Fang finished tidying up in the kitchen and quietly made his way back upstairs. His movements were deliberate, his mind still clouded with thoughts from earlier. Stepping into their bedroom, he grabbed a towel and fresh clothes before heading to the shower.
The warm water cascaded over him, but it did little to wash away the lingering hurt in his chest. He closed his eyes, leaning against the cool tile wall as he replayed the argument with Tan in his mind. Why is it so hard for him to talk about this? he wondered. Doesn't he understand how much this means to me?
After a while, Fang turned off the shower, dried himself off, and changed into his pajamas. When he reentered the bedroom, his eyes fell on Marc, sleeping peacefully in his crib. The sight of his little boy brought a small, bittersweet smile to his lips.
He approached the crib quietly, reaching down to gently scoop Marc up into his arms. The toddler stirred slightly but settled against Fang's chest with a soft murmur. Fang pressed a kiss to Marc's forehead before carrying him to the bed and carefully laying him down in the middle.
Fang climbed into bed beside Marc, pulling the blanket over both of them. He watched his son's tiny chest rise and fall with each breath, finding comfort in the simplicity of the moment. At least I have him, Fang thought. Even if everything else feels uncertain.
Meanwhile, downstairs, Tan was at the dining table with his laptop and a stack of papers. He had been staring at the same assignment for the past fifteen minutes, his mind far from focused.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to redirect his thoughts. But no matter how hard he tried, his mind kept drifting back to Fang-to the argument, the silence during dinner, and the way Fang had avoided looking at him.
I need to figure this out, Tan thought, though he wasn't sure where to start.
The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of the laptop and the occasional creak of the floorboards upstairs. Tan glanced at the clock, realizing how late it had gotten. With a heavy sigh, he closed his laptop and began tidying up his work.
It was nearing midnight when Tan, exhausted from the long day, finally gave up on finishing his homework and decided to rest on the couch. He had been trying to ignore the weight of his emotions, but it felt like the distance between him and Fang was growing with every passing hour. As he lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts kept drifting back to the argument-back to Fang's hurt expression, the way he'd tried to act like nothing had happened, but Tan could see through it all. I need to fix this, he kept telling himself. But how?
Meanwhile, in their bedroom, Fang stirred. He had been lying awake, unable to shake the emptiness he felt inside. He knew Tan was downstairs, but the silence between them felt unbearable. His stomach growled softly, a reminder that it had been hours since dinner. As if on cue, the familiar wave of midnight cravings hit him.
Fang sighed quietly, slipping out of bed and padding down the hallway to the kitchen. The house was quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator. He reached for a plate and was about to fill it with leftovers when his hand slipped, sending the plate crashing to the floor with a loud clang.
Tan shot up from the couch, startled by the noise. His heart raced as he rubbed his eyes and listened closely. He could hear movement from the kitchen, followed by a soft curse. Fang, Tan thought, already knowing what had happened.
He got up from the couch quickly and headed toward the kitchen, but what he saw when he entered made his blood run cold. Fang was crouched on the floor, frantically trying to clean up the broken pieces of the plate. In the process, he had cut his hand, and blood was starting to drip from his palm.
