so Zitao doesn't bother anymore, he gulps down cups of steaming coffee and offers all he can't drink to Junmyeon, when he feels the nervousness jitters spark right out of him, and he thinks his heart can't possibly beat any faster.

The coffee is bitter, unpleasant and hard to swallow, but Zitao enjoys the way it burns down his throat, the warmness that spreads down to his belly.

Junmyeon is in the bathroom, looking over the shops that surround them, the way the sun shines against them, silhouettes them with its rise.

“I've bought you coffee,” Zitao says, placing the cup along the sill of the window, it's chipping towards the end, where there's dark wood peaking through.

Junmyeon smiles at him, soft and tired, Zitao can see the purple bags under his eyes, the way his hair is flat where he slept on it.

“What are you doing today?” he asks Zitao, over the brim of his cup, curling over the steam of the coffee.

It's not a complicated question and the answer is entirely too simple.

“I have no idea,” he says, looking at the way Junmyeon's hair becomes almost translucent when the rays of sun hit him, “I've got a couple of pictures to develop.”

Junmyeon nods, blinking his eyes slowly.

“Cow eyes,” Zitao smiles, voice low, afraid of being too loud in the early morning, his thumb goes up to press against the underside of his left eye “don’t move.”

His camera is on the coffee table, strap hanging limply from the the side. Next to it is a stack of letters, all ripped opened, bills and sweepstakes, all piled up neatly.

“Don’t blink,” Zitao says when he goes into the bathroom again, raising the camera up to take the perfect shot.

Junmyeon laughs at the little pleased sound Zitao makes when his camera clicks off, “I need to go to work soon,” he says.

Zitao clicks his tongue, turning around and heading towards his room.

“Don’t forget to eat,” Junmyeon calls but all Zitao does is shrug back at him.

-

He gets a call in, a model is sent his way but Zitao barely cares. His name is Baekhyun and he looks too bright to look at.

He has great facial structure, gives out a strong look. The catalog that wants the shots is one of those young ones.

Zitao makes a remark about his age and Baekhyun laughs, mouth twisting into an amused smirk.

“You won't believe how old I am,” he says and leans over the white backdrop Zitao uses for these random photoshoots.

Zitao pays him no mind, sends him off after he gets the shots he thinks he'll need. He only uses his digital camera for these, it's a lot easier to sent the photos through email. He looks through the files, picks the ones he thinks the company will like and sends them off before he goes down to his towards his darkroom.

He has his books tucked in odd places of his shelves . Big clunky heavy books with his images on glossy printed paper. He rarely looks at them, mostly because he knows most of his photographs by heart, down to the smallest of shadows, has no need to look. He knows Junmyeon likes looking at them, with some sort of odd pride akin to a mother’s.

It's pages and pages of images that would not leave him be. Shots of things so beautiful to him, digging deep into the crooks and crannies of his brain. Photographs of saturated colors, curves of light that make Zitao rethink what is aesthetically pleasing, what makes his heart speed up and pulse quicken.

There's photographs resting on the rack, he goes up to them first, eyes already flickering over the images he's made. The patches of green cracking the steely gray concrete, the lines of the sky over the bare branches of weeping trees.

Zitao doesn't remember the exact day. He remembers the way Sehun and Jongin held hands, a soft press of fingers, gentle and leading into the shops and stores. He has a picture of those eyes Sehun has just for Jongin, long eyelashes curling up away from his cheeks, reaching upwards, the slight smile that always comes about unsurprisingly with Jongin so close by.

He thinks idly of his series on ballet, the book that started it all, the way Sehun had tagged along, helped carry Zitao's equipment, how Jongin barely laid on eye on them when they walked into the practice room.

It's been awhile since his last publication, all the photographs he develops are never what he wants them to be, never as bright or as perfect as the real things he captures. He's grown frustrated with the standstill in his motivation, the excessive shots of the life around his city, the palpable love he can feel and taste between Sehun and Jongin but can never capture.

There's a line of drying photographs lining the room, close up shots, blurry shots of Junmyeon in the rushed moments when they interact, going back in the early morning with eyes rimmed with sleep and into the depths of late at night with eyes barely staying open. They're faces screwed up into unattractive shades of Junmyeon, happy, sad, pensive, disappointed, content.

Somewhere along the way Zitao remembers the itch to just publish them, a book dedicated to him, a series of studies of how unattractive emotions can be. A frozen testimony and a whispered thank you to the man who made him possible.

He can still remember it, the cool press of the camera to his hands, the big smile that Junmyeon had so selflessly given to Zitao as reassurance, a security blanket. The hushed words of encouragement, excitement about something Zitao was keened on creating, something he never thought he would be able to show the world. The tell tale push he needed to step forward and do what his fingers have been itching to do since the first time he held a camera.

A disposable kind, small and clunky in his hand, the cheap plastic slipping from his sweaty hands when he had found it. He had to fight off a smile when he had opened to see useable film inside, have to bite the inside of his cheek when he had raised it and taken a picture of the fire escape over the dumpster.

It's getting almost a bit difficult to remember the face Junmyeon had made when Zitao had approached him, a mix of curiosity and weariness. But he had gotten the picture, an awkward Junmyeon smiling too big for the camera, his hair sweeping with the slight wind in the chilly evening.

He keeps it pressed between his notebook, the old pages curling at the ends, the ink of his jotted down ideas and notes bleeding from the years.

It's a fond memory, he can't stop smiling when he puts the pictures of Sehun up to dry, the smile and the awkward eyes under the rays of sun, the way half of Jongin's face crowds up for space in the shot, Zitao can almost hear Junmyeon telling them to let him take pictures of the birds around the park. The rest of the photographs are clusters of trees, birds in the distance flying away from him.

-

It's raining that afternoon, the harsh sound of rain cutting through the air splatters around the windows. It's homey, he's curled up on the sofa, television playing the news, there's talk of storms coming their way, high humidity and too much rain.

He can hear Junmyeon humming from the kitchen, the smell of something soulful, the gut twisting smell of spices. Zitao flops on his belly, sticking his head underneath a pillow. His stomach growls hungrily but he stays put, determined to not move until Junmyeon says dinner is ready. The station switches to a commercial about cars and Zitao decides to get up, rolls off the couch and wobbles his way to the kitchen.

"Is the food ready," he asks, peering into the pot of tomato sauce.

Junmyeon shakes his head, pushing the bangs out of his face as he waves the wooden spoon around.

"Almost," he says, reaching for some plates, "your phone was beeping earlier."

Zitao, reaches for it, disconnects it from the charger near the stove.

it's raining again and jongin's old man joints are hurting )):

Zitao snorts, clicking away a reply

it's this storm weather. raining all over the world.

-

He's washing the dishes when he remembers to check his phone, his hands are still slippery with soap when he sees the little notification from Sehun.

i'm looking through your pictures. when's the new one coming?

Zitao blinks down at the little screen, the dishes sit in soapy water as he types out slowly.

I have no idea
He can hear Junmyeon getting ready to go to bed and the little ping! of Sehun's reply but Zitao can't bother at all when his ears pick up the heavy pounding of rain the crash of thunder.

-

His bed feels lumpy, the shadows pass his windows are fuzzy, enlarged drops of rain, with the occasional burst of light flooding in.

He's not scared, just restless, there's and itch under his skin, the raw feeling of nerves jittering frantically.

The bed groans under him, he kicks the covers off, there's sweat rolling down his cheek, matting his hair down.

His camera is on his bedside table, his fingers grab for it before he thinks better of it, opening the door of his bedroom as best as he can, padding softly to the bathroom, peering out the window. The wind is cool against him, the night quickly cools the humid air, rain drops hitting his face as he ducks out to see, the splatters of lights from the city, the way the clouds curl over the sky.

He watches for a minute, the way the rain picks up, watching in amusement as some night owls run for cover, the sounds of closing stores.

It's the starting rumble that makes him pick up his camera, it's dulled but he's ready when it gets louder, the rush of sound and the line of light that goes jagged along the earth.

Zitao listens to the tiny click of his camera, the promise of the captured shot, watches with his heart speeding up in excitement.

-

Zitao doesn't have an umbrella, he trudges through the streets, washed away from people. The sky over him is dark and dangerous looking. The rain drowns him out, he feels over saturated by it, dragged down and heavy. Running for cover seems like too much work, Zitao drags his feet through the rain, his camera is nestled between his body and sweater, pressed uncomfortably against his stomach.

“Come on,” he whispers to himself, the sky overhead starts to fade out and he fumbles with the zipper of his sweater, wet fingers slipping against the metal.

He can hear it before he sees it, the low rumbling, the way the sky is getting too light for the rainfall. The sky lights up, a fantastic flash of lightning right through the middle of the sky.

-

Sehun comes to visit.

Zitao is wrapped under blankets, layers of them, too hot for the summer air.

"Busted, huh," Sehun whispers, throwing a look at the kitchen where Junmyeon is looking through the cupboards for tea.

Zitao shrugs, like he always does when Junmyeon scolds him.

"You should've taken an umbrella," Sehun shakes his head, "know he's all worried you're gonna get sick."

