Only one floor lamp was left on in the living room.
Its warm yellow light fell beside the couch, illuminating half of Dong Enze’s face, still marked with tear tracks.
A few minutes ago, he had still been kneeling on the carpet, eyes red as he asked Xu Weiran over and over whether he really liked him. After getting an answer, he had hugged Weiran and confirmed it several more times, making sure the new house would have a room of his own, a large living room, and an entire wall of mirrors. He had also made sure Weiran wouldn’t move away, much less leave him behind.
Only after the matter weighing on his heart for more than a week had finally been set down did he suddenly seem to run out of power.
One second, he had still been clutching Weiran’s clothes. The next, he had slumped into Weiran’s arms and fallen completely asleep.
“Dong Enze.”
Weiran lowered his head and called his name.
There was no response.
“If you want to sleep, go sleep in your room.”
Enze kept his eyes closed, head heavy against Weiran’s shoulder, breathing so steadily that he seemed not to have heard a thing.
After waiting a few seconds, Weiran reached out and gently patted his cheek.
“Wake up.”
This time, Enze showed a little reaction.
He frowned and burrowed deeper into Weiran’s arms unhappily, his arms around Weiran’s waist tightening along with him.
“Don’t…”
His voice was so slurred it was almost impossible to make out.
“What don’t you want?”
“Don’t go.”
Three short words, carrying the utterly unguarded dependence of someone drunk.
Weiran’s hand, which had been preparing to pull him away, stopped.
Enze was already too deep asleep to be fully conscious, yet it was as if he still remembered what had frightened him moments ago. He gripped the fabric at Weiran’s waist, fingers curled tightly, afraid that if he loosened them even a little, the person before him would disappear from this home just as he had imagined countless times over the past week.
Weiran watched him quietly for a while.
In the end, he only sighed very softly.
“I didn’t go anywhere.”
He raised a hand and covered the back of Enze’s head, stroking his messy hair twice with his palm.
“Didn’t I just tell you that?”
Enze naturally couldn’t answer.
As if he had finally heard the words he needed to feel safe, the furrow between his brows gradually smoothed out, and his entire body went limp in Weiran’s arms.
Weiran sat beside the coffee table and let him lean there for a while.
Only when his leg began to go numb did he reach out and pat Enze’s back.
“You really should go to sleep.”
He supported Enze by the shoulders, intending to pull him off first. But the moment his hands moved, Enze immediately tightened his hold again, even rubbing against Weiran’s shoulder unhappily.
“Dong Enze.”
“…Mm-hmm.”
“Let go.”
“Don’t want to.”
“I’m taking you back to your room.”
“Don’t want to.”
Whether he understood or not, the answer was always no.
Weiran looked down at the little drunk in his arms and suddenly felt like laughing.
When sober, this person had avoided him for more than a week—leaving messages unread, not coming home at night, even acting as if sitting in the same living room was an effort. Now that he was drunk, he seemed desperate to hang all over Weiran, unwilling to let go for even a second.
“How come you weren’t this clingy when you were sober?”
Weiran asked quietly.
Enze kept his eyes closed and, of course, gave no response.
In the end, Weiran had no choice but to wrap an arm around his waist and help him up from the carpet first.
The instant Enze’s feet touched the floor, his knees buckled. Weiran had been prepared and immediately tightened his arm, pulling him securely into his embrace.
“Stand up straight.”
Leaning against him, Enze managed to shuffle forward one step.
“Lift your foot.”
Another step.
Weiran had originally planned to take him back to Enze’s own room, but Enze never loosened his hold around Weiran. Whenever Weiran tried to move even slightly to the side, Enze would frown and pull him back.
When they reached Enze’s bedroom door, Weiran stopped.
“We’re here.”
Enze didn’t open his eyes. He only rested his forehead against Weiran’s shoulder.
Weiran reached out to press down the doorknob, but the arm around his waist suddenly tightened.
“Don’t go…”
The same words again.
Lighter than before, and even more aggrieved.
Weiran lowered his hand and glanced at the door so close at hand.
All he had to do was open it, put Enze on the bed, and pry apart the hands refusing to release him. Then he could return to his own room and rest for the night.
But he didn’t.
Maybe he didn’t want to wake the person he had only just managed to calm down.
Or maybe Enze had cried enough that night, and Weiran didn’t want to leave him uneasy even in sleep.
Weiran came up with several reasons for himself.
But when he actually turned around and led Enze toward his own room, he knew perfectly well what was in his heart—
Enze not wanting to let go was only one reason.
The other was that he didn’t really want to let go either.
In the six years they had been rooming together, this was the first time Enze had slept in Weiran’s room.
