Archive of Our Own

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Huang Xing had left for Japan only a week ago. Yet, to Qiu Dingjie, it felt as though much more time had passed.

The apartment had become too quiet. Before, the morning started not with an alarm, but with Xing’s soft grumbling as he hid under the covers, reluctant to get up for classes. Qiu would usually just sigh, gently tug the blanket away, and whisper:

"You’ll be late."

"Five more minutes..." Xing would invariably reply, clinging to his wrist.

Now, no one held him back. No one asked for "five more minutes." Qiu woke up on his own. He made coffee for two—out of habit. Only then, standing in the kitchen with two mugs in his hands, would he freeze, as if forgetting that one of them was no longer needed. He set it on the table anyway. As if Xing was simply running late.

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Life before this had been… simple. And perhaps that was exactly why it was so precious.

They had lived together for almost three years. A small apartment, a bit cramped but warm—filled with a heap of trifles that Xing dragged home from everywhere. Pencils, canvases, strange little figurines he called "inspiration." Sometimes Qiu didn't understand what exactly inspired his boyfriend, but he loved the way his A-Xing lit up when he talked about it.

In the morning, Xing would get ready for university—always rushing, hair disheveled, toast clenched between his teeth, and a bag with brushes peeking out.

"I'll try to come back early! I don’t have many classes today."

"Don't forget lunch, my dear. And text me," Qiu would reply calmly, straightening his collar.

"Of course, baobao! I love you!"

And he would run off. Qiu would only watch him go, shaking his head slightly, before leaving for work.

His café was a ten-minute walk from home. Small and cozy, with warm light and the smell of fresh pastries. He opened it himself, greeted the first customers, and oversaw everything—from the coffee to the atmosphere. The work took a lot of time, but he never complained. Because he knew—someone was waiting for him in the evening.

Xing would return tired but happy. Sometimes, covered in paint.

"You've got a smudge again," Qiu would say, looking at his cheek.

"That’s not a smudge, that’s art."

"That’s acrylic."

"Art!"

Qiu would sigh, take a wet wipe, and gently clean his face. In those moments, Xing would grow quiet—looking at him too intently, too softly.

"You fuss over me like I'm a child."

"Because you are a child."

"Hey!"

But a second later, he would hug him, burying his nose in Qiu's neck.

"I missed you."

Even if they hadn't seen each other for only a few hours.

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They had dinner together almost every night. Sometimes Xing talked about his work, his professors, how he wanted to go abroad to see new styles and learn more. Dingjie listened. He always listened.

"You should go if you get the chance," he said one day.

Huang Xing froze. "Really?"

"Of course."

"And you?"

"I’ll wait."

Xing smiled then. The way only he could—sincere, a bit silly, but in a way that made everything inside feel warm.

Now he was gone. Only for three months, for an internship. It was his chance, his dream. Qiu himself had helped him pack. He checked the tickets. He saw him off at the airport. and he was the one left standing there when Xing turned around for the last time.

"I’ll call every day, baobao!"

"Just focus on your studies."

"I'm serious!"

"So am I."

Xing stepped closer then and hugged him tightly. Too tightly for a normal goodbye.

"You will wait for me, won't you?"

Qiu ran a hand through his hair. "Of course. I’ll miss you terribly."

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Now, he truly was waiting. Every evening—phone in hand. Every day—returning to a silent apartment. But the strange thing was… despite the distance, despite the silence—Xing was still there. In the scattered pencils. In the scent of his shampoo. And in a heart that still knew, with calm certainty: this isn't the end. It's just the beginning.

My Little Star A-Xing:

It rained in Japan today—a light, almost weightless drizzle, as if the city itself were trying to whisper. You know, I caught myself thinking that if you were here, we would have definitely gone for a walk without an umbrella. You always say that "sometimes you just need to get soaked to feel alive." I’d probably grumble again, but I’d still hold your hand tighter than usual.

I was at my internship at the graphic center, drawing a street with small cafés. For some reason, they all reminded me of yours, though none of them are nearly as warm. Because you aren’t there. Your gaze isn't there. That peace you create just by being present is missing.

I miss you. So much.

How are you? Did you eat well today?

My Beloved Qiu Qiu:

To be honest, for the first time in a long while, I didn't like the taste of my coffee. I made it exactly how I make it for you, and I automatically set a second mug on the table. I stared at it for a long time, as if by sheer stubbornness you’d suddenly appear and tell me I made it too strong again.

The café was crowded today, but it felt empty anyway. I found myself listening for the door more often than I should, as if waiting for you to burst in, breathless, hair messy, starting to tell me something at a mile a minute just to distract me from work, like you always do.

You probably haven’t noticed, but you are the "noise" in my life that I’ve become so used to that without it, the silence becomes too loud.

And yes, if you were here, I really would have taken you out into the rain.

My Little Star A-Xing:

I wouldn’t have resisted. Probably… actually, no, I’m lying. I would have resisted just so you’d take my hand and pull me along. I love it when you do that—confidently, calmly, as if the whole world is already figured out and I don't have to think about anything except walking beside you.

Do you know what you do to me?

Because being here, among everything new, among people speaking a different language, among streets I should love as an artist—I feel only one thing: a void that is distinctly shaped like you. And nothing else can fill it.

I want to go home. To you.

My Beloved Qiu Qiu:

You shouldn't just want to come home. You must live through this time. You wanted this yourself.

