BOSF 011: Origami
by cloudiesPerhaps because of the mix-up, Ji Yan was invited to Xiang Yang’s home for the first time.
Though the apartment layouts were similar, visiting someone else’s home felt novel, filling Ji Yan with curiosity as he looked around the living room. Unlike his cluttered home, Xiang Yang’s was clean and spacious, with waxed wooden floors.
Li Lilian, clearly unused to hosting, was flustered despite her guest being just a child. “Ji Yan, want something to drink? We have green tea, oolong tea, and fruit…”
Ji Yan turned, politely replying, “Oolong tea is fine, thank you, Auntie.”
“Okay.” Li Lilian tucked her shoulder-length hair, as if to ease her awkwardness or find a way to step back. Looking at Xiang Yang, she switched to a motherly tone. “Yangyang, don’t just stand there. Go change out of your uniform.”
Ji Yan noticed Xiang Yang still stood in the same spot, but his gaze had shifted from the door to Ji Yan, lingering for an unknown time.
It was the first time Ji Yan saw Xiang Yang’s gaze so focused and sustained. Those silent eyes seemed to carry many emotions, all conveying one thing—as if Ji Yan had broken a promise. A subtle, tender feeling stirred in Ji Yan, a mix of sourness and warmth, as if Xiang Yang deeply needed and relied on him, waiting persistently at the door. When Ji Yan didn’t show, Xiang Yang kept waiting, and waiting…
Children’s thoughts are simple, easily touched by pure emotions. Friendship is that kind of pure, beautiful thing.
Ji Yan had to admit, being so valued by Xiang Yang made him happy. Seeing Xiang Yang still unmoving, he gently nudged him, echoing Li Lilian softly, “Xiang Yang, go change. No school today…”
Xiang Yang looked away, saw Ji Yan holding his hand, and, as if reassured Ji Yan wouldn’t let go, finally moved, heading to his room.
Curious about Xiang Yang’s room and unburdened by inhibitions at their age, Ji Yan followed.
Before entering, he heard Li Lilian’s faint sigh behind him, barely audible, laced with helplessness but also relief.
Ji Yan realized Li Lilian truly didn’t understand her son or try to. She knew to scold or correct him when he didn’t listen, but when he acted differently, she was at a loss, like today.
Feeling helpless and pity for Xiang Yang, Ji Yan knew this was beyond his control at his age. Watching Xiang Yang’s back, he thought silently, It’s okay, you still have me.
Xiang Yang’s room was starkly simple, almost empty, with just a bed, a wardrobe, and a desk with a chair.
Ji Yan noticed the desk and chair were for children, adjustable for different ages but outdated for Xiang Yang, now over 160 cm tall. Yet they remained, perhaps to stay longer. Scattered beneath were dusty Lego pieces, dismantled and abandoned.
Sitting on Xiang Yang’s bed, Ji Yan picked up a few Lego pieces, stacking and unstacking them.
His family never had such toys, though he’d wanted them. As a child, a TV ad for Legos captivated him. Fun toys attract kids, and Ji Yan was no exception. Marketed as educational, fostering hand-eye coordination, brain development, and imagination, Legos became a craze. Ji Yan begged Lin Yueqin to buy them, but she refused, citing cost and fleeting interest.
Lin Yueqin, traditional and frugal, hated waste. She bought Ji Yan oversized clothes and shoes to accommodate his growth, avoiding frequent replacements. She prided herself on her thrifty household management.
To her, toys were similar enough—cheaper ones sufficed. She grew up without toys, so kids today were lucky, yet picky.
Young Ji Yan knew his parents’ limits and stopped asking after being refused.
Seeing the Legos now, Ji Yan felt nostalgic but also a pang of sadness—not for his own unfulfilled wishes, but for Xiang Yang. His parents had clearly doted on him as a young child, buying expensive children’s furniture and Legos, expecting great things. But at some point, that love paused abruptly, time frozen. Xiang Yang became a family burden, sparking parental arguments.
Though these were unchangeable facts, Ji Yan couldn’t help imagining: without his condition, Xiang Yang might have a good life. With his parents’ good looks, he might not excel academically but would likely be popular with girls, tall and suited for basketball, joking with peers—not like now.
Lost in thought, Ji Yan glanced at Xiang Yang.
Xiang Yang was removing his uniform shirt, about to take off his pants. His movements were slow but focused, without impatience.
Tasks Ji Yan could do in five minutes took Xiang Yang at least fifteen. Ji Yan realized how early Xiang Yang must wake to wait for him at the door.
His heart softened. Even if Xiang Yang couldn’t express it, Ji Yan felt his effort to live in his own way.
Xiang Yang finally unbuttoned his pants, the zipper down, trousers falling to his ankles, leaving him in white underwear.
Ji Yan froze, feeling it was wrong to stare, though both being boys, there was little to avoid. At their age, he was curious about others’ bodies, wondering how they compared.
Unable to resist, he glanced at Xiang Yang’s bare body. Xiang Yang was thin, not from hunger but from puberty’s growth spurt. His boyish frame was emerging—broadening shoulders, narrower waist. Ji Yan’s gaze drifted to his straight legs, lingering on his underwear.
Nothing was visible.
Curious about other boys’ bodies, Ji Yan noticed his own sparse pubic hair starting to grow.
Realizing he’d stared too long, he glanced at Xiang Yang, feeling guilty—Xiang Yang was staring back.
Flustered, as if caught doing something wrong, Ji Yan said, “Hurry and get dressed.”
Xiang Yang fumbled slowly, finally putting on casual clothes.
The awkward moment was interrupted by a knock. Li Lilian brought drinks and a fruit platter, urging them to enjoy the room. Early pregnancy brought fatigue, and her belly was more noticeable than before. Past three months, she eagerly shared the news, her smile radiant. But at forty, being an older expectant mother was taxing and risky, her unmade-up face showing weariness. “Auntie’s tired and will rest. Call if you need me.”
“Okay.”
Ji Yan hadn’t spent much time alone with Xiang Yang, their closest moments being the walks to school. Meant to “play,” he wasn’t sure what to do. Introverted, he usually stayed home during breaks.
He considered playing with the dusty Legos but figured Xiang Yang, with only this toy growing up, was likely bored of it.
Then he thought of a simple game. “Xiang Yang, I’ll teach you origami.”
Xiang Yang didn’t respond, likely unaware of what origami was, his dark eyes quietly watching.
Ji Yan took Xiang Yang’s notebook from his bag, with permission, tore out doodled pages, and began teaching him to fold paper boats, birds, and planes.
Xiang Yang learned slowly, often folding incorrectly despite following steps.
Ji Yan, just passing time, was patient, guiding Xiang Yang’s hands to complete each piece.
Origami needed no skill—just correct steps to form shapes, beauty irrelevant.
They sat on the bed, papers scattered around. Hours passed, sunlight filtering through curtains. When the breeze lifted them, two boys could be seen lying face-to-face on the bed.
Tired from folding, Ji Yan fell asleep on Xiang Yang’s bed, his steady breathing and peaceful expression serene in the afternoon light.
Xiang Yang lay in the same position but stayed awake, gazing at Ji Yan, his eyes tracing his face and body.
Autistic individuals often repeat simple actions.
Xiang Yang lay still, his gaze moving back and forth over Ji Yan, as if he could watch him forever without tiring.
“Ji… Yan…”
Xiang Yang spoke with effort, as if he’d been trying since standing at the door, finally saying his name.
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