An Old Sweet Story About Rebirth

Tyler felt like a fish laid bare on a cutting board—spine-locked, every nerve wound tight, eyes squeezed shut as if that would stop time itself from moving forward.
His jaw trembled slightly, teeth clicking together from tension, not cold. And his thoughts—God, his thoughts were a frothing pot, bubbling and boiling over with one absurd but singular refrain:

Is Shane about to kiss me?
But… but…
He didn’t even know what the but was for.

Shane’s breath was too close now. Too warm. Tyler’s fingers curled into tight fists, and his body flinched in on itself, instinctively preparing for impact—
Then, a soft touch. Barely there.
Not on his lips.

At the corner of his eye.
A kiss, light as a feather. So delicate he almost doubted it happened.
Then Shane’s voice came, husky with sleep and just a hint of laughter, right by his ear:

“Touching someone’s face while they’re sleeping… That’s kind of taking advantage, isn’t it?”
Tyler’s eyes flew open.
His face went crimson—no, darker than crimson, burning all the way down to the base of his neck.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again, desperate to say he hadn’t been doing anything weird. But… wasn’t that exactly what he’d been doing?
He couldn’t lie. Not to Shane. Not like this.
So he lay there, completely still, lips moving but no words coming out, looking like a guilty fish stranded on land, cheeks flushed and eyes wide with panic.

Shane, meanwhile—the supposed “victim” in all this—had already let go of his wrists and gotten up.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” he said, casual as ever, not even looking back. “We’ll grab breakfast after.”
Tyler scrambled for a response. “Oh—okay—yeah.”

He tugged the blanket up to his chin, eyes following Shane’s retreating figure.
Wait.
Was it just him, or… was Shane walking a little funny?
That wasn’t his usual confident, unhurried gait.

It was stiff. Deliberate. Almost… awkward.
A realization struck Tyler like lightning.
Oh.

Oh no.
His face, which had just started to cool, erupted in heat again—hotter this time, if possible.
He buried his head under the covers, mortified.

And then, beneath the blanket, in that thick silence, another thought emerged—one he’d been pushing to the back of his mind since the day before.
The animation project was done. Finals were over. All the excuses had run out.
It was time to answer Shane’s question.

The question he still hadn’t been able to face.
 
****

The next week was chaos again—just busy enough to help him avoid the storm building quietly inside him.
He helped professors organize grades, called classmates about final results, did follow-up interviews with investigators. One task after another, all of it urgent, all of it necessary.
And all of it a perfect excuse not to answer.

Not yet.
Winter break came.
And with it, a quiet absence.

He didn’t see Ray again. Word had it that both Ray and Xander had been officially expelled—for “serious violations of university rules.” Their exit didn’t spark mourning, just whispers.
“Did you hear? Two guys from Class of ’01 tried to sabotage someone using stray cats. All because their hometown buddy was smarter than they were.”
“For real? That’s sick.”

“Poor cat.”
“Yeah, well, a new student group formed to help strays. That orange tabby got adopted by the club—has his own heated bed now.”
“No way. That’s adorable. Where do I sign up?”

And just like that, no one said their names again.
The tabby became a minor campus legend. More snacks were offered to him than any human ever got.
 

****
No matter how much anxiety curled in Tyler’s stomach, winter break marched on.
This year’s Lunar New Year came early, and barely a few days into break, they were already shopping for it.

That morning, Tyler was pushing a cart through a wildly decorated supermarket, decked out in reds and golds, drums pounding through the speakers. He walked beside Shane, while Emily darted ahead, bouncing between candy displays, comparing gummy brands with the focus of a scientist.
Tyler watched the mountain of sweets grow in their cart before hesitating.
“…Do you like any snacks?” he asked suddenly.

The question was for Shane.
But he couldn’t meet his eyes when he asked it.
Ever since that morning—ever since he’d pulled Shane into bed, poked at his mouth, and been oh-so-politely caught—he’d been avoiding Shane’s gaze like it might burn him.

Even at meals, he kept his head down, his eyes fixed on the food.
His mind was a whirlwind of panic and something else—something warmer, more confusing.
Shane tilted his head. “Snacks, huh…?”

