Waiting Together
[📘 Content Warning:
This story contains Boys’ Love (BL) themes. Reader discretion is advised. Please read the disclaimers mentioned in the Instagram post.]
The sky was a soft charcoal grey by the time Zhan’s car turned into the quiet streets of Hangzhou.
The roads were slick from an earlier drizzle, city lights casting soft, watery reflections on the asphalt.
Inside the car, warmth hummed through the vents.
Zeyu sat curled in the seat, buckled in but leaning slightly toward the window, eyelids heavy with sleep.
Zhan glanced at him.
“We are almost home, Baobei.”
He murmured.
Zeyu didn’t respond, but his small fingers clutched the edge of Zhan’s jacket, which he’d bundled beside him like a pillow.
When they finally pulled into the parking area of their building, Zeyu blinked blearily as Zhan unbuckled him and scooped him up.
“Let’s get you inside, hmm?”
Zhan whispered.
Zeyu gave a soft hum, resting his head against Zhan’s shoulder, his little hand holding onto the fabric of Zhan’s shirt.
As soon as they stepped into the apartment, Liu Fang and Yue hurried over.
Liu Fang’s sharp gaze immediately caught the little bandage on Zeyu’s temple.
“What happened?”
She gasped, voice tight with worry.
“Why is he hurt?”
“He just slipped.”
Zhan said quickly, setting down their bags.
“Nothing serious, Ma. It’s a tiny scratch. He’s okay.”
But Zeyu didn’t say a word.
He just leaned his head against Zhan’s side, eyes heavy with sleep.
Dinner was unusually quiet.
The clinking of spoons and the low hum of the ceiling fan filled the silence.
Zeyu ate slowly, prodded gently by Yue who sat beside him, whispering little stories between bites to coax him to finish.
Zhan barely touched his food.
Afterwards, they all drifted to the living room.
Liu Fang switched on the TV, scrolling through channels aimlessly.
Zhan sat on one end of the couch, phone in hand but not really looking at it.
Yue was curled up with Zeyu in her lap, showing him some video on her phone, her voice a gentle whisper.
The little boy barely reacted, gaze fixed, distracted.
Then, without turning, Liu Fang picked up the remote and muted the television.
The silence was sudden.
She glanced at Zhan and asked quietly.
“Did you see him?”
Zhan looked up slowly, his eyes catching the light from the TV screen.
He nodded.
“Yeah… I saw him.”
Yue’s head turned toward them, curious now.
“He’s doing well.”
Zhan continued, setting his phone on the coffee table.
“Owns a small place, got himself a garage. Has a few guys working for him.”
There was a pause.
Yue didn’t say anything, but her fingers paused on Zeyu’s shoulder.
Liu Fang’s hands clenched on her lap.
“What did he say?”
She asked, hesitation in her voice.
Zhan sighed and leaned back against the couch.
“He didn’t say anything. Not about… back then. Not until I asked him directly. About what Ba told him.”
Liu Fang looked away, guilt flickering across her face.
“He was always a good kid.”
She murmured.
Zhan’s mouth curved in a faint, sad smile.
“He is. That’s why he did what he did. He didn’t want to cause more chaos.”
Nobody spoke for a moment.
Then Zhan added, his voice softer.
“Zeyu was happy to see him too. And Yibo… even happier.”
At that, Zeyu finally looked up from the phone in Yue’s hands, his little face quiet, his eyes still carrying that strange, lingering sadness.
Yue broke the silence.
“Ge, Bo-ge let you guys leave just like that? He didn’t ask you to stay?”
Zhan gave a small smile.
“He did. But we can’t stay there forever, Yue. We have to come back home.”
Across from him, Liu Fang quietly wiped at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve.
Zhan reached over and patted her shoulder gently.
“It’s okay, Ma.”
Yue tilted her head.
“You didn’t ask him to come with you?”
Zhan hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then he looked down.
“I asked him once before. You know how that ended.”
His voice was low.
“But this time… Zeyu asked him.”
Liu Fang’s head snapped up slightly.
Zhan looked over at her.
“But he didn’t give an answer. And I didn’t push. It’s not right to pressure him, whether for my sake or Zeyu’s. Love should never feel like a burden, it should come freely and willingly.”
Yue didn’t respond, only nodded slowly.
Then Liu Fang, voice almost a whisper, asked.
“Zhan… do you think me and your Baba ruined everything for you? Your family, your love?”
Zhan’s smile turned wistful.
“Ma…”
He said softly.
