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Chapter Text

The plane from Paris touched down at Beijing Capital International Airport, sunlight gleaming off its metallic wings like a spotlight on a returning star.

Xiao Zhan, 27, unbuttoned the top of his crisp designer shirt and adjusted his sunglasses like he was stepping onto a runway.

His suitcase wheels glided behind him as he strutted through the terminal — but his eyes weren’t on the signs or the crowd. They were on someone else.

More specifically: the curvy girl with very noticeable big boobs who sat next to him during the flight.

“You made the bumpy ride worth it,” he’d whispered in French, sending her into a delighted giggle.

He winked as they parted. “Call me sometime, chérie.”

As he passed through Arrivals, Xiao Zhan pulled out his phone and checked for messages.

One new text from his mother:

> “Yibo is at the airport to pick you up. Be nice.”

Yibo?

He hadn’t seen that kid in years. Last he remembered, Yibo had a mushroom haircut, and followed him around like a devoted puppy.

“Let’s see how much you’ve grown, kid,” Xiao Zhan muttered with a sly smile.

---

Outside the Terminal...

Wang Yibo, 21 , senior college student , stood near a souvenir stall, casually sipping Starbucks with one hand while browsing some cute items from the shop.

His long blonde hair fluttered in the breeze, and his loose white shirt paired with tight jeans showed off his lean athlete's build.

With his back turned, he looked like a runway model—or even a K-pop goddess.

Xiao Zhan slid his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose as he stepped into the arrivals hall, eyes casually scanning the crowd for that familiar baby face he hadn't seen in years.

“Where is that kid…” he muttered, checking his phone again. Still no reply. His gaze roamed the terminal lazily — until it landed on someone about few meters ahead.

His steps slowed. A tall figure stood by a souvenir stall, bathed in the warm light from the glass ceiling. Silky blonde hair spilled over delicate shoulders.

Dressed in a loose white shirt tucked into tight jeans that hugged long legs, the stranger looked like they had just walked off a K-pop album cover.

Xiao Zhan’s eyebrows arched in intrigue. Now that’s a view. He squinted slightly. Was 'she' from a girl group? Or one of those influencers flying in for Fashion Week?

Grinning, he adjusted his collar and sauntered forward with confidence.

He reached to the stranger side, leaned in close, and with his signature flirt in full force, brushed his hand lightly across the stranger's round ass.

“Looking for something, sweetheart?”

SMACK!

Yibo turned sharply and slapped him across the face.

“What the fuck?! Are you insane?!” he barked in Mandarin.

Xiao Zhan froze mid-smile.

“…Yibo?”

The sting of the slap still echoed between them.

“…Zhan-ge?!”

The moment Yibo recognized him, he let out a gasp and started smacking Xiao Zhan repeatedly on the arm, his face flushed.

“I’ve been waiting here for over an hour, and this is how you say hi?! Wow. You really haven’t changed. Still a damn pervert.”

Xiao Zhan blinked, still recovering.

“Wait. I didn’t know it was you! Why do you look like a K-pop girl group member?! Last time I saw you, you were fifteen and wearing Spongebob pajamas.”

“I’m twenty-one now, and still recovering from you putting live bugs in my lunchbox.”

“…Still sensitive, huh?”

“…Still pervert, huh?”

---

They bickered all the way to the taxi.

Xiao Zhan tugged Yibo’s hair.

“What is this? Did you audition for a shampoo commercial?”

Yibo rolled his eyes.

“One more word and I’m leaving you here.”

Xiao Zhan locked him in a playful headlock, ruffling his golden hair.

“Why are you so serious? Are you not happy to see your Zhan-ge?” he pouted dramatically.

Yibo shoved him off, glaring.

“Huh? Says the guy who only calls once in a blue moon.”

“I’ve been busy with work! And it’s not like you messaged me either.”

“Because I value my sanity.”

Xiao Zhan chuckled, dragging his suitcase behind him as he followed Yibo toward the taxi bay.

“Still as cold as ever,” he muttered with a grin.

Once inside the taxi, Yibo rattled off the address to the driver and leaned back with a tired sigh.

Xiao Zhan, never one for silence, began rummaging through his carry-on.

“Let me make it up to you, Bodi,” he said cheerfully.

“I brought you a welcome gift.”

Yibo narrowed his eyes.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

He pulled out a small black paper bag, crinkled from travel but clearly handled with care.

With an almost ceremonial flourish, Xiao Zhan placed it in Yibo’s lap.

“From Paris. Très chic. You’re gonna love it.”

Yibo gave it a suspicious glance before cautiously peeking inside. His expression shifted from wary to horrified.

“…You have got to be kidding me.”

Xiao Zhan beamed, proud as ever.

“Ta-da! Designer. Limited edition. Lucky red, with gold embroidery. You’re welcome.”

He held up the gift like a trophy — a fiery red lace thong brief, complete with tiny golden wings stitched on the back.

Yibo stared at it in dead silence.

Then: SMACK!

The rolled-up gift bag smacked hard against Xiao Zhan’s head.

“OW!” he cried, rubbing the spot.

“Violence! I’m a returning citizen of the nation, where’s the respect?”

“Respect left the chat the moment you handed me this lingerie!”

Yibo hissed, stuffing the thong back into the paper bag like it might explode.

“It’s good luck underwear,” Xiao Zhan protested, lips twitching with amusement.

“You wear it to exams, job interviews, your wedding—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

“It’s symbolic! Sexy—just like you.”

Yibo groaned, covering his face with one hand while the other shoved the cursed paper bag into Xiao Zhan's bag.

“You’re insane.”

“But you missed me right?” 

"Missed punching you, yeah.”

And they laughed until their sides hurt-it felt like nothing had changed at all.

-To be continued...

Chapter Text

The taxi rolled to a gentle stop in front of the Wang residence.

Before Xiao Zhan could even reach for the handle, the door flew open and there was his mother, beaming.

“ZhanZhan, let me look at you,” she said, cupping his face tenderly. “Still so handsome, but you’ve lost weight. Were you really that busy in Paris to forget how to eat?”

Xiao Zhan chuckled, brushing her hands off gently. “I’m healthy, Mama. This is Paris trend.”

His father stepped forward, pulling him into a warm hug. “Welcome home, son. We missed you.”

“I missed you both,” Xiao Zhan replied, his voice soft. “It’s good to be back.”

Just beyond the gate stood Yibo's parents, faces bright with welcome.

“Xiao Zhan, you’ve grown even more handsome,” Mrs. Wang said cheerfully, clasping his hands and pulling him into a tight hug. “I baked your favorite pastries. You must be starving after that flight.”

Xiao Zhan laughed, touched by her warmth. “Thank you, Ayi. I’ve missed your cookies.”

From a few steps behind, Yibo leaned against a post, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Tsk. Not just more handsome, he’s turned into a total playboy and a pervert.”

Mrs. Wang rolled her eyes. “Naturally! Boys and girls would line up for him.”

Xiao Zhan raised a brow, amused. “Ayi, I think Yibo’s not happy I’m home.”

Yibo huffed, jamming his hands into his pockets. “Whatever!”

Mrs. Wang shook her head, though she couldn’t hide the fond smile creeping onto her face. “Ignore him, Zhan. He’s been like that ever since you left.”

Mr. Wang chuckled and pulled Xiao Zhan in for a side hug. “I think he’s just shy to admit he missed you.”

Yibo scoffed loudly.

“Let’s go inside,” Mr. Wang added. “Father’s already waiting.”

As the group walked ahead, Xiao Zhan lingered beside his mother.

“What’s the rush?” he asked, adjusting his bag strap.

She gave him a small, nervous smile. “You’ll see soon enough. Just...be prepared, alright?”

...

Inside, the house is filled with the comforting scent of tea and freshly baked bread drifting through the air.

Xiao Zhan smiled to himself. Memories washed over him like waves. He’d spent countless afternoons here, just across the street from his own house, playing with little Yibo while Mrs. Wang baked in the kitchen.

Yibo had been such a crybaby back then, but adorable. Xiao Zhan always knew how to coax him into smiling again.

"Zhan-ge, don’t gooo," little Yibo would whine, tugging at the hem of his shirt with teary eyes.

"I’ll be back tomorrow, promise," Xiao Zhan would say, crouching to ruffle his hair. "If you're good, I’ll draw your favorite car."

"That green car you like?"

"Only if you don’t cry."

Yibo would sniffle and nod seriously—only to burst into tears again as soon as Xiao Zhan stood to leave.

And every time he had to go, it turned into a scene. Mrs. Wang would struggle to explain why Xiao Zhan couldn’t stay forever, and Yibo would pout until Xiao Zhan gave him a pinky promise that he’d come back the next day.

Mrs. Wang never let him leave without a warm treat in hand and a gentle reminder: “Come back soon, ZhanZhan. You know someone will throw a tantrum if you don’t.”

Xiao Zhan smiled at the memory. Back then, he didn’t mind being the reason little Yibo stopped crying. In fact, he kind of liked it.

The soft hum of voices pulled him back to the present. Curious, Xiao Zhan made his way down the familiar hallway then froze at the doorway.

There, in the middle of the room, Yibo was kneeling beside an elderly man, carefully spoon-feeding him congee. His expression was calm, focused... and so gentle.

Xiao Zhan’s breath hitched. That tenderness… it was something he hadn’t seen on Yibo in years, something he didn’t realize he’d missed until now. And it tugged at his heart in a quiet, unexpected way.

The old man looked up, and his eyes lit up the moment they landed on Xiao Zhan. “Look at you— all grown up, and even more handsome than I remember. I’m so glad you came back.”

Then he turned to Yibo with a teasing glint in his eye. “Isn’t that right, Yibo? Still handsome, isn’t he?”

Yibo groaned, ears turning faintly red. “Grandpa…”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t look up—clearly flustered.

Xiao Zhan bit back a grin. Still blushes like before, he thought fondly, watching the faint red rise on Yibo’s ears.

“Come here, boy.” The old man beckoned him with open arms.

Xiao Zhan rushed forward and knelt beside him, embracing him gently. The old man chuckled, patting his back with shaky hands.

As they pulled apart, the old man’s gaze lingered on both boys. A spark of mischief shone in his tired eyes, though his tone grew more serious.

“Back in the army,” he began, “Xiao Zhan’s grandfather and I made a promise. If fate allowed, our families would be bound by marriage someday.”

Xiao Zhan blinked, confused.

The old man continued, voice soft. “Zhan’s mother got pregnant before we could marry her to Yibo’s father. Zhan’s grandfather passed too soon. But I never forgot our pact. And now... you two are the only grandchildren left.”

He took a slow breath. “I want to see you married before I go. So I can meet my old friend again with peace in my heart.”

A spoon clattered onto a bowl.

“What?!” Yibo’s voice cracked. “Me—marry Zhan-ge? Grandpa, I’m still in college! And besides—we’re both men!”

His grandfather smiled, patient and unbothered. “Two men get married nowadays. I saw it on TV.”

“Grandpa...” Yibo groaned again, more embarrassed than angry.

“Please,” the old man said softly, the gravity of his tone silencing the room. “It’s my last wish.”

Yibo froze.

Then slowly, he stammered, “But Grandpa... those people love each other. Me and Zhan-ge,....we don’t. How can we marry if we’re not in love?”

He gave Xiao Zhan a sideways glance, and Xiao Zhan looked just as stunned.

“Just try,” the old man said gently. “If it doesn’t work... you can part ways after I’m gone. But I want to leave this world knowing I fulfilled the pact I made with an old friend.”

Mr. Wang spoke up. “It’s not such a bad idea. It would strengthen the bond between our families.”

Mr. Xiao nodded. “The promise was made with sincerity. It should be honored.”

But the mothers hesitated.

“We shouldn’t pressure them,” Mrs. Wang said quietly. “Yibo is still young. He has dreams to chase.”

“And they haven’t seen each other in years,” Mrs. Xiao added. “We can’t expect them to agree just like that.”

Suddenly, Yibo stood up, his face a storm of frustration.

“I don’t love Zhan-ge. I’m not marrying him.”

His eyes flicked toward Xiao Zhan, then he turned and walked out without another word.

The room fell silent.

Xiao Zhan looked down, then offered the old man a gentle smile. “Grandpa… let’s just pretend I didn’t hear any of that.”

He bowed respectfully, then quietly slipped out.

---

The next day, still unsettled, Xiao Zhan made his way to the Beijing National Art Gallery, where two of his closest friends worked.

The moment he entered, he spotted them near a sculpture installation.

“Xiao Zhan!” Li Xian grinned, dropping his sketchpad. “Look who finally flew home from Paris!”

Lay Zhang turned, eyes lighting up. “And looking like he just stepped off a runway.”

Xiao Zhan laughed as they crushed him in a bear hug.

“I missed you guys.”

“You haven’t changed,” Lay said, stepping back. “Except you look taller, and more handsome.”

“You’re glowing,” Li Xian added. “Don’t tell us you left a French lover behind.”

Xiao Zhan rolled his eyes. “I wish.”

They dragged him to the staff lounge, past stacks of canvases and half-eaten pastries. Li Xian handed him a mug of coffee.

“So,” he said. “What brings you back?”

Xiao Zhan sighed and stared into his cup. “My family wants me to get married.”

Lay nearly choked. “You’re hiding a fiancée?!”

“Wait, is she French? Blonde? A painter? Tell me it’s a whirlwind romance,” Li Xian said, eyes wide.

Xiao Zhan groaned. “It’s not a she. And it’s not romantic. My family wants me to marry… Wang Yibo.”

Both friends froze.

“Wait. That Wang Yibo?” Lay asked. “The kid you used to tutor?”

Li Xian leaned in. “The one who followed you around like a lost puppy?”

Xiao Zhan groaned again. “Yeah. That one.”

Lay let out a low whistle. "Damn. Paris wasn’t dramatic enough for you. You had to come home for a full-on plot twist."

-To be continued...

If you're enjoying the story, I'd really appreciate a kudos! ☺️

Chapter Text

Yibo walked gloomily across the university courtyard, his hands buried in his pockets. Beside him, Seungyoun chattered non-stop, animatedly recounting his weekend stories.

It was Monday morning, just two days after his grandfather asked him to marry Xiao Zhan.

Seungyoun was oblivious to Yibo’s stormy mood until they reached the middle of the campus. He stopped abruptly and tugged gently on Yibo’s wrist.

“Hey bro, what’s with the long face?” he asked, brows knitting together.

Yibo just stared at him blankly.

Unfazed, Seungyoun nudged his side playfully. But before Yibo could respond, the air around them shifted.

Soft murmurs rippled through the group of boys. They straightened their uniforms in unison, heads turning, every gaze fixed in the same direction.

Walking through the campus gate, was Suzy Bae—the most talked-about girl at the university.

A senior transfer from South Korea, enrolled in the Performing Arts Department. A cheer squad captain and a trainee under WangXian Entertainment. Her family had moved to China after her father’s reassignment.

Yibo had only interacted with her once during gym practice. He and Seungyoun, as members of the varsity basketball team, were training while the cheer squad rehearsed nearby for an inter-university competition.

After practice, as Yibo wiped sweat from his neck, Suzy walked over and offered him a bottle of water with a small smile.

“You looked like you needed this,” she’d said, extending the bottle. “I’m Suzy, by the way.”

Yibo blinked, caught off guard.
“Thanks,” he’d replied, accepting the water. “I’m Yibo.”

“Nice meeting you,” she’d said with a soft smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

It was a brief encounter, but Seungyoun never let him live it down.

“Oh damn—it’s our Suzy,” Seungyoun whispered dramatically now, elbowing Yibo.

Yibo looked up, eyes catching the familiar figure walking among the crowd of fawning boys. She didn’t notice him or Seungyoun, there are too many people stood between them, and they were farther back.

She was beautiful, just like an idol should be. And when she smiled, a pair of bunny teeth peeked through.

Just like his Zhan-ge—only his Zhan-ge’s smile was brighter in every way.

Wait—what? Bunny teeth? Zhan-ge?
Yibo froze mid-thought.

Shit. Why am I thinking about him now?

His gloomy expression returned as Suzy disappeared into the crowd. The marriage talk came rushing back like a bucket of cold water.

Near the fountain, a few boys craned their necks, gawking shamelessly. Others elbowed each other, whispering conspiratorially.

“You’re staring,” Seungyoun said, smirking.

Yibo quickly looked away and tugged his cap lower.
“I wasn’t.”

"Sure. Just admiring the scenery, huh?"

As Suzy vanished into the main building, Seungyoun sighed dramatically.

"Man, if she keeps walking around like that, we’re all failing this semester."

Yibo just gave Youn a rare smirk.

Truthfully, Yibo did have a small crush on Suzy. But he never acted on it. Now, oddly enough, he wanted to. Maybe it was the pressure at home. Or maybe he just wanted to experience something—like a normal, campus love story.

---

Meanwhile, at the Xiao residence...

Xiao Wei, Xiao Zhan’s father, was on the phone with Grandpa Wang. 

"Xiao Wei, I’m at the hospital," Grandpa Wang said on the other line. "The doctor told me I could live another twenty years!"

"That’s great news, Uncle." Xiao Wei replied.

"No, no! It’s bad!" Grandpa Wang chuckled. "If the boys find out, they’ll surely refuse the marriage even more. We need to keep this quiet. Help me change their minds."

"Alright," Xiao Wei said with a sigh. "I’ll handle Zhan. You work on Yibo. Maybe ask help from his dad, Wang Han, for backup."

"Good idea. Let’s do that."

After hanging up, Xiao Wei peeked into the living room where Zhan and his mother were watching a movie, sharing popcorn and laughing.

Without a word, he walked to the storage room, grabbed a bottle of strong liquor, and slumped onto the couch. He took a big gulp, then another, before bursting into loud, theatrical sobs.

Both mother and son turned in alarm.

“Aiyo! What now?” his wife exclaimed. “Is Uncle Wang pushing the wedding again?”

Xiao Wei just cried harder.

Zhan looked conflicted. After a beat, he crouched beside his father and gently took his hand.
"Pa, stop crying. I’ll do it," he said softly. "I’ll marry Yibo."

Instantly, Xiao Wei stopped crying and sat up straight.
"Really, Zhan? Aiyo, thank you! I’ll call Grandpa Wang now!"

Zhan stared at his mom in disbelief.

Did I just get tricked...?

But it was too late now. He’d already agreed.

---

At the hospital...

Grandpa Wang was grinning ear to ear. He’d just gotten off the phone with Xiao Wei, who confirmed that Zhan would visit Yibo’s university later to talk to Yibo.

Now it was time for Phase Two of his master plan.

Grandpa Wang called Wang Han and Yibo’s mother, Wang Hui, into his hospital room.

"We’re going to make this wedding happen—by all means necessary," he said firmly.

"Later, when the boys arrive, I’ll pretend to be very weak and asleep. You two will explain that I was rushed here in an emergency... that my condition is serious and I shouldn’t be under any stress. The Xiaos will be here too, to make it more convincing."

Wang Hui looked uneasy.
"Papa, do we really have to go this far?" she asked.

Grandpa Wang’s voice remained calm but unyielding.

"We already agreed on this. Xiao Zhan has been convinced by his father, it’s our turn to work on Yibo now."

---

Outside Beijing University of Science and Arts...

Xiao Zhan leaned against his family’s car, arms crossed, looking effortlessly handsome.

As soon as Yibo spotted him from across the courtyard, he instinctively turned around, trying to sneak away, but it was too late. Xiao Zhan had already seen him, and worse, Seungyoun had grabbed his arm with a mischievous grin.

"Oh my God, Yibo!" Seungyoun gasped, eyes widening. "Who is this hot and handsome man?!" He clung to Yibo dramatically as Xiao Zhan approached with a bright smile showing his bunny teeth.

Yibo rolled his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“To pick you up, of course,” Zhan said, brushing his fingers under Yibo’s chin teasingly.

---

Later, at a nearby café...

Xiao Zhan excused himself to the bathroom.

The moment he was gone, Seungyoun leaned in.
“Spill. Who is that guy?!”

Yibo sighed. “He’s... Xiao Zhan. My neighbor. My childhood friend. And—”

Before he could finish, Zhan returned and, without missing a beat, said, “Yibo, let’s just do it.”

Then he took a sip of his drink like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of the café.

"Do what? Are you crazy? Why on earth would I marry you?" Yibo nearly choked, eyes wide.

Seungyoun gasped like he was watching a K-drama finale.
"Wait—Mister, are you a sugar daddy?!"

Xiao Zhan nearly spit out his drink.
"Seriously?"

"Shut up!" Yibo smacked the back of Seungyoun’s head while throwing him a death glare.

Seungyoun clutched his head and pouted.
"Geez, calm down. I was just asking! Some of us wouldn’t mind being spoiled, you know."

Yibo groaned. "Zhan-ge is not a sugar daddy. Our families want us to get married, okay? It’s complicated."

"Please keep it a secret. I’ll treat you to dinner," Xiao Zhan said, turning to Seungyoun with a charming smile.

Seungyoun’s eyes sparkled. "Ooh, make it into a fancy restaurant and we’ve got a deal."

Then he leaned toward Xiao Zhan and whispered, "But if he chickens out, call me. I don’t mind being the backup groom."

Yibo froze hearing what seungyeon said.

His fingers curled tightly around his cup.

He didn’t like the thought of Seungyoun marrying his Zhan-ge instead of him. Not even as a joke.

A twisted knot tightened in his chest. He didn’t understand it, and he didn’t want to understand it.

All he knew was—

“Get. Out!"
The words burst from him, sharper and louder than he intended.

"Alright, alright, I’m leaving!" Seungyoun laughed, waving as he walked to the exit.
"I'm leaving you two to talk . See you tomorrow Yibo!"

As Seungyoun finally left, Xiao Zhan leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on Yibo.

He didn’t say anything for a while. He just sipped his drink slowly, watching Yibo from the corner of his eye.

“Bit harsh,” he said at last.

Yibo shrugged. “He was being annoying.”

“Mm.” Xiao Zhan smiled faintly.

Then he leaned toward the table, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

"So… are you going to marry me then?" he murmured, eyes glinting with amusement. "Come on, Yibo. It’s not like I asked for this either."

Before Yibo could shoot back a reply, his phone buzzed.

He picked it up.
"Hello? Mom? What?! What happened to Grandpa?... Okay, okay—I’m coming!"

"What's wrong, Yibo? Is everything alright?" Xiao Zhan stood up from his chair, concern etched across his face as he saw the panic in Yibo's eyes.

"Grandpa was rushed to the hospital," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, face drained of color.

Without another word, he snatched his school bag with trembling hands, heart pounding.

Then he rushed out of the café without waiting for Xiao Zhan.

Xiao Zhan was right behind him, sliding into the taxi without a word. In the quiet hum of the ride, Yibo’s shoulders shook with silent sobs, and Xiao Zhan reached out, rubbing slow, comforting circles on his back, like he used to when Yibo was still a kid.

---

At the hospital...

Yibo burst into the room, eyes brimming with tears. "Grandpa! What happened?" You were fine this morning!"

His grandfather lay still, eyes closed, surrounded by their parents. 

"The doctor said he’s been under a lot of stress lately," Wang Hui said gently. "He has to avoid anything upsetting."

Xiao Wei sighed dramatically from where he stood with his arms crossed. “He was fine this morning. Then he started asking again if the wedding was going to happen… and next thing we know, he collapsed.”

"Is this... because of me?" Yibo whispered, tears falling as he knelt beside the bed and hugged his grandfather.

Xiao Zhan stood behind him, placing a comforting hand on Yibo’s shoulder.

As if on cue, Grandpa Wang groaned softly and fluttered his eyes open, weakly turning his head toward them.

“Yibo… Zhan… I just wanted to see my two favorite boys being happy before I go…” he whispered feebly.

“You’re not going anywhere, Grandpa,” Yibo said quickly, wiping his eyes. “Don’t say that.”

“I just want to see you two married,” Grandpa Wang continued, “Even just the ceremony… then I’ll rest easy.”

The room fell silent.

"I’ll do it, Grandpa," Yibo choked out. "I’ll marry Zhan-ge. Just... just please stop saying stuff like this."

Grandpa Wang’s eyes opened a little wider.
“You’re serious right?” he asked, gripping Yibo’s hand with surprising strength.

Yibo nodded, wiping his eyes.

A faint gleam of satisfaction flickered in his eyes, barely masked by his weak expression.

Xiao Zhan blinked in confusion, glancing around the room. The adults looked suspiciously calm, too calm.

His eyes narrowed, searching for an answer.

But not one of them want to meet his gaze.

His dad suddenly found interest in a potted plant. Wang Han was pretending to check his watch. Even Grandpa Wang had the nerve to close his eyes again, peacefully, this time.

Xiao Zhan sighed, rubbing his temples as he muttered to himself,
"I can’t believe this actually worked."

And just like that, their wedding was officially set.

-To be Continued...-

(Yibo once named Suzy as his ideal type back when he was still an idol. Well, to be fair, almost every idol did at the time. Suzy was at her peak and practically everyone’s favorite. She wasn’t called South Korea’s Nation’s Little Sister for nothing, right? 😁)

Chapter Text

Two nights before the wedding...

Yibo lay sprawled on his bed, face buried in his pillow as muffled grumbling escaped his lips.

His mother sat at the edge of the bed, gently rubbing circles on his back like he was five years old again.

“Ma,” Yibo whined, voice thick with frustration, “Grandpa clearly tricked me. I’m still young. I don’t want to get married.”

“But you’re marrying your Zhange, Yibo,” she said soothingly, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Didn’t you used to say you wanted to marry him when you were little?”

Yibo turned his head and shot her a pointed look.

"Ma, that was back then—when I was still his only favorite person," he huffed. "But then he changed. When I turned thirteen, he started spending less time with me and more time hanging out with a bunch of girls."

He rolled onto his side, dramatically flopping an arm over his eyes.

“And then—boom! He suddenly went to Paris, saying he’d come back soon. Next thing I knew, he’d totally forgotten about me, Ma! I didn’t even get a single postcard.”

His mom stifled a laugh.

“I hate him,” Yibo groaned, dragging out the last word dramatically.

There was a beat of silence before his mother replied, her voice soft and knowing.

“So… you hate him, but I clearly remember how happy you were when you found out your grandpa asked him to come home after six years. You were even excited to go to the airport.”

Yibo’s arm slipped off his face.

“Mama, please. I was not,” he muttered. “And don’t tell Zhange.”

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, clearly not buying it.

Yibo groaned again and buried himself deeper under the blanket, cheeks slightly flushed.

“What if my university finds out I’m married?”

“Your grandpa will handle it,” his mother said, smoothing the covers over him. “The school director was one of his juniors in the military.”

She tucked him in like he was ten again, her voice gentle. “You’ll be fine, sweetheart. Don’t worry too much.”

“I still hate Zhange,” came the muffled reply from under the blanket.

She leaned down and kissed the top of his head.

“Then hate him a little longer. Just don’t forget to go with him tomorrow to pick up your wedding suits and your rings.”

A dull thump followed as Yibo kicked at the mattress in protest.

---

Meanwhile...

Xiao Zhan was at a bar with Li Xian and Lay.

