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They had met off the beaten path at twelve years old, with Chongyun crying by the frozen lake and Xingqiu reciting Ovid’s epic poetry to make him feel better.
It was early December. Auntie Shenhe had been working for awhile, and Chongyun always got anxious when left alone too long. He’d insisted on coming with her, helping her with work, but it was no use. Her work was simply too dangerous for someone so young.
“Don’t worry, kid, I’ll come back,” she’d said, mussing Chongyun’s frosty hair. “I always do, don’t I?”
But even with distractions, schoolwork, and a million different household tasks, Chongyun still couldn’t shake the anxiety and the feeling that Auntie Shenhe would never come back. He didn’t know what was wrong with him.
You’re such a baby, he’d thought to himself as he sat by the lake, rivulets of shameful tears running down his knees. Crying over your aunt when you’re gonna be a teenager in a few months?
Xingqiu, who had a satchel of books slung over his shoulder and a peppy tune under his breath, had found Chongyun with his head in his hands, wearing only a t-shirt and shorts.
Good god, Xingqiu had thought. In thirty degree weather? He must be freezing!
It was only until he got closer that he realized Chongyun wasn’t shaking with hypothermia, but with sorrow.
So what did Xingqiu do? Well he, in classic bookworm-turned-theatre-kid fashion, performed a dramatic rendition of Metamorphoses that awakened some boyish, unbridled laughter in Chongyun, tears of despair turned to tears of joy. That was only the start of their friendship.
Xingqiu had always been charming and handsome, even when they were twelve, but that wasn’t the only reason Chongyun fell for him. He was a gust of wind on overheated skin. He was speckles of comforting snow on an elevated tongue. He was a firm choice in Chongyun’s world of indecisiveness and anxiety.
At sixteen, Chongyun mustered up the courage to confess his feelings to Xingqiu, and they had dated briefly. His anxiety still persisted, but Xingqiu’s gentle touch and charming demeanor dampened the fire. In Chongyun’s smitten embarrassment, those were the best three months of his life.
He always believed that love was meant to endure. That if you gave someone enough of your heart, if you stayed long enough, if you were good and kind and patient – it would come back to you.
So when Xingqiu broke off the relationship, saying he wasn’t ready, Chongyun said he understood.
***
It had been on a soft afternoon in early summer, sunlight cutting through the library windows like golden ribbons. Xingqiu’s voice had trembled a little, like he almost didn’t want to say it.
But he did, and Chongyun, ever the forbearing one, said it was okay. His answer was tender and reassuring, like Xingqiu’s words hadn’t just pulled the world out from right under him.
Chongyun had walked home and cried until his pillow was soaked through.
He told himself it was okay. Just because he’s not ready doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. If Xingqiu’s heart needed more time, Chongyun was willing to wait. He would’ve waited days, months, years until Xingqiu was ready.
But then the world became smaller, like it was slowly melting at the edges until it met the ground beneath Chongyun’s feet. The anxiety Chongyun’s lived with all his life began to sink its claws deeper, the heat of its infection spreading slowly through his body.
He wanted to stay calm, to stay cool, – but the more he told himself to chill, the more his hot emotions failed to stay chained up, licking at his thoughts and burning him all over. No amount of cold air or ice water could stop it.
The dam had only started to break when the depression followed, snaking through Chongyun like warm blood. It whispered that he wasn’t enough, not cheerful enough, not steady enough, not interesting enough to hold Xingqiu’s heart.
One day, Auntie Shenhe found Chongyun passed out on the shower floor, still clothed as freezing water poured over his numb body.
The doctors said his body temperature had dropped too low. That he’d been dangerously close to hypothermia. Shenhe signed the forms quietly while Chongyun sat draped in a thick blanket, hair still limp and wet.
When they brought up the idea of long-term care – a place where he could have time to heal – he agreed without protest.
The facility was clean, bright, and unbearably warm. They’d deliberately turned the temperature in his room up so he didn’t almost fall into hypothermia again, but he could never get used to it. The heat clung to his skin uncomfortably, making him feel alive in all the worst ways. But maybe that was the point. Maybe feeling the burn was the first step to thawing out.
Sometimes at night, when the nurses made their rounds and the world went quiet, he’d imagine snow. A foolish daydream, since it was the middle of August, but the cold was always something that grounded him. It reminded him of Xingqiu’s breathy laugh when it echoed through the winter air, fog circling about his perfect face.
