The rain had stopped, but the air still smelled like it cold, clean, and heavy with memory.
Li An lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. Sleep wouldn't come.
The house was too quiet. Even the clocks seemed afraid to tick.
He rolled over, eyes catching the faint shimmer of the mirror across the room. Its crack caught the moonlight like a scar.
He shut his eyes.
He told himself don't say his name. He told himself forget his scent.
And yet somewhere between waking and dreaming, he whispered it anyway.
"Ruan Ye."
He was standing in a garden when he opened his eyes again.
A dream, he thought but the air was warm, the grass wet beneath his feet, and he could smell something familiar: cedarwood and rain.
"Finally," a voice said from behind him.
Li An turned.
Ruan Ye was sitting beneath a plum tree, petals scattered in his hair. He was barefoot, sleeves rolled, smiling like the years hadn't touched him.
"You took your time," he teased.
Li An's throat tightened. "I fell asleep."
"Good. You're easier to find when you stop pretending you don't want to be."
Li An wanted to speak to say he wasn't pretending, that he'd spent nights whispering his name just to keep him near but the words tangled somewhere in his chest.
Instead, he stepped closer. "Is this real?"
Ruan Ye looked up, his eyes soft. "You tell me."
He reached out and this time, his hand was solid. Warm.
Li An froze, breath caught halfway between disbelief and ache.
"I'm not supposed to be able to touch you," he whispered.
Ruan Ye's fingers brushed his wrist. "Then don't tell anyone."
Li An laughed or tried to. The sound broke halfway through.
"Still afraid?" Ruan Ye asked gently.
"I'm not afraid of you."
"Then what?"
"Of what happens when I wake up."
Ruan Ye stood, closing the distance between them. "Then don't wake up."
Li An looked up at him the curve of his mouth, the light in his eyes and felt the world tilt.
"Ruan Ye…"
"Say it again," he murmured, thumb tracing Li An's jaw.
Li An's voice was a breath. "Ruan Ye."
And when their lips met, it wasn't cold or ghostly it was warm, alive, and full of all the years they'd lost.
The kiss deepened — soft at first, then desperate. His heartbeat was wild, erratic, like it couldn't decide if it belonged to the living or the dead.
When they broke apart, Ruan Ye rested his forehead against his. "Do you still think this is a dream?"
"I don't care," Li An whispered.
He woke before dawn, gasping. The sheets were twisted around him, his heart still racing.
For a moment he thought he'd imagined it all until he smelled cedarwood on his hands.
And on his pillow — a single plum blossom.
He stared at it for a long time before reaching for the sketchbook on his desk. His hands shook as he began to draw. Not the ghost, not the translucent version that haunted the mirrors — but the boy from the garden, solid and warm, eyes filled with laughter.
By the time the sun rose, the page was wet with tears.
Days blurred.
He stopped eating properly. He barely left his room.
When Li Mei knocked, he pretended to be asleep. When his mother called, he ignored it.
Because every night now, Ruan Ye came back.
Sometimes in the garden. Sometimes on the old train bridge where they first kissed years ago.
Each time, he felt more real. His voice deeper. His laughter fuller.
And each time, Li An woke up more haunted by the question: If I can feel you, am I still alive — or are you pulling me over?
One evening, he found himself painting again. Not with thought, but instinct. His hands moved as if they remembered something his mind couldn't.
When he finally stepped back, his breath caught.
It was a doorway half-shadow, half-light with two figures standing on opposite sides of it, reaching toward each other.
He didn't remember painting their faces, but he didn't need to. He knew them both.
As the last stroke dried, the mirror behind him flickered.
Ruan Ye stood there, watching.
"You're not supposed to be awake," Li An whispered.
Ruan Ye smiled faintly. "You think I only exist when you close your eyes?"
He stepped out from the mirror — slow, unhurried, until his feet touched the floor.
This time, there was no shimmer, no distortion. Just him.
Li An stumbled back, heart hammering. "How"
"You brought me," Ruan Ye said softly. "Every time you remembered, every time you said my name... the bridge got stronger."
Li An swallowed hard. "And now?"
"Now I can stay for a while."
He took a step forward. Li An didn't move. Couldn't.
Ruan Ye reached up, brushed a thumb across his cheek. His touch was warm again, unbearably gentle.
"You're crying," he murmured.
Li An hadn't noticed until then.
"I don't want to lose you again," he said, voice breaking.
"Then don't let them take me from you this time."
Li An's hands trembled as he gripped Ruan Ye's wrist. "They'll see you—"
"Then close the door," Ruan Ye whispered. "Let them think you're still sleeping."
He did.
And that night, the house stayed silent while Li An fell into the arms of someone the world had already buried.
They lay tangled beneath moonlight, talking quietly about everything they'd never had time for Ruan Ye tracing constellations on Li An's skin, Li An memorizing the curve of his smile like scripture.
There was no hunger in it, no rush — only that aching kind of closeness that exists between souls that have already lost each other once.
When dawn came, Ruan Ye kissed him once more, whispering,
"When you wake, I'll be gone. But look in the mirror, I'll leave proof I was here."
Li An woke to sunlight. The sheets beside him were cold.
He turned toward the mirror and stopped breathing.
Someone had written in the fogged glass, as though traced by a finger:
"I keep my promises."
And beneath it, a red thread tied around the corner of the frame, just like the one Ruan Ye had tied around Li An's wrist years ago when they'd promised to find each other in the next life.
That morning, Li Mei found him sitting on the floor, staring at the mirror.
"An?"
He didn't look up.
"What's wrong?" she asked softly.
He finally turned toward her, eyes distant. "Do you believe people can come back?"
Li Mei hesitated. "Like reincarnation?"
"No," he said. "Like... they never really left."
She frowned. "You're scaring me."
He smiled faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Then I'll stop."
But that night, he didn't sleep he waited.
Because now he knew: if he closed his eyes, Ruan Ye would find him again.
And he couldn't tell anymore whether that was love... or something far more dangerous.