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Four hours into Guanheng’s shift, the flickering light at the newspaper and magazine corner of the store begins to grate on his nerves. He twirls the spare ballpen around on the counter surface, glaring hard at the ceiling, praying for the light to go out. The motion-sensitive doorbell dings loudly and with a familiar whir, the automatic door slides open. He stands up straighter to greet the newcomer, tucking his hands behind his back.

The customer, a young woman geared up in a sports singlet and shorts, strolls into the store with a navy leash wrapped tightly around her left hand. Her hair is drawn up in a ponytail and her fringe is sweaty, matted against her forehead. The chewing gum display on the side of the counter initially obstructs his view of the dog but Guanheng catches sight of a brown dachshund, padding obediently after her as the woman strides past him.

Guanheng should really speak up and inform her about the store’s no-dog policy but it’s hard to muster the energy to do it. He leaves them be, watching in amusement as the short legs of the dachshund shuffle at an impressive rate to keep up with its owner. The woman swerves into the chips aisle and the dog disappears from view. Before Guanheng can register the disappointment bubbling in his chest, the doorbell rings again.

It’s Yoghurt Boy.

Guanheng glances at the clock on the cash register. Fifteen past two, on the dot. Yoghurt Boy is always so on time it baffles Guanheng. He often wonders if Yoghurt Boy is aware of his own punctuality.

Tonight, he’s wearing his usual face mask and his yellow cap backwards. Guanheng recognises the cap. It’s the one with the words ‘Golden State’ written on the front that he always wears with dark-coloured clothing. The combination of contrasting colours is an interesting fashion choice and Guanheng doesn’t know if he appreciates the look because it genuinely looks nice, or simply because it’s Yoghurt Boy.

It’s kind of hard for Guanheng’s brain to function properly to reach conclusions about trivial matters when a certain someone is walking around with such an attractive face.

He follows the back of Yoghurt Boy’s head, entranced by the way the words on his cap bobs slightly as he strides purposefully to the fridge area. As usual, Yoghurt Boy stops in front of the rows of yoghurt tubs, tucked in between the drinks and salad sections.

“Hi.”

Guanheng whips his head back around, startled by the voice of the dachshund lady. He didn’t even notice her approach the counter. She gently places her items on the counter and waits patiently as Guanheng scans her items one by one.

As he swipes the woman’s credit card, Guanheng belatedly realises that Yoghurt Boy has made his way to the counter and is next in line. He hasn’t even had the chance to mentally prepare himself for this—he better not make a fool of himself when talking to him. Panic rises in his chest and he fumbles, dropping the card. The woman clicks her tongue, visibly annoyed, but Guanheng ignores her, unable to find the energy in him to care about her when Yoghurt Boy is standing before him.

The tub of yoghurt slides onto the counter and he follows its movement with his eyes before forcing himself to glance up and stare right into Yoghurt Boy’s eyes. There was a period of time when he was too scared to look him in the eye and would spend the rest of his shift mulling in regretful feelings. Guanheng’s braver now and smart enough to not make the same mistake again.

He fumbles with the yoghurt at the sight of the small tuft of hair sticking upwards from where the hole at the back of Yoghurt Boy’s cap is pressed against the front of his head.

“Um, that will be $35,” he announces as he scans the single tub of mango yoghurt, feeling somewhat stupid because Yoghurt Boy visits his corner store 7-Eleven at the junction between Linsen East Road and Bodong Road to buy his yoghurt daily. It’s not like he doesn’t know the price off by heart already.

Yoghurt Boy has his coins prepared in a neat stack between his slim fingers. Guanheng holds out his hand to collect the silver $10 and $5 coins, his breath catching in his throat when their hands brush.

“Is that right?” Yoghurt Boy asks. His voice is muffled by his black face mask but god, it’s so attractive.

Guanheng doesn’t even count the coins, he just blurts out an over-enthusiastic, “Yes!”

Yoghurt Boy swipes his yoghurt off the counter. “Goodnight,” he says softly, his eyes curving into crescent moons as he leaves the store.

Even the way he walks out is attractive.

Dumbfounded after their brief minute of daily interaction, he daydreams for a good ten minutes. It is only when the next customer enters the store that Guanheng belatedly notices the trail of small dirt paw prints that wind around the store.

Tonight, exactly forty-five minutes into his shift, Guanheng realises how terrible this shift will be. Absolutely disastrous.

They have run out of mango yoghurt.

There is an abundance of other flavours—peach, strawberry, passionfruit, blueberry—but the fridge shelves are empty of the familiar yellow tubs. Of all flavours, why did it have to be mango? Guanheng almost wants to shake his fist angrily at the ceiling. Couldn’t the other customers have purchased strawberry or something? They always seem to have an overly large amount of strawberry yoghurt.

The weight of dread sits deep in his chest and distracts him all night. He spends an hour longer than usual to restock the shelves but it doesn’t really matter because the customers at this hour aren’t exactly rushing to snatch chocolate bars and small packets of lollies off the shelf.

The school kids from across the road are on summer holidays so the store has been more peaceful in the afternoon. On a typical school day, the 4pm to 5pm after school rush is the worst. The store becomes filled with children and teens who push and shove to get the last of the chips and sweets.

He kicks sulkily at the empty cardboard boxes behind the counter. Fortunately, he’s alone—his boss and evening shift coworkers have left the store for the day and Guanheng is alone for yet another graveyard shift.

Time crawls extra slowly tonight and the impending doom builds the stress within him in small increments. If Sicheng was around to witness this, he would laugh at him and call him dramatic. Slumping against the counter, Guanheng eyes the time from the corner of his eyes.

He has exactly one hundred and five minutes until Yoghurt Boy will visit the shop.

Maybe he can close the shop for fifteen minutes and travel to another 7-Eleven store on his scooter to exchange for some strawberry yoghurt for the mango. He eyes his worn motor vehicle parked in the corner outside the store, then up at the security cameras glaring down at him.

On second thought, he curls back against his seat behind the counter. If he left the store, his boss would somehow find out.

Alright, maybe he is being a bit dramatic. It’s just yoghurt and Yoghurt Boy is a grown-ass man who can go one night without his beloved mango yoghurt. But the thought of breaking the bad news to Yoghurt Boy and seeing the disappointment on his face...

Guanheng unleashes a loud whine, completely forgetting about the middle-aged man sitting at the far corner of the store eating his instant noodles. The man pauses mid-slurp and turns to flash Guanheng an odd look.

Ignoring the man, Guanheng grabs a loose piece of paper and scribbles his thoughts wildly. He will just have to speak up the moment Yoghurt Boy enters the store and be honest with him. Guanheng has never had a proper conversation with Yoghurt Boy before but this is his golden opportunity. He will let him know that they have no more mango yoghurt—

Will Yoghurt Boy find it weird that Guanheng knows he is here for mango yoghurt, that he noticed they have no more in stock? Maybe he should stay quiet and not scare Yoghurt Boy away. After all, this 7-Eleven isn’t the only convenience store in the area and Yoghurt Boy can very easily frequent another store instead. Then Guanheng would have to resign because there really is no point doing this graveyard shift if Yoghurt Boy isn’t around, not even for the higher pay rate.

At exactly fifteen past two, he spots Yoghurt Boy approaching in the distance and his heart thuds annoyingly fast in his chest.

To be frank, it’s kind of embarrassing how quickly he catches sight of Yoghurt Boy when he blips onto his radar but Guanheng has accepted his fate. That he has hawk eyes—or maybe tunnel vision—when it comes to Yoghurt Boy.

Mustering the remaining sliver of courage in his chest, Guanheng stands straighter behind the counter, preparing himself to deliver the bad news. The annoying loud bell rings and the automatic door whirs open.

He welcomes Yoghurt Boy when he comes sauntering into the store, but as soon as his usual store greeting leaves his mouth, he is at a loss for words. The bad news gets caught in his throat and he stands there, gaping at Yoghurt Boy who doesn’t even look in his direction for a second time after smiling politely at his greeting.

So he stands there dumbly as Yoghurt Boy ambles towards the neat rows of yoghurt stacked on the fridge shelf. He watches in horror as Yoghurt Boy’s shoulders slump at the realisation and he dejectedly reaches for a tub of strawberry yoghurt instead. Guanheng’s heart aches at the sight, his breath catching in his throat.

His body continues to malfunction when Yoghurt Boy brings his item to the counter. He gapes at the strawberry yoghurt dumbly as he scans it, barely uttering out the price when Yoghurt Boy asks.

And just like that, Yoghurt Boy leaves. Guanheng’s brain belatedly catches up in the dead silence of the store.

If Sicheng hears about this, he would most definitely call him a coward. Tugging his work uniform upwards, Guanheng screams into the hem of his shirt. He spends the remaining half of his shift berating himself for being stupid and for not reacting.

It’s kind of frightening just how much power Yoghurt Boy has over him—the power to render Guanheng’s brain absolutely and utterly useless—and he doesn’t even know it. Heck, Guanheng doesn’t even know if Yoghurt Boy remembers him because all he does is scan his yoghurt and take his money.

Crushes are stupid, Guanheng concludes. But he has fallen too hard for Yoghurt Boy and there’s no turning back.

Guanheng’s summer holiday continues to remain uneventful. He falls into the same repetitive routine of working graveyard shifts from ten till six, five nights a week. He spends his weeknights anticipating and marvelling at Yoghurt Boy and his weekends with his best friends. His sleep schedule is a mess but the pay is great and at the end of each week, he takes a wad of cash to the bank and watches in delight as the balance in his bank account increases. He’s saving up for a new laptop and some extra spending money for when he has his annual trip to his grandmother’s place with his sisters.

“Chiayi is so boring sometimes,” Yangyang yawns, his legs propped up on the coffee table.

They’re at Sicheng’s house, lazing around after a game of basketball. Sicheng’s mother is cooking in the kitchen, humming cheerfully to herself. When neither Sicheng nor Guanheng replies, Yangyang shifts his feet onto Guanheng’s lap. Sicheng, who was resting his head on Guanheng’s thigh, groans in disgust.

“Yangyang!” he whines, sitting upright abruptly to avoid Yangyang’s bare toes. Yangyang grins mischievously, digging his toes into Guanheng’s sides instead.

Guanheng has to agree with Yangyang though—Chiayi really is a boring city to live in. There’s always so much more to see, so much more to do when he is visiting his grandmother, one hour up north in Taichung.

Chiayi is, after all, significantly smaller.

Public transport is less convenient (almost non-existent) and for Yangyang, who has yet to learn to ride a scooter or drive a car, it is definitely more boring because there is only so far you can travel on a bicycle.

“Let’s go to the night market tomorrow night,” Sicheng suggests.

“The one at Carrefour? It’s not open Monday nights, dummy. Why don’t we go on Tuesday night?” Yangyang rolls his eyes.

Sicheng scrambles over Guanheng’s lap to jokingly strangle Yangyang. Guanheng yelps, failing miserably to move out of the way. “Guys, guys. Stop, leave me out of this!”

Sicheng isn’t all that heavy with his slim frame but it’s still uncomfortable having a lapful of lanky limbs.

“I work weeknights, remember?” Guanheng frowns.

Yangyang sighs dramatically, slithering out of Sicheng’s grasp, “I forgot that you’re boring. Can you take a night off?” Then he wiggles his eyebrows, “Or not. I’m sure Yoghurt Boy will be very sad to not see you manning the store.”