"Behold the face of the man about to wreck a poor 21-year-old virgin's ass," Li Xian teased, throwing an arm over Zhan’s shoulder with a dramatic grin.

"God! Are you guys really my friends? " Zhan shot back, giving them a betrayed look.

Lay wasn’t even paying attention—his eyes locked on a girl across the bar whose skirt hiked dangerously high as she reached for her drink. Zhan’s gaze followed instinctively, and he let out a low whistle.

The place was packed with gorgeous girls in short skirts and crop tops, and for a second, temptation danced in his eyes.

“Come on, Zhan,” Li Xian smirked, nudging him. “Last two nights of freedom—don’t waste it.”

His two friends slipped off toward the dance floor, already eyeing their targets.

Zhan was about to follow, his grin turning devilish—until the image of Yibo in a wedding suit flashed in his mind.

With an exaggerated groan, he flopped back into his seat, arms crossed like a kid who’d just been denied candy.

He stayed behind at the table, watching as his friends flirted and danced with beautiful girls. He sipped his drink, pulling a dramatic face like he was about to cry—but no tears came, obviously.

Sure, he wasn’t exactly thrilled about getting married either—but knowing it was Yibo at the other end of the aisle made things... complicated.

He sighed, setting his glass down.

He didn’t dance that night. Didn’t flirt either.

Not because he had to.

But because, somehow, he didn’t want to.
.

.

The wedding was intimate, with only close family and a few trusted friends were present. 

Yibo sat in the waiting room, already dressed in a pristine white wedding suit. He looked stunning—like a model or an idol straight out of a magazine—but the pout tugging at his lips said otherwise

“You’re seriously getting married today, but you look like you want to bolt,” Seungyoun teased, smoothing out Yibo’s suit.

Yibo groaned. “Don’t even remind me. Of all days, why did our educational tour have to fall on my wedding day? I’ve always dreamed of visiting Korea at least once.”

Seungyoun placed a hand over his heart. “Tragic.”

Yibo let out a dramatic sigh and slumped into the chair like a defeated prince, his pout deeper than ever.

"Oh, come on, don’t ruin the mood," Seungyoun grinned. "You look ridiculously handsome today. And let’s be real—marrying a drop-dead gorgeous man? That’s still a major win."

Yibo gave him a half-hearted glare, knowing where this was going.

“In fact,” Seungyoun continued dramatically, “I can just marry your Zhange instead. You can go to Korea and I’ll take care of him for you.”

Yibo shot him a death glare. 

Seungyoun laughed. “Look at you—acting all possessive when you keep saying you don’t even want to marry him.”

“I’m not possessive,” Yibo huffed. “I’m just saying, find your own man. The line for Zhange is already long enough—don’t make it worse!”

“Fine, fine,” Seungyoun raised both hands in surrender. “I’ll find someone just as hot as your husband-to-be.”

Then, his tone softened. “But seriously, shouldn’t you tell the rest of our friends?”

“If I do,” Yibo sighed, “the whole university will find out. And then my life is basically over.”

Before Seungyoun could respond, Yibo’s mom gently pushed open the door, smiling warmly.

“It’s almost time, sweetheart. They’re ready for you.”

Seungyoun straightened up and gave Yibo a quick, encouraging squeeze on the shoulder. “Well, that’s my cue. I gotta leave for the airport anyway.”

Yibo’s face fell slightly. “Can’t believe you’re ditching me on my wedding day.”

Seungyoun winked. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll bring you something cool from Korea."

With a final quick hug, Seungyoun waved goodbye and disappeared down the hallway.

Yibo turned to his mom, who had quietly taken a seat beside him. “Mom, I still can’t believe Grandpa scammed me into this.”

She gently ran her fingers through his hair, smoothing it back with a fond smile. “It’s just a wedding, Yibo. Your grandpa said if it doesn’t work out, you and Zhan can always divorce.”

“But still…” Yibo frowned, trying to reason his way out. “What if I just tell Grandpa I can’t go through with it?”

His mom raised an eyebrow and asked sweetly, “Do you really want to turn your wedding into a funeral?”

“Mom!” Yibo gasped, half-shocked, half-laughing.

She chuckled softly, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“Come on, baby. Just walk down that aisle. It’s not the end of the world.”
.
.

The wedding hall was softly lit, intimate and warm, with only close family in attendance. Gentle music played in the background. 

The entire space was adorned in delicate shades of white—cascading ivory drapes, pearlescent aisle runners, and stunning floral arrangements lining every corner. Fresh white roses, orchids, baby’s breath, and hydrangeas were artfully arranged in tall glass vases and low bouquets, giving the room a dreamy, ethereal glow. Petals were scattered lightly across the aisle like snowflakes, adding a touch of romance to every step.

Xiao Zhan stepped inside and walked down the aisle, dressed in a classic white suit that fit him like a dream. The soft lighting highlighted the sharp angles of his jaw, the subtle curve of his lips, and the effortless grace in his stride. His hair was perfectly styled, not a strand out of place.

Every eye turned toward him. There was a quiet gasp from a few relatives. Even the air seemed to pause in admiration.

His smile stretched effortlessly—bright, content, and without a hint of reluctance. No one would’ve guessed this was an arranged marriage. To anyone watching, he looked like a groom who was exactly where he wanted to be. He stopped halfway down the aisle, turning to face the doorway.

Then the music shifted.

Heads turned.

And there he was.

Yibo stood at the entrance, framed by the warm light spilling into the hall. He held a bouquet of pale pink roses in both hands, the delicate blooms mirroring the quiet blush rising on his cheeks.

His long blonde hair was gone—now freshly cut and neatly styled, much like Zhan’s. The soft brown shade brought out the warmth in his eyes. Dressed in a pristine white suit that hugged his frame, accentuating his long, shapely legs and slender waist, he looked like a vision straight out of a dream.

His eyes scanned the aisle, finally landing on Xiao Zhan, who stood waiting halfway down. His smile was bright, his gaze impossibly soft—and Yibo’s heart gave a strange little twist.

Damn it, he looked ridiculously handsome. Yibo scowled internally. Great. As if this arrange marriage wasn’t stressful enough, now he had to deal with his husband looking like a walking romance drama lead —but no way was Yibo going to admit that out loud.

With a quiet breath, he slowly walked down the aisle—his steps a little awkward, his smiles a little shy—toward the man who was smiling at him like the rest of the world had disappeared.

When Yibo reached him, Xiao Zhan greeted him with a soft, “You look so beautiful, Bodi.”

His voice was low, serious, but gentle—just like the way he used to speak back then.

That old pet name stirred something deep in Yibo’s chest. For a moment, he wasn’t looking at the confident, flirty Xiao Zhan of today, but at his Zhange—his warm, protective Zhange from childhood.

Still caught in the haze of memory, Yibo blinked as Xiao Zhan gently nudged him, then lifted his arm in silent offering, a quiet smile tugging at his lips.

Yibo blinked at the gesture.

Then quietly, naturally, he slipped his arm through Zhan’s.

They turned and walked together down the aisle toward the officiator, their steps falling perfectly in sync. Yibo’s initial nerves slowly melted into something warm and steady. Side by side, they looked every bit the picture of two grooms deeply in love—smiling, radiant, and proud.

.

.

The ceremony went on smoothly.

Though they weren’t marrying out of love, they exchanged their vows with quiet sincerity, promising to respect one another-as they slipped the rings onto each other’s fingers."

Then came the final part.

“You may now kiss your spouse,” the officiant announced gently.

Xiao Zhan turned toward Yibo. He didn’t move forward right away. Instead, he paused—looking at Yibo's eyes, asking without words.

Yibo’s lips parted slightly, and his cheeks flushed pink. But he gave a small, shy nod.

Only then did Xiao Zhan lean in.

It was a soft peck—barely a second—but gentle and full of quiet care. Yibo instinctively closed his eyes, his heart skipping just a little as Xiao Zhan’s warm lips brushed against his own. They were soft—comforting—and carried the faint, familiar scent of mint on his breath.

And Zhan?
Zhan could only think of how incredibly soft Yibo’s lips were—and… was that strawberry? Yeah. He was pretty sure he could taste strawberry on them. Not that his Bodi's lips needed any help, but whatever gloss or tint they used just made them even more perfect.

When they pulled away, Yibo opened his eyes only to meet a pair of warm, gentle ones looking back at him. He quickly looked away, ears turning pink, but a small smile tugged at his lips.
.
.
After the ceremony and reception, they returned home and performed the traditional wedding rites at Yibo’s house—kneeling before their elders, offering tea, and vowing to respect and care for each other. Both were dressed in elegant traditional wedding garments.

Yibo’s grandfather was beaming the entire time, his eyes crinkled with joy as he watched them go through each custom. It was no secret to anyone that this had been his plan all along, and now, seeing the two of them side by side—beautiful, and bound together—was everything he had hoped for. He even wiped a tear discreetly, pretending it was just dust in his eye. Everything felt perfect.

But the moment the final ritual ended and they were getting ready to leave for their honeymoon, the chaos returned in full force.

Xiao Zhan barely made it out the front door before his father grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him into a quiet corner.

“Zhan, listen,” his father said, voice firm. “I know Yibo is a boy—but with the way he looks, I wouldn’t blame you for feeling something. Still, remember this: even if he’s legally of age, that doesn’t mean you can push him into anything he’s not ready for. Got it?”

Zhan blinked innocently. Then smirked.

“Come on, Dad. Your son’s a healthy man. And Yibo’s not exactly a baby either. At his age, boys start getting curious. Who knows—maybe he's the one planning to explore with me.”

“Aiyo, Zhanzhan!” his father groaned, half-scolding, half-exasperated. “Be more considerate of that boy. Just because he looks cool and untouchable on the outside doesn’t mean he’s not still the same shy, innocent kid you used to cuddle all the time when you were younger.”

Zhan’s smirk wavered.

For a second, his father’s words hit something tender. That shy, innocent boy. His mind flashed to the younger Yibo—bright-eyed, chubby cheeks, pouty, and always clinging to his sleeve.

His heart did a tiny, quiet plif.

“…Fine,” Zhan muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I won’t do anything unless he wants to.”

...

At the same time, inside the house, Yibo was cornered by his own mother.

She smoothed down his hoodie with motherly affection. “Don’t worry too much, Yibo. Zhan’s father already spoke to him. He told him not to pressure you into anything.”

Yibo tilted his head, confused. “Mn? Pressure me to do what, Ma?”

His mother blinked. Then squinted.

“That thing… that couples do… when they’re alone.” She started waving her hand vaguely, clearly struggling to explain it delicately. “You know… that thing.”

Still lost, Yibo stared at her.

So she leaned closer, whispering, “When two people—especially newlyweds—”

Before she could finish, Yibo’s eyes widened in horror. “Mama!”

He immediately cover a hand over her mouth, face burning.

“I’m not crazy! Why would I do that with Zhange?!”

His mom pulled his hand away and gave him a light flick on the forehead.

“Aiya, you’re married now. You’ll see how fast things change when you’re alone in a hotel room.”

Yibo covered his ears, flustered beyond repair. “Mama, stop!!”

She only laughed and pinched his cheeks.
“Wait till those hormones really hit you—you’ll see.”

Yibo swatted her hand away, flustered.
"Mama!" he hissed, his ears turning scarlet. "My hormones are not gonna win over me!"

He snatched up his small bag and all but marched off, muttering under his breath, "Stupid hormones... always getting blamed for everything..."

.

.

Li Xian and Lay were already waiting outside in the car, lazily scrolling on their phones, the trunk barely closed with Xiao Zhan’s overstuffed luggage.

"Wow, are they going on a honeymoon or relocating to another country?" Lay snorted as he adjusted his sunglasses.

...

The drive to the airport was filled with banter from Li Xian and Lay, their teasing voices echoing in the car. Yibo, however, remained quiet, staring out the window, lost in thought.

Beside him, Xiao Zhan hesitated. There was a time when checking on Yibo felt effortless—when a simple hug and a quiet ‘what’s wrong?’ would’ve been enough. But now, even that felt distant."

The ease between them had cracked. And really, who else could he blame but himself? He was the one who left for Paris, promising he’d return soon—a promise he never got the chance to keep. In the end, he left Yibo waiting.

As if sensing his gaze, Yibo turned and met Zhan’s eyes. There was confusion in his expression, but before either could speak, Lay swerved toward the airport entrance, announcing loudly, “Alright, lovebirds, time to disembark!”

Li Xian popped the trunk open, grumbling at the weight of the luggage. “Zhan, what did you pack? A portable apartment?” he muttered, dragging Zhan's suitcases into the airport with exaggerated effort.

Yibo stepped out quietly, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. Xiao Zhan followed, adjusting the collar of his jacket as he grabbed the handle of Yibo's suitcase.

They moved through the airport protocols smoothly and without fuss.

Afterwards, Xiao Zhan quietly dragged both his and Yibo’s suitcases to the waiting area, settling into a seat without saying a word. Yibo stood a short distance away, seemingly absorbed in his phone, headphones on, his expression unreadable.

Xiao Zhan watched him for a moment, then looked away with a sigh. Even in the same space, Yibo felt miles apart.

Li Xian glanced at Zhan and smirked. “You sure you're not secretly husband material, Zhan?”

Lay chuckled. “Give it a week. He’ll be making breakfast in an apron.”

Xiao Zhan didn’t even bother replying to the tease. Instead, he cast a look in Yibo’s direction, his brows furrowed slightly.

“I feel like he’s not really happy since I got back. Look at him, completely ignoring me.”

Lay let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh no… someone’s already getting attached to his baby boy!”

Li Xian burst out laughing. “Next thing we know, you’ll be the one following him like a puppy.”

Xiao Zhan groaned and covered his face.
“Why did I agree to be dropped off by the two of you again?”

The three of them bantered non-stop until the boarding announcement crackled over the speakers, calling for their flight to begin boarding.

Xiao Zhan was mid-eye roll at one of Lay’s ridiculous jokes when he felt a gentle tug on his sleeve. He turned, slightly startled, to find Yibo standing beside him.

Yibo avoided eye contact, eyes fixed somewhere near Zhan’s shoulder. 

“Uh… Zhange, I’m just going to the restroom real quick, okay?”

“oh," Xiao Zhan blinked. “Okay. Don’t take too long. They’re already calling for boarding.”

Yibo nodded, then turned and walked off without another word.

But minutes ticked by.

Ten minutes.

Twenty.

Still no Yibo.

“Bro, you should board now,” Lay said, nudging Zhan while checking his watch. “You don’t want them closing the gate on you.”

Xiao Zhan frowned, glancing toward the direction where Yibo had disappeared minutes ago. “He’s still not back…”

“He probably went straight to the gate,” Li Xian added. “He has his own ticket and pass. Maybe he’s already inside the plane. He probably didn’t want to line up.”

"But he didn’t even come back for his suitcase!" Zhan frowned, looking around nervously.

“Then he’s definitely on board,” Lay said, already nudging Zhan toward the departure gate. “He probably ditched you with the luggage on purpose. That’s love.”

Reluctantly, Xiao Zhan headed to the gate, his eyes drifting back in search of Yibo.

When he stepped onto the plane, there was still no sign of him.

And as soon as the plane doors shut and the engines began to roar to life, Zhan's panic surge.

“Wait—WAIT! My husband isn’t here!”

He shot up from his seat, eyes darting around like a madman. “YIBO?!”

A toddler in the next row burst into tears from the sudden yelling.

One flight attendant approached. “Sir, please take your seat.”

“Wait! No, my husband isn’t on board!” Xiao Zhan stood in the aisle, clearly distressed. “I need to get off—I can’t leave without him!”

Another flight attendant gently but firmly pushed him down. “Sir. We are taxiing. Please remain seated.”

“I am emotionally unstable!” Zhan declared as other passengers side-eyed him, whispering.

The pilot’s voice crackled through the speakers: “Cabin crew, prepare for takeoff—passenger 18A, please calm down.”

“But—Yibo!” Zhan yelled, turning heads from every direction. “Yibo! If you’re on this plane hiding from me, I swear—!”

A toddler two rows ahead giggled and mimicked, “Yiboooo~!”

---

Meanwhile, back at the airport lounge, Yibo sat near the giant windows, eating an ice cream cone and watching the plane take off like it was a scene from a movie.

He stared at the now-empty sky for a moment, then looked down at the ticket still tucked in his pocket. South Korea. Xiao Zhan hadn’t told him their destination until the last minute, just quietly slipping him the ticket, probably hoping to surprise him.

The gesture should’ve made him smile. And sure, a part of him was touched.

But the rest of him… wasn’t ready.

Not for a honeymoon.
Not for being alone with Xiao Zhan.
Not when his questions from six years ago still hadn’t been answered.

Zhan had promised he’d come back soon. But instead, he’d disappeared into Paris, never explaining why “soon” turned into six years of silence.

Yibo swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the clouds as he murmured, “Sorry, Zhange… but there’s no way I’m risking running into my classmates while on a honeymoon with you.”

He paused, gaze dimming.
“And I’m not ready to pretend everything’s okay between us. Not yet.”

With a sigh, he leaned back into the chair and pulled out his phone.

A message blinked on the screen from Xiao Zhan:

"YIBO, YOU BETTER BE IN THE CARGO HOLD OR I’M NEVER LETTING YOU LIVE THIS DOWN!"

Yibo couldn’t help but laugh under his breath.

“Guess I owe him big time,” he murmured, wiping a smudge of ice cream from his lip.

-To be continued...

Chapter Text

Xiao Zhan landed in Korea at night, dragging his suitcase like it owed him money. Jet-lagged, cranky, and desperate for a hot shower, a soft bed, and—just maybe—a husband who didn’t vanish into thin air at airports.

But no. Apparently, the universe had signed a secret contract with Wang Yibo to test his patience.

The taxi he hailed at the airport was stolen. Right in front of him. By a lovestruck couple who climbed inside with shameless speed. The girl stuck her head out the window, all apologetic smiles.

“So sorry! Honeymoon! We can’t wait!”

Then the car sped off, leaving Xiao Zhan staring at exhaust fumes, wondering if it was socially acceptable for a grown up man to cry on foreign asphalt.

By the time he finally reached his hotel, it was close to midnight. He ended up on the terrace, a lonely glass of wine in his hand, leaning against the railings like the lead in a melodrama.

Perfect. First day as a married man and I’m already abandoned. Great start, Zhan.

Just as he raised the glass to his lips, movement below him caught his attention—a couple locked in a shameless tangle of kisses and giggles beneath his balcony. Zhan narrowed his eyes, then his jaw went slack.

"The Taxi Thieves!"

For a moment, he just stared. Then, slowly, a wicked grin curled across his face.

“Fate,” he whispered, “finally gives me a gift.”

He disappeared into his room, returned with a glass of water, and leaned over the railing. With one dramatic tilt of his wrist, the water splashed down.

“AHHH!” the girl shrieked.
The guy yelled incoherently, hopping back.

Zhan bolted back inside, cackling like a kid who’d just pulled off the perfect prank. He flopped onto the bed, grinning from ear to ear.

“Serves you right,” he muttered, still laughing.

---

Meanwhile, back in Beijing, Wang Yibo stood in front of his house, dreading what waited inside—his father’s lecture, his mother’s sigh, and worst of all, the risk of giving his grandfather a heart attack from sheer disappointment.

So, instead of going in like a responsible adult man, he dragged his feet to the sauna. The floor was cold, sleep impossible, but at least no one was scolding him. He consoled himself with that thought until exhaustion pulled him under.

The next morning, he wandered his university campus—the only place he could think of to waste time without running into his family.

He bent over the washing area in the University yard, splashing his face with cold water.

“Yibo?”

The voice startled him. He lifted his head just as Suzy appeared beside him, also leaning down to wash her face. She was dressed in the bright cheer uniform, hair tied neatly in a ponytail, clearly on her way to practice.

Yibo blinked. Perfect timing. The universe just loves me today. He thought.

“I thought your class had a field trip today?” Suzy asked, dabbing her cheeks with water.

“Oh, that,” Yibo muttered, brushing his wet hair back. “I didn’t go.”

Suzy gave him a curious look. Before she could press further, Yibo wordlessly pulled out his handkerchief and held it out to her. She hesitated, then accepted it with a small smile, dabbing her face delicately.

Meanwhile, Yibo stood there dripping, water still running down his cheeks and neck, completely ignoring his own soaked state.

Suzy chuckled. “You know, usually the person who lends the handkerchief wipes themselves first.”

Straight-face, he replied, “It’s fine. I’m used to being wet.”

Her brows shot up before she burst out laughing.

...

They strolled across campus together—it was still too early for Suzy’s practice. To anyone watching, they could have passed for a couple, and the thought alone had Yibo’s ears burning pink.

When Suzy’s gaze drifted toward the coffee shop near the gate, he didn’t even hesitate—bolting inside and returning moments later with two cups, offering one to her with a small, almost shy smile.

“Thanks,” she said, lips curling into a grin.

They sat on a bench under a shady tree, sipping their drinks. Yibo tried to act casual, but his leg was bouncing, and he kept sneaking glances at her like a middle schooler with his first crush.

Then Suzy leaned a little closer. “Yibo, do you… have a girlfriend?”

His heart did a flip. He shook his head quickly. “No.”

She smiled brightly, her bunny teeth on full display. It instantly reminded Yibo of Xiao Zhan, who had the same pair that peeked out whenever he smiled. Before Yibo could dwell on the thought, Suzy’s hand slipped gently over his.

His mind went blank. Suzy was holding his hand. The same Suzy who was every boy’s crush in the university.

Suzy tilted her head, her eyes sparkling as she asked with that disarming sweetness, “Yibo… will you go out with me?”

It wasn’t even a dramatic pause. Yibo, who had always imagined what a normal campus romance might feel like—and now with the campus crush herself asking—nodded before his brain caught up. He didn’t even think. He just… agreed.

It didn’t matter that he was a married man. That tiny inconvenient detail slipped straight out of his mind, along with the ring he kept dangling from a chain around his neck instead of on his finger where it belonged. Maybe if he’d worn it properly, he might have remembered.

But he didn’t.

And just like that, in Yibo’s starstruck mind, the universe made it official: he was dating his ideal girl.

---

Meanwhile, Xiao Zhan decided sulking in a hotel room was pointless. If Yibo wasn’t there, he might as well explore. 

He found himself at Namsan Tower, weaving through the crowd. The place was buzzing with tourists and students, cameras flashing everywhere.

As he was moving through the throng, he accidentally bumped into someone. “Ah, sorry—” he muttered quickly, not even looking up—until someone grabbed his arm firmly and yanked him aside.

Xiao Zhan’s eyes widened. “Seungyeon?! What the—why are you here?”

The younger boy’s eyes were just as wide. “We’re on a school trip! Why are you here? Wait—aren’t you supposed to be on your honeymoon? Where’s Yi—”

Before he could finish, Xiao Zhan slapped his hand over Seungyeon’s mouth, panicking. “Shhh! Do you want your whole class know Yibo is married?!”

But it was already too late. The nearby group of girls had noticed them. Giggles erupted like wildfire.

“Isn’t that… a celebrity?” one whispered.
“Oh my God, he’s so handsome!” another squealed.
“Push her! Push her toward him!”

The girls shoved one of their braver classmates forward, and in the chaos, Xiao Zhan lost his balance—crashing straight into her so they both tumbled to the ground. Flustered, he scrambled up at once, tugging his jacket over his face in a desperate attempt to hide.

But before he could escape, a firm hand grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” a sharp voice rang out.

Xiao Zhan froze, realizing he was being hauled to his feet like a misbehaving teenager. He turned his head slightly and saw a middle-aged woman.

The woman narrowed her eyes at him. “Flirting with my students in broad daylight? Tsk! What a pervert!”

“Wha—what?!” Xiao Zhan sputtered. “I wasn’t—I just tripped!”

“Tripped on a girl’s body?” She sniffed disapprovingly, dragging him closer by the shirt collar. “Unbelievable. I should report you!”

Seungyeon was doubled over laughing behind them, while the girls squealed louder.

Xiao Zhan could only groan in despair. Perfect. Just perfect. First robbed of his taxi, now accused of being a pervert. Thanks a lot, Yibo. He muttered a curse under his breath as he hurried away from them.

Once he was safely away from the group, Xiao Zhan jabbed at his phone, calling Yibo again and again—only to hit voicemail every time. Meanwhile, Yibo was across campus, happily sipping coffee with Suzy.

“Wang Yibo!” Xiao Zhan finally burst out loud, earning stares from some tourist. “Just what did you do to me?! Our parents will hear about this!” He jabbed his finger in the air, as if Yibo himself were standing right in front of him.

Somebody nearby whispered, “Breakup?”
“Definitely a breakup.”

The moment Yibo’s name slipped from his mouth loud enough to echo, Xiao Zhan froze. His heart plummeted. If Yibo’s classmates had heard him—really heard him—they might put the pieces together. They might uncover Yibo’s secret.

Mortified, he dropped onto the nearest bench, burying his face in his palms with a groan. Perfect. Just perfect. If they find out I’m married to him, Yibo will never forgive me.

With everything that had happened—the stolen taxi, the pervert accusation—he’d had enough. He booked a ticket and hopped on the next flight back to China.

___

When he finally reached the Wang residence, his chest was still simmering with frustration. That brat better have a good excuse.

And then he saw him, Yibo pacing around the front yard like a lost puppy, kicking pebbles, his shoulders slumped.

The second Xiao Zhan stepped through the gate, his first instinct was to storm over and put Yibo in a headlock. He even raised his arm, ready to grab the boy’s neck.

But then Yibo looked up.

His eyes were glassy, his lips trembling like he was on the verge of tears. For a split second, Xiao Zhan didn’t see the “cool” Wang Yibo he married few days ago.

What he saw is the same boy from years ago—clutching his shirt with watery eyes, begging him not to leave.

The fight drained right out of him. Instead of headlocking him, Xiao Zhan sighed and pulled Yibo gently to the side.

“Alright,” Zhan said softly, though his tone still carried that edge of exasperation, “before we go inside, we need to agree on what to tell the elders. Because if they hear what really happened, we’re both dead.”

Yibo sniffled, then gave a small nod, afraid to meet his eyes.

And just like that, Xiao Zhan’s heart—despite every reason not to, melted entirely for the boy standing before him.

-To be continued...

Chapter Text

Xiao Zhan did most of the talking, trying his best to keep the conversation natural, while Yibo kept his eyes down, guilt pressing on his chest like a heavy stone.

Every time he looked at Zhan—who was lying just to cover for him—his chest tightened. He wanted to apologize, but the words wouldn’t come. What could he even say? That his immaturity got the best of him?

For a moment, Yibo wished they could go back to when he was still a kid, when he could lean on Zhan without hesitation—not now, when it felt like an invisible wall stood between them.

Their elders hadn’t directly said anything about Zhan being alone during the honeymoon, yet to Yibo, every question felt like it was an accusation aimed at him. Maybe it was just his imagination-or maybe his guilt playing tricks on him—for running away, for letting Zhan fly to Korea on his own.

“How was your trip? Why did you come back so soon?” Yibo’s grandfather asked casually.

