Archive of Our Own

“Do you feel it?”

The man at his side glances down, blinking slowly.

“What?”

Taking a deep breath, Shang Qinghua inhales the smoke coming from the man’s cigarette; a gust of icy winds passes through them, making him shiver, making him smile dumbly. 

“The city,” he replies easily. “Look at it, isn’t it beautiful?”

He shifts a little, taking on the view of all the buildings, skyscrapers and lights, cars, lampposts, and life all around, no stars, no clouds, just the incredible humanity of a big city. And the noises, the sirens, airplanes. They’re on a balcony too high, so it’s impossible to hear the people from the streets. But they are there all the same, that’s what matters, isn’t it?

The man inhales deeply beside him, which could mean anything or nothing at all; Shang Qinghua waits, still gazing at the city lights.

“Yeah,” comes the response. “It is quite beautiful.”

▽

(5 years later)

The constant shake of the old bus makes Shang Qinghua quite dizzy. He had planned to write some plot outlines in his notebook, but as it stands, he can’t do much about it. He closes his eyes and leans his head on the faded window, smelling plastic and old and cold. Opening his eyes again, he tries to think about something other than his failure in writing; he focuses on the landscape that hurries past his eyes, the muted colors, the greyness of the skies, the poor buildings, the road signs, the pieces of land with nothing. All of those things could have sparked a bright light of creativity in his mind, nowadays, not so much.

Shang Qinghua feels spent, hollow, a shadow of what he once could have been.

Shaking his head, he turns and decides that the dizziness will not leave him anytime soon, so it’s best to close his eyes again and try to get some rest before… well. Before he arrives at his destination.

Secretly, he smiles to himself.

Even with all the burdens of one’s soul and heart, at least he still has this. These yearly meetings with that strange, beautiful, stupid, impossible person. His best friend.

It all started a little oddly, as most things in life.

Shang Qinghua was young and trying to make ends meet; he was doing everything he could while trying to graduate college and follow his dreams at the same time. Shang Qinghua was young and he was writing like crazy. He had this story, this ridiculous thing, settled in a mix of cultivation world and fantasy, with demons, beasts and a thousand flowers with a thousand properties. It was all a little bit too much for him, but he had fans, it made him earn some money, it was supposed to be his breakthrough as a writer.

And then.

There were ideas, there were characters. He had wanted to create a character just for him, a second male lead that would fit his… tastes. But before he could get to that part of the story, this supposed fan appeared. That fan had a ridiculous handle, it was something like “ice king,” and Shang Qinghua remembers, quite clearly, how he had laughed at the simple, but overly crude ways this fan wrote to him. And they started writing to each other—a lot. Shang Qinghua knew this wasn’t how you were supposed to interact with fans, but this person pestered him the whole day and Shang Qinghua. Well. Shang Qinghua was lonely, and that story wasn’t exactly what he had wanted to write in the first place, and all the feedback was incredibly overwhelming. The ice king fan became his escape from life, the ice king became a lot. They became friends.

It really wasn’t supposed to end like this, but it did. The ice king fan was actually a young man, he was cute in his own cold, aloof way, and Shang Qinghua got lost on it. He got exceptionally lost when the young man sent him a selfie holding the first volume of that damned novel, his novel. The young man wasn’t smiling on that selfie, he wasn’t doing much other than looking at the phone camera but. But Shang Qinghua felt like dying. He still feels like that up to this day.

And that’s how the whole plot of that crazy novel changed entirely.

Shang Qinghua couldn’t write about the second male lead, not when this “fan” looked exactly how Shang Qinghua had imagined him—or was it the other way around? Was he inspired by this young man in the end? But no… there was… a long, old dream, just in the back of his mind… a silly, wild dream with snow and ice and—

Without that dead second male lead, Shang Qinghua lost the passion for the novel, even when the young man, now his friend, tried to persuade him to keep writing it. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want it anymore, mainly because the commenters all wanted the main character to have thousands of wives and kill a thousand scum villains.

And Shang Qinghua didn’t want that.

He left that novel unfinished and decided to survive on odd jobs instead of writing.

Everything could wait, yes.

He still had many stories in his mind, he could do this, he could become a writer.

His friend, best friend, believed in him.

They had met in the same year Shang Qinghua abandoned his novel. His best friend was passing by his city and insisted on taking Shang Qinghua out for dinner. It was…almost a disaster, but the memories are filled with fondness and foolishness. They were young, too young, and his best friend… he… Mobei Jun was too much for Shang Qinghua.

Shang Qinghua looks at the man standing in front of him, tall, strong and handsome, and he feels his legs weaken. He feels his whole body shudder from the view. And Shang Qinghua… he’s dressed in old worn-out jeans and an anime hoody like the nerd he is and it’s just too embarrassing. All the while Mobei Jun is looking perfect in a dress shirt and black shoes that shine, and oh, his hair got so long ever since he had last sent Shang Qinghua a picture… it falls over his shoulder, held by a low ponytail and it’s just… oh. Shang Qinghua is blushing, he knows he is, especially when Mobei Jun takes a step ahead and a ghost of a smile crosses his features, and Shang Qinghua can see too a hint of a blush on those perfect sculptured sharp cheeks and—

In the end, that night had been both a mess and perfect. They were best friends, so it was easy to fall into the old jokes and talk about the subjects they enjoyed. Well, Shang Qinghua did most of the talking, but Mobei Jun, sometimes, gave out remarks. It was awkwardly funny, but an enjoyable experience nonetheless, even if the place Mobei-Jun took him was incredibly expensive. Shang Qinghua had known for some time that Mobei Jun was kind of loaded, given how he was studying abroad at that time, and it never made a difference.

It doesn’t, even now.

The only thing that makes him hurt is the fact that he can’t see Mobei Jun more.

When they were younger, Mobei Jun lived in another country, majoring in business and whatnot to take over his family’s company in the future. Nowadays, Mobei Jun travels. He travels a lot, he negotiates and makes millionaire deals with all of those important people, and he never stays in one place for a long time. He has a couple of apartments scattered throughout the country, but none in Shang Qinghua’s city. Which is fine, really, but the difference in schedules is a pain, and the only time they can really meet is…

“I’m buying this house,” Mobei Jun says without even blinking, as if he were buying a water bottle in a convenience store.

“What? Are you crazy? You can’t simply buy a whole house like that.”

Mobei Jun raises one eyebrow at him, challenging.

“It’s for us,” he speaks, lowering his voice to that soft tone that makes Shang Qinghua comply with almost anything. “With a house for us, we don’t need to plan beforehand, we can just come here at the agreed time.”

Practical, efficient. Shang Qinghua hates it, but he can’t help but love it too.

He loves, and he finds the situation absurd, it must show on his face because Mobei Jun keeps talking, stating how buying a whole house in the middle of nowhere near the beach would benefit them. Shang Qinghua is only won in the end because Mobei Jun agrees for Shang Qinghua to oversee all the contracts and accounting details of the purchase.

Five days per year; that’s the time they get to be together in person, and the bumps on the road, the slow shake of the bus, they all make Shang Qinghua a little sorrowful in this strange way. He wanted more, wished for it. But it’s what he gets; five days out of three hundred and sixty five. At least… at least he still has those days. And the house. That old thing that Mobei Jun bought with his own money and pays people to take care of for the entire year only for them to meet at this time.

He looks out of the window, at the haze of the world, its greyness, and the constant rain that’s so typical for winters.

Mobei Jun really did acquire a house by the beach only for them to go in the middle of winter.

It’s half funny half sad, but that’s how they always were.

Friends, they are friends. Best friends, who meet once a year to stay on the cold sand and watch the sea raging on the horizon.

Shang Qinghua could write about that, he surely could, and he picks up his notebook again to write some key-words on an already doodled, wrinkled page. He writes: a deep-black sea, two lovers, some poetry, the sand, a wet kiss, the rain, the rain.

It doesn’t quite make sense, but it’s alright. He can always figure it out later, or he will forget about all of this. By now he’s used to have ideas sprouting out of his mind only to be swallowed up by daily, monotonous life.

The bus stops, the brakes making an awful noise. Shang Qinghua grimaces and looks out. It’s not his stop yet; he probably has half an hour in this forsaken bus. Then he will have to get a taxi or something to finally arrive at the house.

The bus starts riding again and Shang Qinghua remembers how, in one particular year when everything was just too dark (he was fired, he was evicted from his apartment, he had nowhere to go, no future, no money, no dream, no life), Mobei Jun had come to the bus stop to fetch him. It was… a loving memory, and Shang Qinghua had felt happiness for the first time that year.

But they are friends, just that.

And,

Maybe that’s a problem.

It doesn’t matter, it’s been five years and they still meet, that surely means something?

It could mean anything and nothing at all.

Tired of looking at the dirty fabric of the bus seat (and tired, oh so tired, of thinking about feelings), Shang Qinghua picks up his cellphone to scroll through his messages. There are two missed calls, all from his boss, and one message from Mobei Jun, stating that he already arrived. Shang Qinghua can’t help but smile at the message, at the display name that Shang Qinghua keeps as ‘ice king’ because that’s how they began and—

He calls his boss immediately.

The connection is terrible because he’s on the road in the middle of nowhere, and, on top of that, it’s his yearly vacation, making Shang Qinghua feel some sort of anger for receiving work calls when he was, supposedly, on his time off. Still, the old man apologizes and asks for some help in the new tech company they are auditing. It’s something quick, his boss swears, and Shang Qinghua complies, says he will do it the moment he gets wi-fi. Because… well, because Shang Qinghua is like that. Never being able to say no, never being able to raise boundaries. A people pleaser. He firmly believes that a significant part of his life was doomed because of this trait, but then again, it’s kind of hard to change ways when you’re already reaching your thirties.

And Shang Qinghua can help his boss.

It’s fine.

Mobei Jun will understand, too. He also has to be always working, always on the phone, deciding important stuff, and earning more and more money.

It’s really fine.

The shake of the bus, the thin cold rain falling outside, the scent of humidity and mold, they all make Shang Qinghua feel quite pitiful and tired—tired tired so tired.

It’s no surprise that in just a few seconds, he dozes off.

▽

When Shang Qinghua arrives at his stop, Mobei Jun is there waiting for him. For a moment, he thinks he’s dreaming—he had been dreaming on the bus; a cool, blurred dream with ice and snow and claws and—but no, it’s only reality, and Mobei Jun is there, dressed in casual clothes of the fanciest brands, wearing sunglasses even in this terrible weather. And he looks complicatedly gorgeous, all the pictures of the past year could never do the real thing justice. Shang Qinghua cries a little inside while he grabs his backpack and hurries out.

The drizzle touches his face, it’s refreshing, it’s cold and amazing and he doesn’t even know exactly what he’s doing until he’s right in front of Mobei Jun, smiling dumbly up at the man he had been yearning for so long.

“You didn’t need to come,” he says, instead of I missed you so much.

Mobei Jun just looks at him, his dark shades making it impossible for Shang Qinghua to see what kind of expression he’s making.

“I wanted to,” it’s the answer, it warms Shang Qinghua in a way no fire could. “It’s been raining a lot.”

Shang Qinghua hums, still smiling, still not caring about the rain and frigid weather.

He comes to this place every year in winter, and every single time, he gets awfully overjoyed by the thick scent of salt and fish that permeates the air, the humidity, the clearness of it all. It’s all grey, of course, but it’s not less beautiful due to its lack of life.

But Mobei Jun is in a hurry —as he often is when he’s outside— and quickly rushes Shang Qinghua inside his very fancy car.

The ride is fast, it doesn’t take long for them to arrive at the house. The car’s black windows show Shang Qinghua the low hills, the few humble houses, the resorts that are only opened in summer, the scattering trees, the seagulls roaming in the sky. And the thick grey clouds. Shang Qinghua was never a beach person, he always despised the heat and the sand and the way everyone would flock to the beaches in summer.

But this place, this house, their house.

It is, somewhat, different.

It’s the way Mobei Jun opens the door for him, the way the house —this small two-story thing with a huge balcony that has the view to the sea— is always pristine and clean, decorated by Mobei Jun and Shang Qinghua together, which ended up making the house a mess of books of all types, high-end furniture, some anime figures and books scattered on the shelves, a grand piano made of dark wood and many other frivolities.

Shang Qinghua is smiling all the way, rambling about his trip, annoying Mobei Jun about how long it takes for him to arrive every time, how the bus is terrible and makes him feel sick when—

He remembers his boss’ call.

