§ 1

Huang Zitao was utterly frustrated, he couldn’t believe that man. He swore to himself he wouldn’t work with that man again. Angrily, he kicked a pebble in his way with too much force. The pebble collided with a parked car. Unmoving, he glanced around, seeing if anyone saw that he assaulted a poor car. With long strides, he continued on his way. Gosh, he hated that man with a burning passion! Sometimes he hated his job as an editor because of people like that damned author he had to work with. Normally, his colleagues would describe him as a devoted young man who takes his job seriously, even if he’s quite the odd fellow with him being an introvert. But even introverts have their surprising sides. “Bastard!” he cursed a bit too loud. He gripped his hair and let out a cry of frustration. Not minding the curious onlookers, he kicked a street sign.

§ 2

“Just because he had some moderate success with that damned book dripping with unsightly and disgustingly cute ing cliché romantic stuff doesn’t mean he’s a writing god!” Moderate success was an understatement, the author’s first published book was a bestseller, already high in international ranks shortly after release. Zitao was already the editor during that publishing process, like for the second one at the moment and this book is about to go into the press. Zitao, on the other hand, told his boss that he refuses further work with this client, he was giving him constant headaches. No wonder his boss wasn’t too happy, Zitao was the only one keeping up with the author’s over a long span of time. “How old is that man anyway, throwing a tantrum like a ing five-year-old! I told him the chapter was , garbage, word vomit, diarrhoea, ing cancer! Even a filler would have done a better job! But nah, it’s important for the story,” air-quoting to himself in a mocking way and pure disgust evident in his voice. “Bull!”

§ 3

It was one of his worst habits, talking to himself when he was frustrated to a maximum. He stifled a yawn. The stress influenced insomnia was back with full force, his sleep reduced to a time frame from two in the morning to six or seven, unfulfilling four to five hours a night. He was still mumbling to himself when he rounded the corner to the back door of his apartment complex. Before he rounded the second corner, he heard a thud. He stopped dead in his tracks, listening. A muffled whimpering was heard. He wasn’t too worried, it was still early afternoon, nothing to be concerned about, but Zitao was cautious nevertheless. Peeking around the corner, he retreated right back into hiding. With his back pressed against the wall, he swallowed hard and stared straight ahead. No, Lady Luck wasn’t on his side today, she was most definitely mocking him. He turned around and leaned his forehead against the wall, pondering about what to do next. Walking back to the front entrance or facing his fears? “Ah, it! You’re a grown man, Zitao,” he cursed under his breath and failed miserably at hyping himself up. Placing his hands on the corner of the wall, he pulled himself forward to peek around the corner. While silently observing the scene before him, he swallowed hard, his throat unnaturally dry. He was facing one of his worst nightmares.

§ 4

“Uhm, you okay there, kiddo?” he cringed mentally at himself. He stared with wide eyes at the creature before him. Teary eyes stared back, biting their wobbling lower lip, indicating a fight against the salty traitors. The dam broke and the floodgates were opened. Zitao winced violently. Sitting at the ground was a small boy holding his bruised and bleeding knee. He also scratched his palms, little stones mixed with blood and skin. Zitao was petrified, he didn’t know what to do. His body was moving on its own accord, his mind screaming bloody murder. He left the safety zone, formerly known as the corner, approached the crying boy and crouched down to match the height of the boy. The boy choked out a miserable Mama, before flinging himself into Zitao's chest. The adult felt absolutely helpless, the boy sobbing and hiccuping in his chest, staining his dress shirt with a mixture of tears, mud and blood. Zitao didn’t move an inch, he had no idea how to handle a crying child, starting with the fact he had no idea how to comfort someone in the first place. He was at its wits’ ends, he was bad with kids.

§ 5

He somehow ended up circling one arm around the child and patted his head in an awkward manner. He did nothing else, just crouch down and stare at the mop of dirty blonde hair under him. The sniffling of the boy decreased until only the hiccups were left. With puffy red eyes, the boy stared up at Zitao. Snot was running from his nose and the adult was irritated and disgusted at the sight before him.

