#yizhan au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nutteu · 7 months

Text

to the end of nowhere

[AO3]

Yibo kept following Xiao Zhan around. Xiao Zhan decided to capitalize on it. [Yibo/Xiao Zhan; college au; published 2021-08-07; word count: 7,187]

It wasn’t like it was intentional. It really wasn’t. Yibo just heard about this apparently popular upperclassman who absolutely refused to date anyone, or even to have a nice, meaningless date to appease his barrage of fans. He had been told how pretty, how talented, how cold, cold, cold his beautiful eyes were. What sort of arrogant asshole this man was?

He wasn’t—an asshole that was. He just didn’t care much about the swarm of people around him. He was extremely good at evading the touches and hands trying to pull him closer to them. Yibo got it, he did. It was tiring to hold up conversations and niceties all the time. To lose the sense of privacy and be held at a certain pedestal with feet barely touching the ground. It was hard to keep your sense of self intact, when people had a certain imagery of what you should be.

Yibo was intrigued only because Xiao Zhan had mastered this fluidity between politeness and rows and rows of barricaded walls that essentially told people to fuck off to Jupiter. It was highly effective, and worked well against people’s guilt. It also capitalized on his beauty privilege—who wouldn’t feel guilty that they were causing distress to this beautiful, delicate young man? Precisely.

So he just kept an eye whenever they happened to be in the cafeteria at the same time, in the coffee shop near the campus, in the library, passing the halls, coincidentally being in the same lecture hall for certain advanced classes that Yibo took, or just in the yard enjoying their free time. He didn’t actively keep track of where Xiao Zhan was, or what he was doing. He was content to just observe him from afar.

Things went on with the same pace for months, until it didn’t. Again, he would like to reiterate that it wasn’t intentional. It really wasn’t.

It wasn’t intentional that Xiao Zhan forgot his wallet at his apartment one day when he was about to pay for his coffees, he didn’t bring his phone either because why would he? It was supposed to be a quick in-and-out order, and his apartment was only across the street. But oh it was such a hassle. So, Yibo, who just happened to stand behind him, said to the cashier that he’d pay for it.

Xiao Zhan glanced down at him. He was taller than Yibo, he knew that. But this time it was a completely different sensation, to stand next to him, looking up at sharp eyes framed by lush lashes. Xiao Zhan wasn’t that much bigger from Yibo’s muscled bulk, one that was born from this competitiveness with his frat brothers that ended up being a habit; he was slender, with broad shoulders and pretty fingers. But there was something about him that made Yibo have this morbid thought of being cut in half if he wasn’t careful. He felt so cold—his eyes, the aura radiating off of him, the thin press of his pretty lips, the way his face was stone-cold in his regard.

“You don’t need to,” he said, voice still so frustratingly polite though he had moved to better face Yibo, body language deceptively lax. “My apartment is close by.”

“I know,” Yibo blurted out, then cursed himself inwardly at how creepy it sounded. “I-I heard you talking to the cashier,” he grunted the curse out loud when Xiao Zhan’s eyebrow rose higher. “I mean—“ he sighed, “I just think it’s a hassle. You can pay me back later if you’re really worried about it.”

“I’m not inviting you to my apartment,” Xiao Zhan said, calmly, with a raised eyebrow still in place.

“No, no,” he hurried to say. “I don’t mean that. I mean at campus, we both have the same classes on Wednesday and Friday.”

This time, both of the eyebrows were climbing the hairline. Yibo groaned and looked at the cashier helplessly, as if she could help him out of this predicament. To her credit, she just took Yibo’s offered card and swiped it on the machine. She gave the card back along with the receipts.

“I don’t want to know how you know that,” Xiao Zhan said, finally accepting the course of the event. He bowed a little to the barista who gave him a four-pack filled with coffees, a sweet little smile that looked more sincere than any of his interaction with Yibo. “I’ll repay you on Friday, then. I assume you already know my name too?”

“Yeah,” Yibo said, smiling weakly at Xiao Zhan’s sharpening eyes. “I’m Yibo. I usually sit on the back.”

“Okay,” Xiao Zhan said, still eyeing Yibo carefully. “Thank you,” he said, more genuine this time, and then went out of the café without preamble.

Yibo turned back to the cashier, smiling awkwardly. “I’m not a weirdo, I swear,” he said.

“I’m sure,” the cashier said pleasantly. “Your order, please.”

