After school, Yon headed straight to Alex's house, armed with the address Alice had sent. But first, he stopped at a fruit stall, determined to bring something—anything—to soften the awkwardness of visiting someone he'd sworn to despise.
At the stall, he pointed to a basket of golden pastries. "Auntie, how much for these fruit pastries?"
The elderly shopkeeper, her face crinkling into a grin, hurried over. "Yon! Long time no see! Your mom hasn't visited since you moved. Tell her I miss her, eh?"
"She's been busy," Yon replied, forcing a smile. "But we'll drop by during the holidays, promise."
"Good, good. Here—" She shoved two pastries into his hands. "One for your mom, one for you, and it's free, you don't pay for it, i gave it to you"
"Auntie, I can't take—"
"Nonsense! Just take it and go on, before it gets dark! You know how scary your mom when you got late back of school" She ruffled his hair, her touch oddly grounding.
"i know aunty, but thanks" he didn't explain anything about what he wanna go
He thanked her, clutching the pastries like a lifeline, then bolted to a bakery for a loaf of bread. By the time he reached Alex's neighborhood, dusk had painted the sky in bruised purples.
Yon's jaw tightened as he stared at the house. It wasn't a house—it was a palatial mansion, all sleek glass and steel, towering over the street like a castle. A far cry from his own humble wooden home, nestled among overgrown gardens. The contrast was stark, almost cruel.
This is where Alex lives? His throat dried. For a moment, he almost turned back. But the memory of Zhuangzi's voice—the other half of your soul—flared in his mind.
He revved his motorcycle toward the gate, heart pounding like a war drum.
—
Yon pressed the gatebell, its chime echoing ominously through the towering iron bars. A security guard emerged, his uniform crisp, eyes sharp but weary.
"Can I help you?" he said
"I—I'm here to see Alex. We're classmates. I… wanted to check on him." Yon clutched the fruit pastries tighter, their sweetness suddenly cloying.
The guard's stern face softened. "A classmate? Huh. First visitor he's ever had. Not even in elementary school did anyone…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Park your bike there. I'll take you up."
Yon followed, guilt prickling his chest. No friends? Ever? Was he that isolated? Or just… hated? The questions gnawed at him as they crossed the courtyard, the mansion looming like a glass-and-marble monolith.
Inside, the air smelled sterile, like money and loneliness. The elevator ascended silently to the fifth floor, past hallways lined with art that screamed look but don't touch. Twenty minutes later—twenty minutes—they reached a heavy oak door.
"His room," the guard said, already turning away. "I'll leave you to it."
"Wait—aren't you going to… announce me?"
"He knows you're here. The cameras saw you at the gate." The guard vanished down the hall, footsteps swallowed by plush carpet.
Yon stood frozen, pastries sweating in his grip. Behind that door: Alex, his nemesis. Or Zhuangzi, the ghost from his dreams. Or both.
He knocked.
The door swung open. Alex stood there, pale and gaunt, his usual sharpness dulled by fever—but his glare was as venomous as ever. "What the hell are you doing here, bitch?"
The word *bitch*—the same taunt he'd hurled at Yon since freshman year—slammed into him like a fist. But this time, Yon didn't flinch. Zhuangzi's voice, tender and haunting, echoed in his mind, tempering his rage.
They share a face, but they're not the same.
"Could you try not to be a dick for five seconds?" Yon held up the pastries, their golden crusts glinting. "I brought these. You know, since nobody else cares enough to visit."
Alex froze. For a heartbeat, his mask cracked—eyes widening, lips parting—before he turned away, collapsing onto a bed drowned in black silk sheets. "Don't need your pity," he muttered, yanking the blanket over his head.
Yon stepped inside, the room reeking of neglect. A bowl of congee sat cold and untouched on the nightstand, milk curdling in a glass. His chest tightened. "When's the last time you ate?"
"Go. Home." The command was muffled but brittle.
Zhuangzi had been a phantom. Alex was all too real. Yet Yon couldn't leave. Not now. He perched on the edge of the bed, voice softening. "I could make soup. My mom's recipe. It's… good for fevers."
The blanket shifted. Alex peered out, his eyes bloodshot but piercing. "You? Cooking? For me?" Disbelief dripped from every word.
"Yeah. Unless you're scared I'll poison you. And don't worry if you not hungry enough, i'll feed you"
A beat. Then, quietly: "feed? What are you saying, bitch? Just leave me alone "
" you don't want a soup? Really? Are you sure? "
"Fine, i will eat your soup. Just make sure your soup is good enough to eat. I don't wanna die yet." He stood, rolling up his sleeves.
Yon's breath hitched. The demand was classic Alex—arrogant, infuriating—but beneath it, a flicker of something raw. Vulnerable.
"yeah yeah, just wait, i will cook. But first of all, where is the kitchen?" Yon ask because he didn't know the kitchen room
Alex said, " that room"
" Oke, just wait like 20 minutes" he said.
Minutes later, Yon returned with a steaming bowl of soup. He found Alex already nibbling on the bread he'd brought, crumbs scattered across the bedsheets.
"Thought you weren't hungry," Yon teased, arching a brow.
"Shut up, bitch" Alex snapped, snatching the soup. "Just… hurry up."
"Need me to spoon-feed you too?"
"In your dreams" Alex glared, but his hands trembled slightly as he lifted the bowl.
Yon watched, half-amused, as Alex gulped the soup—first cautiously, then ravenously. The broth vanished, followed by the rice cakes and vegetables, until not a shred remained.
"Good, right?" Yon's smirk widened.
"Tastes like dishwater." Alex wiped his mouth, avoiding eye contact. "But dishwater's better than starving, I guess."
"Sure, keep lying." Yon nodded to the pot. "There's enough left for three more bowls. Share some with the guard, 'kay."
"Whatever."
Same old Alex—all bark, no bite, Yon thought, hiding a grin. "Did you take your meds yet?"
"No. Don't wanna."
"Where are they?" Yon rummaged through the nightstand, ignoring Alex's protests. Yon search it and found his medicine. He crushed the pills into honeyed tea—a trick his mother used—and thrust the mug forward. "Drink. Or I'll pour it down your throat."
Alex grimaced but obeyed, muttering curses between sips.
By the time sunsets echoed faintly through the windows, shadows stretched long across the room. Yon gathered his things. "Gotta go. My mom'll skin me alive if I'm late."
"Finally." Alex turned away, burying himself in blankets. "Don't let the gate hit you on the way out."
"Sure thing, Lex," Yon shot back, lingering at the door.
A beat. Then a muffled, "…Don't call me that."
Yon left, the ghost of a smile on his lips. Outside, the guard nodded gratefully as he handed over the leftover soup. The motorcycle roared to life, but Yon paused, glancing up at the fifth-floor window. A silhouette stood there—brief, fleeting—before the curtains snapped shut.