#looks bad lolrip | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tenecity · 6 years ago

Text

room mates—a wang ziyi ff

summary: yn and ziyi become roommates, or do they become something more?

genre: fluff, a little angst

word count: 5627/9270 lolrip

author’s note: i spent three weeks on this ripriprip jadlsjh this was supposed to be for Ziyi’s birthday but it’s already kun’s yikes. also we’ll see how well this goes and maybe the part 2 will be up soon? yea

—one of two

“How about this one?” Zhangjing points out one of the sofas, but it’s round and yellow. Yellow. Yellow, of all colours.

Your apartment’s sofa has pretty much broken down, but you and Ziyi, your roommate, haven’t got as much the time or resources to go buy one. Zhangjing offered to pay first, since he and Yanjun had a pretty steady income, and you smiled in gratitude as you readily took up his offer.

You didn’t know he was the worse person to ask for opinions on a sofa. He loved the bright colours, like red, orange, yellow, bright green. You wanted to slam your head against the wall.

But well, this one was quite pretty. It was in a half crescent shape, it’s aesthetically pleasing, it was unique but it was yellow.

Ziyi hated yellow. Too bright for his eyes, bad for the body, blah blah blah, something like that. You don’t really pay attention when he goes on about the good vitamins and minerals and healthy things for the body, you simply bob your head along and listen to him nag at you, in one ear and out the other, while you made him some coffee.

Coffee’s bad for the body too, and he would have preferred fruit juice, but he couldn’t resist your perfect latte could he? Plus, he has quite a few assignments to do, burning the midnight oil is pretty much a daily thing now. So he would take one, taking in small sips as he continued his rant.

People would think Ziyi is a quiet, soft spoken, shy boy. Try living with him. He nags about everything and anything. A perfectionist at heart, one hair on the couch is not in place and he would fuss over it for hours. It is almost like hell, and it would be, if not for the fact that Ziyi is a perfect angel and a wonderful roommate. No troubles at all.

“YN! I’m talking to you! Can you please give me some attention?” Zhangjing whines as he glares at you.

You roll your eyes. 24? More like 14.

“Sorry!” You whine back, earning a chuckle for him.

“So the yellow one, yes or no?”

“No. Ziyi hates yellow.”

“Ziyi, Ziyi, must it always be about Ziyi?” Zhangjing asks, fingers skimming over the soft yellow material.

“Well yea, because if you haven’t noticed, he lives with me. So his preferences matter,” You flick Zhangjing’s forehead and he yelps in pain, pouting. “Unlike your opinions. Let’s see some more. Zhangjing, hurry up, I don’t care if you have short legs, stop whining! I still’ve got to go to the cafe to fetch Ziyi later,” You say airily as you brush past the sunshine sofa, legs immediately moving towards the navy blue section.

—FLASHBACK

“Yanjun!” You yell from across the yard, waving at him crazily, a grin ingrained on your face as you finally see a familiar face amidst the strangers.

He sees you, and soon enough, he is crashing into you as he wraps his arms around you, pressing his cheek against the side of your head as his laughter booms in your ears. “Nice to finally see you, idiot.”

“Not the nicest thing to say to your best friend, after having not seen her for 2 years, but yea okay, I would take that as a decent greeting,” You retort back playfully, punching his arm as he pulls you in for another hug, dimples deeper than ever.

As your chin hooks onto his shoulder again, you catch a glimpse of his awkward group of tall friends, hanging aimlessly behind Yanjun, unsure of what to make of such a passionate greeting.

Yanjun simply laughs at them, fingers intertwined with yours, as he leads all of you to a nearby cafe, his chatter rambling non-stop, his friends all raising their eyebrows at such a rare sight.

Coffee aroma sweeps the place and it welcomes you heartily, as you take a deep breath of its scent. It was comforting, something familiar, something, something like home. Yanjun smiles at you, his irises shining with understanding, his lips pulling into a smirk as he claps himself on the back for knowing just what to do to make you feel comfortable.

