[Completed]
As choices, rules, timeless deeds, and beginnings attract then push Zhan away between two peaks of bliss, he learns: It's easy to fall, but harder to love. It's one thing to spend a star-aligned winter, but something else to bear the war...
Before you proceed, I'm very sorry about the two weeks of going MIA >.<
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YIBO TURNS AROUND to lay on his back from the other side of the bed, wide awake and stiff, eyes averting to find me looking at him. He jolts very, very obviously, and I fail to stop the quiver of my giggles.
"Please," Yibo mutters under his breath.
"You're so stiff," I tell him.
Yibo doesn't say anything.
"Am I making you uncomfortable?"
"No." He scrubs his hand over his eyes. "No, of course not."
"Then?"
He breathes in, and with a small smile and a strangling voice, he says, "You're way too distracting."
Oh. Oh.
I slide my hand to where his fingers lay on the covers. I don't know how it would help, but I give it a small touch, entangling my thumb on his pinky. "Should I just sleep on the sofa? I don't mind. It's comfortable."
"No." Yibo drags the vowel in conviction. "Stay here."
"Should I let you hug me, then?"
"Sounds nice. But that'll do the complete opposite of relaxing, right now."
"Then—"
"No, just . . . stay here and sleep. I'll be fine." He pushes up to his elbows to put out the lights, but he looks at me again. I wasn't convinced, and I suppose it's visible on my face; he brings a hand to my cheek. "Sleep," he murmurs, brushing his lips softly over my hair. "I'm going to turn off the lights now."
I hum, eyes closed.
The darkness spreads and he shuffles back in, his fingers sliding under my thumb again to a plane of contact. Intentionally or not, I wasn't sure.
Guess it's okay for the first time I'm staying over since it all started. It's not like nothing ever crossed my mind about what it would be like to have him. And it's not like we haven't stopped ourselves, almost there. But there are messes to fix, things to pursue. And it has been a tiring day, there's school tomorrow. We had to sleep.
Strange enough, our breath matches. Our fingers stay tangled. It's distracting—Yibo's right—but it's a touch, his palm warming up, gradually. I give it a caress, and he sends a responsive squeeze.
It'll be okay, a voice tells me. It'll be okay, I repeat to myself.
⁑ ⁑ ⁑
AS SOON AS the bell rings for lunch, Yibo peaks in through the sliding door of my classroom. "Got five minutes?"
He waits till I'm out of the class to ask, "Did you check your texts? Mr. Chen asked us to call him asap."