He paused, then smiled slightly. “Fish-shaped crackers?”
Tyler blinked. “Really?”
Those were Emily’s favorite. He hadn’t expected Shane to say something so… childish?

But hey. Who was he to judge?
“O-okay,” he said quickly. “I’ll grab you a box.”
Shane was quiet for a moment, then said, “Tyler, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Tyler looked up. “Hm?”
Shane’s tone was calm, but tinged with apology. “I’ll be visiting my great-grandfather this holiday. He lives overseas. And I’ll need to take care of some business while I’m there.”
“I’ll be out of Greenville for a while.”

Tyler’s head snapped up. “A while?”
Shane met his eyes with a look of gentle regret. “About a month. Maybe longer.”
“By the time I’m back, classes will have started again.”

“Oh…”
Tyler’s fingers curled tighter around the shopping cart.
He looked down. The festive music [N O V E L I G H T] felt too loud. Too bright.

After a few seconds, he looked back up, lips trembling slightly. “Then… when you come back…”
Shane: “When I come back…?”
Tyler bit his bottom lip hard.

When you come back… will it be time to give you my answer?
He chickened out.
Instead, he said softly, “It’ll be Emily’s birthday. Maybe… we can celebrate together?”

“She’d love that.”
Shane’s smile was soft. “We’ll make it special.”
Tyler nodded.

“Okay.”
Shane looked down at his hands—at the way they shook ever so slightly from the pressure he was putting into his grip on the cart.
With a sigh, he reached out and covered Tyler’s hand with his own.

“I’m not in a rush,” he said gently.
Tyler looked up, startled. “Huh?”
“I’m not rushing you. So you don’t need to rush yourself, either.”

Shane didn’t say what he was referring to.
But Tyler knew.
Of course he knew.

All his excuses, his delays, his careful detours—Shane had seen through them all.
Feeling as if he’d been caught stealing candy, Tyler nodded mutely.
“…Okay. Not rushing.”

 
****
Shane left the next day.

And just like that, Tyler was back to having dinner without worrying where to look. No need to dodge eye contact. No silent countdowns in his head about when he’d have to answer The Question.
He thought he’d feel relieved.
And he did.

A little.
But what surprised him was the hollow that followed.
He filled the days quickly. Took Emily to street fairs, bought flowers for the apartment, stuck spring couplets to the doors. Taught himself how to use the new digital drawing pad, printing finished pages one by one.

It all helped. Mostly.
Until New Year’s Eve.
Emily had insisted on staying up for the countdown, but passed out before eleven, snoring with her cheek against a pillow, drooling a little. Tyler tucked her in and returned to the living room.

He sat on the couch alone, surrounded by sunflower seeds, wrapped candy, and old comedy sketches on the TV.
His eyes flicked to his phone over and over.
5 minutes past eleven, it rang—right on time.

Shane.
Tyler took a breath and answered.
They talked about small things. Dumpling fillings. The flowers on the windowsill. How the Spring Festival skits still couldn’t top Zhou Peng’s solo stand-up set from last year.

Midnight came.
The fireworks outside lit up the sky like a thousand sunrises.
The window glowed with color.

Tyler fell silent, caught off guard by the beauty of it, the way it filled the dark like hope itself.
Then, through the phone, Shane’s voice reached him—low and steady:
“Happy New Year, Tyler.”

“I wish… I could’ve watched the fireworks with you.”
Tyler’s ears went hot. His heart stuttered.
“…Happy New Year,” he echoed faintly.

A long pause.
And then—soft, hesitant:
“I wanted to watch them with you, too.”

The moment the words left his mouth, color flooded his face. His grip on the phone faltered. He panicked and hit the end call button without thinking.
His chest was burning.
His thoughts were scrambled.

He grabbed the stuffed whale Shane had once left behind, hugged it tight, and collapsed facedown on the sofa—half drowning in embarrassment, half in something he didn’t quite have a name for yet.
 
****

A whole month had passed.
It was Emily’s birthday.
Two days ago, Shane had promised Tyler he’d be flying straight back to Greenville just in time—just in time to celebrate with them before heading off again to Harbor City.

