Wrong Moment
[📘 Content Warning:
This story contains Boys’ Love (BL) themes. Reader discretion is advised. Please read the disclaimers mentioned in the Instagram post.]
The morning light seeped through the blinds in fractured streaks, striping the dining table in tired gold.
Zhan sat there, hunched over a bowl of untouched congee, the steam long faded.
His fingers curled around the spoon like he might lift it, but he didn’t.
Liu Fang sat beside him, her hands clasped in her lap, watching him carefully.
It was written all over his face—he hadn’t slept a wink.
The heaviness in his eyes said everything he wouldn’t.
Her expression was soft, but strained — like someone holding back a hundred questions.
“Zhanu… this can’t go on.”
Quietly, almost pleading
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
Zhan blinked once, slowly.
His lips parted, then closed.
He gave a faint shake of his head, then pushed his chair back with a muted scrape and stood.
“I’ve got to open the store.”
His voice was hoarse — more air than sound.
And just like that, he walked out, leaving the silence sitting at the breakfast table in his place.
He had stopped giving his one-armed hugs to his mother before leaving for the bookstore a long time ago.
That thought alone made Liu Fang’s eyes well up—watching her son slowly unravel was a grief she didn’t know how to carry anymore.
Xiao Guoqiang walked over and gently placed a hand on Liu Fang’s shoulder.
“Did he… say anything, Liu?”
He asked quietly.
Liu Fang let out a shaky breath, her shoulders trembling as she leaned against his shoulder.
“I’m scared Guoqiang…”
She whispered, the words broken between quiet sobs.
“I think we’re losing our son… and I don’t know how to pull him back.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
She didn’t try to stop them—there was no strength left for that anymore.
Xiao Guoqiang swallowed hard, wrapping an arm around her.
He didn’t speak—not yet.
As a father, he had held his emotions close to the chest.
But the ache was there, deep and sharp.
He, too, had been watching their son slip further away… and it terrified him more than he dared to admit.
————————————————
The bell over the door jingled faintly as Zhan unlocked it later than usual.
The sun was already high, casting harsh shadows across the pavement.
He didn’t greet the first customer.
Just nodded, barely looking up from the counter.
He moved through the motions mechanically — scanning books, handing over change.
Like his body was present, but his mind was drifting somewhere behind a thick, unbreathable fog.
When the customers thinned out, he sat behind the counter and pulled out his phone.
A new message from the publisher blinked on-screen.
Hi, Mr. Zhan, we’ve reviewed the manuscript again — there are several inconsistencies in the second phase layout. Please revise ASAP.
He stared at the message.
Read it again. And again.
But it didn’t quite register.
Slowly, he set the phone down, screen still glowing.
He leaned back in the chair, stared up at the ceiling.
It was quiet in the store.
Too quiet.
The bell jingled again.
Zhan looked up, expecting a customer.
His eyes darted to the door — and there she was.
Su Mian.
She stepped in quietly, her expression unreadable, though her eyes looked tired.
A pale blue top clung softly to her frame, paired with worn jeans and a small leather satchel slung over her shoulder.
She hadn’t even said a word, but Zhan’s throat closed up.
The moment he saw her, it all came flooding back — the envelope.
The word pregnancy hit like a punch to the gut—raw, breath-stealing, undeniable.
He looked away immediately, pretending to check the receipts.
Anything not to meet her gaze.
“No. Don’t look at her. Don’t remember. Don’t feel.”
She didn’t speak at first either.
The store was empty.
Just the soft hum of the ceiling fan, the occasional rustle of pages.
Su Mian walked to the glass door, flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSE with a quiet click.
Then she turned around.
Her voice was low, and steady.
Almost… too steady.
“Zhan, we need to talk, right?”
Zhan froze.
Didn’t look at her.
His hands gripped the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
His heart pounded in his ears.
His breath came shallow.
“No. I don’t want to do this. I can’t do this.”
But she was already stepping closer.