§ 6

“Uncle—” – He felt his eyelid twitch. In response, he snorted, “I’m not your uncle!” – The kid’s eyes filled themselves again with tears, the first ones threatening to fall over the lower eyelids. “Ah, !” with every passing second he felt even more irritated. The kid stared at him with big eyes, “You said a bad word, you have to wash your mouth with soap.” Sitting back, he threw an accusing finger at Zitao’s face, his missing front teeth suddenly obvious. Zitao had enough. He stood up to his full height, glaring down at the small child who craned his neck heavenwards to look into Zitao’s face. His headache started to get worse; he disliked kids. It was just a strong dislike, not hate, hate was too strong of a feeling. He turned around, ready to leave the boy alone. Before he could stomp off, he felt a tug around his pinky and ring finger. Turning back, he glared at the boy who held his fingers with both of his hands, standing and not even reaching Zitao's hips, staring helplessly up to Zitao. Pouting, he pointed at his still bleeding knee. Zitao inhaled sharply. He had enough. He bent down, lifting the boy with one arm off the ground in one swift motion. The boy squeaked in shock and had Zitao's neck in a deathlock—scared for his life due to the sudden movement—and hid his face in the crook of the man’s neck.

§ 7

“Stop whining, I’ll help you...” With that said, he brought him to one of the windows and sat him down on the window sill. Placing his bag beside the boy, he rummaged in it. He retrieved a bottle of water, band-aids and bandages. Thank god he bought them on his way back from the office. Like the klutz he is, he always needed a ton of them, blood isn’t favoured on manuscripts after all. With big, round eyes, his eyes almost hidden by his way too long fringe, the boy still stared up at Zitao's face. He still couldn’t match Zitao's height. He started speaking softly, kneading and pulling the hem of his shirt between his little, chubby fingers, “Uncle?” – “Zitao.” The boy stared questioningly at him and Zitao shook his head in disbelief. “Name’s Zitao. Yours?” he raised an eyebrow accusingly. Instead, he was rewarded with an eye-blinding smile that could easily compete with the sun, if it wasn’t for the very missing front tooth. “Hello Zitao, I’m Aron!” answered the boy still smiling and reaching up to pat Zitao's cheeks in a seal-like manner. “No touching! You hurt your hands!” – “Oh…,” the smile dropped a little. While the boy was busy inspecting his hands, Zitao felt weirdly disheartened.

§ 8

Sighing, he uncupped the water bottle, took Aron’s hands in one of his much larger ones, started coating them with water and cleaned them, before doing the same to the knee. He didn’t miss the observing look the child gave him. The kid dried his hands by carefully patting them on his shirt. Meanwhile, Zitao had secured the bandage tightly around the knee, “Can you move your knee a little for me? I have to see if it is too tight or too loose.” Aron tested it by swinging his legs back and forth. Surprised, he clapped his hands together, regretting it right afterwards when the wound stung. “Careful, Champ!” the adult reminded the kid, who nodded along with his words while carefully placing his palms together and winced again, “Sorry...” Zitao tended to his hands, pulling them apart and trying to get some little stones out while the boy pretended to be brave, but some tears still rolled down his chubby cheeks. When he finished, he looked at the boy who was currently admiring the penguin band-aids until he realised the unnerving silence. When the realisation hit, Zitao was afraid Aron’s eyes would pop out of their sockets. But it didn’t happen, instead: “Thank you! Zitao!” The boy threw himself at Zitao. Zitao had left his arms beside the boy, propped up at the window sill while waiting for a response and that was his mistake. He stood in a close distance to Aron and that was Aron’s luck. This way he was able to wrap his arms around Zitao's neck without the danger of falling down. “Could you let go of me?” – “Nope!” but Aron let go of him nonetheless, but retorted by patting the man’s cheeks. “You’re my best friend now,” he smiled cheekily at him. Zitao refrained from pinching Aron’s cheeks in return. Leaning dangerously close to Aron, he spoke with the deepest voice he could muster, “I’m basically a stranger, you shouldn’t trust a stranger.” But Aron was having none of that.

