BOSF 021: The Kiss

Ji Yan barely slept the entire night. In the quiet of the late hours, whenever he closed his eyes, he couldn’t stop recalling what had happened that afternoon in Xiang Yang’s room—the sensation of holding a male organ in his hand, Xiang Yang’s low voice calling his name in his ear. Those sounds and images replayed endlessly in his mind, impossible to forget or shake off. Ji Yan couldn’t help but overthink.

Was Xiang Yang gay? But his parents seemed normal, so how could he feel that way toward someone of the same sex, like himself? Or perhaps Ji Yan had misunderstood? Maybe Xiang Yang didn’t mean anything by it. Maybe he didn’t understand love or affection and simply trusted Ji Yan because he was kind to him.

Ji Yan kept affirming and then dismissing his own guesses, unable to find an answer yet powerless to stop his spiraling thoughts. Like someone suffering from severe insomnia, he tormented himself all night. It wasn’t until dawn approached that the chaos in his mind finally settled, and, exhausted, he fell into a deep sleep. He didn’t even hear the alarm, not waking until Lin Yueqin burst into his room, shouting, “Ji Yan, you’re going to be late! Get up!”

Startled awake, Ji Yan bolted upright, checking the time: 7:10, ten minutes later than his usual departure. School started at 8:00, so it wasn’t critically late, but he still rushed to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. Almost instinctively, his first thought was: Is Xiang Yang waiting for me?

He didn’t even have time to dwell on the awkwardness of facing Xiang Yang. Back in his room, he threw on his uniform, skipped breakfast, and stuffed it into a bag to eat at school. Before leaving, he glanced at the clock again: 7:20.

As Ji Yan slipped on his shoes and opened the door, there was Xiang Yang, standing outside. Head lowered, brows slightly furrowed, Xiang Yang’s usual expressionless face made it hard to read his emotions. But the moment the door opened, Ji Yan caught it—Xiang Yang’s eyes lifted, a faint glimmer of anticipation in their lonely depths. When their gazes met, that look turned resolute, steady, and fixed on Ji Yan.

He stood there alone, not ringing the bell, just waiting.

The sight of Xiang Yang looking at him like that softened Ji Yan’s heart. The sleepless night seemed to fade in significance, replaced by a subtle pang of pity. Ever since Xiang Jie was born, Li Lilian had stopped paying attention to Xiang Yang. In the past, she’d wait at the door with him for Ji Yan to walk to school together. Now, she’d simply let Xiang Yang fend for himself, leaving him to wait outside for twenty minutes alone.

Guilt surged in Ji Yan. Had running off like he did yesterday hurt Xiang Yang? But he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Speaking would only remind him of that unspeakable incident from the day before.

Ji Yan locked the door, avoiding Xiang Yang’s gaze. “Let’s go,” he mumbled.

He brushed past Xiang Yang and headed downstairs as usual, only to realize halfway down that Xiang Yang wasn’t following. Turning back, he saw Xiang Yang still standing in place, watching him, as if unsure whether to follow, afraid Ji Yan might run off again like yesterday.

Ji Yan’s heart melted. He climbed back up, took Xiang Yang’s arm, met his gaze, and said softly, “Xiang Yang, let’s go.”

Xiang Yang looked down at Ji Yan’s hand on his arm and nodded.

The walk was silent. Ji Yan, still young and inexperienced, didn’t know how to handle the situation. Awkwardness spread between them, but thankfully, Xiang Yang didn’t ask questions, so Ji Yan could pretend nothing was wrong.

In the past, Ji Yan had seen Xiang Yang as just a friend, unbothered by others’ opinions. But after a night of overthinking—or perhaps because of what had happened—he felt hyper-aware, convinced that everyone on the street was staring at them.

Growing up in a conservative environment, Ji Yan knew the power of rumors. He wasn’t unafraid; he worried this could hurt Xiang Yang further. Reflecting on their recent closeness, he realized their interactions had been overly intimate. If word reached his parents or Xiang Yang’s, it wouldn’t end well.

Xiang Yang might not fully understand his own actions, but Ji Yan felt responsible for guiding him in the right direction. Regardless of Xiang Yang’s intentions, Ji Yan couldn’t let these feelings grow unchecked. Raised in a place bound by strict morals, he couldn’t entirely shake those values, even if he harbored some rebellious thoughts. While he didn’t judge homosexuality, he knew it wasn’t something to openly display in this environment—not here, not now.

In truth, he was scared.

