Tangled Hearts: Chapter 8

A Good News

[📘 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 lazy grey when Zhan stepped out of the house.

His backpack slung over one shoulder, a takeaway cup of warm soy milk and his lunch box bag in hand.

The air had that early morning chill—sharp enough to sting the cheeks, but not cold enough to be unbearable.

The city was waking up slow, with sleepy vendors setting up their stalls, cyclists weaving around puddles from last night’s rain, and the usual hum of traffic slowly gathering speed.

Zhan boarded the train like he did every day, slipping into the metro as the doors hissed shut behind him.

For once, he found a seat by the window.

He blinked at it, a little surprised. Normally, the mornings were packed.

Maybe it was just that kind of day.

He settled in, unzipped his bag, and pulled out the slim novel he’d been reading.

He held it open, but his eyes didn’t really follow the words.

Something felt… off.

Like a loose thread brushing the edge of his thoughts.

As the train slowed at Linping, he looked up instinctively.

His eyes scanned the platform, past the milling students, the office-goers with coffee thermoses, the delivery boys with their heavy backpacks.

He looked for him.

As always.

And then, like a jolt, he remembered.

Yibo isn’t coming today.

Zhan blinked, the realization landing like a quiet stone in his chest.

Right—he said last night that he’d be taking his grandma to the hospital.

He’s not on the train.

That’s why it felt strange.

Zhan glanced down at his book again but couldn’t muster the interest.

The sentences blurred.

The plot evaporated.

He sighed and slid it back into his bag.

Pulling out his earphones, he plugged them in and let a soft indie ballad pour into his ears.

Gentle guitar strums, echoing vocals, lyrics about falling stars and quiet longing.

He leaned his head back against the cool glass panel of the train, eyes fluttering shut, lulled by the rhythm of the track beneath him.

Just for a minute, he thought.

Just to rest his eyes.

The train rocked gently.

The music blurred into white noise.

And somewhere between the waking world and the pull of sleep…

Zhan began to dream.

He was at the riverside.

The water shimmered gold, reflecting the warm wash of late afternoon sun.

Dragonflies skated across the surface.

The sky was soft, like a half-forgotten painting—lavender bleeding into amber.

Zhan sat on the flat stone he always favored, and beside him… Yibo.

They were talking, though the words were blurred, like sound underwater.

Then Yibo tilted his head back and laughed.

Not a big, loud laugh—but a real one.

Unguarded.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, lashes catching the light, that rare curve of his mouth that looked more like wonder than amusement.

A flash of something wild and gentle all at once.

Zhan couldn’t take his eyes off him.

That laugh—that face—how had he never noticed just how beautiful Yibo looked in sunlight…

Zhan’s chest tightened at the sight.

Something pulled him forward before he could stop himself.

He leaned in, hand brushing against Yibo’s wrist.

Yibo blinked, surprised—but didn’t pull away.

And then…

Zhan pressed a quiet kiss to his lips.

A real kiss.

Certain. Close.

Like it meant something.

Yibo froze—just for a second.

Then leaned in the smallest bit, lips pressing back…

And then—

Zhan gasped awake.

His body jerked upright in the train seat, heart hammering in his chest, mouth dry.

The music in his ears was still playing, oblivious.

Some acoustic refrain about “home not being a place, but a person.”

His cheeks were warm.

He touched them instinctively and thought.

“What the hell was that?!”

The train rattled on.

He glanced around—no one had noticed.

People were still scrolling through phones, sleeping, sipping coffee, immersed in their own worlds.

He leaned back slowly, trying to steady his breath.

But the dream clung to him like static.

Too vivid. Too real.

The image of Yibo’s smile—right there.

The feel of that kiss—almost like it had actually happened.

“God…”

He thought, running a hand through his hair.

“That was a dream. Just a stupid dream.”

But sleep wouldn’t come again.

And no matter how many times he told himself to shake it off, the weight of that kiss hovered like a phantom on his lips.

A few stations later, the announcer’s voice crackled: “Next stop, Deqing Station.”

Zhan got up, slung his bag back on, and stepped off the train into the cool morning air.

The station buzzed with commuters, but it all felt strangely distant.

He walked toward the bookstore.

The pavement cold under his shoes, the sky above slowly turning from grey to pale blue.