And I want you to come back without any regrets about missing something important. But… I am counting the days too.

My Little Star A-Xing:

You have no idea how much I’m smiling right now reading this. You’re always trying to be the "right" one, the strong one, the one who supports and lets go even when he doesn’t want to. That’s exactly what drives me crazy—because I know that behind those words is how tightly you’re actually holding onto me.

Be honest.

Do you miss me as much as I miss you, Qiu Qiu?

My Beloved Qiu Qiu:

No…

My Little Star A-Xing:

….What?

My Beloved Qiu Qiu:

I miss you more.

My Little Star A-Xing:

Are you serious right now?

Because if that’s true, then I should probably buy a ticket back immediately. I can’t stand the thought of you there alone in our apartment, pretending that everything is fine.

My Beloved Qiu Qiu:

Don’t you dare, A-Xing. You will return when you are supposed to. And you will return to me. That is enough.

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My Little Star A-Xing:

My love! How are you?

I was drawing you today. Not on purpose.

My hand just started tracing the lines, and at some point, I realized it was your profile, your lips, that specific look you give me when you think I’m not watching.

I couldn’t finish it.

Because I miss you too much.

Because if I finish it, I’ll have to admit that you aren’t here.

And that… hurts.

My Beloved Qiu Qiu:

Finish it. And bring it to me.

I want to see how you see me.

My Little Star A-Xing:

Do you really want to know?

My Beloved Qiu Qiu:

Yes.

My Little Star A-Xing:

Okay.

You are the home I want to return to, even if the whole world offered me something more beautiful, more "right," or more successful. No place compares to the way you look at me when I’m just sitting nearby, doing nothing.

You are the peace that holds strength.

You are the person I finally stopped being afraid to be myself around.

And to be completely honest, you are the one I want to kiss when I wake up, and the one I want to press against at night—even if it’s hot, even if it’s uncomfortable, even if you grumble and say, "A-Xing, knock it off."

I love you. So much. Too much.

(Message left unread for a long time)

My Little Star A-Xing:

…Dingjie? Darling, are you there?

My Beloved Qiu Qiu:

I’m working, xiao baobao.

My Little Star A-Xing:

And? Pay attention to your boyfriend!

Baobeeeeei...

My Beloved Qiu Qiu:

Are you writing this on purpose while I’m around people?

My Little Star A-Xing:

Maybe.

My Beloved Qiu Qiu:

I had to step into the kitchen.

My Little Star A-Xing:

Why?

My Beloved Qiu Qiu:

Because I wasn't about to stand in front of my staff with this look on my face.

My Little Star A-Xing:

What look?

My Beloved Qiu Qiu:

The look of someone who was just confessed to in a way that makes it hard to breathe.

My Little Star A-Xing:

My love… did you blush?

My Beloved Qiu Qiu:

Be quiet.

My Little Star A-Xing:

My Qiu Qiu blushed! I knew it.

My Beloved Qiu Qiu:

Just come back sooner.

My Little Star A-Xing:

I love you.

My Beloved Qiu Qiu:

I love you too.

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My Little Star A-Xing:

One and a half months left. It’s too long, Qiu Qiu…

I don’t want to look at this city without you anymore. I don’t want to eat without you. I don’t want to fall asleep without you tucking me in, thinking I’m already asleep.

I want to be with you. I want your hands. I want your voice, not through a speaker.

I want all of you.

My Beloved Qiu Qiu:

Endure it, baobei.

My Little Star A-Xing:

You’re cruel.

My Beloved Qiu Qiu:

I’m enduring it. So can you.

But when you return…

My Little Star A-Xing:

Yes?

My Beloved Qiu Qiu:

Know this, xiao baobao

I’m never letting you go anywhere again.

My Little Star A-Xing:

Promise?

My Beloved Qiu Qiu:

I promise.

And somewhere between the lines, between the short texts and long confessions, between the exhaustion and the longing, between different countries and time zones—their love didn't just survive. It became deeper, sharper, more tender. It was as if the distance wasn't separating them, but teaching them to cherish every second they would soon spend together.

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Only a week remained until the reunion. Seven days—and that number suddenly became something tangible to Qiu Dingjie. It was as if he could hold it in his hands, rolling it between his fingers, checking to see if it would vanish or prove to be another illusion of the waiting he had grown so used to.

He counted the days, the hours, the minutes. Not on purpose—it was just that every time he looked at the calendar, his heart would tighten slightly, only to fill with a quiet, cautious warmth.

A-Xing was coming back. His A-Xing was coming home to him.

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The message arrived early in the morning, just as Qiu had opened the café and flicked on the lights, letting the soft golden glow spill across the empty room.

My Little Star A-Xing:

Baobei!!! I bought the ticket.

I’ll be hugging you soon, so get ready, Qiu Qiu! This time you won’t get away with that "calm face" of yours—I’m not letting you go at all, even if you pretend you have to work.

Qiu froze, phone in hand, and for a moment allowed himself to close his eyes. He exhaled slowly before replying:

My Beloved Qiu Qiu:

                                                                                                I still have to work.

But the corners of his lips betrayed him before he could even look away from the screen.

The day started quietly. Too quietly not to be suspicious. Customers came and went, orders sounded familiar, the coffee brewed just as it always did. Only inside Qiu, something felt slightly off—as if the anticipation had reached a point where it was no longer patience, but a literal hum in the air.

