He Chose Love
[📘 Content Warning:
This story contains Boys’ Love (BL) themes. Reader discretion is advised. Please read the disclaimers mentioned in the Instagram post.]
A few more months had slipped by.
Yibo had wrapped up his final semester, sat through the exhausting stretch of exams.
And was now in that strange in-between college over, results still pending, future hovering just out of reach.
The adrenaline of the last paper had worn off, and the silence that followed left him uneasy.
Zhan, on the other hand, had attended a string of interviews, guided by his immigration consultant, and was waiting to hear back.
There was hope in his eyes lately.
Quiet, careful, but unmistakable.
For Zhan, the bookstore still needed him every day.
It was his work, his routine, his anchor.
For Yibo, there was no longer a class schedule pulling him there.
Yet he still took the same train every morning not for college anymore, but for Zhan.
He’d pick up part-time deliveries in Deqing just to be close.
Then in the late evening, he’d unlock his garage, pulling long hours fixing scooters and bikes until nightfall.
The rhythm was exhausting, but it kept his mind busy and his heart tethered.
One night, somewhere between cups of late tea and half-whispered promises under the stars, Yibo had turned to Zhan and said quietly.
“Ge… come to my house this weekend.”
Zhan blinked at him, a little caught off guard.
“Huh? Why so sudden?”
Yibo shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but there was a hint of nervous energy beneath it.
“Ba’s out of town again. I want you to meet Ma properly. She’s been asking.”
Zhan looked at him for a beat longer, searching his eyes.
Then, with a soft nod, he agreed.
“Okay.”
—————————————————————
That weekend.
Zhan sat on the edge of his bed, tying the laces of his white sneakers, the evening light slanting through the curtains in soft gold.
He smoothed down the front of his pale blue hoodie, ran a hand through his hair one last time in the mirror as footsteps approached.
Liu Fang, peeked in from the doorway, arms crossed, eyes already scanning him with that gentle curiosity only mothers carry.
“Where are you going, Zhan?”
She asked, brow slightly raised.
Zhan looked up and smiled faintly, tugging at his hoodie drawstring.
“Ma, I’m going to Yibo’s place. He invited me over.”
Her expression softened.
She stepped into the room, brushing invisible lint off his shoulder.
“Oh? That’s nice. Enjoy, and be a good boy to his family, hmm?”
Zhan chuckled and nodded obediently.
“I will, Ma.”
Just then, his father, Xiao Guoqiang, walked by with a newspaper under one arm and his reading glasses in hand.
He paused at the doorframe, eyeing his son thoughtfully.
“Don’t go empty-handed, Zhan.”
Zhan nodded.
His father added matter-of-factly.
“Buy some fruits or something on the way. It’s polite.”
“Okay, Ba. I’ll stop by the market near the station.”
Zhan said, already mentally noting which stall sold the best apples.
He waved goodbye to them, and with a flutter of nerves beneath his calm exterior, he left.
Just as he reached the front gate, Yue was walking in, still in her casual sneakers and carrying a cold drink, fresh from meeting a friend.
She slowed when she saw him, eyes narrowing slightly.
She gave him a slow once-over, gaze trailing from his hair to his shoes, then back up with a raised brow.
“Well, someone’s all dressed up.”
She said, sipping through her straw.
Zhan stepped past her, barely pausing as he flicked her forehead with practiced precision.
“You say that like I don’t dress like this every day.”
Yue squinted at him, arms still crossed.
“You’re wearing cologne.”
He sighed, slipping his hands into his pockets.
“It’s deodorant, Yue. Some of us have hygiene.”
“Mm..hm. Hygiene and a crush.”
Zhan gave her a flat look over his shoulder.
“You’re really committed to your own delusions, aren’t you?”
She smirked.
“And you’re really bad at hiding yours, ge.”
Zhan offered a faint, overly polite smile, the kind that gently said ‘drop it’ but without a trace of rudeness.
“As always, your imagination is doing overtime.”
He turned and walked away, posture calm, but a small, shy smile tugged at the corner of his lips, one he didn’t bother to hide this time.
From behind, Yue called out, sing-song and smug.
“Say hi to Bo-ge for me!”
Zhan raised a hand without turning around.
“Okay.”
At the station, the soft screech of the arriving train echoed as Zhan stepped onto the platform.
The breeze was cooler here, kissed with the scent of leaves and sun-warmed rails.
He pulled out his phone and began texting Yibo, hesitating for a moment before hitting send.
Just started from home. See you soon.
He slipped the phone back into his hoodie pocket, then stepped into the train, the doors sliding shut behind him.
