Assignment Book
[📘 Content Warning:
This story contains Boys’ Love (BL) themes. Reader discretion is advised. Please read the disclaimers mentioned in the Instagram post.]
Zhan stepped into the metro at Hangzhou, just as the morning sun began to spill lazily through the train windows.
The compartment was already filling with the usual crowd—students hunched over phones, office workers in neutral colors, and a few retirees chatting quietly near the door.
He made his way to a familiar spot near the center pole and pulled out his book, balancing it in one hand while the train gently rocked forward.
As Linping station slipped by without sight of him, Zhan frowned, checked the time, and called.
“Where are you?”
He asked the moment Yibo picked up.
“Just got in.”
Yibo’s voice came through, the background noise of Linping station still echoing faintly behind him.
“I’m a couple compartments away. Don’t move. I’ll come find you.”
Zhan shook his head, smiling faintly.
“Alright. You better not take the whole ride crawling through crowds.”
“Please, I’m a professional crowd navigator.”
Yibo said before hanging up.
A minute or two passed before Zhan spotted him—shoulders squared, headphones hanging loose around his neck, eyes scanning calmly until they landed on Zhan.
A crooked grin appeared immediately.
“There you are.”
Yibo said, walking over.
“Yo.”
Yibo greeted.
Zhan’s eyes dropped immediately to Yibo’s right hand—bandaged neatly, fingers peeking out from gauze.
“How’s it now?”
“Eh.”
Yibo lifted it slightly and gave a lopsided shrug.
“Just a scratch. Lip’s better too.”
“Yeah? That ‘scratch’ needed your mom’s ointment, tears, and a full meal.”
Zhan muttered, dry as ever, though his gaze lingered on the bandage.
They both chuckled.
The train gave a mild jolt as it pulled out of the station.
They stood side by side, fingers loosely gripping the same metal pole, their shoulders almost brushing.
The low hum of the train blended with the quiet murmur of passengers, announcements echoing softly from the speakers overhead.
Zhan tilted his head toward Yibo, breaking the momentary silence.
“Those boys at the garage yesterday—your workers?”
“Nah.”
Yibo replied, shifting to lean against the wall beside the pole.
“Just a couple of kids from the neighborhood. They come help out on Sundays. I give them a little cash and food. That’s it.”
Zhan nodded, thoughtful.
“So basically, you’re employing half of Linping one weekend at a time.”
“What can I say? I’m a generous man.”
Zhan huffed a quiet laugh, then pulled out his book and flipped it open.
Yibo, meanwhile, untangled his earphones and popped one in, music just audible from the right side.
They didn’t talk for a while.
They didn’t need to.
The comfortable silence between them had grown into its own kind of language—steady, quiet, and easy.
A few stations passed.
Then Yibo nudged Zhan gently with his elbow.
“Hey… Can I ask you for a favor?”
Zhan glanced up from his book, one brow raised.
“This early in the day? What is it?”
Yibo pulled his bag around and dug out a worn engineering notebook.
“I have this assignment… I need to sketch out some engine parts. Diagrams and stuff. Due tomorrow.”
Zhan stared at the notebook, then slowly turned back to Yibo with a deadpan expression.
“Do you people actually do anything yourselves? I have one at home, too. She’s also as lazy as you.”
Yibo gave him a dramatic pout.
“Zhan-ge, please… I suck at drawing. C’mon. I’ll owe you. Free noodles?”
Zhan narrowed his eyes.
“Hmm. Tempting…”
“And look!”
Yibo lifted his bandaged hand pitifully.
“I can’t even lift my arm! you seriously expect me to draw in this condition? Don’t bully the injured, ge…”
Zhan gave him a long, theatrical sigh.
“God, what emotional blackmail is this?”
“So you’ll do it?”
Yibo grinned, already sensing victory.
“Fine.”
Zhan muttered, turning back to his book.
“Just bring it to the store—”
Before he could finish, Yibo slid the assignment notebook directly onto the pages of Zhan’s book.
“I already brought it.”
Zhan stared at the assignment book on top of his book, then at Yibo.
And slowly shook his head with a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
“You’re unbelievable.”
Yibo beamed.
“Thank you, thank you. I’ll drop you at the bookstore today. Bonus service for the artist.”
The train began to slow as Deqing station approached.
The mechanical voice crackled to life above them, announcing the stop.