Sipping coffee, you mostly tune out to their endless chatter, your eyes roaming the cafe. A critique and a perfectionist personalities added together, your sharp eyes search for something to criticise.

For example: The place isn’t that clean, stray mugs lying on the tables, newspapers strewn on the couches. The couches being brown doesn’t brighten up the atmosphere, making it seem dull and monotonous, rather than classy or light hearted. The vintage pictures on the wall...seemed out of place to say the least. Perhaps a picture of the turquoise waves crashing onto a beach would have suited the cafe better.

Service was...mediocre. Not slow, not fast either, the waiters also seemed to be slacking, seeing how they’ve failed to tidy the finished cups and plates.

“Ziyi! Ziyi come over here for a bit.” Yanjun waves over one of the waiters.

Tall, sharp features, which don’t fit his soft smile or gentle eyes. His hair was tied back into a neat ponytail, carefully styled up and braided, looking smart and neat, which is not the exact look you usually see on ponytailed guys.

His lips curve upwards just a little as he holds up his hand and clears the mugs on the empty table, walking back behind the counter.

It is only when he puts them into the sink, and thoroughly washed them, does he come over to Yanjun, taking a seat next to the cackling man.

Muscular, no. Lean yes, you think as you mentally tick and cross the respective criterias, noting how his muscles just peek under his black attire, his pale hands flaunt obvious veins that run up and over his wrists and bones, disappearing into his biceps.

“Ziyi! Meet my childhood friend, YN.” The corners of Ziyi’s eyes crinkle as he politely stretches out his hand, his warm palm wrapping around yours as he gives you a firm shake.

“Nice to meet you, YN. I’m Ziyi.” He retracts his hand, his lips parting again as he forms more words.

“What course do you take?”

His smooth voice nearly silences everyone out, as he politely makes conversation with you, words leading the both of you to an engaging discussion, in which you find out that he likes dogs, music, rap and the gym, and that he preferred fruit juices to coffees, but this was the only cafe around and he needed a job; and that he had a dorm and yes Yanjun, okay, and no, not at all, he didn’t mind you being his room mate at all, but only if you’re comfortable being his room mate, of course.

Long story short, you found his awkward, yet amicable and steady aura endearing, and before you knew it, your luggages were sent to his apartment, and voila, the two of you became two peas in a pod, nearly inseparable as the both of you spend nearly all 24 hours together, because as it is, he takes psychology as well.

Your fingers tap against the counter, your body leaning against the wooden structure.

The cafe is nearly empty now, closing times are fast approaching as night fall descends, and the streetlights glow brighter in contrast to the dark background.

The only sound in the cafe, was the sound of water rushing from the tap, an occasional pause as Ziyi scrubs the cups, his face relaxing with each finished cup as he nears the end of his shift, his eyes ever so often shifting towards yours, only to turn back to his work as he sees your raised eyebrows.

“You aren’t even supposed to do the dishes this week. Can’t you like, force the others do it too?” You complain as you kick a stray pebble on the sidewalk, the two of you trudging home after a long day, the apartment just a couple of minutes away.

He shrugs, as he always does. “Well, it doesn’t matter who does it right? So long as the job gets done.”

You bite your cheek in frustration, begging yourself to not spill another word. The last time you had complained about this, him sacrificing his time to wash the dishes that his colleagues were supposed to do, the two of you had gotten into a heated argument.

—FLASHBACK

“Ziyi, I don’t get it. Just let the others do it! What’s so difficult about letting the rest do what they are supposed to do? They are paid to wash the dishes too, they are paid to close the shop, they are paid to finish their entire shift, and not leave half an hour earlier! It’s irresponsible of them, and you helping them cover, isn’t what a good colleague should do.” You grit your teeth as you spit out the words, arms folded as hot, searing rage cutting through your body, the anger like boiling water in a kettle; too hot, that it could possibly explode.

