The winter streetlights cast a quiet glow, so still that not even the rustling grass seemed to move. The shadows of the trees in the night were dark and dense, like ink condensed onto the ground.
Ruan Chen sat within those shadows, so still and dark that if one weren’t careful, he could easily be missed.
But Mu Xinghai spotted him immediately.
He had taken a wrong turn earlier, detouring slightly, before finally pulling the car over to the side of the road where Ruan Chen waited.
Only when Mu Xinghai approached the boundary between light and shadow did Ruan Chen stir slightly, as if preparing to stand. His legs were stiff, his body swayed a little and he leaned on the back of his chair for support before finally pushing himself up. He didn’t lift his head and his voice was soft, measured, almost hesitant. “You really came…”
What kind of words were those?
Mu Xinghai chuckled. “Of course. I promised you I would.”
He had driven for over three hours to get here.
Though he had no idea what had happened to Ruan Chen, the fact that he suddenly appeared on New Year’s Eve suggested one thing: this was a moment of deep, isolated loneliness and in Mu Xinghai’s mind, the moment felt opportune, a chance to be there when it mattered most.
He reached out to grab Ruan Chen’s hand. Cold as snow that refuses to melt, it hit his palm and the instant their skin met, Ruan Chen jerked away as if bitten by a snake.
Mu Xinghai froze. “Sorry,” he murmured instinctively.
Ruan Chen shook his head, slipping his hand back into the pocket of his down jacket. His tone was sharp, measured. “We’re outside. Don’t pull or tug at me.”
“Oh,” Mu Xinghai replied, understanding.
The hand he had just touched left a fleeting, phantom warmth on his skin, as though the brief contact had conjured some odd heat after the chill.
“Then… let’s get in the car,” Mu Xinghai said softly, masking the uncertainty in his tone.
Contrary to what he had imagined, Ruan Chen was not fragile tonight, he was sharper, more alert, almost defensive.
Yet, obediently, Ruan Chen got into the car and settled into the passenger seat.
Mu Xinghai activated the navigation on the electronic screen. “Where to?”
Ruan Chen turned his face to the window, voice distant, “I don’t know.”
Mu Xinghai paused, fingers hovering on the screen for a moment, then began tapping at the route. “Then let’s go to the city square. There should be New Year’s celebrations there, something lively, something… festive.”
Ruan Chen didn’t respond.
Mu Xinghai hesitated, asking cautiously, “Is that okay?”
Ruan Chen shrugged slightly. “Whatever.” The tone was flat, as if to say: it doesn’t matter. I don’t really have anywhere else to go anyway.
Mu Xinghai, who prided himself on being an excellent conversationalist, suddenly felt at a loss. Friends usually came to him to pour out their hearts and he always knew just what to say to reassure them, to say the right thing, to calm them without overstepping but now… he couldn’t find the words. Afraid of annoying Ruan Chen. Afraid of being rejected. Afraid of making him even more miserable.
By the time he had carefully considered how to speak, Ruan Chen had fallen asleep.
Sigh.
Sleep would do for now.
Outside, it had started snowing, though he wasn’t sure when. Tiny flakes danced in the beams of the car’s headlights.
The snow didn’t last long. When Mu Xinghai switched off the wipers, Ruan Chen woke, squinting against the bright glare. His body felt heavy, sluggish, as though exhaustion weighed down every limb. Glancing at the neon lights lining the roadside, he murmured softly, “Are we there yet?”
“Mm,” Mu Xinghai replied. “I’ll find a place to park.”
Ruan Chen looked down at his watch. “Almost midnight… your family won’t worry? Don’t you have to go home?”
“Isn’t that question a little late?” Mu Xinghai replied, feigning casual ease. “While you were asleep, I already told my parents. I said I was out celebrating the New Year with a friend, they don’t mind. This isn’t the first time I’ve spent New Year away from home. I know this area, I’ll show you around. Don’t overthink it. Just follow me and have fun.”
Ruan Chen’s expression softened a little, a spark of life returning. He turned his head, lifting it to look at Mu Xinghai, then after a moment asked quietly, “Where are we going?”
Mu Xinghai smiled. “Just follow me.”
Ruan Chen trailed slowly behind him, step for step, careful not to walk side by side, as if he didn’t want to be mistaken for being close. Best, he thought, to appear like a passerby casually walking nearby.
They arrived at the square. A temporary stage had been set up and a performance was underway. Music boomed, the crowd pressed in tightly, voices blending into a lively murmur.