Once on the platform, they exited together, heading toward the bike parking area.
Yibo’s delivery scooter sat exactly where he’d left it the night before, chained neatly to the rack.
He unchained it, climbed on, and looked back at Zhan.
“Hop on. Delivery boy’s at your service.”
Zhan rolled his eyes, but swung a leg over the seat anyway.
“If you didn’t ride slow and If I fall and break my bones, you’re sketching your own engines.”
Yibo snorted, shaking his head.
“Got it, Grandpa. I’ll go easy.”
They both just laughed and Yibo started the scooter.
The morning wind rushed against their faces as they zipped through Deqing’s streets.
Trees swaying overhead, the scent of steamed buns from a breakfast stall drifting past, scooters and bicycles weaving through early traffic.
Yibo dropped Zhan in front of the bookstore, slowing to a stop just outside.
Zhan climbed off and adjusted his bag.
“I’ll text you once the masterpiece is done.”
Yibo saluted lazily.
“I’ll owe you one. Again.”
“You already do.”
Yibo grinned, then glanced at the road ahead.
“If I get any deliveries around this side today, I’ll swing by your shop.”
Zhan raised an eyebrow.
“What, to supervise your masterpiece in progress?”
“To make sure my assignment didn’t turn into a comic strip.”
Yibo grinned.
“Just being cautious.”
Zhan chuckled.
With a short wave, Zhan disappeared into the store.
And Yibo revved his engine, heading toward campus.
His smile still lingering from that small, ordinary morning.
——————————–
The tiny bell over the bookstore door jingled softly as Zhan unlocked it and stepped inside.
A familiar scent greeted him—paper, ink, and a hint of sandalwood from the incense stick he burned every morning.
He exhaled, settling into the quiet comfort of his space.
After helping two customers—a woman looking for bedtime stories and a college student hunting poetry anthologies.
Zhan flipped the sign to “Back in 10” and pulled down the shutter halfway.
He wasn’t going anywhere, but the world outside could wait.
He sat cross-legged at the small wooden table in the corner, pushing aside his laptop and ignoring the buzzing freelance notifications.
Instead, he pulled Yibo’s assignment book closer.
The pages were worn at the corners, smudged with graphite and oil.
Zhan smiled faintly.
Typical.
He sharpened his pencil, the sound crisp in the still room, and got to work.
His hand moved smoothly across the paper, long strokes and delicate curves bringing engine parts to life.
His lines were precise but somehow warm—like he wasn’t just drawing, but translating Yibo’s thoughts into form.
He tried to tell himself that Yibo is annoying.
That this is a pain.
That Yibo is just lazy.
But the quiet curve at the corner of his lips told another story.
He liked that Yibo asked him.
That Yibo trusted him to do something right.
And maybe—just maybe—Zhan liked being needed by him.
His gaze flicked toward his phone, resting beside the sketch.
Maybe he should invite Yibo home one day.
Just… casually.
Maybe over dinner.
Or tea.
Ma already asked to invite him.
She like polite boys.
Then, uninvited, the memory of Yibo from this morning slipped into his thoughts—
Looking unfairly cute in a plain dark green crew-neck T-shirt, a loose white-and-green checked shirt worn unbuttoned over it, and those faded dark green cargoes he always seemed to live in.
So minimal, so effortless. And still somehow—annoyingly—handsome.
He shook his head, lips twitching.
“Focus, idiot!”
He muttered to himself, but he didn’t stop smiling.
Meanwhile, over in the college classroom, Yibo was half-slumped over his desk, chin in hand, staring blankly at the chalkboard.
The professor’s monotone voice was slowly dissolving into background static.
Something about pressure ratios and piston mechanics that Yibo had absolutely no mental bandwidth for.
He flipped to the back of his notebook and began to absent-mindedly scratch and scribble at the page with his pen.
Circles, lines, cross-hatching.
A random eye.
Then… letters.
He didn’t even notice what he was doing until halfway through the second repetition.
Z-H-A-N.
Zhan.
He blinked.
The scrawl stared back at him in uneven letters.
He had written that name twice, maybe thrice, like his hand had a mind of its own.
A flush rose in his neck, hot and immediate.
“What the hell…!”
He muttered under his breath, hastily pulling his sleeve over the scribble.
But before he could shut the notebook, the guy sitting next to him leaned over and squinted.
“Yo, who’s Zhan?”
