58

Fei Bolin thought no way.

If this kept up, Wen Fu would be spoiled rotten.

He thought this while blow-drying Wen Fu's hair.

The hair dryer at home was a gift from the salon owner's wife back when Lin Yuanyi was still alive. High power, loud. Wen Fu had half his body draped out across Fei Bolin's lap, not moving.

Sleep was pressing in hard, his eyelids fighting each other, just about to close—then the dryer wailed above his head and jolted him awake.

Fei Bolin was drying Wen Fu's hair from back to front. Seeing Wen Fu couldn't sleep peacefully, he switched to the lowest setting, but it still didn't help.

He said softly, 'Someday...'

He paused there.

He swallowed the 'if we had money' part and just said, 'Let's buy a quiet one.'

Wen Fu looked up at him blearily. 'Are there quiet hair dryers?'

'There will be someday.' Fei Bolin said. 'If not now, then later.'

Wen Fu thought for a moment. 'Is there hair you don't have to dry after washing?'

Fei Bolin: 'Yeah.'

Wen Fu stared at him.

Fei Bolin: 'Wigs.'

Wen Fu: '...'

Wen Fu dropped his head and buried himself in Fei Bolin's arms to sleep.

Sleep, get blown awake, sleep again—on and on. Wen Fu never managed to actually nap. When the drying was done and he lifted his head, his already-not-very-tame black hair had gone full static explosion.

He lay blank-faced at the head of the bed, looked up at Fei Bolin standing there, blinked in confusion, not sure why the other guy was staring at the top of his head.

Fei Bolin stared back at Wen Fu in silence.

...Like a black cat that'd just been electrocuted, every hair on end.

He put the dryer away, refused to admit this was his handiwork, and turned to leave.

-

June passed, and finals came.

Under the Teaching Building, the camphor trees spread thick leaves, shading a little path. The flower beds were lush. Voices and insect calls kept bubbling back and forth. Rongzhou's high summer had arrived for real.

Qi Yichuan left on the afternoon of the last final exam. His flight out of the country was at eleven that night—barely enough time to say proper goodbyes before he had to hurry off.

Hanyang Class was all study pressure, no real friendships outside of class—especially not for a transfer student who'd only been there one semester. The people seeing Qi Yichuan off, besides Wen Fu's group and Su Haoran, were just a few friends he usually played ball with.

He'd packed up every single manga volume he had at his Rongzhou place and gave the whole box to Wen Fu. Right before getting in the car, while Fei Bolin wasn't looking, he quickly ruffled Wen Fu's hair. 'Keep the manga, take your time reading them. When you do, remember me. Ha!'

With that, he hopped in the car and waved at everyone. 'Bye!'

Wen Fu held the heavy box and watched him go.

Qi Yichuan stuck his head out the window. 'Wen Fu, why aren't you saying bye to me?'

Wen Fu mimicked the way they drag it out in anime: 'Sayooonara.'

But his face stayed blank and cool. The warm goodbye came out of him sounding like a robot with zero enthusiasm.

Fei Bolin took the box from him. 'Say it properly.'

Wen Fu waved. '...Bye.'

He wasn't very sensitive to partings yet. A friend leaving was about as ordinary to him as eating or sleeping.

As long as nobody died, there'd always be a time to meet again.

Before meeting Fei Bolin, Wen Fu had never had a meaningful encounter, so naturally no deep partings either. The only one was his mother's death, and that was over ten years ago.

Wen Fu was a bit numb toward any kind of feeling right now, Qi Yichuan included—probably because the exception hadn't arrived yet.

Compared to Qi Yichuan leaving, that box of manga was what really had Wen Fu's heart racing.

Just then clouds rolled in, maybe a downpour was coming. Wen Fu was hugging the heavy box of manga and insisted on trailing behind Fei Bolin to the market. Fei Bolin handed him the house key and told him to go home first. Wen Fu looked at the box, hesitated a moment, then shook his head—he was still going with Fei Bolin to buy groceries.

The two of them circled the emptying market twice. Fei Bolin couldn't find anything fresh, so he just bought a fish, had the guy scale and gut it, and grabbed Wen Fu's hand to head home.

On the way home they passed a three-wheeler loaded down with black watermelons on the back.

Wen Fu was right on Fei Bolin's heels. When the three-wheeler rolled past, his eyes tracked it. Once it was gone, his neck almost twisted itself toward Daguan Building ten miles away.

Fei Bolin had meant to check if Wen Fu was still following, but when he turned by accident, he caught Wen Fu staring hard at the watermelon cart in the distance.

So he asked, 'Want some?'

Wen Fu nodded.

Fei Bolin chased it down, flagged the driver to stop, picked out a thin-skinned big one, and carried it back.

Wen Fu's steps home got faster, more urgent.

