Chapter 6: CH Extra 6

Extra 6: If (下)

[Joey, hello. I was busy with university applications last time I received your letter, which is why this letter’s coming a bit late. Apologies for the long wait. My parents received a call from your dad yesterday, and they said you were sick a while back. I don’t know if it was serious or not, but I hope you’re better by the time you receive this letter.

Once everything’s settled down, I’ll fly over to see you. I actually really care about your body, so maybe you can try writing down an instruction manual for your day to day life and send it to me. If I can familiarise myself with it early, then I’ll be able to avoid making any mistakes.

I hope our first meeting will be perfect.]

Because of how that letter had ended, Yue Zhishi had been convinced the person writing that final sentence was a perfectionist.

Firstly, his handwriting was extremely graceful. From his upright, standard characters of childhood to the stylistic promise in the writing of his teenage years to its current matured script, Yue Zhishi had earnestly tried to copy every single phase. It was why his Chinese handwriting was so similar to Song Yu’s, but it wasn’t exactly the same.

Secondly, Song Yu’s letters never had a single wrinkle, and neither did they have any unnecessary smells. They were as clean as though they were freshly made. His signature at the end almost always looked exactly the same each time, looking like a stamp printed by a machine. If even letters had to go through quality control, then Song Yu’s letters would definitely be marked as excellent.

Finally, his request to receive a manual — it highlighted even more his unwillingness to make mistakes.

His thoughts having reached this point, Yue Zhishi enthusiastically jumped out of bed, sat down at his desk and turned on the lamp, rapidly scribbling down things about himself on a piece of scrap paper. His allergens, the medications he took, the thunder he hated… But then, as he reached the end, Yue Zhishi suddenly felt nervous.

Song Yu was unwilling to make mistakes.

Then would his own feelings for him count as a mistake Song Yu would need to avoid?  

That question left teenaged Yue Zhishi at a loss for the first in his life.

He didn’t know how he ended up liking an older brother who existed only within pen and paper. It sounded a bit weird, like a plot from a fiction novel written in the previous century. But then he thought — many people in this day and age would also fall in love with fictional characters or with images carefully constructed on social media. He wasn’t so pitiful compared to them: Song Yu was someone who existed in real life, after all. As long as he wanted to do so, he could break the rules and see him whenever he wanted.

And Song Yu was just so outstanding. He was willing to listen to Yue Zhishi, and he’d steadily given him care and attention as they’d grown up. It didn’t matter how many strange things he wrote in his letters; Song Yu understood them all, and returned back to him a continuous stream of new inspiration and insight.

He was the person furthest away from Yue Zhishi in the entire world, and yet he was also the existence closest to him, no barriers in between.

How could he not like Song Yu?

Yue Zhishi had started to worry as soon as he’d  understood his own heart. Even though he was relatively confident in himself, he also knew very well that he wasn’t perfect. There was nothing wrong with homosexuality, but it was less common. When placed onto him and Song Yu, the likelihood of both of them being homosexual at the same time was almost zero.

He had more fantasies about Song Yu than about any other person in the world. At night, he would listen to the wind outside the window and imagine how Song Yu would look — Song Yu should be better looking than every other Chinese person he’d seen.

When reading his letters, Yue Zhishi would often fantasise about Song Yu speaking to him. Chinese was such a wonderful tonal language; the combination of its four tones made speaking as tonally rich and beautiful as singing. Song Yu would definitely also have a voice that could deliver those magical tones — and so Yue Zhishi worked very hard at learning them. But it was truly very hard: other than his father, Yue Zhishi essentially couldn’t find anyone else with whom who he could practice Standard Chinese, and so he regularly spoke incorrectly. He even once wrote in a letter that if he didn’t take care with the difference between the fourth tone and the second tone, he would end up reading out Song Yu’s (yù) name as Song Fish (yú). Song Yu would then turn into an adorable little fish.

And Song Yu had replied, “I believe you can do it, you’re a really smart student. But being a little fish wouldn’t be too bad.”