And that dream—bright, strange, too real to ignore—remained tucked in the corner of his mind, quietly echoing like a secret he hadn’t meant to find.

—————————————–

The bookstore had come alive.

A warm draft of sunlight slanted through the glass door, lighting up dust motes and casting soft reflections across the wooden floor.

Zhan arranged a stack of newly arrived artbooks near the entrance, their glossy covers catching light.

A mother came in with her little girl, asking about coloring books.

A high-schooler needed notes on translated Russian poetry.

A middle-aged man browsed the history section for nearly twenty minutes before asking for recommendations.

Zhan moved through it all with practiced ease, a pencil behind his ear and a soft smile that never reached his eyes today.

Between customer visits, he pulled out his phone and finally tapped the number he’d been putting off calling all week—the immigration consultancy.

The voice on the other end was polite, almost too rehearsed.

“Yes, Mr. Xiao, we have your documents. The update is… still pending. Things are just moving a bit slowly at the consulate. It should only take a little more time.”

“How much time?”

Zhan asked flatly.

“Hard to say exactly. But we’ll notify you the moment we have something concrete.”

Zhan thanked him and ended the call, jaw tight.

Same vague answer.

Same hopeful delay.

He tossed the phone gently onto the counter and sighed, but before the frustration could settle, it buzzed again.

Different caller.

Lin Rong – Nimbus Publishing

Zhan blinked in surprise, then picked up quickly.

“Hello? This is Xiao Zhan.”

“Ah, Mr. Xiao!”

The cheerful voice came.

“Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

“Not at all. What’s up?”

“I’ve got something that might interest you.”

Lin Rong said.

“We just secured rights to republish an old children’s illustrated series—‘Little Cloud Tales,’ you might’ve heard of it?”

Zhan’s eyebrows lifted.

“I used to read that.”

“Exactly! Nostalgia sells. We’re planning a soft relaunch, new cover art, some minor reformatting and a few fresh illustrations. We need someone meticulous to handle the proof-reading, layout reviews, and some creative coordination. Your name came up immediately.”

Zhan straightened in his seat.

“That sounds… really good, actually.”

“Well, it’s a paying gig with royalties too. We need a full-time pair of hands for about eight weeks, and possibly someone to help you part-time—since it’s a lot to juggle solo.”

Zhan didn’t hesitate.

“I’m in.”

“Great. I’ll send you the formal proposal tonight. Let me know if you have questions.”

As the call ended, Zhan leaned back in his chair, feeling a rare warmth of satisfaction bloom in his chest.

Finally—something solid.

Something that could help.

He scribbled a few quick notes about the project in his pad, then got back to his freelance work.

Proofing a children’s story draft while sketching rough visual concepts for the coloring book job.

The steady scratch of his pen was comforting.

But his mind kept drifting.

Every ten or fifteen minutes, like clockwork, his phone would light up with a new message from Yibo.

Yibo: Nainai’s doctor looks like a hundred-year-old turtle with glasses. 🤓

Zhan: Be nice. That turtle has a degree. 😀

Yibo: Still. He just poked her knee and said “It’s arthritis.” I could’ve done that! 😏

Zhan chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he typed back a reply.

Then sighed, his eyes lingering on the screen for just a second longer.

Even with the bookstore bustling, and a new opportunity on the horizon, the absence still tugged quietly at the edge of his thoughts.

He turned back to his draft, trying to focus.

But every so often, his eyes flicked to the empty seat near the front window—the one Yibo usually stole when he visited.

And just like that, the silence around him felt a little louder again.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, Zhan forgot about the dream from that morning.

———————————————

The metro ride home felt unusually long.

Zhan leaned against the window, the soft vibration of the train rattling through his bones.

His lap was full—plastic bags packed with vegetables his mom had asked him to pick up, and tucked between them, a small white box tied with a red ribbon.

He’d made a quick stop at the bakery near the Deqing station.

Strawberry cream tarts.

Yue’s favorite.

He didn’t even have to think twice.

The train was full, the usual end-of-day shuffle of commuters: sleepy eyes, rustling plastic bags, the low hum of conversations that blurred into background noise.

But for Zhan, it all felt… distant.

Empty, in a way he couldn’t quite name.

Without Yibo beside him, the silence sat heavier than usual.

