Truthfully, it isn't as if feelings are unfamiliar to Xue Yang. He feels them, but he recognises few as his own, confused by the very concept of others, even when they rein his actions and drive him. Anger, he knows. Joy, even if the kind he realises is mostly on the surface. A sweet treat, a fun fight, an evil trick working out.

He has much less understanding of what it is, truly, that makes his heart race in certain moments. Why his chest hurts when he looks at Xingchen, thinks of Xingchen, remembers nights spent in lonely cold by a coffin that holds someone beyond his reach. He doesn't, at all, understand why his eyes water, why they may leak at night, and he doesn't know that anyone who looks at him closely enough may notice red rims. Not that anyone who can see gets close enough. Not that anyone should care or that he deserves any better than to feel all the misery he has brought onto himself, without comprehension.

The very same he feels now, staring at Mingyu. That pain of longing, craving, that loneliness of love unfulfilled. His chest is tight and he understands as little as always, but even as Mingyu's song changes, he stares at him, almost unblinking. Finally, not thinking it through, he steps forward to grab a hold of Mingyu's arm. He holds onto him and then goes from there, not that he knows what to say.

"What the fuck?!"

Fair enough.