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“There’s one behind me, isn’t there?” Guangyan said, much more a statement than an actual question.
Yiyong snorted. “What makes you think that?”
Guangyan crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. He was soaking wet; his dark hair plastered to his head and his cream cardigan hanging off his shoulders tragically. Ever since he’d left his shift at the hospital, he’d been caught in a rainstorm.
Which made no sense, because it was a warm autumn day, and it hadn’t rained in a week.
The rainstorm was only over his head, following him home as if he were a cartoon character; as if he were Eeyore and this was his little black rain cloud.
“Pu Yiyong,” he ground out, and he wiped his hand across his face, through his sopping wet bangs. “Why is it following me?”
He stared down at his friend, chagrined. It had only been six weeks or so since he’d awoken from his second coma, and Yiyong had not recovered to the point he could get around much without a wheelchair. His home wasn’t the most accessible either, so they’d moved a futon into the living room so he didn’t have to go up the stairs whenever he wanted to lie down. His computer was there as well. Ye Baosheng and Chen Chuying had worked together one day to build a makeshift wooden ramp outside of their home so he could easily get down the stairs.
When he awoke after the bus crash, Yiyong’s rehabilitation had been mostly focused on building strength in his muscles, which had atrophied after almost two years of no use. But this time, with a traumatic head injury, he was having to relearn some of his basic skills entirely.
Calligraphy came first. The movements, he remembered, but he struggled to keep his hands and fingers stable. His fine motor skills had suffered, and while his doctors and physical therapist were confident in his recovery, it was to be far from instantaneous. This had been the most frustrating aspect of his recovery. As far as Yiyong believed (although Guangyan knew it wasn’t true), calligraphy was his only real talent. Guangyan recalled him staying up late into the night, his fingers stained with ink and brushes and wadded-up paper tossed to the side in anger. One time he’d slammed his hand onto the table, and the ink and inkstone had gone flying, staining both his and Yiyong’s shirts.
It was… hard to be angry at him. Even a furious Yiyong, even a Yiyong that was holding back tears of aggravation as Guangyan forced him to go to bed for his own health and well-being, was better than the silent, sleeping young man that he’d spent months camping next to, hoping that a ten percent chance of recovery would become one hundred percent. He could only pray that Yiyong was too stubborn to die. From a medical perspective, that made no sense, but when had anything about Yiyong ever made sense?
Yiyong sighed and rolled his eyes. “Because I’m ignoring it.”
“So it followed me… because it knew I’d go to you, and it knew you’d have to do something.”
He frowned deeply, his brows creased together. “It doesn’t mean I have to do something. Just get an umbrella.”
“Are you worried about your health?” Guangyan raised his voice; he had to, to be heard over the rain pounding around his head. There was a clap of thunder, isolated to the little black rain cloud over his head. Seriously? “I’ll make sure you don’t overexert yourself. I’ve been present for most of your physical therapy appointments. I know where your progress stands. I can call Chuying-jie as well.”
He shook his head. “I talked to her last night. She helped me figure out what this is. I already know what it wants. I just don’t want to deal with it.”
“Well, what is it?” Guangyan leaned forward, his lips pressed together in a thin line.
Yiyong sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and leaned back further in his wheelchair. He rubbed his forehead, as if nursing a headache. “Do you remember the huge pileup on Formosa Freeway near the end of last spring? The one that happened during the big storm?”
“Yeah, there was flash flooding even around here,” he replied, then stared up at the storm above his head, his eyes shielded by his soaking wet hand. “Is this…?”
“Well, I don’t, because I was in a coma, but Chuying said it was…”
“The deadliest crash since...”
Guangyan didn’t finish his sentence. He just looked at his friend and sighed sadly. “I’m sorry, Yiyong.”
“Do you think Guangyan is gay?” Yiyong leaned over toward Chuying and tried to peer at her computer. He’d pushed himself out of his chair, and he was wobbly, but he found stability by leaning against her desk.
Chuying minimized the window and glared at him. “Why are you asking—didn’t he have a crush—”
“He had a crush on a doll. I don’t think that proves anything.”
She scoffed, shooing him away and going back to her search. “How would I know? Do you think I think about things like that…?
“You’re a detective. You should be able to figure it out,” he answered, plopping back down into his wheelchair, resigned to the fact that Chuying was not going to let him look at the police database.
“I’m not a detective yet.”
Yiyong did not give up. “Okay, if you were, would you think Guangyan is gay?"
She pressed her hands down onto the desk chair’s arms and shot him a skeptical glare. “Did you roll all the way to the station just to ask me questions about Cao Guangyan’s love life? Do you want this information or not?