Xingqiu. God, he was all Chongyun thought about in that hospital. Maybe when this was all over, when Chongyun emerged a more stable, put-together person, Xingqiu would finally deem him worthy of his love.
He let the warmth consume him. Because maybe this time, he just needed to melt.
***
When Chongyun finally came home, Xingqiu was waiting at his doorstep with his same bright smile and satchel of books. His honey-colored eyes lit up when he saw the other boy, and before he could say anything Xingqiu tackled Chongyun in a passionate embrace.
His arms were tight around his best friend’s torso, breath warm and relieved against Chongyun’s neck. For a moment, it almost felt like they were twelve again – two boys with nothing in common who had nothing but each other. It almost felt like everything hadn’t changed.
Then Xingqiu pulled away and Chongyun saw who was standing behind him.
“Chongyun,” Xingqiu said before lighting the match, “this is Hu Tao. We started dating a few weeks ago.”
Hu Tao grinned excitedly, hand extended. “I’ve heard so much about you! We’re going to be great friends!”
And Chongyun – sweet, gentle, breaking Chongyun – withstood the firestorm and smiled right back. “Nice to meet you,” he said, heart shattering into pieces.
***
There were dinners after that, the kind that left a lump in Chongyun’s throat. He would always sit across from Xingqiu and Hu Tao as they laughed over some whispered joke or stole food from each other’s plates.
Chongyun would watch them, specifically Hu Tao, trying to gauge what was so special about her. It hurt. God, it hurt more than he wanted to admit. He wanted to be happy for Xingqiu, but whenever he saw him with Hu Tao, reverent and grinning with genuine warmth, his blood boiled with emotions he didn’t want to name.
What does she have that I don’t?
The answer was simple. She wasn’t cruel. She was sunshine and warm milk where Chongyun was frost. She was a momentous flame where Chongyun was a frozen heart. She laughed easily, leaning onto Xingqiu’s shoulder like she’d never felt pain in her life, like she belonged there.
And maybe she did. Because it didn’t matter that Chongyun had been best friends with Xingqiu for over four years; Hu Tao was right there when Chongyun wasn’t.
She met Xingqiu in the season where he decided to be ready.
***
Years later, the winter where Xingqiu announced their engagement, Chongyun was the first to know. His eyes were so bright with joy and excitement that it would be a sin to not be happy for him.
Hu Tao held out her hand proudly. “Isn’t it marvelous? One second we’re highschool sweethearts and the next there’s a ring in my fortune cookie! Can you believe it?” The gold plating caught the light tauntingly, showing Chongyun exactly what he was missing.
His heart thudded loud and slow in his chest, like it was sinking through melted wax. Like he was back on the shower floor, not caring that he might freeze to his death. It was only until a few seconds passed that Chongyun realized he was supposed to be reacting.
“Congratulations!” he exclaimed with his best feigned enthusiasm. He stepped forward and hugged Xingqiu, mechanically at first, then affectionately as he melted into the warmth of him again.
“I’m really happy for you,” he said, and the grin it earned from Xingqiu almost made him glad that he’d lied. But then hot, stinging tears pricked at his eyes, and heat surged up his throat again – the same heat that’s haunted him since that night in his bathroom.
Other friends arrived later to celebrate the news, and Chongyun excused himself to the balcony, claiming he needed air. The night was deliciously, mercifully cold, numbing everything. His breath misted into the biting wind, and he let the dark chill crawl through his bones like an old friend.
Inside, he could still hear Hu Tao’s infectious laughter; Xingqiu’s voice joining hers. In the deepest depths of Chongyun’s frozen heart, something irreversible melted.
***
That night, Chongyun lay under his wrinkled covers, staring at his old phone. There were still messages from when they’d dated – sweet, simple things that Chongyun had treasured like all the tea in China.
(3/17/21) xingqiu: good morning chongyun <3 !
(3/25/21) xingqiu: did you eat yet? i brought souppp
(4/02/21) xingqiu: you looked rly nice today:)
He scrolled and scrolled until his vision blurred with bright, hot tears. He whispered into the lonely night:
“I just wish the timing had been different.”
And maybe, somewhere in another world, Xingqiu lay awake too, staring at the ceiling beside the woman he loved, remembering a boy who’d once given him everything.
Maybe he whispered into the dark:
“I wish it had been different too.”