See? It wasn’t intentional. Though he had to admit that the way he handled it was less than favorable for a first impression. Then again, Yibo didn’t really have to worry about any impression at all. It wasn’t like he was interested in befriending Xiao Zhan, and judging from the other’s reactions, he wasn’t either.

It also wasn’t intentional that Xiao Zhan’s new textbook was still on its way after his cat splashed some coffee on it. They sat next to each other, pressed from shoulders to thighs with Yibo’s textbook perched on their conjoined thighs. He was terse and stiff from anxiety and discomfort. Xiao Zhan seemed so displeased by this arrangement that Yibo had to wince from how cold his face looked. He understood fully why he had such a reputation revolving around him. And yet, tense and pissed off as he was, Xiao Zhan still looked unbelievably pretty this close. Yibo felt a hand closed up around his trachea, squeezing tight as he berated himself from the thought.

Xiao Zhan repaid him with the exact amount for his coffee, bowed a little, and then went away without so much as a single glance back. Yibo tried his best not to be seen by him anymore after that.

But these unintentional coincidences kept happening despite his efforts. Starting from Yibo forgetting his notes and Xiao Zhan letting him copy his as repayment for the textbook incident; Yibo holding his jacket on top of their heads as rain suddenly came upon the unsuspecting students at the yard; him smiling sheepishly at Xiao Zhan when the cafeteria was full, and he really needed a place to eat because his test was about to start in fifteen minutes; needing to borrow the same book for their assignment and decided to share it while they slaved away in the library; and going so far as Yibo holding Xiao Zhan’s hair as he threw up on the toilet in some frat party that they both happened to attend.

“You’re everywhere,” Xiao Zhan said, voice hoarse and sounding so tired of everything—of Yibo, especially. He felt around his teeth with his tongue, feeling the last remains of mouthwash that Yibo had given to him after he was done puking his guts out. “Are you sure you’re not stalking me?”

“I’m sure,” he grimaced, filling the glass with tap water, then carefully tipped it to Xiao Zhan’s mouth. The older man shot him a grateful look that was so different from his usual scowl or indifference. It reminded Yibo of Xiao Zhan’s reputation as this polite, gentle soul that helped people around him despite not wanting to stay around longer than necessary.

His hair was a mess after being held up by Yibo’s rough, sweaty palm; face pale with noticeable purple hue on his eye bags. They were in the middle of finals, he knew how rough it could be, especially for upperclassmen. This party was kinda crazy, to be held in the middle of grueling time, but everyone was desperate for a relief and neither of them was an exception.

“And yet you keep being there,” the man said, his voice low, near a whisper. It sounded so intimate, as if he didn’t quite realize that he had voiced it out loud. Yibo felt like he was intruding on a private thought. In this enclosed bathroom, with an empty glass held loosely between his clammy fingers, with Xiao Zhan leaning weakly against the bathtub—Yibo felt like they were the only ones that existed in this reality, like everything just faded away, erased by the waves of his heartbeat.

“As if you’re obsessively following my existence, even without you realizing it,” Xiao Zhan continued.

Yibo nearly dropped the glass. It felt like the man had just read his thoughts. He put the glass back on the sink counter with trembling hands. He wasn’t the one who had just emptied half of his stomach on the toilet bowl, and yet he felt shaky, unstable on his feet. Maybe he drank too much alcohol. His head was going to give him hell tomorrow. He was probably going to fail his 1pm test.

But he also couldn’t stop himself from kneeling in front of Xiao Zhan, reaching out with a rough palm to cup the side of his face. “Maybe,” he whispered.

Xiao Zhan regarded him for a moment. His face was still so unfairly, unbelievably beautiful even under the harsh light of the bathroom. Yibo wondered for a moment if he was even real. But the heat under his palm was real, the sharp eyes looking into his own were real, the way Xiao Zhan leaned in with a mocking smile on his plush lips was so terrifyingly real.

“I’m going to have to charge you if you keep doing that,” he said calmly, seemingly appeased with his assessment. Of what, Yibo didn’t know. He was just happy that Xiao Zhan hadn’t bashed his head on the side of the tub yet for touching him.

“I don’t mind,” Yibo said, more honest that he should have voiced out. He attentively leaned closer, didn’t know what the fuck he was doing, but wanting it regardless. Yibo was intrigued, and their frequent accidental meetings didn’t help much in making him even more and more curious about Xiao Zhan. It was hard to focus on anything, his unintentional stalking tendencies included, in front of a face this pretty, eyes this sharp and cold. He might be more invested than he had thought, and he didn’t know whether he could blame coincidence on this.