"I just forgot," he shrugs, "I didn't mean to forget my umbrella."

"You sound horribly sickly sad," Sehun's tone changes to gleeful.

"Maybe this way he'll remember to take care of himself," Junmyeon says as he places the cup of tea on the coffee table, “you didn't even tell me you were going to go out.”

“I don't have to ask permission for everything,” Zitao sighs, looking put out, “I just wanted to take some pictures of the sky.”

Junmyeon hums, turning the tv on to a cooking channel, “I know you don't but it will be a lot less stressful if I didn't have to come home wondering where you were.”

“You got mama all worried,” Sehun laughs, he starts making cooing noises and Zitao rolls his eyes at him, making a displeased face that Junmyeon laughs at.

He's draining the last of his tea when Sehun turns to look at him serious like, his socked feet tucked under him.

“Hey,” he whispers, almost like they're sneaking around, afraid Junmyeon will shh! them all the way from his room, “Jongin and I are gonna do a thing.”

Zitao smiles at that, nods in an indication for Sehun to keep going.

“Do you wanna?”

-

Jongin is sleeping when Sehun burst in through the door, Zitao trailing behind him.

“Hey,” he says, he knows his hair is a mess, but he hasn't done anything but sleep since the doctor put him on bed rest, “why are your eyes looking all crazy.”

Sehun takes a moment to breathe, “You know that thing we said we wanted to do?”

That could be literally anything, Jongin has said yes to way too many things just because Sehun knows how to use that pout on him. He nods his head anyway, hoping it's something pleasant he has agreed to.

“Zitao says he'll come with us!” Sehun smiles at him, Jongin thinks everyone should stop giving Sehun everything he wants.

“We're here to look at ticket prices,” Sehun says and Jongin doesn't have the energy to ask questions, shuffles to the kitchen and pretends his boyfriend is normal.

-

Zitao has the money for it, he has enough money from all his clients, from the selling of his prints and books. His small time fame brings him profit, old articles clipped with words proclaiming Zitao to be a prodigy, words on his old life, the story of how he's been overly seek out, how everyone has fallen in love with his photographs but not of him.

“Let me,” Junmyeon says softly later that night, his blond hair is pushed back, eyes soft and warm.

Zitao shakes his head, fingers hovering over the mouse pad on his laptop.

"You've given me too much," he says quietly, looking at the prices for plane tickets, "I can pay my way."

The bed springs squeak with the small weight of Junmyeon, he barely makes a dent and Zitao smiles at that, ends curling in a teasing way.

"I know you can," Junmyeon finally answers, "but I still want to do it. Think of how happy I'll be if you let me spoil you before you leave.”

Zitao looks at him, under the blue washed light of his laptop Junmyeon looks too pale, sick and fraying.

“You're getting too old for me,” Zitao laughs, “too sentimental.”

Junmyeon smiles at him.

-

The air is thick, it drags down against his skin. It's a little hard to breathe, Zitao wheezes, bending over, taking deep breaths. The humidity in the air has sweat trickling down the side of his face, dripping down his chin.

Sehun and Jongin are behind him, taking an easy stroll around the mountain. There's the small breeze along the hike, frustrating more than relieving. Zitao huffs, wipes the sweat from across his forehead with the back of his hand, grimaces at the slick feel of it.

He trudges on, his backpack keeps him grounded, his camera hangs limply from his neck, waiting for the moment where a shot jumps out at him. The grass around him is so bold in it's coloring, the richest green Zitao has ever seen. The sky over head is a slate gray, the edges of it turning into dark blues, curling heavy with rain that hasn't come yet but Zitao is craving at the moment.

The wind picks up when they get up higher, Zitao can see the top, they're so close. Jongin and Sehun have splayed all over the grassy side of the mountain, pulling out their umbrellas, faces red, chests heaving.

“I think I’ll go up a little higher,” he drawls, eyes already up towards the line of the mountain that touches with the sky.

“Bring down a rock from the top,” Sehun says childish, frowning when Jongin kicks his shin halfheartedly for it.

He just needs a little push, needs to keep going long enough until it becomes an automatic work of his limbs, until the burn of the hike goes from painful to pleasant.

His mind goes blank, eyes unlooking at his surroundings until he hears it, the familiar sound from faraway, too soft for it to surprise anyone.

Zitao stops walking, he knows he needs to be ready, his hands go for his camera, placing it at the perfect angle. The right degree to get the rest of the mountains, the vast sky.

The view from high up on the mountain is beautiful and Zitao only notices when his camera is a shutter away from getting his prized shot.

The thunder rumbles closer, he's so high up, feels like he can touch the sound of it.

The sky above him is too dark, it looks deadly, makes Zitao feel a little in awe. The edges around the sky start to pale, brighten up and Zitao knows that's his queue. The thunder is loud, it rattles his ear drums and he takes a picture just as the bolt of lightning slithers across the clouds. It takes another seconds before it fades away, the sound of thunder fraying at the last moments of the spectacle.

“Zitao!” Jongin calls from behind him, “we should head back, it's gonna start pouring soon.”

They skid down for a large part of their descent. The rain pours over them, the mud sloshes into his shoes, eyes flickering from the way the rain falls heavily from above to the tight grip Sehun has on Jongin, holding on for dear life, a strong hold.

The though sloshes angry around his stomach. Zitao has never felt like this, but he thinks it must be jealousy.

He keeps quiet until they make it into the small town around the mountain, the stone walkways are slippery and Zitao feels out of breath, his backpack too heavy, camera cradled under his shirt.

Sehun pushes past people, pulling Jongin along until they're in front of the small motel they've booked. The door creaks when it gets pushed open and they drag rain, mud and clumps of grass into the linoleum floor.

He's peeling of his shirt when Sehun puts a cup of tea on the table next to his bed, there's smoke swirling over it.

“Thank you,” Zitao says quietly. Sehun has a new shirt on, judging from the way it's too big around his shoulders Zitao guesses it's one of Jongin's. He can almost remember a the page in his book where Jongin was wearing it during ballet practice. He thinks it doesn't look as bright as it did in his photographs, it's gone dull and fraying around the hem.

Outside the rain is still falling, the sound of thunder a far away echo, a threat that nobody takes seriously. Jongin calls for Sehun, a small sound that sounds so incredible shy Zitao almost feels bad about his new found feelings.

“Did you get it?” Sehun asks, eyes shifting behind them, towards the general area of Jongin, “was it worth?”

There's a smile in his tone, he sounds so thoroughly pleased, happy. Zitao can't remember the last time he was happy.

He smiles anyway when he says, “Yeah.”

-

Sehun says Junmyeon had nagged and nagged that he had to take Zitao around the greatest landmarks in France. The van they're sitting on is rickety, rocking back and forth from the dirt roads.

“I told him this wasn't a school field trip, but Junmyeon would have none of it,” Sehun says and Jongin laughs.

Zitao frowns, he can feel the blush rising to his cheeks, how Junmyeon manages to embarrass him even thousand of miles away is baffling.

“I don't wanna go to the Eiffel Tower,” he says in the same way he really wants to say I don't have to listen to everything Junmyeon says.

“We're not,” Jongin says, “I'm saving that for Sehun later...much later.”

“Shut up Jongin,” Sehun says with a grin, “you're being obnoxious.”

Zitao takes this opportunity to look out the window. The fields flying by are a blur of greens and yellows, blending crudely with the clouded skies.

“It's good that it keeps raining,” Sehun says, “so you can have loads of pictures.”

-

The gates to the cemetery are huge, Zitao stops a couple of feet before them and takes a picture. Sehun passes by him, Jongin smiling too wide for a visit to graves.

The Pere Lachaise is huge. It's row after row of headstones, names etched on stones as if to make sure they are not forgotten. There are dead flowers on some of them, decaying and gone brown and black, just stems and a few dried up petals.

Zitao takes a picture of them too, he tries to keep his hands steady, but he's always been afraid of things like this. Death and past lives, forgotten people and words and beauty.

He trails almost aimlessly, sometimes bumping into a mourning party, sometimes finding a stretch of tombstones abandoned and alone. Zitao spends some time on those, kneeling down and reading the names carefully, pressing his hand over the dirt and saying a few words of comfort. Sorry you died, sorry you're all alone, sorry all you have now is me. As if they can hear, as if they care for Zitao.

The small inkling of panic starts to set over his gut when he realizes he doesn't know what turns he took, what path he has to go back to. He has no idea where Jongin or Sehun are, has no idea where the big gates are out of here. The sky over him has gotten darker with the falling night, dulled even more by the clouds piling up. They curl into themselves, merge into big stretches of clouds that cover miles of ground.

The wing is starting to pick up, dead petals and garbage wiping around. He needs to find cover, he realizes when the first drop hits his arm. He looks around, in the distance he can hear people running around, the gates closing. He wonders where Sehun and Jongin are.

The rain starts to pick up, big fat rain drops that plop against the marble of the stones, the statues.

Zitao starts walking around, he tucks his camera under his shirt, holds on tight to the straps of his backpack. He can hear the thunder in the distance, getting closer.