In the past, even when one of them was sick or drunk, the most they had done was sit beside the bed to take care of the other. No matter how close their lives were, their rooms and beds had remained boundaries each kept for himself.
Tonight, Weiran had pushed that boundary open with his own hands.
He helped Enze to the bedside and tried to get him to sit down first. Enze didn’t cooperate, remaining stuck to him with both arms firmly around Weiran’s waist.
“I’m putting you on the bed.”
“Mm…”
“Then let go.”
“Don’t want to.”
Weiran patiently coaxed him.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Enze seemed to be judging whether those words could be trusted. After quite a while, his arms finally loosened a little.
Weiran took advantage of that and lowered him onto the bed.
But the moment Enze’s back touched the mattress, the hand clutching Weiran’s collar pulled down with it. Caught off guard, Weiran’s knee hit the edge of the bed, forcing his entire body to bend over him.
The distance between them suddenly became far too close.
The heat of alcohol warmed Enze’s breath as it brushed lightly against Weiran’s jaw. His eyes were closed, his cheeks still flushed, and a little dampness remained at the corners of his eyes.
Weiran braced himself beside him and watched him quietly for a few seconds.
“Do you even know what you’re doing?”
Enze, of course, had no idea.
He simply followed instinct, pressing his forehead to Weiran’s chest, clutching his clothes, and curling back into the position that made him feel safe.
Weiran remembered the question Enze had asked twice just moments ago: “Do you like me?”
He also remembered answering without hesitation.
It hadn’t been to placate a drunk.
Nor had it been a moment of weakness.
When the word “like” had truly left his mouth, Weiran had realized that the answer had existed for a very long time.
It was just that Enze had always been by his side, so he had never needed to identify it.
Weiran lifted a hand and brushed his fingertips over the still-damp corner of Enze’s eye.
“You’d better remember tomorrow.”
He spoke quietly.
“Don’t forget a single word.”
Enze didn’t respond.
Weiran tried once more to pull his hand away and failed again. In the end, he could only resign himself to pulling back the blanket on the other side and lying down beside him.
The mattress sank slightly under the weight of another person.
Enze almost immediately moved closer.
His arm draped over Weiran’s waist, forehead resting against Weiran’s shoulder, and one leg even came over unconsciously, as if he had finally found the safest possible position.
Weiran’s body was somewhat stiff at first.
From the day he had bought this bed, it had only ever held him. How could he immediately get used to having another grown man beside him, with his breathing, body heat, and weight all close enough to be impossible to ignore?
But he didn’t push him away.
After a while, Weiran turned onto his side, pulled the blanket over Enze, and slowly wrapped an arm around his back.
When his palm touched that warm patch of skin, the person in his arms seemed to sense it. The hand that had still been gripping his clothes uneasily finally loosened a little.
Weiran looked down and saw that Enze was completely asleep.
He had probably truly let go of whatever had been weighing on his heart.
This time, his brow wasn’t furrowed, and he wasn’t repeatedly murmuring in his dreams that he didn’t want to go home. His breathing was deep and regular, his entire body sleeping without the slightest defense.
Watching him, Weiran suddenly felt that the home, overly quiet for more than a week, had finally returned to its original state.
Only tonight, the person who made the home lively wasn’t in the living room or in the room next door.
He was in Weiran’s arms.
Weiran closed his eyes, and the arm around Enze’s back never let go.
The next morning, Weiran was woken by the sound of a phone ringing.
The noise was painfully close, vibrating at the bedside again and again.
He opened his eyes with a frown. Bright morning light had already slipped through the gap in the curtains. The person in his arms was still sleeping without any reaction, face buried against Weiran’s chest, arm still draped over his waist.
It took Weiran two seconds to remember everything that had happened the night before.
Then the phone rang again.
It wasn’t his ringtone.
Weiran stretched out his arm and felt around the nightstand until he found Enze’s phone. The caller ID showed the dance company’s team captain.
He lowered his head and glanced at the person in his arms.
Enze showed no sign of waking. In fact, he frowned unhappily at Weiran’s movement and leaned even closer against him.
Weiran had no choice but to answer the call for him.
“Hello?”
The other end was silent for two seconds.
“…Mr. Xu?”
“Mm-hmm.”
The team captain seemed to immediately understand Enze’s current condition, and a hint of probing entered his voice.
“Enze’s not awake yet?”
Weiran glanced at the person sleeping soundly in his arms.
“No.”
“There’s rehearsal this morning. I wanted to ask if he was coming.”
“He’s not.”
Weiran answered crisply.
“Call in sick for him for the day.”
