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Xinlong had always thought that inspiration would come when he needed it most. After all, dance had been his language for as long as he could remember,the way he expressed joy, sorrow, and everything in between. But now, with his final showcase looming over him, his body felt heavy, his mind blank.
Nothing worked. No step, no spin, no sequence felt right. The notebook on the bench remained blank, accusing. His final showcase piece was due in less than a month. Professors expected brilliance. His classmates whispered the word prodigy behind his back, as if that made the pressure lighter. Instead, it pressed heavier. He was drowning.
By the time Xinlong packed his bag and left, the sun was already low, spilling gold across campus. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the figure walking toward him until a crash!
A cloud of papers flew everywhere. music sheets scattered across the hallway floor.
Xinlong blinked, startled. “Oh...damn, I’m sorry!” He dropped his bag and immediately crouched, gathering loose pages before they slipped further away.
Across from him, a boy knelt, clutching a worn notebook to his chest as though afraid it might vanish. His hair fell into his eyes, his shoulders slightly hunched, as if he would rather melt into the floor than exist here at all.
Xinlong handed him a neat stack of sheets, guilt flooding his tone. “This is all my fault. I wasn’t watching.”
The boy shook his head quickly, murmuring so softly Xinlong almost missed it. “It’s... okay.”
Xinlong smiled despite his exhaustion, the edges of his lips tugging up gently. “At least let me carry some of these for you until we’re outside. Call it an apology.”
The boy hesitated, then gave a tiny nod. His voice was quiet, careful, when he finally spoke again. “...Thank you.”
They parted ways outside, no names exchanged. But long after, but for Nian, the kindness lingered like an unexpected warmth in the cold. because he was used to people brushing past him without so much as a glance. But here was Xinlong ,beautiful, frantic, kind carrying his papers like an apology gift.
♡
The second time they met, it was because of Anxin and Kaiwen.
Kaiwen was Xinlong’s energetic best friend, loud and impossible to ignore, and Anxin had the peculiar gift of connecting people who otherwise might never talk. That day, they’d dragged Xinlong and Nian out for coffee.
“You’re coming,” Kaiwen insisted, tugging on Xinlong’s sleeve.
“I don’t need coffee.”
“You need human interaction.”
That was how Xinlong found himself sitting in a café on Sunday afternoon, staring across the table at Anxin and..he blinked..the boy from the hallway.
“Nian,” Anxin introduced. “Music major. He’s working on his final.”
Xinlong tilted his head. “We’ve met before, right?”
Nian’s eyes widened slightly. He shut the notebook on the table as though closing a secret. “...Yes. You helped me pick up my music sheets.”
Recognition flickered, and Xinlong’s smile grew softer. “Ah. Sorry again about that.”
The conversation at first was awkward. Xinlong stirred his coffee though he hadn’t added sugar. Nian fiddled with his pen. Anxin tried to bridge the silence, Kaiwen filled the space with endless chatter, and slowly, Xinlong noticed something: Nian barely spoke, but when he did, he chose his words carefully.
And more than that,Xinlong wanted to hear them.
So he leaned forward every time Nian opened his mouth, just slightly, as if to catch the words others might overlook. When Nian’s gaze flickered up, uncertain, he found Xinlong waiting, listening.
Then Xinlong asked him softly, “Do you write your own songs?” Nian looked up, startled, but nodded.
“That’s amazing,” Xinlong said with a small grin. “You’ll have to let me hear one sometime.”
Nian’s face warmed. He didn’t know why, but those words meant more coming from him,it was a small thing, but it was enough to plant something unshakable.
From then on, their paths seemed to cross more often and they kept running into each other.
Late-night walks across campus, when the buildings were quiet and the stars felt closer. Short exchanges in the library, sharing snacks without asking. Sometimes Xinlong found Nian sitting on the steps outside the studio, waiting for no one, just existing in the soft night air.
