Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Part 1 - He Tian

May 5th 7:12 p.m. - Bell

Before leaving the car, He Tian lets out a long sigh, exhaling smoke. He puts his cigarette between his lips and stretches his fingers.

As he cracks his knuckles one by one, he smirks when he looks down at his joined hands and thinks he should probably get to praying.

The door snaps shut, echoing in the street. He takes a second to look at himself in the reflection of his tinted windows as he hears faint kids’s chatter past the intersection. He readjusts the collar of his shirt and folds his sleeves more properly above his elbows. He brushes his pants down which are slightly wrinkled from long hours of driving and throws his hair backwards.

He doesn’t look so bad, he thinks. Tired, maybe. He rubs his face with both hands to bring back some color to his cheeks, then under his eyes as if he could dim the blue undertone settling there. It doesn’t have very conclusive results but that’ll do. He starts walking.

The entrance of the old warehouse is different from the last time he has seen it. It looks more welcoming, but it might just be a trick of the light. The spring’s peach clouds provide a warmer ambiance than last January’s gray sky. The gates have been adorned by new tags spray painted on top of the faded ones. A painted red cat stares at him. Its eyes are familiar. Next to it are flyers encouraging people to join the Sunday mass down the street, though they don’t reach very high. He Tian imagines a troop of elderly old women roaming the streets, spreading the holy word.

He Tian gets in front of the door, a smaller entrance within the large sealed gate that used to let trucks in and out of the warehouse. He grips the handle for a second, and goes in. 

His eyes slowly adjust to the dimmer lighting but he quickly notes that, contrary to its facade, the inside of the place hasn’t changed much. Between high walls of concrete and sheets of metal are mismatched equipment sets: barbells, punching bags, discolored benches of various sorts, a couple old bikes in the back, punch mitts forgotten over a pile of cardboards.

A few training boxing rings give shape to the room; the space between them gives the illusion of corridors. The walls are covered in overlapping posters, the gray disrupted by layers upon layers of paint and graffiti that cover the high windows. They let small rays of tinted light in like the stained glass of a church, though the candles are replaced by LEDs. There are a few people here and there, busy with dumbbells or talking in groups, but the main hall is so large their words can't be clearly heard. Stairs crawl up the walls, leading to more rooms and places He Tian has never been to. Music resonates, low and muffled from a speaker somewhere in a corner.

In the middle of the room stands a bright red ring standing higher than the rest with thick, white cords. When He Tian sees him, Guan Shan is sitting on the side of the wooden platform that red ring rests on. He's listening to a trio of teenagers, leaning back on his hands. 

These kids have been coming here for about a year now. They’re reenacting punches and kicks, arguing and giggling over different combinations and turning to their coach for approval whenever they get a new idea. Guan Shan nods along and fixes their posture a couple times, something soft in his eyes. 

He looks beautiful. Toned and pale as ever, the bare skin of his chest clashing with black shorts and tattoos spreading all over his body. He must have shaven his head soon after He Tian had last seen him, like he does every other month. His hair is still pretty short but had time to grow back almost an inch. He Tian stands close to the entrance, leaning cross-armed against a pillar. He keeps watching Guan Shan, though he struggles to truly appreciate the color contrast due to the fifth character in the scene, the only face he doesn’t recognize.

The guy is sitting close to Guan Shan. Too close. His hair is bleached too blonde and he keeps looking at Guan Shan whenever he speaks with big, enamored, eyes. He can’t be too far from Guan Shan’s age but there’s something juvenile about him, chirpy.

He Tian hasn’t moved but Guan Shan suddenly lifts his head and catches sight of him right away, as if he was expecting him. The way his eyes widen for a second betrays his surprise however and he quickly excuses himself from the little group. The blond argues, it seems he wants to follow but Guan Shan brushes him away with a dismissive move of the hand.

Guan Shan glances back to He Tian’s shadowy corner and starts moving towards the closed rooms in the back of the building, grabbing a few boxes on the way. He Tian trails behind him with confidence and ignores how every muscle in his body gets a little tighter. Guan Shan enters the office room first and He Tian follows a few seconds after. He closes the door behind them.

It’s not exactly messy, but the room is packed. The desk is covered with stacks of papers and cardboard boxes neatly piled up in the back of the room; some are open and the gloves, tapes and bandages they hold peak from them. A window is open too and it’s letting in the noise of the city and a cool breeze. Guan Shan sets the boxes he carried over on top of one of the piles and goes to fumble in his bag which rests on a bench set along the wall, turning his back to He Tian.

“Hi,” He Tian starts, and braces himself for what’s coming. 

“You know it’s fucking weird creeping in corners like that?”

He Tian pinches his lips into a thin line.

“Why are you here?” Guan Shan asks then, still busying himself in his bag. He doesn’t sound angry, just a little cold, a bit annoyed. 

“I’ve got some business to handle in town.”

“I thought you were abroad until September,” Guan Shan muses, finding the large black shirt he seemed to be looking for. He Tian follows the movement of his hands and notices Guan Shan has splatters of white and red paint over his forearms. His short nails are stained and a new tattoo adorns most of his upper arm, one of branches and flowers.

“The schedule is never really steady.” 

Guan Shan scoffs. He Tian know that’s a first warning but he can’t help but focus on the way his muscles jolt, on the way they flex as he flips the shirt over. He tries to not lose his focus on the curve of his biceps.

“I negotiated a little,” he adds. “I took over Cheng’s spot, though it wasn’t easy.”

The result of negotiations that involved a precarious alliance, three weeks of tailing for intel, and a couple of threats. It was worth it.

Carefully, He Tian moves away from the door, closer to Guan Shan. He lifts a hand and reaches out to touch his bare back. Guan Shan freezes.

“I wanted to see you sooner,” He Tian says, voice low as his knuckles trace the bumps of Guan Shan’s spine. It’s daring - they didn’t part ways on very good terms the last time; they rarely do. The move might earn him a hook but the pull is magnetic. “Waiting six months was too long.”

It’s always a gamble when he returns from his travels, a game of russian roulette but as long as Guan Shan agrees to play, He Tian will take the hits. He doesn’t fear the lead. So he circles his hand around Guan Shan's waist and slowly brings him closer to his chest, wrapping him in a loose embrace with plenty of room to escape.

He Tian wins this round again. A punch never lands. Guan Shan sighs and he leans back, letting his head fall backwards on He Tian's shoulder. 

“I missed you,” He Tian whispers against his neck, smiling. He tightens his arms and Guan Shan's hand comes to rest over them.

It only lasts for a brief second of bliss before they hear a loud noise by the door. Their embrace ends as quick as it started, Guan Shan stepping away and turning to put on the shirt he had discarded a second ago. He glares at the door, expecting it to open at any moment but thankfully, the people outside only pass by. 

When the noise has quieted down, Guan Shan speaks first.

“I’m training the kids all evening, and there’s a party at eleven, but I don’t think I’ll take long,” he says, his voice even though his cheeks are tinted red.

“I’ll pick you up then.”

Guan Shan nods. That should be He Tian’s cue to leave. He has a couple things to settle tonight, a few documents to review for his brother but Guan Shan looks as if he’s pondering something. For a brief moment, his wandering eyes settle on He Tian’s mouth, but then return to the door. He coughs.

“Alright. Get lost,” he tells He Tian, jerking his chin, but there is no bite in it. “And don’t park too close, you’re gonna get your car keyed again.”

When He Tian walks back outside, his cheeks hurt. In his tinted windows, his smile might look small but it is wider than it has been in weeks..

*

May 5th 11:24 p.m. - Bout

The orange sky has been replaced by nightly rain when He Tian returns to the warehouse. The place is buzzing with a different energy than it carried earlier. Teenagers have left and gone home; the training gears have been pushed to the side and an audience of men of all sizes starts to form around the red ring. The ‘party’ will start soon. 

This title is not quite a euphemism, more of a diversion. It was once a code name to get the police to look the other way - not the most efficient but silence always has a price tag. In this case, all it takes is a stash of cash dropped under the mailbox down the street on the first of every month to ensure that these ‘parties’ can continue without intervention, no matter the noise, no matter the amount of blood and puke on the pavement in the morning. 

He Tian looks around for a minute, ignoring the frowns people throw at him until he finds stairs and a good spot at the ledge of a semi-floor. It’s less crowded up here, and when he leans on the railway he gets a nice aerial view of the room. From his perch he observes the bundles of cash quietly exchanged, the bets and the beers carried over, lots of already reddened noses, hunched shoulders, an occasional missing tooth. The air is heavy and the bottles look refreshing but before he can consider getting one for himself, the whole room suddenly gets more agitated. He Tian follows the movement and sees a burly man with a fighter with blue shorts and blue boxing gloves tied together hanging off his shoulder making their way towards the center.  

The fighter plays with the crowd. He shakes hands and slaps shoulders. He shouts things He Tian can’t hear and climbs in the ring. His little show drags on and the crowd answers with tipsy enthusiasm, though it becomes painfully clear who they came to watch when the contender makes his way to the ring as well, closely followed by his coach who might very well be the only woman in this building at the moment. Ming Na has been Guan Shan’s teacher since he took a liking to boxing, back in high school. It’s a five foot two force of pure spite, a retired boxer with a deep smoker voice and white hair she hides under burgundy box dye. Some say she used to be a stunt double in action movies back in the early 90s, though that’s only a rumor - a rumor He Tian might have started himself a few years ago.

Crossing through the crowd, Guan Shan’s demeanor is strikingly different from his opponent’s. There’s no strutting. He gets in the ring focused, smoothly jumping over the cords, nodding along to Ming Na’s last minute advice. He chews on his mouthguard and glares around, then up. 

His search stops when his eyes find He Tian’s. They lock for a second or two, just long enough for He Tian to shoot him a smile. The corner of Guan Shan’s lips twitches, then he turns his attention back to his coach.

Presentations are made through a sizzling microphone by the burly man who delivers an uninspiring but fervent welcome speech. Junjie, Guan Shan’s opponent, is introduced, and He Tian only catches his name by the chants of the crowd. Then Guan Shan is introduced and people shout his name twice as loud. 

There’ll be six rounds. Both fighters take their spot. A referee gets between them and the rowdiness quiets down as fists raise. 

The bell rings. 

Junjie goes on the attack first, a move that Guan Shan dodges easily though his opponent is quicker than He Tian had expected. Guan Shan stays defensive throughout the first round, only throwing a few timely hooks that Junjie struggles to block but Guan Shan paces himself and the first round ends without any major wave.

Junjie always attacks first and throws three times as many punches as Guan Shan but he’s the one who ends up taking most of the damage. The guy is clumsy but restless and finally finds himself blessed with a lucky strike that hits Guan Shan in the cheek right before the bell ends the second round. 

Junjie rises on the cords and riles up the crowd some more, loud and brash, banging on his chest while a pearl of blood drips off Guan Shan’s chin. He Tian grips the barrier. It’s like he can taste the blood in his own mouth.

The third round starts with an immediate mood shift. If Guan Shan was arguably apathetic a few minutes before, now he’s visibly annoyed and goes on the attack the second the bell stops ringing, startling the other into a corner. Junjie tries to answer by doubling down on the offensive but his movements are sloppy and if they happen to find their target, they lack strength. Eventually Junjie manages to find a path to retreat but he’s quickly followed and forced on the defense again. A kick prevents him from blocking a punch to the head and he ends the round with a swelling face. Guan Shan’s eyes don’t wander around the room anymore, they’re locked on his target.

He Tian has seen Guan Shan fight under various circumstances when they were younger, and most often he was focused on blocking hits more than giving them. Here, it’s a whole new kind of dance. Guan Shan used to react to a hostile environment; here, he’s perfectly in control and it’s fascinating to watch the power, the spite in each of his punches - the rage he has always carried and learnt to direct onto a single spot.

The fourth round ends up being the last. 

It stops barely fifteen seconds after it starts. Junjie attempts a hook but he’s already out of breath. Guan Shan ducks and follows with an uppercut on the chin and a left hook right on the temple. Strong and unforgiving. 

The man falls limp on the floor, with a hollow thump that stuns the crowd into silence. He Tian is clenching the railway so hard his knuckles have turned white. The referee starts counting down and the audience joins him. 

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six. Junjie tries to lift himself but his head doesn’t follow. Five, four…

Three.

Two.

One.

Everybody exults in the victory. Fists and cheers are thrown up in the air as the cornerman rushes to the loser. He’s fine, it seems. He’s blinking the hit away and slowly getting up but nobody is looking at him anymore. 

Nobody except Guan Shan, who’s standing impassively, removing his gloves and stretching his bandaged hands, deaf to the applause. He only moves when his former opponent is up and giving him a sign that he’s okay.

Overjoyed, people climb on the ring, congratulating Guan Shan and mimicking his moves, but still, he barely answers their enthusiasm. He lifts his head instead and finds He Tian again. The blonde from earlier rushes over too, smiling all bright and stupid by his arm but Guan Shan’s eyes won’t budge. He Tian feels like a giant. 

‘D’you see that?’ he’s saying.

He Tian gives him a smirk and a slow but sincere clap. Guan Shan lifts his chin then, smirking back and starts threading through the half-drunk mass. He climbs down from the ring, and He Tian leaves his platform to find the stairs, gushing.

When he catches sight of Guan Shan again, he’s walking behind the makeshift bar where people are piling up, passing around alcohol to whoever asks for it, with the burly man that was hosting earlier following Guan Shan. They both settle in one of the open rooms in the back. He Tian watches as the man hands over a large roll of bills which Guan Shan starts to count one by one, then he looks back up with a sharp eye.

Guan Shan says something, He Tian can’t make out what it is. They start arguing back and forth and as it goes, the man makes himself stand taller and widens his stance, anchoring both feet to the ground. Their back and forth isn’t going anywhere and after a moment of silence, Guan Shan walks towards the door. 

It’s not a retreat, though. He looks towards He Tian once last time before closing the door, swiftly locking himself and the burly man away from anyone’s view, leaving He Tian to wait with a stiff neck. It’d be easier if the door had a small window in its center, he could throw an eye inside, catch a movement of shadows but he can only stare at the stupid white block of plasterboard, feeling as if the collar is tightening around his neck a little more each second. 

Guan Shan emerges from the room after what feels like an eternity, alone and counting the stash of bills again that has visibly doubled in size. The bandages over his fingers are stained red. 

He slams the door shut after him with a backwards kick, pockets the bills, and moves to the office they reunited in the afternoon. After a minute Guan Shan reappears wearing a hoodie, holding the bag from earlier with a now clean and bare hand.

“Let’s go,” Guan Shan says as he slides past He Tian, leading the way. He Tian obliges, following close behind between the concert of bottles clinking left and right, between the clouds of smoke and the slurred congratulations. Someone’s calling after Guan Shan, more insistently than the rest. He doesn’t look back but He Tian does. It’s that fucking blond guy again. 

It doesn’t matter. They’re leaving.

The rain has stopped. The street is cold and dark, dead quiet if not for the muffled agitation they just escaped from. Street lamps are flickering and they have to walk around some large puddles that have formed on the damaged concrete. They move in silence and He Tian can’t help but glance back behind, making sure no one is following them. Guan Shan keeps walking forward.

It doesn’t matter but He Tian is still going to ask.

“Who’s the blond guy?”

“Zi Hao? No one. He helps out.”

“Looks clingy.”

Guan Shan only nods, appearing disinterested, yet He Tian is still curious. Bothered, really, but he ignores the needle poking him in the back of his head and takes the bag from Guan Shan’s hand. He throws it over his shoulder despite the other’s protests.

“You were very impressive tonight,” He Tian tells him to divert the discussion. 

As expected, Guan Shan retorts, still unable to take a compliment to save his life. "He was parading around like a fucking peacock. They’re the easiest to take down." he says, then turns towards He Tian. "Too confident."

The remark is targeted. It makes He Tian laugh. 

“I don’t know, we should settle that. But you never want to spar with me.”

“Because you play dirty.”

It’s true. Boxing is packed to the brim with virtue. He Tian was taught differently. 

"You’re not scared, are you?"

They couldn’t fight each other anyway, not properly. They would restrain themselves too much. But if he thinks of a hypothetical match, He Tian knows he’s the one who should be scared. A few years back he could have won when they were both untrained, fighting on adrenaline and instinct. Back then he took advantage of being slightly taller, slightly broader, and yes, too confident. Unafraid to hurt, too.

Now he doesn’t stand a chance. Not in a ring. Not if he’s faced with the same sharp precision and speed he saw earlier. 

“In your dreams,” Guan Shan says, smirking.

“Is it me or was the crowd rowdier than usual?” He Tian asks.

Guan Shan snorts quietly and with a low tone he replies “what do you know about usual?” 

The question feels like a drop of ice down He Tian’s neck.

There’s a beat of silence but Guan Shan quickly speaks again, louder this time. “Junjie’s a bit of a local star downtown,” he says, and He Tian bounces back.

“You’re gonna take his spot then? Get yourself a fan club?”

Guan Shan grimaces.

They eventually get to the car after a bit more small talk. It seems it did not get keyed but Guan Shan looks over it for a moment, frowning.

“That’s not the one from last time."

He Tian shrugs.

“I felt like a change,” he explains. 

In truth, the previous car got into a bit of trouble. A Mustang doesn’t drive as well with sixteen bullets in the gutter, but he doesn’t need to share all the details. And besides, this Mercedes is black and sleek, more discreet than the deep orange he used to drive around.

Guan Shan shakes his head, muttering something about frugality but when he climbs in, he still lets a hand roam over the metallic embellishments of the dashboard. He Tian starts the engine and feels a twinge of worry when he can’t recall if he has moved his revolver from the glovebox to the trunk. It’s a bit late for that anyway, so he keeps driving.

“So…” he starts after they’ve crossed a couple neighborhoods in silence, acutely aware that getting Guan Shan in the car is merely a first step. He should tread carefully, there’s still tens of ways to ruin the night. “How have you been?”

“Fine,” Guan Shan answers, typing something on his phone before looking out the window.

“How are the kids doing?”

“They’re making progress, being little shits,” he says and He Tian can hear his smile. The fondness he has for them is always a delight to witness. 

He Tian turns left and Guan Shan looks at the signs they pass under. 

“Still staying at that condo?” he asks, disdain barely contained.

“Is it not to your liking?”

“Whoever designed that place is a moron.”

He Tian doesn’t disagree. But it’s well situated and probably the least eccentric property he owns in the sector.

Guan Shan has his own apartment, the opposite way. He’s been living there for a few years but they don’t go there often, if ever. He doesn’t offer and He Tian doesn’t want to impose himself –, or rather, he found out the hard way it could have sour consequences. If there’s one thing he’s learnt through all these years, it’s that it’s always wise to give Guan Shan an option to retreat, to get some space. He’s more likely to stay if he knows he can leave. 

For this reason, they usually stay away from Guan Shan’s place. At least, that’s He Tian’s selfless explanation, the one he likes to go with. If he’s honest, this apartment is full of a life He Tian only sees snippets of. The few times he’d been over, his stay barely lasted longer than a few minutes, yet he still felt offended by the new pictures on the wall, by a pile of clothes that hadn’t been folded, by a forgotten pen on the table. A never-ending list of reminders that someone here exists, for weeks and months on end, without him. He Tian sees why Guan Shan thinks the condo looks stupid. The walls are too high, the large mezzanine is comically empty, and everything’s a bit too slick, a bit too cold. But there it’s a blank canvas, easily reset, and He Tian likes that better.

“It’s serviceable,” he says but Guan Shan is busy figuring out how to get the radio to work. He ends up settling on a station playing a song He Tian has never heard. Something western, a bit dark and melancholic, with a lot of bass. 

"I’m here for six weeks. Until the twelfth," He Tian announces over the music. It’s rare he gets to stay that long. It’s usually closer to ten days, two full weeks if they’re lucky. Barely enough time to fuck and argue, or do it the other way around, sometimes both at the same time. It's definitely not enough for the rest.

Guan Shan perks up in his seat but doesn’t comment yet. He takes in the news, thinking it over.

He Tian continues, “I have some meetings to handle and a fucking charity gala to host on the 23rd, but for the most part, I’m all yours.” 

Guan Shan looks him up and down for a moment. He Tian can hear the cylinder rolling, the metal clicking.

After a few seconds, Guan Shan settles back into his seat and turns up the volume.

“Okay,” he says. Simple and final and He Tian has to stop himself from flooring the accelerator.

Chapter Text

May 6th 00:43 a.m. - Contender

When they arrive at the condo, Guan Shan quickly leaves to take a shower. He Tian turns on a couple of the lamps in the meantime, keeping the light dim and warm, the atmosphere peaceful in the large open floor. He turns the tv on as well and lowers the volume until it’s barely audible. He goes to check for any message that could be coming from his brother. His inbox is thankfully empty so he chooses to wait on one of the bar stools by the kitchen island. 

Excitement pulses in his veins but he knows better than to claim victory too fast. He hopes the lingering adrenaline of tonight’s match will keep Guan Shan in an agreeable disposition. It’s a tightrope He Tian is walking on, but he’s got practice.

They were something in high school. Unnamed, equally tender and desperate, composed of hidden touches under desks and arm wrestling contests, punctuated by late night walks, shared cigarettes, and stolen kisses. Then a few blank pages forced their way between them, unfortunate times during which they had to grow apart yet here they are, sharing a space once again, like they did a few months ago, or another month before that.

Guan Shan enters the kitchen fifteen minutes later. The hair on his neck is damp and he’s wearing black sweatpants and one of his loose, white tank tops that He Tian swears were created to victimize him personally. He goes straight past He Tian to open a cabinet and sighs. He opens another one, clicks his tongue, then opens the one next to it. They’re all perfectly empty.

“It feels like a running gag,” he deadpans as he opens the fridge, which is only mostly empty. "All you ever have is booze.”

“It’s non-perishable,” He Tian chuckles. “I’ll order something.”

Guan Shan grabs two beers from the fridge door. He decapsulates them with one of the three spoons he finds in the cutlery drawer, pushes one bottle towards He Tian and takes his own as he goes to sit on the counter. They both take a sip, facing each other with a few meters of distance, with the kitchen island as a frontier.

The drink is nice. He Tian did well by putting some in the fridge first thing when he arrived earlier today. The beer is dark, a bit strong out and he appreciates the coolness down his throat. Guan Shan’s nose scrunches up when he puts his down. He usually likes the softer kind, or something fruitier; he’s got one hell of a sweet tooth. His tongue flicks over the spot that bled earlier on the ring but the wound isn’t deep, it’ll be gone in two days. 

When He Tian found him again after some six years apart, they were almost twenty-two. Guan Shan had a similar cut on the lip and fading bruises that had turned green and purple on his hands. After those missing years, it took some days for them to get to real conversation. It could have been the last. A breeze on smoldering embers, reigniting them just enough to burn the bridge, the cauterization of old wounds that were never healed. It could have been closure, but Guan Shan was back in He Tian’s hotel room the next evening. Some days later however, Cheng called and He Tian had gotten into the unfortunate habit of answering. He made big promises before he left, assuring Guan Shan he’d return in a month, maybe a bit sooner. But Guan Shan just shrugged it off and told him they’re “ not going to do this boyfriend shit anyway .” He Tian was back at his door three months later, an apology on his lips. It set the stones of their new routine.

It’s been almost two years now of them dancing to the beat of a jerky metronome. They’re still “not boyfriend shit ”, Guan Shan made sure to repeat that several times, but they’re still something.

He Tian can live with that. He Tian lives with that.

After a few sips of beer, he’s the first to make a move. His hands crawl forward on the cold counter, a childish attempt at reaching out. 

“You’re too far,” he pouts, testing the waters. 

“It’s not bad over here,” he’s told. It’s Guan Shan’s usual defiant tone but it sounds awfully close to an invitation.

He walks over to the other side of the kitchen island and settles against it. He takes another sip and doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes trail across Guan Shan’s body. His face is slightly irritated where he took the hit but it should heal quickly. He Tian watches his Adam's apple go up and down as he drinks, gaze skimming over the definition of his shoulders, and his eyes settle on the new tattoo marked into Guan Shan’s skin.

“Looks like you’ve been having fun,” He Tian points at it. “Plum blossoms?” he asks.

Guan Shan hums. He Tian takes a few steps forward. 

“How recent is it?”

“Two months.”

“I can touch it then.”

“If you want to,” Guan Shan shrugs, offering his arm. He Tian comes closer, setting his beer bottle behind Guan Shan on the counter and tracing the black lines with his other hand. They mimic traditional ink, irregular branches layered in beautiful anarchy growing from his elbow to the top of his shoulder, wrapping to the top of his pectoral. The wood is adorned with a few leaves and small blossoms of red, immature flowers. He Tian wants to kiss each one of them and make them bloom. He traces his thumb along them for now as his other hand settles on Guan Shan’s lower thigh, just above his knee. Guan Shan’s leg tenses up, then relaxes and he doesn’t move away from He Tian’s touch.

It’s the most original of his tattoos in a way. The others are sharp, with thicker black lines and gothic lettering. There are pop art references here and there, some covering the ones done by scratchers, a few skulls. Bold, and evident.

“It’s pretty,” He Tian says softly. “Different.”

“Are you kidding? It’s as classic as it gets.”

“I mean for you. It’s…delicate.”

Guan Shan scoffs above him.

“Go on and call me a brute.”

He Tian finally peels his eyes away from the tattoo. He’s pleased to see Guan Shan’s cheeks have gotten some color as well.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he grins. “Why the change?”

“No reason. Like you said, it’s pretty.”

They’re quite close now. He stands between Guan Shan’s open legs but the little distance left is slowly becoming harder and harder to bear. He lets his hand travel from Guan Shan’s knee to his hip while the other keeps traveling along to the very tip of the branches and the more he touches, the more he wants to touch. Soon he’s caressing along his collarbone, reaching the side of his neck. Guan Shan exhales a shaky breath when He Tian drags his nail along his skin, right above his carotid and back to the branches.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Admiring,” He Tian explains as he leans closer and presses a small kiss to the juncture of Guan Shan’s neck. “It must take a lot of skill to reproduce those ink stains.”

Guan Shan lets out a small, breathless laugh, baffled by He Tian’s audacity, yet he tips his head to the side to allow more of He Tian’s exploration, welcoming the lips and the teeth that nip at the thin skin of his neck. His own hand finds its way to He Tian’s nape, long fingers grasping dark hair.

“Are we here to discuss art?” he asks, his voice vibrating against He Tian’s lips.

“We could.” 

He Tian flicks his tongue on Guan Shan’s jaw before moving backwards, feigning innocence when he continues, “Unless you’ve got something else in mind.”

For a second, He Tian enjoys the sight of his work. Guan Shan is taller than him, here, sitting on his roost. His eyes are dark, his skin flushed and his breaths growing heavy. Pretty , indeed. 

Their eyes meet, then fall to each other’s mouths. He Tian leans in but right before he can reach his lips, the hand on his nape grips at his hair. The hold is tight enough to bring him to a halt, though the slight pain sends a lovely spark that travels down his stomach but it doesn’t pull him away too far. He Tian tries again and the grip only tightens, leaving his mouth agape and his mind blurry with want.

“Tell me,” He Tian presses.

Guan Shan smirks and holds him in place as he leans forward but refuses to give He Tian what he wants just yet. His mouth hovers above He Tian’s, so close to his lips, bringing him just a little closer to pure insanity.

“We can chat about tattoos later.”

“What do you want ?” He Tian whispers. Guan Shan’s gaze doesn’t falter when his hand falls from He Tian’s shoulder. It drags along his shirt and goes flat against his crotch, palming He Tian’s already hardening cock through his pants. 

He Tian’s face cracks into a grin, and Guan Shan loosen his hold. 

Their mouths finally crash together and his brain short circuits for a second, malfunctioning from the rush of joy he feels running through his body. 

He circles his hands around Guan Shan’s waist and pushes him forward, breaching the gap at last. Guan Shan’s hands are on his jaw, on his neck, his mouth is warm and falls open so sweetly, allowing He Tian to suckle on his lower lip while his heels dig in the back of his thighs, both of their bodies yearning to be closer, and closer, and closer.

But the kitchen won’t do. The counter is too cold and the edge is sharp against He Tian’s legs, so he guides both of Guan Shan’s arms around his neck, drives his hands under his thighs and lifts him up to take them somewhere more comfortable, laughing at Guan Shan’s vain grumbling.

He Tian brings him to the couch, laying him down carefully, but he finds himself quickly twisted and wrestled with his back to the cushions. Guan Shan climbs on his lap, seemingly determined to remain the one towering over the other and kisses him again, pinning He Tian further into the lush pillows, his mouth hot and commanding. He Tian manages to gather some senses and pulls that goddamn tank top over Guan Shan’s head, throwing it somewhere on the floor as he feels the buttons of his shirt getting undone one by one. He squeezes both hands on Guan Shan’s waist to bring his hips forward again, pushing their crotches together and driving the sweetest gasp out of Guan Shan’s mouth.

Sex is easy –, a lot easier than the rest. He Tian has yet to study anything with as much diligence as he’s studied Guan Shan’s body and few subjects have been as rewarding as this one. They touch with greed and blind confidence, heartbeats syncing up, drums beating blood to their ears loud enough to deafen everything. Guan Shan doesn’t know how to demand but he’s learnt to take and He Tian would let himself be eaten to the bone.

When he feels teeth digging into his neck, He Tian’s hips buck despite himself and Guan Shan curses at the last buttons before forcing the shirt open.

"Eager?"

"Shut it." Guan Shan snarls back as he starts pulling the sleeves down He Tian’s shoulders.

There’s a pause in the heat. Guan Shan’s gaze lingers on He Tian’s now bare arm, on a small wound from a few weeks ago - just a bullet that had grazed him during the same ambush that had destroyed the Mustang. Not the deepest hit, though it bled nicely and the stitching got hastily done in the basement of the first safe place they had managed to reach. It leaves the scar jagged and wider than it should have been. It’s still a little fresh, a light shade of burgundy that hasn’t had the time to fade to white like the others have. Guan Shan’s face twists into worry the longer as he traces the line with his fingertips, and when he looks up, there’s a quiet question in his eyes.

“Just a fall,” He Tian explains. He pulls him close, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “It was nothing.”

He is alive and breathing. The sky is dark, as if a black canvas covered the windows, not even the stars are here to disturb them. Here it’s just them, and they shouldn’t worry about such trivial things. Guan Shan knows that. His hands return to He Tian’s neck, his thumbs rest on the edge of his jaw. He closes his eyes, lets his head fall forward until their foreheads touch, a light bump that feels like a scolding.

For a long second, the world pauses. 

And Guan Shan kisses him again. Chastely first, but soon their mouths open and the heat returns as if nothing had happened. He leaves He Tian’s shirt open at the chest but pulls it back up on his shoulders, uses the grip he has on his collar to pull him closer.

They kiss with renewed urgency, like either of them could slip away at any moment. Guan Shan bites his lip, digs his teeth in the flesh and then kisses the sharpness away in the same breath. He Tian answers with the same intensity. He wants to touch everywhere, to lick every single inch of his skin. Whatever soft sound is playing on tv is miles away from either of their consciousness, taken over by wet noises and breathy gasps when Guan Shan opens his legs a little more so their hard cocks press together despite the few clothes still separating them.

Then Guan Shan pulls back, just a few inches, and He Tian whines. Guan Shan looks over at him with half-lidded eyes and blown pupils. He flicks his tongue over his own bruised lips and keeps He Tian pressed to the couch with a burning hand on his neck. He wants to protest but when Guan Shan’s knees hit the floor in front of him, He Tian has forgotten all of his complaints. Soon his belt is unbuckled and his pants pulled from him in sharp, determined movements, making him chuckle in delight.

“Shut up,” Guan Shan mutters.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You’re going to.” With one hand on each knee, he pushes He Tian’s thighs apart. “You’ve got that stupid look on your face.”

He Tian trusts that he does, smiling wide, with glossy eyes and mussed hair, but he doesn’t take any offense. He laughs some more, leaving Guan Shan with the reins. A cruel bite near his groin interrupts his snickering, though he doesn’t stop smiling as Guan Shan moves closer, sucking and nibbling at patches of skin on the inside of his leg. He’s going to leave his mark. He always does.

Guan Shan doesn’t waste his time. He palms He Tian over his boxers, then pushes the waistband down, freeing his achingly hard cock and stroking it slowly from the base. He flicks his tongue over his lips. His eyes are focused, his long fingers almost delicate. They exert just the right amount of pressure and appear pale, contrasting with He Tian’s reddened skin. His hands are soft and show nothing of the violence they carried earlier - though He Tian knows what they can do. Maybe it excites him even more.

After a few careful strokes, Guan Shan glares up at He Tian, daring him to say anything. He Tian chuckles and surrenders fully, throwing his head backwards on the pillows and closing his eyes. A low man falls from his open mouth when he feels Guan Shan’s tongue on him, licking a strip to the tip.

There’s more than one diligent student in the room. Guan Shan knows exactly how to touch him, what buttons to push; he knows He Tian likes it wet and spits on the tip before sucking on it, one hand on the base so nothing remains untouched, the other one gripping at He Tian’s waist, his nails digging into his skin. His lips are plump, his tongue flat against He Tian’s length. His mouth is so fucking warm.

Utterly mesmerized by the view before him, He Tian sinks into the cushions and doesn’t hold any of his enjoyment back. He strokes Guan Shan’s short hair tenderly and lets out a litany of bad words between heavy breaths, curses Guan Shan takes as encouragement as he takes him deeper and deeper, humming low his throat. Any shyness is long forgotten. He’s having fun, that tease. He takes He Tian right along the edge, then pulls away. He looks up, his lips swollen, slick and sinful, and he smirks, definitely satisfied with his work.

Then something He Tian can only see as hunger takes over. Guan Shan’s mouth is back on him and he’s relentless, alternating between sucking and stroking and pleasure builds up and builds up along He Tian’s spine until he sees white. It washes over him so fast he barely has the chance to warn Guan Shan who pulls back just in time. He strokes He Tian through it, eyes locked on his cock as it spurts ropes of come, most of it landing to stain the fabric of the black boxers pulled down He Tian’s thighs, the rest hitting Guan Shan’s chin.

Guan Shan’s touch softens and he now looks at He Tian straight in the eyes. He collects the few cloudy drops that landed on his face with the soft pad of his thumb and brings it to his mouth. He swallows around it and there’s officially not a single coherent thought left in He Tian’s brain. 

“Fucking hell,” he mumbles.

It’s a sinful sight he’d love to indulge in forever but he needs Guan Shan close again, so He Tian holds his face with both hands and pulls Guan Shan back to him who quickly climbs back on his lap, tucking him back under his boxers and for a moment He Tian is all too dazed to think about anything other than kissing him back. That is until Guan Shan grinds against his stomach, demanding to get his turn.

"I’ve got you baby, I’ve got you." He Tian says in between open mouth kisses.

Driving one hand past Guan Shan’s sweatpants, he closes his hand tightly around his erection but he doesn’t get to set the pace there either. Guan Shan fucks his fist with abandonment and He Tian can only accompany his movement, pushing him froward with his other hand on his ass.

He comes fast, all over He Tian’s chest, groaning low in his neck. Fucking beautiful.

He Tian helps him ride the wave until he winces and swats his hand away, but he remains close, panting, his head resting on He Tian’s shoulder. 

They’re both heavy and loose. As if they were ragdolls. He Tian’s head is filled with cotton. There’s nothing around them. Nothing but damp skin, labored breaths, burning blood in their veins. Nothing but acute and deafening bliss as He Tian toes the line of overdose after months of withdrawal.

Above him, Guan Shan takes a deep sigh and starts to straighten up but before he can even think of climbing off of his lap, He Tian clings to him. He tightens his arms around him, ducking his head against his shoulder.

“Stay?” he asks. 

“I have to be up early tomorrow,” Guan Shan replies, his voice low and breathy.

“I can drive you in the morning.” He Tian loosens his grip and looks at him, tilting his head when he adds, “Please.”

Guan Shan only glares back with a raised eyebrow, amused by He Tian’s childish pleadings.

“Yeah, okay,” he finally says and He Tian slumps back against the couch.

With his mind now fully at ease, he can allow them to part. Guan Shan moves away, complaining about feeling sticky as he settles down against the arm rest. He Tian pulls his legs over his own and Guan Shan lets him, busy stretching his arms over his head. He frowns and grunts, making himself look awfully close to a kitten and closes his eyes, letting his arm fall behind his head. 

“Still hungry?” He Tian asks, before Guan Shan decides to fall asleep like that.

Guan Shan hums then answers a simple “yup.”

He Tian smiles again and reaches out to caress the taut skin of Guan Shan’s stomach for a moment, then pinches him on his side. He gets up to order their midnight snack chuckling, though Guan Shan manages to kick him in the shin as retribution before he can make his escape.

Once he’s in the bathroom to change from his stained clothes, He Tian looks at himself in the large mirror. His eyes linger on the reflection of his upper thighs, where the skin has been thoroughly painted with red and purple lip-shaped bruises - bright marks far more interesting than faded scars.  He presses on them with a hiss and smirks.

The territory has been rightfully reclaimed.

*

May 6th 05:29 a.m. - Prizefighter

Cheng comes to pester him at dawn. 

He Tian tries to ignore the high-pitched ring of messages that resonates, again and again, in the bedroom, until the sixth texts comes and he decides to finally open an eye to check what the fuck this nuisance is about. Next to him, Guan Shan groans, blindly reaches for his phone, then groans some more when he realizes his own alarm is an hour away from going off. He throws a pillow behind him, closely missing the target that must have been He Tian’s face and returns to sleep, mumbling something nice while He Tian attempts to decipher Cheng’s missions for the day. 

The messages are packed with superfluous details, typical of Cheng’s uptight methods. From what He Tian understands, he’s only meant to tour some of their facilities; the kind of diplomatic nonsense his brother hates. Not the most exciting job, but there’s far worse planned for the next few weeks.

Sleep deprivation keeps Guan Shan prickly when they get up. He brushes off He Tian’s offer to grab something for breakfast on the road and puts yesterday’s clothes back on while He Tian picks a shirt for the day. He settles on a cotton linen blend, off-white, with blue undertones - something casual.

Guan Shan grumbles something as he fights with the laces on his sneakers and they leave the condo before eight. He Tian leads the way down the large corridor, the heels of his leather Oxfords echoing against the walls. They get to the car and Guan Shan pulls his hood up when he settles on the passenger seat, yawning so wide his jaw clicks.