And that was the day he came back. That guy.

Young, overconfident, with perfectly styled hair and the look of someone used to never being told "no."

Qiu noticed him immediately. And immediately felt tired.

"Good afternoon," he said calmly, not even looking up from the cup he was wiping.

"For you—it's always a good one," the guy replied with a slight smile, leaning in closer than he should.

Qiu said nothing. He had already said enough. More than once. More than twice.

“I’m busy.”

“I have a boyfriend.”

“Please don't come here just for this.”

But it seems for some people, words are just noise that doesn't matter if it doesn't align with their desires.

"You look particularly… lonely today," the guy continued, leaning on the counter.

Now Qiu looked up. Slowly and calmly. In that gaze, there was no interest, no irritation—only a cold, weary clarity.

"What makes you say that? You're mistaken."

"Then why do you keep turning me down?"

"Because my boyfriend isn't here right now."

One would think the conversation would end there. It didn't.

"That means I have a chance."

Silence. Short. Cutting. Qiu was just about to answer—this time more harshly, more decisively—when the phone lying beside him vibrated. The name flashed on the screen:

“My Little Star A-Xing”

Something in his chest instantly clicked into place. Qiu didn't even apologize. He simply picked up the phone and, without looking at the person in front of him, answered—switching it immediately to speakerphone.

"Yes, baobao. Where are you?"

Almost instantly—a soft, vibrant, painfully familiar voice filled the air, a voice that always carried too much emotion to hide:

"My love, are you busy?"

Those words sounded so natural, so warm, so… right, that the space around them seemed to shift. Everything fell into place.

Qiu closed his eyes for a second. When he spoke, his voice was different—the one he only allowed himself to use with him:

"Not anymore."

"I just wanted to hear you," Xing continued, his tone carrying that specific tenderness that always made Qiu lose a bit of his control. "I’m on a break, and I’m thinking again about how I’m going to hold you when I get back. Honestly, it’s making it hard to work properly."

Silence. But a different kind. Not awkward—clear. The guy across the counter froze. It seemed that, for the first time, he was actually listening.

Qiu didn't look at him. He didn't need to.

"Then get back to work," he said softly, but with a gentleness that couldn't be faked. "Only a week left, my love."

"I’m counting the hours. I want to see you so much, baobei!"

"I know."

"Do you miss me?"

A short pause. Dingjie, without taking his eyes off the counter, answered calmly, almost evenly, yet with profound honesty:

"Come back and find out for yourself."

Xing laughed softly. "Is that a threat?"

"It’s a promise."

Somewhere in the background, there was a sharp intake of breath—uneven, barely audible, but not from Xing. When Qiu finally looked up, the guy was gone. Only the bell above the door chimed softly, closing the path behind him.

"Dingjie?" Xing called out.

"I’m here."

"Is everything okay?"

Qiu looked at the empty café, at the light, at his hand still holding the phone. And suddenly, he knew.

"Yes."

And then, a little quieter: "Yes, now it is."

There was very little time left until they met.

And if before it had been a "wait," now—it was a promise that no one could break.

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Everything seemed exceptionally bright that morning.

The sun was just beginning to break through the clouds, painting the earth in soft golden-amber hues. Qiu Dingjie’s heart was pounding so hard it felt as though it wanted to leap from his chest and run forward—toward the person he loved so deeply that words seemed too frail to express it.

He stood at the arrivals gate, not daring to tear his eyes away from the doors. And then, suddenly, he appeared.

The light crowd around them seemed to dissolve, leaving only him. Huang Xing walked straight toward him, backpack on his shoulders and suitcase in hand, hair slightly tousled. He wore the smile Qiu remembered down to the smallest detail, and his eyes reflected the whole world—all the experience of those three months apart, all the longing, all the love that couldn't fit into texts and calls.

Qiu’s heart tightened and, at the same time, warmth flooded his entire body. Without a second thought, he took a step forward.

And then, something happened that words cannot fully describe. Huang Xing started to run. He ran as if the rest of the world had vanished, and only one path existed—the one leading to Qiu. It was a sudden, unrestrained dash, filled with an energy so impatient and raw, yet incredibly tender, that Dingjie barely had time to catch his breath before he was swept up in A-Xing’s arms.

"My love!" Xing cried out, burying his face in Qiu’s neck, kissing him—softly and cautiously at first, then more boldly, releasing every emotion and feeling that had been bottled up for weeks. "My beloved! Mine, mine, mine, baobao!"

Each word echoed in Qiu’s chest. Each whisper, each kiss felt like warmth spreading through his body, penetrating to his very core, leaving a memory on his skin, his lips, and his hair that could never be erased. He could smell Xing—a blend of his cologne, the sweat of travel, and the familiar scent of his hair and skin, which was Qiu’s favorite smell in the world.

Qiu hugged him back. Carefully at first, almost afraid it was a dream and that Xing would vanish at any moment. Then he held him tighter, refusing to let go, feeling Xing’s arms wind around him as they held each other—as if both sides had finally found the resolution to a long, long wait.

"You’re back..." Qiu breathed out, pressing his cheek to Xing’s shoulder, allowing himself to be completely vulnerable, completely open.

"I always come back to you," Xing said softly but with such intensity, kissing his face, his cheeks, his lips, leaving no inch of skin unnoticed. He kept repeating, "I’m back, darling," until Qiu began to laugh through tears of joy, unable to hold back the flood of emotions from the past months.

