It was early evening, probably around five-thirty or maybe even six, though Wei Dongxin hadn't checked the time in a while. The light filtering through his bedroom window was golden and slanted, casting long, warm stripes across the hardwood floor and the half-open closet. Outside, the air shimmered with heat—typical for mid-June in the city—but he barely noticed. He was too busy tearing apart his wardrobe in search of the perfect outfit.
The fan on his dresser hummed lazily, stirring the thick summer air just enough to keep the sweat at bay. Music played softly from his phone on the nightstand—one of Xiao Shen's favorite playlists, mostly indie rock and alt-pop with the occasional K-drama ballad thrown in. The lyrics washed over the room like water, indistinct but familiar.
The room itself was still a mess of school notes, chargers, and the occasional sock that had long lost its pair. But there was a kind of order to it, too—a collection of tiny, quiet things that made it feel like his. The little potted cactus on the windowsill. The photo strip of him and Xiao Shen from the subway station photo booth. The stack of notebooks he kept meaning to organize. Everything around him felt touched by Xiao Shen in some way.
Tonight marked their third anniversary. Three years of shared jokes, midnight ramen runs, silent glances that said too much, and kisses that said even more. Three years of hand-holding under tables, teasing jabs exchanged like candy, and moments where just looking at each other felt like coming home. Dongxin still didn't know what Xiao Shen had planned—he'd been secretive and smug about it all week—but that didn't matter. Just seeing him would be enough.
He pulled a red-and-black checkered sweater from the hanger, its crisp white collar still neatly pressed. It had been a Christmas gift from Xiao Shen the year before, and it still smelled faintly of peppermint and dryer sheets. Dongxin held it up against himself in the mirror, squinting a little, head tilted.
Too sentimental. Too meaningful.
He folded it carefully, almost reverently, and placed it back in the closet. Not tonight.
That sweater was for something even more special. A different kind of occasion. He was saving it for September 4th, the day they first met. The day he planned to propose.
That date meant more to him than any anniversary. September 4th, 2012—his first day of fifth grade, Xiao Shen's first day of sixth. Dongxin had just moved back to China from the U.S., trailing behind his parents and their boxes of belongings, awkward and half-fluent in Mandarin. His first day at the new school had been a blur of unfamiliar faces, fluorescent lights, and the aching discomfort of being out of place. Until Xiao Shen showed up, grinning like an idiot, and told him he looked like a scared cat.
"Like one of those twitchy ones with huge ears," Xiao Shen had said, in a tone that was more amused than mean.
It should've offended him. Instead, Dongxin laughed. And then he kept laughing for the next six years.
That was the real beginning.
So no, tonight didn't deserve the red sweater. That sweater was for beginnings, not milestones.
He sighed and kept flipping through hangers. The closet groaned under the weight of his indecision, each hanger scraping against the rail like it, too, was annoyed with him. A sweater probably wasn't a good idea anyway—outside was sweltering, and he still had no idea where Xiao Shen was taking him. Could be the park. Could be the back of a convenience store. That was the problem with dating a man who considered formalwear to be "oppressive." If Xiao Shen had to wear a tie, he'd act like he was being strangled. Even at prom, he'd shown up in khakis and a sweater vest like a delinquent private school dropout. He'd pulled it off, somehow.
Dongxin tried to imagine what Xiao Shen would say if he walked out in something ridiculous. Probably something like, "Babe, are you dressing for the date or for your funeral?" and then follow it up with a kiss to distract from the insult. He could already hear the laugh—sharp, delighted, just this side of chaotic.
Eventually, Dongxin pulled out a plain black t-shirt and a lightweight black-and-grey checkered sweater. Not exactly glamorous, but comfortable. Soft enough to feel like home. He changed quickly, checked himself in the mirror, and fussed with the collar until it lay just right against his collarbone. Then he reached for the necklace—a small silver crescent moon on a black cord—that Xiao Shen had gifted him last year, after a particularly bad anxiety spiral that had left Dongxin curled up in his bed for two days.
"It's for balance," Xiao Shen had said. "Like the moon. It always comes back around."
Dongxin's fingers brushed the silver charm. It settled just above the hollow of his collarbone like a second skin.