“Oh, okay.” The team captain paused, then asked, “Is he all right?”
Weiran’s gaze fell on Enze’s slightly swollen eyes.
“He’s alive.”
The person on the other end seemed to laugh.
“That’s good. Let him rest. He really drank quite a bit yesterday.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Sorry to trouble you.”
Weiran hung up and put the phone back on the nightstand.
Enze hadn’t woken up at all.
Maybe hearing the surroundings grow quiet again, he tightened the arm around Weiran’s waist a little more and rubbed his cheek twice against Weiran’s soft shirt, sleeping even more peacefully.
Weiran looked down at him.
He had cried so pitifully the night before and repeatedly made sure he wouldn’t be abandoned. Now he didn’t have to worry about anything and was sleeping more deeply than anyone.
“You little drunk.”
Weiran laughed despite himself and didn’t wake him.
He carefully pulled Enze’s arm away and prepared to get out of bed. He had barely moved when the sleeping man frowned, his palm feeling around on the mattress as if searching for the thing he had just been holding.
Weiran stopped and stuffed a pillow into his arms.
Enze hugged the pillow, and only then did the furrow between his brows smooth out again.
Weiran stood beside the bed and watched him for a few seconds, the corners of his mouth still curved in a smile he hadn’t noticed.
He pulled the blanket up and left the room.
The living room still held the cups they hadn’t cleaned up the night before, and the carpet beside the couch had been left rather messy by the two of them. Weiran opened a window to air the place out, then picked up his phone to order breakfast delivery and added a serving of hangover soup.
While waiting for the delivery, he tidied the living room, put the empty cups in the sink, and turned off the tablet that had been lit on the coffee table all night.
Before the screen went dark, it still displayed the floor plan of a new house.
Weiran glanced at it but didn’t close the page immediately as he had before.
They could look at it together after Enze woke up.
Provided that person hadn’t blacked out.
At the thought, Weiran’s eyes darkened slightly.
After saying so much last night and crying into his arms like that, if he had really forgotten everything…
Leaning against the kitchen counter, Weiran began seriously considering how to deal with that drunk.
When Enze woke up, the first thing he felt was a headache.
A dull ache extended from the back of his head to his temples, and his throat was terribly dry. He turned over with his eyes closed and his arm landed around a pillow that wasn’t his.
The feel was wrong.
The smell was wrong too.
Enze frowned and finally opened his eyes.
The ceiling before him wasn’t the familiar ceiling of his own room.
The curtains were black. A pair of headphones sat on the nightstand, and several pieces of music equipment he knew all too well were piled against the wall.
He stared blankly for a few seconds, then suddenly shot upright in bed.
This was Xu Weiran’s room.
And he was sitting on Xu Weiran’s bed.
Enze lowered his head and looked at himself.
He was still wearing yesterday’s clothes, minus his coat and shoes. The blanket was properly covering him, and he was still hugging the pillow Weiran usually slept on.
His mind was completely blank.
His memories of the previous night stopped at the dance company’s dinner. Someone had handed him a glass of alcohol. He’d been in a bad mood, so he drank it, and later he seemed to have had several more.
What happened after that?
How had he gotten home?
Why was he sleeping in Weiran’s bed?
And where had Weiran gone?
Enze pressed hard against his aching temples, trying to dig some image out of his mind.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
He had completely blacked out.
He threw off the blanket and got out of bed, his steps unsteady from the hangover. The moment he opened the door, the aroma of food drifted in from the living room.
The breakfast delivery had arrived not long ago.
Hot porridge, side dishes, and hangover soup sat on the dining table. Weiran was seated in front of it with a tablet in his hand, his expression calm, as if this were the most ordinary morning in the world.
Enze stood at the end of the hall, looking at the table, then at him.
“Weiran…”
Weiran turned his head and answered blandly.
“Mm-hmm.”
His gaze lingered for a moment on Enze’s messy hair and bewildered expression.
“You’re up?”
“…Mm-hmm.”
“Come eat breakfast.” Weiran set the tablet aside. “I called the dance company and got you the day off. Rest today.”
Enze remained where he was.
The confusion on his face was painfully obvious, as if he had no idea why he had walked out of Weiran’s room or why Weiran had used his phone to call him out of work.
Weiran looked at him.
Enze looked back at Weiran.
The silence continued for several seconds.
Weiran still held onto one last, faint hope.
Maybe Enze had only just woken up.
Maybe once he became a little more alert, he would remember hugging Weiran and asking what he had asked the night before. Maybe he would remember the word “like.”
But Enze stood there, hesitated for a long time, and the first thing he asked was—
“Why was I sleeping in your room?”
Weiran’s gaze slowly turned cold.