“You’re hopeless,” Xiao Zhan taunted, before closing his eyes as Yibo closed his lips over his.

As far as the first kiss went, it was quite desperate. It was soft and tentative for all of five seconds, before Xiao Zhan moaned, and Yibo heaved him onto his lap, kissing him with a touch of frantic fire that was starting to spread throughout his body. Xiao Zhan tasted like beer and mouthwash, the bitter tang of acid on the back of his tongue. He was as addicting as much as he was terrifying.

Yibo had never felt like this—this detached interest that burned brighter than any genuine love he had experienced. It boggled his mind, how he got roped into all these accidental turns of events. How was it that Yibo minding a rumor could end up with them making out in a bathroom, while stressed out college students partied their ass off outside the door?

Xiao Zhan didn’t want to fuck in the bathroom, didn’t want to be on his knees or on his back on the hard floor or the bathtub or against the cold tile of the bathroom wall. Yibo found out which floor was his apartment, found out that Xiao Zhan had a very organized and impeccable interior, found out that the kitchen and living room table was messy; found out that Xiao Zhan hardly made any sound in bed, but when he did, he was fucking loud. He found out that he was terrified when he touched Xiao Zhan so gently, with enough reverence to startle even himself; found out that Xiao Zhan slept like a log and hogged all the blankets and leaving Yibo shivering until he had to hug the man—roll of blanket and all—to stave off the cold.

When Yibo woke up, there was a coffee and tuna sandwich on the table, underneath the plate was a note. It explained that Xiao Zhan had a morning test, and a bill for Yibo—for unintentionally following him, and for fucking him. It felt a little weird, felt a little like a joke. But Yibo left the money underneath the small ashtray nonetheless, and washed the dirty dishes in the sink dutifully before he went back to his own apartment.

“You know that I was joking, right?” Xiao Zhan said after a test. His face was scrunched up a little in worry. He was dressed in fitting dress pants, a loose button-up shirt, and a long coat; Yibo thought that he was extremely handsome, and had to look away for a moment.

“Yeah, I know,” he said after he was sure he could manage to look at Xiao Zhan without blushing.

“Then why did you do it?” the older man asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He was bristling. He looked really intimidating and beautiful when he did it. Yibo needed to look away again, but Xiao Zhan prevented that by taking a hold of his chin. “You’re a college student, don’t throw away money like that. Especially over some jokes.”

“I, uh, I have the money, don’t worry,” he said, unable to think clearly with Xiao Zhan’s delicate fingers framing his face.

In an instant, Xiao Zhan’s face fell. His stare turned flat, and Yibo felt a lot like he was being scolded all of the sudden. “Why? Are you wealthy? How much is your allowance?”

Yibo mentioned the digits as he was told, and felt the sense of loss when those fingers fell away to rub slowly at Xiao Zhan’s face. “Should have known,” the man said, sighing. “Rich, privileged, good looking kid. You can have anything you want, can’t you?”

“Not really,” Yibo said. “I work hard to be in this Uni. I got a scholarship, too. I dance and I have to pay for the course by myself, so I applied for odd-jobs. Though my apartment is paid for by my parents, and they bought me a lot of things too. But because of that, I don’t really use my allowance except for food and hang-outs. And stalker jokes, too, apparently.”

Xiao Zhan was silent for some time, eyes blinking rapidly before he settled with a tilt of his lips. “My apologies for assuming. That was really rude of me.”

“It’s okay,” he said, shrugging. He had been told the same thing before. And then, because Xiao Zhan looked so soft and warm, he said, “You think I’m good looking?”

There was an exasperated sigh, before Xiao Zhan turned to leave.

He didn’t really hear anything from Xiao Zhan for a few weeks after. They were on a break, so there were no classes where Yibo could accidentally meet him. They only met at a party, though it wasn’t as coincidental as all of their interactions before. Yibo had asked his friend whether a senior named Xiao Zhan would attend. Once he got an affirmation, and several hundreds teasing, he went to the party and kept looking at every corner in case he spotted the man.

“You’re following me again,” Xiao Zhan said once they were pressed front to front in someone’s bedroom. “I really should charge you for it, jokes be damned.”

Yibo nodded. “You should,” he said, and then kissed Xiao Zhan because he missed him, he realized. He had spent so long in the man’s shadow, tracing his steps, observing him from afar, getting to know that he could be warm and soft underneath the cold demeanor.

