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Some mornings, in those in-between moments between sleep and wakefulness, memories of the days (weeks?) spent in the hospital come back to Xiao Zhan.
Yibo laugh-crying and yelling for the nurses. His mother’s warm smile. His father’s quiet tears. Yibo’s deep voice as he reads to him about a young prince and a rose. The grounding feeling of Yibo’s warm hand on his, the weight of his head on Xiao Zhan’s shoulder.
These memories play as gauzy snippets, jumbled and incomplete, with no way to tell what happened when, how the puzzle pieces fit together, or even whether they’re real memories. Maybe they’re recreated scenes from a movie, a narcotics-induced dream, or the waking inventions of a traumatized mind.
It’s a terrible feeling, not being able to tell the difference.
But there is one moment he recalls with clarity, when he’d feigned sleep and heard Yibo sobbing he doesn’t know me, he doesn’t remember oh god he doesn’t remember. Yibo’s voice had been muffled, like he’d been crying in someone’s arms, and Xiao Zhan hadn’t dared to open his eyes then, somehow understanding that the anguished cry was about him, but not meant for him.
“I’m your — I mean, we’re… friends. Roommates,” Yibo told him afterwards (or maybe it was before, time was so slippery).
“F-friends,” Xiao Zhan had repeated back, trying the word out and finding it rolled off his tongue awkwardly. Yibo gave him an oddly sad smile in return, and Xiao Zhan had felt an inexplicable urge to kiss the sadness away.
He’d been a blank slate then, gamely accepting everything he was told about the years he suddenly couldn’t remember, searching for something to hold onto, but this… this word didn’t really fit how he felt about Yibo, although he couldn’t explain why. They were roommates… just friends? That’s what Yibo had said, and he’d looked so pained when Xiao Zhan stumbled over the word.
So Xiao Zhan resolved to try harder to be Yibo’s friend. To be whatever Yibo wanted him to be, if only so he would never look sad like that again.
Later, after he’d been discharged from the hospital, Xiao Zhan woke one night to find that Yibo had fallen asleep on the couch in their flat. He’d tiptoed over to carefully tuck a blanket around him, then paused to wonder at Yibo’s sleeping face, all soft cheeks and gently pouting lips.
Xiao Zhan’s breath had stilled in his chest with the realization that it had been this face at his hospital bedside that he remembered most of all — even more than the sight of his own parents.
He told himself that his thoughts of his time in the hospital were dominated by Yibo because, well, he liked Yibo. His kindness, his bright smile and beautiful eyes, his soothing voice, the way Xiao Zhan felt so at ease with him. But they were just friends, he’d remind himself. Yibo said so.
Then the day came that he learned that Yibo really had been there all the time, and could only have been at his side like that because he was family.
His husband.
This revelation, the shocking truth of who they were to each other, is still whirling in Xiao Zhan’s mind the next day as they stand at the doorway of Yibo’s childhood home.
“Are you ready for this?” Yibo asks, his hand hovering in the air, ready to announce their arrival with a knock.
Xiao Zhan chews nervously on a lip. “How - how did I do? I mean, the first time I met them?” Meeting the parents is always nerve-wracking, but this is so much worse, being defined by a history everyone but him remembers — a painful asymmetry that has marked every important relationship in his life since the accident.
“They loved you immediately. Like - like I did.” Yibo’s lopsided smile falters for a moment, and then he takes Xiao Zhan’s hand and gives it a firm squeeze. “How could they not?”
There’s no time to ponder how things might be different this time around, as the door swings open and the two of them are swept inside with hugs and tears. The warm and enthusiastic welcome should quell Xiao Zhan’s worries, but instead he feels unsettled, being embraced with an intimacy he doesn’t yet feel, by people he doesn’t yet recognize as family.
Before, when he’d agreed to the visit, he’d been prepared to offer easy smiles and laughs as the fake boyfriend. He and Yibo were friends, and so his performance would be no different from the roles he’d played on stage in college, in work presentations, in any number of situations where he’d been called on to portray emotions other than what he was feeling inside.
