Archive of Our Own ^beta

Moving into his new apartment has been an absolute blessing. Jiang Cheng finally has a place to truly call his home. His bedroom has become his safe haven with its sunlit glow, a king-sized bed all for himself, a large tub in the master, and most importantly: privacy. 

The real estate agency had reassured him that the penthouse suite facing his windows is largely left unoccupied despite it being on lease for a couple of years now. After several months of not observing a single sign of life, Jiang Cheng is inclined to believe them. Most of the curtains are drawn to block off the floor to ceiling windows. He has not seen even an inch of movement from those curtains. The ones that aren’t shut hardly reveal a thing. 

Which is perfect for Jiang Cheng, of course. Who wouldn’t want a corner of the city skyline all to themselves? 

After a long day in court, the last thing Jiang Cheng wants is to see yet another face when he gets home. Certainly not if they do not belong to his family—but at the same time, he did move out to live by himself years ago for a reason. 

Slipping out of his necktie and suit to sink into the warm, churning depths of his bathtub is the only thing on Jiang Cheng’s mind the second he enters his bedroom. Then he gets to face-plant into his pillow top mattress. Hell, he should have let Jin Zixuan convince him to invest in Egyptian cotton sheets so much sooner. They’re soft enough on his bare skin for him to lose all traces of modesty and sleep in the nude throughout the year. 

It is his home all to himself, after all. 

So, when Jiang Cheng is straightening from unbuckling the garters from his thighs, underwear already on the floor, he is not at all expecting to meet eyes with a man directly across from him only a few meters away.  

“Holy shit,” Jiang Cheng vehemently swears.

There is a man in the apartment across the way looking right at him in his naked state.  

After eight o’clock in the evenings, Jiang Cheng is supposed to be alone. His office hours strictly end at five every day. It is made so by design. 

Apparently, this man is, too. Heaven’s most generous angels must have been assigned to his birth. His eyes are round and pleasantly curved, his brows a serene arch, his nose a straight angle. And he has a pair of lips that Jiang Cheng can imagine kissing when he is not being pulled in by the man’s stare that he is holding for some unnamed reason. 

Until those honey hues drift downwards. Jiang Cheng sees the faint outline of himself within the reflection of his window and aghast horror sweeps in. 

Jiang Cheng violently wrenches his curtains shut.  

“What the fuck,” he says out loud. 

Then he remembers the intensity within the man’s eyes and a shiver races down his spine like fingertips chasing the blood that rushes through his body with mortification. Which remains startling exposed.  

But Jiang Cheng knows how he looks. It has been a while since he last pursued a tousle under the sheets—a choice he made—but it’s not that he’s unpopular, he reminds himself.  

So what if he’s been seen? This is his home. He can be naked if he wants. What is the guy going to do? 

Jiang Cheng throws the curtains open again. The man has continued to nurse the drink he holds between his fingers. White wine. His eyes cast over to his again. The man has long, endless legs, a slender ankle balanced upon his knee. He somehow casts a regal air, perched upon a tufted navy loveseat.  

Jiang Cheng lifts his middle finger at the guy for staring. 

The man raises his glass in exchange, along with the corner of his lips. He appears amused by their situation. 

Jiang Cheng cannot find it within himself to hate it, either. He rolls his eyes as he turns on his heel. He has a bath to run, and he urgently needs to cleanse his mind of all thoughts. 

Never mind the fact that he can feel the heat of the man’s stare trailing down his backside as he walks away.  

By the time that Jiang Cheng is well done and loose from the steam of his bath, the man across the way is standing with his back to him, one hand resting on his side and the other holding his phone to his ear. Jiang Cheng checks out the broad span of his shoulders, the taper of his back down to his solid waist, all while drying his shoulder length hair with a towel. He tosses it aside to crawl into bed before he can be spotted again.  

The knowledge of being seen by the man is not enough to have him give up his newly found luxury of silk sheets against the nakedness of his skin. No, his thirty-four years of life have taught him the importance of valuing his sleep, and he has better things to worry about. 

The man can stare all he likes. Their predicament is not going to result in anything, after all.  

When Jiang Cheng wakes in the morning at six o’clock sharp, he has forgotten all about his impropriety from the previous evening. He needs to hit the gym, pick Fairy up from Lan Sizhui for their morning run, and drop her off at doggy daycare before clocking in at the office, he knows, sitting up in his pillow top bed. Before that, he completes the first half of his stretches, elongating his back, rolling his shoulders, popping his stiff neck. All per his usual routine.  

He is soaking up what he can of the morning sun on his skin by the window, completing his stretches, when he notices that the suite across from his has any of its curtains drawn wide open, just as his are.  

That never happens, his waking brain duly notes. 

And there shouldn’t be any furniture for him to spy upon, but there suddenly is. His eyes dart to take in the new bounty of information. A decorative vase, a coffee table, an armchair, bookshelves. 

And a massive bed. It’s empty though. Thankfully so. 

But this means that last night was very real. It also means Jiang Cheng has been lied to. Those damn real estate agents. If it weren’t for Wei Wuxian convincing him it would be an amazing idea to get a suite in the same building together, he wouldn’t have taken it. He crosses his arms with an irritated huff. 

Being able to afford the top floor of the apartment complexes in this neighborhood requires a lot of wealth. Most came with their families’ riches weighing down their pockets, or a thriving business to secure such a prime location spot. Both of which came with luck.  

For Jiang Cheng, it was all strategy. He has always been resourceful and meticulous with his investments. Even his last place had been flipped to make easy profit where he could.  

He had to. His late father had always made it known that he would single Jiang Cheng out of his will after discovering his son’s unnatural ‘affliction.’ It was the only promise Jiang Fengmian had ever made to him that he actually followed through with before his passing. Asking his surviving mother for financial help was simply not an option to him, not when he considered her wholly deserving of the freedom awarded to her after going through what she had with Jiang Fengmian.  

So Jiang Cheng had bided his time and struck when the iron was hot. When an opening within his career arose, the people on the other side were desperate to retain him, and he had been well aware of that. They offered to cover his moving expenses. They threw a housing stipend to his negotiated salary. He made partner in his first few weeks in the firm.  

But the main draw for Jiang Cheng was that their law firm was located in the district next to Jin Ling’s high school, and nothing in hell could stop him from being around for his nephew’s first year. Not even the teenaged brat himself.  

It came as a surprise to him that the final nail needed to get him to pack up and move came from Jin Ling himself, agreeing with his parents that “Jiùjiu needs to be happier.” Because, fine, an hour drive from his old law firm to pick up the boy after school had been a drag. He hates sitting in traffic with a passion—all that time wasted that could be used productively! His move here does improve his quality of living and work-life balance, as they call it.  

Jiang Cheng feels that he simply operates more efficiently. Living closer to his family sets him at ease. And all this results in a newfound abundance of free time that allows more time in his head. 

But Jin Ling’s parents have ferried him away for a summer vacation full of travelling, leaving Jiang Cheng to contend with his newfound free time by himself. His sister had kept saying how bad she felt for all the time and help he has willingly given to raise Jin Ling ever since the boy was born. Jin Zixuan kept telling him to enjoy his life and success more.  

At one point, he had become worried that they felt he was being too overbearing for a child that was not his own, but when he had stepped back it was Jin Ling who made a fuss, asking, “Where has his Jiùjiu gone?” So, Jiang Cheng finds content in his usual stint of balancing his career with catering to his nephew’s needs—it has become second nature after fifteen years. 

