“It’s okay to miss your boyfriend.”
No. He’s not a hormonal teenager anymore. He’s an adult, with an adult life, adult responsibilities, and adult sensibilities.
Of course Yunchang doesn’t say hackneyed stuff like “I miss you”. Of course he won’t say it to Yunchang. He’s a man. A gay man, sure, but still a manly man filled to the brim with manliness.
Yunchang doesn’t text often. It’s only recently he got a smart phone, and Wenyuan has been sending him pictures of food, pictures of funny people on the streets, pictures of cats and dogs on the streets, and once, a selfie.
“That’s cute,” he would reply back. “That’s funny. That looks delicious, eat well. You look healthy.”
You look healthy. That’s a compliment, isn’t it? Healthy people have a glow about them. Also that means Yunchang cares about his well being! Not that Wenyuan cares about being complimented on because he is not a giggling seventeen year old school girl texting her crush.
He’s just recoloured his hair, taken a shower, brushed his teeth. It’s nice to be clean and lazy in front of the TV so early once in a while. His skin has been good too lately; can’t believe he’s the gay one and yet he’s been using Mancheng’s face wash, which turns out to be amazing. Something about the pH apparently.
(And of course he diligently slathers on the moisturizer ah-Chan bought for him last time. He wouldn’t hear the end from her if he’d neglected such a simple skincare routine. He’s on his fifth bottle now, this ah-Chan lotion, he calls it.)
He fires up his selfie camera, zooms in to his cheek. Certifiably acne free. He smiles. That looks good; he snaps it.
“What the hell.”
Mancheng has just walked into the small living space. Wenyuan looks away towards the grey window to hide his shame.
“Don’t mind me, I’m just taking some water,” says Mancheng too cheerfully, “although if you wanna sext you might want to retire to your room.”
“Wow,” says Wenyuan, “do you think that’s all gay people think of? Sex sex sex sex sex? I was just checking my reflection to see if I shaved properly, it’s not like there’s a mirror here.”
“I totally understand,” says Mancheng gravely, “since the bathroom, where the mirror is, is just right across from you.”
“I’ve been on my feet for like ten hours straight today,” says Wenyuan, “not that you could appreciate that.”
He turns around to catch Mancheng rolling his eyes.
“Just admit that you miss him,” he says, “it’s not a gay thing, and it’s not a weak thing. Everyone misses their significant others when they’re away for so long. Admit it and come to terms with it so you can stop taking it out on other people, for fuck’s sake.”
Wenyuan turns back to the window. One of the worst feelings in the universe, he decides, is when Li Mancheng is right, especially when it’s about himself.
The door closes behind him. He lifts his phone. That was actually a good picture, and it was the first try too. That has to be a sign.
His skin does look smooth in the picture. He should buy Mancheng beer next time, if only to prove he’s not some kind of uncivilised bastard incapable of gratitude.
A moment of hesitation.
Inhale.
Exhale exhale.
And it is sent.
He turns the TV on. Wonders what Yunchang’s doing. His phone screen lights up a split of a second before it vibrates. The message says: Picture.
Could it be?
It is.
Wenyuan wonders how many shots he must have taken to get such a good picture. Maybe just once, just like he did—could you pass your selfie good luck to another person like that?
He stares at his phone screen until the backlight dies. It’s not like he’s forgotten his face, but it feels like he’s remembering him all over again.
The screen lights up again with another message: “Yide told me to do that.”
Ah, Zhang Yide, you annoying rude bastard, I’ve never appreciated you more.
He lies down on the sofa.
“I miss you,” he says to his phone.