Nian noticed how Xinlong cared for everyone ,always smiling, always offering help yet seemed to forget himself entirely. Xinlong noticed how Nian listened, not just to words but to pauses, as though he could hear the feelings people hid.
And slowly, without either of them naming it, a fragile thread wove between them.
For Nian, the thread became music. Every note, every lyric he scribbled in his notebook carried traces of Xinlong,the clumsy collision, the laughter under streetlights, the small kindnesses that made his chest ache. He poured it all into his final composition, a song he would never dare let Xinlong hear.
And for Xinlong, the silence of the studio began to feel less empty. The blank pages didn’t fill yet, but he found himself waiting for the moments he’d run into Nian, like the promise of a melody he hadn’t learned to dance to.
♡
Xinlong leaned against the doorframe of the practice room, arms folded.
“Play it for me,” he coaxed.
Nian, hunched over the piano, stiffened. His fingers hovered above the keys, not pressing down. “It’s not ready.”
“You’ve been saying that for weeks,” Xinlong said lightly, but there was a faint crease between his brows.
Nian’s throat bobbed. The song wasn’t unfinished, it was overflowing. Every measure carried Xinlong in it. Every lyric risked exposing what Nian couldn’t say aloud. He shook his head quickly. “No. Not yet.”
Xinlong watched him a moment, sensing the way Nian curled in on himself, defensive. He exhaled softly. “Okay. I’ll wait.”
The relief in Nian’s chest was immediate, but guilt followed right behind it.
♡
It was late when Xinlong walked back from his last class, duffel bag heavy on his shoulder. Passing the music building, he paused at the faint glow from one of the rooms.
Through a cracked door, Nian sat at the piano.
Xinlong almost kept walking. But then the sound stopped him cold, soft chords spilling into the hallway, followed by Nian’s voice.
It was trembling but achingly honest.
And with a shock, Xinlong realized, he knew this song. Not the melody, but the story inside it. Their story. The first clumsy meeting, the late-night conversations, the quiet warmth between them.
His breath caught as lyrics painted memories only the two of them shared: papers scattered across a hallway floor, late-night walks under yellow streetlamps, the way Xinlong always smiled for everyone but never for himself.
Xinlong’s chest tightened painfully. This was him. This was them.
He pressed a hand to the doorframe, torn. He shouldn’t listen. Nian didn’t want him to. But the song gripped him, every word unraveling truths he hadn’t let himself see.
When the final chord faded, Xinlong stumbled back, overwhelmed.
“Xinlong?” a voice called.
He flinched. Kaiwen jogged up, frowning. “Hey, I’ve been looking for you. What’s wrong? You look like you saw a ghost.”
Xinlong shook his head, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing. Want to go to the dance room? I… need to move.”
Kaiwen’s brow furrowed, but then his face lit up. “You’re actually going to dance again? Hell yes.”
♡
The studio smelled of resin and wood.
Xinlong dropped his bag, stretched half-heartedly, and then without a single note playing he began to dance.
It wasn’t a routine Kaiwen had ever seen. It wasn’t polished or rehearsed. But it was raw, movements drawn from somewhere deep, each step tracing the ghost of the song still ringing in Xinlong’s chest.
By the time he collapsed to the floor, sweat dripping, chest heaving, Kaiwen was staring, silent, phone recording in hand.
“Xinlong…” Kaiwen whispered. “That was insane. Beautiful.”
Xinlong startled, having forgotten he wasn’t alone. “Kaiwen, I…” His voice cracked.
Kaiwen crouched beside him, eyes sharp with worry. “Talk to me.”
Xinlong pressed his palms over his face. “It was Nian. His song. I shouldn’t have listened, but Kaiwen, it was about me. About us. Every moment, every...” His words broke off.
Kaiwen’s gaze softened. “So that’s what this was.”
Xinlong’s shoulders shook. “I don’t know what to do. He doesn’t want me to know. But hearing it...it felt like he reached inside me and pulled me back to life. I can’t stop hearing it. I can’t stop feeling it.”
There was a long pause. Then Kaiwen spoke, low but firm.
