An Old Sweet Story About Rebirth

The rain had let up some, but it hadn’t stopped.

The fierce summer downpour that had come sweeping in without warning had softened now, turning into a slow, steady fall—the kind that clung to the edges of early autumn and made the world outside look blurred, quiet.
Tyler stood by the living room window, wearing one of Shane Xie’s oversized house shirts. The sleeves hung past his hands. Through the streaked glass, he watched the silver-gray curtain of rain stitch the skyline into a single trembling sheet.
His nerves were beginning to prick with unease.

Was the locksmith seriously waiting for the rain to stop?
If so, did that mean he’d be stuck here… in Shane’s apartment… until then?
God. He didn’t want to impose. Not like this.

The thought made his shoulders tighten.
And then—just when the awkwardness had started to settle into his bones—Shane gestured calmly for him to sit back down on the sofa.
"Here," Shane said simply, drawing the curtains and dimming the lights with practiced ease. He walked over, placed a soft throw pillow beside Tyler, and nudged it gently into his arms.

Tyler blinked at him.
What… was this?
Was he supposed to nap?

But he couldn’t possibly sleep on someone else’s couch. That just wasn’t something he did. Especially not here. Especially not in this too-clean apartment that didn’t smell like home, with a man he didn’t really know, not like that—
Then Shane turned on the TV.
An animated film flickered onto the screen. The opening notes of a sweeping jungle chorus filled the room. A lion cub—tiny, scrappy, and full of wonder—stared out over a vast kingdom.

Tyler forgot to look away.
His arms instinctively curled tighter around the plush pillow. One leg folded up onto the cushion without him realizing it. He didn’t even notice Shane sitting down next to him—not until much later.
By the time the credits rolled and the final song played, Tyler’s eyes were glassy. He wiped the corner of one with the back of his hand, pretending it was just a smudge from the pillow.

He hadn’t heard Shane get up.
He didn’t know Shane had moved until a hand gently tapped his shoulder.
“Hungry?”
Tyler jolted upright, nearly knocking over the pillow.

“What—oh, crap, is it that late already?”
He stood up in a rush, voice fumbling. “Sorry. I’ve been here too long, I should—”
Shane, amused, cut him off with a quiet smile. “Come eat something.”

Tyler stared at him, still halfway in panic-mode. “I—I can make something—”
“I already did.” Shane flipped on the kitchen lights, flooding the apartment in soft gold. “It’s just chicken noodle. Was in the fridge.”
Tyler stopped talking.

Because the moment the lights came on, the scent hit him—rich, warm, sharp with ginger and scallion, and something deeper underneath.
His stomach growled audibly.
Shane said nothing about it. He simply took him by the elbow and guided him toward the table. “Didn’t put in anything spicy. You can add chili later if you want.”

On the table sat two bowls of noodles. The broth was clear and golden, steam rising in lazy spirals. Snow-white noodles curled beneath a scatter of chopped green onion. Bits of shredded chicken floated like silk.
Tyler’s throat tightened.
His stomach, traitorous, rumbled again—louder this time. Mortified, he stared at the table, willing it to shut up.

Shane said nothing. He placed a pair of chopsticks on Tyler’s bowl with a soft clink. “Just made it. If we wait, the noodles’ll soak it all up.”
Chicken noodle. Good chicken noodle. Left to get soggy.
What a waste that would be.

Tyler’s pride crumbled. He sat down quietly and whispered, “Thanks,” cheeks flushing.
And then he ate.
He ate with the kind of hunger you don’t notice until something warm and real is placed in front of you. The kind that makes you breathe in steam and swallow too fast.

He didn’t stop until the bowl was empty.
Not a drop of broth left.
When he finally lowered his spoon, Tyler realized his whole body felt... different. Not just full, but warm. Steady. Like the space behind his ribs had been patched and stitched back together.

He set down the chopsticks gently and glanced up across the table.
Shane hadn’t touched much of his own food.
He was watching Tyler instead, eyes glinting in the soft light, one hand idly turning the chopsticks between his fingers.

It might’ve just been the overhead pendant light, but Tyler swore there was something bright in those eyes—something almost star-like.
He dropped his gaze.
“Really good,” he mumbled, reaching for a napkin. “Even without spice. I mean—your cooking’s… seriously good.”

Shane’s smile turned into something quieter. Warmer.
For Tyler—a kid who doused everything in hot sauce just to feel something—that was high praise.
Shane didn’t say any of that aloud. What he did say, with a careful kind of deflection, was, “The broth’s from my aunt. I just threw the rest together.”

He paused, then added, “When crab season starts, I’ll make you something different. Crab roe tossed noodles. Totally different flavor.”
Tyler blinked. Crab… roe?
How do you even get enough of that to toss with noodles?