As the train lurched forward, he watched the tracks blur beneath his feet — the journey had begun.
Just before sunset, Zhan arrived at the Linping station.
The air smelled like an approaching storm.
Damp, electric.
Yibo was already waiting with his motorbike, helmet held loosely in one hand.
His eyes lighting up the moment he saw Zhan emerge from the crowd.
“Hop on.”
He grinned, tossing him the spare helmet.
They rode through the narrow roads of Linping, the wind brushing against Zhan’s cheeks, his hands resting lightly on Yibo’s waist.
The houses grew smaller, older, but neater as they pulled into a quiet neighborhood lined with low trees and blooming shrubs.
Yibo’s house was modest.
A compact three-bedroom nestled between two aging brick homes.
The exterior was plain, but inside, it was clean and lived-in.
Curtains fluttered faintly in the breeze, and the scent of fresh incense lingered near the door.
Zhang Meilan opened the door with a beaming smile that made Zhan’s nerves ease a little.
“Aiya, you’re finally here!”
Her voice was full of affection, eyes crinkling as she stepped aside to let him in.
“Come in, come in! We’ve made your favorites.”
Zhan stepped in, the familiar scent of fried dough and warm tea wrapping around him like a soft blanket.
He offered the neatly packed bag of apples with both hands, smile a little shy.
“These are for you. Thank you, Auntie.”
“Ohh, still so polite. You’ve already become family, ah, why are you still thanking me like a guest?”
Meilan said, taking the bag with a fond shake of her head.
Before he could respond, she was already piling treats into his hands — a warm cup of tea, flaky pastries, and sesame balls that crumbled perfectly in his mouth.
“You eat too little, Zhan.”
She scolded gently.
“So thin. You should come here more often. I’ll fatten you up.”
“I’ve been eating fine, really.”
Zhan said with a soft chuckle, cheeks tinting pink.
“Not enough!”
Meilan insisted, then called out over her shoulder.
“Bobo, come get plates! Don’t just sit like a rock!”
Yibo shuffled in from the hallway, yawning.
He gave Zhan a small smile and ruffled his own hair.
“You let them bully you already?”
He asked quietly, amused.
“Don’t say that.”
Zhan muttered back, though the corners of his mouth lifted.
Just then, Yibo’s grandmother wandered in slowly, leaning on her cane, eyes narrowing slightly as she examined Zhan.
“So… handsome.”
She said thoughtfully.
“Are you married, young man?”
Zhan almost choked on his tea.
He coughed, trying to recover, then looked helplessly at Yibo, who just raised an eyebrow and sipped his cup with infuriating calm.
Zhan cleared his throat and managed a polite.
“No, not married, Nainai.”
“Not yet.”
Yibo added casually, still staring into his tea like it wasn’t the most dangerous line he could’ve dropped.
Meilan burst into laughter, swatting Yibo’s arm with a dish towel.
“Shameless boy! At least pretend to be subtle.”
Zhan blinked at him, eyes wide.
“You say things like that in front of your grandma?”
“She can’t hear half of it anyway.”
Yibo muttered, deadpan.
“I heard that!”
Nainai barked, tapping her cane on the floor.
Zhan stifled a laugh behind his cup, face flushing deeper as Meilan shook her head in mock disapproval.
“He talks about you all the time, you know.”
She said, turning back to Zhan.
“Always something something ‘Zhan-ge said this’—’Zhan-ge said that’… tsk, like a broken radio.”
Zhan’s brows shot up.
He glanced at Yibo, who, for once, looked vaguely flustered — but only for a second.
“I don’t talk that much.”
Yibo muttered.
“You do when it’s about him.”
Meilan said smugly.
Zhan looked away quickly, heart beating far too loud in his ears.
After a while, Yibo stood, stretching his arms above his head.
“Ma, I’m gonna take Zhan-ge to my room for a bit.”
“Go, go.”
Meilan waved him off with a smile.
“Don’t steal snacks though. I counted the sesame balls.”
“Not my fault if Zhan eats them.”
Yibo said, already tugging Zhan by the sleeve.
“I won’t!”
Zhan protested, laughing softly.
As they walked down the hall together, Meilan called after them.
“Zhan, if he gives you any trouble, just tell me! I’ll make him scrub the whole house.”
“Don’t worry Auntie, you’ll hear from me first.”
Zhan called back, heart light.
Yibo rolled his eyes but didn’t let go of his sleeve until they were behind the door.
————————————————–
Zhan followed Yibo through the narrow hallway to a small room tucked at the end.
He remembered this space.
The half-drawn curtains, the scuffed desk by the window, the neatly folded bedsheets.