By the time they got home, big wind had kicked up. From the balcony you could hear the alley between the two apartment buildings howling.

The afternoon's west-facing sun hadn't let go of its heat yet. Fei Bolin turned on the only standing fan in the house, then asked, 'Eat the watermelon now or chill it in the fridge first?'

Wen Fu said, 'Chill it.'

The watermelon had just been bought, sat in the sun on the three-wheeler all afternoon—the flesh would be warm. Wen Fu didn't like that.

Fei Bolin figured he'd want it cold, so he went to the kitchen first to cut it, wrap the pieces in plastic wrap, and put them in the fridge so they wouldn't stink up everything else.

When he came back from cutting the melon, Wen Fu was sitting cross-legged on the floor again, reading manga. Fei Bolin went over and pulled him up. 'Heavy rain's coming, the power's gonna go out. Go shower first, manga after.'

Wen Fu went 'oh,' patted his pants, ran to the room to grab his favorite big white tank top—the one with the cuffs and collar all blown out—ran into the bathroom, then poked his head out. 'Bo-ge?'

'What?'

'Do you wanna come in with me?'

'...'

Fei Bolin somehow ended up taking a shower.

He'd planned to clean the house first, then cook, then go check on the shop after the storm, then shower when he got home.

But Wen Fu stuck his head out of the bathroom and asked one question, and he just went in.

Fei Bolin stood at the stove with half-dry hair, feeling fresh, frying fish while wondering if maybe Wen Fu should start showering on his own from now on.

The wind was slamming every window in the house. Wen Fu dragged his little wooden stool out to the balcony, sat by the small table where Fei Bolin's plate of chilled watermelon sat. Watermelon in his left hand, manga in his right, he'd turn his head to bite the melon, then turn back to glance at the manga.

The gale was whipping the roadside trees side to side. The sky had gone a hazy blue. Across the way, someone's laundry had blown off their balcony onto the awning below. The air carried the salty-damp smell of rain, plants, and earth.

The wind stirred the whole world restless, but Wen Fu sat in his quiet corner under Fei Bolin's roof.

The moment he smelled the moisture and looked up, the downpour hit.

First one drop fell onto the balcony tile, burst into a spray of tiny beads, then dripping sounds came from everywhere.

The big tank top Wen Fu wore billowed back, puffed forward, filled with the damp hot wind. On him was the cool clean scent Fei Bolin had washed into it.

Neighbors on either side and across the way were braving the wind to pull in their laundry. Wen Fu didn't bother—their clothesline was already empty. Fei Bolin had gone out and brought everything in when he saw the sky darkening.

He ducked his head to take another bite of watermelon, quietly spat the seed into the flowerpot in the corner.

When he was little, he'd heard that if you swallowed a watermelon seed, a watermelon would grow in your stomach, and if you spat it in the dirt, it would sprout.

Wen Fu stared at Fei Bolin's aloe pot, squatted down, and buried the seed in the dirt.

After burying it, his hands were muddy. He was about to wipe them on his clothes when he suddenly remembered—he wasn't with his foster father anymore, where he had to stay clean and proper, where dirty hands meant hurrying home to wash. So he scrambled up and ran to the kitchen, got to Fei Bolin, and turned on the tap to rinse his hands.

Fei Bolin looked at his filthy fingers. 'What were you doing?'

Wen Fu said, 'Planting watermelon.'

Fei Bolin: 'Spit watermelon seeds into the trash.'

He didn't hesitate for a second at this weird answer, didn't even have to think: 'That pot's for aloe. You can't plant watermelon in it.'

Wen Fu gave a little hmph, leaned over the pot, sniffed the fish that had been scored, dusted with flour, and fried to gold. A sweet-sour fresh smell shot straight up his nose.

He swallowed, pointed at the fish. 'What's this?'

'Squirrel-shaped mandarin fish,' Fei Bolin said. 'Sweet and sour.'

'Can I eat it?'

'Not yet.' Fei Bolin reached out and tilted Wen Fu's forehead up. 'Sauce isn't on yet.'

He shooed Wen Fu out, always afraid the kid he'd just gotten clean would walk into the kitchen and come out smelling like cooking oil again.

Wen Fu shot him a look, turned a corner, and ran off to the bedroom.

Fei Bolin leaned his head out. 'Dinner's almost ready, stop eating watermelon.'

In the time it took to say that, Wen Fu was back.

In his hand, the advertising fan covered in 'Maria Hospital' logos.

Fei Bolin wouldn't let him in the kitchen, so he hung at the doorway, arm stretched way in, fanning Fei Bolin.

Fei Bolin glanced at him with a smile. 'I'm not hot.'

Wen Fu didn't believe him.

He'd just leaned over the pot for a few seconds and the stove's heat had rolled over him, making him sweat.