Yue Zhishi was both delighted and distressed at receiving a reply like that, faintly feeling as though Song Yu was indulging him. He couldn’t tell if the indulgence came from ‘like’, or if it came from the care between friends — or if it came from the encouragement meant for someone younger.

The more he thought about it, the grimmer he felt. 

That kind of confusion and anxiety became worse whenever Yue Zhishi was sick. He wrote many, many letters with a dazed and disorientated mind, and he also abandoned many of them. Not wanting to keep Song Yu waiting, he rushed to send off a letter on the very last day with his body still sick and heavy.

He didn’t expect to have sent away the wrong one.

That ruined the entire plan Yue Zhishi had originally created. His plan had been to keep himself sufficiently mysterious before meeting Song Yu for the first time, so that Song Yu would be as eager as himself to meet; he would maintain his health and energy, and then probe Song Yu to see if he rejected homosexuality. If Song Yu didn’t, then he would do his utter best and try to pursue him…

It was why he’d specifically left London early once he knew Song Yu was on his way over. It was also why he’d found an excuse to not pick him up — the airport wasn’t a place for romantic encounters. And it was also why he’d chosen to not foolishly wait by the door as Song Yu had driven up to the holiday home. 

Those plans Yue Zhishi had pondered over for a very long time — in the end, they were ruined by a mistakenly sent letter.

The ocean breeze blew his hair onto his cheeks, pieces of it sticking to the bridge of his nose. Yue Zhishi uneasily wiped his hair away with his fingers, pushing down the panic he could feel rising up, but he couldn’t hold it in completely; he rapidly blinked several times in the wind.

The tide surged over them once again, this time washing over a third of his calves.

Seeing how Yue Zhishi didn’t respond, Song Yu spoke again. “Was I too direct?”

He guessed that Yue Zhishi would deny it before trying to explain something, stumbling over his words.

But things would always go against expectations.

A chagrined, even somewhat discouraged, look appeared on Yue Zhishi’s face. He lowered his face and pressed his lips together, a good few seconds passing before he raised his eyes to look at Song Yu. In a spiteful voice, he complained, “Yes, and it’s because of you.” 

“I avoided all those mistakes so carefully, but it was no use at all. You still ended up finding out.”

For some inexplicable reason, for an instant, Song Yu felt like their words to each other were very familiar, as though he’d heard them somewhere before — like a delusion that had come from an entirely different world and time. He even had a premonition that perhaps Yue Zhishi would start crying.

He hoped he wouldn’t.

But Yue Zhishi, in this time, didn’t cry.

“You ruined my plan.” The sound of his voice as he complained was familiar to Song Yu, because Song Yu had already imagined a sound like that a countless amount of times as he read Yue Zhishi’s letters. Yue Zhishi’s real voice was more beautiful and pleasant to listen to than the one he’d imagined.

Yue Zhishi raised up a foot slightly and kicked the water, looking like he was letting out some of the despondency in his heart, the spray of the water splashing onto Song Yu’s pants. Soon after, Yue Zhishi tilted up his face and used those incomparably clear amber eyes to look directly at Song Yu. “I do like you. And I also want to pursue you.”

As though thinking he sounded too impulsive, Yue Zhishi called him by his name like an adult. “Song Yu, I’m really serious.” And in order to sound even more earnest, he even switched to his mother language, in which he could speak more precisely and not make a mistake. “You know I’m not a perfect person. That’s why I wanted to use a perfect plan to get you to like me — at least, the chances of it happening would be higher.” 

His English words came much faster, and they sounded like they left his mouth without him thinking about them, both blunt and candid. Tiny little expressions flickered over his face, even looking a bit exaggerated. “You’re probably wondering what kind of freak I am to like someone who writes me letters every month, but you should actually think this way instead: I ended up liking the person you portray yourself as in your letters and wasn’t attracted by something else. Unlike the other people who like you, that means I don’t care as much about your appearance.”

Song Yu seemed to think what he’d said was a bit funny; he looked like he was holding back a laugh.