Sicheng sniggers with Yangyang and Guanheng tackles them both off the sofa.

Last weekend when Sicheng, Yangyang, and Jungwoo slept over at Guanheng’s house, Guanheng had woken most of them up in the middle of the night with his sleep talking. About Yoghurt Boy. He curses his subconscious for exposing him like that. His ears burn with embarrassment and he never wants to think about what he dreamt of that night or what he said to Yoghurt Boy in the dream conversation.

Yangyang had been insufferable, annoyingly giddy about someone else’s business. He has always been nosy like that, ever since Guanheng became best friends with him back in middle school. Within an hour, even his cousin, Xuxi, found out about this too and Xuxi doesn’t even live in Taiwan.

“Alright, which one of you fuckers texted Xuxi,” Guanheng deadpanned, glaring at them all. He shook his phone screen angrily, displaying five lengthy voice messages he had received from Xuxi, all of which consisted of incoherent yelling.

Jungwoo had looked so puzzled at the time so he ruled him out.

At times, Jungwoo misses parts of the conversation because they spoke too fast or too colloquially. Considering Jungwoo had only started learning Mandarin a year and a half ago, he is rather proficient for a foreigner. Guanheng is usually pretty good at helping his Korean exchange student friend out. He doesn’t mind re-explaining the joke or the conversation to Jungwoo in simple Mandarin or broken English. That is, when the joke is not about himself and he is not minutes away from exploding with anger.

Yangyang had burst out into laughter then, exposing himself.

Brushing these thoughts aside, Guanheng redirects the conversation to their plans for the night, ignoring the way his ears burn. In the end, they make last-minute plans to go to the Night Markets at Carrefour. They detour to pick up Jungwoo and Ten from their dorm near the university. Ten steals the front seat, so the rest of them squeeze into the back of Sicheng’s car, Guanheng sitting in the back with Yangyang on his left and Jungwoo on his right.

Work continues the way it always does: uneventful and boring. Except they keep running out of mango yoghurt at Guanheng’s 7-Eleven store and he begins to wonder if someone is intentionally buying all the tubs of mango yoghurt so that there’s none left for Yoghurt Boy.

On a Tuesday night at the end of July, Guanheng finally musters the courage to speak to Yoghurt Boy instead of watching him shyly from the distance.

“There’s no more mango yoghurt,” Guanheng blurts out. “The stocks come in at 7 in the morning.”

Yoghurt Boy stops in his steps. He swivels around, scratching his head. His dark brown hair appears glossy under the fluorescent light.

“How did you know…?” Yoghurt Boy asks sheepishly. The lilt of his voice and the way he rolls his tongue a little too much makes him easily distinguishable from the locals.

Subconsciously, Guanheng mirrors Yoghurt Boy’s actions and scratches his head. “Oh, I just noticed that you come by around this hour,” he mumbles omitting the ‘a lot’ part at the end of his sentence.

“That’s a shame,” Yoghurt Boy comments in a sad voice. He stares longingly at the yoghurt section.

In a hopeful voice, Guanheng offers gently, “There are other flavours. Have you tried the passionfruit or the peach?”

Yoghurt Boy shakes his head. “I’ve only tried mango and strawberry from this brand. I’m generally not a fan of the other flavours. One time I tried the strawberry yoghurt and it just confirmed that I should just stick with mango.”

“I’m sorry that there’s no more.”

“Oh, don’t be!” Yoghurt Boy smiles but Guanheng can only see the mirth through his eyes. He dreams of the day that the black face mask is removed and Guanheng will finally get to see Yoghurt Boy’s beautiful face.

“It’s a bit too cold for yoghurt anyway,” Yoghurt Boy adds, wandering towards the bench displaying the ready-to-eat hot food. He peers at the hot dogs, then at the pot filled with tea leaf eggs. “Today feels like a good day for guandongzhu, isn’t it?”

Guanheng nods, humming in agreement before he even processes Yoghurt Boy’s words. Whilst it is not unusual for the city to be raining heavily, thunderstorm after thunderstorm in the middle of summer, the temperatures have dropped to an oddly low number this evening. It certainly is unusually cold for a summer night.

Yoghurt Boy reaches into the small bucket of tongs, fishing a pair out with his right hand. He helps himself to a large disposable bowl, his eyes sweeping the options carefully before making a choice. From where Guanheng is standing behind the counter, he can see him reach forward with the tongs and pluck something out of the broth. Yoghurt Boy’s body obscures his view of the specific item he is selecting.

He picks about five to six items before he sets down the tongs, opting for the ladle to spoon some soup into his bowl. With much care, he carries his brimming bowl to the counter. Guanheng peeks into the bowl and assesses the contents.

It’s interesting to see the choices Yoghurt Boy made but Guanheng doesn’t know whether or not knowing his preference for the fish balls, fish cakes, and fried tofu can give him much useful information about his personality. If it is even possible to make some sort of horoscope prediction through someone’s food choices.

“How much will that be?”

“That will be $75,” Guanheng replies, punching the items into the system. “You should get the special guandongzhu sauce and try it with the soup. It’s on the shelf under the pot with the tea leaf eggs.”

Yoghurt Boy doesn’t even think twice about Guanheng’s recommendation. He wanders back to the guandongzhu section and snags two packets of sauce. “Is it like the Big Mac sauce at McDonald’s? A secret recipe of some sort?” He raises a single eyebrow in amusement and Guanheng’s heart is just about ready to cease to function.

“I guess,” Guanheng chokes out. He accepts Yoghurt Boy’s $100 note and with shaky hands, he retrieves one $5 and two $10 coins for his change.

“Are you not from around here?” Guanheng blurts out as Yoghurt Boy carefully covers his soup with a plastic lid. He really has no filter tonight, his mouth acting to its own accord.

The lid doesn’t fit properly because of the ends of skewers poking out from the side. The tips of Yoghurt Boy’s ears flush red and Guanheng wonders if his pretty cheeks are dusted with pink beneath the face mask.

“Is it obvious?” He asks Guanheng, sounding slightly embarrassed. He reaches a hand out towards Guanheng for his change.

One corner of Guanheng’s lips twitches, “Just a little. But don’t worry, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

He carefully tips the coins into Yoghurt Boy’s waiting hand. Guanheng will never admit this out loud but he’s disappointed (just a little) that their hands don’t brush.

“I’m not from around here either,” Guanheng adds.

“Oh?” Yoghurt Boy tilts his head curiously, “Where are you from?”

“Macau.”

Guanheng and his sisters were born in Macau but he has been living in Taiwan for more than two-thirds of his life, so he’s probably considered a local at this point.

Yoghurt Boy’s eyes linger around Guanheng’s breast pocket, where his badge is magnetically clipped to his uniform. Guanheng thinks this chest is going to catch fire if this conversation goes on for any longer.

“Well,” Yoghurt Boy smiles softly. He switches from Mandarin to Cantonese and continues, “I have to rush off but Mr. Kunhang, you will have to tell me your story another time.”

He waves goodbye but Guanheng has no more functioning neurons left to operate his body. He freezes, gaping at Yoghurt Boy’s back as he leaves the store. Belatedly, his brain registers that Yoghurt Boy had just spoken to him in his dialect.

He doesn’t even know where Yoghurt Boy learned to speak Cantonese so perfectly. He doesn’t even know Yoghurt Boy’s name.

All Guanheng knows is that he sounds like home.

“Guanheng, come help Ah-ma with the shopping bags!” Huiting scolds, nodding towards their grandmother.

Guanheng resists the urge to roll his eyes. His middle sister is becoming more and more like their mother, nagging constantly and always fussing over him.

It’s the first week of August and they’re in Taichung city, visiting their maternal grandmother. It’s a tradition for Guanheng and his sisters to spend at least one week at Ah-ma’s place during the summer holidays. When they were younger, his mother would accompany them throughout the whole trip. But since Guanheng’s fourteenth birthday, his mother started to leave after driving them to Taichung and returning at the end of the week to take them home.

Ah-ma chuckles, waving Huiting off, “I’ve lived many years by myself—almost more years than Guanheng has been alive. I can hold a bag or two by myself just fine.”

Despite Ah-ma’s protests, Guanheng insists. Not because Huiting will continue to nag if he doesn’t offer his help, but rather, as a way of showing his care for Ah-ma. With one hand, he plucks the canvas bags filled with groceries from her hands.

He gently rests his free hand on Ah-ma’s back, urging her to continue walking. His growth spurt over the last four years has left him towering over her. Right now, the top of her head barely reaches his shoulder.

“Our Guanheng is all grown up now,” she comments in Taiwanese, craning her head to look into Guanheng’s eyes. She flashes him a gummy smile.

Although Ah-ma speaks both Mandarin and Cantonese conversationally, her first language is Taiwanese and it remains her strongest language. Growing up in Chiayi, far away from the capital city, Guanheng was exposed to Taiwanese through school, his peers, and the people in the community. He understands a good amount of the dialect but doesn’t speak much.

Because of this, Guanheng finds it awkward to convey how he feels about her—like how much he loves her or how much he appreciates and looks forward to her cooking all the time—beyond a simple ‘thank you’ in Taiwanese.

When they arrive back at Ah-ma’s house fifteen minutes later, Jiayi, the youngest of Guanheng’s three older sisters, is still asleep. She recently returned from an overseas holiday with her friends and is still adjusting to the time difference. After the groceries are put away, Huiting joins her, trudging upstairs for an afternoon nap. With nothing else to do, Guanheng stays in the kitchen and watches Ah-ma as she cooks dinner.

“It would be nice if Yongting was here too,” Ah-ma comments wistfully as she spoons portions of rice into porcelain bowls with pale blue flowers.

Guanheng hums back, holding his hands out to collect the bowls of rice from her. Both Yongting and Huiting are working full-time but his eldest sister’s work is stricter about taking time off work. Guanheng doesn’t remember the last time he spent summer at Ah-ma’s place with all three of his sisters.

Then, even though it’s six months away, Ah-ma asks, “Will she be here for Chinese New Years?”

“I hope so,” Guanheng replies vaguely. He doesn’t want to give Ah-ma false hope for something he cannot guarantee.

It's a family tradition for them to drive up to Ah-ma’s house and stay overnight on the second day of every Chinese New Year. But last year, Yongting opted to travel with her boyfriend to spend time with his grandmother instead. Her decision sparked a nasty argument with their mother and they didn’t speak for a week. Guanheng’s not one to take sides in arguments, but every time he recalls the way Ah-ma’s face fell when she realised that Yongting wasn’t going to show up, his chest tightens and burns with anger.

Guanheng eats dinner quietly and listens in on his sisters’ conversations with Ah-ma. When he’s done eating, he leaves Ah-ma and Huiting to converse and joins Jiayi in the living room. She’s eating mango yoghurt—the same brand as the ones that Yoghurt Boy always buys.

“Have this one,” she says, pushing a second, unopened tub of yoghurt towards him.

Guanheng nearly admits that he doesn’t eat yoghurt but his chest aches in a funny way when he thinks about declining her offer. It’s almost like rejecting Yoghurt Boy by extension, so he accepts the tub and ducks off to the kitchen to retrieve a spoon.

When he returns, Jiayi polishes off her yoghurt and announces, “It’s your turn to help Ah-ma with the dishes tonight.”

Huffing loudly, Guanheng clambers back onto his spot on the sofa. “Fine, I’ll go after I finish this.”