And without Jin Ling around, what is he to do? He did not ask for more time to wonder about the man across the way, idly staring at the empty apartment across from his. 

He isn’t used to this. So Jiang Cheng leaves the apartment building, collects Fairy, and arrives at the office much too early for senior ranking staff. He ignores the reactions it always stirs. If Jin Ling wants him happier while being away from him, then Jiang Cheng needs to dive harder into his work and find fulfilment through— 

“A-Ling? Why are you calling so late? Isn’t it ten in the evening for you right now?” 

“Never mind that, Jiùjiu. I’m on vacation! Listen to what A-Diē, A-Niáng, and I did today! We went to the Eifel Tower, but guess what?” 

“Oh, what?” Jiang Cheng asks.  

“Paris stinks! What’s up with that? Why would A-Diē take A-Niáng to a place like this for their honeymoon?” Jin Ling exclaims. “How stupid is that?” 

“How the hell would I know?” Jiang Cheng replies. He hears voices in the background of the call. Shrugging, he says, “Never been there. Ask your mom.” 

“I told Jiùjiu to come with us a hundred times!” his nephew complains. “A-Niáng said that you’ve never left the country. Is that true? How can that be?” 

“You brat! Who else will hold down the fort with Fairy while you’re gone? Wei Wuxian?” 

“Jiùjiu,” Jin Ling groans. “Don’t remind me. Poor Fairy! We could have brought her with us too if you came with us…” 

Jiang Cheng smiles from the familiar whine in his nephew’s voice. It gets him every time. “Maybe next time, A-Ling,” he concedes. 

Signing on to the law firm as their most notorious attorney in the field of domestic abuse had allowed Jiang Cheng to negotiate a large number of vacation days to be taken each year. In four months, he can start cashing them out. Just in time for Jin Ling’s winter break from school. 

If Jiang Cheng continues to roll with his usual routine, four months will surely fly by in a blink of an eye. 

The next time it happens, Jiang Cheng is in a relatively good mood. After the Eifel Tower incident, Jin Ling has fallen into the habit of calling him every day to report his travels. The new case he has picked up is proceeding smoothly. Wei Wuxian invited him for a drink after work, and he enjoyed a couple of mojitos before heading home. 

Entering his bedroom, he immediately sees him. The man across the way has his glass of wine in his hand again. He is already watching as Jiang Cheng proceeds to make his way towards his window. 

With the alcohol warming his skin, he starts with loosening the knot of his tie at his collar while holding that intense stare. He notes that the other man has replaced his business casual attire with a fine body length robe of white that complements his extraordinarily fair complexion.  

No one should be allowed to look that good, Jiang Cheng thinks. He resembles moonlight itself.  

The man shifts to settle against the back of the loveseat as if to get comfortable. “Smug bastard,” Jiang Cheng mutters.  

If it is a show he wants, like hell is Jiang Cheng going to back down. 

Shrugging out of his jacket, he lays it across a chair to be ironed later. The black buttons of his deep purple dress shirt are next, coming free one by one to reveal the edges of his collarbone. His shirt comes loose to reveal the sharp dip of his waist, the tops of his hips.  

His every move is being watched. The tops of his cheeks are starting to burn by the time Jiang Cheng reaches down to unbuckle the silver clasp of his leather belt. He pulls the length of it free in one long motion of his arm and when he steps out of his dark dress pants, he is wearing nothing beneath.  

It was a rare office day without any meetings scheduled. Why couldn’t he enjoy his personal comforts in his own corner office? No one has to know but him.  

Now the man across the way knows, too. 

Those perceptive eyes have grown a touch wider; Jiang Cheng can tell.  

He likes it, then.  

Jiang Cheng allows a smirk to quirk the edges of his lips and comes closer to the glass, leaning his palms on the wide bar cutting the window in half at his waist. He wants a closer look at the man in return. His glass of white wine has gone untouched for the past several minutes. Instead, the man moves his hand to the collar of his robe, lifting an edge as if to gesture for Jiang Cheng to remove his shirt, his last article of clothing. 

Jiang Cheng makes a face and motions for the man to do the same. He has hardly moved an inch since Jiang Cheng started to strip for him. But the man only sends him a closed lip smile, a subtle dimple appearing. He sways his head back and forth and repeats the same gesture. 

Relenting, Jiang Cheng carelessly shrugs his shirt off his shoulders. It joins the pile folded across a chair nearby. Allowing the other male the time to stare, Jiang Cheng habitually rolls his shoulders out and kneads the back of his neck. When he is satisfied, he allows his hand to fall, skimming across his chest, only pausing when he detects movement. 

Oh. The man is sitting up now, as if to follow the path of Jiang Cheng’s hand over his body. He really has his full attention. The man has uncrossed the casual fold of his legs, and the silk of his robe does a poor job at hiding his interest. 

Fuck, Jiang Cheng can see the prominent outline of him from here. He’s big, a thick mass so heavy that it rests across his thigh. 

Jiang Cheng drops his hand towards his groin. He hasn’t gotten this hard so fast since he was a damn teenager. His mouth waters but his lips are so dry when he swallows that he has to deliberately wet them with a swipe of his tongue. 

Cursing under his breath, Jiang Cheng grips the base of his cock for a couple of seconds to calm his body down. As fun as this is, he is not going to start jerking off for a complete stranger to see. Especially not if the favour isn’t going to be returned. 

So, fully knowing that those eyes are tracking the motion of his hand, Jiang Cheng lands the back of his knuckles against the window, his middle finger flat against the cold glass. 

The other man begins to laugh, mute from the two thick walls of glass separating them.  

Jiang Cheng doesn’t stay much longer after that, but the image of the man’s dark eyes and the curl of those lips remain with him while he tends to his excess of sudden energy in the shower. 

“Jiùjiu, why don’t you have any lovers?” 

Jiang Cheng almost chokes on his morning coffee. “Do you even know what that means?” he spits out. 

He can hear Jin Ling’s indignation from across the continent within his hasty answer. “I do know! They’re all over Paris! It means having someone you like so much that you want to spend all your time with them.” 

“I already have that.” 

“I don’t count,” Jin Ling protests, effectively cutting him off. “I mean like, A-Niáng and A-Diē, or like Uncle Wei and…” 

Jiang Cheng sighs. “We’ve talked about this, A-Ling.” 

“But I’m older now! You can tell me,” his nephew insists.  

“Why are you so curious about it all of the sudden?” Jiang Cheng shoots back instead. The last time Jin Ling had gotten obsessed over his uncle’s non-existent love life was when he was eight years old.  

“Because Sizhui told me yesterday that his father and Uncle Wei want to get married. That means they’re going to move in together and make each other happy for the rest of their lives,” the fifteen-year-old informs, matter-of-fact.  

That explains things, Jiang Cheng thinks, holding in another sigh. It is moments like these that he wishes that he was at Jin Ling’s side to pull him into a side hug and mess up his hair until the brat forgets his concern. Over the phone, he has no choice but to dissuade his nephew’s worries with his words, and he is not so succinct with them when he’s off the podium of the courtroom. 

“Listen, Jin Ling,” Jiang Cheng solemnly begins, “I don’t know what has gotten into your head to make you think that I’m unhappy. I’m not. I have you, Fairy, your mother, your grandmother, even your Dàjiù and your father. As long as you all are healthy, that’s more than enough for me. Alright? You don’t have to worry about me,” he intones as reassuringly as possible. 