It was here, this very room… where he had kissed Yibo for the first time.
Even though he didn’t remember anything from that night, the thought alone was enough to make his ears warm and his cheeks flush as he stepped inside.
Yibo kicked the door shut gently and tossed his jacket onto the chair.
“So…”
He turned.
“You like my family?”
Zhan sat down on the edge of the bed, nodding.
“It’s nice. Feels warm. Your mom and grandma are really sweet.”
“Oh?”
Yibo stepped closer, an eyebrow raised.
“And what about me?”
Zhan glanced up, startled to find Yibo already close, too close.
“Yibo…”
He warned quietly.
“Your mom’s here. Grandma too. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Yibo grinned, wicked and playful.
“Is that so? Let’s test that.”
Before Zhan could move, Yibo surged forward, pushing him gently against the wall and capturing his mouth in a kiss.
Zhan gasped in surprise and giggled but melted almost instantly.
When Yibo finally pulled back, his voice was low, a hint of a smile playing at his lips.
“This is the same room where you kissed me first. You didn’t remember it then… so I figured I’d return it now, while you still do.”
Zhan’s breath caught, eyes wide for a heartbeat, then softening with something tender and overwhelmed.
A flush crept up his neck, but he didn’t look away.
Fingers curling against Yibo’s shirt as their lips moved in a quiet frenzy of want and mischief.
——————————————-
Outside, wind rustled the drying clothes on the backyard line.
The sky had darkened, clouds rolling in.
Zhang Meilan stepped out onto the Patio just as the first droplets began to darken the stone under her feet.
She moved quickly, collecting the dried clothes with brisk efficiency, folding, lifting, stacking, all muscle memory.
Then… something flickered.
A shift of movement behind the narrow slit of the bedroom window.
Her gaze drifted instinctively and froze!
Through the small opening in the curtain, she saw…
Yibo and Zhan.
Their bodies close, too close.
Arms wrapped around each other.
Yibo’s head tilted and Zhan’s face turned up to meet him.
Their mouths pressed together in a kiss that was unmistakable.
Undeniable.
Meilan didn’t breathe.
Time fractured in that moment.
Her hands, mid-fold, gripped a shirt that never made it to the pile.
Her eyes locked on the window, unblinking.
“No…”
The word left her lips in a whisper, half-formed, barely real.
Even after she blinked, twice hard but it was still there.
Still them.
She turned abruptly, the laundry clutched to her chest like armor, and walked back inside on unsteady feet.
Once in the bedroom, she dropped the clothes onto the bed without care.
The neat folds fell apart.
She sat down slowly, her knees stiff, heart thudding dully in her chest.
Her fingers curled tightly in her lap, knuckles white.
“It can’t be…”
But it was.
She didn’t cry.
She didn’t speak.
She just stared ahead, trying to put her world back together from what she had just seen… and failing.
And yet, suddenly… so many things began to make sense.
Why Yibo had never once mentioned a girl, not even in passing.
Why he’d always sidestepped questions about dating.
Why there was always a certain silence when others teased him about marriage.
The signs had been there all along.
She just hadn’t let herself see them.
Until now.
Her face was blank, but panic twisted deep inside her.
Not just shock, but something colder, sharper… Fear.
Fear of what it meant.
Of what his father might say…. what he might do.
Fear of how the world outside their walls would react.
And most of all… fear of what this might turn into.
What it already was.
She had smoothed her face into calmness by the time she heard the boys emerge from the room.
The sound of light footsteps, soft voices—casual, relaxed.
As if nothing had happened.
As if the world hadn’t just shifted beneath her feet.
Meilan stood slowly from the edge of the bed, brushing invisible creases from her blouse out of habit.
She took a breath—deep enough to steady the storm inside and stepped out into the living room.
Zhan appeared first, his smile polite, unaware.
“Thank you for the snacks, Auntie. I should get going now.”
Meilan forced a smile, her lips stretched too tightly, her eyes not quite meeting his.
“Of course. Come again.”
From her chair, Grandma waved with cheerful warmth.
“Yes, yes! Next time, stay for dinner, ah?”
Yibo’s voice was casual, but Meilan caught the subtle shift in it, too smooth, too measured.
“Ma, I’ll drop him off at the station. I’ll be back soon.”
Meilan nodded stiffly, still not looking at either of them directly.
“Okay.”
Her hands stayed folded in her side, perfectly still.
But inside her, nothing was still.
Outside, the rain had thinned to a gentle mist.
They rode in silence, Yibo’s bike humming softly through the damp, quiet streets.
Zhan’s arms wrapped around his waist, steady but his thoughts lingered behind them, somewhere within the walls of that house.