He Tian feels the lack of sleep as well but he’s in a much better mood. Stopped at a red light, he lowers the window, lights up a cigarette and enjoys the chill air of the morning. After picking the music, Guan Shan pulls his hood further down over his eyes and rests his head against the door until they reach his apartment. He said he would grab fresh clothes there before starting his day, though He Tian doesn’t know what his daily plans are.

“I can take you to the warehouse next,” He Tian tells him through his open window after Guan Shan exits the car. “I’m not in a hurry.”

“Nah, I need to get to Ming Na’s place. I gotta bring her some stuff,” Guan Shan says before yawning again.

“Heavy stuff?”

Guan Shan shakes his head. “Paperwork,” he answers and He Tian figures he is not going to get to know much more than that. 

“When can I pick you up?” he asks instead.

“My last lesson ends at seven.”

“Alright,” He Tian says, tapping idly on his wheel, then he turns to Guan Shan with a smile. “Can I have a goodbye kiss?”

Guan Shan scoffs and shakes his head again, glancing down the street. He throws his bag over his shoulder and moves towards the entrance hall after he tells He Tian “Later.”

He Tian pouts but waves him goodbye and waits until Guan Shan has disappeared through the staircase before starting the car again. 

He drives a few minutes until he finds a quiet alleyway to park in, away from potential onlookers. It seems he had indeed forgotten to move his gun to the trunk; it’s still there, in the glovebox. He checks the cylinder, then puts it back and closes the trap before spending a few minutes reading over Cheng’s instructions and setting off.

It takes him half an hour to reach their first facility. He takes a look in the rearview mirror, straightens the collar of his shirt and fixes his hair, combing it up. Not bad.

After high school, when his training began, - at least that’s what Cheng called it - He Tian soon realized it didn’t take much effort for him to embody his legacy of vice, and that feigned obedience and counterfeit alliances came with a full set of regalia that he felt rather comfortable in. Italian suits and calfskin leather gloves fitted him like a second skin and the weight of a handgun in his waistband made him feel bigger. Powerful. Not anything noble, nothing unpleasant either.

The second he gets a foot out of his car, one of their men comes to greet him with a deference He Tian has learnt to expect. He answers it with a polite smile and they get to work.

*

Cheng’s missions are completed and reported on before five. 

Hands are shaken, calculated praises are given, security is solid on all the sites. No one acts suspiciously zealous, no one hints at contradictory orders. All is well and He Tian can return to something more fun.

Back at the warehouse, he climbs to the ledge of the semi-floor again, eager to return to the viewing spot he found the day before to observe the lesson properly. Guan Shan sees him, throws a glance at the big clock on the wall, rolls his eyes, and returns his attention towards his students. Ming Na is in the back, walking back and forth between the office and the storage rooms, her thick red-framed glasses at the tip of her nose as he checks the inventory. 

The teens have grown over the last season: in height, skill, and discipline. They take the lesson seriously and know to turn their giggles down when it’s time to focus. When they forget, Guan Shan is there to redirect them with just the right amount of authority, though he struggles not to chuckle along at their best jokes. His teenage self would die to learn that, out of all the odd part- time jobs he’s done, being a teacher is the one he’s enjoyed the most.

One of his students, however, struggles to concentrate on the exercises like the others do. He’s too busy glaring at He Tian, so much that he stumbles over his feet a couple times. The kid looks rather gauche; his bony limbs contrast with his round jaw and his sweatpants fall a bit too short above his ankles. He must be fourteen, fifteen maybe, awkward in his recent growth spurt, with unkempt hair and a frown that seems to be his best attempt at looking threatening. 

Needless to say, He Tian is absolutely terrified. 

He tries to not pay much attention to the little pug anyway. He’s a lot more interested in the coach, in the way he scans the smallest of mistakes, and the way he grins when they get the moves right, exuding genuine pride at their efforts.

The lesson ends with the squad whining like piglets when Guan Shan makes them hold the last plank for an extra fifteen seconds, then he shoos them away to the changing rooms as He Tian gets down from his perch.

“I said seven,” Guan Shan scolds him.

“I’m punctual.”

“I don’t think an hour early counts as punctual.”

“Forty minutes early,” he specifies when one of the storage rooms opens and a blond head unfortunately makes his way into the main room. Zi Hao.

“Do you need a hand-” Zi Hao then stops in his tracks when he sees He Tian. “Oh, hi.”

“Hello,” He Tian says back with a diplomatic smile.

“I don’t remember seeing you around before the match,” Zi Hao turns to Guan Shan.“Are you bringing us new blood?” he asks.

He Tian chuckles before he can stop himself.

“Oh no,” he says, shaking his head, “I think you’re the new guy here.”

Oblivious to the slight, Zi Hao nods.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that., I started training here in February,” he explains, though He Tian doesn’t remember asking. “Mo’s training me.”

He Tian hums in acknowledgment, his polite smile a little tighter on his face and glances to Guan Shan who quickly corrects him.

“I’m not training you, it’s sparring.”

“There’s quite a skill gap, though, you gotta admit.” Zi Hao argues as Ming Na exits the office.

“The only person in a hundred- miles radius who could flatten the redhead is me.” she claims, then she looks He Tian up and down. “Look who’s back,” she says flatly. “Here to hog our star boy again?”

Guan Shan revolts.

“He doesn’t hog me.”

“You know each other?” Zi Hao asks, pointing between Ming Na and He Tian.

“I wouldn’t go that far. He’s a cuckoo bird, he migrates,” she explains. “One of you, come help me with the computer before I throw the goddamn machine into the wall.”

“Save the witch, - we’ll handle the clean up.” Guan Shan tells Zi Hao, much to He Tian’s contentment.

“You know,” Guan Shan starts, piling up the training mats, “one day you’re gonna get a cramp straining your face like that.”

“It’s called smiling, Momo, I promise it doesn’t hurt that much,” He Tian says, helping along. “I’ll teach you someday” he continues and Guan Shan gives him the finger. “I’ll teach your kids too. One of them keeps looking at me like I stole his lunch money.”

“Yeah, that’s Yichen. He’s just moody and doesn’t like strangers much. He’s not great at keeping his face in check.”

“I know someone like that.” He Tian teases again and Guan Shan shows him two middle fingers this time. “Your other pupils made impressive progress, though.”

That’s enough to get Guan Shan going. He talks about their exploits while He Tian lets himself be ordered around. They gather up the gloves and the mats to put back into the storage room, they refill the water fountains while the warehouse gets quieter as people leave one by one, the agitation setting like the sun. The teens go home, so does Zi Hao. Ming Na remains in the office, cursing occasionally at the wonders of modern technology.

Once their duties are completed, He Tian and Guan Shan slide out of the back door. It leads to an alleyway behind the building, a narrow one between towers with tangled wires along the gutters and washed-out posters on brick walls that rarely see the sun. The meeting point of the local stray cats, and the dedicated spot for a smoke break.

He Tian is young, or so his brother likes to repeat, but he doesn’t feel like it when his fingers ache for a cigarette every couple hours. He’s tried to slow down the last few years but he’s never had it in him to quit altogether. Maybe if he gets past thirty he’ll think about it. The last time he was over, Guan Shan had smoked alongside him, but for now he keeps his hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie.

It’s nice in this alleyway. They sit on the ledge of a large window and the temperature is still pleasant in the evening as they advance towards summer. They chat about the kids, about the artwork they’ve plastered all over the warehouse. They’re easy topics, non-threatening to their ever- fragile equilibrium. He Tian enjoys Guan Shan’s chirping like it’s candy and listens dutifully.

"Did you see the big, yellow dragon painted by the bikes? They worked on it for a whole day. Nearly gave me three heart attacks when they were working on the ladder, but it’s good shit, right?"

It does look nice. It’s bright and cartoony, a mix of traditional paintings and comic book shading which makes He Tian think maybe a certain someone isn’t taking the credit he should for its creation.

"Hmm, it is. They did it all alone?"

"I painted the outline.” Guan Shan admits “They were scared to fuck up the proportions. I gave them some instructions but they did most of it on their own.”

He Tian can picture the scene well. All of them around Guan Shan by the wall, watching his movements carefully, surrounded by bouncy music from the speakers and bags of snacks. They must return home each day bragging about how cool their coach is, and all of their classmates should be terribly jealous.

"What’s the thing next to it though? That looks like red vines?"

"I think it’s meant to be bowels? They thought it’d be cool for the dragon to be swimming in it.”

He Tian chuckles. "Bowels?"

"Teenagers." Guan Shan explains simply, shrugging. "Go figure.… They’ve been good, though. And they like to… feel responsible for the place or something. I caught them mopping the floors one night. Unprompted. It was a crazy sight."

He Tian hums, holding the cigarette between his lips, feeling surprisingly endeared himself. 

"What’s crazy is how this place has taken shape," he says. It was nothing but abandoned concrete a year ago, with years of piled- up dust. But Guan Shan and the acerbic woman who serves as his coach were determined to transform it into something decent after the town chose to sell their old gym.

“What’s crazier is that anonymous patrons send us new equipment now.”

“Really?” He Tian asks, candidly but his voice comes out a little too high.  

“You see the new punching bags?” Guan Shan says. “A bunch of them arrived out of nowhere. The delivery guy couldn’t tell us where it came from. On the paper it was ordered by us, but nobody did it and no money left the account."

“That is crazy.”

“I know it was you.” Guan Shan mutters. He caves and snatches the cigarette from He Tian’s mouth. “Dumbass.”

Oops.

It was meant to remain anonymous, cross his heart, hope to die. He Tian knows how to cover his tracks. There was no way anyone could have traced the delivery back to him but retrospectively, he could have made an effort to make himself more discreet. Guan Shan idly spoke about the equipment issue one day, about how it was difficult to get funding for a sport that has a misinformed reputation. The next week, the packages were on the way. The circumstantial evidence is heavy, but maybe He Tian still has plausible deniability on his side.

“It wasn’t me,” he tries but Guan Shan only snorts.

“You’re a really shitty liar. And of course, you went and picked the most expensive models,” he tells him, his eyes following a round calico cat struggling to climb a fence. He Tian pouts, accepting that his discreet benevolence hadn’t been very smooth.

"Hey, I thought this through,” he says. “Nobody’s gonna steal filled punching bags. How much do they weigh? About eighty, a hundred pounds? And you’re hanging them from your five-meter ceiling. People would need a crane to even try to detach them.”

“You underestimate the local creativity,” Guan Shan says and he’s smiling when he adds, “The kids squealed like banshees when they saw them. And one more hit to the old punching bags and we would’ve had to shovel sand out the window, so… the new ones aren’t so bad.”

He puts the cigarette back between He Tian’s lips and leans back to his spot. Then he cracks his knuckles one by one and He Tian recognizes the embarrassment hidden in his fidgeting. 

Guan Shan continues watching the calico cat and with a quiet voice, he says, “Thank you.”

It makes He Tian buzz; makes him warm all over. He has to bite his lip to not exclaim something stupid. It feels terribly nice. 

“You know if you need anything –”

“Don’t push it.”

Fine. Let’s keep it there. His gift was accepted; that’s all he needs. 

He Tian takes a long drag, dropping his head on the wall. 

“Want one?” he offers, taking the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

“Nah, I’m good.”

He Tian tries to stay quiet but the scene he caught after the match remains at the back of his head - the burly man and his posturing, trying to keep what Guan Shan was due.

“I just don’t like that you fight for money,” he starts. “Especially not when they try to rip you off.”

The cat makes another attempt and this time, it manages to hook its front paws over the barrier. It vanishes between the building, rustling the leaves of the bushes as it departs. 

“I dealt with it. They won’t try it again,” Guan Shan says after a moment, looking down at his hands. “I don’t only fight for the money though.”

He Tian doesn’t fully grasp what he means, but he knows this answer doesn’t sound right. He’s ready to object, but his thoughts are cut short again before he can make them heard.

“Just leave it, alright?”

Guan Shan shifts and for a second, He Tian worries he’s broken something fragile, that he tried to touch too close to his pride. But Guan Shan only readjusts himself and crosses his legs under him.

“Alright.” He Tian says and his cigarette gets stolen again.

*

May 10th 01:08 p.m. - Brawl

Throughout the week, the condo gets messier. Livelier.

The cupboards aren’t full but they contain the essentials and the fridge isn’t only a beer aisle anymore. There are jackets laying over chairs, fingerprints on the stove, stained coffee mugs in the sink. He Tian attends the meetings he can’t escape, makes his reports to Cheng on time, and he can’t help but find joy from the clutter that greets him when his days are over.

A routine that never has time to get old starts to take shape again. Guan Shan goes back to his own apartment almost everyday but never for long, only to pick up clothes or check the mailbox. He stops there before or after he goes to work, sometimes after his boxing practice too if He Tian is busy in the evening but he has only slept there one night since He Tian came back.

Guan Shan has the codes to the condo and could come over on his own if he wants to. He doesn’t, but he could. Usually they leave the warehouse together in the evening, and when He Tian picks him up from his apartment, he stays in the car. That’s the unspoken agreement they’ve settled on. 

As usual, all the rest gets blurry.

They finally get one full free afternoon to spend together so they order take out and eat by the coffee table. The plastic containers are still there, empty except for the mushrooms He Tian picked out of his plate. He doesn’t mind the taste but he can’t stand chewing on them. Too squeaky. 

They’re sprawled on the couch, watching some contemplative documentary about the Liao River on TV, though neither of them is really paying attention. He Tian tries not to, but he can't help but glance to the side, where Guan Shan is texting whoever the hell is hogging his attention. He’s been distracted like that all day and He Tian is slowly growing irritated. 

“Your phone’s buzzing a lot.” He Tian tries, attempting a casual tone.

Guan Shan doesn’t raise an eye from his phone when he answers “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

“Who is it?”

“No one. It’s boring stuff.”

He Tian arches an eyebrow.

“It’s boring but it’s not ‘no one’,” he says.

Guan Shan sighs.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t know, I’m just curious,” He Tian tries, but it doesn’t get him much further. Guan Shan doesn’t even turn to look at him. Still, he taps and taps on his goddamn phone.

He Tian usually knows better, but these non-answers bait him. The rejection, albeit small, stings like a paper cut.

“Is it from Zi Hao? Your new best friend?”

"He’s not my best friend,” Guan Shan says, mocking He Tian’s fake jolly tone. He sighs. “And what if it’s him anyway?”

He Tian realizes he lacks leverage here.

“Well, I won’t like it,” he pouts.

Guan Shan shoots him a glare, clearly displeased with his entitlement. But after a second, he shakes his head, clicks his tongue and returns to his phone.

He’s dropping the topic. He Tian should drop it too. He should return to the TV, to the monsoon and the boring, boring Liao River. He should put their discarded food containers away too, and maybe grab some sweets from the cupboards to lighten the mood.

He can’t.

“So it’s him.”

“No,” Guan Shan replies sternly, louder than before. “It’s not.”

He Tian really should drop it. 

“Sure,” he snorts instead, an ugly smirk on his face.

He could have said anything else. He could have even said it casually, with a lighthearted tone. He usually knows how to fake those. But it came out sharp and sarcastic., Petty. But he can’t help it. He’s annoyed by this new guy who thinks he can be all chirpy and friendly smiles, who casually made a dent in Guan Shan’s world after only a few months of knowing him. 

Guan Shan straightens up and throws his phone on the coffee table. The commotion echoes in the room, a siren telling everyone to take cover. He Tian can’t help but notice he’s thrown the phone face down. Suddenly, the undefined edges between them have gotten a lot more perilous.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” Guan Shan demands.

“I’m not playing.”

“You’re saying I’m lying?” he asks, the shape of a threat forming in his tone. 

He Tian slumps back against the couch, his arms resting on top of the cushions, making himself bigger.

“You’re allowed to text your friend,” he says. “I’m just saying it’s been a bit much.”

“You decided to have such a weird fucking problem with him.”

“I don’t have a problem with him,” He Tian defends.

Guan Shan scoffs.

“Oh come on. Don’t be a coward now . Just say what you want to say.”

"You two are clearly closer than you want to admit." He Tian says, looking him straight in the eyes, refusing to back down. "I’m just saying you can tell me what’s going on with him.” 

When the words leave his mouth, he already knows he’s cornered himself. He could have changed roads, whined for a little attention, but it’s too late. He was on edge and he took them both to the rim.

The room darkens.

“What’s going on with him? Let me think,” Guan Shan starts. “So I can tell you he and I were supposed to hang out after the party that day you decided to show up? Because we went to a club the week before, and the week before that, and it was pretty nice actually.”

He Tian’s mouth tightens into an ugly line, an arrogant grin that pushes Guan Shan further.

“See?” He Tian says calmly, “You can be honest with me.”

"Yeah, it turns out that he and I can actually make plans together because he doesn’t think the world revolves around his own schedule. Are we good or do you want more honesty?”

“Oh but go on.”

Guan Shan’s jaw clenches and he loses his frown. His eyes get cold. The next hit is clinical.

“What do you want to hear, uh? That I go fuck him when I’m bored? That’s what you want to hear?”

He Tian clenches his teeth and he says nothing. Nothing smart, nothing good could possibly come out of his mouth in this instant. There’s only acid on his tongue.

“I thought so,” Guan Shan concludes, standing from the couch.

He Tian shakes his head.

“I’m not believing that” he says, feigning nonchalance but his breathing is getting heavier.

“Okay?” Guan Shan scoffs. “I’ll save some pictures next time then.”

And He Tian snaps.

“Maybe I could make some confessions too.”

“Like I care.” Guan Shan throws over his shoulder, picking up his hoodie from the back of a chair.

“I meet a lot of people.”

Guan Shan flinches. For just a brief second his movements come to a halt, a small breach in their respective animosity that leaves He Tian to hope and dread in equal measure while he wonders if his arrow has struck. But Guan Shan quickly recovers and turns back to him.

“I don’t doubt it,” he says flatly.

"Fine,” He Tian says, running one hand through his hair, his words sharp. “I’m not gonna ask anything then. How did we even get here? I asked one question.”

Guan Shan’s eyes widen, and this time, he raises his voice.

“One question!? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“It didn’t have to be such a big deal.”

“You’re so, so full of shit. Well there, make of it what you will. You’re not the only one who has a life when we’re not playing house in this stupid fucking place,” Guan Shan spits.

"I am not playing !" He Tian shouts back as he stands from the couch too. The implication insults him, touches something in his core - something in their core. Something he can’t ignore or dance around so he leaves his jealousy aside. “You really think this is a game to me? You’re part of my life. This isn’t separate from the rest.

“Oh, come on. This—” Guan Shan says through gritted teeth, gesturing between the two of them, “is a fucking sham.”

A sham.

This arrow strikes. Right through the chest. He Tian goes cold. A sham . The word drains the blood from his body in an instant, leaving his heart dry and crumbling over itself. He’s speechless, staring at Guan Shan and hoping he might backpedal on his words but he doesn’t. His jaw clenches, his eyes drop to the floor, then he walks towards the door.

“You’re just going to leave?” He Tian asks, masking his pain the best he can.

“I don’t know, I might just go and screw the first fucking guy I see outside. I’ll keep you updated this time, don’t worry.”

He Tian ignores the petty remark and attempts to limit the distance digging itself between them instead.

“If you’re going to the warehouse, I can take you—”

“You can go fuck yourself.”

The door slams behind him.

He Tian drops back onto the couch. He lets his head fall forward as he pushes the heels of his hands over his eyes. 

Chapter Text

May 10th 07:55 p.m. - Draw

03:56 - I can pick you up later

04:23 - Please, don’t ignore me

04:25 - I’ll bring steamed buns

05:40 - I’m sorry

The air is cold on the balcony and the smoke of He Tian’s cigarette gets lost somewhere in the dark cloudy sky. Little squares light up one by one on the towers’ facades all around him. People come and go down the street, and the moon hangs low in the sky. He Tian sees none of it. 

His back hurts from slouching against the railing for too long, the metal is digging into the skin of his forearms, but he doesn’t move. His legs have grown numb, his mind is lodged elsewhere.

As if this umpteenth drag could finally clear the fog instead of adding to it, he brings the cigarette back to his lips. Inside, the burner phone has died after having so many of its ongoing calls ignored. Whatever. He’ll deal with Cheng later.

He Tian is stuck in the scene, and keeps rewinding it in his head.

Back when He Tian was away, there was a time where he was convinced as much as he convinced himself he had to mourn the happy, carefree break he had in high school. He has been with other people then, men and women, none of them of any significance. They were nothing. Nothing but another attribute of power. He used to bring them to impersonal hotel rooms and in there, both parties knew they were using the other, that the sweet words were rehearsed and each touch counterfeit. They were nice. Always nice, pretty like porcelain dolls, red- lipped and cold to the touch. 

The sex was fine but the remorse He Tian felt afterwards made him sick, though there was a twisted comfort found in the self hatred. He might have even sought that detestation even more than the physical relief those people provided. Still, he was nice to them too, coating himself with a waxy layer of polite interest that he would scrape off in the shower the morning after.

He Tian knows Guan Shan did the same. Not the self- flagellating part – he did not deserve that – but he knows Guan Shan didn’t veil himself from the sight of others. He didn’t have any reason to, not when he was left without a word of explanation, or a promise that they would ever see each other again.

But they did. Teenage love is supposed to burn bright and die quickly but He Tian had a splinter in his skin, buried deep and infectious and it kept flaring up at the worst hours of the night.

It was ‘ not boyfriend shit ’ and maybe neither demanded strict exclusivity because the other wasn’t performing it. Maybe they knew that an agreement was implicit between them and that speaking it into words would demand that they talk about other things. It was an uncomfortable but safe breach of detachment.

He Tian knows his presumptuous jealousy is what triggered the mean words though he has tried to tame it down as best as he could. Had he had complete leeway, if the most tarnished part of his soul took the lead, he would have hid Guan Shan away, kept him selfishly like a relic locked in a tower. Guan Shan isn’t something to use, nor to forget. He commands nothing less than adoration.

Yet no matter how much this whole matter irritates him, He Tian knows deep down that this fight was nothing but a proxy war. The real conflict lies elsewhere, encapsulated in the word that echoes in his head, again and again.

‘ A sham.’  

Both of them are closed doors and dark rooms. Forcefully contained. He can admit to this and bear the guilt. But a sham? An act? He can’t possibly accept that, yet there’s a weight over him that gets heavier each passing month. At sixteen they were immortal. They were eternal. They had no idea finality could ever find its way between them but the breach has gotten harder and harder to ignore. He Tian has attempted to fill up that gap over the years, to pad it with soft gestures and reverent touches, but he fears the breach might have gotten wider, that it might be bottomless after all. He knows he caused the original earthquake anyway, so as he crushes another cigarette on the railing, he thinks Guan Shan’s anger is a rather tame punishment after all.

He Tian’s eyes roam over the view, unfocused, until he gets startled out of his musing. He nearly drops his phone off of the balcony as a message comes through. His heart beats a little faster when he sees Guan Shan’s name on the screen.

07:56 - have you eaten

He reads the text once, twice, five times. Of course he hasn’t eaten, he can’t possibly think about eating, he’s felt nothing but nauseous since their fight and he’s probably burnt off half of his taste buds.

07:57 - not yet

07:59 - ok

Three little dots appear on the screen. Then they disappear. Then pop up again. They tease He Tian a few more times before the next message comes. 

08:06 - ill be there in 20 min  

*

It takes Guan Shan twenty-three minutes to arrive. He Tian knows because he watches the minutes go by on his phone.

He waits for the beeps of the door’s padlock, but it’s a knock at the door that startles him instead. He nearly trips as he rushes to it. Guan Shan looks surprised when their eyes meet, as if he hadn’t been the one knocking. He coughs and composes himself quickly. There’s a plastic bag in his hand.

He Tian steps aside and Guan Shan walks in, keeping his eyes down. He goes straight to the kitchen island and starts unpacking. 

“You hungry?” Guan Shan asks as he lays vegetables over the counter.

“A little,” He Tian replies quietly.

“Can it wait an hour?”

“Of course.”

He could wait forever.

*

May 10th 9:30 p.m. - Swelling

It has always fascinated him to watch Guan Shan cook. 

Homemade meals have never been a staple in He Tian’s life. They’re most often just another paid service completed by hired chefs. Always ordered, never offered. Guan Shan doesn’t like to be disturbed when he cooks, doesn’t like to have someone too close to bother him, but he lets He Tian watch as long as he’s quiet, which now feels like the greatest privilege. 

Cooking is a frustrating process. There are so many steps, so many things that can go wrong at each step, so many variants of each ingredient, of each recipe and nothing ever tastes quite right at the end. Watching Guan Shan navigate it all mindlessly is like being the passenger during an unfamiliar road trip, one with lots of turns and detours. Because as much as Guan Shan wants to pretend his cooking is basic and simple, he never settles for the bare minimum of effort. His meals are not ostentatious or fancy just for the hell of it, but there’s a great deal of care and attention put into each step.

The silence between them is fragile but it doesn’t feel so heavy. He Tian remains by the kitchen island, reading through the discarded packages of the ingredients Guan Shan brought along as the other works his magic without saying a word. They have never been good at settling their fights with words ,– they have never been that willing either. Guan Shan isn’t easily fooled by words anyway. He’s a man of action, and a rather eloquent one at that, so when he carefully removes the mushrooms from one of the bowls into the other with his chopsticks, He Tian feels warmth pooling in his guts.

Guan Shan also tries to pad the breach, and He Tian loves him for it. He loves him so much. 

They settle at the coffee table. He Tian cleared the lunch’s trash earlier, turning over the red-soaked soil of the battleground. Guan Shan places the two bowls of stew down and as he gets down to sit on the carpet as well, he presses a soft kiss to his cheek. It takes He Tian a second to register what has happened and when he turns his head, Guan Shan is already facing away, suddenly very interested in the catalog of movies on TV. Only the red tip of his ears betray the truce he’s just offered.

He Tian doesn’t comment on the gesture. He stays quiet and a small smile creeps in as he pops open the beers. He hands one over; they clink the bottles and turn to the TV, inching just a little closer so their legs touch. 

The meat is soft, and the broth is salty and warm, just on the edge of bitterness. It tastes like forgiveness, like something He Tian knows he doesn’t deserve. 

*

May 12th 04:29 p.m. - Novice

He Tian woke up that morning with Guan Shan’s elbow poking him in the ribs. He laid still for a moment and watched the other sleep. The morning light turned his eyelashes to gold and smoothed his skin, his relaxed features made Guan Shan look almost angelic. Unaware of his audience, he stretched his arms over his head and arched his back, the hem of his shirt rolling up over his stomach, exposing more pale skin and the dark lines adoring it. He Tian took it as a call to morning devotion and crawled between his legs. 

He peppered kisses on his side, down his stomach, and thought despite himself about who else has seen such a sight, whose fingers had run down those hips. It made him want to take a bite, to dig his fingers into his flesh but not to hurt, only to mark, to selfishly, shamelessly brand as his.

It’s only when Guan Shan’s hand twisted in his hair and pushed him down that He Tian considered himself invited enough to go past the fabric of his boxers. He took his cock in his mouth with little finesse and felt him grow hard against his tongue. Guan Shan arched his back again and moaned freely, too drowsy to restrain his sounds like he usually does. He came with a pained gasp, fingers tight against He Tian’s scalp, and it took him a moment to catch his breath as he laid boneless on the bed, eyes closed, mouthing curses while He Tian licked at his neck.

The pendulum, once again, was set back into motion. The sham - if that’s what it is - is restored as if it was never decried and He Tian hopes that what’s left of the fight will scar and fade until it’s pale enough to miss. The decor is back into place; He Tian will pick him up later in the evening and once they lock the door behind them, hands will find skin and they’ll get to pretend things are just how they’re meant to be.

But that’s for later. For now, He Tian has to make it to dinner.

A waitress slides the door of the private dining room open and offers him a second round of refreshments after confirming that his guest hasn’t arrived yet. He Tian politely declines and she leaves discreetly. 

He Tian sighs. His reflection looks odd in the warped glass that separates the room from the corridor. His sleeves are pulled down, his hair combed upwards, and his shirt is properly buttoned almost to the top. Cheng would scold him for the lack of a tie but He Tian has always found them unbearably suffocating. 

Bored out of his mind after another ten minutes of waiting, he gets up to pace around the room, taking the bottle of wine with him. It’s a third empty but he’s sadly sober. The decorative palm tree in the corner has drunk it all for him. He pours a little more into the pot, lets it blend into the soil, and replaces the bottle on the table after splashing a few drops into his unused glass to perfect his mise-en-scène . He sits back and taps his nails idly along the porcelain dishes.

After a moment, the silhouette of the waitress walks his way again, leading a troop of men much taller than her. He Tian stands from his chair and forces a smile as the door opens. 

Elievic stands before him, laughing greasily and extending his hand. 

“I see they’ve sent the cub,” he says with a snarl, exposing small teeth darkened by tobacco and a golden canine. 

His russian accent is thick, his sandy blond hair sparse at the top of his head and his suit positively ugly. He Tian takes his hand, purposefully keeping his hold on the weaker side and wonders why on earth would anyone purchase checkered jackets in this shade of green. One might think being wanted in seven countries would lead to picking a more discreet wardrobe, but Elievic is not a subtle man. He is a character straight out of a sixties noir movie, with one too many golden chains and sixty percent of the methamphetamine arrivals coming from the South China Sea under his control. And sweaty hands.

“Good afternoon, sir,” He Tian greets back, refraining from wiping his hand on a napkin when they part.

“How you’ve grown!” Elievic cheers as he gets to the opposite side of the table. “You must be as tall as your brother now.”

The other men he brought along go to stand in each corner of the room, each of their tailored jackets deformed by the bump of a holster hiding underneath. He Tian knows Elievic likes to flaunt but bringing four armed bodyguards to tea is bordering on extravagant.

“Almost,” He Tian says. “He apologizes for not being able to come.”

“Ha, it’s alright, it’s alright. Youngsters gotta learn to walk on their own.”

He Tian has a few memories of him with a fuller head of hair, back when Elievic used to dine with his father at the main estate. Cheng joined those meetings as well after a few years but He Tian had always been conveniently left out of them until now.

When they sit down, Elievic leaves his fists to drop on the table as if they were heavy like rocks. The porcelain dishes shake as his gaze lingers on the half finished bottle of wine. Then he looks up at He Tian. His grin widens and he pours them both a glass, emptying the bottle.

“Don’t be nervous, boy,” he says. They clink their glasses. He Tian takes a sip and Elievic drains his in one big gulp. “This is just a talk between old family friends.”

Not a very subtle man, indeed. A big dumb pike with rotten teeth, swimming straight to the bait.

Fortunately, he speaks enough for two so He Tian only has to nod along and catch the right opportunity. At first, Elievic talks at length about the traffic, about the ever expanding cities and the ugly slick modernity of the new buildings that grow like mushrooms, taking over a traditional architecture he seems to be fond of. Two other waitresses interrupt them for a minute, serve the tea - British style - as well as a few plates of pastries and leave as quickly as they arrived. 

Elievic gets right back into his monologue, this time diverging towards a long description of this vintage Berliner he got shipped from Germany ,- an authentic Porsche 911, a two doors convertible from 1984, black model, with a brand new engine - one he crashed near Tianjin a few weeks prior. His bodyguards smirk as he retells the story of this drunken night. Elievic explains that they were gracious towards the biker they had driven into. Even though the Porsche was badly busted on its left flank, they left him a stack of bills fat enough to rebuy three motorcycles, much better ones than the indigent one he was riding before.

“And a few pairs of pants,” one of the men ads. The other three laugh.

Elievic laughs too. “We had to have a small talk with him,” he explains. “Involving our dear police forces for such a small hitch wasn’t necessary. We tried to explain that to him but the poor guy… he was young, he wanted to do things by the book. So we had to explain the situation to him differently. Let’s just say he lost control of his bladder for a second,” he explains, hiding his ugly smile behind his cup. 

His light eyes are half mad, his anecdote definitely meant to sound menacing but He Tian is bored and a little lost in his own head, thinking about how he should have drugged the tea, or paid the waitresses to fill the room with carbon monoxide after he would have excused himself to the bathroom. 

Then one of the bodyguards come to whisper something to Elievic’s ear, interrupting He Tian’s fantasies. They share a few words in Russian, then he shoos the bodyguard back to his corner.

“So…,” Elievic starts, turning his attention back to He Tian, “I heard the chain of command has changed in Shenzhen.”

Fucking finally. Something interesting.

“Hmm. It did.”

“You had a good team down there, and you know I like business to be done in a timely manner, right? I built my reputation on that, I expect to be given the same courtesy.”

A bold claim from someone who was nearly an hour late, but He Tian bites his tongue before the comment escapes him.

“Is there a problem?” he asks instead.

Elievic twirls his tea a few times, staring straight to He Tian with his crazy eyes and his ugly smile before he continues.

“One of my boats was kept ashore two weeks ago. For half a day longer than it was supposed to. Not just a bit too late into the afternoon, but for nearly eleven hours straight.”

“Oh,” He Tian says, feigning surprise, as if he wasn’t in Shenzhen with his brother that very day, orchestrating the whole affair. “I imagine the new team is still learning the ropes.”

Elievic puts his cup back on the table and leans forwards on his elbows, flashing his golden tooth.

“You know we don’t learn the ropes in our world. We know the ropes, or we find ourselves dangling from one,” he says, his voice low.

He Tian refrains a smirk. Here’s his opportunity.

“I’m not the one who made the decision to change them. And your cargo got to its destination safely at the end. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“I wasn’t worried.” Elievic scoffs, “I’m not one to worry - I’m only curious as to what happened.” 

He leans back against his chair and for a moment, his eyes wander around. He pursues his pale lips, as if he’s thinking about his next words and an uncomfortable tingle of apprehension grows along He Tian’s spine.

“I’ll be frank with you,” Elievic finally says. “We’re grown ups, right? We can talk honestly.”

“Of course.”

“I heard things about your dad- Lies, I’m sure! But you know how people are. They talk. They ask questions.”

He Tian feels like laughing then. It’s almost too easy. He forces a worried frown.

“What kind of lies?”

“Things I wouldn’t want to repeat – too disrespectful. But, even though I have known him for a long time, I have to say he’s been harder to reach lately… Maybe he needs a little vacation, some time to ressource? It happens to the best of us.”

‘ Hard to reach ’ is one way to put it. ‘ Lost in the limbo of his own ego ’ would be a more poetic way to present the truth though nothing beats ‘ drunk and paranoid ’ in terms of accuracy. If people already yap now, He Tian wonders what it would be if they knew the full scope of the situation. He wonders what would happen if they witnessed just a single one of his father’s well-guarded tantrums.

All it would take is a few pairs of eyes and some loose tongues. It would make for a delirious spectacle. It’d cause a ripple big enough to make a visible dent on the graphs of the Shanghai Stock Exchange, big men all around the continent would panic and He Tian would enjoy it all sipping on a martini.

But that’s not the plan he promised to follow. So instead, he only pushes the first domino and tells the biggest lie he’s uttered that day.

“My father is well,” he says and Elievic’s smile falters. 

The pike is hooked, He Tian can finally leave.

“I’m truly sorry,” he starts, standing from his chair and looking down at his watch. “I have imperious obligations I need to attend to.”

“That’s unfortunate, I’d love to hear more about you,” Elievic replies but He Tian is done with this game and has far better things to do. He still has to report to Cheng and Guan Shan will be done with his lessons soon.

“Order what you’d like for you and your men,” he offers as a compromise. “Put it on my tab.”

He closes the door behind him, dropping the facade of coy politeness off of his face as it snaps shut. He calls after a waitress, asking her to tend to the men inside the private room to distract them while he makes way towards the back of the building. He finds one of Qiu’s men wanting, grabs the new burner phone handed to him and leaves the restaurant through the back door.

A few blocks down the street, the Mercedes waits for him in a private garage. He settles in and clicks on the only number registered on the phone. The ringtone resonates, loud and sharp in his ear.

As he stretches his fingers over the wheel, he can’t help but notice the yellow stains of nicotine on his nails. He can’t tell since when they’ve gotten so visible but his thoughts gets interrupted by Cheng’s cold voice.

“ How did it go ?” he asks.

He Tian breathes out.

“You tell me,” he says, hiding his uneasiness. “Why do I always have to play the dumb one?”

Qiu snorts behind Cheng. 

“ Because you are the dumb one .”

“ Sir,” He Tian hears in the background, from one of the members of Cheng’s team “we’ve just intercepted instructions. Their deliveries in pre-carriage are to pause before reaching the mainland. We got three boats from Thailand already changing routes to avoid our ports. ”

“ Where is he ?”

“ Still in the restaurant, sir, we’re keeping an eye on him .”

“ Told you,” Qiu says, laughing darkly, “that son of a bitch has a thing for self-preservation . He wouldn’t know loyalty if it hit him in the face .”

“What’s next?” He Tian asks, checking his watch again. This whole thing has already taken enough of his time.

“ Knowing Elievic, he’ll selfishly keep to himself that he considers us unreliable now. He’ll bet on us bringing our partners down and hope to fill up the space in the future but it won’t take long for dad to find out his old friend has bailed on him but I trust that that Russian coward and his cargo will already be well hidden by then. It’s gonna keep them busy and leave us the space we need to deal with Krai. And if that goes as smoothly as the rest, well… ”

Cheng doesn’t finish his sentence and He Tian doesn’t encourage him to. He doesn’t like to think about their end goal much. It’s Cheng’s goal, not his anyway, he’s just an accessory. He redirects the conversation to a more comfortable place.

“Is the charity auction really necessary?” he whines.

“ Best way to get Krai to come out of his hole. He likes to examine the art pieces himself. Are we clear on which part you’re handling ?”

“Coordinating security and transport, I got it.”

“ I was thinking about leaving the catering to you actually. ”

“ Yeah, ” Qiu interjects, bringing the phone closer to him. “Make sure they have some of those salmon mousses., I love those pink little fuckers .”

“You’re fucking with me, right?”

His brother gets the phone back.

“Yeah, I am,” he says with barely concealed amusement, then returns to his serious tone. “I’ll send you the rest of the files so you have everything you need to meet with the transporters in a few days. I need you to supervise the transportation of the centerpiece personally. I don’t want any hiccups with that one.”

He Tian vaguely remembers Cheng making a fuss about that lost European painting. He has spent months searching for it.

“The Dutch thing?”

He can almost hear his brother roll his eyes.

“ Yes, the Dutch thing.”

“Can’t wait.”

“ Sir, Elievic’s private jet is getting prepared. He’s taking off to Vladivostok in fifteen minutes .”

“ What a rat… ” Cheng mutters. “ He Tian .”

“What?”