But now. Now that he knows Yibo’s heart, and Yibo’s parents know that he knows, it feels wrong to blithely pretend.
After dinner, when Yibo goes to the kitchen to help wash up the dishes, Xiao Zhan finds himself lingering over tea with Yibo’s mother.
They’ve exhausted all the catch-up talk, the simple pleasantries exchanged when a guest first arrives, and Xiao Zhan feels his shoulders tense in anticipation of what comes next, the question Xiao Zhan has been dreading all day.
“Do you - do you really not remember?”
She doesn’t say do you really not remember loving my son, but Xiao Zhan understands what she wants to know. He fidgets with his fingers and tries to formulate a response, but the words don't come.
Sometimes he can feel it, like a rattling bird locked away in a cabinet in his mind. A thought, an image, or a memory that sits frustratingly out of reach. Each time he thinks he’s caught a glimpse of his lost life and tries to reel it in for a closer look, it slips through his fingers and is swept away on a wave of anxiety and self-loathing.
Especially now that he knows that what he’s forgotten was so precious. What does it say about him that he could forget someone like Yibo?
When Xiao Zhan doesn’t respond, Yibo’s mother lets out a soft breath. “A-Jie—” she starts, her expression full of sympathy for what Xiao Zhan has been through, but with a hint of despair that makes him ache, “Yibo. He - he’s been so heartbroken. He misses - he’s missed you so much, Zhanzhan. Maybe you—”
“Ma,” a voice cuts in, and Yibo is suddenly there with a reassuring hand on Xiao Zhan’s arm. “Please Ma. Please.”
“Maybe if we showed him photos—” she pleads.
“Ma,” Yibo says again, and Xiao Zhan winces at the plaintive note, the slight crack in his voice. “Give - give him time.”
Yibo’s mother looks at him skeptically, then sighs and takes Xiao Zhan’s hand. “I’m sorry,” she says. “We - we just love you so much, you know. We all do.” She gets to her feet with a wan smile and pats Xiao Zhan’s shoulder as she takes her leave. “I’ll let you two rest, ah? We’ll see you in the morning.”
Xiao Zhan watches her go, guilt pooling in his stomach. He feels like a failure. A burden. “Yibo,” Xiao Zhan says, “Maybe she’s right, maybe I—”
“We just got here, Zhan-ge. You should take it slow and don’t strain yourself, okay? It was only yesterday that you - that you found out that you’re - you’re married—” Yibo swallows heavily. “That you’re married… to - to me.”
Xiao Zhan’s insides twist at the apologetic look on Yibo’s face, at the idea that Yibo could think that he was upset to discover that he’s married to Yibo. “Yibo, I’m not—”
“No, stop. Don’t—” Yibo holds a hand up with a heavy sigh. “I don’t want you to be guilted into feeling things you don’t feel.”
“Yibo—”
Yibo cocks an eyebrow at him and Xiao Zhan goes quiet, his eyes studying Yibo’s face. Yibo is so utterly, absurdly handsome. It’s not the first time Xiao Zhan has noticed this, of course, but now, knowing that this is his husband, it’s different somehow.
If they’d met at a club or a bar, or maybe through friends, he would have made a move by now, just to have him, to take that wild chance and see where things could go. He’d be stupid not to. But it seems almost cruel to do it now, when he knows how desperate Yibo is to regain what they’ve lost.
They’re not in the same place. They can’t be, as much as Xiao Zhan desperately wishes they were. His feelings for Yibo don’t have the weight of history and shared experience. They’re but a pale reflection of what Yibo feels for him.
When he'd stumbled over their wedding photo, stashed away in a box of albums and other mementos, the sight of it filled him with confusion. There he was, embracing Yibo, a giddy smile on his face as they kissed under an archway of golden flowers. It was them, no doubt, but also… not. As lovely as the photo was to gaze at, the moment captured in it wasn't one he remembered experiencing. Xiao Zhan felt none of the elation that glowed on his face; it may as well have been a different person.
But even if Xiao Zhan doesn’t know that person anymore, Yibo does. He remembers and he yearns. His loyalty to their once-shared commitment is why he told Xiao Zhan he’d wait for Xiao Zhan, no matter how long it took.