“…But…” 

“What now?” 

“Don’t you want more than that?” 

Jiang Cheng is forced to think back to when he was Jin Ling’s age. Back then, he had been plagued by everything he had wanted and everything he could never have. And he is reminded of how quickly none of those things truly mattered the day his father died from a sudden heart attack. It had happened only a year before Jin Ling was born.  

He remembers how his mother’s heart had already been broken so many years prior, the love she had for herself and her family drained out of her chest every single day until he was finally gone. Today, he sees how free she is to return to herself without being chained down by unfulfilled wants, and Jiang Cheng feels that within himself, too.  

“I have everything I need to be happy,” Jiang Cheng says to the child he helped raise. When he senses that he is not completely convinced, he adds, “But if A-Ling is so concerned, I will let you know if anyone comes along that is worthy of taking me away from spending all my time with you—” 

“They can’t do that!” Jin Ling suddenly yells into the phone as if on impulse. 

Jiang Cheng starts laughing. He laughs no matter how hard Jin Ling tries to take it back, slapping his own knee until it stings.  

No matter how old the brat becomes, he has never changed within his uncle’s eyes. 

“I didn’t mean that, just forget about it! I want someone to be there with you, just in case; you need more than one person to—Jiùjiu! Stop it already! Stop laughing at me!” 

But Jiang Cheng really is happy enough the way things are now. 

The man across the way has little personal affects within his home. If at all.  

Jiang Cheng would know. Their two apartments directly face one another, the only two that face each other on the top floors of their respected buildings.  

After a couple of weeks of their impromptu encounters, the man has opened most of his curtains as if to let the sun into the spacious suite. Or perhaps it stands as permission for Jiang Cheng to wonder. And he does. But staring at blank walls don't help him find any clues on what kind of life the man lives.  

All he does know is that he has never seen the man occupying his bed, even though Jiang Cheng can see the entire length of its body. Whenever he returns from washing up, the man has often wandered out of his line of sight. Exhausted from his days, Jiang Cheng has never bothered to wait for his reappearance and is quicker to fall asleep.  

By the time morning rolls around, the man is always gone. The only evidence he has to prove that the man is not a figment of his imagination (produced by his apparent loneliness as Jin Ling would proclaim) can be found in the only room of the penthouse that appears to be in regular use. The man’s study is lined with bookshelves and the large wooden desk hosts a growing pile of hardcover books alongside multiple stacks of paper, all left behind by the man’s presence. 

Except Jiang Cheng has never seen him anywhere but from across the gap of air separating their bedroom windows. 

Not that Jiang Cheng spends most of his time at home either. He purposefully keeps his schedule full, out and about for the majority of his days. 

One time, he had arrived home without the other man noticing him first. A meeting with a client had run late, and the moon was aglow across the man’s features by then, illuminating the high planes of his brow, his nose, his cheeks. The light was within his clear eyes and for a second, Jiang Cheng felt a desire to look into them. In person. 

Looking as good as he does, the man does not seem to bring any women home. Nor did he bring home men. Jiang Cheng had to wonder.  

It was a fleeting second, though, because the moment he threw his shirt over his head, the man turned to face him, and their game was on again.  

Even though it was not an everyday occurrence, they came across each other to conduct the same ritual often enough for it to slide into Jiang Cheng’s routine. He could not find it within himself to mind. He had not lied to Jin Ling about not wanting to find a lover, (he never does,) but being shown that he is desirable to another being is a different matter.  

It’s nice. Comfortable. 

He is starting to feel the familiar creep of touch starvation within his body, though. Which is a problem.  

The last place he used to live in was severely lacking in places safe for queers to meet. He has not spent the time to check out the scene here. So, the last time that this happened to him had to be a couple of years ago. 

Heaving a sigh, Jiang Cheng turns away from the windows and leaves for his morning run with Fairy. 

The next time it happens, he doesn’t expect it. He really wasn’t thinking much at all. 

All he wanted was to be home. His home.  

He had been caught off guard, but Jiang Cheng can take pride in the fact that he was able to maintain his composure for the entire duration of the trial.  

He had prepared for several weeks, after all. He had reviewed recorded testimonies, read through written statements, compared the demands of both parties, and detailed several pages of notes in his own handwriting. He had everything ready. Questions for testimony, cross-examination, and rebuttal, all drafted and reviewed with the feedback he sought from his team of junior attorneys and paralegals to perfect.  

His years of experience allowed him to believe that their case looks optimistic for his client. Everything had gone to plan. He only needs to deliver his closing statement tomorrow first thing in the morning before the judge will adjourn to make their verdict. He should feel optimistic. He always does an excellent cross—it is what he is known for.  

It is only that this time, when the perpetuator had stepped up for rebuttal, Jiang Cheng was not expecting to be triggered as fuck by that stare.  

That stare that held not a shred of empathy—pure indifference was all there was. He was being stared at, stared through, as if he was not himself but someone else, someone not deserving of a single ounce of recognition. 

And it shook him to the core to be levelled by that stare again after sixteen years have already passed.  

Of course, Jiang Cheng did not let any of that show. Not during rebuttal, not after the court adjourned, not when he returned to the huddle of his team, and not during the drive back. All he allowed was the white knuckled coil of his fists.  

Only when he crossed the threshold to his bedroom did Jiang Cheng allow his shoulders to hunch, his rigid posture to collapse. He leans his weight on both hands against his dresser, head bowed, eyes squeezed shut as if to keep the swarm of memories at bay.  

For a moment, he might resemble all of the clients he has represented to date as they testified against their abuser. 

Fortunately for him, his mother never had to testify against her abuser. Not within the court system for everyone involved to see, that is. No, she only ever had to fight him off within the confines of their home. Jiang Cheng only ever had to bear witness to it all within those four tall walls that contained all that his family used to be. He only had to stand up for her for the last couple of years until his father’s untimely death.  

Now, he only has to witness the progression of his mother becoming herself again. Now, he defends those who have been beaten down for so long that they are too tired to fight. Some of them have been forced under the eyes of the court by their abuser with vicious, slanderous accusations thrown against them instead. Now, Jiang Cheng only has to shrug off the periodic weight of shame that tries to come whenever he feels a desire to be held by another man. 

Jiang Cheng can handle that now. He is used to it now. He takes a deep breath. He wipes his tears away with the back of his hand.  

Those feelings belong to a past he no longer lives in. 

As he exhales, Jiang Cheng straightens his back and rolls his shoulders loose. He pops the kinks out of his neck. He is kneading the back of his neck, facing the wall of his bedroom when he gets a peculiar feeling of being watched, having grown attuned to that feeling after becoming a court lawyer. He turns his head. 

It's the man across the way again. Seeing him, looking at him again.  

He is standing at his window, palm pressed against the glass as if wanting to reach through. He has his jacket folded over his elbow as if he has removed it in haste. He has a look of utter concern in his eyes, for Jiang Cheng, his lips parted as if he is trying to tell him something. 

Maybe he wants to comfort him, Jiang Cheng thinks. 

But Jiang Cheng has grown to process the trauma on his own, and he knows that his routine works every time. So, when he reaches his side of the window, holding the man’s stare with his own, Jiang Cheng seizes hold of the curtain and pulls it resolutely closed. 