Of course.
He’d forgotten every last bit of it.
Enze didn’t notice the danger and continued trying to remember.
“Did you go pick me up yesterday?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Did I sit downstairs again and refuse to come up?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Did I… do anything weird?”
Weiran looked at him and didn’t answer for a moment.
Anything weird?
He had cried while hugging Weiran, asked whether Weiran liked him, confirmed the answer several times, and finally fallen asleep in his arms.
Did that count as weird?
The longer Weiran stared at him, the more uneasy Enze became.
“I didn’t hug the shoe cabinet again, did I?”
“No.”
“Then did I throw up?”
“No.”
“Did I curse at you?”
Weiran narrowed his eyes slightly.
“You dare?”
Enze immediately shook his head.
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“Come sit down.”
“Oh…”
Enze cautiously walked to the table and pulled out the chair opposite him. Weiran pushed the hangover soup toward him, steam rising with a faint, clean aroma.
Still, Enze couldn’t stop sneaking glances at him.
“Are you mad?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly and was too flat.
He was obviously mad.
Enze became even more certain he must have done something terrible the night before.
“I really don’t remember anything.”
Weiran looked at him.
“I can tell.”
“Then can you tell me?”
Weiran didn’t answer immediately.
He picked up the tablet, tapped the screen twice, reopened the home-buying page from the night before, and turned it toward Enze.
The image showed a house with huge floor-to-ceiling windows and a yard.
The moment Enze saw the photo, his heart instinctively sank.
The fear that had lasted for more than a week returned almost instantly. His fingers tightened around the spoon, and the dazed look left by the hangover slowly faded into silence.
Weiran saw his reaction clearly.
Sure enough, once he was sober, this person was going to retreat right back to that position where he could only dare call himself Weiran’s roommate.
“Finish eating,” Weiran said.
Enze looked up.
“And then we’ll talk.”
“About the house?”
“The house is only one thing.”
Enze’s heartbeat suddenly quickened.
“What else?”
Weiran looked at him, remembering the words he had said the night before: “I won’t forget a single word.”
He really had been angry.
Angry that Enze could forget every word after hearing something so important.
But when he saw the familiar unease rising in those eyes again, he couldn’t make him wait any longer.
Weiran leaned back in his chair, his tone still calm.
“And the question you asked me last night.”
Enze looked bewildered.
“What did I ask?”
Weiran stared at him for two seconds.
Then he answered, one word at a time—
“You asked me if I liked you.”
The spoon fell from Enze’s hand back into the bowl.
The clear clink sent a few drops of soup splashing up.
The entire dining area went silent.
Watching Enze’s eyes widen little by little, Weiran finally felt some of the pressure that had built up all morning ease.
“Are you awake now?”
Enze didn’t answer.
But his face began flushing visibly from the tips of his ears, spreading rapidly across his cheeks.
He sat rigidly at the table, forgetting even to retrieve the spoon from the bowl. The hangover headache hadn’t fully faded, but his brain suddenly seemed stuffed with too much information to process all at once.
Had he asked Weiran if he liked him last night?
Where had he asked?
How had he asked?
What had he done afterward?
Most importantly—
Had Weiran answered?
Enze opened his mouth, but his throat was painfully dry. Only after a long while did he manage to squeeze out, “I… really asked that?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Weiran answered calmly.
“More than once.”
Enze’s face turned even redder.
“How many times is more than once?”
“Lost count.”
“…A lot?”
Weiran looked at him.
“What do you think?”
Enze immediately lowered his head.
He didn’t just want to move anymore. He wanted to move to another city.
Blacking out after getting drunk was embarrassing enough, but he had apparently dragged out everything he had kept hidden for so long. No wonder he had slept in Weiran’s room. No wonder Weiran had looked so obviously angry first thing in the morning.
He hadn’t actually clung to Weiran and refused to let go after being rejected, had he?
Just imagining it made Enze’s stomach churn. He couldn’t even drink the hangover soup in front of him.
He cautiously raised his eyes.
“And after I asked…”
Weiran didn’t prompt him, only waited for him to continue.
Enze pressed his dry lips together.
“How did you answer?”
The last few words were so soft they nearly blended into the steam rising from breakfast.
Weiran had heard him perfectly, but he didn’t answer right away.
He looked at the person sitting across from him.
Both of Enze’s hands were beneath the table. The slight tension in his shoulders made it obvious that he was probably gripping his pants tightly. His gaze wasn’t really on Weiran either; he only dared stare at the corner of the table, as if he had already prepared himself to hear any answer at all.
Except being liked.