“I—I need to do a quick thing for work.”

“Aren’t you on your break?” Mobei Jun asks, not looking happy, but not making any other expression either. He takes off his glasses, and oh, how Shang Qinghua had longed to see those eyes. Mobei Jun’s eyes should be dark, they should be, but they are not. They are blue and deep and impossible to gaze away from.

“Yeah,” he answers, looking at the wooden floors, at the counter, at everywhere that isn’t Mobei Jun. “It will be fast! Then, after this, we could go out to the market? Or did you buy everything already?”

“No, I was waiting for you.”

Sensing the mood going down, Shang Qinghua tries to salvage it by patting Mobei Jun’s shoulder and giving him one of his signature big smiles.

“Nice, we will go together then, I promise it’s only ten minutes most.”

Mobei Jun frowns but complies. He always does, even if he’s one of the most stubborn people Shang Qinghua had ever met.

“I don’t know if I should accept this job,” Shang Qinghua whines on the phone.

“Why? What’s the name of the company?”

“They’re a small accounting thing, you wouldn’t have heard about it, don’t worry, and don’t do anything! I don’t want your employees checking on this.”

A chuckle. Gosh, Shang Qinghua could even picture Mobei Jun’s face in his head.

“I would never do that.”

“Liar, you did before.”

“Yes, but they fired you.”

“And you decided to make them go bankrupt for that, seriously, don’t meddle with this.”

A sigh, “Alright.”

Silence, Shang Qinghua can almost hear Mobei Jun breathing and oh, how he wished they were talking face to face.

“But should I? Take the job?”

“Is it what you want?”

When Shang Qinghua finishes his quick but not so quick job, the sun is already setting, coloring the world in a strange shade of pale orange.

He hurries to the balcony, looking for Mobei Jun, needing to see him again. He’s welcomed by the faint smell of cigarettes and smoke.

“I thought you had quit,” he blurts out, surprised.

Mobei Jun looks up, his eyes showing some kind of guilt. Shang Qinghua would never judge him, ever, they had talked about this the first time Mobei Jun tried to quit three years ago. Now, every year, he tries to quit again. It’s hard, it’s understandable.

“I—”

“It’s alright,” Shang Qinghua replies, placing one hand on top of Mobei Jun’s head. His hair always looks so smooth, and it is so silky to the touch. “Don’t fret too much over it, okay? Shall we go? I’m kind of starving.”

▽

The little market is still there even after all those years, in the same side-street, on a dark corner, hidden by stores that sell souvenirs and whatnot. Shang Qinghua thinks the little market can only survive because this place surely must get crowded in summer. As it stands, it’s only him, Mobei Jun, and another local roaming the few aisles.

The place is run by an old uncle who bears a stern face and too many wrinkles. He always frowns at the constant chitchat of Shang Qinghua but bows at Mobei Jun. Shang Qinghua can understand that. He too, would frown at himself and bow at Mobei Jun.

And this market carries a particular scent of fresh fish, meat, cabbage and spices that is a little bit too much, but it brings memories to Shang Qinghua. It makes him want to learn how to cook, even though he always says this to Mobei Jun every time they come here and he never actually does.

“Should we buy more instant noodles?” He asks, holding four packets on his arms.

Mobei Jun glances at him, glances at their cart, already full of vegetables, rice, flour, eggs, three types of meat, bags of every kind of snack (because Mobei Jun knows Shang Qinghua can’t live a day without munching on something), water, cartons of milk, bottles of soda, wine (?), beer, and then raises one eyebrow at Shang Qinghua.

“What do you think?”

He smiles, “Yeah, I think it’s best to be prudent, gonna pick some more.”

No wonder the old uncle loves when Mobei Jun comes to this small market, this is probably the only time in winter that the man sells so much.

But Shang Qinghua and Mobei Jun always split the bill. Always.

He always wants to cry when he has to pay, but it doesn’t matter. These yearly trips, they all have been planned beforehand, and it’s food, it’s for them, they (Mobei Jun) will cook later, and just being together enjoying the cold, harsh seaside winds is enough.

As Shang Qinghua fights to open a plastic bag while trying to pack the mountain of provisions for those five days, he muses how wonderful it would be to have this —this intimacy, this moment of planning meals, of buying stuff together— more than once a year. How nice that would be.

“Qinghua,” he hears Mobei Jun saying from behind. “Are you ok?”

He turns, looking at his friend, already holding all their grocery bags. And even in this small market, forgotten in the middle of nowhere, with thin rain and cold winds, even wearing sweatpants and that ugly green trench coat, Mobei Jun looks… he looks just like out of his dreams. It’s an odd sensation, one that makes his heart beat faster, makes him sweat despite the weather. His cheeks tint on a faint pick.

“Let me help you,” he says, picking two bags from Mobei Jun. “I’m just… cold.”

Mobei Jun hums, making a motion Shang Qinghua is partially sure is to take off that ugly trench coat.

“No, no! No need to do this,” he laughs, blushing more. “We are so close to our house too, I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

“Alright,” Mobei Jun answers, with a hint of a smile. He picks the bags up from the ground and starts to walk, not before patting Shang Qinghua’s head.

▽

The night falls quickly in winter; it brings the sound of the waves crashing on the shore, the rain continually pouring, getting heavier. It brings chills to Shang Qinghua’s spine.

As they arrive at their house, a little bit soaked, laughing loudly because Mobei Jun had just spoken one of his terrible jokes about how Shang Qinghua looked like a drenched hamster wearing a cute waterproof jacket, by which Shang Qinghua had hit him on the chest, which, as (not) expected, made one of the bags open and all the contents fall to the ground, making everything get damp, making them laugh even more. Shang Qinghua can’t even apologize for the mess, not when he feels elated; not when he sees Mobei Jun’s eyes lighting up, when he hears him laugh, carefree, content, being himself for once.

Mobei Jun is always this stoic, cool, cold guy, but not when he’s around Shang Qinghua. Yes, in the beginning, he was, and sometimes, he still falls into that role. It’s part of his personality, sure. But Shang Qinghua prides himself in being the one that makes the frigid man grin like that because of stupid onions rolling down the wet street.

And Mobei Jun still wears a soft grin on his face when he enters the kitchen and starts to organize all their groceries; he puts an apron —a silly thing with pink ribbons that Shang Qinghua had bought on a whim because he really wanted to see Mobei Jun’s face while wearing it, but he ended up playing himself instead, because Mobei Jun took a liking to it— and starts the preparations for dinner.

It’s all very domestic, it’s all very dreamy in a way Shang Qinghua desires to never wake up from.

But he does, time and time again.

He makes sure his sorrows don’t show on his face, though, and decides to just keep watching Mobei Jun do the work.

▽

The dinner and beer make Shang Qinghua feel delightedly blurred, the world like cotton, like candy, like the awful romantic movie Mobei Jun is watching on the tv.

He’s lying down on Mobei Jun’s thighs, his head resting heavenly there while trying to concentrate on the moving people on the screen. It is quite impossible, he doesn’t understand any of what is happening, but his friend, on the other hand, seems quite enraptured by the plot.

“Why are they crying in the rain?” He asks, frowning. “It’s so uncomfortable to be drenched like that, are they really confessing their undying love at this moment?”

Mobei Jun shifts, placing one hand on top of Shang Qinghua’s head.

“Do you think it’s too much?”

“Ah…” Shang Qinghua stops to ponder on that question. “Well, as a writer, I understand the dramatics, but as a person watching it, it just feels unnecessary, I mean, would you confess your love to the person you like in the middle of a storm like that?”

“They are desperate,” Mobei Jun deadpans. “They’ve been apart for three years.”

“Mmmh, well, I wouldn’t.”

A silence, the protagonists of the movie are kissing on the screen as if their lives depend on it, and Shang Qinghua prays to the heavens for this movie to not have any sexy scenes because he can’t bear watching those kinds of things these days, especially in the presence of—

“How would you do it, then? How would you confess?”

“Me??”

A light pinch on his cheeks, a chuckle.

“Yes, you.”

“Why are you asking me this? You know how bad I’m with romance and… love. Remember my ex? We only got together because we got shitfaced drunk at a party and fucked afterward, and then he got my number and pestered me for days until I agreed to go out on a date with him.”

Silence; on the screen, the protagonists are happily holding hands and smiling at each other.

“Why are you talking about your ex?” Mobei Jun says, his voice lower, strained.

“It’s my only experience with real-life relationships,” Shang Qinghua explains, not understanding why Mobei Jun would be against it. He had watched the whole thing from afar, the disastrous, one-time, romantic relationship of Shang Qinghua.

Suddenly, Mobei Jun turns off the tv and gets up, not even warning Shang Qinghua beforehand, making him hit his head on the sofa’s soft cushions.

“Hey! What’s wrong?”

Mobei-Jun doesn’t even glance at him, only says, “Nothing, I’m tired.”

Pouting, Shang Qinghua swiftly gets up and holds Mobei Jun by the arm.

“What’s wrong?” He repeats.

His friend does turn to acknowledge him this time, and his eyes hold a hint of exhaustion, as if Mobei Jun had lived a thousand lives of regret already.

“I—I’m only tired, only that.”

Shang Qinghua doesn’t have the mind to refute him. Outside, the rain is still pouring; the waves are still crashing on the shore; the world, turning; time, moving. He lets go of Mobei Jun’s arm.

“Then… goodnight.”

In a blink, Mobei Jun goes upstairs to his room, and Shang Qinghua is left alone with the sounds of rain.

“I saw him kissing a girl at the party, I don’t know what to do…”

“He what?”

“You don’t need to get so angry! It’s not like I wasn’t expecting…”

“Qinghua.”

“See, it’s not like anyone would ever want to be with me anyway, right? I’m a mess all the time and my novels are shitty and I don’t even have enough money to go out on fancy dates and—”

“Qinghua,”

“I know, I know, you will say that it’s not true, it’s ok, Mobei, don’t worry, this Qinghua will be fine, I’m just venting.”

“Can I call you on video?”

…

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m tired.”

▽

Shang Qinghua wakes up with the buzz of his cellphone on his ears; he groans, cursing himself for not setting off his alarm last night. He tosses and turns in bed, seeking warmth and the remnants of a nice, sweet dream. He was dreaming… the dream… there was… snow and happiness. There was someone beside him, someone that made his heart jump and his cheeks go warm. There were snow and cold, and strange hands with claws, but he only felt happiness. The memory of the dream is hazy, he can only recall the joy, fulfillment.

But real life, it’s never like in dreams, and the cold from outside soon swoops in, making him jittery and anxious and—

He’s on his break and he should sleep in, he knows he should indulge himself. However, there are also other matters at hand… and time is precious, too precious, for him to waste on nonsensical dreams.

Freshening up and putting on warm clothes, Shang Qinghua stares at himself in the mirror. He looks… he looks bad. There are dark circles under his eyes and his hair is in dire need of a haircut; he had lost weight, again, probably due to the stress of daily life. He stares at himself for some minutes, looking at his baggy clothes, at the ugly, cheap waterproof coat, colored in such a bright blue it hurts his eyes. Shang Qinghua is the image of failure, he knows he is, and he can’t understand why a man such as Mobei Jun would even want to be around him.

Despite all that, Mobei Jun still persists on those yearly vacations. He’s still there.

Why.

Shang Qinghua can’t understand, and sometimes —most of the time— he doesn’t even want to barge into those questions.

However, he recalls how they departed last night, and how that’s such a bad start for a vacation that is so precious to him (to both of them, he hopes).

Quickly, swiftly, he opens his room’s door and runs down the slippery stairs to find Mobei Jun. With heart beating fast, an apology that he doesn’t even know how to start on the tip of his tongue, he sees him.

And for a moment, he thinks he’s seeing—

For a moment, he sees glittering blue eyes, sharp horns—

Dizziness encompasses him, and he leans on the wall for balance.

Mobei Jun gets up from his spot, and it’s over him in seconds, fussing, saying something about how he shouldn’t be so hasty, picking a glass of water for him, and stating that he will make breakfast.

Shang Qinghua is too stunned, too marveled by what he saw earlier.

Apologizes already forgotten.

▽

He watches Mobei Jun fumbling with his iPad, observes the deep frown on his perfect eyebrows, gazes at his bottom lip, and lets his eyes stay there for a moment too long. However, the wide-opened windows of the house tell Shang Qinghua that the rain subdued, that it’s still a cold, cloudy day, but that the outside is a possibility. Shang Qinghua doesn’t want to interrupt Mobei Jun on whatever he’s doing. Mobei Jun is important, is rich, is so very nice all the time; Shang Qinghua should respect those silent moments, the spaces. Shang Qinghua was never good at that, though.

