Until We Meet Again...(YiZhan)

Chapter 2: Chapter 2: Moments That Linger



Xiao Zhan stirred his coffee absentmindedly, his mind replaying the events of the gala the night before. Specifically, it replayed a certain someone—Wang Yibo. There was something about the way Yibo carried himself, the subtle intensity in his gaze, and that easy smirk that seemed to linger in Zhan's thoughts longer than he liked to admit.

"What's got you so distracted?" Lu Xuan's voice cut through his musings. His elder cousin had an uncanny knack for reading him like a book.

"Nothing," Zhan replied too quickly, causing her to raise an eyebrow.

"Let me guess. Someone caught your eye last night?" she teased, sitting across from him at the breakfast table.

"No one caught my eye," Zhan said firmly, though the slight warmth on his cheeks betrayed him.

Before Xuan could press further, Zhan's phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen. A text from an unknown number.

"Good morning, Xiao Zhan. Hope you don't mind me asking for your number from Cheng. — Wang Yibo"

Zhan blinked at the message, his heart doing a strange little flip.

"Not at all. Good morning, Wang Yibo."

The reply was polite, neutral. At least, that's what Zhan told himself.

---

Across town, Wang Yibo leaned against his bike, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he read Zhan's response. The man was as composed in text as he was in person. Still, Yibo could sense there was more beneath the surface—a warmth he was determined to uncover.

"You're smiling. That's new," Haikuan remarked, strolling into the garage.

"Just talking to someone," Yibo replied, his tone casual.

"Someone or Xiao Zhan?" Haikuan teased knowingly, causing Yibo to roll his eyes.

"Ge, it's not like that," Yibo muttered, though even he wasn't convinced by his own words.

---

Later that afternoon, Zhan found himself at Zhang Art Gallery, preparing for an upcoming exhibition. The gallery was quiet, save for the soft hum of classical music in the background. He was carefully arranging a series of sketches when he felt it—a strange sense of déjà vu.

The sketch in his hand depicted two figures standing under a full moon, their gazes locked in a way that spoke of unspoken words and unbreakable bonds. It was one of his own works, yet he couldn't remember when he had drawn it.

"Beautiful," a familiar voice said from behind him.

Zhan turned, startled, to see Yibo standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable but his eyes warm.

"What are you doing here?" Zhan asked, though his tone lacked the edge he intended.

"Your cousin invited me to stop by. I hope that's okay," Yibo replied, stepping closer. His gaze shifted to the sketch in Zhan's hand. "Did you draw this?"

Zhan nodded, suddenly self-conscious. "It's just something I did a while ago. I'm not even sure why I kept it."

"It feels… familiar," Yibo said softly, his fingers brushing against the edge of the paper.

Zhan's breath caught. The word hung between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. Familiar. The same word he had been trying to push out of his mind since the moment he met Yibo.

"You're not the only one who feels it, are you?" Yibo asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Zhan looked at him, his heart pounding in his chest. "I don't know what you're talking about."

But he did. Deep down, he knew.

---

That evening, Zhan sat in his room, staring at the sketch again. His mind was a swirl of thoughts, memories that didn't feel like his, and the overwhelming presence of Wang Yibo in his life.

Across town, Yibo lay on his bed, his phone in hand. He opened his gallery and scrolled to a photo he had taken of a similar sketch he had found years ago—a sketch of two figures standing under a full moon.

The faces weren't clear, but the feeling was unmistakable.

It was the same as Zhan's.


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