Summary:- When The Untamed filming ends, the entire cast celebrates. But in the quiet of his hotel room, Xiao Zhan realizes that his time with Wang Yibo...the long days of rehearsals, laughter, and stolen glances...might never return. Wang Yibo knocks on his door one last time, clearly wanting to say something. Instead, he only says, âTake care, ge.â And leaves. Neither of them say the words burning inside.
The night after Yibo disappeared into the dark left Xiao Zhan hollow. He stood at the overlook until the first light of dawn crept across the horizon, until the silence pressed so hard against his ribs he could barely breathe. By the time he returned to his apartment, exhaustion weighed on every step, but sleep didnât come.
Instead, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying every second of their conversation.
âI canât stop thinking about you.â
The words clung to him like a fever, burning, unrelenting. They were everything he had wanted, everything he had neededâand yet, they came wrapped in regret, too late to change the fact that Yibo had walked away. Twice now.
Why hadnât he stopped him? Why hadnât he said what screamed in his chest?
Because the weight of the worldâtheir careers, the scrutiny, the fragile balance of everything they had builtâwas too heavy.
Because some truths, once spoken aloud, could not be taken back.
And so, once again, he had said nothing.
Days turned into weeks. Xiao Zhan buried himself in work, numbing the ache with rehearsals, interviews, endless travel. His smile remained flawless, his charm intact, his professionalism unshaken. To everyone around him, he was thriving.
But when the cameras turned off, when the crowds faded, the silence returned.
At night, in hotel rooms across cities, he found himself staring at his phone, thumb hovering over Yiboâs name. Sometimes he typed a messageâshort, simple: Are you okay? or Did you eat? But he always erased it before pressing send.
Fear held him back. Fear of what a replyâor worse, no replyâwould mean.
Still, he carried Yibo with him. In songs that reminded him of late-night rides. In jokes that fell flat because the one person he wanted to tell wasnât there. In the way his heart jumped at every motorcycleâs growl outside his window.
The absence was everywhere.
And then, one evening, fateâor crueltyâbrought them together again.
It was at another industry event, a charity gala this time. The ballroom shimmered with chandeliers, filled with laughter, clinking glasses, polished smiles. Xiao Zhan had dressed the part, elegant in a tailored suit, his public mask perfectly in place.
He was mid-conversation with a director when he felt itâthat shift in the air, that inexplicable awareness.
Across the room, surrounded by a small cluster of acquaintances, expression calm, posture relaxed. But when his eyes met Xiao Zhanâs, just for a fleeting second, the calm cracked.
Xiao Zhanâs heart stumbled. He excused himself quickly, but not quickly enough to avoid suspicion. The director arched a brow, but Xiao Zhan forced a polite smile and slipped away, weaving through the crowd.
Yibo had already moved toward the balcony. Xiao Zhan followed.
The night air was cooler outside, the city glowing below. Yibo stood with his back to him, hands braced against the railing, shoulders tense.
Xiao Zhan hesitated at the doorway. Part of him wanted to turn back, to avoid reopening wounds. But his feet carried him forward anyway.
The younger man stiffened slightly, then turned. His eyes softened at the sight of him, but his lips curved into a faint, guarded smile. âGe.â
They stood a few steps apart, the distance both unbearable and necessary.
âYou look tired,â Xiao Zhan said quietly, almost as if testing the words.
Yibo huffed a small laugh. âYou too. Always working.â
âOccupational hazard,â Xiao Zhan murmured, trying for humor. It fell flat.
Silence settled between them again. Xiao Zhanâs chest tightened. He had promised himself, after the overlook, that if he ever saw Yibo again, he wouldnât waste the chance. But now, standing here, every word felt like stepping into a storm.
Finally, Yibo broke the quiet. âHave you thought about that night?â
Xiao Zhanâs breath caught. âEvery day.â
Yiboâs eyes darkened. He turned back to the railing, fingers drumming against the cool metal. âMe too.â
The simple confession unraveled something inside Xiao Zhan. He stepped closer, his voice trembling despite his effort to control it. âThen why⊠why do we keep doing this? Meeting, saying half the truth, then walking away like strangers?â
Yiboâs jaw tightened. âBecause itâs easier than the alternative.â
âAnd whatâs the alternative?â Xiao Zhan demanded softly, pain threading his words.
Yibo finally looked at him again, gaze fierce, raw. âThe alternative is admitting that I donât just think about you. That Iââ He broke off, swallowing hard. âThat I care about you more than I should.â
The words hit Xiao Zhan like a blow. His chest clenched, his throat burned. âAnd thatâs so terrible?â
âIt could ruin everything,â Yibo said hoarsely. âOur careers. Our lives. You know that.â
Xiao Zhan shook his head, tears pricking his eyes. âMaybe. But pretending weâre nothingâitâs ruining me anyway.â
For a moment, neither breathed. The world narrowed to the space between them, trembling with everything they had tried to bury.
Yibo took a step closer. His hand lifted, hovering near Xiao Zhanâs cheek, trembling with restraint. âGeâŠâ
Xiao Zhanâs breath shuddered. He leaned into the touch that never quite landed. âSay it, Yibo. Please. Just say it once.â
Yiboâs eyes blazed. He dropped his hand before it touched him, fists curling at his sides. âI canât.â
The refusal shattered through Xiao Zhan. He stumbled back half a step, as though struck. âThen why bring me here? Why call me that night? Why tell me you couldnât stop thinking about me if you were only going toââ His voice cracked. He turned away, swallowing against the tears clawing up his throat.
Behind him, Yiboâs voice was low, broken. âBecause itâs the truth. Even if I canât give it shape. Even if I canât hold onto it.â
Xiao Zhan closed his eyes. His heart screamed, but no words came.
After a long silence, Yibo stepped back. âTake care, ge.â
This time, Xiao Zhan didnât answer. He kept his back turned as Yibo walked away, footsteps fading into the night.
Only when he was alone did the tears fall.
In the days that followed, Xiao Zhan functioned as always. Smiling, working, laughing where required. But something in him had broken for good.
Because now, he had the truth.
And the truth was that Wang Yibo cared. Deeply. Desperately. Enough to confess in fragments, enough to reach out only to pull away.
But never enough to stay.
Xiao Zhan replayed it all endlesslyâthe hotel room, the overlook, the balcony. Each time, he told himself he would do it differently, that next time he would be brave enough to hold Yibo there, to say the words himself.
But each chance had slipped away.
And maybe that was the cruelest part: that some goodbyes werenât spoken at all. They were lived, over and over, in silence.
Weeks later, Xiao Zhan stood on another balcony, this time in a different city, after another long day of work. The air was cool, the streets below bustling. He held his phone in his hand, thumb hovering over Yiboâs name.
For once, he didnât erase the words.
He stared at the message for a long time, chest tight, breath shallow. Then, slowly, he pressed send.
The screen glowed with confirmation. The message was gone, delivered into the unknown.
Xiao Zhan exhaled, trembling. Whether Yibo replied or not, whether anything changed or not, he had finally broken the silence.
And in that small act, his heart achedâbut it also breathed.
The phone buzzed minutes later.
Tears blurred Xiao Zhanâs vision. He pressed the phone to his chest, eyes closing. The ache would not vanish, the distance would not shrink, the world would not bend for them.
But for tonight, the silence had finally spoken.
And sometimes, that was enough.
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