They didn’t go back to Xiao Zhan’s apartment, but Yibo found himself knocking at the door a few days later. He berated himself when no one answered the door after some time. He didn’t even know if Xiao Zhan was home. This was stupid, he was stupid. God, he shouldn’t have come—

“I see the stalking has upgraded tremendously.”

Yibo gasped, eyes alight as he hugged Xiao Zhan right then and there in the hallway. The man stiffened, unsure on what to do. When Yibo didn’t show a sign of letting go, he just sighed and patted his back slowly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Yibo said, shaking his head. He heard Xiao Zhan laughing, and hugged him tighter.

“Which one is it then?” the man asked, trying to move them with difficulty. Yibo was heavy, even heavier now that he refused to budge. “Come on, my landlord will give me shit if he sees us like this.”

He moved then, but as soon as the door was locked, he latched back onto Xiao Zhan. “Sorry,” he whispered to the crook of Xiao Zhan’s neck. “I was just panicking. I realized that I didn’t know whether you’re home or not, and I don’t have your number to ask.”

“I’m not gonna give you my number,” came the reply, though he was still carding his fingers through Yibo’s hair.

“I’ll pay for it,” he said without thinking, then the words registered, and he let go with shock. “I, ah, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—I-I mean—“

“Oh, what the fuck,” Xiao Zhan said, startling Yibo. That was the first time he had ever heard the older man cursed. “Whatever. I need the money anyway. God knows this dingy place costs a lot more than it should.”

“Um,” he started carefully. “So I can—“

“Yes,” Xiao Zhan cut him off again, though it was softened by the way he gestured for Yibo to follow him into the small living room. There was only a counter that separated it to a mini kitchen. He had finally realized that the only thing that saved this apartment was the interior. He supposed it was all Xiao Zhan’s work.

“If you tell me your bank account numbers, I can wire you the money, along with what I had to pay the last time,” Yibo said, feeling brave enough now that Xiao Zhan had agreed to this arrangement. He didn’t even know why they stumbled upon this, and why it even happened in the first place. But Xiao Zhan intrigued him and Yibo had always been a curious child. It was hard to let go of his hyper fixation once it started and Xiao Zhan kept giving him enough reasons to stay.

“Last time—oh, are you kidding me,” Xiao Zhan groaned. “Who would have thought that I’d resort to being an escort.”

“You’re not an escort, though,” Yibo pointed out. “You just said that I should be charged because I kept following you.”

“That,” the man said with a wry smile, “does not reflect anything good for any of us. But, yes, I am. I entertain you, don’t I? That’s why you keep seeking me out. You wanted to know what is underneath all the façade and persona that I keep in front of polite companies.”

Bullseye, Yibo thought, a little guiltily. He just rubbed the back of his neck and waited for Xiao Zhan to continue.

“I keep you company, you’re satisfied after you’ve done your share of wedging yourself into my life, we occasionally fuck, and you act like I’m your eye-candy for the evening whenever we ended up hanging around each other,” Xiao Zhan finished, all business-like. He looked and sounded like a lecturer despite being clad in his ratty t-shirt and sweatpants. But then his tone softened when he said, “You think I’m pretty, don’t you?”

Yibo swallowed, looking at the soft slant of Xiao Zhan’s eyes, the understanding in his eyes, the coldness that seemed to have seeped into his core—one that could never be shaken off despite his kindness. He nodded. “Yeah, I do,” he said, voice suddenly hoarse and sounding so, so small in his honesty. “I really, really do.”

“I know,” Xiao Zhan said, reaching out to push Yibo’s bang away from his forehead. He offered a small smile. “Like I said, an escort.”

He gave back a little tilt of his lips, feeling less nervous and less like he was a raw nerve exposed to the whole world. Xiao Zhan told him his phone and bank account number, and Yibo wired the appropriate amount of money. Though apparently they had a different view of appropriateness, because Xiao Zhan squinted at his phone, and then at him.

“Even if, say, I’m an actual escort or even a sugar baby, I still wouldn’t charge this much, Yibo,” he said, heaving out a deep sigh. He wagged his finger in warning when Yibo was about to say something along the line of, ‘I have the money’, so he wisely kept his mouth shut. “Just- just come here and get your money’s worth.”

And so, here was how this arrangement worked: Yibo would follow Xiao Zhan around in campus, parties, and their apartments; he would ask Xiao Zhan out for some coffees or breakfast/lunch/dinner; they sat together in the few classes they shared together; they fucked regularly; Yibo paid for everything, for each time they met, he gave some small gifts for Xiao Zhan too sometimes; he ignored the questions from his friends, and ignored the pang in his chest whenever he saw Xiao Zhan talking to someone else.