“It was fine. Zhan-ge was very good to me,” Yibo murmured, barely meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Ahhh… it’s because Yibo remembered he had a school deadline, so we decided to come back early,” Zhan added quickly, laughing a little to ease the mood.

“But you seem sad, Zhanzhan. You can’t fool me with that laugh,” Yibo’s mother said, concern clear in her voice.

“Haha, don’t overthink it, Ma. I’m just tired,” Zhan replied quickly.

Yibo glanced at Zhan again, noticing how his laugh didn’t reach his eyes. The guilt in his chest grew heavier. He shifted in his seat, fidgeting under the table, and tugged lightly at Zhan’s arm. “Zhange… let’s go to sleep—”

“Let’s drink!” his grandfather cut in, happy to celebrate, as he poured wine into everyone’s glasses. Yibo froze. He didn’t want to stay, didn’t want to hear more of Zhan’s lies… but he couldn’t leave him alone either. He had already left him once at the airport. The least he could do now was sit by his side and share the weight. So he stayed, shoulders stiff, guilt pressing tighter around his chest.

Then their fathers began teasing.

“Oh, looks like Yibo isn’t satisfied with the honeymoon—trying to drag Zhan to bed early,” Zhan’s father teased playfully.

“Let him drink some more, Yibo. Don’t be too clingy,” Yibo’s father added.

Yibo’s mother glared at them, her voice sharp. “We agreed they wouldn’t sleep together until Yibo finished college. Yibo, have you already given in?”

“Mama!” Yibo yelped, his cheeks blazing scarlet. He buried his face in his hands, wishing he could disappear entirely.

Noticing Yibo’s embarrassment, Xiao Zhan quickly changed the topic. “Oh, this wine really tastes good. Let’s have some more,” he said, pouring wine into their glasses.

Yibo’s eyes flicked up at the gesture, and for a brief moment, a tiny glimmer of relief warmed him, though his ears still burned a bright, relentless red.

___

Zhan ended up so drunk, yet he still managed to bridal-carry Yibo to their room, earning chuckles from the elders—everyone except Yibo’s mother. He stumbled onto the bed and collapsed right on top of Yibo.

“Zhange, you’re too heavy! Get off me!” Yibo protested, squirming under him, but Zhan was already fast asleep, snoring softly against his shoulder.

After a few moments of struggling to free himself, Yibo finally sat beside the bed, completely exhausted. He carefully pulled the blanket over Zhan before retrieving an extra mattress from the closet and spreading it on the floor—he would sleep there tonight.

Before lying down, he lingered for a moment, watching Zhan’s sleeping face. “You look like an angel when you sleep, ge… no one would ever think you’re a playboy,” he murmured with a soft sigh.

“Thank you… for not telling them the truth,” he whispered, guilt and gratitude heavy in his chest.

With that, he lay down on the floor, curling under the extra blanket, trying to catch what little rest he could while Zhan slept peacefully above him.

___

The next morning, they moved into the apartment Yibo's grandfather had gifted them. It was already fully furnished, filled with every little thing they might need. Their mothers had carefully arranged everything while they were away—well, what should have been their honeymoon if Yibo hadn’t ditched Zhan.

Zhan’s mother bounced from room to room, gushing over the newlyweds. “Look at this! I made sure everything is perfect! The bedsheet even matches the curtains—with little heart patterns! And—oh! The love pillows!” She held up a pair of heart-shaped cushions like they were priceless treasures.

Yibo’s mother swooped in, eyes narrowing. “Love pillows? Nonsense! They shouldn’t sleep together just yet!” Before anyone could stop her, she grabbed the pillows and flung them across the room, messing up the bed with theatrical flair. “There are three rooms! Each of you gets your own! No funny business!”

Zhan’s jaw dropped. “Mama! You’re literally redecorating my marriage!”

Yibo’s eyes widened, leaning against the doorframe. “What, ge? Do you really expect me to share a room with you? Pervert!”

Zhan shot him a playful glare. “Pervert, huh? I haven’t even done anything to you yet! Come here—I’ll show you what a real pervert looks like!”

With exaggerated steps, Zhan strode across the room, hands reaching mischievously for Yibo’s bum. Yibo yelped and grabbed a pillow, holding it like a shield.

“Stay away, you pervert!” Yibo shouted, swatting at him.

Soon the two of them were tugging on the pillow, stumbling and laughing, wrestling like kids while their mothers continued bickering in the background, completely ignored.

"Yibo! You stay in that room!” Yibo's mother voice echoed through the apartment as she firmly pointed toward the smaller room—the one clearly intended to be the study.

“No—don’t take the study room! It’s for schoolwork!” Zhan’s mother argued, trying to regain control.

“Why can’t we share this room? We’re married!” Zhan protested, dodging Yibo’s playful shove.

Yibo grinned mischievously. “You just want the bigger closet, ge.”

“I need it for my shoes!” Zhan shot back, gently shoving him.

By the time their mothers had finished transferring and rearranging their things into separate rooms, Yibo and Zhan were already rolling on the floor, laughing like idiots. Each kept claiming the “best” room while sneaking into the master bedroom whenever the moms weren’t looking—digging through closets and drawers looking for the best stuff.

“Zhange, thats my blanket!” Yibo shouted, pulling Zhan's shirt.

"Don’t be so stingy, Bodi! This feels more comfortable! Have some consideration for your elders!” Zhan countered, dramatically hugging the blanket as he ran toward his room.

The moms groaned in unison. “You two are hopeless!”

In the end, the so-called master bedroom was downgraded into a study and storage room, while the two of them were forced to settle into smaller rooms with single beds placed squarely in the center.

___

By Monday, Yibo returned to university. From the moment he walked through the gates, he could feel eyes on him. Whispers rippled through the hallways, students glancing his way then leaning into each other, murmuring things he couldn’t quite catch.

What’s with them? Yibo frowned, puzzled but far too proud to care. He strode past the stares and continued toward class.

The moment he stepped inside, Seungyeon rushed up and grabbed his arm, dragging him toward the corner. “Yibo!” she hissed. “How was the honeymoon? Do you even know what people are saying about you?"

He raised an eyebrow. “No. What?”

Seungyeon leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “It’s Suzy, man. Everyone’s gossiping about you two! And…” he glanced around before whispering, “we actually ran into Xiao Zhan in Korea. Don’t worry—nobody here knows your secret. But seriously, why aren’t you with him?”

Yibo stiffened, then muttered under his breath, “I ditched him at the airport. Didn’t even board the plane.” He leaned closer, his tone turning serious. “Hey, Youn… can you keep a secret?”

Seungyeon narrowed his eyes. “Why do you have so many secrets?”

Yibo smirked, whispering right against his ear. “I’m dating Suzy now.”

Seungyeon’s eyes went wide. “Dating Suzy?! Yibo—does she even know you’re married? And what about your husband?”

Yibo only shrugged, feigning indifference. “It’s just marriage on paper. I was forced into it. Suzy will understand.”

___

That night, Zhan went out drinking at a club with his friends Li Xian, Lay, and Nini, who had just come back from abroad. Their table was alive with laughter, glasses clinking every few minutes.

Naturally, the teasing soon turned toward his new marriage.

“So, how’s married life?” Li Xian grinned. “I bet Yibo’s already wrapped around your finger.”

“Of course he is,” Zhan replied smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “Yibo is completely under my control.”

Lay nearly choked on his drink. “Oh really? Prove it. Call him right now and make him come here.”

Nini groaned, shaking her head. “Honestly, you guys are so childish.”

But Zhan was already pulling out his phone. With a mischievous smile, he dialed Yibo’s number. When the line clicked, his voice dropped low, almost commanding:

“Yibo. Get over here. Now.”

Zhan gave Yibo the address, then hung up with a satisfied smirk.

___

A few moments later, chaos was already brewing at the entrance. Yibo stood there, frowning at the bouncer who refused to let him in.

“I told you, I’m not underage!” Yibo snapped, voice edging with frustration. “I’m here to meet someone.”

“You look like a high schooler,” the staff deadpanned, arms crossed.

Yibo’s patience thinned. He scanned the crowded bar until his eyes landed on Zhan, already flushed and tipsy with his friends. Without hesitation, Yibo jabbed a finger toward him.

“That’s my husband over there!” he declared loudly. “Zhange—he told me to come here!”

Every head turned.

At the table, Zhan perked up instantly, cheeks red from the drinks. He lifted his glass, “Oh! My husband is here! Let him in!” he slurred, grinning from ear to ear.

The staff blinked in disbelief, while letting Yibo in.

“Yibo, you already know Li Xian and Lay, they are my college friend. They used seeing you following me everywhere before.” Zhan slurred happily, patting Yibo’s arm. Then he pointed proudly. “This is Nini—she’s also our friend, he just got home from abroad."

Lay couldn’t help but stare, a mix of surprise and amusement in his eyes at how much Yibo had changed—how sharp, handsome, and effortlessly hot he looked now. “Wow, you’ve really grown up, kid,” Lay blurted out.

“Wow, Zhan—you’ve really got yourself a pretty husband!”

“I’m not a kid,” Yibo muttered, pouting slightly as he shot Lay a look. Then, with stiff politeness, he turned to Nini and gave a small bow. “Hello, nice to meet you.”

That only made Nini laugh. “You’re so cute and adorable. Come, sit here.” She shifted, leaving the empty space right next to Zhan.

“I’m not cute—I’m cool,” Yibo mumbled under his breath. Then, more politely, he introduced himself to Nini, “I’m Yibo,” as he sat down beside Zhan. His gaze flicked to him immediately, brows furrowing. “Why are you drinking again, ge?”

Zhan immediately leaning his flushed face against Yibo’s shoulder, completely ignoring the scolding. “Yes, yes… Yibo is adorable,” he blabbered with a proud grin, as if announcing it to the whole bar. “He can’t cook and he has a temper—”

“Ge!” Yibo hissed, cheeks turning red as Li Xian and Lay burst into laughter.

Nini clapped her hands together. “I always heard Yibo was the cool type—someone who doesn’t let anyone boss him around. I didn’t think you’d actually win him over, Zhan.”

“Tch—win him over? Hah!” Zhan lifted his head, still swaying, a proud grin on his lips. “I didn’t win him. He’s already mine—since he was a kid.”

Right, Yibo?” He squished Yibo’s cheek with both hands before collapsing back onto his shoulder.

Yibo sighed in defeat, ears burning. “Ge… please stop talking.”

Of course, Zhan did not.

___

Nini offered to drive them home since Xiao Zhan was far too drunk to handle the wheel. In the backseat, Zhan was a mess—blabbering nonsense and practically draping his whole body over Yibo.

Yibo, pinned against the door, pretended to be annoyed, though the arm he wrapped around Zhan betrayed his worry. “Zhange, you should stop drinking. You can’t even hold your alcohol. How did you survive in Paris when no one was there to look after you?”

Yibo’s heart gave a painful twist at the admission. So he never drank in Paris… then why now? Was he lonely? Or… is it because of me? His gaze softened with guilt as he studied Zhan’s flushed cheeks.

From the driver’s seat, Nini let out a dreamy sigh. “Awww, you two are so cute together. Like you’re made perfectly for each other. Makes me want to get married.”

Yibo’s ears went pink at once. He ducked his head to hide his blush, while Zhan had already drifted off—head heavy on Yibo’s lap, lips curved in a peaceful smile.

By the time they reached their building, Yibo had no choice but to hoist Zhan onto his back. The older man clung lazily, arms looped around Yibo’s shoulders, head buried against his neck. Each warm breath tickled Yibo’s skin. When Zhan’s nose brushed the hollow of his throat, he nearly stumbled.

His ears burned, and his steps grew heavier from the heat pooling inside him. It only got worse in the elevator when Zhan shifted and nuzzled deeper into his neck.

“Mn… Bodi smells nice…” he mumbled, voice slurred and innocent.

Yibo gritted his teeth and tightened his hold on Zhan. His heart pounded so hard it echoed in his ears. He was mortified and confused by how his body was reacting in a way he’d never felt before—and never once imagined he would toward Zhan.

At last he deposited Zhan gently onto the bed. With careful fingers, he untied Zhan’s shoes and set them aside, trying to ignore the way the other’s hand curled weakly around his sleeve.

Just as Yibo bent to pull the blanket up, Zhan murmured, half-asleep, words spilling raw and unexpected into the quiet room: “Bodi… totally changed… doesn’t want to be with me anymore… he hates me…”

Yibo froze. His chest squeezed painfully as he stared at the sleeping face beneath the dim light.

“Zhange… you left me. Back then, I was so dependent on you—I believed I didn’t need anyone else, as long as I had you. My world revolved around you. Then you disappeared. You made me wait, and you don’t know how much that changed me. It was cruel. If I let you in again… what if you leave once more, without explaining? I won’t go through that again. It’s better this way.” His words fell softly into the silence of the room.

His vision blurred before he realized what was happening. A lone tear slipped down his cheek, then another, quiet and unrestrained, while Zhan slept peacefully — oblivious to the storm he’d stirred in Yibo’s heart.

-To be continued...

Chapter Text

The next morning, the apartment was still quiet when Yibo slipped out of his room, gym bag slung over his shoulder. He paused by Zhan’s door, where Zhan was still asleep—one arm draped lazily across the blanket, his hair a tousled mess from the night before.

For a moment, Yibo lingered, torn between waking him up and just leaving. His lips pressed into a thin line. In the end, he turned away and left without a word, the door closing softly behind him.

It was already past ten in the morning when Zhan finally woke, his head pounding and his mouth dry, the aftertaste of last night's alcohol still clinging to his tongue. He stretched the stiffness from his body, grimacing at the hangover that throbbed behind his eyes.

Drawn by the faint scent lingering in the air, he shuffled to the dining table and found a container neatly covered and arranged with food—steamed buns, scallion pancakes, a couple of tea eggs, and fried rice with bits of egg and vegetables

Zhan’s eyes softened. So Yibo can cook… so sweet, he thought, lips tugging into the smallest smile. For a fleeting moment, warmth bloomed in his chest.

He headed to the bathroom first, splashing cold water on his face in an attempt to shake off the lingering hangover haze. The chill helped—just a little. Feeling somewhat refreshed, he returned to the table, picked up the food container, and carried it to the living room.

He settled onto the sofa and switched on the TV, lazily flipping through channels until a familiar name flashed across the screen—Yibo’s university, playing in a basketball game.

“Oh, it’s Bodi’s uni.” His face brightened as he fixed his gaze on the screen, munching happily. When the camera shifted to Yibo making a clean shot, Zhan instinctively raised his hand and cheered, “Woooh! That’s my husband,” he said proudly to the TV. Yibo was smiling on the screen, and so was Zhan.

But his smile faltered when the camera cut to the cheer squad. A beautiful girl in Yibo’s university colors was waving her pom-poms enthusiastically—eyes fixed on Yibo.

The commentator’s voice chimed in, “That’s the cheer captain. They were spotted sharing a meal before the game.”

A short clip flickered across the screen, the camera zooming in on Yibo and the girl sitting side by side—smiling, laughing—over the very same food Zhan was eating.

His stomach dropped. The chopsticks slipped from his grasp, clattering against the plate, and suddenly the food in his mouth tasted bitter.

“So… the food wasn’t prepared for me,” he whispered, the words thick on his tongue, his chest tightening with a sharp, painful squeeze.

On the TV, the commentator laughed lightly, “They must be sweethearts. Ah, young love—so perfect together.”

Zhan barely heard it. His world had narrowed to the screen, where the girl ran down the steps to meet Yibo and leaned in, wrapping her arms around him in a hug.

Zhan’s breath hitched. He pushed himself up abruptly, chest tight, and walked toward the kitchen. Pulling open the fridge, he grabbed a bottle of water and drank deeply, as if the cold liquid could clear the lump in his throat… as if it could steady the uneven rhythm of his breathing.

When Zhan closed the fridge door, his gaze landed on a small sticky note pressed neatly against the surface.

>>> Ge, there’s food on the table. There’s also a hangover drink in the fridge. I’m heading to uni. See you later.

He read it quietly, lips parting just a little. If he had seen the note earlier, maybe his chest would’ve warmed, maybe he would’ve felt touched by Yibo’s thoughtfulness. But now—after what he’d just seen—it felt empty. The words carried no meaning, only a hollow sting that made his chest ache.

But he was still thankful for the gesture. After all, Yibo had been forced into their marriage. Zhan reminded himself, he shouldn’t expect anything more from the boy.

With a heavy heart, he drifted toward Yibo’s room. He hadn’t meant to pry, but his steps carried him there anyway—drawn by the need to confirm what his heart already feared. Perhaps within these walls, he might find traces of the girl who had been making Yibo smile… smiles that had once belonged only to him.

Zhan didn’t even need to dig through Yibo’s things. The moment he stepped into the room, his gaze landed on a strip of photo booth pictures lying carelessly on Yibo’s desk.

He picked it up with trembling fingers. On the back, in neat writing, were the names: Yibo. Suzy. And the date was taken right in the middle of what should have been their honeymoon.

“So this is why Yibo ditched me… to be with her,” Zhan whispered, bitterness twisting inside him. Yibo has a girlfriend, he thought numbly. His lips curved into a faint, broken smile. My decision to leave back then… was right.

Zhan sank onto the edge of the bed, the photo strip trembling in his hand. His chest felt tight. He closed his eyes, and before he could stop himself, the memories came rushing back—six years ago, the day everything began to fall apart.

___

Six years ago.

Yibo had only been fifteen then—still just a boy, yet already growing into a face and frame that made people stop and stare. His beauty carried the sharp elegance of youth, soft yet striking, like a sketch on the verge of becoming a masterpiece.

His hair, dyed a shade of blonde, brushed lightly against his ears, fine strands sometimes slipping into his eyes until he pushed them back with a casual flick of his fingers.

Zhan remembered thinking how unfair it was—that someone so young could already look that captivating. There was a raw, untamed beauty about him, the kind that drew attention without effort. And maybe that was when Zhan’s heart first faltered—realizing the boy who once trailed after him like a puppy was no longer just a boy at all.

Yibo's skin was pale and smooth, his lips full and pink, and his gaze carried a quiet intensity that was hard to ignore. Girls—and even some boys swooned over him.

But Yibo never seemed interested in any of them. To him, as long as Zhan was around, he didn’t need anyone else.

If there was one thing that hadn’t changed at the age of fifteen, it was the way he still clung to Zhan like a puppy—always following him, always staying by his side.

Since they lived just across the street from each other, almost every weekend Yibo would drop his school bag at home, freshen up, and then head straight to Zhan’s, insisting on spending the night. More often than not, Zhan would wake in the middle of the night to find Yibo curled up beside him—long lashes brushing his cheek, breath warm against his arm, head nestled on Zhan’s arm as if it were his favorite pillow. And when storms rolled in, Yibo would climb on top of Zhan, trembling, until sleep finally claimed him, his face buried against Zhan’s chest.

Zhan hadn’t meant to notice. He hadn’t meant to feel anything at all. But over time, the line between care and something more began to blur. The warmth of Yibo’s body against his own stirred something unfamiliar inside him, feelings Zhan didn’t expect.

He would catch himself staring longer than he should, tracing the softness of Yibo’s features in the dim light. And sometimes, when Yibo shifted in his sleep and his lips brushed close to Zhan’s skin, Zhan found himself wondering—just wondering—what it might feel like to press his mouth to those soft, pink lips.

Then, on stormy nights when Yibo climbed atop him, Zhan felt an involuntary response in his body that he couldn’t control. The sensation unsettled him, frightening in its intensity. Yibo was only fifteen, still far too young, and Zhan couldn’t shake the fear that he was crossing a line, tainting the boy’s innocence in a way that left him deeply uneasy.

With his unfamiliar feelings for Yibo unfolding, confusion took root quickly. He was only twenty-one, certain he liked girls, he always had. So why did his body respond to Yibo in ways it shouldn’t? Why did his chest tighten whenever Yibo smiled, or his pulse race at the lightest brush of their skin? Each stormy night made it harder to deny, harder to lie to himself.

The thought that he might be gay made him anxious, and so he had tried—God, how he had tried—to hide it. He flirted with girls, went on casual dates, told himself the attraction was still there. That if he tried hard enough, he could shape his heart into something more acceptable. His friends even joked about his charm, called him a playboy. He dated them, kissed them, played the part so well it almost felt real.

Almost.

But none of them made his pulse race the way Yibo did.

Yibo was different. Like he was the exception—the only exception. Zhan didn’t feel this way about any other boy. Just him. But still... Yibo was a boy. That truth hung in the air between every excuse, every desperate rationalization. No matter how he tried to twist it, it still came back to the same conclusion. And that conclusion could only mean one thing: he might be gay.

Worse, the feelings weren’t fading. They were only growing—deeper, more real, more terrifying.

So Zhan carried them in silence, shoving them down into the darkest corners of himself where no one could see. He told himself he could endure it—hoping his heart would eventually fall in line.

But everything changed the day a classmate at his university was bullied for coming out. He was called names, mocked, and treated with disgust.

Zhan stood frozen, watching it unfold—and something cold and sharp rooted itself in his chest. 

What if anyone ever suspected his own feelings? What if they saw the way his heart tripped around Yibo, the way he looked at him when no one else was watching? He was only twenty-one, confused and scared. The thought of being treated the same way terrified him. Because for the first time, he saw exactly what it would mean to be known.

So he began to put distance between them.

Weekends that once belonged entirely to Yibo, Zhan now spent with his college friends. But whenever they met, Yibo would clung to him even more. He’d tug at Zhan’s sleeve, pout, and tilt his head with those wide, pleading eyes—like a little puppy begging to be let in. Zhan’s heart ached every time, and he could never bring himself to turn him away.

Even when it wasn’t the weekend, even when he told himself not tonight, Yibo somehow still ended up there—curled beside him, soft and warm, as if he truly belonged.

It was torture—but Zhan endured, caught between the pull of closeness he feared and the comfort he couldn’t resist.

Until one evening.

The TV flickered in the dim room, light washing over their faces, when a scene froze Zhan in place. Two boys kissed on the screen.

Beside him, Yibo wrinkled his nose and leaned back against the headboard. “That’s weird,” he muttered, voice soft and uncertain, like a child puzzled by something he didn’t understand. “Why would two guys… do that?”

Zhan’s throat tightened. “You… hate it?” he asked carefully, holding his breath.

Yibo shrugged, disarmingly honest. “I don’t know. I just… I just can’t imagine myself doing that. I think I’ll only ever want to do it with girls.” His tone was so casual, so certain—like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

The words struck Zhan like a quiet blow, knocking the air from his lungs. He said nothing, only forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

That night, lying awake beside Yibo, listening to his steady breathing, Zhan made his choice.

It was better to leave. Better to disappear before Yibo ever discovered the truth of his feelings—and saw him with disgust.

And so… that was how Zhan ended up leaving for Paris.

___

He could still remember Yibo’s tear-streaked face the day he left, the way his voice cracked as he sobbed, “Ge, are you really leaving? Can’t you just finish your master’s here? What about me?” The words came out small and raw, like a child trying to hold the world together with his hands.

Zhan had no answer that wouldn’t betray him. He stood there with his suitcase like a coward, fingers numb, throat tight. All he could do was pull the boy into one last embrace. Yibo pressed his face into Zhan’s chest, trembling, as if clinging tightly enough could make him stay, could stop the inevitable. The weight of those arms felt like both an accusation and a plea.

Zhan bent his head, pressing a light kiss against Yibo’s hair. “I’ll be back, Yibo. Be a good boy while I’m gone, okay?” he whispered, forcing the words past the lump in his throat.

Then he turned, walking toward the waiting taxi before Yibo could lift his head and see the truth in his eyes, leaving behind a lost and broken boy who never stopped crying until the taxi disappeared from view.

Paris was supposed to be temporary—just long enough for him to sort out his feelings for Yibo. He continued dating girls, many of them. They kissed, some nights they even made out. But it never went further. Deep down, he knew why. For all his charm and recklessness, he was old-fashioned, he believed his first time should belong to the one fate chose for him. And none of them felt like that person.

So… was he saving himself for Yibo?

The thought made him furious with himself. He couldn’t accept it. What reason did he even have? Yibo didn’t want boys—he had said it himself. And yet, Zhan couldn’t bring himself to let anyone else in. No matter how many girls he dated, none of them ever felt right, none of them ever reached that place in his heart he’d kept untouched.

It took him years to quiet the doubts, to stop weighing right against wrong, and simply surrender to the truth: what he felt for Yibo had never been about gender—it was love, pure and unwavering.

And when he finally found the courage to return three years later—when Yibo was of age, when Zhan believed it was finally safe to bare his heart—it was already too late. The boy who once clung to him so desperately was gone. Yibo had ghosted him completely, calls unanswered, messages left unread, as if he had erased Zhan from his life.

So Zhan stayed in Paris. He convinced himself that Yibo no longer wanted him, no longer needed him in his life. And for six long years, he carried the ache quietly, burying it deep where no one else could see.

Until one day, his mom called—said it was an emergency and he had to come home. Finally, he had a reason to return.

That was how he found himself standing in Beijing Airport again. And the moment his eyes found Yibo, for the first time in six years, his heart still leapt, beating just as it always had before.

But the boy he remembered was gone. Yibo was colder now, distant. Sometimes, though, the old him slipped through in the way he bantered, quick and sharp like before. But it wasn’t enough. It was never the same.

So Zhan played along, letting Yibo believe he was just a carefree playboy, while he locked his true feelings away in the deepest corner of his heart.

And then came the marriage—a twist of fate he hadn’t expected. Outwardly, he wore indifference like armor, pretending to be strongly against it. But beneath the facade, hope flared recklessly in his chest. Maybe—just maybe—Yibo could learn to love him in time.

But it was nothing more than wistful thinking, because Yibo had always said he would only like girls—and now he was dating Suzy.

(end of flashback)

___

Zhan’s gaze lingered on the photo strips in his hand, fingers trembling slightly as he traced Yibo's smiling face. The date written on the back mocked him—taken during what should have been their honeymoon. His chest ached, but he forced himself to breathe, to think.

Nini’s words from the other night echoed in his mind: a professor had resigned from Yibo’s university, and the art department was looking for a replacement. 

Slowly, Zhan set the photos down, his jaw tightening with quiet resolve.

If Yibo was happy with Suzy—if this was truly the life he wanted—then Zhan would see it with his own eyes. And once he was sure, he would walk away for good. Back to Paris. Back to the quiet routines of his freelance work, to the life he had built as a graphic artist without him.

Without wasting another moment, he quickly dialed Yibo's university office. The director, who had once been a junior to both Zhan’s and Yibo’s grandfathers in the army, picked up.

He knew them both well—had watched them grow up. Perhaps that was why Zhan didn’t even need to explain much. The director was pleased to hear that Zhan was interested in joining the university and promised that yibo and his marriage would be kept a secret.

Zhan secured the position and was told to report the next day.

___

That night, Yibo returned home to find Zhan drinking again in the living room.

“How was your day?” Zhan asked with a smile, pretending everything was fine.

“I’ts okay, just tired. But why are you drinking again, ge? You’re not young anymore—your body will make you pay for it later.”

