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Jingyi tells himself to not look back when the two of them part ways, but he always does. He blames Zizhen.
Zizhen had told him once that in all the great stories of love and longing, the character who longs for the other will always look back whenever they walk away from each other.
“You’ve been binging romance dramas again, haven’t you?” Jingyi had replied, rolling his eyes as the four of them--Jingyi, Sizhui, Zizhen, and Jin Ling--exited the movie theater.
“It’s not my fault I see the parallels of poignant and effectual storytelling everywhere I go,” said Zizhen, palms to his chest, fanciful gaze somewhere in the mid-distance.
Jingyi pretended to gag. Zizhen punched him in the shoulder before asking the group if they could try the new taco place in the food court for lunch this time.
But tonight, as Jingyi starts toward the corner store to pick up milk alone after Sizhui got a call to come home early, he has the sudden realization that he’s been looking back all his life.
In kindergarten, when he threw a tantrum because he didn’t want to go home at the end of the day, he’d wanted to follow his new friend Sizhui since he had shared his snacks with Jingyi earlier that morning when none of the other kids would.
At the beginning of secondary school, when they were assigned to separate classes for the first time and Jingyi couldn’t bring himself to go to his own classroom until he had lost Sizhui in the crowd of strangers and the desire to run after him had subsided just a little bit.
Last year, at a stupid dance that totally didn’t make Jingyi nervous at all, as he took a walk of shame to the drinks table after a girl from Sizhui’s class had come up to him and asked him to dance.
Okay, Jingyi thinks to himself. Maybe Zizhen is onto something there. He stops in his tracks, after barely getting to the end of the block, and looks up at the stars. It’s a quiet Sunday evening, and he can hear the wind rustling the trees lining the sidewalk. Jingyi thinks about how easily this stupid little idea has made itself comfortable in his mind (and in his heart). He turns around to look at Sizhui.
And Sizhui is standing in front of him, looking right back. He’s a little out of breath, like he had rushed over. When they lock eyes, Sizhui’s entire face lights up into the brightest grin, eyes sparkling, and suddenly Jingyi can’t remember what the stars had looked like.
“I almost thought you weren’t gonna look back this time,” Sizhui says, and Jingyi’s heart skips a beat. Maybe two.
“I--” Jingyi’s words get stuck in his throat. They always do, when Sizhui is smiling like this, when he’s so near.
“I don’t want to go home just yet,” says Sizhui. He links arms with Jingyi and pulls him forward in the direction Jingyi had originally been headed. They walk the rest of the way like this, until they reach the store where Jingyi pouts when Sizhui puts back the candy he wants to buy because it’s not good to eat sweets so close to bed time. (Sizhui secretly buys it anyway so he can give it to Jingyi the next day.)
They finally say good night not long after that, with Sizhui walking home, directly across the street from where Jingyi is now unlocking his front door to go inside.
Sizhui tells himself to not look back when the two of them part ways, but he always does. He does it because he knows if he turns at just the right moment, he can see Jingyi looking right back at him.