He stares wistfully at the tube of mango yoghurt in his hands. He wants—needs—some time and personal space to mull over how much he’s going to miss Yoghurt Boy over the next few days. The last thing he wants to do right now is chores.

As he scrubs oily dishes and pots in the kitchen sink, the thoughts of Yoghurt Boy remain on the fringes of his mind.

“Guanheng, is something on your mind?” Ah-ma asks gently, glancing up from where she is transferring the leftover soup from a large pot into a smaller one by the stove.

He runs the porcelain bowls under the tap, one after the other, washing away the soap suds. He’s tempted to say no because he doesn’t want to Ah-ma to worry about him, but she knows him too well and can pick up on subtle non-verbal cues that reveal his dishonesty.

So he tells the truth as it is.

“Yes,” Guanheng explains, “but I don’t feel comfortable talking about it right now. I will tell you another time.”

He doesn’t know if he will ever openly discuss his love interests with his family but he finds comfort in the way Ah-ma shrugs it off and moves on to ask him about what he wants for lunch and dinner tomorrow. Unlike the other members of his family, Ah-ma doesn’t pry into other people’s business.

After the dishes are done and carefully arranged on the drying rack, they join Jiayi in the living room. Ah-ma’s favourite dramas and shows aren’t on tonight so they switched the channels to play a talk show that Jiayi likes to watch.

During one of the commercial breaks, Guanheng is reminded of his feelings for Yoghurt Boy when an advertisement promoting a yoghurt brand appears. As he nibbles away at his slices of watermelon, his thoughts drift back to Ah-ma asking him if something was on his mind earlier.

“Ah-ma, can you tell me more about Ah-gong?” Guanheng pipes up eagerly.

Ah-ma’s face visibly lights up as she begins to recount how she met his grandfather. “Back in our days, it was almost unheard of to be marrying out of love,” Ah-ma shares.

Jiayi turns the television down and tilts her head curiously at Ah-ma. Growing up, Guanheng has heard this story many times and he can almost retell it word for word. Guanheng is the only one in the family who has no memories with Ah-gong. His maternal grandfather had passed away from health complications around the time that Guanheng was born, so his only knowledge of him is through the stories told by Ah-ma, his parents, and his sisters, as well as the photos hung up along the hallway in Ah-ma’s house.

“But Ah-gong and I were very lucky,” Ah-ma continues. “We met at the right time and place and I was able to move to Hong Kong to be with him.”

Ah-ma always speaks brightly of Ah-gong and sometimes Guanheng wishes that he had the chance to meet him. Although the way his grandparents’ love story unfolds remains the same, the feelings he experiences tonight are different. For the first time, Guanheng begins to understand why his grandparents made the sacrifices they did for love.

He doesn’t know what changed, but it’s like something clicked within him tonight and the missing puzzle pieces finally fell in place. Perhaps it’s his hopeless crush on Yoghurt Boy. Guanheng wonders if his intense feelings for Yoghurt Boy can be considered as falling in love with someone.

Shaking his head, Guanheng berates himself for having such foolish thoughts. How can he possibly have arrived at such realisations about his grandparents through a mere crush on some customer from work? No, his grandparents’ story must have made sense tonight because he’s finally older, more mature, and more ready to understand it.

It’s only his second day in Taichung and he misses Yoghurt Boy already. As much as he loves spending time with his grandmother, Guanheng cannot wait to be back home in Chiayi.

"The loser has to buy midnight snacks," Yangyang reminds everyone smugly. As if his message isn't clear enough, Yangyang sends a screenshot to the group chat, detailing the messages Guanheng had sent earlier that evening to initiate the bet.

Guanheng groans at the sight of his own profile picture. It's a picture of his sister's cat, Mimi, staring right into the camera with her big eyes. But right now, it feels like Mimi is glaring at him through the screenshot.

"Guanheng!" Ten shouts into his microphone, right into his ears. Guanheng scrambles to remove his headphones.

Even with his headphones away from his ears, he can hear Ten groan in frustration. Before he has a chance to console him, Ten hangs up and disappears off the server.

He wishes that he could take back his own words but it's too late. Sicheng's team won fair and square and as the elected leader of his team, Guanheng has to own up.

Sighing, Guanheng slips his headphones back on.

Through Jungwoo's microphone, everyone in the call continues to hear Ten's tinny voice rant angrily in the background.

"For once, I'm glad that I'm not in Taiwan," Xuxi cackles.

Being the only one in their friendship group that is based overseas, Xuxi always complains about being left out when they go out. Guanheng usually feels bad for him but right now, the only thing he wants to do is to smack his cousin.

After all, this was a team game. They lost this round partially because of the mistake Guanheng made at the start, but Ten and Xuxi are at fault too. They made mistakes during this round as well.

"Hey now, don't rub salt into his wound," Sicheng says as if he is consoling children. "Can we go now? I'm so hungry, I've waited all night for this moment."

One by one, everyone leaves the voice call until only Sicheng is left.

"Did you honestly skip dinner just to get free food?" Guanheng baulks.

"Of course," Sicheng hums back, "there's a reason why I picked Yangyang and Jungwoo to be on my team."

Guanheng rolls his eyes. Sicheng is always so confident and certain about things. What irks him though, is that Sicheng is usually right. At least eighty percent of the time.

With a loud huff, Guanheng mutters back, "Whatever, see you in ten."

By the time Guanheng arrives at the roadside fried chicken stall near his house, everyone has already ordered. They huddle around the front of the stall in a small circle, chattering noisily.

It's half-past eleven so the neighbouring pearl milk tea store has already closed for the day. Guanheng spots an empty spot in front of the store and parks his scooter. The aunty at the fried chicken stall recognises him instantly and greets him warmly.

"I haven't seen you in a while," she comments. Her voice is slightly muffled by the face mask she's wearing. "Have you been busy?"

Guanheng removes his helmet. "I went up north to stay with my grandmother for a week."

"Oh, that sounds lovely. Whereabouts does she live?"

"Taichung," Guanheng smiles politely.

“That’s nice and close,” she replies. Then she turns to the young man beside her and instructs, "Dejun, can you restock some mixuegao? We've run out."

"Okay," the young man nods obediently, his voice also muffled by his face mask.

There's something familiar about the young man—like they have met before—but he can’t put a finger on it. Guanheng frowns. Maybe it's the aunty's son? She did mention one time in the passing that she has two sons, one still in high school and another around Guanheng's age.

He doesn't get the chance to catch a second glimpse of the young man because he disappears from view, presumably off to retrieve more stock in their small storeroom that is attached to the side of the bubble tea store.

Sicheng ambles up to his side and bumps shoulders with him. Guanheng turns to see the other boys—Ten, Yangyang, and Jungwoo—also slowly making their way towards him.

"I hope you ordered for me," Guanheng hisses at Sicheng under his breath.

"I ordered for you," Jungwoo pipes up behind them.

Guanheng glances over his shoulder to look at him. The sympathetic look on Jungwoo's face catches him off guard and he bites back the bitter comment about how it must have been easy for them to order when they're not the ones paying.

Yangyang appears to Guanheng's left and loops an arm around his shoulder. "Free food tastes the best." When he sees the scowl on Guanheng's face, Yangyang continues, "We won, fair and square."

"I know," Guanheng grits his teeth.

When their order is ready for pick up, Ten pads towards the small makeshift counter, his wallet in hand. Wrapping a hand around Ten's wrist, Guanheng tugs him back.

Ten grunts at him, mildly annoyed. "What?"

"I'll pay," Guanheng offers. "Don't worry about splitting the cost with me."

"Why? We both lost though," Ten blurts, a bewildered look on his face. The look remains on his face when Guanheng waves him off and asks him not to worry about it.

Rent is not the only thing Ten has to pay at the moment and something as trivial as losing a bet from a round of computer games shouldn't be added Ten's list of things to fork out money for. Pushing past Ten, he stalks towards the stall.

"Aunty, how much will it be?"

"Ah, Dejun, can you collect the money from this lovely young man."

The young man—Dejun—appears in view again and Guanheng can't help but stare, completely and utterly mesmerised by the sight before him. His mother always gushes about how the world is too small when she runs into people, like her friends at the morning market, or the aunty who lives three houses at the pharmacy. Guanheng has never resonated with his mother's thoughts though.

At least not until now. With Yoghurt Boy standing right before him at an arm's reach, Guanheng finally understands what his mother means.

"That will be $515 in total," Yoghurt Boy—or Dejun because Guanheng finally knows his name—announces without even looking up at Guanheng.

Dejun wipes his hands dry with his apron and begins to pack their order, swiftly and methodically into two separate plastic bags. All Guanheng can do is gape. He can't even conjure the energy to be angry at his friends for over-ordering like they always do when someone's paying for losing a bet. In fact, he wants to shout at himself for not recognising Yoghurt Boy, the love of his life, earlier.

"How much was it again?" Guanheng asks without looking away. If he's being blatantly honest with himself, he only asked so that he can hear Dejun's voice again.

"It's $515," Dejun replies. He finally glances up to hand Guanheng the bags and his face lights up as he exclaims, “Oh, it's you!"

Guanheng freezes, his brain seconds away from shutting down completely. He feels the tips of his ears grow warmer by the second.

"Yes, it's me," he blurts and for the second time that night, Guanheng wishes he could take back his words.

He nearly keels over when Dejun laughs and says, "Yes, it's you, Guanheng."

Yangyang saunters up to Guanheng's side and with an awfully smug look on his face, he says, "Here, let me help you so you can pay." He plucks the bags from Dejun's hands, thanking him with a charming smile.

Guanheng takes his sweet time to fish out six $100 notes from his wallet. Yangyang remains by his side like a parasite, signalling him to hurry up by tugging on the back of his shirt repeatedly.

"Nice to see you around," Dejun says when he hands him his change, "you should come around again sometime."

Nodding enthusiastically, Guanheng agrees, "I will."

He doesn't get to wave goodbye to Dejun because the next customer in line shoves their way past him to place their order.

"What took you so long?" Jungwoo asks with a frown when Guanheng and Yangyang joins them again.

Guanheng shrugs, avoiding everyone's eyes. "Let's go to Sicheng's to eat?"

At the mention of food, everyone forgets Jungwoo's unanswered question and unanimously agree to head back to Sicheng's house.

As Guanheng secures his helmet on his head, Yangyang zips past him on his bicycle, Jungwoo and Ten on his tail.

"Don't think that I'll ever forget what just happened!" Yangyang shouts.

Usually, when they have sleepovers at Sicheng's, his mother would tell Sicheng off if they're too noisy at this hour. It's always a challenge because a roomful of young adults gaming together is never quiet. Tonight though, they're free to chat openly, so long as they don't disturb the elderly people living next door because Sicheng's parents are away, visiting Sicheng's sister and her newborn son in New Zealand.

"Nice to see you around," Yangyang recites dramatically as he flounces around Sicheng's living room.

Yangyang flings himself into Ten's arms and together, they slide off the sofa laughing. They double over in laughter when Guanheng pelts them on the head with a sofa cushion each. Sicheng smiles knowingly into his fried chicken and Guanheng resists the urge to strangle him. In fact, he wants to strangle all of his friends.

"Shut up!" Guanheng buries his head into his hands. As much as he loves them, they can be insufferable sometimes.

Of course, Yangyang ignores him and continues, "You should come around again sometime!"

