Seventh Year

I'm getting too old for this.

I know it's a funny thing for me to say. I'm a young man still, not too long grown out of boyhood, really. By all rights, I ought to be in my prime, at the height of my strength.

Still, if I spare a moment to raise my eyes from where they squint at the blurring ink before me, and lean lightly back to rest my head against the wall, I almost imagine I can hear my spine creaking with the effort. The years have aged me in so many ways that I cannot hope to name them all, and I am tired.

"Boyan, Boyan…"

Someone's tapping at the door, first once, softly. Then twice, more insistently, and the voice that I nearly mistook for the whisper of a ghost sounds again.

"Lu Xun!'

The door creaks open when I fail to respond. You tiptoe in on little cat-feet, swathed in so many layers to keep the cold at bay that it takes me more than a moment to make out your face.

"R-Ren!" I swallow the lump that's suddenly made its way up into my throat, scrabbling like a peon for what remains of my dignity in this state, at this time of night. "W-what are you doing here! Shouldn't you be in bed?"

A childish giggle issues from the cocoon.

"You ought to be in bed, too."

"I know." I sigh. "But I can't sleep."

"Why is that?" You make yourself comfortable on the cushion next to mine, smoothing the fabric in your lap absentmindedly. You take up one of the many sheaves of paper strewn on the table before us, examining it with a critical eye. "You're scribbling again. It's not because of tomorrow, is it?"

Tomorrow? It must have been one of the last things I was thinking about, yet at that instant it hits me like a blacksmith's mallet, and the same ear-piercing ring stirs a clatter inside my head. Tomorrow. How in all of Heaven and Earth could it have slipped my mind! Yet, somehow, in spite of all this, I manage to answer fairly calmly.

"…Maybe."

"Are you scared?"

Scared? Of marriage? Of marriage to you, of all people? I don't know. Sometimes it's difficult to think of you in that light, even after all that has happened. Can you blame me, truly? You were a charge first, a shared responsibility between your uncle and I, before a friend, before a love.

It's funny how things can change so quickly. You barely even notice that something is different…

I can only sigh again, and shake my head.

"…A little, maybe."

"Oh." You rest your head against my tensed shoulder, and it relaxes a little under the comfort of the weight. "That's okay. I am, too. Just a little." You pause, as if you're unsure whether to go on, but you do anyway. You always have. "Xun?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"You knew mama and papa for a little while. Do you think they felt like this before they got married? All jittery, I mean."

A moth dances close to the lamp on the window sill, hovering without touching the flame, as if it's more intelligent than most of its kind. I barely catch your words, transfixed as I am at the sight of it. I can't help but think now that the two of them—your mother whom I loved beyond words, and your father who loved her more still—have faded from my mind, these seven years, as if I've finally… I've finally learned to let them go, bless their souls.

"I imagine so, Ren," I say at last.

You smile, and nod, and say no more. The moth, miraculously, leaves the flame for the night.

Maybe that's as it should be.

Fin