“What are you doing?” He asks, jumping on the sofa and falling half on Mobei Jun and half on the fluffy cushions.

Mobei Jun shows him the device’s screen, it’s his company’s financial statements of the year, with huge numbers and lengthy footnotes.

Moving to a more comfortable position, he sits properly beside Mobei Jun.

“Are you really working? It’s our break!”

And he knows he sounds childish, knows that Mobei Jun can’t simply stop working, given his position. But even then…

“I’m just…”

“I can help you with that later,” Shang Qinghua interrupts, sighing silently, remembering all the other times he helped Mobei Jun on accounting stuff from behind. And it’s quite funny how Mobei Jun’s employees all seem to think he’s some sort of math genius or whatever when in reality, he only has Shang Qinghua. “See, it stopped raining, we should go for a walk? It’s been a while since we managed to go to the beach.”

There’s a hint of a smile, a hint of a blush coloring Mobei Jun’s face.

“Alright,” he answers, taking Shang Qinghua’s hand in his and not waiting for any other remark, just dragging them to their back door and to the desolate, grey beach.

Mobei Jun is always like that, always just… doing things, dragging Shang Qinghua here and there and not letting him think of any other thing that it isn’t Mobei Jun. Maybe… maybe that was the problem last night? Ah, such a simple-minded man, this friend of his…

Friend.

Best friend.

Only that;

But being only a friend is… it is enough, it should be enough.

It is enough for them to walk holding hands (Mobei Jun holding Shang Qinghua’s hand) through the little pathway with stones and fallen leaves that leads to the beach. The path is theirs, and it’s usually well taken care of, but because of the rain and the cold and the sea, it looks abandoned, sad, grey, with sand scattered everywhere.

Mobei Jun frowns at that but doesn’t comment; he still holds Shang Qinghua’s hand, making it feel clammy and right and wrong. The wind sweeps past them, and they finally arrive at the desolate beach. Shang Qinghua is quick to get away from Mobei Jun and sprint forward.

After a year, the place didn’t change much; it still looks… it looks just like a beach in winter, with shades of dark blues, brown and grey. The thick clouds in the sky float lazily, but the sea, the sea. And its raging waves. They crash on the shore with force, constantly. The sound of the tides is loud on his ears and, for a moment, Shang Qinghua gets enraptured by the scenario.

He registers Mobei Jun by his side, feels his friend there, gazing at the cruelty of nature with him.

“I missed this,” Shang Qinghua speaks, a little out of breath, tasting the salt in the air.

“Me too…”

“It’s beautiful, always is.”

Mobei Jun tilts his head to look at Shang Qinghua, the stray strands of hair that aren’t held by the bun float around his face, making him look so unbearably human… Shang Qinghua tries to recollect himself, tries not to lose his mind at the sight of this man.

“I can’t believe you thought it was a good idea to come to the beach in winter,” Shang Qinghua complains, shivering from the cold and harsh winds.

They stroll on the beach slowly, Shang Qinghua grimacing at all the wet sand and at the way the wind makes his hair a mess.

“Don’t you like it?” Mobei Jun asks, his voice hiding something, a glimpse of disappointment.

“I mean… this is way better than last time.”

They both chuckle.

Their leisurely steps guide them to the part of the beach where all the resorts are located; of course, they are all closed for the season, and in the sand, where it should have a number of parasols, tourists, and life, there’s only seaweed and seashells.

Mobei Jun stops and stares at the nothingness of the winter beach.

“Do you think it’s ugly?” He asks Shang Qinghua.

And for all his complaints, Shang Qinghua can’t lie to his friend.

He smiles.

“Why, just because it’s grey and lifeless, just because it has sharp edges and raging waves, it doesn’t mean it isn’t beautiful,” he says, feeling his heart beating fast. “I think what others could call ‘ugly’ most of the time, can hold their own beauty, don’t you think so?”

The walk takes them to the end of the beach, and by then, Shang Qinghua has already given up on trying to seek warmth. It feels cold, icy. And it’s so silent. Mobei Jun was always quiet company, but Shang Qinghua was always the one that spoke for both of them. Now, Shang Qinghua doesn’t know what to say.

Maybe they reached a point where they’re just too comfortable in each other’s presence.

Would that even make any sense, given that they only meet once a year? There are phone calls, video calls, texting… but.

“Have you been writing?” Mobei Jun asks out of nowhere, turning to walk back to their house.

And the question is simple, it shouldn’t make Shang Qinghua feel hollow, since they only met because of his novels.

“Hm, I—”

A hand on his shoulder, a squeeze.

The wind brings the scent of salt and fish and Mobei Jun to him.

“You don’t have to answer,” Mobei Jun says calmly.

But he has.

He needs.

“Ah, I’ve been thinking about a plot, I actually started writing it, yes, two months ago.”

“Oh?”

Shang Qinghua begins to walk ahead, hoping that the wind will send his words to Mobei Jun.

“It’s… it’s very different from everything I used to write. It’s not… there’s no fantasy or magic or invincible protagonists, really. No maidens or flowers.”

Mobei Jun jogs to catch up with him, his face bearing a look of curiosity, surprise, eagerness.

“Tell me more.”

“Aren’t you my best fan?” Shang Qinghua jokes, poking Mobei Jun on the sides. “I can’t tell you much… it’s…”

very personal

“Please.”

And oh, Shang Qinghua had never heard Mobei Jun saying please like that; it does things to his mind and heart. He tries to contain the blush spreading on his face, tries to look away.

He ends up staring at the sky, the cloudy grey sky.

How to say to your best friend that you are, maybe, possibly, writing about your own life and that said best friend, perhaps, is the inspiration for the protagonist’s love interest? How to tell Mobei Jun that he started writing about them even if they have nothing other than friendship?

“I’m trying to write about real life,” he finally lets out; on the side of his vision, he spots a group of seagulls flying by. “About how hard it is, and how to live even with all the greyness, the dullness.”

“That’s…”

“I know,” he interrupts. “It’s not fun and not even interesting. There’s a romantic plot, though, but I’m still thinking about it. I don’t want to use clichés like I did before, I don’t want to have those plots of saving someone or being cured by someone. I just want to write about… life.”

“I would like to read it,” Mobei Jun says earnestly.

Shang Qinghua giggles, trying to hide how awful he truly feels.

“Of course you would.”

▽

Thin, cold rain starts to fall the moment they step on the little pathway that leads to their house; it’s half a blessing and half a curse because it means they will have to be stuck inside again.

But it was always like that; it always rained like crazy whenever they came here in winters.

Three years already, of rain and cold and a cozy home.

Three years of cloudiness, dullness, raging seas, and comfortable company to spend hours talking about nothing, watching nothing, listening to nothing.

Shang Qinghua was quite happy with it most of the time.

And he’s happy now, he truly is.

Is Mobei Jun happy too?

He’s afraid to ask that question, to voice out all his insecurities, to let it show how much he truly cares and loves.

Shang Qinghua can only carry hope in his heart and try to make his friend as happy as possible.

As they step inside the house, as they hang their coats on the hanger, and leave their boots at the door, Mobei Jun walks to the kitchen and picks a snack, obviously for Shang Qinghua. He gives it to him and says, “Let’s watch something.” 

What that something is, Shang Qinghua has no idea. Mobei Jun loves watching movies of all kinds as if he were fascinated by every form of video that exists. Mobei Jun loves… he loves comedies and he loves romances; he loves the old movies too, he loves when the story is settled in ancient times. But Mobei Jun doesn’t like action movies, or terror, or anything that comes out too strong.

Why?

Shang Qinghua had asked once, right at the beginning of their friendship, and Mobei Jun had just answered he was too old and too tired to watch tragedies. And what kind of explanation was that! Shang Qinghua mocked him for an entire week before accepting that this man, who was younger than him and was way taller and stronger, was just a soft-hearted person.

As it stands, Mobei Jun chooses another one of those embarrassing romances, and it’s fine. It should be. But Shang Qinghua is quite restless, even with the snacks and the comfortable presence by his side. That body, bigger than him, sitting so close, warming him up while the rain falls outside.

It does make him restless.

He gets up midway to fetch something from the fridge, something to make his mind less chaotic.

He picks a beer.

“Are you going to start drinking at eleven in the morning?”

He laughs, drinking and smiling at his friend.

“Isn’t what vacations are here for? Want some?”

Mobei Jun only blinks at him and probably decides it’s useless to say anything more.

The movie continues, but Shang Qinghua is terrible at focusing, so he grabs a stack of blank paper and a pen and starts to drabble little things, dialogues, concepts. He tries to draw, too, but he was never good at that; Shang Qinghua’s doodles were never that bad but were never that good either. He draws a little snowflake on the corner of the page, and then one more, and more, adding a whole column of snowflakes on the border of the page. But the alcohol from the beer soon envelops him —and yes, Shang Qinghua was always a lightweight— and he gets lost in his nonsensical doodles and drabbles. His vision gets a little hazy out of tiredness, and the movie seems to be heading to a place Shang Qinghua isn’t even certain he understands.

He leans on Mobei Jun’s shoulder, as easy as it is, and promptly closes his eyes.

And the fact that he can fall asleep so quickly only when he’s around Mobei Jun should make him warier of his feelings, but it doesn’t, and lulled by the pouring rain, by the steady rise and fall of Mobei Jun’s chest, and by the confused dialogues coming from the tv, Shang Qinghua falls asleep.

Everything is blurred, but Shang Qinghua is sure that this is the same dream he had been dreaming for some time now.

There’s snow, a lot of it.

Shang Qinghua has never seen so much snow in his own life?

And, there’s someone with him, walking by his side on this desert of ice.

They’re talking, Shang Qinghua is sure they are, but he can’t quite comprehend everything that his mouth spills to this person.

He can see that he’s wearing some kind of… what are those? It feels like robes from… it doesn’t feel like…

But he doesn’t control much of what’s happening, so he can’t do anything other than follow the script of this weird dream.

His mouth is sputtering a lot of nonsense to this other person, who’s way bigger and broader and—oh?

This person.

Shang Qinghua hears himself saying my king, my king.

And that’s so weird.

(but so right, too)

He tries to see more of that person, but everything is very foggy at the edges, as if… as if it wasn’t an actual dream.

Shang Qinghua feels something touching him, and not in this oddly confusing dream.

He feels consciousness pulling him back, and he opens one eye to see what is happening.

Still feeling groggy, he feels Mobei Jun picking him up from the sofa, so effortlessly, as if Shang Qinghua was a feather. But they never did this, Mobei Jun never picked him up like this. Again, oddly confusing.

He opens his mouth to protest, but what comes out is:

“My king?”

And everything is too hazy for Shang Qinghua to make sense of it; he only notices Mobei Jun stalling for a few seconds before continuing with his endeavor of carrying Shang Qinghua to his room and laying him on the bed.

“You can rest a little bit more, I will prepare lunch.” Mobei Jun says, and he actually caresses Shang Qinghua’s cheeks while saying that.

Oddly confusing indeed.

But he’s still sleepy, and his mind is pulling him back to dreamland, and soon, soon, Shang Qinghua goes back to sleep.

▽

What jolts Shang Qinghua awake is the sound coming from downstairs.

He blinks, his heart beating fast in his ribcage as if he had just lost an essential piece of information that would solve the mysteries of the universe.

The sound, though, that’s something he can decipher.

He washes his face and rushes out of his room, almost running and slipping on the stairs.

Because.

There;

Mobei Jun rarely plays the piano, but when he does…

Shang Qinghua can’t help it, he feels his heart bursting, feels his mind becoming a muddled mess. He feels his body actually trembling.

Mobei Jun is beautiful in every way, even his flaws are pretty; like the way his nose is a little bit crooked to the side, and the way he’s starting to show some expression lines on his forehead due to too much frowning, and of course, even his personality, flawed so flawed, blunt and aggressive sometimes, aloof and cold in others, but never, never for Shang Qinghua.

And—

It’s how his hands move fast on the piano keys, the way he closes his eyes and lets out little emotions on his face, of surprise and delight, whenever he reaches the key he wanted.

His songs, whatever Mobei Jun plays, Shang Qinghua appreciates. He doesn’t understand anything about music, not really, but he can feel Mobei Jun whenever he listens to him playing.

This time isn’t different.