And so Yue Zhishi felt offended. “Is that funny?”

Song Yu shook his head extremely casually, and he also used English to say to him, “No. I was just thinking you’re really cute.”

Yue Zhishi’s ears flushed once again. His heart was beating very quickly, the speed of it the same as whenever he silently read out Song Yu’s letters and pondered over the meaning behind them, trying to find vague hints of Song Yu also feeling the same way towards him. But Song Yu’s writing was always so impartial — his words were so delicately written that they couldn’t be considered as hints at all. Over many, many nights, they poured over Yue Zhishi like hot rainwater and drenched him from inside to out; they surged over him with life, no part of him left dry. 

At this moment, because of Song Yu’s one single compliment, that hot rain flooded over him and left Yue Zhishi with no way to resist. He was about to fall down into the rain.

“Am… Am I cute?” In his nervousness, Yue Zhishi’s languages tangled up and turned into a mix of English and Chinese. When Chinese came out of his mouth, he realised he was speaking it in a supremely strange accent — and that was a stupid thing he had previously determined to never let happen in front of Song Yu.

The amusement in the corners of Song Yu’s mouth became even more obvious, and he switched back to Chinese very considerately, following along with Yue Zhishi. “Yes, you’re really cute. And also very noble for not liking my appearance. Not shallow at all.” 

“I like how you look too.” Yue Zhishi couldn’t help but correct him, and he also reminded Song Yu, “I already complimented you when I first saw you. But liking your appearance doesn’t mean I’m superficial and ignoble. You can’t blame an admiring heart.”

“Classmate Yue Zhishi, your translation-ese is way too obvious.” Song Yu pretended to be a strict Chinese private tutor. “I told you long ago not to learn Chinese through English-translated Chinese poems and books.”

But Yue Zhishi stayed firm, not letting Song Yu’s interruption change the topic of the conversation. “It’s fine as long as you understand what I’m saying. Song Yu, did you understand? I really like you.”

The peach fuzz on his face was translucent underneath the afternoon sun, and it made him look soft and warm. He’d only just finished speaking when he lifted up both his hands, palms facing Song Yu. “Don’t rush to reject me, it’s fine even if you don’t feel that way towards me right now. I can pursue you.”

Suddenly, Song Yu placed one of his broad and dry palms against Yue Zhishi’s, and his eyes also met his. His incomparably handsome face was quiet and tranquil.

“How would you pursue me?” he first asked, and then he continued speaking. “I hear British people really care about others entering their personal spaces. Are you pursuing me by letting me sleep in your bed? Or by letting me see how you looked showering with your upper body bare? Or perhaps by taking me to see the LGBT community’s rainbow parade and then getting some flash of inspiration?”

“Yue Zhishi.” He used an abundantly alluring voice to call his name and, as though he was pronouncing a judgment, asserted with complete certainty, “That’s not called pursuing. That’s called seducing.” 

Yue Zhishi froze; for a moment, he thought he was going to have an asthma attack. Why else would he find it hard to breathe — why else would he start sweating and feel his heart palpitating.

He subconsciously said no, wanting to deny it, but before he could pull his hands away, Song Yu curved down his fingers and pushed them down between the spaces of Yue Zhishi’s fingers like the cogs of two gears fitting together.

“You’re still not admitting it? The fish’s already on the hook.”

“What?” Yue Zhishi frowned in doubt, and then he used English to say that’s not possible. He seemed really afraid of misunderstanding something, so he said to Song Yu in a request, “Don’t use metaphors.”

Song Yu swung down that hand interlocked with Yue Zhishi’s fingers, and he responded to every single thing Yue Zhishi had previously said. “You don’t need to pursue me, because I’m not planning on rejecting you. I feel the same way towards you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I like you. Understand?”

Yue Zhishi thought he was going to drown in this blinding sea.

He belatedly felt Song Yu’s thumb stroking and rubbing the skin on the back of his hand, and he abruptly pulled away his hand in a bit of reflex. Certain sensitive nerves in his body were ignited by Song Yu, and a flush climbed up his face, his hands and legs weakening.