In the distance he can see a big temple like tombstone, with enough of a recess to house his body from the rain. He walks towards it, until the rain starts hitting too hard and he jogs to it, hair matted over his eyes, the grass under him is starting to mix into mud.

He crowds under the little marble house, it's across a big tomb, a big slab of marble shaped into a coffin. There's a statue at the head of it, an angel, head bowed, wings curled up.

Zitao pushes back the hair over his eyes, it slicks, over saturated with water. The sky overhead is shifting, clouds bumping along, looking for places to fit. The roll of thunder is getting louder. Zitao pulls at the strap of his camera. His eyes steady over the sky, watching, the sound of rain filling his ears. If he concentrates enough he almost doesn't feel as lonely.

The sky is getting unbelievably darker, jam packed with clouds, it's a sight Zitao has never seen, so he takes his camera and flashes a picture of it. It makes his stomach unsettle a bit, he's nervous, he has no idea why, but the air is supercharged and something feels odd, not right.

The sound of thunder this time is loud, it overshadows the sound of the falling rain and the sky shakes with it. He goes still, his hands already up when the wicked line of light cracks the sky into two parts, opens up the sky and the rain races down in sheets, it's huge, it almost hurts to look at. It races down the sky and Zitao presses himself against the wall of his refuge when it keeps going down, striking down at the head of the angel with a cracking sound. He squints his eyes, he's too close for comfort, but he keeps taking pictures of the bright outburst in front of him, the cloud of smoke that puffs up from the destroyed monument.

His heart has stopped beating, Zitao has no idea what's going on, why he's still alive, why he's walking towards the tombstone across from him. His camera is up, as if to use as a shield, protect him from the sounds coming past the smoke.

His eyes start to water the closer he gets, his hands are shaking again and he' a second away from turning around until he hears a sound. A small groan and then a laugh. It sounds out of place, the whole day has been quiet until now. Zitao nearly drops his camera when he gets to the center of it all, but his hands grasp on and he takes a picture by mistake.

There's a boy lying on the decaying stone, his hair is wild, sticking up with rain. His skin is glowing, a faint film of light embodying him, he's laughing so hard his eyes scrunch up, cheekbones flushed with mirth. And he's naked. Zitao averts his eyes. This isn't like all the other nude photos he has taken, he had prepared himself for ages for them, all parties were aware of the nudity. Zitao can't cope with it when it comes crashing down on him.

The rain keeps coming down and it runs down the planes and slopes of the boy's body, making him glisten even more.

It's entirely his fault, he hadn't meant to attract any attention to himself, but the circumstances are ridiculous and Zitao makes a choked off sound and seems to snap the boy out of his happiness.

Eyes open and they're dopey, big and brown and lined with the prettiest eyelashes Zitao has seen on anyone. The look is too intense, the boy's mouth drops from a smile to a line of thought, straight and serious and wondering. His eyes go to the camera still gripped tightly by Zitao and the boy's mouth goes back into a wide smile.

“I'm Jongdae,” he says to the camera.

“Uh,” Zitao says, his knees feel like they're gonna give out, he averts his eyes when Jongdae starts to sit up. There's too much on display and the rain is only making everything slippery and shiny. The boy moves closer to him. Even from this faraway Zitao can feel his body heat, too warm for it to be normal.

“What's your name,” he asks and Zitao points at himself.

“I'm Zitao,” he croaks out when Jongdae nods at him.

“Hi,” Jongdae says cheerfully, his eyes look mischievous and Zitao feels lost. The rain hasn't let off and there's small outbursts of thunder but no lightning.

Zitao swallows, Jongdae shuffles closer.

“Clothes,” Zitao finally says, swinging his backpack forward and unzipping it, pulling out the first pieces of clothing he can, “you need clothes.”

Jongdae crinkles his nose at him, it's cute, as cute as it can be with him being naked, “only until I can get to Yixing,” he says like Zitao is going to care, as if Zitao knows who that is.

“Ok,” he says anyway, anything to get Jongdae out of being naked.

He watches as Jongdae climbs into Zitao's pants, they're too long and Jongdae bends down to roll the pants legs up, the fabric bunches up around his calves.

The shirt is too loose, the sleeves are too wide and he looks like a kid trying on his father's clothes. But Jongdae looks down at himself and wiggles his toes, “Do you?” he asks.

-

Jongdae is stumbling in too big shoes when Zitao finally manages to figure out a way to the gate. Jongin and Sehun are on the other side waiting, faces pressed to the railing, looks of concern and worry on their faces. They wave at him enthusiastically once they see him, faces breaking into relieved smiles until they see Jongdae behind him, waving back at them with a shy smile on his face.

“The gates are locked,” Zitao says instead of answering the question on his friends' faces, “how do I get out?”

Sehun doesn't even look at him, eyes still settled on Jongdae. It's Jongin who answers, voice dragged out, unsure.

“Climb over?”

Zitao looks at the height of it, the bars crisscrossing. It's doable.

“Can you climb over?” he turns to look at Jongdae, who just nods, arms already outstretched.

The metal is a bit slippery, but Zitao gets a good grip, eyes looking over to see if Jongdae is doing ok. They climb up with little effort, all the way to the top until they have to swing a leg over the other side of the gate.

Sehun and Jongin back off enough for them to have space to land. Zitao's feet land gracefully on the ground and Jongdae hops of the last couple of inches.

“Ok but,” Sehun starts and Jongin shakes his head.

-

They get a bigger room this time, it has three cot like beds, the furniture is a bit dusty but Zitao could care less when all he needs is to sit down and close his eyes long enough for Jongdae to not be real.

Jongin smiles apologetic at Zitao when Sehun keeps trying to ask questions, until he finally pulls him out of the room, leaving Zitao alone with Jongdae again.

“Your friends are nice,” Jongdae says as soon as the door closes, “the blond one looks a little snooty though.”

Zitao holds back a smile, opens his eyes and Jongdae is still there, still wearing his clothes, his hair is drying, fluffing up and his skin has lost some of its glow, still golden but not pulsating with light.

“I...I need answers?” Zitao finally asks.

Jongdae looks at him for a long moment, eyes calculating before he sits on his bed, leaning forward, towards Zitao, “I need questions.”

Zitao sits still through the whole thing, half from disbelief, half from fatigue. Jongdae is not human, at least not entirely. The right word is enelysion. It means I've been struck with lightning, Jongdae says offhandedly. His make up is half human half electricity. Zitao nods.

“I didn't meant to fall,” Jongdae says, “it's been raining a lot lately. It's been a busy summer for me, my head hasn't been fully focused in one thing, right? Gotta make sure I get storms going, scare a couple of people. All these weather reports are going crazy. It's supposed to be a rainy summer and I've been ragged.”

Zitao can feel the way his mouth has dropped opened, “What?” he squeezes out.

Jongdae spares him a look, and he smiles, it spreads slowly over his lips, Zitao almost misses it.

“Thunder and lightning?” Jongdae asks, it sounds innocent, “that's me.”

Zitao blinks, Jongdae blinks back at him, smile still curling at the edges of his mouth.

“No,” Zitao breathes out, shaking his head. There's a gust of wind coming through the window, the curtains flutter against it.

“Yes,” Jongdae says happily, he raises his hand at that, finger pointing out the window. It's barely a second when the sound of thunder booms over them, the flash of lightning startling. Zitao looks at the sky with wide eyes, knows he must look like an idiot.

“See?” Jongdae grins, the bed creaks under his weight, “all me.”

-

Sehun and Jongin come back sometime after Zitao pretends to understand what is going on. Jongdae is fuzzing with the television, settling on a weather channel.

Sehun stops moving as soon as he sees Jongdae trying to plaster his face to the television screen, eyes reflecting all the graphics from the report.

“Jongin,” he turns around and whines, stomping his foot a bit. Jongin rolls his eyes and pushes past Sehun, sitting at the edge of Zitao's bed and leaning over Jongdae.

“Hey, I'm Jongin,” he introduces himself, “what's your name?”

Jongdae puts the volume of the broadcast down and turns to show a blinding smile at Jongin, “I'm Jongdae, is like Jongin but with a dae instead of an in.”

Jongin smiles at that, hand reaching out to pat Jongdae at the shoulder, Zitao looks on in interest, takes note of the way that Jongin doesn't seem to feel Jongdae's insane body warmth. Zitao can feel it from his spot at the other end of the bed.

“I like you already,” Jongin nods, “a lot more fun than these two here.”

Sehun huffs from where he hasn't moved from the door, “I'm fun,” Sehun sticks his tongue out.

Zitao doesn't bother with any defense.

“What's his name,” Jongdae points at Sehun, “does he know how to smile?”
Sehun gapes at him, crossing his arms as he gives him a look, “my name is Sehun and I only smile when there's no strangers around.”

“My name is Jongdae, I'm not a stranger,” Jongdae says slowly, offering a small smile.

Sehun looks at him, eyes steely, “why are you wearing Zitao's clothes?”

Jongdae looks down at that, the front of his shirt concaves in with too much empty space.

“Mine got too wet,” Jongdae shrugs, “Zitao was just being nice and let me borrowed some of his.”

Sehun squints his eyes, Zitao nods.

-

The night cools off quickly, the clouds roll away and Zitao can't go to sleep.

