A quiet evening with Yibo goes like this: on his sofa, cloaked in his arms and the warm plane of his chest, April showers pulling raw truths to the tip of my tongue, Yibo saying, "We don't have to meet up in school again."
"You noticed."
Yibo's hum sounds like thunder coming from his chest.
"I've been scared . . . of something. I don't know what."
"I know," is all he says, nuzzling into my shoulder.
Somehow, being here feels safe. Somehow, it's too good to have. "I'm going to be busy next month."
"I know," Yibo says again. "It's alright."
And a thought hits: He's precious.
A conversation with my parents later that night goes like this: with mom saying, "Shower and come down for dinner," and Dad asking, "Where have you been?"
"With Qing," I lie. I lie and I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.
"The whole evening?"
"Yeah," I lie again, and I hate it again, and I realize, Feng's gone, but the cycle stayed.
The same cycle for different reasons. It never ends.
A failed attempt of escape plays like this: Mingyu yelling from the far end of the hallway begging me to stop, turning a few uncomfortable heads to which she didn't give a care of the world.
She walks over, intimidating as ever. "Can you tell me what's going on?" she demands, confused yet ground solid. "The concert is over and you're avoiding me and he's just gone. I can't even reach him."
I brush my palm on my forehead as if it could scrub away the irritation. "It's really not my place to tell you anything. You should be talking to him not me."
"Zhan, he's not letting me talk."
"I'm sorry."
Mingyu squints. "You know what's happening, don't you? You know everything but you're not telling me." She holds her stare, I could only respond with silence and blankness. "I can't fucking believe you."
"I'm sorry."
Her jaws square with frustration, and walks away with no less intimidation. What I knew for sure is there goes someone who can make my life hell.
An interruption at Qing's the next day goes like this: there's a woman on her couch giving me a polite wave, ripped jeans and a sweater, platinum blonde, and Qing says, "She's a friend from the city. It's alright. Why did you come?"
"It's, uh, over. I think. With him. I guess I needed a hug."
Qing smiles, and she does hug me. "It doesn't end that soon, kid, in you it'll end slowly. I'm proud of you." She casts an apologetic smile. "Shall we talk about this later?"
"Yeah, okay."
I shut her door behind me, but her words keep repeating in my head. I didn't know what to make out of it.
I go home. It starts with asking, "Where were you this time?"
"With Qing," I tell the truth this time. Because I hate lying, and I hate the circle, and I need it to end.
The general silence added to Mom's absence is offered to me as a response. I proceed through the foyer.
"Is she the one who put these things in your head?" he demands. I halt at the foot of the stairs.
YOU ARE READING
The Last of Winter (YiZhan)
Fanfiction[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...
