FORBIDDEN

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 13

Yibo lay in bed, arms rigidly crossed over his chest, the soft glow of his phone screen dimming against the quiet hum of the night. The device rested squarely on his sternum, vibrating occasionally with notifications he didn’t bother to check. His eyes stayed locked on the ceiling, unblinking, as if playing mental chess with the silence.

The digital clock on the nightstand glowed an ominous red: 10:17 PM.

Each minute that passed only heightened the sharpness of his gaze. The apartment was still—eeriely so. The soft hum of the air conditioning was the only sound until the front door finally creaked open.

Zhan stepped into the apartment like a man on trial, every movement laced with exaggerated caution. He closed the door slowly, delicately, as if trying not to wake a sleeping dragon. Unfortunately, the click of the lock echoed through the space like a gavel.

“You’re late.”

A voice cut through the silence, steady and unmistakable.

Zhan froze in place, keys hanging between his fingers like incriminating evidence.

“Late?” he echoed, voice half-defensive, half-hopeful for leniency. “I don’t remember us signing an official curfew agreement.”

“You said you’d be home before ten,” Yibo replied evenly. “That wasn’t an order. That was your own declaration. I’m merely holding you accountable.”

With a groan that was part apology, part exhaustion, Zhan shuffled toward the bedroom like a student approaching the dean’s office. In his hand, a white paper bag swung gently, handled with the reverence of a peace offering. “May I present… compensation?”

Yibo’s tone remained cool. “Is it edible?”

Zhan moved to sit cross-legged on the edge of the bed and opened the bag with ceremonial flair. “Not just edible—heavenly. Fresh red bean mochi and your preferred milk tea: less sugar, no ice, because apparently, your taste buds are aristocrats.”

Wordlessly, Yibo accepted the milk tea, punctured the seal with the straw, and took a long sip. The corners of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but enough for Zhan to detect a crack in the armor.

Taking that as encouragement, Zhan leaned in slightly and let his head rest against Yibo’s shoulder. “Am I forgiven yet?”

Yibo’s gaze remained focused ahead, but his voice softened. “That depends. Are there more bribes in that bag?”

“Maybe,” Zhan teased. “But I was hoping to sweeten the deal with a back massage. Five to ten minutes. Optional essential oils. Warm hands, good intentions, no ulterior motives—mostly.”

“You’re bargaining with sweets and muscle therapy?” Yibo raised an eyebrow. “You think that’s enough to sway me?”

Zhan grinned, his smile forming with practiced precision. “I know it is.”

With a long sigh, Yibo finally shifted to the side, lifting the edge of the blanket. “Fine. Get in. But your feet better not be frozen.”

Zhan chuckled victoriously, kicked off his shoes, and climbed under the covers. He nestled into Yibo’s side like a puzzle piece sliding into place, his head finding its usual spot beneath Yibo’s collarbone, as if magnetically drawn.

“You smell like roasted chestnuts,” Yibo murmured.

“There was a local autumn night market,” Zhan explained, his voice muffled by Yibo’s shirt. “Lanterns everywhere. Kids running around in fox masks. One stall was grilling chestnuts, and another had calligraphy fortune scrolls. It was unexpectedly magical.”

Yibo hummed, not speaking, but his arm wrapped around Zhan’s waist in silent acknowledgment.

They lay together in stillness for several minutes. Not the kind of silence that felt strained or uncertain, but the kind that filled the room with warmth and mutual presence. Each breath from Zhan synced gradually with Yibo’s—like a metronome calming a racing heartbeat.

“I missed you,” Zhan said softly.

“I didn’t go anywhere.”

“I know. But sometimes, even when people stay in one place, you miss them differently. Like… emotionally missing them.”

Yibo turned slightly, looking down at him with softened features. “You sound like a poetry major.”

“Only in moments of desperation and guilt,” Zhan replied. “Besides, your glare makes me want to recite love sonnets in self-defense.”

Yibo didn’t respond with words. Instead, he pressed a brief, tender kiss to Zhan’s forehead.

Encouraged, Zhan continued, “And I thought about you the whole time I was gone. Every light display, every snack—I kept wishing you were there to see it too.”

Yibo raised a skeptical brow. “Even during your second helping of dumplings?”

“I didn’t have a second helping.”

“What?” Yibo asked, mock-scandalized. “You denied yourself dumplings?”

“It was a heroic sacrifice,” Zhan said solemnly. “A love offering. You better appreciate it.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m endearingly theatrical,” Zhan corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Yibo chuckled under his breath. “Fine. You’re forgiven. But next time, if you’re late again…”

“What, you’ll write a passive-aggressive limerick?”

“No. I’ll eat your dessert portion. Entirely. Without hesitation.”

Zhan gasped, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “How dare you threaten me with such cruelty?”

“I’m simply laying out the consequences of your actions.”

“Romantic brutality,” Zhan said with mock solemnity. “I see how it is.”

Yibo tightened the blanket around them, his fingers brushing against Zhan’s. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Zhan leaned in further, their foreheads briefly touching. “I know.”

Outside, the city had finally quieted. The distant hum of traffic had faded into soft silence, punctuated only by the occasional chirp of a night bird.

Gentle golden light from the streetlamps bled through the curtains, casting faint patterns across the room. Inside, wrapped in their nest of warmth and shared breath, the world had reduced to the space between two hearts, beating in tandem beneath the covers.

END OF CHAPTER 13