Back in the dim glow of a curtained room, Zhang Meilan sat motionless, hands trembling faintly in her lap.
What she had seen played over and over in her mind.
And beneath it all, one question pulsed louder than the rest…
What was she going to do now?
—————————————
The house had gone quiet by the time Yibo returned from the metro station.
He stepped inside, kicking off his sneakers at the door.
The air inside was warm with the smell of steamed rice and stir-fried greens, and somewhere from the back, the faint creak of the old ceiling fan hummed through the stillness.
His grandmother had already retired to her room after a light dinner as she’d been feeling a little unwell.
In the kitchen, Zhang Meilan was waiting.
“Bobo, come eat.”
She said gently, setting a bowl of rice and curry down on the table.
Yibo, unsuspecting, sat down casually.
He picked up his chopsticks and started eating, the way he always did.
Quick, rhythmic bites, quietly appreciative.
He didn’t notice how her eyes lingered on his face, how her fingers were knotted tightly in her lap.
A few moments passed before she spoke again.
“So…”
She started, voice soft.
“He’s your best friend, right?”
Yibo didn’t even look up.
“Yeah…”
He said with a faint smile.
“Zhan-ge is… a really good friend.”
Meilan studied him.
There was a flush on his face.
Not just from the warmth of the food.
“You see him every day?”
She asked.
He nodded.
“Hmm, almost every day.”
A pause.
“And… how close are you two?”
That made him glance up.
Confused, he shrugged a little.
“What do you mean, Ma? He’s close. Of course.”
But Meilan saw it, a flicker.
A split-second shift in his eyes.
Too quick for most, but not for a mother.
Something unspoken.
Something carefully held back.
There was a beat of silence.
Then, Meilan leaned forward.
Her voice dropped to a whisper, low and careful, almost too soft to hear, as if the question itself could break something.
“Close enough that you… kiss him?”
The chopsticks stopped mid-air.
Yibo froze.
For a heartbeat, he didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
His eyes snapped to hers, wide and startled, then dropped to the table, as if looking at her might give him away even more.
The silence between them stretched, taut and trembling.
He put the chopsticks down.
His heart was pounding so loud it almost deafened him.
“Bobo…”
Her voice was already trembling.
“Do you have any idea what’s going to happen? If your Baba finds out?! If he gets even the smallest hint… you know how he is. You know what he’ll do.”
Yibo didn’t answer.
But his silence said everything.
A weight had suddenly dropped onto his shoulders.
It felt like he couldn’t breathe.
He looked up at her slowly.
Tears were already glistening in Zhang Meilan’s eyes, her shoulders tight as if holding herself together was the only thing she could control.
“You’re my only son, Bobo.”
She whispered, her voice catching in her throat.
“And I… I don’t even know what to do now. Since evening, my mind hasn’t stopped spinning. I keep asking myself, what is this? What have I seen? What does this mean for your future? For our family?”
Yibo sat stiffly across from her, fingers clenched in his lap.
His throat ached, every swallow burning.
But still, he spoke… barely more than a breath.
“Ma…”
A pause. Then…
“I love him.”
His voice cracked.
“I love Zhan-ge. And he loves me. We’re not hurting anyone. We’re not doing anything wrong.”
He looked at her then, eyes pleading, the mask stripped away.
“Please… please try to understand.”
Zhang Meilan stared at her son, something broken flickering in her gaze.
The boy she raised, who once clung to her hand in crowded markets, who used to fall asleep with a pencil still in his grip and his cheek pressed against his homework…
The same boy whose scraped knees she’d bandaged, whose fevered forehead she had stayed up all night touching, whispering lullabies when he was too old for them but still needed the comfort.
Now he was sitting across from her, not a child, not even just her son… but a man.
And for the first time, he was asking her to see all of him.
Not just the parts she’d always known, but the parts he had hidden.
To see him completely… and to love him anyway.
And she did.
And it terrified her.
“It’s not just about me understanding, Bobo.”
She said finally, her voice raw.
“I’m afraid of the world. I’m afraid of what it will do to you. Of what your Baba will say. Of what people will whisper behind our backs. The neighbors, the relatives…”
She shook her head, biting back a sob.
“This town… our world… it’s cruel, my boy. It doesn’t care how pure your love is. It only sees what doesn’t fit.”
Her hands trembled in her lap, as if she was trying to hold back the future from crashing into them.
Yibo’s lips parted, but no words came out.
Because he didn’t know.
He didn’t have the answers.
He couldn’t promise a smooth road, or safety, or peace.
The only thing he knew, the only thing that had ever felt certain was… Zhan.