They stood there amidst the crowd, amidst the echoing footsteps and announcements, but for them, only this moment existed—the sound of each other’s breathing, their lips, their hands, and eyes full of sincere, naked love. It felt as if the world had ceased to be, leaving only the truth of their feelings—feverish, soft, silent, yet far too loud to be ignored.

"Never leave again," Qiu whispered, hiding his face in Xing’s hair. And Xing answered with the same whisper, the same breath, the same promise that was no longer a word on a screen, but living flesh and a heart beating right beside him:

"Never."

At that moment, time stopped, stretching into an eternity where only the two of them existed—their love, their adoration, and that quiet but incredibly powerful sense that they were finally home, no matter where they were.

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Qiu Dingjie had never felt so alive as he did now, with Huang Xing by his side.

Every movement his boyfriend made, every smile, every soft chuckle bloomed inside Qiu like a garden in spring, where every branch and bud unfurls into vibrant colors, filling the air with the scent of happiness and a quiet, endless joy.

After a short break, Qiu returned to the café. He wanted to immerse himself in the familiar rhythm of work again, but now every movement, every order, every cup of coffee was part of a new, wonderful feeling: his heart was full, and life felt radiant and effortless. And, of course, Huang Xing was there.

They sat at a corner table—Dingjie a bit higher on his stool, watching every gesture, every look, every slight quiver of Xing’s lips, as if memorizing these details forever. He could have spent the whole day like that, simply following him with his eyes, basking in this quiet, intimate happiness.

Walking up to his Qiu Qiu, Huang Xing wrapped his arms around Qiu’s waist—firmly, possessively—so that no one could ever doubt: this man was here with him, and he belonged to him alone.

Dingjie’s heart filled with warmth, peace, and absolute certainty. He took a deep breath, inhaling A-Xing’s scent—soft, familiar, home—and allowed himself to dissolve into the feeling completely. He slowly placed a hand on Xing’s chest, feeling his pulse, sensing both his strength and his stillness. His heart swelled with such love that it felt like it might burst, but in the most pleasant, desired way.

Xing’s lips touched Qiu’s hair, gently but firmly, as if asserting it again and again: "Mine. Only mine."

In that moment, Qiu realized his garden had finally reached full bloom—not just with beauty and light, but with the sense of absolute, unconditional love that knows no fear, no doubt, and no distance.

He was home. He was with him. And nothing else mattered.

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The morning began softly, as if the world itself had decided to grant them a few hours without hustle, without calls, without prying eyes—just the two of them and the home that had long since become their small universe.

Qiu Dingjie woke up first. He didn't open his eyes immediately, allowing himself to linger in that pre-dawn state where you hear the breathing beside you become part of your own—where every movement, every inhale of the other person weaves into your body as if you are a single entity.

And he felt it. The warmth—that familiar warmth that could never be mistaken for anything else. Xing lay beside him, hair slightly messy, with that faint expression of satisfaction on his face that he wore when he had just woken up but had already seen everything.

"Good morning, baobei," Xing whispered without opening his eyes, nuzzling into Qiu’s neck, already reclaiming him as he had done a thousand times before, yet with a new thrill each time.

"Morning," Qiu replied, smiling as he felt Xing’s arms wrap softly around his waist, pulling him closer. Xing’s lips were already kissing his neck—softly, quietly—in a way that made Qiu’s heart skip a beat.

Huang Xing was in no hurry. He savored every second, every touch, because he knew: this was their life, and every moment was priceless.

"Are you ready for breakfast?" Qiu asked quietly, making a playful attempt to slip out of the embrace.

"No," Xing grumbled, laughing against his neck. "I’m ready to hug you."

And so, they slowly, almost lazily, climbed out of bed. Xing followed Qiu like a shadow that couldn't be detached, being wherever he was, creating the feeling that they were two breaths of a single heart.

In the bathroom, Xing didn't move an inch away. Qiu stood at the mirror brushing his teeth, while Xing wrapped around his waist, pressing against his back and occasionally kissing his shoulder or neck. Qiu tried, embarrassed and amused, to move enough to actually finish brushing.

"Hey," Qiu chuckled, "can’t you just stand still for a second?"

"No," Xing replied softly. "I love holding you like this. I love... you." He touched his lips to Qiu’s neck again.

Qiu Dingjie closed his eyes and sighed. Even the most ordinary morning routines were becoming warm, intimate rituals of their love—as if every one of Xing’s kisses was a confirmation that he was home, that he was near, and that all those months of separation had finally dissolved, leaving only them.

In the kitchen, the story repeated itself. As Qiu prepared coffee and breakfast, Huang Xing stayed close. He stood behind him, embracing him, pressing into his back, kissing the back of his head and neck while Qiu mixed the pancake batter.

"A-Xing," Qiu laughed, trying to pull away slightly, "are you going to give me any freedom at all?"

"Freedom?" Xing repeated softly, smiling into his neck. "Freedom is when I can see you and touch you, not when you’re alone.

Dingjie shook his head, laughing quietly. He allowed it—allowed Xing to be close, to feel him, to love him, to follow him like a small, warm shadow that was always there.

They ate together, drank coffee, and laughed over small everyday things, but every gesture was infused with warmth, care, and love. Even a simple movement of the hands—passing a knife or adding sugar to a cup—turned into a quiet dance of closeness.