In the mirror, his purple-reddish hair caught the light, shimmering like a bruise. He smirked at his reflection. Earlier that week, they'd gone to the salon together. Xiao Shen had wanted him to dye his hair orange—bright orange, like a traffic cone. Dongxin had settled on something more subtle, despite Xiao Shen's theatrical groan of disappointment. Still, when the dye was finished and the stylist spun the chair around, Xiao Shen had lit up like a kid seeing fireworks for the first time.
"You look like the inside of a plum," he'd said, dreamy and completely useless.
Dongxin never regretted it. Not when Xiao Shen looked at him like he'd invented color itself.
He picked up his phone to check the time.
6:00 p.m. Then the doorbell rang.
Dongxin froze mid-step, frowning. That couldn't be him. It was too early. Xiao Shen wasn't supposed to arrive for another hour. He always ran late. He was never—ever—early.
Usually he was at least ten minutes late, bursting through the door out of breath and offering some convoluted excuse involving stray dogs or impromptu street musicians.
"WEI DONGXIN!" Haoyu's voice bellowed up the stairs, nearly shaking the walls. "Your boyfriend is here!"
Dongxin winced, then chuckled. His older brother had a gift for volume. And no filter.
"Of course he is," he muttered to himself, patting his back pocket to make sure his wallet and phone were there. He shut off his bedroom light and jogged downstairs, heart fluttering somewhere behind his ribs.
Xiao Shen was already at the door, framed by the soft hallway light like a painting come to life. He wore his favorite pink flannel—short-sleeved, wrinkled, and unbuttoned over a plain white t-shirt. His basketball shorts were black, and his socks didn't match. The outfit clashed wildly with his freshly dyed orange hair, and he looked like he'd gotten dressed in a wind tunnel.
But he was grinning, wide and unrepentant, like the fashion police could come for him and he'd welcome it with open arms.
Dongxin laughed as soon as he saw him. Somehow, he always looked like that—like chaos bottled in a human body, like trouble wrapped in affection.
And Dongxin loved him for it.
Dongxin leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and grinning. "Since when the hell were you early for anything?"
Xiao Shen shrugged, stepping inside without waiting to be invited. "Since I decided to turn over a new leaf."
Dongxin raised an eyebrow. "What, like a punctual leaf?"
"A thoughtful, anniversary-worthy, boyfriend-of-the-year kind of leaf," Xiao Shen said, already toeing off his shoes like he owned the place. "You're lucky I didn't show up with a boom box over my head."
"I would've called the cops," Dongxin deadpanned.
"Romance is dead."
"You'd kill it with your fashion alone."
Xiao Shen looked down at his mismatched socks, then at his wrinkled flannel. "Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, this is intentional chaos. You know—rebellion. Art."
Dongxin rolled his eyes, but couldn't help smiling. "You look like a high school dropout with an Etsy store."
"And yet," Xiao Shen said, stepping closer, "here you are, about to get in a car with me anyway."
"That's debatable."
"No, it's not," Xiao Shen grinned. "Because it's our anniversary, and I planned a whole evening for us. No clues. No spoilers. Just trust."
Dongxin blinked. "Wait, you planned something?"
"I know. Shocking." He reached out, brushed an invisible thread off Dongxin's sleeve. "But yeah. Reservations. Music. Maybe some fireworks."
"Please tell me that's metaphorical."
"You'll find out."
Dongxin paused, then narrowed his eyes. "It's not the karaoke bar again, is it?"
Xiao Shen gasped. "Wow. No faith."
"You sang Bon Jovi to a group of elderly women last time."
"And I crushed it."
Dongxin's laugh spilled out before he could stop it, warm and honest. "I'm not changing, by the way. I already spent an hour picking this."
"Good. You look hot."
Dongxin flushed but didn't look away this time.
"Give me five minutes," Xiao Shen said, already backing toward the door. "Wait here. Don't snoop."
"Snoop on what?"
"You'll see."
He disappeared down the hall, and Dongxin stood alone for a moment, hand resting against the wall, heart stammering somewhere behind his ribs.
Three years, and somehow he still felt like this.
Like it was all new.