Jiang Cheng spends the rest of his night recovering and leaves the curtains drawn shut for the next day. He leaves early in the morning to deliver his closing argument to the judge and spends the rest of the morning with his client while they wait to be recalled back to court for the verdict.  

He watches her, recognizes the peace in her eyes when she quietly tells him that it matters little to her anymore what the judge comes to decide. She has already spoken her truth, and she finds strength in finally being able to stand up against her abuser. She looks Jiang Cheng in the eyes, grateful to him for advocating for her as fiercely as he has, because no one in her life has ever fought for her like that before. 

“Thank you,” she tells him. 

Jiang Cheng smiles when she hugs him, but the weight on his shoulders has returned and his heart feels heavy in his chest. He has to close his eyes and think about Jin Ling until it eases away and he is able to return the embrace. 

“This is what I do,” he says in return. He has made it his life to protect those he cares about.

They win the case. The judge believes in his client’s experience. Jiang Cheng feels happy for her, and if he sheds a few tears when they hug again, no one on his team comments on it. They go out for dinner at a restaurant to celebrate. 

The mornings after a case successfully concludes are always the best.  

Jiang Cheng will often lay in bed reminiscing on how far he has come and how his hard work has lead to the life he has now. His family. His career. This apartment he has made his home. 

Turning his head towards the windows, Jiang Cheng contemplates for a couple of seconds before deciding that he misses the reliable warmth of the morning sun gracing his skin every time he wakes up. He climbs out of bed and pulls the curtains open, expecting the usual empty sight of the room across from his.  

Instead, he is met with surprise.  

The decorative vase has been placed upon the coffee table, which has also been moved from its usual place, now pushed towards the window. And spilling out from the top of the vase is a large bouquet of flowers bursting towards him. From where he stands in front of them, he can make out the fluttery bloom of pink carnations, columns of soft blue hyacinth, and an assortment of white lily of the valley dotting the green leaves that bundle the flowers together. 

Jiang Cheng cannot help admiring the bouquet, even returning with his morning cup of coffee to view them for a while longer with one arm across his nude middle, his other elbow resting atop his wrist. He thinks about the last time he had ever received flowers. It had to be when he graduated law school, handed to him by Nie Huaisang. Prior to that had been Wei Wuxian, funnily enough, forcing flowers into his arms before dragging him to their high school dance. 

Jiang Cheng doesn’t recognize the grin that has spread across his lips until the man suddenly appears, surprising him once again. He looks surprised, too, only dressed in his white silk robes with his own steaming mug in hand. But the man recovers quickly, eyes habitually roving down Jiang Cheng’s clothesless form before he smiles in greeting. He holds his hand, palm up, towards the flowers.  

Jiang Cheng sends them another appraising glance and nods in approval. Then he gestures for the man to take his robe off for the umpteenth time.  

All he receives is a sunny laugh. Just like usual.  

They stand there for a while, each within their corners of the world until Jiang Cheng notices the time and waves the man off for the day, leaving the curtains open behind him. 

Whenever he finishes a case, his family always insists that he can finally take a break when the simple truth is that he often handles a number of concurrent cases at once, that calls can come at all hours of the day, making substantial down time rare. It is not uncommon that he advises the junior attorneys within his firm when needed, and whenever he wins a case, it never takes long for new clients to request his services. He can only do his best at keeping up if he is not deferring cases to his colleagues within the field.  

Jiang Cheng cannot blame his family for wanting him to take a break, though. He does feel emotionally and mentally tired at times. Having Jin Ling worry about him is starting to encroach into his conscience. (He moved all the way here to worry about him, not the other way around!) 

Which is why he is facing the last-minute decision of backing out from having drinks with Wei Wuxian and his fiancé at their apartment. Doesn’t his sanity trump maintaining a resemblance of a social life? Jiang Cheng reluctantly steps into the elevator and deliberates for several silent seconds over the pros and only pros of selecting the top floor to slip into the heavenly soft covers of his bed to retire early. 

But it is six o’clock in the evening. The elevator doors are closing. He lowers his hand towards floor twenty-three. 

Jiang Cheng starts in surprise when a tall man dressed in light greys, blues, and whites slips into the elevator car with him just seconds before the doors slide shut.  

It's the man across the way. But he is standing right before him.  

His beautiful honey eyes are definitely worth seeing up close. They are a touch wide, looking pleasantly surprised to discover Jiang Cheng in person, too.  

After several seconds of stunned silence passes between them, both eying each other curiously, the man dons his secretive smile like he often does. This close, the mirth within his gaze glitters at the corners of his eyes. He seems to note Jiang Cheng’s hand still hovering in the air before the floor panel. Part of Jiang Cheng continues to expect to be sent up to the top floor, more so now than ever. 

The man lifts his hand, allowing the sides of their wrists to come so close to touching but he selects floor twenty-three, much to Jiang Cheng’s further surprise. He drops his hand to his side when the elevator car starts lifting beneath their feet.  

Jiang Cheng wonders if he should say something. He is used to not having to speak to the man across the way—has not even imagined the real possibility of it. With him seemingly content to stand at his side, though slightly angled towards him to allow his golden eyes to wander, Jiang Cheng remains silent. 

But his mind is not as blank as it was just a moment ago, much to his misfortune. What is he doing here? There is no way he got into the wrong building. And it would be even less likely that he is here to find him, right?  

No, Jiang Cheng will not lose his nerve. He presses his lips together to stop himself from springing into a round of questioning. He does make the mistake of inhaling through his nose though. Damn, the guy knows how to choose his cologne, and he can detect a hint of aftershave. He wonders if the flowers are still there, if they smell just as nice to breathe in.  

He wants to find out so much more about this man, too. 

Facing straight ahead, stiff backed, Jiang Cheng tracks the gradual rise and fall of the man’s broad chest from the corner of his eyes. The man takes a slow, deep, and quiet breath before adjusting his stance to fold his hands behind his back. Jiang Cheng sees the flex of his wide shoulders and how the movement stretches the cotton of the white dress shirt he wears. The cuffs are folded neatly to his elbows, and a light grey vest is buttoned up. A sky-blue tie is tucked beneath his collar. What occasion is he dressed so nicely for, Jiang Cheng wonders, unless he always dresses so finely?  

For himself, he only wears a thin navy sweater over a collared shirt, knowing well how high Wei Wuxian tends to blast his air conditioning despite his continued complaints. He idly begins to smooth the crisp cut of his open collar beneath his jaw until the elevator doors slide open with a cheerful ding. 

Jiang Cheng takes a subtle breath through his mouth to right himself. An odd sensation rises when the man steps out of the elevator at the same time as him. He whips his head to shoot him an accusatory glance. 

The man finally chooses to address him then, his smile still in his eyes. “It is a great pleasure to meet you at long last,” he says in a richly smooth voice. Jiang Cheng wonders just how long he had taken to string that line together. “My name is Lan Xichen.” 

A fitting name, he thinks for whatever reason. Jiang Cheng sees the hand extended towards him and shakes it on reflex. “Charmed. Are you stalking me?” he questions brusquely. 

Lan Xichen’s supple lips quirk up as they often do when they interact, and now he can look right into the jovial glint within his eyes, the dimple of his cheek. He answers, a soft gasp, “No, I assure you. We are neighbours, are we not?” 

Jiang Cheng dismissively waves his hand. “I wouldn’t call us that.” 