After breakfast, Xing still wouldn't let go. He sat beside Qiu on the sofa, nose tucked into Qiu’s shoulder, occasionally kissing his hands, knees, or cheeks while Qiu tried to work on his laptop. And even then, Qiu couldn't take his eyes off him; every gesture Xing made told him that love isn't just words, but touch, breath, and the shared moments that create an entire world.

In the evening, as the sun set softly outside the windows, Qiu heard a quiet chuckle behind him. Xing approached, hugged him from behind, and kissed his shoulder, then his neck, then his cheeks, until Qiu stopped resisting entirely, letting himself dissolve.

"My love," Xing whispered, and it sounded like a prayer, a promise—everything that love could possibly be.

Qiu closed his eyes. He let himself go completely, trusting entirely, simply being there with him in this cozy home where every corner was saturated with their history, their laughter, their breath, and their kisses.

And that was how they spent the day—among ordinary chores and familiar movements, but with every moment made special. Xing didn't leave Qiu’s side for a single step, following him like a warm, possessive shadow, while Qiu savored every second, every touch, every whisper, and every kiss.

In their house, in their world, there was no more separation. There was only this—a quiet, slow happiness that grows like a garden in spring, blooming and filling every cell of their bodies with love, comfort, and the sense of belonging to one another.

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Night fell over the city, soft and dark, but inside their apartment, light reigned—the light of their closeness, warmth, and the unbridled passion that had been building up all the time they were apart.

Qiu Dingjie sat on the bed, a little tired after the long day, but his soul sang because A-Xing was finally here, beside him, completely. Every movement, every breath Xing took was becoming a part of himself.

Huang Xing stood at the edge of the bed. He looked at Qiu—his gaze hungry, almost dark with desire. It was the kind of look that said: I want you. I want everything. His eyes glistened, his lips were slightly parted, and his breathing was quickening. In that look, there was greed and tenderness combined, desire and love woven into a single current that could not be stopped.

"A-Xing..." Qiu began quietly, feeling a fire ignite within him, but he stopped when he saw Xing slowly step forward. Xing's hands reached out, winding around his waist.

"Qiu Qiu..." Xing breathed out, his voice a bit husky, his eyes darkening with intensity.

He leaned in, his lips finding Qiu’s neck, kissing him, leaving marks, while his fingers slid carefully over his body. With every movement, those hands became bolder, firmer, more possessive—leaving no room for thought, no ounce of "freedom," only the two of them. Only desire. Only a fire that could not be extinguished.

Dingjie closed his eyes. He felt every beat of Xing’s heart, felt his breath, his hands, his lips. He dissolved into the sensation, giving himself over completely, trusting every touch and every whisper.

Huang Xing leaned closer still, his lips finding Qiu’s face—first his cheeks, then his lips, softly but insistently. Each kiss was a quiet affirmation: "You belong to me; you are mine alone." Xing’s eyes burned with greed and barely concealed passion, and Qiu felt it with his whole body, his whole being.

"Do you want to...? You aren't too tired...?" Huang Xing asked, not breaking eye contact. But there was no longer any doubt in his voice, only certainty, desire, and a promise.

Qiu nodded, finding no words, because words could not convey the depth of what he was feeling. They merged in their embrace, in their kisses, and in the quiet breathing that filled the room, filling every corner of their world.

Xing held him tightly, as if afraid Qiu might evaporate—but he was dissolving exactly where he was meant to: in Xing’s arms, in his voice, and in his hungry gaze.

The night was long, warm, and full of their breath, their whispers, and soft but insistent touches. And when they finally settled, exhausted but completely content, Dingjie pressed against Huang Xing, feeling those hands on his back and shoulders, and realized that home isn't walls or furniture or things. It was his A-Xing. His warmth, his desire, his love.

They fell asleep together, completely, without reserve, in that sweet, endless, almost magical sense of belonging, where the hungry looks and whispers of the night transformed into the peace of the morning light that awaited them tomorrow.

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The year passed unnoticed.

Not because it lacked events—on the contrary, it was filled to the brim—but because life, when it becomes truly happy, stops being divided into "days of waiting" and "days of meeting." It turns into one continuous flow of light, warmth, and a quiet certainty that everything is exactly as it should be.

Huang Xing graduated from university. The same boy who once returned home with paint-stained hands was now working as a graphic designer downtown. He was just as passionate, just as radiant, but more composed now—possessing that soft maturity that comes not with age, but from the person you love and who loves you in return.

Qiu Dingjie had changed, too. He had become… softer. Not on the outside—his calm, his restraint, and his usual composure remained—but inside him, that garden which had once just begun to bud was now in full bloom. It lived, it breathed, filling him with a warmth that never flickered out.

They had recently celebrated his twenty-sixth birthday. No noise. No guests. No unnecessary words. Just at home. Just the two of them. It was exactly what Dingjie wanted. A quiet evening, the soft light of a lamp, the light clink of dishes, and Xing—who always sat too close, as if any distance between them still felt wrong. A look full of love that needed no confirmation because it had long since become their very breath.

Dingjie thought then that he was happy. Truly happy.

And now, their anniversary was approaching. Five years. A whole lifetime tucked into one word: Together. And Huang Xing couldn't let this day pass quietly. Not because quiet was bad, but because a decision had been growing inside him for a long time. It demanded form, words, and action; with every day, it became clearer and more inevitable, like morning after the night.

