Wangji emerged from the bathroom, his skin still damp from the shower, and settled into his bed, his mind a thousand miles away. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm light on his face, but his eyes remained distant, lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts.
As he sat there, the silence of the night enveloped him, and the world outside receded, leaving only the echoes of his own mind. He thought of Zhan, of the way he had looked at him, of the way he had kissed him. He felt good but something else perked his attention which he diligently made an action to.
A figure he had glimpsed in Zhan’s room, a presence he had been aware of for some time now, but had kept hidden. He knew that Mr. Xiao’s secrets would eventually come to light, and he didn’t want to burden Zhan with the truth, especially since Zhan believed the person was dead. It was an open secret, known to zhan’s close ones except Zhan himself, and Wangji felt a pang of guilt for keeping it from him. But he had promised to keep the secret, and he couldn’t betray that trust.
He had left early, deliberately giving the mysterious person time with Zhan, knowing that they needed it. Wangji’s heart ached with a mix of emotions – empathy, understanding, and a hint of sadness. He knew that the truth would eventually come out, and he hoped that Zhan would be prepared to face it. For now, he would keep the secret, and watch over Zhan, always ready to offer support and protection when the time came.
His mind wandered back to the day he sat in his office, surrounded by the familiar comforts of his workspace, when Mr. Xiao unexpectedly appeared in front of him, his presence a stark contrast to the mundane routine of the day. The surprise visit had been a puzzle in itself, but what had truly left Wangji perplexed was the realization that Mr. Xiao had come to see him, specifically, and not his son, Zhan. The memory of that encounter lingered in his mind, a lingering shadow that refused to be dispelled, leaving him with a sense of intrigue and wonder that he couldn’t shake off.
Mr. Xiao walked into Wangji’s office, his presence commanding attention, and Wangji’s eyes widened in surprise, his mind racing to comprehend the unexpected visit. Finishing his call with a reassuring smile, he hung up the phone and greeted Mr. Xiao with a deep bow, his hands clasped together in respect, his body language conveying a mix of deference and curiosity. “Mr. Xiao, please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the plush armchair in front of his desk, his voice laced with a hint of wonder. As Mr. Xiao sat down, his eyes never leaving Wangji’s face, Wangji moved to the side of his office, his movements fluid and graceful, and began to brew a fresh pot of coffee, the aroma filling the room with a warm, inviting scent, like a gentle whisper, promising a conversation that would unfold like a slow-burning flame.
Setting the steaming cup of coffee in front of Mr. Xiao, Wangji remained standing, his eyes fixed on the older man, his posture a picture of respect and deference. Mr. Xiao’s eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of surprise flickering across his face, as if unaccustomed to such formal courtesy. But then, his expression softened, and he nodded curtly, his voice low and gravelly, “Sit, Wangji.” And only then did Wangji relax, his movements fluid as he sank into his chair, his eyes never leaving Mr. Xiao’s face, awaiting the purpose of this unexpected visit.
Mr. Xiao lifted the cup to his lips, took a sip, and hummed in appreciation, his eyes closing briefly as he savored the flavor. “Wangji, your coffee is exceptional,” he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. “It reminds me of someone close to me, someone who also had a talent for brewing the perfect cup.” Wangji’s eyes widened slightly at the compliment, and he smiled nervously, his heart racing with curiosity. But he didn’t probe further, too intimidated to ask who it was that Mr. Xiao was thinking of. Instead, he simply thanked him, his voice barely above a whisper,
“Thank you, Mr. Xiao.” And Mr Xiao nods as a reply.
