The silence stretched between them after that last exchange, heavy but not suffocating. The air in the small apartment was calm again, though a strange current still lingered beneath the surface something unspoken, something Yibo's presence stirred but Zhan couldn't name.
To ease it, Zhan cleared his throat quietly, his eyes never leaving the glow of his laptop screen. The faint tapping of keys filled the room again. "Tomorrow's your first day at work, right?" he asked, his tone light, almost casual.
Yibo's gaze flicked to him. "Yeah," he replied simply.
Zhan nodded, still focused on the screen. "Okay then... also, you mentioned that you're looking for an apartment to rent." He finally turned his head, meeting Yibo's eyes. "This building still has a lot of space. You can rent here if you want."
Yibo leaned back slightly, his lips curving into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Right," he said slowly, "but I don't have anything with me."
Zhan gave a small nod, tapping his pen absently against the notebook beside him. "Ah... tomorrow they'll be starting to renovate this building, so..." Before he could finish, Yibo cut in smoothly, almost shamelessly. "I'll stay here then."
Zhan froze, his hand pausing mid-air. His brow lifted, eyes narrowing just a little as he set his pen down. "Let's talk about this," he said, voice calm but firm. "First of all, I'm not the one who hit you. Secondly, I think I've already helped you. Thirdly," he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, "I have a sister in this apartment, and I think it's not appropriate for you to stay here especially since we just met."
He meant every word, yet the moment he looked at Yibo, something in him faltered. He did feel sorry for him. The man had just gone through an accident, looked utterly displaced, and there was something about the quiet in his eyes that tugged faintly at Zhan's conscience. Still, he had to draw a line.
Lulu was vulnerable her mind trapped in a child's simplicity despite her age. She needed constant care and supervision. Mianmian, her nurse and companion, came by often to help with her therapy, making sure she stayed safe both physically and mentally. Allowing a stranger to live under the same roof, no matter how lost or harmless he seemed, would be reckless.
But Yibo didn't seem offended. In fact, he didn't move at all. He just sat down beside Zhan, his expression unreadable, calm but with a depth that made Zhan uneasy.
"I don't have money," Yibo said softly, his tone stripped of its usual firmness. "No things. No family." He paused, the silence between his words heavy. His voice dropped even lower, almost trembling whether from truth or intention, even he didn't know. "And you said this place is under renovation... if you don't help me, I don't know what to do."
Zhan turned slightly, watching him now.
Yibo's gaze stayed fixed on the floor as he continued, "I can't go back to where I lived. My grandma's health is poor I need to take care of her. But if I go back with nothing..." His voice cracked just faintly, eyes glimmering under the light, "I don't know how I'd face her. The money I brought with me it was supposed to be for her medicine." He stopped. The words hung in the air, trembling, raw.
Even he didn't know where the story came from. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was desperation. Or maybe it was something else entirely the desire to see how far this man, this cautious stranger, would go for someone like him.
Zhan's chest tightened. The exhaustion in Yibo's voice didn't sound fake. The way his lashes trembled when he looked down those were the small, unconscious gestures people made when they were truly burdened. Before Zhan realized it, his own shoulders had softened.
A faint tear rolled down Yibo's cheek. Just one. Small, glimmering under the weak light from the screen.
Zhan sighed quietly, leaning back. He ran a hand through his hair. "Let's talk about this again tomorrow," he said finally, voice quieter than before. "You need to rest. You have work in the morning." He turned back to his laptop, forcing his focus on the glowing blueprints. The tapping resumed soft, steady, like a heartbeat trying to fill the silence.
But Yibo didn't move. He remained seated beside him, eyes fixed not on the screen, but on Zhan. His face was calm now, almost too calm. And then, as the corner of his lips curved ever so slightly, a smirk barely visible, fleeting appeared. Not cruel, not amused. Something darker. Something patient. The kind of smirk that knew more than it should.
