An Old Sweet Story About Rebirth

Tyler’s face flushed deep red, all the way to his ears.
Part of him felt—reluctantly—that maybe what Zhou Peng said wasn’t entirely wrong. But the rest of him clung stubbornly to denial.

Fingers tightening around the metal frame of his dorm bed, he gripped it like an anchor. Like he needed something solid to hold on to while everything else threatened to tilt off-balance.
“He… He wouldn’t,” Tyler mumbled, voice caught between defiance and disbelief. “He couldn’t possibly… think of me like that.”
“We—me and him—”

Just a contract. Just a transaction.
Shane needed someone to marry, and Tyler needed a way to pay for Emily’s surgery. That’s all it was. A strange, accidental crossing of two lives. Nothing more.
Zhou Peng groaned loudly, practically throwing up his hands. “Dude. Come on.”

His voice climbed in disbelief, edging dangerously close to the dramatic rant he used when imitating stand-up comedians. “I’ve been dating since middle school, alright? I’m telling you, as someone who’s been around—he is one hundred percent into you.”
“I thought you were just being coy,” he added, leaning in with mock exasperation. “But turns out you’re actually that dense.”
He gave Tyler a look that was equal parts pity and frustration. “What—are you two long-lost brothers or something? Haven’t seen each other in twenty years, and now you think kissing him would break some sacred law?”

Tyler felt like his whole face might combust.
He was never good at talking about this stuff to begin with. Hell, he didn’t even know how to begin to untangle what he was feeling.
Why was he so sure it was impossible?

Unlike Zhou Peng’s over-the-top reaction, Xu Rui had always been more precise. Sharper, in a quiet kind of way.
He pulled up a chair and sat down in front of Tyler, whose stunned expression hadn’t shifted since the conversation started.
“Ty,” Xu Rui said gently, “what do you think Shane is to you?”

Tyler latched onto the question like a drowning man grabbing at driftwood. He scrambled to respond.
“A friend,” he blurted out. “A mentor, maybe. Like—like that one teacher who helped me in high school. Someone who just… wants to help.”
Maybe that’s all it was. Just kindness. Shane had the means, and Tyler had needed help. That was all.

Xu Rui shook his head slowly.
“A mentor doesn’t take a red-eye flight just to see your student performance,” he said.
“Doesn’t take your roommates out for barbecue and listen—really listen—to all their stupid stories about you.”
“Doesn’t refill your water without a word. Doesn’t instinctively catch you when you stumble.”

He leaned back, eyes narrowing just slightly. “And a mentor definitely doesn’t look at you like you’re the person they’ve been searching for.”
Tyler stared at him.
Just stared.

Blank. Frozen. Something fragile and unwelcome cracking inside his chest.
Xu Rui reached out and gave his shoulder a light pat.
“Ty,” he said, a little softer, “you’re kind of adorable, you know that? Why is it so hard for you to believe someone might actually… like you?”

Then, the one question that hit harder than all the rest:
“And what about you? How do you feel about him?”
 

****
Elsewhere, at that exact moment—
Shane Xie was on his way to the airport when his phone rang.

He answered without checking the caller ID. On the other end, a voice calmly reported progress, listing out the buried remnants of Milltown’s ugliest secrets—names, dates, documents.
Every now and then, Shane asked a question. “What level of proof do we have?” “Any witnesses still alive?”
The answers came clean and clear. They were close. Almost done.

Shane thanked them. Quiet, polite. “Appreciate your work.”
He hung up.
His legs crossed neatly, one ankle balanced over a knee. His fingers tapped softly, rhythmically against his thigh as he turned his head to look out the car window.

Outside, the city’s highway was lit up in a wash of yellow streetlamps, merging into a blurred line of warmth and noise.
But Shane’s eyes were dark. Shadowed. Unmoving.
He sat that way for a long moment, then exhaled silently, eyes closing as if to steady something inside him.

