An Invitation
[📘 Content Warning:
This story contains Boys’ Love (BL) themes. Reader discretion is advised. Please read the disclaimers mentioned in the Instagram post.]
Yibo’s exams had officially begun.
He no longer showed up at the garage, spending most of his time at home or the college library.
Books, highlighters, notebooks stuffed with sticky tabs—it was study-mode Yibo.
Quieter, more focused.
Though his occasional late-night texts to Zhan never stopped.
Zhan, in turn, kept replying with encouragement, and also firmly told him no garage or delivery shifts until his exams were over.
Even if that meant they couldn’t meet every day like usual.
And at the same time, Zhan’s freelance project for the children’s book series had entered a crucial phase.
Pages had to be checked, illustrations finalized, layouts reviewed.
He spent most of his time buried in files—his fingers smudged with graphite, post-its stuck in his hair, and his eyes burning from too much screen-time.
Amidst all this chaos, Su Mian had become both a help—and a headache.
She still handled the bookstore well, greeted customers, updated inventory.
She was organized, punctual, and sharp.
But the way she behaved around Zhan hadn’t changed.
If anything, it was getting worse.
She still stared at him for too long.
Still stood a little too close.
Her compliments were loaded, her smiles too sweet.
Zhan had decided long ago to simply ignore it.
Brush it off as workplace awkwardness.
But now, the problem wasn’t just her behavior toward him.
She had started showing clear dislike for Yibo.
Whenever Yibo dropped by the store—usually in the late afternoons for a five-minute chat or to steal Zhan for tea—Su Mian would immediately intervene.
“Oh, Zhan, the new shipment arrived. We need to sort it now.”
“Zhan, can you help me figure out the cashbook error from earlier?”
Once or twice was understandable.
But every time? Every single time Yibo came?
It wasn’t long before Zhan began noticing the pattern.
And one particular afternoon, it all came to a head.
Yibo entered the bookstore, fresh out of an exam, notebook tucked under his arm.
He waved at Zhan, who was at the counter.
“Zhan-ge.”
Yibo called.
“Come out for ten minutes? I need air. And food.”
Before Zhan could answer, Su Mian stepped between them, holding a clipboard.
“Zhan, I thought you said we’d finalize the book display today.”
Zhan blinked.
“Yeah, but we can do that later—”
“I’ve been waiting the whole day.”
She said, her voice sharp.
Then she looked at Yibo.
“Some of us take this job seriously.”
Yibo straightened, taken aback by the cold tone.
“Excuse me?”
She didn’t blink.
“This isn’t a hangout spot.”
Then, with a sneer curling at her lips, she added.
“Why do you keep coming here, Yibo? Don’t you have anything better to do?”
The air went tense.
Zhan stood up slowly, his eyes locked on her.
“Su Mian.”
He said, voice calm but hard-edged.
“You were hired to manage the bookstore. Not my personal life.”
Her lips parted in protest.
“I’ve told you before.”
He added, firmer this time.
“Don’t make me repeat it again.”
A thick silence followed.
Even the low murmur of the customers felt distant.
Finally, Su Mian turned away stiffly, disappearing into the storage area.
Zhan sighed and glanced at Yibo.
“Let’s go.”
——————————————
They ended up at a tiny corner restaurant a few blocks away, tucked between an old tailor shop and a flower stall.
The place was quiet, lit with warm yellow bulbs and the smell of ginger and scallion oil in the air.
Zhan sat across from Yibo at a window table, slowly stirring his soup.
“I’m sorry about earlier.”
He said softly, not quite meeting Yibo’s eyes.
“She was out of line.”
Yibo looked at Zhan, irritation flickering in his eyes.
“Why would you apologise?”
He asked, his voice low but sharp.
Zhan didn’t respond right away—just let out a long sigh, eyes fixed on the steam rising from his bowl.
Yibo leaned forward, elbows on the table now.
“You shouldn’t be this soft with people who don’t deserve you being soft to them, ge. Honestly… I’m scared she’ll take advantage of that one day.”
Zhan finally looked up, calm as always but firmer now.
“Yibo, calm down. Please. Didn’t I talk to her? I took your side, didn’t I?”
He paused, tone more thoughtful.
“I think she just doesn’t know the difference between dedication and control.”
Yibo didn’t look convinced.
He shook his head, frustrated.
“I don’t think so, ge. She’s just being too much. I came to see you because I was overwhelmed with everything—these exams, the stress… and we haven’t met properly in days.”
His voice dropped.
“So, what’s her problem?”
Zhan could see it—Yibo’s shoulders were tense, his voice tight, eyes clouded with more than just anger.
The last thing he wanted was to add more pressure.
He softened his tone.
“Right now, you focus on your studies and nothing else, okay?”
His gaze was steady, reassuring.
“These are just silly matters. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“She’ll never say a word to you again. I promise.”
He offered a small smile.
“Happy now?”