Sehun and Jongin are curled up together, they manage to squish long limbs perfectly in their little bed space.

Zitao huffs, rolls over and squints at the silhouette of Jongdae. He watches quietly as he sits up, running a hand through his hair. The bed springs complain under the shift of weight but Jongdae pays it no mind as he slips on Zitao's too big sneakers.

Zitao wants to say something, ask where he's going but his words get caught in his throat and he can only watch as Jongdae leaves with the door closing carefully after him.

It's less hot now that Jongdae is gone, the breeze feels pleasant now and Zitao is relieved of his discomfort. He's curious but sleep comes like a surprise and he falls asleep before he realizes it.

-

Sehun wakes him up the next morning, Zitao feels him poking at his cheek and he tries to curl into himself but Sehun only laughs and the covers are ripped away from him.

“I hate you,” Zitao mumbles sleepily, “and everything that you love...sorry it had to go like this Jongin.”

“It's alright, I understand,” Jongin says and then, “where's Jongdae?”

Zitao sits up at that, he blinks at the general direction of Jongdae's bed and tries to remember anything Jongdae might have said about this.

“He's...with Yixing...a friend of his?” Zitao's mouth is unpleasantly dry, “to get his clothes, yeah.”

“Oh,” Sehun says, “well, we should get ready before we have to leave, ok?”
Zitao nods, hand going into his backpack for his toothbrush and paste.
-
The sky over them is partially clouded, the sun pokes out from gaps between clouds and Zitao thinks it pretty, so he takes a picture of it.

The people passing past their hotel are all types of beautiful, Zitao has never seen women so startling edgy and powerful. He smiles at the few who make eye contact with.

Sehun and Jongin are huddled together, talking in hushed tones and Zitao can barely stand it, the lonely feeling curling over his belly again.

Being in love has never been something Zitao thought he would want. He falls in love with everything he takes a photo of, the only time it's been anything but the underlying ever present admiration has been with Junmyeon. But that was a different feeling than the thing Jongin and Sehun have. Junmyeon was a safety blanket, someone there for him when he needed a hug or a kiss. Zitao knows what he has for Junmyeon is more of a soft benign love that would never compare to the steady adoration Sehun and Jongin share.

Zitao looks up when there's a shadow sprawled all over him. He tilts his head up, elbows resting over his knees.

Jongdae's smiling at him, hair combed neatly. He has different clothes on, a t-shirt that splays nicely over his shoulders, follows the curve of his waist.

“Here,” he says, hands over Zitao's clothes, neatly folded and dry. They're warm when Zitao reaches for them and he doesn't know how to figure out if it's just from Jongdae's touch or a drying machine.

“Found Yixing living in an apartment over a jewelry store. Crazy right? He cleaned your clothes for me, told me that he apologizes about me and thank you for letting me borrow your clothes. I keep telling him he doesn't have to apologize for me, I'm an adult right, he doesn't have to take care of me anymore. But Yixing says that he does in fact has to apologize for me because I'm a nuisance and he always has to clean up after him. Have you ever met Yixing?” Jongdae finishes with a question. He has a backpack over his shoulders and he smells like wax and incense.

“I don't know a Yixing no,” Zitao shakes his head. His voice cracks and Jongdae smiles at him.

“Not a lot of people do,” Jongdae says, he rocks on the balls of his feet, “only a few do. Usually is under extreme cases...a lot of people call him a miracle as if that's his real name.”

Zitao goes uneasy into this, “what do you mean?”

Jongdae shrugs, “you know the situation, when you think someone you love is too young to die and you pray and beg for them to get better. Never really bothered with nonsense but you're desperate?”

Zitao nods for Jongdae to continue.

“And then after so many words thrown at the sky, thrown my way, I might add, you wake up one morning and everything is ok, no one is dying, there's a full recovery. There's no explanation for it, so the doctors, the nurses, you call it a miracle. Yixing? He's a healer. The only healer left that's powerful enough to cure death. A miracle, if you must.” Jongdae nods, “I take the words thrown at me and I give them to Yixing and he heals if he can.”

Zitao can feel a headache coming his way. Sehun pulls away from Jongin and finally catches a look at Jongdae.

“Oh, hi,” he says, his edge from last night is gone and Zitao can guess Jongin must have talked to him about it.

“Hey Jongdae, did you find your friend?” Jongin asks with an easy smile.

“Yep,” Jongdae smiles back, his voice no longer has a serious tone to it, “barely caught him but he had my backpack, so it's all good.”

Zitao is so confused, he puts his head between his knees. Sehun asks if he's ok, Zitao gives him a muffled yes.

He can hear the wheels of their van pulling besides them and Jongdae taps at his shoulder, Zitao peeks from his hiding spot and his heart does a weird skip when Jongdae sends him a sheepish smile.

“I have no place to go,” he hushes.

-

Jongdae's eyes flash when Sehun says they're on their way to Greece. The sky outside of the van darkens and Zitao still can't wrap his head over Jongdae and his powers.

“I've been to Greece before,” Jongdae chats excitedly but it was a while ago, I was really young...It's probably completely different now.”

The guy driving them is a small thing, he's too skinny it seems, skin sticking to his bones in places. He's thin and his face is sharp, angular with intimidating eyes.

He doesn't talk much, just enough to introduce himself as Minseok. The vest he wears is loose and drags around his armpits.

“Can I take a picture of you?” Zitao says when they make a stop in the middle of a field.

“Why?” Minseok asks suspiciously, “I thought you were here for the skies.”

“This is just for my records,” Zitao smiles. Minseok looks startled before he smiles back, teeth aligned in a pretty smile.

Zitao takes a picture of him. Jongdae huffs behind him, “I'm gonna go see what's over there,” he announces.

Zitao watches him walk towards the field, into the wild grass, almost too tall for him to see Jongdae. Sehun and Jongin sit inside the van, door opened with Sehun sleeping on Jongin's shoulder.

“I'm gonna just go,” Zitao tells Minseok, pointing at Jongdae's retreating back.

He finds Jongdae sitting in a small clearing, deep into the mass of grass and weeds. The clouds overhead have accumulated, looking heavy and about to fall down.

“It's almost time,” Jongdae whispers, eyes closing, “it's another storm.”

He looks pretty like this, Zitao decides, eyes closed, chest falling and rising evenly. His fingers itch to take a picture of it. So he does, quietly puts his camera at the right angle, with just the right amount of natural light on Jongdae's glowing skin.

“Shouldn't you be saving film for the real show?” Jongdae says, there's a smile crooking across his mouth.

“Sorry,” Zitao blushes, his eyes fall to the patch of dirt they're standing on.

“Just make sure you get what you want,” Jongdae answers, raises his hand into the air and the low sound of thunder appears out of nowhere, Zitao swallows, a rain drop hits the top of his head. Jongdae is counting, he realizes, low under his breath, it's a slow slur of numbers.

8 7 6 5 4 3 2
Zitao raises his camera to the sky, into the dark blue clouds, the left over shadow of thunder.

1

Jongdae draws a ragged line over the air, and Zitao realizes as he takes the picture that it's the shape of the bolt of lightning illuminating the sky.

It doesn't rain as much, it's mostly fleeting showers of too slow rain. But the thunder is loud, Jongdae takes deep breaths for every one that dissolves the quiet of the field. The lines of lightning are the most intricate things Zitao has seen, but he barely gets any of them, he finds his camera pointed at Jongdae, taking picture after picture of his fist in the air, the sharp lines his fingers draw on the air, the way his hair falls over his closed eyes. The way drops of rain slide down his temple, cross the edge of his cheekbones, the cut of his jaw.

It's minutes before Jongdae finally opens his eyes. There's leftover thunder in the distance, but the sky stays dark, the rain slows down even more.

“That was some of my best work,” Jongdae says, “and you didn't get most of it.”

He says it in mock annoyance, Zitao knows because there's a teasing smile thrown his way and it's all too much with the way his eyes are serene, the way his hands have just drawn out the thing Zitao has been wanting to capture.

“Sorry,” he says anyway, “I got distracted.”

Jongdae nods, “I guess it's not everyday this happens, so I guess it's ok.”

-

Jongdae decides he wants to sit next to Minseok. Zitao gets stuck sharing a seat with Sehun and Jongin on the ride to their next stop.

He sighs to himself, wonders what Junmyeon is doing, if Minseok will let him use his cellphone to call him.

His eyes keep drifting to Jongdae, the way his profile is nice to look at, the line of his nose, the curve of his lips, the curl of his lashes.

He needs a picture of that, he decides now, he needs every picture of Jongdae he can get.

Minseok laughs at something Jongdae says and there's the same feeling he gets with Sehun and Jongin, an burning feeling of not fair and want.

Zitao ignores it.

-

Their next stop is what looks like an abandoned house. Zitao looks at the stretch of land, the sky overhead, the way the clouds are starting to come from the other side of the world. It's too early the next day. Minseok has been driving for hours and he walks out of the car almost like a zombie, towards the house. Sehun and Jongin follow sleepily.

“It's not supposed to storm today,” Jongdae says quietly, “I'm almost positive.”

