AFM 102

Jing Mian didn’t even need to wait for the other person to speak to know who was holding him tight.

Their breaths mingled together. Once the young man had steadied his breathing and looked up, his gaze met the man’s.

The hidden moon broke through the clouds at that moment, casting light onto the ground, slowly tracing the contours of the other’s hair and silhouette against the glow.

Jing Mian could hear his own heart pounding uncontrollably.

It showed no signs of calming down.

Despite all the words he had wanted to say, suppressed, clamoring, heart-stirring, they ultimately condensed into a single hoarse whisper:

“…I’m late.”

Ren Xingwan froze slightly.

Jing Mian felt his damp hair being gently smoothed between fingers, the touch cool, wiping away the sweat. He heard the man speak: “It’s alright.”

“Why did you run here? Did you see the location?” Jing Mian’s eyelid twitched slightly as Mr. Ren’s fingertips brushed the corner of his eye. He heard the man say, “I was just about to go back—”

“It wasn’t because of the location.”

Jing Mian interrupted him.

While the other was still taken aback, Jing Mian didn’t hesitate to speak: “Because I wanted to see you, Husband.”

The chilly air intertwined with the mist at their lips, the surroundings falling into silence.

This time, Jing Mian’s voice softened: “I wanted to see you.”

From Lincheng to Yancheng Airport, the big screens, the beach, and the train station, throughout this journey, Jing Mian had too many questions he wanted to ask, long suppressed and on the verge of spilling out. But now that he was finally face-to-face with Mr. Ren, the words caught in his throat, unsure where to begin.

Jing Mian’s palms curled unconsciously, his fingertips cold. In a low voice, he asked, “Husband, do you remember that night on the cruise?”

“You said that you were once injured in a power struggle, paralyzed from the waist down.” Jing Mian’s lips parted slightly, as if confirming it to himself. “You used a wheelchair.”

“And you had long hair, right?”

As his breath hitched, the man’s gaze remained fixed on Jing Mian, unable to look away even for a second, staring intently at the young man in his arms.

Jing Mian’s lips trembled slightly, his eyes reflecting the moonlight, soft and bright:

“On your twenty-fourth birthday banquet, did you meet someone?”

“He was drunk, clumsy, wearing a black suit, and barged into your bedroom.” Jing Mian’s throat moved, his voice steady but quiet. “He forgot what he said, but somehow ended up putting a bracelet on you.”

Jing Mian pulled out the string of stars from his coat, holding it in his palm, his voice hoarse as he asked, “Was it this one?”

At that moment, Mr. Ren’s expression shifted.

Jing Mian’s lashes cast faint shadows, his breath trembling. He could hear the fierce pounding of his own heart:

“Why have you never celebrated your birthday?”

“Why… do you still keep this star bracelet even now?”

“Why did you leave the alley you lived in for over ten years and return to the Ren family?”

…

He had too many questions.

The nightlight on the second floor of the villa, the location that had always been open to him, the silent arrivals during every moment of his despair and collapse… Mr. Ren had cured his illness but had become the knot he couldn’t untie.

He made him realize—

—That there were countless people in this world who loved him.

And yet, he loved his husband the most.

“I thought you already knew these answers,” Mr. Ren murmured.

The man’s voice had softened as well.

Jing Mian pressed his lips together silently, feeling the sting rising in his throat, blurring his vision.

“Is this enough?”

Jing Mian asked, “Husband, don’t you want to know my answer?”

…

At that moment, the man froze.

For the first time, Jing Mian saw an expression on Mr. Ren’s face that could truly be called astonishment—so vivid that he could trace every handsome contour.

“You once asked me what choice I would have made if the He family had proposed the arranged marriage back then.”

The words seemed abrupt, but both of them understood their weight in that instant. Jing Mian’s throat tightened slightly as he murmured, “My answer has always been the same.”

Under Mr. Ren’s increasingly stunned gaze, Jing Mian finished, “Brother was never the deciding factor.”

“You were.”

Jing Mian glanced at the time.

23:59.

One minute left until the end of Mr. Ren’s birthday.

Suddenly remembering something, the young man rummaged through his backpack and pulled out a small plastic bag, its contents unclear, along with a tiny lighter.

The next second, a click sounded.

A flame ignited.

It was the small firework the giant screen in the square had given him.

With a faint crackling sound, the firework lit up, its flickering glow becoming the grandest source of light in the dim alley.

Under the night sky, it felt like a celebration meant only for the two of them.

There was no first snow, yet he had lit a firework for Brother.

Jing Mian wore a light-colored down jacket, a thick scarf covering his jaw, his breath forming white puffs in the cold air, his earlobes flushed red from the chill.

But his eyes were gradually illuminated by the firework’s glow.

“My answer is in that letter.”

Lowering his gaze, his lashes catching the flickering light, Jing Mian’s voice—once hesitant—grew firmer, gentle yet resolute: “Husband, your expectations of me seem so low that even without any response, everything would remain unchanged.”

His breathing softened as he murmured, “But I’ve grown selfish too.”

“I want more than this.”

“I want you to save me, love me, and in certain moments, try to rely on me.”

“I want to become your strength too.”

Before the firework burned out, the young man suppressed the heat rising to his ears and slowly parted his lips: “I hope that one day, we’ll fall passionately in love too.”

Last time on the cruise ship, when the man had confessed, he had kissed his cheek.

Jing Mian’s palms turned cold with nervousness. He tilted slightly, rose onto his toes, and pressed his lips to Mr. Ren’s.

…

“Husband, happy birthday.”