Sometimes he gave in to those feelings. Acknowledging the absolute hatred and jealousy because those people didn’t know how Xiao Zhan liked his eggs scrambled in the morning; didn’t know how he liked his coffee; didn’t know that he wanted to be an actor but ultimately chose to be a designer because he didn’t feel like he was ready for all the risk of being in stardom; didn’t know how Xiao Zhan sounded so sweet and filthy under Yibo’s fingers, around his cock; didn’t know that he was afraid of ended up without dreams, without spite, without motivations; didn’t know that he had barricaded himself so tight because he was afraid of connecting with other people.

The last two, Xiao Zhan didn’t tell him. When it came to his personal feelings, Yibo had to find out by piecing little trickles of clues that the man had left around their entwined lives. He had never shown his weak moments, never been willing to be vulnerable emotionally, never explained why he traced the lines on Yibo’s face so carefully in the morning when Yibo was pretending to be asleep.

He was kind, and fun to be around. He understood Yibo’s jokes, and he gave as good as he got whenever Yibo had this urge of swatting his arm or punching his sides jokingly. Being with Xiao Zhan was comfortable, exhilarating. But he always felt that coldness that wafted off of the older man like the never-ending waves in the ocean. Like he could never quite touch Xiao Zhan, like he would drown instead of finding the grasp of his fingers.

“How are you not running out of money yet?” Xiao Zhan asked one day, chest to back with Yibo behind him. He was twirling his stylus between long, graceful fingers. It was a lazy day. Summer was upon them once again. “You’re still a college student.”

“I work harder, that’s all,” he answered. He didn’t say that he had dropped off his dancing classes. Xiao Zhan would immediately cut this arrangement if he found out. And Yibo found that he loathed the future where he couldn’t call him to ask whether he was home or not. He was living just fine; he did work harder, and his parents had increased his allowance due to his necessities being tripled this semester, but he just thought that the more money he had, the more he could meet Xiao Zhan.

It wasn’t even necessary anymore, not really. Xiao Zhan had said multiple times by now to only pay him on certain things. But he didn’t understand that Yibo simply liked spending his money for the man, that was all. Everything that came with it was just a bonus. All he wanted was to have Xiao Zhan’s company by his side.

“I can see that,” Xiao Zhan said, kissing each of Yibo’s eyelids. “Stop with your ridiculous rate. Just pay me less, get more rest instead. Okay?”

He didn’t want to. But Xiao Zhan was so warm and a comfortable weight in his arms, so he just nodded tiredly, and snuggled against the man. He was so ready to take a nap for twelve-hours straight. But then, Xiao Zhan leaned in to kiss him lightly, saying, “Don’t waste so much money on someone who won’t stay forever, Yibo.”

Yibo’s heart skipped a beat, as if it was stolen along when Xiao Zhan moved out of his embrace to fetch something in the kitchen. He laid there, eyes closed, yet heartbeat frantic and terrified. What did he mean by that? Logically, Yibo knew that this arrangement would come to an end someday. But he was—he wasn’t ready for that now. Probably not ever.

Xiao Zhan didn’t come back to lay by his side. Instead, he pressed his back against Yibo’s as he typed away on his laptop. He didn’t know whether the man could feel his heartbeat, because he felt like it was incredibly loud in the silent room. On a lazy, summer afternoon, Yibo realized that he could lose Xiao Zhan sooner than he thought.

And so, because of that realization, he spiraled into this weird spectrum where he ran around from one end to another at a neck-breaking speed that left him breathless and aching. He was left floundering between trying his hardest to accept Xiao Zhan’s farewell, his everlasting coldness, and trying to cling onto him as hard as he could before he had to let go. Maybe if he did it hard enough, he didn’t have to. Maybe if he did it just right, they could find a balance where Yibo wasn’t as desperate and Xiao Zhan was staying.

It evaporated into thin air as fast as water poured on the sizzling asphalt, however.

Yibo kept wanting to spend as much time as he could with Xiao Zhan, and in the confusion of his extreme-ended spectrum, he didn’t realize just how clingy he had become, how suffocating he was to Xiao Zhan.