It’s clear that Mobei Jun is improvising, and it’s clear that he’s having fun with it. He smiles and grunts at every turn.

But the song, the song.

This sound.

It brings emotions to Shang Qinghua; it makes him feel longing and sorrow and—

Hope?

Love.

Undying, love.

How can Mobei Jun create songs like that and not be famous for it?

Why Shang Qinghua is the only one who has the opportunity to listen?

He sits on the stair steps and leans his body on the wall, admiring, not wanting to break the moment.

It’s…

For a moment, he wishes he could live his entire life like this, just listening to Mobei Jun playing for no one.

And it’s impossible not to feel it.

Ah… he truly loves this man.

He knows he can’t, he knows it’s wrong. But in these few minutes of listening to Mobei Jun being himself, Shang Qinghua lets the cages of his heart open, allowing the rivers of love flow down his entire body, only to fill him with shaking hands and tears in his eyes.

Mobei Jun is beautiful, in every way.

▽

Shang Qinghua steps into the kitchen silently, trying not to make a sound.

He had seen the moment Mobei Jun stopped playing, had watched his eyes, tinted red with something. He had gazed at the man’s back as he went to the balcony to have a smoke. Had dazedly followed the trails of smoke in the air. But he couldn’t stay on the stairs forever, and he didn’t want for Mobei Jun to find out he was watching him play, so the kitchen it is.

And seriously, Mobei Jun should receive an award for being just the best man ever. There are several pans on the stove that smell delicious and just like… his favorite noodles recipe. Ah… his friend… he truly knows how to win his heart.

It gets really hard not to love Mobei Jun when he does all this for Shang Qinghua.

He almost rushes to the balcony to inquire if he needs help when he sees Mobei Jun coming in.

A raised eyebrow and the scent of cigarettes accompany him.

“You’re awake.”

“I’m drooling at all this food,” Shang Qinghua answers. “You really outdid yourself this time!”

“I—” Mobei Jun blinks at him. “I got inspired.”

Shang Qinghua smiles at that, brightly, trying to muster the strength not to touch Mobei Jun. Because oh, he wants, he wants so much. With little to no effort, he could take one step ahead and peck Mobei Jun’s lips, just like that.

But it’s not like he can, so, smiling he is.

“I miss kissing someone,” Shang Qinghua whines to the screen, trying to look for Mobei Jun’s expressions, but it’s quite impossible given that the other man is driving and it’s nighttime already. Why would they video call while Mobei Jun is driving is still a mystery… but Shang Qinghua can’t complain.

“Have you kissed many people?” Mobei Jun asks, and Shang Qinghua understands only half of it because outside, an ambulance is probably rushing by.

“Well… not as many as you, probably.”

The lights from the street illuminate Mobei Jun’s face, and even if he’s focusing on the road, not sparing the phone a second glance, he looks…

He’s scowling.

“I never kissed anyone.”

Shang Qinghua can only laugh.

“Don’t joke with me, Mr. Handsome! Why, with your looks, I bet everyone was and still is at your feet.”

“You know that’s not the truth.”

Shang Qinghua only laughs more.

“Since you’re younger than me, want me to teach you how to kiss?”

And it hurts saying that as only a joke, it truly hurts, but Shang Qinghua can’t help it.

Mobei Jun glances at the phone, and he… he looks conflicted.

“I have to turn off,” Mobei Jun says. “Urgent call, sorry.”

▽

The rain keeps falling in the afternoon, and Shang Qinghua’s mood go down with it; maybe it’s his early nap, he can’t just sleep away like that, or, perhaps, it’s the way Mobei Jun keeps avoiding him even if that act is quite impossible, given the size of the house.

Thinking that this is a good time as any to start working on his draft, Shang Qinghua picks up his notebook and stares at the page he has been staring at for weeks now. It’s just the beginning of the story, and Shang Qinghua is already stuck. He should just give up already.

Give up on this writing dream and be done with it.

That would be the most rational thing to do.

But.

He looks up, trying to find Mobei Jun with his eyes. He spots him at the balcony again, and, ah. Shang Qinghua could pester him some more. He does try to respect Mobei Jun space, of course he does, but Shang Qinghua is selfish and in dire need of a distraction to not think about all his failures.

The balcony’s door makes an awful sound when Shang Qinghua opens it, but it’s for the better because Mobei Jun is prepared to face him.

“Hi,” Shang Qinghua says a little awkwardly; outside, the rain keeps falling, and the skies get darker and darker, with dusk coming at every minute now. “What are you doing?”

Mobei Jun stares at him, stares at his iPad, and then motions for Shang Qinghua to sit next to him.

“You said you could help me?”

Shang Qinghua eyes the device, already getting headaches with all those numbers.

“So, you’re truly working.”

“There’s something wrong with this chart, but I can’t find it.”

“Let me see it.”

And in just a few minutes, Shang Qinghua is able to point out what exactly is wrong, with the plus of adding a few tips for Mobei Jun to save some of his company’s money.

“So, yeah, you just have to change the location of some of your real estate that is now on the fixed assets to the current assets, and you will be taxed for way less, I guarantee you, it works every time.”

Mobei Jun looks at him as if he was the most beautiful person on earth, it’s quite embarrassing, and Shang Qinghua feels himself blush.

“But don’t tell your lawyers…” He adds, opting to stare away at the dark ocean instead of Mobei Jun. “They probably know this trick, but they would have charged you a lot, and you know how lawyers are…”

“You’re so good with this,” Mobei Jun praises.

That only makes Shang Qinghua blush even more, and he quickly gives the iPad back to Mobei Jun.

However, those words also make Shang Qinghua feel out of place.

“Hm, thanks, I guess. Wish I could be good at other stuff.”

A cold gust of wind passes through them, and Mobei Jun frowns at him, reaching for his pack of cigarettes on the low table and lighting one. The smoke covers his face before he says:

“What do you mean?”

“Ah, nothing much it’s just…” Shang Qinghua stops, gazes at the floor. “I don’t love this, you know, numbers and timetables and how to make other people rich. I actually despise most of it. Hell, I majored in literature and not… accounting. It was just a side gig at the beginning.”

Mobei Jun hums, and Shang Qinghua inhales some of the smoke.

“Then life happened,” he continues. “And I’m stuck with this because, as you said, I’m good, but it’s so pathetic that I can’t be good at what I truly love.”

A pause, Shang Qinghua looks up at Mobei Jun.

“I just wish to… I wished my life had gone differently.”

A half-burnt cigarette is laid out alone on the ashtray, a hand reaches for him, cupping his cheeks.

Mobei Jun gets so close, Shang Qinghua can see the tiny imperfections of his skin, the little beauty mark that is almost imperceptible to the eye, right under Mobei Jun’s lips.

“Qinghua… you… you’re good, you’re so good with your stories you are…”

Shang Qinghua turns, batting away Mobei Jun’s hands.

“You only say this because that’s how we met. You were young back then, and so was I. Nowadays it’s hard to even write a paragraph, I can’t even think about whole novels.”

In the dim light of a day ending, Shang Qinghua thinks he sees hurt crossing Mobei Jun’s features.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Shang Qinghua chuckles, humorlessly.

“What, giving me a new life, maybe?” And within seconds, he adds: “No, don’t even think about hiring me or whatever, I know you’ve been thinking about it for ages. I don’t want to work with you, ugh, imagine you being my boss? Terrible. You’re my best friend.”

“If you want, I could sponsor you.”

And that makes Shang Qinghua recoil even more.

“Sponsor me? No way. I’m sorry, Mobei, but I don’t want to be your sugar baby.”

“My what?”

Waving his hands in the air, Shang Qinghua tries to fix the situation.

“Nothing! Don’t even think about it! The point is, I don’t want to depend on others, I don’t want your money, or help in that matter, I just wished to…”

His mind goes blank at the end.

What does he wish?

Isn’t this enough?

He lives a comfortable life, not full of riches, but he’s finally managing to pay for everything without cutting down food. And sure, he could live a more fulfilling life somewhere. It would be so easy to accept Mobei Jun’s help and just write whenever. But he can’t do that, not without the guilt.

“Qinghua?”

“It will come around,” he whispers, more to himself than to Mobei Jun. “My stories, they will come around.”

▽

The night falls onto them with some sort of heaviness. It may be the rain or all the serious talks they have been having. It could be both, too, and Shang Qinghua feels empty. He doesn’t want to feel like that, though, not when Mobei Jun is there, trying to make everything right again.

Mobei Jun tries really hard, even suggesting they play one of those video games Shang Qinghua loves so much.

But the thing is, Shang Qinghua can’t quite concentrate on anything when he is like this. Many thoughts, a pack of emotions, and his swirling mind.

With a bleeding heart, he disappoints Mobei Jun and says he will go to sleep early, even if all he did on this grey day was sleep.

The rain keeps falling, making click-clack noises on the ceiling, subduing the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore, making it impossible for him to find a comfortable position in bed.

He tosses and turns, confused, splaying the bedsheets everywhere. And, it feels lonely, somehow. He always slept alone, but right at this moment, being alone feels awful.

Half-awake and half-asleep, he sees fires on his vision, sees the beginning of a dream that looks like a distant memory. There’s fire, and someone hurting him, there’s urgency, too, and his heart. His heart was always bleeding?

He opens his eyes, startled.

Afraid.

He never did this but on this particular night… Shang Qinghua steps outside his room and knocks on Mobei Jun’s bedroom door.

“I’m sorry,” it’s the first thing he mutters when Mobei Jun opens the door for him. “I had a bad dream.”

He doesn’t see what kind of expression Mobei Jun does, but it’s probably not something bad, since his friend guides him to his own bed and—

Ah,

Mobei Jun makes him lie down on his bed, tucking him in and turning off the lights, only to lie beside him.

The bed is wide, though.

Small mercies.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Mobei Jun asks, with care and all the necessary pauses.

Shang Qinghua turns, it’s too dark to see anything, but he can sense that Mobei Jun too is lying facing him. Like this, Shang Qinghua can imagine that they’re staring at each other, that this is normal, that this is routine for them. He wishes it were.

“I—I was afraid of being hurt. There was this feeling? Weird feeling that I’ve been hurting for a long time and I couldn’t bear it anymore.”

“Oh.”

Silence; outside, the rain and the sea keep flowing, falling, filling it up all the empty spaces.

And then:

“Would you…” Mobei Jun begins, and his voice is so low, whispery, cautious. “Would you run away? If you had the choice, of course, would you leave this situation to find something better?”

Blinking to the darkness, Shang Qinghua cracks a smile.

“What are you talking about?”

Mobei Jun moves, moving the bedsheets with him.

“I don’t know.”

“Why would I leave,” Shang Qinghua speaks, wanting to reach out for his friend but grabbing the ends of the bedsheets instead. “Leaving doesn’t fix anything. Even if I gave up and ran away, what then? I would still be me, and that’s the problem.”

“You’re not a problem.”

Shang Qinghua can’t help but giggle at that. It’s odd and unnerving, the way Mobei Jun makes him feel so calm all of a sudden.

“Even if I, hypothetically, wasn’t the problem, I would still be Shang Qinghua, doesn’t matter the place. Leaving is only an excuse to not face the problems. Well, that’s what I believe.”

“That’s…”

“And there’s one more thing,” Shang Qinghua interrupts, shifting, trying to get close to his friend, but not touching, never touching. “If I left, I would be lonely, and so would you. Why would I leave if I have this best best friend by my side?”

There’s a moment where Shang Qinghua curses himself for talking too much, but against all the odds, Mobei Jun seems to accept this heartfelt confession. Out of nowhere, Shang Qinghua feels hands petting his hair.

And, for a second, Shang Qinghua almost believes he’s someone precious.

“You’ve been lonely, haven’t you?” He continues, leaning on the contact. “I know you feel it, the loneliness. Before… before we met, before we started talking, have you had anyone? A friend? That’s just… sad. I won’t leave you, I promise, I won’t, never.”

Mobei Jun hums and stays stroking Shang Qinghua’s hair until the haziness of a dreamless sleep covers him.

▽

There's a hint of a white light coming from the closed windows, and that's what makes Shang Qinghua wake up.

The light, and the way the bed feels overly big for a man of his size.

He shifts, burying his face on the fluffy pillows, only to notice something different in all of this.

He moves, opens his eyes, and stares at a bedroom that isn't his.

Oh;

So, last night did happen.

With clarity flooding his mind, he jumps out of bed, looking for the owner of said room. But, thankfully (or not), he finds himself alone.