Before he could ask, Shane had already shifted the conversation. “You liked the movie?”
The question was casual, but Tyler’s face lit up like a switch had been flipped.
He nodded, then started talking. About the music, about the way the cub’s eyes mirrored real emotion, about the shadows in the father’s death scene and the way the animators had drawn the wind—

Somewhere in the middle of all that, he started gesturing. Big, wide movements with his hands. He didn’t even notice until halfway through, when he caught himself mid-gesture and froze.
What am I doing?
That was something Emily did. Not him.

He dropped his hands, but Shane just nodded patiently, picking up each thread Tyler offered and weaving it into something deeper. He talked about storytelling arcs, and animation studios, and the way revenge and grief were intertwined in classic narratives.
Tyler listened, transfixed.
He didn’t even hear the knock at the door until the building manager called through: “Locksmith’s here! Someone from 2301 forget their keys?”

When Tyler left Shane’s apartment that evening, there was a strange feeling blooming quietly in his chest.
Not joy.
Not relief.

Something else—soft and steady and unfamiliar. Something he couldn’t name, but that made him want the rainy afternoon to stretch just a little longer.
That night, back in his own bed, he fell asleep curled around the whale-shaped pillow Shane had handed him before he left.
“Keep it,” Shane had said, when Tyler hesitated at the door. “I’ve never used it. You seem to like it.”

It was absurd, really.
A man like Shane Xie owning a plush whale. Even more absurd to imagine him hugging it.
Tyler pressed his cheek against the toy’s velvety surface, eyes fluttering shut.

His lips curled up, just a little.
I really liked today, he thought.
It was… nice.

 
****
A week passed.

Classes began.
Tyler had planned to handle orientation on his own. One duffel bag. One subway ride. No big deal.
But Shane had other ideas.

“Said I wanted to look around the campus anyway,” he’d said casually, already grabbing the keys.
And so they went together.
At Greenville University, on that busy move-in morning, the sidewalks were packed with parents and freshmen hauling boxes. Tyler and Shane, walking side by side, ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) looked distinctly out of place—like something out of a different story.

Enough that when they reached the registration desk, a girl with blunt bangs and a clipboard smiled brightly at them.
She leaned in, eyes sparkling. “Is that your brother?”
Tyler blinked. Color climbed up his neck. “Uh—no, I—”

But Shane was already answering for him.
“Friend,” he said, slow and calm.
Then, with a soft edge of amusement in his voice, he added, “A good friend.”

And the way he drew out that last word—like it meant something more—stayed in Tyler’s chest long after they walked away.
Tyler didn’t catch anything unusual in Shane’s voice, but the girl at the check-in desk lit up like a light bulb had gone off in her head.
“Ohhh,” she said, dragging the word out with a knowing smile. The kind of smile that looked suspiciously like the one Lin Zhiyao used when she’d corner you just to stir up gossip. “Got it—nice, nice. Your dorm assignment’s all set. I’ll have one of the upperclassmen take you over.”

 
****
By the time Tyler got to the dorm room, the place was still empty.

No roommates yet.
As soon as they stepped in, Shane casually rolled up his sleeves. “I’ll make your bed.”
Tyler panicked, shaking his head hard enough to rattle it loose. “No, no—I’ve got it. Really, I can do it myself.”

But there was no winning that battle.
In the end, it was Shane who smoothed the fitted sheet flat, aligned the corners, and tucked the quilt like he’d done it a hundred times before. He even flattened the last wrinkle in the top sheet with a practiced palm.
Tyler stood at the side, muttering under his breath, “I really can do it, you know…”

I can take care of this. I took care of Emily, didn’t I?
When she started school, I was the one who filled out the paperwork. I was her "guardian."
Shane looked up, hands still at the corners of the mattress. His voice was soft, low. “I know you can.”

“I know you’re the adult in Emily’s world.”
He straightened, gave Tyler a look that was gentle but unshakably firm.
“But here, with me…”

With you?
Tyler stared at him, confused. His heart thudded in that startled, suspended way it always did when he was trying to anticipate something unspoken.
He waited for Shane to finish the sentence.

But before Shane could say anything else, the hallway exploded in noise.
His new roommates had arrived.
One of them—a tall, broad-shouldered guy with a loud voice and an even louder personality—introduced himself as Zhou Peng, from Liaocheng. He had the energy of a stand-up comedian who’d somehow wandered onto a college campus. The other, a laid-back guy from a nearby town named Xu Rui, had sun-dark skin and a grin that flashed perfect white teeth when he laughed.

Both had come with their parents.
Seeing Shane standing calmly beside Tyler, the two gave him a curious once-over. Shane exchanged a few pleasantries, helped Tyler unpack the rest of his things, and then said he had something else to take care of and left quietly.
It wasn’t until Shane had been gone a few minutes that Tyler blinked and remembered—wait, didn’t Shane say he came to look around the campus?