Guanheng buries his face into the remaining cushion left on the sofa beside him. He screeches into the cushion when he is reminded that Yoghurt Boy—the love of his life for the past two months—remembered his name.

Lifting his head, Guanheng sneaks a look at Jungwoo. Even Jungwoo, who is usually on his side when the boys are teasing him, has an amused look on his face. It's at times like this that Guanheng gets an inkling that perhaps Jungwoo isn't as quiet and innocent as he comes off and that the language barrier is holding him back from showing his true personality to his group of Mandarin-speaking friends.

Guanheng stabs another piece of fried chicken with his wooden skewer. He has to hold it together for just another few minutes, and the teasing will stop and the conversation will move on.

But it continues relentlessly. Ten minutes later, Yangyang has moved on to yapping away about how Guanheng, the late bloomer of their group, has finally fallen in love.

Sicheng wanders to Guanheng's side and joins in. He loops an arm around his neck, adding endearingly, "Our Guanheng is all grown up!"

It’s the last straw and Guanheng finally snaps.

“You guys are so fucking annoying!” he yells.

Clambering to his feet, Guanheng leaves through Sicheng's front door, intending to get some fresh air. His friends call after him but he ignores them. He permits the anger rushing through his body to drown out their words, tuning them out until they are merely faint voices in the distance.

He's tempted to slam the front door to reinforce that he is fed up, that they have pushed him to breaking point. But he remembers in the last moment that it's nearing one in the morning and Sicheng's sleeping neighbours won't be very happy if he causes a ruckus.

"Wait Guanheng!" Yangyang calls, trailing after him.

"Leave me alone," Guanheng grunts back.

Yangyang snags the back of his shirt, tugging as he begs pitifully, "Please don't leave!"

He twists his shoulder in a feeble attempt to dislodge Yangyang. Instead, it prompts Yangyang to curl his fingers tighter around the fabric.

“I wasn’t going to,” he replies curtly.

"Oh," Yangyang says, loosening his grip, "okay."

Guanheng seats himself on the asphalt beside their parked bicycles and scooters. There’s no curb along Sicheng’s street, but his house is tucked away in a side street so it's deserted and void of vehicles at this hour. Yangyang squats down beside him and they sit together in silence.

"Guanheng," Yangyang starts slowly, "we were just teasing. Whatever we said, we didn't mean it in a malicious way. You've never shown interest in dating before so—"

"Who said I wanted to date?"

"Okay, maybe not dating," Yangyang corrects himself, "but you've never openly expressed your feelings for someone before. We're just excited for you, that's all."

Guanheng stares at Yangyang in the eyes as he admits, "Well, you made me feel pretty stupid about it."

Yangyang gapes, looking rather taken aback. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

"I'm sorry if it made you feel that way," he apologises, his voice genuine. "I didn't realise joking around like that would make you feel that way about your feelings for him—for Yoghurt Boy. I'll talk to the others about it and we'll try our best to tone it down."

He acknowledges Yangyang's words with a curt nod. The anger drains away from Guanheng and he deflates, suddenly too tired to talk. He leans back, pressing his palms against the ground to stare up at the dark sky. The stars are sparse tonight. The asphalt digs into the flesh of his hand, almost painfully, but he's too tired and unbothered to care about it.

Yangyang is the first to break the silence again after a few minutes.

"Your feelings towards this person are pretty normal," Yangyang says quietly. "Most, if not all of us, have experienced it before.”

Guanheng tilts his head and stares at Yangyang curiously. He wonders if Yangyang has moved on from the girl he dated for two years at the end of middle school.

After a pause, Yangyang adds, “You know we’ve got your back, right? We’re here to support you.”

"Thank you," Guanheng whispers back.

Their phones buzz multiple times simultaneously, their notifications flooding with messages from Sicheng, Ten, and Jungwoo.

"We should go back inside," Guanheng suggests, climbing to his feet. He wipes down his hands against the front of his shorts before offering a hand to Yangyang.

Yangyang accepts his hand gratefully, tugging firmly to pull himself to his feet.

"You have to be more alert during your shift tonight," Guanheng's boss instructs as he meticulously counts the notes in the till. "The bell is broken."

Guanheng barely holds back a smug smile. The doorbell alerts him to the customers entering and leaving the store and can be helpful when he is busy, but there’s only so many times one can listen to an annoyingly loud and repetitive jingle.

His boss will probably have it fixed by the time he returns to work after the weekend but he’ll take what he can get. After all, one shift without the irritating bell still buys him eight hours of peace.

The store is busier than usual Friday nights but the shift still drags on. When the store quietens, he loses himself in his thoughts about Yoghurt Boy. It's been a few days since he last saw him—he hopes that Dejun is alright.

With one elbow propped up on the counter and his chin tucked against his palm, Guanheng daydreams and doodles on a scrap piece of paper.

"Guanheng," a familiar voice calls out.

Guanheng jolts, unleashing an embarrassingly loud shout. His elbow slips, dislodging his chin from his palm. He looks up to see Dejun in his yellow cap—he didn't even hear him enter the store. As much as Guanheng hates to admit it, his life is a lot harder without the doorbell.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." As usual, Dejun's face is covered by a face mask.

"It's okay," Guanheng replies in the steadiest voice he can conjure. His heart continues to pound hard against his chest.

"I don't think I've properly introduced myself," Dejun says when he returns with a tub of mango yoghurt. He offers his right hand over the countertop. "I'm Dejun. Xiao Dejun."

"Huang Guanheng," he replies.

Dejun's hand feels nice and warm when Guanheng accepts his handshake. He had noticed in the past that Dejun’s fingers are long and slim but he had never thought that Dejun’s hand would be smaller than his own. He wonders what it would be like to hold them.

His thoughts are thrown out the window in the next instant when Dejun tugs down his face mask and reveals a sweet smile without warning. He really shouldn't stare but Dejun is so goddamn cute. So much cuter than he had ever envisioned.

"Guanheng?" Dejun calls, his voice loud enough to break Guanheng's train of thought but still soft around the edges.

"Huh?"

"I was just asking if you only work on weeknights."

"Oh, yeah." Surprised, Guanheng blurts, "How did you know?"

"I just noticed that you're not around on the weekend when I come by to buy this," Dejun raises his yoghurt, flashing him a small smile.

“Ah, I see.” Guanheng raises the scanner to scan the barcode on the tub. "Are you a basketball fan?"

This time, it's Dejun's turn to ask, "How did you know?"

"Your cap," Guanheng nods his head towards Dejun's head as he collects the money from him. "Is Golden State your favourite team?"

"Kind of," Dejun removes his cap to look at the writing on the front. "It's my brother's favourite and this was a birthday present from him."

They converse pleasantly about various sporting teams—first basketball, then soccer. It lasts for about ten minutes before a customer enters the store and interrupts their conversation.

After the customer leaves, Dejun asks, "Are you free tomorrow? I'm playing basketball with some friends in the afternoon, do you want to come?"

"I'd love to!" Guanheng replies, albeit a little too enthusiastically. He belatedly realises that he agreed to go without checking his own schedule. "Wait, Saturday or Sunday?" he asks, mildly confused.

In his defence, it always gets a bit confusing after midnight. It's two in the morning right now so it's considered Saturday morning now. Dejun confirms that the game will be on Saturday afternoon and they exchange contact details.

Not long after the next customer enters the store, Dejun decides that it's time for him to go home. He waves goodbye to Guanheng and calls out a gentle reminder for him to catch some sleep before their game in the afternoon.

It isn't until half an hour after Dejun has left the store that it really hits Guanheng. Yoghurt Boy has been such a mystery in his mind it feels rather surreal to finally know his name and what he looks like under his face mask. Especially since he has been hopelessly crushing over Yoghurt Boy for at least two months now.

What's even crazier is the fact that he has Dejun's number saved on his phone. It's going to take some time for him to adjust to this reality now that he's no longer admiring Dejun from afar.

The sun is rising by the time Guanheng returns home at fifteen past six. He enters the house stealthily, careful to shut the front door quietly. Everyone in his family sleeps in on Saturday mornings, save for Jiayi who has work at nine. She works part-time at a bookstore that sells stationery as well as textbooks and novels for primary and high school students.

Guanheng has a habit of leaving his bedroom door shut when he leaves the house but Mimi has somehow learned to open doors. He pads down the hallway and when he arrives at his room, he finds the bedroom door wide open.

The culprit is dozing off in his room, her body draped across his pillow in a mess of black and white fur. He makes a mental note to change the pillow cover before he sleeps. She cracks her eyes open when Guanheng enters his room and greets him with a quiet meow.

On second thought, he's too tired to even think about digging out spare pillow covers. He doesn't even know if he has enough energy to change out of his work uniform.

"He asked me on a date!" Guanheng whines at Mimi, burying his face into the remaining patch of his pillow that Mimi hasn't claimed.

He lays there, faced down until she noses at his ear. Her whiskers tickle his cheek, prompting him to roll onto his side.

"No, is it even a date?" he asks Mimi seriously, staring into her wide eyes. She tilts her head at him curiously. "Okay, maybe it's not a date... just yet. But he asked me to hang out with him!"

She meows again, louder this time, demanding his attention. Mimi has always been an affectionate and attention-seeking cat but she has been extra clingy and demanding as of late, particularly with Guanheng. Of course, he can't deny her the attention that she deserves so he reaches out a hand to scratch her behind her ears, revelling in the way she purrs loudly.

Sometimes, Guanheng wonders if Mimi is actually his cat. Huiting was the one who wanted a cat and spent years begging their parents for one. But considering how much time he spends with Mimi and how much she enjoys napping in his room, he wonders if Mimi recognises him as her true companion.

When the long hand of the clock on the wall reaches the number thirty, Guanheng sits up and announces, "I have to sleep now."

Mimi meows back, stretching her body out before hopping off his pillow. She migrates to perch on his table, her tail swishing from side to side as she watches him change out of his uniform.

By the time he's ready for bed, the sun is fully up and his eyelids are heavy. As he lays down on his futon, he catches sight of Mimi bending her legs from the corner of his eye. Her tail flicks back and forth as she lowers herself into a deep crouch.

With a great push, she leaps and launches herself off the table. She lands on the floor with a thud then bounds towards Guanheng. He grunts at the weight on his chest.

"Mimi," he groans, unable to bring himself to shoo her away. Not when she's kneading her paws into his chest. "I really have to sleep now, I need to meet Yoghurt Boy at three."

Much like how he shows up at 7-Eleven to buy yoghurt at the same time every day, Dejun arrives at exactly three in the afternoon. He greets Guanheng warmly and thanks him for coming.

As they walk towards the courts, Dejun asks, "So how long have you lived here? You sound Taiwanese."

"Thirteen? Fourteen years? I moved here with my family when I was six and a half," Guanheng replies, fiddling with the straps of his bag. "How about you?"

In the distance, Guanheng spots two tall boys. They’re dribbling a black basketball back and forth to each other. When they notice Guanheng and Dejun approaching, they pause momentarily to wave at them.

Dejun waves back, "I moved here last year for university."

"Oh, so the chicken stall—it's not your family's?" Guanheng pauses mid-step to stare at Dejun.

Dejun stops in his steps and laughs. "No, I just work there part-time." Then, he adds, "I picked up more shifts over the summer break so I'm working Monday to Friday nights."

