In Between Us || Zhanyi

Untitled Part 18

Under work: 10/09/2024

After aimlessly pushing through his work, Zhan stood and stretched, rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced at the clock—it was well past midnight. It was good he forced himself to work, at least now his mind felt stable. His throat felt dry, and without thinking, he reached out for the thermos that was usually there beside him during late nights of work.

But there was no thermos.

Zhan's hand stayed in air....it took him a moment to realize why?  Yibo wasn't here. Yibo had always made sure to leave a fresh thermos filled with green tea by his side, guessing that Zhan's working hours would stretch longer than expected. Zhan sat back in the couch, the absence of that simple gesture making the night feel even more suffocating. It wasn't just about the tea; it was the quiet care Yibo had always shown, thinking ahead for him.

His eyes darted to the empty living room. Suddenly he hoped to see Yibo there, maybe even sitting with his books, as he always did. But the space was devoid of any sign of life.......It stung.

His gaze fell on the couch, where he had chosen to work nowadays, silently hoping to be closer to Yibo, to feel his presence in the home they shared. But Yibo had never acknowledged him, never asked for help. Zhan now doubted it wasn't because Yibo didn't want him—maybe it was because Yibo probably thought Zhan didn't care enough to offer.

A sudden headache pulsed at his temples. Zhan rubbed his forehead, trying to push the thoughts away. This wasn't him. He wasn't one to dwell on assumptions or let emotions cloud his mind. Zhan was a man of logic, of clear decisions and responsibilities. But tonight, the thoughts refused to stay buried.

Zhan's heart clenched as his sense of duty crashed violently with something deeper— Zhan's mind was at war. The sense of duty that had guided him all his life, the firm belief in structure, in performing roles, was now blurring. What was his duty to Yibo, really? Was it just to provide shelter, food, and the occasional physical connection? Wasn't there supposed to be more? And if he had always limited himself to duties then what right he had to question why Yibo didn't understand him? Why Yibo limited himself to duties or saw their marriage an obligation to fulfill role only?

Zhan clenched his fists, pacing the room. Why can't I figure this out? He had always been clear-headed, always known the right path. But this—this was different. It wasn't about decisions or responsibilities. It was about understanding, about something he couldn't grasp with logic alone.

Zhan stood up and walked to the cabinet of the living room, after messing up with two or three space, he found out what he was looking for..........

************

In the dark living room, sitting on the armchair, Zhan fingers moved with a practiced ease as he lit the cigarette. The familiar burn of smoke filled his lungs as he took a long, slow drag, the edge of his frustration dulling for just a moment.

In the quiet, only the faint crackle of the cigarette could be heard. Zhan exhaled, watching the smoke curl and twist in the low light, disappearing into the darkness around him. This had always been his way to calm his nerves, to find some control when everything else felt like it was slipping. But tonight, the relief was fleeting. He took another drag, but the stress still gnawed at him, heavy and relentless.

As the hours stretched on, Zhan's thoughts drifted back to Yibo—he'd catch Yibo's reaction when he smoked for the first time inside the house, preciously second day of their living together. The way Yibo's nose would wrinkle, his body shifting ever so slightly as if trying to escape the cloud of smoke that lingered in the room. Zhan hadn't thought much of it then—just a passing discomfort, something Yibo hadn't voiced.

But he noticed the same discomfort on next day. He hadn't said anything either, but something shifted inside Zhan in that moment. He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray and, for the first time, didn't light another one. It wasn't a decision he had consciously made, but the next day, when he reached for a cigarette, Zhan had hesitated, remembering Yibo's expression. The way he had wordlessly moved away. Zhan had slipped the cigarette back into the pack, and after that, he never smoked inside the house again. It wasn't long before he stopped smoking altogether—inside, outside, anywhere......maybe concerned even the smell of smoke on him could made Yibo discomfort...distant, which was now a truth of his life.

The more Zhan thought, the more the pieces of his carefully constructed life fell apart in his mind. His memories with Yibo were full of him being the 'responsible husband,' but how many of those moments showed real care? He had cared, of course. Hadn't he? But was that care was enough for Yibo to understand that he cared? He sat back down on the chair, running his hands over his face.

He was again overthinking.....wasn't it he himself used to prepare the tea before sitting for his work, he could do that again. Whydwell so deeply on such a small thing? He could make his own tea again....I can....I will prepare tea just right now and have it.

(Male ego: saw my dad doing such thing every now and then out of ego and anger only to get beaten by mom afterwards and then he became kicked puppy...lol!!)

With a huff, Zhan got up and went to the kitchen. He tried to make himself some tea, fumbling with the teapot and the tea leaves, but it wasn't the same. The moment he tasted, he felt puke. The tea didn't taste right, too bitter....something was missing, He combed through the ingredients, but they were all the same as before. So what was it?

Zhan didn't want to think anymore, he needed sleep. He just needed a good sleep. He made his way towards the bedroom with this thought. The familiar soft sheets offered little comfort as he sank into them. Instinctively, Zhan reached out, as he always did, to pull Yibo closer. But the space beside him was empty—cold. His hand landed on a pillow instead of Yibo's warmth, the absence a stark contrast to the cozy nights they used to share. Zhan turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling, the stillness of the room unsettling.

He had never noticed how he relied on Yibo's presence to fall asleep, the subtle weight of him beside Zhan, the rhythmic sound of his breathing that lulled him into a deep rest. Now, the quiet felt too loud. The bed felt too big, and Zhan found himself turning his head, half expecting to see Yibo's sleeping face, resting on the pillow next to his. But today it was just him. Alone.

He closed his eyes even sleep was far reached, hoping for a better morning but The morning  for Zhan was no better, maybe worst.

...To Be Continued