Zitao grimaces at that, “does it take a lot out of you?” he asks.

Jongdae seems to be thinking about his answer before he shakes his head.

“Not really,” he starts, “I have a lot of energy, I know it doesn't look like it with how small I am...but I guess the reason why there's so many storms this time around is because I have too many packed up inside me. Yixing said I had to let go of them. It's easier said than done...you get attached, you know?”

Zitao nods, “yeah I guess.”

Jongdae looks at the sky, “this is just rain,” he says, “and I'm not in charge of that.”

“Then who is?” Zitao asks and Jongdae shrugs.

“Who knows,” he says, “a lot of us went missing, a lot of us are wandering around and don't even know what we are. I never left home, Yixing kept me in line, never let me forget.”
Zitao doesn't know how to respond to that, he keeps quiet.

-

Minseok complains that it's too hot, “all this rain is making this damned place too hot.”

Jongdae giggles at him, “stop being so negative,” he says happily.

They're at the base of another mountain. Zitao doesn't know the name of it, just that it's not as big as the last one, and that the sky it pokes through is starting to get ready for Jongdae.

“Jongin and I have decided that we are gonna wimp out and wait here with Minseok and you two manly man can climb all the dirt piles you want,” Sehun announces and Jongin nods from the refuge of the van.

Zitao rolls his eyes, watching quietly at the way Jongin's arms reach out to touch Sehun's waist. He turns around, starts climbing.

Jongdae doesn't talk on the way up, keeps steady behind Zitao. The air around them smells fresh, Zitao wishes he could get the scent of rain into his pictures, but he knows even he's not that great.

His boots keep snapping twigs and Zitao can hear the way Jongdae whispers sorry and Kyungsoo.

He takes a little break to catch his breath and Jongdae kicks a rock for a while before he starts talking.

“You know, this mountain is Kyungsoo's,” he stops “well technically, the whole earth is his...”

Zitao raises an eyebrow at him, “ok?”

“It's just kinda amazing at the things Kyungsoo can do. He can build this mountain and craft all the little twigs you keep stepping over,” Jongdae sighs.

Zitao nods in understanding, realization hitting him, “I didn't mean to,” he hums, “I don't hurt things on purpose.”

Jongdae nods, “Kyungsoo knows that,” he points at the tree, “he has a lot of resources you know. He probably knows almost as much as Luhan.”

They're all names he doesn't know and names he's not sure he wants to learn about. So Zitao offers a choppy nod.

The rest of the hike up is silent, Jongdae's mumblings are cut off and by the time they're at the top Jongdae sits on the ground and closes his eyes.

Zitao takes his camera from around his neck. Jongdae takes a deep breath and the first sounds of thunder come from the edges of the world. Just a soft sound, almost too gentle.

It starts to drizzle and Zitao takes a picture of the way Jongdae's shoulders tense when he realizes it. He raises his hand and the first line is shaky, it cracks the sky into little tiny fragments but Zitao sees the beauty of it, the way it reflects and emotion that has settled deep in him. He takes a picture of it.

-

Zitao's been by too many places to count, fields and plains, mountains and plateaus, natural monuments. He has tons of pictures. Of dark skies and the faint whispers of thunder, all shapes of lightning. They make up the minority, he realizes, tries to count in his head how many of his pictures are sneaky shots of Jongdae with his eyes close, hand raised in the air. It's always the same, the same pose, the same expression, at eased and carefree. Sometimes Jongdae's mouth curls up at one corner, a crooked smile to match his crooked lines of light across the sky. Sometimes his eyelashes are wet with raindrops. Sometimes it's too hot and Jongdae's cheeks are painted a deep pink in it's wake.

Sehun and Jongin keep being in love, and it hurts less to look at because it hurts more to look at Jongdae.

He's laying wide awake, the back of his neck pressed against the warm metal of the hood of Minseok's band. There's enough space between the big curling clouds that Zitao can see the punctured holes of light, the way the stars poke out and it's beautiful and it reminds him of Jongdae's eyes. His camera is next to him and he takes a picture, lazy, an afterthought.

He has no idea what he's doing, what he's feeling. Just that even though he's gotten used to Jongdae's heat, has gotten to the point where he welcomes it, he hasn't gotten used to his smiles, his eyes, the way the line of his shoulders hold so much power. His heart still does the stupid little fluttering thing that makes him feel like his heart has lodged in his throat.

He thinks it has to do more than the way Jongdae's lips are so pink and promising, the almost too dangerous cut of his cheekbones, the way his eyes curve in a way that's intriguing and intimidating all together.

It feels like he's looking up at the stars for answers but it's useless when there's a tap against the front window of the van and Zitao looks back to see Jongdae, eyes heavy with sleep, blinking, trying to wake himself up. His eyelids droop in a too attractive way and Zitao's heart lurches.

Sleep Jongdae's mouth shapes over the word and Zitao watches in amusement as Jongdae pretends to go to sleep and then slumbers off.

-

The town they reach is lonely but Jongdae looks entirely too excited. Nothing looks the same, he rambles off, bouncing off the van.

Sehun and Jongin try to lead him to the hotel they're staying in and Minseok is already apologizing for having to share a room with Zitao and Jongdae. Zitao is secretly thankful because he doesn't think he could handle Jongdae by himself any longer. He remembers Yixing's premature apologies and accepts them when he enters his room and sees Jongdae in one of Minseok's too slinky shirts.

“I have to make a call,” he says quickly and runs towards the the reception area.

They let him use the phone out in the back and Zitao slumps down the wall with each ring from across the line.

“Hello,” Junmyeon says and Zitao almost cries.

“I've missed you,” he whispers, scared that anyone will hear him.

“Zitao,” Junmyeon sighs, it's a fond sound, relieved in its own way, “how are things, are you eating, do you need more money?”

He can't help the sob that rips out of his throat and he's thankful when Junmyeon stays quiet, letting him hiccup to himself until he can form words.

He can't help it, these waves that are crashing inside him, bursting out of his eyes. It's this frustration that he has has building up and has crumbled down at the worst possible moment.

“I'm alone,” he babbles and he can hear the way Junmyeon switches the phone to his other ear.
“Aren't you with Sehun and Jongin?” he asks and Zitao takes in a shaky breath.

“And Jongdae,” he says.

“Did you mean, Jongin?” Junmyeon sounds worried.

“No...Jongdae,” it's getting easier to talk now, “he's someone I crashed into,” he finishes lamely.

“It's good to hear that you're meeting people and not just taking pictures,” Junmyeon must be smiling Zitao thinks.

“It's not,” Zitao sniffles.

The line is quiet at the other end and Zitao keeps going, “I think I like him.”

“Oh,” Junmyeon says, it's meant to encourage Zitao to keep talking so he does.

“He's...he's not normal,” is the first thing he says. He rambles on, all about the things Jongdae can do, the way he draws lightning, the way thunder follows the beat of his heart, words like miracle and enelysion and there's a brief second when Junmyeon takes a deep breath and Zitao doesn't think to ask him about it.

“But...” Junmyeon sound unsure, “what do you like about him.”

And Zitao thinks it can't be that easy when he says, “his smile, his mouth, his gaze, his eyes, the lines that add him up, the way he keeps going, even when he looks like he's too tired. The curl of his eyelashes and the way his smile is never the same.”

“Then you aren't lonely,” Junmyeon asserts, Zitao shakes his head.

“My heart keeps doing this thing where it's never where it belongs. All this time I've been watching Sehun and Jongin and the way jealously crawls under my skin. And it's still the same even with him here.”

“Tell him,” Junmyeon doesn't hesitate, “if you like him, tell him.”

Zitao can't answer that, he presses the phone to his ear and listens to the rain on the other side, the way Junmyeon breathes and then, “You're growing up Zitao.”

Zitao laughs, half a sob half mirth.

-

It's raining when Jongdae drags him out of the hotel, the city they're in is small and Jongdae jiggles the van keys at Zitao and asks if he can drive.

The ruins Zitao parks by are sad piles of dust and marble. There's no one around, just the decayed building, the left over thoughts of what it was supposed to mean.

“This used to be mine,” Jongdae says, “people used to come here and worship me, ask me to be kind, I always tried to be...unless Yifan made it clear that I had to punish...”

The brown rock around them is too dull to be an offering for Jongdae but Zitao bites his tongue and nods.

“It's nice to be here again,” he says, “it reminds me of when I was younger.”

“Can I?” Zitao asks, camera already up and Jongdae nods, a small movement, but enough for Zitao to use as an excuse to take a picture of Jongdae, clean and pristine in the mucked up past, something of value destroyed and still so important to him.

“I hate it when you do that,” Jongdae says but he shakes his head when Zitao raises an eyebrow in question, instead closes his eyes and raises his hand. The rain is steady, just a mist that sticks to Zitao like a second skin. It feels like an embrace and it settles his nerves a bit.

“This is gonna be a fast one,” he says and Zitao takes it as a warning to take as many pictures as he can.

“Anything you give me is more than ok,” Zitao assures him.