He was going to propose to his Qiu Qiu.

It took him a long time to decide on the purchase. Not because of doubt. There was fear, but not the fear of rejection—Huang Xing knew Qiu Dingjie too well, knew his gaze, his hands, and his breathing beside him to ever imagine a "no." It was a different fear. The fear of making the moment not perfect enough. Not significant enough. Not enough… for him.

So he searched. Again and again. Past shop windows where rings lay under soft spotlights—cold, shiny, equally beautiful, and equally alien. Until one day, he stopped. Because he saw them.

Two thin silver bands—not flashy, not too bright, but exactly the kind that seemed to belong to them. Simple. Real.

Xing looked at them for a long time, unmoving, as if afraid to startle the moment. Then he said quietly, almost in a whisper:

"These two, please."

When the jeweler asked about engraving, he didn't hesitate. His fingers trembled slightly, but his voice remained steady:

"HX & QDJ."

As the rings vanished into a small box tied with a ribbon, Xing felt his heart race. Because now, it was real. It wasn't just a thought or a wish anymore. It was a step toward their future.

He hid the box at home. After much deliberation, he chose the simplest place—a desk drawer among his things, where Qiu almost never looked. As the date drew closer, Huang Xing became even more attentive. He watched Qiu—the way he worked, how he adjusted his shirt sleeves, how he looked thoughtfully out the window, how he smiled when he thought Xing wasn't looking. And each time, it became clearer:

Yes. It’s him. It always was. And it always will be.

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The morning began earlier than usual. Huang Xing woke up before dawn—not from an alarm, but from a restlessness he couldn't soothe.

He carefully climbed out from under the covers, trying not to wake Qiu, who was sleeping deeply, face pressed into the pillow. He looked so peaceful that Xing froze for a moment, just looking at him, soaking in the image of his person, his home, his life.

"My beloved" he whispered soundlessly.

He spent a long time in the kitchen, putting not just effort but love into every movement. When he returned to the bedroom with a tray, his heart was pounding.

"Dingjie… my love," he called softly, sitting beside him.

Qiu slowly opened his eyes, still sleepy and a bit confused. The first thing he saw was the tender gaze of his A-Xing. Xing, who looked at him as if he were the entire world.

"Happy anniversary," he said softly.

Their gifts were more than objects; they were words frozen in silver and glass. Xing gave Qiu a maple leaf necklace—delicate and almost weightless, yet carrying the weight of their story, their autumn, and the love that had survived it all. Qiu, in turn, gave Xing a tablet for his creative work—a gesture of unconditional belief in his future. And matching bracelets. A quiet, significant "we."

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Evening came, and the city lit up. The restaurant was filled with soft candlelight and the reflection of the night city in the windows. Huang Xing barely ate. He kept looking at Dingjie, as if collecting the moment inside himself.

"What is it?" Qiu noticed, a smile in his voice.

"I’m just… very happy," Xing replied.

When they stepped outside, the night had fully wrapped around the city. Suddenly, Xing stopped. His heart was so loud he felt it could be heard. He took a deep breath, stepped forward, and dropped to one knee.

Qiu Dingjie froze. Huang Xing looked up at him—that gaze that held everything: love, fear, hope, eternity. A small box appeared in his hands.

"Dingjie…" his voice trembled.

The world seemed to recede, dissolving into the city lights and the distant hum of traffic, leaving only the two of them.

"I… I’ve imagined this moment so many times," Xing exhaled, closing his eyes for a second. "Now that it’s actually here, I feel like I’ve forgotten how to speak correctly… but maybe that’s good. Because with you, I never want to be 'correct'—I want to be real."

He opened the box. The two silver rings caught the lamplight.

"Five years ago, I didn't understand how much you would change my life," he continued, his voice deepening. "I just knew I wanted to be near you, to hold your hand, to wait for you… and then, I thought that was 'enough.' But 'enough' isn't a word that applies to you. Every morning and every evening with you, I wanted more… not to 'get,' but to 'give,' to 'live,' to 'share'… everything. You are my home, Dingjie."

He bit his lip for a second. "I don't want to imagine a future where you aren't there, because for me, such a future doesn't exist. Stay with me. Not just for now… but always. Let me be the one by your side for the rest of our lives."

The silence became thick and palpable.

"Qiu Dingjie… will you marry me?"

Qiu didn't answer immediately. He looked at Xing for a long time—long enough to let every word settle in his heart. Finally, he exhaled unevenly, as if relearning how to breathe.

"You… do you really think," he chuckled breathlessly, "that after everything you said… after everything we’ve lived… I have any choice but one?"

He knelt down in front of him. A warm, living hand touched Xing’s cheek.

"You always say I’m your home," Qiu said softly, looking directly into his eyes. "But you have no idea how mutual that is. Everything I have—all my quiet days, my peaceful evenings, my 'here and now'—is you. I don’t just want to be with you… I am already with you. I already chose you. Long ago. Every day. Over and over again."

And almost in a whisper:

"Yes. Yes, Huang Xing. I will."

Xing forgot to breathe.

"Darling," he exhaled, pulling him into a fierce, hungry embrace. "You said yes…" He laughed, a shaky, disbelieving sound, kissing Qiu’s cheeks, his lips, his temples.