“What’s the point of asking that now? We can’t go back and change it, can we?”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“I’m just glad Yibo’s doing well. I have my son, and that makes me happy. And now Yibo knows I never forgot him, that he was never alone.”
From Yue’s lap, Zeyu tugged gently at Zhan’s sleeve.
“Baba…”
He murmured, rubbing his eyes with a tiny fist.
“I’m sleepy. Let’s go to bed.”
Zhan took a deep breath and stood up.
Zeyu instinctively lifted his arms, already knowing.
Zhan scooped him up, the boy’s head nestling immediately against his shoulder, warm and small and safe.
Before heading to the bedroom, Zhan turned to Liu Fang.
“Ma, don’t carry that guilt anymore. You and Ba didn’t ruin anything. It was just… the way fate was for me and Yibo. That’s all.”
Liu Fang blinked at him, her throat too tight to speak.
Zhan gave her a small nod, then turned and walked to the bedroom, Zeyu wrapped snug in his arms, already half-asleep.
——————————-
In Zhan’s room, the soft yellow glow of the nightlight warmed the corners, casting gentle shadows across the walls lined with picture books and little wooden toys.
Zhan knelt by the side of the bed, tucking the blanket securely around Zeyu’s small frame.
The little boy was already halfway to sleep, eyes heavy, but still lingering in thought.
Zhan sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the story book from the nightstand.
“Baobei…”
He said softly, flipping through the pages with one hand.
“Which story do you want Baba to read tonight? The bunny in the forest? Or the one with the little blue train?”
Zeyu turned his head on the pillow, voice quiet and a little shaky.
“No Baba, no stories tonight. I don’t want any.”
Zhan’s hands stilled on the book.
He looked at his son.
The soft pout of his mouth, the faint crease between his brows.
His sadness hadn’t faded, it was just curled deeper now, quiet and heavy.
Zhan placed the book back gently, then lay down beside him, shifting close.
He ran his fingers slowly through Zeyu’s hair, the way he always did when the boy was upset.
“Are you still sad, Baobei?”
He asked, barely a whisper.
Zeyu turned his face toward him.
“Baba… why Pa not coming with us?”
His little voice cracked, confused.
“He doesn’t like us?”
Zhan’s chest tightened instantly.
He cupped Zeyu’s cheek with one warm palm.
“No, no, don’t think like that, Zeyu. Your Pa loves us both so much. More than anything.”
“Then why didn’t he come?”
Zeyu blinked up at him.
“Pa can work in Amsterdam too, right? He can live with us… in our house.”
Zhan swallowed.
His throat was tight.
The ceiling light flickered slightly from the hallway outside.
In the quiet, the only sound was Zeyu’s soft breathing and the occasional rustle of the blanket as he fidgeted with the hem.
“It’s just… it’s not that simple, Zeyu.”
Zhan said finally, stroking his son’s head.
“He has his work, his garage, his whole life there. Sometimes grown-ups need time to figure things out.”
He paused for a bit.
“But, Pa promised he wouldn’t go away again.”
Zeyu whispered.
“But he still didn’t come, Baba.”
Zhan had no reply.
He leaned down and kissed Zeyu’s forehead, breathing in the faint scent of baby shampoo.
He felt helpless, just as he had when they left that small house in Yuncun and Yibo stood at the gate, tears in his eyes.
“I know, Baobei.”
He murmured.
“But your Pa also said he’ll see you again soon, right? So let’s believe in that. Let’s wait for him to keep that promise.”
Zeyu was quiet for a few moments, then gave the smallest nod.
“Okay…”
Zhan exhaled slowly, a fragile relief settling in his chest even if it wasn’t full.
“Good boy. Sleep now, Baobei. You’re tired.”
He whispered.
He stayed beside him until Zeyu’s breathing evened out, lashes resting against his cheeks, small fingers still loosely curled around the edge of the blanket.
But Zhan couldn’t sleep.
He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, mind replaying everything… Yibo’s quiet voice, the way he held Zeyu so gently, the rawness in his eyes as they drove away.
The parting hug, the lingering look, the ache they didn’t speak aloud.
His heart pulled in two directions, heavy with things unsaid.
Zhan reached for his phone on the nightstand.
His thumb hovered over Yibo’s name in his call log.
Just one press and he’d hear his voice.
Maybe Yibo hadn’t slept either.
Maybe he was thinking the same thing.
But something stopped him.
Maybe it was fear.
Or maybe it was the uncertainty… the aching question that still had no answer.
