The Light Voyager: I Became Her for Him

The whistle split the air. The ball arced, fell through the hoop, and the court roared. Jie stood at the center, tall and blazing under the sunset’s last fire. Sweat streaked down his temple, chest rising heavy, broad shoulders glistening. His grin was victory itself. Lan clapped quietly from the stands, her eyes warm, smile gentle. And Di—palms clammy, heart pounding—stood just behind. Jie had always dazzled him after games, but tonight the sight cut too deep, burning his throat closed. When the crowd thinned, Jie tugged Lan aside. His voice, usually light with jokes, cracked faintly. “Lan,” he said, staring into her eyes, “I like you. I’ve liked you for so long. Be with me.” The words slammed into Di like a blow. Lan froze, lashes trembling. “Jie, I… I’m sorry.” The court hushed. Jie’s grin shattered, shoulders locking. His gaze dropped, eyes shadowed. Only then did Di finally admit the truth—his heart had always belonged to Jie. And watching him dim felt like his own chest caving in. That night, Jie dragged Di to a private lounge. “If I don’t let it out, I’ll choke,” he muttered, cracking open a beer. Amber light spread across the dim room. Jie sprawled on the sofa, shirt clinging damp to his chest, mic in hand. The first ballad was shaky. The second broke, voice cracking on words about love unreturned. By the third, Jie sang hoarse and slurred, his throat raw, his eyes wet, laughter twisted into something bitter. Beer cans scattered across the table. His tall frame sagged, legs stretched, head tipped back against the sofa, exposing the line of his throat. Beer dripped from his chin, rolling into the hollow above his collarbone. “Why does it hurt so much?” he rasped, throat bobbing. “I knew she didn’t love me… but still—I hoped.” His eyes, glazed and bloodshot, drifted to Di, searching, lost. Something tore inside Di. He couldn’t sit still. He slid closer. Jie blinked up at him, dazed, lips parted, breath warm with alcohol. “Di…” The name fell slurred, helpless. Di seized his wrist, heat burning through skin. He pulled him forward until their breaths mingled. Jie didn’t resist. And Di kissed him. Not a brush—an eruption. Desperate, shaking, yet molten. Salt, sweat, and beer clashed on Jie’s lips. Their mouths collided hard, teeth scraping, lips pressing deeper. Jie’s eyes flew open. For a beat, shock flared—but then, drunk and lost, he gave way. His lips softened, parted faintly. Di groaned, hand sliding over his solid shoulder, feeling the heat of muscle beneath the thin shirt. Jie’s broad chest pressed against his slim frame, hot and unyielding. Their mouths moved harder, breath rough, tongues nearly colliding. The kiss grew frantic, wet, clumsy—two athletes colliding, all heat and raw need. Di pressed closer, trembling, drunk on the taste of him. Jie’s hand twitched at his side, unsure, then his lips answered back with sudden force. But then—sharp pain. Jie jerked, clarity cutting through his haze. His teeth clamped down too hard, tearing into Di’s lower lip. Di gasped, a muffled cry lost in the kiss. The taste of iron flooded between them. Blood streaked his mouth, hot and metallic, mingling with the alcohol and heat. Jie recoiled instantly, horror flashing into his dazed eyes. “What the hell—?!” His voice cracked, furious and broken, the alcohol burning off in a rush of shame. Di froze. His lip throbbed, blood staining his chin, but more than pain was the wreckage inside him. The kiss still seared, still burned. Jie’s taste—his warmth—was everywhere. And then shame crashed down, harder than any shove. He stumbled back, breath ragged, vision swimming. And he ran—out into the neon night, tears streaking, lips bleeding. If only I were a girl, his mind screamed, Jie would love me. He wouldn’t shove me away. He wouldn’t bite me bloody. He’d hold me. If I were Lan… Headlights. A horn. Pain. Silence.