“Then now… We…” He was a bit flustered, as though the one who’d just frankly expressed his feelings wasn’t himself.

“If someone else comes by to hit on me,” Song Yu’s mouth curved, “you can tell her we’re together.”

Everything felt like a summer night’s dream. Successfully obtaining the person he adored on the first day they met again — in that moment, Yue Zhishi felt like he was the luckiest person in the world. But because he hadn’t planned what he would do after successfully pursuing Song Yu, he became much clumsier afterwards compared to his confession.

He took Song Yu along the coastline, and when he saw a gay couple kissing together on the beach, he became so nervous his hands and feet started moving together at the same time. He didn’t dare look at Song Yu; like someone fulfilling their tour guide duties, he said to Song Yu I’ll take you to the White Cliffs and then got on his bike, looking like he was fleeing. 

Song Yu didn’t make fun of him, very indulgently following Yue Zhishi to many places he’d planned out. Together, they saw the White Cliffs and an art gallery painted in a mint colour, as well as numerous buildings painted in rainbow colours. They shuttled back and forth within the large roads and small alleyways of this artistic seaside town, and as night approached, they biked back home together.

With tacit understanding, they didn’t tell their parents of their changed relationship. It was too fragile, like a baby only just born for one day that needed to be protected in swaddling clothes.

“Joey, your face’s so red from the sun.” Olivia was holding a large bowl of caesar salad. “You should’ve worn your cap.”

Yue Zhishi helplessly stammered out an agreement, and then he followed his nose into the kitchen. “Is this for me?”

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Lin Rong chuckled, saying yes. “These are pearl meatballs, I think you’ll like them. Here, try one.” She lifted one up on a fork and fed it to Yue Zhishi. He only realised it was really hot when he bit down, and yet he was reluctant to spit it back out — he could only stand there and open his mouth, puffing out the hot air.

He looked adorably silly. Walking over, Song Yu poured a cup of ice water and handed it to him before going upstairs by himself to change his clothes.

Yue Zhishi fell in love with Lin Rong’s cooking through just one dinner’s worth of food, to the point Olivia was jealous. She said, “May as well send you to live at Uncle’s place.”

Yue Yi took a sip of his white wine, smiling. “That’s not a bad idea. Old Song’s better than me at raising children.”

“Stop buttering me up.” Song Jin had also had some alcohol, his face flushed. “Joking like that and you haven’t even asked if he wants to live with me.”

“I do.” Yue Zhishi nodded very earnestly. “Can I really go?”

“Hahahahaha he took it the most seriously!”

“I see you really have been lured away by your mouth.”

The adults were laughing, yet Yue Zhishi sneaked a look at Song Yu, his ears red. That was the true bait luring him away.

That night, Yue Zhishi couldn’t quite sleep. He kept thinking of Song Yu, who was separated from him by only a wall. Even though they’d only seen each other for ten hours, Yue Zhishi felt like he’d already liked him over many years — over many times.

He’d originally thought his nerves were creating trouble and throwing themselves up in arms simply because ten hours was simply too short of a time; he’d thought he would calm down once they spent a bit more time together. But ten days passed, and then thirty — those feelings remained as deep and etched into him as before.

Song Yu was going to start university at the end of summer, studying the geology he liked. It was why Yue Zhishi wanted to use this difficult to come by holiday period as much as he could, and during this period of time, they traveled to Shakespeare’s former home, visited the Eden Project in Cornwall and fed black swans at Bourton-on-the-Water. Together with Song Yu, Yue Zhishi touched the bricks of ancient castles, and on those very bricks, they touched and caressed each other’s fingers.