This was the one and only criticism you had of Ziyi. He was so selfless, so giving, so other-centred, that he became passive. He didn’t stand up for himself, he allowed others to step over him and use him, on the basis that they knew he would do things for them.

And you hated it. You hated it, because you knew, Ziyi had so many things to do. Basketball, studies, projects, assignments. Knowing Ziyi, he expects himself to be perfect in each and every one of those areas, but let’s face it, Ziyi is not a genius.

In order to be as perfect as he wanted himself to be, he needed time, time to practice, time to revise, time to think, time for himself. And this extra time after work was taxing, and on most days, he couldn't sleep until after 4am, and he needed to be up the next day at 8am.

No matter how healthy his lifestyle might be, his body will never keep up. It needs time to rest, it needs time to relax. His body’s defences weakened as he abused the strength of it daily, pushing it far beyond its limits, and you hated him for doing that, you hated this side of him; always others, never him.

“YN, stop it. Why can’t I just do it for them? It doesn’t matter who does it right? So long as the job gets done. As colleagues we should help each other out, maybe they have something to do-”

“Yea, like going to the club-”

He holds out his hand, stopping you, eyes squeezed shut, before a fierce glare replaced his usual softness when they reopen; jaw set as it tightens, his fingers curling inwards slightly as he tries to maintain his steady voice.

“It doesn’t matter where they go. I don’t even understand why you’re making such a big fuss about it. You’re not even the one doing it-”

“Yea, but you are the one who’s doing it, and if you haven’t noticed, I have to wait for you to finish and-”

“Well then don’t! Go home first if you’re so tired, and go and rest first! You don’t have to wait for me.” His bitter words sting you like a slap on the face, the sensation fueling the anger.

“Fine! I don’t even know why we are arguing over this. Why are you so upset? Over such a small matter? Wang Ziyi, what the hell is wrong with you? I’m just concerned, and I don’t want you to overwork, that’s all. Why must you be so emotional and uptight about it?” You’re shocked for the most part, and it is evident, obvious enough at least, for Ziyi to realise his unintended outburst, and his hard expression softens slightly.

“I’m sorry, I just-”

“I know you’re stressed. I know, Ziyi. We all are. But don’t take it out on me, okay? You can rant about it to me, talk to me about your struggles, and I would gladly listen. But don’t take out your frustrations out on me, okay? I….I don’t like it.”

He scratches the back of his head, his adam’s apple bobbing. “I….I’m sorry. I...I guess I’m just stressed and there’s just so much to do, so little time…” His head hangs low as he buries his head in his fingers, his body sliding down against the wall, his large figure suddenly compressed to become so small, and so vulnerable.

His fingers thread his long locks as he looks back up, tears in his eyes, a mess, a whole, full-on mess, and yet in the moonlight, he had seemed ethereal, so ethereal, you were almost jealous, if not for the fact that the urge to reach out and hug him overpowered that envy.

Your hands outstretched, you crouch before him and he nuzzles his face into your neck, warm tears sliding down your smooth skin, staining them with hurt, pain and stress; helplessness radiating off his body.

It was an awkward position, your small body unable to envelope his entire being, but you radiated security and comfort, and Ziyi took refuge in that, his fingers tracing along your waist as his arms locked around them, pulling you in closer.

Apologies flowed in a never ending stream, and you could only hush him as you sat up slightly on the bed, his head on your shoulder, his eyelids drooping heavily as exhaustion overwhelmed him.

You fall prey to the same tiredness, your head knocking against his as your head droops, fingers still locked in his hair.

Soft pitter patter sounds from the window pane and you look out at the gloomy sky, the reddish and pink hues disappearing as darkness takes over. The city is still lively, bustling with life as people hustle, trying to seek shelter from the drops of rain.

Your eyes look up to the sky. Definitely doesn’t look like it’s going to be a light drizzle; more like a whole, full on rainstorm.

“You sure you’ll be okay?” The soothing voice crackles from over the phone, as your pan sizzles with oil.

“Yea, I’ll be fine.”