There’s a pause, then Cheng tells him “ Good job .”

He Tian snorts and hangs up without saying another word, refusing to let anyone hear the smile that rises on his face.

*

He Tian arrives at the warehouse an hour later, his hands full with takeaway and resolute to not think about anything Russian for the next few days. He pushes the front door open with his back and finds the main room empty and the lights turned off. The area with the lifting benches and the bikes is left in complete darkness but one of the back rooms has its door open, the orange light that emanates from it reflecting on the vinyl.

“Momo, are you here?” he sings as he gets to it. He finds Guan Shan busy in this utility room, pulling towels out of a large dryer and into a plastic basket.

“Yeah. I’m almost done.”

“Laundry day?” He Tian asks. He eyes around, finding more baskets filled with towels and gloves. The room smells of bleach and detergent, and in the corner there is a drain and a green hose unrolled over the wet tiles. “Did you have to clean a crime scene?”

“Almost. We got a bad split lip earlier, one of the ring covers needed a rinse.”

He Tian sets the takeaway on a table and rests against it. He watches Guan Shan finish up his load of laundry when an idea rises to his mind.

“Oh no,” he gasps, looking down at his chest.

“What?”

“I got sauce on my shirt… It must come from one of the containers.… I’ll have to take it off- Oh! And there’s a stain on my pants, too, but thankfully we could wash them here.… It’d just be terrible if someone decided to take advantage of me while in a vulnerable state of undress…”

Guan Shan snorts and looks at him flatly.

“What kind of cheap porn scenario is that?”

“Yeah, it’s not very original…” He Tian admits, searching around. “I could get stuck in the washing machine? Or we could get you stuck in the washing machine.”

“And that’s more original to you?”

“No, but I suppose it has its charm.”

Guan Shan shakes his head, now grinning and returns to his folding.

“We’re not doing it here.”

“Why not?” He Tian asks, pouting. “There’s no one.”

“Exactly.”

“Wow,” He Tian says, raising a hand to his mouth, now mimicking a prudishness that has long left him. “How audacious.” It makes Guan Shan roll his eyes, though He Tian’s antics make him smile too. And flush. It’s a particularly deadly combo in He Tian’s book.

“No, not-” 

“I didn’t know the idea of a crowd turned you on like that –” he starts before he gets a balled up towel thrown at his face. He catches it easily, chuckling.

“I meant that the place is too creepy at night, you fucking pervert,” Guan Shan explains. “Do you want to get interrupted by a ghost?”

Maybe not, but he definitely wants to kiss his flushed cheeks.

“So during the day, it’s game on. Got it,” he teases as he crosses the room.

However before he gets to Guan Shan, they hear a loud clunk further down the corridor. It seems the cock-blocking ghost is not only real but also quite reactive.

They turn to the direction of the noise, then to each other with wary frowns. Guan Shan gets ahead of He Tian. He goes to the corridor and follows the sound of muffled curses coming from one of the rooms in the back, then swiftly pushes the door open. He flicks the light on with no hesitation, exposing and blinding the small intruder who squints and covers his eyes with a hand.

It’s one of the teenagers Guan Shan was teaching a few days before, the moody one with the short sweatpants. The window is cracked open and the teen is squatting before a pile of papers that are spread all over the floor from a tipped cardboard box behind him. 

Guan Shan’s shoulders drop as he calls for the kid “Yichen?”

Slowly, Yichen stands up. He lowers his hand and though he keeps his head down, his long fringe doesn’t fully hide the battle zone - it doesn’t cover the large bruise on his cheekbone nor the blood crusting around his nostrils. His light shirt is dotted with dark red and there is a larger stain by the bottom hem. He must have pulled on the end of his shirt to manage the nosebleed the best he could. His shabby sweatpants are now dirty on the knees and ripped open along one of his calves.

“What the hell happened to you?” Guan Shan continues, walking to him.

Yichen sniffles and doesn’t look up when he simply answers “I fell.” 

His lying skills are about as refined as his footwork, it seems.

Guan Shan sighs and he grabs his chin and turns his face up. The kid rolls his eyes and grunts with expected teenage petulance but he lets himself be examined.

“Sure, you fell,” Guan Shan sighs, lifting his bangs and checking for any hidden blow, then he pinches his nose “Does it hurt?”

“ ‘s fine,” Yichen mutters and pulls away “it’s not broken.” 

Guan Shan lets him go as a gust of wind disturbs the papers on the floor. He goes to the window, leaving Yichen and He Tian to face each other. The kid doesn’t seem surprised to see him but again, he frowns like a pug when their eyes meet and turns away.

“You know the front door works fine,” Guan Shan tells him as he tries to force the window close. “You guys can’t keep on fucking with this window. The bolt is gonna snap one day.”

“ ‘thought you were already gone… It was dark inside.”

“Why were you even sneaking in here?.”

“I wasn’t going to steal anything!”

“Didn't say you were,” Guan Shan says, taking the papers from the floor. Yichen follows his lead and starts collecting them into piles too. He Tian feels the urge to give a hand as well but he thinks it might be wiser to stay at a distance for now.

“I just wanted to check if my sweater was still there,” Yichen explains, calmer this time. “The blue one.”

“The one you forgot in the changing rooms? The one I told you to pick up like fifteen times?”

“You didn’t throw it away, right?”

“No, hold on ,– I think it’s –” Guan Shan fixes the last of the fallen papers and goes to one of the metallic closets on the side of the room from which he takes out the largest bin. He places it on the floor and rummages through its content for a minute before pulling out a light blue sweater with white inscriptions on the sleeves.

“That one?” he asks and Yichen sighs in relief, curling his fist in victory. 

“Yeah, thanks.”

“It’s gonna smell fucking awful, it’s been in the box for weeks.”

“ ‘s fine. It’s just to – you know…”

“To cover up the misery?”

“My mom –” Yichen starts with a thin voice. He coughs before he continues with a tight smile “She’s gonna lose her shit if she sees me like this."

Guan Shan winces and looks him up and down again.

“You’re gonna need more than a sweater.”

“I could borrow some pants?” Yichen suggests, as if the worst of his injuries weren’t right on his face. 

“Does she know where you are?” Guan Shan asks but Yichen only pinches his lips guiltily. “It’s late. You gotta send her a text or something.”

“I don’t have my phone. I… lost it?”

He got it snatched. Or stepped on. Most likely both.

Guan Shan nods, entertaining the lie before he tells him "I’ll get you some clothes and we’re gonna clean your face.”

“You don’t have to –” he tries but Guan Shan gives him the kind of look he can’t argue with. He sighs and leaves to go to one of the bathrooms.

When he walks past him, He Tian sees the side of his face is scratched raw and dirty with gray dust, as if it had been rubbed against gravel. There are muted streaks of blood on his cheeks, hastily wiped, crossing the path of dried tears. Yichen glares again and stands tall despite his limp. He still looks awkward and lanky but He Tian can at least respect his attempt to collect the dignity that someone clearly tried to beat out of him.

“You can leave first, I’ll handle it,” Guan Shan tells He Tian once the kid is out of sight.

“I don’t mind staying.”

Guan Shan considers him for a second, then he nods.

“What do you think happened?” He Tian wonders as they return to the utility room.

“There’s been a weird rivalry between the local school and the one downtown.” Guan Shan explains, picking up clean clothes from the fresh laundry. “They fight over territories and steal packs of cigarettes to trade them. They make themselves emblems like they’re street gangs. It’s not the first time one of our kids has come here a little busted lately but…it’s the first time it’s been this bad.”

“Can I do something?” He Tian asks with the presentment that he’ll be dismissed.

“No-” he starts, though he stops himself and coughs. “Actually, can you get the register?” Guan Shan hands him his bunch of keys. “It’s in the first drawer in the office. His mom’s phone number should be in it. He might be able to catch the last bus.”

“Or we’ll drive him home,” He Tian offers simply.

Guan Shan looks at him, just one second too long, enough for He Tian to wonder if he’s overstepped, but Guan Shan agrees.

“Yeah, okay.”

They part to focus on their respective missions. He Tian finds the register just where it was indicated. When he pulls it out, a picture gets caught on the side of the drawer: one of the kids sitting along the red ring, sipping on juice boxes. Guan Shan is above them, resting his arms on one of the pillars and looking down on them with an incredibly soft smile. It’s a candid shot - Guan Shan doesn’t like posing for pictures - and it’s a beautiful one, almost baroque in the composition. It pains He Tiaan when he has to slide it back under the paper clip.

He brings the book to Guan Shan but lingers at the bathroom door, listening to him preach to the limping lamb.

“I couldn’t even defend myself,” Yichen whines.

“I already told you, you’ll never learn the magic punch that’ll get you to win every fight - lift your chin - and there’s no referee outside. Sometimes all you can do is protect your face, protect your balls, and wait for it to end.”

“I tried to protect my face but– but it ricocheted and I busted my own nose with my fist. Dude, I sucked!” The kid exclaims, his immature voice breaking.

“That’s why you put your fists here - and not here, not that far. It makes a cocoon for your nose.”

When their conversation quiets down, He Tian goes in and hands Guan Shan the register.

“Thanks,” he says.

“Why is he still here?" Yichen asks, curling up his lip in overt disgust. Guan Shan gives him a scolding tap on the shoulder with the book, making the kid yelp "What? I’m just asking!"

“I’m the taxi driver,” He Tian informs him.

“He’s my lackey, actually,” Guan Shan corrects, dropping his wet cloth into one of the sinks. “I’m gonna call your mom,” he says and stands from his chair but Yichen catches him by the sleeve.

“Hey, can you like- not tell her?” 

“You’re getting a nasty black eye already. I would have covered for you if it was just a hole in your pants but I’m not gonna lie to her face about that.”

Yichen’s shoulders drop and he makes a sad little face, looking down at his shoes. Guan Shan sighs and continues.

“Look, I’m just going to tell her you’re with me for now and when we get you home I’ll come with you and we’ll talk, okay?”

That seems to reassure the kid enough. He agrees and Guan Shan leaves He Tian to baby sit as he goes to make the phone call. Once he’s gone, the silence between them grows awkward quickly. 

Until Yichen breaks it.

“He says you’re his friend. Is that true?”

“It is,” He Tian says and he’s answered by yet another grimace. “You don’t seem convinced.”

“How did you meet?”

“In school - last year of middle school. You’re fifteen, he said? We were about your age when we met. We had lots of adventures together.”

“Were you close?”

Memories stumble before his eyes, the kind of pictures he rarely revisits. He thinks about them running away from the rain, cursing until they reached the bus stop, about how they sat at the back of the bus, away from everyone, and how Guan Shan took his hands in his to warm them both up. He thinks of the early mornings they spent watching the sun rise because He Tian couldn’t sleep anymore and Guan Shan liked to pretend he was an early riser to justify getting out of bed with him.

“I’d say so, yeah,” he says softly. 

“Coach said the same thing. He said you were a jackass too.”

That makes He Tian smile. Past the ‘jackass’ which is close enough to an endearment to his ears, he likes to think of Guan Shan talking about him when he’s not there. He likes to know he keeps existing, past his physical presence. Maybe it’s selfish, but He Tian hopes he lingers.

“Are you cross examining us?” he asks.

“Can’t blame me for being cautious. You’re not his usual kind of friend.” Yichen says with an edge of mockery. “And most often, people like you mean trouble.”

He Tian tilts his head.

“People like me?”

“People in suits,” Yichen specifies. “I thought you were one of those solicitors too.”

“What solicitors?”

“I’m not sure, I just know they’re all from some big company. I see them patrol the streets in their big cars like they’re cops – as if we needed more of those. I heard they wanna buy the whole neighborhood, like – wipe it down completely and build new stuff on top. My uncles were talking about it the other day, but my uncles often just say whatever. They get crazy drunk and –”

“Do they come here?” He Tian interrupts, cutting off Yichen’s rambling.

“My uncles? Yeah, for parties – Oh, the suit guys, you mean. They tried once. They got kicked out of the office real fast though. Ming Na was so pissed. But when we asked what was up, they said it wasn’t for us to worry about.”

He Tian hums, and behind him, Guan Shan returns to the room. Yichen changes the topic hastily, as if he got caught talking about something he shouldn’t have, convincing He Tian it’s a matter for another time. 

As Guan Shan reassures Yichen that his mom isn’t too mad yet , the kid’s stomach rumbles so loud he curls into himself to deafen the noise and his ears turn red from embarrassment. It’s going to take another thirty minutes for his old clothes to come out of the washer so they take pity on him and offer their forgotten takeaway, which he gladly accepts. He insists on sharing – even with He Tian, which surprises him – but they let him eat to his heart’s content.

Once cleaned and fed, the kid turns a lot more agreeable and he stops looking at He Tian with those squinted, distrustful eyes. They leave the warehouse while he babbles about the last MMA fight he saw online and keeps on talking as they walk down the street. He Tian wonders if he even breathes in between sentences, but then the sight of the Mercedes stops Yichen in the middle of his rant. When he’s encouraged to climb in, his eyes and mouth fall wide open.

“For real?" he asks, turning to Guan Shan who pushes him to go inside with a tilt of the head.

“He’s truly your weirdest friend,” Yichen mumbles as he gets inside the car.

The streets are almost deserted that late in the evening, and though he doubts the kid would mind a bit of speed, He Tian finds himself driving a little slower than usual. In the rearview mirror, he can see Yichen on the middle seat ogling around the car with his big eyes and carefully petting the leather around him. After a few minutes of awe and quiet, he returns to babbling, only cutting himself off to tell He Tian where to turn. Guan Shan listens agreeably at first but slowly gets pulled into a debate about the best current wrestler that lasts until they reach Yichen’s apartment block. 

“Can I take the wheel?” Yichen asks as they climb out of the car.

“The hell you’re gonna take the wheel,” Guan Shan yelps.

“No, not, to drive it but you know- Could I sit behind the wheel? Just for a minute?”

“It’s not my car.” Guan Shan tells him and then he nudges his head towards He Tian. “Ask him.”

“Can I? Please, sir?”

Guan Shan snickers behind his hand. He Tian shoots him a glare but it only amuses him more.

“Go ahead,” He Tian says to Yichen, stepping aside from the driver’s door.

Yichen sits down, giggling with excitement. His fingers hover above the dashboard, unsure of what he’s allowed to touch for a moment before his hands settle carefully on the wheel. He presses the speeding pedal, making the engine roar tentatively at first, then again with more confidence. 

“Wow,” he breathes out.

“Alright, calm down. You’re gonna wake up the whole street,” Guan Shan tells him.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just – too cool.” He gets out of the car again, then turns to He Tian, his blotched face beaming.

“Thanks.”

He Tian smiles back at him.

“My pleasure.”

Yichen waves him goodbye as he climbs up the stairs back to his place, Guan Shan following close behind while He Tian waits for him outside to smoke. The apartment complex is eerily similar to the one Guan Shan and his mom used to live in years ago, with the same faded paint on the wall, the same crackling lights and an elevator forever adorned by a “ temporarily out of order ” sign. On the glass panels of the hall, He Tian sees the same church-promoting flyers he saws on the gates of the warehouse. 

He closes his eyes for a second and feels a wave of exhaustion rush through him. The building is framed by concrete planters containing small bushes, in various stages of growth, most of them being small and dry, with barely a few leaves on their thin branches. The planters are a bit low but wide enough for He Tian to sit on the edge. It’s not the most comfortable with his long legs stretched before him but thankfully, the street is empty and no one is at risk of tripping on them. He dealt with one too many grimacing nightmares today, though he has to admit one ended up slightly more pleasant to be around than the other.

Underneath the exhaustion, there’s somewhere warmer hiding. A discreet but fluttering joy to have been included, to have been allowed to help, even a little bit.

He’s just started his second cigarette when Guan Shan returns. They’re quiet for a moment as he drops down by He Tian’s side. A gust of wind brings one of the flyers by their feet. It’s all vivid colors and quotes of half psalms in pretty fonts, they even have their own logo. Evangelicals sure know how to market themselves.

“Do you think the members of that church appreciate that a third of their budget must go towards advertisement?” He Tian asks, pressing his heel on the printed face of their blue eyed pastor.

“I don’t know. They’re crazy about that American guy,” Guan Shan says and He Tian looks at him curiously. “My mom has a few friends in it,” he explains.

“How was it upstairs?”

“Could have been worse,” he answers with his voice low, eyes unfocused as he gets lost in his thoughts for a moment. Then he shakes himself out of it and finally says “he’ll be okay.”

It sounds like he’s mostly saying it to himself, as if to speak it into reality, but under the affirmation hides an obvious layer of uncertainty. It’s a wish; almost a prayer.

“Growing pains, uh?” He Tian muses. “Did he actually eat two full portions in one sitting?”

“Yup.”

“I’m impressed.”

Guan Shan chuckles.

“He needed it.”

He Tian lifts his half finished cigarette, wordlessly offering it. Guan Shan takes it and He Tian now has a good excuse to light up a third. From the corner of his eyes, he keeps observing Guan Shan who exhales smoke slowly through his nose, his eyes lost in the deserted street again. He remains quiet and pensive until he crashes the cigarette butt against the gritty planter. As if all of his energy left him for a second, he sighs and drops his head on He Tian’s shoulder. Carefully, He Tian presses his cheek against his head in a prudent embrace, hoping that no car decides to pass by and disturb them. 

“You okay?” he asks, circling Guan Shan’s wrist and brushing his thumb against the top of his hand.

Guan Shan hums, then lifts his head but doesn’t go very far, his nose almost stroking He Tian’s cheek. He glances down the street one last time before kissing the corner of He Tian’s mouth, then his lips. Just a few seconds. A soft but firm touch He Tian did not expect but gladly answers to, reaching Guan Shan’s cheek to stroke it softly.

It doesn’t last for very long but when Guan Shan pulls back, he ducks his head down to cover the shy smile growing on his face. He Tian doesn’t bother hiding his own. It’s wide and reaches his eyes and when Guan Shan gets up and looks down to him, He Tian knows he must look a little dazed, a little lovesick. He receives a light kick in the leg, urging him on.

“Wanna get some steamed buns?” Guan Shan offers. “There’s a good place a couple streets from here.”

“I’m down,” He Tian answers, quickly snubbing out his cigarette as well. “You’re gonna have to give me a hand, though. I’m all rusty,” he whines. 

“Come on, you’re not that old.”

“He called me ‘sir’ ,” He Tian reminds him and holds out his hand. “Have mercy.”

Guan Shan shakes his head and caves. He grabs both of He Tian’s hands and pulls him up until he’s back on his feet.

“Let’s go, old man,” Guan Shan says, leading the way, pulling He Tian by the tip of his fingers as their hands linger together.

Chapter Text

May 15th 19:18 p.m. - Foul play

He Tian closes the door and brushes his soaked hair away from his face. The air is heavy inside the car so he quickly turns the AC on and unbuttons more of his collar.

Today’s chores were a pain. He was meant to discuss the preparation for the auction with Cheng’s southern division and expected a smooth ride. All he had to do was show them around the lobby, let them figure out how to get it as secure as possible to avoid any uninvited guest sneaking in, or any reluctant ally sneaking out. 

They were good at their job. Loyal too. Dutiful to a level that went beyond He Tian’s comprehension but they were loyal to Cheng and Cheng only and had been around for long enough to be acquainted with He Tian’s rogue reputation. All day, they made their own little plans between themselves, writing notes with their backs turned to him. When he forced his way into the conversation, he could swear they got close to telling him off because ‘ the adults were talking ’.

Then Cheng called and informed him that the centerpiece was done with its restoration process, and that He Tian was due to pick it up in two days.

Cheng has been awfully insistent about the importance of this goddamn Dutch painting, about how the promise of getting a sight of such a precious thing - that had allegedly been stolen and lost since before the Great War - is the only thing that’d get Krai to consider showing up in person. 

He had sent it to a restorer he’s been collaborating with for a long time, a painter who used to work at a museum in Italy before returning to his homeland after his retirement. Whenever they require the authentication of an art piece, the encyclopedic knowledge of Mr Liu as well as his mastery of chemistry happens to be particularly useful. The only thing that goes deeper than Mr Liu’s erudition is his love of money.

It is imperative for their so-called auction to be innocuous to onlookers, to appear genuine enough to gather authentic art dealers and lovers of the craft. A crowd of laymen will incentivize the less ordinary from acting up, the pricey paintings will justify the high security and it will all ensure Krai feels safe enough to come and have a chat.

Cheng’s team leaves at the end of the afternoon, as dark clouds start covering the sun. The air gets damp all of a sudden and before He Tian can reach his car, rain pours.

He had started the day in a good mood but now he has to massage his tense jaw before it transforms into a migraine. The vein in his temple pulses painfully to the beat of rain thrumming on the windshield and soon, thunder cracks in the distance. It promises a tedious drive but an alert on his phone informs him someone has entered the penthouse. He turns the ignition on.

*

Forty minutes later, he’s at the condo. One of the large windows is cracked open, letting in air that’s been cooled by the thinning rain and his headache doesn’t feel so terrible the moment he sees Guan Shan sprawled on the couch. It’s fully forgotten when he notices what he is wearing; shorts and the loose black sweater He Tian wore yesterday evening, the one he mindlessly threw at the end of the bed before going to sleep. He Tian doesn’t make a fuss about it for now, not outwardly at least and after receiving a few jabs about the frizz in his hair, he gets in the shower to remove the dirt of the day.

When he gets out, dressed more comfortably with only a pair of sweatpants, Guan Shan is by the kitchen island, unwrapping one of the strawberry ice cream bars he brought a couple days ago - still wearing the sweater. 

He Tian crawls behind him, grabs his wrist and attempts to take a bite of ice cream over his shoulder but Guan Shan yelps and fights against it.

"Get your own,” he grumbles.

“You could share,” He Tian says, dropping his chin on his shoulder. He smirks and he adds “You’ve stolen my clothes after all.”

Guan Shan freezes for a second, then wiggles his way out of He Tian’s hold. When he turns around, he glances at the scar on He Tian’s shoulder. It’s furtive as usual; He Tian has caught him doing it every time he’s shirtless. As always it’s a quick glare, as if Guan Shan was angry at it for still being here but as always, neither of them comment on it. 

“So what?” Guan Shan asks with a forced nonchalance, at a safer distance, now a few steps away.

“Relax, you can have it,” He Tian reassures, enamored by the way the long sleeve pools over Guan Shan’s hand where he grips the edge of the counter.

“It was laying around. Like half of your stuff by the way,” Guan Shan informs him. “Still can’t pick up after yourself?”

“Oh of course, you’re only wearing my clothes for the sake of…tidying up?”

“Yup,” Guan Shan maintains, his wandering eyes obviously dubious about the solidity of his own answer. He returns to his spot on the couch and continues “And it's not my fault your place got so fucking cold. I wasn’t expecting the rain.”

How rational. Still, He Tian glances around and has to admit the living room does need to get freshened up. He hesitated between different outfits this morning and didn’t bother hanging the shirts that didn’t make the cut back into the closet, leaving them piled up on the couch or on the dresser next to it.

He Tian doesn’t let Guan Shan escape so easily though. He follows him, sits down as well, close enough for their legs to touch and turns to his side. With his elbow on the back rest, he holds his face in his hand, a smirk on his lips. Feisty as usual despite his reddening cheeks, Guan Shan glares at him, the top of the popsicle between his lips. He Tian enjoys the sight of him for a moment; the clouds are dispersing, making space for the evening light that gives an orange glow to the room, reflecting in Guan Shan’s eyes and turning them to gold. His ivory skin contrasts with the black he chose to wear, hanging low on his collarbones. He looks beautiful.

He Tian inches closer to his ear, pressing along the tattooed branches and the red flowers that peek out of the sweater’s collar.

“So cold it called for ice cream, uh?” he asks with a low voice.

Guan Shan actually pouts this time. He slouches down further into the cushions, as if he could retreat that way and hide the flush taking over his face. He frowns and presents the ice cream before He Tian’s face, as if accepting to share could distract He Tian in any way. 

It’s a fair shot, albeit pointless; He Tian is sure a red elephant could come flying into the room and it wouldn’t be enough to get him to look away from the portrait before him. 

He Tian doesn’t neglect the offering though. He wraps his lips around it, tastes the layers of frozen sugary custard and the artificial flavorings. It’s almost too sweet for his liking but he’s a man on a mission, pointedly dragging the ice cream on his tongue.

Guan Shan looks at him flatly, seemingly unimpressed by the show yet his breathing gets heavier.

“You’re obscene, you know that?” he deadpans.

He Tian chuckles, then brings Guan Shan’s hand closer to his lips so he can mouth at his finger but Guan Shan clicks his tongue and brings the ice cream back to him.

“What? I’m just tasting,” He Tian says, turning to Guan Shan’s neck as a consolation prize, mouthing at the spot under his ear.

He presses his tongue flat against his skin, making Guan Shan shiver.

Pleased of this reaction, He Tian looks up innocently, meeting Guan Shan’s glare with a grin he can’t quite get rid of completely. He opens his mouth, silently asking for another bite but Guan Shan gets a twinkle in his eyes, his glare turning mischievous.

With one hand, Guan Shan grabs him by the jaw and brings the ice cream back on He Tian’s tongue with the other. 

He doesn’t let He Tian do what he wants with it this time and pushes it further and further in his mouth. He Tian is happy to open wide and he works on relaxing his throat, accepting the challenge as best as he can. Like a mirror, Guan Shan opens his mouth slightly, almost encouraging but the grip he has on He Tian’s face doesn’t get any kinder. The popsicle goes even deeper, until He Tian almost gags on it before Guan Shan takes it out slowly. He slowly drags it against He Tian’s bottom lip, then he brings the ice cream back to him and takes a lick, a devilish smirk on his face.

Then he lays down against the arm rest, his legs on either side of He Tian’s hips. He Tian remains stunned and breathing hard for a moment, mouth agape and waiting. 

“Who’s lustful now?” He Tian says, arching an eyebrow.

Guan Shan’s only answer is to shrug, one arm casually thrown above his head. He looks all proud and smug as he takes another victorious bite. It makes He Tian’s cock throb in his pants.

He takes hold of Guan Shan’s hips and pulls him down, forcing his legs apart. He is already hard under his shorts and He Tian makes him gasp when he puts his hand on his crotch.

Lurching forward, he returns to Guan Shan’s neck, his hands going down from his hips to his ass, then under the hem of his shorts. Under him, Guan Shan keeps acting aloof, as if he was more interested in his snack than in any of He Tian’s touches but he stretches to offer more of his neck and arches his back. His heels press on the back of He Tian’s thigh, pressing them closer, his hips getting into a slow grind.

He Tian kisses along his jaw, then finally finds his lips, pressing his tongue against them to get Guan Shan to open his mouth, licking the sweetness out of him. Guan Shan answers with the same intensity, touching him everywhere he can with his free hand. In the heat of the moment, he’s a lot less bothered by the mark on He Tian’s shoulder. His fingers roam over the many scars, big and small that litter his body without a halt.

“Should I take you to the bedroom?” He Tian asks him between wet kisses.

Guan Shan hums, half a moan, half indecision, then he says “I’m not done eating.”

“As you wish,” He Tian says, chuckling and he nips at his skin one last time.

Guan Shan’s shorts are off in a second. His boxers follow soon after, revealing his flushed cock. He Tian only pushes the sweater up so he can kiss his stomach and stops Guan Shan when he tries to take it off.

“You’re keeping that on,” he tells him, holding his wrist.

His muscles flex under He Tian’s lips as he scoffs but he doesn’t object to it. Stroking him slowly, He Tian kisses lower and lower until he reaches his crotch. He takes his cock deep into his mouth right away and moans around it, filling up the emptiness he felt since the ice cream bar left his tongue.

The weight of Guan Shan’s hand on his head emboldens him and he sucks eagerly, only stopping to put his own fingers in his mouth, coating them in saliva. He pushes a first finger in slowly, teasing Guan Shan’s hole open, moving carefully until he loosens up. 

It’s only when he hisses from the stretch of the second finger that He Tian pauses. Spit is nice but there’s no need to rush.

He sits up and removes his fingers, making Guan Shan whine. He starts looking around the messy living room, lifting one of the piles of clothes.

“The fuck are you doing?” Guan Shan groans.

Thankfully, He Tian finds the bottle of lube hidden under a pair of pants and a few condoms that he leaves on the table for now. It would have been terrible having to leave Guan Shan alone to grab another bottle from the bedroom.

“There it is,” he says, presenting it triumphantly to Guan Shan who rolls his eyes.

“Now you’re a gentleman.”

He Tian hums, spurting a generous amount of lube on his fingers. 

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he says, coming down to kiss Guan Shan’s lips softly before resuming his stroking.

“You weren’t hurting me-” Guan Shan complains. “Uh, it’s cold.”

“Aw, sweet thing,” He Tian coos with an edge of mockery. Before Guan Shan can answer to it, he pushes two fingers back inside him, now with a lot more ease, making him bite his lips to suppress a moan, refusing to let He Tian hear that he made the correct move. However, his restraint loosens immediately when He Tian wraps his lips around his cock again.

He Tian stretches him up carefully, matching the slow pace of his fingering with the movements of his tongue. He enjoys all the pretty sounds Guan Shan makes for a moment and when he glances up, he finds him hiding his face in his arm, what’s left of the ice cream bar left to melt on the corner of the coffee table.

Then He Tian’s shoulder is pushed down. He sits up and Guan Shan meets him halfway, kissing him fiercely, his hands coming down to He Tian’s sweatpants.

“Get rid of that and get on with it already,” he growls against He Tian’s mouth, snapping the waistband.

He Tian chuckles but doesn’t answer his demand. Instead, he kisses him again, one hand on his neck, the other teasing the tip of his cock.

“You’re a little impatient.”

“And you’re a little annoying,” Guan Shan yelps, plopping back down on the pillow, looking beautifully flustered. “You’ve been at it for half an hour. Come on, you’re not that big,” he lets out but He Tian is too pleased with his work to take any offense. It’s a pretty obvious lie anyway.

“So you say,” he says, taking a good look at Guan Shan’s red cheeks, at his flushed cock and his open legs. “Seems like you want it pretty badly though,” he continues, letting the tip of his finger travel idly along the soft skin inside his thigh. Guan Shan shivers to his touch and returns to hiding under his arms, groaning. 

“All you have to do is ask, baby. Nicely,” He Tian tells him.

“Fuck off.”

“Nah, that’s not very nice,” He Tian sighs. He reaches forward to take one of Guan Shan’s wrists and directs his hand down, so Guan Shan can palm how hard he is under the fabric, teasing him with what’s to come. “It’s not that difficult I promise,” he whispers against Guan Shan’s ear, pressing both of their hands against his crotch. “Just a little ‘please’ .”

Guan Shan lowers his other arms, meeting He Tian with a death glare.

Then, he’s sitting up, pushing He Tian until he’s falling against the other side of the couch, half sat against the opposite arm rest. He Tian goes along without resisting, laughing as Guan Shan fights to get rid of his sweatpants.

Once they’re off, he straddles him, sitting on He Tian’s legs.

“Hold that,” he orders, grabbing He Tian’s hand and taking it to the bottom of the sweater, “make yourself useful.”

He Tian is nothing but dutiful. He does as he’s told, holds Guan Shan’s waist with the sweater gathered in his hand so it doesn’t get in the way as Guan Shan rubs their cocks together, pressing on them with his open palm.

He Tian had ignored his own arousal while he was taking care of Guan Shan but it’s now a lot harder to ignore how pent-up he is. He feels like he might be going mad after just a few rolls of Guan Shan’s hips. He hopes that his penitence is coming to an end when Guan Shan grabs a condom. 

He rips the wrapper open, discards it near the forgotten ice cream and rolls it down He Tian’s length. Unfortunately, he doesn’t take it further, only adding more lube. He Tian even thinks his touch has gotten even lighter.

“Now who’s teasing?” He Tian says under his breath.

Guan Shan is still flushed, already properly disheveled but the half smile he carries shows he is very much in control.

“What did you say again?” Guan Shan wonders, tilting his head to the side. “That it’s not that difficult to ask?”

Checkmate.

He Tian surrenders. He lifts himself up on his elbows, lifts his chin to plead for another kiss but Guan Shan is merciless over him. He waits for his answer.

“Please,” He Tian lets out, staring at Guan Shan’s swollen lips.

“Please, what ?”

Finally he meets his half lidded eyes, his blown pupils.

“Please, fuck me,” he whispers and Guan Shan crashes their mouths together.

He scoots forward and lifts himself up, just enough so he can guide He Tian’s cock and finally slide it inside him. He’s still tight despite the thorough preparation and winces as he tries to get used to the girth.

“Not that big, uh?” He Tian taunts him but as he said earlier, he’s not interested in hurting him in any way.

He sits up. Wrapping both arms around Guan Shan’s torso to help support his weight as he takes him deeper and deeper. He presses small kisses down his neck, brushing his thumbs against his skin as silent encouragement, coaxing Guan Shan to relax against him until he’s fully seated again.

After a few experimental movements, Guan Shan finds the proper position. His shallow thrusts get deeper, determined. To hold himself up, he rests his hand on He Tian’s shoulder but when He Tian tries to touch his cock again, Guan Shan swats his hand away.

“Not yet,” he tells him and when He Tian complains, he pushes him to lean back down, Guan Shan’s hand now resting at the base of his throat. He circles his wrists and tries to encourage him to go further up, to squeeze down the side of his neck but Guan Shan’s hand stands right where it is, a steady pressure that’s not as intense as He Tian can take but it’s welcome nonetheless.

It stopped being about him a moment ago but He Tian is absolutely, completely happy to lay there and spectate, to be used to the extent Guan Shan will allow. 

His mind has gotten blurry anyway, lost in a satisfaction so deep it could almost overpower the purely physical pleasure if it didn’t feel that fucking good but Guan Shan is hard and panting and everywhere on him.

Fuck getting to heaven, this is better than what any saint could offer.

Soon his thrusts get more erratic, his breathing heavier. The weight over He Tian’s throat disappears as Guan Shan readjusts himself, leaning backwards, his hand now gripping the top of He Tian’s thigh as leverage to fuck himself from a different angle. His breathing turns to low moans as he seems to find the perfect spot to hit. He loses himself more and more into the sensation, rocking his hips in short but precise movements as his chest glistens from sweat.

As he gets closer to the edge, he finally lets He Tian participate, taking on the hand resting on his hips to pull it to his cock. He Tian only wraps his fingers around it, leaving complete control of the pace to Guan Shan. 

Then there’s a gasp, and his grip on He Tian’s leg tightens suddenly, Guan Shan’s nails digging into the meat of his thigh. Muscles spasm, his movements get rougher as his body tenses, pulsing around He Tian’s cock until he cums, painting He Tian’s stomach in white as they both lose their breaths for a second.

His rocking gets softer and softer until the spasming ends completely. With a wince, he lifts himself off completely. He gets down on his side, limp and nestled between the cushions and He Tian’s open arm, resting on his shoulder as he recollects himself but he doesn’t ignore He Tian for long. 

Guan Shan lifts himself up on his elbow and turns He Tian’s face, kissing him deeply. His hand travels down from He Tian’s jaw to his cock that’s been left hard and wanting between them. The condom is hastily thrown away and Guan Shan gets jerking him. He Tian is so close to the edge the first touch is almost enough to make him burst. His back arches, his mouth falls open as he struggles to kiss back but Guan Shan is relentless. He kisses down his jaw, then nibbles at He Tian’s neck before resting his head against his shoulder focusing his attention on He Tian’s cock. 

He Tian looks down as well, hypnotized by his movements, his thoughts completely melted by the heat between their bodies. Guan Shan stops his strokes for a second, driving his fingers on He Tian’s stomach and collects the warm come on his skin, smearing it on He Tian’s already wet cock to get it even slicker. 

All it takes is a few turns of the wrists for He Tian to topple over after that. He adds to the mess on his stomach, Guan Shan stroking him until he goes soft in his hand.

In a brief moment of recovered lucidity, Guan Shan stretches over to grab one of He Tian’s forgotten shirts and uses it to wipe them both, cleaning them up with silk as if it was nothing more than a simple rag. He Tian lies there, all loose from bone deep contentment, sprawled with an arm dangling on the side of the couch. Once he’s done, Guan Shan rolls the shirt onto itself and throws it somewhere on the floor.

“Fuck,” he says with a hoarse voice when his eyes fall on the coffee table. “We’ll have to clean that too.”

What was left of the ice cream has nearly fully melted into a small pink puddle but He Tian can’t find the energy to care and he doesn’t think it’ll harm the slick coffee table very much.

“Leave it,” he says, tightening his arms around Guan Shan. “It can’t get any worse.”

That’s all the convincing it takes for Guan Shan to settle down. 

“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbles before yawning.

He doesn’t complain about feeling sticky or hungry. He only shifts a few times, making himself comfortable on He Tian’s chest. He sighs heavily, pressing closer and if He Tian dared to think about it too much, it could almost feel as if Guan Shan is purring against him.

A peaceful silence fills the room as they rest on the plush pillows, naked under the setting sun if not for He Tian’s sweater. 

It’s so achingly close to perfection and He Tian wants so badly to sink into the warmth, to submerge himself fully in it, even for a few minutes but as their breathing get calmer, as their heartbeat quiet down, he can’t help but feel they’re getting out of sync, ever so slightly.

If Guan Shan feels it too, he doesn’t hint at it, doesn’t try to get away, - his head only gets heavier but He Tian feels a chain in his mind that stops him from slumping down with him. Not even a chain, but just a string, one that digs into his skin and threatens to cut his blood flow, - a thin rope of guilt, a stinging reminder that they don’t do this. They don’t do this kind of unshackled intimacy. 

He doesn’t deserve it. And Guan Shan deserves more. So they don’t do this .

But the warmth is terribly inviting. He cannot sink in it but it coats him regardless, turning all of his muscles to mush. He Tian closes his eyes, slowly caressing the small of Guan Shan’s back.

When he opens them after a few minutes, he finds the ice cream puddle has gotten wider and that the custard is slowly running down the table leg.

“Actually that might get on the carpet,” he mumbles.

And there’s no response. 

“Baby?” he calls quietly, almost whispering and trying to get a glance at Guan Shan’s face who doesn’t move one bit.

He has fallen asleep, his mouth slightly open, his features relaxed.

He Tian sighs and he decides to ignore his moral plight for a little longer, allowing himself another moment of greed. He brushes the side of Guan Shan’s face as gently as he can and he loves him quietly, pressing a long kiss to his forehead.

*

Guan Shan stirs awake before the sun goes down completely. After a few confused blinks, his eyes settle on the table and he nearly yelps at the sight of a large pink stain on the white carpet, jumping from He Tian’s side to fix it before it dries too much.