-

They leave Minseok behind, he gives them his number but no promises when he leaves them in the airport. Jongdae doesn't let himself be shaken off and they take off to another mountain, big and beautiful. The people around them only speak Spanish and Jongdae smiles the whole time through. The town settled in the valley of it is smaller than any of the other places they've been but the people are nice and offer them a place to stay. The house is colorful and the doors are made of bright blue metal. The beds feel too good against their aching backs and Sehun and Jongin immediately forget their fatigue when they pass the town's basketball courts.

They can't speak a word of the same language but the locals start fighting over the height of them, who gets who. Zitao laughs and shakes his head when they try to make him play.

“There's nothing until later in the morning,” Jongdae chirps as they watch the kids play, the sky has the sun hanging and it's the first time he's seen it.

“Then lets enjoy this little break,” Zitao replies.

The breeze is playful and Zitao notes the way Sehun is smiling, unwavering, he hasn't seen Sehun smile like that unless it's Jongin related.

“Wow,” Jongdae says, “he can smile.”

Zitao shoves his shoulder with a laugh and Jongdae looks fazed for a second before he shoves Zitao back.

-

People come and go and leave them plates of food, all saying words that Zitao thinks are meant to be welcoming, he smiles and thanks them all deeply, grateful.

Jongin peeks into every dish and tastes all of them, humming contently, at all he eats.

“I like this place,” Sehun declares, “lets never go back, just fly Junmyeon here.”

“I don't know who Junmyeon is, but yes I agree,” Jongdae nods.

Zitao shifts his eyes guiltily.

“I miss home a little,” Jongin confesses and Sehun gazes at him softly.

They get ready to sleep after they eat their full, Zitao puts away their leftovers in the small fridge in the kitchen, washes all the dishes that are empty and lays them to dry.

By the time he goes back to the beds Sehun and Jongin are curled together, Jongin's face tucked neatly into Sehun's shoulder.

Jongdae's hair is damp with sweat, it curls around his ears and Zitao's heart squeezes behind his rib cage at the sight. He reaches to touch, finger barely skimming over the ridge of his nose, the swell of his upper lip. It's too hot, Zitao wants to pull away but can't bring himself to do it when he pushes his thumb into the plush lower lip of Jongdae's mouth.

The spike of desire almost knock the breath out of him and he finally pulls away like he's been burned when the feeling under his skin feels different. An itch under his palms, something he can't scratch but that has been there for a while.

It's almost like the heat Jongdae carries with him is flowing through his veins, heating him up, building up this need that has sneaked up on him.

He inches away, a bit shaky at his thoughts, at the way he can' stop thinking about devouring Jongdae's lips, the whole of him.

-

His eyes have a hard time peeling awake, Jongdae shakes him gently, his words a little messy with sleep.

“Wake up,” he says, “We need to go soon.”

Zitao gets ready clumsily, the bathroom is small and he drops his toothbrush a couple of times into the sink.

Jongdae doesn't let him take a shower, hurries him along to put on his shoes, pushes him out into the too dark morning.

“By the time we get there it'll be early afternoon,” Jongdae informs him.

Zitao groans, holding on to his camera, backpack feeling too heavy.

They climb carefully once they reach the mountain, it's dark and Jongdae says he doesn't want Zitao to get hurt because of him. So they trek slowly, almost painfully so.

They stop and watch the sun rise halfway up the mountain. The rays of it paint Jongdae in golden hues, his eyes shine and his hair breaks up the light hitting it. He can't help it when his hand stops taking pictures of the sun and instead finally captures the beautiful profile Jongdae owns. There's a smile etching on his mouth at the second photo and then an up close front shot of his face when he turns to smile directly at Zitao.

“Ah, look how pretty,” Jongdae gushes, “everything looks so small and golden.”
“Yeah,” Zitao swallows.

It's not long before the sun gets shoved behind clouds, the day becomes gray tinted, clouds covering the sky.

Zitao takes a picture of what's below them, the small looking trees, the landscape, the little dots he thinks must be people.

The rain starts slow, it's not a surprise, if anything it's welcomed, it's not as hot as the rain before and it helps them cool down.

Zitao looks up and a drop of rain lands in his eye, it hurts and he blinks it away, Jongdae laughs at him and all Zitao can do is shake his head and smile.

Front the top Zitao can see the small village, the little square that is the basketball court, he thinks if he squints enough he can make out the dot of yellow that must be Sehun's head, the tawny brown of Jongin.

Jongdae sits down, the earth under them is wet but Jongdae never seems to mind. The clouds over head start to circle over them, surrounding the peak where they stand. Zitao watches in awe and barely hears Jongdae when he says,

“This is different, special...do you want to come up?”

Zitao can't answer, thunder roars over them and Jongdae takes a deep breath.

“This takes a lot of energy but I figure you would appreciate it, for your photos.”

Is that sentence that makes Zitao remember he has a camera, he takes a picture of the ring of clouds over them, the sparks of electricity jumping around them.

And then of Jongdae, who has his palms thrown up, eyes shut tightly.

“Do you want to go up?” Jongdae asks again, Zitao doesn't know what he means, just knows that when he nods his camera captures the way Jongdae sends him a new smile, similar to the others but just different enough that Zitao keeps it in his catalog of Jongdae's smiles.

“C'mere then,” Jongdae murmurs, he opens his eyes and they're different, a lighter shade, bright and gleaming.

Zitao walks towards him, he's never been too close to Jongdae when he does this, he hesitates until Jongdae's hand goes up to his, pulls him down to sit across from him. He links their hands together, fingers interlacing.

There's another blush crawling up his face, Zitao knows it, but he can't think about it too much when he feels the earth under him leave him. The wind around him picks up and it takes him a moment to realize that he's surrounded by clouds. He's ascending up the tube of clouds over them, up up up.

It's entirely too much to take in, he grips tighter to Jongdae, there's fear settling in his stomach, a panicked feeling that he can't help. He closes his eyes tightly, bites the inside of his cheek until he feels no movement, something stable under him.

The hands holding on to his let go and he opens his eyes, surrounded by gray, gray cloud as far as the eye can see. Clouds, clouds lining the sky, he must be going crazy, he knows it. Zitao looks down at the cloud he's sitting on and he laughs nervously before Jongdae opens his eyes.

“Don't worry about falling, Yixing is good at pulling favors. That cloud is as stable as the earth Kyungsoo makes.”

“This is getting really strange,” Zitao says, it's been strange since Jongdae crashed down on earth, but it's finally catching up on Zitao.

“Not the strangest thing that could happen,” Jongdae answers.

“Why am I here?” Zitao asks, eyes looking around.

“So you can take pictures,” Jongdae smiles easily, “I thought you would appreciate the view from here, it's a million times better than down on earth.”

Zitao nods, he's not sure how to keep calm over this, he's on a cloud, he's in the sky, Jongdae is every storm he has been chasing. It's too much and too little time to take it all in.

“Just watch,” Jongdae says and he pushes off, he goes high enough that Zitao has too look up, but close enough that he can see the way his eyes are close. Like always.

The clouds around them start to pull towards Jongdae, swirling like they had done down on earth, Zitao is stunned for a minute before he snaps into action, he's going to take as many pictures as he can, click away until he has enough pictures to finally have all of Jongdae on film. He watches from behind the lenses, the way the wind whips Jongdae's hair around, the way his hands go up, bolts of lightning forming for a split second before he drops them. The way thunder follows every big breath he takes, chasing away the fatigue that Jongdae does not want.

It's a powerful sight, watching him, all the power he has going almost carelessly through him. Zitao wonders briefly how it must look down on earth, if all the power Jongdae holds can be seen from down there.

-

The descent is less nerve wracking, its steady and Zitao is ready, not blindly going in. The rain has been downplayed into a sad drizzle, lazy, languid.

It's dusk by the time they make it to the edge of the village, the ground beneath them is firm and Zitao watches as it hungrily drinks up the few raindrops still falling. The smell of rain mixing with the dirt is invigorating, strongly wafting from the earth. It's the smell Zitao remembers the most when he looks down and realizes him and Jongdae are still holding hands.

He looks down at him and Jongdae smiles at him tiredly, eyes droopy.

“Let's go home,” he says.

-

Junmyeon opens the door to their flat and Zitao smiles at him. His brown roots are showing, growing back from under the bleached blond.

“I'm home,” Zitao smiles and lets Junmyeon pull him down for a hug.

Jongdae peers up at Junmyeon, suddenly gone shy and Zitao doesn't know why.

“Hello,” Junmyeon says, stilled and unsure, “I'm Junmyeon.”

“Oh,” Jongdae says, his expression is still a little confused and Junmyeon gives him a look that Zitao can't read. But he's too tired to look into it, instead shoves all the things they've carried into the living room and falls asleep.

-

He wakes up to hushed tones, his eyes are too tired to open properly and he can't bother to try to listen when sleep is trying to escape and he wants to so desperately hold on to it.

When he finally wakes up, Junmyeon face is crowding over him, he hears the clink of a mug and the smell of coffee hits him.

“I have to go to work,” Junmyeon says, “Jongin called, he says he'll be at home bored if you want to visit. Sehun is at work.”

Zitao wants to ask about Jongdae but he only nods and Junmyeon drops a kiss behind his ear before he leaves.