Huang Xing carefully took his hand and slid the ring on. The silver felt cold for a second, then immediately became warm, as if it had always been there.

Qiu noticed the engraving: HX & QDJ.

"So you don't forget," Xing smiled.

"I wouldn't forget even without it."

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The night had been a confession without words. Only toward morning, exhausted but at peace, did they fall asleep—intertwined like two lines that would never diverge again.

Qiu Dingjie woke up to the light. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, drawing golden stripes on the walls. He didn't move. He just lay there and then turned his head.

Huang Xing was sleeping beside him, hair tousled, face relaxed—no trace of yesterday’s anxiety remained, only a quiet happiness.

Qiu looked at him for a long time. Fiancé.

The word echoed in his mind, quiet but resonant. His fiancé.

He slowly looked at his hand. The silver ring shimmered in the sun. He traced it with his thumb, touching not the metal, but the promise itself.

"Do you like it?" The voice was husky.

Dingjie startled slightly and turned his head. Xing was propped up on one elbow, watching him with that look that held more feeling than one could bear without trembling.

"You! How long have you been awake?" Qiu asked quietly.

"Long enough to see my Qiu Qiu looking at that ring like it's the most important thing he’s ever held," Xing smiled.

"It is important," Qiu replied simply.

Xing moved closer. Very close. His fingers covered Qiu’s hand, the one with the ring, and squeezed gently.

"Then I’m satisfied," he said softly. "Because that’s exactly how I wanted you to feel."

He leaned in and kissed Qiu’s fingers. The ring. His wrist.

"We’re engaged," he whispered, testing how it sounded aloud.

"We’re engaged," Qiu repeated. There was no fear, only deep, calm certainty.

Xing smiled widely—a real, bright smile—and tucked his head into Qiu’s shoulder.

"Baobao… my fiancé…"

Qiu exhaled softly, his fingers sliding through Xing’s hair.

"You’re impossible," he whispered.

"But I’m yours."

"Mine."

The sun rose higher, filling the room with light. They lay there together—intertwined, peaceful, and alive. With their rings, their promise, and a future that was only just beginning. In that morning, there was everything.

Love. Silence. And their "always."

 ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Four more years passed.

Four years since that evening in the night city, amidst the lights and trembling breaths, when their "yes" was spoken. Four years during which that word never lost its power; it didn't fade or become a mere habit. On the contrary, with every passing day, it only grew deeper, taking root within them, becoming something far greater than a simple promise.

Qiu Dingjie was now thirty. Huang Xing was twenty-seven.

Their life was… right. Not perfect—no, it had its share of exhaustion, work, occasional arguments, and quiet evenings where each was lost in his own thoughts. But that was exactly where its authenticity lay, its value—because all of it was lived through together, hand in hand, gaze to gaze, breath to breath.

They were husbands.

The word no longer intimidated them with its gravity; it had become home, as natural as the morning light or the evening silence. Their honeymoon had long since become a memory, but one that never grew dull.

France—with its narrow streets, the scent of coffee, and endless walks where Huang Xing constantly stopped to "capture the light," while Qiu stood nearby, watching him with that same soft smile.

England—with its cool air, mists, and long conversations in old cafés where time seemed to slow down.

Japan—the blooming sakura, petals falling on shoulders, hair, and palms, where Huang Xing had whispered:

"It's beautiful, of course... but you are still more beautiful."

And Dingjie had turned away to hide his smile.

They lived. Without rushing. Without chasing. Simply… together.

Now, their life had become even more complete. Not because of something new, but because of him. Huang Li Chen—their three-year-old son. A little sun in whom their characters and their love were intertwined, embodied in laughter, the pitter-patter of small feet, and endless "whys" and "look at this!"

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They were currently on vacation and had decided to go to the beach. The balcony of their hotel room overlooked the sea. The morning was warm and soft, with that salty air that envelops the skin and fills the lungs with a sense of freedom. Qiu Dingjie stood at the railing, leaning his palms against it, watching the waves roll onto the shore—again and again, like the breath of the world: calm and infinite. The sound of the sea was steady. Soothing.

He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to dissolve into the sound, into this rare feeling where nothing needs to be changed and nothing needs to be added—everything is already there.

Suddenly, he felt a familiar warmth...

Huang Xing approached from behind, wrapping his arms around Qiu’s waist, pressing his chest to Qiu’s back and nuzzling into his neck. He did it with that same tenderness that hadn't weakened over the years, only grown deeper.

"You're thinking too much again, my love," he said quietly, his lips brushing against skin.

Dingjie smiled slightly. "I’m just listening."

"To the sea?"

"To life."

Huang Xing chuckled softly, holding him tighter.

"It’s a good life," he said, without a shadow of a doubt in his voice.

"A very good one."

Xing closed his eyes, simply standing there, holding him, feeling Qiu Dingjie’s breathing become part of his own—as if time were stretching out to let them stay here just a little longer.

"Husband," he added quietly, testing the word again, though it had long been familiar.

Qiu turned his head slightly. "Hm?"

"I love you."

"I know. I love you more."

Then, they heard the patter of feet. Quiet at first, then faster and closer.

"Father! Papa!"

They both turned at once. A small figure burst onto the balcony, hair tousled, eyes shining with boundless energy. It was Li Chen, their little hurricane.

"Let's go to the beach!" he blurted out, breathless with excitement. "Let's build a sandcastle! I could start by myself, but I need your help!"