As they held hands, Yue Zhishi would be so nervous his palm started to sweat — it was like his body was releasing a sticky fluid trying to attach itself to Song Yu’s hand. As they embraced each other, the pleasant smell on Song Yu’s body would twist around Yue Zhishi’s thoughts, and he would nudge his forehead against the side of Song Yu’s neck without realising, holding back his desire to kiss him. And the palm of Song Yu’s hand — it would press down and stroke at Yue Zhishi’s shoulder blades and waist, separated by clothes. Those feelings were so very hard to endure.

They ran on the edge of the ocean during bright and cloudless days in their swimming shorts, and when it rained, they wore raincoats over their shirts and took care of little lambs in the pastures permeated with heavy mist.

During a night at the height of summer, the cicadas madly chirping, Yue Zhishi sat crosslegged on his bed. The two sets of parents had already fallen asleep. He opened the box he’d pulled out and leafed through Song Yu’s letters to him, as well as the many love poems he’d once copied just to write love letters to Song Yu.

A knock suddenly landed on his door, and Yue Zhishi cautiously asked who it was.

“Me.” Song Yu was standing at the entrance. “Can I come in?”

As soon as Yue Zhishi heard his voice, he foolishly said of course. And so Song Yu, upon entering, saw him frantically hugging a large box before finally giving up on trying to hide it.

Song Yu walked over to him. “What’s that?” He came slightly closer to look at it a bit more carefully. “My letters?”

“Mn.” Yue Zhishi nodded.

Standing by his bed, Song Yu lowered his head to look at him like a refined gentleman. “Why are you looking at them now?”

“I was thinking of you,” Yue Zhishi honestly said, smiling at him. “And then you came over.”

Song Yu squeezed his chin, but he didn’t do anything further. Yue Zhishi longed for Song Yu to touch any part of him; his touch created a chain reaction, the tingling sensation travelling from Yue Zhishi’s chin to his fingers and toes.

“Why’d you come over?” Yue Zhishi asked, catching Song Yu’s hand as it pulled away.

Song Yu first gazed out at the night outside the balcony before returning back to Yue Zhishi’s glowing eyes. “Do you want to look at the stars?”

His invitation was clearly very ordinary, but Yue Zhishi found it extraordinarily romantic, joyfully agreeing. He put on a shirt and then quietly followed Song Yu downstairs. The two of them lay down on the lawn in the backyard, and the tapered blades of grass lightly scraped at Yue Zhishi’s face and neck, the sensation of it similar to Song Yu’s touch.

Stars were exceptionally bright in rural skies. Song Yu pointed at a faintly red star and said, “That’s Mars.”

“The name describes it well,” Yue Zhishi said, commenting on its Chinese name. He then took the initiative, saying, “I want to know where your constellation is. Scorpius.”

Song Yu chuckled. “It’ll be relatively hard to see with just our naked eyes.”

“Never mind, then. I’ve already checked, you really do seem like a Scorpio.” Yue Zhishi listed out all the many characteristics of a Scorpio: mysterious, filled with vitality, strongly possessive. 

“And sexual.” He turned his face around, looking at Song Yu who was lying by his side.

Song Yu also gazed at him, quietly watching him for a while. “So strange.”

“What’s strange?”

He reached out a hand to stroke Yue Zhishi’s face. “When I’m together with you, I keep finding certain moments very familiar — as if I’ve experienced them before.”

Yue Zhishi had felt that way as well, and so he slightly widened his eyes.

“Maybe it’s a parallel universe.” Yue Zhishi attempted to give him an explanation. “Do you believe in multiple universes? Maybe we also know each other in another universe. Maybe I also confessed to you and said you’re really like a Scorpio…” 

He stared up at the sky, feeling even more regretful. “Maybe I grew up together with you in that universe. We would eat dinner together every day and would go to school together. The first person we would see in the morning, as well as the last person we would see before sleeping, would be each other.”

Song Yu let out a soft laugh.

That would truly be too blissful.

In that universe, he would have Yue Zhishi’s childhood years, his vivid and lively adolescence — as well as his future.

Yue Zhishi shifted slightly closer to Song Yu, placing his head onto his shoulder. “I hope the two of us in that universe are also happy.”