He stays still listening to Junmyeon get ready for work, the way the front door opens and closes and then the footsteps of Jongdae in their flat.

“I'm gonna drink your coffee if you don't wake up,” he singsongs with a push against Zitao's shoulders.

“You're worst than Junmyeon,” he grumbles and Jongdae takes a sip of his coffee.

“Probably,” Jongdae says around the cup, sighing after he takes a long drink.

-

The sun is up and there's puddles everywhere, Zitao watches the way Jongdae jumps into them, takes sneaky pictures of the way the water beads around him with every jump.

Zitao lets himself in with the key Sehun had given him. Jongin is huddled on the couch, watching the morning news.

“I don't think the doctor meant go on one giant exhausting trip when he said I needed bed rest,” Jongin sighs.

Zitao barely pulls on a guilty face before Jongin shakes his head, “Don't,” he says, “I wanted to go too.”

They leave Jongdae on the couch listening to the weather report when Jongin follows Zitao into the kitchen, watches him boil water for some tea.

“Sehun says I had to ask you a very important question when you came over,” Jongin breaks the silence.

Zitao stops looking for the tea leaves and stays still enough for Jongin to know he's listening.

“He wants to know what you and Jongdae are,” he says.

“Friends,” he says without a pause, “we're friends.”

The water on the stove boils over and Jongin reaches to turn off the stove, “but you want something else?” Jongin probes.

Zitao's fingers skim over the tea tin and he pulls it down with a huff.

“Never really matters what you want if know you can't have it,” Zitao says slowly, “Jongdae and I are not on the same level, he deserves something more divine.”

“Don't play yourself down,” Jongin frowns, “you are more than worthy of a person like him.”

Zitao shakes his head and drops some leaves into the hot water.

“It's not that easy,” he says, “it's never as easy as you and Sehun.”

He can feel the way Jongin flinches with the words, and he feels sorry for saying it, it's about to apologize but Jongin interrupts.

“Think about it,” he pulls down two mugs, “do something that makes you happy for once.”

-

Junmyeon is home when they leave Jongin with Sehun.

He smiles at them and points at the pots on the stove, “dinner is almost ready.”

Dinner is awkward, Zitao can feel the tension. He figures it'll be a little awkward until Junmyeon and Jongdae finally get to know each other better. He smiles enough for all of them, and enjoys the quiet dinner for once.

He's watching a documentary on ice caps when Junmyeon passes by and curls a hand over his shoulder, “go to sleep soon.”

Zitao nods, tilting his head back enough to smile at him.

He hears the door to Junmyeon's room close and seconds later the guest room door creaking open.

“Hi,” Jongdae mock whispers.

Zitao shuffles enough to make room for him, he mutes the television and keeps his gaze on the softness Jongdae's skin radiates.

There's something that's been nagging at Zitao's mind and he's not thinking when he says, “you wouldn't have fallen if you wouldn't close your eyes.”

Jongdae turns wide eyes at him, mouth forming into an expression of uncertainty.

“I mean,” Zitao tries to retract but Jongdae is shaking his head, putting his hand up to stop him, eyebrows furrow in concentration.

“Do you want to know something funny?” he asks and Zitao nods before thinking.

“I felt down because I opened my eyes,” he smiles, “I wasn't supposed to, but one day I opened my eyes and I saw someone, someone looking up at me, looking for me. I thought maybe it was a mistake, but every time I would open my eyes, you were there, you were following me. And I didn't know why, you had that camera around your neck, never had an umbrella,” Jongdae stops.

Zitao licks his lips.

“So that day in Paris, you were there, all alone and all I could think about was how it was almost endearing how you were there, taking pictures even with your shaking hands,” Jongdae laughs, “I wanted to see more of you, so I leaned over, I could almost hear Yixing yelling at me for doing something so dangerous. But I wanted to see you, wanted to talk to you, even if it wasn't allowed. I tipped over, I leaned too far out and I felt down, felt down for you.”

Jongdae reaches for Zitao's hand, “Yixing told me Kyungsoo and Yifan were so mad at me. He said I would not believe how much he had to apologize on my behalf. And I almost felt sorry for it, but I got to meet you and I thought it was worth it. You seem so genuinely interested in me. I was flattered. I decided to stick around and help.”

Jongdae squeezes their hands together, “Even with my eyes closed afterwards, I could feel your eyes on me, I knew you were watching me. And I still don't know why.”

“I'm sorry,” Zitao says, he thinks those are the only words he can say and Jongdae nods at him.

“It's ok, it turned out pretty ok, right?”

-

He can feel Jongdae behind him, his hands shake with the trays of chemicals. He grabs for the bottles on his shelf, popping them open and mixing them in the way he knows by heart. His hands move easily, more muscle memory than thought. Zitao makes sure the temperature is just right for developing. He's got his film running under water, watching the chemicals wash away when Jongdae finally speaks.

“This is boring,” he says, “And I can't see you.”

“We're almost done developing the film,” Zitao says happily, "then we wait for a couple of hours for it to dry and we'll move along to printing.”

“I thought this would be easier,” Jongdae says, “and fun.”

“It is,” Zitao says excitedly, “I am having lots of fun,” he smiles, knows that Jongdae can't see in the dark.

“It's not,” the voice is a lot closer but Zitao pays it no mind when he's trying to argue back that it is lots of fun.

But the words never leave him, he can feel the way Jongdae holds on tightly to his shoulders, pulls him forward to him and the crush of lips is a little painful, not entirely unwelcome and a shock to Zitao's nerves.

“Jongdae?” he tries to say around the kiss, but it's a mumble and Jongdae tilts his head until their lips are less of an awkward crush and more of a slide of lips.

Every question Zitao tries to ask gets licked away by Jongdae's persistent mouth, until Zitao gets the hint and lets himself relax, hands going for Jongdae's hips, pulling him towards the kiss.

He kisses him until Jongdae pulls away, his forehead presses to his jaw, little puffs of hot breath over the skin. Zitao shivers and holds on tighter to Jongdae.

“Why did you follow me around if you don't like me,” Jongdae says, it sounds like he's seconds away from crying and Zitao shakes his head at how horrible wrong he sounds.

He thinks back to what Jongin had said to him. Do something that makes you happy for once.

“I do like you,” he says, his mouth finds Jongdae's ear, the next words just about a whisper, “I like you a lot.”

The breath fanning over his skin hitches and there's nothing Zitao can think that is not Jongdae.

There's a kiss pressed to his cheek, a quick shy peck that completely gets undone with the way Jongdae's voice dips when he speaks again.

“How much time do we have before they dry?”

-

This isn't how how Zitao had planned to spend the time waiting for his film to dry. But Jongdae pushes him up the flight of stairs, lips pushy and needy as he guides them to Zitao's room.

The sun is out, it streams from outside the window. The window glass is stained with the earlier rain, the days and days of almost nonstop rain. They get reflected across the wall with the sunlight and Zitao looks at it, wishes his camera were with him but Jongdae pulls him to the bed.

He realizes then that it's messy and he ducks his head from his place over Jongdae, “Sorry it's not made,” he says quietly, he's feeling entirely to hot, Jongdae is too warm under him and it goes all the way up his neck, flushing pink.

“It doesn't need to be made,” Jongdae smiles leaning up for a kiss.

Jongdae is hot everywhere he touches him, every article of clothes removed lets out more exposed skin, the dips of the sides of his waist, the jut of his hipbones, the lines of his legs, the curves of them.

“You're so warm,” Zitao says, hands grabbing at Jongdae's plush thighs, so soft.

Jongdae has gone red in the face, his breathing is picking up the the room gets darker with rolling clouds.

“Don't touch if you're not gonna do anything,” Jongdae says.

Zitao grins at that, Jongdae is bare under him, bristling from a single touch.

“Waiting a little more shouldn't be so hard,” he says, “we have lots of time, remember?”

Zitao wants to touch everything, he wants to taste everything, he wants to be greedy for once and take his full of Jongdae and take seconds home.

“Do something,” Jongdae begs, “at least take off your clothes.”

Zitao pulls his shirt off, lets it drop with Jongdae's clothes.

“I just wanna look at you all day long,” Zitao says, “you're so gorgeous.”

Jongdae swallows, curling slightly into himself.

“Don't,” Zitao chastises, “let me see.”

Jongdae takes a deep breath and Zitao picks up thunder from far away. He grins slyly down at Jongdae, before he his hands untangle themselves from Jongdae's thighs, going for the base of his cock, holding on tightly as Zitao slides his hand upwards.

Jongdae bucks up in surprise, the veins in his neck strain when his head lolls back, teeth biting hard at his his lip.

“Don't hurt yourself,” Zitao frowns, leaning all the way down, hand trapped between them, mouth latching itself to Jongdae's bottom lip.

Zitao kisses him like he's been meaning to, it's full of need, lust, desire, awe. He needs Jongdae to know how much he wanted this, wants this.

Jongdae gasps into his mouth, hips ticking up, the head of his dick leaving a wet spot against Zitao's pants, rubbing always painfully against the denim.