Before the other can ask what he means, he starts his stride down the hall. Of course, the man—Lan Xichen—walks after him. The crisp falls of their leather dress shoes echo in sync. When they both come to a stop in front of Apartment 2301, Jiang Cheng begins to feel irritated. But before he can formulate another accusation, the man reaches over his right shoulder to knock a rhythmic pattern against the wooden door. 

Jiang Cheng goes still. The warmth of Lan Xichen’s chest radiates across the expanse of his back from how he has leaned in. And he stays there, his breath just barely caressing the back of Jiang Cheng’s neck. The hair at his nape stands up.  

For once, he is relieved by how quick Wei Wuxian always is to fling open the door. “Jiang Cheng!” he exclaims in way of a greeting. “You slippery bastard, there you are! Come on, come in. We’ve been waiting so long!” 

Jiang Cheng frowns down at his watch. “I’m five minutes early. What are you barking about?” 

Ignoring him, Wei Wuxian steps aside to reveal his partner. “This is my fiancé, Lan Zhan,” he introduces with a bright smile. 

“Yeah, we’ve met. Six months ago,” Jiang Cheng reminds before curtly shaking hands with Lan Wangji as well. “Your memory becomes shittier the more you age, doesn’t it?” 

“Is that right?” Wei Wuxian carelessly replies. Then his slate grey eyes slide past his shoulder. “Seems like you’ve already met his brother, too.” 

Jiang Cheng throws his stranger another steely glance. Now that he has the two siblings right before him, he instantly recognizes the resemblance despite the contrast of their individual countenances.  

Still, he responds, “Hm, not true.” 

Lan Xichen chuckles softly under his breath, so lightly that Jiang Cheng would have missed it if not for the airy caress that slips down the back of his shirt.  

“Wangji, Wei Wuxian. I assume you have been doing well?” 

Jiang Cheng nearly shivers from the deep timbre of the man’s voice in his ear. Before anyone can respond, he abruptly shoves his way further into Wei Wuxian’s living room. A low curse slips out of the corner of his mouth when they simply follow after him. 

“Yes, yes, make yourself at home! Family and all.” 

To stop himself from rolling his eyes, Jiang Cheng looks out their windows but is disappointed to find a boring row of windows with the angle of the sun reflecting off them in a way that renders it impossible to see through them. Nothing to distract him, then. 

Until Wei Wuxian breaks out the wine, which he immediately does. 

“Cheers, everyone! This is the start of a happy new chapter of our lives!” he joyfully proclaims. 

“Congratulations,” Jiang Cheng says, accepting the glass handed to him. 

“Hey, what’s with that tone?! Aren’t you happy for me?” Wei Wuxian scolds. 

“I’m so happy,” he continues, expression unchanging. 

“Tsk. You’re just jealous,” Wei Wuxian retorts. He moves away when Jiang Cheng attempts to kick his shin. He approaches Lan Xichen next, and Jiang Cheng watches their interaction from above the lip of his glass. “Thank you for coming to visit us at long last, Lan-dàgē. Lan Zhan has told me all about how busy you are.” 

Jiang Cheng is about to start running through his usual guesses of what the man’s profession could be to afford their prime real estate when he notices he is being examined, too. He flicks his gaze towards Lan Wangji and wracks his brain to recall what he does for a living. He knows it is Lan Wangji’s salary that pays for this apartment while funding Wei Wuxian’s carefree lifestyle.  

Oh, that’s right. Academics. Which meant the Lan’s belong to old money. Jiang Cheng tips his glass in Lan Wangji’s direction, red wine sloshing between his fingers. 

“It is my pleasure to be here,” Lan Xichen says, his melodic tone stealing Jiang Cheng’s attention once again. He cannot tell if he imagines the flash of amber eyes casting towards him. “I hope to spend more time with you in the future.” 

“Of course, of course,” Wei Wuxian easily replies. He flips the wine glass tucked between his fingers upright and begins to pour when he recalls, “Oh, that’s right. You don’t drink, do you? Lan Zhan never does.” 

“On special occasions, I like to enjoy a glass.” 

Lan Xichen was definitely looking right at Jiang Cheng when he said that. 

Barely suppressing a cough, Jiang Cheng sits back in his lounge chair and averts his gaze. At the very least, he is always able to rely on Wei Wuxian’s great taste with picking wine after his stint of bartending. Jiang Cheng is steadily downing his glass when his childhood friend trots back over to perch himself upon his arm rest.  

“Hey! What are you drinking so quickly for? You’re supposed to wait for the toast!” 

“What toast?” he hisses in annoyance. 

“The toast you’re about to give as my best man!” 

“Hell, aren’t you an impatient one?” he snaps. “Wei Wuxian, can’t you wait for my grand speech at your wedding?” 

Going still, Wei Wuxian begins to frown. “Jiang Cheng, you know we can’t host a wedding here.” 

Jiang Cheng frowns as well, regarding him. “Don’t you remember? I already told you that it’s simple. You’ll have to register your marriage in another country, but it’ll be recognized here with some paperwork. I know who can get it done for you.” 

“Eh? Won’t you be the one to handle it? I don’t trust anyone else!” 

“Fine, fine,” Jiang Cheng readily pacifies, having listened to Wei Wuxian’s desire to marry for weeks. “While the application is processing, you can still have the celebration here. Got it?” 

“But…” 

“What? Do you want to have the celebration overseas, too?” he guesses. 

Lan Wangji comes over to place a hand upon his fiancé's back and says, “Whatever Wei Ying wants, we will have.” 

“Really, Lan Zhan?” 

“Yeah, really, you have the money for it,” Jiang Cheng points out with a roll of his eyes. He leans the side of his face upon his hand. “What’s all this urgency about, anyway? You two are together and already have our approval.” 

“Aw, you mean it? You’re the best, A-Cheng!” Wei Wuxian delights before diving down to wrap him up a hug. 

One that Jiang Cheng founders with, just barely managing to keep his wine from causing a disastrous spill. “Hey! Are you drunk?” he exclaims in offense. “What the big deal? We came here for drinks, not to officiate your very joyous union!” 

Not paying mind to Jiang Cheng’s sarcastic drawl, Wei Wuxian continues, “A-Cheng, it’s because you’re the only one who can hand me off to Lan Zhan. Stop pretending that you don’t already know!” 

“Alright, alright,” Jiang Cheng sighs, playing up on his reluctance. He pats Wei Wuxian’s back as he has done when his nephew was younger. “Just make sure to schedule it during the school break, you hear? A-Ling will not be missing a single day of school. And you better give us enough notice or else the ticket prices will be sky high!” 

“Can you not afford it?” Lan Wangji responds, which Jiang Cheng answers by lifting his middle finger behind Wei Wuxian’s back. It is without question that it will fall between him and Jin Zixuan to chip in to cover any expenses that their family requires, as it has been for the past fifteen years. 

Twisting around, still balanced upon Jiang Cheng’s lap, Wei Wuxian’s chest puffs up as he announces, “Listen here, A-Cheng made partner not long ago! He’s the youngest they have. Soon you’ll be hearing about how he’s started his own firm! That’s how successful he is—” 

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng interrupts, genuinely peeved now. 

“What?”  

He is sent a bewildered glance that causes him to sigh in exasperation. “Do you really have to tell everyone you come across? It’s not all about being successful.” 

Wei Wuxian answers without missing a beat, “Of course! How else will anyone know? Don’t act like you’re not the workaholic everyone knows you to be.” 

