Page 83 of From Beijing, With Love

Yang flashed him a grateful smile. It was a rare sight to see Yang fumble. The know-it-all. The gold-star student who probably raised his hand first when the teacher asked a question. A total nerd.

Daniel loved that about him.

They rode in comfortable silence along the rampart as the sun hung lower and lower in the horizon. There was only one thought in Daniel’s head: He wanted to stay like this forever.

As soon as the thought materialized, Daniel hated himself for thinking it. It was foolish to wish for something he couldn’t have.

“Over there. I want to show you something.” Yang pulled to a stop at the next bend in the wall. Beside the sentry building, the wall jutted out, forming a recess big enough for two. He left the bike in front of the building, not bothering to lock it, as they hadn’t seen anyone else in the last ten minutes of their ride.

Why Yang had brought him to this exact spot became clear the moment Daniel stepped up to the parapet. In front of them, the sun hung low like a ball of fire. The cityscape stretched forward—a mix of modern and historical, surrounded by summer greenery—beyond the emerald-tinted moat. As the sun sank slowly into the horizon, the whole city was bathed in a rich caramel.

Daniel forgot about everything—the anxiety, the what-ifs—except for the view in front of him. He felt small, in a good way. Then he looked at Yang, leaning on the notched wall, cast aglow by the setting sun. One word came to Daniel.

Content.

He was completely content.

“What are you smiling about?” Yang looked at him, his eyes warm like pools of amber.

Daniel took a moment to catch his breath, trying to tamp down everything he was feeling. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” One corner of Yang’s lips curved upward into that lopsided smile—the one that Daniel fucking loved—as he took Daniel’s hand, his thumb tracing the outline of the knuckles one by one. Yang was looking at him like he was the most precious thing in the world, and all he could do was grin like a fool, because he knew if he opened his dumb mouth, he would ruin everything with three little words. Eight letters.

Instead, Daniel leaned in closer before remembering that also couldn’t happen. Not in public.

But as he stopped himself, Yang leaned in and met him halfway. Their lips met in an unrushed kiss, one that lingered like it had every right to be there.

When they pulled away from each other, Daniel looked at Yang, at his warm eyes and kiss-swollen lips, and Daniel knew. He wanted everything with Yang. He wanted to see all the sunsets in the world with this man and sleep through every sunrise with him.

“What’s wrong?” Yang asked when Daniel couldn’t find his words.

What was wrong was that Daniel was fucking in love with Yang. Of course he was. A part of him had known for a while. It was in every flutter of his heart when Yang looked his way. In every electric jolt up his spine when Yang touched him. But finally admitting it to himself was like taking a hammer to the last bit of defense he had built up.

It left him naked. Exposed. Vulnerable.

He met Yang’s searching eyes then, and it only made him hold on to his truth tighter. Saying it out loud, breathing life into it, would only hurt them both, because Daniel was leaving … God, he was leaving tomorrow.

“Nothing. Can we go?” Daniel was already walking away. From the storybook sunset. From Yang.

“Of course we can, but can you talk to me?” Yang caught up to him as he flicked up the kickstand. With one hand clasped around the handlebar of Daniel’s bike, he asked, “Did I do something wrong?”

Daniel made the mistake of looking at Yang then. Yang didn’t look angry, as he rightfully should have; he looked confused—and vulnerable too.

Daniel looked away. “I … can’t do this right now.”

“Fine.” Yang let go and got on his own bike, his voice hardening. “Let’s head back, then.”

They rode in a loaded silence. Yang kept his eyes resolutely forward on the path and his hands gripped around the handle, his knuckles white.

You fucked it all up. You fuck everything up. This is just who you are, the voice inside Daniel’s head taunted. Neurotic. Sick. A mess.

Daniel needed it to stop, so he biked faster.

And faster.

The lanterns sped by in a red blur as the wind whooshed by his ear. Someone was shouting. He ignored it.

The words sounded vaguely like his name. He ignored it.