Zitao pulls away, mouth still over Jongdae, he pants wetly against it, the hand next to Jongdae's head pushing him up, the other hand stuck between them, pressing against the underside of Jongdae's dick, flush against his belly.

“Zitao,” Jongdae wheezes, “please,” he chokes when Zitao lets his own hips drop, rubbing his hard on against Jongdae's thighs.

“You look so pretty like this,” Zitao says carefully, tries not to sound so desperate, his jeans are too tight now, and he wants so badly to go on with this, but he needs to drink Jongdae up, etch him into his eyelids and commit the way sweat trickles down his face, the red blush down to his shoulders, the beauty marks that reside over his skin. The way there's precome slicking him up, makes it easy for Zitao to slide his hand, jack him lazily for a couple of seconds, press his thumb over the head, enjoying the little gasps that prelude to the bursts of thunder outside.

He can't help the little laugh, when he ducks down and kisses at the column of Jongdae's neck, teeth biting down carefully, too scared to break him, he's so small under him, it's exhilarating, his nose bumps over the line of his jaw, lips mouthing down to his shoulders, the delicate slope of them, biting hard when he gets to the end of it.

Jongdae hisses and Zitao mumbles an i'm sorry, kissing softly over the spot. He can see the mark of his teeth, the way the blood is rushing under Jongdae's skin. Forming a bruise.

His mouth changes course, skimming over his adam's apple, kissing over it.

The dimples of his collarbones are too tempting not to kiss, he presses his mouth to them, open mouthed. He puts his palms over Jongdae's hips racing up and down his sides, hands splaying over his chest, palms sliding over his nipples, Jongdae arches up with the touch, hips rutting against Zitao's.

It's all that it takes before Jongdae can't help himself, hips taking a life of their own rutting almost frantically, Zitao lets him, mouth going back up, kissing him again. His mouth slots with Jongdae's mouth, kissing him short, speaking strained words, “you are so beautiful, so pretty. I want all of you, touch all of you.”

Their skin sticks together, it's almost searing hot. The clouds outside get darker, thunder too loud, it rumbles against Zitao's bones.

Jongdae mouths pleas against Zitao's lips, hot words, urging him on, to hurry up. Zitao's hands finally anchor over Jongdae's hips, pining them down against the bed.

“Just do it,” Jongdae finally says and Zitao nods, backing away. Jongdae whines at that but Zitao shakes his head, goes to the small bathroom connected to his room, he digs through the mirror cabinet before he finds the small bottle of lube.

He walks too fast back to his room, undoing his jeans, kicking them off and dragging his boxers down with them.

Jongdae looks at him, his eyes close and he swallows. Zitao climbs back over him, fingers going to press over his eyelids, trace the line of his cheekbones, the swollen plushness of his lips.

“So so gorgeous,” he says, opens the bottle of lube, gets his fingers coated before he goes down.

He presses his thumb down against him, rubbing lube around before he pushes a finger in slowly. He watches in fascination, the way Jongdae stills for a second, before a moan escapes him, the thunder outside feels too close. Zitao smiles, pushes another finger in. It's an amazing sight, watching Jongdae push back against his fingers, asking for more, skin slick with sweat, hair matted down, falling over his eyes. Even the sounds he makes are gorgeous, the little mewls, the tiny mores and pleases. The way his voice goes a little on the high side. He can make them out over the roll of thunder, it's something he never wants to forget.

Jongdae's mouth has gone slacked, cheek a violent pink, his skin is glowing again, the golden hue back, his skin too hot to the touch, but Zitao holds on. Likes the way Jongdae's fingers dig into the sheets of his bed, knuckles gone white with the force of it, pulling at them, making his bed even messier.

When Zitao finally pushes in, Jongdae goes soft, his body melts under him, pliant and warm and his hands go to hold on to Zitao.

Zitao wraps Jongdae's legs around him, pulls him up in a half way seated position. Jongdae's mouth puffs over his ear, breaths ragged and out of time.

Zitao pushes out, lets Jongdae get ready for it before he pushes back in.

“C'mon” Jongdae says. Zitao picks up his speed. He doesn't stop, not with the way Jongdae keeps asking for more, presses them close, unbearably so, Zitao's thighs start to ache and Jongdae scrunches up his face, nose looking all cute with the expression. There's tears clinging to his eyelashes, like the way the rain always did when they would go take pictures.

“So good,” Jongdae sobs.

Zitao pushes harder, hips snapping almost too sharp, Jongdae slides up, fingers digging into Zitao's shoulder, the heels of his feet pressing him closer.

He bites hard against his shoulder a muffled sound pressed to Zitao's skin.

The room lights up for a split second, lightning crashing down on them. Just as Zitao feels a low burn in his belly, he tries another angle, something to let him go in harder. Jongdae sobs when he manages it, there's another flash of lightning, the boom of thunder. The flashes of light that let go and Zitao realizes that Jongdae has gone all tense, body arching at an angle that looks painful. He comes all over Zitao's stomach.

The thunderstorm outside rages, faltering until all he can hear is the echo of thunder, the flashes of light become spare and Zitao lets Jongdae fall back into the bed, follows him until he's pressed all along him.

Jongdae whines, “Too sensitive he says, when his dick gets trapped all over Zitao's slick belly.

“Almost done,” Zitao promises, he doesn't have the energy to keep going at his pace, so he settles on grinding against Jongdae, he goes slow but even that's enough to get him off faster than he thought.

His mouth drops against his neck and he kisses where his teeth had scraped a bruise over earlier.

“Perfect,” he says when he kisses it.
-
He finally gets his prints out, he has to lock Jongdae a time too many but he refuses to get distracted again.

He let's Jongdae see them first. The first couple of shots are of skies, dark and heavy and a single line of light marring them. There's landscapes of trees, mountains in the distance, rain blurring with the bolts of lightning. The random shots of locals, of things Zitao found pretty, of Minseok with the sun behind him, smiling for him. The picture of Junmyeon from the morning, the sun rising next to him, his hair almost translucent, his eyelashes almost as pretty as Jongdae's.

There's the eerie pictures of the tombstones, the photos of the storm to come, heavy skies the clouds pouring down, the giant streak of lightning.

There's Jongdae, blurry at the edges, but skin still golden, bare, surrounded by smoke.

The shots of the fields, the breathtaking photos of Jongdae in the sky, the column of clouds, the side profiles at him. Shot after shot of Jongade with his eyes close, on top of mountains, sitting on forgotten lands, in the rumble of his old glory, conducting the skies confidently.

“These are a lot of pictures of me,” Jongdae finally says, “and not enough of the lightning.”

“I wanted pictures of you,” Zitao says, “as the storm and as the human.”

Jongdae smiles big at that, “but mostly just me right?”

“I couldn't help myself,” Zitao smiles back, “I want all of you.”

-

Jongdae murmurs when he sleeps, he presses his mouth over the shoulder he has grown fond of and whispers nonsense. How he hates how Zitao freezes time with his pictures, captures moments for himself that Jongdae can't do.

“I'll teach you how to use a camera,” Zitao whispers back one night.

Jongdae rambles on about wanting to be in charge of stopping time instead of storms.

-

Junmyeon looks at the pictures, Zitao shows him all of them. But Junmyeon doesn't question it, doesn't question anything about Jongdae. He makes a few comments on which ones will be great for his new publication, which ones they'll need bigger prints of for his new show. Zitao takes note of what he says, the order he suggests they put them in.

He looks long and hard at the one where Jongdae's crashed into the stone, “This one is beautiful,” he says, “if you choose to sell it I bet it'll go for a good prize.”

Zitao can hear Jongdae up stairs, the running water.

“I'm not sure about that one yet,” he says, “I'll have to ask.”

Junmyeon shrugs, moves on to the one of Minseok. He pauses at it, “It's only if he wants, if you want.”

“That was our driver, Minseok,” Zitao says, “he was nice enough to drive us around for awhile.”

Junmyeon's face goes from calculating to soft in seconds, his smile turns up and Zitao feels a warmness from it.

“I'm glad people took care of you,” he says, “even if you're all grown up.”

Zitao feels awfully like tearing up.

-

He knows he has people to talk to, people that want to know who the boy in the pictures are, how he got all the effects to look so real. But Jongdae pulls him away before the night gets too old, takes him up the ceiling.

Zitao frowns when Jongdae pushes his camera towards him.

“What are you doing?” he asks and Jongdae sits down, eyes closing.

“Now you don't have to chase me anymore,” he says, “the storm will always come to you.”

His hands go up and Zitao watches as he forms bolts of lightning, pretty lines that Zitao never knew could be made with such a robust phenomenon.

Zitao watches, until Jongdae speaks up.

“Well come on,” he says, “this is my best work!”

Zitao raises his camera up and takes a picture of the closed eyes, the delicate hands drawing on air, the way eyelashes fall over the high line of cheekbones, he takes a picture of Jongdae.

Author's note: This took a life of it's own, I had things I wanted to write and include but it but it didn't happen. With that being said, I hope that what I have written is ok and that who ever asked for this enjoys it even a fraction of how much I enjoyed writing it. There's a lot of non science things in here but I tried to incorporate the MAMA aspects as much as I could without it getting too messy.

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