“That’s not the point,” Jiang Cheng repeats with force. He does not spend nearly the entirety of his waking hours at his job only for the mere pursuit of financial success. It is much more than that. He sneers, “What does everyone need to know about me?" 

Before Wei Wuxian can argue back, Lan Xichen’s voice calmly intervenes. “It is only natural to be proud of the accomplishments made by loved ones.” 

And whenever that man speaks, it gives Jiang Cheng pause. He cannot help wondering who it is that Lan Xichen loves?  

Wei Wuxian takes his silence as agreement and continues on, but Jiang Cheng is preoccupied with staring again. A guy like Lan Xichen could not possibly be alone—despite all the signs, the empty home—it could not be. Assuming that he owns multiple properties would not be a far stretch to make. Perhaps there is a wife waiting for him, too, expecting his return home after concluding his business here.  

And this game they have going on every evening? It is common for straight men to experiment and fuck around before settling down. Even the queers eventually caved to the pressure of needing to start a family within their country. Jiang Cheng can personally attest to that. Maintaining a secret relationship was only sexy for a couple of months. So, by the time he hit his late twenties, he only went for one-night stands. 

But now that the man across the way has a name and is the brother of Wei Wuxian’s fiancé, this complicates things. This charade they have going on is rapidly losing its place in his routine. 

By now, Lan Wangji has collected his fiancé to perch them both at the couch, leaving Jiang Cheng with a clear line of sight towards Lan Xichen who is seated in an armchair facing him while he maintains a cordial line of conversation with Wei Wuxian. But Jiang Cheng has spent more than enough time taking in the other man’s features. He keeps his gaze set to his refilled drink, to the window, to the carpet. He does not bother to pretend to be interested in Wei Wuxian’s dialogue covering his research on the best honeymoon spots. He only glances up when he hears his name being called. 

“Jiang Cheng, have you ever been there?” 

He attempts to recall the last location being discussed before remembering that he has never left the country to begin with, as Jin Ling would lament. Dryly, he says, “Do you really think I have time to travel like that, the workaholic I am?” 

“No life. Help me out, won’t you? What about any of your friends?” 

Jiang Cheng is not one to avoid self-mockery, especially not when he’s got alcohol on board. He retorts, “What friends?” 

“A-Cheng, you’re killing me,” Wei Wuxian groans, to which Jiang Cheng throws his hands up.  

“Ask your fiancé for help. That’s what he’s for.” Tone flippant, it’s effective enough, causing Wei Wuxian to turn his eyes towards the man he is entangled with. 

But this leaves Jiang Cheng within Lan Xichen’s plain sight again. The other man is regarding him with interest now, rising to his feet the moment their eyes meet. He crosses the several feet of embroidered carpet between them with his model envying legs, his stare never straying from him. “May I ask what you do for a living?” 

“I’m a lawyer,” he answers, half reluctant. But when he spies the man reaching towards his breast pocket, Jiang Cheng reflexively beats him to it by whipping out his business card first. Popping the silver case in his hand, he feels compelled to come to a stand as well. 

After exchanging cards, Lan Xichen holds his between slender fingers. “In what field?” he continues to ask. 

Jiang Cheng points to his card. “Domestic abuse,” he reads out loud. 

But Lan Xichen is inspecting the back side now, as if expecting to find his personal number there. Jiang Cheng’s brow is lifted, unimpressed, when his amber eyes return to him to say, “You have a very noble career, Jiang Wanyin.” 

“Thanks,” he grunts, before taking a long swallow of wine. 

He can feel those eyes on the bob of his throat, but he maintains his stoic façade. Lan Xichen waits for him to lower his glass before he speaks again. He tilts his head. “Are you not going to ask me in return?” 

“I have your card,” Jiang Cheng drawls, before actually taking a look. It’s a nice card; crisp, white, and weighty between his fingers. But he struggles around a cough when he reads the fine script.  

The man before him is a district court judge.  

“You… Where do you practice out of?” he manages to squeeze out. He is acquainted with a fair number of judges, yet he has never come across Lan Xichen before. He is not a person to be overlooked or easily forgotten. 

Said man sends him a sunny smile for finally reciprocating his interest. He answers, “I am in the process of breaking ground here within the neighbourhood. My first court appearance will be in a couple of weeks.” 

“You don’t happen to precede over cases involving domestic violence, do you?” he worries. 

“I am appointed wherever I am needed, in fact.” 

“Oh Lord,” Jiang Cheng groans, rubbing his brow. 

What has he done?  

Is this how he is going down? After making a fool of himself by stripping for a judge appointed to his jurisdiction? Will his reputation ever recover? Even if it does, he cannot see himself moving past this personal devastation.  

And he’s run out of alcohol again.  

Continuing to berate himself, Jiang Cheng does not notice the other male pulling closer until he feels a warm brush to the inside of his elbow. “Is something wrong?” Lan Xichen asks. His hand remains on his skin. 

With dread weighing his bones, he releases another sigh before sending the taller male a reluctant glance. “Everything.” 

“Why is that?” 

“I don’t fuck people I work with,” Jiang Cheng flatly states, looking straight into his eyes.  

Lan Xichen’s brow ticks up, a flicker to his calm exterior.  

Perhaps he is straight after all, Jiang Cheng considers. Either way, he definitely will not complicate his working life when it already keeps him on his toes as is. And he already knows that opening the door to this man will bring its own bucket of complications in on itself. 

But Lan Xichen absolutely ruins everything by leaning in and responding, “I was under the impression that I would be the one fucking you.” 

Jiang Cheng involuntarily lets out a scandalized noise. “Shit,” he hisses under his breath. His face starts to redden. After being in the same room with the man and hearing the eloquence of his speech, he did not consider Lan Xichen capable of being so crude. Even more so after learning that he is a practicing judge. Did they not have some kind of moral code demanding that they always withhold a certain amount of decorum? “How can you even say that?” 

Lan Xichen maintains the audacity to let his intent filled gaze wander, slowly trailing down the entire length of Jiang Cheng’s form and lingering over his midsection, undressing him with his eyes. “Quite easily, having seen you,” he answers calmly. 

“You’re insane,” Jiang Cheng blurts in denial, despite feeling warm all over—over every single section that stare has marked. It originates from underneath the man’s touch, the barest caress of his thumb stroking along a patch of his skin. He backs away, placing distance between them, but the flush lingers. It’s the alcohol then, Jiang Cheng deduces with a shake of his head. “Are you drunk? Enough of this. I’m getting out of here,” he hastily decides, raising his voice to be heard by the room. 

Then he twists around and marches to the door. 

He is halfway there when he hears from behind him, “I will be seeing myself out as well, then. Pardon me.” 

Jiang Cheng curses beneath his breath and does not stick around to accumulate more reasons for his humiliation. He has not felt this inept since his first couple years in law school, floundering between socializing and his studies before giving up to dive into establishing his lifelong career. He felt like he has made sound decisions for most of his life, but apparently getting naked for some guy in his window was not one of them. 

Feeling an urge to smack his forehead against the nearest surface, Jiang Cheng manages to settle for aggressively jabbing the call button of the elevator. Repeatedly. He needs to get home immediately and dive under his blankets for eternity. 

But a lulling voice keeps interrupting his lament. 

“Are you going home, Jiang Wanyin?” 

“Yeah,” he huffs, distracted. He sees that he has called for both elevators in his rageful fit, and the one that arrives is heading downwards. “Are you going?” 