Small mercies, small mercies.

Running to his own bedroom is quick, and taking a hot bath and getting ready for the day takes almost one hour. Just because he can, and, because he wants to avoid facing his friend as much as possible.

However, as he walks downstairs, he finds himself alone again.

Which is fine, it really is.

Shang Qinghua would be too embarrassed to see Mobei Jun anyway, given their mushy talks from last night.

God, he slept with Mobei Jun…

Not like, not the sexy kind, but even then. 

Picking up the already made breakfast for him, Shang Qinghua sits on the stools and stares at the note in front of him.

The note, written in beautiful calligraphy that could only belong to one person.

With a sigh, Shang Qinghua reads:

Dear Qinghua, I went out for a quick run on the beach, will probably be back before lunchtime. Hope you had a good rest.

Yours, MBJ

When did they start leaving notes for each other like this?

And most importantly, why did Mobei Jun felt the need to leave such a… cute note behind? Why didn't he just send a message?

Feeling quite conflicted, Shang Qinghua picks the note up and folds it in two. This is precious, too precious for Shang Qinghua not to keep it safely guarded inside his notebook.

When he places the note there, when he sees the stark contrast between his and Mobei Jun's characters, he laughs. He laughs because it's just too funny and depressing. They are so different.

Even in life;

Especially in life.

That makes Shang Qinghua hurt a little, his heart shrinking.

They're too different. They can be friends, as they've been doing for years now, but only that.

Shang Qinghua loves too much; it's too big and ambitious, his love. It makes him want to fly and touch the clouds in the sky, and it makes him want to try to be a better person, a good writer, a special friend. It makes him yearn for recognition, not the famous kind, but the one that says I know you, I'm here, I hear you.

Taking a deep breath, he pushes the balcony door open and stares at the world outside.

Finally, the rain stopped, and up above, the thick white clouds show patches of some blue here and there. The scent of salt in the air is enough for him to make up his mind.

Putting on his boots and coat, he steps out.

If Mobei Jun isn't here, he will wait for him.

He will always wait for him.

▽

Shang Qinghua sits down on the wet sand, observing the raging dark waves, listening, quite intently, to the harsh sounds they make every time they break on the shore. The white sea foam almost tinted grey because of the weather, and the deep-blue, dark, ferocious color of the sea. It makes him think of his life and of the one he's waiting for.

Loving Mobei Jun feels the same as watching the waves. It's cold and strong, it pulls him in, it sweeps him off his feet, and it drowns him in never-ending darkness. It makes him confused, it makes him gasp for breath. And if Mobei Jun is like those waves of cold, Shang Qinghua can only be the sorrowful, muted sand; it welcomes the crash of waves, it stays there, wishing, waiting, wanting, not caring if the waves will change its shape, color, or cadence. The sand will stand there, always, forever in its vastness, expecting the icy cold kisses of the fierce waves.

But the strong winds that mess up his hair tell him a different story, they urge him to get up and seek a more comfortable place, they leave whispers of action.

He understands it then.

He should do something about this, about his heart and life.

He should get up and seek Mobei Jun on this freezing beach, he should run for him and say: I know you, I'm here, I hear you.

He should. But the consequences of those actions are too frightening, and staying in the cold is comfortable for him.

Those relentless waves of cold… they are enough.

▽

Mobei Jun arrives all sweaty and glorious, his pale skin flushed, his sports clothes all hugging his sturdy frame in the right places.

The view makes Shang Qinghua lose all his resolve.

They crumble, all in front of his eyes, because of a man that is just too beautiful and kind and everything he had ever dreamt about.

“Qinghua,” Mobei Jun calls. “Why are you here? Aren't you cold?”

“I—I was waiting for you.”

For a second, there's a glimpse of surprise on Mobei Jun's features.

And for a second, Shang Qinghua wishes he dared to get up and kiss him.

But the wind picks up again, and the tides rise, almost reaching for Shang Qinghua.

It's Mobei Jun who extends a hand and helps Shang Qinghua up, and that hand, it stays holding him in place.

“We could go out for lunch today,” Mobei Jun says, staring at the sea. “Maybe go to that old restaurant we went to last time?”

The simplicity of the talk makes Shang Qinghua let out a breath of relief.

He can do this.

It's comfortable. It's routine. Normal.

“You hated that place, you said their food was too spicy.”

Mobei Jun turns to look at Shang Qinghua, his eyes filled with amusement.

“But you liked, didn't you?”

“I loved there.”

▽

Because of the weather clearing up (just a little, little blues appearing on the hazy, grey skies), they decide to walk to the restaurant instead of driving. Of course, driving would be a little too much, mainly because Mobei Jun's car catches everyone's attention. But then again, it takes something in between twenty minutes to half an hour to reach the place if you were walking.

Shang Qinghua can't complain, though.

There's a lot in his mind, and walking, slowly, observing the view and the few changes this seaside town went through throughout the year help him, somehow.

He notices many things, the stray dogs on the streets, the closed souvenir shops, the old aunties sitting on the sidewalk and gossiping.

He notices, and he also talks.

It's mindless talk; he says nothing of importance to his friend by his side.

Still, it eases some of the weight on his shoulders.

Shang Qinghua says: “Was that parking lot there the last time we came?” and “Oh, maybe we will get some sun tomorrow?” and “Look, Mobei, that ice cream shop is open! We could go there later?”

And with each sentence, each word that flows out of his mouth, he feels lighter, feels like coming back to a place he understands and knows.

And with each step he takes forward, the skies up above clear.

Mobei Jun, too, seems relaxed, at ease with this relaxed pace they've been walking.

Mobei Jun talks, too.

He says: “That's interesting.” and “Yes, we should.” and a sequence of hums and shy chuckles.

But most importantly, Mobei Jun listens.

There are cold winds and sea salt, and it's undoubtedly winter, with everything too wet and freezing. However, there's also the little glimpses of blue in the sky, the light coming from the weak sun, the seagulls and swallows flying up above. And there's life and there's the comfortable, quiet presence of a friend by his side.

A friend that could be more, surely, but as it is, as it stands, Shang Qinghua can't find the boldness in his heart to do more than what he already does. So, he keeps walking, keeps talking, entertaining his friend, and silently wishing for this moment to last forever.

▽

The old restaurant is located at a faraway corner on one of the seaside town's side streets. The place is actually nothing much, with the once white walls colored in a muted beige, the wooden ceiling seemingly too old to be doing its job properly, the piece of cloth covering the entrance a worn-out blue. It’s a very humble establishment, filled with the smell of fresh fish, spices, and eggs. Obviously, this is not a place Shang Qinghua would ever imagine Mobei Jun (the tall, fierce, rich and arrogant Mobei Jun) would enter. But then again, nothing looks like it seems, and Shang Qinghua did enjoy their homemade wonton soup and their crispy fried noodles with local seafood. On top of all that, the restaurant is run by an old couple who are just a delight for someone so talkative as Shang Qinghua.

They choose to sit at the stalls instead of the tables, because, as Shang Qinghua pointed out, it would be more “fun.” And it's funny, the way Mobei Jun looks at him with raised eyebrows and a face that says what I wouldn't do for you. It makes Shang Qinghua blush and grab Mobei Jun’s hands and drag him inside. It also makes him smile brightly at the old lady like they were old acquaintances.

And the old lady remembers him —the noisy one, aren't you?— and giggles with him; her husband arrives too, all wrinkled and white hairs, and welcomes them wholly.

Of course, they are the only customers in this old, long-forgotten restaurant, making everything seem more important, real.

Mobei Jun seems even flustered with all the pampering, blushing the moment the old lady calls him handsome.

Shang Qinghua can only agree with her, making Mobei Jun blush even more.

What a funny ordeal.

And as they wait for the old man to prepare their food, as the noises from the kitchen and cars driving outside fill the silent spaces, Shang Qinghua remembers the first time he and Mobei Jun met, and how much their friendship grew since that time.

He chuckles, pinches Mobei Jun on his side to make him pay attention.

“Remember when we first met?” He asks.

Mobei Jun raises one eyebrow. “Yes, of course.”

“You dragged me to a super foreign fancy restaurant, was it, what, French? Italian? And I was so underdressed for that, and you ordered wine, and you looked so good while I was just freaking out and shaking from anxiety.”

That makes Mobei Jun crack a smile.

“And now, here we are.” Mobei Jun says.

“Now here we are, isn't it great? Not that I mind going to fancy restaurants, you know, but a warning would have been nice at that time.”

“You did enjoy the food, though.”

“I enjoyed everything.”

Mobei Jun hums. “I could take you to other fancy restaurants if you want.”

But their food soon arrives, and the implications of what Mobei Jun said get lost on Shang Qinghua's starving mind.

He burns his tongue in the haste of eating a little bit of everything, making the old lady laugh. He can't mind it, not when Mobei Jun has a ghost of a smile on his face, and not when the food does taste delicious.

And the memories, they come at him swiftly, not like rain, desperate rain, but like a river flowing gently, turning his body and mind soft, bubbly.

“Hah, and that time you appeared out of nowhere in my apartment, right in the first year, and dragged me to a jazz concert without saying anything? I thought I was being kidnapped!”

“You did not,” Mobei Jun amusedly replies, chopsticks hanging in the air.

“Well, but you could have! Kidnapped me, I mean, we barely knew each other back then.”

“Mh, untrue. We were already talking a lot before we met in person, and we also already had that first date.”

“Ah…” Shang Qinghua stops, turns on his stall to face Mobei Jun. “And what about what happened in the second year? You just sent a cryptic message telling me to go to the airport! And then!! You had tickets for us, both of us, to travel overseas, god knows where, and I didn't even have a passport! Like, what were you even thinking?”

Mobei Jun's eyes do that thing, the thing that turns them upwards. A silent smile.

“I wanted to show you Venice.”

“Mobei, what the fuck?” He says, laughing, laughing and wanting to say many other things, impossible things. In his mind, Shang Qinghua says: I love you, I love you so much, you're so stupid and dumb and lovable and I want to waste time with you like this until we grow old and I want to remember everything we did together and feel just like I'm feeling now.

“But I admit my methods were… careless.”

“Well,” Shang Qinghua turns, feeling his face burning. “Next time… hm. It's not like we will have a next time, right? We have our house here, and I don't want you to pay for the whole thing and—”

A hand on his shoulder.

“Qinghua,” Mobei Jun interrupts. “It's okay. If you want, we can plan it, you can pay for your part. It's fine, don't worry.” A pause, and then: “I'm sorry, for being like that when I was younger.”

“You don't need to apologize,” Shang Qinghua mutters.

▽

The walk back is filled with cold gusts of wind and silence. Shang Qinghua is too distracted with the bitter after-taste of green tea on his tongue and the scent of cigarettes that linger around Mobei Jun to think or mutter anything of importance.

By the time they reach their house, it's already mid-afternoon, with the skies and clouds turning darker at each minute. That fact doesn't bother Shang Qinghua, though. The only thing he truly worries is how time flies so fast, and how this, all of this, and Mobei Jun, will soon go away. They will return to their lives and wait a full year to meet again.

Taking slow steps, the view of their house appears in his sight, and he can't help but let out a small sigh. He wants, he really wants to savour and enjoy the little time they still have left, and so he makes a bold proposition to his friend.

Shang Qinghua says,

“We should play a game, a drinking game.”

Entering the house and taking off his coat, Mobei Jun glances at him with interest.

“Oh? What kind of drinking game?”

He chuckles, hurrying to take off his boots, walking to the kitchen to pick that one bottle of wine Mobei Jun had bought.

“Can we use it?”

One raised eyebrow, a shake of a head.

“Do you really want to use red wine for a game?”

“What, is not like this thing is made out of gold.”

And he sees it, the moment Mobei Jun wants to retort and say no. He feels the internal debate of his friend, it's in the way Mobei Jun glances up and closes his eyes, and in the way he soon lets out a small groan.

“Fine,” Mobei Jun answers, walking to Shang Qinghua's direction and ruffling his hair. “But if you fall asleep don't blame me afterward.”

“As if.”

He picks the wine and two glasses, preparing the room and the table to sit comfortably. Of course, he hadn't thought much about what kind of drinking game they should play, but just the thought of drinking and having fun seemed like a good idea in the beginning.

It is, he assures himself. What could go wrong?

They sit on the floor, on the fluffy carpet Shang Qinghua himself chose. It's comfortable and cozy, its only downside being the fact that it's white, so not really suited for drinking games with red wine, but surely, he's going off track again. He looks at Mobei Jun —who's sitting beside him with a questioning look— for directions.