Zhan, who made the chaos quiet.
Zhan, who made the world feel worth standing against.
Worth fighting for.
Even if it meant losing everything else.
Even if it meant being alone in that fight.
Even if it meant getting hurt.
Because Zhan wasn’t just love… he was hope.
The only thing Yibo was willing to bet his future on.
The only thing he would risk it all for.
Even if it came to breaking.
Even if it came to bleeding.
Even if it came to dying for it.
Zhang Meilan looked at him then, really looked.
At the way his jaw was set, the glint of something fierce and unshakable in his eyes.
He looked so young and yet, suddenly… not a boy at all.
Her voice was softer this time, but no less serious.
“Are you sure about this, Bobo?”
She asked again—not because she hadn’t heard his answer, but because part of her still wanted him to take it back.
A quiet, desperate hope that he might still step back.
That he’d think twice before stepping over a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.
But she already knew the answer.
She could see it in his eyes.
In the stillness of his jaw.
The way he didn’t flinch.
So she asked again, more carefully this time. Heavier.
“Do you understand what this really means? What it could do to you? To him? To both of your lives?”
She exhaled, her voice trembling just slightly—not from anger, but fear.
“This isn’t just about love, Bobo. This is about the world you live in. About what people will say. About your future… his future. Your family. His. Everything you’ve worked for.”
A beat.
“Are you ready to risk all of that?”
He couldn’t answer.
Not because he didn’t want to, but because he was still figuring it out himself.
He knew what he felt.
But he didn’t know how to carry it in a world that refused to see it as love.
A world that would turn it into something ugly.
Something dangerous.
His silence stretched between them like a crack across glass.
Then, without a word, he pushed the bowl away gently and stood up, his movements quiet but firm like someone holding too much in, afraid it might spill.
Zhang Meilan looked up at him with reddened eyes.
Then he said quietly, voice thick with emotion, eyes fixed on the table.
“I don’t know what the world will say, Ma… or what Ba might do.”
His voice was low, tight with emotion.
“Maybe everything will fall apart. Maybe people will turn on us. Maybe it’ll hurt more than we can handle.”
He looked at her, eyes shining — not with tears, but with a sharp, raw clarity.
“But I do know this — I can’t walk away from Zhan-ge.”
A beat passed.
“I won’t pretend he doesn’t matter. I won’t lie to myself and act like it was just a phase or a mistake. Because it wasn’t.”
His voice cracked, just barely.
“It never was.”
He drew in a slow, shaky breath, steadying himself.
“I don’t expect you to understand. I don’t even expect you to accept it. Not now. Maybe not ever.”
Another pause.
“But it’s real, Ma. And I love him.”
Then, quieter, almost like a confession.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
He bowed his head slightly, the moment thick with the weight of truth.
Then turned and walked over to the sink .
Washed his hands.
Rinsed his mouth.
Every movement heavy, deliberate, like he was trying to scrub off something he couldn’t name.
As if each step carved out a little more space inside him for the ache that was growing there.
Without another word, he turned and walked down the hallway to his room.
Shoulders set. Back straight.
But quieter than he’d ever looked.
Zhang Meilan sat frozen in her chair, her hands resting on the table beside his half-eaten bowl of rice.
She watched him disappear down the hall, watched the door close softly behind him and still, she didn’t move.
Her heart sank.
Not because she was angry.
Not because she didn’t love him.
But because for the first time she realized there were parts of her son’s life, his heart, his future… that she might never fully reach.
And the thought of that carved its own kind of ache inside her.
The house felt too quiet.
Too still.
Too full of things unsaid.
He shut the door behind him and leaned against it for a second, eyes closed.
His chest felt tight, like something invisible was pressing hard against it.
Like a question he didn’t know how to answer, a future he didn’t know how to face.
But even in that heaviness, the image of Zhan, smiling, warm, close… floated through his mind.
And that, at least, gave him something to hold on to…
———————————
Outside, the rain had started to pour harder, washing over the city like a quiet reckoning.
And he didn’t know if it was meant to cleanse the path ahead, or if it was only the beginning of a storm they hadn’t yet begun to face.
Because love wasn’t simple.
It never had been.
But inside that small room, with his truth laid bare, he stood still… and chose love anyway.
[To be continued….]
——————————————
Author’s Note:
Heyyy, you made it to the end of the chapter! 😄
Hope you enjoyed it — and if you did, please don’t forget to like & comment on my Insta post. 💖
Think of it as your way of telling me, “Hey, I’m here, and I loved it!” — it means the world to me and truly keeps me inspired to write more for you! ✨
The Red Ribbon 