Sunday Surprise
[📘 Content Warning:
This story contains Boys’ Love (BL) themes. Reader discretion is advised. Please read the disclaimers mentioned in the Instagram post.]
It had started to become a routine now—quiet, unspoken, but steady.
Every morning, they both tried not to miss the 7:45 metro.
If, by chance, they boarded from different compartments, they’d casually drift toward the adjoining one, hoping to catch a glimpse of each other.
Some days, it worked.
Just a quick exchange of smiles across the crowd was enough to set the tone for the day.
If Yibo happened to get a food delivery near Zhan’s bookstore, he’d make sure to stop by for a few minutes, even if it meant rushing to his next order.
And if Zhan had errands near Yibo’s college, they’d find a way to meet there too—even if just for a five-minute chat or coffee on the sidewalk.
In the evenings, if their timings matched, Yibo would come by the bookstore on his scooter to pick Zhan up.
Then they’d ride together to the metro station to catch the train back home—Yibo always speeding ahead and earning sharp scoldings from Zhan, who’d shout behind him like a nagging mom, while Yibo just laughed and called him an old man with weak knees.
On days when Zhan was running a little late—maybe a customer lingering just before closing—Yibo waited patiently outside, scrolling on his phone or just watching the street.
And if Yibo was delayed by a delivery, Zhan would stay back and wait for him without a single complaint.
It wasn’t something they discussed or planned.
It just happened, naturally, like everything else between them.
Twice—maybe three times—Yibo took Zhan back to that river spot.
It had quietly become Zhan’s favorite place, and Yibo remembered that.
But it wasn’t always quiet between them.
Yibo had also dragged Zhan along to a couple of his underground street races.
Zhan complained the entire ride there—about the danger, the illegality, the pure recklessness of it all—but still showed up, still stood by the track with his arms folded and heart in his throat.
He’d yell at Yibo to slow down, then ten minutes later be snapping photos of him mid-race like a proud idiot.
Sometimes, they’d take blurry selfies after the race—Zhan sweaty and tense, Yibo grinning like a devil who lived for the speed.
And somehow, without realizing when it started, they had begun showing up for each other’s favorite worlds.
They never said anything dramatic or romantic.
Their conversations stayed within the warm boundaries of daily life.
How their day had gone.
Stories about their families.
Little dreams and big plans.
Yibo talked about wanting to open his own custom bike garage someday, designing an engine, or securing a good job abroad.
And Zhan shared his dream of going abroad, working in a well-known publishing house, editing stories that mattered.
They supported each other’s side hustles with genuine pride.
They understood the effort it took to balance everything—work, studies, family.
And they admired that in each other.
Their bond became rooted in liking, in encouragement, in the comfort of knowing someone was quietly rooting for you.
Days slipped into weeks, weeks into months.
Somewhere along the way, the connection between them deepened into something even they couldn’t fully name.
————————————————
Sunday mornings in the Xiao household were sacred—not for rest, but for cleaning.
Zhan stirred awake later than usual.
The sunlight was already slipping through the curtains in lazy golden stripes.
He blinked at the clock: 9:40 AM.
Well, that was the perk of running your own bookstore—Saturday afternoons and Sundays were his own.
From the kitchen, he could hear his mother, Liu Fang, moving around, opening cabinets, water running, pots clanging softly.
She had already started prepping for lunch.
That was her Sunday ritual.
Out in the hallway, Yue’s voice rang out.
“Ge! If you play that sad indie playlist again, I swear I’ll mop only half the living room!”
Zhan emerged from his room, yawning and already rolling up his sleeves.
“It’s not sad, it’s atmospheric. And you have no taste in music, so your opinion doesn’t count.”
Yue scoffed and adjusted her messy ponytail.
“Says the man who listens to the same three artists since high school.”
Before he could retort, their father, Xiao Guoqiang, chimed in while dusting the bookshelf.
“Alright, alright. How about a mix? A little bit of Zhan’s moody songs, a little of Yue’s scream-fest pop.”
“She listens to that boy band where they just jump around and yell into the mic.”
Zhan muttered.
“And you listen to singers who sound like they’re crying into a pillow.”
Yue shot back.
Guoqiang chuckled.
“At this point, even the vacuum cleaner sounds better than both of you.”