Almost there. Just a little longer.
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
Since Tyler started college, Shane had kept his distance. He hadn’t donated a building to Greenville University. Hadn’t called in favors. Hadn’t pulled strings.

Tyler deserved the chance to prove he could swim in open water. That he could rise without anyone tilting the scales.
It was the only way to let him rebuild real trust. Trust in himself, in others, in love that didn’t come with a price tag.
But this—this one thing?

This, Shane couldn’t ignore.
Not this time.
Last time, he hadn’t even known. Hadn’t been given the chance to do anything about it.

But now?
Now that he knew what Tyler had endured, what he’d survived—there would be ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) no turning away.
Not again.

 
****
A few days later, classes let out for the Mid-Autumn break.

And after being absolutely verbally assaulted by his roommates for being the world’s most oblivious person, Tyler couldn’t think about seeing Shane without feeling like his stomach had turned to jelly.
Thankfully, Shane had texted to say he’d be out of town for the entire break. Also, he’d added: “Don’t eat too much crab.”
Tyler, who was midway through cracking open his third fresh crab at that exact moment, stared at his phone in stunned silence.

Then muttered under his breath, “Too late.”
—
That night, after splitting mooncakes with Emily, Tyler’s phone lit up with Shane’s name.

They’d talked plenty of times before. This wasn’t new.
But tonight—just seeing the name made Tyler’s breath catch. Made his heart skitter against his ribs like something startled in a cage.
Xu Rui had told him to think things through.

Zhou Peng had told him to grow a clue.
And the more Tyler tried to think, the worse it got. Like his whole brain had been turned inside out.
He answered the phone like a bird trying to survive in a thunderstorm.

“…Hey,” he murmured.
Just one syllable. That was all he could manage.
Shane didn’t seem to notice anything strange. His voice came through warm, steady. Casual. Just small talk, the way he always did when he was trying not to intrude too much.

Tyler curled up on the couch, knees pulled in, shoulders tight. Every word he said was clipped and quiet—just a string of “mm”s and “yeah”s and “oh.”
Then Shane asked, “Is Emily with you? Zhiyao wants to talk to her.”
Tyler nearly dropped the phone in relief, practically thrusting it at his sister.

Why was he like this? Why did he feel like he needed to come up for air after a three-minute phone call?
So ridiculous. So immature.
Emily was already waving her hands excitedly, chattering into the phone like she’d known Zhiyao for years.

Barely five minutes passed before she cupped the phone and shouted across the living room, “Ty! Next weekend, can we go to the amusement park with Zhiyao and Shane?!”
Tyler’s heart—poor, overworked, abused thing—started jackhammering in his chest again.
Emily’s eyes sparkled, her expression practically glowing with excitement. “Ty? Pretty please?”

He managed a smile. Wobbly. Tight.
“Yeah,” he said. “Sure. Sounds fun.”
It’s just the amusement park.

We’ve already eaten together. Walked together. Watched a movie. Gone shopping.
The amusement park doesn’t mean anything special.
Right?

Right?
 
****

On the other end of the call, Zhiyao’s voice was smug with victory.
“Well? Aren’t you going to thank me?”
Shane exhaled slowly, a hint of resigned amusement in his tone. “Yes. Thank you.”

She glanced sideways at the older relatives still sipping tea and admiring the moon in the courtyard, then lowered her voice like they were conspiring.
“Why didn’t you bring Tyler and Emily with you this time?”
Shane’s voice was quiet. “It’s not time yet.”

Zhiyao blinked. “What?”
“They’d be overwhelmed,” he said. “Especially him.”
There was a long pause. Then—

“…Excuse me?” Her disbelief practically punched through the line.
“Shane Xie, are you seriously waiting for the stars to align before you say how you feel?”
“If you don’t move your ass, someone else will. Do you not feel even a little threatened?”

“…Soon,” Shane said simply.
Once a few more things are taken care of. Once Tyler feels safer in his own skin.
Then—and only then—Shane would tear up that absurd contract himself.

