Page 41 of From Beijing, With Love

Yang went to stand next to Daniel and looked out at the shopping street. The enormous facades of the department stores bore images of famous Chinese faces—always porcelain white—selling products from Western brands. Lancôme, Estée Lauder, Chanel.

“You don’t like it,” Yang said, intuiting from Daniel’s tone. When Daniel didn’t deny it, a tinge of disappointment rose in his chest, like it was a personal failing.

“It’s not that. Everything back in Amsterdam is just more human scaled. Do you know what I mean?”

Yang shook his head. He had no real concept of where Daniel came from. He thought about his trips to Cambridge, its grassy quads and slow-moving river. Perhaps that was what Daniel meant.

With the inescapably busy Beijing cityscape in front of them, the closeness from the night before evaporated. They were two people from different worlds who’d just happened to spend every minute of the last twenty-four hours together.

A knock on the door startled Yang out of his reverie. Daniel went to open the door like it was no big deal that Yang was in his room, in his pajamas, next to a rumpled bed that had been slept on by two.

Leaping across the bed, Yang locked himself in the safety of the bathroom. Through the frosted glass door, he heard muffled sounds of silverware clanking and broken English. His ear was still pressed to the bathroom door when someone knocked on the other side, doing no favors to the headache he was nursing.

“It’s safe now,” Daniel called from the outside.

“Just a minute.” Yang turned on the tap, knocking over the row of toiletries on the vanity. He was hiding in the bathroom of a man he’d met just days ago. None of it was logical. He should go, but not before changing into his own clothes and reorganizing the toiletries the way Daniel had them before.

“Sorry about that. I forgot I preordered breakfast. I’ve been living off room service.” Daniel gestured to the silver trolley parked by the bed when Yang emerged from the bathroom. There was enough food on it to feed an army. “Hungry?”

“You are in China. Shouldn’t you eat Chinese food?” Yang grimaced at the edible flowers adorning the omelet, which sat next to a plate of fries. Even with the tenuous grasp Yang had on Western cuisine, he knew that fries weren’t breakfast food.

“There’s Chinese stuff here too. Look, Peking duck.” Daniel pointed to a plate of sliced duck meat, fanned out in a circle and covered in no fewer than four kinds of condiments. It could be called art if Yang squinted and felt particularly generous, but in no world could it be called Peking duck.

“You do know what Peking duck looks like, right?” Yang frowned, ready to launch into a defense for the food of his people, but then his phone vibrated. When he saw Dr. Sun’s name on the email, his mouth went dry—his own Pavlovian hell. “Sorry, one second.”

The words ready for submission burst forth like the first ray of sun after a week of unrelenting rain. Yang let out a sigh as he leaned back against the doorframe.

“Everything okay?” Daniel asked.

“My paper is ready for submission,” Yang said, not bothering to hide the glee in his voice. When he looked up from his phone, he was met with a beaming smile so bright that he temporarily forgot everything.

“That’s fucking awesome.” Daniel raised his hand in the air. It took Yang far too long to understand that it was a high five. Blushing, he smacked his hand into Daniel’s.

“When do I get to read it?”

“Next spring, if I’m lucky. It still has to get through the peer review round,” Yang said, fighting the urge to smile. Growing up, he’d been taught to never dwell on his successes for too long. “It depends on the journal we submit to. It’ll be shorter if the journal has a smaller impact factor—that just means less citations and exposure.”

“And less of a chance for your research to help people,” Daniel said before shaking his head. “God, what’s wrong with me? I don’t mean that. I’ll shut up now.”

“No. It’s fine,” Yang said, forcing a smile. Daniel wasn’t often direct, but in the moments that he was, he had the uncanny ability to zero in on Yang’s insecurities. Yang rolled up his sleeves without looking at Daniel. “I should go. I have a call with my adviser later to talk about the submission strategy.”

“Of course.” Daniel stood with his hands shoved in the pockets of his pajama pants. “If—”

“Thanks for giving me a place to sleep.” Yang cut him off, not sure what he’d do if Daniel asked to see him again. He patted his pockets a final time to make sure he had everything. He didn’t need a reason to return.

“Let me.” Daniel unlatched the deadbolt, looking through the peephole before opening the door.

A pang of guilt ran through Yang. Daniel wasn’t checking for himself.

There was no logical reason for the walk to the elevator to feel this long. With his finger hovering in front of the elevator button, Yang looked back, hoping that Daniel’s door was closed.

It wasn’t.

Like yesterday, Yang was yet again on the precipice of doing something stupid, but now without the aid of liquid courage.

“Do you have plans for dinner?” Yang asked.

Daniel’s smile spelled relief in a way that made Yang’s heart ache. “Does room service count?”