“It’s not that I don’t like hanging out with you,” the man said, sighing as he inhaled his cigarette. “But I barely have any time to do anything anymore. I’ve never even spent any time with my friends these past few weeks, Yibo. Just… I don’t know what’s happening to you, but take it easy for now, okay?”

“Okay,” Yibo said, dejected.

In his haste to ensure that Xiao Zhan would stay by his side, he didn’t realize that he was chaining the man down. It was really hard to do, however. He was aware that he was being exactly what Xiao Zhan had accused him of more than a year ago: obsessive. Sure, he wasn’t following him around, wasn’t always unintentionally there with him, but he kept checking his phone, kept asking himself whether it was the time to meet Xiao Zhan when it was only a day or two since they last met.

At one point, even Xiao Zhan’s patience ran thin because of it.

“No, I don’t want to meet you right now,” he said through the phone. He sounded irritated, Yibo could see the frown and little pout on his lips. He despaired even more because of how intimately he could imagine Xiao Zhan’s expression.

But he was getting closer and closer to the other end of his spectrum, the one who demanded him to be as close as humanly possible to the man. No matter what the cost.

“Look, I got the money,” he said, aware of how frantic he sounded but unable to stop it. “I can pay you as much as you want, just—“

“It’s not about the goddamned money,” Xiao Zhan cut him off. He was calm, sounding collected and almost polite. But Yibo had been with him long enough to know that wrath was boiling underneath the calmness of the ocean, just seconds away before the thunderstorm.

This was the cost of Yibo’s desperation: Xiao Zhan himself.

“I don’t want to meet you,” Xiao Zhan repeated; still so calm, still sounding like he wanted nothing but to see Yibo burnt into a husk. “Not now, not tomorrow, not the day after. Probably not for a few weeks. Don’t call me unless you want me to block you.”

He didn’t cut off the call immediately, waiting for Yibo as always like a polite gentleman he was. Yibo was helpless, already closing his eyes in defeat and loss when he said weakly to the phone, “Yeah, I get it. Take- take care.”

“I will,” the man said, sounding more and more detached by the second. “Thank you.”

When he hung up, Yibo felt like he had already lost him.

They didn’t talk for weeks, just like how Xiao Zhan had said. Whenever they happened to be in the same room, neither of them approached the other. It felt almost like a mockery; the coincidental turn of events that had brought them together in the first place, now a taunt that reminded them of what they had become. Even with conscious efforts of staying away, still they found themselves in situations where they had to acknowledge each other’s presence.

It wasn’t until two months after that, when Yibo’s phone rang. He fell asleep while studying for the upcoming finals, and was startled awake from a ringtone that he had specifically set for Xiao Zhan. He hastily swiped the green icon, speaking into the speaker with a voice ladened with sleep. “Hello?”

There was no immediate answer, just murmurs in the background and clinks of glass. Was it a party? A bar? A club? Yibo was more alert now, wiping his drool clean with the sleeve of his shirt, and closing his books and laptop.

“Xiao Zhan?” he called out again. “Are you okay?”

“No,” came the reply, small and so, so tired. “Pick me up, Yibo.”

“O-okay,” he said, hurriedly snatching his keys, before remembering that Xiao Zhan might be drunk and would not be able to hold onto him on the bike. He might fall asleep on the way, it’d be dangerous. So he put on his jacket, took his wallet and mask, and came down to hail a cab instead. Xiao Zhan gave him the address of the bar, before the call was cut off and Yibo was left fidgeting on the back seat, waiting impatiently for the car to speed up.

Xiao Zhan was alone on the counter when Yibo arrived. He could see that some people were interested in approaching him, but Xiao Zhan’s gloomy face, and the glare he sent to people whenever they were about to step in his direction was enough to deter them off. Yibo felt the inexplicable sense of satisfaction he felt when he saw the jealousy on their faces as he approached Xiao Zhan and had the man leaning his head on his shoulder instead.

He wrapped his arm around the man, inhaling the scent of his shampoo as he buried his nose on soft strands of hair. It really had been too long. He had missed this a lot. Maybe Xiao Zhan had forgiven him. Maybe they could go back to—

“You know that I don’t love you, right, Yibo?” Xiao Zhan asked, a bitter smile on his flushed face. The tang of alcohol on his breath made Yibo’s eyes water. Though whether it was only from the sharp smell, or the words the man had just uttered, he didn’t know.

“You’re drunk,” Yibo said, sounding weak and childlike. He felt like a child, refusing reality. Maybe if he believed it enough, reality would bend to his will instead, as most children would usually have in their childhood. This wasn’t childhood, however. They both were adults, and they had to deal with the consequences of their actions, of their own feelings.