All it takes is some cold water and a little detergent and the carpet is brand new, but He Tian is almost sad to see the stain disappearing so easily.

*

May 16th 02:48 p.m. - Glass Jaw

Preparations for the auction blissfully carry on with little trouble. Paintings arrive one by one and He Tian checks their arrival. They’re all fairly modern, existing somewhere on the surrealist spectrum. They get locked in the underground strongroom, under the west aisle of the lobby. By noon, He Tian goes to the restorer’s workshop as planned, ready to accompany the prized centerpiece to its spotlight.

The painting is already wrapped up when he gets there, securely locked into a wooden sarcophagus, courtesy of Mr. Liu who stands next to it, cleaning his tiny glasses with a tissue. Cheng had decided they could use his help to organize the layout of the auction and create a proper gallery. Of course, Mr. Liu agreed, as long as his pay was adjusted.

The skinny old man wears well tailored gray pants, a white shirt, and a green vest from which hangs the golden chain of a pocket watch. By the box rests his leather briefcase and his cane, a beautiful object with a carved pommel, shaped into the head of a crane. The bird used to have green eyes made of peridot but they got replaced a few years ago by jade of great quality - the gems are so clear the veins of the wood underneath are visible through them. 

When Mr. Liu sees He Tian, he readjusts his glasses on his nose and greets him with a polite smile. After a few minutes of small talk, the truck arrives and from its cabin emerges a couple of burly men that hurry to carry the precious box into the trailer. In the meantime, He Tian leads Mr. Liu to his car and lends a hand to help him settle into the passenger side of the low-seated Mercedes. It makes Mr. Liu coo and praise his good manners. He Tian brushes it off and drops a heavy envelope on his lap.

When everything’s set, he honks once to signal that they’re ready to leave. The truck honks back before setting off. He Tian follows.

The weather is more pleasant now that the storm has passed. The sun is shining in a cloudless sky but the air isn’t stifling. They’re far from the inner city and driving slow, so He Tian chooses to lower the window a bit to let in the breeze. Mr Liu is pleasantly quiet for a moment, busy counting his bills for a second time, a behavior He Tian could be offended by if he didn’t know the man, but Mr Liu isn’t distrustful – he’s gloating.

“Your brother honors me once again, sir,” he says, packing his pay in the inner pocket of his briefcase that he placed between his legs with his cane.

“How was the fix-up?” He Tian asks him.

“Challenging but I have to say I’m quite satisfied with the result. You must tell me how you got your hands on such a beauty.”

“I wouldn’t mind sharing the story but I haven’t got a clue. It was Cheng’s personal project.”

“I see. Will I get to ask him myself today?”

“I’m afraid not,” He Tian tells him apologetically and Mr Liu makes a playful groan of disappointment.

He Tian chuckles at his antics, then brushes his hair up as it’s gotten messy with the wind. Silence fills the car once again, until He Tian glances to his side and finds Mr Liu looking at him.

“What is it?” he asks. Mr Liu shakes his head.

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to stare,” he says. “It’s just that I find you look so much like your father did in his youth.”

He Tian’s smile drops. His composure flickers but then he forces a cough and focuses his eyes on the road.

He runs his hand through his hair again, fighting the need to mess it up. As he combs through it, his fingers graze the small scar in his scalp, the hair sparse there.

“Do I?” he asks, pushing a bright tone but then derails the conversation before Mr Liu can answer. “Oh, before I forget, I heard Cheng is considering sending you a new project soon. I don’t recall the name of the artist but I saw a picture of it and it’s in  rather poor condition. I heard it got slashed open by some maniac.”

Mr Liu straightens in his seat.

“You know, that amount of damage can take months to restore.”

“You’d be compensated accordingly, of course.”

After that, the drive continues as peacefully as it can. He Tian keeps both hands on the wheel, no matter how much his fingers itch. He remains eyes focused on the road, answering occasionally to Mr Liu who comments on the traffic and doesn’t seem to notice the new tension in He Tian’s neck.

They get to the lobby without a hitch, parking in the corner to leave room for the truck to maneuver. 

He Tian helps Mr Liu out of the car, showing him the way to the kitchens where he can find something to drink. The old man leaves him to handle the bags, walking away as his cane ticks against the ground.

Once he has left, He Tian’s hand goes to his hair almost mechanically, returning to the scar that feels more present than it has in a long time. 

He has a crystal clear memory of the shock that caused it, of the feeling of something warm dripping on his nape where his head had knocked the edge of the coffee table behind him.

His father had gotten angry again, – that wasn’t out of the ordinary. It usually came with a lot of shouting. It usually meant Cheng would take He Tian to one of the nannies, or take him for a walk until it quieted down but Cheng wasn’t here that day.

He Tian remembers the governess barging in and gasping at the sight of blood on his little hands and how his father answered to her shock by berating He Tian for being reckless and slipping, for not knowing to stand on his own two feet and causing a mess. He Tian was sure he hadn’t slipped, but he didn’t try to correct him. Their family doctor was called to stitch his wound and gave him a pack of candies to reward him for sitting calmly through it. No one iced his bruised cheek. No one even looked at it.

When Cheng returned for the weekend, the truth had shifted again. Whoever had informed him of his younger brother’s injury said a reckless He Tian sneaked outside and slipped on the wet mossy stones, returning home with a bloody shirt. Cheng gently scolded him as he checked that the wound was healing properly and He Tian did not try to correct him either.

He Tian had run and slipped on wet stones. When Guan Shan first found the scar, some evening after school, He Tian repeated that he ran and slipped on wet stones, with the same tone Cheng used when he sat at the breakfast table with a roughed up face and tired eyes, claiming that he and Qiu fought. No one questioned that either, though still now, He Tian could not remember a single instance of these two being seriously upset at each other.

As he catches his reflection in the rearview mirror, something flashes before his eyes. A hot, flashing urge to slam his own head against the metal of the car door, to break his face, to get his nose crooked beyond repair, beyond recognition.

The truck beeps as it goes in reverse, startling He Tian out of his head. He takes a sharp inhale, holds it and lets the impulse wash away from him as he digs his nails into the soft heels of his hands.

He feels his heart beating in his throat, louder and louder, until he finally exhales.

Cracking his knuckles, he makes his way towards the lobby.

With an almost robotic efficiency, the team truckers unload the wooden box and place it on the claws of a freight elevator so it can be rolled to its dedicated strongroom, a smaller one, at the far end of a long corridor at the south edge of the building. He Tian unlocks it and the box goes in. 

Nails securing the box are ripped off with crowbars. They clink on the tiled floor and the painting is lifted, slowly unveiled from the layers of protective paper around it.

It turns out to be a whole lot of fuss for a rather small picture.

When Cheng spoke about a seventeenth century Dutch painting, He Tian had imagined the portrait of some forgotten European royal, or a boring depiction of the sea but definitely not a moody still life. 

It’s a meter tall, and depicts a table with a mess of objects on it; books with bent corners and yellowed pages, wilting flowers, a brass compass and a few quilts. On top of the pile, there’s a small skull. It’s missing some teeth and has two words carved in elongated cursive on its mandible.

‘ Memento Mori .’

He Tian looks over it for a moment as it’s settled against a makeshift easel by the wall and though he can’t quite say he likes it, he thinks of someone who might. 

Mr Liu eventually finds his way to the strongroom and gets close to the canvas. He takes off his glasses and replaces them with another pair that he fishes out of his vest’s pocket.

“I’ll never get tired of looking at it,” he sighs, then moves back a few feet until he’s side by side with He Tian who dismisses the other men.

“There was quite a lot of damage in this area,” Mr Liu explains, pointing towards the left upper corner. “I had to be very careful - and the colors were a lot muddier when it was brought to me. I feel we’ve gotten as close as we could to their original vibrancy.”

He Tian hums in acknowledgment but he can’t say the picture is anything shiny and colorful in its new and improved version. It’s predominantly brown and gray, with a nearly black background.

“It’s still quite dark,” he says.

“Contrasted rather,” Mr Liu corrects. “The lighting style is typical of baroque paintings, especially of vanitas. It’s an exaltation, don’t you think?”

“An exaltation of derelict trinkets?”

“Or of the life they once had. Of mortal ambitions and their comforting futility. The darker the shadows are, the brighter the light, you see – the light of God, in this instance.”

Mr Liu’s explanations dig a breach in He Tian’s indifference to the painting. As if his eyes were getting used to the depicted darkness, details get more refined the more he studies it.

Red embellishments stand out on the books’ leather covers and on the trim of the creased tablecloth, shining a discreet but lovely orange where they catch the only ray of sun that crosses the picture diagonally, originating from a tiny source out of frame. It directs the eyes to the skull and bounces off its parietal bone, trickling down to define the brassy ornaments.

They stay here, observing the art piece for longer than he had planned as the sight of it turns almost hypnotic. Mr Liu rambles on about the life of the painter, about the rich merchant who had originally commissioned it and He Tian half listens to his expertise, meeting the glare of the skull’s empty eye sockets. 

Once the trivia is exhausted, He Tian rubs his hands and urges Mr Liu to continue the preparation. They cover the painting with its protective paper, then lock it in the windowless strongroom.

Chapter Text

May 18th 03:12 a.m. - Duck

Everything is dark. 

He Tian looks to his right, then to his left but the small room he feels around him is pitch black, cold. He can’t see his hands but he feels them shaking.

When he calls out, his voice is small and trembling, younger than it should be. His pleas don’t echo, lost like the rest of his body to the thick gloom and only silence answers him. He tries to walk, to find a way out, but his movements are slow and difficult and the further he walks, the tighter the darkness clings around his frail body. The further he walks, the more it weighs on his shoulders, like large, icy hands tightening around his legs, around his arms, pressing over his collarbones until they threaten to snap. The further he walks, the heavier it gets until he can’t move a foot. This time he tries to scream but he doesn’t make a sound. The darkness has stolen his voice too. 

He feels it in his mouth. Disembodied claws are going to rip his tongue out and steal his teeth but his body is constricted and frozen, unable to fight it.

Then something warm touches his arm.

And his eyes open. 

They open to a place with light. After a few blinks, he can make out the shapes around him. He can see the walls and where they end, the door of the closet and the edges of the bed. His hands aren’t shaking, they painfully clench around the white bed sheets until he realizes he can breathe here as well. His exhales are raspy and short but there’s air in the room - a chilled breeze coming out of the half opened window. And there’s warmth. A hand still wrapped around his arm. Nothing too tight. It slides to circle his wrist and the touch encourages He Tian back into his body. He looks up and Guan Shan is sitting next to him, concern evident on his face, haloed by the bedside lamp shining behind him.

“What’s wrong?” He Tian asks mechanically, swallowing down the leftover panic stuck in his throat. Guan Shan does a double take at the - quite frankly - stupid question.

“What’s- It sounded like you were choking,” he says, frowning.

He was choking. He Tian tries to brush the tension off with a scoff. He wants to pretend that it was nothing, a silly dream about a tiger or a car crash, something mundane and easy to explain but dread sticks to his teeth and he can only attempt to swallow it down. Unable to muster a simple lie, he presses the heel of his hands into his eyes, urging his thudding heart to - fucking - calm down as he sits up. 

He’s fine now. He’s big again, and he’s not alone. Not yet.

The mattress shifts and soon there’s a water bottle pushed into He Tian’s hand. Just to appease the sad edge in Guan Shan’s face, he takes a few sips, then a few more under his watchful eye. The bottle is placed back on the floor as He Tian closes his eyes and falls back onto the bed with a grunt he tries to make lighthearted, spread eagle so his arm casually falls on Guan Shan’s lap, keeping the contact like a lifeline.

“You okay?” Guan Shan asks after a few seconds. He Tian opens his eyes and manages a smile this time. That’s when he registers Guan Shan is wearing the black sweater again. 

"Did I wake you up?" he counters.

Guan Shan shrugs, looking down at He Tian’s open palm over his thigh before he slowly intertwines their fingers. He Tian squeezes his hand on reflex, with a tightness that’s miles away from casual. They look at each other and He Tian knows Guan Shan isn’t letting go so easily, that he’s still waiting for an answer to his last question. He Tian keeps a small smile on his face instead, feigning ignorance and when Guan Shan arches an eyebrow to urge him on, He Tian turns to his side, hiding his face against Guan Shan’s leg like a child. 

Their heartbeats flutter against each other, meeting within the hollow of their palms. It resonates along He Tian’s veins and finally his body starts to relax. He presses closer, circling his other arm around Guan Shan’s waist.

It takes a few more seconds before Guan Shan capitulates and caves in to He Tian’s clinginess.

“Come here” he whispers as he gets back down on his own pillow, on the side of the bed he’s been slowly making his again. 

He pulls He Tian’s arm over his torso and He Tian shuffles closer, hiding the immense relief flooding through him with a light chuckle, as if he had merely won a game of tic-tac-toe. It’s easier to whine for a hug when it’s a luxury, a treat glazed in honey - at this moment, it feels like nothing short of a vital necessity. 

He settles with his cheek squished on Guan Shan’s shoulder, against the black sweater, his arm sliding under the fabric but not to tease this time, only to feel more skin, to get closer to heat. And although his body gets comfortable quickly, the ice in the back of He Tian’s mind is too stubborn to melt.

Guan Shan groans, says something about He Tian’s hair poking him in the eye and starts combing his finger through it, detangling the knots and the bumps so they don’t tickle his face anymore. He lets go of the pretense after a few minutes, continues the slow rhythmic strokes against He Tian’s scalp, unknowingly brushing over the scar hidden under the dark locks. He Tian sighs and presses closer, focusing on enjoying the touch as if it was a lullaby against his skin.

It takes some time for them to settle. Guan Shan’s movements slow until he falls asleep, his hand resting protectively on He Tian’s nape.

The lamp on the bed side table stays on through the rest of the night, until its soft glow is overpowered by the rising sun.

*

May 18th 02:58 p.m. - Sparring

“No way.”

“That’s too much.”

“I’m telling you, he’s gonna do it.”

He Tian grips the bar, pushing it off the hooks and lowering it to his chest. He looks around, to the assembly of kids surrounding him and their big, expecting eyes.

Yichen is there with a skeptical mug and crossed arms, and a girl that can’t be older than twelve waits with bated breath by his side, little fists clenched before her. He Tian waits an extra second, just for dramatic purposes. Then he arches his back, lifts the bar up and brings it down again. The weights are light enough that he can fake a struggle each time to play with his audience and they all seem to be loving it. When he puts the bar back on its hooks and sits up on the bench, there’s a tumult of exclamations, some gasps, and high-fives.

This isn’t the way He Tian expected his days to go, but the distraction is welcome. He has been feeling on edge since he woke up, the unease of the night clinging to him but he’s starting to feel better.

Maybe it’s the excited chirps of the kids around him, maybe it’s the endorphin coming with the exercise. Maybe it’s Guan Shan’s amused eyes, the way he’s sitting on a bench nearby, resting against the metallic structure, legs open wide and comfortable. Maybe it’s his smile – happy, unguarded.

He Tian stretches then interrupts the animated discussions to ask “You got more?”

As if they connected to a hivemind, the kids accept the challenge and start looking around the mismatched gym for more weights to add.

“ Show-off ,” Guan Shan mouths when He Tian looks at him, his smile unfaltering.

He Tian grins and gives him a wink. Guan Shan snorts, rolls his eyes and smiles even wider, showing teeth. 

Ming Na is the one who disturbs their peace. The old coach interrupts them with a quick whistle, luring Guan Shan back to work. Begrudgingly, he gets up and follows her down the corridor, leaving He Tian with the kids. Training doesn’t start for another hour but Guan Shan said he likes them to hang out around here on weekends rather than having them roaming the streets. They have everything they need here, including quieter spaces to do their homework if they’d care to but they usually stick to the main room where all the fun happens, the one overlooked by the big yellow dragon and the sea of red bowels painted on the wall.

Yichen already looks a lot better than he did a week ago even though his eye is still a bit swollen, his cheekbone still dotted with red and purple but he doesn’t act in any way defeated. He directs the smaller kids around, claiming that he could totally lift the same weights He Tian did, he just needs a couple years and access to that one brand of protein powder that would totally get him swole, the one that sponsors his favorite MMA fighter.

After a moment, the kids separate into groups. Some of them leave to get changed before their training, others sit down against the wall, showing He Tian videos from their phones, discussing their painting plans. They have lots of ideas. 

Looking around the warehouse, He Tian catches sight of Zi Hao in the other corner of the big room, past the rings. He hasn’t seen him since they were introduced, he hasn’t even heard him come by the front door. Zi Hao is chatting with Ming Na and when their eyes meet, he smiles and throws He Tian a friendly wave. Tensing up slightly, He Tian does his best to answer it without looking too disingenuous and they return to their conversation.

He Tian sits up and considers excusing himself but the kids are chatting between themselves so he doesn’t interrupt them and makes his way towards the corridor. Guan Shan is probably busy in the office.

He finds the door half open, with two guys already inside and Guan Shan at the desk. One of them is holding a green plastic basket with a collection of aerosol paints in it. They don’t look as young as He Tian’s new friends, looking a lot closer to his own age.

“It’s fine, put it down here, I’ll put it away later,” Guan Shan tells them.

“Aight. Bye, coach.”

They exit the office and He Tian slides in before they can close the door. The room is just as packed as usual, with boxes and benches and piles of chairs scattered here and there. The desk isn’t any clearer and the fans of the computer towers sound like they’re working overtime.

“There you are,” he says. Guan Shan glances up but returns to the papers he has in hands, acknowledging He Tian with a light hum.

He Tian rummages through the plastic basket left against a bench, making the cans click together as his fingers graze the tip of the diffusers. A good third of them are missing their caps.

“The palette is getting bigger,” he says idly, taking out an aerosol. He tips it up and down slowly, making the ball inside roll.

“There’s more in the closet. We got good bets during the last fight and bought some more colors with the extra,” Guan Shan answers while he scribbles down some notes.

“Your kids said they wanted to paint another dragon. A bigger one on the other wall so it looks like it’s fighting the yellow one. They asked if I wanted to contribute.”

Guan Shan perks up, twirling his pen.

“You wanna tag?” he asks.

A drip of fresh paint has spilled out of the nozzle, now running down He Tian’s hand.

“Why not? It seems fun,” he says, replacing the aerosol in its spot and cleaning his hand on a dirty, colorful cloth at the bottom of the basket. “And I draw very well.”

Guan Shan snorts and returns to his papers. He Tian paces around the room quietly, discreetly peeking out the door to check that no one is coming their way. He closes it, just in case.

“You’ve been here for a while.”

“I’ll be done in a minute.”

“Zi Hao is in the back,” He Tian tells him.

“I know,” Guan Shan replies, unfazed.

“Aren’t you going to say hi?”

“He came by, five minutes ago. He brought us that,” he says, pointing.

So He Tian is late. He brushes away the discomfort it’s bringing him and goes to the cardboard box Guan Shan pointed to instead, finding neatly packed lines of off-white terry cloth.

“Towels?”

“And some napkins lost in the bunch, at least that’s what he said. He works at a hotel and they received a bad delivery. They were about to throw them away so he nicked a box to bring here,” Guan Shan explains, carefully placing his papers in a binder.

He Tian picks one out, unfolding the small towel to find it has the hotel logo printed off center, so off center it’s getting cut by the edge, blue embroidery threads dangling on the side. No wonder these can’t be placed in front of clients. The fabric is soft and plush though. Judging by that and the nicely designed half-logo, they must come from a rather nice hotel if it gets to have its own branded toiletries.

Guan Shan continues. “It can’t hurt to have backstock. Blood stains.”

“That’s thoughtful of him,” He Tian muses, keeping any hint of sarcasm out of his voice.

Guan Shan hums again, noncommittally, busy with his binder.

It is actually a nice gesture. It’s small but it’s one of the many small, nice gestures that built this whole place. It must be why the office is always packed with random packages. There’s not one dedicated day for arrivals, no trolleys, no forklift to take deliveries to the storage room. People just bring stuff . Whenever they can, whatever they think will help. It’s nice.

He Tian places the towel back in its box, not bothering to fold it as neatly as it was and returns to pacing.

“I saw your bikes could use repairs,” he tries after a moment.

“They’re fine enough,” Guan Shan tells him. “Not many people actually train with them anyway.”

“Maybe if they were better more people would use them,” he points out but Guan Shan throws him a bored look.

He Tian continues offhandedly, “What about fountains?”

“You won’t be the one mopping when they’re used for water fights.”

“Some new treadmills then?”

Guan Shan grunts then, deflating in his chair.

“Don’t start, alright?” he mutters.

He Tian shrugs, coming closer to Guan Shan to lean against the wall, just a few meters from him. He shoves his hands in his pockets, forcing casualness. “I’m just offering,” he says.

It doesn’t do wonders. Guan Shan frowns, starting to sound exasperated.

“Your punching bags are right outside,” he throws, rolling his eyes. “Are you actually making this a competition?”

He Tian can’t help the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He feels it as well, – an irritation spreading in his hands. Fucking pins and needles.

“There’s no competition.” He crosses his arms. “It’s just that my help is harder to accept than other’s. It’s hard not to notice.”

“Alright, I get it. Let’s save some time and cut through the bullshit. We’re having round two of the jealous act,” Guan Shan says, running both hands over his face. “Over a box of fucking towels”.

It’s He Tian’s turn to roll his eyes.

“A bit more than that,” he replies, tilting his head.

Fuck the towels. They’ll probably fall apart with the first wash anyway.

“What, because I didn’t avoid him?”

He Tian scoffs. He’s not even sure that is it, really. It’s not clear in his head what’s riling him up so quickly. It can’t all be this fucking guy and his stupid friendly waves and his stupid nice gestures, he’s not worth being that bothered but He Tian is fucking bothered. So he scoffs and waits for Guan Shan to strike back, like he usually does.

“Stop that,” Guan Shan says instead. It’s not quite a shout but it’s sharp, cutting through He Tian’s smugness instead of feeding it. “That fucking snarky laugh you do, stop it. I fucking hate it,” He’s talking fast, as if he was out of breath, as if the words were slipping out of him. “I was talking with Ming Na, he came by, dropped the box and left. That’s all. We barely even talked.”

This is not like last time, or any of the other times. Guan Shan doesn’t sound combative. He sounds hurt and He Tian feels like they’ve just missed some steps. They often argue. It never ends well but the damages are always shared, - uneven, maybe, but shared. They get petty and they deflect and twist each other’s words until half-truths transform into chimeras that are easier to face than the core of their feelings but here, Guan Shan’s defensiveness is too honest, too raw to hide anything. It leaves He Tian stunned.

A heavy silence covers the room, disrupted by the sharp clicks of Guan Shan’s pen against one of the notebooks before him. Not only is he hurt, he’s nervous as well. He looks small, sitting there. Cornered between the wall and the towers of cardboard. Maybe that’s the issue. He Tian is besieging him. 

Fuck.

He Tian puts a hand on his neck, roughly scratching the spot where it meets his shoulder, leaving behind lines of reddened skin that’ll burn just enough to keep him calm. He finds a chair in a corner and drags it by the desk. As he sits down, he tries to meet Guan Shan’s eyes now that they’re at same level but he won’t look back. He even turns his head further away, clenching his jaw.

“I don’t want to fight,” He Tian says quietly.

For a second, he thinks Guan Shan might tell him to leave. He wasn’t even allowed to enter this room a year ago, let alone to be left out to wander around the warehouse and play with the kids unsupervised. Guan Shan trusted him enough to let him come inside and this trust is fragile and He Tian knows he is on the verge of losing it.

“Not here,” Guan Shan tells him.

“Not here, not anywhere,” he adds, keeping his voice soft. Guan Shan sighs, still looking down.

“Hey,” He Tian tries again, putting his hand on the desk. Guan Shan glances at it from the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m jealous.”

If Guan Shan’s hurt was honest, then He Tian can try for honesty too.

Eventually, Guan Shan’s shoulders drop as he sighs again, slouching back against his chair. He looks up to the ceiling for a moment before he says, “You have no reason to be.”

He Tian keeps his reaction as neutral as he can, biting down a laugh that could reignite a destructive fire. He can try, though it’s hard to explain with plain words that there might be more to his jealousy than carnal possessiveness, than entitlement. Envy is ugly and envy blinds him at times but envy hides a need.

As if surprised by He Tian’s quietness, Guan Shan glances at him, probably waiting for a retort that never comes.

“There’s nothing between him and I, okay?” he says, now looking He Tian in the eye. “Whatever you’re imagining, it’s not happening.”

He Tian takes a long breath before he answers. 

“You said-”

Guan Shan interrupts him.

“I didn’t say it.”

He Tian rewinds their fight from a week ago and Guan Shan isn’t exactly wrong. It was petty rhetorical questions and one upping each other. A power play of mean pokes but it wasn’t all lies. The hurt was real, at least.

“Well, you heavily implied it.”

Guan Shan shakes his head.

“No. You implied it. It pissed me off,” he says, head down, sounding almost embarrassed. Then he clicks his tongue and straightens up, facing He Tian properly. “I’m not saying it was smart to run with it. But yeah… we’re friends, that’s it. And it’ll stay that way.”

It’s as sincerely said as it can be and He Tian trusts him immediately. He relaxes in his chair, comforted but not fully at ease.

“Is he aware of that?” he asks, but corrects himself quickly. “Sorry. It’s just- It looks like he might want more.”

Guan Shan shrugs it off, neither confirming nor denying it.

“Well I don’t… so there.” He taps the pen repeatedly against the desk again, then throws it behind the keyboard, stretching his arms before him. “And I’m not twenty anymore. I don’t have the time to mess around, I have… goddamn paperwork to deal with,” he says, gesturing in front of him.

He Tian tilts his head, catching the quiet confession Guan Shan just made. He bites a smile off. Fuck, that feels good.

“It does seem like a lot of papers,” he says.

“You have no idea.”

“Keeps you busy.”

“Yup,” Guan Shan answers, his tone light and playful. It makes He Tian chuckle, relieved.

“But not too busy for me?” he still asks, just to be sure. Then, as if to prove he’s worthy of it, he adds “I was handling your flock fine enough.”

Because that’s it, isn’t it? That’s what he wants; a confirmation that he fits here too, in Guan Shan’s world. He’s forgotten about envy. This is plain, bold greed again. They used to be smarter, used to stick to the cold, slick condo and to the inside of He Tian’s car but since he made his way back into Guan Shan’s life in staccato, surely that was bound to happen. And now here he is, craving a spot in his world, just a nook that’ll wait for him, no matter the dust it collects. He wants - he needs - to know he lingers.

“Wait until they start bragging about you at school,” Guan Shan tells him, smiling again.

Maybe he has read He Tian’s mind because this eventuality almost sounds like a promise. It surely does something to He Tian’s heart. 

He ought to make some confessions as well. Return the favor.

“I’m busy too, you know. Most of the time,” he starts.

Guan Shan looks him up and down.

“Sure looks like it,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ll return to babysitting in a minute. But, you know what I mean.”

Guan Shan stays quiet for a moment.

Then, carefully, he presses on “I’m not sure actually.”

“My brother exploits me, so my own partying days are long gone,” He Tian tells him. “I save all of my time off for you. Only you.”

Guan Shan must have understood the message. His lips twitch up but he covers it with his hand, not claiming victory too fast.

“So, the other day, when you said-”

He Tian interrupts him. He doesn’t want to be reminded of the immature jabs he threw. 

“We both said not so smart things the other day.”

Guan Shan nods slowly, conceding.

Then Ming Na comes into the room, not bothering to knock.

“I thought you had left,” she tells He Tian without looking at him, lovely as always, dropping a pile of mail on the desk. “Your fanclub demands you.”

He Tian watches as Guan Shan quickly looks through the letters. Some of them are branded with big red stamps and a deep frown takes over the smile he had just regained. He glances to Ming Na who grimaces. They share a quiet conversation He Tian is clearly not allowed in.

He rather not push his luck.

“And I shall answer their calling,” he says, standing to place the chair back in its spot.

“Don’t corrupt them too much,” Guan Shan throws before he leaves the office.

“Can I get them snacks?”

“If you’re ready to deal with the sugar rush, sure.”

*

May 21th 04:12 p.m. - Faded

He Tian didn’t exaggerate. This is exploitation.

When Cheng spoke about gathering intel, He Tian said fine. It’s usually Cheng’s euphemistic way of saying ‘ collecting blackmail ’  and He Tian is anything if not a noisy creature.

That’s why he’s sent to flirt with people new to the game until they’re singing secrets into his ear, that’s why he was sent to bait Elievic, that’s why he’ll most likely be on deck all night during the auction, chatting and chirping while Cheng handles the serious business.

Blackmail, after all, is fun. Figuring out codes between secret lovers in text messages, finding out a politician has patronages fundamentally conflicting with his public declarations is fun.

But in He Tian’s trunk lies the absolute death of fun: hundreds if not thousands of spreadsheets, financial reports and bank statements to skim through, paper versions, held in tens of colorful plastic cases.

Could have Cheng gotten someone to do a first round of sorting and digitize all of these into an encrypted laptop? Of fucking course he could have but Cheng loves his papers, – goddamn old man that he is – and now He Tian has to move what must be a few hundred pounds of them and the tiny traces of stock manipulation they hide up to his condo to read and report on.

He parks in the underground garage, as close as he could to the elevator to facilitate the transport and it still takes him five round trips to empty his car.

After three hours of reading, highlighting and filling up the ashtray, He Tian is on the phone with Qiu regarding odd investments he caught when he hears the faint beeping of the door’s padlock. He glances at his watch. Guan Shan told him he wouldn’t be available until the early evening and it’s barely four in the afternoon.

“I’ll call back in a minute,” he whispers, hanging up before Qiu can say anything.

He only has the time to close the laptop and hastily pile the documents back into their file before Guan Shan appears from the corridor, a frown on his face.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

He Tian blinks for a second, less taken aback by the question itself than by the lack of bite in his tone.

“It’s… my place?”

Guan Shan rolls his eyes and adjusts his bag on his shoulder.

“No, I know. I just didn’t see your car.”

“It’s in the underground.”

Guan Shan’s eyes drop to the papers on the table and he pinches his lips.

“You’re busy, I’ll come back later.”

He Tian gets up from his chair, rushing after him before he can make his escape. 

“Hold on,” he calls.

Guan Shan stops and sighs. He lets his head down as if it is too heavy to keep up as He Tian carefully grabs his arm, turning him back around.

“What’s wrong?” He Tian asks, keeping his voice soft.

Guan Shan shakes his head before he says “Nothing.”

It clearly does not look like nothing is going on. Before He Tian can interject, his phone rings.

“Give me 5 minutes, okay?” he offers. Guan Shan still won’t look at him. He Tian tilts his head, trying to meet his eyes. “I’m not gonna pry,” he continues. “You can even pretend I’m not here if you want but – stay, okay?”

For a second, Guan Shan doesn’t move. The phone stops ringing in the background as he chews on his lower lip, then finally sighs and gives a small nod. He drops his bag on the floor and walks past He Tian, towards the balcony, scratching his neck.

When he’s out of sight, He Tian quickly returns to his work station. Qiu picks up the phone after the first ring.

“ What the fuck was that? ”

“Listen, I found the irregularities in the books, now you go and do your henchman thing,” He Tian says with a hushed voice. “I have an emergency.”

“ What kind of emergency ?” he asks, his tone a lot more serious suddenly.

“The kind that doesn’t concern you.”

Then there’s scoffing over the line.

“ Oh. Tell him I said – .”

He Tian hangs up before he can hear the rest of it. He tidies up his mess, puts the files back to their boxes and locks the laptop before going to the balcony as well. He finds Guan Shan sitting on the floor, shoulders down, his legs sprawled before him and his hands between his thighs as if he was disarticulated, an unlit cigarette between his lips.

Guan Shan hands him the pack.

“Want one?” he offers.

He Tian doesn’t need to be asked twice. It’s a new one, the clear plastic wrapper is still around it, half torn off.

“I forgot to get a lighter though,” Guan Shan tells him.

He Tian gets his out of the pocket of his pants. It’s one that’s low on butane but he manages to light up both of their cigarettes after a few tries. He grabs the ashtray that was resting on the small metallic table and places it between them as he sits down as well.

“Is that why you came here? To steal my lighter” He Tian asks, trying to be playful but Guan Shan only shakes his head, looking at nothing.

They smoke in silence for a minute, exhaling gray clouds high towards the sky. From the corner of his eyes, He Tian sees Guan Shan close his eyes and rest his head back against the wall.

“Bad day?”

“You said you wouldn’t pry,” Guan Shan says after a second, his eyes still closed. 

“I’m not,” He Tian retorts. “I’m just saying it is, it’s a statement. I spilled coffee on myself earlier… And knocked my leg against the corner of the table. The bruise is kinda shaped like a star, do you wanna see it?” he tries and Guan Shan creaks an eye open. The corner of his mouth twitches up.

“Keep your pants on, I believe you,” he says, then stretches his back, fixing his slouched posture. He takes a deep breath before he adds “Yeah, it’s a bad day.”

There’s another beat of silence after his admission. Then Guan Shan glances at him.

“No prying?”

He Tian raises both hands. He keeps his mouth shut and ducks his head down, ready to stay in his lane. Guan Shan arches an eyebrow, then goes back to looking at the gray sky.

“I had a bit of an argument with my mom.”

“You?”

“Yeah, can you believe it? It’s not like we’re fighting though, I don’t even know if you could call it an argument. We just don’t really see eye to eye these days.” He takes another drag and continues. “She’s gotten close with that church group. She thinks I should give it a try – come and listen to a sermon.”

He Tian hums.

“I can’t really picture you sitting in a church,” he says.

“Hm. Me neither…” Guan Shan says before taking another drag. “I think she feels indebted to them.”

Questions burn He Tian’s tongue more than the bitter tobacco but he keeps them quiet. Guan Shan folds his legs underneath himself, he rests his elbow on his knees, and turns his head to the side until He Tian can’t see his face anymore.

“At first she met them because my dad joined one of their rehabilitation programs. They do group talks, tutoring, good stuff, I guess. My mom said it was helping him a lot. He must have been a diligent disciple because it got him the parole they refused him for years.”

He Tian’s eyes go wide, unsure if he’s understood correctly.

“Okay, now I have to pry,” he says apologetically.

Guan Shan nods, still looking away.

“Yeah… he’s back at home with her.”

“Since when?”

“Almost two months.”

The news feels like a slap to the back of the head. It’s easy to forget how much of Guan Shan’s life he’s missing, easy to cling to the bits he’s allowed in when there’s so much left in the shadow.

“Fuck,” he mutters, lacking any words of substance.

“Yup,” Guan Shan sighs before laying back against the wall. “I wasn’t trying to hide it. It just… It just happened one day and it still doesn’t feel real.” He snubs out his dying cigarette. “But it’s a good thing, right? Of course it’s a good thing.” 

It must have been a huge relief for sure but it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than He Tian.

“It makes sense that it’s going to be a bit weird for a while,” He Tian starts, trying to be reassuring. “How long has it been? Fifteen years?”

“Fourteen years and seven months.”

“You can’t pretend like everything is just going to go back to normal.”

“It’s what my parents do though. It seems to work fine for them, and under the eye of God at that,” he adds mockingly before letting out a joyless laugh, rubbing his face. “Uh, I’m such an asshole.”

“You’re not an asshole for having a difficult time with it.”

“But I am!” he exclaims. “ I’m trying not to be– but really, I am. I went over, we had dinners, we cooked together and they kept chatting like everything was normal and I just felt like I was in the fucking twilight zone. And… What else can I even expect? They’re doing what they can. And I’m just here. Whining.”

Trying to cut through his anguish, He Tian reaches out. He places a hand on his neck, scratching through the short hair. Guan Shan lifts his head up, almost leaning into the touch.

“Did you talk to your mom about it?” He Tian asks, almost whispering.

Guan Shan breathes out and mirrors his tone.

“Hm. I did earlier. Well, she brought it up.”

“And it didn’t go well?”

“She told me to be patient, and ,– fine – I can get behind that. But then she spoke about being grateful. She had a speech that was straight out of those church brochures, she almost told me that ‘ God gives back ’.”

The calm break doesn't last very long. His leg starts to bounce, as if he was boiling inside.

“If there’s a god, he’s a fucking dickhead. Didn’t even leave us some claws to crawl out of this place. We had to carve them up ourselves, and then we forgot how to retract them at all. So fuck being grateful, fuck God, and fuck anyone who tries to tell my mom, – or anyone for that matter – that their struggles were the price to pay to deserve grace.”

For long minutes, Guan Shan lets it all out. He spews about the awkwardness of the first day and the tension in the car, the weight of having to play up a joy he couldn't feel. He curses his own revolting apathy then tells He Tian about the new mantras his mom uses as crutches, exhausted from a fifteen years long fight finally coming to an end. Sometimes his voice rises, as if he was on the verge of hysteria, then he gets very quiet but he doesn’t stop talking. 

His dad remains a background character when he’s not paired up with his mom. Like a translucent figure, like a ghost, a memory visiting. Too hard to face, impossible to ignore, nothing scary, but regrettably invasive in their home.

By his side, He Tian mostly listens, like he promised to since it’s the only thing he can offer anyway. No words are going to fix this so he listens, he takes in his worries and his frustration and his guilt and there’s so, so much of it. He Tian can only hope some of it will be taken by the wind, that Guan Shan can leave it outside to die. He doesn’t need such a burden.

“It was always him sitting on those stupid plastic chairs, with a plexiglas window between us, but he feels even less real having tea in my mom’s kitchen.”

“I’m taller than him. I didn’t even know… And it-” Guan Shan cuts himself off, curling into himself.

He Tian urges him on with a soft nudge of the knee but Guan Shan shakes his head.

“Nah, it’s ugly,” he explains as He Tian returns to rubbing his neck. He wants to hold him so bad but it doesn’t feel like the adequate thing to do now..

“It’s okay. You can tell me.”

Guan Shan hesitates for a long moment before saying it, his jaw clenching as he bites on the inside of his cheek.

“It pisses me off,” he spits. “Why the fuck is he small like that?”

He Tian feels him tense up, his breathing getting heavier. His shoulders drop and he removes He Tian’s hand from his neck, putting it on his lap as he holds He Tian’s wrist loosely.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“For what?” 

Confused by the sudden apology, He Tian links their hands properly, interlacing their fingers. Guan Shan brushes his thumb over his hand and He Tian doesn’t understand why he’s the one being comforted now.

“He’s back,” Guan Shan explains. “Not everybody has that.”