Surely, Xiao Zhan thinks, Yibo deserves better than that.
—---
“—and what if he leaves him?”
Xiao Zhan pauses in the hallway outside the living room and cocks his head.
It’s the third day of their visit, and while Xiao Zhan has enjoyed getting reacquainted with Yibo’s family and appreciates how lovely and understanding they’ve been about his memory loss, it’s been painful at times, feeling like a mere spectator to the conversations about their life together.
And he can’t shake the feeling that something is being kept from him. It’s the way conversations fall to a hush when he appears, or pointed looks are exchanged across the dining room table, followed by awkward changes in subject.
He pads quietly to the doorway to listen to the voices murmuring within.
“What will A-Jie do then?” Yibo’s favorite auntie frets. “He won’t be able to manage it all on his own—”
Yibo’s mother makes a disapproving sound in response. “Who said he would be alone? Zhanzhan will come around, I - I just know he will,” she says in a tone that sounds as if she’s trying to convince herself.
“And what if he doesn't?” her sister presses. “Then what?”
“If not, well — we will all be there for him,” Yibo's mother says, her voice full of the same determination he's heard from Yibo these past few weeks. He is his mother's son.
“The child will know love,” she declares fiercely.
Xiao Zhan tiptoes away, his face burning with shame that Yibo’s family worries that he will abandon their baby, their A-Jie. That they could possibly think so little of Xiao Zhan. But after the initial sting of their words, the jaw-clenching indignance that surges through him, he sags against the wall of their room, defeated. He finds he can’t really blame them for worrying.
And if he’s honest, maybe Yibo would be better off with someone else.
Just getting by each day has been such a struggle for Xiao Zhan. Between his memory loss and his crippling headaches, he hasn’t been cleared to drive, and he isn’t sure when or if he can go back to work. Ever since the day he woke up in the hospital, he’s felt so helpless, so useless. This can't be what Yibo signed up for when he’d married him.
So that night, as he sits in the backyard with Yibo to gaze at the stars, Xiao Zhan takes a deep breath and steels himself to say what he’s rehearsed in his head all day.
“Yibo,” he murmurs, the words catching in his throat, unwilling to be said. He wants Yibo to know how sorry he is for everything. Of course, Yibo will push back and tell him that it’s not his fault, as if it matters what anyone thinks or wants. Nothing will change the fact that he’s the reason Yibo is hurting so much.
He’ll tell Yibo that it’s not his fault either. He's lovely and perfect and because of that, he should be with someone — a complete someone — who can love him the way he deserves. Who isn’t forcing Yibo to live half a life while waiting for something that might never happen.
Xiao Zhan swallows hard, licking his lips because the night air suddenly feels so dry and cold on his skin. “Listen, I—”
But Yibo cuts him off with a gasp, shaking his shoulder and excitedly pointing into the sky. “Oh, look! It’s a falling star!” He turns to Xiao Zhan with a sweet smile. “Make a wish, Zhan-ge. I know what I wish for.”
Yibo is so beautiful in that moment, his eyes brimming with hope and guileless love, and Xiao Zhan can no longer resist the powerful pull that Yibo has over him.
On impulse, he takes Yibo's face in his hands and kisses him, a soft and gentle press of lips to that lovely smile of his.
When he pulls back, Yibo is frozen in place with a wide-eyed look of shock, lips trembling with an emotion — or several — that Xiao Zhan can’t identify. And then all at once, Yibo breaks into sobs, his whole body heaving with them.
Oh no what have I done?
Xiao Zhan feels the panic rising within him, the fear that he’s made things so much worse, but then Yibo clutches Xiao Zhan’s arms and holds him tight.
“Zh-zhan-ge?” he sniffles, teary eyes anxiously searching his face. Xiao Zhan can sense in Yibo’s question his wild desperation, the weeks of pent-up anguish and uncertainty, his worry that Xiao Zhan might never come back to him, and all Xiao Zhan wants to do is kiss those fears away.
So he does.
