[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...
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MY PARENTS surprisingly allowed me to go with Yibo—I passed out on the couch waiting for dad to come home to get permission, and he ended up saying, "Yes, it looks like you need a break." They weren't satisfied until Yibo's sister called them to confirm all the details, sounding responsible to a surprising degree for someone who let a minor drive. So, that part went well.
But through all the frenzied days, I've been living in a daze. A part of my mind still was in Yibo's living room trying to figure out if Yibo loves me or if it's just how his sister saw it. But I couldn't deny that Yibo, who'd rarely befriend anyone unless he must, much less talk to a stranger, has been going out of his way to make me comfortable around him. Once or twice I tried to imagine how Yibo would treat a person he loves. The best answer I came up with is, he'll treat them the way he treats me.
Since then his simple gestures have been throwing me off. He once kissed the back of my neck when I was on my phone craned over, and said, "Sit back properly. You'll get neck pain." And it felt like there was some tangible electrostatic force around me.
Sometimes he would tug the quilt up before turning off the lights even if there was no need. He would remember to squeeze a bit of the chili sauce of his ramen into my bawl to add more spice. He would kiss me against a wall, and seeing that look in his eyes would make me momentarily forget the competition coming up in two weeks.
It's so overwhelmingly sweet, that it made me question if love is a feeling I even knew. I can't remember it being this radiant; this wholesome; this fulfilling. Making me question if I really knew what I thought I did.
And so, when Yibo pulls the seatbelt for me on our flight to see his dad, that electrostatic field manifests again, heating up my face and my heart and what it felt like my goddamned soul.
"What's wrong?" Yibo asks, his face inches away as he buckles me up.
"Nothing at all," I grin. At least I try.
It doesn't take long to realize that a textbook isn't the best object to accompany a flight. We were given the comfortable domestic first class seats—either it's too comfortable or my brain refuses to take anything in, it doesn't take even thirty minutes to toss it aside. Yibo too seemed to be suffering just the same, aimlessly scrolling between screens on his phone.
I wiggle a little to get comfortable. Maybe I should try to sleep.
"Oh, Zhan-ge," Yibo calls out suddenly.
"Hm?"
He turns to me as if to check if I'm listening. "Uh. Well, I don't mean to be a party pooper, but I think you should know this."
"Know what?"
Yibo purses his lips. "Remember when Mingyu came with us to the supermarket?" I nod. "She heard our conversation about my ticket situation. She's asking for them."
I blink. "She's going to travel to Shanghai?"
"I think . . ." He thinks for a second. Then he taps into his phone and hands it to me. "Take a look yourself."
