Chapter 270: A Place Beside Her

Zeyu lowered the serving spoon into the dish and looked around the table.

Shichen still had a radio beside his plate, and Jingwei had turned his chair so he could see the monitor without letting go of Zhiyi’s hand.

With the shutters closed, the kitchen felt smaller than it had that morning.

Zhiyi waited while they settled down and were looking at her.

She hadn’t asked them to promise that everything would be fine, which was good because Zeyu had spent enough of the morning watching concrete fall into the street to know better.

"I’d like us to stop putting off everything we enjoy," Zeyu said, sliding the dish toward Qinghe. "We’ve got books we haven’t opened and games we keep saying we’ll play later. I don’t want to get through two years here and find out all we did was take turns watching the stairs."

Zhiyi looked at him across the table. "We played last week."

"We did, and I’d like to do it again before you forget how badly I lost." Zeyu smiled when her mouth curved. "I want to ask you to spend an evening with me without waiting until every repair is finished."

Shichen glanced toward the radio beside his plate before picking up his fork.

"You’ll be waiting a long time if that’s the rule," Shichen said. "There’s always going to be something that needs fixing."

Zeyu knew that better than he wanted to.

Even while he spoke, part of his attention stayed on the monitor, waiting for another person to appear outside their door. He took a bite of the reheated eggs and made himself leave the screen to Jingwei.

Across from him, Qinghe passed Zhiyi the fruit. She took a few pieces, then rested the bowl between them.

"I’d like you to come looking for me even when you don’t need anything," Qinghe told her. "You still sometimes ask whether you’re interrupting when you come into my room."

"You’re often reading," Zhiyi replied, turning toward him. "I don’t want you to lose your place."

Qinghe smiled and leaned back enough to catch her eye past Hanchuan. "I own several bookmarks. I can manage."

Zhiyi considered that while she ate. Zeyu liked that she listened to each of them without rushing to give an answer she thought they wanted.

He had learned to wait through those pauses, though it had taken him longer than he would ever admit.

"I like coming to your room," Zhiyi said at last. "I’ll stop assuming I need a reason."

Qinghe’s smile lingered as he reached for his cup. Beside him, Shichen turned his radio down slightly after checking the display.

"I want you to sit with me while I draw," Shichen said. "You don’t have to sit still, and I’m not asking you to pose every time. Bring a book or whatever you’re working on."

Zhiyi looked toward the page he had left on the counter before the collapse. A corner had become wet, but the rest had escaped the spilled water.

"You always clear your table when I come in," Zhiyi said. "I thought you didn’t want me touching anything."

Shichen lowered his fork. "I’m trying to give you somewhere to put your things. I didn’t realize it looked like I was hiding mine."

Zeyu watched her glance from Shichen to Qinghe, then down at Jingwei’s hand in her lap. Years of living together had taught them where everyone kept their mugs and which doors stuck in damp weather.

Apparently, it hadn’t taught them to say all the things they expected the others to understand.

Hanchuan reached for the cloth beside his plate and wiped a drop of tea from the table.

"What do you want, Zhiyi?" Hanchuan asked. "You’ve heard several invitations now, but you don’t have to fill every evening because we’ve asked for it."

Zhiyi’s fingers moved against Jingwei’s before she answered.

"I want to know I can say yes without disappointing someone else," she said. "Sometimes I stay in the sitting room because everyone can find me there. Then nobody has to wonder why I went somewhere else."

Zeyu stopped chewing.

He remembered finding her asleep on the sofa with a book open against her chest. He had thought she’d grown comfortable and dozed off.

Now he wondered how often she had stayed there when she would rather have gone to bed with one of them.

"You don’t have to wait in the sitting room for us," Zeyu told her, setting down his fork. "If I want time with you, I’ll ask. You can tell me you’ve already got plans."

Jingwei brought Zhiyi’s hand onto the table and held it between both of his.

"I want tomorrow with you," Jingwei said. "I’ll ask for that without pretending I’ll be just as pleased if we spend our wedding night with everyone else. But I’m not asking you to stop wanting them."

Zhiyi turned toward him, her expression softening. "I want tomorrow with you too."

Zeyu picked up his cup to give them a moment. He was happy for Jingwei, and he wanted to help make the wedding something they would remember for more than the rain and the wreckage outside.

He also wanted evenings that belonged to him and Zhiyi, and he was tired of treating that wish as something he should hide.

"Then tonight, I’m asking you to help me with the cake," Zeyu said when Zhiyi looked his way again. "I know I offered to make it, but I’d like your company while I do."

Zhiyi smiled at him. "Are you asking me to help, or are you asking me to spend the evening with you?"

"Both," Zeyu admitted. "Although if the cake goes wrong, I’ll take responsibility."

By the time they finished eating, the water readings had slowed.

Shichen checked them before leaving with Hanchuan to examine the inner corridors again. Jingwei took his coffee to the monitor, and Qinghe began washing dishes while Zeyu cleared a space on the counter.

Zhiyi came to stand beside him as he brought out the mixing bowls. He moved the flour away from her sleeve, then caught her gently by the waist before she could reach for the measuring cup.

"I meant what I said," Zeyu told her. "I want more evenings with you. Some of them without a screen between us."

Zhiyi rested her hand against his chest, looking up at him. "Then you should ask for those too."

Zeyu bent and kissed her, taking his time now that she was close. When he lifted his head, she still held his shirt, and the pleased look on her face made him forget which cupboard held the sugar.

Behind them, Jingwei set down his cup.

"Zeyu, before you get flour on everything, come here a moment," Jingwei said, holding out a small notebook. "I need your help with what I’m going to say tomorrow."

Zeyu looked at the open page. Jingwei had crossed out the same beginning three times, but beneath it he had written Zhiyi’s name and a sentence Zeyu hadn’t expected to see.

I was afraid of you long before I was afraid of losing you.