“Oh, so Bodi still cares for me,” Zhan teased, letting the words slip out with a crooked, drunken smile—masking the ache beneath his tone.

Yibo didn’t answer. Instead, he crossed the room, gathering the empty bottles in silence—and even slipped the half-full one from Zhan’s hand. “Enough of this. Did you eat dinner? I already ate, but I can make something for you.”

Zhan’s gaze lingered on him, unreadable, before he gave a small shake of his head. “Don’t bother. I’m not hungry.” He forced a smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes, and pushed himself to stand, his steps unsteady. “I’ll go to sleep.”

Yibo set the bottles down on the center table and quickly stepped forward, catching him by the arm when he swayed. Without a word, he guided Zhan toward the bedroom, steadying his wobbling steps.

Yibo helped him onto the bed, pulling the blanket gently over his shoulders. Zhan’s eyes never left him, heavy-lidded but filled with something that made Yibo’s chest tighten.

Before he could straighten, a weak hand caught his wrist. Zhan’s lips moved, breath warm and fragile.

“I missed my Guozaizai.”

His fingers slipped away, and he closed his eyes, a single tear escaping down his cheek.

"Guozaizai… me?" Yibo whispered pointing to himself. He remembered Zhan calling him that pet name, a piece of the past he thought he’d buried.

Did he miss Zhan too? God, yes. He missed the warmth of falling asleep beside him, the comfort of Zhan’s arm beneath his head. He missed the way he used to curl against him without thinking, holding him close in his sleep as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He wanted to give in, just for a moment, to lie beside him again, to pretend the years between them hadn’t built a wall.

But fear rooted him still. He wasn’t that boy anymore.

With trembling resolve, Yibo brushed away the tear on Zhan's cheek with the back of his hand. Then, before his weakness betrayed him, he turned and quietly slipped out of the room.

Behind him, Zhan slept in silence.

And in his own room, Yibo lay awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The words “I missed my Guozaizai” echoed in his mind, searing deeper into his chest with every breath.

-To be continued...

Chapter Text

Zhan woke with a pounding head and a stomach doing somersaults. His throat was dry, his brain foggy, but most urgently—his bladder felt ready to explode.

Groaning, he stumbled out of bed, dragging his feet toward the bathroom. He shoved the door—only to be shoved right back out.

“Hey!” Zhan blinked against the sudden brightness.

Inside, Yibo froze mid-brush, foam clinging to the corner of his lips. His damp hair stuck to his forehead, dripping onto a fresh T-shirt. For a split second, his gaze landed on Zhan’s disheveled figure—barefoot, rumpled, and wearing only a pair of loose boxer-style shorts that rode scandalously high, just enough to hint at the briefs underneath—before his eyes went wide.

A flush shot straight up his neck to the tips of his ears. His hand jerked, almost dropping the toothbrush into the sink.

“Zh—Zhan-ge!” Yibo sputtered, scandalized.

“Are you insane? You can’t just barge in like that!”

Zhan rubbed his temples, wincing at the sound. “I need to pee—”

“Knock first!” Yibo snapped, cheeks warming as he slammed the door in his face.

Zhan squeezed his legs together, hopping side to side like a kid desperate in line for a slide. “Yibo, let me in—I can’t hold it!”

“Wait your turn.”

“Wait my—are you kidding me?!” Zhan pounded on the door.

“Just let me in, I’ll turn my back! I promise you won’t see anything!”

With a stubborn shake of his head, Yibo spat into the sink and barked, “No!”

Zhan groaned dramatically, pressing his forehead against the door. “If I pee on this floor, you’re cleaning it up!”

“Then don’t pee on the floor. Or I’ll kill you.”

Having no choice, Zhan waddled over to the sink like a desperate duck, muttering curses. “Unbelievable. Who brushes their teeth this long?!”

He braced himself on the counter, biting his lip as relief finally started—

The bathroom door burst open.

“Xiao Zhan!” Yibo’s voice cracked. His eyes went wide. “What the hell are you doing?!”

Zhan froze midstream like a deer in headlights. “Peeing… I told you I couldn’t hold it in.”

Before he could defend himself, Yibo stormed over, a mischievous glint in his eye. He crouched and yanked Zhan’s shorts straight down to his ankles.

“You dirty idiot!” Yibo barked, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

“Hey!” Zhan yelped, spinning around—only to realize too late how close they were.

Now Zhan stood in nothing but briefs, bare thighs and a smug grin on display, while Yibo’s face was dangerously level with his crotch.

Yibo’s eyes widened instantly, ears blazing red.

“Oops,” Zhan drawled, leaning forward deliberately. “What’s wrong, Yibo? Never seen a man in briefs before?”

“Zh—Zhan-ge!” Yibo squeaked, slapping both hands over his eyes. His voice cracked as he scrambled backward. “Stop, stop! Don’t come closer!”

But Zhan only shuffled forward, teasing. “Oh? But weren’t you the one who pulled my shorts down?”

Yibo flailed like a crab, tripping until his butt hit the floor.

“Serves you right!” Zhan laughed, tugging his shorts back up. “Next time, let me pee in peace.”

Yibo stayed on the floor, palms covering his burning face. His whole body felt on fire, pulse racing out of control.

Why is this happening? Why is he affecting me like this? It’s just Zhan-ge… annoying, shameless, ridiculous—

And yet, his traitorous mind replayed the curve of Zhan’s waist, the lines of his thighs, the messy bedhead that somehow made him stupidly handsome… and the very obvious bulge straining his briefs.

Stop thinking about it! Yibo hissed into his hands, horrified at his body’s reaction. Heat pooled low in his stomach, making him squirm in shame and confusion.

Zhan crouched down, tilting his head as he studied Yibo’s silence. His voice softened, gentler now. “Hey, Bodi… you okay? Sorry, I pushed it too far. Come on, get up—you just showered. The floor’s cold.”

“I’m fine,” Yibo muttered, pulling his knees to his chest. He was glad his face was hidden—there was no way he could explain the storm twisting inside him.

Zhan grinned. “Want me to carry you up?”

“Shut up!” Yibo snapped, scrambling to his feet and bolting for his room.

“Wait for me!” Zhan called after him, laughing. “I’ll drive you to uni—just let me shower first!”

Inside his room, Yibo yanked on his uniform with jerky movements, heart pounding.

Why do I feel this way around him? Why does he make me hot, confused, out of control?

And worse—why don’t I hate it?

___

The ride to the car was unusually quiet. Yibo slouched against the window, earbuds in but no music playing, still trapped in the confusing storm of his own thoughts. His mind kept betraying him and replaying to the way his own body had reacted to Zhan. He pressed his lips into a thin line, willing the heat from his cheeks to go away.

Beside him, Zhan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, equally drown to his own thoughts. His stomach was churning from both nerves and last night’s alcohol. How do I even bring it up? How do I tell him I’m going to be in his university? He’ll think I’m stalking him…

Finally, Zhan cleared his throat. “Uh… Bodi, want to grab breakfast first? I’m starving. We didn’t eat before we left.”

Yibo’s frown deepened as his gaze lingered on Zhan’s pale face. “Who told you to drink that much? You look terrible. I even made breakfast this morning—you could’ve eaten it. I didn’t expect you to be up this early. I usually eat at the uni, so you didn’t have to force yourself to drive me.”

Zhan chuckled weakly, keeping his eyes on the road. “When did you become such a nagger?"

That earned him a side-eye. Yibo studied him for a beat, then frowned deeper. His gaze trailed over the crisp suit, the neatly knotted tie, the glasses perched on his nose—so different from the hungover mess from earlier. “Why are you dressed like this? A suit and tie at seven in the morning? Where are you even going?”

Zhan’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “…Tell you later.”

Yibo narrowed his eyes, suspicion rising. “Why not now? That’s shady, Zhan-ge.”

“Relax,” He flicked on the blinker and carefully maneuvered the car toward the glowing golden arches up ahead. “Breakfast first. Then… I’ll explain.”

Yibo stared at him, confused and mildly annoyed, but before he could push further, Zhan was already pulling into the McDonald’s parking lot.

Inside, Yibo trailed after him reluctantly, arms folded tight across his chest. 

Clicking his tongue, he caught Zhan by the arm and guided him to an empty table. "Sit. I’ll order. You look pale, so stay put.”

A few minutes later, Yibo came back balancing a tray, his lips pressed in a thin line. He set it down with a little more force than necessary, but his eyes flicked over Zhan with worry.

“Eat,” he said, sliding the tray closer to Zhan. “And don’t even think about complaining.”

Zhan blinked at the double hash browns, two egg sandwiches, and a steaming coffee. “Wow, did you order the entire breakfast menu?”

“You’re hungover,” Yibo said flatly, peeling open his straw . “Grease helps. And drink the water before you touch the coffee or you’ll just dehydrate yourself more.”

Zhan chuckled softly. “You sound like someone’s mom.”

“If I don’t nag you, I’ll end up a young widower,” Yibo snapped, tearing open his own hash brown wrapper. “Honestly, ge, drinking when you can’t even handle it? Should I beat you if you drink again?”

Zhan raised both hands in surrender, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him with a lingering grin. “Alright, alright. No more alcohol. Lesson learned.”

...

They fell into a lull after that, the quiet broken only by the crinkle of wrappers and the soft hum of the busy McDonald’s around them. Yibo sipped his orange juice in quick pulls, eyes half-lidded like he was still shaking off sleep, while Zhan picked at his sandwich, his stomach protesting with every bite.

Finally, Zhan set his food down and cleared his throat, fingers adjusting his glasses in that familiar nervous tic.

“Actually… there’s something I need to tell you.”

Yibo glanced up mid-bite, a fry dangling from his fingers. “Mm?”

Zhan fiddled with his tie, nerves prickling. “The reason I’m dressed like this is because—”

Buzz.

Yibo’s phone vibrated on the table.

His attention snapped to the screen. Without hesitation, he swiped it up.

> Suzy: Hey, want to grab breakfast before class starts?

Yibo typed back quickly, not even looking at Zhan.

> Yibo: Next time. Already having breakfast with a family member.

Zhan froze mid-sentence, the words lodged in his throat. He stared at Yibo, who was smiling faintly at his phone, thumbs flying.

His chest gave a painful twist. He dropped his gaze to his untouched sandwich, picking at the wrapper instead. Appetite gone, he shoved the tray an inch away, lowering his eyes behind the safety of his glasses so Yibo wouldn’t see the hurt flickering there.

“Never mind,” he murmured, voice soft enough to be drowned by the place chatter.

Yibo, still glued to his phone, didn’t notice.

And Zhan sat there, chewing on the sting in silence.

...

Yibo was still busy with his phone as they pulled out of the McDonald’s parking lot, his head tilted toward the window, thumbs flying across the screen. A small smile tugged at his lips.

Beside him, Zhan kept his eyes on the road, jaw tight. Every so often, he stole a glance at Yibo, every soft curve of smile cutting deeper each time.

He opened his mouth once, twice, trying to slip in his news. But each time, the faint ding of another message snapped Yibo’s attention right back to his phone, shutting Zhan out.

By the time they reached the university gates, Zhan’s patience was fraying. He parked at the curb and turned, heart thudding. “Ah—Yibo, there’s something I really need to tell you. I—”

But Yibo was already unbuckling his seatbelt, phone shoved into his pocket as he reached for his bag. “Zhan-ge, I’m really late. Let’s just talk at home later, okay? See you.”

The door slammed shut before Zhan could respond.

He sat there gripping the wheel, watching Yibo’s retreating figure vanish into the sea of students until all that remained was the ache in his chest.

With a steadying breath, he adjusted his tie and finally pushed himself out of the car. The weight of the day pressed down on his shoulders as he stepped through the university gates. First day. Deep breath. Just act professional.

He hadn’t made it far before the whispers began.

“Who is that?”

“Oh my god, he’s so tall, so handsome—and that suit!”

“Is he a new professor? No way, he’s too young!”

“He looks more like a celebrity… is someone filming here?”

Zhan blinked as heads turned, the whispers swelling into squeals. A group of girls near the fountain clutched at each other, giggling behind their books as they stole glances his way.

If this had been the old Zhan, he might’ve flashed them a charming smile, maybe even flirted back.

But those days were gone. He wasn’t here to play games or bask in attention. He was here on a mission.

Steeling himself under the weight of their stares, he cleared his throat and approached them. “Excuse me, could you tell me where the faculty office is?”

The girls gasped in perfect unison, like a scene straight out of a drama. One of them was nudged forward, her cheeks flaming red as she stammered, “O-oh, um—you, uh—you look really good in glasses, Mister!”

Zhan paused, clearly caught off guard. “…Thanks,” he said carefully, rubbing the back of his neck. “But the office?”

Another girl twirled a strand of hair around her finger, leaning in with a bold grin. “Mister, are you single?”

The squealing doubled instantly, a ripple of excitement spreading through the courtyard. Phones were already raised, not-so-discreetly snapping photos like they had stumbled across an idol.

Zhan’s ears burned hot. “I—I’m just looking for the faculty office,” he tried again, voice firmer this time. But his attempt at composure only made him look more aloof, which somehow fueled the frenzy even more.

The noise was enough to draw Ms. Liu's attention, who had been tearing into a group of late students near the gate. Her sharp eyes narrowed, locking on the commotion.

“Who’s causing this racket?!” she barked, storming toward them.

The students scattered instantly, but Zhan’s blood ran cold the moment her face came into view. Recognition struck like lightning.

"Oh no. Not her. Not again."

Korea flashed before his eyes—her shrill voice, her glare, her calling him a pervert.

Zhan panicked. Without thinking, he spun around, ducking his head and covering his face with his hand like a fugitive. “Not again, not again…” he muttered under his breath, clutching his bag tighter.

But Ms. Liu was faster. She ducked low, peering at his face from beneath his raised arm.

Her eyes narrowed further. “Ah—you?! It’s you again!” she snapped, her voice slicing through the courtyard like a whip.

And just like that, Zhan’s carefully imagined professional first day shattered to pieces.

___

Zhan sat stiffly at the long table, trying not to fidget. The office smelled faintly of books and fresh tea, a calm atmosphere that did nothing to settle his nerves.

Ms. Liu glided in like she owned the place, setting a steaming cup of tea before him. Before Zhan could even thank her, she plopped into the chair beside him, her hand sliding around his arm like a vine.

“Mr. Xiao…” she cooed, batting her lashes so furiously he half-worried she’d take flight. “Sorry about the last time. I should’ve known—you’re far too handsome to be a pervert.”

Zhan nearly choked on air. “I—it’s fine—really—” He tried to gently pry his arm free, but she only clung tighter, her head tilting as if the angle made him more attractive.

Before he could dissolve into full-blown panic, the sound of someone clearing their throat cut through the room.

“Ms. Liu.”

The voice was calm but carried authority. Both of them turned to see Director Chen Mingyu, a man with neatly combed silver hair and sharp glasses, settling into the central chair at the table. His expression was flat, though the slight arch of his brow spoke volumes.

He adjusted his glasses, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Ms. Liu, that will be enough. You can leave.”

Ms. Liu froze, then gave a sheepish little laugh. Reluctantly, she untangled herself from Zhan’s arm—patting it one last time like she was saying goodbye to a lover. “Oh, of course, Director Chen.”

She stood, smoothing her skirt, but not before leaning in close to Zhan, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr. “Mr. Xiao, see you later~” She gave him a wink before sauntering out, hips swaying dramatically.

The door clicked shut, leaving Zhan sitting rigid in his chair, ears burning.

Finally, when the door clicked shut behind Ms. Liu, Director Chen’s sternness softened. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back in his chair.

“Look at you—so handsome. We’re honored you chose this university to teach,” he said warmly. “The last time I saw you, you were still in college. Then you flew off to Paris. Time really does fly. Senior Comrade Xiao must be so proud, watching from above, of the man you’ve become.”

He paused, his sharp eyes softening with memory. “I regret I couldn’t attend the wedding. I was overseas at the time.” Then his voice dropped, low and deliberate. “It’s only me who knows about it here, right?”

Zhan straightened in his seat, hands tightening around the teacup as he gave a small, shy smile. “Yes, Sir. Please help us keep the secret.”

Director Chen gave a firm nod. "Oh, of course. I promised Senior Comrade Wang I would keep it hidden.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice, his gaze steady and knowing. “Be patient with Yibo. He’s still young—stubborn, yes, but a good kid at heart. And…” his mouth tightened, almost imperceptibly, “…don’t let yourself be swayed by Ms. Liu.”

Zhan gave a quiet laugh to mask his unease.

“Yes, sir,” he murmured, though in his heart he wanted to shout that it wasn’t him the old man should be lecturing, but Yibo—the one with a girlfriend.

___

Yibo slouched in his seat, tapping away on his phone. Seungyeon leaned over from the next desk, smirking as he craned his neck to peek.

“Still texting Suzy?” he teased. “Man, you’ve got both a girlfriend and a husband. Don’t you think that’s a little selfish? If you don’t want him, why not hand your husband over to me? Honestly, even if I were straight, with Xiao Zhan’s face and body, I wouldn’t mind bending a little. So if you’re not interested, I’ll take him.”

Yibo’s frown deepened. “Shut up. Zhange isn’t some object you can just claim for yourself.”

“Ah, so you are territorial.” Seungyeon chuckled, clearly pleased with himself.

Before Yibo could retort, a ripple of chatter spread across the classroom.

“Where’s Ms. Liu? She’s already an hour late.”

“I heard she’s not teaching us anymore—they found a replacement professor.”

“Really? Who?”

The door creaked open, and all heads turned.

Ms. Liu entered first, but no one was looking at her.

Behind her walked Xiao Zhan.

The classroom erupted.

“Oh my god, who is that?!”

“He looks like a model!”

“No, an actor—definitely an actor.”

“He’s so handsome—wait, isn’t he… familiar?”

The squeals grew louder, some students already sneaking pictures with their phones.

But Yibo’s world froze. His pen slipped from his hand and clattered onto the desk.

Why Zhange is here?

His mind flashed back to the car earlier when Zhan tried to tell him something. So this was what he’d tried to tell me…? But why here, at my university? Was he following me? Spying on me?

Beside him, Seungyeon let out a low whistle. “Whoa. Yibo, that’s your ‘husband,’ right? Damn, no wonder you’re hoarding him. If I had someone like that at home, I’d guard him with my life.”

Yibo’s chest tightened, a hot rush burning through him. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as the girls up front leaned forward, giggling, one even daring to wave.

Zhan adjusted his glasses with one hand as his gaze swept across the classroom. The simple gesture only made him look hotter.

For a brief moment, his eyes landed on Yibo.

Yibo’s breath hitched. But just as quickly, Zhan looked past him, as if he were no one at all.

The room erupted into an even higher pitch of squeals and whispers as Zhan adjusted his tie, like a scene straight out of a movie, exuding calm professionalism.

Yibo’s pulse was hammering. He waited for Zhan to glance his way again, to maybe give him a nod, a smile or just anything that might akcnowledge him.

But when Zhan’s eyes swept the classroom once more, they glided right past him. It is as if Yibo was nothing more than another student in a sea of strangers.

Yibo sat frozen, throat tightening.

Did… did he really just ignore me?

“Class,” Ms. Liu’s sharp heels clicked against the floor as she gestured grandly, her smile sugary sweet. “Allow me to introduce your new art professor—Mr. Xiao Zhan, be good to him.”

The squealing doubled. Students leaned forward, whispering to one another.

“Is he single?”

“Do you think he has a girlfriend?”

Zhan inclined his head politely, lips curved in a small smile. “Hello, everyone. I am Xiao Zhan. I look forward to teaching you this semester.”

Yibo clenched his fists under the desk, nails digging into his palms.

This morning, Zhan had been teasing him in briefs, looking at him with that stupid grin that drove him crazy. And now he is here, all posture and poise, pretending Yibo didn’t exist.

Seungyeon jabbed him with his elbow, grinning. “Damn, your husband looks fine. If you don’t want him, I’ll happily take him—and I mean it.”

Yibo shot him a death glare. “Are you tired of living?” he snapped, heat creeping up the back of his neck.

Seungyeon stilled, then arched a brow with a slow smile. “Wow. Sensitive much?”

But Yibo wasn’t listening. His chest felt too tight, his heart too loud. Watching Zhan surrounded by attention, by giggles and squeals, while acting like they were strangers—

It stung more than he could admit.

...

Ms. Liu had barely left the room when the whispers surged again. Near the front, one bold girl shot her hand up, a cheeky smile playing on her lips. “Professor Xiao, do you have a girlfriend?”

The class erupted with laughter and teasing oohs.

Zhan adjusted his glasses, expression unreadable, then replied smoothly, “Personal matters have no place in the classroom, not in my first day of class. Let’s focus on art.” His voice was calm, polite, but distant, drawing a clear line between him and the students.

The girls squealed even louder at his aloof charm.

Yibo’s stomach twisted. He forced his gaze to his desk, suddenly furious at himself for caring so much. Why should it matter if Zhan pretended not to know him? Why should it bother him if girls were already falling over themselves for him?

Still, he couldn’t ignore the way his chest burned, a knot of something sharp and unfamiliar.

Seungyeon leaned closer, whispering with a grin, “You look like you’re about to explode, bro. 

“Shut Up.” Yibo hissed, kicking him under the desk.
___

The bell rang, signaling the end of class. Students began packing up and preparing for the next subject, still buzzing about their new professor.

Zhan gathered his notes, offered the room a final polite nod, and turned to leave.

For the briefest second, his eyes flicked toward Yibo—so quick Yibo almost thought he just imagined it. But there was nothing there. No recognition. No warmth.

Yibo’s fingers tightened around his phone until his knuckles whitened.

But wasn’t this what he wanted? To keep their marriage hidden? He should be grateful Zhan was playing his part so convincingly. Grateful they both wore their masks so well.

So why did it feel like the opposite?

With a low growl, he raked a hand through his hair, mussing it in irritation.

“Fine. Let's keep acting,” he muttered under his breath.

But deep down, under all the irritation and denial, something ached.

And that ache followed him long after Zhan walked out the door.

-To be continued...

Chapter Text

Yibo couldn’t find the right moment to confront Xiao Zhan about why he had chosen their university. The older man was constantly shadowed by Ms. Liu, who seemed determined to monopolize his time with tours and endless briefings.

It grated on Yibo more than he cared to admit. Annoyance, jealousy—he didn’t want to name it. He had a girlfriend, after all. Zhan had every right to be kind to others, even to date anyone he liked. Yibo wasn’t supposed to feel this way. And yet, each time Ms. Liu leaned in too close to Zhan, something clawed inside his chest. It wasn’t just restlessness—it was a dangerous, consuming urge to rip her away from him, to step in and shield Zhan with his own body, keeping her from getting close again.

What unsettled him most, however, was Zhan himself—how effortlessly he pulled it off, as if they really were strangers, as if ignoring Yibo came as naturally as breathing.

How was he supposed to ignore Zhan, when he already felt as though he were being left behind? Left behind… by his Zhange.

The thought dragged him back to years ago, when he was still a child and all of Zhan’s attention had belonged to him. Back then, all it took was a sulk or a pout, and Zhan would come running to coax him with gentle words and endless patience.

Remembering it now only made the ache sharper, the bitterness heavier.

...

The rest of the day passed in a haze. Yibo caught himself glancing toward the faculty building between classes. He tapped his pen through lectures, scrolled mindlessly through his phone during breaks, and even brushed off Suzy’s chatter with distracted nods. But no matter what he did, his thoughts only circled back to the same point: Zhan was there, just a short walk away, and yet so far out of reach.

By the time the final bell rang for dismissal, Yibo was already looking forward to going home with him. He’d even told Suzy he couldn’t walk her to the bus stop today. Heart set on it, he waited at the parking lot, only to feel his chest sink as his phone buzzed with a new message.

Zhan-ge: Don’t wait for me. The faculty is throwing a welcome party.

Yibo’s shoulders slumped, disappointment washing over him as he trudged to the bus stop.

---

At the party…

Zhan was careful not to drink too much as Yibo had threatened to beat him if he got drunk again. But out of courtesy, and because every professor kept pressing drinks into his hand, he still ended up drunk by the end of the evening.

Ms. Liu clung to his side the whole night, laughing at everything he said—even when it wasn’t remotely funny. She leaned in too close, her shoulder brushing his, and Zhan swore her perfume had already soaked into his clothes. Then, out of nowhere, she picked up a long green chili, bit into it slowly, and shot him a look that made it seem like she was turning the act into something obscene.

Zhan flinched back, grimacing as if he’d just betrayed his marriage with Yibo by just looking at her.

Ms. Liu only giggled harder, clearly entertained by his discomfort. She tilted her head, eyes playful. “Oh, Mr. Xiao, you’re so serious. That’s why it’s fun to tease you.” Her fingers tightened around his arm, like she had no intention of letting go.

Zhan sighed, wishing the night would end already. Whatever buzz he had left soured into a headache.

...

It was already past midnight when Zhan finally stumbled back to their apartment.

Yibo was still awake, sitting on the couch with his arms crossed tight. His glare snapped immediately to Zhan.
“Why are you only coming home now? And drunk—again,” he barked, sounding every bit the nagging wife.

Zhan blinked at him blearily, rubbing at his temple. “Not my fault this time. Your professors drink like fish,” he muttered, waving a hand as he staggered toward his room.

“Zhange!” Yibo shot up, bristling. “Tell me—why my university? Of all places, why not work with Lay or Xian instead? What, are you spying on me? Or—” his voice cracked into panic, “—do you just want to flirt with the girls in my uni? If they ever find out we’re married, I’m dead.”

Zhan halted mid-step. For a heartbeat, Yibo thought he’d lash out. Instead, Zhan turned just enough for him to see the smirk tugging at his lips.

“Jealous, are we?” he drawled. Then, softer, almost conceding: “Don’t worry. I’ll keep your secret.”

Without waiting for a reply, he slipped into his room and shut the door, leaving Yibo rooted to the floor—flushed, furious, and more confused than ever.

“I am not jealous!” Yibo hissed into the empty living room—though even to his own ears, it sounded weak, unconvincing.

Did he really want Zhan to deny their connection? Or was he just clinging to his own denial? Hell, he couldn’t even tell anymore.

With a sharp huff, he stormed off to his room, sulking like a child—because this time, Zhan hadn’t even bothered to coax him.

The next morning, Yibo was already dressed in his crisp uniform when Zhan finally stumbled out of the bathroom, hair damp, eyes bleary. The sour twist of his mouth said it all—another brutal hangover.

“You deserve it,” Yibo muttered, arms crossed. His words carried a bite, but beneath the scolding, worry gnawed at him.

“Why do you keep drinking? If you don’t stop, I’ll tell Ma and Pa. What kind of example are you setting? You’re a professor, not some student who—”

But Zhan wasn’t listening. He brushed past, still dripping, and stormed into his room. Within minutes, he reemerged, fully dressed, fastening his cuffs with hurried precision.

He made a beeline for the veranda, snatched something off the clothesline without even glancing—a handkerchief, he must’ve thought—and slipped it into his suit pocket.

Grabbing his bag, Zhan strode straight for the door. Yibo trailed after him, complaints firing like a machine gun unril they ride the elevator.

