Page 88 of From Beijing, With Love

That made Yang laugh. Daniel wanted to stay like this forever, with Yang on top of him, propped up on his hands and so fucking close.

“I meant what I said.” Daniel reached up, swiping his thumb across Yang’s lips, memorizing its topography.

“I know.” Yang kissed his thumb. A ghost of a smile danced across Yang’s lips. “You still don’t want to hear me say it back?”

Of course Daniel did. He wanted to hear those three words from Yang’s lips and never stop hearing them, but he wasn’t going to have that. They were never supposed to get this involved. Two people from opposite ends of the world. The goodbye was already going to be hard; they didn’t need to make it harder.

So Daniel shook his head.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked, hoping to sound dignified. Well, as much as possible, because the thought that this might be their goodbye made him physically ill.

Yang climbed off him, leaving behind a cold void. “When’s your flight?”

“Six PM. We leave the hotel at two.”

“Lunch, then?” Yang asked, his voice artificially light as he picked up his linen shirt from the ground. “You have to eat roujiamo one more time. You probably won’t find them elsewhere in the world.”

Daniel could name something else he wouldn’t find elsewhere in the world.

He nodded too eagerly. “Lunch sounds good.” He knew he was only postponing the heartache, but he didn’t care.

As they stood by the door, Yang pulled Daniel into his arms. Burying his head in Yang’s neck, Daniel told himself he could let Yang go when the time came. What choice did he have?

At least he had tomorrow.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHTYang

It was just before midnight when Yang tiptoed into the apartment, the front door swinging open with a tired groan. He should really fix the rusty hinges. Maybe tomorrow, after Daniel …

He pushed the thought out of his mind, filling its space with a list of to-dos instead: Prepare for his proposal meeting next week, go over the syllabus for the course he was teaching in the new semester, and draft a plan for phase two of his experiment. If he kept himself busy enough, maybe he wouldn’t think about Daniel.

A line of light spilled across the living room floor. The door to Ba’s bedroom was ajar. This was late, even for him.

Nudging it open, Yang found his dad slouched over the desk, a mess of papers spread in front of him. In a digital world, Ba still insisted on reading everything on paper. Yang used to make fun of his dad for it, but at some point he just accepted that Ba was never going to change.

“Ba, shouldn’t you be in bed by now?” Yang kept his voice down, mindful of Nainai in the next room.

“Just catching up on some papers.” Ba gathered the pile of loose pages, a few getting away from his shaky hands and drifting to the floor. “Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.” Yang picked up the sheets, placing them on top of the stack on the table. His stomach growled at the mere suggestion of food. Ba had never once told Yang he was proud of him—not even when Yang got into Tsinghua—but he never failed to check if Yang was hungry.

“Dagu dropped off some baozi. I’ll heat them up for you.” Ba disappeared into the kitchen before Yang could argue with him. “The filling is either pork or red beans. Can’t tell which is which,” he said as he set the plate teeming with pillowy buns down on the wooden dining table.

“Thanks, Ba.” Yang bit into a piping-hot baozi, hoping for pork but getting a mouthful of sweet red bean paste instead.

“What did you do tonight?” Ba sat at the far end of the table; his fingers drummed on the worn wooden surface.

“The city wall with Daniel,” Yang answered between bites.

“Just the two of you?”

“Yeah, Poppy went to see the Bingmayong,” Yang said, looking up from his dinner. There was a hint of something unsavory in Ba’s voice. Or had he just imagined it?

“When’s he leaving?”

“Tomorrow,” Yang answered, keeping his voice light.

“Good. The sooner the better.” Ba waved his hand. There was no other way to read the gesture than good riddance.