The plan was simple: a full house, laughter, cake, the kind of birthday you remembered for years.
But now—
Now Tyler sat stiffly in the living room, eyes darting between the clock on the wall and his phone screen. His expression shifted from pink to pale and back again, like a mood ring stuck on indecisive.

He couldn’t sit still. His gaze kept wandering, eventually drawn toward the window.
It was still winter out there, but the sky was impossibly blue. And the light—it had that faint shimmer of something new. Distant trees, skeletal all season, were starting to show the first shy hints of green.
Spring green.

The kind that crept in slowly, quietly, and then all at once.
What kind of spring would this be?
Tyler’s heart beat heavy, like it was trying to drag him somewhere his mind hadn’t caught up to yet. His thoughts went blurry.

Then—the doorbell rang.
Tyler jumped to his feet.
He tried to keep his face neutral as he jogged to the door, rehearsing a casual greeting in his head. Something normal. Something not weird.

But the moment he opened it—
There he was.
Shane.

Tyler didn’t even have time to take in his face, let alone deliver any of his carefully-prepared “welcome home” lines. Shane stepped forward, wordless, and pulled him into a warm, seamless embrace.
“I’m back,” Shane said softly.
Tyler’s mind went blank, buzzing like static. All his polite phrases and stiff formality dissolved into saltwater.

His head buried instinctively in Shane’s chest, and he mumbled, “You… you’re back.”
 
****

Shane stepped into the apartment and glanced around. “Where’s Emily?”
Tyler took the gift bag from him and launched into an explanation, words tumbling fast:
“She said she’d stay in with me and her brothers and a couple friends to have cake, but then last night she just—suddenly changed her mind. Said she’s twelve now, not a baby anymore, and wanted to go celebrate with her classmates instead. Totally refused to stay home, totally refused to let me come with—”

He finally paused to catch his breath and shook his head, laughing under it. “She’s growing up.”
Shane smiled.
In the last life, Emily had used the same excuse—only she’d been in her twenties. That time, it had been a ploy to leave Tyler with him for the day.

Now? She’d pulled that same move ten years early.
He bit back his amusement, feigning casual surprise: “So it’s just the two of us all day?”
They’d been alone plenty before.

But the way Shane said it—warm, matter-of-fact, yet somehow… full of intent—sent Tyler’s brain into another round of fuzzy chaos.
He scrambled to pour Shane a glass of water, gulping down half of his own to stall for time. “Since the birthday thing’s canceled… you should rest, right? That flight was long.”
“I’m fine,” Shane said easily.

“Private cabin had a bed and a shower. I slept great.”
Tyler blinked, trying to picture a bed and shower on a plane. Then it hit him—earlier, when Shane had hugged him, he hadn’t smelled like airports or jet lag. Just clean, warm, familiar.
“…Oh.”

He cleared his throat. “But you must be hungry. I can cook something—there’s leftover broth from Emily’s birthday noodles, I can boil some fresh ones—”
“I’ll do it,” Shane said.
“No, no, you just got back—how can I let you cook? I promise I won’t make it spicy—”

Shane put a hand on his. “Let me.”
Tyler opened his mouth to protest again, but Shane cut in with a mock stern look. “Who cooks better—me or you?”
Tyler wilted. “…You.”

So Shane, after flying halfway around the world, rolled up his sleeves and headed into the kitchen.
The noodles were delicious. Of course they were. Rich, comforting, with just the right amount of bite. Tyler had intended to just “taste a little”—instead, he slurped down the whole bowl.
The warmth loosened something in his chest. The nervousness, the stiffness, it all steamed away with the broth.

They settled on the couch and talked. About everything. Small things. Things they’d already said over the phone, but said better in person.
By the time the sun began to dip toward the horizon, they’d caught up on the whole month.
Tyler didn’t know what else to say, so he pulled Shane to the windowsill, crouching beside the new plants.

He pointed out the narcissus—how easy it was to take care of—and the camellias, how bright and ridiculous their blooms were. How he still couldn’t get the watering schedule right, but he was trying.
Then, a spark.
He jumped up and ran into the kitchen, returning with a large clear jar.