—————————————————-
Su Mian stood in front of the counter.
Outside, the world continued as usual, but inside the bookstore, time felt painfully still.
He avoided her gaze, fingers nervously toying with the edge of a paper slip, crumpling it unconsciously.
When Zhan didn’t say a word in response, she finally broke the silence—her voice soft and measured.
“I hope you’ve read the report by now.”
Zhan remained silent.
But his jaw tightened, and his fingers curled slightly against the counter.
“I’m not here to argue, Zhan. I just… I need you to understand.”
Zhan let out a slow breath.
“Understand what, Su Mian?”
His voice was rough, fraying at the edges—like it hurt to speak.
“That my whole life has shattered overnight? That I have no idea what happened that night? That I wake up every morning wanting to crawl out of my own skin?”
His voice cracked, raw and hollow.
“That I’m suddenly this… this monster you say I became? That I did something unforgivable.”
He looked up at her, eyes haunted.
“I don’t know how to live with that. I don’t even know how to breathe with that.”
Then his voice trembled, thick with helplessness.
“I swear to you—I don’t remember hurting you. If I did… if any of this is true, then I don’t know how to live with myself.”
“I don’t even recognize who I am anymore. I look in the mirror and see a stranger—a stranger capable of something I never thought possible. And it’s killing me inside.”
Su Mian blinked, stunned by the rawness in his voice.
For a second, something flickered in her—something dangerously close to sympathy.
But she straightened, jaw tight.
“You say you don’t remember… but I do.”
Her voice was flat, guarded.
“This isn’t just your nightmare, Zhan. It’s mine too.”
She took a breath, then added, quieter.
“I’ve played that night in my head a hundred times. And whether you meant it or not… the damage is done.”
A pause.
“And I’m scared too, Zhan. You think I wanted this to happen? You think I wanted to wake up and find out I’m… pregnant? That my whole life just tilted overnight?”
She looked at him, and quickly looked away, brushing at her eyes.
“I didn’t come to you right away because I didn’t even know how to make sense of it myself. I needed time—to process, to breathe, to confirm and to even believe it was real.”
Zhan laughed bitterly, a dry, empty sound.
“And now that you are, what? You expect me to clap my hands and accept everything? Just move on with this like it’s some normal twist of fate?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Su Mian whispered.
“I just… I can’t hide it forever. You know how things are. Sooner or later, everyone will know. My parents. Your family. They’ll see. They’ll talk. They’ll ask questions.”
A pause.
“I know you hate me. I know you’ve been avoiding me. I see it every day I walk in here. And maybe I deserve it… but I didn’t make this baby alone.”
Zhan flinched — his hands clenched around the edge of the counter until his knuckles turned white.
His voice hoarse, quiet.
“Stop…”
Zhan finally looked up.
His eyes were hollow, ringed with exhaustion, like he hadn’t slept in days.
His lips moved, but no words came.
Su Mian softly, leaned forward.
“You know how things are in our families. In our society. Do you want to bring shame to them? To yours? To mine?”
He clenched his jaw, turning his head slowly to her.
“So, what exactly do you expect from me now, Su Mian?”
She met his eyes.
“I’m saying… marriage is the only way to save face—for both of us.”
The words dropped like a stone between them.
Zhan stared at her.
His mind had stopped.
No thoughts.
No answers.
Only the rising pressure in his chest and the weight of a future he never imagined dragging him down like an anchor.
“You marry me, and we face it together. That’s what people do, Zhan. When they make mistakes… they fix them.”
“This is the only way to stop everyone from whispering behind our backs. From destroying our parents’ reputation.”
Zhan leaned back against the shelf behind him.
“Just imagine what it would mean if I gave birth before marriage… if the baby didn’t even have a father’s name to carry.”
Her voice wavered, but she held his gaze.
“Think about what that would do to my future. To our child’s future. And I won’t be the only one responsible for that, Zhan… you know that.”
Zhan’s throat tightened.