“Yes, but…” He lowered his eyes to the ground. The harsh lights of the police station flickered for a moment, and Yiyong wondered if his obsession was getting impatient.
“Yiyong, everyone but Guangyan knows that Guangyan is gay; I imagine he’s realized it by now as well.” Chuying rubbed her forehead.
“People keep saying we’re a couple. Do you think he has a crush on—”
“Liu Meihua,” she interrupted. “Thirty-three years old. She’s the only survivor of the entire pileup. I imagine it’s her that this little storm cloud can’t let go of. Yes, he has a crush on you, Yiyong.”
“Liu Meihua?” Guangyan repeated, once Yiyong had told him the information Chuying had retrieved for him. “I think I’ve seen her at my hospital.”
Yiyong nodded. “She was hospitalized for months.”
“And the rain cloud that has been haunting me since I left my shift?”
Yiyong reached into his pocket and pulled out a drawing, because of course he did, because it was never a matter of if Yiyong would help the obsession, but when. Reluctant he may be, and who could blame him, considering his own previous experiences?
An ink drawing of a young girl with an umbrella, and the lines were shakier than they once were, but they were much improved from what they would have been a few weeks before.
The rain cloud lifted, and for the first time in almost an hour, Guangyan could see the sun above him. He turned around.
If Guangyan were to imagine a deadly storm, he thought he’d picture an old man, so grizzled and ancient and wind-chapped that when he squinted, you could barely see his eyes. What stood in front of him was instead a young girl, wearing a sky blue sundress and holding a broken umbrella in her hand, snapped backwards by the force of wind and rain.
“Finally,” she said, and her voice was soft and sing-song, like the pitter patter of spring rain before it became a deluge. “They were right. Going through you is the way to get Pu Yiyong’s attention.”
Yiyong wrinkled his nose and leaned forward in his chair. “Who are they ?”
“Oh, everyone,” she replied simply.
He snorted. “Do you obsessions have meetings or something? Or was it the old lady again…”
The little rainstorm smiled and let out a tinkle of a laugh. “Your mom… his father… the cop lady… all of them. They all say the same things about you when you’re not there.”
“Enough,” Guangyan interrupted, curt and clipped, his cheeks flushing red. “What is it you are wanting?”
She bit her lip and clenched her fingers in the folds of her dress, her eyes downcast. “I was just a little spring storm. I’m not a typhoon, or a monsoon, or anything like that. I existed to nurture the land, to bring life, then to fade away on the wind.”
“But you didn’t,” Yiyong countered.
She shook her head. “I never wanted to hurt anyone, but I did, and now—I can’t…” She began to tear up, and as she did so, a tiny cloud formed above her own head. She tried, to no avail, to use her broken umbrella to shield herself. “Is there anyone I didn’t hurt?”
“No.”
Did he resent this little storm in the shape of a girl? Resent the pain she’d caused so many people. Was he disgusted by her existence, her inability to control her winds and her water? Could Pu Yiyong ever feel anything but anger and contempt toward a being that had caused a disaster like this, one that resonated so much with his own life that he’d been trying his damndest to not even think about it since Chuying had helped him figure out what was going on?
She wasn’t even the storm itself, but instead an obsession formed from the guilt, the regret that lingered, that echoed in its aftermath. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t fair.
But he still found himself unable to make eye contact with her, and his gut still roiled when he heard her sweet, soft voice. Kindness. He would be kind, even if he couldn’t turn off his own feelings.
“There is a survivor,” Guangyan piped up. “She was injured, but she’s alive and recovering. If you could see her… could you move on?”
She went silent for a moment, then nodded. “I think so.”
Yiyong rolled over and nudged his friend in the side, a little harder than necessary. “Get her to the hospital then and let me know. We’ll meet up there.”
“I can’t violate patient confidentiality,” he countered, swerving away from Yiyong’s touch. He ignored the way Yiyong snickered at the squelching of his soaking wet shoes as he did so.
“I don’t care how you do it, but unless you want to be rained on again, do what needs to be done.”
“You’re not joking. Does he really have a crush on me?” Yiyong was stifling laughter, and Chuying frowned.
“Don’t make fun of him for it.” Chuying sighed, a sympathetic expression flickering across her features. “He really cares about you. You didn’t see him while you were—” She shook her head. “Liu Meihua was in the car with her husband, who died instantly. I was there that day and…” Her mouth went dry, and she shuddered. “Do you know what it’s like, seeing something like this?”
“I almost died in one, so yeah,” Yiyong leveled her a glare.