The friend asked with a smirk, nudging him with an elbow.
Yibo stiffened.
“Who?”
He asked, a little too quickly.
His friend laughed, pointing to the page.
“C’mon, man. You’re literally writing that name like it’s your crush or something.”
Yibo’s heart thumped once, annoyingly loud.
“It’s just—forget it.”
He muttered, slamming the book shut and jamming it into his backpack like it had betrayed him.
The rest of the lecture passed in a blur.
But his ears were still red when he left the classroom.
——————————————
The bell above the shutter clinked as Zhan looked up from the assignment book, the familiar vibration of his phone buzzing next to him.
The screen flashed: Ba Calling.
He picked up quickly.
“Hello, Ba?”
“Where are you Zhan?”
“I’m in the bookstore, of course.”
“Then why is it shuttered like you’re closed?”
Zhan’s heart jumped.
He stood up so fast the stool scraped against the floor.
“Wait—are you here? Hold on, Ba, I’m coming.”
He jogged to the front and tugged the metal shutter up with a loud clatter, squinting as sunlight flooded the small space.
Just outside, his father Xiao Guoqiang stood with a lunchbox in hand, wearing his usual navy polo tucked into well-creased trousers, his scooter parked neatly behind him.
“If you shut the shop halfway, customers will think you’re closed and walk away.”
Guoqiang said, stepping inside.
Zhan rubbed the back of his neck.
“I know, Ba. I just… had some freelance stuff to finish. Needed a bit of quiet.”
They moved to the small two-seater couch near the back wall, and Guoqiang placed the lunchbox on the little wooden table.
“Your mom said you didn’t take lunch this morning. She got late preparing lunch, but made sure you wouldn’t end up eating greasy outside food. So she packed it and asked me to drop it off.”
Zhan blinked.
“You rode all the way here just for this?”
“Not just this. I’ve to meet an old friend nearby too.”
His dad replied, glancing around the bookstore with a small smile.
“Place still smells like fresh paper. Good.”
There was a pause before his dad added.
“By the way, are you following up with the agency about that job in the Netherlands?”
Zhan shifted slightly.
“It’s been a week. I haven’t checked in again.”
“Don’t let it go cold, Zhan. You know how these things are. We need that offer. It’ll be good for you—and us.”
“I will.”
Zhan nodded.
“I’ll call them tomorrow.”
There was a pause, then his father added.
“What about your Dutch language classes?”
Zhan leaned back slightly.
“That’s online, Ba. I already downloaded all the course modules—so whenever I get time, I just watch and learn.”
His father gave a small nod, seemingly satisfied.
Just then, the door creaked open again.
Zhan turned and blinked in surprise.
Yibo stood at the entrance, a little hesitant, as if unsure whether to walk in.
Zhan’s face broke into a smile.
“Come in Yibo. It’s okay.”
Yibo stepped inside, giving a polite smile and a small bow to Guoqiang.
“Ba, this is Yibo—my friend. We commute together every morning. Almost every evening too.”
Xiao Guoqiang’s eyes softened.
“Ah, you’re the boy who gave him the raincoat that day, right?”
Yibo nodded.
“Yes, Uncle. It was pouring hard.”
“You’re in college?”
“Yes, third year. I do part-time delivery work too.”
Guoqiang nodded approvingly.
“Good. Studying and working—you’ve got discipline.”
There was an easy silence between the three for a second.
Then Guoqiang stood.
“Alright, I should head off or I’ll be late. Make sure you eat all that food, hmm? And since your friend is here, share it. There’s enough.”
Zhan followed him to the door.
“Thanks, Ba. I will. Ride safe.”
His father waved, started his scooter, and disappeared down the lane.
Zhan turned back to Yibo with a small grin.
“Came for a delivery nearby?”
Yibo shook his head.
“Nope. Came to see you.”
Zhan raised an eyebrow, amused.
“Wow. What an honor. Don’t worry, I was doing your assignment only. Then Ba showed up.”
Yibo looked toward the couch.
“He’s… nice. Kind of quiet, but very kind.”
“Yeah, that’s him. Come on, let’s eat. Don’t be shy. Ba said there’s enough, and he was right as always.”
Yibo hesitated, but Zhan had already opened the lunchbox and pulled out two sets of chopsticks.
“Come on, don’t be so formal. It’s just food.”