With a sigh, he locked the screen and placed the phone down, its faint blue light fading into the shadows.
He turned back toward Zeyu, pulling the blanket up over both of them.
His arm slipped around his son’s tiny body as he whispered.
“Goodnight, Baobei…”
The only reply was the steady rise and fall of Zeyu’s chest against his.
And somewhere in the quiet of that night, Zhan closed his eyes… still thinking of Yibo.
————————————
The house was too quiet.
Yibo lay on his back on the narrow bed, one arm draped over his eyes, the other resting limply across his stomach.
The ceiling above him stared blankly, unmoving, while shadows from the lone streetlight outside crawled slowly across the peeling walls.
He had lived in this silence for six years.
Six years of working late, falling asleep in grease-stained clothes, waking to the same empty room and drinking black coffee alone on cold mornings.
He used to think he was used to it.
That he had survived the worst, and numbness was enough.
But tonight, it wasn’t.
Because now, that silence had an echo.
A memory… a weight.
He could still hear Zeyu’s voice, ringing like a bell in the corners of his mind.
“Pa! Pa! Look here!”
That cheerful little laugh bouncing down the hallway, the sound of his tiny socks slipping across the floor, the way he climbed into Yibo’s lap like he’d always belonged there.
Yibo turned his head to the side, eyes burning, his throat tight.
The pillow still smelled softly of Zeyu’s shampoo.
The fabric still had the crease where Zeyu had napped curled up beside him just a days ago.
His fingers itched.
He reached for his phone.
With a swipe, the screen lit up the dark room.
His gallery opened, rows of photographs that now felt like lifelines.
He scrolled to the album he hadn’t stopped opening since Zhan and Zeyu left.
The first photo: Zeyu sitting at the breakfast table, face full of joy, cheeks stuffed, one hand raised mid-sentence like he was telling an important story.
Zhan was in the background, eyes on Zeyu, smiling like he hadn’t smiled in years.
Another, Yibo and Zeyu cheek-to-cheek in a selfie, Zeyu holding up a piece of dumpling like it was a trophy.
Yibo’s eyes looked softer in that photo than he remembered them ever being.
Less guarded.
Like he’d stopped pretending for a second and just felt.
Then one more.
Zeyu on his knees in the middle of the living room floor, stacking worn-out coasters like building blocks, humming a tune.
In the corner of the photo, Yibo had accidentally caught Zhan watching them, chin in hand, expression quiet, raw, unguarded.
Like he belonged there too.
And then… a picture of the three of them.
Zhan beside him, one hand on Zeyu’s back, the other gently gripping Yibo’s shoulder, like he didn’t want to let go.
The corners of Zhan’s eyes were soft, a little tired, but shining.
Like he was at peace.
Like he had come home.
Yibo stared at it, thumb hovering over the screen, then slowly trailing down.
He wanted to hear Zeyu say “Pa” again.
Even if it was for the hundredth time.
Even if it came with tantrums and mess and questions he didn’t know how to answer.
He wanted to see Zhan’s face again.
Not through a screen.
Not through memories.
He wanted to hold that warmth in his arms again… the warmth he thought he’d lost forever.
The love. The belonging. The purpose.
Because now he knew exactly what home meant.
This house, this silence, was unbearable now.
Not because it was empty, but because it had tasted what it was like to be full again.
Full of laughter and love and life.
And now that it was gone, the emptiness roared louder than ever.
He couldn’t stop thinking of Zeyu’s tearful little face, lips trembling, voice cracking when he’d asked, “Why can’t you come with us, Pa?”
He had no good answer.
He still didn’t.
And Zhan… Zhan’s eyes as they stood by the car, like he was holding himself together only because he had no choice.
The hug they shared.
The kiss.
The silence between them that said everything they were too scared to.
Yibo swallowed hard, a sharp ache spreading through his chest.
This wasn’t just about missing them.
It was about needing them.
Because for the first time in six years, he’d remembered what it felt like to live, not just exist.
Not just survive.
It wasn’t these four walls.
It wasn’t this town.
It wasn’t even the garage he’d built with his own hands.
It was a small five-year-old boy who looked at him like he’d hung the moon.
It was a man who still whispered “Bo” like it meant something.
Like it still mattered.
He turned off the screen and set the phone down beside him.
Outside, the wind stirred, brushing against the windows with a gentle hush.
Inside, something shifted in Yibo too.
He sat up, breath uneven, heart thudding loud in the silence.
The decision had already rooted itself in him.
[To be continued…]
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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 