Page 40 of From Beijing, With Love

Yang nodded. He was familiar with it based on the stereotypes, but he knew better than to believe them. When Daniel didn’t continue, he prodded, “Tell me about it.”

“You’d be here all day,” Daniel said with a dry chuckle.

“I have no plans tomorrow, or today, rather,” Yang said. Even if he did have plans, he’d gladly cancel them if it meant spending more time with this version of Daniel—the one that let him in. A corner of his lips curled up. “We could go to the Great Wall again.”

Daniel’s head jerked up. “You’re kidding, right?”

Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place for Yang. “Is it the car or the traffic that you don’t like?”

“A bit of both, I think? I know it doesn’t make sense. It’s just this idea of being stuck, trapped, and not being able to get out if something happens,” Daniel said, not meeting Yang’s eyes.

Yang remembered the way Daniel’s demeanor changed when he got into the car and how he’d fiddled with his seat belt like it was a straitjacket. “Is it just cars? What about when you flew here? That must have been a long flight.”

“Flights and trains are usually better for me, which I know makes zero sense, because a plane is just a metal tube a gazillion miles in the air. It helps that I can get up and walk around if I get too much in my head. They have their own problems, though, because they aren’t exactly clean.” Daniel squeezed the pillow tighter. “I’ve been working on this anxiety thing for … well, forever. Trust me, it used to be far worse. Imagine moving to a new country, barely speaking the language, and coming out to my mother at the same time—she already knew, by the way—while battling a very unfortunate bout of acne? It was anxiety city, I tell you.”

Yang had the sudden urge to grab Daniel’s hand again, to pull him away from his monsters to somewhere safe, but he didn’t know how to save someone from their own thoughts.

“I don’t know why we’re talking about this stuff. It doesn’t matter.” Daniel followed that ludicrous claim with the same self-deprecating laugh. Yang didn’t like it.

“Don’t do that.”

Daniel looked up. “Do what?”

“Laugh at yourself like it’s somehow your job to lighten the mood.”

Something moved across Daniel’s face, fleeting and vulnerable. It beckoned Yang to put aside his own self-preservation and move closer on the bed.

Leaning in, Yang placed a soft kiss on Daniel’s lips before wrapping his arms around him. Daniel melted into the touch and settled his head in the nook of Yang’s neck.

“Sorry to overshare,” Daniel whispered, his breath ticklish on Yang’s clavicle.

“It’s okay. Always.” Yang rubbed Daniel’s back in slow circles, feeling the topography of Daniel’s muscles under his palm.

Yang thought about how hard it had been for his dad to get out of bed after his mom died. It was like he’d lost both of his parents, just in different ways. He hadn’t understood it then; he was just a kid, confused in more ways than one. Things got better when his grandma took them in, but not overnight.

Now Yang understood that sometimes people were enslaved to their heads. It was bigger than being a dad, though he and his dad had never talked about it. It was better left buried.

In the dim light, he held Daniel a while longer, until Daniel yawned into his neck.

“Go back to sleep,” Yang whispered.

Daniel popped his head up, looking heavy lidded. He then fluffed his pillow in such a thorough manner that Yang could practically see the wheels spinning in his head.

“It’s your bed. Sleep where you want. I don’t want you falling off the edge,” Yang said, hoping the low light concealed his blush. He pulled the pillow from Daniel’s hands and plopped it down next to his own before switching off the bedside lamp.

Their hands found each other under the covers. Despite the darkness, Yang felt like the sun was shining down on him.

When Yang woke up hours later, he found Daniel sitting in the dark with his phone, exactly like he had hours ago. Had Yang dreamed up their entire conversation?

Then he saw the bottle of water on his nightstand.

“Good morning.” Yang reached for the water, feeling an awkwardness that wasn’t there hours ago. A sliver of light peeked through the closed curtains. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

“Didn’t want to wake you up.” Daniel got out of the bed and pulled open the curtains, letting the Beijing summer sun flood the room. He tossed a smile in Yang’s direction. “There’s paracetamol on the nightstand if you need it.”

Only then did Yang notice his low-grade headache, thrumming away in the background. Something swelled in his chest as he washed down the pill with water. Yang was always the one that took care of others, not the other way around. It felt so foreign to be on the receiving end of caretaking—being thought of first—that he didn’t know what to say other than a quiet “Thanks.”

“Everything’s massive here compared to Amsterdam,” Daniel said with one hand braced on the floor-to-ceiling window. “Wider roads, taller buildings, bigger everything.”