“So…”

“Yeah,” Shang Qinghua intervenes. “I just realized it's hard to play a drinking game with only the two of us.”

“Mh.”

But there's wine, already in the glasses, and its scent is enticing somehow.

“We could play truth or dare if you want.”

Mobei Jun laughs at that, it's wholesome and unrestrained, making Shang Qinghua chuckle, too.

“Don't we already know everything about each other?”

Shang Qinghua smiles while picking his glass, wanting to poke Mobei Jun on the sides but opting to just stare at him instead.

This man, ah, he's gorgeous. Even more now, indulging Shang Qinghua in whatever he says, wearing that black sweater that shows just a little bit too much of cleavage, his hair tied on a low ponytail and…

“Well, there's still the dare part.”

In response, Mobei Jun drinks the wine, tinting his lips in a shade of purple.

“But that ain't fun.”

Playing with the wine in his glass, Shang Qinghua looks at his friend.

“It really isn't,” he says, thinking this is as good a time as any to drink the liquid, too. It tastes pungent and bitter, and he's reminded of how he actually isn't a fan of this kind of wine.

He's probably making a face because Mobei Jun bears a look of amusement on his face. Ah… this friend of his… seriously.

“If you want some truths, I have one for you,” Shang Qinghua mutters, trying to gulp down more wine. “I don't think I really like wine.”

That makes him earn another laugh, and isn't that precious?

“My truth is that I didn't buy it for you anyway.”

“You're so mean, spending money only for yourself.”

But they keep drinking and spilling unharming truths to each other, especially Shang Qinghua. For all that he said he didn't like it, he drinks anyway, because the alcohol starts to make him feel giddy and happy, turning all his worries and problems to a faraway corner of his mind. And the wine, oh, it makes Mobei Jun's cheeks flush, it tints Mobei Jun's lips red, it turns Mobei Jun more pliant to touch.

Shang Qinghua touches him, touches his arm, his hands, grabs Mobei Jun’s cheeks and pinches them because he had just muttered a silly truth. I wasn't supposed to come back until last year, but… but I wanted to meet you sooner, Mobei Jun had said, and how Shang Qinghua could ever answer that? He doesn't. He pinches Mobei Jun’s cheeks and tells him he shouldn't do things for others, never.

“But I wasn't doing it for anyone but me. It was very selfish.” Mobei Jun answers and his words get slurred at the end.

Leaning his head on Mobei Jun’s shoulder, Shang Qinghua stares at the tv’s black screen, their silhouettes reflected mutedly there. Mobei Jun is so much bigger than Shang Qinghua, and not even physically, but in life, too. And here he is, talking nonsense about meeting Shang Qinghua.

“I hope I didn't disappoint you,” he voices out loud, sounding more self-deprecating than intended.

For a second, Shang Qinghua feels Mobei Jun moving by his side, he thinks he feels Mobei Jun’s arm on his back, but soon the contact is lost.

“You could never,” Mobei Jun answers, his voice too serious for a topic that should have been just fun and games.

After a pause that takes a minute too long, Shang Qinghua feels his mouth opening, and he can't quite control his blabber anymore.

“Ah, you know, I kind of stopped writing that novel because of you,” he says.

The bottle in front of him, already half-empty, becomes blurred, mocking him and his stupid ideas.

It's hard to focus on Mobei Jun after he says that. It's not like he wanted to put the blame on his friend, best friend, no. It's not that. Never.

“What do you mean?”

“It's…”

How does one explain those things? Why did he even say that out loud? Feeling conflicted, he tries to make that one expression he knows always works to let him out of challenging situations; he raises his eyebrows, pouts, tries to look pitiful.

But Mobei Jun seems… he doesn't seem angry or anything, but mostly just curious.

“You can tell me, that was long ago.”

Yes, but I never wrote anything after that, he wants to say.

Shang Qinghua opts to just go all out.

“I had a whole outline for that novel, right? And I wanted to write many other characters… but. But, ah, there was this one character that…”

Mobei Jun leans closer to him, and, suddenly, Shang Qinghua feels way too much.

“The readers were overwhelming me,” he lies, scooting away from his friend and looking at the lovely, soft carpet. “Not you, though, never you, but when we started talking, I realized how I didn't feel like facing that anymore.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah… that's. That's what happened.”

The silence falls upon them awkwardly, making it possible for Shang Qinghua’s clouded mind to listen intently to the fridge’s buzzing sound and the harsh winds from outside. He shivers, not wanting to play any games anymore, but not knowing what to do either. He chooses to drink more, it's his only option, surely.

“Qinghua.”

He glances at Mobei Jun, at his stupid sad face and stupid wine-tinted lips.

“Yes?”

“I… I have another truth for you.”

And Mobei Jun says that in such a solemn way, as if his next sentence would be life-changing. Shang Qinghua decides to pay attention to it; he turns, facing Mobei Jun, their knees almost touching, his own hands, itching to touch.

He stays there, waiting.

Wishing.

What if…

What kind of truth could make Mobei Jun so serious?

Shang Qinghua waits, and life seems to stop the moment Mobei Jun opens his mouth, eyes never leaving Shang Qinghua.

But something vibrates on the carpet, and the moment is lost.

It's one of their phones. To be more precise, Mobei Jun’s phone.

“Should you pick that?”

Mobei Jun glares at the device, his features, once filled with worry and (longing, sorrow, desperation) is covered with rage and anxiety.

“It’s work,” Mobei Jun says, sounding small.

“You should answer.”

And he does. Mobei Jun gets up quickly, as if he didn’t just drink half a bottle of wine, and carries his phone and his whole presence to the balcony, not before stopping to grab his pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

The balcony's door is shut with force, and Shang Qinghua is left alone, as he often is.

Ah…

Feeling tipsy, hazy, and tired, he gets up as well and plops himself down on the couch. The ceiling seems like it’s spinning, and his head hurts a little. Closing his eyes, he tries to calm his beating heart.

The exhaustion and the wine, they're the things that make Shang Qinghua quickly fall into slumber.

▽

There’s snow again, but oddly enough, Shang Qinghua doesn’t feel cold. He looks at the place surrounding him, trying to make sense of it, but it’s all so blurred, foggy. It seems like… it looks like… his heart tells him this was once called home, and there’s such a warm feeling filling his entire being, he takes two steps back. Only to stumble upon another person (person?), he looks up, and the face is all blurred, mingled, fuzzy, cold, blue. But there’s warmth in there, and that thing-person holds him by the waist and says, “be careful,” as if that was useful advice. There are two words on the tip of his tongue, and in this… this… dream? He says it out loud, he whispers those words in a sweet voice, even if there's a hint of fear in them, too. And that shadow, thing, person, it… it keeps holding him.

Warm, with snow, even with snow, it's warm.

▽

Shang Qinghua wakes up with his mouth dry and a slight headache. The room is enclosed in darkness, and, outside, night already has fallen.

He groans, stumbling onto his steps to the kitchen. The white light coming from the fridge blinds him for a second, but he soon picks one bottle of heavenly cold water and drinks it as if his life depends on it. Maybe it does.

Gaining a little bit of weariness, he turns on the lights and sees no one in the room. As (not) expected.

But he hears Mobei Jun’s voice coming from the balcony, which indicates he’s still on the phone and that perhaps Shang Qinghua didn’t nap for too long, or maybe that phone call is getting embarrassingly long for someone who was supposedly on vacation.

Still feeling slightly dizzy, Shang Qinghua makes up his mind and decides to be a good friend for once. He picks a second water bottle, because, surely, Mobei Jun also needs it, and he also prepares a bowl with the early winter loquats they had bought at that little market. Fruits to fight against the horrors of alcohol, right? It could work.

He also takes Mobei Jun’s ugly trench coat, since it's probably freezing outside.

See, Shang Qinghua can think, sometimes.

With all those items in hand, he opens the balcony door and faces the cold, harsh winds from winter, as well as a silent Mobei Jun, who, apparently, just turned off his call.

“Hey,” Shang Qinghua starts, sitting next to Mobei Jun and placing the water bottles and the bowl with loquats on the small table in front of them. “I brought you some things, also, your coat.”

Mobei Jun blinks, probably trying to get back to the real world.

“Thanks,” he mutters, taking the trench coat from Shang Qinghua's hand and placing it on his shoulders.

And the silence that follows, it bears that kind of unbearable tone, as if… as if Shang Qinghua was interrupting something. As if he wasn’t supposed to be here at all.

He opts to pick one fruit and bite onto its flesh, its juice doing marvelous things to his state of mind.

After some heartbeats, Mobei Jun sighs and drinks some water. He’s tired, it seems, tired and sad.

“I don't know how you do it,” Shang Qinghua lets out, looking at his sticky hands and cursing himself mentally because he should have brought napkins, too.

“Do what?”

Shang Qinghua glances at his friend, wipes his sticky hands on his own pants, and picks another fruit.

“The whole ‘being a super important person’ thing. I mean, all those board meetings and late-night calls and hundreds of businesses of importance.”

“It could be worse,” Mobei Jun replies, gazing away at the darkness in front of them.

“How so?”

And there’s the sound of the waves, merciless, crashing on the shore again and again, and the sound of the wind, and the way Mobei Jun looks at him with a face that seems much older than what he truly is.

Sometimes, Mobei Jun carries this aura of someone who had lived way too much already, and Shang Qinghua, oh, poor Shang Qinghua, he only wants to ease that weight of Mobei Jun’s shoulders and tell him it’s alright you’re not alone I'm here, I see you.

“It isn't that bad,” Mobei Jun starts. “In this…hm. My uncle really helps a lot, you know that, and people respect me and take whatever I say into consideration. Also, there's no killing involved.”

Shang Qinghua chuckles at that joke. Mobei Jun… really?

“Look, I'm thrilled there’s no killing, you do know that that is against the law, right?”

Mobei Jun cracks a smile, and his tense posture relaxes a little.

“Yes, I'm aware.”

“Good.”

And they stay there, sitting on the balcony’s cold bench, eating loquats and watching the night, until Shang Qinghua gets an idea.

“Do you think it’s okay to go to the beach now?” He asks.

“Now? It will be dark.”

“I know but.” He gets up, walking to the balcony’s railing and leaning on the cold metal; he cranes his neck to gaze at the skies. “Look, the weather is finally clear, there are just so many stars! I think it will be nice to look at them from the beach.”

It could be inspiring. And, even if it gives him nothing at all, it wouldn't be less pretty.

“Alright,” Mobei Jun replies, and oh, he’s smiling at Shang Qinghua, that kind of smile that makes him dream of it afterward. “But you should pick up another coat or a beanie, the winds will be strong.”

“Nah, I will be fine, let’s go!”

With a huff, Mobei Jun puts on his trench coat and complies with whatever nonsense Shang Qinghua is up to.

▽

It turns out it wasn't fine.

But Shang Qinghua can only blame himself, really. The winds freeze his ears, and he has to put on his hoodie and tie it on the front, and he knows he looks ridiculous; he can see the way Mobei Jun is hiding a smile on that handsome face, even if they are encompassed by darkness and the lights from the thousand stars.

It’s dark, but they use their phone’s flashlights to find their way, and soon, Shang Qinghua finds a nice spot to sit and stargaze. Of course, all his clothes will have sand later on, but… Mobei Jun doesn’t even question him on this and sits by his side, holding the phone to illuminate the tides.

The waves, waves of cold, seem almost calm on this starry night.

The sounds they make as they kiss up the shore, the muted, dark sand, they soothe something in Shang Qinghua’s heart.

And then, he leans back and stares at the stars.

At the universe, there, big and whole and full of truths.

It’s not like he has any epiphany watching the stars, but Mobei Jun moves by his side, and suddenly their hands are touching, and they stay touching. Mobei Jun’s hand feels smooth, warm.

And the stars, they flicker at them, as if they were trying to convey a message.

A message of humbleness, of patience.

We're here, they say. We've been here forever, but soon you will depart, and we will keep being here, looking at others just like you.

“Life is really short, huh…” Shang Qinghua mutters, not for anyone, but for himself.

Surprisingly, on that dark beach with no one in sight other than the sea and stars, Mobei Jun scoots closer and leans on Shang Qinghua, his head resting on Shang Qinghua’s shoulder. It's odd and soft and a small concession. It's always Shang Qinghua who does this, who approaches, who touches.

But the stars.

So far away,

And Mobei Jun.

