Yao Wang considered himself to be a rather decent person, all apparent irritability aside. He was respectable in public, completed his work in a timely manner and with an astute efficiency, and gave back to his community what he took in the form of a steady job. He maintained a certain pride in his Chinese heritage without insulting the foreign country in which he lived. In whatever spare time he had after his work hours were over, he painted and cooked and indulged in hobbies that, while admittedly childish at times (a certain incident regarding Gothic Lolita frequently came to mind) were not bothersome to people outside his home. Overall, he considered himself to be a prime example of what it meant to be a good citizen within a community.

But that was all before Ivan Braginsky.

Somehow, the strange Russian man had fallen into his life with an armful of sunflowers, and despite Yao's initial reluctance, they had come together to form some sort of relationship. To tell the truth, however, Yao wasn't even sure if what they had could be called a relationship. They would meet up occasionally; have lunch somewhere, talk, and then move on to another day. Ivan would sometimes come over to his house to watch a movie or something equally mundane, but then he would leave, and everything would repeat over the course of the week.

And actually, Yao enjoyed things this way. They were simple, and the less he was seen with Ivan in public, the less he felt like a social deviant.

But Yao knew Ivan wasn't satisfied with their current arrangement. Showing a surprisingly high amount of patience for such a childish man, the Russian had refrained from showering him with the affection he so longed to give. He never got too close in public, and he would cut himself off before saying something intimate, and did other such things that allowed Yao to keep up his image without embarrassing him. It was only in the privacy of Yao's house that Ivan would ever ask to cuddle, or give him a light peck on the cheek, or toy with his long, dark hair.

For this – for Ivan – Yao was grateful. He honestly enjoyed the blonde's company, more so than he had anyone else's, and found he was becoming more and more appreciative of all the little things Ivan did to show his love.

However, Yao was terribly bad at giving things back. He knew this. It was written plainly on Ivan's face, despite his efforts to appear nonchalant; every time Yao had to ask him to give him space, or Yao shrunk away from his touch, or refused to even hold his hand, the look in Ivan's eyes told Yao everything he already knew. Each flash of dejection that crossed the Russian's face added to the guilt pooling at Yao's feet, and before he knew it the guilt was up to his knees.

Yao knew he wasn't good at this – this "having a relationship" thing – and he knew that Ivan was hurting because of it.

For Ivan and Ivan alone, Yao desired to change. He would make promises to himself at night as he stared at up at his ceiling, would grasp onto a conviction that, at the time, burned determinedly within his chest.

But every time he saw the other people around him, watching him, all of his independent thought and convictions hid behind that much larger and more formidable wall in his mind: Conformity. Conformity was what Yao had built his very life around, and it seemed that nothing could cause it to break. His desire to be a part of the system that had protected him and nurtured him for so long was now tearing him into pieces, all because he had gone and strayed from the accepted norms of society and had become attracted to another male.

And yet, despite the fact he couldn't call what they had love, and just being in this half-relationship was throwing his world off balance, Yao couldn't bring himself to let Ivan go. He looked down idly at his gloved hands and shivered; whether he did so due to the cold or his thoughts, he didn't know.

"What are you thinking about, Yao-Yao?" Ivan's chipper voice spoke up from beside him, shaking the Chinese from his thoughts.

Yao sent a quick glance up to the Russian's curious face before burrowing back into the fur of his coat, shivering against the freezing wind. "Nothing much," he mumbled into the fabric. At first he wasn't sure if Ivan had heard him over the background noise and with his muffled voice, and as the Russian straightened his back as they walked, his hands in his pockets, Yao began slipping once more into the recesses of his mind. But then Ivan said something under his breath. Yao blinked, looking up to meet those odd violet eyes. "Sorry-aru?"

Ivan's gaze slid back down to Yao, apparently surprised the Asian had caught his words after all. He then turned his head away awkwardly, and Yao caught sight of his flushed face – something which could have very easily been chalked up to the cold air – from behind the scarf tied around his neck. "I…I just said that you hardly ever think of things that are 'nothing,' Yao," he mumbled quietly, refusing to meet the Chinese's eyes.

Yao chuckled quietly to himself. "Are you a mind reader, now, Ivan?" he half-joked, turning his attention back to the sidewalk.

"No, but I wish I was," Ivan replied in a barely audible voice.

Yao furrowed his brow at that. There was something about Ivan's tone, something different and strange, and it caught Yao off guard. "What do you mean by that-aru?"

Ivan simply shook his head. "Forget about it, Yao-Yao, it's nothing, да?" He laughed, but it seemed uncertain and out of place. "Besides, we're almost there. I'm looking forward to trying this Chinese cuisine you like to brag about so much!"

Yao allowed a smirk to pull at his face, but in the back of his mind, a nagging voice persisted.

Something's not right.

…

Their dinner so far had been rather enjoyable. Yao had recommended one of his favorite dishes, and Ivan had agreed to get it, leaving the two of them to talk idly while waiting for their order to arrive. Yao spoke of his job, and the news, and when the weather was supposed to get warmer, and anything else that could come to mind. Ivan piped up here and there, like when he made a comment, "As soon as the temperature gets better, I'll have to start growing sunflowers!" or the like. However, contrary to his normal nature, he remained relatively silent, and when he did say something, it was almost impossible to catch.

Eventually, Yao had run out of things to say. The two of them sat uncomfortably in the lull of conversation, staring at anything but each other. Yao just wanted the food to arrive already so there would be a reason for their lack of speech. However, when they remained like that for a full ten minutes and the air was so thick Yao thought he could poke it, he decided to ask the question that he had brought up not an hour ago.

