In Between Us || Zhanyi

|| 62 ||

The bedroom was quiet, dimly lit through the drawn curtains. The world outside moved on in soft rhythms—birds in the distance, the occasional honk from a far-off road—but inside the room, time had slowed to something far more tender.

Zhan stirred first.

His lashes fluttered, breath catching as his senses returned—and then he felt it. A familiar weight settled against his chest. Not heavy. Not inconvenient. Just there, like a secret he'd grown used to holding. A faint smile pulled at his lips before his eyes even opened. He didn't need to guess. He already knew.

Of course.

He could feel it—warm skin against his neck, a cheek resting where his heartbeat lived - His arms were already curved naturally around the slender frame clinging to him like a second skin.

Zhan finally opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a tuft of dark hair, slightly tousled, soft like down against his collarbone. He smiled...Just like always.

There lay Yibo—completely out, deep in sleep - tucked securely against Zhan, head nestled beneath his chin, one arm tucked tightly under Zhan's waist, the other draped possessively across his stomach like some sleepy claim. Legs tangled beneath the one bare knee hooked over Zhan's thigh.

Like a koala, Zhan thought, amused. His heart ached in that quiet way it always did every time he woke up like this—with Yibo half-draped over him, trusting him so fully only in sleep.

This wasn't new.

Zhan exhaled slowly, his hand instinctively rising to brush a few strands of hair off Yibo's forehead.

He doesn't even know he does this.

Zhan still remembered the first time it happened—on their wedding night.....long after midnight, after Yibo had shyly nodded to Zhan's question—"We're doing this tonight?"—and the night took its course in slow-burning passion and awkward tenderness. They had fallen asleep apart, but sometime around the night, Zhan felt it.

It started with a hand.

Then a leg.

Then nuzzle under his chin.

Zhan blinked awake, something had wrapped around him. Startled, he looked down and found the quiet boy tangled around him like ivy—cheek against his chest, arms clutching as if Zhan was some sort of lifeline.

Zhan had stiffened at first, unsure what to do. He wasn't used to this kind of intimacy. He wasn't used to such kind of skinship. He had never been the cuddly kind.

But Yibo, in sleep, seemed to become someone else—unafraid, instinctive, soft in ways he never allowed himself to be during the day. And so, that night, Zhan simply stayed still. He adjusted his arm around Yibo and let the boy stay.

And then it became routine.

No matter how they started—back to back, side by side—somewhere in the middle of the night, Yibo would crawl toward him like gravity itself pulled him there. Snuggling into the curve of Zhan's body. Wrapping around his chest. Seeking warmth, seeking peace. Like Zhan was something he couldn't name, but needed to hold. A gravity his unconscious mind couldn't ignore.

And Zhan, to his own surprise, didn't move. He didn't shift or wake him. Never—not once—did he push Yibo away. He simply stayed. Awake, at first, adjusting his posture so Yibo could sleep more comfortably, hold his breath at odd angles, lie still for longer than he was used to—then eventually, over time, he grew used to it. To the weight. The warmth. The presence.