Page 34 of From Beijing, With Love

“Your taste in cocktails is better than your taste in music. This entire list is Britney Spears.” Yang leaned in closer to look at the iPad on Daniel’s lap.

“My prerogative.”

“I suppose that’s true—”

“Mind your business.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Gimme more.” Daniel’s smile grew bigger with each nonsensical sentence.

Glancing down on the song list, Yang finally understood. He was smart, but he couldn’t seem to be smart around Daniel. Especially when Daniel grinned in the way he just had—too big, too uninhibited.

“Oops, I did it again,” Daniel said, then he put his hands up. “I’ll stop now. Had to get that last one out of my system.”

The doorbell rang, and a new cocktail magically appeared in front of Yang. He was used to counting the number of beers he had, but he didn’t know how the math worked with these orange concoctions that went down far too easily. But he wasn’t in a hurry to stop. He liked this feeling of lightness, of a day spent doing something stupid, eating far too much food, and being around Daniel.

He stole a glance at Daniel, who was singing as poorly as ever, his cheeks tinged with every color of the rainbow by the neon lights. Only in this room—in this world of two people—did Yang realize how long he had been alone.

Not alone in the physical sense. Between lab work, teaching duties, and semi-regular social outings he attended out of sheer obligation, he rarely had alone time in his waking hours. But all of that often felt like being deprived of solitude rather than being offered companionship. With Daniel, it was different.

“You aren’t singing,” Daniel yelled.

“I don’t know the songs,” Yang replied with a self-conscious laugh.

“Come on, everybody knows Britney.” Daniel swiped through the song list. A few seconds later, he was up from his seat and dancing. When he looked at Yang and extended his hand, his face bright and hopeful, how could Yang say no?

Like with the trampoline, Yang took the leap. Tossing back the rest of his Aperol Spritz, he let Daniel pull him to his feet.

They went through song after song, with Yang fumbling the lyrics because he didn’t know the songs and Daniel also fumbling the lyrics despite being the one who’d picked the songs. When they got through the playlist, the music defaulted to a piano ballad. For the first time today, Yang actually knew the song: “Ballade Pour Adeline.”

He remembered all the times his mom had played this song on the upright Yamaha piano in their old apartment. Later, when Yang moved in with his grandma, the piano was left behind.

“This melody is beautiful,” Daniel said, closing his eyes as if savoring the song.

For a second, Yang wished that Daniel could meet his mom, hear her version of the song. The way she’d breathe tension into the pauses before the crescendo. The way she’d linger at the climax of the piece, slowing down to relish the moment. Each time she played, she told her own story.

What would Daniel think about her renditions? And what would she think about Daniel?

Daniel ditched the iPad and turned to face Yang. “Are you ever going to tell me what your research is about?”

“You really want to know?” Yang asked. People were often impressed by the PhD title, but no one had a shred of interest in hearing about the research behind it.

“Just dumb it down a bit.” Daniel pinched his fingers together, a shy smile on his lips. “Or a lot.”

“My PhD is in experimental biophysics. That means I use theories and methods of physics to study biological systems. My thesis focuses on how particular genes affect the way model organisms behave under stress,” Yang said, going on autopilot. He could talk about his research in his sleep; no amount of alcohol could slow him down. But when he was met with the same blank look he so often got from undergrads in his class, he knew he needed to pivot. “Think about it like this. A handful of genes work together to determine hair color and shape. You and I clearly have different variants of these genes.”

It must be the alcohol, because Yang reached up and touched a strand of Daniel’s honey-brown hair, feeling its soft waves between his fingers.

Daniel’s eyes darted up to Yang’s hand as a lazy smile bloomed on his lips. “If we’re talking about genes, how do you explain that I got neither my mother’s blue eyes nor my dad’s brown ones?”

“When it comes to eye color, blue is recessive while brown is dominant. The brown allele you inherited from your dad is dominant over the blue allele you inherited from your mom.” His hand trailed down from Daniel’s hair to his cheekbone when he knew he really should pull away.

“And?” Daniel let the touch linger, those hazel eyes tainted with something that looked dangerously like wanting.

Focus, Yang reprimanded himself, finally finding the wherewithal to pull his hand back. Keeping his hand to himself, as he should, he cleared his throat and went back to teacher mode. “But it’s a lot more complicated than that. Like hair color, eye color is polygenic. It’s the product of how different genes, major and minor, commingle together. In your case, minor genes must have come into play to alter the melanin expression, shifting your eyes from brown to hazel.”

“And how do genes relate to your research?” Daniel sat back a little in response to the lecture, as if he’d just given himself the same reprimand.