[📘 Content Warning:
This story contains Boys’ Love (BL) themes, mature/adult content, explicit scenes, and strong language. It explores deep emotional connections between the characters with intense, passionate moments. Reader discretion is advised]
The second day felt like something out of a dream.
They woke up late — tangled in sheets, sun leaking through the curtains, and neither of them in a rush to move.
Eventually, they slipped into casual clothes, hoodies and masks in place, caps pulled low, sunglasses covering their eyes. Disguised enough to step outside.
The resort arranged a private car with a trusted driver, no questions asked. They explored the quieter parts of the village — tucked-away cafés, scenic mountain trails, tiny lakeside paths where no one bothered them.
Zhan tugged Yibo’s hand toward a small chocolate shop.
“Come on, we’re not leaving without trying Swiss chocolate.”
“I thought you were the health freak?” Yibo grinned.
“I am. But I’m also on a date. So shut up and eat.”
They tried everything — melted cheese fondue, buttery croissants, flaky pastries, and scoops of rich Swiss ice cream that made Zhan groan with happiness.
“This might actually be better than kissing you,” he mumbled with a full mouth.
Yibo raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
Zhan winked. “Might.”
They took pictures in front of flower-covered cottages, on quiet trails, by the lake. Some were solo shots, but most ended in messy, laughing selfies with half-cropped faces.
By the time they returned to the hotel that evening, their legs ached, cheeks sore from smiling.
They had a quiet dinner in the suite — room service and red wine.
Zhan curled up on the couch, glass in hand.
“I could get used to this,” he said softly.
Yibo sat beside him, head falling against Zhan’s shoulder.
“Same. Let’s not think about tomorrow yet.”
The night deepened. The wine disappeared. Clothes followed.
What happened next was slow and intimate — a connection that went beyond just touch.
This time, it was Zhan who took the lead, guiding their rhythm with careful hands, making every moment count.
Later, they lay in bed — bare, flushed and warm under the covers.
Yibo rested on his side, fingers tracing shapes on Zhan’s chest.
“I’ve got the big race coming up next month,” he murmured.
“In Ningbo?”
Yibo nodded. “Yeah. I want you there, ge.”
Zhan smiled. “You know I can’t… but that doesn’t mean I won’t be watching.”
“No, try. Just come. Sneak in. Hide in a helmet. I don’t care!” Yibo tried to sound casual, but his eyes didn’t match the smile.
Zhan laughed softly. “I’ll bring pom-poms.”
Then they started talking about upcoming shoots, schedules, music. Goals. Dreams.
“Sing for me,” Zhan said suddenly.
Yibo gave him a tired look. “Didn’t I just sing with my whole body?”
Zhan laughed. “Shut up and sing, piggy…”
Yibo hummed something soft. Familiar. One of Zhan’s old ballads. His voice was quiet, low, slightly raspy from the wine and the hour.
When he finished, Zhan whispered, “That’s still my favourite voice in the world.”
“Liar.”
“No Bobo, totally serious.”
Then Zhan sang too — soft and slow, fingers in Yibo’s hair, their breaths syncing until neither of them was sure who was singing and who was listening.
They drifted off like that.
Wrapped in music, in warmth, in each other.
Knowing that the morning would come too fast. But not thinking about it just yet.
_____________________________________________________________________
The third morning crept in slow and quiet. Zhan blinked awake first, squinting at the soft light spilling through the curtains. Yibo was still fast asleep beside him, face buried in the pillow, hair a mess. Zhan smiled, leaned over, and nudged him gently.
“Bobo… wake up,” he whispered, voice low and affectionate. “Come on, lazy… I wanna spend every last minute with you before we have to pretend, we’re strangers again.”
“We should shower before room service thinks we died in here.”
Yibo groaned into the pillow.
“Let them think that. I’m not moving.”
“You stink like sweat and sin.”
Yibo turned his head lazily, smirking.
“Says the man who begged for that sin last night.”
Zhan rolled his eyes, yanking the blanket off him.
“Get your ass up before I drag you in myself.”
“You promise?”
In the bathroom, steam curled around them as they stood under the hot spray, skin pressed together — not for heat, not for passion, just to feel close one last time.
Zhan rested his head against Yibo’s shoulder, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.
“Don’t drop the soap this time.”
Yibo huffed a laugh, his arm tightening around him.
“That was once, and I was distracted. You were humming.”
“I was humming? That’s your excuse?”
Yibo grinned, water running down his face.
“Your voice’s still my favourite distraction, ge.”
After the shower, they shared breakfast in plush robes, sitting cross-legged on the bed, stealing bites from each other’s plates.
