Wang Yibo's POV
It was all dark when I opened my eyes; I had no idea where I was as my mind felt clouded.
Looking around, I felt an unsettling feeling blossoming in my chest, Zhan?
The silence was all that met me, embraced me as it did before.
Once again, I closed my eyes, letting the darkness consume me while calling out for Zhan's name as I couldn't move, not yet.
In the next instance, I awoke; it was still pitch dark; I rubbed my eyes, trying to stand up, but immediately I fell again.
My legs just weakened and gave out as I lay on the ground, pain rushing through my body like flames as all I could think about was Zhan.
I kept trying to stand up, but I was too weak, and I coughed into the dark, my fingers touching the cold ground.
My breath was staggered as I hugged myself, it was cold, and nothing got heard outside as expected, I had no idea where I was, and neither did Zhan react to my pleas.
Was this all just a joke?
Shaking my head, I blew some heat into my hands, rubbing them against my cheeks as I visioned Zhan's dazzling smile emitting me warmth.
I lied to Zhan.
I knew him, of course, I did, I mean he was my favourite writer, no, he was everyone's favourite author, I loved his books, but his last manuscripts seemed off as if he hadn't ever experienced love; after all, his other books didn't contain much to no romance.
When I first met Zhan, it was that day I saw him leaving with tears in his eyes, but I had known him way longer; I did my research online about him, I admired him.
He was only six years older than me, and yet so talented, both our jobs were risky, you never know if the public will like you, and one mistake can be fatal.
I'd remember how nervous he was the moment he stepped into the restaurant, and my heart ached at the memory of how tears were hanging on his eyelashes, his doe eyes trying to avert mine.
I crawled towards a wall and leaned against it, my eyes closed as it doesn't make a difference, my mind wandered off again.
Maybe I expected too much when I first received Zhan's newest manuscript, but who was I to blame?
He was my favourite author I had been following since the start; I loved his usage of words, making everything come to life, but this book just wasn't it, and the people around me knew I was blunt and didn't wrap anything around my words.
The world was weird as one moment the world itself was bright and filled with loud noises, and the next moment it turned quiet and dark, and the moment my eyes fluttered open by then, I got transmitted into Zhan's script.
But things changed; this was not supposed to happen; we were supposed to wake up, me in my lonely life of being famous and think everything was a dream until I reconcile with Zhan at the same shop we transmigrated into that dream.
So what changed the plot and why?
Once again, a shiver ran down my spine as I ruffled a hand through my hair, trying to get myself together, trying to distract myself with other thoughts.
But I was afraid of the dark; I had always been.
After all, it was dark the night my mom passed away in a car accident; she was my world, the bridge between my dad and me because both of us were never talkative; I had his personality.
The weeks that turned into months, which passed like years, my dad and I talked less and less to the point we lost contact, our only bridge was my mom, and then Zhan's books appeared into my life like a light to let me hold on.
His words reminded me of my mom; they were soft but sharp around the edges, making sure to remember every detail.
A lonely tear slowly found its way down my cheek as the total darkness embraced me tightly; my eyes closed as a second tear escaped.
I didn't cry when my mom passed, I couldn't, and I felt defected like I was different from others, and here I was, crying in the dark of all pended up emotions that suffocated me.
People came and go, and I often let them because they would be bored with me in a few days or weeks.
After all, I wasn't talkative, but I was like an iceberg; I needed time to melt, but once I did, I would be a different, unrecognizable person, but no one took their time.
Most of the people who wanted to be my 'friend' always were fake, after my money or my fame or just anything like that, until these days I spent with Zhan, he showed me another world.
A hidden world I had never been able to see after my mom was gone, she was my eyes to see the world differently, and once you lost that hope, you never expect to find it again; it's like a flower unconsciously closing itself.
I opened my eyes, wiping my tears before closing them again, trying to recall Zhan's soft fingers crawling up my arm as he tried to tease an emotion out of me.
His lips close to my ear, trying to whisper soft words into my ear to cause them to turn bright red while Zhan would stifle back a peal of laughter to give me my dignity.
His smile that was like a ray of sunshine on a rainy day with his eyes twinkling like the galaxy.
Every bit of Zhan seemed to be perfect like he was my other missing empty part that was aching to get filled.
I always filled my days with a large amount of work to forget the aching pain of loneliness that had been there since the day my mom passed; the world was just black and white in front of my eyes.
Zhan were the colours on a white painting to give it feeling, even if it didn't make sense at times; it was the result that made you move, the effort put into it, not what came out of it.
I kept thinking about Zhan and didn't notice how quick time crept by in the corners as the next moment I realized it, I wasn't able to move again, and the ground beneath me was moving.
Holding my breath on the tip of my tongue, I sighed.
In this world, I was a nobody, I could act the way I want, be free and have Zhan beside me, but what will happen if I would wake up again; would Zhan even remember me . . . ?
I whispered quietly into the dar, the words that had been haunting me from the start, "I am scared . . ."
Word count: 1179 words