The night before, Weiran had only needed to hesitate for one second before this drunk would burrow into his arms with red eyes. Now that he was sober, he only dared ask from across a dining table, as if awaiting a verdict.
Weiran suddenly wasn’t so angry anymore.
“Finish the soup first.”
Enze looked up.
“But—”
“If you don’t drink it, I’m not telling you.”
“Pick up the spoon.”
Enze stared at him for two seconds. Realizing Weiran had no intention of answering immediately, he could only pick up the spoon again.
The soup was no longer as hot as when it had arrived. He took a sip, unable to taste anything at all, his attention focused entirely on the person across from him.
Weiran picked up the tablet again. On the surface, he appeared to be looking through the property information, but in reality he didn’t turn the page once.
Enze took another sip.
“I drank it.”
“One sip counts?”
“Two sips.”
Weiran looked up at him.
Enze had no choice but to continue.
The dining area was unnaturally quiet, with only the occasional soft clink of a spoon against the bowl. Enze drank very slowly. Partly because he had no appetite after the hangover, and partly because the unanswered question still hung in his heart.
After finally drinking more than half the bowl, he immediately set down the spoon.
“That’s enough, right?”
Weiran glanced at it.
“There’s still some left.”
“I can’t drink anymore.”
“Two more sips.”
“Xu Weiran.”
“Calling my name won’t help.”
Frowning, Enze forced down two more sips, then pushed the bowl forward.
“I really can’t.”
This time, Weiran didn’t force him.
He placed the tablet on the table, locked the screen, and finally faced Enze directly.
“You want to know how I answered last night?”
The fatigue in Enze’s hangover-dulled eyes instantly cleared a little.
He nodded.
Half a second later, as if that had been too obvious, he added with forced composure, “If you still remember.”
Weiran was almost annoyed into laughter.
“I wasn’t drinking. Why wouldn’t I remember?”
“I was just asking.”
“You asked last night, and now you’re asking again.”
Weiran leaned back slightly in his chair.
“How many times am I supposed to give the same answer?”
Enze froze.
The meaning behind those words was obvious, yet he still didn’t dare interpret them on his own.
“What does that mean?”
Weiran looked at him.
“It means I already answered you last night.”
“Answered what?”
“What do you think?”
“But I forgot.”
“That’s your problem.”
Enze was rendered speechless, a hint of hurt gradually rising in his expression.
Weiran saw it but didn’t immediately soften as he had the night before.
At least not on the surface.
“Who was it that cried while hugging me last night and insisted on asking whether I liked him?”
Enze’s eyes widened again.
“I cried?”
“You cried so pitifully.”
“No way.”
“Want to check whether there are tears on the couch?”
Enze instinctively looked toward the living room couch, as if genuinely worried that evidence might have been left there. Weiran held back for a moment before finally managing not to laugh out loud.
“Why was I crying?”
“You said you were exhausted from having to count down every day to when I would move out.”
Weiran’s voice turned calm.
“You also asked whether I’d found a house.”
The embarrassment slowly faded from Enze’s face.
Those things really did sound like something he would say.
For more than a week, every morning when he opened his eyes, he would remember that Weiran was still in the room next door, then wonder how much longer this life could last. If he came home too early, he would run into Weiran; if he didn’t come home, he couldn’t help wondering what Weiran was doing.
Every day felt like standing before a farewell that had yet to arrive.
He had thought he’d hidden it well.
He hadn’t expected to say everything after getting drunk.
Enze lowered his eyes, his voice dropping.
“I’m sorry.”
Weiran frowned slightly.
“What are you apologizing for?”
“For causing you trouble.”
“What else?”
“And… making you come downstairs to get me both times I got drunk.”
“What else?”
Enze thought about it.
“For sleeping in your bed?”
“What else?”
“I don’t know.”
Weiran looked at him.
“For ignoring your messages, deliberately avoiding you, and exhausting yourself every day.”
Enze fell silent.
“You’re not apologizing for that?”
“I just wanted to get used to it first.”
“Get used to what?”
“You not being here.”
Those three short words made Weiran’s expression darken again.
After saying them, Enze lowered his head and stopped looking at him.
“I know it’s strange, but I really didn’t know when you’d find a place. Every time you looked at one, I’d think you were one step closer to moving out.”
He paused, fingers unconsciously rubbing the rim of the bowl.
“I didn’t want to wait until you were really gone to realize I didn’t know how to do anything.”
Weiran didn’t speak immediately.
Sober Enze was different from the one he had been the night before.
He wasn’t crying or rushing over to hug Weiran. He had packed every emotion into an explanation that sounded calm, yet it hurt more than his drunken sobs.
Weiran had never been good at comforting people.
