Got it. No more questions.
The rain didn't stop that night.
It followed Yuhan inside — soft, silver, quiet — as though the sky itself had been waiting for him too.
He took off his hoodie, shaking out droplets that glimmered under the café's warm lights. His eyes looked tired but calm — the kind of calm that comes after chaos.
Li Wei poured him coffee without asking.
He didn't need to.
Yuhan took the cup, fingers brushing Li Wei's for a second — just a second — but it was enough to make silence feel like a heartbeat.
They sat across from each other, the world outside fading into mist.
"Do you ever feel," Yuhan began quietly, "like you're watching your life from the outside?"
Li Wei looked up. "All the time."
Yuhan smiled faintly, then sighed. "I used to sing because it made me feel free. Now it feels like every note has someone else's price tag."
Li Wei listened. He always did. That was what made it different — Yuhan didn't have to perform here.
"I thought fame would make me infinite," Yuhan continued, voice low, almost a whisper. "But it just made me small. Everyone sees me, but no one knows me."
Li Wei's hand tightened around his cup. "Then let them see the songs. Keep the rest for yourself."
Yuhan looked up. "And what if I forget who I am without the songs?"
"Then," Li Wei said softly, "come here. I'll remind you."
The words hung between them — warm, unpolished, true.
Yuhan blinked once, twice. Something fragile passed through his eyes, and for a heartbeat, Li Wei thought he might cry.
Instead, Yuhan laughed quietly. "You talk like poetry."
"And you sing like it," Li Wei replied.
Yuhan's smile softened. "Then maybe that's why the rain always finds us."
---
He began coming more often after that. Always late, always quiet.
Sometimes, he'd sit at the corner table and write lyrics, sometimes he'd just watch the rain with Li Wei, saying nothing at all.
It became their ritual — unspoken but constant.
When Yuhan was there, the world outside the café didn't exist.
Once, near midnight, the lights flickered as thunder rolled far away. Yuhan glanced at Li Wei, smirking. "Guess the storm's jealous."
Li Wei raised an eyebrow. "Of what?"
"Of peace."
They both laughed — softly, the kind of laughter that leaves traces on your heart.
But not every night was easy.
Some nights, Yuhan would arrive with his cap pulled low, face tense, phone buzzing endlessly. He'd drop it on the counter like it burned.
"Fans found out I was in this district," he murmured once. "They're waiting outside hotels now."
Li Wei hesitated. "Do you want me to—"
"No," Yuhan said quickly. Then, quieter, "I just want to be here."
So Li Wei locked the doors early. Made tea this time, not coffee.
They sat on the floor near the counter, steam curling in the dim light.
Outside, camera flashes glimmered faintly through the rain — far, but not far enough.
Inside, Yuhan leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes.
"I used to think I wanted people to never forget me," he said. "Now I just want one person who remembers me right."
Li Wei didn't speak.
He just reached out, fingers brushing Yuhan's sleeve — a small, wordless promise.
Yuhan looked down at that touch. His breath caught, shallow and soft.
Then, without warning, he whispered, "I think I've already found him."
Li Wei's chest tightened. His hand froze halfway to pulling back.
But Yuhan caught it gently — not to hold, just to keep it there.
For a moment, neither moved.
Rain whispered against the glass, steady as a heartbeat.
Then Li Wei said, "Don't say things like that if you don't mean them."
"I've spent years saying what others wanted to hear," Yuhan said. "Tonight, I'm saying what's mine."
Silence stretched — but it wasn't empty. It was full. Full of every unsent word, every late-night message, every look that said more than language ever could.
Li Wei finally exhaled. "You're impossible."
Yuhan smiled. "And you still let me in."
"Maybe I'm impossible too," Li Wei murmured.
Yuhan tilted his head. "Then we're a perfect storm."
---
When the clock struck midnight, Yuhan stood. "I should go before they find out."
Li Wei nodded, even though every part of him wanted to say stay.
At the door, Yuhan paused, looking back. The rain caught his silhouette, wrapping him in light and shadow.
"Li Wei," he said quietly.
"Yes?"
"Thank you… for giving me somewhere I can exist."
And then he was gone — swallowed by rain and night, leaving only warmth behind.
Li Wei stood there long after, watching the empty street.
He didn't chase. He didn't cry.
He just whispered to the window, "You already do."
Outside, the rain fell steady, endless — like applause no one else could hear.
---
End of Chapter 6