“Ziyi’s going to be home?” You can hear the familiar crunch and laugh quietly at the other boy’s antics.

“Yea.” You hate lying, but you really didn’t want to trouble Zhangjing and Yanjun again.

Zhangjing hums in reply. “If he isn’t home soon, I’m only one call away-”

“Zhangjing, please. It’s as if I haven’t heard enough of you for today.”

He snorts indignantly, and groans as if stabbed in the heart. A quick goodbye, he hangs up, the dying sizzling sounds from the pan softening as the oil burns into a unmovable layer of grease. The gas knob is turned, and the fire blows out, as you trudge to your room, trying hard not to wince at the low boom in the distance.

Clamping your teeth down on your chapped lips, you pull the grey blankets up to your knees as you pull them to your chest, curling yourself into a tight ball. Buried head in the sheets, you try counting to ten, and then you try counting sheep, and then you try whispering reassuring words to yourself, but it doesn’t work.

The lump in your throat stays as your hands get clammy, your ears hurting from the pounding of your heart.

Your breaths become rapid and shallow as you struggle for oxygen, as if Zeus was tightening his lightning bolts around your neck, the rough edges burning your skin, red rimmed open wounds obvious.

He twists the ends of the lightning and you nearly choke, and your hand moves to your throat, trying to remove the lump in it by grazing your fingertips over your skin, but the lump remains and only grows bigger.

It’s starting to get scary. The lightning flashes right outside your window and you squeeze your eyes shut, allowing the blanket to cover your face, the thick material simply not thick enough to block out the roaring thunder outside.

It seems like Zeus just wants you dead.

Gulping, you turn as you pull the covers over your ears, trying to even out your breathing, taking in a deep breath before releasing it slowly, but then the lack of oxygen becomes to much, and the breaths return to their usual state and you inwardly groan.

One hour, maybe two, pass, and the storm doesn’t cease, neither does your panicking state calm down.

Then, the click comes from the door, and your eyes flutter close as you mutter a quick prayer.

“YN?” The tranquil voice roams from the living room to your room and your vision starts to blur. The voice wavers with breathlessness, as if the person had just ran a marathon.

“YN?”

He finds you huddled under the sheets and quietly changes out, your breathing finally evening out as you inhale his herbal scent and take in his hushing presence.

Dressed in your favourite shirt, his favorite shirt actually, which became your favourite, because his scent lingered on it stronger than the other shirts, and some comfortable, cotton gym pants, he slides in next to you, and you turn, wrapping your arms around his torso, allowing your tears to finally drop.

“Why didn’t you tell me that Zhangjing or Yanjun weren’t going to be here?” The gentle words fan softly over the shell of your ear.

“I didn’t want to disturb you.” You murmur in reply, words muffled against his milky white skin.

He gives the smallest sigh possible, before nodding, fingers running through your hair. “Tell me next time, okay?”

“Okay.” Slumber laced words leave your lips, a warmth embracing your being as the last few tears slip down your cold cheeks.

Pitter patter, the raindrops hit the glass pane.

Pitter patter, the tears drop and stain his white shirt. He doesn’t mind.

Pitter patter, the storm stills, and thunder moves away. Zeus is bored of playing with you.

Pitter patter, his thumbs brush over your cheeks as they clean away the tears.

Pitter patter; is that the sound of your heart, or the raindrops on the glass pane?

“You know this entire ‘cuddling solves anxiety’ thing you’ve been trying to prove to me for the past half an hour, has no scientific claim to it whatsoever.” Zhangjing points out, and you pout at him.

“But, in all honesty, Ziyi always cuddling you is definitely not what roommates do. Yanjun doesn’t even care if I’m alive or dead.”

Yanjun scoffs in response, eyes still glued to his phone.

“And, so you’re telling me, you don’t know whether you were having a panic attack, or your heart was just ‘beating wildly’,” Zhangjing air quotes dramatically, and you would have rolled your eyes, if not for the dire situation. “Because Wang Ziyi was being his usual caring self?”