“Are you even listening to me?” He gave Zhan a few light slaps on the shoulder—not really angry, more like begging for attention. “You can’t just ignore me! I told you, if you drink again, I’m gonna beat you—”

“It’s not really my fault, Yibo.” Zhan’s voice was hoarse, almost pleading. “Please… stop. I already feel sick enough.”

Yibo froze. The sharp retort on his tongue withered, his hand dropping uselessly to his side. For a moment, worry flared in his chest—was Zhan really that unwell?

But the moment slipped away just as quickly. By the time Yibo blinked, they were already in the parking lot. Zhan had slumped into the driver’s seat and started the engine without so much as a glance back.

Yibo hurried to the passenger side, tugging at the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. His frown deepened as he knocked sharply on the window.

The glass lowered with a soft whir. Zhan leaned just enough to glance at him.

“What? Didn’t you say you don’t want your uni finding out we’re married? Then you’re not riding with me. Go now, or you’ll be late.”

Yibo’s eyes widened, the words hitting harder than he expected. “Zhange… are you serious?”

But even as the hurt clawed at him, the truth settled in. He was the one who insisted on secrecy. He was the one who’d whined he’d die if his university ever found out.

Yet standing there on the pavement as Zhan’s car pulled away, the engine’s roar fading into the morning air, it still cut through him like a blade.

How had they come to this?

___

Yibo barely made it in time. He had spent the morning nagging Zhan without pause, never expecting to be left behind like that.

By the time he reached campus, he was panting. There was still time to grab breakfast before class started, but he had no appetite.

He slumped into his seat, unusually quiet. Seungyeon, ever the chatterbox, leaned over with a grin.

“You okay bro? You look like you ran a marathon.”

“Zhange did not let me ride his car,” Yibo muttered, not meeting his eyes.

“Oh? No wonder you’re grumpy." He laughed lightly, then launching into another story. Yibo give him side eye, before head shifted outside the window, to the blue sky, not listening , his thoughts too tangled to follow.
...

The bell rang. A hush fell over the room as the door opened.

Zhan stepped inside, and immediately the air shifted.

He walked slower than yesterday, one hand pressed against his stomach, his face pale, sweat forming in his forehead.

“Ugh, he looks awful…” Seungyeon whispered under his breath, frowning. “Is he sick?”

Yibo’s gaze locked on him, worry rising despite himself. But Zhan never once looked his way.

“Good morning, class,” Zhan said, voice clipped, almost curt. “You’ll be doing an activity today, based on yesterday’s discussion.”

A few students straightened in their seats, glancing nervously at one another. Just yesterday, girls in the back would already be giggling, throwing in bold little comments. Today, the silence was heavy.

“Sir, are you okay?” one brave student asked.

“I’m fine,” Zhan said curtly, setting his bag on the desk as he rattled off instructions for the activity. His tone left no room for further questions.

No one dared flirt or joke this time. The room was unusually obedient, every head bent over the assignment.

Yibo clenched his jaw, unable to stop sneaking glances at him. Zhan looked like he was barely holding it together. And still—he wouldn’t even look his way.

Zhan paced at the front of the classroom, while the students were already glued to their work, his other hand pressed firmly against his stomach, sweat trickling down his temple. His steps grew uneven, restless, like he was fighting off the hangover clawing at him. With a distracted sigh, he reached into his pocket, pulled out the cloth he’d grabbed from the clothesline that morning, and casually wiped his forehead.

Yibo's eyes widened in horror—because Zhan wasn’t wiping his face with a handkerchief. But he was wiping it with Yibo's briefs.

Panic roared in Yibo’s chest. He darted a frantic glance around the room—thankfully, everyone was still bent over their works, heads down in concentration. Nobody seemed to notice. Nobody but him.

He raised his hand, waving frantically in the air like he was signaling an airplane but Zhan did not look his way. He just kept pacing, Yibo's briefs dragging across his face like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Yibo gestured harder, drawing a shaky square in the air to hint at “underwear.” Still no response.

By the third attempt, Zhan finally looked his way. Their eyes locked—then followed Yibo’s frantic pointing to the “handkerchief” in his hand.

Without thinking, Zhan gave the cloth a little tug, stretching it out in full view as if to double-check what he’d grabbed. His expression froze, realization hitting him like a slap. That wasn’t a handkerchief at all—it was a pair of briefs. Not even his, but Yibo’s.

Heat rushed to his face before he could stop it. Of all things, why did it have to be that? 

Yibo’s blood ran cold. Desperate to divert attention, he shot to his feet and slammed both palms on his desk. The sharp bang cracked through the quiet classroom.

Every head snapped up, startled. All eyes were suddenly on him.

“Uh—mosquito!” Yibo blurted, voice a pitch too high. His face burned as he slapped the desk again for emphasis. “There was… uh… a mosquito on my desk. Big one.”

A couple of students blinked. Someone snorted under their breath.

Meanwhile, Zhan—mortified—stuffed the briefs back into his pocket so fast it looked like sleight of hand.

Yibo, still flustered, dragged the back of his hand across his forehead in a dramatic wipe, squinting at Zhan like it was all his fault.

Zhan turned away, shoulders shaking, clearly fighting to hold back laughter.

Yibo sank into his seat, cheeks blazing, wishing he could evaporate on the spot.
___

By lunchtime, Yibo was poking half-heartedly at his food in the canteen, sitting with Suzy. She was chattering away about something he wasn’t really listening to when suddenly Seungyeon came barging in, grabbing his wrist.

“Yibo, come quickly—you have to see this!” he hissed, practically dragging him out of his seat.

“Eh? What is it? I’m eating!” Yibo protested, stumbling as Suzy glanced at Seungyeon with a puzzled look.

“No time, you’ll understand when you see it!” Seungyeon said, hauling him across campus.

They stopped at the faculty building, in front of the glass-enclosed garden where professors usually lounged during breaks. Inside, at a small round table, sat Zhan. And across from him—leaning much too close for Yibo’s comfort—was Ms. Liu.

Students had already gathered outside, pushing against each other to get a better look.

“Oh no, looks like Ms. Liu is making a move on Mr. Xiao again,” one girl whispered, eyes wide with glee.

“What’s with her?” another student muttered, rolling her eyes.

Inside the glass room, Ms. Liu popped open a lunch box with exaggerated sweetness, sliding it across the table toward Zhan. Her smile was all too obvious—clearly flirting.

Yibo’s stomach dropped. He pressed closer to the glass, trying to keep his expression neutral, but his ears were already burning.

Ms. Liu plucked a piece of meat with her chopsticks, her smile flirtatious. “Here, Mr. Xiao, try this,” she cooed, lifting it toward his lips as though she were feeding her own husband.

Zhan shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable. He picked up his own chopsticks instead, stabbing at something inside the container and shoving it into his mouth just to avoid being fed.

Ms. Liu only leaned in further, lashes fluttering, unfazed by Zhan’s refusal.

“So… Mr. Xiao, what are you doing after school?”

Zhan gave an awkward little laugh and cleared his throat, his posture stiff. "Ah—my grandfather is sick. I need to go home straight after class."

“You must be the eldest son then—so responsible,” Ms. Liu giggled, her eyes sparkling with playful intent.

“No,” Zhan replied politely, “I’m the only son.”

Ms. Liu giggled more, twirling her chopsticks between her fingers. “Oh, we’re all sons in my family—except me! Isn’t that funny?” She threw her head back in an exaggerated laugh that echoed in the little glass garden.

Before Zhan could respond, she leaned forward again, chopsticks loaded, and insisted, “Come on, ah, just this once. Say ah—”

Zhan’s lips tightened. He darted a glance toward the glass wall, catching sight of the crowd of students gawking outside. “Ms. Liu,” he said under his breath, “the students are watching.”

Her smile only sharpened. “Let them watch,” she said, eyes glittering with challenge.

From outside the glass, Yibo’s jaw tightened so hard his teeth ached. His fists curled at his sides as he watched Ms. Liu lean in, chopsticks hovering too close to Zhan’s mouth. Zhan looked stiff, clearly uncomfortable, but he wasn’t stopping her either.

“Unbelievable,” Yibo muttered under his breath, the words tasting bitter.

Next to him, Seungyeon leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Careful, your face is screaming ‘jealous husband’ right now.”

Yibo’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide. “Keep your voice down!” he hissed. His ears burned hot. “And I’m not jealous.”

Seungyeon gave a quiet snort. “Yeah, right. You look like you’re about to break that glass and drag him out by the collar.”

Yibo crossed his arms, scowling hard at the floor. “It’s just gross, that’s all. She’s a teacher, he’s a teacher—don’t they have professional boundaries?”

“Mm.” Seungyeon smirked, eyes flicking back to the scene inside. “Basically, everyone here thinks they’re single and perfectly available—so, no boundaries. Lucky for Ms. Liu, huh?”

He let the words hang just long enough to sting before leaning closer to Yibo, his voice dipping into a sly whisper.
“Too bad she doesn’t know he’s already taken. But then again, you’re the one who always says it’s just marriage on paper. So what’s the matter now?”

Yibo’s ears flushed crimson. His head snapped toward Seungyeon, eyes blazing. “You really wanna die?” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Seungyeon chuckled under his breath, but softer this time, almost reassuring. “Relax. He’s not biting. Besides…” He shot Yibo a sidelong look. “We both know who he goes home with.”

Yibo clenched his jaw, but a tiny flicker of relief crept into his chest despite himself.

He consoled himself with the thought, completely unaware of just how possessive he had become.

...

After lunch, Yibo lingered in the corridor, arms crossed as he leaned back against the wall. A familiar crooked smile tugged at his lips, his eyes blazing with fury—yet the sight was more amusing than intimidating.

Zhan appeared, coffee in hand, looking steadier than he had that morning. Yibo tilted his chin, smirk curling sharp.

“Well? Was it good?”

Zhan paused mid-sip, one brow rising. “Were you watching too?”

“You looked so cozy sharing lunch together,” Yibo shot back, tone airy but his jaw tight.

Zhan’s lips twitched as if he couldn’t help himself. “Well, it’s better than the bread in the canteen.” He let the words dangle in the air, then tipped his head slightly, voice low and amused. “Wait… are you jealous?”

The word landed like a slap. Yibo froze for half a second before scoffing too loudly. “Tch—what a loser.” He slapped his fist into his open palm with exaggerated bravado and stalked off, ears burning red.

Zhan blinked, then let out a dry chuckle into his coffee. So, he could laugh over lunch with Suzy all he wanted—but me? I wasn’t allowed the same?

He rubbed the back of his neck, the unease settling in like he’d broken some unspoken rule.

Meanwhile, Yibo stormed down the corridor, his smirk vanishing the second he was out of sight. His stomach knotted tight. Why did I even say that? Why do I care? His steps faltered. Wait… am I really jealous?

He groaned under his breath, raking a hand through his hair. Argh, Yibo. Get it together. You need to sort yourself out—soon.

___

Later that afternoon, Zhan strolled past the open field where the cheer club was practicing. The air was filled with sharp claps, chants, and the steady beat of music blasting from a speaker. Pom-poms flashed in the sun as girls moved in sync, their laughter ringing out between routines.

The moment he stopped by the edge of the ground, heads started turning.
Whispers and squeals spread quickly—who was the tall, handsome man standing there?”

“Who is Suzy here?” Zhan called out, his deep voice carrying easily across the open space.

The girls giggled, exchanging wide-eyed glances. 

Finally, Suzy stepped forward, brushing stray strands of hair behind her ear. “I’m Suzy, mister. Why are you looking for me?”

Zhan chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Ah, so you’re Suzy. You look good—really really good.” He flashed her a quick thumbs-up, lips quirking into a half-smile, then turned and walked away before she—or anyone else—could say more.

The cheerleaders instantly erupted into whispers, some covering their mouths, others squealing not-so-quietly.

“Weird, but he’s so cute.”
“Did you see that smile?”
“Who is he?”

Zhan kept walking, shoulders tense.

She was young and pretty—really pretty. No wonder Yibo was drawn to her. His throat tightened as he swallowed down the bitter taste. They’d be perfect together—young, bright, uncomplicated. They could have the kind of complete family he could never give.

With a heavy heart and eyes that stung, he headed straight for the faculty building, gathered his things without a word, and left the campus—straight to Nini’s place. Anywhere but home.

___

The gallery was quiet when Zhan arrived, its glass doors reflecting the last light of day. Inside, the space glowed under warm spotlights, paintings casting silent shadows across the walls. The air smelled faintly of varnish and coffee—Nini’s usual after-hours routine.

She looked up from arranging a new set of canvases, surprise flickering across her face. “Zhanzhan? What brings you here?"

He gave a force smile, not trusting himself to speak yet, and wandered further in. His steps echoed against the polished floor until he sank onto a bench opposite a large abstract piece—colors swirling in chaos, like a storm caught on canvas. He stared, but his eyes weren’t really seeing.

Nini watched him for a beat, then quietly brewed two cups of coffee in the corner. She placed one beside him and sat down, folding her hands in her lap. She didn’t press, just waited.

Zhan’s shoulders rose and fell with a heavy breath. Finally, he spoke, voice low and raw.
“Nini… do you know why I left China six years ago?”

Her brows drew together. “You never told us. You only said you wanted… to broaden your studies.”

A humorless laugh broke from him, harsh in the stillness. “Study. That’s what I told everyone. But the truth is—I was running.”

“From what?” she asked softly.

He pressed a trembling hand over his eyes, as if hiding from his own words. “From Yibo.”

Nini froze, her lips parting.

“I fell for him back then,” Zhan whispered, each word like pulling glass from his chest. “Hopelessly. Stupidly. He was just a boy, and I—” His voice cracked. Tears brimmed, blurring the storm of paint on the canvas before him. “I couldn’t tell Lay or Xian. I was scared they’d judge me. Scared I’d ruin everything. So I left.

Paris was supposed to fix me. But it didn’t. Not once. Not in six years.”

Nini’s throat tightened. She reached for her coffee, but her hands stilled halfway.

His tears finally spilled, shoulders trembling. “When I came back, I realized nothing had changed—I still loved him. More than ever. But I had to keep hiding it.

“And then suddenly, we were arranged into marriage. I acted annoyed, like I hated it. But inside, I was hoping… hoping Yibo might learn to love me back.”

The confession broke into sobs, years of silence unraveling in an instant.

For a moment, only the hum of the gallery lights filled the space. Then Nini’s chair scraped gently against the floor as she moved closer. She placed her hand firmly over his, grounding him.

“Zhan.” Her voice was steady, but her eyes shimmered. “You don’t have to carry this alone anymore. Loving him doesn’t make you weak, and it doesn’t make you wrong. Not to me. And not to Lay and Xian either—they’d never judge you for your heart.”

Zhan bowed his head, clutching her hand like a lifeline.

She gave a small, bittersweet smile, glancing at the painting before them—the storm of colors, chaotic yet beautiful.

“Maybe it’s time you stop running. You’re allowed to want him. Allowed to fight for him." She squeezed his hand gently. “You just have to be honest with him.”

The gallery held them in silence, every painting around them seeming to echo his truth at last, laid bare like art on a wall.

Zhan’s sobs slowed, but his chest still heaved as he dragged in a shaky breath. His voice, when it came again, was hoarse, frayed at the edges.

“There’s more, Nini… Yibo—he has a girlfriend now.

Nini blinked, startled, but stayed quiet.

“He told me once… he only likes girls.” Zhan’s mouth twisted, pain etched into every syllable. “That’s the main reason of why I left. Because if he ever found out what I felt—if he ever looked at me and saw… disgust—” He cut himself off, pressing his fist hard against his lips as though trying to smother the thought.

The lights above flickered faintly, casting shifting shadows across the paintings.

“I thought distance would save me. That if I disappeared, I could protect myself from being hurt. But it didn’t. Paris gave me degrees, exhibitions, everything I thought I wanted. But it never gave me peace and happiness.” His shoulders slumped, defeated.

He lowered his hand, staring at the floor as his next words shattered like glass.

“And today… I met her. Yibo’s girlfriend. Suzy.”

Nini drew in a sharp breath.

“She’s…” His voice caught, the words dragging out of him. “She’s beautiful. Young. The kind of girl who could be an idol if she wanted. And when I saw her, all I could think was—of course. Of course she’s the one he’d choose. They look… perfect together.”

His throat worked, fighting against the burn rising behind it.
“They make sense. More sense than Yibo and I ever could. I told myself I’d let him go once I knew what he wanted. I never thought it would hurt like this. The thought of leaving again, knowing there’s no hope this time… it’s killing me, Nini.”

Zhan broke down, sobs wracking his frame.

Nini’s eyes glistened, her heart aching for the man crumbling beside her. Slowly, she shifted closer, slipping an arm around his shoulders. He flinched at first, then collapsed into her, forehead pressed to her shoulder like a boy too tired to hold himself upright.

“Zhan,” she murmured, her voice firm despite the tremor beneath it. “Yibo—he may not even know himself yet. You can’t decide his heart for him. You have to tell him the truth before you leave… so you won’t regret it later.”

Zhan shook his head weakly, but her embrace only tightened.

“Listen to me,” she whispered, steady as an anchor. “Whether it’s Suzy, or you, or no one at all—Yibo has to choose. That’s his journey. But you…” Her thumb brushed a tear from his cheek.

“You deserve to stop punishing yourself for loving him.”

Zhan closed his eyes.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted Yibo to know how he felt—he refused to trap him with guilt for a love that might never be returned.

One thing, however, was certain: when the semester ended, he would slip quietly back to Paris, leaving everything behind once more.

The thought cut sharp and merciless, but the burden felt lighter now.

For the first time in years, the secret he had carried alone no longer pressed so heavily on his chest—it had finally been spoken, finally been shared.

-To be continued...

Chapter Text

By the time Zhan managed to calm himself, the sky suddenly opened up. Rain hit the glass walls hard, lightning flashed bright as day, and thunder crashed so loud it shook the building.

Zhan froze. His mind went straight to Yibo.
He remembered how the boy used to shake during storms, jumping at every clap of thunder. Zhan didn’t know if it was still the same after six years—but just remembering it made his heart race.

Wiping at his damp face, he pushed to his feet. “Nini, I need to go.”

Her eyes widened. “But it’s pouring outside. It’s not safe to drive right now.”

“I’ll be fine,” Zhan insisted, his voice rough with urgency. “I… I just need to be home.”

He gave her a grateful nod. “Thank you for tonight,” he added, before hurrying toward the door.

The storm hit him instantly, rain drenching him in seconds. He broke into a run, splashing across the street until he reached his car. By the time he climbed inside, his clothes clung to his skin, hair plastered to his forehead, but he didn’t care. All he could think about was Yibo.

...

Meanwhile, Yibo sat curled beside his bed, knees drawn tightly to his chest, hands pressed over his ears. His whole body trembled, heart thudding against his ribs. He didn’t cry—he refused to—but the storm still tore at his nerves. He should’ve been used to it by now, after six years of facing nights like this alone.

But tonight was different. Knowing that Zhan was just within reach—that all it would take was a single call—made his heart ache even more. He longed for him, for the steady warmth that once pulled him close and sheltered him from the thunder.

Yet even if Yibo wanted to reach for Zhan—to find comfort in his presence—he couldn’t. Zhan wasn’t home, and pride kept him from calling, from asking him to come back any sooner.

His lips trembled as another thunderclap split the sky—louder this time, closer. The lights flickered once, then went out. Darkness swallowed the room whole. A flash of lightning lit his shaking form for a heartbeat before plunging him back into black. Panic rose sharp in his chest, stealing his breath.

Zhan’s own heart thudded violently as he neared their apartment complex, the building dark against the storm-lit sky. The power must be out. His grip tightened on the wheel, rain blurring the windshield, fear spiking with every crack of thunder.

“Bodi… you’re okay, right?” he whispered inside the car, as if saying it out loud could make Yibo okay.

He turned off the engine the moment he reached the parking, barely bothering with an umbrella as he sprinted through the rain. By the time he fumbled the key into the lock, he was panting from running the stairs, drenched to the bone, hair plastered to his face, clothes heavy with water.

The apartment was pitch black. Only the violent flashes of lightning gave shape to the room.

“Yibo?” His voice cracked into the silence. No answer. His pulse spiked. He stumbled inside, kicking off his soaked shoes, eyes scanning through the dark. “Yibo!”

He didn’t bother to knock—just pushed the door open to Yibo’s room. Another flash lit up the space, and there he was—curled up beside the bed, knees drawn to his chest, hands clamped over his ears, trembling like the boy Zhan used to soothe all those years ago.

“Yibo…” 

The younger man jerked his head up, eyes wide, reflecting the faint glow from outside. His lips trembled, as if caught between denial and desperate need. “Z-zhange?”

Zhan crossed the space in a heartbeat, dropping to his knees in front of him. His hands, cold and wet, reached for Yibo’s wrists, gently prying them away from his ears. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

The next boom of thunder shook the walls. Yibo flinched, instinctively lurching forward—and Zhan caught him. His arms closed tight around him, shielding him like he had all those years ago.

“Shhh,” Zhan murmured into his hair. “I’ve got you.”

Yibo’s fists bunched into Zhan’s soaked shirt, but he didn’t push him away. He clung, trembling, as though letting go would shatter him completely.

They stayed like that for a long time, Zhan holding him through each roll of thunder until Yibo’s trembling eased and his breathing grew steadier. Only when the storm outside dulled to a distant rumble did Yibo finally shift in his arms.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he pulled back. His eyes were still faintly red, though no tears had fallen. “You should… take a shower and change,” he muttered, not meeting his eyes, voice low as if shy. “You’ll get sick if you stay like that.”

Zhan’s lips curved in a soft, weary smile. He reached out, brushing the damp strands of hair from Yibo’s forehead before standing up.

He stepped out of Yibo’s room and returned a moment later with a lit candle. Setting it on the study table, he watched as its warm glow slowly pushed back the suffocating dark.

Before heading to the bathroom, Zhan glanced back at Yibo.
“You should change too. You got wet hugging me. Don’t make yourself sick.”

Yibo pressed his lips together and looked away, but he didn’t argue.
...

When Zhan came out a few minutes later, his fresh clothes carrying the faint scent of soap, the soft flicker of candlelight from the living room greeted him—and so did the sight of a steaming cup of tea placed neatly on the center table.

Yibo sat across the sofa, already changed into fresh nightclothes, posture deceptively casual—as if he hadn’t been trembling in the dark minutes ago.

“Is this for me?” Zhan asked, eyes on the steaming mug.

“Mn.” Yibo gave a small nod, gaze fixed stubbornly on the candle flame instead of him.

Zhan picked it up, the heat seeping through his palms. He lowered himself onto the seat beside Yibo, close enough for their shoulders to almost brush, warmth flooding him despite the storm still raging beyond the walls.

For a moment, neither spoke. The only sounds were the distant thunder and the faint clink of ceramic as Zhan took a sip.

“Thank you,” he said softly, breaking the silence at last.

Yibo gave the faintest shrug, but his lips pressed tight, his face flushing as his mind replayed the way he had thrown himself into Zhan’s arms earlier, clinging to him without a second thought.

Then a long silence followed, broken only by the steady drumming of the rain and the occasional rumble of thunder.

Once Zhan finished his tea, he rose quietly, rinsed the cup, and set it aside. Yibo remained rooted on the sofa, staring at nothing, the candlelight flickering across his face.

Zhan scratched the back of his neck, unsure. “Do you… want to sleep together tonight?” he asked finally.

Yibo looked up, his face faintly flushed under the candle’s soft glow. He didn’t answer, and Zhan didn’t push.

With a small sigh, Zhan turned toward his room to grab his phone, assuming Yibo wasn’t planning to sleep at all.

But before he could make it back to the living room, Yibo appeared at his room’s doorway, clutching a pillow to his chest. His voice was soft—barely more than a whisper.

“Can I… sleep with you tonight?”

Zhan froze in the doorway, breath catching at the sight before him. Yibo stood there like the little boy he used to know—shoulders hunched, pillow clutched tight, voice soft and unsure. The years between them seemed to crumble in that instant, and Zhan’s chest ached so sharply he almost forgot how to breathe.

“…Of course,” he murmured, forcing his voice steady. He glanced at his own narrow bed, lips pressing into a thin line. “But this one’s too small for us both.”

He met Yibo’s eyes, searching. “If it’s fine with you… we can use the master bedroom instead.”

Yibo gave a tiny nod, clutching his pillow tighter.

Zhan reached out to take his hand. The warmth of that small touch eased something tight in Zhan’s chest as he gently led him to the other room.

The master bedroom was larger, but stepping inside together somehow made it feel smaller—quieter. The storm outside still raged, thunder rattling the windows, yet the silence between them felt louder.

Zhan pulled back the blankets, careful not to meet Yibo’s gaze. “Here,” he said quietly. “You take this side.”

Yibo nodded, setting his pillow down with exaggerated care, as though even the smallest sound might break the fragile balance between them. He slid under the covers, body stiff, every muscle taut with awareness of the man beside him.

Zhan lay down next to him, keeping a careful distance. He pulled the blanket up to cover Yibo.

The bed was wide—but not wide enough to block the warmth coming from Yibo’s side.

He stared up at the ceiling, watching the candlelight throw soft shadows across the walls, and tried to will his heartbeat to slow.

For a long while, neither spoke. The storm raged, the candle burned low, and in the quiet between thunderclaps, Zhan heard the faint hitch of Yibo’s breath. He turned his head just slightly, enough to see the younger man curled up, pillow hugged tight to his chest, lips pressed thin as though fighting something back.

The ache in Zhan’s chest deepened. His hand twitched, almost reaching across the small space between them, but he stopped himself.

“I didn’t know you were still like this—even after six years, even after you grew up. What did you do on nights like this?” Zhan murmured, his voice low, nothing mocking in it—only worry.

Yibo shifted, half-burying his face in the pillow. “…J-just deal with it alone. You weren’t there. I had no one to turn to,” he admitted softly, voice with a hint of sadness.

“But Yibo, you had your mom. You could’ve gone to her.”

“Zh–Zhange… it’s not the same.” His voice cracked, the words tumbling out like a child’s. “E-ever since I was a kid, it was always you. You were the one who was there for me. I… I tried, once, after you left. I went to her, b-but it didn’t help. So I just… just dealt with it alone after that.”

As if by reflex, Zhan reached out, stretching one arm toward him. It was only after his hand found Yibo that he realized what he’d done—but by then, it was too late to pull back.

Thankfully, Yibo didn’t reject him. Instead, the boy immediately nestled into the offered space, pillowing his head against Zhan’s arm, burying his face into his chest.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with it alone,” Zhan whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head. His other arm came to rest around Yibo’s waist, holding him with a quiet protectiveness he hadn’t felt in years.

Yibo didn’t answer. He only pressed himself closer, discarding the pillow he’d been clinging to earlier as though it were a barrier he no longer needed—choosing instead to cling to Zhan, unguarded.

All the pain that had weighed on Zhan earlier at Nini’s place melted away the moment Yibo held onto him. The warmth in his arms was enough to quiet the ache in his chest. He told himself he should be content—happy, even—with whatever closeness Yibo was willing to give, for as long as it lasted.

