Chapter 2: Bao; Your Smile is as Warm as the Sun
Baozi/Bao - a type of dumpling-like Chinese bun commonly eaten in China, Vietnam, the Philippines, and other Asian countries as well.
"Take one, I insist."
Why wasn't Yao scared of Ivan?
"Are you sure?"
Why wasn't Ivan, as he talked to Yao, completely stricken with terror?
"Yeah, my parents packed me with more than I know what to do with."
Ivan suddenly had food.
Yao was gone now, whisked away so suddenly that Ivan could barely comprehend it, and as of current, Ivan sat in the library, alone, a pork bun in hand. Yao had even given him a napkin.
For a while Ivan stared at the bun, he himself in a state of near disbelief.
He had food?
A part of Ivan didn't want to believe it.
He had food.
Such a simple fact shook his world of inner despair so violently that it nearly made him sick.
He wasn't used to this. He hadn't eaten lunch in so long that once he had one in his hands, he honest to God didn't know what in the damn world to do with it. Even though he most certainly needed to eat it before it spoiled or got damaged or possibly lost, Ivan somewhat didn't want to. He wanted to cherish the pork bun, to give it some sort of attention before he had to consume it, but at the same time so fiercely did hunger boil in his stomach that he wanted nothing more than to take a bite.
So, he did only what any reasonable person being severely abused - by his own parents nonetheless - would do: he decided to compromise.
He'd eat half of the bun now, and he'd eat the other half for dinner, along with that hopefully still there half-packet of ramen.
Ivan found it quite, very, extremely odd to have something extra to peck on, but he couldn't help but smile sadly.
Taking a small, almost fantastical bite, Ivan thoroughly enjoyed his pork bun - which was, admittedly, the most delicious thing he'd eaten in probably years. He felt giddy in a way, as if this pork bun alone could fix every single one of his problems. His high of happiness only lasted but a while, but for that while, Ivan took it, and enjoyed it, and fully savored every flavor, for when you've been starved of nectar, honey tastes so fucking sweet.
If Ivan prayed, he would've prayed not to God, but to Yao.
Next day came, and Ivan, as per usual, spent lunch in the library.
"Here."
Ivan jolted his head up, and, despite being at school and not at home, he was somewhat anticipating a slap to the face. Hopefully, the expression of a wince he gave had not been too obvious.
"Hmm?" Ivan was confused, but then he found himself face to face with Yao again.
"It's red bean this time."
Another bun made its way from Yao's hand to Ivan's.
"Why?" Ivan asked, more to himself than to Yao. What in the world had Ivan done to deserve the unspeakable luxury of decent food? Why did Ivan deserve the unspeakable luxury of decent food? The question span around in Ivan's head. Round and round and round it went, tormenting him with the idea the maybe, perhaps, possibly, probably, he didn't deserve to happy, or fed, or loved.
Ivan, you don't deserve love. Especially the love of Mom and Dad.
"My parents gave me too many buns again," Yao replied. "I thought that you'd want one."
It was then Ivan registered that Yao had extra food. Regularly. Yao could eat regularly. Yao didn't have to worry about his next meal, or whether the fridge had all alcohol and no food, but he did get to worry about having extra food. Again, Ivan was jealous, jealous of something that should have been normal.
"Are you sure?" Ivan didn't know what to say. Lunch? Two days in a row? Holy shit. This was new.
Ivan's a waste of food.
"Yeah. No harm in it, right? Well, unless you're allergic to red bean." Yao chuckled dryly, and Ivan smiled in return. Not the small smile which typically adorned his face, but the tiniest of soft chuckles.
"Thank-you, then." Ivan did his best to hide the sky-high eagerness in his tone of voice.
"Mind if I sit down with you again?" Yao inquired.
"No problem at all." Ivan looked at Yao, and Yao looked at Ivan, and their eye-contact unbroken all the way, Yao sat down in the chair next to Ivan's. The Mandarin textbook from yesterday had been replaced by Shakespeare's Othello.
They sat in silence. Ivan couldn't think of anything to say, and Yao only gave him the occasional glance from behind his book.
Lunch ended soon after that, and like yesterday, they both, for that day, parted ways.
Things continued on like that. Ivan would go to the library, as always, and Yao would give him a bun, as always. What Ivan found the most solace in, though, was not the buns Yao gave him, but the fact that he didn't find Yao scary. However, the buns were indeed a nice added bonus.
Library. Yao. Bun.
Library. Yao. Bun.
Library. Yao. Bun.
Day after day, Ivan's life occurred in that order, for Yao and his Chinese buns were the only thing that Ivan wanted to remember. They were the only things that Ivan found worth even paying mind to, because the rest of the day, from his waking up; to dull-as-the-fucking-beige-wall Physics class; to coming home and finding his father angry, bottle of vodka already in hand ready to smash over Ivan's head; to crying himself to sleep at night - wait, he wasn't supposed to tell you that - was blurry. It was blurry. It was bad. It made Ivan really, really sad.