“They definitely are.” Song Yu’s voice was certain.

A very mild fragrance came from the hydrangeas, and as he remained lying down, it made Yue Zhishi feel as dizzy as though he’d secretly had some wine. Song Yu suddenly turned over after staying silent for a few moments, his face blocking half of the stars from Yue Zhishi’s eyes. Song Yu’s dark pair of eyes looked like a soft abyss.

“Say… The me in that universe and the me right now — who would kiss you first?”

Yue Zhishi grabbed at the grass with his fingers, his eyes rounding wide. He could feel himself about to squeeze out a sweet-smelling liquid from how nervous he was; his breathing stuttered, and he almost forgot to breathe.

Song Yu’s fingers tugged at Yue Zhishi’s lower lip, the pad of his thumb rubbing against Yue Zhishi’s supple flesh. In a voice filled with coaxing, he asked, “Will you let me win, for once?”

Yue Zhishi breathed out an okay, and then he closed his eyes.

His one heart was jumping madly out of his chest; it felt like it wanted to shrink down to the size of a cherry before travelling out of his chest to his throat and then to his tongue, before it was deliriously fed into Song Yu’s mouth — it wanted to be broken down and ground away by Song Yu’s bright teeth before being swallowed. He would then completely and entirely belong to this person.

In the boundless darkness, the grass was roughly pressed down before springing back up again. It was like dying and then coming back to life, the cycle of hope and desire endlessly turning.

“I like you, I like you so much.” Yue Zhishi bared his heart and expressed his love towards Song Yu during a brief gap in time; no matter which universe he was in, he believed he would do the same. And for him, Song Yu released his most fiercest possessiveness, needing their flesh and bones tightly entwined. 

The night cooled, and they shifted from lying down to sitting up. Holding each other’s hand, they slowly strolled around the dark backyard.

“You were showering here.” Song Yu pointed at a hydrangea bush very precisely. “So beautiful.”

“Of course they’re beautiful, I take care of them myself. I also have white avalanche roses.” Yue Zhishi was very proud, and as he spoke, he took Song Yu away. He wanted to take him to see the flowers in the front courtyard — they were also one of his proudest achievements.

“I was talking about you.” It was rare for Song Yu to be so frank. He would forever remember how Yue Zhishi had looked that day as he turned around.

“You were many times better looking than how I’d imagined you being.”

It was very easy for Yue Zhishi to become nervous because of his words. “All right…” They walked past the house, so Yue Zhishi lowered his voice. “That means your imagination’s not creative enough.” 

“It’s already quite creative.” Song Yu kneaded his fingers, walking with him to the front yard.

Yue Zhishi stood still in front of the bushes of roses and turned his face sideways to look at him. “What have you thought about?”

Song Yu lightly lifted a brow. “Do you want to hear daytime thoughts or nighttime thoughts?”

“I…” This time, he understood Song Yu’s hint very quickly.

“Your Chinese’s improved.”

“You…”

Staring at those snow white roses, Song Yu once again interrupted him. “I heard Uncle Yue say today that before you were born, our parents had an agreement. That if you were a girl, they would marry you to me.”

“But I’m a guy,” Yue Zhishi stressed.

“That doesn’t matter. In any case, you were already mine when you were just an embryo.” Song Yu smiled and asked Yue Zhishi, “Did you plant these flowers for your own wedding bouquet?”

“Song Yu!” Yue Zhishi was a bit agitated from his teasing.

But Song Yu steadily, tranquilly stretched out a hand and chose a rose blossomed to its most beautiful moment. He cut it down, removing the thorns on its stem.

And then placed it behind Yue Zhishi’s ear.

Under the moonlight, the face of his lover was even gentler and more glorious than that full and abundant white avalanche rose. Song Yu kissed his soft cheek, his hands curving around Yue Zhishi’s face as though it was holding a precious treasure. Leaning against his clear and smooth forehead, in a tender voice, Song Yu said —

“I love you, Yue Zhishi.”

“No matter what universe we’re in, I love you.”

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