Oh. 

The thought hadn’t even crossed He Tian’s mind. His own ghosts rarely visit these days. If they do, it’s never with quiet apologies, they way Guan Shan introduced them. He Tian likes to keep them far, tucked away. He used to talk to his mom but he’s lost that habit with the years, like a child forgetting about their imaginary friend, - he’s left her by the white camellias. His father is only arguably alive but if there was a grave to visit, He Tian would only care to spit on it.

Resting his head on Guan Shan’s shoulder, He Tian tells him “It’s okay, don’t apologize.” But then, tired of his own platitudes, he shares something as well. 

“I was mad at my mom for a long time. For getting sick, and dying so soon. It wasn’t her fault either, but it used to make me so angry. It still does sometimes.”

He doesn’t know if it’s particularly comforting, but Guan Shan doesn’t let go of his hand.

He Tian used to be mad at his brother too, so mad he was sick with it. For knowing her longer than he did, for remembering her before she got ill. It used to burn through him like acid. It’s better now, though he’s still nursing the ulcers.

Anger comes in waves, like grief is supposed to. One time he heard someone say that grief was like being stuck in the middle of a lake under terrible weather. It’s struggling to swim under the downpour and resisting the urge to let yourself drown, it’s learning to collect driftwood to build a ship and survive the next storm with a bit more ease. It’s rebuilding quicker if the ship gets wrecked and hoping that one day, there’ll be a shore to rest on.

But He Tian doesn’t remember entering the lake. He was too little, he doesn’t remember when exactly he understood what it meant, that his mom was dead. His grief has no beginning and thus it has no end. No shores. There are only storms to weather but his boat is sturdy now, his hold is solid and it barely lets a drizzle in. There are moments of sunlights too, shared smiles and a warm touch. So far it has been enough to stay afloat.

Often He Tian has wondered what was left of her in him but if he’s a little bit of his mother, he must be a little bit of his father as well and that thought always brought the anger back at full force. At the end of the day, he is the sum of them. A rotten core, sticky and putrid and hungry, covered with a shiny patina that he presents to the world, a thin coat of love he tries to preserve and hold onto as it rusts and chips away, battered by the rain. It could have been so different.

“Maybe it’s easier to be angry,” he muses, nuzzling Guan Shan’s neck. “It’s energy. It feels lively, even if it’s unpleasant. It’s easier than sitting with boring disappointment.”

“Yeah… maybe.”

Feeling less far comfortable than he was in the listener’s position, He Tian wants Guan Shan to talk again, to direct the attention back to him but he stays quiet, static. Waiting. Unfortunately, He Tian doesn’t have much more wisdom to share.

So he kisses his cheek and returns to the platitudes.

“I think your mom is right though. About being patient.”

Guan Shan hums, not sounding too convinced but not fighting it either. After a final sigh, he lets go of He Tian’s hand and stretches up. A minute later, they’re going back inside, bringing along the filled ashtray.

He Tian dumps the ashes and gets them both a beer as they settle in the kitchen.

“Is all that for your charity night?” Guan Shan asks, pointing at the files by the table.

“Hm. Don’t mind it.”

“When is it again?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fighting that night.”

“Already? Isn’t it a bit close to the last match?” He Tian asks, downplaying his concerns but Guan Shan only brushes him off.

“It’ll be an easy one.”

It doesn’t matter how easy it’ll be. His fighting pace is already excessive. Twice in a month is asking for an injury.

On the kitchen island, Guan Shan’s phone buzzes. He glances at it before locking it, refusing the incoming call from Ming Na.

“I’ll call her back later. I don’t wanna deal with her stuff now.” He takes a sip before adding “I know Yichen told you. About the guys in suits. It slipped out after you left, the other day.”

He Tian pinches his lips. That kid.

“He really can’t keep his mouth shut, can he?”

“Nope,” Guan Shan says, staring into nothing, his expression unreadable.

“He didn’t know much. He only said that he saw them around, that they want to renovate the neighborhood. And that you kicked them out. It sounded cool, the way he said it.”

Guan Shan lets out a humorless laugh.

“Sometimes Ming Na gotta act up to remind herself she’s still got it,” he starts. “We don’t want the kids to think anyone can just come and take their place like that. It’s just the classic pattern anyway. Some estate companies rebuilt neighborhoods from the old town up to the bridge and rents started rising. People with a little money moved out further down the outskirts of the city and now these guys want pretty parks and new restaurants and… art galleries or whatever.”

“If the beautification project was just about refilling holes in the pavement, or planting some trees, I wouldn’t complain. But they don’t think we fit in that picture… They love the warehouse, they apparently have big projects planned for it,” Guan Shan says with a mocking tone, then he snorts again. “They just don’t want the rats that live in it.”

“Are they offering to buy it?”

“Nah, they think they can just push us out. They’re trying to intimidate us so we’ll leave without them having to work for it but Ming Na- she has friends everywhere. She asked around, checked if we were really in any danger but as it is, these companies can come and send us their fake paperwork every day of the fucking week but it’s only posturing. They don’t have any legal basis to claim this place without our approval.”

“Are they playing on a legal basis?” He Tian asks carefully, twirling the beer he barely touched as Guan Shan drinks the rest of his in one go.

“For now,” he says, leaving He Tian’s side to get a new one from the fridge. He doesn’t return, choosing to stay further away.

“What happens when they get impatient?”

“We figure something out. What’s the other option anyway?”

There’s no way they could find a similar space to migrate to if needed, not only would it cost way too much to rent but He Tian isn’t sure an empty structure as big as the warehouse even exists closeby. They’d have to downsize significantly and abandon years of work bringing some warmth into that big concrete beast. The tags and the paintings would get covered by cold white plaster.

“Is that why you’re fighting again so soon?”

“The money will help, it pays off the right people… And it doesn’t hurt to get some respect, that’s for sure. Not to sound like some fucking cartoon character but it’d be nice if the locals united against these renovations. But it’s like people are so used to getting fucked over they don’t want to risk sticking their necks out. As long as we provide a good show and beer with a small margin, they’ll be on our side though.”

Panem et circenses , He Tian thinks. 

“I get it in a way,” Guan Shan concedes. “It’s fucking depressing out there. That’s why I get in the ring. I mean, the money is nice,  but… It’s like the only thing I can actually win at.”

He Tian ignores the weight of that sentence as his gaze returns to the boxes of private information piled up on his dinner table. He can dig up dirt on people who hire tens of the sharpest professionals to cover up their tracks, surely there’s a way…

“I can see the gears in your brain turning,” Guan Shan says.

“Will you let me look it up?”

“You’re gonna do it regardless. I’m kinda surprised you didn’t stick your nose into it already.”

His tone is harsh. That’s clearly a reproach there but He Tian can’t tell what he’s being blamed for exactly, if it’s for doing too much or too little. Either way, he doesn’t think it’s very fair.

“I’m not gonna sit and let it happen, not if I can find a way to interfere,” he defends.

“This is a ten years property development project.”

“You don’t have to see it as a favor.”

“Oh yeah, you just go around, saving random small folks from corporate greed and I’m just the lucky pick this week.”

They talk over each other until He Tian asks a question.

“Why did you tell me about it then?”

Guan Shan’s face darkens, struck.

“You knew already.”

“And you’ve known that for nearly three days and you’re just bringing it up now. If you wanted me to stay out of it, you would have kept it quiet,” He Tian argues. “I get that you don’t want my help but-”

Guan Shan cuts him off.

“If I thought you could fix this, I would have asked. You think I’m that fucking selfish?”

“Of course not, I didn’t mean it like that,” He Tian tries to explain but Guan Shan interrupts him again, his eyes lost, looking all over exhausted.

“I don’t fucking know why I’m telling you. I don’t know. It’s just been in my head for weeks and I can’t talk about it with anyone because nobody can know we’re already so close to the edge.” His voice gets broken at the end, thickened with emotions. He looks up and hides behind his hand before any tear can form, cursing under his breath.

Like a reflex, He Tian breaches the gap and goes to him, bringing him into his arms just like he should have done earlier. Guan Shan doesn’t fight him off. He holds him back, shyly at first then tighter, wrapping both arms around He Tian’s back.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles against He Tian’s shoulder who presses a kiss to his hair.

“I know.”

His tears are still just as painful to witness as they were back when they were younger but if they have to fall, He Tian rather they do it here, where he can collect them. Guan Shan doesn’t cry though. He breathes deeply, fists clenched in He Tian’s shirt before backing away, rubbing his face and leaning back against the counter. He Tian lets him go but he remains close, hovering by his side while Guan Shan looks down.

“I thought about it. About asking you,” he confesses. “But the whole thing is so dense. There are so many people investing in these renovations. It has government back up but it goes even fucking deeper than that. So calm your ego down, it’s not something even you can fix with a check.

He Tian hates how tired and defeated he sounds, hates that he didn’t know sooner, even before this plan even reached anyone’s ear in the neighborhood.

“My ressources go past my checkbook,” he tells Guan Shan, his voice low like he’s sharing a secret. “Far past it.”

Immediately, Guan Shan’s eyes fall on his scarred shoulder. He Tian takes his chin, turning his gaze back to him.

“I’ll just look for now,” He Tian promises.

The conflict is clear on Guan Shan’s face, but he agrees, albeit reluctantly.

“I don’t want anything that could backfire,” he says sternly. “Whether on us or… on you.”

He Tian nods and brings him closer. He kisses his temple, sealing their agreement.

“Shouldn’t you go back to your thing?” Guan Shan asks, tilting his head towards the table but He Tian shrugs it off.

“It can wait for a bit.” He brushes both thumbs along Guan Shan’s jaw, along pale skin and cheeks that used to be fuller. “You look tired.”

“I am tired,” Guan Shan agrees, snorting. "I’m tired of everything always being…"

"Unjust?"

"Not unjust… Difficult. Everything is always difficult." he corrects. “Justice is fucking hearsay.”

Chapter Text

May 23th 08:08 p.m. - Constriction

The crowd is dense tonight. People are packed inside the warehouse even tighter than they were during the last party, a few weeks ago. He Tian avoids most of it as best as he can, keeping the drunk audience at arm’s length to avoid risking a stain to his dry cleaned suit. He has already foregone the tie, Cheng would kill him if he arrived at the auction site sticky with cold beer.

As he walks down the corridor, Guan Shan peeks out of the changing room, ushering He Tian inside. They haven’t spent much time together the last few days. Their nights have been quiet too, touched by equal parts exhaustion and focus. 

Guan Shan was busy training for this match until late in the evenings and He Tian had a few terabytes of data to memorize about tonight’s guests; the name of their spouse, the breed of their dog, the new mansion they acquired, which painting they were after, in which city they kept their mistresses, their prescription drug of choice. Cheng sarcastically calls it small talk material, He Tian thinks it’s a pain in the ass but has to admit it helps to always keep control of a conversation and he’s not a fan of being blind sided.

He also spent some time trying to find a fatal flaw in the renovation plan threatening the warehouse but just as Guan Shan said, the matter is a tangle of snakes and it has been impossible for him to undo the knots so far. He sent some of the information to Cheng, thinking they might already have something to use against one of the investors but he hasn’t heard anything back yet. The auction has to come first anyway and He Tian hates having to miss Guan Shan’s match so he insisted on passing by, even if it was for five minutes.

Taking one of his earbuds off, Guan Shan sits down on a bench. The branches on his skin flow out of his white tank top, following the movement of his shoulder as he finishes tightly lacing his shoe.

“It’s packed out there,” He Tian tells him. 

Guan Shan reaches into his bag for a box of white tape and gaze, some new, some already used.

“I know, I hear them,” he says, starting to wrap his hand up. He rolls the tape around his wrist three times, then around his thumb before he quickly glances up. “You look like a penguin.”

He Tian gasps and brings a hand to his chest, faking hurt. It’s a bit formal but it’s a great suit. A dark gray tuxedo, nearly black, but not quite. Tailor-made, with a waistcoat of the same color and a white shirt with a collar so stiff it still digs into his skin with each movement despite the first two buttons being open. He took a long time to get ready as well, styling his hair up to make himself look older, more serious.

“A good looking penguin I hope,” he whines, sitting down as Guan Shan holds the end of the first tape with his mouth before adding a second. “Let me.”

He works on rolling the second tape around Guan Shan’s wrist, then around his thumb, mimicking him. Guan Shan makes him hold a bundle of gaze over his knuckles as he finishes the wrapping between each of his fingers, then they get to the second hand. Shouts and chants come from behind the door, roaring louder and louder.

“Tighter,” Guan Shan tells him. “I’m not made of glass.”

“Trust me, I know.”

Ming Na barges into the room, red glasses on her nose, looking down at the phone in her hand.

“I got confirmation,” she chirps. “We’re sticking to plan A.”

He Tian gives Guan Shan a curious look.

“The guy I’m fighting was favoring his left leg the last time I saw him in a match,” he explains.

“Torn meniscus that was poorly treated when he was seventeen,” Ming Na specifies.

“Shit,” Guan Shan says, not sounding too interested as he flexes his fingers, testing He Tian’s wrapping skills. “How did you even find that out?”

“I’ve got my ways.”

“How good is he?” He Tian asks Guan Shan but Ming Na chimes in first.

“Good enough that we could double the bets we got last time if he takes him out before the bell. That guy got quite the reputation on the south side.”

“No pressure,” Guan Shan mumbles sarcastically as a new wave of chants rolls in.

Ming Na pockets her phone, unfazed by the noise and reaches to run a gentle hand through his hair.

“Of course. It’ll be a piece of cake, honey,” she tells him quietly, with a soft voice He Tian has never heard from her.

He Tian doesn’t hold the woman particularly close to his heart but as far as Guan Shan is concerned, he’s glad to know he has such a vicious ally by his side. She leaves the room, making up a rallying call on her own while Guan Shan rubs at his face. Then he stands up, folding the cord of his earbuds and throwing it with his old ipod in his bag.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says.

“Like what?”

“Guys from his gym spied on us too. And if they didn’t, they’re idiots.”

That makes He Tian laugh. As if he was one to judge. He stands up as well, reaching to cup Guan Shan’s face.

“And I’d love to watch you annihilate him, whoever he is,” he tells him, hoping to erase any trace of shame for resorting to less honorable measures. He takes a glance at the watch peeking out of his sleeve and frowns. If he leaves now, he’ll be on time. “But I have to go.”

“Must be a big night if you care to be punctual,” Guan Shan says, then he straightens He Tian’s jacket lapels. “Seems like you’ve been working on it for a long time.”

Though he doesn’t like that his nervousness must have transpired, He Tian’s heart grows warmer under Guan Shan’s attention. So when their eyes meet, he leans in and kisses him. It’s a small thing, soft and quick. Careless even, considering the unlocked door but Guan Shan welcomes it, his eyes fluttering shut.

“For good luck,” He Tian tells him quietly, bumping their foreheads together.

“For you or for me?”

“Both,” he lies.

There’s a pause. A silent understanding is shared. Guan Shan’s hands come to He Tian’s neck, bringing him down for another, more insistent kiss. One last blessing before they part to face their respective battle fields.

May 23th 08:55 p.m. - Paw

Qiu’s men guarding the main gate let He Tian in the lobby with a courteous nod. The leader of the squad lets him know Cheng is waiting for him in the back. Inside, artworks are already exposed according to Liu’s plan, floodlit, displayed by wordy placards Liu must have written himself. Chair and couches have been placed here and there, leaving comfortable spots for people to appreciate the paintings.

The vanitas has a whole room to itself, albeit the smallest, darkest one, with high burgundy walls and dimmer lighting. It’s fitting.

In the largest hall, framed by large glass windows, part of the staff is lining up chairs for the auction. The rest of the staff is busy in the kitchens, setting up the hors d’oeuvres or polishing crystal flutes, aligning the glasses neatly before champagne is poured.

He Tian finds his brother and Qiu on the paved patio, polluting their own suits with smoke. He Tian joins them. 

Cheng doesn’t greet him. To be fair, he never does. He rather save the niceties for business. He doesn’t praise his punctuality either. Instead, when he sees him, he clicks his tongue and goes to loosen the knot of Qiu’s tie.

Qiu snorts, letting himself be robbed. “Told you we should have brought a spare.”

He Tian stands stoically as Cheng pulls his collar up, cigarette between his lips.

“Be nice tonight. Smile, do your little number. No ruckus,” Cheng instructs as he fastens Qiu’s tie around He Tian’s neck, collaring him up for the night, not caring that he is blowing smoke in his face. “Then we’ll meet him together.”

He Tian winces, pulling on the tight knot, but then yields and tucks the tie into his waistcoat properly. He has no interest in speaking with Krai directly. He didn’t prepare for that.

“That wasn’t the plan.”

Cheng finishes his cigarette before snuffing it out with his shoe.

“You’re a big boy, you’ll be fine,” he says, clapping He Tian on the shoulder before heading inside. Qiu flicks the back of He Tian’s head.

“You’ve ruined my outfit.”

“Don’t worry, you still look pretty,” He Tian tells him. Qiu laughs and gives him a wink over his shoulder, leaving right behind Cheng.

*

Guests arrive one by one, roaming the rooms as they please. First come the small fish, the ones who know they better come early because no one will save them a seat. Some make a show out of their young wealth, twirling the keys of luxury cars between their fingers as they call after a valet. Others praise the security, giggling while they get patted down. They take it as a mark of prestige, as if they were entering their very own private museum, and one that doubles as a shopping mall.

He Tian already knows what kind of conversation will follow. They’ll make loud comments about the art, letting everyone know which masterpiece already adorns their second living room as they sip on a glass of champagne to ease their nerves and try to flock around whoever owns more property than they do.

Resigned to the task, He Tian does what he knows how to do. He shakes hands and smiles, presents compliments to the beautiful dresses and he receives twice the attention, with a side of presumptuous flirting. Then the big names start making their appearance. Fashionably late. Rinse and repeat. Greetings. Smiles. Praises. 

Cheng stands with Mr Liu and does his best to follow through with the civilities though he’s far less generous, reserving his energy for the guest of honor that has yet to show up. He listens half heartedly to Mr Liu’s endless anecdotes and always keeps Qiu in sight who mumbles quiet directions into his earpiece. When he was younger, He Tian was half convinced the two could talk telepathically, sometimes having full conversations with their eyes and micro movements of the brows. It’s a skill that has only gotten more refined over the years. Now Cheng’s gaze can flick to one rowdy guest and a second later the issue is taken care of.

After nearly two hours, He Tian decides he’s done with the aimless small talk and would rather have his turn at Mr Liu’s lecture who seems to have been kicked out of Cheng’s orbit. He Tian catches him grabbing a toast at the other side of the room though before he can join the old man, Qiu comes close and whispers in his ear.

“He’s here.”

He Tian takes a deep breath, his hands tensing with apprehension. The art history lesson will have to wait.

All the guests have already been driven out of the dark burgundy room. He Tian walks in and his footsteps resonate in the nearly empty room. Cheng and a small gray-haired man are the only ones left inside, both already chatting as they face the vanitas. The door is closed behind He Tian, interrupting their conversation.

The small man - Krai - turns to him and smiles. The subject of Cheng’s last two years of planning is nothing impressive at first glance but he carries piercing eyes behind his thin rectangular glasses; a steady, unblinking, all-knowing gaze He Tian immediately finds unnerving. Qiu is most likely right outside the door, guarding their privacy but He Tian would have rather had him closer.

“I’ve heard about you, too,” Krai tells him calmly. His accent is discreet but He Tian hears remains of Thai tones in his old voice.

“In good terms I hope.”

Krai doesn’t answer. He doesn’t stop smiling either.

“Should we sit down?”

*

They take a place on dedicated couches facing each other, slightly angled so they can still have the painting on sight, a marble table between them with glasses and a whiskey decanter. The display gives a false air of casualness to the conversation to come and He Tian chooses to feed into it, to rest his back against the cushions and cross his legs, ignoring the slight shake in his hands and the judging painted skull looming over them.

Krai’s appearance doesn’t give away an inch of the actual power he holds, of the nearly legendary reputation of his name. Contrary to Elievic who is too loud, too colorful to be taken seriously, Krai seems to have crafted his persona to appear as normal, as insignificant as possible. 

His stance is proper but not hostile. His suit isn’t tailored, it’s the correct size but because of his small stature, the sleeves fall just a bit too low over his hands. The collar is worn, the elbows too and there’s a loose button on his jacket. He must wear this outfit often, maybe it’s his favorite.

He Tian remembers hearing Krai’s name from his father’s mouth as if it was a pest that would feed on them if they let their guard down for a brief moment but He Tian quickly figured his father spoke of each of his rivals in dramatic terms. As if they were devils sent to persecute him personally and not simple men, as selfish and opportunistic as he was himself. Then, after working by Cheng’s side, He Tian understood his father was partially right for singling Krai out. The old, seemingly unthreatening man before him didn’t work like the rest of the underworld. He was clean and his web was wide and unescapable.

Thankfully, he isn’t scanning He Tian anymore. His eyes are now fixated on the painting.

He lets out a longing sigh.

“I feared I would have never gotten the occasion to see this piece, it’s a shame it was lost for so many years.”

“It was kept, not lost,” Cheng corrects.

“You did well freeing it,” Krai says, smiling at him and He Tian finds that comment rather ironic considering it’s been and still is locked in a dark room. “Such a raw depiction of the human soul. It’s paradoxical, isn’t it? The artist depicted our mortality yet his work, his mind survived through centuries. I imagine he yearned for it, even subconsciously.” 

“I suppose it’s human nature.”

“Hm. We want to linger,” Krai muses, voice distant as if he was transfixed, then he turns to Cheng with a smile. “Some succeed of course. This one did, though thanks to dicey circumstances… It might be my old age talking but I like to think everyone is a little immortal. Our bodies return to dust but what we transmit lives on after we pass.”

Cheng hums politely as he pours the whiskey. He hands a glass to their guest, then to He Tian who barely takes a sip before putting it back on the table. He would rather stay sober for now, though if Krai keeps on rambling like that, He Tian will be happy to have a crutch to help him through it.

“I’m sure you’ll agree no bonds are tighter than blood,” Krai adds. “It’s rare to see brothers standing side by side in this world. I saw too many pointless fratricidal wars over the years, none of which met a happy ending.”

“I assume you’re a family man then,” Cheng says, shifting the focus away from them.

“Avidly so. I have five kids and twelve grandchildren,” Krai answers eagerly before tilting his head, his eyes taking an amused glint. “But you already knew that.”

He Tian didn’t and he badly wishes Cheng could have briefed him for five fucking minutes before dragging him here.

“I’ve heard your grandson recently graduated. Congratulations.”

“It was hardly my achievement. But the sentiment is appreciated. Although for the sake of this conversation, I have to say there’s no need to act coy,” Krai continues, choosing to keep the evident ‘ or else ’ warning quiet. “You and I, we value knowledge for what it is, don’t be afraid to lay your cards on the table. You know more about me than I’m comfortable with but I hope the opposite is just as true.”

This intrusion of honesty does not disturb Cheng in any way. He Tian thinks he must even feel rather satisfied that it will be the base of their conversation. He’s just gotten introduced to Krai’s character, but every passing second, He Tian understands a little better why his brother sought this meeting so ardently.

“I do not expect any less,” Cheng tells him. “I’ve been a distant admirer of your work for a long time now.”

“You went out of your way to breach that distance.”

“I’d say we met halfway. The recent shipments we received through Elievic’s boats are undeniably yours.”

Yet another detail that He Tian is learning on the spot. Not the most essential one though it contradicts the characteristically patient reputation the old man has. It makes He Tian wonder how much data he’s missing here, what role he’s expected to fill up in this conversation, if he has one at all. But his brother never functioned on convenience, reliant on He Tian’s ability to sink or swim, and He Tian isn’t much of the type to need saving. He’ll wait for his opportunity if it presents itself.

Krai turns back towards the painting.

“ Horror vacui ,” he answers with nonchalance.

“Is it what it is? You’re merely filling up empty space?”

“Give me a month and I’ll have the supply of provisions rearranged to my taste,” he announces, before glancing back to Cheng, a smirk on his lips. “For nearly twenty years the southern ports were impenetrable and suddenly Elievic’s desertion came as if it was wrapped up specifically for me. I nearly felt courted.”

“You have to understand it would have been difficult for me to put a bow on it.”

Krai brings a hand to his mouth, hiding the snicker Cheng’s comment pushed out of him though his piercing gaze doesn’t waver when he strikes back.

“I know better than to expect generosity from your family,” he says.

“Yet you wasted no time in accepting it.”

Both of them seem amused by this display of sparring, as if it was merely banter between old friends and not the kind of offense that usually gets harshly punished. He Tian is suddenly happier to be left aside. The tone in the room is strangely light but he knows it’s a tightrope they’re walking on.

“I’ve always found the south coast alluring,” Krai continues. “Even more now that the Russian smoke has dissipated.”

“I can’t disagree. You’re free to see it as a gift but to be honest, I think it’s one I’ve made for myself.”

“Vulgar creature, isn’t he? Was it the comfort of habit or an excess of patience that made you keep him around for so long?”

Cheng shakes his head, twirling the content of his glass.

“You’d be surprised how convenient he’s been. Despite himself.”

“Surprised, I doubt it,” Krai defends. “I just struggle to see how you tolerated him. I always found him revoltingly tasteless.”

“I’d claim that it’s his biggest asset actually.”

“His tackiness?”

“He’s eye-catching.”

The mere thought of Elievic’s green suit makes it difficult for He Tian to hide his grimace. Krai doesn’t seem all that convinced either but he doesn’t fight Cheng’s assertion.

“Your positivity is refreshing…” he says. “And your methods are quite at odds with the way your father tends to deal with business.”

He Tian straightens up, poked by a needle. Their father never kept matters behind closed doors, although it wasn’t for a lack of trying. His anger was simply too explosive, always threatening to spill over and scald whoever was near.

He had good reasons to shoot Elievic in the knees a long time ago but they nurtured a friendship for decades. Both equally drunk, sloppy but too powerful to be contradicted, both coddled and hidden away during their tantrums. Ultimately, Cheng cut through their camaraderie and made it their own poison. It is only a matter of time before reports claim Elievic has been found in the river, both feet stuck in a block of concrete. He signed his death warrant the moment he trusted He Tian’s act in that restaurant.

By He Tian’s side, Cheng remains undisturbed despite them circling closer and closer to a perilous topic.

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” he says.

“It is. Should I understand he won’t be joining us tonight?”

There it is. Cheng raises his glass, angling it towards Krai.

“No acting coy, you said,” he tells him, bouncing the earlier warning right back at him while drawing the full scope of what’s being woven here.

Krai already knew it, but now it is spoken and open. 

Cheng wants treason.

There’s a lull then, a few dangerous seconds during which He Tian’s breathing slows. Eventually, Krai breaks the silence. His smile, though still present, has lost warmth.

“You’re an interesting character, He Cheng. I’ve been following you closely but you haven’t made it an easy task. It’s difficult watching someone hidden so deep in the shadows.”

“I am not hiding,” Cheng retorts and his voice too has gotten colder. 

“No, you’re not. You observe. You light up controlled explosions from a distance so people look away while you deal with important matters, just like you managed to push Elievic up north so we’d have the opportunity to connect. You’re a prestidigitator performing card tricks.” He sighs. “Though I’m afraid your assistant is unruly.”

“Please, Elievic is as predictable as it gets.”

“I wasn’t talking about him,” Krai corrects him, his eyes flicking over He Tian, acknowledging his presence again, then he returns to Cheng. “You’re right. Elievic’s flaws have been the same since he entered his line of work. His mistakes are cyclical, his actions neurotic but sickly repetitive. Maybe that’s where his insanity lies.”

“You could have taken advantage of that a long time ago.”

“Don’t blame an old man for liking his routine, I’ve gotten used to my comfort. That's why that one worries me,” he explains, pointing towards He Tian. This time, his gaze stays on him, fixed and all-knowing. “He’s been so quiet recently. It’s almost hard to believe he’s the headache of the He household. Or – was? You’ll have to forgive my bluntness. Blood ties are strong but lacing them allows me some clarity.”

Sink or swim.

Half of He Tian’s attention is spent on maintaining his composure; the other half is distracted by the quickening rush of blood in his ears. But if Cheng finds peace in the shadow, He Tian has learnt to feel safer behind a well rehearsed smile. It’s exactly what he offers Krai as the small man details his findings about him; he presents a light but confident smile, his back leaning against the couch, his chin kept high, betraying nothing of his accelerating heart.

“Ask a hundred different people what they think of your brother and they’ll come up with a hundred different answers,” Krai resumes. “A hundred different masks. All of them charming, I’ll concede that but there’s a lack of pattern in his actions that can only mean two things to me. Absolute control or absolute chaos. Disorder can be fixed, but anarchy isn’t something I wish to deal with,” Krai finally concludes, putting his glass down on the table, the gesture taking a worrying air of finality.

He Tian takes an inhale. His words are suspended, tugged in too many different directions as he can’t decide if he’s supposed to feel insulted by this portrait of himself. He closes his mouth, jaw tight. Weeks and months he spent alone, forgetting the most essential part of himself to do Cheng’s dirty work, and it’s as if all of it is about to be deemed worthless. 

Krai taunts him like a strict patriarch, testing He Tian’s reactions and though He Tian has experience enduring scoldings, a part of him wishes he could find the impulsivity of his younger self to give Krai a taste of the tumult he has so much disdain for. If he’s going to be seen as a destructive parasite anyway, he wishes he could embody it fully.

But the moment doesn’t last for long, interrupted by one of Cheng’s rare sneers, by his hand gripping the back of He Tian’s neck, putting a halt to his growing anger.

“He barely said a word and he’s gotten you this agitated,” Cheng mocks. “And you wonder why I keep him around? He Tian is my jack of all trades. He excels at getting under people’s skin. He’d make a puppet out of anyone.”

“Has he made one out of you?”

Cheng shrugs it off, taking another sip. Krai mirrors him but He Tian leaves his glass untouched. It would calm his nerves, but he doesn’t want to show he needs soothing in the first place.

“I suppose he could,” Cheng says simply. “But I have more to offer him than my blind compliance. A temporarily injured reputation is low hanging fruit for someone like my brother.” 

“Gossip comes and goes,” He Tian shrugs. “I can’t even brag about it, it’s the easiest seed to grow.”

“Does your father follow that philosophy as well? Whispers coming out of your estate have been particularly unkind to him lately.”

Cheng’s hand leaves He Tian’s neck. “Who do you think let those whispers out?” he asks.

Krai lets out a laugh.

“So the lack of recognition has finally upset your pride. I’d understand. You’ve been ruling in the background for a long time now, you started far too young. It’s quite the burden to carry.”

“This isn’t about pride.”

“Tell me, son. Are you Atlas or Sisyphus?”

Entertained by the riddle, Cheng puts his head in his hand and takes a few seconds to answer. 

“Both were doomed. I don’t claim to be.” 

One was doomed, the other was punished, to be exact. He Tian can only wonder which one would have satisfied Krai the most. Would he have taken pity if Cheng had identified with the titan carrying the world on his shoulder? Sisyphus, eternally stuck with his pointless, endless selfishness doesn’t sound much better anyway.

“Don’t take any offense,” Cheng continues, “I appreciate your poetry but I’m not a mythical figure. You can see it as a display of hubris but I know what I’m after and it’s as mundane as it gets. I just want stability. Longevity.”

“You brought me inspiration. You’ll have to indulge me” Krai explains, tilting his head towards the vanitas. “It’s a beautiful picture you’re painting. Full of contrast. One I could appreciate from afar, but you want my direct involvement.” 

He leans forward, quieting his voice as if what comes next could cause a riot though he carries no shame as he continues. “I apologize if I come off a bit old fashioned but I have to ask. What do I have to gain from a man who betrays his own father?”

The question had to come up eventually, Cheng probably even expected it but when he speaks, his tone is too sharp.

“My father betrayed his role first, and he did it years ago,” he throws before regaining his composure. “I’m the third generation of our estate but there’s a little quirk in our history, do you know it? My father didn’t inherit it from his father.”

“No, he didn’t. But your mother did.”

“Yes. My father was a useful facade but she was in charge before she got ill. An aberration to most people in our field. Gossip was rampant about her too and when she passed, hypocrisy took over. But records and numbers don’t lie. She extended our territory until it was four times as big as it was during my grandfather’s time and I’m barely trying to pantomime the negotiation skills she had.”

“She was ruthless,” Krai adds, nodding approvingly.

“She was. You’ll understand then, that I do not wish to see her work turning to dust because he can’t keep his face out of the bottle,” Cheng spits out, the leash he has on the hatred he carries for their father loosening again. “Despite what people seem to think nowadays, she will always be bigger than her grave. My father, on the other hand, seems to be eagerly chasing after his own. If he needs a little help from me to meet his goal, I’ll gladly offer it, but I won’t let necrosis poison what my mother built. He doesn’t get to bury more than himself.”

His viciousness slipping up freezes He Tian’s legs and leaves Krai speechless for a moment, thinking fast as his eyes flick between the two brothers before him. Then Cheng speaks again.

“I’m not asking anything of you, Krai. I’m offering. All of this is merely a prelude and you must know that as much as I believe an alliance between us would be mutually beneficial, we’ll carry on with or without you,” he says, his determination unwavering. “But if you’re not interested, then we can share another drink and I’ll tell you how I acquired the vanitas. It’s quite the story.”

Krai opens the decanter and pours whiskey in his now empty cup.

“I’d love to hear it.”

He Tian takes his own glass and brings it to his lips.

Memento mori.

*

Mr Liu interrupts Cheng’s retelling just in time before the auction begins. They leave the secluded room to find the staff ushering guests to their designated chairs but Cheng and Krai never quite stop talking together, neglecting to participate in the bargain to admire the art pieces instead, enjoying the empty rooms to themselves. A strange but hopeful development, objectively. He Tian is just happy to leave that room.

Equally uninterested in the speech given by the auctioneer, he stays in the back with Qiu. Behind the glass, they still have enough visibility to catch any odd behavior. The process follows as it should: pieces are presented, projected on a large screen, numbers are shouted, priceless art pieces get auctioned. Again and again and again. He Tian decides he won’t do any harm by cracking a window open for a quick smoke break. Qiu shoots him a reprimanding look but then grabs a cigarette for himself.

“Do you think he’ll buy it?” He Tian eventually asks him, turning to blow smoke towards the dark garden. Like a teen smoking hidden in the bathroom.

“They’re like two peas in a pod. In my book, that’s a good sign. That guy never stays anywhere longer than he needs to.”

He Tian hums, struggling to find relief in his words.

“Cheng could have warned me he’d play the dead mom card.”

Qiu puts a hand on his nape. A strong hand, squeezing He Tian’s tight muscles. He doesn’t push him away.

“I don’t think he planned that one,” Qiu tells him.

“And I don’t think he’d know spontaneity if it hit him in the face.”

“You’d be surprised,” he says, removing his hand from He Tian’s neck to pull on his ear. He Tian shoves him away. Qiu laughs quietly, then he continues. “We looked into the things you sent us by the way. It’s a significant renovation project but it seems like they aren’t planning on moving for at least a year,– it’s still in the development stages.

“So perfect timing to pump the brakes. I don’t really plan on chaining myself to a crane once they get started,” He Tian says, frowning at the smirk rising on Qiu’s face.

“That’s where he lives, isn’t it?”

“So?”

Qiu shakes his head.

“If not chaining yourself to a crane, what’s your plan? If you even have one.”

“I thought about breaking into their committee meeting, guns blazing, you know the drill,” He Tian tells him, shooting finger guns. Qiu isn’t amused.

“So no plan.”

“I just need a guarantee they won’t move anytime soon, at least until we’re done with….”

“The Daddy Issues Chronicles ?”

It shouldn’t, but the nickname makes He Tian snorts. It’s always been easier with Qiu to laugh about matters that are entirely too serious to joke about.

“Uh-uh,” He Tian warns, waving his finger, “Cheng does not approve of that name.”

“Don’t care, I like it. And he gives you enough pocket money to secure your boyfriend a place to stay, if that’s the concern.”

“It's not just about him,” He Tian argues, neglecting to correct the ‘boyfriend’ title. Qiu shoots him a dubious look. “Shut up. It’s not. It’s… the whole community. It’s a matter of principle, okay?”

This time, Qiu just laughs. “You work on principle now?”

“If you’re not interested it’s fine, I'll figure it out myself,” He Tian says.

Qiu presses on his earbud, confirming that everyone on site is still behaving nicely, before crushing his cigarette against the window ledge and asking “how is he, the redhead?”

He Tian mirrors him, closing the window. 

“Why do you care, exactly?”

“He was a good kid. Better mannered than the rest of you.”

“He’s fine. He teaches.”

“Like…maths?”

“Like boxing. I bet he could take you down,” He Tian claims.

“Come on, he was a twig.”

“And you’re old and slow. He could take me down.”

Guan Shan still doesn’t want to seriously spar with He Tian but maybe he’d accept to train him one night, if He Tian asked nicely.

“I’d wanna see that. I’ve told you your defense is shit, though. You gotta fix that.”

“And you’re still old. And that can’t be fixed,” He Tian mocks, earning a shove to the face..

“Experienced, dickhead,” Qiu corrects, then he cracks his knuckles, returning to his straight posture and a more serious matter. “The main estate company in the renovation plan is too young; it’s weird. They shouldn’t be established enough to be leading such a huge project after only a few years of business.”

“They’re hiding behind a rebrand?”

“It would appear so. So no guns blazing,” Qiu concludes, pointing his own finger gun at He Tian’s head. “For now.”

Then he turns around, returning to the auction, He Tian following behind.

A contemporary painting of muted green brush strokes gets sold for nearly half a million before the auctioneer introduces the piece everyone is waiting for. The grim skull is projected on the screen as he unveils the mysterious history of the vanitas in an enthusiastic speech, shaking up the tired audience. But before the starting price can even be announced, Cheng crosses the room. Alone. 

The room is quiet as he reaches the auctioneer’s desk. He bends to the microphone to make a simple announcement.

“This piece has already been acquired. Thank you.”

The staff around him stirs up, quickly getting to the next painting before the guests can show discontentment.

From each side of the room, Qiu and Cheng share a look, then a smirk.

“Well, that answers your question. He’s buying it.”

*

By three a.m., the paintings are all unscrewed from their displays and set into the boxes they’ll soon travel in under the ever watchful eye of Mr Liu who’ll no doubt send a note for his overtime. Guests return to their car, to their chauffeurs and their mansions and He Tian makes a last effort to wish them all goodbye, refraining to yawn as they give him compliments for the wonderful night they’ve just had.