He could make hangover soup, call in sick for someone, and go downstairs in the middle of the night to carry a drunk person home. But facing Enze’s near-total retreat into the lowest possible position, Weiran suddenly felt that any careless “You’re overthinking it” would be irresponsible.
So he only asked, “Why didn’t you just ask me?”
Enze looked up.
“Ask you whether you wanted to take me with you?”
“Yes.”
“What if you said no?”
Weiran paused.
“At least before you really moved out, we could still live together properly.” Enze gave a small smile, though it was faint. “I didn’t want to lose even that last bit of time.”
“So you hid from me instead?”
“I wasn’t thinking that far ahead.”
“You really weren’t thinking.”
Weiran said it without mercy.
“You only thought about your own wild guesses.”
Enze didn’t argue.
Weiran reached for the tablet and unlocked the screen again. The house with the yard appeared between them once more.
“Look closely.”
Enze followed his hand with his eyes.
The floor plan had four rooms: a primary bedroom, a studio, and two rooms marked as guest rooms. The living room connected to the yard, with floor-to-ceiling windows across the entire wall. The kitchen was also much larger than the one they used now.
“Here.” Weiran pointed to one of the rooms. “We can install mirrors.”
Enze blinked.
Weiran’s finger moved to the walk-in closet.
“Your clothes go here.”
Then the entryway.
“The shoe cabinet isn’t big enough. We can have another one built.”
Finally, he tapped the location of the yard.
“You can decide whether you want to put down wood flooring here.”
Enze stared at the screen for a long time without moving.
Weiran pushed the tablet toward him.
“Do you understand now?”
Enze lifted his face.
“This is…”
“Our house.”
Weiran finally said, clearly and unmistakably, the words that were so obvious they had taken him more than a week to say.
“I’m not moving out. We’re moving together.”
Enze’s lips parted slightly, but no sound came out right away.
He had probably heard the same thing the night before, but alcohol had wiped the memory clean.
Hearing it again on a sober morning didn’t make the impact any smaller.
“Why?” he asked.
Weiran frowned.
“Why what?”
“Why did you assume we’d move together?”
The question was so absurd that Weiran didn’t know how to answer for a moment.
“We’ve lived together for six years.”
“That doesn’t mean we have to keep living together forever.”
“So you don’t want to?”
“No.”
Enze answered too quickly.
Weiran stared at him.
Enze’s face flushed a little more.
“Of course I want to. But… you never asked me.”
“Because I thought you knew.”
“How could I know?”
“Who was the big living room for? Who were the mirrors for? Do I need a shoe cabinet that big?”
Enze was left speechless.
The more Weiran thought about it, the more unreasonable this misunderstanding seemed.
“You even helped me look at so many houses. Didn’t you notice that every layout I picked was for two people?”
“I thought you’d have someone else in the future.”
Those words made Weiran stop.
Enze lowered his gaze again.
“A girlfriend, or… someone you liked.”
He said it very softly, finally voicing the possibility he feared most.
“You can’t really live with a roommate forever.”
Weiran watched him silently for several seconds.
“So that’s why you asked if I liked you last night?”
Enze went completely rigid.
The conversation had gone in a circle and returned to the place he was most afraid to face.
He looked up at Weiran.
“I really asked that?”
“Yes.”
“Then you…”
Enze’s voice trailed off.
He had already asked once, yet Weiran still hadn’t directly given him the answer. Maybe he was waiting for Enze to remember on his own. Maybe he hadn’t answered at all last night.
Or maybe the answer wasn’t the one Enze wanted to hear.
But if Weiran didn’t like him, why had he let Enze sleep in his bed? Why had he said it was “our house”?
Hope and unease pulled at him at the same time, making even his breathing careful.
Weiran watched him for a moment, then suddenly stood up.
The chair legs scraped softly across the floor.
Enze instinctively looked up, thinking Weiran didn’t want to talk anymore. But the next second, Weiran walked around the table and stopped in front of him.
“Stand up.”
“What for?”
“Stand up.”
Confused, Enze obeyed.
The distance between them shrank at once.
Weiran was closer than Enze had imagined, close enough that if Enze lowered his head, he could see the pattern in the collar of Weiran’s shirt.
Enze’s heartbeat began to quicken.
“This is what you did last night,” Weiran said.
“What?”
“First you sat on the couch and cried.”
“Then you slid onto the carpet and knelt down to hug me.”
Enze’s face turned bright red.
“You don’t have to describe it in that much detail.”
“Weren’t you curious?”
“I’m not anymore.”
He turned to leave, but Weiran caught him by the wrist.
Enze stopped.