The aroma of stir-fried green beans with garlic, soy-braised chicken, and a heap of egg fried rice filled the cozy shop.
Yibo’s stomach grumbled softly, and Zhan smirked as he passed him a plate.
They sat on the floor, cross-legged, using a short wooden crate as their makeshift table.
“So how was college today?”
Zhan asked between bites.
Yibo paused, the image of the back page of his notebook flashing in his mind—where he’d mindlessly scribbled Zhan over and over without realizing it.
A small jolt of embarrassment hit him, and he quickly steered the conversation away in his head.
“Boring as hell. I almost died in that morning lecture.”
Zhan laughed.
“Sounds dramatic.”
Yibo shrugged.
“If I didn’t keep doodling, I would’ve just passed out.”
Zhan smiled, then glanced at the sketchbook nearby.
“Ba asked me to follow up with the immigration guys. Netherlands, remember?”
Yibo nodded seriously.
“You should. Don’t let it hang. If it works out, it’ll be big for you.”
They finished eating in companionable silence.
After clearing up, Yibo wandered into the small room at the back.
His eyes landed on the open assignment book.
“Whoa… you’re seriously good at this.”
Zhan leaned in the doorway, arms folded.
“Of course I am.”
Yibo grinned, but then his phone buzzed—notifications popping up for upcoming deliveries.
He sighed.
“Gotta go. Clients wait for no man.”
“See you in the evening?”
Zhan asked casually.
“Same time as usual. I’ll be here.”
Zhan walked him to the entrance.
Yibo gave him a quick wave and disappeared into the fading afternoon light, scooter humming gently into the distance.
The bookstore was quiet again, but Zhan’s world felt a little less so.
———————————-
Zhan handed over the finished assignment book to Yibo on the metro ride home.
Yibo took it with a grin and a quiet, sincere
“Thanks ge.”
Zhan just shrugged, brushing it off.
Night, when he got home, Yue was curled up on the couch.
Zhan tossed a small wrapped package at her, and her eyes lit up.
“No way—you finally got it?!”
“You’ve only been whining about it for months.”
Zhan teased.
She clutched the poetry book to her chest dramatically.
“You love me. Admit it.”
“I wish I hadn’t done that.”
Zhan rolled his eyes, trying to hide the grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
After dinner, Zhan sat in his room, papers spread around him—proofreading one manuscript and sketching out coloring page concepts for a children’s book.
He worked steadily, until a soft knock came and his mom, Liu Fang, peeked in.
She walked in with a plate of cut apples and placed it beside him.
“Eat. And don’t say later.”
Zhan smiled.
“Thanks, Ma.”
She studied him with narrowed eyes.
“You’re looking thinner these days.”
“That’s good, right? I was trying to slim down.”
“Don’t slim down too much.”
She said, sitting beside him for a moment.
“You skipped lunch again?”
“No, Ba brought it. You were running late in the morning, right?”
She nodded.
“Still. Eat properly. You didn’t do any freelance work today?”
Zhan hesitated.
“I was… helping Yibo with something. His assignment.”
She blinked, slightly amused.
“You skipped your work for him?”
“He had a small accident, Ma. Hurt his hand. So I just… helped out.”
She gave him a look but didn’t argue.
“Finish up soon and get some rest.”
“I will.”
Not long after, his phone buzzed.
Yibo.
Zhan picked it up.
“Yes, Mr. Mechanic-slash-student-slash-delivery boy?!”
“Hey ge.”
Yibo said.
“Just wanna say thanks again. The drawings are killer. And I already feel like a star student.”
Zhan smirked.
“Well, I am kind of a genius. You’re welcome.”
“What’re you doing now?”
“Back to the grind. Freelance stuff.”
A pause.
“Tomorrow, I won’t be coming.”
Yibo said.
“I need to take Nainai to the hospital for her check-up.”
Zhan nodded, even though Yibo couldn’t see it.
“Alright. Hope everything goes well.”
“Thanks. Night.”
“Night.”
Zhan stared at the ceiling for a moment after ending the call, the silence suddenly heavier than before.
Knowing Yibo wouldn’t be on the train tomorrow made him feel oddly… empty.
Across the city, in his small bedroom, Yibo stared at the ceiling as well.
He had the same thought.
Sometimes, people become part of your day so quietly that their absence feels louder than their presence ever did.
And that night, both of them heard it.
[To be continued…]
The Red Ribbon 