“Zhan-ge—“ Yibo chokes out, his mouth falling open as Xiao Zhan kisses him. Tentatively at first, but then Xiao Zhan feels a swoop in his chest, like something has fallen into place. He pulls Yibo close, their lips and tongues moving together in a familiar, passionate dance. Yibo presses closer, his body warm and pliant in Xiao Zhan's arms, like he belongs there.
Salty tears mix with the sweetness of Yibo’s kisses, and Xiao Zhan loses himself in the feeling of Yibo’s plush lips, alive on his own, his heart pounding with it. It’s the taste of first love, of summer romances, of homecomings.
“Yibo, Yibo, Yibo,” he murmurs as he kisses away the tears staining Yibo’s cheeks, and he realizes that some of those tears are his own; he’s crying too.
He closes his eyes and his mind fills with a flood of images and sensations, of sweet kisses in doorways, giggly kisses in cars, passionate kisses on couches, filthy kisses in bed.
A euphoric kiss at an altar.
Perhaps he only dreamed them all, but this Yibo in his arms is very real, and when he opens his eyes again, it seems foolish that he ever thought he could let Yibo go.
Yibo is breathless, crying, his hands on Xiao Zhan’s face, fingers tangling in his hair. “Zhan-ge, is it you? Is it - is it really you? Do - do you know me?”
Xiao Zhan can only respond with a wet laugh. “I - I… maybe? Yes? I don’t know, I don’t know, I just—” He kisses Yibo again and it feels like warm sunshine chasing the clouds away. “I’m not dreaming,” he says with a wondering exhale, fingers brushing Yibo’s soft lips, carding through his hair, like he's testing to see if he’s really there.
There’s a fresh excitement in touching Yibo like this, even as he knows they must have shared many intimate moments like this before. His memory of those times are still indistinct and ephemeral in his mind, and yet he can feel the brand they’ve left on his soul. Maybe he can’t recall the when or why of these emotions, but now, with a clarity he’s never before experienced, he knows what to call it.
“Yibo,” he says, his heart beating wild and fast, like he’s about to take a plunge into the abyss. “I - I love you, Wang Yibo.”
Yibo lets out a loud, laughing sob as he pulls Xiao Zhan close, whispering I love you oh god I missed you so much against Xiao Zhan’s lips.
The burst of emotion that rushes through Xiao Zhan is so intense that he’s dizzy with it. He lays a hand on Yibo’s chest to ground himself in the moment, in the feel of his racing heartbeat.
And then, without knowing why, he lets his hand trail down to rest on Yibo’s belly, and the final piece of the puzzle falls into place.
The child will know love.
“Yibo,” he gasps as he pulls back, his thoughts flying faster than the words can form. The glistening tears in Yibo’s eyes tell him what his heart wants to know. A baby.
“Really? Really?” Xiao Zhan blurts out, and then he's laughing and bending down to capture Yibo's lips in another kiss, even before Yibo nods and presses Xiao Zhan’s hands tight against the gentle swell of his belly.
“Yes. Yes!” Yibo cries. A beautiful, relieved smile breaks across his face. “Ours. Oh my god, Zhan-ge… do you - do you remember now?”
Xiao Zhan doesn’t reply, just caresses Yibo’s belly reverently, lovingly. A part of him is terrified — some days he feels like he can barely take care of himself, and so it seems like madness to think he can do right by a baby.
But then he catches Yibo’s steady gaze, and his brilliant smile fills him with courage. Xiao Zhan doesn’t know if he’ll ever fully regain what he’s lost, and yet his worries about his lost past seem insignificant next to the joy of this new path, a new relationship, a new beginning. New life.
“I’m here,” Xiao Zhan says with a kiss, “and I’m not going anywhere.”
“You better not,” Yibo warns playfully, and the easy laugh they share feels so right, so comfortable.
He holds in his hands the evidence of their love for each other, and of the commitment he owes Yibo. It’s wonderful and scary all at once, and he’ll surely make mistakes, but he knows now that there’s no giving up or walking away.
“I won’t,” Xiao Zhan promises. “After all, we have new memories to make, together.”