Wasn’t that the whole reason he came?
But that small, fleeting confusion didn’t last long. His new roommates had plenty of questions, and soon Tyler was caught in the tide of them.
 

****
A few days passed.
Freshman orientation wrapped up quickly, and then came the English placement test.

Most of the students were still caught up in the high of finally being in college. Studying was the last thing on their minds. There were too many cafeterias to try, new people to meet, a whole campus to wander.
But Tyler was different.
On his very first night in the dorm, he pulled out his notebook, flipped through his past materials, and spread a thick grammar workbook under the desk lamp. He started going through cloze tests, one after another, silent and focused.

He hadn’t forgotten.
Shane had said it plainly once: “Doing well academically is part of the role.”
Shane hadn’t mentioned the contract or grades again since, but he had spent time helping Tyler work on pronunciation, tightening awkward sentence structures, and going over the English version of his self-introduction line by line.

So yeah.
Tyler was going to nail this.
Zhou Peng, who had been halfway through a story about street food, stopped mid-sentence and gave an exaggerated gasp. “Dude… you’re seriously already studying?”

Tyler glanced up. “The test’s important. It decides what level English class you get placed in, what textbooks you use, how fast you can move up… It’s not just for show.”
Zhou Peng laughed. “I get it, I do. But all I can think about right now is eating my way through Greenville.”
Xu Rui chimed in from his bed. “Don’t let him fool you. All he ordered today was spicy stir-fry pork from the cafeteria, and he almost cried from the heat.”

Tyler hesitated for a second, then said, “There’s this restaurant nearby… They have a milder version of pickled fish hotpot.”
He remembered it from a walk with Shane through the neighborhood near Shane’s apartment. Shane had pointed it out casually, saying the prices were decent and the menu was adapted for students—good for group dinners.
Group dinners.

That wasn’t a phrase that had ever really belonged in Tyler’s world before.
He’d always eaten alone.
Still…

He tightened his grip on the edge of his chair, then, after a breath, added quietly, “After the test, we could go together. If you guys want.”
Zhou Peng and Xu Rui both lit up. “For real? Hell yeah.”
Tyler’s hand relaxed. His shoulders dropped a little, too.

He wasn’t used to being the one to invite others.
He wasn’t used to people saying yes, either.
Zhou Peng leaned over then, shamelessly nosy, peering at Tyler’s laptop. “Hey, look at this setup! Fancy. I’ve been thinking about getting a desktop, but this is next level. What are you looking at?”

Tyler didn’t hesitate. “Study notes. Found them on the campus forum. Older students listed out what usually shows up on the placement test.”
Both his roommates blinked.
“Wait—seriously? That’s allowed?”

They scrambled to copy the link. Studying was one thing, but being handed the exact areas to study? That was a whole different ballgame.
So, from that night on, while other rooms were still loud with card games and YouTube videos, Tyler’s dorm settled into quiet focus. Not always intense, but steady. Shoulder to shoulder, they studied.
 

****
After the test, Tyler kept his word.
They didn’t go back to the cafeteria. Instead, they walked a few blocks to the little place he’d mentioned.

The fish hotpot was just as good as Shane had described—fragrant and full of heat, but not overwhelming. Ten bucks a pot. Unlimited rice refills.
They devoured four pots between the three of them. Eight bowls of rice. More laughter than Tyler could remember having in a long time.
That night, lying on his dorm bed, he picked up his phone.

For the first time, he sent Shane a message that had nothing to do with grades or responsibilities.
[Went out to eat with my roommates tonight. It was kind of fun.]
Shane replied quickly.

[What’d you eat? Was it good?]
Tyler responded honestly:
[That pickled fish place you mentioned. Not spicy enough for me, but I think you’d like it.]

Ever since that afternoon of chicken noodle soup, he and Shane had shared a few meals here and there. Nothing formal. But Tyler had noticed—Shane could handle a little heat, but only just barely.
Zhou Peng-level spice tolerance.
[Next time, we’ll go together.]

Shane’s message popped up.
Tyler stared at it, then slowly typed out:
[Okay.]

He set the phone down by his pillow.
Across the room, Zhou Peng was in the middle of a loud conversation with Xu Rui, something about girlfriends, boyfriends, long-distance relationships—standard dorm chatter.
Tyler didn’t pay much attention.

Until—
“Hey, Fish,” Zhou Peng called, using the nickname they’d settled on (after the meal, of course). “You and your boyfriend been together a while?”
Tyler froze.

“…What?”
Zhou Peng grinned. “C’mon, don’t be shy. That tall guy with the sunglasses who came with you to move in? Good-looking dude. He’s your boyfriend, right?”