Eventually, Zhan won—as he always did.
The speakers in the living room started playing his carefully curated playlist: mellow guitar strings, soft beats, a little echo of heartbreak in the lyrics.
Yue groaned dramatically but kept sweeping.
As the morning passed, the house smelled of floor cleaner, dusted wood, and something simmering in the kitchen—ginger, garlic, and the familiar comfort of Liu Fang’s weekend cooking.
Despite being elbow-deep in cleaning, Zhan’s mind wasn’t entirely in it.
It kept drifting to Yibo.
“What is he doing now?“
Zhan knew Sundays weren’t off days for him—in fact, they were his busiest.
The garage stayed open full-time.
He checked his phone while wiping down the windows.
No messages.
No missed calls.
Hmm…!
By lunchtime, the house was spotless.
They all gathered at the table—bowls of stir-fried vegetables, pork ribs in sweet sauce, and a pot of soup in the center.
Afterward, Guoqiang settled on the recliner for his usual afternoon nap.
Yue was still nagging her mother to let her go meet friends.
“You’ll be back by six. Not even a minute late.”
Liu Fang warned.
“I swear, Ma! Ge will vouch for me.”
Yue said, tugging at Zhan’s arm.
He laughed.
“She’ll be fine Ma. I’ll deal with her if she’s late.”
Reluctantly, Liu Fang gave in.
Yue left with a grin and a skip.
The living room grew quiet.
Liu Fang sat on the couch, flipping through a magazine, and Zhan lay down, resting his head on her lap.
She absently started brushing her fingers through his hair, a gentle, familiar motion.
He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.
“Zhanu…”
She said softly.
“Hmm?”
“You’re already twenty-seven, you know. When are you going to start a family?”
Zhan opened his eyes but didn’t look at her.
He stared up at the ceiling instead.
“Ma…”
“Zhan… you don’t even try to meet someone. Don’t you think it’s time you—”
“It’s not that simple Ma…”
He sat up slightly but still leaned against her leg.
“There’s too much going on. Yue’s education, the bookstore barely making ends meet, Baba retiring soon, loans. We still have to think about Yue’s marriage someday too. I can’t even think about dating someone right now.”
Liu Fang sighed.
“But time doesn’t wait, Zhanu. If you keep thinking you’ll settle down after everything is perfect, you’ll keep pushing it forever. Life won’t stop handing you responsibilities.”
“I know that.”
His voice was quieter now.
“Right now, it’s hard. You see how we’re struggling with Yue’s fees. If either the bookstore picks up, or if I get that job abroad, maybe then… maybe I’ll think about it.”
Liu Fang sighed, looking at him with a mix of concern and frustration.
“Zhan, you should at least try to show some interest… maybe take the initiative in dating, think about settling down with a nice girl someday.”
Zhan gave a faint, noncommittal smile, his gaze dropping for a second.
“Ma… you know me. I’ve never really been into all that — dating girls, chasing after someone. Just… never felt like me. I don’t even know why.”
She didn’t press further.
Instead, she gave his hair one final stroke, then changed the subject gently.
“That boy… Yibo, is it? How’s your new friend?”
Zhan smiled faintly.
“He’s alright. Just like me. Running around trying to make things work. But yeah… he’s solid.”
“Invite him home one day.”
She said.
“I will…”
He nodded.
“Soon.”
———————————————-
Later that afternoon, around four o’clock, Zhan found himself wandering on the terrace, earbuds in, a soft track humming in his ears.
The breeze tugged at his oversized T-shirt, and the sun was beginning to dip behind a faint veil of clouds.
Still no message from Yibo.
He leaned on the railing, brows drawn slightly.
“Was he really that busy?”
He knew Sunday was hectic for him… but still.
Suddenly, something shifted in him—a quiet tug.
Without a second thought, he turned and headed downstairs.
Fifteen minutes later, he stepped out of the shower, toweling off his damp hair.
He slipped into a soft round neck t-shirt, layered it with his oversized blue sweater.
And pulled on a pair of gray cargo pants.
Clean, casual, simple.
He grabbed the keys to his dad’s scooter from the hook by the door.
“Ba…”
He called out.
“You need the scooter today?”
Guoqiang peeked out from the kitchen.
“Nope. Just be back before it’s too late.”