Warmth traveled through the point of contact from Weiran’s palm. Enze glanced at his captured hand, then slowly raised his eyes to Weiran.
“You also asked twice, saying that if I didn’t answer, you were going to cry.”
“I would never say that.”
“Something like that.”
“You added that part yourself, didn’t you?”
“That’s not important.”
“It’s very important.”
Weiran looked at him, and the corners of his mouth curved slightly as Enze finally regained some of his usual self beneath the embarrassment.
“What matters is that I answered.”
Every sound left Enze at once.
Weiran didn’t circle around the subject again.
“I said I liked you.”
The dining area was very quiet.
A car passed in the distance outside, its sound softened by the glass. Breakfast remained on the table, and the hangover soup had long since stopped steaming.
Enze stood there as if he had forgotten how to breathe.
Weiran was still holding his wrist.
“Did you hear me clearly?”
Enze looked at him, disbelief slowly rising in his eyes.
“You said…”
“I like you.”
Weiran said it again.
Soberly, clearly, without alcohol, and not to comfort a drunk who had been crying pitifully.
“That was my answer last night. It’s my answer now too.”
Enze’s eyes reddened without warning.
Weiran immediately furrowed his brow.
“Don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying.”
“Your eyes are red.”
“It’s the hangover.”
“That’s what you said yesterday too.”
“I didn’t remember anything yesterday.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Weiran’s expression darkened again.
Enze immediately shut up.
After two seconds, he ventured, “Are you still mad that I blacked out?”
“What do you think?”
“I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t be mad.”
“You said all that last night and went straight to sleep. Then you woke up, forgot everything, and asked why you were sleeping in my room.” Weiran stared at him expressionlessly. “Wouldn’t you be mad if you were me?”
Enze imagined it.
If he had finally gotten Weiran to say he liked him, only for Weiran to forget everything the next day and look at him blankly, asking what had happened…
Just imagining it made him feel wronged.
“Yes.”
He answered honestly.
Weiran gave him a cold look.
“Then why ask?”
“I’m sorry.”
This time, Enze’s apology carried genuine supplication. He took a small step forward, bringing their already-close distance even nearer.
“What do I have to do for you not to be mad anymore?”
Weiran didn’t answer.
After hesitating for a moment, Enze raised his other hand and carefully tugged at Weiran’s sleeve.
Unlike the way he had gripped Weiran and refused to let go while drunk the night before, his sober touch was full of testing, as if he wasn’t sure he had the right to approach him now.
“Weiran.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Do you really like me?”
He asked again.
Weiran answered patiently. “I really do.”
“When did it start?”
That question left Weiran silent.
He didn’t know.
Maybe it had been the first year they moved in together, or maybe later. Maybe it had been the first time Enze put breakfast on the table and forced him to drink half a glass of milk; maybe it had been when Weiran’s work wasn’t going well and Enze, despite not understanding it, sat beside him all night.
More likely, there hadn’t been one clearly defined moment when liking began.
It was hidden in every breakfast over six years, every sticky note, every sound of the door opening late at night. By the time Weiran truly noticed it, he could no longer tell which part was habit and which part was affection.
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.
Enze’s expression stiffened slightly.
“You don’t know?”
“Six years is a long time.”
Weiran looked at him.
“I can’t remember what day it started.”
Those words made Enze’s heart burn more warmly than any definite date could have.
He had thought his unrequited love was a long, solitary ordeal. He had thought Weiran was merely accustomed to his care and had never imagined that, during all those days when Enze had been afraid to cross the line, Weiran might also have placed him in an equally important position in his own way.
“So what are we now…”
Enze stopped.
Weiran waited a few seconds.
“What are we now?”
“What do we count as?”
He asked with great caution.
Weiran raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t you like calling us roommates?”
“I won’t anymore.”
“Why?”
“It sounds bad.”
Weiran had had that exact same thought the night before.
The word roommate was too thin.
Too thin to hold six years of life, much less the two people standing together now, their hands still not released.
Weiran looked down at Enze’s hand clutching his sleeve.
“Then what do you want us to be?”
The question thrown back at him left Enze stunned instead.
“Could we be… boyfriends?”
After saying it, he was so nervous that even his fingertips curled.
Weiran didn’t answer immediately.
Enze waited a few seconds, and the unease that had just been soothed began to rise again.
“If it’s too soon—”
“Okay.”
Enze stopped.
Weiran looked at him.
“Wasn’t that what you asked?”
“I did ask.”
“Then you have your answer.”
“But…”
“What else is there to but?”
Enze couldn’t say.