So close,

They stay there, silently, touching, gazing, thinking, until Shang Qinghua starts to tremble from the cold and his ears freeze and Mobei Jun ushers them inside.

▽

After they come back to the house, Shang Qinghua is quickly pushed to a hot bath while Mobei Jun prepares a light dinner for them. But there’s some sort of vulnerability that surrounds them, making Shang Qinghua tremble slightly, turning Mobei Jun into a soft man that he isn’t. Shang Qinghua can’t understand, and some words, some really simple but too important words, almost slip from his tongue more times than what he can count.

So, it’s no surprise to anyone that they go to bed early, without sharing one, of course. Shang Qinghua isn’t crazy to propose that again because.

Well.

They are friends, best friends. But friends, nonetheless.

The soft mattress and the cold bedsheets welcome him in a way no real person could, which means they’re too cold, too distant, no love.

And his room is too dark, feels too big and small.

Shang Qinghua yearns for other things, warmer or colder, it doesn't matter.

He tosses and turns in bed, trying to reach and find that blissful moment where his consciousness will slip away and give him the blessings of no thoughts.

He tries.

And he keeps trying.

Until it finally comes to him, bringing sweet nightmares of snow and the blurred face of a person.

Shang Qinghua tosses and turns in bed, not managing to find a good position or state of mind to finally let himself relax and sleep. It’s the city lights coming from his window, he tells himself; it’s all the noises from the life outside, he repeats, again and again. But deep inside his heart, he knows that those aren’t the problem.

He opens his eyes and catches his cellphone by his side, unlocking it and letting his face bask on the artificial light; his eyes hurt a little with the light, but it’s fine, it’s okay.

He opens their conversation and scrolls through it, smiling to himself.

Soon, soon, he will see Mobei Jun again.

Just two more months.

Time will surely fly.

He reads Mobei Jun’s messages and lets himself dream that what they have is much more than friendship. The way Mobei Jun sends him goodnight messages every day, even when his schedule is too packed, even when he’s on the other side of the world and time zones are a thing. Mobei Jun. He always does this, has been doing ever since they started talking.

And then, because his mind works like that, he starts imagining how it would be if he confessed, if he told Mobei Jun his true feelings. Is Mobei Jun even interested in men? Is he even interested in anyone?

But then again, even if he’s not, Shang Qinghua could work with this, could make this a reality, somehow.

Shang Qinghua is a writer, and what writers do best is turn their dreams into stories. Sometimes, those dreams become nightmares, sure, but this time, this kind of story… maybe… Shang Qinghua could do it, could write about a grey, dull, boring man who tries to find light in his grey, dull, boring life. Only to meet… another man.

Yeah, he could work with that and maybe add all the struggles of being gay in a society that doesn’t accept it, could add the hardships of not pursuing a fulfilling career.

In his head, he draws the outline of this work, placing some key-words here and there.

But staying in his mind never helped, and he’s too afraid he will lose it as soon as he falls asleep.

With the intent of finally writing the story he always dreamed of, he jumps out of bed and catches a notebook from the pile he has on his messy desk. It’s all scribbled with possible new stories, thoughts, curses and whatnot, but he quickly finds a blank page and starts.

Being guided by the city lights and city noises, he starts to write.

He writes.

And he thinks about Mobei Jun.

He writes.

And he thinks about all their times together, the smiles, jokes, misunderstandings.

The way Shang Qinghua’s body sparks every time he sees him.

Or, how Shang Qinghua never considered himself a sentimental person, but with Mobei Jun is inevitable.

And the way they know so much of each other.

The late-night calls where Mobei Jun vents out his anger about his job and the company. The weekly video calls where Shang Qinghua shows to Mobei Jun how he re-organized his kitchen and bought new plants to his apartment.

Shang Qinghua writes.

It's just an outline, it's nothing much, nothing fancy. Not even a whole story. He has to make sure the characters aren’t too similar to the real people.

By the end of it, when his eyes are already watering from exhaustion —it's a weekday and he will have to wake up in four hours— he writes a sentence.

It says:

“I don't want to lose you again.”

And he keeps staring at it.

That doesn't even make sense in this baby of a story.

Lose you, again.

Again?

He scratches it, not understanding its meaning, and puts the notebook away.

Tomorrow, in the morning light, he will see what he can do.

▽

Waking up is oddly easy.

Shang Qinghua doesn’t know how and why, but he feels well-rested and ready for the day. It must be the works of a joyous dream he can’t quite recall. He only remembers the feeling, the sensation. The way his heart and mind spoke to him, ‘this is the right place, the right person.’

In high spirits, he freshens up and instead of going downstairs for breakfast, he opens the windows of his room and looks at the world outside.

It’s a beautiful winter day, sunny and cold, but sunny. Only a few clouds in sight and the weak sunlight makes him shiver with anticipation. There’s also the seagulls and swallows in the sky, flying oh so happily with the appearance of the sun. Shang Qinghua muses that he can understand that kind of sentiment.

His hands itch then, they itch with the need to put this feeling on paper, to make it even more real than what already is. And the ideas, flowing down his mind like waterfalls.

Shang Qinghua finally knows what he wants to do with his story, he finally has an end and a beginning. The middle? He will figure it out, as he always does.

Rushing out of his room to pick his notebook, he doesn’t find Mobei Jun anywhere. But that’s not a problem, never was.

There’s breakfast readied for him at the kitchen’s counter, and a little note; another one. It’s sweet and small, just like the other.

It says:

Went for a run, again. We should meet up at the beach later. The day is beautiful.

Yours, MBJ

And sure, Shang Qinghua can delay some minutes, hours, (days), for Mobei Jun. He hurries to get ready, thinking that he should probably dress warmly but not actually caring.

The day is, indeed, beautiful.

He lets his hair free from the always-messy bun, he forgoes his boots and opts, boldly, to wear his slippers, and he goes out with a smile on his face.

It's cold—yes. But the sun.

The small pathway that leads him to the beach is the same, and the beach, too, looks as desolate and sad as yesterday. However, there’s a difference in the air. It’s probably just Shang Qinghua, or, perhaps, the sun, the lights. It could even be how the waves are gentler, or how the sea seems calmer, almost welcoming.

He welcomes the sea; he walks to it and lets his feet get frozen by the cold waters.

There’s joy in that, as there’s joy in the small silhouette he spots on the horizon.

Shang Qinghua decides to stay where he is, letting those waves of cold kiss his feet and ankles, allowing the tides to welcome him in.

He waits.

Mobei Jun arrives, panting a little, sweaty, flushed and happy.

“I think I'm going for a swim,” he states.

And Shang Qinghua has only two seconds to think about that statement before catching Mobei Jun’s clothes that are thrown at him. He gasps upon seeing his friend half-naked body enter those cold waters like it was nothing. He also admires the view of that strong back because, oh well.

“Are you crazy?” Shang Qinghua shouts.

Only the crash of the waves answers him.

They crash, and kiss, repeatedly, the shore and the sand and Shang Qinghua, while Mobei Jun probably will need all the warmth he can get as soon as he comes out.

It happens sooner than Shang Qinghua had expected.

Mobei Jun comes out of the waters breathless, his lips blue, his body shivering, and Shang Qinghua has to muster all his strength not to stare at that body, really.

He takes Mobei Jun’s hands and pushes him away from the sea, from the cold waves.

He mutters: “You can't do this! Hypothermia is a real thing, and no, you're not a real ice king!”

But he says that, and he curses, all with good intentions.

And Mobei Jun… he laughs, he laughs freely and loud.

It's wonderful, it sounds beautiful.

It is a beautiful day.

▽

Mobei Jun drips water inside their whole house, but Shang Qinghua doesn’t mind; he leads Mobei Jun to the bathroom by the hand, making sure the water is hot enough for his friend to not catch a cold. He keeps insisting on how Mobei Jun isn’t that young anymore to do such reckless things, that it could be dangerous, not only because of the cold, but because of the sea currents, too. His friend only huffs and says that he can always find a way to come back to Shang Qinghua, no matter the situation, and—

Oh, what could that possibly mean?

He doesn't dwell on it, not with this shivering man in front of him.

With a stern look, he leaves Mobei Jun to his own devices.

After sweeping the floors and picking up a bag of snacks, he sits on the couch and opens his notebook.

Finally, finally, it's time to write again.

The words flow smoothly as if they were waiting for Shang Qinghua, just there, only for him. It's just the start of this silly story, but he can already feel his soul being poured into it. He sees the moment Mobei Jun comes down, dressed in warm pants and that damned indecent sweater; Shang Qinghua does a double-take just in case, but he’s quick to go back to work. Mobei Jun doesn’t even question him and his antics, coming and going around the house, placing a water bottle in front of him, changing the bag of snacks for a new one, sitting by his side and scrolling down his phone, peaking at Shang Qinghua's work from time to time.

It's kind of cute, and if Shang Qinghua were bolder, he would say some truths to that man. Instead, he writes them.

He's not even in that part of the story to write confessions, however, he writes it anyway, saving it for later.

At some point, Mobei Jun gets bored of doing nothing, and he whispers to Shang Qinghua:

“Would it disturb you if I played?”

In answer, Shang Qinghua only pats him on his arm.

There’s this flow, this river, inside of him, and he can’t stop it.

Mobei Jun goes to play even without a proper answer, and ah, how fitting are his songs. Shang Qinghua can even recognize one or two; they help him write, they send his mind to a headspace that had been closed for years.

Shang Qinghua writes and writes. He writes about his life, but with different names and different stories. In the end, it's a different life, too. But so very similar.

It’s freeing, it’s brave and bright.

Just like the sun outside.

By midday, Mobei Jun interrupts him, lightly, with a light touch on his shoulder.

“We should eat something,” he says, light, so light. Soft.

It's the sun and all the words that came back to him.

▽

After lunch, Mobei Jun has a request for Shang Qinghua.

He asks,

“Can I take you out this afternoon?”

And Shang Qinghua wants to question ‘where’ and ‘why,’ but at the same time, he’s also curious. Their time is ending, isn’t it? He needs to—he has to enjoy every single minute. Guilt sinks in because he had just spent hours entrapped in his own world, leaving Mobei Jun alone, and they will only meet again next year, and it gets a little bit hard not to feel sad.

“Of course,” Shang Qinghua answers. “Where are we going? What time do we go?”

Mobei Jun gives him a small smile in return, he whispers, looking at the windows and at the world outside, that it’s a surprise, and that they should go in one or two hours.

Ah, that’s too much and too little time. Shang Qinghua foregoes his story in order to stay with Mobei Jun. He proposes they go to the beach again, have a walk, maybe take some pictures, maybe collect some seashells if they can find any.

They go, they do. Shang Qinghua takes a hundred pictures of Mobei Jun on the beach, with the wind sweeping their hairs on their faces, the amused chuckles, the serious poses. They find a total of three seashells, and Shang Qinghua dumbly proclaims that these will bring them luck until next year, so they should always carry them.

“But what about the third one?” Mobei Jun asks.

“That one stays in our house, right? So we can always come back to it.”

He earns a chuckle, a hand on his neck, caressing it lightly.

Light, the lights from the sun and the waves that don’t seem as cold as they were yesterday.

Mobei Jun also takes pictures of him, of them, together, the selfies turn terrible, mainly because Shang Qinghua was never good at them. But they are precious all the same, and he can’t hide away the joy he feels when he sees the pictures on his phone. Them, together, smiling, with the sun shining on their faces.

For a split of a second, Shang Qinghua’s mind warns him that he can’t have this, can’t have all the wonderful things. But Shang Qinghua isn’t young anymore, he isn’t old either; however, he does know that whatever comes, comes, and that if Mobei Jun is happy, he is happy, too. Easy like that.

There’s no need to overcomplicate anything when they actually don’t have a romantic relationship going on, and even in their friendship, it’s always like this. Easy.

Maybe Shang Qinghua deserves it, and it’s his mind that is wrong.

He wants to believe in that, and he wants to believe in Mobei Jun’s affections.

Even if they turned out to be shallow.

Shang Qinghua is just like the sand he’s stepping in, isn’t he? He will still be here, there, everywhere, just waiting, wishing, wanting and, most importantly, welcoming. Always welcoming the waves crashing up the shore.

▽

Mobei Jun warns him to dress warmly, and he even picks up a funny beanie for Shang Qinghua to wear. It’s funny because Shang Qinghua bought it out of spite, for Mobei Jun, because it had little cute animal ears. Not the kind of thing an adult man would wear, but ah, what could Shang Qinghua even say when Mobei Jun looks delighted by the sight of him wearing it?