“I would very much like to,” Lan Xichen answers, yet he does not move from his spot behind him. They both watch as the elevator is sent away, and the second set of doors slide open not long after. By then, Jiang Cheng’s mind has rebooted, prompting him to shoot a look of bewilderment over his shoulder when Lan Xichen follows after him. He is sent a smile, but the lighting within the elevator conceals the glint in his eyes when he explains, “I thought that I could join you. For another drink, perhaps.” 

Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes. “I’ve heard horror stories about the drunk shit your brother gets up to. Are you the same?” 

Still smiling, part demure part mischievous, Lan Xichen answers, “If you are asking me whether I can handle more than one glass, yes.” 

“That’s not what I asked.” 

“Ask me, then.” 

“W-what are you doing—?” 

His voice has dropped into a hush beneath the sound of closing doors. Backed against cool steel, a toned forearm leaning close to the side of his face, Jiang Cheng’s eyes are round, searching Lan Xichen’s expression for an explanation. Their faces are mere inches away now. However, he only has the man’s persistent smile of placation and mirth to compare to the serious draw of his brow that sets his face into one of targeted precision. Lan Xichen’s eyes are taking him in, captivating him completely to the point that Jiang Cheng hardly notices how their bodies are nearly slotted together.  

Nor does he recognize how his breathing has gone shallow, his pulse a rapid flutter, and his throat dry with anticipation. No, he only starts after he unconsciously wets his lips and suddenly Lan Xichen’s hand is there, lightly cupping his jaw, his thumb placed over the beat of his jugular. 

“I have been waiting so long to have you like this,” he confesses, his low voice rolling into a soft purr. 

Jiang Cheng thoughtlessly slips out, “Like, barricaded in an elevator?” His cheeks are starting to hurt, they’re burning so hot. The airy laugh that tickles his ear does not help, sounding both velvety smooth and light as silk. 

“No, silly,” Lan Xichen chides. A slight smile lingers upon his face even as his gaze finally slides down to focus upon Jiang Cheng’s lips. “I have been wanting to find out how you feel under my touch.” 

“That sounds—perverted,” he manages around the hitch of his voice. He finally catches himself staring and sees that the floor hold button has been pressed. No wonder they have been kept at a standstill for so long. 

“Says the man who has been seducing me for the past few weeks,” Lan Xichen pushes back. With his knuckles notched underneath Jiang Cheng’s chin, he tips his face towards him, a silent order for his attention. 

Blinking slowly, Jiang Cheng asks, “Have I been?” 

“Yes,” Lan Xichen answers, steadfast, confirming that he was not the only one contending with the fantasies that manifested each time their eyes met. “May I kiss you now?” 

Recognizing the look of pure desire in those deep honey hues, having been levelled with it more than a dozen times by now, Jiang Cheng feels that heated stare more than ever from how closely they stand. Because without the long gap of air hanging between their glass walls, pinned underneath Lan Xichen’s intense gaze, Jiang Cheng feels more bare than when he is without his clothes. 

And that feeling reignites his own desire to uncover all the layers beneath Lan Xichen’s exterior. 

Taking hold of the other man’s necktie, Jiang Cheng tugs on blue silk, prompting him to dip down, just as he tilts his face up. He channels his own intent with his eyes.  

“Show me what you’ve got, then.” 

Despite how long it has been for him, of wondering, it is as easy as instinct for Jiang Cheng to close the final gap between their lips. It takes less than a second for Lan Xichen to respond, to deepen the kiss and to drop his hand to pull him in by the waist, holding him flush to his body. Jiang Cheng kneads the other’s bottom lip between his own before pressing in with his tongue, unwilling to concede to the energy Lan Xichen pours into him. His own hands are making quick work to explore, but as they kiss, what he registers the most is the solidness of Lan Xichen’s entire form against him.  

He also tastes like wine, even though he only took a couple of polite sips on Jiang Cheng’s count. Or maybe it is because he is caressing his tongue, stroking the roof of his mouth. His hand is already sliding up the angle of Jiang Cheng’s narrow waist, having snuck under his shirt to claim.  

For someone possessing a jade-like complexion, pale with the impression of untouched snow, the brush of Lan Xichen’s fingers is searing hot along the small of Jiang Cheng’s back, igniting a rush of heat to pool between his hips. He quietly groans when the other male chooses that moment to slot his leg between his thighs, and just barely manages to angle his face away to punch the control panel of the elevator to start sending them up to the top floor. 

Breathing harder through his nose, Jiang Cheng has to bite down on the other’s bottom lip when the elevator sings out their arrival to cease their passionate entanglement. Before he can protest, Jiang Cheng coils his fingers around Lan Xichen’s wrist to drag him down the hall. He has him through his door in three seconds flat and against the kitchen counter in two. 

“Still want that drink?” Jiang Cheng pants between demanding kisses to his mouth, his jaw, his throat. 

“I will have what you are having,” Lan Xichen breathily responds. He is preoccupied between sucking a mark behind Jiang Cheng’s ear and tossing his belt away for easier access to his waist. 

“Marsanne, then.” 

Lan Xichen pauses, leaning back to look at him. “My favourite. How did you know?” 

“Lucky guess,” Jiang Cheng shrugs. He won’t admit that he recognized the bottle the one time he caught sight of it in the other’s suite. 

“Well,” Lan Xichen pleasantly hums, “I can definitely say that I feel like luck has been on our side for us to meet.” 

Jiang Cheng can’t tell whether he means the first time they had seen each other or the moment he had entered his space, but he does not bother to ask when he’s finally gotten all the buttons of Lan Xichen’s clothes undone, and he is pulling his shirt away from his muscled arms and his broad chest and his strong set of his shoulders— 

“Fucking hell,” Jiang Cheng growls, “why have you been holding off on me the entire time?” He cannot control the hungry way his eyes insistently travel over every single ridge of his abdomen.  

“I wanted to see your response in person,” Lan Xichen calmly answers, another smile playing at his lips. 

He releases a breath through his nose. “You want my response?” 

“Yes, I—” 

Hooking his arm around the back of his neck, Jiang Cheng pulls Lan Xichen down to swallow his hypnotic voice. Dragging his free hand down the length of him, he presses his fingers in to feel his smooth skin, to leave impressions behind, to remind the both of them that this is more than a mutual fantasy now, that this is real. And to really reaffirm that, Jiang Cheng gropes the front of him, causing them both to groan. 

“I thought you had to be straight. Damn,” he swears again, their lips still pressed together. 

The man is hard as a rock within his grasp and Lan Xichen’s voice has gone breathy again when he incredulously asks, “Why?” 

“Because you didn’t jerk it in front of me.” 

Lan Xichen lets out a short chuckle, dropping his forehead to rest against Jiang Cheng’s shoulder as he works him in his hand. “I felt that would have been uncouth.” 

Sarcastic, Jiang Cheng retorts, “Are you judging me right now?” 

“No!” Lan Xichen sighs with amusement. He takes a hold of his hand to ease him away. “I looked forward to seeing you every day,” he says, and he sounds sincere. “I thought of you often when I was alone.” 

Still, despite having felt the same, Jiang Cheng is unable to brush away the last piece of disbelief. He asks, “You think about fucking strangers like that?” 

Laughing out right, “That is not true, either. It is rather unique when you almost have someone in your own home, while also seeing them in the privacy of their own. Does that make sense?” 