Zhan didn't notice. His attention stayed on his work, completely unaware of the storm quietly forming beside him.
The clock ticked softly in the background. Somewhere beyond the window, the night deepened, thick with quiet and shadow. And in that quiet, Yibo's voice broke the stillness once more low, smooth, and unreadable.
"Good night, Zhan."
Zhan's fingers paused above the keyboard for a second, then continued. "Good night," he replied softly. But by then, the air had already changed again. The warmth from earlier had faded, replaced by something subtler, more dangerous something Zhan couldn't quite name.
Only the faint hum of the laptop remained, and the quiet, knowing curve of Yibo's lips hidden in the dim light.
The next morning, dawn filtered softly through the half-drawn curtains, painting faint lines of gold across the small apartment. The world outside was still hushed, but the smell of warm congee and freshly brewed tea filled the air.
As always, Zhan woke early. Even on his days off, his body seemed programmed to rise with the sun. He moved quietly through the kitchen, tidying as he cooked, his mind already occupied with the renovation schedule and upcoming design deadlines. Today might not be a workday, but there was always something that needed doing.
Once breakfast was ready, he wiped his hands on the towel hanging from the counter and headed toward his room. He pushed the door open softly then stopped short.
Yibo was sitting on the bed.
For a split second, Zhan almost jumped. The man was perfectly still, the morning light tracing the edges of his sharp features. His back was straight, his eyes distant as though his mind hadn’t rested at all that night. If anything, he looked worse than before: pale, dark-eyed, exhausted, yet unnervingly calm.
“You scared me,” Zhan exhaled, pressing a hand to his chest. His voice broke the stillness, yet Yibo didn’t flinch. He simply turned his gaze slowly toward him.
Zhan shook his head, forcing a small, tired smile before walking to the small closet in the corner. He began pulling out clothes for the day, folding them over his arm. “My sister’s still sleeping,” he said, his tone soft but routine. “You can eat now. I made breakfast.”
There was a brief silence before Yibo spoke. His voice was low, controlled. “I don’t eat breakfast.”
Zhan turned slightly, brows lifting in mild surprise. “You don’t?”
Yibo shook his head once. Zhan studied him for a moment the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the way his fingers curled against the bedsheet as if holding something invisible back then just nodded. “Okay then,” he said simply. He didn’t push further. Before he could say more, his phone buzzed sharply on the table. He reached for it, glancing at the screen and immediately straightened his posture. “Good morning, sir,” he greeted, voice polite and professional.
Yibo’s eyes flicked toward him, quiet, observing. The voice on the other end was firm but friendly Mr. Yang, Zhan’s boss. “Xiao Zhan, I want you to accompany me tonight to a banquet. Our recent project has drawn attention since the collaboration, and people are starting to take notice. This is a good chance to make new connections, if they know you were behind that design, it could open doors for us.”
Zhan blinked, his heart skipping a beat. “Tonight?” His pulse quickened part nerves, part excitement. A banquet like that meant exposure, connections, maybe even new projects. But at the same time, his stomach knotted when he thought of Lulu. Nighttime was always unpredictable with her.
“I.. “ He hesitated, glancing instinctively toward Yibo, who was now quietly watching him.
“Are you still there?” Mr. Yang’s voice pressed through the line.
Zhan swallowed hard. “Sir, can I think about it? It’s just that my sister…”
“Xiao Zhan,” his boss interrupted gently but firmly, “this is an opportunity. You’ve worked hard for this. Don’t waste it.”
Zhan exhaled, a resigned breath. He stared at the wall for a moment before nodding to himself. “Okay, sir. What time?”
“I’ll pick you up at eight,” came the reply. Before Zhan could respond, the line clicked the call ended. He lowered the phone slowly, staring at the dark screen. His chest felt tight not regret exactly, but the kind of anxious weight that came when duty and worry collided.
