The wind stirred the strands of hair on the boy’s forehead, and the moonlight swirled down to rest on his shoulders. Their shadows, silent and elongated, stretched across the floor. In the stillness, only the clear and intense beating of their hearts could be heard. Chi Yu had known Fu Zhi’an for a long time, but this was perhaps the first time he looked at him so earnestly, noticing his clean, handsome features and the Adam’s apple that had grown more pronounced over time.
The boy who used to stand off to the side with a cool expression, watching him play pranks, seemed to have grown up.
Chi Yu tightened his grip on the slipper in his hand as Fu Zhi’an slowly approached. When their gazes met, Fu Zhi’an’s eyes instinctively shifted away. He knelt down to place the slipper by Chi Yu’s foot, then hesitated before gently grasping Chi Yu’s slender, pale ankle to help him put it on. Fu Zhi’an stayed crouched there, not daring to look up, but he could feel Chi Yu’s bright, unwavering gaze fixed on him.
He remained in that position until a soft chuckle broke the silence. When he looked up, he found that Chi Yu had also crouched down beside him. Their knees touched, and though it was just a small point of contact, Fu Zhi’an’s heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t quite decipher the smile in Chi Yu’s eyes, so he rubbed his brow, his voice lazy as he said, “We have class tomorrow…”
“I really fucking like you,” Chi Yu suddenly blurted out, throwing himself onto Fu Zhi’an. The force knocked Fu Zhi’an off balance, causing him to fall back, his shoulder blades hitting the marble floor with a dull thud. But he didn’t feel any pain—just the rapid thumping of his heart, leaving him at a loss for what to do.
“Could you not use curse words when confessing?” Fu Zhi’an’s voice was low, tinged with a slight nasal tone. He freed his arm from underneath himself and gently wrapped it around Chi Yu’s waist.
Chi Yu scoffed, “It’s just an intensifier.”
Fu Zhi’an’s lips curled into a smile, and through the thin fabric of his T-shirt, he could feel the warmth of Chi Yu’s skin against his. When Chi Yu didn’t say anything more, he muttered something under his breath before slowly releasing his grip on Fu Zhi’an’s neck, propping himself up on the floor.
Chi Yu stared at Fu Zhi’an’s face, but the poetic words he had prepared seemed to vanish from his mind. Fu Zhi’an was different from him—while Chi Yu was like a scattered bundle of bones, always needing something to lean on, Fu Zhi’an stood tall and straight, like a soldier ready for battle.
Chi Yu had planned to confess his feelings in a way Fu Zhi’an would appreciate, but poetic phrases about the sun, moon, and stars couldn’t capture what he felt for this person. They couldn’t convey the weight of his affection or the fierce courage that drove him forward.
“I love you,” he said softly.
“Hm?” Fu Zhi’an didn’t quite catch it, his thundering heartbeat distracting him.
“I said,” Chi Yu suddenly shouted with all his might, his neck muscles straining as he glared fiercely at Fu Zhi’an, “I fucking love you!”
Fu Zhi’an blinked, the tension that had been coiled tightly inside him suddenly snapping. All the love he’d been holding back came tumbling out. He reached up to smooth the crease between Chi Yu’s brows, a smile spreading from his eyes to his fingertips. Then, with a slight rise, he placed his other hand on the back of Chi Yu’s neck and leaned in until their lips met.
“I fucking love you too.”
He wondered if, with that little curse word added, Chi Yu would finally understand just how desperately he loved him.
But even the heat of their shared desire couldn’t withstand the cold for long. The balcony door was wide open, letting the freezing wind rush into the room. When Chi Yu couldn’t hold back a sneeze, the two of them stared at each other, wide-eyed. Even Chi Yu knew he’d just ruined the moment.
Fu Zhi’an raised an eyebrow, his smile teasing. “Awkward, isn’t it?”
A flush spread from Chi Yu’s neck to his ears. He scrambled off Fu Zhi’an, his expression hidden in the darkness, and his voice rang out with irritation, “Get lost, just go!” He didn’t say anything more, just left behind a somewhat embarrassed retreating figure and the loud slam of a door.
Fu Zhi’an sighed, slowly sitting up. He massaged his calf until the soreness subsided, silently resolving to add regular workouts to his routine. Chi Yu might look thin, but he was surprisingly heavy.
When Fu Zhi’an finally returned to the bedroom, Chi Yu was already curled up under the covers, not moving an inch. Fu Zhi’an tiptoed over and climbed into bed beside him, stifling a laugh at how Chi Yu had left him only a small corner of the blanket. These small acts of petty revenge, left over from childhood, still lingered.
But Fu Zhi’an had no right to call Chi Yu childish—he had always found these little tricks endearing.