She had the decency to look embarrassed. “I know. That’s not what I mean. I mean cleaning up. The water on the flooded highway ran red. It was…” Chuying frowned. “But Liu Meihua was conscious when we pulled her from the wreckage, and I remember what she said when we told her what had happened to her husband.”
Yiyong furrowed his brow, unsure of where this was going. “What did she say?”
“She said– ‘ Oh, thank god .’”
“Her physical therapy appointment will be right after yours,” Guangyan said, jogging up to Yiyong’s side once he entered the hospital the next day. “You owe me for this.”
Yiyong reached into his pocket and pulled out a wadded-up hundred-dollar note, as well as a few pieces of linty change, and smacked them into Gaungyan’s hand. “That’s not what I meant…”
“Can you buy me a bottle of Coca-Cola with that?” Yiyong asked, ignoring his protests.
“Seriously?” Guangyan mumbled, walking toward the vending machines and leaving Yiyong to wheel himself to his appointment, the little rain girl following close behind.
At the vending machine, he had enough to get two drinks, so he used Yiyong’s money to buy a second one. Yiyong knew how much a pop from the vending machine cost, knew he’d given Guangyan more than needed, given him enough for two. A small act of kindness from a friend who, although outsiders may not have realized it, gave so many.
Yiyong was a better man than him. He was better than Chuying too. Maybe slipping him extra money for his own drink wasn’t the best example, but it was a small thing that was just so Yiyong that he should have expected it. His kindness was quiet. He never made a show of it. He didn’t expect adulation or praise. He didn’t do things for that.
Guangyan wanted to advance to the top of his field, gain esteem, be the kind of doctor any family could be proud of. Chuying wanted to solve big, important crimes, ones that made the news, and cases that became badges of honor for her precinct.
No one ever knew what Yiyong did; no one except them, except the tiny amount of people and beings that were impacted by his care. He would never be lauded for what he did, never be praised or given a promotion or a raise, or be in the news. To those who didn’t know him, Yiyong had no job, no prospects, no future. But he was the best of all of them, and Cao Gaungyan thought—if he never did manage to find any of that, never managed what society expected him—although he would help him the best he could, help him be an artist, help him be a creator, help him with whatever he wanted to be—
Well, being a doctor paid pretty well. More than well enough for two.
He felt his cheeks heat, and absently, he pressed a bottle of soda to each one in an attempt to cool them.
Everyone thought they were in a relationship already, even storms in the shape of little girls. Why even pretend that wasn’t what he wanted?
He pocketed the drinks in his lab coat and made his way to the physical therapy department, but before he could even think to locate Yiyong upon arriving, he spotted him, sitting outside of the office next to a woman with short, cropped black hair and a cast on her arm. She, like Yiyong, was also in a wheelchair.
Liu Meihua...? He recognized her vaguely from the picture on her file, but back then, her hair had been long and stringy, almost as if lacking care. She looked better now, happier, and maybe he was just imagining it, but it was in her general countenance, not just the fact that she was much further on the road to recovery than she had been when that photo was taken.
Yiyong had his hands on the wheels of his chair, and he was laughing, apparently at something she’d said. He motioned Guangyan over.
“You’ve already met?” he asked, stopping next to Yiyong’s side. He nodded. “You seem to be doing well, Miss Liu. How is your recovery going?”
She shrugged, but her buoyancy didn’t deflate, and her smile did not wane. “It could be better. I might never be able to fully use this leg again.” She lifted her left leg as well as she could. It was still in a thick, hinged brace.
“Ah, I’m sorry, Miss Liu. I know our physical therapists will do their best to help you regain as much motion as you possibly can.” He lowered his head in a slight bow.
Guangyan averted his eyes to the obsession standing behind Yiyong. There was a small, surprised smile on her face. What had he walked in on?
“Hey,” Yiyong said, yanking the sleeve of his white coat. ”You’ve looked at Miss Liu’s medical record, right?”
“Yes…”
“And was there anything strange about it?”
“I can’t really tell you unless—” Guangyan locked eyes with Meihua, who nodded to give him permission. “Miss Liu was already injured when she came in. As in, of course she was injured from the wreck, but she had old injuries that clearly predated that day. A fractured leg, bone bruising around her eye, and two cracked ribs.”
“She said– ‘Oh, thank god.’”
His eyes widened, his mouth dropped open, and realization dawned on him. Her husband, the man who had died, the one she’d sounded relieved about being gone?
“What happened that day was a horrible tragedy,” Yiyong said. “I… know better than anyone else what that kind of thing feels like.” He frowned and closed his eyes, then shook his head, bringing his mind back into focus. “But there was one good thing that came from it for Miss Liu.” He inclined his head forward, toward the woman, and she nodded.