As for Yibo, all the jealousy that had gnawed at him throughout the day seemed to dissolve. Youn was right—it was with him that Zhan came home. It was him Zhan was holding, no one else.

Before long, Yibo’s breathing grew soft and steady. Zhan watched him for a while, his heart both heavy and full, until peace finally settled over him too. He didn’t even notice when his own eyes closed.

...

By dawn, the rain had stopped. Zhan stirred awake to a heavy weight pressing down on him.

Just like before, Yibo had climbed on top of him in his sleep, his face squished against Zhan’s chest. But now, things were different—Yibo wasn’t a little boy anymore. He was grown, heavier, and Zhan found it harder to breathe with every passing second.

Still, he didn’t have the heart to move him. One wrong shift might wake Yibo, and Zhan would rather endure the pressure on his chest than lose the warmth of the boy resting on him.

To his quiet horror, Yibo shifted in his sleep, wiggling as if searching for a more comfortable position. The movement made their fronts rub together, friction sparking where there shouldn’t have been any.

Zhan’s breath hitched. Heat coiled low in his belly, traitorous and unwelcome. He shut his eyes tight, forcing himself to stay still. This wasn’t right. It could never be right.

To Yibo, he was only a brother—nothing more, nothing else. So Zhan reminded himself, that he had no right to want him otherwise.

It felt like a miracle to Zhan that he managed to calm himself down enough to fall back asleep. Maybe it was Yibo’s steady breathing against him—soft, even, and familiar—that finally lulled him under.

...

Soft morning light filtered through the curtain when yibo stirred with contented smile on his face.

He just had the best sleep in years. But when his eyes fluttered open, his sleepiness vanished in an instant. Warm breath ghosted across his face, and realization struck like a slap: he was sprawled on top of Zhan.

For a long, frozen moment, he didn’t move. Embarrassment burned hot in his chest—how could he even face Zhan after this? But worse, much worse, was the humiliating awareness of his own morning wood pressing right against Zhan. His whole body flushed, heat racing up his neck.

In a flash, he scrambled to get off, moving so fast he nearly tripped over himself. The sudden motion startled Zhan awake; he sat up abruptly at the exact same moment Yibo leaned back.

Their foreheads collided with a loud thud.

“Argh—!” both of them yelped in unison, clutching their heads.

For a second, they just gawked at each other, stunned, before Zhan groaned.

“Great. First thing in the morning and you’re already trying to kill me.”

Yibo rushed off the bed, mumbling a quick, “S-sorry Zhan-ge!” without daring to meet Zhan’s eyes. He all but bolted to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a thud.

Leaning against the sink, he gripped the cold edge as if it could steady him. His reflection in the mirror stared back—face flushed, lips parted, eyes wide with panic.

He turned the faucet on full blast, splashing his face with cold water again and again, hoping it would douse the fire crawling under his skin. But no matter how hard he tried, the heat wouldn’t go away.

Worse, his arousal was visible through the thin fabric of his pajama, bold and humiliating.

He pressed his thighs together, trying to hide it even though he was alone. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the sink, chest rising and falling too fast.

What the hell was that?

Why did he react like that… to Zhan, of all people? They were both men. He see him as brother—at least, that’s what he thought.

But instead of disgust, the memory made his pulse quicken all over again. If anything… he’d been excited.

Yibo discarded his clothes and stepped into the shower. He needed the cold water to calm himself down.

Meanwhile, Zhan rubbed at his forehead where their heads had collided, wincing. He was still groggy, still catching up to what just happened. One moment Yibo was asleep on top of him, soft and warm, the next—he was gone, running off like the bed was on fire.

The bathroom door slammed shut, and silence filled the room.

Zhan sat there frozen, his chest tightening.
Did… did Yibo find it disgusting? Waking up like that, tangled with him?

He pressed his lips together, lowering his gaze to his hands. Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? Yibo only want girls, he saw him as brother. Anything else… was wrong.

.

.

Zhan half-expected Yibo to act differently after that night. To pull away, to avoid him, maybe even to look at him with disgust.

But days passed, and nothing changed. Yibo still spoke to him the same. In fact, Zhan felt that something in Yibo had shifted—he’d become more open, the quiet walls between them slowly dissolving. It was as if the Yibo from years ago had returned. There was no hint of discomfort, no sign that he found it strange.

Zhan thought maybe he was just overthinking. Maybe Yibo really didn’t see anything unusual about it.

Either way, he was grateful—grateful that the boy didn’t hate him or feel disgusted by him.
___

On the weekend, Zhan had a reunion with his old college club—the Campus Guardians, the one he’d joined back in university, built around discipline and peace-keeping, half military-style, half brotherhood. The gathering was held at a camping site just outside the city.

Before he left, he reminded Yibo of the favor he’d asked.

“Bodi, I’m leaving. Don’t forget later, okay?”

“Okay, ge, don’t worry. I remember.” Yibo gave him a sweet smile.

“Bye-bye, ge. See you later.”

At the camping site…

Lay elbowed Zhan as they sat on the grass, waiting for lunch to be served.

“So, how’s your sex life? Come on, Zhan—do you salute every night?”

Xian let out a laugh. “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten too old for drills. Your young, energetic husband might just leave you in the dust.”

Zhan rolled his eyes, about to retort, when the service van pulled over. Heads turned.

A very young-looking Yibo stepped down, carrying a basket full of food. His jeans clung snugly to his legs, the curve of his round ass standing out, and when he waved at Zhan, his shirt lifted just enough to reveal a flash of pale, toned stomach. He looked more like a high school kid than a married man.

Lay let out a low whistle. “Oho… your cutie husband is here.”

“What the—why is he showing up like that?” Zhan muttered, already rising to his feet. He strode over, shrugged off his jacket, and wrapped it firmly around Yibo’s waist.

Yibo blinked, caught off guard. “Ge… I’m not cold.”

“You are now,” Zhan said flatly, glaring over his shoulder as Lay and Xian broke into laughter.

Xian cupped his hands around his mouth. “Careful, Zhan! We might all fall for your little puppy if you don’t cover him up!” Then Lay and Xian howled with laughter, trading winks and nudges.

Yibo blinked again, clueless. “…What are they laughing at?”

“Nothing.” Zhan grabbed the basket from his hands, ignoring the teasing. “Let’s go.”

Zhan sat cross-legged on the mat, happily munching on the food Yibo had prepared. His face softened with every bite, a rare look of contentment settling over him.

Beside him, Yibo fussed quietly, picking at the dishes and adding more to Zhan’s bowl. “Here, ge, eat more.”

“How about you? Don’t you want to eat?” Zhan asked.

“I already ate at home,” Yibo said softly.

Across them, Lay and Xian watched with sheer envy, poking at their bland camp rations.

Finally, Lay groaned. “Zhan… can you at least share some of that? Watching you eat is torture.”

“Yeah,” Xian added dramatically, “brotherhood means sharing, doesn’t it?”

Yibo looked up, blinking at them, and answered with simple honesty, “Ah… sorry. I only made enough for Zhange.”

Zhan nearly choked on his food, a proud laugh slipping out. Lay and Xian stared at Yibo like he had just stabbed them in the chest.

“Only for him?!” Lay gasped.

Zhan plucked one piece from each dish and dropped them into their container, still smirking. “There. Don’t say I’m heartless.”

“That’s it?!” Xian complained, clutching the tiny portion like treasure.

“Better than nothing,” Zhan replied smugly, leaning back as Yibo slipped another bite into his bowl, oblivious to the tension.

Lay and Xian groaned in defeat as Yibo, completely clueless, whispered, “Ge, eat slowly… you’ll choke.”

While Lay and Xian continued to whine over scraps and Zhan smugly guarded his bowl, a group of five boys suddenly approached, calling out Zhan's name.

Zhan’s smile immediately dropped. He sighed and muttered, not again—then reluctantly set his bowl down and stood. Without a word, he followed them.

Yibo tilted his head in confusion, watching as the group led Zhan to a clearing. A moment later, his eyes widened.

Zhan was on the ground, pumping out push-ups like it was punishment.

“What’s happening?” Yibo asked, baffled.

Lay didn’t even glance up as he stuffed food into his mouth. “Ahh, that’s just how things are with our senior. It’s normal, Yibo.”

“Normal?!” Yibo stared, scandalized. He tugged at Xian’s sleeve. “Help Zhange!”

But both boys only ignored him, busy devouring the food Yibo had prepared.

Something in Yibo snapped. His brows knitted, face flushing with anger. “Stop eating Zhange’s food!”

Lay and Xian froze mid-bite as Yibo snatched the containers right from under their noses.

Without another word, he stormed across the campsite, clutching the basket protectively, and marched straight toward Zhan—who was still doing push-ups, sweat dripping down his temples.

“Why are you punishing him?” Yibo’s voice cut sharp through the air, making the group of boys freeze mid-count. He stomped closer, hugging the basket to his chest like weapon.

“Zhange, stand up! What did you even do wrong?”

The boys glanced at each other, confused. “Uh… who is this kid?” one whispered.

“Ah—he’s… my younger brother. Don’t mind him,” Zhan said quickly, scrambling to his feet. He tried to sling an arm around Yibo’s shoulder to diffuse the tension.

But Yibo shoved him off, glaring up at him before snapping back at the group. “I’m not his brother—I’m his husband!”

Time stopped. The boys’ jaws dropped. One of them choked on his own spit. Another actually dropped his water bottle. Even Lay and Xian, who had been watching from afar, started coughing violently into their hands to hide their laughter.

Yibo, oblivious, went on fiercely, “What are you guys, military or something? Why are you punishing him? Hah?! My grandpa is a retired general. Tell me your batch!”

The boys scrambled, eyes wide as if they’d just been threatened by the actual army.

“Xiao Zhan!” one of them squeaked. “Please—tell him this is just senior-junior training! Nothing serious, we swear!”

Zhan laughed awkwardly, bowing his head in apology.

“Sorry, sorry—really, I’ll take care of this.” He gave them a sheepish wave before gently steering Yibo away.

“Why are you letting them treat you like that, Ge?” Yibo muttered furiously, his face flushed.

“Shhh… it’s really nothing serious, Yibo,” Zhan murmured, though his ears were red.

“Let’s go home now. What kind of nonsense reunion is this?” Yibo demanded, muttering under his breath as he tugged on Zhan’s wrist.

“…Okay, okay, we’re going home. Please calm down.” Zhan sighed, resigned, while behind them, Lay and Xian clutched their stomachs, both on the verge of rolling on the ground from laughing too hard.

___

It was already dark when they finally reached the city. Since Zhan hadn’t brought his car, they walked the last stretch toward their apartment building. Zhan’s arm draped lazily over Yibo’s shoulder as Yibo chattered on about some random campus gossip.

But his words cut off when three drunk boys stumbled into their path, eyes immediately zeroing in on Yibo with a hungry look.

Zhan’s arm dropped, and he instantly stepped in front of Yibo, posture rigid. “What do you want?” he said sharply, shielding him.

The tallest one sneered, ignoring Zhan completely. “We just wanna talk to your little friend.”

Yibo tilted his head from behind Zhan, blinking innocently. “Eh? Me?”

Zhan shoved him back, jaw tight. “Stay behind me.”

The drunkards laughed, clearly amused. One lunged first, and Zhan blocked the punch, swinging back. He managed to knock the guy back a step, but when the other two joined in, it became a messy three-on-one brawl. Zhan fought fiercely, but the odds were against him.

Yibo, wide-eyed, clutched the basket. “Zhange!” he called out, watching him get cornered. His heart thudded—panic, worry—and then his eyes landed on a long wooden stick leaning by the garbage bins.

Without thinking, Yibo snatched it up.

The next moment was a blur: WHACK! One down. SMACK! The second toppled. BAM! The third was on the ground groaning, all three sprawled in a heap at Zhan’s feet.

Zhan froze mid-swing, panting, turning to see Yibo standing there holding the stick like it weighed nothing, his face still confused.

“…What? They were bullying you,” Yibo said, scratching his cheek like it was nothing unusual.

Zhan just gaped, torn between pride, relief, and utter humiliation. “…Bodi… remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Zhan stood frozen, still catching his breath, staring at the three drunk guys groaning on the ground. Then at Yibo—stick in hand, looking all too casual.

“…I-I had it under control,” Zhan muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.

Yibo tilted his head. “Eh? You were losing, Zhange.” He said it so matter-of-factly, Zhan almost choked on his own pride.

Before Zhan could snap back, the distant whee-ooo, whee-ooo of a siren grew louder. Within seconds, a patrol car pulled up. Two officers got out, flashlights in hand.

“What’s going on here?” one officer demanded, eyeing the three men writhing on the ground.

Zhan opened his mouth, ready to speak—but Yibo, sweet and hopelessly clueless, jumped in first. “Oh! They were bullying Zhange, so I hit them.” He brandished the stick like it was proof of his good deed.

Zhan nearly fainted. “Bodi—don’t say it like that!”

The cops exchanged looks. “Alright, all of you—to the station.”

“Wait, what? No, I’m the victim here!” Zhan protested, gesturing at the drunk guys.

But it was too late—he and Yibo were herded into the back of the police car, Yibo still holding the stick like some kind of hero’s sword.

Inside the police car, Zhan slumped against the seat, covering his face with one hand. “Unbelievable. Why we’re going to jail?”

Yibo blinked innocently, nudging him. “Don’t worry, Zhange. I’ll protect you in jail too.”

Zhan groaned. “…Yibo this is serious.”

___

At the station, Yibo sat cross-legged on the chair, arms folded, looking completely unbothered while the officer jotted notes.

“So,” the officer said, “you’re the one who beat up those three men?”

Yibo shrugged. “They were bothering my Zhange first, so I hit them.” His tone was so calm, like he was just describing a very simple thing.

The officer blinked, then looked at Zhan in disbelief. “He did that? This kid?”

Zhan rubbed his temples. “He’s not a kid—”

“Clearly a minor,” the officer interrupted, pointing at Yibo’s smooth face and boyish clothes. “Why would you let him fight your battles? Are you exploiting him?”

Zhan nearly choked. “What? No! He’s my hus—”

“—band,” Yibo supplied cheerfully.

The room went dead silent.

The officer’s pen froze mid-air. “Your what?”

“Husband,” Yibo repeated, smugly. “We’re married. Right, Zhange?” He leaned over, resting his chin on Zhan’s shoulder, all smiles.

The other officer slammed the desk. “So not only are you letting a minor do your fighting—you’re also living with him as your so-called spouse? Do you know how illegal that is?!”

Zhan’s eyes almost popped out of his skull. “He’s not a minor! He’s twenty—”

“Do you have any proof?” the officer cut in. 

“We don’t have our marriage certificate with us.”

“I don’t have my ID either, ge,” Yibo muttered, still looking completely unbothered.

"Then you will stay here tonight since we cant detain a minor.” The police said looking at Zhan.

"No! Zhange is going home with me." Yibo blinked furious, then turned to Zhan. “Zhange, why don’t we call Professor Liu? She can explain everything.”

Zhan froze. “Bodi—”

Too late. Yibo had already given the officer his university phone number so they could contact Professor Liu.

Not long after, Ms. Liu swept into the station, heels clicking sharply. “What is going on here?” Her eyes softened the moment they landed on Zhan—until the officer explained.

“So, Ms. Liu,” the officer said, leaning back in his chair. “Can you confirm that this boy isn’t a minor”—he gestured toward Yibo—“and that this man is his… husband?” He then motioned to Zhan.

Ms. Liu blinked, clearly taken aback. “H-husband?”

“Yes, Professor Liu!” Yibo cut in before Zhan could speak, eyes shining with false innocence. “Zhange is my husband. You can confirm it with Director Chen—he’s my grandpa’s junior in the military. He knows everything. We’re just keeping it a secret until I graduate.”

The color drained from Ms. Liu’s face. Her gaze snapped to Zhan, who looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

For a moment, silence thickened. Then Ms. Liu forced a smile that never reached her eyes. “Yes. He’s of age. And… apparently married.”

“Good enough for us,” the officer said with a nod. “You’re both free to go.”
___

The moment they stepped outside, Zhan hissed under his breath, “Bodi! Why her of all people? I thought you wanted to keep our marriage a secret. What if the entire university finds out?”

Yibo, perfectly unbothered, looked smug. “She was clinging to you. But now she knows you are already married . She won’t bother you anymore.”

Zhan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “This kid… seriously.” With a resigned sigh, he hurried after Ms. Liu.

“Ah—Ms. Liu, please… just keep this a secret,” he said, his voice tight with embarrassment.

But Ms. Liu only threw him a sharp side glance—annoyed, disappointed… maybe even a little hurt. Zhan couldn’t quite tell, and somehow that made him feel worse.

She didn’t even reply. She just turned and slipped into the waiting taxi.

Zhan stood there, frozen, worry gnawing at him. What would happen to Yibo if word ever got out?

“Ge, let’s go home,” Yibo called lightly, tugging at his sleeve. “Your lip’s bleeding. We need to treat it.”

Zhan turned to him, torn between crying and laughing. How could Yibo look so casual—so pleased with himself—after causing such a disaster?

When they got home, Zhan sat quietly on the couch while Yibo rummaged through the cabinet, pulling out the ointment kit.

“Sit still,” Yibo ordered, dabbing at Zhan’s split lower lip with a cotton swab.

“Zhange, why’d you let them beat you like that? You’re too soft. How do you even live without me around?”

To Yibo, it was just casual nagging. But the words cut deeper than Zhan had imagined.

How do I live without you? Zhan thought, chest tightening. The truth was—he didn’t know. He couldn’t even imagine it anymore. Six years of running from his feelings had already been torture, but now that he knew what it felt like to live beside Yibo again, the idea of losing him felt unbearable. His hand twitched against his knee as if to hold himself together, but his face gave him away—lips parted, eyes distant, hollow.

The sudden stillness made Yibo pause. The cotton swab froze midair as he found himself staring at Zhan’s slightly parted lips, at the raw, quiet vulnerability written all over his face.

Yibo swallowed. For the briefest moment, an urge to lean in and press his mouth to those parted lips is very strong. His heart skipped, but Zhan’s vacant gaze stopped him cold.

Instead, Yibo called softly, “Zhange? What’s wrong? Are you hurting somewhere?” His hand shifted, gently squeezing Zhan’s arm.

Zhan turned, eyes already glassy. He lingered on Yibo’s face as if to memorize it, then murmured, “Nothing. You must be tired from cooking and fighting those jerks. Thank you for the favor today… and for saving me.”

He rose before Yibo could say more, retreating toward his room. “Good night, Yibo.”

The door clicked shut, leaving Yibo staring at the empty space Zhan had left behind.

Why did Zhange look so sad? The question gnawed at him. And why did it hurt just to see him like that?

His hands curled into fists, restless. A part of him wanted to chase after Zhan, to be there for him the way he used to. 

Did he forgive Zhan for leaving six years ago?

He already had—he’d forgiven him the moment he came back. He just didn’t dare get too close, afraid that if he did, Zhan would disappear all over again.

But now… now he wanted to close the distance he’d created. He wanted to be by Zhan’s side again—to cheer him up when he was sad, to fall asleep beside him every night, and to wake up to him every morning.

Yet one thing still held him back—something he needed to be sure of.

He didn’t want to mistake comfort for something deeper, or blur the line just because being near Zhan felt right. Not when he still had a girlfriend. Not when he couldn’t even tell what Zhan truly felt for him.

So for now, he will wait—silently, stubbornly—until he could name what was in his heart, and be certain that whatever choice he made… wouldn’t break them both.

-To be continued...

Chapter Text

Yibo was lying on top of Zhan, their bodies pressed close.
Zhan’s breath brushed against his lips—warm, uneven—before he sucked gently on Yibo’s upper lip.

Yibo’s pulse quickened. He leaned forward, heart hammering, and mirrored the motion. His mouth finding Zhan’s lower lip, right by the familiar mole. The kiss began soft, hesitant, but soon deepened, fueled by everything they’d been holding back.

Zhan’s hand slid up the back of Yibo’s neck, fingers threading into his hair, urging him closer. Yibo’s thoughts dissolved; there was only the heat, the taste, the low sound that trembled from Zhan’s throat against his mouth.

His hand moved down Zhan’s side, tracing the firm lines of muscle before skimming over bare skin. His thumb hooked on the waistband of Zhan’s boxers, giving a small, uncertain tug, and then-

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound was loud and sharp, cutting straight through the haze.

Yibo jerked upright, gasping. For a second, he didn’t even know where he was. The room came into focus slowly—his room, not the master bedroom. Morning light leaked through the curtains. His sheets were twisted around him, his skin damp with sweat.

He just sat there, blinking hard, trying to make sense of it. His heart was still racing, and the dream—if it was a dream—felt way too real.

“Oh, crap… now I’m having that kind of dream about Zhange?” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. His cheeks burned.

“Seriously?”

Then his gaze dropped—and his face went even redder. The fabric of his shorts tented with his aching erection. A shadow of dampness, was already staining it.

Before he could even think, Zhan’s voice drifted from outside.
“Yibo? It’s already late. You’re going to be late for class.”

Yibo groaned, dragging a pillow over his face. “Of all times, Zhange…” he muttered, voice muffled, half dying of embarrassment. “Coming! Just—just a minute!”

He held perfectly still, muscles locked tight, rubbing his thighs together as if that could will the heat away.

Only when he heard the faint click of Zhan’s door closing again did he finally move.

In a blur, Yibo jumped out of bed, grabbed a towel and a change of clothes, and bolted for the bathroom. His heart was pounding so hard it nearly drowned out the sound of his own footsteps.

His pulse pounded in his ears as he leaned against the door, the heat in his belly refusing to subside. His length throbbed insistently, aching for relief.

With a sudden, frenzied movement, he ripped off his clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor.

Naked and desperate, he stumbled into the shower stall. The icy water hit his skin, but it didn't cool his arousal—instead, it made his cock throb harder. His hand moved down on its own, gripping his hard shaft. 

He gave it a slow, deliberate stroke at first, feeling the slick water mix with the precum leaking from the tip. The sensation shot straight through him, making his knees buckle a little as he leaned against the tiled wall.

"Z...Zhan-ge," he groaned, his mind consumed by the erotic images of Zhan's wet, pouty lips. 

Even as his mind screamed that it was wrong, that he shouldn't be touching himself to thoughts of his Zhange, his body only ignored the protests.

With each downward glide of his hand, Yibo felt himself spiraling closer to the edge. He stroked harder, thumb rubbing over the sensitive head on every upstroke, chasing that edge where control slipped away completely.

The tile wall seemed to spin around him as he quickened his pace, the forbidden fantasy of Xiao Zhan wrapped around him like a sweet snare.

Yibo bit hard on his lower lip, stifling a cry
as his release tore through him, leaving him trembling. Hot seed splattering against the tiles.

He slumped against the shower wall, chest heaving, as the aftershocks rolled through him. The cold water felt good against his flushed skin, but it couldn't wash away the guilt that now seeped in, threatening to drown him.

Yibo knew he should face whatever strange feelings had driven him to this. But right now, he could only stand there—naked and trembling, breath uneven, trying to understand how his heart and mind could fall this far.
___

When he finally stepped out of the bathroom, he found the dining table already set. Xiao Zhan was busy plating eggs, his back turned.

“Perfect timing,” Zhan said cheerfully. “Sit down Bodi. Breakfast’s ready.”

Yibo froze halfway through drying his hair, face still suspiciously flushed. He mumbled a quiet, “Mn,” and slid into the chair, eyes glued to the plate.

Zhan set a mug of hot chocolate in front of him and frowned. “Bodi… your face is red.” He pressed the back of his hand to Yibo’s forehead. “Do you have a fever?”

Yibo nearly choked on air. “W-what? No! I’m fine!” He swatted Zhan’s hand away, ears burning brighter. “I—it’s just hot from the shower!”

Zhan raised a brow. “Hot? You were in there for almost half an hour. Did you take a sauna?”

Yibo coughed, hiding behind his mug. “You—You shouldn’t time how long I shower Ge!”

Zhan blinked, then chuckled. “I wasn’t timing you, you just… sounded like you were struggling in there. I was about to check if you slipped.”

The mug nearly slipped from Yibo’s hands. “I—uh—no! Don’t ever check! I’m perfectly fine in there!”

Zhan laughed, shaking his head as he sat down. “You’re acting weird this morning.”

“Am not,” Yibo muttered, stuffing his mouth with eggs to end the conversation.

Zhan only smiled, watching him with amusement. “If you say so, Bodi. But next time, don’t stay in too long. You’ll make me worry.”

Yibo’s ears twitched. If only you knew what I was doing in there, he thought miserably, gulping down his chocolate.

They ate in a comfortable silence, just the soft clinking of cutlery and the sound of the stereo playing in the background.

When Zhan finished, he rose, gathering his plate and cup to the sink. “You done eating?” he asked over his shoulder.

Yibo nodded, his voice a quiet hum. “Mn.”

He pushed his plate away, wiping his mouth with a napkin before glancing up, hesitating.

“Mn… Zhange,” he started, tone suddenly softer.

Zhan hummed, busy rinsing his coffee mug in the sink. “What is it?”

Yibo fidgeted with his fingers. “Can you… let me ride with you to the uni starting today?”

Zhan turned, blinking. “Eh? Ride with me? What if your classmates see you getting out of my car?”

That made Yibo finally look at him—the first real eye contact he’d made all morning. His face was still pink from earlier, but now he was giving Zhan that look—wide, pleading puppy eyes paired with a small, pouty mouth that could melt anyone’s resolve.

“Zhange,” Yibo said, drawing out the last syllable like a whine. “You can just drop me before the gate. I’ll walk from there. Please?”

Zhan sighed, already feeling his defenses crumble. “You’re using that face again,” he muttered, trying to look away.

“What face?” Yibo blinked innocently, tilting his head.

“That one,” Zhan said, pointing at him. “The one that says you’re about to get exactly what you want.”

Yibo’s lips curved into a grin. “So you’re saying yes?”

Zhan groaned, rubbing his temple. “Fine. But if anyone sees you and rumors start, you’re explaining it to your classmates yourself.”

Yibo’s grin widened, all traces of his earlier fluster gone. “Deal!”

He picked up his plate and cup, grinning. “Hurry up, Zhange! Let me wash these quick! You’ll make us late~”

“Aiya, Bodi, let me do it,” Zhan said, chuckling as he stood beside him. “Go change into your uniform before we’re really late.”

“Thank you, Ge!”

Before he could stop himself, Yibo leaned in and pecked Zhan’s cheek—a quick, instinctive gesture—then dashed off toward his room.

Zhan froze, hand still holding the dish, the warmth from that brief touch lingering on his skin.

Slowly, a smile tugged at his lips as he shook his head, helpless. “This kid really has me wrapped around his finger…” he muttered, still smiling as he turned back to the sink.

Meanwhile, inside his room, Yibo’s face burned as the memory came rushing back.

“Oh no…” he whispered, burying his face in his hands. “Why did you kiss him, idiot? If you were still a kid, Zhange might’ve brushed it off. But you’re a grown man now—ugh! I really hope Zhange didn’t think it was weird…”

...