Maybe it was because this affection had come too suddenly and too smoothly, so smoothly that it felt like a dream he had forgotten the moment he woke from it, except the answer from that dream was now standing right in front of him.
He looked at Weiran.
“So we’re together now?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And we’re moving together too?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“There won’t be anyone else?”
Weiran’s eyes darkened slightly.
“Who else are you hoping for?”
Enze immediately shook his head.
“No one.”
He was quiet for two seconds, then finally couldn’t stop the corners of his lips from slowly lifting.
The smile first reached his eyes, then gradually spread. Unlike all the smiles he had used to hide himself that week, it was bright, like the long stretch of cloudy weather had finally ended.
Weiran watched him.
“Happy now?”
Enze nodded.
“Very happy.”
“Then finish breakfast.”
“Okay.”
He agreed with his mouth, but his hand still didn’t let go of Weiran’s sleeve.
Weiran lowered his eyes to it.
“Weren’t you going to eat?”
“In a minute.”
“What are you waiting for?”
Enze didn’t answer.
He stepped closer and slowly wrapped his arms around Weiran’s waist. Doing it while sober obviously took more courage than it had the night before. His shoulders and back were tightly tensed, and his face was burning red, but he still hugged him.
Weiran stood where he was.
A few seconds later, he lifted his arms and hugged him back.
Enze buried his face against Weiran’s shoulder and took a deep breath.
The familiar scent of laundry detergent and body wash.
He had probably smelled it when Weiran carried him home the night before, but the memory hadn’t remained. Now, leaning close again, that familiarity no longer made him sad.
Because this person wasn’t leaving.
The new house wasn’t a farewell. It was the beginning of the next chapter of their life together.
“Weiran.”
“Mm-hmm?”
“I like you.”
The hand around Enze’s back paused.
This was the first time Enze had said it while completely sober.
There was no alcohol and no tears. His voice still carried a little nervousness, but it was clear enough.
“For a long time,” Enze continued. “So long that I don’t know when it started either.”
Weiran’s palm settled on the back of his head and stroked it lightly.
“Mm-hmm.”
“You don’t have anything else to say?”
“What do you want to hear?”
“You should at least say it again.”
Weiran sighed helplessly.
But Enze didn’t let go. He waited quietly.
Finally, Weiran turned his head slightly and pressed his lips near Enze’s ear.
“I like you too.”
His voice wasn’t loud, but it was clearer than any answer he had given the night before.
Enze tightened his arms around him again.
Weiran let him hold on for a while before patting his back.
“Can we eat now?”
“Sure.”
“Let go.”
Enze didn’t move.
“Dong Enze.”
“Just a little longer.”
Weiran didn’t urge him again.
Sunlight streamed through the living room window, falling across the dining table and their feet. The hangover soup was nearly cold, and the tablet screen had gone dark after sitting untouched for too long.
This morning looked much like any other day in the past six years.
There were still two breakfasts on the table, two pairs of shoes by the entryway, and the refrigerator was still packed with side dishes sent by both their parents.
And yet something had changed completely.
They would still eat together, choose a house together, and argue over who forgot to take out the trash or who had made a mess of the living room.
But starting today, those traces of a shared life would no longer be mere habits between roommates.
Enze held Weiran for a long time before finally letting go.
When he sat back down at the table, his gaze fell on the tablet.
“Should we really go see this place?”
Weiran sat down too.
“What do you think?”
Enze pulled the tablet toward himself and carefully enlarged the floor plan.
“The yard is huge.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“But the dance studio doesn’t look big enough.”
“We can knock through the wall of the room next to it.”
“What about your studio?”
“On the other side.”
“Is it far away?”
Weiran glanced at him.
“Weren’t you the one who complained that my work was noisy?”
“I didn’t.”
“Then who kept saying the bass from my monitor speakers was annoying?”
“I was worried you were working too long.”
“Sure you were.”
Enze laughed and continued scrolling through the photos.
“The kitchen is really big, though.”
“Don’t you like that?”
“Then we can put in an island.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“We could grow things in the yard.”
“Can you keep them alive?”
“Probably.”
“Your last potted plant survived for a week.”
“That was because I went on a business trip.”
“It was already dying before you left.”
Enze turned and glared at him.
Weiran’s expression remained calm, though a faint smile touched the corners of his lips.
The two of them sat at the dining table just like they had six years ago when they first looked for a place together, discussing the layout and photos one by one.
Only this time, they no longer had to immediately abandon a place they liked over a thirty-thousand-won price difference, nor did they have to wonder whether they would still exist in each other’s blurred, distant future.
Because now, they could finally say clearly—
That was the home they would return to together.
And after six full years since they first began rooming together, it was the future they had truly decided to share.