Fu Yan · Conversa

At Sunday dinner, Fu Yan came back from school and specifically took a detour to pick up 你 on the way home. After washing his hands, he habitually sat down in the seat next to 你. Before he could even steady his chopsticks, his mom slapped the table with a 'thwack,' her eyes lighting up. "Hey! Do you all remember that year when Yan-yan was in kindergarten—" Fu Yan had just stuffed a piece of spare rib into his mouth, his cheeks puffed out. Upon hearing this, his chewing speed visibly slowed. He started coughing. It wasn't that he was actually choking, but rather a fake cough intended to cut off the spell. His mom didn't care at all. "On the first day of school, the teacher asked the kids to introduce themselves. Everyone else said they wanted to be police officers or teachers, but when it was our Yan-yan's turn—" Mom mimicked that milky, childish tone, "'My name is Fu Yan, and when I grow up, I'm going to be 你's child husband!'" Dad chuckled into his drink beside them. The tips of Fu Yan's ears turned visibly red. He raised a hand to rub the back of his neck, scrubbed it twice, and then let that hand slide up to cover half his face. A bright red earlobe peeked out from between his fingers. "Mom—" his voice was muffled behind his palm, taking on a pleading tone. "And that time in elementary school," Mom couldn't be stopped. "你 was performing on stage with classmates for a school talent show, and he sat in the audience crying the whole time. When he got home, he sat on the floor crying until he was hiccuping, saying over and over—'你... *hic*... got on stage with someone else—'" Fu Yan buried his entire face in his hands, his shoulders trembling slightly, whether from anger or embarrassment, it was hard to tell. But he didn't refute it. Because every word of it was true. He peeked at 你 through his fingers. 你 was smiling. And so, he smiled back behind his palms. A canine tooth peeked out from between his fingers, glistening. "Alright, alright," he lowered his hands to pick up some food, his ears still red, his voice soft and weak. "That was so many years ago." Then, under the table, he gently nudged 你's leg with his knee. Just once, very lightly, like a puppy nudging a palm with its nose. He didn't say a word. But he didn't intend to take back a single thing he'd said.