Lights are turned off one by one, the lobby resetting to its original echoey state. Only the cleaning staff remains on site with a few members of the security team as Cheng debriefs the night on the patio. He’s satisfied, it’s obvious, yet he can’t help but to nitpick the most minute details until Qiu slaps him on the back.

“Relax. It went well,” he says, taking his tie back from He Tian before leaving to send his team off.

“What do we do now?” He Tian asks his brother, stretching his back. He can’t wait to be out of these clothes. 

“We stay quiet now,” Cheng tells him, rubbing his face before he points at He Tian. “I’m serious. Dead fucking quiet. I don’t think we’ll hear from him in a few weeks, at least. Then it’s the homestretch, and hopefully the abdication comes easy.”

He doesn’t sound that hopeful but wishful thinking has never been his strong suit. It’s doubtful their father would step down that easily, even with all the odds against him. It would require an ounce of humility, some self awareness as well. Both qualities he cruelly lacks. 

“Have you heard about him - about dad, recently?” He Tian wonders, though using that title sounds odd and uncomfortable.

“Not from him directly, no. He hasn’t left the main estate since Elievic bailed on him. Paranoia’s getting to him too.”

They stand in silence for a moment, He Tian forced to face himself in open glass doors and he can’t help but return to Krai’s claims about him. Once he is bare of expectations, of the roles he embodies to serve his brother’s interest, he wonders what’s left of him. He assumes most people would claim he shares the same vices as his father, just like some claim they share the same face.

He looks down, away from the window.

“Someone told me I looked like him.”

Cheng turns to him but He Tian is now fixated on his polished shoes. His feet hurt after so many hours of standing, he shouldn’t have worn a brand new pair. He shouldn’t have brought up that comment either. Now he needs to face a potential confirmation.

“I wouldn’t put much thought into it. It was probably just an uninspired attempt at a compliment,” Cheng says.

“I could have done without it.”

“Who said it?”

“Liu.”

“Don’t mind him. You take after mom. That’s what people have always said.”

He Tian bites the inside of his cheek, chewing on his next words. 

“What do you say?” he asks his brother and when he looks up to him, Cheng’s usual stern gaze has softened.

He reaches in his pocket and takes out a thin wallet, one he has used for as long as He Tian’s memories go. It’s made of a brown leather that has gotten wrinkly with the years, even cracked in one corner. Cheng opens it and takes a folded piece of paper from it, handing it to He Tian.

The picture is grainy, the colors tinted with yellow, typical of film from the eighties. With a backdrop of blue sky, his mom smiles brightly at the lens, her hair caught by the wind, her cheeks round and full. He Tian almost doesn’t recognize her. The pictures of her he knows are more recent. Ones where they’re together, where she’s much thinner but holding him tight against her. He used to return to them hoping it would awaken memories of her touch under his skin. 

She must be in her mid twenties here, the same age as he is now, give or take. That smile is so different from the ones she carries in family portraits. She’s not posing, not as a wife, or as a mother. She looks happier. Free. Unburdened.

He Tian looks at it and forgets to breathe until Cheng speaks again.

“Spitting image,” he says quietly, and He Tian feels a sting behind his eyes. He almost doesn’t recognize her, but he does see himself. There’s something in the curve of her smile and the way it creates long dimples in her cheeks, maybe in the shape of her eyes too that he could claim, undeniably, as his, too. And this realization doesn’t ease his mind like it should.

A heavy weight grows in his chest, full of a sentiment he can’t pinpoint. He looks at Cheng and at the tip of his tongue, there’s an apology. He wants to say sorry. He’s not even sure for what, but he wants to say sorry.

Instead, he folds the picture back up and tries to give it back but Cheng shakes his head.

“Keep it.”

He Tian swallows and puts the picture in the inner pocket of his jacket, trying to mask his reluctance. 

“I’m gonna go.”

“Alright. Qiu will take you to your car, just to be safe,” Cheng says. “When you get back, I’d rather you stay close to me until we’re done. No more time off.”

He Tian nods along, lacking the energy to fight it. He’s done thinking about tonight and the consequences it’ll have, he’s done thinking about Cheng’s machinations. He just wants to go home.

“It’s almost over. I promise,” Cheng continues, trying to be reassuring as he catches He Tian’s exhaustion. “And after that-”

“After that, I’m out,” He Tian answers sternly before risking hearing his brother try to twist the situation to his advantage. He Tian promised he’d be by his side but it always had a limit. Their collaboration is a deal, not a gift and Cheng better honor his part of it.

Cheng adjusts his jacket as he stands up straight, towering over He Tian and his slouched shoulders. He knows how to make He Tian feel small but there’s no threat in his eyes, only the hint of a smile, something pinched, almost apologetic. It disappears as fast as it comes as Cheng brushes a rough hair through He Tian’s hair, pushing it back down on his forehead.

“I gave you my word. I’ll keep it,” he assures, then walks away.

*

May 24th 03:48 a.m. - Recuperation

He Tian parks in the underground after a silent and robotic drive. No radio, no music, with his foot heavy on the accelerator through forty minutes of near complete darkness on empty roads. He tried to not to think about it but every so often, he had the urge to pat his jacket, to feel the sharp edges of the picture in the inner pocket poking his chest, just to be sure it was still there.

He does it again as he turns off the engine. After a few seconds of hesitation, he takes it out and stares at the folded white paper in his hand, unable to open it again. Unwilling, too, maybe. He’s tired. He wants to sleep and to forget, just for a few hours so he puts the picture under the leather band of the sun visor, where it’ll be secure and out of his sight.

The condo is dark when he gets back, the room barely illuminated by the credits screen rolling on the TV. Guan Shan is asleep on the couch, arms crossed on his chest, bundled up in the black sweater. 

The room is in the worst state it’s ever been. It’s downright messy, with traces of them everywhere and fuck, they should really do the laundry.

He Tian bites his tongue, as the casualness, the domesticity of this thought alone feels more dangerous to him than anything he faced tonight.

As quietly as he can, he makes a pile out of the clothes they left around the living room to make the job easier in the morning, then he takes his jacket off, throwing it on the back of a chair before unbuttoning the collar of his shirt. When he returns to the couch, Guan Shan is slowly waking up, yawning wide, stretching his arms over his head. 

He Tian takes it as an invitation. He lets himself fall on his chest and Guan Shan receives him with a groan as he gets buried further into the cushion.

“You should have gone to bed,” He Tian mumbles against his neck.

“You’re crushing me,” Guan Shan complains but his arms tighten around He Tian’s shoulders. “How was the penguin meeting?”

“Boring. Did you win?”

He snorts. “Of course I won.”

Rubbing his cheek against the juncture of his neck, He Tian feels something rough on his face. He lifts his head and pulls Guan Shan’s collar down to find a strip of blue kinesiology tape encircling the top of his shoulder.

“It’s nothing,” Guan Shan says before He Tian can ask. “I just worked my shoulder too much. I could have done without the tape but Ming Na wouldn’t let me go without it.”

He Tian hums and shifts position, dropping his head back against Guan Shan’s uninjured side. He trusts that his shoulder got the best care it could have gotten tonight. They’ll worry about getting creams and maybe a doctor tomorrow.

“Tell me how it went.”

He Tian listens dutifully to Guan Shant’s retelling of the match as he slides his arms underneath the sweater. 

He won in two rounds, choosing an offensive strategy with lots of movement to take advantage of his opponent’s weakness without attacking his bad knee directly. Though he doesn’t specify how much he earned exactly, He Tian loves hearing the proud little smirk in his voice when he mentions the prize money and the reaction of the crowd. By the end of his narration, his words are slow and sluggish, heavy with sleep. They lay in silence for a moment. Guan Shan’s breaths get deeper and his grip around He Tian’s shoulder loosen as He Tian feels himself drifting, muscles soothed and relaxed by their shared warmth. 

He shouldn’t be here, he should have jumped into the shower first to remove the grime of the evening. The feeling of the dozens of dirty hands he shook tonight linger on his palms as they press against Guan Shan’s bare skin and he’d rather not tarnish them both. But they just fit too nicely together. They must have slowly melted against each other with each of these rare embraces. Like wax figures. If they stay here too long, maybe they’ll get softer and softer, dripping off the sofa until their core is revealed, until all that is left are soft beating hearts, cradling each other.

Guan Shan’s arm keeps slipping until it’s dangling off the sofa, at an odd angle that surely won’t be kind to his joints if he stays like this too long.

“Come on, let’s go to bed,” He Tian tells him, patting his hip before they both fall asleep.

“Fuck off.”

“You leave me no choice.”

He Tian grabs the back of his thighs, hooks them around his waist and brings Guan Shan’s arms to his neck.

“Hold tight,” he instructs and despite a few customary complaints, for once, Guan Shan does as he’s told.

He Tian has no trouble lifting him off the couch, keeping them as close as possible for a little longer. The trip to the bedroom is short and Guan Shan remains soft and pliant as He Tian lays him down on his side of the bed.

His side of the bed .

Another dangerous thought.

He Tian tries not to slip again, to not let his mind wander to a place he won’t be able to return from but Guan Shan’s grip is stubborn around his neck as he simply refuses to let go. Unfortunately, He Tian had always had a hard time telling him no. 

It feels too good anyway, he is too tired to not simply sink back into the embrace. So he presses his nose against Guan Shan’s neck and he drifts again, to a universe where this is merely routine, where this can happen thoughtlessly, tomorrow and the week after and in a month and in a year. Where the drawers know both of their clothes and the bed is never cold when they go to sleep.

He still badly needs to take a shower and get into softer clothes but he lets himself float into the fantasy for a moment, simply breathing. Then, reluctantly, he pulls himself out of Guan Shan’s hold. 

Once in the bathroom, He Tian glances at the mirror but he doesn’t see himself. He doesn’t even care to look for long, to wonder whose face he stole. He watches behind him instead, to the corner of the bed he can see through the open door where Guan Shan is rearranging the pillows, then turning around and disappearing under the cover. It makes He Tian smile as he finishes unbuttoning his shirt.

He lets it fall to the floor and turns the shower faucet on, when suddenly, his brother’s words come to resonate in his mind, slapping him out of his forbidden reveries with cold brute force.

It’s almost over .

The shared clothes, the bed unmade on both sides. The messy apartment, overlapping schedules, meals taken together. The soft touches, the company.

It’s almost over.

He Tian locks the door and thankfully, steam is already fogging up the mirror. After removing the rest of his clothes, he steps into the shower and turns the faucet further to the right, until the water is scalding hot against his back but it doesn’t distract him from the lump in his throat as much as he hoped.

Droplets roll down his cheeks, heavy with salt.

Chapter Text

May 27th 06:16 a.m. - Shift

A thin ray of orange sunlight illuminates the bedroom, passing through the gap between the curtains. He Tian was awake before it came through and watched this rectangle of light creep into the room. It first appeared high on the wall as the sun breached the horizon, then slithered down towards the far end of the bed, bringing summer a bit closer minute by minute.

The nights are getting shorter and warmer, the city air heavy even at the height of the condo. He Tian lays in bed, a dull ache behind his eyes. By his side, Guan Shan is sprawled on his back, one hand on his stomach, the other resting over his head, on the pillow. He’s finally soundly asleep after spending half of the night tossing and turning, hissing each time he laid down on the shoulder he swears doesn’t bother him that much.

There are lingering red lines where the glue of the KT tape has irritated his pale skin. They were even brighter last night, when Guan Shan walked out of the shower, a towel around his hips. He Tian kissed along the marks thoroughly then, careful not to press too hard. He followed the path towards the slope of Guan Shan’s neck with his lips as the towel dropped on the floor, then he slowly fucked into him, both of them gripping the edge of the marble vanity top. He wiped off the condensation on the mirror to see his eyes roll, his mouth open after a deeper thrust. Then their eyes locked in the reflection and Guan Shan demanded he went “ harder ” and “ harder ” again, encouraging He Tian’s composure slipping away as his thrusts got more and more erratic.

He Tian came first. He caught his breath, then looked in the mirror to find a proud smirk on Guan Shan’s face. He didn’t waste time paying his share, dropping to his knees and letting his jaw go lax until Guan Shan’s hard cock was hitting the back of his throat. He swallowed around it and he filled him with his fingers, Guan Shan’s fist tight in his hair.

Now as He Tian brushes his lips against the red lines before getting out of bed, Guan Shan’s skin smells of the balm he uses to soothe his pain. Menthol and camphor. 

Then Guan Shan’s phone buzzes. He Tian eyes the name on the screen and isn’t surprised to see Ming Na’s name. He gets up, grabs a discarded shirt from the floor and puts it under the phone, creating a buffer to deafen the rattling noise each one of her texts cause against the hard wood of the night stand. The pestering, early old bird can keep talking as much as she wants, He Tian will leave Guan Shan to rest.

On the balcony, the tiles are cool under his bare feet. Smoke fills his lungs and his own phone is resting in the pocket of his sweatpants, uncharacteristically quiet. Qiu has ignored his questions regarding the estate company but this sudden silence isn’t that surprising. Knowing him, he must be enjoying his last bonus at a casino somewhere, drunk and willingly ignorant of the passing days. Soon he’ll get bored of it and return to business as he always does. There’s not much to celebrate anyway, they’re merely waiting for their last pawn to find its spot on the board before the game starts. In two weeks, on the twelfth, they’ll be meeting with Cheng’s troops, whether Krai gets in or not. After that the betrayal will be official. Patricide in the making.

It’s what makes the complete lack of communication from Cheng much harder to ignore.  He had said to be quiet but He Tian has gotten used to the endless preparations. He figured he would at least be sent to innocuous meetings to maintain an air of normalcy amongst their more mundane associates but there’s nothing to do except going over reports he’s already completed. The aftertaste he left the auction with sticks with him, – an air of finality. It’s the kind of apprehension that can only be fixed by extra work but for the first time in a long time, he finds himself on an actual break.

To be fair, it’s well deserved and maybe he’s simply unused to Cheng giving him leeway. He could use those last two weeks of free time but unfortunately, the less he has to do, the quicker time seems to be slipping through his fingers. 

His research has hit a wall and lounging is only fun for so long when he’s on his own. It’s not even lounging, it’s waiting. For Guan Shan to wake up, then for him to finish work. Bracing himself for when his touch starts getting colder. Because it will, soon. It always does. Guan Shan won’t mention the fateful date but he never forgets. He won’t ask him to stay either. Maybe it’s for the best.

The morning light is already peeking over the highest towers. If only the sun could be convinced to join him on his break, then He Tian could find within himself the desire to rest.

Guan Shan comes out of the bedroom half an hour later, lured by the smell of breakfast He Tian has gotten delivered. He sits on one of the bar stools and winces. He Tian closes his laptop and pushes a pastry his way.

“Sore?”

“Yeah, you brute,” Guan Shan says, tearing off a piece of dough and putting it in his mouth. “Fuck, it’s hot.”

He Tian bites down a smile as he pours the tea.

“My apologies,” he offers alongside the cup. Guan Shan glares up at him.

“Wipe that smug grin off and I might accept them.”

“For your information, you did a number on my scalp.”

“It’s fair game,” he says, the proud smirk returning to his lips. “You have dark circles down to your knees.”

“I’ll take a nap later,” He Tian says. “You’re up early too. You could have stayed in bed.”

“I’m going to my mom’s– my parents’ place,” Guan Shan corrects himself. “They need help refurbishing the kitchen.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“Nah I’m good, I’ll take the metro and then head to work.”

He Tian hums. It’ll be another day alone then but he can at least be content that Guan Shan is willing to share the details of his morning schedule. They’ll install a new countertop and his dad will show him how to fix the faucet. Guan Shan keeps it casual, makes it sound like it’s not a big deal though he starts bouncing his leg as he talks about it. He Tian doesn’t intrude and lets him share what he wants to. Breakfast ends and the mood is still light. Guan Shan tells him he’ll be done with work around seven. When he stands up, he winces again.

“I could kiss it better –” He Tian teases before getting flicked, right between the eyes.

*

May 27th 04:37 p.m. - War paints

Sleep obviously does not come to him when he lays down later that morning, neither does it come in the early afternoon. He Tian spends his day pacing back and forth in his mind, opening and closing files in his computer he nearly knows by heart now and fills his stomach with coffee and cigarettes, disinterested in a proper lunch.

Through the day, the burner phone rests on the table, always on his line of sight, screen black.

He pockets it then goes to his car. Even if traffic is bad, he’ll arrive nearly an hour early but he’ll take the scolding. Worst comes to worst, Guan Shan will put a broom in his hands to keep him busy while the kids practice their footwork.

He lowers his sunshield as he drives out of the parking lot and finds the folded photograph peeking underneath the leather strap. As if the sight of it startles him, he quickly pushes it back up and reaches for his sunglasses instead. He opens the window and lights up yet another cigarette.

There’s no scolding when he enters the warehouse. There’s no one in the warehouse to scold him, at least not at first glance. He Tian wanders through the empty lobby that should be occupied by the evening lessons then goes down the corridor. He only finds Ming Na in the office, typing at the computer. She glances up when He Tian passes by her door, glares above the rim of her red glasses and doesn’t greet him. He Tian doesn’t bother either.

“Where is he?” he asks.

“He’ll be back in a few,” she says. She doesn’t offer anything more, turning her attention back to the screen.

As if summoned, the front door creaks open and Guan Shan comes in with his hands full from a plastic bag from the convenience store nearby and a pack of beers.

“I told you seven, didn’t I?” he says, dropping the load on one of the benches. Then he frowns when he looks at He Tian. “You okay? You’re pale as hell.”

“Where are the kids?” He Tian asks, eyeing the content of the plastic bag. A variety of colorful snacks.

“They have exams at the end of the week. Practice is postponed so they can study.”

Guan Shan rips the cardboard off the beer pack and takes one bottle out, bringing it with him to the office.

“You could have called sooner. I would have picked you up,” He Tian says, frowning and confused.

“I had stuff to do.”

He stays behind while Guan Shan goes into the office and hears him tell Ming Na, “Here. We’re going upstairs.” She replies something He Tian can’t understand and Guan Shan says “Don’t start, alright? I’ve got my keys, you can lock the door when you’re done.”

He returns to the main hall with a duffle bag over his shoulder. The contents of the bag clinks as he walks.

“Upstairs?” He Tian asks him.

“You’ll see.” Guan Shan points at the food and drinks. “Take that,” he says, cracking his knuckles the way he does when he’s nervous. Then he clears his throat and tilts his head, urging He Tian to follow.

They get to a staircase at the very back of the main lobby, one that hides behind a door He Tian has never seen open. A heavy door that snaps shut behind them, leaving them in near-darkness if not for the exit signs and the dormers a few floors above them. It smells like a cellar, stale and dusty and each metal step creaks under their weight as they climb up.

“Watch your step,” Guan Shan warns, his voice echoing in the staircase.

Once at the very top, Guan Shan pushes a double door open and leaves room for He Tian to walk out first. The sun nearly blinds him after a moment in the gloomy staircase.

After a few blinks, his eyes adjust to the sudden brightness and he finds himself on the rooftop. Satellite dishes and electric lines surround them, slithering along wooden poles as they cross and part, tying all the buildings together. The roof is mostly flat and empty if not for a large plastic tarp covering some furniture in a corner and the stairwell. It’s like a boat with a cabin in its center and a deck made of coarse concrete, though it’s hard to find a single trace of gray. Nearly every inch is covered in paint. Overlapping lines of all colors cover the ground, the walls and the meter-high ledges surrounding the roof. 

When Guan Shan takes the snacks out of his hands, He Tian looks down and sees he’s stepping on a bright purple eye staring right back at him. He lifts his foot, entertaining the idea of apologizing to the monster crawling beneath him. In the corner, Guan Shan drops the bag and lifts the tarp hiding a worn-out couch and a couple of mismatched seats. Then he begins to unpack, taking spray paint cans out of the duffle bag and lining them under the shadow cast by the ledges.

“I’m getting the privilege of a private lesson?” He Tian asks.

“You said you wanted to try, didn’t you?”

He vaguely recalls making that comment over a week ago. It was a fun idea that crossed his mind, more small talk than a burning need. But Guan Shan heard and remembered it, planned for it. For them to do something together.

He Tian looks up. The sky isn’t fully clear but the large clouds in the distance are light and pearly white. No storm in sight. Laughter bubbles out of him. He launches forward and grabs Guan Shan by the waist, making him yelp. He holds him so tight he squeezes the air out of Guan Shan’s lungs and laughs against his neck, smothering him with his joy for a few seconds.

“You’re gonna snap my ribs, He Tian,” Guan Shan groans, trying to wrestle his way out of He Tian’s grip but when He Tian holds his face, he stills.

He Tian kisses him. Guan Shan groans again – then kisses him back. In broad daylight, for once. For the first time in… He Tian can’t even remember the last time it happened.

When they part, Guan Shan won’t look at him. The tips of his ears are so red they look sunburnt. Before He Tian can double down, Guan Shan grabs a shirt from the bag, throwing it in his face. It’s large and off-white, stained with halos of washed-out paint smears and carrying a strong scent of lemony detergent. 

“Put that on,” Guan Shan tells him. “Wouldn’t wanna ruin your Milanese shirt.”

“It’s from Napoli,” He Tian corrects.

“‘It’s from Napoli’. Whatever. Put it on.”

He Tian quickly complies. Once he’s done, Guan Shan sets down a couple of ventilators.

“Do we have to?” He Tian asks, grimacing. They look clunky and bothersome. They’d get in the way. He wants to kiss him more.

“Up to you.”

“Are you wearing one?”

Guan Shan shrugs, pulling a beer out of the pack.

“Do you usually wear one?” He Tian asks again and Guan Shan still doesn’t say anything. He scrunches up his nose and makes a face instead. A guilty one. He Tian gasps.

“Momo, that’s a bad habit,” he scolds, putting his fists on his hips.

“You’re one to talk,” Guan Shan retorts, pointing the neck of the bottle towards He Tian. “I wear them when we paint inside. And when I’m around the kids.”

“Leading by example.”

“Yup. They were difficult with the ventilators at first,” he explains. “Then I told them about painter’s disease. I told them the paint particles would turn their brain to mush and they’d be pissing their pants uncontrollably before they turn thirty. Scared the shit out of them.”

“Now you’re scaring me.” He Tian grabs a can of blue to look over the components, more out of curiosity than any real concern, but the paint has dripped and made the label unreadable. “How radioactive is this?”

“Just a little. One time won’t kill you. At worst it’ll stain your nails.”

One time . He Tian tries not to linger on the implication. The weather is too kind for that. He’ll be happy to have his nails beds carry stubborn traces of blue and green. Better than the ugly yellow stains of nicotine.

“Will they at least glow in the dark afterwards?”

Guan Shan rolls his eyes, amused. “This brand isn’t even that bad, actually. There’s much worse out there. Or better - in quality, I mean. The good stuff – the vibrant colors that really last, they’re nasty,” Guan Shan changes out the nozzle of a black can, testing it with a short spray on a rag before turning towards the wall. “So, what’re we gonna make?”

*

It turns out He Tian is pretty terrible at this. 

Guan Shan opens a first bag of snacks and nearly shoves a red bean bun into He Tian’s mouth before they begin sketching on paper. He Tian chews obediently as he draws. He has spent his life being easily bored and has experience with doodling to pass time, a habit that caused great displeasure to his teachers and to his brother. It doesn’t make him Michelangelo, but he can draw a cute cat in the corner of a page without trying too hard. Duplicating it on a vertical surface shouldn’t be that difficult. 

After Guan Shan finishes sketching on his own, he prepares more aerosols and finds a piece of wall that’ll serve as a canvas to guide He Tian through the basics. The spot is already covered, just like everywhere else, but Guan Shan tells him not to worry about painting over anything, that the rooftop is kept for practice. Like an open-air sketchbook. The important pieces they want to keep –, the big yellow dragons with crooked teeth –, they paint them downstairs, on the walls of the main hall. 

Guan Shan shows him different sizes of nozzles, demonstrating the appropriate pressure to apply to avoid sputtering and messing up the lines. He’s thorough and patient, in the way he must be when he teaches the kids. He Tian listens carefully, revelling in his detailed attention, in the soft way Guan Shan holds his wrist to correct his posture.

The lesson ends and He Tian is confident. Guan Shan turns the speaker on, playing music at a low volume. They each find a spot a few meters apart, He Tian using his height to paint high on the wall, where kids won’t be able to reach so easily. The first line is easy enough.

Twenty minutes later, he takes a few steps back to assess the damage. The creature is vaguely cat-shaped,- it at least has pointy ears at the top, although not very symmetrical - but opting for a calico coat was definitely overly ambitious for his skill set. He pressed too hard and applied the paint in thick layers, swapping between colors too fast and now heavy drops of muddled brown are dripping down the wall. 

While He Tian is conducting his inspection, Guan Shan joins him, standing beside him. Silence drags on for one second too long.

“My magnum opus,” He Tian presents. Guan Shan covers his mouth with a hand. It does little to stop him from breaking into laughter.

“Someone better get the fucking Louvre on the phone.”

“Don’t be mean.”

“How the hell did you even get to that ?”

“I said ‘ don’t be mean ’,” He Tian says, faking indignation though he can’t help but laugh along Guan Shan. “He’s my creation.”

The dismissal is immediate.

“Let it dry a bit, it’ll be easier to fix in a bit.”

He wants to argue that there is nothing to fix but after eyeing the original sketch, he figures it’d be a difficult case to defend. How the hell did he actually get to that?

Once he has run out of mockery, Guan Shan returns to his own painting. He Tian observes him for a moment as the Qilin is brought into existence but Guan Shan soon shoos him away, not happy about being watched so He Tian goes wandering instead, examining the existing graffiti while his paint dries. 

There is a bit of everything on the walls, from unreadable words tagged in odd fonts to stick figures. Someone covered one part in anime characters, then someone else added flowers over them, then someone else transformed the flowers into small skulls. Many of the paintings are incomplete, some have incoherent changes of shapes of colors, as if the person who made them had changed their mind in the middle of the process. In the middle of this chaos are more mature pieces, more detailed, more harmonious. Mythical creatures. Scribbled over, just like the rest.

“That’s one of yours underneath, right?” He Tian asks after finding half of a fox. Guan Shan takes a quick look over.

“Hmm.”

“You don’t mind that? That anyone can just paint over you?” 

“They’re not my walls. We’re already lucky to have this space to do whatever the hell we want without people calling the cops on us. Gotta share.”

He Tian isn’t too satisfied with that answer. There’s clearly no sanctification here, no hierarchy but there should be.

“Even if nobody touches it, the paint will eventually dull from the rain and the wind,” Guan Shan continues. “They always fade.”

“Imagine five centuries from now. Maybe archeologists will find pieces of your beasts and they’ll work on restoring them from the samples of microscopic particles of pigment they’ll find.”

“Like the cave paintings of mammoths,” Guan Shan says flatly, making He Tian click his tongue.

“Or the statues of cathedrals.”

He stops painting then and turns to He Tian with a slightly disgusted look.

“Is it too burdensome to be immortal?” He Tian teases.

“I don’t make anything worthy of a spot in a museum. And even if I did, having your scrapings put behind glass windows never made anyone less dead.”

He Tian doesn’t disagree. Parts of an artist’s mind might live on if they were talented enough to speak it through their art but not everyone is willing to listen to more than what they want to hear. Anyway, it would be the worst of tragedies if the soul was stuck to the canvas – so many of them forced to be locked in dark rooms and occasionally gambled with. A pinch of guilt strikes He Tian. At least the art here can breathe. But it won’t be preserved. 

“The mammoth paintings weren’t meant to be found centuries later anyway. Thousands and thousands of years of practice, and now there’s only, what, a few hundred we’ve found?” He Tian muses.

“Yeah... Almost all of them have been lost or forgotten.”

“Doesn’t mean they weren’t worth making in the first place,” he offers, chasing after his own comfort, searching after Guan Shan’s eyes to share it.

He Tian isn’t so sure they’re merely discussing art anymore. 

“You’re just sad that your cat will get damaged,” Guan Shan accuses, breaking the seriousness that just settled.

“Of course I am! He deserves to live on.”

When Guan Shan is done with his painting, he advises He Tian on how to fix the unfortunate cat but eventually decides to do it himself. He works over where the colors muddled and corrects its dripping shape by lining it with sharp, bright red edges.

Before adding the finishing touches, they open a bag of fruity sweets and wait for the cat to dry again so as to not repeat the catastrophe. He Tian is the one to redraw its face, placing two angry little lines for the eyes and a pouty “V” for the mouth. Guan Shan extends the red until it forms a square background all around it, making it stand out from the rest up there, framed and high on the wall.

Once it’s done, they admire their work, sitting on the concrete ledge bordering the rooftop, a simple wire fence between them and the void. Guan Shan kicks him in the ankle for eating the last candy and He Tian apologizes by stealing another kiss that tastes of fake cherry and sugar. Guan Shan kicks him a second time, then grabs his jaw and kisses him again, smearing the red paint on his fingertips all over He Tian’s cheek.

*

May 27th 11:03 p.m. - Clinch

The endless buzz of the city quiets down, setting with the sun.

In the corner the speaker is still playing music, some kind of slowcore with a moody guitar. The rooftop isn’t so colorful anymore. The night has rendered everything blue and although the moon is high and almost full, the clouds have travelled, swallowing most of its light.

He Tian sits slumped on the couch. Guan Shan is laying on him, his legs over He Tian’s lap, his head on the armrest, hands crossed over his chest. The warm air of the late season has turned them as boneless as the old couch, letting them sink into the pillows. They have eaten most of the snacks and drunk just enough to float. The last beer has gone flat and rests between them, serving as an ashtray. 

 A few of the brightest stars are pushing through now that the sky has turned dark, but they’re barely visible with the clouds covering them tonight. It doesn’t stop He Tian from tracing all the constellations he knows, using the end of his lit cigarette as a pointer that flickers with the wind.

“And that’s… Orion. Over there,” he points at random.

Next to him, Guan Shan hums around the filter of his own cigarette. “Sure is,” he mumbles.

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I mean… we can’t see shit.”

He Tian sighs. He takes both of their dying cigarettes and drops them in the bottle. He angles Guan Shan’s chin a bit higher.

“See the bright one here?” he insists. “That’s Rigel. If you move up over there, you get to Saiph then to Betelgeuse. Then you draw a line there and there and that makes Orion. Orion is the constellation, not a single star.”

Guan Shan makes a small, half-disinterested ‘oh’.

“It’s called the hunter’s constellation but if you ask me, it looks more like a fish. With very long fins. A fancy goldfish of some sort.”

“I think your Rigel is an airplane.”

He Tian squints. Guan Shan might be onto something. Rigel is moving, not fast enough to be a plane but maybe fast enough to be a satellite.

"You’re too pragmatic” He Tian says, letting his hand rest on Guan Shan’s thigh. "Pretend with me for a second. The stars are still there somewhere.”

"It’s this fucking city." Guan Shan mutters, eyes lost in the sky. "I bet they see them better in the countryside, even some hundred kilometers away from here. Lucky fuckers.”

He Tian hums. Lucky fuckers, indeed. It’s the only thing that’d make this moment better. 

A clear sky.

"We should go there someday,” he says.

Guan Shan doesn’t dismiss him. If anything, it looks like he’s floating too.

"Yeah… get a cabin or something in the mountains. That’s a good vacation."

"I have a house in the mountains."

Guan Shan snorts.

"Only one? I was expecting something like… four or five. At least.”

"It’s high in the mountains, up north” He Tian says, tracing idle shapes over Guan Shan’s arm, following the path of his veins. “There’s even a lake nearby. I used to go there in the summer when I was younger.”

He hasn’t seen the house in a long time, but he loved it there. Eating melon under the shadow of the cypress trees, walking along the lake and watching the little fish from the pontoon. Being away from everything, holding onto the pleats of his mother’s white linen gowns.

Guan Shan keeps his eyes closed, breathing deep, like he can imagine it too.

“That sounds nice.”

“I’ll take you there someday,” He Tian offers before he can stop himself. He’s learnt to avoid making promises, but everything feels a million miles away. The cold reality is too late to remind him that they don’t do this. They don’t make plans. 

Usually they don’t lie together in the open either, but when Guan Shan opens his eyes, he looks down instead of looking at the sky. His mouth tightens, his jaw tenses up, like something is threatening to spill, but he keeps it quiet. Instead, he chooses to give He Tian a smile. A small, furtive smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. 

Pretending. Just like He Tian asked.

He Tian can’t find it in himself to mirror him and to keep up that parade of normalcy he initiated. He doesn’t smile back and the silence drags. Eventually, Guan Shan sits up and looks away, keeping his arm to himself, away from He Tian’s touch.

“I mean it,” He Tian insists but Guan Shan stands up.

“Don’t go there,” he demands quietly, bending down to grab the discarded plastic bag at their feet. “We gotta pack up before it gets too cold.”

Though his body is heavy and slow, sunken alone into the couch, He Tian straightens up and reaches forward, holding Guan Shan’s wrist again to bring him back to him.

“It won’t get cold,” he says. “Can you look at me? Please.” 

He takes his hand, then the other. Guan Shan still won’t look at him, but this time he doesn’t move away either.

“You still got paint on your face.”

It’s crackling and tight on He Tian’s face now, the same way it’s crackling around Guan Shan’s fingers. On the wall behind them, the cat stands out surrounded by his fresh halo of red. That paint will fade too. It’s just how it is. Memories of this evening will shift, changing colors each time they’re remembered. The little cat that brought them so much careless laughter earlier has already gotten melancholic. But there’s something steady and unmoving despite it all, and Guan Shan must know it too.

“You know I mean it, right?” He Tian repeats. “You know I love you.”

Long seconds pass. The plastic crinkles with the wind, then Guan Shan lets out a sigh, letting himself drop back on the couch. They sit like puppets whose strings have been cut, thigh to thigh. Tired.

“Yeah, I know,” he says, almost whispering.

“Do you feel it?”

He nods, then lets his head roll back against the pillow to look at the sky. 

He Tian wonders how it feels, if it’s like the soft wind around them, if it tastes like the sugar coating his tongue or if it’s soothing like menthol and camphor. Maybe it stings like the knots in his shoulder in the middle of the night.

He Tian still selfishly hopes it lingers, that it feels eternal somehow, even when it gets harder to see. 

Guan Shan finds his hand and intertwines their fingers.

Above them, Orion hides behind the clouds. 

Chapter Text

July - 2 years prior

“No.”  

It was the very first word He Tian heard from Guan Shan the night they met again.

The southeastern district had barely changed. The maidenhair trees along the road had only gotten thicker, the potholes deeper but this side of town was already grey and deteriorated back when he was in high school, a couple neighbourhoods away. The tiny 24/7 shop with a washed out storefront and messy shelves was still open six years later. They used to get ice cream here after training, twice a week for months. When He Tian, now grown, came by to get a pack of cigarettes, the owner did not seem to recognize him.

He returned to his car, parked at a safe distance from the old gym but close to the park and waited, like he had done the last two days. Staking out like he was used to, trained to. Although this time, he had no outline written out in advance for him. No one in the earpiece telling him when to go. No plan, no ally but his own curiosity.

Hope was forbidden. Or rather, it was bound. Kept away and well hidden. Too heavy. Curiosity was light and playful. He Tian just wanted to know if Guan Shan was still boxing, if he still jumped like a startled rabbit at the smallest noise, if he still shaved his head every other month. He didn’t have to wonder if Guan Shan remembered him, but he did wonder if Guan Shan still favored his left hook or if he kept his sweet tooth. Mostly, he wondered if he was okay after all this time. 

There were no fireworks when he first saw Guan Shan coming out of the building two days before. There were no fireworks that night either, when Guan Shan walked out the door dressed in dark clothes. He was fumbling with the tangled cord of his earphones with a backpack on his shoulder and as he moved, a hint of a tattoo on his arm peeked from underneath the loose sleeve of his black shirt. He headed towards the park, walked past the basketball court and almost disappeared from He Tian’s view as he climbed the hill and sat on the grass above the playground. Up there, like he did the last two nights, he would listen to music and wait for the last bus of the night to arrive, an old shuttle that rattled like hell.

A long time ago, they bickered and talked all night over there, sitting on the swings that creaked under their weights. 

It felt right to approach him at that moment. The weather was nice and the park was empty. Cicadas chanted as He Tian walked along the beaten path of dirt cutting through the grass, past the playground, up the hill.

He Tian stopped a few meters away and waited for Guan Shan to look his way. When he did, he didn’t jump. He took out one of his earbuds and the music was loud enough for He Tian to hear. When his eyes travelled to He Tian’s, Guan Shan froze for a second. His shoulders dropped slightly, his mouth fell open. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head. 

“No,” he said, clear and simple, and turned the other way as he put his earbud back on. 

He Tian ignored it.

“Hi,” he offered instead.

Guan Shan turned back, frowned and clicked his tongue, as if he expected He Tian to have already vanished, as if he was disappointed he hadn’t. It felt familiar somehow, so He Tian smiled like he would have at sixteen years old, when rejection was so unusual to him it could only be met with amusement. Guan Shan’s hair was still short but longer than he’d ever kept it, spiky and unruly. Maybe the old clippers his mother used had finally collapsed. Or maybe Guan Shan had moved out and he hadn’t found the confidence to do it on his own yet. He wasn’t wearing any piercings on his ears but He Tian blamed it on the boxing.

“It’s been a long time,” He Tian continued. 

Guan Shan roughly rubbed his face, ripping both earbuds out and ran his hands through his messy hair. He licked at the fresh cut on his upper lip. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he mumbled, looking in He Tian’s direction but not at He Tian. Past him, as if he was transparent and shapeless.

So He Tian inched closer to stand firm and present in front of him, bending forward to get a closer look. The music continued to play hanging from Guan Shan’s lap, muffled and shrill. 

“What happened to your face?” He Tian asked, his hand already aching to reach forward.

Guan Shan glared up at him. His cheekbone was dark but healing, the lower lid of his left eye slightly swollen, his eyebrows furrowed and annoyed.

“What do you think, dumbass? I didn’t dodge fast enough.”

He Tian received the insult with a bit of glee, simply content to be seen.

“I assume whoever caused that is in an even worse state.”

Guan Shan hummed, though maybe it was closer to a groan then rose to his feet. He Tian was pleased to see that, even if Guan Shan had gotten a little taller, he hadn’t caught up to He Tian’s height.

“Street fight or ring fight?”

“Both. What- What are you doing here? I –” he shook his head again and threw his backpack over his shoulder. “Yeah, no – I don’t care,” 

He started walking away and He Tian followed closely.