§ 9

“How old are you?” Zitao was currently sitting beside Aron on the stairs in front of the apartment complex. He didn’t know why he was doing that, spending time with a kid he barely knew, voluntarily. Aron had told him that his mom was working and he forgot his keys when he left the apartment this morning. That’s why he was outside, waiting for his mom after school. Zitao was glad that he was early at home because Aron had already been waiting for an hour at that time. Zitao was impressed with how mature Aron actually was for his age. That was one of the reasons he allowed the child to talk a mile a minute. “Huh?” – “Don’t huh me, how old are you?” Seven little fingers were shoved into his face with a toothy little grin, “You?” – “Your age plus twenty-five…,” sighed Zitao. Aron was calculating the equation he got, repeating the process three to four times, using his fingers to count until he was sure about the result. “Thirty-two?! Woah, you’re so old!” Zitao faked tearing up, “You’re so mean—” – “Don’t cry! I’m sorry!” Aron sprang to his feet, actually meeting Zitao's sitting height, and cupped his face with his small hands, tears were threatening to lose against gravity. “Hey, it’s alright. I was joking with you—” Zitao pulled Aron in his arms and down on his lap. 

What the is wrong with you, Huang ing Zitao? I thought you disliked kids? They’re loud, dirty, unreliable and so on, he questioned himself.

“Really?” – “Yes...” – “I’m glad”, Aron snuggled himself into the crook of Zitao's neck. Zitao stared disbelieving at the mop of hair in his arms, again, for the third time today.

§ 10

“When is your parent coming home?” – “How late is it?” Zitao checked his phone and showed it to the kid. “Mama’s coming home at five.” Half an hour left and Zitao was free from this little devil. He really asked himself why he hadn’t just left the kid after tending his wounds, telling him he had some work to do. Normally, kids were scarred for life by his height and the grim look of his resting face. Not so Aron. Looked like he took a liking to Zitao, much to Zitao's dismay and he felt conflicted about it.

§ 11

“Mama!” Zitao received a blow into his lower abdomen when Aron suddenly jumped up and ran towards a young-looking woman. Zitao was still recovering from Aron’s elbow when the couple approached him. – “This is Zitao, he helped me with my woun—” Aron pulled Zitao's fingers and beamed at his mother when she interrupted him. “Zitao?! It’s you? I didn’t recognise you in non-casual clothing,” she gave him a second once over, “Looking good in that attire. I only ever saw you in that awful faded shirt and your sweatpants.” She beamed at him and the resemblance between those two was uncanny. That was when the pin dropped for Zitao, “Wait?! That’s your son?!” He almost squeaked due to shock. He just met her a few days ago when she moved into the apartment next to his. – “Ah, yes, that’s right. This sunshine is my baby boy!” she ruffled Aron’s hair, “Thank you for taking care of him. I hope he wasn’t too much of a monster.” – “Well—” Zitao trailed off. He was interrupted by an awkward cough, “Alright, I get it. Aron, say sorry.”

§ 12

“‘m sorry,” he mumbled under his breath, avoiding Zitao's eyes and kicking invisible pebbles with the tip of his shoes. His mother coughed again and he spoke up once more, much clearer now and looking Zitao dead in the eye, “I’m sorry, Zitao!” He enveloped Zitao in a bone-crushing hug. – “Zitao, I’m sorry for this inconvenience caused by Aron. He probably held you off your work. I’m making dinner as thanks if I don’t interrupt any pending work. Want to join us?” Zitao was about to decline when he looked at Aron who looked like a dejected puppy, gnawing on his lower lip, “Alright.” If he wanted to say anything else, it was impossible because Aron already rambled about how he wanted to show Zitao his room and the giant penguin plushie he had. Zitao just sighed. 

Embrace the opportunity and get away from your computer once in a while, he thought to himself mentally while following his neighbours up the stairs. Aron was dragging him along after he clasped their hands together.  A small smile was tugging at Zitao’s lips.