YiZhanwangxian2026
TOUCHED AND TAKEN 💚❤️
PART 12
The silence stretched between them after that last exchange, heavy but not suffocating. The air in the small apartment was calm again, though a strange current still lingered beneath the surface something unspoken, something Yibo's presence stirred but Zhan couldn't name.
To ease it, Zhan cleared his throat quietly, his eyes never leaving the glow of his laptop screen. The faint tapping of keys filled the room again. "Tomorrow's your first day at work, right?" he asked, his tone light, almost casual.
Yibo's gaze flicked to him. "Yeah," he replied simply.
Zhan nodded, still focused on the screen. "Okay then... also, you mentioned that you're looking for an apartment to rent." He finally turned his head, meeting Yibo's eyes. "This building still has a lot of space. You can rent here if you want."
Yibo leaned back slightly, his lips curving into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Right," he said slowly, "but I don't have anything with me."
Zhan gave a small nod, tapping his pen absently against the notebook beside him. "Ah... tomorrow they'll be starting to renovate this building, so..." Before he could finish, Yibo cut in smoothly, almost shamelessly. "I'll stay here then."
Zhan froze, his hand pausing mid-air. His brow lifted, eyes narrowing just a little as he set his pen down. "Let's talk about this," he said, voice calm but firm. "First of all, I'm not the one who hit you. Secondly, I think I've already helped you. Thirdly," he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, "I have a sister in this apartment, and I think it's not appropriate for you to stay here especially since we just met."
He meant every word, yet the moment he looked at Yibo, something in him faltered. He did feel sorry for him. The man had just gone through an accident, looked utterly displaced, and there was something about the quiet in his eyes that tugged faintly at Zhan's conscience. Still, he had to draw a line.
Lulu was vulnerable her mind trapped in a child's simplicity despite her age. She needed constant care and supervision. Mianmian, her nurse and companion, came by often to help with her therapy, making sure she stayed safe both physically and mentally. Allowing a stranger to live under the same roof, no matter how lost or harmless he seemed, would be reckless.
But Yibo didn't seem offended. In fact, he didn't move at all. He just sat down beside Zhan, his expression unreadable, calm but with a depth that made Zhan uneasy.
"I don't have money," Yibo said softly, his tone stripped of its usual firmness. "No things. No family." He paused, the silence between his words heavy. His voice dropped even lower, almost trembling whether from truth or intention, even he didn't know. "And you said this place is under renovation... if you don't help me, I don't know what to do."
Zhan turned slightly, watching him now.
Yibo's gaze stayed fixed on the floor as he continued, "I can't go back to where I lived. My grandma's health is poor I need to take care of her. But if I go back with nothing..." His voice cracked just faintly, eyes glimmering under the light, "I don't know how I'd face her. The money I brought with me it was supposed to be for her medicine." He stopped. The words hung in the air, trembling, raw.
Even he didn't know where the story came from. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was desperation. Or maybe it was something else entirely the desire to see how far this man, this cautious stranger, would go for someone like him.
Zhan's chest tightened. The exhaustion in Yibo's voice didn't sound fake. The way his lashes trembled when he looked down those were the small, unconscious gestures people made when they were truly burdened. Before Zhan realized it, his own shoulders had softened.
A faint tear rolled down Yibo's cheek. Just one. Small, glimmering under the weak light from the screen.
Zhan sighed quietly, leaning back. He ran a hand through his hair. "Let's talk about this again tomorrow," he said finally, voice quieter than before. "You need to rest. You have work in the morning." He turned back to his laptop, forcing his focus on the glowing blueprints. The tapping resumed soft, steady, like a heartbeat trying to fill the silence.
But Yibo didn't move. He remained seated beside him, eyes fixed not on the screen, but on Zhan. His face was calm now, almost too calm. And then, as the corner of his lips curved ever so slightly, a smirk barely visible, fleeting appeared. Not cruel, not amused. Something darker. Something patient. The kind of smirk that knew more than it should.