In that moment, everything became even clearer. This was their "always." It was here—in this voice, in these eyes, in this little human who pulled them by the hands into life over and over again.

"A castle?" Huang Xing asked, crouching down. "A real one?"

"Yes! A huge one! The biggest!" Li Chen spread his arms wide, showing a size that clearly defied reality.

Qiu Dingjie chuckled softly.

"Well, you definitely won't manage that without us."

"Of course I won't!" the boy insisted. "You're my papas!"

Xing exchanged a look with Qiu. In that look was everything—the years, the love, the journey they had traveled.

"Well then," Xing said softly, reaching out first to the child and then to Qiu. "Shall we go build our castle?"

Qiu looked at them. At his husband, at his son, at the sea behind them, and took a step forward.

"Let’s go."

Holding hands, the three of them walked out toward the waves, the sand, and the evening light—where every second was filled with that quiet, genuine happiness that doesn't shout, doesn't demand, and doesn't leave. It simply stays.

Forever.

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Huang Xing’s workdays had long since found their own rhythm—steady, rich, almost musical. Every task, every stroke of the pen, and every meeting folded into a single canvas where he felt exactly where he belonged.

His studio was in the city center—a bright space with large windows that let the sunlight pour in, turning his desk, screens, and scattered sketches into something more than just an office. It was his world.

Huang Xing sat at his desk, leaning forward with that familiar focused seriousness in his eyes. On his tablet was a new project; beside him were documents, contracts, and emails from clients awaiting a reply. He switched between tasks effortlessly—answering messages, discussing details, signing agreements.

Sometimes he would stop, leaning back in his chair. He would look out the window or at the framed photograph on his desk. In the photo were his Qiu Qiu and their son, Li Chen.

But today, even in those pauses, there was something different—a light, warm anticipation, as if the day were preparing something greater than just work.

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                                          The knock on the door was quiet, almost polite. Huang Xing was about to answer without looking up when the door swung open. Suddenly, he heard a loud, familiar voice:

"Father, it's us!"

A second later, a little hurricane burst into the office with messy hair and shining eyes.

Xing smiled instantly, broadly. "Li Chen! My little one is here!"

The boy was already beside him, leaning on the edge of the desk, straining to see the screen.

"What are you doing? Are you working?" he asked with a serious expression.

"I’m trying," Huang Xing chuckled.

"What exactly are you doing?"

"Drawing, negotiating, thinking..." Xing tilted his head. "Sometimes I just pretend everything is under control."

"I see," Li Chen nodded importantly, though he clearly didn't understand it all.

At that moment, a second silhouette appeared in the doorway.

Qiu Dingjie.

He entered calmly, without haste—as always—with that restrained confidence. In his arms, he held their youngest, their daughter Huang Ting Lu, who greeted her father with a joyful squeal. That sound, so alive and sincere, instantly shattered the formal silence of the studio, filling it with warmth.

"Are we interrupting?" Qiu asked calmly.

Huang Xing shook his head. "You? Never."

Li Chen had already climbed onto his father’s lap without really asking.

"We came to see how you work!" he announced proudly.

Xing wrapped an arm around him. Qiu Dingjie walked further into the room, watching the scene with a warm smile. He leaned down and touched his lips to Huang Xing’s hair.

"Don't bother your father," Qiu said softly to his son.

He gently but firmly lifted the boy from Xing’s lap and stepped back. At the same time, he handed the baby girl over to Xing. She immediately pressed against him, seeking his familiar warmth. Her tiny fingers gripped his shirt with surprising strength. She buried her face in his chest, breathing softly, letting out small, contented sounds as if confirming that everything was now in its right place.

Huang Xing shifted in his chair, settling her comfortably. His palm rested on the child’s back—broad, warm, and unusually gentle for a man used to being in command. He rubbed her back almost automatically, rocking her, and closed his eyes for a moment.

"That’s pretty," Li Chen suddenly said, pointing at the screen.

"Is it?" Xing asked.

"Yes," the boy nodded. "But maybe you could add more blue right here."

Qiu Dingjie chuckled softly. "He’s giving advice already."

"He’s right," Xing said thoughtfully, looking at the screen. "A bit more depth wouldn't hurt."

Li Chen beamed. "I helped!"

"You helped a lot," Xing nodded.

Qiu sat in the chair beside him. He watched as Xing explained something to the boy, how patiently he answered questions, how easily he held their little girl. In that moment, he caught himself thinking that this… this was happiness. Not loud or blinding, but like this—quiet, steady, and real.

"Father, can I draw too?" Li Chen asked suddenly.

"Of course you can, little one."

Huang Xing carefully took his son's hand, gave him paper and pencils. Li Chen poked the tip of his tongue out in concentration and began to draw lines—uneven, lively, and completely childish, but so sincere that Xing couldn't help but smile.

"This is you," the boy declared.

"Me?" Xing asked, surprised.

"Yes," he nodded. "This is Papa, and this is my sister."

Qiu Dingjie leaned closer. "And who is this?" he asked, pointing to a third figure.

Li Chen looked at him as if the question were strange. "That’s me."

"A good team," Xing said quietly.

"The best," Dingjie replied.

And Li Chen, without looking up from his drawing, added: "Of course. We're a family."

And perhaps in that moment—amidst the lines, the colors, the slight mess, and the quiet laughter—that word sounded especially clear.

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