Three in a Bed

Chapter 2: Under the Tree

Your mum drops you off at school on her way to work in the morning, and you find your way to class without too much difficulty, and more of a spring in your step as you will get to sit by Yixing again.

He is already sat at the desk you share, notebook and pencil out as he continues his drawing of the deer. It is nearly finished, and looks very impressive. He glances across at you when you sit down, smiling briefly before returning his attention to the drawing. Not for the first time, you find yourself captivated by the smooth, precise strokes of his pencil across the paper.

"Nàgè hǎo piàoliang," (That is beautiful) you tell him. He looks at you properly then.

"Xièxiè," he murmurs. "Tā wèi péngyǒu." (It's for a friend.) You return his smile, catching your breath when he reaches over to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. His fingers brush your cheek and a pleasant tingling sensation rushes through you.

But just as suddenly, the contact is gone and he returns to his drawing as if nothing happened. Mrs Huang enters and you do your best to focus rather than thinking about how soft and gentle his touch had been.

Halfway through the class, Yixing pushes a folded piece of paper across the desk to you. Unfolding it, you discover that he has drawn you a map of the school, complete with labels scrawled in his spidery handwriting. Opening your notebook to a blank page, you quickly scrawl 洗洗 (thank you). Yixing smiles and shrugs as if to say It's nothing.

Under the desk, he takes your hand. His palm is warm and smooth against yours. You look across at him, but he doesn't make eye contact, nodding toward the front of the room to remind you to pay attention to Mrs Huang, but giving your hand a firm, reassuring squeeze. When you start writing, he still doesn't let go of your hand - he is holding your right - and you are glad. Especially when he starts stroking the top of your thumb with his own.

You remind yourself to breathe, trying not to get caught up in the thrill that accompanied Yixing's touch, even if it was just on your hand. When the bell rings, you wish you didn't have to go to your next class, but as you stand up Yixing tugs on your wrist to pull your ear down to his mouth.

"Yíngjiē wǒ de shù zài wǔcān shíjiān xià," (Meet me under the tree at lunchtime) he murmurs, his breath warm and tickly against your ear. You shiver at the sensation, nodding, and he lets you go. Feeling the pleasant buzz of elation, you hurry to your next class, praying that the time will pass quickly.

The next two lessons drag by. You do your best to concentrate on the work, but in dull moments you welcome Yixing drifting into your thoughts; a much-needed distraction.

You are the first up and out of your seat when the hands of the clock reach 12:30 and the bell rings for lunch. Grabbing your bag, you hurry through the corridors, using Yixing's map to guide you to 'the tree', a tall Chinese red pine tree standing in one secluded corner of the courtyard.

Yixing isn't there yet. Sitting on the bench that runs around the bottom of the tree, you pull out your phone and start scrolling through your Instagram feed. Time passes and Yixing still doesn't arrive, and you decide to start on your sandwiches without him. Inwardly, you are disappointed and upset that he stood you up like this.

A shadow falls across you.

"Zuìhòu!" (Finally!) you exclaim, squinting up at the figure. Wait. Figures plural; there are three of them. And none of them are Yixing. Their leader; a tall, heavyset boy with a menacing expression and fists like meat slabs leers down at you. You shrink backwards, until the bark of the tree dogs into your back.

"Suǒyǐ nǐ shì xīn de rèdiǎn de nǔhái ne?" (So you're the hot new girl are you?) he grins, revealing teeth that are crooked and yellowing. Your eyes widen in terror. "Wǒ xǐhuān nǐ." (I like you.) he takes a step closer to you so that he is only centimetres away, but a hand appears in front of his face, preventing him from getting any closer. At this point your skin is crawling, but you pray it is Yixing at last.

"Fàngguò tā. Bùyào kàojìn tā yǐhòu zài." (Leave her alone. Don't come near her ever again.)

The voice doesn't belong to Yixing. Scowling, the boys slope away in defeat, and you look upwards at the boy towering above you. The sun is behind him, preventing you from making out any of his features, but he sits beside you, smiling.

He looks like a model. With perfectly proportioned facial features, and beautiful dark hair, he could have literally stepped off the cover of a magazine. His fashion choice is impeccable too. And he has the most adorable ears, that stick out from the sides of his head in a way that adds an adorable side to his hotness.

"Wǒ shí Chanyeol," he smiles, inclining his head politely. "Bèi tāmen dǎrǎo ma?" (Were they bothering you?)

"Er, shì shénme zài dǎrǎo?" (Er, what is 'bothering?) you ask, embarrassed at your terrible Mandarin.

"Bàoqiàn," (Sorry) he apologises. "Jiù xiàng fánrén?" (Like annoying?)

"Ah," you nod. "Xièxiè," you say quietly.

"Hǎo de, kěyǐ. Wǒ zhǐshì xiǎng bāng nǐ, wǒ de péngyǒu." (That's okay. I only want to help you, my friend.)

You repeat your thanks, and he tilts his head to the side as if he is considering something. You find yourself squirming under his gaze.

"Wǒ yǐjīng kàn dào nǐ Yixing." (I've seen you with Yixing) he says finally, and you duck your head at his accusing tone.

"Nǐ yīnggāi zài tā shēnbiān xiǎoxīn." (You should be careful around him) Chanyeol warns you. "Yǒuxiē shìqíng nǐ bù zhīdào tā, tā de lìshǐ..." (There are things you don't know about him, his history...)

Chanyeol stands up as if to leave but you pull him back down.

"Gǎo shénme guǐ! Nǐ bùnéng shuō lèisì de dōngxī, ránhòu jiàn hǎo jiù shōu!" (What the hell! You can't say something like that and then just leave!)

He sighs heavily. "Zhè bùshì wǒ dì dìfāng gàosù nǐ. Wèn tā huò yāoqiú Luhan, dàn bù xìnrèn tā. Tā bùshì zài shù dǐxia quán shì shǒugōng huìzhì dì dìtú hé wǔcān rìqí." (It's not my place to tell you. Ask him or ask Luhan, but don't trust him. He isn't all hand-drawn maps and lunch dates under the tree.)

"Chanyeol!" you exclaim, annoyed. But he's gone.

"Chanyeol?" Yixing has finally arrived, and he's not alone. Another boy stands behind him; around he same height but with lighter brown hair and a cute face that looks younger than he is.

"Shénme Chanyeol zài zhèlǐ zuò shénme?" (What was Chanyeol doing here?) he asks suspiciously, and you can immediately sense the tension between the two of them.

"Shénme dōu méiyǒu, tā gānggāng cóng dārào wǒ tíngzhǐle yīxiē qiúyuán" (Nothing, he just stopped some guys from bothering {pronounced incorrectly} me.)

Yixing laughs. "dǎrǎo, bù dārào" (Bothering, not {not bothering}) he corrects. "Rúguǒ nǐ yuànyì, wǒ kěyǐ bāngzhù nǐ tígāo zhōngwén?" (If you like, I can help you improve your Mandarin?)

You nod and smile. "Xièxiè."

Yixing sits down next to you on the bench, taking your hand in his. "Zhè shì
Luhan." (This is Luhan) he says, gesturing to his friend.

So this is Luhan, you think, remembering Chanyeol's words. Luhan grins at you, an infectious grin that makes a smile spread over your cheeks too. Yixing is stroking your hand gently, and you can't help but contemplate whether things are going too fast. You met yesterday, and suddenly you are best friends.

A seed of doubt creeps into your head, and you wonder just how much you can actually trust Zhang Yixing.