He looked away, jaw clenched, as if her words had physically struck him.
A silence stretched between them, thick and loaded—until her next words cut through it like a blade.
“And… I’m not getting an abortion, Zhan.”
She said firmly.
Silence followed—heavy, oppressive.
“It’s growing inside me, and I’m keeping it. Whether you’re ready or not. Because this baby didn’t ask for any of this… but it’s still ours. And I’m not ending its life just because you aren’t ready.”
Zhan couldn’t breathe.
He pressed his fingers against his temple, trying to ground himself, trying to think—but there was no space left in his mind.
“Marriage? To Su Mian? A child? Is this my life now? A mistake carved into permanence?”
Zhan whispered.
“I don’t… I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready for any of this…”
Su Mian’s voice softer now.
“No one ever is, Zhan. But I know you are kind. You’ve always been the one who takes responsibility. I know you’ll do what’s right.”
Su Mian took a step closer.
“You don’t have to decide right now. But you can’t run from this, Zhan. Neither of us can.”
She looked at him, eyes glistening—not just with tears, but with something sharper.
A quiet plea dressed as emotion, but laced with intent.
“Tell me, Zhan… if it were your sister Yue in my place—what would you do? What would your parents do?”
Her voice was soft, but her words landed like a trap, carefully set.
Zhan froze.
His breath caught like a snag in his chest.
His mind shattered under the weight of that question.
A flash of Yue’s face crossed his mind—innocent, trusting, protected.
He pictured her coming home one day… broken. Pregnant. Terrified.
His stomach twisted violently.
He looked down, unable to meet her eyes.
“If someone did that to Yue… I’d kill him.”
Zhan’s hands trembled at his sides.
His eyes were wide, haunted by the weight of a single thought.
“So, what does that make me now?”
She stepped closer, voice calm but piercing.
“Exactly…”
She said softly.
“And I’m someone’s sister too, Zhan.”
Her gaze didn’t waver.
She let the silence hang for a beat, then added with gentle finality.
“I came to you first, because I thought you’d take responsibility—like a man. Like the Zhan I’ve always known.”
He looked at her then, and for the first time — really looked.
And saw no fear in her eyes, but something else… a quiet, practiced resolve.
She had already decided.
She wasn’t asking.
She was leading him to a path she wanted him to walk.
And Zhan was too broken to even protest.
He couldn’t respond.
Su Mian looked at Zhan one last time, her gaze lingering on his face—pale, shaken, hollow-eyed.
And yet… there it was.
The flicker. The crack.
She saw it—felt it.
Her words had struck somewhere deep, and that was all she needed.
A strange calm washed over her.
“I’ll give you time, Zhan.”
She said softly, almost kindly.
“Think. It’s all in your hands now—my future… our child’s future.”
She turned on her heel, ready to walk away, her posture still composed.
But the floor beneath her betrayed her balance—her foot caught on the edge of the mat by the counter, and she stumbled.
Before she could hit the ground, Zhan moved—instinctively.
Zhan’s arm shot out, catching her around the waist.
The other instinctively gripped her shoulder, steadying her.
She fell into his chest as he caught her.
His arms around her.
Her hands clutched his shirt; his grip was firm but unsure.
Their eyes met—close, too close.
And then—
Someone saw it.
Outside the glass door, Yibo stood frozen… just in time to see Zhan holding her in his arms.
He came only to talk.
One last time.
To explain. To ask. To maybe try again.
But instead—he saw that.
Zhan holding Su Mian.
Zhan… wrapped around her.
Zhan… looking into her eyes like that.
Zhan, close.
Something inside him twisted—snapped—before his mind could catch up.
The breath fled from Yibo’s lungs.
He turned his face sharply, as if the sight had burned him.
His eyes blurred—but he didn’t blink it away.
At his side, his hand curled into a fist.
His jaw locked.
A single pulse of pain thudded in his chest—loud, hollow, final.
He closed his eyes for just a moment.
