Paper & Grease
[📘 Content Warning:
This story contains Boys’ Love (BL) themes. Reader discretion is advised. Please read the disclaimers mentioned in the Instagram post.]
The morning sky outside was overcast, thick clouds hanging low like a blanket not quite shaken out.
Xiao Zhan yawned as he buttoned his flannel shirt—soft with age.
The cuffs frayed where his thumbs always tugged nervously.
He grabbed a half-folded hoodie from the chair, shrugged it on, and checked his backpack one last time.
Manuscript notes, yes.
Second-hand book to restock, yes.
Half-eaten packet of peanut crackers? Still there.
Just as he turned to the hallway to grab his shoes from the rack outside, Liu Fang appeared at his doorway, rubbing her temple.
“Zhan, today have lunch from outside, okay? I’m not cooking. My head’s splitting.”
He immediately straightened.
“Ma? Are you alright? Do you want me to book a doctor or—”
She waved him off with a hand still pressed to her temple.
“I said headache, not heart attack, Zhan. Just the weather, I think. Foggy air always messes with me. I’ll be fine after some rest.”
He frowned.
“Still, maybe you should—”
“Don’t turn this into a family emergency, alright? I already told Yue to eat from her college canteen today. You too—grab something warm.”
Zhan nodded reluctantly.
“Alright. Take it easy, Ma. Try to nap.”
He crouched again to finish lacing his shoes.
The old sneakers creaked a little with the bend.
As he stood up, his father, Xiao Guoqiang, shuffled in holding a folded piece of paper—probably a receipt from the utility office.
“Zhan, don’t forget—pay the electricity bill today on your way back. Due tomorrow.”
“Got it, Ba. I’ll stop by the kiosk after the store.”
His father paused, then added with a small sigh.
“And day after tomorrow is the last day to pay Yue’s college fee. Don’t let it slip.”
Zhan’s fingers froze for a second on the strap of his bag.
He nodded, face neutral, but his eyes clouded for a breath.
“Okay.”
He said quietly.
As usual, he gave his mother a quick one-armed hug before stepping out of the apartment.
The hallway lights flickering slightly above.
Outside, the pavement was damp from last night’s drizzle.
The cool air carried a sharpness that hinted at the coming winter.
As usual, he tucked his hands into his sleeves and turned toward the metro station, his breath puffing lightly in the chill.
The day had just begun, and already, a dozen sticky notes of responsibility clung to him.
As he walked, Zhan muttered under his breath.
“Mm… Yue’s college fee…”
—the thought clinging like an extra weight to his already full list.
But for now—there was the 7:45 train.
The gentle hum of tracks, and a bookstore waiting in Deqing.
———————————————
The metro was its usual state of barely-controlled chaos.
Zhan stepped into the crowded compartment, the doors hissing shut behind him.
The space was packed tight with commuters.
Zhan found a spot near the pole and held on with one hand, pulling out the book he’d been trying to finish for weeks with the other.
The pages fluttered slightly with each jostle of the train, but he tried to focus—though the back of his mind was still echoing with numbers.
6,200 yuan. Yue’s fee.
Electricity bill.
It all buzzed beneath the words on the page.
The doors opened again—Linping.
In stepped Wang Yibo, as usual, dressed in a black hoodie and worn jeans, a delivery backpack slung over one shoulder and his battered college bag hanging off the other, a workbook tucked under his arm.
He maneuvered his way toward the same pole across from Zhan.
Their eyes met briefly, just for a second.
Familiar, casual.
No words exchanged—just a flicker of recognition.
Zhan gave a half-smile to himself.
This guy always boarded the same compartment, always at the same stop.
Strange.
And kind of funny.
The train rocked forward again, bodies swaying in unison.
One listening to music, one trying to read.
Both hanging onto separate threads of worry.
When they finally reached Deqing, the two of them stepped out and disappeared into different currents of the crowd.
——————————————————————–
At the bookstore, Zhan tucked himself behind the counter.
Laptop open, tea slowly cooling by his side.
A freelance proofreading client had messaged.
He glanced at the manuscript on his laptop—some startup founder’s ebook draft titled Optimize or Die Trying.
He sighed.
At least it paid for utilities.
Sticky notes fluttered on the counter: reminders, quotes.
Even one from his sister that read:
Smile more. You look like a literary vampire—pale, moody, and allergic to sunlight.
He stuck out his tongue at it.
Between managing shelves and checking inventory, he made a few calls—old classmates, a former freelance client, even an aunt he hadn’t spoken to in months.
Each call ended the same.
“Zhan, I would love to help, but my kid’s tuition fee is also this week…”
“Ah, I just loaned some money to my brother, things are tight right now.”
One after the other.
Polite regrets.
No solutions.
