The night they finally allowed themselves to break the rules stretched longer than either of them expected.

Inside Xiao Zhan’s dim hotel room, the world outside disappeared. No cameras. No staff. No fans dissecting their every move. Just the faint hum of the city beyond the window and two people clinging to a fragile piece of truth.

Yibo’s breath was unsteady against Xiao Zhan’s shoulder, his voice muffled but raw. “I thought I could live with just the messages. Just seeing you on stage. But I can’t. Not anymore.”

Xiao Zhan’s grip tightened around him, his hand pressing into Yibo’s back as though he feared he’d vanish. “Then don’t. Stay. Even if it’s only tonight.”

Yibo leaned back slightly, his eyes searching Xiao Zhan’s face. “And tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow we go back to pretending,” Xiao Zhan admitted, his voice breaking. “But tonight we don’t have to.”

Yibo swallowed hard, his jaw trembling. He hated the truth of it. Hated how temporary their freedom was. But he also knew that if he questioned it too much, if he thought too hard, he’d lose what little they had.

So instead, he whispered, “Okay. Tonight, no pretending.”

They didn’t talk much at first. Words felt too fragile, too sharp. Instead, they sat side by side on the edge of the bed, their shoulders brushing. The silence between them was heavy but not empty—like a dam waiting to burst.

Finally, Xiao Zhan turned to him. “Do you ever regret it? Us?”

Yibo’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide. “No. Never.”

Xiao Zhan studied him, his lips twitching into the faintest smile. “Good. Because if you did, I don’t know how I’d carry that.”

“You won’t have to,” Yibo said firmly. “Not now. Not ever.”

The conviction in his tone pulled something deep inside Xiao Zhan, something that had been bruised for too long. For the first time in months, he let himself believe.

Hours slipped by in quiet confessions.

“Remember the first time we filmed together?” Xiao Zhan asked, his voice low, almost nostalgic.

Yibo chuckled softly. “You forgot your line three times because you were too busy laughing at me.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” Xiao Zhan said defensively, though his eyes softened. “I was laughing because you looked like a lost puppy trying to remember where to stand.”

Yibo nudged him with his shoulder. “And now?”

“Now you own every stage you stand on,” Xiao Zhan replied, his tone quiet but proud. “I watch you sometimes, and I think… maybe you were always meant for this.”

Yibo looked down at his hands. “It doesn’t feel like that when I’m up there without you.”

The words settled heavy between them, too honest, too bare. Xiao Zhan reached out, covering Yibo’s hand with his own. “You’re not without me. Not really.”

By dawn, Yibo had to leave. The world outside would notice if he stayed too long, if one hotel bill lined up with another.

He lingered at the door, cap pulled low, mask ready. Xiao Zhan stood a few steps behind, his chest tight.

Yibo hesitated, then turned back. His eyes glistened with something unspoken. “When will I see you again?”

Xiao Zhan forced a small smile. “When the world isn’t looking.”

And then Yibo was gone, swallowed by the quiet hallway, leaving Xiao Zhan with an ache that pulsed long after the door shut.

The weeks that followed were a delicate dance.

They became experts at silence in public, masters of invisibility. But in the quiet hours, their phones buzzed with stolen words.

Yibo: “I can still feel your hand.”
Xiao Zhan: “I can still hear your laugh.”

Xiao Zhan: “Do you think we’ll ever stop hiding?”
Yibo: “I don’t want to. Not with you.”

Every word was a rebellion, every call a secret victory against the walls closing in.

But the higher they climbed, the sharper the fall loomed.

The storm came without warning.

A grainy photo leaked—two figures in a hotel corridor, one tall, one lean, faces hidden but recognizable to those who wanted to believe. The internet erupted within hours. Hashtags exploded, speculations spiraled, companies scrambled.

Yibo’s phone rang nonstop. His manager’s voice was sharp, relentless: “Do you realize what you’ve done? This will ruin you. It will ruin everything!”

Across the city, Xiao Zhan faced the same storm. His team cornered him, voices firm but panicked: “Deny it. Stay silent. If you don’t, we’ll lose sponsors. We’ll lose roles.”

The choice wasn’t theirs, but the consequences would be.

That night, Xiao Zhan called Yibo. His voice was steady, but underneath it trembled. “What do we do?”

On the other end, Yibo was silent for a long time. His breath was uneven. Finally, he said, “If they want us to deny it, we’ll deny it.”

Xiao Zhan closed his eyes. The words were knives, even if he knew they were necessary. “And us?”

Yibo’s voice cracked. “Us stays. Even if the world says no.”

Xiao Zhan’s throat tightened. “Then we survive. Like we always do.”

The next day, both companies released statements.

“Baseless rumors. No truth. Please respect the artists’ privacy.”

The firestorm dimmed, redirected by new scandals, new gossip. But the scar it left between them was deep.

Because now they knew. It wasn’t just whispers anymore. It wasn’t just risk. The world had almost seen them.

And the world was not kind.

Weeks later, they met again.

A quiet tea house on the edge of the city, booked under false names, staff paid extra to look away. The place was empty, sunlight spilling through wooden blinds, dust swirling lazily in the air.

Yibo sat across from Xiao Zhan, his cap shadowing his face. For a long moment, neither spoke.

Finally, Xiao Zhan broke the silence. “We can’t keep doing this forever.”

Yibo’s chest clenched. “You mean us?”

“No.” Xiao Zhan’s eyes softened. “I mean hiding. Pretending. Running.”

Yibo shook his head. “You know we don’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Xiao Zhan said quietly. “It just depends on what we’re willing to lose.”

The weight of his words settled heavy between them. Yibo looked down at his cup, fingers tightening around it. “I’m not ready to lose everything.”

“And I’m not asking you to,” Xiao Zhan replied gently. “I just… I don’t want to keep living like ghosts.”

Yibo looked up, his eyes fierce but aching. “Then tell me what to do, Xiao Zhan. Tell me how to fix this.”

Xiao Zhan’s lips trembled into a small, sad smile. “If I knew, do you think I’d still be sitting here hurting?”

The meeting ended like all the others—with promises whispered, with a touch lingering longer than it should, with both of them walking away in different directions.

But this time, the weight in Xiao Zhan’s chest was heavier.

Because he knew. The roads they walked were still diverging. And no matter how tightly they held the thread between them, someday, the pull might snap it apart.

That night, Yibo texted him:

Yibo: “I’ll fight for us. Even if it’s only in silence.”

Xiao Zhan stared at the words for a long time before replying.

Xiao Zhan: “Then I’ll keep waiting. Even if it breaks me.”

The seasons changed. Their careers soared higher. Schedules grew heavier. The distance stretched further.

But in quiet moments, they still found each other. A message. A glance. A phone call whispered into the dark.

Two stars on different roads, burning in separate skies, yet always—always—finding a way to shine toward each other.

Even if the world never knew.

Even if it cost them everything.

Because some loves, no matter how broken, refused to die.

THE END.

💖✨ Thank you so much for reading my story! ✨💖
Your love & support mean the 🌍 to me.
Every comment, like, and read gives me the strength to keep writing 📝💫

Grateful beyond words 🙏💐
Stay safe, stay happy, and keep shining 🌟💞