He always stands there under the dim lamp-post on the forgotten corner. At 9pm in red. Always in red.
Sometimes Chen wonders if maybe they could have a talk when he passes by the corner because it’s the shortest way home. He never has the courage, though.
Only God knows why tonight he chose to greet him, and somehow ended up taking him in his car. He says his name is Luhan. Chen thinks it suits his feminine features so well. And as Chen–or maybe them both–has predicted, it only takes minutes to take them to Chen’s apartment, into the darkness of his room, under the dark but warm, fluffy blanket.
And when Chen opens his eyes, he finds himself alone in his bedroom. There’s not a single trace of Luhan anywhere. Not on his bed, too.
Chen laughs to himself, wondering why could he dreamed about himself with him, the pretty man in red under the lamp-post at 9 whose name he doesn’t even know.