Finally, he called his father.
The phone rang twice before it picked up.
“Ba, I tried asking around for Yue’s fee, but no luck so far.”
“Same here.”
Came his father’s weary voice.
“Trying to pull some strings at the office, but it’s slow. Let’s see if I can arrange at least half. Keep trying.”
“Okay.”
Zhan said quietly.
“Let’s figure it out.”
He ended the call and stared at the counter for a long moment.
Then, he scrolled through his contacts again and tapped on a name: Mr. Shen—editor at a publishing house he freelanced for.
“Zhan? Everything alright?”
The man answered.
“Hey, Mr. Shen. Sorry to ask, but could I get an advance on the next project? I can take more proofreading assignments in return. As many as needed.”
A pause. Then a sigh.
“Alright. I can send you an advance tomorrow. But I can only offer you a maximum of 2,000 yuan, not more than that. But you better send me clean pages next time. No typos.”
Zhan let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
“Deal. Thanks. I owe you.”
He leaned back in the creaky wooden chair, phone still in hand, and finally took a sip of his now lukewarm tea.
—————————————————————-
Across Deqing, the technical college garage buzzed.
Wang Yibo was bent over an open car hood, sleeves shoved up, grease smeared on his fingers.
His faded black T-shirt had a white stain across the hem.
Music played faintly in one earbud.
“Yo, Yibo! Pass the socket wrench.”
Chen’s voice cut through the clang of metal and hum of conversation in the garage.
Yibo grabbed the wrench without looking and tossed it over.
“Heads up.”
Chen caught it with one hand.
“Nice. So, how was the race on Sunday?”
Yibo crouched lower, tightening a stubborn bolt on the alternator.
“Won.”
Chen let out a low whistle.
“Damn. Local champs again. What’d you get this time? Another medal or…?”
“Cash prize.”
Yibo said simply.
“Did you tell your mom?”
Chen smirked.
Yibo snorted.
“You know she hates it—said if I break a leg again, she’ll break the other one herself, nearly threw my helmet in the trash.”
Yibo gave a crooked grin, like he found it half-funny, half-true.
“Swore she’d call the cops next time I sneak off to one of those illegal races. Says it’s only a matter of time before I end up in a hospital or jail.”
Just then, Lele chimed in from across the garage, half-covered in grease.
“And yet you win every damn time. Golden boy of street races.”
“Golden boy of Linping!”
Chen added with a laugh.
Yibo didn’t respond, just kept working—jaw tight, hands steady, like the engine was the only thing in the world that made sense.
—————————————————————-
By afternoon, Zhan’s stomach grumbled.
He opened his food delivery app, scrolling past overpriced lunch combos and landed on the cheapest fried rice available.
Even then, he muttered to himself.
“Delivery fee’s half the price of the food… daylight robbery!”
He placed the order anyway.
About thirty minutes later, the bell above the bookstore door jingled.
A voice called in from outside, light and casual:
“Hello? Sir? Your order’s here.”
Zhan rose from the back room, stretching his neck, and walked to the front counter.
As soon as he reached the doorway and saw the boy standing there, he paused.
A flicker of recognition.
“You…?”
Zhan said with a small, surprised smile.
Yibo blinked in surprise for a second too, then grinned.
“Yeah… metro.”
Zhan stepped closer and took the paper bag from him.
“I see you almost every day.”
“I’ve noticed that too.”
Yibo said.
His hair was damp from the ride, a bit messy under his helmet.
His black T-shirt had a faint oil mark near the hem.
Zhan tilted his head.
“I thought you are a college student.”
“I am. This is just a part-time job after classes.”
He replied casually.
“Lots of free hours, might as well do something.”
“Oh, that’s good.”
Zhan said, nodding.
There was a moment of silence—awkward, but not uncomfortable.
A faint breeze stirred the corner of a hanging bookmark display.
“Well then, enjoy your food, sir.”
Yibo said with a polite nod.
“I’ve got more deliveries to go.”
“Yeah, yeah. Have a good day.”
Zhan replied.
Yibo turned to leave, the door jingling again as he stepped out.
Zhan looked down at the warm paper bag in his hands, then glanced toward the door.
“Oh… I forgot to ask his name.”
—————————————————-
That evening, Zhan made a quick stop at the corner kiosk.
The tiny booth was cramped with scratchy speakers playing old pop songs.
And a sleepy cashier flipping through a gossip magazine.
He waited in line, paid the electricity bill, then hurried off to catch the returning metro.
The ride back was quieter than usual.
He scanned the crowded compartment as he boarded—but Yibo wasn’t there today.
Strange.
He arrived home around eight o’clock, feet sore and head heavy.
Liu Fang was in the kitchen, humming softly, the earlier headache apparently gone.
