In Between Us || Zhanyi

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Yibo didn't move, not even when the hold loosened.

Zhan's arms no longer clung like a lifeline, but his hands remained—one still resting lightly at Yibo's back, the moving in a smoothing way over Yibo's back.

Zhan looked... shaken.

Yibo blinked slowly. He wasn't used to seeing Zhan like this. He wasn't used to being held like this.

And yet—he had scared him, hadn't he?

He hadn't thought that far when he left the room. Hadn't imagined what Zhan would feel waking up to an empty bed. 

But now... seeing Zhan's face—creased with panic, eyes bloodshot from sleeplessness, lips parted in frantic disbelief—Yibo's chest pulled tight.

I did this...
He must think I'm careless. Fragile. Thoughtless...
The usual loop of guilt began winding around his ribs.

Zhan's breath still hadn't fully settled when hepulled back just enough to see him fully, both palms now cradling Yibo's face. His thumbs moved gently, brushing across his temples, like he was reassuring himself that Yibo wasn't a ghost. His thumb instinctively brushed over Yibo's cheek, eyes darting over his features for any trace of discomfort.

And then it came.

The barrage.

"Thank god," Zhan breathed, relief first. Raw and shaking. "You didn't leave... I thought—" Zhan choked, "I thought you left."

His voice cracked, and he finished that sentence with a heavy tone.

But almost instantly, he picked up again, faster now, voice rising with every word.

Zhan shook his head, a broken, breathy laugh escaping. "It doesn't matter. You're here. That's... that's all that matters."

Before Yibo could respond, Zhan leaned in and kissed Yibo's forehead softly. Yibo closed his eyes in reflex, this was always his weak point. Whenever Zhan kissed him on his forehead there were always this strange warmth for which Yibo never had any words to express.

Slowly Zhan moved, his hands hovered like he wanted to hold Yibo again but wasn't sure where or how. One hand ghosted over Yibo's shoulder, the other briefly clutching his wrist, unsure if it was helping or making it worse.

Yibo blinked up at him. Still quiet. Still processing.

So much intensity. So much panic in Zhan's voice. So much... care.

He didn't understand.

Why was Zhan looking at him like that?

Like he'd nearly lost something he couldn't afford to lose.

Zhan gently held Yibo's hand, caressing with his thumb as he spoke in the most softest tone he had ever used for anyone.....

"Why did you come here? Do you need anything? Are you okay? Does anything hurt? Do you feel dizzy? Uncomfortable? Wait—wait, Are you hungry—yes—of course, you haven't eaten all along. Wait, let me—" Zhan's words tripped over one another, frantic and unfiltered.

But before he could move, Yibo shook his head softly.

Zhan paused mid-step, brows still furrowed in concern. "Water?" he asked next, his voice more soft now, unsure.

His gaze swept the room—then froze.

Steam curled lazily from the pot resting on the burner behind Yibo, the soft hiss of boiling water filling the silence. Zhan blinked, confused for a moment, before piecing it together.

His eyes returned to Yibo's face. "Do you want warm water?" he asked, motioning gently toward the stove.

Yibo glanced at the pot too, then looked back up and finally spoke—quietly, hesitantly. "I was boiling tea."

Zhan tilted his head slightly. "You want tea?"

But Yibo shook his head again, voice even lower now—gentle, almost shy. "For you..."

He would have said more, but his words were cut short—abruptly—Yibo gasped loudly.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The moment those two meek words left Yibo's lips—"for you"—Zhan froze. Something in his brain snapped. Not out of anger—but sheer exasperation wrapped in disbelief.

This boy.

This stubborn, fragile, weak-slicked boy.

Couldn't even stay upright for ten minutes... and he was in the kitchen boiling tea. For him.

Zhan didn't speak. Didn't warn.

He just moved.

Yibo blinked—and the next thing he knew, his feet left the ground.

"Wha—!" he squeaked, flailing lightly as Zhan hoisted him clean off the floor and slung him over his shoulder like a sack of soft potatoes.

Yibo's hair fell in his face. The world turned upside down. Panic gripped him. "Mr.Xiao—what—put me down!!"

But Zhan didn't even flinch.

He started walking toward the bedroom, every step a stomp of grim resolve.

"You're swaying like a bamboo leaf in the wind and making me tea?" Zhan muttered, shaking his head. "Next, what—planning to give me a foot massage before collapsing dramatically on the floor?"

Yibo wriggled in protest, cheeks burning in embarrassment. "Mr.Xiao—please—I can walk!"

Bad idea.

Zhan paused, tightened his hold—and smacked his butt.

Yibo froze.

A small gasp slipped out—half from shock, half from the sheer absurdity. His husband, the dignified professor never behaved like this before. What happened to his husband?

"Stay still," Zhan growled, low and deliberate, "unless I use other means to make you unable to walk for real"

Yibo went silent. Completely.

Face red, thoughts scrambled, and body limp in surrender—he let himself hang there, completely mortified, unsure if the heat in his cheeks was from his weak body or something much more dangerous.

And Zhan?

Zhan smirked, victorious.

....TO BE CONTINUED

💥Let me know are you ready for what happens after Zhan dumps Yibo back into bed 😏

💥YEAHHHH!!!! I know it is too SHORTTTT!!!!!, but I really wanted to give you guys an update so I posted whatever I could make up by today. 

💥I maybe, maybe , needed to travel outstation, in that case updates will be stop for few days, so I was eargerly wish to give you some moment as readers of this book have shown immense patient with both character. I hope you are getting the idea of the upcoming development of the story. Let me know do you like this way??????????