“I never would have gotten away,” she explained. “He’d have killed me before I could.”
Guangyan was struck speechless. How could he even respond? “I’m glad you’re doing well then, Miss Liu,” he managed.
Yiyong turned his head and stared at the small girl with the broken umbrella behind him. “Little rain cloud, is this enough? You did it. You saved one life.”
She sniffled, wiping a tear from her eye and only managing to stop herself from creating a small downpour in the hall of the hospital. “Mmm, yes. This is enough.”
“‘Oh, thank god’?” Yiyong frowned and repeated. “Why would she be happy? Eleven people died that day..." He swallowed down a gulp and tried his best to still his hands. They were shaking, ever so slightly.
He’d gotten better about his grief over his own ‘that day,’ but it would never stop being difficult.
Chuying shrugged. “I have no idea. I thought it was strange, but she was barely conscious at the time. I didn’t even know her name until I looked it up today...”
He nodded.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?” She leaned over the back of her chair, her arm resting over the top of it and her eyes meeting his.
“Are you serious about Guangyan?” Yiyong swung his feet back and forth in the chair, desperate for any movement that he could use to distract himself from what she’d told him. He had been the one to ask, but that didn’t mean he was prepared for the answer.
Even though it was the answer he expected.
“On my honor as an officer,” she replied, holding up two fingers, emulating a vow.
Yiyong snorted and rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t mean anything…”
Chuying closed her browser window and put her computer to sleep, then stood up in front of Yiyong. “Come on, let’s get you home. It’s getting late.”
“I’ll take the bus home. Your police car isn’t big enough for the chair.”
She frowned for a moment, then jogged over to the key holder nailed to the division’s far wall, dangling the set she’d grabbed from it in front of his face upon her return. “We’ll take the precinct’s SUV. There’s more than enough room in that. Come on, I’ll get you drive-thru on the way back.”
“It’s not a big deal. I can—”
“HEY.” She rattled the keys again, this time clanging them loudly. “When will you stop fighting it when friends want to help you? I’m literally offering you free food.”
Yiyong’s nose wrinkled, and he scowled, but then he nodded. “Fine, let’s go.” He put his hands on the wheels of his chair and began rolling forward. “You coming?” He angled his head back toward her.
“Coming, coming.” Chuying crossed the few steps between them and put a hand on his shoulder, then ruffled the top of his hair. “Yiyong, until you’re well enough to do it yourself, I’ll always be willing to give you a ride home.”
Yiyong still got tired easily, and although he had an independent streak, he wasn’t above allowing Guangyan to push him home that day. Their obsession followed at a distance, a skip in her step. They would send her on her way when they got back to his house. Yiyong took a swig of his Coke and handed it up to Guangyuan to offer him one as well.
“I got my own,” he said. “Besides, you backwash.”
He snorted and took back the proffered drink.
“Hey, um—Chuying told me—”
“Yiyong, I was thinking—”
“You go first, I guess,” Yiyong said.
“No, you go first.”
Yiyong rolled his eyes. “Chuying told me that you have a crush on me,” he said plainly, as if it were the most mundane thing on earth. Guangyan couldn’t see the red that painted the other boy’s cheeks.
He froze, the wheelchair stilling in his grasp and his feet slamming against the back wheels. “She said what ?”
“I asked.” He fiddled with the arms of his chair, picking at the soft plastic that covered them.
“Did you…”
“Everyone else thinks we’re together, so I thought maybe—” Yiyong let out an awkward laugh.
“We could be,” Guangyan replied, and his voice was whisper soft, to the point Yiyong wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.
“What?”
Guangyan tightened his grip on the chair handles and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and summoning all the courage he had within him, all the courage that Yiyong had taught him. “I said I wouldn’t mind that—if we could be… together.”
Yiyong twisted around, and there was a smirk on his lips for a moment, but then it softened into a smile—a sweet smile, which wasn’t a description he’d use for Yiyong often, but it truly fit here.
“All right, let’s do it.”
“Do what—be—together?” Guangyan almost squeaked out.
Yiyong let out a short laugh. “Sure.” He moved to push himself out of the chair, but Guangyan swept around, standing in front instead and then leaning down until he was at eye level with him.
His eyes were wide, intense, like he’d just discovered something incredible, which he had, and it was sitting right in front of him, in that chair. “Can I kiss you?” he rushed out, then immediately groaned in embarrassment.
Yiyong barked out a laugh, and for a moment, Guangyan was certain he was going to be teased.
But instead– he leaned forward and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.
And Guangyan closed the distance between them.