Mu Xinghai reached over, gripping Ruan Chen’s small arm through his coat, steadying him.
Since they arrived late, they stayed at the back, just brushing against the festive atmosphere.
The final pre midnight performance ended, fireworks flickered across the enormous LED screen and the countdown numbers began to appear.
Scattered chatter gradually swelled into a chorus of voices counting down together.
Mu Xinghai glanced at Ruan Chen. His gaze was tilted slightly upward, eyes reflecting the light of the fireworks. Though he hadn’t spoken, his expression was softer, calmer, happier. It looked as though he was weighing whether or not to lean closer, whether to truly let himself be part of this celebration.
The night had changed. The shadows, the cold, the quiet, everything had shifted just enough for Ruan Chen to let some of the warmth seep in.
And Mu Xinghai, seeing him like this, felt an unfamiliar tightness in his chest, a quiet joy that made all the hours of driving, all the long nights, worth it.
The countdown was starting, the final moments before the New Year and for the first time in days, Ruan Chen looked… almost like himself again.
“Seven… one… one… six… five… one.”
Mu Xinghai held Ruan Chen’s hand and raised it together with his, his own face beaming with quiet excitement. Ruan Chen’s cheeks flushed red but finally, he followed the crowd, speaking aloud as well.
“Four… one… one!”
The voices merged, swelling into a chorus, a single, joyous declaration:
“Happy New Year!!!”
At that exact moment, Mu Xinghai deliberately turned to him, a dazzling smile lighting up his handsome features.
Ruan Chen felt his heart leap in his chest, a sudden, sharp flutter that seemed to radiate through his entire body. It was that feeling, heart stopping yet fragile, sudden and fleeting, like a spark that burned softly, leaving a tiny sting of jealousy in its wake.
He couldn’t help but be drawn to Mu Xinghai’s radiant confidence, his happiness, his effortless charm. After all, yearning for someone else’s joy was like a moth chasing the light: the brighter it shone, the darker the shadow it cast.
The roar of the crowd faded into another world.
Ruan Chen’s gaze was fixed entirely on Mu Xinghai. In that instant, it felt as though some invisible barrier had been pierced, leaving him suddenly unguarded. He could no longer restrain himself. His hands reached out, pulling Mu Xinghai close and he buried his face into his chest, letting tears fall freely.
It was messy, uncontrollable. He knew it was embarrassing yet his emotions had completely derailed. He didn’t even know what he was doing, only that he needed the warmth, the comfort.
The crying wouldn’t stop. He tried to hold it back, to soften it, to whisper it quietly but each attempt only rebounded, spilling out even louder.
Even after Mu Xinghai guided him back to the car, he still cried. Even while stopping to buy cold drinks, his tears persisted. Only after finally securing a hotel room did the torrent of emotions begin to ease.
He felt utterly childish, reckless, unaware of decorum. No, even as a child, he had never cried so brazenly in public, never been so unrestrained, so utterly lacking in dignity.
When had he last cried like this? He thought back, ten years ago? Perhaps in high school. The memory was hazy.
Finally, he stopped.
Ruan Chen took a slow, steadying breath, trying to appear calm, pretending as if nothing had happened. “I’ll count my eyes… wait, do you want to go out again after this?”
“If you want to go out, then go. I’ll go wring out a towel,” Mu Xinghai replied softly.
“I can do it myself,” Ruan Chen said, rising.
Mu Xinghai followed him into the bathroom.
Ruan Chen removed his glasses and caught his reflection in the mirror: eyes red and swollen, raw from crying, an unpleasant sight. Next to him, Mu Xinghai’s expression was faintly reflected as well, hesitant and concerned but clearly worried.
“If you have anything you want to vent about,” Mu Xinghai said gently, “anything you want to curse or rant about, you can tell me. Like before. I won’t say a word to anyone.”
Ruan Chen twisted the towel tightly, keeping his gaze fixed on the mirror, staring Mu Xinghai down. Then, almost abruptly, he muttered, “I really… hate you.”
Mu Xinghai froze, as if doused with ice cold water.
Was it his fault?
Ruan Chen’s voice wavered, then continued, “I always thought my life wasn’t so bad. I had enough food and clothing, my health was fine and life generally went smoothly. I thought there were many people worse off than me, people who had nothing to eat, no chance at education, no parents to care for them. So I should be content. I should be grateful. I should feel that I am already lucky enough.”
He swallowed hard, the words breaking through his restraint. “And yet… because of you, I feel I’ve never been satisfied. That I’ve always wanted more.”
