D.D.

Dinner preparations were in full swing at Marcus and Ellen's house. Not only Margaret, who managed the household in the couple's place, but Marcus and Ellen themselves had gone into the kitchen. They were genuinely delighted by the visit of their second son — who happened to be older than their first — even though his schedule was brief: arrived yesterday, leaving tomorrow.

When Marcus opened the front door in his apron, the smell of cooking that had already been drifting through the yard grew stronger. Since we had left the onion rings almost untouched at the pub, the scent of food set off a light twinge of appetite.

Ted — Marcus and Ellen's nine-year-old chocolate Labrador Retriever — came to the door with Marcus, tail wagging, welcoming us home.

"Not much to see in this neighborhood, is there? Must be dull for young people."

"It seemed like a good place to live — quiet and peaceful."

I answered with a smile, and it wasn't an exaggeration or politeness; it was genuinely how I felt about Boston. Knowing that he had lived in this city for two years made every landscape that caught my eye feel meaningful, and between the excitement and the quiet tension of being with him, I hadn't had a single moment to be bored.

Marcus smiled, fine wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes, and patted my shoulder.

"Awi, give Jonas a call. When I told him you were here he was making such a fuss. You'll need to hear some complaints about being out of touch."

He said it to the retreating back of the man heading toward the kitchen, then winked at me.

After stopping by the kitchen to greet Ellen and Margaret and ask if there was anything I could help with, I was practically shooed back into the drawing room — preparations were nearly done. While he spoke with Jonas in Marcus's study, I waited in the first-floor drawing room, sipping a glass of wine Margaret had poured me and taking in the family photos decorating the room from its thickly carpeted corners to its walls.

"This is from Kun's thirteenth birthday party. Impossibly handsome even at that age, wasn't he?"

I turned to find Marcus standing at the drawing room entrance, smiling, pointing at the framed photo I was holding.

"He had so much popularity even while acting so standoffish."

At Marcus's words I looked down at the unsmiling face in the photo and laughed quietly to myself. It was hard to believe he had ever been an awkward teenager, but the boy in the picture was unmistakably him at first glance. Liu Weikun, with a slightly paler complexion and sharper edges than he has now.

"Mind if I borrow Kun for a moment before dinner? I have something to give him, and I think now might be the only time."

I said of course, and Marcus disappeared toward the study, telling me to make myself at home. In the cozy drawing room overlooking the darkening alley, I leisurely looked through the remaining photos. Among the family pictures there were quite a few of him — not only from his boyhood spent here, but spanning years of continued meetings that proved the depth of their bond, clearly tracing the arc of a boy growing into a man.

At dinner last night — which had stretched past four hours — Marcus had mentioned his childhood nickname: "Never Smile." A boy who never laughed.

Marcus and Ellen spoke about it lightly, as though it were all safely in the past, and he had simply laughed off their teasing. But as someone who had also lived through a childhood where smiling wasn't possible, I couldn't help but feel a heaviness about why he "couldn't smile."

It didn't need to be as extreme as laughing at a tumbling autumn leaf, as someone once described. But suppressing laughter — or tears, or joy, or anger — during the years when one should feel and express emotion most richly was a bad sign, in any form.

Recalling the story about how his parents had to divorce against their own wishes for his sake, I picked up another solo photograph of him, next to a picture of a younger Marcus and Ellen on a white boat. He was handsomely dressed in riding gear, standing beside a magnificent horse with a glossy coat. From a time unknown to me, someone younger than I am now was looking out at me with a challenging gaze.

"DD."

"......"

I turned slowly at the calm voice behind me. The thirty-two-year-old him was standing at the entrance to the drawing room.

I couldn't tell what he had called me. Perhaps he hadn't been calling me at all — perhaps he'd simply said a word. Holding the frame, I turned my body a little more toward him and managed a smile.

"I didn't catch that. What did you say?"

"Diamond Dust... have you ever heard of it?"

His voice was flat and dry. After speaking, he swallowed hard.

"I know it as the phenomenon where ice crystals in the atmosphere sparkle when they catch sunlight..."

"......"

Leaning his shoulder against the wall at the entrance — there was no separate door — he nodded.

Diamond Dust.

Its other name is sebing — fine ice.

It's a phenomenon where tiny ice crystals, suspended in the air near the ground, catch the sun's rays and shine. Unlike snow falling from above, it looks as though the dust floating in the atmosphere has transformed into jewels and begun to glitter — which is how it got its name.

Not as widely known as the aurora in Canada or Iceland, or the mirages of the desert, but I had read about it in a book once and always thought that if I ever had the chance, I'd like to see it for myself.

"Marcus brought it up just now. A colleague of his traveled to Harbin last winter, apparently... and said that if you're lucky enough to encounter a large-scale Diamond Dust phenomenon, it's an incredibly mysterious and fantastical experience."

My curiosity about why the subject had come up was satisfied, but his demeanor concerned me more than the story itself. He wasn't speaking with the easy lightness of someone mentioning a topic that had simply come up in conversation.

He was trying to act normal, but beneath the calm surface I could feel a restlessness — an unsettled, deeply stirred emotion, as though something in him didn't know where to go. I set the frame back in its place and turned fully toward him.

He stepped away from the wall, came closer, and cupped my cheek. As the distance closed, the tension filling his entire body became more palpable. It seemed as though containing the emotion locked inside himself was difficult — but he showed no intention of letting it break free.

"Later... would you like to go see it together?"

"......"

"After the New York branch opens without a hitch... once everything settles down... just the two of us, taking our time."

He smiled faintly — or tried to. But he looked exhausted. There was something more he seemed to want to say, yet I knew it would be useless to press him. He was someone who could decide for himself the most fitting moment to speak.

I simply nodded and wrapped my arms around his waist.