By the time he reached home, the sky had turned dusky gold.

He slipped off his shoes at the door and padded into the living room, calling out.

“I’m back.”

Yue’s voice rang from the kitchen.

“Ge, Did you get the Bok choy?”

Zhan held up the bags.

“Yes. And a little something extra.”

He passed her the bakery box, and just like that, her eyes lit up.

“Oh my god! You do love me.”

She teased, cradling the box like treasure.

She popped the lid open.

“You do have a heart.”

Zhan rolled his eyes, smirking.

“Don’t get used to it.”

Liu Fang walked in, wiping her hands on a towel.

“You’re back just in time. Tea’s ready.”

She placed a warm mug in front of him and sat down beside him on the couch.

The room smelled of jasmine and stir-fry, familiar and grounding.

Zhan curled his fingers around the cup, the warmth seeping into his palms.

She sat beside him for a while, talking about groceries, the neighbor’s noisy dog, and how his father came home limping today.

“It’s just a sprain.”

She said.

“But still, I told him not to act like he’s twenty.”

Later, around the table, with chopsticks clinking and bowls being passed around, Zhan finally shared the news.

“I got a call from Nimbus Publishing house.”

He said.

“They offered me a contract to lead the republishing of a children’s book series. Pretty decent money, too.”

Yue’s mouth dropped mid-bite.

“Whoa! That’s huge!”

Liu Fang looked up with a proud smile.

“That’s wonderful, Zhan.”

Xiao Guoqiang nodded, slow and approving.

“Sounds like a solid opportunity. And good income too, huh?”

“Yeah, it is.”

Zhan said, then sighed, setting his bowl down.

“But with the store and my freelance projects… it’s going to be a lot. I might need someone to handle the day-to-day at the bookstore. Just for a bit.”

His father tilted his head, thoughtful.

“Actually… that reminds me. I met an old friend recently. His daughter just graduated in literature. Smart girl. She’s looking for experience—something part-time. Maybe she could help out?”

Zhan blinked.

“Really?”

“We could try it.”

Guoqiang said.

“She might be a good fit, at least while things are picking up.”

Zhan nodded.

“Let me wrap up the details tomorrow Ba, then maybe you can give her name to me.”

“Done.”

His father said, returning to his rice.

The rest of the evening passed in its usual quiet rhythm.

After dinner, Zhan retreated to his room and got through a few hours of freelance work.

By the time he shut his laptop, the house was still, lit only by the soft lamp on his desk.

Midnight was ticking close.

Just as he was about to crawl into bed, his phone buzzed.

Yibo.

A soft smile tugged at Zhan’s lips the moment he saw “Bo-Di” flashing on the screen.

Familiar, warm, like a quiet knock on his heart at the end of a long day.

Zhan answered, his voice low and warm.

“Hey. Still awake?”

“Barely.”

Yibo chuckled.

“Just got in. Today was a mess.”

“Hospital visit?”

“Yeah. Got back and went straight to the garage. Didn’t even touch my delivery queue. Been there the whole day. I just showered and collapsed onto bed.”

Zhan sank back against his pillow, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Sounds exhausting.”

“It was.”

“But it’s better now.”

Yibo admitted, but there was a softness in his voice.

“You coming tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

Yibo said without missing a beat.

“See you in the morning, Zhan-ge.”

Something in that made Zhan’s chest feel warmer than it should have.

“Mm. Sleep well.”

He murmured.

“You too.”

As the call ended and silence settled around him, Zhan reached to turn off the lamp.

Darkness filled the room, but peace didn’t come right away.

Because then, the dream from that morning stirred again—like a ripple on still water.

That riverside, the golden haze of sun behind Yibo’s head, the way he’d laughed, so easy and unguarded.

The softness of his eyes.

The sudden kiss Zhan had leaned into, slow but certain, the touch of lips charged with something that lingered.

Zhan let out a quiet breath, staring up at the ceiling.

“It’s just a stupid dream.”

He muttered, turning over.

“That’s all.”

But the way his heart felt?

That didn’t feel like dreaming at all.

And on the other side of the city, Yibo’s heart softened into a quiet smile…

As if the whole day—no matter how busy or loud—had been carrying a quiet gap in it.

And now, hearing Zhan’s voice, that missing piece had quietly slipped back into place.


[To be continued…]