They depart easily, with easy smiles on their faces. The sun is already making its way down the horizon, coloring every corner in a shade of gold. Shang Qinghua sees it all by the black windows of Mobei Jun’s car, feeling some sort of anxiety, anticipation. His heart beating fast at every curve the car makes.

They go up and up.

It doesn’t even take ten minutes, but the ride seems to stretch forever, showing Shang Qinghua the empty streets of the seaside town, and later, the hills, bad-paved roads and wilderness.

They go up, until they reach the peak of this unnamed, unassuming hill.

Shang Qinghua blinks before stepping out of the car, not knowing what this could possibly mean.

“Here,” Mobei Jun says, taking him by the hand, and guiding them further into the bushes and pebbles and—

“Are we going for a hike?” He asks, a little bit concerned, especially with the sun quickly going down.

Mobei Jun chuckles. “No, of course not.”

It takes some more steps, Mobei Jun still holding his hand, for them to arrive at the cliff.

And the view takes Shang Qinghua’s breath away.

They’re not that high above, but this small hill gives the view to the beach and to the sea and—

The sun, setting just in front of them.

The wind picks up, bringing the scent of salt and fish and something more.

Every corner, colored in gold, even the waves below, especially the waves. Cold but gold.

The whole coast seemingly like a gem in front of his eyes, the seafoam glimmering, the seagulls flying low, and the wind.

Shang Qinghua looks at Mobei Jun in awe.

“It's beautiful,” he says.

“Yes,” Mobei Jun replies, looking intensely at him. “It is quite beautiful.”

Their hands are still linked, and Mobei Jun, he—he looks glorious under the golden light of the sun, like a prince, a king, a man from his dreams.

It’s hard to contain his feelings.

And it’s hard to not think about how Mobei Jun looks oddly familiar, as if he had seen him before, way before they had ever met. As if… in a dream… somewhere, with gold and instead of the sea, it was snow.

It’s hard.

“I think I’ve dreamed about you,” Shang Qinghua whispers to the wind. “During all my life, I’ve been dreaming.”

The gold, the fiery sun descending, indicating that another day went by, that time never stops, and the way Mobei Jun moves and lowers his body to be face to face with Shang Qinghua.

Their hands.

And the sky, getting rose-tinted, turning everything softer, dreamier. Mobei Jun’s eyes holding a thousand emotions. Those eyes, too, glisten under the golden lights of another day going by.

It’s not as if Shang Qinghua is running out of time, but there’s urgency, in the way Mobei Jun licks his lips and in the way stray strands of his hair fall on his face.

“Qinghua…”

He tries to smile, tries to understand what it is that his friend is trying to say.

But time, and the sun, they never stop for them.

And he does feel too much.

It pours out from him, and the importance of a moment is lost with the need to be honest.

“Wait. I… I need to tell you some things… you know, life? Life is precious, every day, hour, minute and second of it; it truly is,” Shang Qinghua says, shaking a little, closing his eyes to gather his thoughts and courage. “And I think love, too, is precious. We lack love so much, in our dull, boring lives, but I—I want it, I crave love, and not just any kind of it.”

He stops, opens his eyes again, and looks, truly looks to the man in front of him. In the corner of his eye, he sees the sun already touching the cold waters from the sea. The waves. Gold turned red, the color of blood and love.

Taking a deep breath, he cups Mobei Jun’s face with his free hand.

“I think I want your love, I want your life, I want you.”

Time does stop at that moment, and the whole world holds its breath to see what will happen.

Mobei Jun looks astonished for a second, and then there’s a single tear streaming down his right eye, but there’s a smile, too, a soft, small thing.

“You—do you?”

And Shang Qinghua can’t help but think how stupid and lovable this man is, and he isn’t even sure if this is a positive reaction from his weird confession. Honestly, the only option is to close the small distance between them and let their foreheads touch.

“Yes, what about you?”

A pause, a sigh. Dusk begins to embrace them.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Mobei Jun whispers, small, soft, sweet. “Waiting, for far too long.”

It’s impossible not to smile at that, and Shang Qinghua finally closes the distance to peck at Mobei Jun’s lips. They are cold to the touch but wonderfully soft; kissing Mobei Jun like this feels like a piece of his life that had always been missing finally connects into place. It makes him tremble, and it makes him hold back tears that he wasn’t even sure he was capable of shedding. It’s completely out of anything he had ever expected, especially because Shang Qinghua was never a sentimental guy.

“Silly,” he says in between kisses, letting himself ease into Mobei Jun’s embrace. “I was always here, so easy to find... why did you wait for so long?”

Mobei Jun kisses him with force then, and all of Shang Qinghua’s words get lost in the frenzy and urgency and passion of a kiss. Mobei Jun kisses him as if he would disappear at any moment, as if he would run away from him.

He accepts it, accepts it all, giggling in between bites, mumbling little nonsenses of I’m here, I see you, I’m not going anywhere, and in the midst of it all, I love you, I loved you for so long.

▽

The darkness and the freezing winds don’t deter them from kissing; they kiss until Shang Qinghua has to gasp for breath, until their bodies are shivering together from the cold and want. Only then do they stop and decide it’s best to go back. To their house. To the safety of four walls.

The ride down the hill is quicker than the way up, probably because of the many things they still want to do with each other.

Shang Qinghua doesn’t even have time to think on other things they should be discussing, not when Mobei Jun is pressing him on a wall, kissing him with force, and shutting the door of the house, and especially not when Mobei Jun is carrying him upstairs to his room and gently lying him on the bed.

Mobei Jun’s eyes show mixed emotions of adoration, love, longing, sorrow and desire. It’s all a little bit too much, making Shang Qinghua tremble under the heavy gaze, because he, too, wants everything.

He needs it.

He welcomes Mobei Jun with open arms, relishing on the weight of the man he loves on top of him. He giggles and kisses, whispering words of affirmation to Mobei Jun, receiving in return, little love you’s and want you’s.

And their intimate moment is not as perfect as it could have been, but it’s theirs, nonetheless.

It’s the way their clothes are thrown to the floor, and the way Shang Qinghua bites on Mobei Jun’s chest, gaining a light slap in return. It’s the way they don't even have what is necessary to actually consummate their love—who even brings lube and condoms to a trip with a friend?

It’s the way Mobei Jun is gentle, too gentle with a Shang Qinghua who’s used to roughness and hurt in sex, and it's the way Shang Qinghua accepts it all, touches every corner of Mobei Jun’s body, kissing, licking, loving.

It’s not perfect, far from it, but he laughs in ecstasy the moment he swallows Mobei Jun’s come, and he cries, laughing, laughing all the way through, the moment Mobei Jun touches him just right and he comes all over themselves.

It's messy, awkward, and oh so real.

They take a shower together afterward, and Shang Qinghua marvels at all the sharp edges and soft rounds of the expanse of Mobei Jun’s body. They go at it again, not quite controlling themselves. There’s just so much to learn, so much to touch.

And Shang Qinghua laughs, he laughs and Mobei Jun kisses him and asks what are you laughing so much about, but the answer, how could he answer.

If he could voice it out loud, he would say I feel so good, I feel like I finally understand something that I've been trying to understand my whole life, and you, there’s you too, you’re everything, you’re you.

He only says:

“I’m happy, I love you.”

▽

In the morning, Shang Qinghua wakes up with the sounds of rain pouring down. He tries to move, tries to seek a more comfortable position, but something is holding him down and ah—

Mobei Jun, entangled with him, his strong arm holding him close. He finally notices the puffs of breath on his neck, and it’s enough for Shang Qinghua’s memories to come crashing down. It was real, it really happened, and, surprisingly, it turned out alright. More than alright, even.

However, with the morning and with the rain, they surely need to talk things out. Kissing and having sex is one thing, but working out a relationship? Oh… they really need to talk.

He turns in bed, waking Mobei Jun in the process.

The soft, morning lights coming from the window paint the room in a muted grey tone, turning everything more real, even Mobei Jun, with his sleepy blue eyes and small pout.

Shang Qinghua kisses the space in between Mobei Jun’s eyebrows.

“Morning,” he says, and adds, “Is this okay? Can I kiss you?”

He’s given a kiss on the cheek in return, and a grumbling that he can’t quite decipher.

And the silence that settles in, it’s comfortable, with the rain, falling, as an indication of the realness of it all.

If Shang Qinghua could stay in this moment forever, he would. But he needs answers, he needs that serious talk, so he can have this in the future.

Sighing, he looks at Mobei Jun and his still disheveled, quiet state.

“This isn't a dream, right? This is real, we are real.”

Bumping their noses, Mobei Jun says, “God, I hope this isn’t a dream.”

Relief engulfs him, and he nudges close, resting his head on Mobei Jun's chest.

“We are together, right? Like, together together.”

A hand stroking his hair.

“If you want.”

“Why wouldn't I want this,” Shang Qinghua answers, taking the opportunity to kiss Mobei Jun’s collarbones. “I told you last night, I want this, I want your love.”

“Hm, so we're together.”

Easy like that.

“But what about… you, and me. The distance. I don’t… I’m sorry, I don’t want to be selfish.”

A hand gently holding his chin up, shiny blue eyes looking at him and only him.

“I don’t want to be parted from you either, I—we. We can figure it out.”

Cracking a smile, he pecks Mobei Jun on the lips.

“Yeah, we can figure it out. No rush.”

They stay lazing in bed for a long time, reminiscing about all the times they pined for each other in the past, all the while chuckling, kissing, touching. It’s soft and easy and familiar—the familiarity of Mobei Jun and his whole presence.

Together, they are together at least.

And he can’t help but think that it took way too long for this to happen, even if five years were not that long.

“I don't want to lose you again,” Shang Qinghua says when it’s time to pack their things and go back to their lives.

But they are together now, and that phrasing is odd since Shang Qinghua never lost Mobei Jun in the first place.

Mobei Jun doesn’t even question him, only holding him close and saying,

“I forgive you, it’s alright, I'm here now.”

Shang Qinghua gets even more confused by those words, but something inside of him settles, as if he had been waiting to hear them all his life.

Together, they will figure it out.

*

*

*

Mobei-Jun searches at every corner of the Demon Realm, and then he searches at the Human Realm, without any sign of Shang Qinghua. He did truly leave… after the whole fiasco of the inheritance ceremony. Mobei-Jun was conflicted about the entire thing. Wasn't it enough to show to Shang Qinghua how much he valued him? Wasn't it enough to beat him lightly three times a day? To protect him in the shadows, to stay by his side? But no, in the end, he was called spoiled, was hurt, and Shang Qinghua did leave… his parting words still resonate in Mobei-Jun’s mind.

“Seeing you, I was very happy. Really—you're even more handsome than I had imagined!”

Shang Qinghua… how could Mobei-Jun live without him?

He drowns in sorrows, memories, and in the bloodlust that settles deep in his heart. He loses control, just for a little while, he kills some people, some demons, his uncle just for good measure. And he only stops when he’s forced to. By no other than Luo Binghe and his husband.

The fury is still cutting him deep, but Luo Binghe holds him down, and Shen Qingqiu tells him the truth of why he can’t find Shang Qinghua.

Shen Qingqiu tells him a tale that’s impossible to believe, but because of its impossibilities and the way Shang Qinghua always acted, it could only be true.

He really left, Mobei-Jun would never see him again in this lifetime.

The rage turns into deep grief, and he recalls all the times he should have been kinder, should have tried to understand and reach out.

And he doesn’t understand why a king made of ice still feels so strongly about a weak human. A human, who showed him kindness, loyalty, happiness.

He spends months hiding away, too weak of mind and heart to face anyone.

And he curses, curses the world and Shang Qinghua, but mostly, himself.

And he wishes, wishes for time to go back and do things differently. He wishes for Shang Qinghua to come back.

And he vows, vows that if he meets Shang Qinghua again, he will do better, be better, kinder, softer.

[System Activation Code: a deep wish to meet a loved one. Automatically triggering System]

Mobei-Jun growls at the sudden voice in his head. Is he cursed? Did he finally go mad?

[We welcome this esteemed customer into the System. Would you like to download the function to go to your loved one's world?]

What.

Mobei-Jun tries to attack it, but there's no response, only the same message, the same weird voice telling him the same thing.

Would you like to go to your loved one's world?

Did he?

Could he?

Taking a deep breath and not expecting anything to happen at all, Mobei-Jun says:

“Yes.”