"Oh," Guanheng exclaims, "that's the—"

"Same as you," Dejun finishes for him with a soft smile.

The conversation ends prematurely when one of Dejun's tall friends approaches them to introduce himself. Guanheng makes a mental note to ask Dejun what time he finishes work. He has an inkling that Dejun stops by 7-Eleven for mango yoghurt on his way home from work but Guanheng doesn't want to make any more assumptions about him. Now that they're on friendly talking terms, he wants to get to know Dejun better. He wants to take time to really understand him.

Not long after Guanheng meets Dejun's tall friend, a group of four to five other people join them on the courts, greeting each other loudly. A large group of noisy strangers usually intimidates Guanheng but Dejun's friends welcome him warmly. They split into two teams, with Guanheng and Dejun on opposing teams. Together, they spend over two hours playing basketball.

At one point, Dejun's friends become rather competitive and an argument arises. Guanheng watches in awe as Dejun steps in calmly. He acts as a mediator of some sorts and after a minute or so, the argument is dispelled and the game continues.

After the last round of the day, Guanheng shakes hands with all of Dejun's friends. They all praise him for his efforts and invites him to join them again in the future. As he wipes the sweat off his forehead with the small towel he keeps inside his gym bag, Dejun approaches him.

"Good job," Dejun reaches upwards to loop an arm around his neck, "we should do this again sometime." It's adorable, the way he has to raise himself onto his toes to reach Guanheng comfortably.

Dejun's words elicit an overwhelming sense of familiarity within Guanheng. Initially, he mistakes it for déjà vu but he quickly realises that Dejun had said something similar to him when they ran into each other at the fried chicken stall.

As someone who seeks comfort in familiarity, hanging out with Dejun's friends—a group of strangers—started off as an uncomfortable experience. Fortunately, he ended up having a great time playing basketball with them. It was also nice making new friends for once.

"Yeah, we should," Guanheng breathes.

The genuine smile that Dejun gifts him makes it all worth it.

They part ways with Dejun's friends at the gates of the court. Guanheng offers to give Dejun a lift back to his dorm but he declines politely, insisting that his roommate, Kun, is on his way to pick him up.

"I'll wait with you then," Guanheng offers instead.

They don't have to wait long before Kun rounds the corner on his scooter and pulls up beside them. Polite nods and pleasantries are exchanged after Dejun briefly introduces them to each other. Guanheng takes it as his cue to say goodbye when Kun passes a spare helmet to Dejun.

As he starts up his own scooter, he belatedly realises that he had forgotten to thank Dejun for inviting him.

"Wait, Xiaojun!" Guanheng calls out in a hurry, worried that the engines will drown his voice out. As he turns his head, he catches sight of Dejun climbing onto the back of Kun's scooter.

"Xiaojun?" Dejun echoes with a small smile on his face. His helmet clacks loudly against Kun's as he tilts his head curiously.

Guanheng sputters and curses at himself under his breath for letting slip his (new) secret nickname for Dejun. At least he didn't blurt 'Yoghurt Boy' out loud—he would most certainly die of embarrassment.

Inhaling deeply, Guanheng summons the courage to say, "Thank you for today.”

Dejun doesn't reply but the smile on his face widens.

Half an hour later when Guanheng is back in his bedroom, dressed in a fresh set of clothes and feeling refreshed after a cool shower, he receives a text from Dejun.

"My friends all call me Ah-jun," Guanheng reads aloud then groans at the memory of accidentally calling him 'Xiaojun'.

Of course Dejun's nickname is Ah-jun. Generic nicknames in Taiwan are like that: just shorten the person's first name and throw 'ah' in front.

Technically, they have matching nicknames because some of Guanheng's high school friends call him 'Ah-heng'. Though he supposes his nickname for Dejun is more meaningful because 'xiao' has a whole lot more meaning than a stupid vowel. It fits Dejun perfectly too, because he's actually slight framed and Guanheng wants to wrap him up in a hug. But that thought fizzles away quickly because he's truly ready to die from embarrassment.

How will he face Dejun again the next time they see each other?

Right as he is about to bury his face into his pillow and scream, Mimi slips into his room and invites herself to curl up in his lap.

"Oh my god, Mimi you won't believe what happened today," Guanheng gushes, scratching her behind her ears then under her chin. "I accidentally called him—"

His phone buzzes beside him and the new text from Dejun reads:

'But you can call me Xiaojun if you want ^^'

This time, Guanheng doesn’t hold back. He screeches into his pillow and Mimi leaps right out of his arms with a disgruntled yowl.

Growing up, Guanheng's family likened his personality and behaviour to a cat—unlike Xuxi, who was often compared to a puppy because of his energetic personality.

This comparison was always brought up at extended family gatherings during Chinese New Year. He remembers the way his uncles approached him and ruffled his hair and how his aunties cooed at him for being shy and mysterious. Even now, they still bring up the fact that he used to hide behind his mother and observe people from her shadow like a cautious kitten.

Guanheng distinctly recalls how Xuxi would arrive at the gathering and instantly infect people with his bright energy. Xuxi was, according to his older sisters, the one that drew him out of his shell. Yongting once said that it was through Xuxi that she learned about the special, affectionate side that Guanheng reserved for the people closest to him.

Growing up, Guanheng was unable to imagine a life without Xuxi—not even when his family moved to Taiwan.

As the coach pulls into the rear exit of Chiayi Railway Station, Guanheng reflects deeply about how even at twenty, spending time with Xuxi remains the highlight of his summer break. He watches in mild amusement as Xuxi bounds off the coach.

Xuxi dashes in Guanheng's direction and envelopes him in a bear hug, completely forgetting to collect his luggage. Xuxi’s hug spreads warmth and energy throughout Guanheng’s body in a way that the summer sun cannot.

“I swear Chiayi gets further away from the airport every time I visit,” Xuxi muses from the front seat once his luggage is safely tucked away in the back of Sicheng's car.

“Yeah, it’s pretty far,” Sicheng agrees, his eyes trained on the road.

Guanheng was meant to drive Yongting’s car to Chiayi Railway Station but Huiting took the car out last minute without letting him know. Thankfully, Sicheng was free and offered to drive him to the station to pick Xuxi up.

He listens quietly in the back seat as Xuxi enthusiastically recounts his day. Although he doesn't look it, Guanheng can sense that Xuxi is tired. Being confined to a seat for hours has drained Xuxi's energy levels greatly.

Whilst the flight from Hong Kong to Taipei is only two hours at most, Chiayi is a three to four hour drive from Taoyuan Airport depending on traffic. There’s the option of taking the High Speed Railway which shortens the travel to an hour and a half, but it's three times more expensive than taking a normal train.

Even then, taking the normal train is troublesome and costly. The cheapest option that Guanheng knows of—the one that Xuxi always chooses—is taking a coach down from the airport.

"Can we have dinner now? I'm hungry," Xuxi complains loudly, pressing his face against the car window to stare at the restaurants.

"No, because I'll get told off if you're full by the time we get home," Guanheng replies firmly. His mother always cooks up a storm for Xuxi when he visits.

"But I'm hungry!"

"God, you're like a toddler sometimes."

In the end, Guanheng succumbs and buys him a bowl of oamisua.

"He persists with the whining because you always give in," Sicheng deadpans as Xuxi slurps his vermicelli noisily.

Their eyes meet through the rearview mirror and Sicheng raises his eyebrows, as if urging him to stop encouraging Xuxi's behaviour.

Within five minutes, the noodle soup is gone.

"Sicheng's right, you know," Xuxi chirps, twisting his upper body to grin at Guanheng.

"Shut up," Guanheng kicks the back of Xuxi's seat and rolls his eyes fondly, "you better eat all of my mother's cooking tonight."

Despite their protests, Sicheng insists on helping Xuxi with his luggage after he parks his car in front of Guanheng's house. Mimi dashes down the hallway at the sound of the front door opening. As Sicheng kicks his shoes off, she weaves herself in between his legs and purrs loudly.

"Mimi!" Xuxi shouts, squatting down to greet her.

Startled by Xuxi's loud voice and abrupt appearance, Mimi retreats with a hiss. She scrambles away from him and squeezes herself into the small gap between the shoe rack and the wall.

"Oh, Mimi," Xuxi repeats, sadly this time. He clicks his tongue and attempts to coax her out from behind the shoe rack.

Sicheng joins him but it's hopeless. Mimi flails and manages to crawl further away from them.

"Leave her," Guanheng suggests, "she always takes a day or so to get used to you again."

"But I want to pet her," Xuxi sighs with a wistful look on his face.

Sicheng clambers back onto his feet. "You've got all week to win her heart back," he muses, ruffling Xuxi's hair.

Guanheng's mother appears from the kitchen to observe the commotion. She greets both Xuxi and Sicheng warmly. When she invites Sicheng to stay over for dinner, he declines politely, insisting that he has to return home to have dinner with his parents.

"Thanks so much for driving us. I appreciate it," Guanheng says to Sicheng genuinely as they walk him to his car.

"Happy to help." Sicheng rests a warm hand on Guanheng's shoulder. "We should do something together on the weekend. Maybe bowling?"

Guanheng nearly forgets that it’s Thursday and that he still has work at ten tonight.

"Bowling sounds good. Make sure you invite everyone," Xuxi grins. He nudges Guanheng, "It's time to redeem ourselves—for all the times we lost online."

The timing of Xuxi’s arrival elicits chaos in the group chat.

Guanheng wakes on early Friday afternoon to raindrops pounding against his bedroom window and his phone vibrating crazily from the number of notifications it’s receiving. He almost drops his phone at the sight of over four hundred new messages in the group chat. Really though, he shouldn’t be so surprised because it’s not an uncommon occurrence for him to wake up to spam messages.

He backtracks, scrolling through the chat until he finds the message Sicheng left at seven in the morning, asking if everyone is up for bowling on Saturday with Xuxi. His friends had unanimously agreed with Sicheng’s suggestion. That is, until Yangyang woke up sometime after ten.

Yangyang had spammed the chat with hundreds of crying stickers and overly punctuated messages about how his family trip is this weekend. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Yangyang is upset—distraught—that he will miss the bowling outing with Xuxi. Guanheng vaguely remembers Yangyang mentioning last month that his family is driving up to Taipei to visit his grandparents and cousins sometime after mid-August. He hadn’t realised that it was the third week of August already.

A new message appears and Ten pipes up, jokingly commenting that they will need a sixth person to replace Yangyang because there’s no way that they can compete in pairs with five people. Jungwoo adds fuel to the fire by suggesting that they invite ‘Guanheng’s Yoghurt Boyfriend’.

It succeeds in ticking off Yangyang, who replies back instantly to complain about how it’s unfair because he was meant to be the first one to meet Yoghurt Boy properly. He resumes spamming them with sad stickers and Guanheng mutes the chat with a loud groan.

He cannot possibly invite Dejun to hang out with his friends. Not when they will tease him to no end and seize this opportunity to embarrass him in front of his crush. But then again, Dejun has invited him to hang out with his friends at least two more times over the past week so it’s only fair that he gets to meet Guanheng’s friends too. It will be a good opportunity for Dejun to make new friends since he’s still relatively new to Taiwan.

Xuxi is nowhere in sight but from the looks of the sticky note on the back of Guanheng’s bedroom door (high up and out of Mimi’s reach), he’s out—presumably with one of his sisters.