Zhan didn't notice. His attention stayed on his work, completely unaware of the storm quietly forming beside him.
The clock ticked softly in the background. Somewhere beyond the window, the night deepened, thick with quiet and shadow. And in that quiet, Yibo's voice broke the stillness once more low, smooth, and unreadable.
"Good night, Zhan."
Zhan's fingers paused above the keyboard for a second, then continued. "Good night," he replied softly. But by then, the air had already changed again. The warmth from earlier had faded, replaced by something subtler, more dangerous something Zhan couldn't quite name.
Only the faint hum of the laptop remained, and the quiet, knowing curve of Yibo's lips hidden in the dim light.
The next morning, dawn filtered softly through the half-drawn curtains, painting faint lines of gold across the small apartment. The world outside was still hushed, but the smell of warm congee and freshly brewed tea filled the air.
As always, Zhan woke early. Even on his days off, his body seemed programmed to rise with the sun. He moved quietly through the kitchen, tidying as he cooked, his mind already occupied with the renovation schedule and upcoming design deadlines. Today might not be a workday, but there was always something that needed doing.
Once breakfast was ready, he wiped his hands on the towel hanging from the counter and headed toward his room. He pushed the door open softly then stopped short.
Yibo was sitting on the bed.
For a split second, Zhan almost jumped. The man was perfectly still, the morning light tracing the edges of his sharp features. His back was straight, his eyes distant as though his mind hadn’t rested at all that night. If anything, he looked worse than before: pale, dark-eyed, exhausted, yet unnervingly calm.
“You scared me,” Zhan exhaled, pressing a hand to his chest. His voice broke the stillness, yet Yibo didn’t flinch. He simply turned his gaze slowly toward him.
Zhan shook his head, forcing a small, tired smile before walking to the small closet in the corner. He began pulling out clothes for the day, folding them over his arm. “My sister’s still sleeping,” he said, his tone soft but routine. “You can eat now. I made breakfast.”
There was a brief silence before Yibo spoke. His voice was low, controlled. “I don’t eat breakfast.”
Zhan turned slightly, brows lifting in mild surprise. “You don’t?”
Yibo shook his head once. Zhan studied him for a moment the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the way his fingers curled against the bedsheet as if holding something invisible back then just nodded. “Okay then,” he said simply. He didn’t push further. Before he could say more, his phone buzzed sharply on the table. He reached for it, glancing at the screen and immediately straightened his posture. “Good morning, sir,” he greeted, voice polite and professional.
Yibo’s eyes flicked toward him, quiet, observing. The voice on the other end was firm but friendly Mr. Yang, Zhan’s boss.
“Xiao Zhan, I want you to accompany me tonight to a banquet. Our recent project has drawn attention since the collaboration, and people are starting to take notice. This is a good chance to make new connections, if they know you were behind that design, it could open doors for us.”
Zhan blinked, his heart skipping a beat. “Tonight?” His pulse quickened part nerves, part excitement. A banquet like that meant exposure, connections, maybe even new projects. But at the same time, his stomach knotted when he thought of Lulu. Nighttime was always unpredictable with her.
“I.. “ He hesitated, glancing instinctively toward Yibo, who was now quietly watching him.
“Are you still there?” Mr. Yang’s voice pressed through the line.
Zhan swallowed hard. “Sir, can I think about it? It’s just that my sister…”
“Xiao Zhan,” his boss interrupted gently but firmly, “this is an opportunity. You’ve worked hard for this. Don’t waste it.”
Zhan exhaled, a resigned breath. He stared at the wall for a moment before nodding to himself. “Okay, sir. What time?”
“I’ll pick you up at eight,” came the reply. Before Zhan could respond, the line clicked the call ended. He lowered the phone slowly, staring at the dark screen. His chest felt tight not regret exactly, but the kind of anxious weight that came when duty and worry collided.
#yzwx2026 #yizhanff #fanfiction
2 days ago | [YT] | 1,863