You nod, stirring your tea.

“Told you it wasn’t a good idea to have him room with a girl.” Yanjun mutters under his breath. Sighing, he steals a sip from Zhangjing’s coffee.

“HEY! I paid for the damn coffee. Give it back!” Zhangjing hysterically screams as he waves his hands about, clearly helpless in his situation, almost as much as you are.

Yanjun sticks out his tongue, but his expression remains dark and his lips pull into a tight line, clearly mulling about something.

“What do you mean?”

“What?” Yanjun replies, his eyebrows raised, almost surprised you replied to him.

“What do you mean you don’t think he should room with a girl?”

“Well, you know, the campus is crammed, and loads of people need to find a dorm.” You nod impatiently and frown deeply. “Skip that. Tell me what I don’t know.”

“Eager, are we?” He teases, just a peek of his usual humor, before his expression returns to its full seriousness.

“Well, so lots of girls need a dorm, and there isn’t any room left. And Ziyi is by far, the least eros driven man I have ever met, so I introduce them to him. So, well,” Yanjun swallows.

His eyes waver as he weighs out the pros and cons of spilling the beans to you, Zhangjing looking equally uncomfortable, even, even afraid, almost, as if he was afraid the words that come next would hurt you.

You tilt your head, eyes brimming with questions as they scream ‘Tell me’, and he complies, a huge sigh tugging the corners of his lips.

“Well, Ziyi has taken good care of them, and they, well, um, misinterpret it, I suppose? As something, something more.” He ends flatly, looking away.

You blink, confused for a moment. And then the reality sinks in.

Zhangjing was wrong. The words didn’t just stab you.

They broke you.

So what, all the times he had ironed clothes for you, claiming they needed to be “crisp and neat”, all the times he accompanied you to the clinics, because you were afraid of injections, all the times he bought you your favourite muffin, claiming he had done so because it was on the way home, when obviously you needed to go one extra round to get to the shop, what, all this, all this, care and concern, was because he was, he was just being nice?

You almost choke on your water. How could you be so stupid to think that he treated you specially?

Of course he hadn’t. Because he was Wang Ziyi, the Wang Ziyi, who was nicknamed Buddha, who was the kindest, most gentlest person on the earth. All that he had done, came naturally for him, an obligation, he believed, as a roommate.

Nothing more, nothing less. Just a roommate.

‘Was that what he thought of me?’ You frustratingly clink the metal spoon against the ceramic glass, frown etched on your forehead, in complete disbelief.

Really? The times when he held you as you calmed down from your attacks, when you woke up from your demons, when you were huddled in a corner, tears running down his face, the hugs, were just because he was nice?

You couldn’t believe it. But apparently, it is the truth, because that’s what Ziyi did for the other girls too, his other roommates, when they broke down under the pressure of their workload.

So what now? You almost scoff again as you think about how special you felt. Clearly, that care and concern was not reserved for you, as you stare at the spinning clothes in the washing machine, your favourite shirt in there.

You really don’t know why, but you just needed the space and time, to just think, about what you were going to do now.

You know why they call it a crush? Because quite literally, they come into your life like a comet and crush everything, messing everything, your projects, your math equations, your files, your clothes. Nothing is in order and you’re a huge mess and you are frustrated, because hell, the next examinations are just around the corner, and you can’t just let a certain boy destroy all that you’ve worked hard for.

You avoid him like the plague. It’s childish, really, but what can you do? Seeing him makes your heart race and the tip of your tongue tastes bittersweet at the sour ache spreading in your chest. You even avoid the cafe he works at, not bothering to go there to wait for him anymore. You hole yourself up in the library, until he finds you there, and you end up scurrying off, before he even has a chance to call out for you.

Now, you hole up at Zhangjing’s, and he has his hand on his hips, a frying spatula in his left arm as he talks over the sizzling oils and vegetables.