Ivan didn't want to remember the rest of the day.
Ivan didn't even want to consider the time that passed without Yao and his buns. Yao didn't bring Ivan much joy - yet - but for the small amount he did bring, Ivan took it, and cherished it, and protected it with his life.
"This one has a quail egg in it."
Ivan looked up, and he smiled.
There stood Yao, a bun in his outstretched palm.
Ivan took the bun into his own hand, as usual.
Yao sat down next to Ivan, as usual.
They spent the time in peaceful, harmonious silence, as usual.
Suddenly, something unusual happened.
Yao had decided on just a little dabble of small-talk.
"Ivan, why do you always eat only half of your bun?"
Ivan froze. His eyes went wide, his mouth hanging just as he was about to bite into the bun.
His mind scrambled for something, anything. An explanation? An excuse? He couldn't just be all like, "Oh, it's nothing. My parents just abuse and neglect me, and since you're my only reliable source of, you know, food, I try to make the bun last for as long as I can."
Stumbling, fumbling, begging, sweating, fighting, on the inside he was crying. Ivan spun and span and tempted he was to run. He almost ran. He almost flew out of the chair faster than a bird, with more force than a lion, containing more fear in his being than a runaway deer.
His face paled as his heart wailed.
Slowly, hesitantly, tentatively, Ivan turned, feeling as if he was about to get hurt, and taking the words out of his brain and forcefully shoving them out his throat and into the air, he said, "Oh, it's just that I save half to eat after school. They're quite tasty."
The words that came out of his mouth felt vile because of how wrong they were.
To Ivan's surprise, Yao looked satisfied.
No questions?
No reservations?
No accusations?
A part of Ivan died on the inside, almost disappointed that Yao didn't suspect a thing, not a thing at all.
Silent was the rest of the lunch period.
Silent was Ivan's secret.
Silent was Ivan.
"I brought two for you today."
Ivan looked up, and he looked at Yao, and he must have looked like he'd witnessed Yao grow a second head.
Ivan didn't know what to say. He didn't know if he even could say anything. He was shocked. Completely, totally, irreversibly shocked, no matter how much he refused to show it.
"Oh, um." Ivan sounded like a complete and utter fool to himself. He, due to his state of mild shock, practically had to drag the words out of his brain. "You didn't have to."
"Well, I told my parents that you like them, so they packed you some, too," Yao explained.
"They didn't have to." Yao's parents are so normal.
"They did, though." Yao's parents are so nice.
"Really?" Yao's parents are so willing to look after their son.
"Yep. Enjoy." Compared to Ivan's parents, Yao's parents are literal, actual saints.
"Your parents are so nice. And thank-you, for the buns." For all his thoughts, for all his turmoil, for all his pain, Ivan was only barely able to mutter a thank-you, a thank-you that could not even contain or convey a gram of his gratitude.
"Thank-you for actually talking to me, Yao," Ivan wanted to say.
"Thank-you for giving me food, and a chance, when my own parents won't," screamed Ivan's mind.
"Thank-you for treating me like a human." That thought collided with Ivan like a train.
"It's nothing." Yao smiled. He smiled at Ivan. "My parents are nice people, and I really love them, but they always think that I'll starve to death if I miss even one meal."
Ivan nodded. Yao had no fucking clue how lucky he was.
For all the suffering he'd endured, Ivan could only manage to spit out a simple question. "Hey, I know that people call them buns in English, but what are they actually called?"
At that, Yao's face fluttered into a gentle grin. As he sat down, he told Ivan, "In Mandarin, they're called baozi."
"Baozi?" Ivan repeated.
Yao chuckled.
"What?" Ivan looked at Yao with suspicion.
"Just the way you say it, it's so funny," Yao replied. At this point, Yao looked like he was about to laugh his ass off. "It sounds so wrong, but so cute, too!"
"Well, can you teach me, then? How to say it correctly?" Ivan asked, almost rhetorically. Never in a million years could he ever imagine that such a simple question could derail so much of his current, albeit shitty, life situation.
"I could try." Yao gave Ivan a playful smirk.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I mean, Mandarin is already hard enough to learn for an English speaker, and your Russian accent makes it sound even funnier."
"You think I'm funny?"
"Hilarious."
"That's not nice."
Yao didn't say anything at that. He just planted his elbow on the table, rested his head on his hand, and looked at Ivan with a smile.
That was when Ivan realized that he'd never, ever, ever, ever seen his parents smile, not even once, at him.
However, he found Yao's smile as beautiful as a flower. As Bright as a star. As warm as the sun.