He realized then something profound. He had long been accustomed to being unloved, uncherished… but the truth was, it wasn’t that he didn’t deserve it, it was simply that he had never received it.
Now, having tasted even a sliver of affection, however fleeting or fragile, he could no longer bear the emptiness.
At a perfectly ordinary moment, the truth struck him: he had no home and nowhere was truly his own.
Ruan Chen took a deep breath, turning fully to face Mu Xinghai. He shed his mask, his eyes glinting like ice set aflame, tears rolling down his reddened cheeks.
Mu Xinghai remained frozen, stunned into stillness, as though his soul had stopped.
Three, four tears fell.
Finally, Mu Xinghai reached out, gently pressing his hand against Ruan Chen’s cheek, brushing away the tears and leaned down to kiss him softly.
“Do you know how I first saw you, when we were just getting to know each other? Do you know what I thought about you back then?”
Ruan Chen, ever defiant, muttered, “Boring and reclusive, I guess.”
Mu Xinghai shook his head slowly. “Empty. Lonely. Truly lonely.”
“Humans always feel pain when they are lost and lonely,” Mu Xinghai said softly, his voice carrying a quiet sincerity, “so we have to do something, anything, to fill the emptiness inside. Only then can we feel fulfilled. Senior Brother Ruan, I truly hope you can be happy.”
“I used to feel empty too,” he continued, eyes gentle, “but then my feelings for you filled that void. I feel full… content… genuinely happy.”
He smiled, a warm, open expression and said, “Dig out all the annoying people and things from your heart and toss them away. Fill that space with your feelings for me instead and I promise, you’ll be even happier than you are now.”
“Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. If I can’t give it to you now, I’ll find a way to give it to you later.”
Ruan Chen couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disbelief. A boy several years younger than him, with no income and no real experience of life’s hardships, was speaking such grand, bold words. It seemed almost naive, almost absurd and yet… there was something undeniably sincere about it, something so raw and unfiltered that it could only come from youth, from a heart untainted by compromise or cynicism.
For a fleeting moment, Ruan Chen allowed himself to consider it. To feel the weight of those words, their honesty.
“Love?” he whispered to himself, incredulous. “Can I really rely on love?”
Even the people bound to him by blood had failed him. The parents who raised him had treated him as a burden, not as someone to be cherished and now, this boy, Mu Xinghai, who had only known him for a handful of days and shared no blood ties whatsoever… how could he be trusted?
And yet, in the heat of the moment, in the fragile vulnerability of that night, Ruan Chen found himself speaking the truth, even to himself. Words that were both desperate and pitiful tumbled out:
“I… I want a home.”
It was a confession as raw and unguarded as the boy beside him, a desire born not from pride but from emptiness, from longing. A home… somewhere to belong, somewhere to rest, somewhere that would finally feel like his own.
And perhaps, just perhaps, Mu Xinghai could be the person to help him find it.
✦ ✧ ✦
Fleurveil
[Translator]
☕ A LITTLE SOMETHING FOR THE TRANSLATOR
Please distract the translator from abandoning everything with coffee. (ง •̀_•́)ง
☕ BUY THEM A COFFEE →
✧ (づ｡•ㅅ•｡)づ ☕ ✧
✦ thank you for reading ✦
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ChaptersChapter 1 · Rear WindowChapter 2 · Kahlil Gibran, “I Have Spit My Soul Seven Times”Chapter 3 · His ToyChapter 4 · Star GazingChapter 5 · Just a dreamChapter 6 · ColdChapter 7 · Yearning for LoveChapter 8 · A Good PersonChapter 9 · Such a good boyChapter 10 · Delivered to your doorChapter 11 · Not familiar with itChapter 12 · First loveChapter 13 · Giving giftsChapter 14 · HeartstringsChapter 15 · Chinese New YearChapter 16 · TruthChapter 17 · SeparateChapter 18 · Planting minesChapter 19 · ChoiceChapter 20 · More hereChapter 21 · Could things have gotten any worse?Chapter 22 · Not because you like me?Chapter 23 · Not because you like me?Chapter 24 · It’s a tangled mess, impossible to unravelChapter 25 · The truth has been revealedChapter 26 · Extra: 1Chapter 27 · Extra: 2Chapter 28 · Extra: 3Chapter 29 · Extra: 4Chapter 30 · Extra: 5Chapter 31 · Extra: 6Chapter 32 · Extra: 7