“Xinlong, maybe stop running from it.”
Xinlong’s hands fell from his face. “…What do you mean?”
Kaiwen tilted his head, a small smirk curling his lips. “That song pulled you back into dance after weeks of nothing. Doesn’t that mean something? People don’t write like that unless they care. And you don’t dance like you just did unless you care back.”
Xinlong’s chest tightened. “…You think I might like him.”
Kaiwen nudged his shoulder. “I think you already do.”
♡
For days, Xinlong carried the song in his chest like a heartbeat. Every time he saw Nian, every soft smile or hesitant word, it hit him all over again: Kaiwen was right. He did care. Maybe more than he’d ever admitted.
When he finally confessed this to Kaiwen and Anxin, they exchanged knowing looks.
“Then it’s settled,” Kaiwen said, grinning wickedly. “We’re getting you that song.”
Nian was protective, of course. He clutched his notebook like it was an extension of his soul. But Anxin’s patience and Kaiwen’s scheming eventually got him to share a recording.
Xinlong sat alone in his room that night, headphones in, letting the song play on loop. And with trembling fingers, he began to choreograph.
Every step was a confession. Every turn an answer.
♡
The night of the showcase arrived.
The auditorium buzzed with anticipation. Families, friends, and classmates filled the seats.
Kaiwen performance was first, lighting up the stage with his trademark energy. The crowd roared, Anxin nearly shouting himself hoarse, and Nian clapped with a small smile.
Then the lights dimmed.
Xinlong stepped into the spotlight.
And Nian’s breath caught as the opening chords began. His song. His secret.
Xinlong moved—fluid, aching, every motion carrying weight. He poured himself into the dance, weaving their story into every gesture, every leap, every turn. The music and his movements intertwined, telling a story without words, a story only Nian could understand.
By the final movement, Xinlong collapsed to his knees, sweat dripping, chest heaving. The auditorium erupted in applause, thunderous and unrelenting. But Xinlong didn’t care about the noise. His eyes scanned the crowd, searching for Nian.
And there he was. Eyes wide, glistening with tears, hands clapping shakily. Nian’s lips trembled into a small, astonished smile.
Backstage, Xinlong’s heart pounded. His palms were clammy, his throat dry. He had performed Nian’s song, turned it into movement, it was his confession. What if Nian hated him for it? What if he had ruined everything?
“Nian...” Xinlong began the second he saw him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...”
But Nian didn’t let him finish. He surged forward, wrapping his arms around Xinlong so tightly it stole his breath.
Xinlong froze. “…You’re not angry?”
Nian’s voice trembled against his ear. “Angry? Xinlong, that song was everything I couldn’t say. I never thought...” He broke off, trembling. “I never thought you’d answer.”
Xinlong’s throat tightened. He held him back, wrapping his arms around Nian, whispering, “…I didn’t know either. Not until I heard it. Not until I danced to it.”
Nian pulled back slightly, eyes wet, cheeks flushed. “So you—”
Xinlong brushed a tear from Nian’s cheek, smiling through his own. “Yeah. I like you, Nian.”
For a long, quiet moment, the world held still. The noise of the showcase faded into nothing.
Slowly, Nian leaned down a fraction more, taking the lead, capturing Xinlong’s lips in a gentle, lingering kiss. soft, tentative, a promise whispered in the quiet between them.holding Xinlong close while letting him feel safe and cherished.
When they finally parted, Nian’s hands stayed on Xinlong’s shoulders, keeping him steady. His eyes were bright, full of warmth, Nian grinned, tightening the embrace, forehead resting against Xinlong’s. “Good. Because I like you too. Always have.”
For the first time in weeks, Xinlong felt light, unburdened, complete. The song and the dance had found each other. And so had they.
They stood there for a long moment, just holding each other, letting the applause from the auditorium fade into the background. It didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was the warmth between them, the soft beating of their hearts, and the quiet promise that this, this connection was theirs.
And it would always be.
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