Huiting, in particular, dotes on Xuxi like he is her younger brother. Xuxi is charming and lovable like that. Guanheng can’t even summon the energy to feel bitter about how his own sister treats their cousin better than him—her real younger brother.

Outside his bedroom door, Mimi dashes down the hallway, her paws creating faint thuds against the wooden floorboards. Jiayi got her a new collar last week with small bells on it so that they can keep track of Mimi’s location because she finally got fed up with their father’s complaints about Mimi sneaking up behind him and startling him. Yongting thinks the collar is cute but Guanheng has an inkling that Mimi hates the sound of the bell and is trialling every strategy possible to get rid of it.

When Xuxi returns home, Guanheng continues to mull over whether or not he should invite Dejun to go bowling with them or not.

“You should invite him,” Xuxi urges in a firm voice when Guanheng reveals his dilemma. “It’s a good chance for you to get closer to him.”

It takes a moment for him to process Xuxi’s words. With a small nod, Guanheng agrees silently. Xuxi is right. This is a good chance for him to learn more about Dejun, particularly through the way he interacts with his friends.

“Besides,” Xuxi adds with a smirk, “I want to see why you’re so infatuated with this boy.”

Guanheng tackles Xuxi and they wrestle on the living room floor playfully. Xuxi’s loud cackles startle Mimi into hiding under the sofa.

“Oh no, look what you made me do!” Xuxi whines, crawling towards the sofa. Mimi hisses and swipes a paw at him, narrowly missing his nose. “She hates me!” he cries dramatically.

That evening, Guanheng somehow summons the courage to ask Dejun to hang out with his friends on Saturday afternoon. And to his delight, Dejun agrees enthusiastically.

Dejun doesn’t have a license to ride a scooter or to drive a car so Guanheng picks him up from near his dorm. He’s dressed comfortably, in a loose white shirt and black Nike shorts that end just above his knees.

“Hi,” Dejun beams, “I was going to wear a cap but I had a feeling that you were going to come to pick me up with your scooter.”

Guanheng smiles back. “I’ve got a license to drive but I don’t have a car available for me to drive around,” he shares sheepishly.

He has to remind himself to focus on the road as they travel because it’s incredibly distracting having Dejun sitting on the scooter behind him, especially when he has one hand on Guanheng’s shoulder to steady himself. They arrive before the others but they struggle to find parking. Being the unspoken designated driver of the group, Sicheng had to detour to pick up Ten, Jungwoo, and Xuxi.

The bowling alley has a parking lot for cars but not for scooters. They cruise around the streets nearby for five to ten minutes, scouting for a free spot.

“What about there?” Dejun leans forward, tucking his chin against Guanheng’s shoulder.

Guanheng’s heart thuds uncomfortably fast and he barely registers Dejun reaching out a hand to point in front of them. In the distance is a residential home, sandwiched between a hair salon and an accounting firm. Usually, Guanheng avoids parking in front of other people’s homes but at this rate, they will be late if they don’t find parking soon.

But as soon as they dismount his scooter, an elderly grandmother slides open the front door and storms out. She scolds them in Taiwanese for loitering in front of her house.

Dejun apologises profusely in Mandarin, bowing a few times, but it only aggravates her. She raises her walking stick and waves it at them angrily. Panicked, Dejun wraps a hand around Guanheng’s wrist, tugging him along as he breaks off into a run.

“Move your scooter!” she shouts after them in Taiwanese.

“Wait, Xiaojun. The scooter!” Guanheng stops Dejun urgently. He retraces his steps and hastily wheels his scooter away from the grandmother and her walking stick, afraid that she will damage it. Like Dejun, Guanheng bows at her as he apologises in Taiwanese.

When they make it to the end of the street, Dejun turns to look at Guanheng over his shoulder. Their eyes meet and there’s a brief moment of silence as they slow to a stop. Then, they both burst out laughing at the same time. The sound of Dejun’s laughter is infectious and Guanheng doubles over, laughing even harder.

“I never understand what they’re saying, but they always sound so angry in Taiwanese,” Dejun admits when they finally stop laughing.

Guanheng blinks dumbly as Dejun’s words sink in. Whilst the fact that Dejun is not a local remains at the forefront of his mind, for some reason, Guanheng never registered that Dejun doesn’t understand the local dialect

“She was just telling us off for hanging around her house for too long,” Guanheng explains with a small smile, “and to move the scooter, of course.”

“I can’t believe we ran off without the scooter,” Dejun exclaims.

As Dejun laughs again, Guanheng makes a devastating discovery: Dejun scrunches up his nose when he laughs really hard. He almost keels over at the sight, barely holding himself together. He exhales shakily. Can Dejun get any cuter?

Eventually, they manage to find a spot to park Guanheng’s scooter. It’s a long walk to the bowling alley but Guanheng doesn’t mind. The extra time he gets to spend with Dejun is a bonus. By the time they arrive, fifteen minutes later than they all agreed on, Guanheng’s friends have all been fitted with bowling shoes.

“Hi! I’m Dejun!”

He watches in amazement as Dejun introduces himself to his friends confidently. If Dejun was nervous about meeting a group of strangers, he doesn’t show it. He clicks with Guanheng’s friends right away and they chatter cheerfully.

“We’ve decided to randomise the teams to be fair,” Sicheng announces, “we gave the staff our names and they paired us up.”

Ten pops up beside Guanheng and nudges him with his hips. “Yeah because Team Guanheng always loses,” he teases.

“Hey!” Guanheng exclaims, looping an arm around Ten’s neck.

“Hey, hey, listen up,” Sicheng clicks his tongue. “Ten and I are in team one, Jungwoo and Guanheng in team two, and Xuxi and Dejun in team three.”

Loosening his hold around Ten, Guanheng twists his body towards Dejun.

“Xiaojun, this is Xuxi. He’s my cousin visiting from Hong Kong,” he introduces, gesturing towards Xuxi.

Xuxi easily towers over Dejun and Guanheng is reminded of how small Dejun is. He wishes he could wrap his arms around Dejun and hug him tight.

“Hi! Can I call you Xiaojun?” Xuxi grins mischievously. He shakes Dejun’s hand enthusiastically.

“Oh,” Dejun blinks, visibly taken aback. “Uh, sure I guess? Only Guanheng calls me that though.”

Sicheng rounds them up like cattle and nags them to move towards their reserved bowling lane. Guanheng follows but as he shifts forward, he feels someone tug on the back of his shirt.

It’s Ten. He nudges Guanheng again, with his elbow this time, and hisses into his ear, “God, you guys are so fucking cute.”

Guanheng pulls away with a nervous laugh, “Are we betting today?”

“Yeah, we are,” Ten grunts back, an annoyed look on his face. For a moment, Guanheng thinks Ten is going to call him out for changing the topic but luck is on his side. Ten turns away and announces, “Losing team pays for dinner!”

“Yakiniku buffet?” Jungwoo pipes up.

“Are you still craving for yakiniku?” Ten groans. He sticks a thumb at Jungwoo and mutters to Guanheng, “He’s been hassling me to go have yakiniku with him for at least a fortnight now.”

Guanheng sinks into his seat helplessly as yet another one of Jungwoo’s bowling ball rolls right into the gutter.

Jungwoo scratches the back of his head sheepishly, “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Guanheng replies in a weak voice, having accepted their team’s (and their wallets’) doomed fate ten minutes ago when he realised that their total score is less than half of Xuxi and Dejun’s.

Leaning back into his seat, he tilts his head back and stares at the cracking paint on the ceiling. Xuxi and Dejun are getting along well. Really well, actually.

There’s a loud thunk as a bowling ball comes in contact with the wooden floor of the bowling lane, followed by an equally loud clack and Xuxi’s cheering. Guanheng raises his head just in time to catch a glimpse of the English word ‘STRIKE!’ appear on the scoreboard. Dejun sprints back towards Xuxi and they cheer loudly together as they high five.

To nobody’s surprise, Xuxi and Dejun end up with the highest score and Guanheng and Jungwoo with the lowest. Now that Ten’s wallet is safe, he doesn’t seem to have a problem with having yakiniku for dinner.

“I’ve been wanting to go so it’s okay,” Jungwoo shrugs when Guanheng asks if he’s okay with it.

They’ll be paying for dinner together after all.

Xuxi carries Dejun on his back as they exit the bowling alley. They converse loudly in Cantonese and a heavy sensation sinks deep in Guanheng’s stomach. He knows that jealousy is an unattractive trait but he struggles to suppress it.

When they arrive at the restaurant, Xuxi plonks himself in between Guanheng and Dejun, oblivious to Guanheng’s sulking. The uncomfortable feeling persists throughout dinner and by the end of their gathering, Guanheng leaves in a bad mood.

“Guanheng,” Dejun approaches him when they pile outside the restaurant. He rests his hand on Guanheng’s forearm. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Guanheng lies, “I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.”

The look of concern on Dejun’s face makes him feel worse.

“You should head home early and rest. I can make my own way home.”

Guanheng shakes his head, “Let me take you home.”

“It’s okay, Kun is nearby. He just texted me asking me if I needed a lift home so he’s on his way to pick me up.”

Defeated, Guanheng lets out a small sigh. “Alright. Get home safe, yeah?”

Later that night, after they’ve both had a shower, Xuxi approaches him and brings up the last thing Guanheng wants to talk about after a long day.

“Are you mad at me because of Xiaojun?” Xuxi asks nonchalantly as he haphazardly lays down his futon on Guanheng’s bedroom floor.

“No,” Guanheng replies curtly, even though they both know very well that he's still upset.

Guanheng stares at his hands, concentrating hard on his fingernails in an attempt to hold himself together. He nearly snaps at Xuxi to never use Dejun’s nickname again because Guanheng was the one who gave him that name and only he can use it. It’s an irrational, childish thought but Guanheng can’t help it.

He has known Xuxi since birth and they’ve had their fair share of petty fights over their twenty years of life. Guanheng glares at Xuxi’s back, wondering why their fights always end up like this—Guanheng seething in silence whilst Xuxi brushes the issue off like it’s nothing. He knows that his bond with his cousin—his best friend—shouldn’t be shaken up because of a crush.

But his feelings for Dejun are not a mere childish crush. The fleeting crushes throughout his years of schooling are all insignificant in comparison to his feelings for Dejun. It sounds awfully clichéd, like a story plucked directly from the Taiwanese dramas that Ten and Sicheng enjoy watching together on the weekends, but Guanheng has never felt so intensely for someone before. He has never fallen this hard.

"I'm going to sleep," Guanheng announces, swiftly laying down on his own futon.

He squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself to fall asleep. He's unsuccessful though. His mind easily fills up with the image of Dejun's face and he is overwhelmed by a rush of emotions at the mere thought of Dejun's long lashes, mesmerising dark eyes, and defined, expressive eyebrows.

Now that Guanheng has a good think about it, all his past crushes and Dejun have one thing in common: pretty eyes.

“He’s not even my type,” Xuxi grins mischievously, knocking his shoulder against Guanheng’s. “Besides, it’s not like a certain someone has made their feelings known.”

Face flushed, Guanheng turns over onto his side so that he is facing the wall. “I don’t know. I don’t think he likes me that way.”

Xuxi cackles, rolling on top of Guanheng who groans in frustration at Xuxi’s body weight. Guanheng might only be a few centimetres shorter than his cousin but he’s much slimmer and lankier than Xuxi.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t jump to conclusions so quickly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Guanheng frowns, successfully shoving Xuxi off.