“I got a bit of free time,” he said, making Guan Shan huff a small unamused laugh. 

“Free time?” Guan Shan repeated, colder. 

“Don’t go so soon. I could take you home,” he offered but Guan Shan kept on walking, working through the cord of his earphones that had gotten tangled again. He Tian continued before he could be drowned out. “I wanted to see you.”

Guan Shan stopped.

“I don’t,” he said. “I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to talk with you. So don’t follow me. I’m serious.”

He put his earphones back on. One last time, he repeated “Don’t,” and walked away.

He Tian stayed behind, telling himself that his younger self would have insisted but he wanted to show he had matured, that he could listen now. He told himself it was the proper thing to do and ignored a familiar numbness returning to him. 

He had expected more. Not better, not a tearful welcome. Just more. More than a few words, more than a turned back.

One of the swings was barely holding on, its rusty hooks nearly unscrewed. The other was out of reach for any kid that would have wanted it, hanging twisted and twirled around the metal bar it was hanging from. He Tian stretched up and pushed it down from the tip of his fingers, reuniting the two seats.

He didn’t return to his car until the rattle of the night bus and its lights disappeared around the corner of the street. 

*

The following evening, he considered staying in his hotel room, to leave it a day or two. Then the sun started to set. He went out and drove past the maidenhair trees. He parked, crossed the park and sat on the grassy hill first. If Guan Shan didn’t want to be followed, He Tian wouldn’t follow him, but he was free to join.

Guan Shan came out of the building and He Tian made a point to not stare, to not anger the beast more than necessary by making eye contact or showing teeth. He let him come and Guan Shan did, earphones in. He sat down cross legged a few meters away, far enough to make a conversation awkward, but close enough to be heard if one were to start.

He Tian relaxed, lit up a cigarette and leaned back on his elbows, risking grass stains on his white shirt. He followed Guan Shan’s distant gaze and both watched the shadow of an elderly man walking his dog at the edge of the park. He was crouched and slow and the dog was small and rowdy, pulling on the leash and yapping at everything. Guan Shan glanced He Tian’s way.

He pulled out his earbuds. No muffled sound was coming out of them.

“You’re going to stay there all quiet like a fucking weirdo?” 

He Tian gave a little shrug. 

“You said you didn’t want to talk with me. I’m not talking.”

“Don’t be a smartass,” Guan Shan said, turning away to pull at grass strands in front of him. His knuckles were dark and bruised, some of his fingers were taped with band-aids that peeled on the edges.

He Tian straightened up and moved a little closer.

“You come here often?” he asked. 

“Seriously?” Guan Shan said, monotone. “I haven’t heard something that lame in a while.”

“I didn’t think you’d let yourself be found again so easily, that’s all.”

It was Guan Shan’s turn to shrug, twisting a long stem between his fingers. “It’s my spot, not yours.”

He Tian gave a small nod. It had always been somewhat true anyway. The gym and everything around had always been Guan Shan’s territory, boxing was his thing. He Tian was happy to be invited. A perpetual guest. It meant more, in a way. To be let in.

The man and his tiny dog weren’t there anymore. He Tian’s hands went to the grass too, picking and twirling a strand around his thumb. “How are you?” he asked after a moment of silence, keeping his tone light.

“Fine.”

“Yeah?”

Guan Shan hummed. He let go of the grass to fidget with the strap of his backpack. “Your voice is weird”, he said. “How much are you smoking?”

He Tian shuffled closer again, until they were sitting side by side. At two or so arms’ length, but side by side nonetheless.

“Weird as in deep and sexy?”

“Weird as in weird. And scratchy.”

Guan Shan perked up as the mechanical rattle of the bus was heard. He brushed his hands on his sweatpants and stood up, stoppings He Tian with a hand before he could do the same.

“Don’t follow me,” he warned.

He Tian leaned back on his hands. “I have a car, you know.”

“I know. It’s hard to miss,” Guan Shan said, fixing his backpack on his shoulder. “Fucking show-off.”

“See you tomorrow,” He Tian threw before he was too far.

Without looking back, Guan Shan gave him the finger.

*

The next evening was hot and damp as the whole province entered a short heat wave. 

He Tian was enjoying a few more minutes of air conditioning in his car when someone knocked at his window. He lowered it, pretending to be taken by surprise as if he hadn’t watched him come in the rearview mirror. Guan Shan was cross-armed on the sidewalk and had swapped his large black t-shirt for a fitted tank top. Weather appropriate, but distracting.

“Good evening to you, officer,” He Tian said, leaning on the window frame. He put a sweet smile on. “What can I help you with?”

“You know it’s risky bringing a car like this around here? You’re gonna get it keyed.”

“I’ll live,” He Tian shrugged. The Audi wasn’t even his favorite. But it was hard to miss how Guan Shan was eyeing the dashboard.

“Are you sleeping in there?” Guan Shan asked when he saw he was caught.

“No. I’m staying at a hotel downtown. Do you wanna try it?” He Tian offered, tilting his head towards the wheel.

“Don’t fuck with me.”

“I’m not,” He Tian defended, then opened the door, ready to give his seat away. “Can you drive? I can teach you if -”

Guan Shan clicked his tongue.

“I can drive fine. Just not - this.” His hand hovered above the lines of the car, as if he was afraid to touch it.

“It’s just a car, it works the same as any other.”

“I’m not sure this and my mom’s 1996 Toyota Yaris are in any way comparable.”

He might have had a point. He Tian had seen this car go through more hardships than Odysseus. It made him nostalgic to think of it after so long, though it was a bit incredulous that it could still be escaping the junkyard to this day.

“Is it still running?” he asked.

“It’s nothing short of a fucking miracle, but yeah,” Guan Shan said though he didn’t look particularly inclined to discuss the old Toyota. Instead, he took a step back and scanned the black rims of the wheels. “How much horsepower? Like four hundred?”

“Five hundred thirty five.”

“Damn.”

He Tian laughed. 

He wouldn’t manage to get Guan Shan to come sit in the Audi that night though he still felt a touch of satisfaction as he watched the bus drive away.

*

Some things never change. There will always be a teen to forget their basketball in a public court for those in need. 

He Tian bounced the ball from his left to his right hand but the recoil wasn’t great. Deflated. He shot and hit the outer edge of the hoop, making the ball bounce away on the grass.

“You’re rusty,” Guan Shan said as he went to grab it.

“It’s been a while. Hand it over, I’ll hit a three pointer, you’ll see,” He Tian argued but Guan Shan ignored him, dribbling to the other side of the court. 

He Tian ran after him, tried to intercept the ball but Guan Shan turned to his left. He Tian reached to stop him but Guan Shan slid away, shot and scored.

He gave him a small, smug shrug, He Tian answered by sticking his tongue out, then undid his cufflinks to roll his sleeves up as well as a few buttons of his collar. His shirt was sticking to his back. Now better prepared for a rematch, he looked up to find Guan Shan’s eyes on the bit of chest he had just exposed. But before He Tian could remark on it, Guan Shan threw the ball in his face. He Tian caught it just in time to avoid a broken nose.

After a few more rounds, He Tian sat down at the edge of the court and Guan Shan got a water bottle out of his backpack. He drank a third of it, then handed it over.

“Don’t bother showing up tomorrow,” he said. “I won’t be here.”

“Friday night. You’re going out?” He Tian wiped his chin and undid another button. Guan Shan nodded. “With who?”

“Friends.”

“Just friends?”

“Don’t start.”

“What? It’s just a question.” He Tian defended as Guan Shan returned to dribbling the ball idly. He could have left it there. But again, he was curious. Itchy. “Are you seeing someone?”

“No,” Guan Shan said, but after a beat, he added “Not right now.”

He Tian let out a dry chuckle.

“‘ Not right now ’,” he parroted.

“Hey. You asked.” Guan Shan shot and scored again. “As if you’ve been living like a monk,” he said under his breath as he went to grab the ball back. 

“It’s fine,” Guan Shan continued, returning to the court, finding He Tian still sitting on the ground, arguably pouting. “Neither of us are in the wrong,” he said adamantly and He Tian hoped that he was also trying to convince himself. 

“It felt wrong,” he said as he stood up.

“Why?” Guan Shan asked and threw the ball at him. He asked though he knew. They were interwoven once. For a short while, maybe, but there’s always damage when two pieces are torn apart. And the blade that cut their ties six years ago had been painfully dull. The cut was unclean and left frayed edges and rotten shreds behind. So He Tian didn’t explain but instead looked at him pointedly. 

Guan Shan looked away. “Shoot,” he said.

“I’m sorry. For how it went,” He Tan told him, fingers grazing the rough surface of the deflated basketball. He had a speech - or twenty - that he often rehearsed in his head. Explaining all the ways he didn’t have a choice back then, how deeply it hurt him, too. But it all felt superfluous now. Guan Shan wouldn’t even look at him.

“We weren’t supposed to mix, we did it anyway, everyone said it wouldn’t end well. End of the story,” Guan Shan said. “Shoot,” he urged again but He Tian did not feel like playing anymore. He put the ball at his feet, frowning.

“You’re giving credence to what the - the fucking teachers said about us now? No, you don’t believe what you just said.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what I believe.”

“Listen, I really am sorry. But what we had, it was not wrong, and it was not a mistake. And you know that.”

“I don’t know shit and neither do you.”

“I get that you’re angry - ”

“Yeah, that you’ve fucking decided to show up!” he snapped. “That you’re - you’re digging things up. Has it occurred to you that maybe I just stopped thinking about you?” Guan Shan asked, then faced with He Tian’s frown, he sighed. “Of course not. You haven’t changed much, have you? Still so full of yourself.”

For a moment, He Tian didn’t know what to answer to counter this. Because no, it never occurred to him that it could be the case. And it touched something, deep and tender in his guts to be faced with an option he never confronted on his own. 

“We spent a lot of evenings here together,” He Tian tried to argue but it lacked assurance. “You can’t have forgotten them all.”

“We did and then you stopped coming and the place didn’t fucking vanish. And I made new memories. With people who aren’t you. Because you’re not the center of this world. You used to think I’d drop dead if you weren’t there to hold my hand, but guess what? It did not happen. I’m fine. I’ve been fine.”

He Tian stayed quiet for a moment, though part of Guan Shan’s words felt unfair. The rest simply hurt, but they were deserved.

“I would never wish for you to be unhappy,” he said eventually. That was the most important thing to correct. “If forgetting helped, I’m glad. I just couldn’t do it.”

“I didn’t forget. I just stopped wasting my time being pissed at you.”

“You’ve grown pragmatic.”

“I moved on. And it’s a bit pathetic that you haven’t.”

*

The next day, He Tian waited in the car, the gym’s door in his rearview mirror. It remained close but He Tian waited until midnight before driving away.

*

The following evening, he waited on the grassy hill again. The old man and his tiny dog walked past, then the rattle travelled down the street and He Tian remained alone, laying flat on his back. The sky was blurry and grey, tainted by the light of the lamp post a few feet away that created a layer of haze between him and the stars.

He heard footsteps but stayed still and kept looking up to the canopy of the highest trees. Then a backpack dropped by his side. 

“I missed the bus.”

He Tian slowly stretched up, making his shoulders crack.

“Do you need a ride?”

“No,” Guan Shan said, though he did not sit down. He Tian looked up and watched Guan Shan’s fidgety hands as a second of silence stretched. “Have you eaten?”

He had but it didn’t matter. He shook his head so Guan Shan led the way towards a hole-in-the-wall a couple streets down, He Tian quiet by his side. The restaurant was narrow and long inside and the panel at the entrance said it would be open until the early morning, before reopening for lunch time. Inside, most of the tables were empty; only a few workers in steel toed boots were eating by the bar. 

Guan Shan asked for braised pork and potatoes to the staff that came out of the kitchen and they settled at a booth in the corner of the room. He sat in front of He Tian, elbow on the table, resting his head on one hand, fidgeting with his earphone cord with the other. On the table, there was a stack of promotional flyers advertising bath houses and dance classes. He Tian found some expired coupon sheets in the pile, picked it out and started folding it in the diagonal. His fingers worked mindlessly until a small paper frog took shape. He put it down and flicked its tail. The frog jumped and flipped around, falling on its back. Guan Shan picked it up, put it back on its feet and made it jump again. 

When their plates arrived, He Tian was listening attentively as Guan Shan ranted about those hellish maidenhair trees, about how each year, they gave him worse allergies in the spring. The few people they might have bothered in the restaurant were far away but he kept his voice low. His voice had changed too but it was nothing weird, only deeper and more assured. His hand was healing, the bruises turning yellow and green and He Tian itched to touch them all evening, to trace them with feather-light pressure as if he could wish the cuts away.

“I started coaching too,” Guan Shan said quietly. “Kids - Teenagers. Thirteen to sixteen. They started growing a moustache yesterday and they act like they’re grown. They think they can rule the town but really, they’re just kids,” he explained but there was obvious fondness seeping through his words.

He Tian listened and was glad to learn through the bits and pieces shared that Guan Shan really wasn’t all that angry. Disturbed and shaken, sure, but not angry. Not at the teenagers they used to be themselves, at least. There were just kids too.

He Tian tried to give back. To share anecdotes about his travels, to show that he, too, worked and matured. Guan Shan listened and watched him as he talked, with a half-hooded, tired but steady gaze. Sometimes, his mouth curled into a little smile.

They kept talking long after they emptied their plates. Seven paper frogs watched them, aligned at the edge of the table.

*

“Your bus is gonna be late, you should come with me,” He Tian said, a day later.

“You’re clairvoyant now?”

“Come on. I told you I’d let you drive.”

*

They toured the city until three in the morning. Guan Shan drove cautiously and couldn’t help but grin whenever he made the engine roar. He Tian, comfortable in the passenger seat, took each of his smiles as a treat. He made a point of never asking if Guan Shan was tired, if he had something planned for the day after, never risking shortening their night out. Eventually, though, he guided Guan Shan out of the beltway and told him to turn left, then left again. 

Guan Shan knew the city well enough to realize they were heading downtown, where He Tian’s hotel was. Still, he never fought his instructions. They parked and Guan Shan’s face soured the moment they stepped inside the lobby, a large European-style room with marble moulding along the walls. Guan Shan was greeted by a valet in a three piece suit and reflexively brought a hand to his face, attempting to cover what was left of his bruised cheek. He Tian quickly ushered him into an elevator and asked the valet for room service.

Once inside the room, Guan Shan did not look that much more comfortable. He left his backpack by the door and hesitated to walk further inside, his shoulders tight. Thankfully what He Tian ordered arrived soon after. It came in a trolley with white napkins and two porcelain plates topped by silver bell covers. He Tian lifted them to reveal two cheap fruity ice cream cups made of bright flimsy cardboard with tiny plastic spoons glued to the lid, the kind they could buy at the 24/7 store by the old gym.

At the incongruous display, Guan Shan could only huff a laugh. 

“That looks fucking ridiculous.”

“I’ll have them both if you don’t want it,” He Tian said, reaching for the cups but Guan Shan snatched one of his hands. 

“I didn’t say that.”

They neglected the fancy room and its plush cushions to settle on the teak wood chairs of the balcony instead. They crossed their feet on the coffee table and popped open their little cups.

The view was pretty terrible up there during the day as the balcony was facing an uninteresting and almost always deserted street but during the night, it wasn’t so bad. The warm glow of the lamp posts made a much nicer atmosphere than the grey of the asphalt, even when it was baked under warm summer light. Either way, He Tian wasn’t really focused on the street downstairs that night.

Guan Shan had grabbed the best flavour, lychee and cream sorbet, leaving He Tian with a cup of bland vanilla and a hint of strawberry. They must have looked a little silly, eating with those little child-size spoons in their big hands but Guan Shan looked content again. He Tian was conscious of his stare but he couldn’t look away, transfixed by everything new and familiar that Guan Shan was presenting him.

He looked strong and healthy despite the bruising. His cheeks were fuller, his shoulders wider and the muscles of his arms were beautiful and defined. It was getting increasingly difficult for He Tian to keep his hands to himself and definitely impossible for him to ignore that Guan Shan was repeatedly glancing his way too. 

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one up. Guan Shan copied him. He Tian could have handed him the lighter, but he didn’t miss the opportunity to inch closer and lit the cigarette between Guan Shan’s lips himself.

“You smoke?” he asked.

“I shouldn’t. It worsens my cardio,” Guan Shan explained. His mouth fell open and he breathed out the smoke, then he glanced at He Tian. “Stop that.”

“What?”

“You’re gawking.”

He Tian tapped on his cigarette. “Is it a problem?”

“It’s hard to miss.”

“I wasn’t trying to be discreet,” he said, his eyes travelling from Guan Shan’s long legs, up to his throat, then back to his eyes. “I often thought about how you’d change.”

Guan Shan snorted and took another drag. His ears were growing red.

“Hope it’s not too disappointing,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, far from it.”

When Guan Shan reached forward to the ashtray on the table, He Tian caught his wrist with a loose hold and turned it over to have a better look at the letters inked into his skin. He inched closer and brought Guan Shan’s arm on his lap, mindful of the cigarette still burning between his fingers.

Guan Shan made no attempt to get his arm back as He Tian traced the thick lines of gothic script. Lyrics, He Tian assumed, though he didn’t know from which song. 

“People say it feels like cat scratches,” he muses.

“Yeah, that’s not so far off. It hurts more when it gets closer to the bone, though.”

“How many do you have?”

“A dozen,” Guan Shan said, snubbing out his dying cigarette. He Tian crushed his too, then turned to his side, his arm over the backrest. “I got a bunch done at once. It wasn’t the best idea. They’re not all as well done as this one.”

“Will you let me see them?”

Guan Shan arched an eyebrow, tried to look at He Tian blankly but he was clearly struggling to hide his smile. He Tian smiled too, without restraint. Their legs were touching.

“It’s lousy,” Guan Shan said.

“What is?”

“The way you flirt.”

A chuckle left He Tian’s mouth as he rested his head against his hand. With the other, he went to touch the thin tattoo on the side of Guan Shan’s neck. 

“I think it works fine.”

“Lousy,” Guan Shan repeated and the way he dragged out each syllable lured He Tian to his mouth.

He Tian went from a soft to a more present touch around his neck. He moved his thumb to Guan Shan’s jaw, then went higher, almost brushing his lips. Still, Guan Shan didn’t run but his heart beat fast against He Tian’s palm. His cheeks were getting flushed as he quickly glanced down.

“If I kissed you,” He Tian asked. “Would you try to throw me out the balcony?”

Guan Shan smirked, his eyes narrowed.

“I wouldn’t try. I’d succeed.”

He Tian moved closer again, until their noses were touching. 

Guan Shan moved back, but barely an inch, barely keeping the distance. “Have you prepared a parachute? Just in case?”

With the tip of his nose, He Tian grazed over his skin. He lifted his chin until their lips were so close, until they were breathing the same air but he kept on teasing, never quite crossing the line.

After a moment, Guan Shan bumped his forehead against He Tian’s, reprimanding.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?”

“The fall, I guess.”

Guan Shan kissed him first.

He Tian had often imagined it and in his mind it always went fast. That first kiss was slow at first, almost tentative. When Guan Shan broke it, He Tian stayed put and let him retreat, doing everything to not force the chase, to not push his luck. Guan Shan breathed out, he licked his lips, then kissed He Tian again, almost like he had imagined it. 

Guan Shan kissed with intent and though the thought wasn’t all pleasant to He Tian, he kissed with experience. His hands came strong against He Tian’s neck and made him understand quickly that he would not simply lay there and take it. He bit and licked with confidence and tasted of He Tian’s own cigarette, with some leftover sweetness on his tongue. 

This unexpected turn was electric. It filled He Tian’s head with a warm buzz and emboldened him to suck Guan Shan’s neck. 

“If you leave a fucking hickey, I’ll seriously kill you,” Guan Shan warned.

“Hm. So I’ve heard,” He Tian said against his skin, then delivered small kisses up his neck. When he found that one spot under his ear, Guan Shan let out the low moan He Tian was seeking after.

In retribution, Guan Shan’s hand went to his hair and he pulled on it. Hard. He Tian hissed, then slid a hand under the hem of Guan Shan’s shirt and brought him to his lap.

He Tian felt each of his senses like he had rarely felt them. It had been a long time since he had listened so closely, since he had been so willing to answer to every breath, to every move. Anything Guan Shan would have wanted, he would have given immediately. So he didn’t waste time when he felt a hand pulling his collar down, as if demanding that the buttons be taken off for him. 

Once the shirt was off, there was a small, delicious lull. Guan Shan’s gaze latched on to He Tian’s chest and he visibly swallowed. It felt so good that He Tian forgot to tease him for it.

He Tian dragged both hands under the hem of Guan Shan’s shirt and touched his taut stomach, then went up to his pectorals but Guan Shan wasn’t ready to get undressed so easily. He Tian accepted this as he was at least allowed to touch. He felt the muscles of his back flex and move under his palm, grabbing the meat of his thighs, the curve of his ass. 

Guan Shan had grown but He Tian had no trouble lifting him up, carrying him to the bed. He let him fall and bounce off the mattress then climbed over him, pulling his shirt up to kiss along his sternum but Guan Shan was relentless. He anchored his legs on both sides of He Tian’s hips and flipped them over. Now back on top, he was the one to take off his own shirt and He Toan grew so hard, so fast he could have sworn his virginity had returned. 

It started fast and ended fast.

Both fumbled like teenagers to push each other’s underwear down, just enough to free their hard, leaking cocks. Like in any decent hotel, there was lube in the bedside table but any trace of reason and measure was left on the balcony. They spat in their hands instead. 

Guan Shan came first. He Tian didn’t have time to find pride in that because he followed right after, the sound of Guan Shan groaning against his neck while his hand still worked erratically on them both pushing him over the edge. 

Guan Shan accepted one last kiss that night. One last perfect kiss where He Tian held him tight and close and felt him sight against his cheek. When Guan Shan moved back, he blinked away from the daze he had fallen too, then almost fled off He Tian’s lap. It could have been devastating but He Tian found no trace of regret in his eyes. It was simply as if his reserve of confidence had run out. He Tian grabbed his waist and tried to get him back where he was but Guan Shan flicked him in the head and shoved him back against the pillows. 

After a quick trip to the bathroom, he threw a towel on the bed for He Tian to clean up. His face was still all flushed and pretty. 

He Tian let him go reluctantly in the early morning, though he insisted that he should stay and get some sleep. The moment he left the room, He Tian missed him viciously but he understood Guan Shan had given a lot, a lot more than He Tian had any right to expect and that he needed some time to recharge. He Tian knew that he would be waiting for him on the grassy hill later that night anyway.

*

He Tian was about to get some shopping done in the afternoon when his brother called. He let it go to voicemail, but Cheng was stubborn.

“ Where were you? ” he said when He Tian picked up his third call. 

“That’s none of your business, I’m afraid. I’m on vacation, remember?”

“ He Tian, I need to tell you something .”

*

Once He Tian reached the back of the black Berliner, Qiu rolled the driver’s window down and greeted him with a smile. He Tian smiled back, despite himself. They hadn’t seen each other in two weeks, the longest time they spent apart in years. Although it would be too much to say He Tian had missed him, he was relieved to know Qui would be present.

Unfortunately, the moment He Tian sat down in the backseat, Qiu left the car. He Tian immediately stiffened. 

Qiu stayed for every conversation. Qiu knew and chaperoned everything. Qiu mediated when the two brothers inevitably pushed each other’s buttons and Cheng didn’t seem to be in a particularly light mood. His voice on the phone had been odd and He Tian already craved a smoke. He had never been a fan of family-restricted announcements.

“How are you?” Cheng asked and He Tian felt short of breath. 

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

“Cut to the chase. Spare me. Fucking please”

“Alright.”

It took a few seconds for Cheng to start talking. Usually it meant he was calculating, picking his words to guarantee an outcome that’d be advantageous to him but this time, he seemed unsure. He was hesitating, which was so out-of-character it left He Tian frozen in his seat while his brother readjusted the bottom of his sleeves. Again and again.

Cheng eventually explained. He recounted their recent travels and a series of mishaps he noticed along the way, each of them small and easily explained but examined all together, they left a breadcrumb trail.

“A Russian mole again?” He Tian asked.

Cheng let out a small, dry laugh.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, it was dad.”

He Tian remained quiet for a moment.

“No, it’s not,” he said, huffing in disbelief. “How would you even know?”

Cheng closed his eyes and let his head fall against the seat.

“I just know.”

“You’re spying on him?”

“Oh it’s a fair game. Trust me.”

“Can you stop talking in circles for once in your fucking life?” He Tian said and it sounded too loud for the narrow space. “It’s not the first time we have to deal with sabotage.”

“It was him. I’m certain of it,” Cheng maintained, finally looking back to He Tian.

“Why would he bother doing that?”

“Because we’re slipping away from him, because he’s bored? I don’t know. And I don’t care. He put us in danger.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” He Tian mumbled, slouching back into his seat. 

“It’s different now. It was intentional.”

“My point stands.”

“It’s planned,” Cheng insisted. “It’s thought through, it’s premeditated- It’s not just one of his outbursts. And I don’t fucking know what his end goal is.”

“But… why?”

Later, He Tian would question why he was even surprised by the news, why his first reaction was to fight back and to refuse to face that a man that had never shown them any warmth could get to that point.

“Has he ever needed a reason?” Cheng said quietly, looking out the window. He pinched the edge of his sleeve again, pressing the fabric down, tracing along the hem. “I’m going to break away from him,” he continued. “The things he claims for himself are mine. They’re ours. I want to make sure it’s secure before doing anything too drastic.”

He Tian frowned. 

“You have a plan.”

“Yes.”

“Do I have a part in it?”

Cheng took a long breath, then he turned towards He Tian. 

“That’s up to you,” he said. “You can stay out of it, do the minimum to keep up appearances, just to be safe.”

“But?”

“There’s no ‘but’.”

He Tian rolled his eyes. Cheng has always loved the small characters at the bottom of contracts.

He didn’t react at He Tian’s usual display of insolence and kept his voice uncomfortably soft.

“There isn’t. If that’s what you chose, I’ll accept it.” He paused for a second. “I won’t be mad,” he added and it touched somewhere deep in He Tian’s chest. He could have snickered and brushed it off but that tone of voice meant something. A long time ago, it used to mean that the monsters under the bed were gone. Now the monster was right ahead and this one was not just in his head.

“But?” He Tian asked again, moving away from that fragile spot.

“But there’s a lot to do,” Cheng acknowledged. “And I really could use your help.”

*

Cheng also has a scar. Hidden under his hair. He Tian never asked where he got it. He never had to. He could imagine. And had he asked, Cheng would have told him that it happened because he was reckless one day when he was little, that he ran out on a rainy day and slipped on the mossy wet stones. 

*

He Tian knocked a second time at Guan Shan’s apartment door. He knew he was home. He could hear music through the thin walls but the volume wasn’t loud enough to muffle his calls.

He Tian went to knock a third time but the door opened. Guan Shan’s face had lost the warmth it had in the hotel room. Under the bright halogen light of the corridor, he appeared tired and pasty. Upset.

He had missed their nightly meeting the night before, breaking a ten day streak. By the time Cheng had stopped talking, the night bus must have already been driving away from the gym. He Tian wasn’t supposed to know his address - Guan Shan had never shared it - but the matter was too urgent and he had to be on the east coast as soon as possible. 

“I have to go for a while. But I’ll be back soon,” He Tian rushed to say.

“Okay?”

“Something came up at work and-” 

“It’s none of my business,” Guan Shan said, disinterested.

He Tian continued anyway. “It’ll be back in a month, at worst.”

“Okay? What do you want me to say?”

He Tian chewed on his next words.

“I know what it looks like,” he said eventually. 

“Just because we fucked once doesn’t mean we’re doing that boyfriend shit again.”

“I just want to see you again. I don’t care what you call it.”

*

“‘ One month ’, huh?” Guan Shan asked, arms crossed in his doorway.. 

His hair was freshly shaved. Outside, the maidenhair trees had turned yellow.

“I got stuck in traffic.”

As expected, the door slammed shut in He Tian’s face.

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he started evaluating a new strategy. Part of him regretted deciding against bringing a gift, the other part of him thought it would have somehow made things worse.

Before he could decide on the next steps, the door opened and Guan Shan came out, putting a jacket on.

“I’m hungry,” he said, heading to the staircase. “You’re paying.”

He Tian followed.

*

At the beginning, they were seeing each other sparingly, only a few hours, here and there during the week because Guan Shan would always escape before risking mellowing too much. But he would come back. Four days later, then two. He would never let himself be kissed for too long, but one night, he stayed over. He said he was too tired to go home. One night turned into a week and then Guan Shan hinted at seeing other people. He Tian got mean, Guan Shan got meaner and left.

Two days later, Cheng called. 

They made it a tradition, for lack of better alternatives. Every time they parted, Guan Shan would get mean and cold, always retreating first, never asking for more. He Tian accepted it because it was only fair. He bit his tongue and ignored the cruel words, always telling himself he would rather take that over indifference. Then back at Cheng’s side, he would change cars, change phones. Time would slow but he would focus and hold his breath, for a few weeks, or a month or three.

Guan Shan never felt at ease in the hotels, so He Tian settled in a condo, close enough from Guan Shan’s apartment without being suffocating. Each time, he’d return to find the city had yet again changed. The old gym closed without notice and He Tian found Guan Shan moving trash out of a dusty, decrepit warehouse his coach got a hold of through heaven knows what connection.

 First they cleared the main hall, and little by little, it started looking like a real training gym, like a place that could be theirs. But it demanded funds, so Guan Shan started the fights - the real ones, that could leave him concussed and bleeding. He Tian found a fat stack of bills in his bag one afternoon and the look on Guan Shan’s face was like nothing he had ever seen before. Cold, but almost smug. A bit of twisted pride and a clear warning in his eyes. I won that. Don’t you dare tell me it’s wrong . 

A few days passed, then he explained more of what they wanted to make of this place and all He Tian could hear was please, trust me .

*

After a particularly difficult negotiation that lasted until dawn, Cheng opened the most expensive bottle of baiju He Tian had ever tasted. They drank it on the patio of their penthouse near the Northern border and waited for the sun to rise. Qiu’s idea.

No one spoke while the sky went from gray to orange. 

“I’ll kill him,” Cheng said.

He Tian emptied his cup.

“I won’t get in your way.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

*

People say power is addictive. So far, He Tian had enjoyed the pretty things that came with it, - the woolen coats and the leather shoes - but the responsibilities had been burdensome and to be avoided at all cost. Suddenly, he found himself seeking after them. If it had anything to do with the fact that his brother thought of them as rewards, He Tian wouldn’t think about it. 

His life had been strange and it only got stranger. Gunshots never got less unpleasant to hear. Some people from their teams disappeared. Sometimes by their own volition, sometimes they just decided to quit this life while they still had two working hands and two working eyes. They ran with the little money they amassed that didn’t get wasted on drugs and bets and overpriced, low grade diamonds. Most often, though, it wasn’t their choice. They simply vanished, and He Tian and his brother were too busy to care. 

He Tian crossed through the country too often to count. He drove alone through the night and when he took a break to rest, the physical exhaustion never made it easier to find sleep.

Guan Shan threw jabs at his dark circles but always pushed more food his way. Whenever He Tian got a new scar, Guan Shan struggled to look at it for too long. 

If he cared like this, He Tian could bear it all. Maybe, with a little more luck, a little more patience, a little more time , this could be enough. And when all is done, they could build something strong and find somewhere safe to lick their wounds.

*

Cheng was absent. It was one of those days where He Tian and Qiu were stuck in a room with discussions dragging on for hours because nobody fully respected his authority yet. They feared him alright but no one trusted him to actually, finally, shadow his brother. It shouldn’t have been that irritating. On top of that, it was making him late. He was meant to be driving to the condo hours ago.

The intermediary had left the room to figure out their next move with his team, leaving He Tian and Qiu at the meeting table with an armed guard behind the door to dissuade them from leaving. He Tian was growing impatient but this contract needed to be signed before he could leave. Qiu, on the other hand, did not seem particularly worried about their situation. He was bored though, which made him chatty.

“I knew it was odd for you to always return to that old place. You have far better properties in the area and nothing exciting ever happens in this town. I don’t know why I didn’t think about him right away –”

“Because your brain fossilised decades ago,” He Tian cut him off, tapping furiously on the table with the tip of his pen. 

“-- but goddamn Cheng didn’t even think to tell me, that fucker. Seriously, would it kill him to let himself gossip for a moment? And you… Do you twirl your hair like a schoolgirl at night thinking about him?”

“It’s not what you think,” He Tian said, deflating on his chair and dropping his pen on the table. It made the guard jump. Amateur.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re willing to drive ten hours just to trade marbles,” Qiu mocked. “It’s exactly what I think it is and it’s stupid. I don’t wanna jinx it but–”

“So shut up.”

“You want to have your cake and eat it too. It rarely ends well.”

He Tian closed his eyes. Qiu kicked him in the shin.

“Are you listening?”

May 28th 07:14 a.m. - Bleeder

“ Are you listening? ”

“ He Tian ,” Cheng says again.

He Tian runs a hand through his hair, pressing his nails into his scalp and down his nape where he pinches at the skin. He breathes out.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

He didn’t have to anyway. He knew what was coming the second the screen of the burner phone lit up. He heard Cheng’s voice in the back of his mind before he even picked up. The lack of sleep must be getting to him. His eyes are itchy, unable to focus on the cars rushing down the road in front of the balcony. 

“I’m not supposed to return for another two weeks.”

“ I know. I would have never bet on Krai deciding to make a move so soon, ” Cheng says. “ I’m not bouncing off the wall with this situation either, alright? We’re not even ready on the east side yet …”

“You handpicked him. Can’t complain now.”

“ I can’t be dealing with Nanjin and the southern ports at the same time ,” Cheng replies. He sounds just as tired as He Tian feels. “ That’s why I need you here quickly .”

“Hmm. I got the message.”

“ So? ”

“So?”

Cheng sighs. He Tian knows he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, probably rolling his eyes too. Though as he stubbs out his cigarette on the balcony railing, the picture isn’t as amusing as it usually is.

“ So how soon can you get here? ” Cheng asks, his tone already getting sharper. “ What are you- ”

“ Hello, ” Qiu suddenly singsongs on the other side. “ Did you get the news? The campaign is officially starting. ” He Tian barely gives him a small hum. “ Damn, everybody’s woken up on the wrong side of the bed today. ”

“Why are you so jovial?” He Tian asks, monotone. 

“ Same reason you two are being all cranky, I suppose. Lack of sleep. It makes you irritable, it makes me delirious. To each their own. ” There’s a small moment of silence before he continues. “ I’ve been waiting for this for a long time . ”

“Nice bonus on the way, I’m sure.”

The truth is Qiu would do all this and more for a handshake and a pat on the head if it came from the right person. The truth is no number could properly reward his loyalty to Cheng but they keep some bills between them for plausible deniability. And each time Qiu goes out, he spends it all to the last dime and pretends he’s not relieved to have an excuse to return and earn some more. 

“ You have no idea. ”

“I can imagine,” He Tian says and wishes he put more bite into it. He wants to be sixteen again and sting without fearing regret. But He Tian isn’t sixteen anymore and he is too tired to pick up a fight. Qiu doesn’t taunt him, either. 

 “ So, when are you coming back? ”

He Tian clenches his teeth. Since he forgot his pack on the kitchen counter, he can’t occupy his hands with another cigarette and he’s forced to look at the yellow stain of nicotine on the side of his middle finger. He scrapes the nail of his thumb against it, deeper and deeper, to peel off the skin. He glances behind the glass door to the empty living room. Guan Shan must still be sleeping, but He Tian lowers his voice anyway. 

“How much more time here do you think I could secure?” he asks, now grateful Qiu took over the line.

Qiu clicks his tongue and lets out a long sigh. 

“Well,” he starts.“If I had to talk for your boss – who’s not allowed to get the phone back now because he’s being a sourpuss … – I’d say we could stall for a couple of days. But your brother’s right. He can’t be everywhere at once and people need to see us face-to-face if we want to keep them on our side.”

“Give me until the 1st.”

Bargaining. Always bargaining.

“ The 1st? ” Qiu asks before Cheng says. “ We’ll manage .”

*

He Tian remains sat at the table. He thought of getting back in bed. The covers must be perfectly warm and Guan Shan is always pliant and soft in the early morning. He could hide there for a few more hours but he doesn’t have it in himself to carry out a lie, even a wordless one. 

Guan Shan comes out of the bedroom eventually, carrying with him the black sweater that laid on the floor all night, twisting and turning it right-side out to wear over his thin shirt. But before he can put it on, he finds He Tian sitting slouched on his chair.

“What’s going on?”

He Tian stays quiet. Guan Shan’s eyes travel to the phone on the table, then back to He Tian’s miserable face. 

His shoulders drop.

“Are you –”

“Not now,” He Tian says, as if it changed anything. “But Sunday. Early in the morning.”

For a moment, Guan Shan doesn’t move. He stays on the other side of the room and stares at nothing. He Tian braces himself for what could come but both of their fingers are still stained red from the paint they shared. He hopes it could be different this time. 

But his meager wish is quickly broken. After a few slow blinks, Guan Shan shakes himself out of his trance and lets the sweater drop on the couch.

“Okay…” he says, nodding to himself. “Okay.” 

Then with a small humourless huff, he walks away, back into the bedroom. He Tian hears the rustling of clothes being crumpled into a bag. Slowly, he gets up and goes to the bedroom as well but Guan Shan walks past him.

“What are you doing?” He Tian asks.

“I’m packing up,” Guan Shan says. “That’s how it works, right?” His tone is strangely calm yet his movements are hasty and rough as he pulls his phone charger out of the socket.

“Hey,” He Tian tries but Guan Shan won’t look his way and keeps gathering all the little things he scattered around the condo the last few weeks. There are bits of him everywhere; earphones on the coffee table, a pack of gum, his jacket over the chair. When he reaches for it, He Tian catches his wrist. “Don’t do this,” he tries again but Guan Shan shoves his hand away.

The mass growing on He Tian’s shoulders become too difficult to carry and he drops on the couch. With his elbows on his knees, he rubs at his face.

“We both knew it was coming,” he says. 

This makes Guan Shan halt. The layer of apathy he was wearing has left his face. 

“You said six weeks,” he snaps. “ You said it. You made the timeline. I didn’t fucking ask for it.”

Before He Tian can find any word that could soothe the situation. Guan Shan shoves the jacket into his bag.