“You’re eating all the strawberries,” Zhan mumbled, fork halfway to his mouth.
“I’m stress-eating,” Yibo said with a mouthful. “You’re lucky I didn’t order twelve pancakes.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m in love and we’re checking out. Let me cope.”
______________________________________________________
Hours later, bags packed, silence returned.
Yibo stood by the door, fingers gripping the handle but not turning it.
“No,” he said suddenly. “I don’t want to go.”
Zhan looked up from his suitcase, calm.
“Bobo… your flight’s first. You have to go.”
“No, seriously. Why do we have to leave?”
His voice cracked — just a little.
“This isn’t fair. We just got back to us.”
Zhan crossed the room, arms pulling Yibo into a hug.
The younger one leaned in instantly, face buried in Zhan’s shoulder.
“I know it’s not fair,” Zhan whispered, smoothing a hand over Yibo’s damp hair.
“But we promised we’d keep going, remember? Even if we can’t be loud about it.”
“I don’t care anymore,” Yibo muttered. “Let them talk. Let them guess. I just— I hate this part.”
Zhan pulled back just enough to cup his cheek.
Their eyes met.
“I hate it too. But this won’t last forever. We’re doing this now… so we can have forever later.”
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Yibo’s forehead. Then one more, gentle and full of ache, to his lips.
Yibo hugged him again — tighter this time, like he was holding on for both of them.
“Just remember this, okay?” Zhan whispered into his hair.
“Remember mornings like this, laughing together, eating strawberries, trying everything at that chocolate shop, and the way you make me feel when you look at me like I’m the only one who matters.”
Zhan’s voice softened, his hand resting gently on Yibo’s back.
“You are my life, Bobo. I don’t care how long we have to wait; I’m not letting silly things or impatience tear us apart. I’m not losing you over that.”
Yibo’s breath hitched, his fingers tightening in Zhan’s shirt.
He pulled back just enough to look Zhan in the eyes, his voice thick with emotion.
“I’ll remember everything, Baobao… Every second.”
A soft, raw whisper escaped his lips:
“I love you, Zhan-ge.”
Zhan’s eyes softened as he looked at Yibo, his heart swelling with the weight of the words.
He cupped Yibo’s face gently, his thumb brushing over his cheek.
“I love you too, Bobo. More than you’ll ever know. And I’ll always be here, no matter what comes.”
They didn’t speak after that.
There was nothing left to say — only the sound of their hearts beating loud in the quiet room.
And then… the door opened.
Yibo walked out first.
He had his duffle slung over one shoulder, the small suitcase in his hand rolling softly over the hallway carpet.
He wore a plain black cap pulled low over his eyes, a mask snug against his face — all the familiar armor of secrecy.
Outside, his trusted team waited at a distance, two bodyguards stationed near the elevator, ready to escort him straight to the car and then to the airport without drawing attention.
Zhan didn’t follow. He just stood in the doorway, arms loose at his sides, eyes locked on Yibo’s retreating figure — the ache in his chest growing heavier with each step.
He could hear the soft click of the suitcase wheels, the hush of fabric brushing with movement, and the quiet hum of the hallway’s silence.
Every sound felt amplified. Too real. Too final.
Yibo’s shoulders were tense, his head slightly bowed. His steps were steady, but his heart wasn’t. His eyes stung behind the mask, but he didn’t look back.
Because if he did… he knew he wouldn’t be able to walk away.
So he just kept moving — forward, even when everything inside him begged him to turn around.
Zhan watched until the elevator doors slid open, until Yibo stepped in without a word, his team falling into place behind him.
Just before the doors began to close,
their eyes met — one last time.
And in that moment, Zhan felt everything crash into him — the love, the ache, the goodbye they didn’t want to say.
Yibo’s gaze held steady, even as his eyes glistened, and his lips parted like he wanted to say something… but didn’t.
Instead, he gave the faintest nod — not a farewell, but a promise.
Then the doors slid shut. Quietly. Cleanly.
And just like that… he was gone.
Zhan didn’t cry. Not right away.
He turned back into the room, closed the door, and leaned against it like his legs might give out.
The place suddenly felt too quiet… too still — like Yibo had taken all the happiness with him.
His own suitcase sat near the bed, ready. His phone buzzed quietly on the table — a reminder from his manager, his own security waiting discreetly in the private lobby to escort him later.
It was all so planned. So practiced.
So painfully normal for the kind of love they had to live in secret.
Two separate departures. Two masks to wear again.
Two people still so in love — walking back into the world that didn’t know how to hold them.
But in their hearts, it wasn’t goodbye.
It was: “I’ll see you when I can.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
“And when we meet again… I’ll still be yours.”
[The End]
The Red Ribbon 