Xuxi makes a noncommittal noise then fakes a yawn, “Goodnight, time to sleep.”

An hour later, Guanheng continues to lay awake, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling that Xuxi had put up for him last summer. Even Xuxi’s loud snores cannot drown out his endless thoughts of Dejun’s flawless features and vibrant voice.

Guanheng wakes on Sunday morning to Mimi curled up by his side.

It’s only been three days since Xuxi left for home but Guanheng misses his company already. At least he still has Mimi.

His phone buzzes consecutively, vibrating noisily against the surface of his desk several times before he rises from his deep slumber. Careful not to rouse Mimi, Guanheng sits up slowly, his eyes trained on the slow rise and fall of her belly.

He only dares to stand up when he is certain that Mimi won’t wake. Whilst Mimi is the sweetest, most affectionate cat Guanheng has ever met, she can be rather temperamental when her beauty sleep is interrupted.

There's a note on the dining table written in his mother's familiar scrawl: 'I'm at the fish market with Aunty Ling, there's congee on the stove'.

The congee is still warm. It's eight-fifty so Jiayi must have re-heated it right before she left for her nine o'clock shift.

He checks his phone notifications as he eats breakfast. There are fifty-two unread messages from the group chat and a missed call from Ten at eight. Buried amidst the messages from his friends is a text from Dejun.

His breath catches in his throat as he opens the notification. The message reads: 'Hey Guanheng, are you free this afternoon?’

He checks the time stamp. Sent exactly half an hour ago.

He reads over his reply several times before he presses send, hoping that he doesn't sound overly enthusiastic. As the messaging application indicates that the message has been delivered, Guanheng belatedly recalls that he had made tentative plans to go swimming with Jungwoo this afternoon. The weather forecast had suggested that it will be sweltering hot from late morning until sunset today.

His stomach churns as he calls Jungwoo. He doesn't want to become one of those people who choose their love interest over their friends. But if he's being truly honest with himself, he misses Dejun already—even though they last saw each other on Saturday morning after Dejun's Friday night shift at the fried chicken stall. It has barely been a day since he last saw Dejun and he desperately wants to see him again. God, he's so whipped for Dejun it's embarrassing.

"Hello?" Jungwoo's voice floats through the phone speakers.

"Jungwoo!" Guanheng exclaims, "will it—is it okay if we don't go swimming this afternoon? I'm really sorry but—Dejun just asked me if I'm free and I really want to see him. I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, I promise!"

"It's fine," Jungwoo laughs, "don't worry about it."

Guanheng shifts his phone away from his ear and blinks at the screen. Did he hear that correctly?

"Really?"

"Have you read the group chat?" Jungwoo asks, amused.

There's a loud rustle on Jungwoo's end then Ten's voice filters through the phone. "Jungwoo and I decided to go on a spontaneous trip to Tainan today," Ten explains. "We're on the train right now so he wouldn't have been able to go swimming with you anyway."

"Oh," Guanheng replies dumbly.

"Enjoy your date with Yoghurt Boy. Be sure to tell us all about it," Ten muses.

"It's not a date!" Guanheng sputters when he hears both Ten and Jungwoo laugh.

"Sure, whatever you say," Ten adds before he hangs up with a bubbly goodbye.

Dejun replies moments after the call ends, asking if Guanheng wants to hang out at the park at two. He types a quick reply and suggests a meeting point.

When Guanheng arrives at Chiayi Park at exactly two, Dejun is already waiting for him at the bus stop. He catches a glimpse of Dejun as he rides past on his scooter. Dejun is dressed simply in a white tank top and navy shorts, but what has Guanheng gaping is the guitar he's carrying on his back.

It's hard to find parking on a Sunday afternoon but he manages somehow. Dejun visibly lights up when he notices Guanheng approaching in the distance.

"Hey," Dejun smiles, his lips drawing back to reveal two rows of perfectly aligned teeth.

Guanheng's so used to seeing Dejun with his mask on that he wonders how long it will take for him to grow used to seeing him without one.

"Hey. Do you play the guitar?" Guanheng points to the guitar.

Dejun turns to look over his shoulder, his eyes following the direction of Guanheng's finger. "I do, I have class at five."

They talk about musical instruments as they enter the park through the main entrance. Guanheng discovers that Dejun started playing the guitar five years ago by himself through watching videos online. Recently, he picked up guitar lessons to upskill himself.

"There are things that a professional teacher can teach you that you can't really self-learn, you know?" Dejun shares why Guanheng asks him why.

He also learns that the guitar isn't the only instrument Dejun can play.

"I also play the piano and drums," Dejun says, marvelling at the statue of Sun Yatsen—the Father of the Nation. The stone man stares down at them from where he is seated in his elevated throne-like chair. "And the ukulele, but that’s kind of similar to the guitar," he adds when he finally looks away.

"Wow, that's amazing," Guanheng praises, "I wish I could play an instrument."

To his surprise, Dejun replies, "If you're interested, I can teach you sometime."

They converse comfortably as they follow the winding footpath into the park. They stop every now and then at various landmarks at the park. From the Manneken Pis statue to the old train displayed beside the lower playground, Dejun examines each landmark carefully and listens attentively to every childhood memory related to the park that Guanheng has to share.

"I catch the bus outside here all the time but I've actually never entered the park from this entrance before," Dejun admits as he leans over to read the sign beside the fountain. The sign outlines the specific times that the fountain is turned on throughout the day. "We missed it," he says sadly.

"Don't worry, the park is huge. It's hard to explore all of it," Guanheng reassures him. “Come,” he urges Dejun, “wait till you see this.”

Not far from the fountain is a large pond. Dejun gushes at the view and pulls out his phone to snap several pictures of the pond, ensuring he captures the small bridge in the distance. As he squats by the water's edge to snap a clear picture of the small stone whale statues that sit on the surface of the water, Dejun notices movement in the water.

"There's fish!" Dejun gasps, jumping to his feet in excitement.

Smiling knowingly, Guanheng reveals two packets of fish food.

"Where did you get this?" Dejun exclaims. "Did you bring this from home?"

"No," Guanheng shakes his head. He can't stop beaming. "I got it from the small vending machine over there when you were taking pictures."

Together, they feed the fish on the bridge. Dejun watches in wonder as a large school of koi fish appear on the surface of the water to gobble up the small pellets. They only continue their journey along the footpath once Dejun is satisfied with the photos of the pond on his phone.

“I wish my parents were here to see this,” Dejun shares in a quiet voice as he sends the photos to his family’s group chat. He flashes Guanheng a wry smile.

They travel away from the pond, walking until they pass two large cages that stand as tall as the surrounding trees. Dejun stops in his steps when he notices Guanheng staring wistfully at the cages.

Dejun tilts his head curiously, "Why are there cages here?"

"There used to be peacocks here when I was young," Guanheng points to the sign erected beside the large cages. On the sign is a picture of a marvellous peacock, but it is not one that was taken at Chiayi Park.

When Guanheng was young, he showed little interest in the array of activities Chiayi Park had to offer. He didn't look forward to playing on the giant slide like Jiayi, or making sand paintings at the stall beside the wooden pirate ship in the upper playground like Huiting. For seven-year-old Guanheng, the highlight of every family visit to Chiayi Park was seeing the peacocks.

He distinctly recalls the way peacocks' tails spread, its feathers fanning out into a full semicircle. For seven-year-old Guanheng, it was the most beautiful view.

"Peacocks?" Dejun exclaims, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly. "Why would they have peacocks at the park?"

"I don't know why, but I'm telling the truth!" Guanheng almost whines.

Dejun throws his head back and laughs. It’s a heart-fluttering sound, addictive and delicate around the edges. Everything about Dejun is just so attractive and Guanheng thinks he is going to combust. He will have to start limiting the amount of time he spends with around Dejun for the sake of his own mental health.

It's interesting, Guanheng reflects, how he has always been drawn towards pretty things. The park may be void of peacocks but he doesn't need to go to the zoo to see one. Not when he has Dejun by his side. Dejun who is prettier than any peacock on this planet.

They retrace their steps and find themselves ordering tsuabing at a dessert store near the park. It's the perfect weather for shaved ice. They bicker light-heartedly over which flavour is the universal go-to flavour—Dejun insists that mango tsuabing tastes the best but Guanheng accuses him of being biased.

When the girl at the counter serves them their desserts and Dejun lights up, his eyes almost sparkling comically, Guanheng silently agrees that mango is the best flavour.

“Say, Guanheng, do you have a girlfriend?” Dejun glances up from his tsuabing briefly and their eyes meet.

“Oh,” Guanheng shifts back and presses his back against the back of the metal chair. “No, I don’t.” He fills his spoon with shaved ice then tilts it side to side, eyes trained on the way the ice slides off the edges. “I’ve never had one before, actually,” he adds, raising a hand to scratch at his nape.

Dejun’s face breaks into a wide smile. “Don’t be embarrassed,” Dejun replies reassuringly, “I haven’t had one before either.”

“Oh,” Guanheng says again, spluttering this time. “Really?”

Guanheng swallows hard at the sight of Dejun spooning a large spoonful of fresh mango and shaved ice into his mouth. He’s mesmerised by the way his lips wrap around the spoon as he strips the spoon of its contents. Dejun’s lips are so pretty and Guanheng desperately wants to kiss them.

A knowing smile surfaces on Dejun’s smile. When he swallows his dessert, he explains, “I don’t swing that way.”

“Oh,” Guanheng gapes.

It’s absolutely embarrassing how his brain just shuts down in the presence of Dejun. He keeps making a fool of himself but there’s something about Dejun, about his soft voice and his pretty eyes that renders him useless.

Worried that Dejun will misunderstand his reaction, Guanheng hastily adds, “Thank you for sharing that with me. For trusting me.”

Fortunately, Dejun seems content with that. The conversation shifts to a more trivial topic after that but Dejun’s words linger at the back of Guanheng’s mind for the rest of their afternoon together. No matter how hard he tries to focus on their conversations and surroundings, he catches himself floating back to one particular thought: that Dejun likes boys too.

It isn’t until they prepare to part ways that Guanheng finally summons the courage to say the words on the tip of his tongue.

“Me too,” Guanheng blurts.

Dejun tilts his head, staring up into Guanheng’s eyes. “Hm?”

They stare at each other for a moment. A small part of Guanheng wishes he can swallow the words he had just blurted out because he doesn't know if he has the courage to continue. But it doesn't seem right to not tell Dejun, especially not when he feels so strongly about his new friend.

Guanheng has lost his words again but Dejun is patient. The way he waits for Guanheng every time he's at a loss for words is one of the many items on Guanheng's list of things he likes about Dejun.

“I... don’t like girls either,” Guanheng glances down at his feet.

A peal of laughter escapes Dejun and Guanheng glances back up just in time to see Dejun's slim hand rising to cover his mouth.

“I'm glad that's another thing we have in common," Dejun says gently.

A bus pulls up beside them. Guanheng checks the bus number—it's the one Dejun was waiting for. Dejun reaches out to grab Guanheng's hand and squeezes it reassuringly. Sighing in relief, Guanheng drops his shoulders.

"You’re so cute,” Dejun adds endearingly when he lets go. “I have to go to my guitar lesson now. I’ll see you later—tomorrow night?”

