Jiang Xiao Shuai's POV – Graduation Night
The apartment was quiet. Not the kind of silence that felt empty but the kind that hugged you, warm and full.
I sat at the edge of the bed, legs crossed, hands nervously picking at the threads on my jeans. My suitcase was still half-packed. Technically, we had one more night here before moving out but this... this was the real goodbye.
And yet he hadn't stopped smiling at me.
Guo Cheng Yu leaned against the doorframe of our shared room, arms folded, watching me. He looked too calm. Too collected.
"You're doing that thing again," he said.
"What thing?"
"That thing where you pick your jeans when you're nervous."
I scowled. "I'm not nervous."
He stepped closer. I could smell him now. The faint citrus of his cologne, the same one he'd used since freshman year, only now it made my stomach twist in weird, annoying butterflies.
"You're always nervous when I get too close," he teased.
"I'm always annoyed when you start talking."
He chuckled, that warm, boyish sound that always hit deeper than it should. He came closer, standing right in front of me now. I didn't look up because if I did, I might melt.
But his fingers gently tilted my chin.
"You're not annoyed," he said quietly. "You're scared."
I hated how well he could read me. How easily he slipped past my defenses. How I didn't want him to stop.
"Because this..." he whispered, "this is real now."
His lips touched mine, soft, patient, asking. I didn't respond right away. I couldn't. Not until I knew this wasn't just a game for him.
So I pulled back just slightly. "Why now?"
His eyes didn't waver. "Because this isn't just graduation, Xiao Shuai. This is me choosing you. Tonight, tomorrow, the next day. You were never just a fling."
That stupid thud in my chest again. That stupid warmth.
And just like that, I kissed him.
My hands clutched his shirt, pulling him down as I pressed my mouth into his. It wasn't soft. It was messy, desperate. I needed to feel all of him, needed to forget every fear that said maybe this wasn't real.
He kissed back just as hungrily.
Somehow we ended up on the bed. Clothes peeled away. My body trembled beneath his touch, but he was patient–so, so patient. Whispering things like, "Tell me if you want to stop," and "You're perfect like this."
Every kiss to my neck, every hand tracing down my side, reminded me that this wasn't about lust. It was intimacy. The kind we'd been dancing around for months.
When he entered me, he paused–eyes locked with mine, one hand laced in mine above my head.
"Okay?" he asked.
I nodded, voice caught in my throat.
It hurt, at first. It always does, they say (😂I laughed here) But he moved slowly, kissing away every tense breath, every flinch. His name left my lips like prayer, like surrender.
And when the pain melted into pleasure, I clung to him, nails in his back, breaths stuttering against his skin.
It was intense. Raw. Overwhelming.
But also—safe.
When it was over, I lay against his chest, heart still pounding.
"Don't leave in the morning without waking me," I mumbled sleepily.
He kissed the top of my head. "I'll never leave without you."
And in that moment, I believed him.
Even if we didn't call it love yet.
Even if we didn't know what tomorrow looked like.
Tonight... I was his.
And he was mine.