By the time they reached campus, Yibo’s face was still faintly pink, though he tried to act normal. “Thanks for the ride, Ge,” he said quickly before hopping out a block away, just as promised.

Zhan’s first class of the day was Yibo’s—Arts Appreciation. Yibo was already there, sitting quietly at the back, still trying to calm the flutter in his chest from earlier.

When Zhan walked in, his usual calm smile carried a certain brightness today—an ease that made him look almost radiant. The students noticed immediately.

“Professor Xiao seems to be in a good mood today,” someone whispered, and a few giggles followed.

So, as soon as Zhan started the lesson, one of them raised a hand dramatically.

“Sir, we’re still half-asleep. Can you tell us something interesting first?”

Zhan tilted his head, amused. “Interesting? Like what?”

“Maybe…” another student chimed in mischievously, “about your first love?”

The class erupted in laughter and playful cheers.

“Aiya,” Zhan chuckled, folding his arms. “That’s boring.”

“Please, Professor Xiao!”

Yibo, who had been pretending to take notes, froze. His pen hovered midair as his heart gave a sharp thump at the words first love.

Beside him, Seungyeon elbowed him with a grin. “Oh, this is interesting~ Let’s hear who your husband’s first love was, Yibo.”

“Lower your voice,” Yibo hissed, elbowing him back, eyes now locked on Xiao Zhan at the front of the room.

“My first love…” Zhan began, his tone almost teasing, but it softened as he went on.

The room stilled. Yibo, found himself listening closely.

“It was the only person who came to visit me during my college days,” Zhan said, a nostalgic smile ghosting his lips.

“Back when our club had to serve a month at a military camp during our summer vacation, they showed up—aside from my parents, they were the only one who did.”

A quiet pause followed before he continued, voice gentler now. “But they never knew about my feelings. And I never said anything. I was afraid I’d be rejected.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Anyway, it was a one-sided love. Enough about that—let’s talk about art, not heartbreak.”

The class laughed, breaking the silence, but Yibo’s chest felt tight.

“It must be Nini,” he murmured to himself, a small pout forming on his lips.

Seungyeon caught it out of the corner of his eye but didn’t comment. Zhan had already moved on with the lecture—though his smile still carried a trace of something bittersweet.

.

.

Few months remained before the semester is over and Yibo’s graduation.

As expected after the police station incident, Ms. Liu had grown distant. The flirting gone. Not that Zhan minded. In fact, he was grateful. As long as she kept their secret, she could ignore him all she wanted.

But it was a different story for Yibo — Ms. Liu seemed determined to make things difficult for him.

She gave him the toughest assignments, endless reports, and tasks with impossibly short deadlines. Yibo often stayed up all night just to finish them, to the point where Zhan had to step in. He couldn’t stand seeing Yibo come to class half-asleep from exhaustion, so he quietly helped him complete the work. Yibo was deeply grateful — and when they finally finished, he will wrapped Zhan in a thankful hug.

Even the preparations for the upcoming University Foundation weren’t an exception. Ms. Liu once again gave the hardest task to Yibo—along with Seungyeon: painting the entire stage backdrop for the auditorium.

...

One afternoon, after surveying the materials they’d need, the two of them headed into the auditorium’s empty restroom to wash their hands.

Seungyeon frowned at Yibo through the mirror. “Why do I feel like Ms. Liu has some kind of personal grudge against you?”

Yibo smirked, drying his hands. “It’s because she found out I’m married to Zhange.”

Seungyeon froze mid-motion. “What?! How did that even happen?”

“It’s a long story,” Yibo said, brushing it off casually. “But it’s better this way. At least now she’ll stop flirting with him.”

Seungyeon turned to him, suddenly serious. “Yibo… are you falling for him?”

That caught Yibo off guard. His smirk faded. “Yeon… what is love?”

Seungyeon snorted. “Haha, seriously? You’re asking me that? You’re the one who already has a girlfriend—and a husband, apparently.”

“I’m serious,” Yibo said quietly.

“So am I.” Seungyeon leaned on the counter, his gaze unfocused in thought. “From what I see in movies—when people fall in love, they want to be with that person all the time. They want to take care of them, get butterflies on their stomach just being near them… and they want to hold them. You know—touch, kiss, all that.”

Yibo blinked slowly, his expression distant. “Oh. Then I guess I’m doomed.”

Seungyeon’s brows shot up. “Doomed? Why? Who is it—Suzy or Mr. Xiao?”

Yibo hesitated, voice dropping to a whisper. “I… I feel all of that with Zhange.”

His eyes softened, a mix of guilt and wonder flickering in them. “I think I only liked the idea of dating Suzy,” he admitted. “She’s popular, and she was the one who asked me out. It felt… easy to say yes.”

He exhaled, gaze drifting to the running water tap. The sound filled the small silence between them.

“But when we’re together,” he said softly, “I don’t feel excited. I don’t even want to kiss her.”

A faint blush crept up his neck as he added, almost to himself, “But with Zhange… it’s different.”

Seungyeon crossed his arms. “Then you should break up with Suzy and tell Mr. Xiao how you feel.”

Yibo sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I will. I mean… I plan to. But Suzy’s in Korea right now visiting her family, so I can’t talk to her yet.” He paused, his brows knitting. “And honestly… I’m scared to tell Zhange.”

Seungyeon tilted his head. “Scared? Of what?”

Yibo’s gaze softened, turning distant. “I don’t know how he feels about me,” he said quietly. “Sure, he’s always treated me special — like he’s been spoiling me since I was a kid. But that doesn’t mean he loves me that way.”

He paused, his throat tightening. “Maybe he only sees me as a younger brother. And what if… what if after I confess, everything changes? What if I lose him?”

His voice trembled slightly as he went on, “We only just started to go back to how we used to be after he came back. I don’t think I could survive it if he started keeping his distance from me.”

Seungyeon let out a quiet sigh. “Regardless, Yibo… he still deserves to know.”

Neither of them noticed that the restroom door hadn’t fully closed. Just outside, two girls had stopped in their tracks, leaning closer with their ears practically pressed to the boys’ restroom door.

Their eyes widened as they caught every word, sharp and clear—
Yibo is married to Mr. Xiao.

.

.

The following week, Suzy finally returned from Korea.

The university was abuzz with activity-students gathered around the gym as the media team filmed the basketball players and cheerleaders for the upcoming Foundation Day commercial. After the shoot, Yibo spotted Suzy among her friends.

He took a quiet breath, determined to finally talk to her and end things properly. But before he could even take a step, Suzy ran up to him, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Yibo! I missed you so much!” she said, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

Yibo froze. His heart stuttered in his chest.
It didn’t feel right.
It felt wrong — like he was betraying someone who wasn’t even his to lose.
Like he was cheating on his Zhange.

“Suzy,” he started carefully, “there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

But she waved him off with a grin, still clinging to his arm. “Oh, good timing! I’m going out with the girls tonight. We haven’t seen each other in weeks! Come with us—we can talk there.”

“Ah, sorry,” Yibo said quickly, shaking his head. “I can’t tonight. I promised to go home early.”

Suzy pouted but didn’t push. “Then let’s just talk on the weekend, okay?”

Yibo hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Mn. Okay.”

She smiled, gave his arm one last squeeze, and ran back to her group.

He watched her go, his chest heavy with unease. 

...

When Yibo came home, a faint humming greeted him before he even stepped fully inside the apartment.

Zhan stood by the stove, an apron hanging loosely around his waist, stirring a pot that filled the air with the smell of Yibo’s favorite dish.

He hadn’t heard the door open, so Yibo simply walked quietly across the room and stopped a few steps behind him, watching. Even just the sight of Zhan’s back made something in Yibo’s chest twist painfully.

Guilt settled heavily in his stomach. Even if their marriage existed only on paper, Yibo couldn’t shake the feeling that it was wrong—especially now, thinking of it. While someone else kissed him out there, Xiao Zhan was here, quietly cooking for him, tending to him in ways he never asked for.

As if sensing his presence, Zhan turned. “Oh, Bodi, you’re here,” he said warmly, smiling as he met Yibo’s eyes.

Yibo didn’t answer. He just stood there, rooted beside the dining table, gaze trembling as it lingered on Zhan’s face.

“Yibo?” The smile faded from Zhan’s lips, replaced by concern. “Are you not feeling well?”

He crossed the kitchen in a few quick steps and pressed his palm to Yibo’s forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever, but—”

Before he could finish, Yibo suddenly wrapped his arms around his waist, burying his face against Zhan’s shoulder.

Zhan froze, startled by the sudden embrace. “What’s wrong? Did Ms. Liu give you a hard time again?” he asked softly, voice gentle yet threaded with worry.

Yibo only shook his head, pressing his face deeper into the curve of Zhan’s neck. His arms tightened around him.

The only sound that escaped him was a quiet, shaky breath that trembled against Zhan’s skin.

Zhan gently patted Yibo’s back, his voice soft. “Go take a shower first. You’ll feel better after.”

Yibo lingered for a moment, reluctant to let go, then slowly pulled away and nodded. Without a word, he turned toward his room. 

A few minutes later, he emerged, clutching a towel and a change of clothes, and made his way to the bathroom. His steps were slow, almost reluctant, each one heavy with everything he couldn’t bring himself to say.

When he came out of the shower, his hair was still damp, and he looked a little more composed but still quiet. 

Zhan had already set the table, the dishes still steaming. “Come, let’s eat,” he said, pulling out the chair for him.

They ate quietly. Or rather, Zhan ate—Yibo only pushed the food around his plate, taking small, absent bites. Every so often, Zhan caught him pressing his lips into a thin line, as if he wanted to say something but changed his mind halfway.

Zhan didn’t press. If Yibo didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t force him. That was their unspoken rule.

After a while, Zhan tried to lighten the mood.

“Did you not like the food? Do you want something else? Your favorite KFC chicken, maybe? I can order some.”

Yibo blinked, startled out of his thoughts.

“What? No.” His voice cracked faintly. His eyes glistened, rimmed with unshed tears. 
“I always love your cooking,” he said quietly. “It’s just that…”

Before he could finish, Zhan shook his head softly.

“I know there’s something you’re not telling me. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” he said with a gentle smile. “But when you’re ready, I’m here to listen. For now, at least eat properly, okay? I don’t want you to get sick.”

Yibo swallowed hard, a lump tightening in his throat. Guilt weighed heavier on his chest, knowing Xiao Zhan was worried about him. A sudden thought crept in — that he didn’t deserve Zhan’s care. He blinked rapidly, forcing back the sting of tears, and lowered his gaze.

“Mm,” he murmured faintly, picking up his chopsticks again. This time, he ate quietly, as if doing so could hide the storm sitting heavy inside his chest.

When they finished eating, Yibo stood and began stacking their plates.

“I’ll wash these,” he said softly.

“It’s fine,” Zhan replied, standing as well. “You should rest. You look tired.”

Yibo shook his head. “You already cooked. It’s only right that I do my part.”

Zhan wanted to argue but stopped when he saw the faint stubbornness in Yibo’s eyes. “…Alright,” he said finally, sighing. 

He wiped his hands on a towel and headed to the living room, switching on the TV to catch the latest episode of his favorite series. The low chatter and background music filled the apartment.

From the kitchen came the soft clatter of dishes and the running tap—Yibo moving slowly, as though scrubbing away something heavier than grease.

When he was done, he dried his hands and walked over to the couch. Without a word, he sat beside Zhan, eyes turned toward the screen but unfocused, expression distant.

Zhan glanced at him, then held out the remote. “Do you have anything you want to watch?”

Yibo shook his head. “No, this is fine.”

So Zhan continued watching, though he found himself paying more attention to the weight of silence between them than to the show itself.

After a while, Yibo spoke, his voice quiet—barely above the hum of the TV. “Can I… lie on your lap?”

Zhan blinked, taken aback. “Huh?”

But Yibo was already looking at him with tired eyes, the kind that asked for comfort without words.

So Zhan shifted, sitting up straighter. “Come here,” he murmured, patting his thigh.

He reached out, gently guiding Yibo by the shoulder until the younger man rested his head on his lap.

Yibo exhaled slowly, eyes half-closed.

Zhan didn’t say anything. He just sat there, one hand hovering uncertainly above Yibo’s hair, worry deepening in his chest as the TV played on—its light flickering across their quiet, fragile peace.

Another episode ended, and the credits rolled across the screen. Zhan glanced down, expecting to see Yibo asleep. But then suddenly he felt a small, damp patch spreading against his shorts.

Zhan froze. Was Yibo… crying?

He hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to move, then gently placed a hand on Yibo’s shoulder. “Bodi…” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “What’s wrong? Are you crying?”

Yibo didn’t respond. He only shook his head, but more tears slipped down his cheeks, soaking through Zhan’s short.

Zhan’s chest tightened. “Did you… miss your ma and pa?” he asked gently. “The monthly dinner’s this weekend, but if you want to see them now, I can drive you. It’s no trouble. You can even stay over at your house if you’d like.”

Yibo suddenly sat up and wrapped his arms around him, holding on tightly. His voice trembled. “It’s not that.”

Zhan’s arms automatically came up to steady him. “Then what is it? You’re making me worry.”

Yibo’s grip only tightened. “I’m sorry, Zhange.”

Zhan frowned, confusion lacing his voice. “For what?”

Yibo’s reply was barely audible. “For everything.”

Zhan exhaled slowly, his hand finding its way to Yibo’s back, rubbing slow, soothing circles. “Bodi,” he said quietly, “you have nothing to be sorry for.”

Yibo didn’t answer. He just hugged Zhan tighter, his fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if afraid to let go.

After a long moment, his breathing evened out. He pulled back slightly, eyes lowered, lashes still damp. “I… I want to sleep,” he said quietly.

Zhan hesitated. There were so many questions on the tip of his tongue—why he cried, what was wrong—but he swallowed them back.

“Mn. Okay,” he said softly. “Good night.”

Yibo stood there for a moment, still looking at the floor. “Can I… sleep with you tonight?”

Zhan blinked, a little surprised, then gave a small nod and a small smile. “Oh, of course.”

He turned off the TV, then headed toward the master bedroom. The soft rustle of sheets filled the air as he straightened the bed and fluffed the pillows.

When he looked up, Yibo was already standing at the doorway, looking small and vulnerable, not even bothering to grab his pillow from his own room.

Zhan patted the side of the bed. “Come on,” he said with a gentle tone.

Yibo walked over, like a child waiting instruction from his mom, he slipped under the covers beside him. 

As soon as Yibo settled on the bed, he reached out and grabbed Zhan’s arm, pulling it close to use as his pillow. The motion was instinctive, almost childlike.

Zhan didn’t comment. He just let him. His arm relaxed under the familiar weight, and a faint warmth spread through his chest.

For a moment, it felt as if time had folded back on itself—like they were back in those years when things were simpler. When Yibo, still half-asleep and stubborn even then, would tug his arm close, claiming it as his pillow without asking.

Yibo shifted closer, his face burying against Zhan’s side. One arm slipped around him, clutching tightly at his shirt as if anchoring himself there.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence was soft, almost peaceful—until Yibo’s voice broke it, low and uncertain.

“Zhange…”

Zhan hummed quietly. “Mn?”

“Do you… do you still have feelings for your first love?”

Zhan blinked, caught off guard. “Huh?” He paused, thinking. “Mn… ah, yes, I do. They’re the only person I’ve ever truly loved.”

Yibo’s grip on his shirt tightened, fingers trembling slightly. He bit the inside of his lip, trying to steady his breath, to keep the tears from spilling.

Zhan frowned lightly in the dark. “Why ask that all of a sudden?”

Yibo swallowed hard. “I just… wanted to know,” he murmured. His voice cracked near the end. “Let's sleep.”

He shuffled even closer, pressing his face against Zhan’s chest as if to hide from the answer he’d just heard.

Zhan reached out and gently patted his back. “Mn. Good night, Bodi.”

“Good night Ge,” Yibo whispered, though his heart ached.

He closed his eyes, clinging to the warmth beside him—the warmth he believed didn’t belong to him. But for now, he allowed himself to pretend. As long as it was him in Xiao Zhan’s arms, he would hold on to the illusion.

...

At dawn, the faint light filtered through the curtains.

Half-asleep, Yibo finding its familiar place atop Zhan—just like many nights before. Zhan stirred slightly but didn’t move away. His arms came up instinctively, settling around Yibo’s back in quiet acceptance.

But this time, it was different. There was no pull of desire. 

He exhaled quietly, the corners of his lips curving just slightly as he glanced down at Yibo, whose face was adorably squished against his chest.

He didn’t know what was weighing on him, what had made him cry like that—but with Yibo’s steady breathing against him, Zhan decided he could wait.

For now, this was enough—the warmth and weight of the only person he had ever loved, resting against his chest like a fragile dream he didn’t dare wake from.

-To be continued...

Chapter Text

Yibo had been incredibly busy in the days that followed. He spent almost every day with Seungyeon, painting the stage auditorium for the upcoming University Foundation event. With only a few days left before the celebration, they often stayed until nightfall, leaving only when it was already dark outside.

But each morning, when they returned, the mural looked different—somehow improved. New details had appeared, the colors seemed richer, the brushstrokes more refined. It was as if someone had continued working on it after they left.

Seungyeon never mentioned anything about it, so Yibo dismissed the thought, telling himself it was probably just their own work... or maybe just his imagination.

...

That weekend, Yibo couldn’t meet Suzy because of his family’s monthly dinner. He had messaged her earlier that morning to apologize, explaining that he couldn’t make it but hoped they could talk another time soon.

His thoughts had been clearer—he wanted to start over with Zhan. This time, he would do it right. He would act as a true husband should, hoping that if he gave his all, maybe Zhan would come to love him in return… and perhaps, in time, forget his first love.

___

Mrs. Wang and Mrs. Xiao had already ordered food from their favorite restaurants, not wanting to spend too much time cooking. But Zhan, ever thoughtful, insisted on preparing a few additional dishes himself.

Grandpa Wang stood by the kitchen doorway, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he watched. It warmed his heart to see Zhan and Yibo getting along so naturally.

By the end, Zhan had cooked nearly all of Yibo’s favorite dishes — his signature chicken cola, spicy and sour sliced potatoes, and stir-fried tofu with green onions.

The kitchen filled with the rhythmic hiss of sizzling oil and the rich, sweet aroma of soy and cola caramelizing in the pan.

Yibo stood nearby, dutifully chopping vegetables — though his attention kept drifting to the pan where Zhan was cooking. The rich aroma made his lips twitch in anticipation, and every so often, he’d sneak a bite when Zhan’s back was turned.

It didn’t take long for Zhan to notice. With a soft swat to Yibo’s arm, he scolded, “Stop eating or you’ll get full before we even sit down.”

Yibo pouted, lower lip jutting out just slightly. “But Zhange,” he said, voice laced with playful complaint, “I can’t resist your cooking.”

Zhan exhaled a quiet sigh, pretending to sound annoyed but failing miserably. His gaze lingered on Yibo for a moment longer than it should have, and despite himself, a small, helpless smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

When they all sat around the long dining table, Yibo was still eating enthusiastically, stuffing his mouth with all of Zhan’s cooking until he started choking.

Zhan quickly patted his back, concern flickering across his face. “Bodi, slow down. There’s plenty of food,” he said, handing Yibo a glass of water.

Yibo took it with both hands, cheeks flushing as he glanced at the elders before gulping the water down.

Mrs. Wang chuckled, eyes twinkling. “Look at you, still pampered by your Zhange.”

The table erupted in soft laughter. Yibo ducked his head, ears turning red. “Zhange, tell them it’s not like that,” he muttered under his breath, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

Zhan, sitting beside him, smiled faintly — a small, knowing smile that didn’t escape Grandpa Wang’s notice.

“Mm,” Grandpa said with a chuckle. “Not like that, huh?”

Yibo groaned and covered his face with his hands, while Zhan laughed softly along with the rest of the family.

...

After a warm dinner, the family gathered comfortably in the spacious living room. Yibo sat beside Zhan, one hand pressed gently against his round belly as he groaned dramatically about how full he was.

Zhan chuckled softly and began rubbing Yibo’s back in that natural, familiar way of his. “Do you want to take a short walk outside to help your stomach settle?” he whispered, his tone gentle — almost like coaxing a little child.

Yibo just pouted cutely and shook his head, his cheeks puffing slightly in protest. “Too full to move,” he mumbled, leaning back against the couch with a small sigh.

Zhan could only huff a quiet laugh, his hand still resting on Yibo’s back as the rest of the family watched the TV, pretending not to notice the gentle scene unfolding in front of them.

Now, the television played a weekend episode of Happy Camp, its cheerful chaos filling the cozy room. 

On the coffee table sat a platter of freshly cut fruits, a bottle of wine, and a few light snacks.

Though Yibo was already of age to drink, he never really enjoyed the sharp aftertaste of alcohol, so he stuck to his glass of juice instead.

When Zhan reached for the wine and began to lift his glass, Yibo leaned over and quickly snatched it from his hand.

“I told you to stop drinking, Ge,” he scolded softly, his tone edging into a whine. His lips pouted just slightly, the sound more fond than stern.

“Aiya, Yibo, don’t be too strict with your husband. Let him have a drink,” Yibo’s father said with a teasing laugh.

“No,” Yibo replied firmly, not even glancing at his father. “Zhange always ends up with a headache and stomachache after drinking.”

Zhan’s parents exchanged amused looks, their expressions softening. They were quietly grateful that the young boy cared about their son.

As for Zhan, he could only smile faintly, his heart softening at Yibo’s words. His hand still resting on Yibo’s lower back even though the boy had long stopped complaining about how full he was. 

The room buzzed with laughter and easy chatter until a commercial suddenly flashed on the TV, showing Yibo in his basketball jersey alongside the rest of the team.

“Oh! That’s Yibo and his university!” Mrs. Wang said excitedly, sitting up a little straighter.

All eyes turned to the screen. Yibo couldn’t help but smile, a small flicker of pride lighting up his face as the clip showed him playing basketball, moving effortlessly across the court, zooming in on his handsome face.

But that smile vanished the moment a scene of Suzy appeared—running toward him before planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

Yibo froze.

He hadn’t realized the media team had recorded them — let alone included the clip in the final cut. The laughter from moments ago faded, leaving the room tense and quiet as everyone’s eyes shifted between the screen and Yibo.

Yibo’s throat tightened, his chest constricting until it felt hard to breathe.

Beside him, Zhan’s fingers twitched lightly against his back before pulling away. 

For Zhan, it was as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over him — the shock sinking deep, leaving a hollow ache in his chest that he couldn’t quite hide.

When Yibo felt Zhan’s hand pull away, his chest twisted painfully. He turned to look at him, his vision already blurring with unshed tears.

Zhan’s gaze was lowered, his expression unreadable. The soft light from the TV flickered across his face, tracing his features but revealing nothing of what he felt.

The silence in the room grew unbearable.

Without a word, Yibo pushed himself up from the couch and darted toward the door, the faint sound of his hurried footsteps echoing through the quiet house.

...

It was Zhan who spoke first, his voice low and edged with quiet sadness.

“Please don’t blame or scold him,” he said softly. “He’s still young… he deserves the freedom to choose whom he loves.”

Grandpa Wang let out a heavy sigh, his expression shadowed with regret. “I suppose I was wrong to force this marriage on you both. Obviously, it didn’t work out, so I’ll keep my word. You two can divorce. You may file for a divorce, son.”

Zhan gave a small nod, biting the inside of his cheek to hold back his tears. “I’ll go get him,” he said softly before standing up and walking out of the house.

Zhan found Yibo sitting on one of the two swings hanging from the large tree in their yard, his shoulders trembling as he quietly cried. The night breeze swayed the vacant swing gently, creaking softly in rhythm with his sobs.

“I used to push you on this swing when you were just a kid,” Zhan said in a low, careful voice as he stepped closer and sit on the vacant swing beside Yibo. “This is where I always find you whenever you’re upset.”

Yibo didn’t answer. He couldn’t meet Zhan’s eyes either, shame burning through him. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he tried—and failed—to hold them back.

Zhan sighed, his chest tightening at the sight. 

“It's cold out here, go back inside,” he murmured. “You’re making them worry.”

Yibo stood slowly, his face still wet with tears. 

He hesitated for a moment, then blurted out between shaky breaths, “I’m sorry, Zhange…” before running back toward the house, his sobs fading into the quiet night.

Zhan stayed there, eyes fixed on the empty swing swaying gently in the night breeze. Without thinking, he reached out and gave it a light push — just enough for it to move, the ropes creaking softly in the still air.

His fingers brushed over the cold chain where Yibo’s hands had been only moments ago. The warmth was gone, leaving behind nothing but the ache of what he could no longer deny.

Yibo loved someone else — and now, it was time for him to let go.

He let out a shaky breath, his composure finally breaking. His eyes burned, and before he could stop himself, tears began to spill — silent, unrestrained, falling into the darkness like the secrets he’d never had the courage to tell.

...

Yibo bolted back inside the house, not even sparing a glance at his grandpa or their parents, who were now tidying up things after dinner.

He went straight to his old room and collapsed face down on his bed, his tears spilling freely, soaking into the sheets as quiet sobs filled the dimly lit room.

He buried his face deeper into the sheets, his body trembling with every breath.

The warmth from dinner, the laughter, the comfort of being beside Zhan — all of it now felt like a cruel dream shattered too soon.

He hadn’t meant for things to turn out this way. He just wanted to make things right, to be honest about Suzy, to stop pretending. He just wished fate had given him a little more time, but instead, everything ended before he could even begin.

“Why did it have to end up like this…” he whispered into the fabric, his voice breaking. Shame and guilt twisted inside him, heavy and suffocating.

He could still feel the ghost of Zhan’s hand on his back — the same hand that had always been there, steady and patient, even when Yibo had treated him coldly. And now, he’d made that hand retreat.

Tears streamed down his face as he clutched the sheet tighter.

“I’m sorry, Zhange…” he whispered again, his voice barely a breath. “I wanted to start over with you… not lose you.”

A few moments passed before his door opened. His mother sat beside the bed, her fingers gently threading through his hair.

“I know we pushed you into the marriage,” she began, her voice calm but weighted with emotion. “But you know what, baobao? We truly love Zhanzhan as our son-in-law — even if he’s also a man. Because we can see how deeply he cares for you.”

Yibo bit his lip, as fresh tears spilled down his cheeks. He couldn’t even look up — his mother’s words only made the ache sharper.

“It’s just… too bad it didn’t work out for you two,” she murmured after a moment, sighing softly. 

Then, almost hesitantly, she added, “He told us not to blame or scold you. He said you’re still young… that you should have the freedom to choose who you love.”

Yibo’s breath hitched. His mother continued, her tone turning wistful. “He’s always been like that — always putting you first. Ever since you were little.”

She smiled faintly, lost in memory. “Back then, you’d trip over your own feet and come home covered in bruises. Every time it happened, it always seemed like Zhan was the one who hurt more.

He’d carry you on his back all the way to their house because you wouldn’t stop crying — and he never brought you home until the next morning, since you’d fallen asleep in his bed and refused to leave.”