Swallowed the ache down like pieces of glass.
And then… he turned and walked away, before Zhan saw him.
Walked away from the bookstore.
From Zhan.
From everything.
Yibo didn’t wipe his eyes… there was no one to see him fall apart.
And inside, Zhan’s arms were still around her.
But then, as if waking from a nightmare, Zhan blinked sharply.
His expression shifted.
His jaw tensed, eyes hard, already regretting the instinct.
A flicker of horror crossed his face.
He let go. Not gently.
He pushed her away—just enough to break the closeness, to make a point.
Su Mian stumbled back a step, blinking fast.
Her cheeks flushed—not from the fall, but from what she thought had just happened.
That moment—that look—she misread it entirely.
She smiled faintly.
“You caught me.”
She said, softly.
“Thank you…”
Zhan stared at her, disgust flashing through his eyes like lightning.
His voice was sharper than she’d ever heard it.
“I didn’t save you. I just wanted to prevent a scene—didn’t want to deal with one more mess because of you if you cracked your head open on my floor.”
Then his tone dropped—flat, emotionless.
“I’d have caught a falling chair the same way. And if I had the chance, I’d let you fall without hesitation.”
The smile slipped from her face.
Before she could say anything else, Zhan turned and walked away abruptly.
“Why do you hate me so much?”
Her voice cracked with frustration—sharp, shaken, desperate.
Zhan stopped near the door of the small room.
He didn’t turn fully, just looked over his shoulder—his back still to her.
“I don’t hate you.”
He swallowed hard.
“I hate the person I’ve become because of you. And I hate that you just happen to be the reason I lost the one person who mattered to me the most.”
Then he walked into the room without another word.
The door slammed shut—followed by the sharp click of the lock echoing through the quiet bookstore.
Silence fell.
Su Mian stood alone, staring at the door he’d just disappeared behind, the chill of his words still clinging to her skin.
But something burned in her eyes—not sadness. Not guilt.
It was sharper. Darker.
And a single thought took root behind her clenched jaw.
“If I can’t have you… then no one will.”
Inside the room, Zhan sank into the chair, shoulders heavy, hands trembling.
His heart kept whispering Yibo’s name—again and again.
And for the life of him, he didn’t know why.
With every breath, he felt the ache of a truth he couldn’t outrun—that he might have already lost him forever.
—————————————
The evening light bled dimly through the window, casting long shadows.
Papers were scattered across the desk, some crumpled, others half-written.
The manuscript lay forgotten, the publisher’s notes unread.
Zhan sat slumped on the floor beside the table, back against the wall, knees drawn up.
His fingers curled loosely around a pen he didn’t remember picking up.
Outside the thin wooden door, muffled voices floated in—Su Mian’s calm tone as she attended to a customer, the soft rustle of bags, the chime of the cash register.
She was doing everything, holding the bookstore together while he… just sat there, paralyzed.
His head tipped back against the wall.
For a moment, he stared blankly at the ceiling.
Every word she’d spoken that morning echoed in his head, each one pressing heavier on his chest, turning guilt into something almost unbearable.
And then, through the fog in his mind, a string of thoughts cut through—sharp and heavy.
“If she’s really carrying my baby…”
He swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the pen.
“Then I can’t just abandon her. I can’t let her face everything alone—the shame, the whispers, the accusations. I’d be the coward who disappeared.”
His shoulders sagged, the fight slowly draining out of him.
“Doesn’t matter how it happened—accident, manipulation, whatever. It happened. And now there’s a life involved.”
The weight of responsibility pressed down on his chest until it was hard to breathe.
“Ma… Ba… Yue… What will they think of me? How disappointed will they be? How much will it break them to know what I’ve done?
He squeezed his eyes shut, his eyes burning.
And then, like a knife twisting in an already open wound—
Yibo…
It was Yibo’s face that haunted him most.
“And what happens when he finds out? Will he look at me like I’m some kind of monster? Like everything we shared—was a lie?”