Chi Yu didn’t know when he fell asleep. Insomnia had become such a habit that it no longer felt like insomnia. The sound of the wind outside would keep him awake, the ticking of a clock would make it hard to breathe, and even the faintest noise could jolt him awake from a dream.
But the gentle rhythm of the person’s breathing beside him was strangely calming. Even though Chi Yu stubbornly refused to turn over and face him, embarrassed by the earlier awkwardness, he found himself edging closer to the edge of the bed, inch by inch, until his leg brushed against warm, dry skin. Startled, he froze. He’s probably asleep, Chi Yu thought, moving a little closer, snuggling into the warmth.
When the morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow on the boy’s face, his eyelashes fluttered, and he cracked open an eye to find Fu Zhi’an’s brown eyes staring back at him. There was no trace of sleepiness in them, as if he’d been waiting for Chi Yu to wake up. Chi Yu didn’t want to get up. He rubbed his head against the pillow and mumbled something incoherent before turning over to continue sleeping. Beside him, he heard the faint sound of someone slipping on shoes, probably Fu Zhi’an getting up, and he buried his face deeper into the blanket.
Click. The sound of a camera shutter.
Chi Yu slowly opened his eyes, only to find a phone camera pointed at him. The moment Fu Zhi’an saw him awake, he snapped a few more photos. Fu Zhi’an’s eyes crinkled with a smile as he let out a soft breath, “Good morning.”
Chi Yu abruptly sat up in bed, reaching out to snatch the phone, but Fu Zhi’an dodged him easily.
“So photogenic,” Fu Zhi’an remarked, tapping away at his phone with a satisfied smile. He then turned the screen to show Chi Yu. The image displayed was of Chi Yu’s groggy face filling the entire frame, with a small tuft of hair sticking up in the middle of his head, looking both funny and odd. Fu Zhi’an put his phone away and left the room, leaving Chi Yu fuming and shouting after him, “Fu Zhi’an! Change that wallpaper right now!”
Grumbling, Chi Yu tousled his hair in frustration and reluctantly followed Fu Zhi’an out of the room. After a brief but intense negotiation, they agreed that Chi Yu would accompany Fu Zhi’an to breakfast, and in return, Fu Zhi’an would delete the photos.
After winding through a few streets, they arrived at a small breakfast shop on a corner. Fu Zhi’an bent down to speak with the vendor, then stepped aside to wait.
Chi Yu casually found an empty seat and began fiddling with his phone. Fu Zhi’an moved quickly, soon returning with a tray of shumai and soybean milk. He then reached into his pocket, fumbling around before pulling out a roll of colorful bubble gum and placing it on the table. Chi Yu had never been fond of breakfast, much to Wen Hua’s chagrin. She had struggled to get him to eat in the mornings, finally striking a deal: if Chi Yu ate breakfast, she would reward him with a roll of bubble gum.
Chi Yu would then take the gum and secretly stick it on Fu Zhi’an’s homework, laughing uncontrollably at Fu Zhi’an’s blank expression.
As Chi Yu sat there lost in thought, Fu Zhi’an handed him his phone. The screen lit up, showing Chi Yu’s own ridiculous face. Chi Yu took the phone, opened the photo gallery, and found only a few pictures of exam papers along with a password-protected album. Fu Zhi’an was sipping his soybean milk, seemingly oblivious. Chi Yu hesitated for a moment, then entered his own birthday as the password.
The album opened, revealing countless pages of photos—back views, side profiles, the back of his head, and even a few blurry close-ups from group photos, all of them of Chi Yu. The photos spanned a long period, from when he wore short sleeves to when he was bundled up in a heavy down jacket. Some of the pictures were from middle school, with a barely visible school emblem peeking out.
“Fu Zhi’an.” Chi Yu pulled out his phone and aimed the camera at him, laughing. “Smile for me.”
Fu Zhi’an chuckled softly, setting down his chopsticks and smiling at the camera. But just as Chi Yu was about to snap the photo, he turned away, switched the camera to selfie mode, and positioned them both in the frame. Chi Yu’s expression was stiff, and he blinked at the camera, holding up a peace sign with one hand.
But just as he was about to press the shutter, Fu Zhi’an suddenly stood up from his chair, bending over to get closer to Chi Yu’s face. Startled, Chi Yu turned to look at him, accidentally hitting the shutter button.
The picture wasn’t perfectly composed; the table was cluttered with two bowls of soybean milk, half-eaten shumai, and a roll of cartoon-covered bubble gum. In the photo, Chi Yu’s face was blurred, while his sharply defined side profile stood out clearly, his black-and-white eyes filled with surprise.
Fu Zhi’an liked the photo a lot. Even long after that morning had passed, the memory of it would linger in his heart like a soft breeze, gently reminding him that this was all the love he had to give.
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