“I don’t get you. When you fall for someone, girl, most people would go crazy and just fall in love, like they should, and go crazy and all, and find chances to get closer to the person. You,” He points the spatula at you as he waves the oily tool in your face. “On the other hand, simply ran away. Care to explain?”

You sigh as you rest your chin on your palm, waving your other hand, shooing his madly gesturing spatula away. “Get this thing out of my face. It’s not that I don’t want to be around him….I’m just, just scared I guess?”

Zhangjing’s eyes widen. “Please don’t tell me this is your first time crushing on someone.”

You lick your lips and avert your eyes.

“Dear god, YN, what have you been doing with your life?”

“Um, busy getting a scholarship? Because I’m not rich?” You retort back in return, face flushing from the heat of the pan.

“Well, I’m just telling you, you should at least talk to him. He is genuinely worried, okay? Like he hasn’t stopped talking about you for the past week, and as much as I would love to have updates on your love story, it’s getting tiring to see him so bothered, forever frowning.”

“I agree.”

You glare at Yanjun, as he drops his bag on the sofa, sinking into the couch as he closes his eyes and leans back. “You really need to talk to him.”

You raise your eyebrows. “And about what, exactly?”

“God, your IQ is so high, but your EQ so, so low.”

Zhangjing gives a yelp as you flick his forehead, laughing.

Perhaps you will talk to him. Maybe it would be better this way.

“What are you doing?” You sense a harshness in his tone, but you pretend to not feel it.

“Packing.”

“And why?”

“I’m moving in with Linong, you know the boy from philosophy?”

Ziyi rubs his temples with his fingertips. “Yea, I know who he is. I’m not asking about that, you know what I’m asking about.”

You shrug your shoulders as you fold another shirt, your teeth nearly tearing the chapped skin of your lips.

“YN, stop it. Why are you doing this? Am I… Did I do something wrong?”

Swallowing hard, you shut the suitcase with a firm click. “No. You never did Ziyi.”

You sigh as you stand up, suitcase in one hand, your coat thrown over your arm, your torn bag in the other. Brushing past him, you swallow the drops of salty tears, trembling lips, you walk towards the door.

“YN, wait.”

When you watch dramas, and you see the character call out for another, you always think about how stupid they are when they turn around and look back. Why don’t they just walk away?

Now you know why. It’s impossible. Ziyi’s voice latches onto you like an anchor in the seabed, reeling you towards him and you can hardly resist as you turn around, tear droplets wrapping around your throat.

He doesn’t say anything. He simply stares at you, helpless almost, confused mainly.

“I’m sorry Ziyi. I….I really am.”

You really are sorry, and you would apologise again and again if you could; for hurting him, for wasting his time, for misinterpreting his actions, for falling for him, when it could never possibly be possible.

“When I asked you to talk to him,” Yanjun rubs his temples as he squeezes his eyes, eyebrows knitting into a knot as you fiddled your thumbs in front of him, seated cross legged on his shared bed with Zhangjing, ready to hear an earful from him. “I didn’t mean hurt him. Neither did I mean ‘you should go change a roommate instead of facing the problem head on.’” His head snaps up as he glares at you.

“Why, why, why, must you do that?” He asks exasperatingly, throwing his hands in the air, and they land floppily on the bed.

“I don’t know.” Your eyes downcast, those are the only three words you whisper.

“You can’t possibly not know. You know why. And I want to know why. So, please hurry up and tell me.” Yanjun says, his voice toned down a little, but the frustration is clearly evident in his voice.

“I’m scared?”

“And what are you scared of?” The voice softens down a notch, as he brushes a strand behind your ear.

“I’m scared of falling for him.”

“And why so?” Yanjun continues, his lulling voice, soothing you.

“You know how hard I worked to come here ge. I…..I’m not prepared to…..give up my time, my emotions for something so fickle.”

“Love isn’t fickle, YN. Love is as much of a serious thing as your studies are.”

