Ming Shao returned home.
“I’m back,” he called out, his voice echoing through the empty room.
There was no response. Ming Shao changed into his slippers, moving past the slightly cluttered coffee table, and headed to the bedroom to water the Nandina plant.
The Nandina was planted by Shen Luo. He had said that a home shouldn’t be cold and lifeless, that more plants would add some vitality. Though the Nandina had been stripped of its leaves before, it was now thriving again, new leaves sprouting.
After watering the plant, Ming Shao went to his study to handle some work. It wasn’t until a sharp pain pierced his stomach that he realized he hadn’t eaten dinner.
If Shen Luo were here, he would have reminded him to eat, maybe even left a sticky note. Shen Luo’s handwriting was beautiful, and whenever he wrote on sticky notes, it always caught Ming Shao’s attention.
Staring at the empty fridge door, Ming Shao decided he should go buy a pack of sticky notes next time.
In the kitchen, the water on the stove bubbled as it came to a boil. Ming Shao dropped some tangyuan into the water, trying to replicate Shen Luo’s method. He had never cooked tangyuan before, and the dumplings quickly fell apart, the filling mixing with the skin.
It was a mess.
The Alpha slid down to the floor along the kitchen counter, the darkness of the night amplifying his longing.
There was a time when Ming Shao thought he wouldn’t care, that Shen Luo was just a Beta after all. But at some point, he realized that every corner of this house carried traces of Shen Luo.
Shen Luo waiting for him on the sofa, Shen Luo tending to the Nandina, Shen Luo blushing, Shen Luo full of anticipation…
It turned out that love had taken root and grown quietly in their everyday interactions. It thrived, though he had been oblivious to it, hiding his feelings behind cold words.
But this love withered in the cracks of their relationship, and one person’s effort couldn’t save a love meant for two.
Shen Luo wanted to leave, and Ming Shao couldn’t stop him.
A piece of paper, an agreement, meant nothing. All those calculations, benefits, and losses, all the logic he had once relied on, became useless the moment Shen Luo decided to go.
In the face of love, the once formidable Mr. Ming was nothing more than a coward.
What could he possibly use to make Shen Luo stay?
Ming Shao went through everything in his mind but found no advantage.
He was a complete failure, clutching his chest as the pain surged again.
The word “pain” no longer sufficed to describe what he was feeling.
It felt like a gaping hole had torn open in his chest, with a fierce wind howling through it.
His neck throbbed too—a lingering effect of the gland injury.
Ming Shao tapped his head, even thinking, in his crazed state, that perhaps the pain could be stronger.
He opened the liquor cabinet—people say alcohol dulls sorrow. Ming Shao grabbed a random bottle.
Back when Shen Luo was still around, he would remember all sorts of holidays, and they would often open a bottle of wine, whether paired with a Western meal or just a few casual dishes, sharing a few words.
Most of the time, it was Shen Luo who did the talking, sharing stories that were either joyful or amusing.
The memories became clearer, and Ming Shao suddenly wished he could go back and confront his past self—not with words, but with a punch. Then, he would grab his past self by the collar and demand:
How could you lose someone as good as Shen Luo?
But now, the only person he could confront was himself.
Yes, how could you lose someone as good as Shen Luo?
The tangyuan had dissolved into a shapeless, black-and-white mush in the bowl. Ming Shao clumsily poked at it with a spoon. An opened bottle of wine sat beside him as he curled up in the kitchen, letting his longing overwhelm him.
Before he knew it, he had opened several more bottles. His consciousness grew hazy.
He wasn’t hallucinating. When he stood outside Shen Luo’s company, he knew clearly that he hadn’t waited for Shen Luo.
He was painfully aware of it, which made it all the worse.
Hallucinations, in a way, were a form of existence. But he couldn’t even see Shen Luo’s face.
Opening the passenger door, fastening the seatbelt, pretending that Shen Luo was still there—it was just self-deception.
He didn’t know how long he had been in the kitchen, surrounded by a circle of empty bottles that trapped him in the middle.
But what trapped Ming Shao wasn’t just the bottles.
Half-awake, half-drunk, the lights in the living room suddenly flicked on.
It wasn’t the brightest light on the ceiling, as if the person who entered didn’t want to disturb the residents of the house. The wall lights came on, filling the living room with a warm, yellow glow.
Was this a dream?
Or was it the hallucination he had been longing for?
Ming Shao tried to stand, but his foot kicked over the bottles surrounding him, sending them clattering and rolling across the floor.
Footsteps hurried towards the kitchen, and through the glass door, Ming Shao saw the figure he had been yearning for.
His eyes instantly reddened, his face twisted between tears and a smile. He rushed forward, but in his haste, he stepped on one of the bottles, stumbling and nearly falling.
Ming Shao caught himself on the counter, but when he turned around, the figure was gone.
The glass door slid open with a “whoosh,” and Ming Shao rushed out.
Thankfully, the figure was still there.
Shen Luo was rummaging through a cabinet near the TV. When he noticed Ming Shao, he paused.
Ming Shao approached, but Shen Luo unconsciously took a couple of steps back.
Ming Shao’s eyes reddened even more.
“I-I won’t come closer.” Ming Shao backed away in a panic, even retreating back into the kitchen. He closed the glass door, leaving just a small gap so his voice could still be heard.
The Alpha spoke softly, as if afraid of scaring Shen Luo away, his voice trembling with desperation, “Luo Luo, please don’t go.”
Even if it’s just a hallucination, please don’t disappear so quickly.
I’m begging you, Luo Luo.
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