At his age, still naive about emotions and unable to bear heavy burdens, retreating felt natural. Unsure of his own feelings for Xiang Yang, he wasn’t ready to take risks. While he still had a choice, before things spiraled out of control, he wouldn’t let it reach that point. He thought of Xiao Pei, who had taken her own life by jumping off a building.

Suddenly, Ji Yan let go of Xiang Yang’s arm. Head lowered, he murmured, almost to himself, “Xiang Yang, let’s just stay good friends, okay?”

Xiang Yang didn’t respond. He only looked down at his now-empty hand.

In the days that followed, things seemed to return to normal. Ji Yan still walked to and from school with Xiang Yang but visited his house less often. He taught Xiang Yang how to shave and still took him for haircuts but refused to help with anything too intimate.

For Xiang Yang’s sake, Ji Yan suppressed his soft-heartedness, acting more like a typical friend. He believed time would dilute everything—that Xiang Yang’s behavior was just a fleeting impulse that would fade.

After the second-year midterms, the year ended, ushering in the much-anticipated winter break. During the Spring Festival, while adults gathered to chat and drink, Ji Yan found it too noisy and went to Xiang Yang’s house to hang out. He wasn’t fond of crowds, preferring to observe quietly or stay somewhere peaceful if he had the choice.

Xiang Jie was now over six months old, and Xiang Yang’s parents took the baby out to visit others, rediscovering the joys of parenthood. That left just Ji Yan and Xiang Yang at the house.

Xiang Hongxiu, Xiang Yang’s father, was a successful businessman, and in recent years, his income had allowed him to set up a nice home theater system with a TV and sound system. Ji Yan picked a movie, and they watched it together in the living room.

Ji Yan had been careful to avoid physical contact with Xiang Yang, restraining himself from overly intimate gestures. At first, Xiang Yang would look at him, as if silently questioning, but Ji Yan ignored it. Over time, it seemed Xiang Yang understood and became more reserved.

But that night, something unexpected happened.

Ji Yan chose a drama, thinking it sounded decent based on the synopsis. Halfway through, however, the romantic leads’ relationship escalated quickly, leading to a passionate scene. Though not explicit, the intense kissing, undressing, touching, and suggestive moans were provocative.

Ji Yan hadn’t anticipated this. Halfway through the movie, he didn’t know whether to change it or keep watching. At home, such scenes would make everyone awkward—his father, Ji Qiuyuan, would even pretend to scold, acting uninterested. Without thinking, Ji Yan reached out and covered Xiang Yang’s eyes.

Xiang Yang’s long lashes brushed against Ji Yan’s palm, tickling him. His hand trembled, the sensation stirring something in his chest, and he loosened his grip slightly. Once the provocative scene passed, he removed his hand, immediately noticing Xiang Yang’s gaze.

Despite Ji Yan’s efforts to keep his distance, Xiang Yang’s eyes held the same unwavering intensity, now tinged with a secretive, unspoken desire—perhaps sparked by the movie or the moment’s atmosphere.

It had been a long time since they’d been this close. Scalded by Xiang Yang’s gaze, Ji Yan quickly looked away and shifted back to his spot. For a moment, he thought Xiang Yang might want to kiss him. But when he glanced back, Xiang Yang seemed no different than usual. It must’ve been my imagination, Ji Yan thought, forcing himself to focus on the rest of the movie.

Thankfully, no more awkward scenes appeared. The latter half dragged with long, dull dialogue. It was late, but the festive noise of the Spring Festival continued outside. Ji Yan grew drowsy, his eyes closing. He nodded off a few times before his body slumped, his head resting on Xiang Yang’s shoulder.

Xiang Yang sat still. When he felt the weight on his shoulder, he turned to look at Ji Yan, who seemed fast asleep, unaware he was leaning against him. Ji Yan’s face tilted upward, nestled comfortably between Xiang Yang’s shoulder and the sofa, looking peaceful.

Xiang Yang’s gaze lingered on Ji Yan’s face, as if the movie no longer mattered. He stared, reluctant to look away, as if he hadn’t had this chance in a long time. After a while, he leaned down, mimicking the movie, and gently touched Ji Yan’s lips.

The soft sensation rippled through them like a wave.

Ji Yan wasn’t deeply asleep and woke instantly. Opening his eyes, he saw Xiang Yang’s face inches away and knew what the soft touch on his lips had been. Stunned, he stared at Xiang Yang, speechless.

If everything before had been speculation, this confirmed it.

But Ji Yan’s mind didn’t jump to accepting or reciprocating. Instead, he thought of practical concerns: What would happen if someone found out? What would happen to Xiang Yang?