Fei Bolin wasn't sweating, but Wen Fu figured by his own logic that he must be hot.

How could anyone cooking over a stove in high summer not be hot?

But Wen Fu didn't say a word, just kept fanning, big sweeping strokes.

Fanning, he copied Fei Bolin's tone: 'Someday...'

Fei Bolin glanced over. 'Someday what?'

'Someday I'll buy Bo-ge a fridge you can fit in the kitchen.'

When it's hot, Fei Bolin can cook inside the fridge.

'There's no such fridge.' Fei Bolin crushed him ruthlessly. 'Not now, not ever.'

'Why?'

'I'd freeze to death.'

'...'

The sweet-and-sour fish came off the stove just as the third thunderclap rolled in, and the neighborhood lost power.

Fei Bolin poured the sauce over the fish. 'Bring the watermelon in, time to eat.'

Wen Fu stared unblinking at the plate of golden squirrel fish, swallowing nonstop.

The second Fei Bolin spoke, he was off faster than anyone, slippers slapping.

Dinner was four dishes: a plate of fish, a green pepper pork, a bowl of pickled cucumber strips—cucumber dried out till it was thin and fine, then jarred with millet chilies, pickled peppers, and Sichuan peppercorns for a month before coming out. Fei Bolin had once grabbed a couple taels at the market on a whim, and the dish had become Wen Fu's favorite cold plate—sour and spicy going down, the dried cucumber strips crunchy and refreshing to bite.

And a pot of plain-water Buddha's hand melon soup—Fei Bolin had boiled it an hour ahead, chilled it in the fridge, then brought it out. The melon had just gone tender, taken off the heat right away, bright green and juicy, sweet and cleansing.

When Wen Fu took his first bite of the sweet-and-sour fish, he chewed slowly, his two black eyes wide open like there were lightbulbs behind them, staring at Fei Bolin.

Fei Bolin could read, without a doubt, in that look some kind of misunderstanding—Wen Fu must have thought he'd invented the fish, and by extension that he could invent a whole universe.

Fei Bolin cleared his throat lightly. 'I followed a recipe.'

'Oh.'

The lightbulbs in Wen Fu's eyes didn't go out—they just shifted from Fei Bolin to the plate once he'd finished that bite of fish.

Nothing was left on the table. Wen Fu mixed the sweet-and-sour sauce into his rice, even the green peppers in the pork dish got eaten clean.

Fei Bolin served him three heaping bowls of rice. When Wen Fu reached for a fourth, Fei Bolin put his foot down.

'Eat too much, you'll feel sick tonight.'

To shut down any chance, Fei Bolin decisively dumped the leftover sweet-and-sour sauce into the trash.

The lightbulbs finally went out in Wen Fu's eyes.

The rain kept up till eleven at night. The sharp thunder had softened to muffled rolls, occasionally rumbling as the night rain drew to a close.

The damp heat dissolved in the downpour. The air had turned properly cool.

Fei Bolin and Wen Fu sat on either side of the small balcony table, staring up at the starry sky.

After who knows how long, the cicadas had gone quiet, but the crickets were loud.

Wen Fu spoke suddenly through the cricket noise. 'Is Mom in those stars?'

'I don't know.' Fei Bolin said. 'Maybe on a different sky.'

'Our mom is on our sky.' Wen Fu said. 'Which ones are they?'

Fei Bolin looked for a moment, pointed up. 'Those two, maybe.'

Wen Fu leaned on the table, half his body leaning over, following Fei Bolin's finger, looking seriously. 'Where?'

'There,' Fei Bolin tilted his head, his temple pressing against Wen Fu's, 'the two brightest ones by the moon. See them?'

He turned his face to look at Wen Fu as he asked.

Wen Fu seemed to see them. His gaze locked onto some spot by the moon, motionless. 'Will they still be there tomorrow?'

'Maybe.' Fei Bolin pulled his hand back. 'Or maybe not.'

He said, 'Tomorrow's a new day. People grow up and go somewhere else. Stars are the same.'

A flash of confusion crossed Wen Fu's eyes. He couldn't quite follow what Fei Bolin meant, so his gaze carried a hazy blankness. 'Do people have to grow up?'

'Yeah.' Fei Bolin gazed at the moon. 'The sun rises in the east, sets in the west, and the universe grows too. The universe grows one day, it loses stars one night. Xiao Fu, people are the same. Through losing things, they slowly grow up.'

Wen Fu's gaze moved from the sky to Fei Bolin's face.

He didn't know how the thought came to him, but he asked, 'When I grow up, will I lose you?'

Fei Bolin's eyes flickered for a moment. The moonlight reflected in them flickered too.

He froze for a second, seeming to really mull the question against the sky.

Then he turned his head and smiled at Wen Fu.

'Does a bird ever leave the sky?'