“I am,” Xiao Zhan said slowly, then looked up into Yibo’s eyes. He looked beautiful, almost cruelly so. As cruel as his words when he said, “Which doesn’t mean that I don’t know what I’m talking about. It just means that I don’t have as much inhibition as I usually have.”

“Oh,” he breathed out, feeling very much like someone had just sucker-punched him on the gut.

“Yeah,” the man continued, reaching for the full shot glass before downing it quickly, as if he needed encouragement from the alcohol. “You… you keep clinging on to me like you want to chain me down. Like you couldn’t bear to step away from me without feeling like a breath has been stolen from your lungs. You like me, don’t you?”

He didn’t know what to say, what to feel. He felt numb, he felt like his chest was burning alight with pain, he wanted to stay away and get closer to Xiao Zhan at the same time. He didn’t know what he should do. In the end, all he could do was wave over the bartender, told her he wanted three of the same thing as Xiao Zhan had and didn’t say anything before his drinks arrived.

He traced the mouth of the small glass, feeling a bitter smile pulled at his lips. He could feel Xiao Zhan watching him from next to his seat. He lifted his glass and whispered, just before the rim touched his lips, “I do. I really, really do,” and downed his shot.

He felt the liquid burn in his throat, inside his lungs. He nearly spluttered. He didn’t know how Xiao Zhan could drink it with such a straight face. But maybe he was used to it. There were still quite a few things that he didn’t know about Xiao Zhan, weren’t there? Yibo wondered just how disillusioned he was all this time. Maybe that was why Xiao Zhan was so irritated by his presence.

“I don’t like it,” he heard the reply. There was a frown on pretty face, an inexplicable emotion that crossed it for a flash. Yibo didn’t know whether Xiao Zhan wanted to be angry or cry. He didn’t think he was ready to know. “I don’t want you to like me. I don’t- I don’t think either of us deserve it.”

“I never asked to like you, either,” he said, almost detached from his second shot and their conversation. “I don’t know what you meant by the last one, but I think I deserve to like whomever I want, and you deserve to be loved, too.”

There was a hitch in Xiao Zhan’s breath. When Yibo looked at him, his lips were trembling as he looked down at his glass. “We’re not talking about love now, Yibo.”

“No,” he agreed, making his decisions. “But we could be.”

There was a small shake of head from the man next to him, and Yibo’s heart fell. He swallowed down the last shot, feeling the strong alcohol making his own head spin. It was okay. If Xiao Zhan didn’t want Yibo to love him, then he’d love him in his silence. He didn’t need to know it. Yibo just needed to be by his side, as whatever Xiao Zhan was ready for him to be.

“I’m going to leave you one day,” Xiao Zhan said; frail, afraid. “Not even any amount of money can buy my presence in your life anymore.”

He heaved a deep breath, pushing away the anguish that lanced through his heart. “One day is not today.”

He saw the bitter smile on Xiao Zhan’s face, the glisten of tears in his eyes. Yibo didn’t understand, and he wouldn’t pretend that he could. But the sight still brought pain to the chambers of his heart. “You wanna know something funny?”

“What is?”

“It’s never about the money,” Xiao Zhan said, the smile pulling taut on his lips like a bad joke. “It’s just you, and I don’t like that I feel that way.”

Oh , he thought. Oh, Go, what kind of mess he had landed himself in? He was fighting a losing battle, and Xiao Zhan didn’t even want to try despite everything. Still, he found himself pushing away Xiao Zhan’s glass and pulled him by the arm.

“Let me take you home,” he said, couldn’t quite hide the pain and loss in his voice.

Sharp, cold eyes looked at him for some time, before Xiao Zhan nodded. “Okay.”

Yibo paid for their tabs, and hailed a cab to his apartment. He held Xiao Zhan in his arms throughout the drive, ignoring the look from the cab driver. He didn’t really give a shit about prejudice when his heart was on the line.

Xiao Zhan didn’t say anything when Yibo kissed him, when he undressed them both. He cried out softly when Yibo fingered him carefully, gently, with affection that made him heart tremble. The man looked like he was in pain, as if being held with such love sent agony lancing through his lungs. When Yibo held him, there was a tinge of desperation in his thrusts, in his groans and cries, in the way he called out Xiao Zhan’s name over and over again.

Not once, not even once throughout the night did Xiao Zhan call out his name. Yibo accepted it and held back his tears. In the morning, Xiao Zhan was gone.