"Ivan, when you said you wished you could read people's minds…what did you mean by that-aru?"

Ivan jolted as if struck, suddenly on edge, fidgeting with his hands under the table. "Ah…I told you to forget about that, Yao-Yao. It's really nothing."

Yao raised an eyebrow. "You seem rather stressed over something that's nothing, don't you think-aru?" Then Yao allowed his gaze to soften, trying his best to catch sight of Ivan's violets. "Is there something wrong-aru?"

Ivan still didn't meet his eyes, but his body froze, fidgeting and all. Yao watched with a hint of worry as the Russian swallowed, as if trying to get himself moving again. The Chinese man leaned closer just slightly (they were around other people, after all) and moved to get within his line of sight. "Ivan?"

"Yao, do you love me?"

Although barely above a whisper, the question seemed to surprise Ivan as much as it did Yao. The Russian was momentarily thrown, unable to do more than sit wide-eyed as they both waited for the return of their voices.

Yao, sitting opposite him, was struck speechless. This was the last thing he expected Ivan to say; and yet, at the same time, it should have been the first. Ivan fixed Yao with a hard stare, seriousness and confusion and worry all blending together behind his eyes. Hesitantly, as if the silence was a glass that would shatter upon the slightest touch, Yao parted his lips to speak.

"Ivan, I…"

Ivan shook his head furiously, his blonde bangs falling unevenly into his eyes. "Yao, I've tried to keep quiet about it because I know you feel uncomfortable around me in public, but I don't know if I can take it anymore." Yao watched, petrified, as Ivan dug his palms into his eyes and grasped at his hair. "Черт, Yao – I – I just – you always act like you don't like being with me! You won't even let me hold your hand, and we've been dating for what, four months?" Ivan paused to take a shaky breath, then pressed on. "I wish I could read your mind sometimes, just so I know how you feel about me. Do you love me? Do you even like me? I – I don't –"

Ivan broke off with a sigh, the heels of his palms still buried in his eyes. Yao stared at him for a few moments, mouth agape as his brain attempted to digest everything he'd just heard. To say that he'd had no idea would have been an outright lie, and yet… "Ivan, you don't really think I don't like you, do you?"

Ivan didn't respond.

Yao sighed, looking down. He reached across the table and wrapped his thin fingers lightly around Ivan's wrists. The blonde flinched at the contact but didn't make a move to object, so Yao gently pulled the man's hands away from his face. Ivan's bangs fell haphazardly into his eyes – those lonely, despairing eyes – but he did not make any move beyond raising his gaze to rest upon the Asian's face. Yao felt other people watching him, too – the couple sitting at the table parallel was staring rather intently – but possibly for the first time of his life, Yao didn't care. Ivan was hurting, Ivan thought he hated him, and it was all Yao's fault.

So, in a tender moment guided by nothing more than the need to make Ivan see, Yao brought Ivan's hand up to his lips and kissed it.

The kiss was more a feathery brush of the lips than anything, but it was enough to make Ivan's eyes widen in disbelief. Yao pressed another kiss to the back of Ivan's hand before looking up at its owner.

"Ivan…please don't tell me you think I don't like you-aru. Of course I like you."

Ivan looked out the window uncomfortably but did not remove his hand from Yao's hold. Yao remained quiet as Ivan thought, stroking the Russian's calloused palm rhythmically, attempting to do all he could to remain calm. Just when he thought Ivan would stay silent forever, he turned his head back to Yao, meeting him with desperate eyes. "Yao, do you love me?"

His eyes were begging him not to say no, to not dash whatever hopes he still clung to. The anxiety painted on his face, unhidden, yanked on Yao's heartstrings painfully, and the Asian almost couldn't bear to look at him anymore.

But Yao was done putting his comfort above Ivan.

In a sudden fluid motion, Yao reached up and pulled Ivan's head down to press their mouths together in a kiss. Ivan was slow to respond, probably beyond shocked at the Chinese's sudden forwardness, but kissed back eagerly once his bearings came back to him. The kiss was short and awkward, considering they were leaning almost on top of the table, but the action spoke volumes that Yao's would-have-been-feeble words could not.

Even as they parted, Ivan seemed unable to comprehend what had just happened – not that Yao really blamed him, of course – and simply stared at him blankly. When his voice finally came back to him, he whispered lowly, "I think that couple is staring at us, да?"

For some reason (perhaps it was the blend between what had just happened and the rather concerned look on his partner's face) Yao could do nothing but laugh at that. So he did. A grin split his normally reserved face as he allowed sweet laughter to tumble from his mouth.

He didn't care that there were people watching him when he kissed Ivan.

He didn't care that there were people watching him as he was laughing about kissing Ivan.

He kissed Ivan.

As if to prove some point to himself (and to the couple beside him) Yao kissed his boyfriend again quickly, laughing all the while. Ivan was wearing a confused, crooked smile of his own as Yao sat back in his booth.

Chuckling, but trying to hold it back, Ivan asked, "Y-Yao-Yao, are you…are you alright?"

Yao nodded mirthfully, his laughter now reduced to a fit of giggling. "H-Hǎo, Ivan. Never been better."

Eventually, their food arrived with a word of apology from the waitress regarding the wait, and the couple had dug into their meals with a hunger they hadn't felt before coming here. Ivan found Yao's recommendation to be absolutely delicious, and had announced that Yao should cook it for him sometime. Yao had agreed without a moment's hesitation.

When they were done, they took their sweet time walking back to Yao's house. They didn't speak much; they didn't have to.

For the first time, Ivan held Yao's hand the entire distance.

For the first time, Yao didn't care if he was straying from Conformity.

For the first time, they felt like they were finally becoming something worthwhile.