Inside: small, crunchy fish-shaped crackers.
He placed it on the table, eyes bright. “Emily and I found these at the early market! Old-fashioned, baked the traditional way!”
“You like fish crackers, right? I bought a ton.”

Shane raised a brow, looking into the jar with amusement. “They’re cute.”
But he didn’t reach for one.
Tyler hesitated. “Aren’t you gonna try one? They’re really good. Crispy and buttery and—”

Shane picked one up obligingly, popped it into his mouth, and chewed.
Tyler leaned in, watching his face.
“…You don’t look like someone eating their favorite snack.”

Shane exhaled. “That’s because I don’t like the snack.”
“…Huh?”
“I never said I liked the crackers.”

Tyler stared. “But… then what did you mean you liked…?”
And then it hit him.
Like a switch flipping in his brain.

The truth that had been right in front of him all this time.
Little fish.
His eyes widened.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. For a moment he just sat there, gaping, utterly unable to function.
Shane reached out, gently lacing their fingers together.
“Yes, Tyler. I meant you.”

He held Tyler’s gaze, quiet but unshakable.
“I wasn’t clear last time. That’s on me.”
“So let me fix it now.”

“I like you. Not as a friend. Not as a well-meaning adult or some distant guide.”
“I don’t expect you to say anything yet. I’m not asking you for anything you’re not ready to give.”
“I just want you to understand—I’m here. However you need me. However you want me.”

Tyler’s ears were ringing.
Blood roared in his veins. His heart thudded against his ribs like it was trying to escape.
He wanted to speak. But no sound came.

Then, slowly, he pulled his hand back and stood.
Without a word, he turned and ran.
Shane’s chest seized.

I scared him again.
But a few minutes later, Tyler returned.
In his arms—a stack of printed comic pages.

He placed them carefully on the table and said, quietly:
“You told me… when I finished a new story, I should show you first.”
“This is the one I just finished.”

“Do you… want to read it?”
Shane picked up the top page.
And froze.

He recognized it immediately.
In the last life, Tyler had drawn a short comic—The Little Fish’s Adventure.
It was simple. Childlike.

But haunting.
A lonely fish drifting through deep waters, blowing too-big bubbles that dragged him toward the surface. Building shell houses he never dared enter, afraid they’d trap him.
It was innocent on the surface. But there was always this aching undercurrent. An emptiness that lingered in every panel.

This time, the little fish was back.
But the story had changed.
Now he lived near a sun-drenched island.

And he wasn’t alone.
There was a bright orange crab—grumpy-looking, fierce-looking, but always there.
When the fish was too scared to visit the shore, the crab would dive into the sea. When the fish made bubbles, the crab popped them with exaggerated flair. When the fish wanted a home, the crab used his claws to build him one—round like a mushroom, soft and safe.

Shane didn’t say a word.
Tyler sat beside him, voice trembling:
“He used to live alone. In the sea.”

“But then he met a crab.”
“And the crab… made him happy.”
“He likes the crab.”

“Like I…”
His shoulders tensed.
His fists clenched on his knees like he was bracing for impact.

But he did it.
“I like you.”
The words—so small, so simple—cost him everything.

The room held its breath.
The ticking clock sounded impossibly loud.
Then Shane said, low and puzzled:

“…Why a crab?”
Tyler blinked. “Huh?”
“Why am I the crab?”

Tyler, stunned, forgot to be nervous. “Because… you’re orange?”
“And… tasty?”
Shane’s mouth curved into the most devastatingly beautiful smile.

“I’m tasty, huh?”
His voice dropped, rough and low.
Tyler stared, processing.

Then his face turned scarlet.
“No—I mean—I didn’t mean—!”
But Shane had already leaned in.

One hand slipped behind Tyler’s head, guiding him forward.
Warm breath.
Clean scent.

And then—
A kiss.
Soft at first.

Then deeper. Certain. Breath-stealing.
Tyler let out a shaky sound as heat rushed through him, shuddering down his spine. His body trembled—not with fear. Not with panic.
But with something utterly new.

Shane didn’t hesitate.
Not this time.