Zhan’s throat tightened, his breath hitching.
“Yibo will never forgive me. He’ll never even look at me the same way again.”
“And maybe I don’t deserve to be looked at that way.”
He opened his eyes slowly, staring ahead, unfocused.
“If I marry Su Mian… If I take this step… Can I still hold on to Yibo? Can we still be whatever we are?”
He knew the answer.
His hands trembled.
He didn’t know what he was reaching for—relief, forgiveness, or just the sound of Yibo’s name.
But his fingers moved anyway.
He reached for his phone lying on the edge of the table and unlocked it.
His thumb hovered over the screen before he opened the chat.
Bo-Di — the last message was months old, buried under a silence that had been eating at them both.
With what little courage he had left, and trembling hands, he began to type.
I need to tell you something…
Then stopped.
Deleted it.
Typed again:
Yibo, I—
Deleted.
His chest tightened with a rush of helpless frustration.
He flung the phone onto the desk with a sharp thud and buried his face in his hands, palms pressed hard against his eyes as if he could block out the world, or rewind time.
Outside the room, he could hear Su Mian saying goodbye to another customer, her voice soft, polite.
The doorbell chimed as someone exited.
The bookstore fell quiet again.
His phone buzzed on the desk.
Another message from the publisher.
He didn’t even glance at it.
The silence returned, thick and suffocating.
Zhan slowly pulled his hands away from his face.
His eyes burned, but he didn’t cry.
He was past tears now—just raw inside, scraped hollow by guilt, fear, and confusion.
He stared at the phone screen, dimming slowly.
His reflection stared back—haunted, defeated.
But somewhere, deep beneath the wreckage of his thoughts, a decision stirred.
Quiet. Fragile.
But certain.
“No… I can’t run from this. If I stay silent, I destroy three lives—mine, Su Mian’s… and Yibo’s.”
His chest tightened, breath catching in his throat.
“Yibo doesn’t deserve to be left in the dark. Not after everything.”
“Let him hate me. Let him walk away. But he deserves to know the truth—even if it’s the last thing I ever get to give him.”
He closed his eyes for a beat, jaw trembling.
“I can survive the shame. I can survive losing everything. But I won’t survive knowing I chose silence… and lost him because of it.”
Zhan stood up slowly, legs shaky.
The decision didn’t lift the weight, but now it gave him direction.
And that was something.
——————————————
In the middle of all this chaos, Zhan was beginning to realize something he hadn’t dared to before—
Yibo’s absence didn’t feel like losing a friend.
This distance… this ache… it was teaching him more about his own heart.
Things he hadn’t understood before—but now they were impossible to ignore.
That maybe what he felt for Yibo… wasn’t just friendship.
———————————————–
And miles away, Yibo sat hunched over his workbench.
Tools were scattered around him, an old bike engine half-dismantled under his hands.
But his fingers moved without thought, on autopilot—his mind still stuck in that moment.
That one moment.
Zhan, standing in the bookstore.
Su Mian in his arms.
Their eyes meeting like it meant something.
Yibo swallowed hard, eyes unfocused, the rag in his hand slipping a little.
He didn’t know why it hurt so much every time the image came back to him.
Or maybe… he knew exactly why.
And that was the part he couldn’t face.
A sudden sting snapped him out of it.
He glanced down.
A thin line of blood bloomed across his palm where the edge of a metal piece had caught him.
The pain was small.
But it was enough to drag him back to the present.
He grabbed a rag, wrapped it loosely around his hand, and stared blankly at the wall in front of him.
The silence around him was louder than any machine.
Then came the thought—unwelcome, heavy, but clear.
“Maybe it’s time I let go.”
He stood up slowly, wiping his hands on his jeans, the cut forgotten.
“I think I should start walking away from Zhan-ge.”
————————————————-
Two hearts, both aching in silence…
One finally found the courage to speak.
The other had already started to let go.
[To be continued…]
The Red Ribbon 