Yibo didn’t answer right away—but the way he exhaled, the way his fingers relaxed around the edge of the table, said enough.
A short silence passed as the waiter dropped off their plates.
Yibo toyed with his chopsticks.
“You think she’s jealous?”
Zhan raised an eyebrow.
“Of what?”
“Of you being soft with me. Of not being able to control you the way she clearly wants to.”
Zhan’s lips twitched.
“Maybe. Or maybe she just doesn’t like seeing me happy.”
Yibo looked at him for a moment, then said, quieter.
“Does it bother you? That I keep coming around?”
“What? Shut up Yibo.”
Zhan said immediately.
“I’d rather see you every day, even if it makes someone else uncomfortable.”
Zhan’s words lingered in the air like warmth between them.
Yibo gave a small nod, the tightness in his shoulders slowly melting as he stared down at his bowl.
A moment passed in silence, only the soft clinking of chopsticks filling the space.
Then Yibo spoke, his voice quieter, tentative.
“Ge… I wanted to ask you something else, too.”
Zhan looked up, midway through a bite of stir-fried noodles, and raised a brow.
“Yeah?”
He asked, mouth still half-full, chewing slowly.
Yibo hesitated, pushing his rice around with his chopsticks.
“This Sunday night, I got an invite for…”
He trailed off.
Zhan paused, lowering his chopsticks.
“For?”
Yibo glanced up, cautiously.
“For a street race.”
He said, gauging Zhan’s reaction carefully.
Zhan froze, hand still halfway to his bowl.
For a second, his face registered nothing but disbelief—then the frown came, sharp and immediate.
“Wang Yibo.”
He snapped, eyes narrowing.
Yibo shrank back slightly.
“Just one day, ge…”
He tried, lifting a hand in protest.
Zhan placed his chopsticks down with a quiet clink, voice low but firm.
“No. No way. Until your exams are over, you’re not going for any such stunts. Are you out of your mind, Yibo?”
Yibo leaned in, trying again, voice half-pleading.
“I’ll study the whole day, ge. I swear. I’ll only go at night—it won’t affect anything.”
But Zhan didn’t budge.
His gaze was steady, commanding.
“Still no. After your exams, go. Race as much as you want. I’ll even come watch. But not now.”
Yibo slouched back in defeat, poking his rice with a sulky expression.
“Asking Ma for permission is so much easier than asking you…”
He muttered under his breath.
Zhan narrowed his eyes.
“Did you say something?”
Yibo didn’t look up.
“Nothing. I said fine—I’m not going.”
He shoved a piece of tofu into his mouth in protest.
Zhan smiled faintly, amused but relieved.
“Good. Focus on your exams. Everything else can wait. I’ll call you on Sunday night, alright? Be home then.”
Yibo didn’t reply, just gave a reluctant nod and continued eating, gaze fixed on his bowl like it held the answers to the universe.
Zhan watched him for a moment, then let out a quiet laugh under his breath, the corners of his lips curling in fondness as he went back to his noodles.
———————————————–
Later that night, after finishing dinner, Zhan was in his room checking emails when one from Nimbus Publishing landed in his inbox.
They had completed the first milestone of the republishing project, and the team was thrilled with the quality.
As a token of appreciation, they were organizing a small celebratory dinner at a nearby art café.
Both Zhan and Su Mian were invited.
Zhan leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen, shoulders tense.
He didn’t want to go.
The thought of spending a night in Su Mian’s company—dressed up, sipping wine, pretending everything was fine—made his stomach twist.
He hesitated, then pulled out his phone and called Yibo.
“Hey.”
Zhan said when Yibo picked up.
“I got invited to this celebration thing. From the publishing house.”
Yibo’s voice was slightly muffled, like he was under a blanket.
“Sounds good.”
“Su Mian is invited too.”
Pause.
“Still sounds good.”
Yibo said.
“It’s your career, ge. You’re doing well—go enjoy it.”
Zhan exhaled.
“I don’t feel like seeing her.”
“You don’t have to take care of her at the party.”
Yibo said flatly.
“You’re the reason that book’s getting republished. They’re celebrating you.”
“So, ignore her. Go.”
Zhan rubbed the back of his neck, lips twisting.
“You always make it sound so simple.”
“Because it is.”
Yibo replied.
Then added.
“Also… I want photos. I bet you’re going to wear something fancy.”
Zhan snorted.
“I’m wearing black and escaping early.”
Yibo laughed.
“Fine. But at least stay for dinner before you disappear.”
——————————————-
The next morning, Zhan accepted the invite.
Su Mian, when she found out, was practically glowing.
She floated around the store the entire day like she was preparing for a date, not a professional event.
Zhan, on the other hand, kept his head down, buried in manuscripts and sketch reviews.
Pretending he didn’t see the way she lit up every time he crossed the room.
And in the quiet corners of his mind, he kept replaying Yibo’s words with a smile…
“They’re celebrating you.”
[To be continued…]
The Red Ribbon 