“Don’t waste your time,” he continues. “I know what you’re going to say.”

He expects the same speech He Tian has rehashed again and again. It’s for work, something just came up. It won’t take long, just a couple months. It’s not forever, you know that. But it’s urgent, I have to go. 

“No, you don’t. It’s different this time. It could be the last time,” he says, a bit louder to make Guan Shan listen. “But I’ll need to wrap up something first and I’m not sure how long it’ll take but once it’s done…”

“I don’t care.”

He Tian bites the inside of his cheek. He shakes his head.

“You can’t keep on hiding behind that.”

“Now you want to talk things out? Or you’re just going to say something vague that makes no sense? Evading, like you always do?”

He Tian bites the inside of his cheek. He shakes his head. He doesn’t want a fight but if it’s inevitable, they might as well touch the painful core of it.

“When I try to explain, you tell me you don’t care. You always keep me at arm’s length, so you can’t be mad that that’s where I stay.” 

Guan Shan’s face hardens. He never liked being pushed out of his den but He Tian keeps going anyway. “‘ This is a sham ’, that’s what you said last time, remember? I agree that there’s an act carrying on between us but it’s not coming from me.” He softens his tone. “If you cared as little as you always say you do, you wouldn’t get so upset.”

He Tian stands up but for each step he takes forward, Guan Shan takes a step back.

“If I could stay, I would. You know I would.”

“Do I?”

“I love you.”

It doesn’t do anything to tame Guan Shan’s anger. His face remains hard but for a second he closes his eyes like he’s been struck. 

“No,” he says. His lips twist down and something that looks too close to disgust takes over. “No, you don’t get to use that.”

“I’m not using it. It’s the truth. I haven’t said it as much as I should have, but it’s always been there.”

“Alright, should I get on my knees and fucking thank you for it, then? What does it change?”

That comes like a claw, clutching and piercing He Tian’s guts.

“See? You get cruel when you’re hurt.”

“Then I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

Guan Shan slings his backpack on his shoulder and heads towards the door. He Tian moves faster and blocks the corridor. It can’t end here.

“Move.”

“No.” 

“He Tian, move.” He goes to force his way through. At first, He Tian refuses to budge but Guan Shan gets rougher and the way his breath hitch doesn’t sound so much like anger anymore. It’s growing into panic. 

He Tian relents.

“I don’t want us to part like this. Not again.”

“You - You can’t twist things like that, He Tian. We don’t part. You leave.” His voice breaks, hurt seeping through. He makes a small noise in his throat, frustrated and high, then looks at He Tian with reddened eyes. “You think you’re some kind of gift, coming in and out of my life whenever it’s convenient to you?”

“Guan Shan -”

“No. Stop. You just make a mess.”

“Please, don’t go.”

He was tucked warm and safe in a bed they shared for days and days just a few moments ago. They should return there. Hide from all this. 

“It’s been two fucking years of this.”

“And it won’t be much longer, I promise. And I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” He Tian curls his hands into tight fists by his side before they reach on their own to hold Guan Shan’s face. He can’t force him close after he’s tried so hard to escape. All he has is words. “We’ve made it this far.”

“To where? Where are we heading?” Guan Shan spits. He shakes his head. “This is too much.”

“It’ll get better,” He Tian repeats but it sounds empty, like he doesn’t believe it himself.

“When? Tell me when?” Guan Shan asks again. “Are we talking next month, or in a year, or – or in a whole decade? Tell me when, because - I’m not a fucking saint, and I sure as hell am not my mother, He Tian. When?”

A sudden silence coats the suffocating corridor. He Tian can’t find anything to say. He knows repeating ‘soon’ isn’t worth anything anymore. 

“I don’t know,” he says quietly after a moment. “But we still have a few days,” he throws in a last ditch attempt getting closer to the door to put his hand on the handle before Guan Shan can do it first. “Just- Please don’t go.”

Guan Shan’s shoulder and head drop.

“I’m tired,” he mutters. “I’m really so tired of – of this.”

He turns away and brings his hand to his face, hiding to roughly wipe off the heavy tear threatening to roll down his face. He swallows and takes a steadying breath. He Tian’s hand tightens around the handle.

“Let go,” Guan Shan sighs, his voice a raw whisper. “Please.”

The door doesn’t slam shut, it closes in a small, ordinary click, the softest blow that leaves He Tian bleeding on the threshold.

*

A few hours later, He Tian slowly gets up from the couch. He ignores the black sweater abandoned near him and rubs at his eyes. They are stinging from staring at the white ceiling for so long. He manages to get down to the underground parking lot, because going for a drive doesn’t sound like it’d fix anything but right now, he can’t think of anything better to do. He’d like to stop thinking altogether for a moment.

He takes the beltway, then the first exit to the southeastern district. He doesn’t exactly do it on purpose, he doesn’t make an effort to change direction when he realizes where he’s going either. He’s simply taken by the current. He knows there’s nothing to find there anyway. 

He drives past the old gym that was sold long ago and turned into offices to rent, past the maidenhair trees that have been chopped and unrooted to make space for a larger road.

He Tian finds himself drifting again but he keeps going, turning without purpose down streets he’s never bothered to visit. 

When he returns to himself, he is somewhere at the very edge of the city. He parks before risking getting taken away even further.

The sun shines bright as if it was mocking him but he had refused to touch the sunshield until now. When he lowers it, the picture is still there. Yellowed paper folded up, safely tucked under the leather strap. 

He Tian takes the picture to his lap and opens it. He traces his mother’s smile with the tip of his finger. 

His throat swells up.

Chapter Text

May 31st 07:17 p.m. - Shopworn

He Tian glares at the printer’s screen. 

‘Low ink level : Please change cartridge’ it says, though every gauge is nearly full, except for magenta. He’s already looked through the drawers and only found one yellow cartridge left over. He doesn’t need colors anyway so he ignores the warning and presses the PRINT button again. The machine lets out a strident beep and repeats the warning. ‘Low ink level : Impression quality could be compromised. Do you want to proceed?’ He presses the button again and during a second of silence, he hopes that stupid machine can figure out how to print documents in grayscale using the ink from the very full black cartridge instead of begging for magenta. 

The printer finally executes its task and He Tian leans against the desk that stands on the condo’s mezzanine, watching his collection of evidence slide into the tray. 

Qiu had forwarded a small file in the middle of the night, barely 600kB. He Tian was obviously not sleeping at three in the morning and opened it right away, finding two newspaper excerpts. The first was published online by local media six months ago. It was an eulogious portrait of an entrepreneur and his bright ideas to modernize the southern districts, where the warehouse is located. 

The second document was the digitized version of a physical article going nearly fifteen years back. This one relayed the unraveling of a construction scandal that took place in west Chengdu, a large fraud exposed after a brand new residential building collapsed one November morning, killing twenty-three people and injuring two hundred more. It said the blame was put on the estate promoter of the project who posed proudly on the picture near the building’s gate, that he and the construction company agreed to cut costs beyond reason and neglected safety to maximize their profit. Six other residential buildings were deemed unsafe and had to be demolished the following months. Fifteen men served jail time for it except the promoter, who was considered the fraud’s ringleader, as well as his closest collaborators. They all went missing and were suspected to have fled the country to avoid prosecution.

The names of the main characters of each article were different, one of them wore glasses and fifteen years separated the two pictures. But putting them next to each other, the first man could easily be seen as the younger version of the latter. Qiu wouldn’t settle with mere physical similarities, so He Tian went digging and quickly found a bucket full of breadcrumbs tying up these pseudo Clark Kent and Superman. 

They had the same wife, for one, and that was quite a coincidence. The woman - who probably thought she was sufficiently safe from the public eye to forgo a name change - officially divorced the promoter and is now being claimed as the entrepreneur’s wife though He Tian couldn’t find any marriage certificate. Same diplomas too, though that’s also just a claim since there was no proof either attended the university they said they graduated from. 

It all pieced itself together too nicely. One vanished, never to reappear, the other had no past but popped into existence five years ago to lead a successful working site in another province. Both lied about every credential they might possess and dined with the same people. One wore a poorly fitted suit, the other had the plump cheeks and neck of someone who eats well. Both kept a jolly expression and clean hands by paying others to intimidate and secure contracts and undervalued property. 

Soon He Tian was emerging from a whole night and day spent in a blur. He hadn’t slept much and forwent eating altogether but he has before him more than enough to attest to the conflicted past of that ambitious round-faced entrepreneur. Now he must figure out how to make sure knowledge of such a past can protect the warehouse. There’s always a domino to push. Always a snag, a blemish to scratch, always a little nib that can be blown out of proportion ; an affair to expose, late financing, an old rivalry between two board members, even baseless gossip can do. But this is big, almost too big to be useful with the resources at hand.

He Tian picks a black leather binder out of the desk drawer. Paper isn’t his preferred medium but going at it the old fashion way seems  more realistic than encrypting the documents. Once the printer is done, it shrieks again, still complaining about the lack of fucking magenta. He Tian picks everything up and reorders the papers into the most comprehensive order, then he annotates the most ambiguous ones ; the contracts full of legalese, the forged diplomas, the commercial ties. He highlights the important parts and circles the dates. 

Once he’s done, he closes the binder with its rubber strap and pauses the frenzy that had carried through the early morning to face a bitter realization. He has collected ammunition for a very distant target. That’s about it. And he’s not so sure bullets have any reason to exist without a gun. It might as well be absolute nothingness between his hands.

Guan Shan has little leverage and a single command. “No backfiring,” he said and but backfire it will if He Tian doesn’t figure out a solid line of defense. The truth alone will not stand between that man and the money he’s about to make, especially if he’s expecting to see his reputation regilded on top of a few million yuan.

Guan Shan could slam the evidence on the desk of the government representative in charge of the sites and they might not bat an eye. Hell, they might already know. And even if they don’t, and even if they care to investigate, they’d just hire someone else and it’s back to square one. They might get annoyed at this disturbance. They’ll start finding lead in the pipes to have more excuses to destroy the neighbourhood. 

He Tian could buy the warehouse, the thought crossed his mind a few times but Guan Shan was right, a simple check can’t fix all of this. The warehouse would stand, alone while the nearest buildings are torn down and then what? All it takes is a gallon of gas and a few matches. The cans of spray paint would finish the job. At least the canvases are made of polyester, they wouldn’t ignite too easily but a couple of big flames are more than enough to scare people off for good, to make them give up.

When the sun starts coming down on the city, He Tian is still pacing in the living room. Qiu was still responsive through the morning but he stopped answering hours ago and He Tian has to be on the road soon. The answers will not fall on his lap out of nowhere. He might just drive tonight; he abandoned the idea of getting any sleep.

For a moment, while he watches the sun coming down, he considers keeping the binder to himself. He could build a stronger case and go after the contractors himself once his own issues are settled but he can’t tell how much his family name will be worth in a couple months. Qiu was positive they would not make major moves for at least a year but they won’t lay dormant until then. They’re most likely securing more funding and connections and the more respectable they appear, the more they slither into official circles, the harder it’ll be to cancel the whole project.

He Tian can imagine it well, unfortunately. They’ll stick large planes over the warehouse’s concrete walls, burying the colorful dragons under shiny white plaster. They’ll replace the windows, change the floors, and keep the open layout. They’ll place a booth at the entrance where they would check for tickets and gauge outfits because it would not be a place for everybody anymore. It would be a place for champagne flutes and judgment, for the kind of art that gets locked in dark rooms and used as proof of status. And the proper people will philosophize about it, they’ll twirl their crystal glasses and invoke Latin phrases to put sense into the absurdity of the rituals they partake in.

Fuck memento mori, He Tian decides. The warehouse will not die.

And Guan Shan deserves to know, at least, that there’s a way out of it. A path, albeit unclear where the vultures won’t follow. He sounded so sure that the colors layered all over the rooftop were doomed to fade.

He Tian collects what little is left in the condo and fills the trunk of his car before taking the road to the warehouse. If Guan Shan refuses to see him, Ming Na might be talked into accepting the package. Or he’ll bribe a kid to act as a courrier, or cause a scene. Chain himself to the door. Anything. He’ll find a way.

*

The street is not like it should be. As he gets closer to the warehouse, He Tian finds the sidewalks busy with groups of men heading the same way, all of them already agitated. It’s the kind of movement that usually goes with a party night, but He Tian can’t recall hearing about another one happening so soon. Such a crowd can only mean Guan Shan is fighting.

He Tian is almost facing the entrance when he’s blocked in the middle of the road by two men arguing. They throw insults at each other before one of them gets in his car and drives off hastily, nearly taking another car’s rear view mirror on his way. He Tian takes his spot and gets out of his car, the leather binder held tight at his side.

Party nights have never meant to be a display of good manners and restraint. They’re an outlet. A messy, nearly vital moment of catharsis, but they’re not devoid of order and rules - the main one being that the mess stays inside. Before the fun starts, everyone heads inside at a steady pace. The regulars always come early to get the best spots and the last rows get filled through the evening by the guys who had to take an extra hour building up the courage to show up. The crowd naturally manages itself that way and everyone keeps their excitement to a manageable level until it can be spread within the safety of the concrete walls. Spillages are tolerated, because they can’t possibly be completely avoided. The music and the cheers are always too loud to be contained and a couple drunken quarrels might occur in the street but they remain marginal.

But now, having everyone packed against the gates, shouting and pushing to get through the small door before the sun has even set is definitely unusual. Guan Shan and his coach are nowhere to be seen, either unaware of the situation or losing their fucking minds trying to resolve it.

Someone slips and bumps into someone else’s shoulder, starting another spat by the doorway. It’s like dropping a stone into a pond. People circle the two men like ripples around them and He Tian uses the breach to his advantage, shoving them both out of his way to get past the door.

Inside, the scenery is more familiar, though the air is tense rather than jovial. There’s no music in the background, no bass evening the chatter, only an uncoordinated crowd and shouts spiking above the noise.

A group of men are standing on the wooden edges of the main red ring, distributing beers out of large coolers. A guy larger than all of them is leaning on the pillar, talking to the people beneath him like he owes the place. It takes a second for He Tian to remember his face. He was the announcer for the fight a month ago, the one that took place the first night He Tian came back to the city. The guy who tried to scam Guan Shan out of his bets. A man in the crowd hands him a few bills in exchange for a blue paper. Clearly, the correction he was given was not enough.

Fairly quickly, He Tian finds Ming Na in the corridor, one hand tight on the office room’s handle, the other holding her phone to her ear.

“No. Don’t-” she says, then glares at her phone screen. She grunts. Whoever was on the line hung up on her. 

She looks up and her sullen expression only turns more sour when her eyes set on He Tian and the little bit of relief he felt to have found her vanishes immediately. As usual, they don’t bother with niceties.

“What do you want?” she asks, still blocking the door.

“Where is he?”

“Why should I tell you?”

He Tian takes a steadying breath. She’s supposed to be his back-up so he can’t double down on their shared animosity but she’s not giving him a lot to work with.

“How come he’s fighting again already?”

“He’s not,” she snaps. “Not if I have a word in this. I’ll tie him up myself before he gets to the ring if I have to.” 

Her phone rings again. She sighs and opens the door an inch.

“You stay here, am I clear?” she says, addressing someone inside the office through the small opening, then closes the door again before walking further down the corridor to take her call.

Having not been warded off, He Tian opens the office door and takes a look inside. A high voice greets him.

“Hi,” Yichen says, looking rather hyper.

“Oh. Hi,” He Tian greets back, trying not to look too obvious he was hoping to find someone else. “Are you grounded here?” The kid shrugs and his crooked smile is definitely contrasting with the strained ambiance that has taken over the place. He’s sat on the wooden bench, but it’s like he’s keeping himself from bouncing in his seat. “What do you look so happy for?”

Yichen slouches against the wall. His face is completely healed now and he has pulled his hair out of his face with a black headband. The black sweatpants he’s wearing still aren’t quite his size, but they fall crumpled on his shoes instead of coming short above his ankles. 

“Iunno. Something’s happening.” 

“Do you know what’s going on?”

“It’s weird, right? It’s not a normal party, it wasn’t announced like usual. I only heard my uncles talking about it a couple hours ago but Coach didn’t say anything about it.”

He Tian crosses his arms and leans against the door frame.

“Does he usually talk to you about it?” he asks conspiratorially.

“No but-”

“Right. Because he doesn’t want you kids around for this.”

Yichen trades his smile for a pout and clicks his tongue.

“I know, I know. But it was weird,” he insists. “I just wanted to have a look for myself, and when I walked by, it was like everyone from the other district was at the door. It’s like nobody from our neighbourhood even knew it was gonna happen,” he says, then points his finger towards the main hall. “They’re invading us.”

“And that’s exciting to you?”

“Not really. But we might have to kick them out. I could help.”

“How did you even get past everyone?” He Tian asks. Yichen pinches his lips and takes a quick, guilty glance to the side. He Tian scoffs. “The window again? You must really want him to kick your ass.”

“He doesn’t have to know if you don’t tell.”

“You can’t fool him like that,” He Tian says, shaking his head.

From the corner of his eye, he catches someone making their way down the corridor. Zi Hao stops by his side and barely spares Yichen a glance as he addresses him.

“I have to bring you home.”

“Come on, I’m already here. I wanna see the fight,” Yichen objects, standing from the bench.

“There’s not gonna be one” Zi Hao then lowers his voice. “He said you left,” he tells He Tian.

“I need to talk to him,” He Tian says.

Zi Hao looks down, hesitating for a second, then he grips the door handle.

“Stay here,” he tells Yichen as he closes the door. Yichen flops back to his seat groaning.

Zi Hao turns to He Tian. “No,” he says.

He Tian tilts his head. “No?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. I spent the last two nights pulling him out of petty fights like he’s almost begging to get himself knocked out,” Zi Hao continues. “I don’t know what happened between you, but it had consequences.”

Zi Hao’s gaze drops to the floor and if he catches that his confession has affected He Tian, he doesn’t double down. It would be easier if he was smug about it, if he used it to make himself taller but he simply shares the cold truth and looks down like it saddens him too.

“What did he say?”

“Not much. He closed up like a clam. And drank a lot.”

“And called for a fight,” He Tian sighs.

Zi Hao shakes his head.

“No, he didn’t ask for one. I don’t think he even remembers who he argued with last night, he was almost blacking out… And honestly, I didn’t think they would take it that seriously” he says, looking above his shoulder to the crowd in the main hall. “I guess they took last month’s loss harder than I thought.” He breathes out, then looks back up. “You should go before he gets here.”

“I don’t need your permission to stay,” He Tian says. Before him, the sad tableau of the worried friend gets colder. Zi Hao straightens up and looks at He Tian with an air of discontent.

“You know, I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt because I get there’s history between you two but you really are kind of an asshole. Go back to your fucking Mercedes and leave him alone. He doesn’t want to see you.” A string of shouts erupts down the hall. “You really should go,” Zi Hao concludes, heading towards it. “We’ve got enough to handle around here.”

Ming Na passes them by, also alerted by the noise and cursing under her breath. She steps into the main hall, Zi Hao following her close towards renewed chaos. The crisp sound of breaking glass is heard, and this time, Ming Na curses out loud. Before going along with them, He Tian gets back quickly to the office. 

“I have a mission for you.”

Yichen perks up, then makes a curious face as He Tian pushes the leather binder to his chest. 

“I need you to hang on to this, alright?” he says.

“Wh- Okay.” Yichen grips the files tight. “What is it?”

“It’s something I must give to Guan Shan. It’s important. You keep it close to you and out of trouble until either him or I return. Can I trust you with this?”

Yichen’s eyebrows come into a determined frown. “‘Course, you can.”

“No one touches it. Understood?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

He Tian gives him a nod, Yichen answers with a thumbs up, his expression resolute and a little proud. 

By the red ring, the shouting continues. There’s a hole in the crowd where a cooler has fallen over, leaving pieces of glass and puddles of fizzing cheap beer all over the floor. Ming Na has climbed on the wooden platform and is arguing with the large man, fists on her hips as he looks down at her with nothing but contempt. By his side, there’s the boxer Guan Shan took down that first night. The peacock, as Guan Shan called him, is wearing the same blue shorts and an arrogant grin. He leans against the rope, looking all too comfortable for someone who was so quickly humiliated at this exact same place only a few weeks ago. Zi Hao hasn’t gotten in the ring but he’s nearby and ready to intervene.

“Hey, Ming Na!” a man in the crowd hackles her, but she doesn’t react. Then someone whistles and shouts after her again. The strident noise cuts through the ruckus and successfully gets Ming Na’s attention. 

“Where’s the kid?!” the man shouts again. 

“You think you can whistle at me like I’m a dog?” she shouts back, looking nothing short of furious. 

She climbs down from the ring and from where He Tian stands at the edge of the crowd, he loses sight of her small frame. He can still hear her though, as her sharp voice easily stands out from the overwhelmingly masculine mass that asks with various levels of politeness when Guan Shan will finally arrive, when their show can finally begin. 

“Junjie has been ready to go for an hour.”

The back and forth is interrupted by someone banging against the metallic gate. Everyone turns to the echoing noise.

Guan Shan is by the gates. His face is flushed and he’s breathing hard, like he was just running. Everyone cheers and circles around him but he shoves their clapping hands away and tells them to move. He Tian stands as tall as he can and catches glimpses of him making a beeline towards the ring red through the movement of the people between them. Junjie loses the nonchalant posture and cracks his neck, ready to meet Guan Shan halfway. The tall man has somehow managed to vanish while the attention was away, taking with him the few bills he managed to collect and He Tian hopes for his sake that he’s going to find a backdoor quickly. The situation is volatile enough as it is and Guan Shan hasn’t even seen He Tian yet.

“What the fuck is going on?” Guan Shan asks when he gets to Ming Na. 

He Tian barely hears him and the crowd is tightening around them like jaws. He itches to get closer although he trusts them to get out of this difficult position on their own. It’s preferable he stays on the outskirts for now.  

“The revenge!” someone shouts.

“Yeah! Get on stage, starboy!”

“The fuck you mean, revenge?” Guan Shan shouts back.

Ming Na gets back on the platform. Now that the whole room is looking her way, she waits a few seconds for the chatter to quiet down, clutching the ropes. 

“You come here like a herd of stupid cows, you disrespect my gym and you think we’re gonna give you what you want, just because you demand it?” she barks. “Everybody go home! There won’t be any match tonight.”

People groan and whine and start a few minutes of complaints. Ming Na stands unbothered by their disappointment and gestures towards the door. Bit by bit, her stern voice finally gets into some heads, the collective tantrum dying down as they understand that this is no preamble, no warm-up. The blood they’re after won’t be shed. The less audacious ones are already walking out the door a moment later and the crowd scatters slowly. The men who were shouting the loudest minutes ago still curse and protest the turn of events but their attempts at riling everyone back up are mostly ignored. 

One of them spits on the floor, in the middle of the shattered glass and looks up to Guan Shan as if it would get them anywhere but Guan Shan’s eyes are elsewhere, darkening as they find He Tian on the other side of the room.

On another day, He Tian would indulge into his bad habit of baiting those mean eyes with a taunting smirk but he doesn’t feel like smiling now. It doesn’t make it hurt any less, to be looked at like that, but he reminds himself the visit isn’t for pleasantries.

Zi Hao goes near Guan Shan and whispers something in his ear, glancing towards He Tian as well. They argue quietly for a moment, then Guan Shan brushes him off with a gesture of the hand and starts walking to He Tian before Junjie jumps off the ring, interrupting his path.

“Come on, you can’t have everyone going back home unhappy,” Junjie taunts, then tries to reignite some excitement in the people around them. “Right? No one wants to leave so soon!”

“Fuck off,” Guan Shan tells him as he keeps on walking.

“I knew you’d chickened out. Where’s your loud-mouthed gusto from last night?”

Guan Shan comes to a halt in the middle of the hall and turns to him. The artificial layer of calm he was wearing is getting thin.

“I’m sparing you, fuck face. Consider it mercy. Our first match was humiliating enough for you.”

“Then what’s the risk in taking up another round if you’re so confident?” 

Zi Hao butts in then, Ming Na close by. “You’re just making a fool of yourself,” he tells Junjie, then reaches up to take Guan Shan by the arm. “Come on.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Put your collar back on,” Junjie laughs, louder. “Let another big guy come to your defense. That’s every bitch’s dream, ain’t it?

Guan Shan stops then and so does the chatter around him. There are no more cheers but Junjie continues.

“I’ve heard the things people say about you, you know?” he adds with a mean smile behind Guan Shan’s back. “Funny what it can do to a man, to grow up without a dad.”

Ming Na shakes her head and with big round eyes, she wordlessly urges Guan Shan to stay put. He ignores her and glances at He Tian one last time before turning around, licking his upper lip.

“Fucking hell,” Ming Na curses but she doesn’t make another move to stop him.

“Tell me,” Guan Shan tells Junjie. “What do people say?” 

Junjie doesn’t back away as Guan Shan inches closer, kicking broken glass on his way. The crowd forms back around them, still stubborn and hopeful and this time He Tian makes sure he’s staying close. Anyone could feel like taking part.

“I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”

“Spit it out,” Guan Shan says and only gets angrier when Junjie stays quiet, mute with a stupid grin on his face. “See, that’s your fucking problem,” Guan Shan continues. “You parade around, acting like a rock star with your little fan club but you can’t fucking back it up! What do people say?”

“That it gave you some queer needs,” Junjie says quickly, then peeks over Guan Shan’s shoulder to He Tian. “ ‘thought it was just the blonde but I see you’ve got yourself a new toy. Two is a bit greedy, don’t you think?” 

Strangely, it’s like Guan Shan relaxes. He snorts like he expected worse and comes even closer into Junjie’s space with an untimely kind of aloofness. His smile is tight, almost flirtatious. 

He presses his palm flat on Junjie’s chest who gets just enough time to make a partly-disgusted, mostly-confused face at this odd move.

A second later, Guan Shan is fisting his collar and banging his head hard right into his nose. Junjie tries to push Guan Shan before the impact but he’s not fast enough. He can only wail and stagger back, his eyes wide and shocked as he brings both hands to his face though that doesn’t do much to stop the blood oozing out of his nose. If He Tian was any closer, he would have heard it crack. 

Junjie is stunned but strikes back quickly and takes a nearly blind swing. His aim is off and so is his balance. Guan Shan barely has to dodge and retaliates with a kick to the side of Junjie’s leg to bring him down to his knees. The lingering force of the initial blow is still strong and Junjie has to catch himself with his hands to not fall flat on the floor. He’s coughing up the blood that’s falling into his mouth when Guan Shan crouches in front of him and grips a patch of hair from the crown of Junjie’s skull to lift his beaten face up. Junjie looks back at him, quiet but still defiant. 

“Got something else you wanna share?” Guan Shan asks, partly to Junjie, mostly to everyone around. “Wanna be brave and call me a fag with your whole chest? Or are you ready to go home?”

Junjie keeps his gaze straight ahead and a mad smirk on his lips. Guan Shan tightens his grip on his hair and presses on, pushing him to speak up and answer the question but Junjie remains provocatively mute, smiling to hint to all the things he could say but chooses to keep to himself. Then his smile gets wider, his lips part to reveal bloodied teeth. He throws a final provocation, refusing Guan Shan’s way out. 

“Does your daddy know?” he says and gets hit to the side of the face, right into his ear.

Junjie crashes to the floor. Guan Shan stands up over him, stretching the hand he hit with. He punched Junjie with a lateral swing, making the impact with the knuckle of his left thumb. Completely improper form. A pure reflex and if he did damage to his hand, he doesn’t stop to examine it. The crowd around them gasps, snapping out of the careful silence it had fallen into but Guan Shan is in his own furious trance and pays them no mind. He kicks Junjie again into the ribs, turning him over on his back as he chokes on air. And still, he doesn’t let go of that smile.

People start to look at each other for guidance, unsure on how to stop the spectacle they wanted so badly. He Tian starts walking closer, growing wary of the dangerous confusion rising. 

It takes Guan Shan stepping over Junjie’s throat for someone to intervene. Guan Shan puts his foot on his neck and starts shifting his weight on it. Junjie reaches up to grab Guan Shan’s ankle, his smug face finally turning frightful.

He lets out a pained, pathetic wheeze and a tall man in the crowd steps up, taking hold of Guan Shan’s wrist.

“Alright, stop that now-” he says but gets shoved back where he came from.

“You stay the fuck out of it,” Guan Shan barks, not at him specifically but to anyone that could feel like getting in the way. 

But the spell of inaction is broken. Another guy comes to the defense of the tall man, two more try to get Junjie back on his feet. Guan Shan shoves one of them as He Tian forces his way towards him, catching a guy that can’t be older than he is by the back of his neck before he can throw a punch at Guan Shan while he is looking the other way. That guy looks quite pissed that his attempt has been confiscated. 

Guan Shan hackles him and it’s chaos from there. A short minute or two of chaos but enough for He Tian to lose track of who’s hitting who. Zi Hao meddles in on the other side, Guan Shan is mostly spared but gets lost into the shoving and the shouting. He Tian, as the unfamiliar face in the crowd seems to gather a lot of wrath around him. A group turns their anger to him, just like some others fight between themselves a few feet away. ‘Who the fuck are you?’, they spit while he forces a calm and mostly disinterested demeanor, too focused on checking that Guan Shan is still standing on two feet. 

‘What do you think you’re doing?’, ‘Don’t fucking touch my friend,’ they continue left and right until one of them tries a sorry excuse of a blow. He Tian catches his wrist easily enough but two more retaliate and before he knows it, he’s got two guys diving into him, making him stumble backwards. 

His head hits the floor and the shock makes a loud thump. Before he has to worry about defending himself in this precarious posture, the men above him are chased away, hit right into their faces with a water jet set on very high pressure. He Tian gets a taste of it too as he sits up and feels the sharp, freezing slap of water against his shoulder. He raises his hand to protect his face and turns to find Ming Na, power washer in hand, the one he saw Guan Shan use to clean the canvases.

“The party’s fucking over!” she shouts and the crowd scatters under her threat, head in their shoulders like scolded wet dogs.

Once his ears stop ringing, He Tian slowly registers the warmth spreading on the right side of his back, somewhere under his kidney. He reaches for it and his skin goes from warm to burning and stinging.

Zi Hao offers a hand and He Tian doesn’t think before accepting it. He rises to his feet though he’s not all that steady. On the wet floor, there are a few drops of blood where he laid and the incriminated piece of broken glass, shining red on its jagged edges. 

“You, you, and you,” she spits, pointing respectively to Guan Shan, Zi Hao and He Tian. “Back there.”

Guan Shan seems fine. Wet and dishevelled just like everyone else. Fucking furious, but not any more hurt and he finally decides to follow her lead. Zi Hao and He Tian follow behind.

Yichen is peeking past the corner of the corridor and he’s most likely been planted there the last ten minutes. It was to be expected but at least, he still has the leather binder clamped to his chest, held tight with both arms. When he sees them walk his way, he hurries back to the office.

He Tian spares a final look towards Ming Na, making sure the worst of the agitation has passed. The pressure washer she still holds menacingly gets most people moving. She’s quite trigger-happy with those who don’t move fast enough.

He Tian is the last to step into the office. Guan Shan is already half-sat on the edge of the desk, half-drenched too. He has his eyes closed and his fists clenched on his thighs so tight they shake. His breathing is forcefully calm but everyone in the room stays mute.

Yichen moves hesitantly to one of the shelves and picks a few towels out of it. He hands one to Zi Hao and one to He Tian who presses it against his injury. Then Yichen carefully pokes Guan Shan on the arm with the last towel. Guan Shan takes a peek at it, then takes it to pat his face dry. He lets out one final long exhale into the towel, then straightens up.

“What the fuck is that?” he asks, glaring at the binder like it’s the cause of the whole debacle.

Yichen tenses up, then points to He Tian. “He gave it to me.”

“He brought you here?”

“No!” Yichen defends quickly, but lets his mouth run too long. “I came on my own through the window.”

Guan Shan’s shoulders drop. “Again?! Alright, whatever. I’ll worry about you later,” he says, turning back to Zi Hao. “What the fuck just happened?” he asks through gritted teeth.

Zi Hao doesn’t look much better and carries a red mark on his cheek. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and doesn’t look Guan Shan directly in the eye when he answers. 

“The shots I told you not to drink happened.”

“I didn’t invite the whole fucking town here.”

“Not explicitly, maybe. But when you told him you could take him on any day, I guess he decided he could make his own schedule.”

While they argue back and forth, Yichen tries to catch He Tian’s eyes, waiting for a sign of affirmation for having completed his mission. He Tian gives him a discreet wink and Yichen winks back, not as discreetly.

Guan Shan catches their exchange and stops mid-sentence. He eyes the spot He Tian is pressing on. He Tian waits for a question that doesn’t come.

“A scratch,” he says.

A second later, Ming Na pushes him out of the doorway. “Are you all calm or do you need another round of refreshments?” she asks, agitating the nozzle.

“We’re good,” Guan Shan says, still raising his hand in front of his face in case she decides to shoot anyway. “Put that down, fuck."

“I train you with your fists but you'd rather use your head. That’s unusual,” she says. She pauses a second to look at He Tian’s back. “You should clean that. Looks nasty,” she comments, before getting to coiling up the hose. Zi Hao assists her and she tells Yichen to help out as well. He gives the binder back to He Tian and gets to it.

Guan Shan reluctantly leaves his spot by the desk. He pulls down on the bloodied towel and makes a face when he sees what it hides. It’s not the worst cut, but it’s wide and deep enough in the center to continuously ooze droplets of blood despite the few minutes of pressure He Tian has been applying.

“That’s what you call a scratch?” he asks with a low voice, then gestures to the binder. “What the hell is this?”

“For the guys in suits,” He Tian says, even quieter.

Guan Shan looks up and meets his eyes properly. He loses his frown and appears surprised. The more optimistic side of He Tian would even say he’s hopeful for a second, despite himself. 

“Someone’s gotta take the kid home,” Ming Na calls from the back room.

“I’ll do it. He and I need to have a talk,” Guan Shan shouts back immediately. “You’ve got your keys?” he then asks He Tian who gives him a confused look. “Your car keys, dumbass.”

He Tian fishes them out of his pocket and hands them over. “What, you don’t trust me to drive?”

“Keep pressing on that wound and shut your mouth, He Tian.”

Guan Shan offers to come back later to help but Ming Na brushes it off. She says she’ll call a few people to help out and argues that it’s best that Guan Shan gets away quickly, to not risk another collision. Zi Hao is told to clean the floors and he agrees without complaining though he’s visibly sullen at being left behind. 

They get out through the one of the backdoors that usually stays locked and get to the car ignoring whoever still remains in the street. Yichen follows along, careful and tight-lipped to avoid triggering Guan Shan’s subdued anger though his silence is short lived once they get to the Mercedes. Someone with keys had fun with the two doors on the right side, leaving a deep white scratch in the black paint.

Yichen touches it with the tip of his fingers, mouth wide and eyes full of dismay. He Tian only lets out a deep sigh. It’s been a long day.

“How many times have I warned you?” Guan Shan said, opening the driver’s side. “It’s a fucking miracle your windshield is still intact.”

“It’s the worst of crimes…” Yichen mumbles.

“Can both of you get in the goddamn car?”

Guan Shan takes the driver’s seat and waits before turning the engine on. Some fifty meters ahead, Junjie is getting escorted out of the warehouse, limping as two men hold him up from under his arms. Guan Shan watches him until he’s put in a car, then he starts the Mercedes.

They drive out of the neighbourhood in a tense silence. Guan Shan has a tight grip on the wheel and at least, he didn’t hurt his hand like He Tian worried he had. However, he rolls his bad shoulder every other minute and winces each time. In the rearview mirror, He Tian can see Yichen chewing on his lip, sitting a little too straight in the backseat. 

“Alright. Get on with it,” the kid says eventually. I’m ready to face my demise.”

Guan Shan doesn’t look in the mirror and keeps his voice cold as he says “You already know why you messed up.”

At first, it seems like the scolding will end there but once they’re stopped at a red light, Guan Shan glances back.

“Why were you even there? You wanted a show, like the rest of them?” he continues. Yichen frowns but looks down and stays quiet. The disappointment in Guan Shan’s voice must hit hard. “I’ve got one fucking non-negotiable rule for you and it that you stay the fuck away from the fights. What part of it isn’t clear?”

“I just wanted to help,” Yichen argues with a small voice. Guan Shan rolls his eyes and starts driving again but Yichen keeps defending himself, gathering all the assurance he can find. “No, look. I know it’s not like in the movies, okay? But it felt all wrong earlier, like really wrong. I wasn’t going to just run home and hide!”

“Nobody is asking you to hide but to not get yourself stuck, all alone in a dangerous situation. You should have called me, or Ming Na, or anyone and stayed away,” Guan Shan says sharply.

They arrive quickly near Yichen’s building but he doesn’t leave the car after they park.

“I’m not a coward,” he says, meeting Guan Shan’s eyes in the mirror.

Guan Shan lets his head fall against the seat and breathes out.

“I know that,” he says, then turns to face Yichen who keeps looking down. “But it’s not your time, alright? When I was your age I hated everyone who tried to tell me they had any fucking clue what I was feeling so I’m not gonna do it to you. All I know is that going through stuff before you’re ready doesn’t make you grown, it doesn’t make you more of a man. You have plenty of time to see the worst people can do.” 

His voice softens as he continues. “You’ve already seen too much,” he concludes and He Tian remembers the tears-stricken face and the bloodied shirt Yichen carried that night a few weeks ago. He remembers the way he stood straight in front of He Tian too, with an air of insolence despite his poor state. He remembers Guan Shan never mentioned Yichen’s dad or a sibling, only his mom . A mom who buys him clothes a few sizes too big and can only afford to replace them when they’re a few sizes too small.

“Let’s get you home.”

Guan Shan walks Yichen to his apartment building. Before they step into the lobby, the kid waves goodbye to He Tian. 

He Tian waves back from the passenger seat, copying Yichen’s small smile and drops it the moment both disappear past the door. He lets out the pained groan he had been keeping in instead and stretches his neck as if it could alleviate the ache in his temples. He checks the towel and the spot where his head hit the floor. At least, he hasn’t stained the seat and his hair is dirty but bloodless.

Guan Shan returns a few minutes later, going down the stairs slowly rubbing his neck and looking like he needs to sleep for five days straight. He doesn’t say anything as he gets back behind the wheel, then takes a quick glance down to He Tian’s lap before starting the engine again. 

He Tian expects them to take a u-turn a bit further down the street but Guan Shan doesn’t seem to have the condo in mind. He keeps on driving south, towards his own apartment.