Zhan smiled faintly as he slipped the key into his pocket.
“I will.”
The scooter roared to life, coughing up a puff of smoke.
Zhan picked up his helmet from the hook by the door, slipped it on, and fastened the strap under his chin.
He eased into the seat, adjusted the rearview mirror, and set off.
Destination clear in his mind.
Linping.
———————————
Zhan drove toward Linping.
The evening wind brushing against his sweater as the scooter glided over the familiar roads.
It was about a six or seven kilometers ride—not too far.
And the streets were calm, bathed in soft golden light.
The city was quieter on Sundays, with the occasional honk in the distance and the smell of roasted chestnuts wafting from a roadside vendor.
He remembered Yibo had once vaguely mentioned the route to his house.
And that his mom worked at the local supermarket.
Finding the place wouldn’t be difficult.
Once he reached the neighborhood, he parked near the supermarket and stepped inside.
“Excuse me.”
Zhan asked the middle-aged woman at the counter.
“Can you tell me where Zhang Meilan’s house is?”
The woman smiled warmly.
“Ah, you mean Yibo’s mom? Her son has that bike garage, right?”
Zhan nodded.
“Just go two streets down, then take a left near the tea shop. You’ll find the garage there—can’t miss it.”
“Thank you.”
Instead of heading toward the house, Zhan followed her directions toward the garage.
The street was narrow but lively—kids riding around on tiny bicycles.
Shopkeepers chatting outside their stores.
And the warm smell of grease and rubber already filling the air before he reached.
He knew he’d arrived when he saw several bikes and scooters lined up outside a wide.
Open-fronted garage.
A small sign above read ‘Yibo’s Garage – Repairs & Wash’ in bold black letters.
There was even a white sedan parked near the entrance.
Still wet from a recent wash, and a guy in a vest drying it off with a microfiber cloth.
The air was thick with engine oil, damp concrete, and the rhythmic hum of tools.
Zhan parked his scooter to the side and walked closer.
His boots crunching slightly over gravel.
Inside, he spotted Yibo right away.
He had a dark work apron on, speckled with grease stains, tied over a loose-fitting dark greenT-shirt, and faded black jeans with the pockets weighed down by tools.
One side of his hair was a little damp, probably from sweat or a quick splash of water.
And he had one earbud in, nodding slightly to whatever beat was playing.
He was bent over a bike—probably a delivery scooter—adjusting the chain tension with a wrench.
Another young guy, maybe a helper, was cleaning the parts beside him.
Zhan stood at the garage entrance, arms folded, smiling to himself at the sight.
Then he called out casually.
“Excuse me, can you fix a problem?”
Yibo didn’t even glance up—music was blasting through his earphones, and he hadn’t even noticed that voice.
He kept tightening the bolt with firm, practiced hands.
“Yes, sir.”
He replied in a flat, distracted tone.
“That’s why I’m sitting here. Tell me what the issue is.”
Zhan grinned.
“The issue is… my friend is so busy with his work today that he didn’t even have time to send a message or make a call. I came to get that fixed.”
Yibo froze for a second.
His hands pausing mid-motion.
His eyes widened.
And before even looking up, recognition lit up his face.
He yanked out the earphones and looked straight ahead.
“Zhan-ge?!”
He tossed the wrench onto the nearby cloth pile with a loud clank, immediately straightened up.
And walked over, wiping his hands on a dirty rag with an uncontrollable grin spreading across his face.
“Oh my god, what a surprise!”
Yibo said, still beaming.
“What are you doing here? How’d you find my place?”
Zhan shrugged, eyes sparkling.
“Turns out you’re kinda famous in your neighborhood. Wasn’t hard.”
Yibo laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I should’ve guessed. My mom basically tells the supermarket aunty everything.”
Zhan smiled.
“I wanted to see where you work. You always say you’re busy on Sundays—I figured I’d come see it for myself.”
Yibo was still looking at Zhan like he couldn’t believe he was actually there.
“Well…”
He said, voice full of warmth.
“…you made my whole damn week, ge!”
Zhan smiled, watching Yibo’s face light up like that was all he needed.
Maybe showing up was exactly the right kind of message.
And Yibo, he’d had a hundred things to do that day.
But right now, with Zhan in front of him…
Everything else could wait.
[To be continued…]
The Red Ribbon 