Page 46 of From Beijing, With Love

Next to him, Daniel’s spine straightened, like someone readying themselves for a fight. This was Yang’s clue to deescalate, but all he could think about was Daniel’s open defiance in the Forbidden City. The next words slipped out before he could stop himself. “We don’t all have the luxury to just burn the village down.”

Daniel flinched as if Yang had slapped him. Yang knew that it was wrong to throw Daniel’s words back at him like that, but he was annoyed, angry even, that Daniel didn’t get it. He wanted to grab Daniel by the shoulders and shake him so Daniel would understand that things were different here.

The night air hung heavy between them. Across the park, the jazz band played on, out of tune. Yang thought about walking away. Whatever Daniel said next would surely be awful. Maybe that was what Yang wanted, so whatever this was between them would end before it got out of hand. Before it became something that could really hurt him—even though what he was feeling now felt a lot like hurt.

Yang braced himself as Daniel let out a slow breath.

“I know,” Daniel said with exceeding gentleness, his earlier defiance all but gone. “I’ll never know what it’s like to be in your shoes, and it’s not fair for me to demand that you live your life one way or the other.” He paused, as if formulating his next words. “But I care about you, and as fucking cliché as it sounds, I want you to be happy. And from my experience, it’s a lot harder to be happy if you’re not happy with yourself.”

The stubborn part of Yang found Daniel’s concession frustrating. He wanted a fight, as irrational as it was.

“And like Mama Ru said, if you can’t love yourself, how in the hell are you gonna love somebody else?” Daniel said with a big smile.

“Is that your mom?” Yang asked, unable to tear his eyes away from that smile. He hadn’t realized how much he missed it until he saw it again.

“Uh, not quite,” Daniel answered with a wink, like Yang was missing something great. He probably was.

The part of Yang that wanted to keep on arguing had dwindled. Daniel stood and held a hand out to pull him up—an olive branch, an invitation, or perhaps a challenge. All around them, the air smelled acrid and sweet—a hint of someone’s dinner, a dash of someone else’s cigarette, a dose of diesel, all topped with the fragrance of the late-summer flowers. The combination was so quintessentially Beijing.

Yang hesitated, then he met Daniel’s eyes. In the night light, their multitude of colors should have been washed out, but they seemed to shine even brighter. He took Daniel’s hand and let Daniel help him up. Standing next to the blooming hibiscus, he traced the outline of Daniel’s knuckles with his thumb one by one, allowed himself to hold on for just one more second before letting go.

Their walk back to Hotel Alium was pleasantly ordinary as they bantered about their mutual love of food. A safe topic. Yang found himself mentally making a list of foods that he wanted Daniel to try before leaving China. Their agreement was that he’d show Daniel around until Poppy returned on Sunday. Nothing more. And on Monday morning, Yang was off to Xi’an.

The math was simple. Two more days together. He could do that—keep things platonic, show Daniel Beijing, and eat their way down that lengthy mental list of foods. That was all.

When they once again stood in front of Hotel Alium, Yang squinted his eyes as he looked up at the glass castle. He felt exposed under its light, while Daniel wore it like a crown.

“Thanks for dinner. You were right. Life-changer,” Daniel said, his too-big smile plastered on his face. “But you shouldn’t have paid.”

“You are the visitor. It’s the Chinese way,” Yang said with a shrug. He might have fought extra hard for the bill today because he wanted to make it clear that their business relationship was over. Daniel wasn’t paying for his food, nor his time.

“That’s most definitely not the Dutch way.” Daniel crossed his arms. “I’m paying next time, or else …”

“Else what?”

“Else there won’t be a next time,” Daniel said, brows arched.

“Has that threat ever worked?” Yang asked, all but rolling his eyes. Maybe it’d be better if Daniel followed through on that threat. Yang enjoyed spending time with him a little too much, even when they were arguing.

Daniel’s smile turned a touch wicked as he stepped closer. “I think it’s working now.”

“I …” Yang lost his words in the newfound closeness. Heat radiated off Daniel’s body, carrying with it the familiar scent of Daniel’s cologne. Yang forced his brain back on track. He cleared his throat. “I should head out.”

When Daniel didn’t object, the tightness in Yang’s chest felt a lot like disappointment. With a wave, Daniel retreated toward the glass castle before stopping just shy of the sliding doors.

“I keep forgetting about this,” Daniel said after he doubled back. He pulled a creased envelope out of his pocket.

Yang took the envelope. It was heavier than he expected. “This better not be money.”

Opening it, he felt his breath hitch as he registered the content—three gold-plated bookmarks, each marking a season of the Great Wall. The one for autumn was missing, because it was in Yang’s dorm, safely tucked within the worn copy of Liang Zhu he had borrowed from his mom’s bookshelf in Xi’an.

“I got them at Mutianyu … did I say that right? I just thought … you know, that it’s a shame not to get the full set,” Daniel said, blathering and blushing. “Sorry if it’s too much.”

Yang stared at Daniel’s beautiful face, flushed with heat under a crown of gold. In that shop at the bottom of the Great Wall, after a long day that was painful in more ways than one, Yang had formed an idea about who Daniel was.

But that wasn’t the real Daniel. Not entirely.

Daniel wasn’t a singular thing. He wasn’t just the handsome visitor who had a stubbornly defiant view of how the world should be, the vulnerable insomniac who mumbled nonsensical English, the glutton who ate too much—nor was he the OCD he thought defined him.