“Hey Ma.”
Zhan said, dropping his bag near the table.
“How’s the headache?”
“Much better.”
She said, already pouring him a cup of tea.
“A nap helped.”
He took the tea gratefully, the warmth of the cup seeping into his palms.
Xiao Guoqiang walked in a moment later, rubbing his hands from the cold.
“Did you manage anything for Yue’s fee?”
Zhan nodded.
“One of the publishers said he can give me a 2,000 yuan advance tomorrow.”
His father gave a small nod.
“Good. I borrowed a bit from a colleague too. Told him I’d return it next month once my salary’s in.”
Then he looked up again.
“Did you pay the electricity bill?”
“Yes, Ba.”
Zhan replied, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Stopped by the kiosk right before the train.”
At the dining table, Yue was bent over her homework.
Pretending not to listen but clearly catching every word.
Yue looked up from her notebook with a mischievous grin.
“You’re so old school, ge. Who even goes to a kiosk to pay bills anymore? You know you can do all that on your phone, right?”
Zhan rolled his eyes dramatically.
“Excuse me for being a man of tradition. Some of us still enjoy a scenic walk to the kiosk. Builds character.”
She snorted, then added with a sheepish smile.
“Thanks for finishing my assignment last night, ge.”
Zhan smirked.
“That’s 10 yuan per page, by the way. Plus interest.”
Yue grinned, unfazed.
“Sure, please take that from the pocket money you still owe me for the last two months.”
“You two, don’t start now.”
Liu Fang called from the kitchen, already clattering plates for dinner.
The day had been long.
But for now, the lights were on, the tea was warm.
And the family sat under one roof—stitched together by little efforts.
And a few quiet victories.
———————————————————
Across the city, Wang Yibo was having a long day too.
Deliveries had poured in non-stop, and by the time he reached home, dusk had already set in.
His grandma was waiting for him with a cup of hot tea and a plate of warm sesame crackers.
“Eat something before you run off again.”
She said, placing the tray on the table.
“Thanks, Nainai.”
He smiled, sipping the tea quickly.
“I have to open up the workshop. Won’t take long. I’ll be back by dinner.”
“Don’t make me come looking for you with a ladle.”
She warned playfully.
Yibo laughed.
“Got it. Back by dinner. Promise.”
He headed out again in his ole motor bike.
Toolbox slung over his shoulder, and reached the small mechanic shop he ran after classes.
The lights buzzed softly as he unlocked the shutters.
The grocery store uncle next door waved.
“Yibo, Back late today, ah? Collage keeping you busy?”
“Yeah, and delivery shifts too. Had a lot of orders.”
“Hmm. Your father returned yet?”
Yibo shook his head.
“Not yet. He’s still in the south for work. Maybe next month.”
The uncle nodded, sympathy in his eyes.
“Hang in there, boy. You’re doing good.”
Yibo gave a small smile and slipped into his shop.
The place smelled faintly of grease and metal, a comfort in itself.
He rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
Halfway through fixing a scooter chain, his phone buzzed.
It was a message from his mom:
For dinner, it’s leftover stir-fried cabbage and rice. Eat it or happily starve—your choice.
Yibo chuckled and shook his head.
Thumb-typing a quick reply:
Okay boss.
Later that night, after locking up the workshop, he headed back home.
As he walked in, his grandma looked up from the TV.
“Your mom’s working night shift today.”
She said.
“She said she’ll call after ten.”
“Okay. I’ll eat now and crash early.”
Yibo said.
Dinner was simple.
But it was warm, and the house was quiet.
After cleaning up, Yibo headed to his small room, plugged in his earphones, and lay back in bed with his usual playlist.
As the music filled his ears, his thoughts drifted—unexpectedly…
To the bookstore guy.
He didn’t even notice his name.
But something about him had stuck.
The guy had a kind smile, soft eyes.
There was something warm and kind of… delicate about him.
And that smile… Yibo smiled to himself just thinking about it.
“Why am I thinking about that guy now?”
He muttered to himself, shaking his head.
But the thought stayed.
Gentle.
Persistent.
He chuckled softly and closed his eyes.
Miles away, Xiao Zhan lay in bed with his laptop still open beside him.
He had tried reading, but his mind kept drifting.
That delivery boy… he was humble, soft-spoken.
Definitely hardworking, if he was juggling studies and deliveries.
And beautiful too, in a rugged sort of way.
Zhan frowned a little.
“Why didn’t I ask his name?”
He murmured.
He turned over in bed, pulling the blanket up to his chin.
“If I see him again tomorrow… I’ll ask.”
And somewhere between engine oil and old paperbacks…
Two quiet thoughts reached across a city, thinking of each other.
[To be continued…]
The Red Ribbon 