 
****
Saturday came in a blur.

Tyler had told himself, going in, that today was for Emily. As long as she had fun, that was enough.
He hadn’t expected to ride the “Jurassic Expedition” three times—or stand in line twice for the log flume. He hadn’t expected to laugh that hard. Or forget, even for a few seconds, what it felt like to be on guard.
Emily, of course, was in heaven.

She and Zhiyao each wore a huge cartoon headband—one with floppy bunny ears, the other with glittering stars—and chased each other around the park, shrieking with laughter like they didn’t know what sadness was.
On the way home, she clutched a stuffed rabbit in one hand and leaned against Tyler’s shoulder, fast asleep.
Later, after dinner—after she’d somehow mustered the strength to demand her nightly ritual of watching the news because her teacher insisted it was good for building essay skills—Tyler stepped into the kitchen to grab some fruit.

He came back to find her still sitting upright, eyes closed, breathing deep and even.
Asleep.
Tyler smiled helplessly and carried her to bed.

When he came back out, he was—mildly surprised.
Or… not surprised at all.
Shane was still there.

That was rare. Shane didn’t usually linger.
But tonight…
Tonight, Tyler’s ears were already starting to burn again.

Maybe it was just the soft orange glow of the standing lamp—gentle, forgiving. Shane didn’t seem to notice the color rising in Tyler’s cheeks.
The television was off. Shane was reclined on the couch, his voice calm, talking about a graphic novel called Mermaid’s Forest.
Normally, Tyler would’ve launched into a full-blown review, gone on for ten minutes, maybe pulled the book off his shelf to show him his favorite panels.

But tonight, his words kept stalling mid-thought.
He wasn’t sure why, exactly.
He just knew that whatever he wanted to say, it wasn’t about comics.

At some point, he pivoted.
“Today…” Tyler began, awkwardly, “…Xu Rui went to see his old teacher.”
Shane turned slightly toward him. “Oh?”

“Yeah. That teacher—the one he always talked about? Happened to be in town, so they met up.”
They’d mentioned the man before—briefly, over barbecue, in between laughter and shared stories.
Tyler’s hands were starting to sweat. He rubbed them against his jeans.

“Xu Rui,” he said again, stumbling over the words, “he really did meet someone who… who was a real mentor. A guide. Someone who looked out for him.”
He paused.
“I think that’s rare.”

Shane just listened. Quiet. Attentive.
Tyler could feel the blood rushing in his ears. Still, he pressed forward, voice barely more than a whisper.
“I guess what I mean is… I think I met someone like that, too.”

He stared at the carpet, heart beating way too fast.
“You.”
The word dropped into the silence like a stone.

“A real mentor. A friend. You’ve been kind to me, just like that teacher was for Xu Rui.”
His chest felt too tight, his mouth too dry. He didn’t know why he said it. Or what he expected to hear back.
But once it was out, he couldn’t take it back.

Shane let out a breath—a soft, slow exhale. The curve of his mouth never changed.
“‘A real mentor,’ huh?”
His voice was low, smoother than usual. The kind of low that trails behind after the words are gone, like it wants to wrap itself around your ribs and stay there.

Tyler blinked. Something about the way he said it made his skin prickle.
Wait—
Shane had moved.

He’d lifted a hand.
And Tyler realized—with a jolt—that Shane’s fingers were brushing against his face.
Gently. Reverently.

First the curve of his cheekbone. Then along the edge of his jaw, slow enough to trace memory into skin. His fingertips lingered against the shell of Tyler’s ear, light as breath.
Tyler’s heart nearly exploded.
Shane leaned in, just a little. Just enough that the distance between them became something fragile and electric.

And Tyler—forgot to move.
Forgot to run. Forgot to breathe.
Shane’s voice, when it came, was barely above a murmur.

“…What if I told you,” he said, “that I want to be more than just a friend or a mentor?”
The room was so quiet, Tyler could hear the clock ticking in the hallway.
He didn’t know how to answer.

He only knew that, whatever this was—
It wasn’t just kindness anymore.