The rain is a cold, constant drizzle, pattering softly against the sidewalk and leaving wet trails down the window panes.
Yao's been sitting out in it for so long, he's lost track of time.
His long hair is soaked, the matted locks spilling over his shoulders and falling in his face like a dark curtain. Every breath he takes is a struggle, his chest shuddering with the effort of it. The air is thick with the smell of rain, heavy drops leaving dark patches on the red fabric of his shirt.
He remembers- and God, it hurts to remember- how he and Ivan had sat in this exact same spot, so close that their shoulders touched, and whispered to each other beneath the light of the stars.
They'd shared secrets, more than Yao can count.
But no matter how badly he wanted to, there was one secret that Yao could never bring himself to tell.
Just three simple words. Three simple words that he thinks to himself every time Ivan walks by. Three simple words that he aches to utter. Three simple words that he means with everything in him, with all of his heart and soul.
Three simple words that Ivan is now saying to someone else.
What he witnessed earlier today flashes through his mind. It's so vivid he can practically feel the meeting room floor beneath his feet, hear the other nations chattering in the background, see the harsh fluorescent lights flickering in his peripherals…
Ivan and Alfred were standing together, mere centimeters apart, so close that Yao's breath caught in his throat.
Ivan's pale fingers had threaded through Alfred's golden hair, and the smile playing at Ivan's lips had been so warm and tender, and his eyes were glittering, brimming with love.
It was the sort of scene others would find beautiful and heartwarming, but to Yao, it was torture to watch.
Alfred had touched Ivan's face, whispering something that Yao couldn't quite make out.
Alfred had leaned forward, his lips parted and eyes half-shut.
Everything was in slow motion as their lips met.
Yao's body lurches forward with a harsh sob, the tears in his eyes finally spilling over. They're hot against his cold cheeks, tracing shiny paths over his skin before falling to the ground below.
Yao doesn't know what else he can do, so he cries.
He cries until his nose runs, and he can't even care about how disgusting it feels. He cries until dull pain throbs behind his temples. He cries until nausea builds low in his gut, and his throat is tight and achy.
Yao slumps with exhaustion, his face wet with a mixture of tears and rainwater as he gazes down at the ground. Part of him wants to get up and do something crazy, like starting a fire or cutting all of his hair off or hopping into his car and racing through the streets like a madman.
But another part of him just wants to sit here. Maybe if he sits here long enough, the muddy ground will swallow him whole.
Yao sniffles and wipes his eyes with his sleeve. Images float through his mind, images of a man with platinum hair and eyes of twilight and a soft, whispery voice that rose goosebumps on Yao's arms.
Yao really thought it all meant something. All the inside jokes they created. All the afternoons they'd spent in Ivan's garden, tending to his sunflowers. The framed picture of the two of them on Yao's nightstand, the one Ivan got Yao for his birthday.
But no. That warm, fuzzy feeling Yao gets when Ivan's around, the fluttering in his stomach, the electricity in his fingertips… Ivan doesn't feel it. Yes, Ivan considers him a friend, and a very good friend, too… but nothing more than that.
And that hurts Yao more than anything's ever hurt him before.
He shudders, drawing his knees close to his chest. Though it's near-freezing outside, it can't compare to the coldness in his heart. It feels like a chunk of ice, misshapen and ragged, scraping at the insides of his chest.
He wants to forget what he's seen today, but every time he closes his eyes, it's all he can see. Alfred's sun-kissed skin and fresh, playful smile, light dancing off the lenses of his glasses, his long fingers sliding down Ivan's cheek.
All Yao wants is to be in Alfred's place.
If he were Alfred, he'd press his lips to Ivan's temple and murmur sweet words late at night, their legs tangled beneath the bedsheets. If he were Alfred, he'd swoop in and kiss Ivan anytime he wanted to, just because he could.
If he were Alfred, he'd love Ivan forever.
But he's not Alfred.
Instead, he's Yao Wang, sitting outside in the pouring rain, his hair drenched and his fingertips numb with the cold. His heart is like shattered glass, all the little jagged pieces cutting him up inside, tearing him apart…
Again, Yao doesn't know what to do, so he cries some more. Deep, dizzying sobs that have his chest heaving, tears running like tiny rivers down his reddened cheeks.
A sound akin to a hiccup escapes Yao as he struggles to regain his breath, forcing himself to breathe in, then back out. In, then out. In and out until his head stops spinning, and the trembling in his hands has subsided. As he gazes up at the sky, his vision is still a bit blurry.
A little gap has formed in the thick veil of clouds, allowing just the tiniest peek of the moon. Though only a small sliver of it is visible, it beams brightly, brilliant rays painting Yao's tear-soaked face silver.
Ivan's skin was pale like moonlight, the lines of his body were constellations, and when he laughed there were stars in his eyes.
But now it doesn't matter, because Ivan was shining for someone else all this time, and now Yao's nights are nothing but darkness.
Once again, a cloud passes over the moon.
Carry me to my bed
Lay me in a pillow town
Kiss me on my head
And remind me of the way we will not know
I wish I was your girl
-Lana Del Rey, "Your Girl"