You shook your head forlornly. “No. No it isn’t. Love, it comes in different forms, and it can always come again. I only have this one shot in Uni. One mistake, one slip up, and I’m losing out to someone else, giving up a bit of my spot in the working world. You know how much this means to me right?’

Yanjun can only sigh and nod as his fingers trace your spine, rubbing your back as he lets you bury your head into his neck, his eyes meeting Zhangjing’s and they both collectively sigh, swallowing some tears as they watch you pitifully cry.

Your father had always said, you weren’t good enough. You weren’t smart enough. That you needed to marry early, or else you would be homeless and unwanted. He always said you were weak, you needed someone to take care of you, someone to support you.

That was what he said. It was an excuse, really. He just wanted to use you, by brainwashing you that you needed someone’s help to survive, he forced you to attend multiple arranged marriages meetings from the age of 14, forcing you to grow up, to become business-like.

You had everything, really. He simply gave everything to you, in exchange for your pretty face and body, to entice businessmen.

But even then, you had felt so, so empty. You just wanted to be normal teenager. You were tired. You wanted to go out and have normal friends, people who didn’t have to deal with the rich’s complex social politics. You wanted to squeal over boys and/or girls alike, you wanted to have a crush and go through that dizzying experience, but you never could. Strict rules told you to wear a cold but professional facade, because successful men wanted capable, cool-headed wives.

You didn’t want to be treated like a possession, a trade item. You wanted to be so much more. But all your life, you never were, and as the seasons passed, you lost yourself somewhere in between social meetings and riches.

That was, until you met Yanjun. He taught you to base your worth on yourself. To ignore your father. To let the invisible wind blow away the meaningless words of your father. To become strong and independent, to make a name for yourself, to succeed base on your own effort, and not because your father had money, enough money to put you into the Ivy League schools to find him more business connections.

On the rooftop of your mansion home that day, the torrent rain slashed you and your screams filled the terrain, your father bringing you down as he hit you repeatedly with a belt, reprimanding you for your disobedience, for screaming that you were independent, for screaming that you hated him, for screaming that you wanted to be normal.

That day, shivering, legs filled with open ruby wounds, you pushed and broke your previous self, a shattered piece lying on the chessboard, and now the opponent across your father, was you. You promised yourself, that you would never step back into the house again.

You left home at 16. And ever since, you’ve been staying with Yanjun till he went to college, and the two of you now together again as you entered into a prestigious college, by your own merit.

This chance in this college, to receive the best possible education, to graduate with one of the most world recognised certificates, was important. Extremely important.

It was the result of everything you prepared for, to enter into the workforce as a strong contender and work your way up and finally, finally meet your father as one of the most successful woman, proving to him that you didn’t need anyone, to achieve what you’ve achieved.

Everything was going according to plan.

That was, until Wang Ziyi entered your life. He didn’t know your past, he treated you normally. Even with your nightmares, he treated you with equal respect; he saw you as someone strong, he believed you were strong, and didn’t treat you specially.

Sometimes, Yanjun would unconsciously treat you specially. A human instinct to pity. But Ziyi knew nothing, and he never did that. He took care of you, sure, but never has he treated you as a weak, wounded hunted animal. He treated you like an eagle, strong, smart, wise, who had an occasional bad day, like anyone else would have had, no matter how stoic the person.

So really, Yanjun could understand that your studies were important, and he knew you were a workaholic, pushing everything aside, everything placed secondary to your calculations and notes.

But he never expected you to so ruthlessly push aside someone you have just developed the slightest feelings for, all because he could possibly distract you.

Which probably wouldn’t be the case, because he saw, how cooly you had turned down thousands of suitors, not the least fazed by their sappy love notes, topping the class even though half the time you were irritated by the boys’ hopeless flirtings.

He didn’t expect you to overreact like this.

So why was it different when it came to Ziyi?

part 2

masterlist

#ninepercentnet #wang ziyi #something wrong with the formatting jskdlsh the summary shld bE BEFORE THE READ MORE

47 notes · View notes