Chapter 37

The crowds along the coast slowly dispersed like receding tides. Smoke from the fireworks lingered over the sea, drifting like mist under the heavy night sky. A new year had begun, and with it came everything anew.

None of it reached Xu Heng.

After whispering that soft “Happy birthday,” the spacious hotel room filled with the sounds of panting and gasps. Xu Heng’s bare skin pressed against the cold floor-to-ceiling window, making him shiver. But that chill disappeared quickly, replaced by the heat radiating from his own skin as desire boiled his sweat out of him. His arms and legs wrapped around Chen Ang like pliant vines, his mouth parted but unable to make a sound.

Outside, the winter night was frigid, but inside, the heat was turned up. Moisture quickly fogged the glass. Chen Ang’s hand braced against the window, leaving behind a clear, strong print.

A sharp cry tore out of Xu Heng’s throat.

His neck arched high as Chen Ang bit down hard, leaving behind a flushed, rose-colored bruise marked faintly by teeth.

After it was over, both of them collapsed, exhausted and quiet. They barely cleaned up before crawling under the blankets. Chen Ang held Xu Heng around the waist, face buried in his chest, curling into sleep. He didn’t mention the gift at all, as if simply spending this night together was already the best present he could ask for.

Xu Heng, still dazed, eventually fell asleep too. Sometime past midnight, he woke suddenly, mumbling from a dream. It was still dark out. He was alone in the bed. The bathroom light was on, and Chen Ang was inside.

Sitting up, he pulled the blanket around himself and ran a hand through his messy hair. On the nightstand, Chen Ang’s phone was plugged in and vibrating. It buzzed a few times, then stopped. The screen showed several missed calls, all from Chen Ang’s family. His father. His mother.

The phone buzzed again. This time it was Chen Jing.

Xu Heng hesitated. At that moment, Chen Ang stepped out of the bathroom, freshly showered and wrapped in a bathrobe. Xu Heng pointed to the phone.

“There were calls.”

Chen Ang picked it up, glanced at it, but didn’t answer. He waited for the call to end on its own, then shut the phone off.

Xu Heng didn’t ask. Instead, he said, “I almost forgot. Your gift.”

Chen Ang raised an eyebrow, clearly curious. Xu Heng, still bundled in the blanket, shifted to the edge of the bed and stretched to grab his bag from the floor. As he moved, the blanket slipped down to his waist, revealing his back, marked with bruises and kisses. His shoulder blades peeking slightly through smooth skin. Not too thin. Just right.

From the bag, Xu Heng pulled out a notebook with a brown leather cover. It wasn’t thick. A little shyly, he said, “I made it myself.”

Chen Ang sat up on the bed and accepted it with a rare seriousness. He opened it, surprised to find that Xu Heng had made a calendar by hand. Sturdy kraft paper, one page per month. All the holidays marked neatly. Every page was detailed and thoughtfully designed, with little stickers and doodles on the corners. Eighteen pages in total. A year and a half.

Afraid it might come off like some childish school project, Xu Heng reached over and flipped through it himself.

“See, on the back of each month, there’s a little card. I wrote something on every one. But you can’t just open them whenever you want. You’re only allowed to read one at the end of each month.”

Chen Ang hadn’t expected a gift like this, but he loved it. This wasn’t just a gift. It was the promise of presence. Of time spent together. He closed the book and rubbed the rough leather cover between his fingers, then leaned in and kissed Xu Heng’s nose.

“Thank you. I really like it.”

Xu Heng tensed a little. “You’re seriously not allowed to peek. Just one per month.”

“You can remind me once a month,” Chen Ang said casually, just tossing it out without much thought.

But Xu Heng suddenly went quiet.

Chen Ang felt something shift and locked his gaze onto Xu Heng’s eyes. Xu Heng didn’t look away. He said, “I’m going to Japan.”

“I already made the decision a few months ago. I’m heading there for training and further studies. Starting with language. Sister Zhang Ting already helped submit my materials to the organizers there. I got accepted. I’ll leave once spring comes.”

The sword of Damocles that had been hanging over their heads finally dropped. Strangely, Chen Ang felt a wave of relief. But right after that, his stomach twisted sharply, yanked down by a deep, sinking ache. He tried to keep it light, said, “When are you leaving? I’ll take you to the airport. When will you be back? There’s barely any time difference between Japan and here. We can call. Video chat a lot…”

Xu Heng took a deep breath. “I think… a relationship shouldn’t feel like a burden.”

Chen Ang asked, “Are you tired?”

Xu Heng exhaled softly. “You’re the one who’s tired.”

Chen Ang dropped his gaze like he was hiding, rubbed both hands over his face, and said, “I’m not tired.”

Xu Heng reached out and tapped his cheek, then traced along the sharp edge of his jawline. His voice was thick with emotion. “You’ve lost a lot of weight. I still remember the first time I met you, I really disliked you. Arrogant, two-faced. But the way you handled everything easily made you look cool.”

He got out of bed and walked to the window. “It’s snowing.”

Chen Ang looked up. Sure enough, it was snowing. The flakes fell slow and light like torn-up cotton, drifting down onto the sand, the sea, the earth. And then, without warning, the sun pushed up over the edge of the ocean, just the first glint of it. Snowflakes caught the light, glinting like tiny sparks.

The sun had risen.

Xu Heng turned around. Chen Ang was still sitting on the bed, swallowed by the shadows the morning light couldn’t reach. His face was a bit gloomy, like a child abandoned in the dark.

Xu Heng felt a sharp sting in his chest. “Happy birthday. You haven’t made your wish yet.”

In that moment, a hundred wishes flashed through Chen Ang’s mind.

He wanted Xu Heng to stay. And if he couldn’t stay, at least not to end what they had. He wanted all the stress to disappear. He wanted the sun to fall backward and sink deep into the sea. He wanted time to reverse.

Back to the last time they watched the sunrise together by the ocean, when he was first struck by the fire in Xu Heng’s eyes. A fire that burned endlessly, upward. Back to the day they met. To that moment when something primal and physical had slowly become something rooted in the heart. Or maybe further back. To when he was a kid. To the day his favorite treehouse was torn down. He could have stood in front of it with that small body of his and shouted at his father, ‘Don’t touch it. It’s mine.’

But he didn’t say any of those things. In the end, he just said, “I have one more wish. Kiss me again.”

Xu Heng’s nose stung. He walked back to the bed, leaned down, and pressed his lips to Chen Ang’s.

“As you wish.”

It was a soft kiss. Not deep.

Chen Ang held the back of Xu Heng’s head, and whispered gently.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered. “Baby, don’t cry.”