With a small wave, Dejun turns on his heels to board his bus. Even when the bus disappears around the corner, Guanheng remains standing there at the bus stop, gaping like a stupid Magikarp.

Damn, he’s whipped but it’s okay. Dejun just called him cute.

Before Guanheng knows it, summer break comes to an end.

As September rolls around, he cuts back on his work hours and swaps back to working daytime shifts two times a week. He's hurled right back into his studies and as much as he hates to admit it, he's having a rough time adjusting to a normal sleep schedule after spending the past two and a half months working graveyard shifts and sleeping at dawn.

But the worst part about summer break ending is not having to drag himself out of bed at seven in the morning to attend classes again. It's not the influx of assignment deadlines or looming examination dates.

The worst part, in Guanheng's opinion, is not having time for his friends. With everyone's class schedules clashing, it's almost impossible to find time for everyone to meet together. Guanheng's grateful for his supportive friends though. They continue to keep tabs on each other through the group chat regularly and make time to see each other in pairs.

It's hard to catch up with his friends but it's a bigger challenge finding time to hang out with Dejun. It doesn't help that they attend different universities. At least with his friends, they attend the same university so it's easy to arrange last-minute meetings over lunch or study sessions at the library. Guanheng's not overly sad about not working night shifts anymore because Dejun quit his part-time job right before the semester started, so it's not like he misses out on seeing Dejun buy yoghurt at two in the morning.

They're still in contact though—it's more than Guanheng could ever ask for.

Their daily conversations are light-hearted and casual, often positive and filled with encouragement for each other to get through yet another stressful day at university. In between late-night study sessions, they exchange pictures of unhealthy study snacks and procrastinate together by compiling lists of places that Dejun has yet to visit and Taiwanese food for him to try. At some point, Guanheng begins looking forward to waking up to Dejun's morning messages.

Dejun suggests that they plan an outing in advance because of their busy schedules. They agree on visiting the Wenhua Road Night Market together after reviewing their list and schedule this outing for Friday night after midterm exams. The mere anticipation of seeing Dejun again powers Guanheng through his exams.

Before Guanheng knows it, he's on his way to Wenhua Road to see Dejun.

It's no surprise that he has trouble finding parking for his scooter because Friday nights are often one of the busiest nights for the night market. He pulls over to the side of the road and sends Dejun a quick text to notify him that he's running late because of parking.

Sighing, he resumes his search for parking. He hopes that Dejun doesn't have to wait too long.

Ten minutes later, he stumbles across a parking spot outside a shoe store one street away. He checks his phone as he speedwalks all the way to Wenhua Park but he doesn't receive a reply from Dejun. They had agreed to meet at the nearby park first because it's hard to find each other on a crowded street.

When he arrives at their agreed meeting place, at the benches near the outdoor fitness equipment, Dejun is nowhere in sight. He calls Dejun's phone but after ringing for a moment, it redirects to his voicemail. It's uncharacteristic for Dejun to be late.

The park is poorly lit so it's not impossible for one to lose their way. His stomach churns as he sprints around the surrounding area and attempts to search for Dejun. After circling the area twice, he returns to the benches, feeling rather helpless. Just as he sinks onto a bench, he hears Dejun's familiar laughter in the distance.

He whips his head around and sure enough, he spots Dejun playing with two puppies in the distance. Guanheng sighs in relief, almost melting into the wooden seat.

"Xiaojun!" Guanheng calls as he jogs up to Dejun. "There you are."

One of the puppies wriggles its way out of Dejun's arms to bark at Guanheng.

"You're here!" Dejun beams, picking up the barking puppy. "Look! Isn't he cute? He's a Shiba Inu. His name is Xiaohuang."

Whining loudly, the puppy wriggles and kicks his legs. Dejun sets the puppy down carefully and passes the leash back to the owner. He thanks her for letting him play with her puppies.

"Thank goodness you're okay. I was getting worried that something had happened because you weren't picking up your phone," Guanheng says.

"Sorry," Dejun scratches his head sheepishly, "I guess I got distracted by the puppies and missed your calls..."

Dejun unlocks his phone to reveal five missed calls from Guanheng.

"Hey!" Guanheng exclaims, pointing at his contact name on Dejun's screen. "I'm more than 'Boy from 7-Eleven' at this point in our friendship."

They bicker about contact names as they make their way towards the night market.

Dejun pokes his tongue out, "I'm not going to change it."

"Fine, then I'm going to change yours to Yoghurt Boy," Guanheng announces, pulling out his phone to change Dejun's contact name from 'Xiaojun' to 'Yoghurt Boy'.

At the intersection, people crowd around the corner of the footpath in all four corners, awaiting the ongoing flow of traffic to pass. When the traffic lights turn red and the pedestrian lights flicker green, the crowd shifts. Guanheng gets swallowed by the crowd and he loses Dejun. He gets pushed around by the people behind him. He wants to turn around to look for Dejun but it’s so crowded that there’s no space to turn his head. There’s no turning back.

He follows the flow of people, forced to move forward. Sharp elbows jabbing into his ribs and back, hard presses of strangers’ palms. He feels a slim hand curl around his wrist, gripping tightly. Guanheng can’t see the owner of the hand but his gut instinct tells him it’s Dejun. He allows the hand to tug him through the crowd. Then, finally—

His feet touch the curb and he arrives at the other side of the large intersection.

The back of Dejun's head appears in view but he doesn't stop—he continues to walk, weaving past long lines of people lining up for the stalls along the street and Guanheng lets him lead. Guanheng traces down the line of Dejun's neck with his eyes, along his arms and all the way to where Dejun's hands are still wrapped securely around his wrist.

Dejun's hand feels so nice and warm around his wrist but it does little to ease the discomfort inside Guanheng. A heavy feeling sits in his stomach and he lets his heart sink with it. No matter how hard he tries to convince himself to accept what he has in the present and to be content with it—it's just not enough.

He's tired of bottling up his feelings and willing them to go away when they surface. He's tired of laying wide awake in the middle of the night, wondering what his life would be like if he was brave enough to confess.

“Dejun,” Guanheng calls weakly.

His breath catches in his throat as Dejun stops in his steps and turns to look at him. Guanheng belatedly realises that he was the one who stopped walking first.

“Yes?” Dejun tilts his head up ever so slightly to study his face and search his eyes. His fingers curl a little tighter around Guanheng, his touch firm and reassuring.

As Guanheng stares back, he reflects about how he can very easily list over ten things that he adores about Dejun. There is no doubt though, that his favourite thing about Dejun is how caring he is, both non-verbally and through his words. He also likes how Dejun is attentive and a good listener.

Guanheng realises then, that at some point, his feelings for Dejun had unknowingly shifted—from a silly crush over a stranger who didn’t even know his name to something deeper, something more.

In a fleeting moment of courage, Guanheng announces sincerely, “Dejun, I really like you.”

The change in Dejun’s expression is instant, shifting from a soft smile to complete and utter confusion. He furrows his brows as he processes Guanheng's words.

Alarmed, Guanheng averts his eyes and pulls his hand away.

Why did he just blurt it out like that? Dejun wasn't meant to find out about his feelings—at least, not like this. In an attempt to switch to a light-hearted mood, he forces a smile and braces himself for what’s to come with a deep breath.

But the words ‘I meant as a friend’ die on his tongue in the next moment because something warm touches his hand. He glances down—it’s Dejun’s hand.

Dejun’s expression softens as he links his fingers with Guanheng’s. “I was wondering when you’d tell me. I had a feeling that you were going to tell me soon but I wasn't sure when." He chuckles softly and adds, "I certainly wasn't expecting it to be tonight."

“What?” Guanheng gapes.

At this point, he’s convinced that Dejun can read minds because even he himself did not know that he would confess his feelings.

It’s okay though because Dejun seems to be responding well to Guanheng’s confession. He’s going to reject Guanheng but at least Guanheng's ready for it, having run through this very situation over in his head countless times, unlike the unexpected confession—if he can even call it a confession.

By the looks of Dejun’s expression, he appears happy enough that Guanheng is almost certain that they will continue to be friends after this. And he’s okay with that. Even if Dejun doesn’t reciprocate his feelings, he’s content with watching him from the sidelines. He has to be content. It’s for the better.

“I’m glad,” Dejun’s soft smile spreads across his face and his whole face lights up. Guanheng’s chest aches at just how beautiful Dejun is. “I’m glad because I like you too.”

“What?” Guanheng blurts again.

This can’t be real. He saw the expression on Dejun’s face—he was confused and he most certainly would not have responded that way if he really liked Guanheng back.

“You don’t have to pretend that you like me back. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way—”

“Oh shut up, silly,” Dejun snaps endearingly. “I can hear the cogs turning in your head with how hard you’re thinking right now.”

Without warning, Dejun raises himself up onto his tiptoes and pecks Guanheng’s cheek. Guanheng slaps a hand over his cheek, right over the spot that Dejun had just pressed his lips against. This isn’t real, it’s just a dream—

“There, are you convinced that I like you too?” Dejun asks with a soft laugh.

Before Guanheng has the chance to respond, someone runs into him from behind, pushing him right into Dejun.

A gaggle of middle-aged women pushes past them, one of them even turning around to snap at them, "Watch where you're walking!"

Guanheng's eyes meet Dejun's and they stare at each other. Dejun shifts away first, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Come on," Dejun says, "I'm hungry."

Dejun laces their fingers together—properly this time—and tugs Guanheng along. And like he always does, Guanheng follows.

They spend the rest of the evening strolling down Wenhua Road hand in hand as they browse the stalls lined along the street, sharing snacks and conversing comfortably.

Sometime after ten o'clock, Dejun insists that they head home because Guanheng has a shift at 7-Eleven in the morning. On the way home, Guanheng revels in the way Dejun wraps his arms securely around his waist and tucks his chin against his shoulder.

As Guanheng walks Dejun to the lobby of the student accommodation, Dejun pipes up and reveals, “I wasn’t sure about your feelings for me until I called you cute that time at the bus stop and you blushed so hard."

"Cute?" Guanheng sputters, embarrassment flooding his system as he recalls how dumbfounded he was after Dejun left that afternoon.

It doesn't help that even though Guanheng is no longer engaging in one-sided hopeless pining over Yoghurt Boy, he continues to be flustered by Dejun over the smallest things.

"Yes, cute," Dejun teases him. He swings their linked hands back and forth. "But you know what," he continues in a softer voice, tilting his head up to stare at the starless sky, "I was sure about my feelings for you after we went bowling."

Guanheng glances up at the sky too. It doesn't matter if there are no stars littered across the sky tonight because standing before him is the most beautiful star. Dejun glows, sparkles, and shines brighter than any star Guanheng has ever seen in his life.

For the second time that night, a surge of courage rises within Guanheng. He succumbs to his desires and for once, he allows his body to act before his brain does.

With his free hand, he cups Dejun's face and turns it so that he's staring up at Guanheng instead. Before he can change his own mind, Guanheng leans in swiftly and presses his lips right over Dejun's. The kiss feels nothing like Guanheng had ever imagined—definitely not what the actors on television make it look like.

But what he does feel is his chest igniting with feelings and god, he likes Dejun so, so much.

Dejun makes a noise of surprise and pulls back after a few seconds to survey Guanheng's face. Then, tightening his hold on Guanheng's hand, Dejun's eyes flutter to a close as he leans in to kiss him back.

Yeah, he definitely likes Dejun a lot.