He dutifully wired the money, and it continued from there. They no longer hung around each other, Yibo no longer followed him around like a lost, overexcited puppy. Somehow, they no longer found themselves in coincidences anymore. It was as if the universe was telling Yibo that he indeed was losing everything he had desperately tried to keep close to his heart.

Xiao Zhan only called him when he was drunk. When Yibo held him down, fucked him with gentle and harsh touches, Xiao Zhan held on tight with the same desperation that had been resonating in Yibo’s lungs for weeks. When they did it in Yibo’s apartment, he was always gone in the morning. When they did it in his apartment, they didn’t talk at all in the morning. Yibo was getting used to the sight of Xiao Zhan’s back on the balcony, smoke rising from his cigarette. He had been smoking more and more these days.

Instead of banter and laughter, the sound of cicadas and the bustle of the city replaced them. Instead of playing around in the kitchen and having lunches together, staying together in silence had become their routine. Summer was hot and sticky, and his reality made Yibo’s head spin from the heat of pain and hopelessness.

When he thought that they could no longer go on like this, that something had to be done, Xiao Zhan took that decision for the both of them.

When Yibo knocked on his door that day, he was hit with a sudden feeling of grief so hard that he had to stop and heave a deep breath for a second. Xiao Zhan embraced him so softly once the door was closed, and Yibo clung to him tightly, wrapping his arms around slender waist and inhaling the scent of familiar shampoo. He wasn’t ready to lose this, he thought, he would never be ready.

They ate in silence. Yibo did his own assignment, Xiao Zhan typed away at his laptop. It was an e-mail; he saw at a glance. He didn’t look up again until he was called for dinner. It was a reminiscence of their old days—of days spent together in each other’s company. Without burden, without pain, without loss.

When Xiao Zhan reached out to wipe a smear of sauce on the corner of Yibo’s mouth, he grasped it with his hand and pressed a kiss to the palm. He let the low simmer of heat flow together with his sorrow. When he kissed Xiao Zhan, he responded gently. As if he was afraid of breaking Yibo even more than he did. When he held him tight, whispering unsaid love in kisses that he etched onto smooth skin, Yibo held back his tears, his plea for Xiao Zhan to stay.

When Xiao Zhan called his name, Yibo felt tremendous grief encompassing his whole being.

Xiao Zhan’s back was the first thing that he saw in the morning. Outside, the light was warm; the plants hung around the balcony cascading delicate shadows inside the room, on the side of Xiao Zhan’s face. Yibo knew, then, what was going to happen.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Xiao Zhan said, turning slightly. The cigarette was halfway done between dainty fingers.

Yibo nodded, rustled around to sit. He waited, always waited. He rarely ever followed Xiao Zhan anymore these days. He wasn’t allowed to.

There was silence enveloping them both for a long time, before Xiao Zhan said, “I’m graduating early.”

There was something stuck in his throat, choking him slowly, preventing air from entering his lungs. He nodded slowly.

“The ceremony is quick. There are only a handful of us,” the man continued, inhaling his cigarette as if mocking Yibo’s current state. “I’m moving away after that.”

“Where?” he finally managed to say.

“Australia,” Xiao Zhan answered. “I already have an offer from a company, with accommodation. I’m going there in two weeks.”

“Okay,” he said. He wasn’t. He wasn’t okay at all. He was losing Xiao Zhan, and he wondered—wondered if he had lost him long before he even realized it.

He watched as Xiao Zhan finished his cigarette; remembering the dip of his spine, the soft rustle of his hair, the sadness hidden in the lines of his pretty face. It was almost too much, and nowhere nearly enough. When he was done, he pulled on a shirt, and looked at Yibo as if he wanted to say something, as if he—as if he wanted to stay.

But he just said, “I’ll give you some time to get ready. I- I want you to be gone from here when I get back.”

Xiao Zhan left—without farewell, without a last kiss, without ever saying the words hidden beneath his tongue, without ever shedding the tears glistening in his eyes. Yibo’s face crumpled, silent in his tears.

This was the end of their relationship, their detached love. The front door closed softly behind Xiao Zhan, just like the way he had closed the door to Yibo’s heart, locking his shadows inside the chambers; a juxtaposition of him leaving Yibo alone in this empty apartment.

Outside of the bedroom, the end of summer was approaching upon them.

#the untamed rpf #shiki writes #from ao3 #yizhan #bjyxszd #college au

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