“I got it,” Jiang Cheng grunts. He has reached down to retrieve a bottle of Marsanne from the wine rack conveniently placed next to the tangle of their legs. A bottle cap is sent flying before he pours them a glass of white wine, taking the first sip before tilting it towards Lan Xichen’s lips. They’re red and already glistening. Lan Xichen lifts his hand to join his, their fingers touching, and he accepts a taste before his eyes seem to scan across the kitchen. Jiang Cheng excuses the lack of a second glass to give him. “I haven’t bothered to get the place ready for adult guests, okay. Haven’t needed to.” 

“I see,” Lan Xichen simply says, but he seems amused and pleased by this as he enjoys another sip. Glancing over the man’s shoulder, Jiang Cheng realizes that his place must be just as visible as Lan Xichen’s apartment is to him. He confirms what he is thinking by saying, “I had to wonder what sort of company you kept with how greatly daring you are.” 

 “Greatly daring,” Jiang Cheng repeats. 

“Granting me such a welcoming view every evening, stripping for me…are you wearing anything tonight?” His hand begins to dip underneath the pants hugging Jiang Cheng’s hips. 

“Since I had meetings today, yes,” he remarks with a roll of his eyes. “And that wasn’t for you.” 

“So it brought you pleasure, too,” Lan Xichen wants to point out. 

“You just happened to be there,” Jiang Cheng harrumphs. “Looking like that.” 

Lan Xichen bashfully tilts his head in question, his long lashes lowering to examine him in return. “I do not know what you mean.” 

“You’ve seen yourself,” Jiang Cheng scoffs. He allows himself to run his eyes down Lan Xichen’s body again. “I’ve seen you now,” he adds. 

He cannot help licking his lips at the sight of the man before him. He takes control of the glass of wine between them and takes a long swallow. Pale gold sloshes between his fingers when Lan Xichen suddenly pulls him in by the waist again, bringing them completely flush, the hard lines of him pressing directly against Jiang Cheng’s skin.  

“Perhaps you should slow down,” Lan Xichen suggests when Jiang Cheng lifts his brow. 

But Jiang Cheng disregards him and presses his knee between the man’s legs, eliciting a low grunt. He is pleased by the accurate prediction he had made weeks ago, that the man is packing. “For this?” he indicates. “No, I’m going to need the alcohol.” 

“We do not have to go all the way tonight if you have concerns.” 

“Fuck that. I can handle it,” Jiang Cheng asserts. He passes him the glass to finish off. Lan Xichen obediently receives it with a slight smile, a sparkle in his eyes.  

When he places the glass down, Lan Xichen looks him directly in the eyes, his hands leaning against the counter by his sides. “Show me, then,” he mirrors back. 

The taller male holds his gaze so steadily, daring him to allow his eyes to slip down towards the nakedness of their bodies. But he doesn’t have to look down when he can feel the heat of his flesh against his.  

Jiang Cheng promises, “I am going to ride you so fucking hard that you will have plenty to think about by the time we are done.” 

Having the man across the way in his bed, pinned underneath him by the hips, he has certainly imagined it one time too many to count. But never had he considered it possible to actually have him—until now. Because he actually has him here now, his hands balanced upon Lan Xichen’s knees, his waist firmly held within his grasp. 

Looking down at the man gazing back at him, Jiang Cheng smiles. 

The next morning, Jiang Cheng wakes up like usual, a bare leg emerging from the white waves of cotton sheets. He stretches his arms over his head, fingers pressing into the pillows above him, all while elongating his back with a quiet yawn. Blinking tears out of his eyes, Jiang Cheng habitually turns his head towards his windows, searching to see if he can finally catch the man across the way still in bed.  

As expected, those sheets remain to be primly made without a single indication of an occupant, as they have been every single morning since they first encountered each other. It hardly comes as a surprise anymore that the other man has woken before him yet again. 

But he is surprised when a heavy arm suddenly wraps around the front of his waist and pulls him across the mattress to meet the solid expanse of a bare chest. 

“What the fuck?” Jiang Cheng startles out, taken aback by the interruption. And who is in his bed? He looks up at his captor—only to go still from attempting to yank himself free. It’s the man across the way—Lan Xichen—his waking brain computes. “What the, didn’t you go home?” 

Hovering over him on one elbow, Lan Xichen shakes his head with a smile filled with amusement, already smiling so early in the morning, his eyes curling at the corners. “What were you doing just now?” he asks. 

“Huh?” 

Still staring, Jiang Cheng sees that the other man is as naked as he is under the sheets. And while his memories of last night steadily sweep in, he realizes he had not exactly been given the proper chance to truly look at him, not without the rush of adrenaline and endorphins raging through his system. And there is a lot to look at when Lan Xichen is not wearing clothes. 

A caress to the shell of his ear has him casting his eyes up again. Lan Xichen is regarding him, a fond crinkle within his expression now, the sunlight casting a glow over his features. “Were you looking for me, Jiang Wanyin?” 

Thoughtlessly rubbing his eyes, Jiang Cheng begins to frown. “No, I was just…” 

“Hm?” 

His gaze starts to wander again. He wonders how often the guy works out to achieve that amount of toned muscle mass? And yet his figure remains long, tapered, and without intimidation.  

Before he gets too distracted, he blurts, “Aren’t you going home?” 

The hand that has been idly stroking his side comes to a pause. Lan Xichen slides it over to rest across Jiang Cheng’s chest instead. “I fear that I am suffering from the side effects of drinking such strong alcohol last night. Is it too much to hope that you might allow me to impose on your company for a while longer?” Lan Xichen proposes with a simpering smile. 

Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes, suspicious. He grants a tentative nod. Then, “Were those flowers for me?” 

“Yes. I was hoping to lift your mood when you saw them.” 

“You should’ve just taken off your robe.” 

Lan Xichen laughs outright, a delightful trill in the air. “I will, then. Next time.” 

“Hey Jiùjiu, guess what?” 

“Huh? What is it, brat.” 

Jiang Cheng is returning home from the law firm with groceries fit for making dinner. He places the bags down before moving to his room, his nephew’s voice following him through the speaker. 

“We’re coming home in two days. You didn’t forget, did you?” 

With one or two changes to his routine, time has come to pass faster somehow. 

“What? How could I forget that?” he brusquely retorts while tossing his shirt off. “Of course I didn’t,” he huffs. 

“Well, when I get back, you have to tell me everything you’ve been up to lately,” Jin Ling orders, as haughty as a teenager can be. 

“Sure, sure.” 

Jiang Cheng is currently looking across to Lan Xichen’s window, and his eyes land upon the coffee table where two glasses of white wine are already poured and waiting for him. 

When he lifts his gaze, he sees the owner of the suite walking up to the window towards him. He stands tall, light sweatpants low on his hips, his waist obscured until a jade white hand moves to undo the tie around his white house robe. The bare expanse of his smooth chest is revealed, but before Jiang Cheng can admire his figure any longer, Lan Xichen is raising his hand in a beckoning motion. 

Grinning, Jiang Cheng says in the direction of his phone, “Talk later, A-Ling. I’ve got to make dinner.” 

“What? But Jiùjiu only cooks when he has company—" 

“Yeah. Let’s talk in person next time, A-Ling. Bye.” 

After seeing it more than once, the invitation to join the man across the way is compelling enough to make Jiang Cheng’s heart start to race.