Her voice trembled. “Maybe… maybe you’re just not meant to be together. Your grandpa already told Zhanzhan he can file for a divorce. So you can stop crying now. No one blames you, and once the papers are signed… you’ll be free.”

Yibo jolted upright at the word divorce, his heart lurching violently. He hurriedly wiped at his tear-streaked face.

“W–what divorce?” he stammered, his voice trembling, eyes wide with panic.

His mother hesitated, startled by his reaction. “Yibo… remember what your grandpa said before your wedding? That if things didn’t work out between you and Zhanzhan, he’d allow a divorce?”

“No.” Yibo’s voice cracked as he shook his head, disbelief washing over him. “No, no, Zhange can’t—”

Before his mother could say another word, Yibo stumbled off the bed and bolted out of the room, his footsteps pounding against the floor. His chest tightened, his pulse roaring in his ears as he ran toward the living room.

When he got there, his grandfather sat in silence, lost in thought. Across the room, Zhan’s parents were gathering their things, ready to head home.

“Where… where’s Zhange?” Yibo gasped out, his voice trembling as he scanned the room.

Mrs. Xiao turned to him gently. “He already left, Yibo,” she said softly. “He said he needed to be somewhere.” She paused, exchanging a sad look with her husband. “He also said… you should stay the night.”

Without a word, he ran out of the house, ignoring his mother’s worried voice calling after him. The night air was cold, sharp against his tear-streaked cheeks as he flagged down a taxi at the gate.

“City Park Residences, please—quickly,” he managed between shaky breaths.

The car sped through the quiet streets, city lights blurring past the window. Yibo clutched his phone tightly, calling Zhan again and again, but every time, it went straight to voicemail.

“Zhange… please pick up,” he whispered, his tears falling unchecked. “I’m sorry….”

By the time the taxi stopped in front of their apartment building, Yibo had already paid before it fully stopped.

He bolted out, heart pounding wildly, taking the stairs two at a time instead of waiting for the elevator.

When he burst through the door, the apartment was silent and the lights were off.

“Zhange?” he called out, voice echoing in the empty space.

No answer.

He stood there in the doorway, chest heaving, the weight of realization sinking deep in his gut. Xiao Zhan was not home.

Yibo’s knees gave out, and he sank onto the couch, burying his face in his trembling hands.

“Zhange… please, come home,” he choked out between sobs. “They said you care for me… you can’t just divorce me, right? You won’t leave again?”

His voice broke, and the sound of his muffled sobs was the only thing that filled the stillness of their apartment.

.

.

Zhan found himself parking in front of a familiar bar. It was a Sunday night — quieter than usual — but he knew exactly where to find Lay and Xian.

Inside, the two were seated at their usual table, a half-empty bottle between them. They were still sober, laughing about something when they noticed him walking in.

“Oh?” Lay grinned, raising his brows. “What’s a happily married man doing here at this hour?”

Zhan didn’t take the bait. His expression stayed calm, but his eyes told another story — distant, heavy.

“Guys,” he began quietly, “can you help me finish a project? Now?”

Xian blinked, confused. “A project? Zhan, it's Sunday night, and it’s already late. We can do it tomorrow. Come on, sit with us first — relax a bit.”

Zhan shook his head, a faint, strained smile flickering across his lips. “No. I mean... I’m running out of time. Please — this project really matters to me.”

Lay and Xian exchanged a glance. They’d known Zhan long enough to recognize that tone — the quiet urgency beneath his calm, and the sadness tucked behind his words.

Xian finally sighed, setting down his drink. “Alright, alright. What’s this project about, anyway?”

Zhan’s gaze softened for the briefest moment, but the weariness in his eyes never left. “It’s… a gift,” he said quietly.

Neither of them asked further. Something in his voice made it clear , this wasn’t the time to joke around.

“Let’s go then,” Lay muttered, grabbing his jacket.

___

Outside, the cool night air greeted them as the three headed for Zhan’s car. Lay and Xian slid into the back seat . They hadn’t driven, planning to drink the night away — but now, the mood had shifted completely.

Zhan started the engine and drove in silence. The only sound was the low hum of the car and the faint echo of Lay’s whisper to Xian, “Something’s wrong… really wrong.”

Neither of them dared to ask where they were going or what was happening — the look on Zhan’s face said enough.

When the car finally slowed to a stop, Lay leaned forward, frowning.

“This is… Yibo’s university?”

Zhan only nodded. He stepped out without a word, the other two trailing behind with puzzled looks.

The night guard at the gate straightened in surprise. “Good evening, Professor Xiao. It’s already late, what brings you here?”

“Good evening,” Zhan replied politely. “These are my friends. There’s something I need to finish inside, and they’re here to help me. Please, let us in.”

“Of course, of course,” the guard said quickly, opening the gate. “Take your time, sir.”

The three of them walked through the auditorium. Their footsteps echoing softly along the empty pathway. 

...

They were met by the fresh scent of paint and varnished wood the moment they stepped into the auditorium. The place was dim, illuminated only by the soft silver glow filtering through the tall glass windows.

When Zhan flicked on the lights, Lay and Xian both gasped softly at the sight before them.

In front of them stood Seungyeon and Yibo’s mural — a sprawling masterpiece stretching across the stage wall. It portrayed a backyard bathed in the soft hues of sunset, where tall trees cast long, golden shadows over the lush green grass. A wooden swing hung from one of the branches, swaying gently in the imagined evening breeze, while a picnic table rested beneath the wide shade of an old oak tree, dappled with fading light.

The scene radiated warmth , a sense of peace and belonging. It felt like home.

Lay let out a low whistle. “Wow… this is incredible.”

Zhan didn’t respond immediately. His gaze lingered on the painted swing , the same one from Yibo’s family home. The same swing where, just hours ago, Yibo had cried his heart out.

“Yeah,” he said at last, his voice low and shaky. “This is Yibo and his friend's project. It’s actually finished…” He paused and then went up on the stage, fingers brushing lightly over the edge of the painted sky. “But I want to add something.”

He turned to his friends, his expression gentle but resolute. “Will you help me?”

Lay and Xian exchanged a look — no teasing this time, no questions. They could feel the weight behind Zhan's solemn expression.

Without another word, they nodded.

Soon, the three of them were on stage, brushes and trays of paint in hand. The only sounds that filled the auditorium were the soft strokes of bristles and the faint hum of the night wind through the windows.

Hours passed in calm silence. And as dawn neared, new colors and image bloomed on the wall.

Now, beneath the tall trees and the golden glow of sunset, the swing no longer hung empty.

A small boy with chubby, flushed cheeks sat on the swing, his laughter frozen mid-motion — pure, bright, and innocent. Behind him stood a young man, gently pushing the swing, his gaze soft and full of affection.

Zhan set his brush down, his gaze fixed on their finished work. His chest growing heavy as his eyes lingered on the young boy on the swing.

“That’s how I’ll remember us,” he murmured under his breath. “When things were simple… when love still felt easy.”

When they all finally set their brushes down, the three of them sat on the edge of the stage, legs dangling, paint still smudged on their hands and clothes. 

“You guys must starving,” Zhan muttered, fishing out his phone. “Let’s order something. I know a pizza place that’s open twenty-four hours.”

...

Minutes later, the scent of fresh pizza filled the air, boxes spread open between them on the stage floor. But even as they ate, Zhan's silence is noticeable.

Finally, Lay glanced at Zhan, frowning. “Okay, now spill it. What’s wrong, man? You’ve been quiet all night. Why do you look like the world just ended?”

Zhan froze mid-bite. For a long moment, he said nothing, just stared at the mural, his expression unreadable. Then, when he finally spoke, his voice came out low, shaky.

“Yibo and I…” he paused, swallowing hard, “…we’re divorcing.”

The words seemed to echo through the empty hall.

Both Lay and Xian snapped their heads toward him, eyes wide.

“What?!” Lay blurted out. “Why divorce? You two obviously love each other!”

Zhan froze, caught off guard. “Wait… you guys know? That I love Yibo—like that?”

Lay huffed softly, shaking his head. “Of course we know, idiot. You never said it directly, but it’s obvious. You’ve never looked at anyone the way you look at him.”

Xian nodded, his tone gentle. “Yeah. We could feel it, Zhan.”

Zhan’s lips parted, his voice unsteady. “And you… you don’t think it’s strange? We’re both men. Doesn’t that disgust you? Don’t I?”

Lay snorted, reaching for another slice. “Zhan, come on. What century are we living in? You don’t need to define your sexuality just because you love someone. Love is love, man. It doesn’t have to make sense to anyone else.”

Xian placed a hand on Zhan’s shoulder, his gaze steady and sincere. “No, Zhan. We don’t find you disgusting — not even close. We just think it’s sad that the person who makes you feel alive is also the one who makes you hurt this much.”

Zhan’s lips trembled, his eyes shining with tears. He gave a small, shaky laugh. “Thank you. You’re both too good to me.”

Lay gave a faint grin. “Yeah, well, someone has to be — especially when your brain busy torturing you. Now tell us, why are you two getting a divorce?”

Zhan hesitated, his fingers tightening around the pizza box before he spoke.

“Yibo… Yibo loves someone else. He has a girlfriend.”

The words hung between them.

Lay’s brows shot up. “A girlfriend? While he’s married to you? That kid—” He set his slice down, shaking his head. “I swear, I should teach him a lesson or two.”

Zhan gave a small, bitter smile. “Don’t. It’s not his fault. He was pushed into this marriage from the beginning. Even before… he already said he only liked girls. That’s… that’s why I left for Paris six years ago. I ran away from my feelings for him.”

For a few seconds, both Lay and Xian just stared at him — mouths slightly open, stunned into silence.

“You ran away because you loved him?” Xian asked in disbelief, repeating the words he’d just heard.

Zhan nodded faintly, his gaze fixed on the mural before them. The painted swing and the boy’s smile seemed to mock his pain. “Yeah. I thought if I left, the feeling would fade. But it never did.”

Lay leaned back with a sharp exhale. “Unbelievable. And we’re only finding this out now?”

“Sorry…” Zhan said softly. “I was afraid. Afraid you’d judge me.”

Lay pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Wow, man. You really think so little of us? You thought we were that shallow?”

Despite everything, Zhan gave a weak laugh. “I was… overwhelmed back then. My feelings, my fear… I thought running away was the easiest way out.”

Xian shook his head, his expression softening. “Zhan, we’re your friends. We’d never judge you for that.” He paused for a moment, studying Zhan’s face. “So… what are you going to do now?”

Zhan drew a slow breath, the weight of his decision pressing heavily on his chest. “As agreed,” he began, voice trembling, “I’ll divorce him. Set him free…” His throat tightened, and he had to stop for a moment to swallow the lump that rose there.

“And then… I’ll go back to Paris. I can’t pretend to be okay seeing him with his girlfriend. I’ll need time… time to finally move on.”

Lay frowned, leaning forward. “But, Zhan… I think you should at least tell him how you feel. Confess, and say goodbye properly.”

Zhan shook his head weakly, his eyes clouded with quiet sorrow. “No. I have no plan to confess. I don’t want to burden him with my one-sided feelings. I know Yibo loves me, cares for me — I can feel it. But not in the same way I love him. And that’s okay. I just… want to say goodbye properly this time. He deserves that much.”

Lay let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Man… you really do love that kid.”

Zhan smiled faintly, his eyes glistening under the soft auditorium light. “Yeah… so much that it hurts.”

“We’re going to miss you,” Xian said sincerely. “I hope you can move on soon — maybe even come back with a new love.” He reached out and gave Zhan’s back a firm, reassuring pat.

“Thank you, guys,” Zhan murmured softly. “For tonight… and for understanding.”

He paused, hesitating before adding quietly, “Xian...can I stay at your place for now? I don’t think I can face Yibo without breaking down.”

“Of course,” Xian said without hesitation. “You’re always welcome.”

Zhan nodded gratefully, his chest clenching at the thought of saying goodbye to Yibo for good.

.

.

It was already Monday morning when Yibo stirred awake on the couch, his eyes sore and heavy from the tears he’d cried through the night. 

The faint light through the curtains touched his face, and the moment he opened his eyes, dread washed over him.

He blinked, disoriented. He didn’t even remember when he’d fallen asleep . The last thing he recalled was staring at the door, still crying while hoping it would open and zhan will finally come in.

Heart pounding, he pushed himself up and hurried toward Zhan’s room, still wearing the same clothes from last night. His hand trembled as he turned the doorknob.

The room greeted him with silence. The bed was perfectly made. 

“Zhange…” Yibo’s voice cracked as he stepped inside, his eyes darting around the room as if Zhan were there, just hidden somewhere.

But there was no Zhan.

His shoulders slumped, the last thread of hope slipping through his fingers. “Zhange didn’t… come home last night…he must really hate me” he whispered to himself.

His vision blurred, tears welling up again, stinging against his swollen eyes. He pressed a hand against his mouth to stifle a sob, but it broke free anyway — soft, shaky, and filled with guilt.

“Zhange… please come home,” he whispered into the quite apartment, his tears falling freely once more.

He grabbed his phone with trembling hands and dialed Zhan’s number, praying he’d finally pick up this time. But the line went straight to voicemail — still turned off.

Without thinking twice, he scrolled through his contacts and tapped on Nini’s name.

“Hello, jie…” his voice came out small and hoarse, weighed down by the night he’d spent crying. “Sorry for calling so early in the morning. But I can’t reach Zhange. Do you—do you know where he is?”

There was a short pause before Nini answered softly, “Did you two have a fight? Actually, I barely see him these days, Yibo. But he mentioned he’s been working on a painting at your university. That’s where he spends most of his time lately.”

Yibo froze, her words echoing in his head. Zhange… painting?

He suddenly remembered how their mural kept changing.

“Thank you, jie,” he said quickly, already rising to his feet. “I need to go now.”

He hung up before she could say another word and rushed to the laundry area. Kneeling beside the basket, he began emptying it with desperate hands. His breath caught — there they were, Zhan’s shirts, stained with faint streaks of blue, brown, and green paint.

Yibo froze. His heart twisted painfully as his fingers trembled over the fabric. Slowly, he picked up one of the shirts and pressed it to his chest, the faint scent of turpentine and soap mingling with Zhan’s familiar warmth.

His tears spilled freely now, one after another, soaking into the fabric.

“Zhange…” he choked out, his voice breaking. “Why are you so good to me? I know I don’t deserve any of it. But just this once… I want to be selfish. Please, stay with me. I’m sorry, Ge. I’m so sorry.”

___

Fighting to steady himself, he took a quick shower, threw on his clothes, and rushed out the door — straight to the university.

His heart pounded the entire way, dread and hope tangling in his chest. 

The moment he arrived, he went straight to the auditorium, to see their mural.

And there it was.

The once plain painting now looked radiant in the morning light streaming through the high windows. A new image had been added , a small boy sitting on a swing, and behind him, a young man gently pushing it, his gaze tender and full of affection.

It was them.

Seungyeon, who had just come in behind him, stopped short and gasped. “Wow… who did this, Yibo?”

Yibo didn’t answer. His vision blurred as tears filled his eyes. He took a few shaky steps closer to the stage, his throat tightening.

He reached out, fingertips brushing at the image of the young man pushing the swing as if touching it, he could reach Zhan.

And then, without a word, Yibo bolted out of the auditorium, his heart racing as he began searching for Zhan.

He ran across the courtyard, scanning every hallway, every corner of the campus. When he reached the faculty office, he found only one staff member sorting papers.

“Excuse me,” Yibo asked breathlessly, “is Professor Xiao here?”

The woman looked up and offered a polite smile. “Oh, tomorrow’s the university’s founding anniversary. Most students are busy with rehearsals and presentations, so there are no classes today. I don’t think Professor Xiao will be coming in.”

Yibo’s shoulders slumped. Disappointment washed over him, heavy and cold.

Seungyeon, who had followed him, frowned in concern. “Yibo… what’s going on? You’ve been acting strange.”

Yibo swallowed hard. “It’s… Zhange. He saw the commercial last night, the one with me and Suzy.” His voice wavered as he continued, “They filmed us when suzy kissed me on the cheek and included it in the final cut. Everyone saw it. Our families… and him.”

Seungyeon’s eyes widened in realization. “Oh no…”

“He hasn’t come home since,” Yibo said, his voice cracking. “He’s not answering his phone, and now he’s avoiding me. I don’t even know where he went.”

Seungyeon’s expression softened as he placed a gentle hand on Yibo’s shoulder. “Yibo, maybe he just needs some time to think. You know how gentle he is with you — he wouldn’t avoid you without a reason. Give him time.”

Yibo gave a shaky nod, but the hollow ache in his chest only deepened.

He thought of going back to their parents’ house to check if Zhan had gone there. But then he remembered his own rehearsal. He couldn’t just leave , not when the performance was tomorrow, not when Zhan had always reminded him to be responsible.

So Yibo stayed. He endured the long day.

Every time his phone buzzed, his heart leapt, only to sink again when it wasn’t Zhan.

...

By the time the sun began to set, exhaustion pressed heavily on Yibo’s shoulders. His body ached from rehearsal, but his heart ached even more — every minute that passed without a call or message from Zhan felt unbearable.

The moment practice ended, he rushed out of the university, barely remembering to grab his things, and took the fastest route home.

When he finally unlocked the apartment door, the silence that greeted him was deafening.

He walked quickly to Zhan’s room — and froze.

There were signs that Zhan had come home. A few sketchbooks were stacked neatly on the desk. But what made Yibo’s breath catch was the open wardrobe, half-empty , and the suitcase resting beside it, already half-packed.

His heart sank.

The realization hit him hard — Zhan had been here… and he was preparing to leave.

“Zhange… no…” Yibo whispered, his voice breaking as tears filled his eyes. “I don’t… I don’t think I can take it if you leave me again like this.”

He sank to his knees beside the suitcase, gripping the edge tightly as though holding it could somehow stop Zhan from leaving. 

His tears fell freely, one after another, darkening the fabric of Zhan’s clothes — as if trying to anchor him home. He stayed like that for a long moment.

When he finally rose to his feet, his gaze landed on the stack of papers neatly placed at the corner of the desk.

He stepped closer , and his breath stopped.

It was a divorce paper.
Zhan’s signature was already there, written with his usual neat strokes.

For a long moment, Yibo just stared at it, unable to breathe. His knees trembled as he reached out, fingertips brushing over Zhan’s name like he could somehow erase it, make it disappear.

“Zhange…” he whispered brokenly. “Why are you so quick to give up on me?”

The words tore through his chest like glass. His tears came again, harder this time, spilling onto the paper until the ink began to blur slightly at the edges.

He sank into the chair, clutching the document to his chest, shaking his head in disbelief.

“No… please hear me out first,” he murmured, his sobs echoing faintly through the quiet room.

He drew a shaky breath. As he wiped at his tears, his gaze fell on something else on the desk — a thick, pink photo album, its color faded with age.

He blinked through his tears, slowly setting the papers aside , and reached for the album with trembling hands.

The moment he flipped the first page open, his breath hitched.

Fresh tears blurred his vision as he stared at the photos — snapshots of their years together.

There was little Yibo, missing a front tooth, grinning wide as Zhan crouched beside him at a school fair.

Another photo showed Zhan carefully bandaging his scraped knee, worry etched across his face.

Then there were pictures from his teenage years — Yibo laughing with his mouth full of cake while Zhan looked at him like he was the only thing that mattered.

And there was one where Yibo kissed Zhan’s cheek while Zhan laughed, head tilted back, pure joy caught in the frame.

Another showed Zhan back-hugging him after a school performance, his smile soft and proud.

Every photo captured a fragment of their moments — memories Zhan had quietly preserved.

Then he reached another photo.

It was from six years ago — the day Zhan left for Paris. In the photo, Yibo’s eyes were red and swollen, turned away from the camera. And Zhan… he was smiling, but it was the kind of smile that never reached his eyes.

As Yibo turned to the last page of the album, something slipped from between the sheets, a folded piece of paper shaped like a tiny plane. 

His breath caught as he picked it up carefully.

Across its wing, in Zhan’s familiar handwriting, were the words:

>Bodi visited me today (⁠｡⁠♡⁠‿⁠♡⁠｡⁠)

“Wait…” Yibo whispered, his voice trembling. “This… this paper plane—”

With shaking hands, he carefully unfolded the paper. The edges were worn, as if it had been read countless times. His heart began to pound, a flicker of hope breaking through his sorrow.

The handwriting inside was unmistakably his, slightly messy, written with the innocence of youth.

---

Zhange,

I came to visit you today with Ayi and Shushu, but the guard wouldn’t let me in. He said I’m still a minor .

There are so many things I want to ask you, Ge. Like… the changes happening in my body. I think I’m finally growing up.

Sometimes I wake up in the morning with—well, never mind. You probably wouldn’t understand anyway, Ge.

I miss you so much. I can hardly sleep at night without you beside me. I think I’ve even lost weight because of it. Why did you have to join that stupid club that makes you stay away for a whole month, Ge? Didn’t you miss me at all?

I’m grateful Ayi lets me sleep in your room, even though you’re not there. It’s better that way. At least I can fall asleep hugging your pillow — the one that still smells like you.

I really, really miss you, Zhange .
I’ll be waiting for you to come home.

Yibo

---

Yibo’s lips trembled as his fingers traced the lines of his old handwriting.

His vision blurred with fresh tears as the memories pulled him backward —

---

[Flashback: Thirteen-year-old Yibo]

Yibo sat on a wooden chair near the entrance of the military camp, his legs swinging restlessly. The summer sun blazed down on the gravel road, but he didn’t care. He was waiting — for Zhan’s parents, or maybe for Zhan himself to come out and meet him. But the guard had said that his Zhange wasn’t allowed to leave today as they were in the middle of serious training.

He had even begged them earlier to let him go inside to see Zhan, but the guard only shook his head and refused.

“You’re not allowed, kid. It’s restricted.”

Yibo puffed his cheeks, clearly frustrated. For a moment, he just sat there, hugging his knees, staring at the gate that separated him from his Zhange.

Then, an idea popped into his head. He ran to the guard.

“Mister, can you lend me a pen and a paper, please?”

The guard blinked at him in surprise, but something in the boy’s determined face made him smile. He handed him a small notepad and a pen.

“Thank you!” Yibo chirped before running back to his seat.

He sat down and started writing, his hands trembling slightly as words tumbled out in messy scrawls.

> “Zhange, I came to visit you today…”

When he finished, he stared at the page for a long moment before folding it into a paper plane — just like Zhan used to do whenever he cried as a child. The memory made his lips curve into a wistful little smile.

Just then, a young soldier approached the gate, adjusting his cap. Yibo jumped to his feet and ran toward him.

“Sir, excuse me!” he called out breathlessly, clutching the paper plane. “Do you know Zhange? I mean — Xiao Zhan? He’s one of the college students serving here. He’s handsome, very tall, bright smile, and… and he has bunny teeth.”

The soldier chuckled. “Oh, I think I know who you mean. Yeah, he’s popular in their batch.”

Yibo frowned, tilting his head. Popular? Why did this guy sound so excited talking about his Zhange? He didn’t like that tone at all.

“Anyway, Sir,” Yibo said, quickly straightening, “can you give him this letter, please?”

The soldier smiled and took the folded paper plane. “Sure thing, kid. I’ll make sure it reaches him.”

Yibo bowed deeply. “Thank you.”

___

[Present]

Yibo’s tears streamed freely as he held the letter close to his chest, his shoulders trembling.

“Zhange… you really got my letter—and even kept it… all this time,” he whispered between soft sobs.

He carefully folded the letter back into its plane shape, fingers brushing against the worn edges. That’s when he finally paid attention to the words written on one of the paper plane wings.

>Bodi visited me today (⁠｡⁠♡⁠‿⁠♡⁠｡⁠).

Yibo’s breath caught. His heart began to race, pounding so hard it almost hurt.

“Wait…” he murmured, eyes widening. “Zhange said the only person who visited him in the military—aside from his parents—was his first and only love.”

The realization struck like lightning, leaving him breathless.

“If Zhange received my letter… if he acknowledged my visit…” His voice trembled, barely a whisper. “Then… does that mean I’m his first love?”

Tears welled again, but this time they weren’t from sorrow. They were from the warmth spreading through his chest — the fragile, beautiful kind of happiness that felt too big to contain.

He pressed the letter to his heart and let out a shaky laugh between sobs.
“God… I’m Zhange’s first and only love. I'm not dreaming right?"

Yibo wiped his tears, though they kept falling no matter how many times he tried. All he wanted now was to find Zhan — to clear the misunderstanding between them, to make things right.

But the night had already deepened, the world outside quiet and still. It was too late to go anywhere.

Instead, he climbed onto Zhan’s bed, hugging the photo album close to his heart. His body was weary from the day’s rehearsals, his eyes stung from crying, yet the ache in his chest began to fade — replaced by a fragile warmth that bloomed into hope.

“I’m the person Zhange only loves… and I love Zhange so much. I’ll find him tomorrow, and we’ll be okay,” he whispered into the stillness of the room, a faint smile curving his lips as his eyes fluttered shut.

-To be continued...

Chapter Text

The next morning, Yibo woke with a jolt of excitement coursing through him. For the first time in two days, his heart felt light—hopeful.

He sprang out of Zhan’s bed but paused halfway, hugging Zhan’s pillow to his chest. Bringing it close to his face, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, letting the faint trace of Zhan’s scent wrap around him. A soft sigh escaped his lips, followed by a dreamy smile. Then, reluctantly, he set the pillow down and headed for the shower.

A few minutes later, he was already dressed in a loose shirt and skinny jeans. He didn’t bother making breakfast—he could eat at the university, maybe even with his Zhange once he found him. The thought made him smile. Two days without seeing him, and he already missed him so much.

He grabbed his duffel bag with the costume he would wear for their performance later and slipped the folded paper plane safely into his pocket before rushing out the door.

The city morning was alive and loud—too alive for his liking. Choosing speed over routine, he hailed a taxi instead of taking his usual bus, hoping it would get him to the university faster.

But the cab crawled through traffic that seemed to stretch without end. Yibo tapped his knee impatiently, eyes flicking to the clock every few seconds. He tried calling Zhan again, but the line was still off. A dull ache settled in his chest. What if Zhan really didn’t want to talk to him? What if he’d blocked him?

The thought made his throat tighten. He swallowed hard, forcing back the tears that threatened to fall. It was his fault anyway. Zhan must’ve been hurt—seeing Suzy kiss him on the cheek like that.

So he forced himself to think positively, clinging to the hope of finally confessing his feelings.

“Come on… come on,” he muttered under his breath, willing the taxi to move faster, desperate to reach the campus.

...

By the time he arrived, it was already past nine.

The program had clearly begun—he could hear the university director’s voice booming from the auditorium speakers, delivering the opening remarks for the foundation celebration.

He knew Zhan was already inside. Every part of him wanted to run straight there, to find Zhan, to apologize. But Yibo didn’t head in.

There was something he needed to do first.

He scanned the campus, searching for Suzy’s group. His chest felt heavy with guilt, but his mind was steady. He had to make things right, and it had to start with her.

Before he find Zhan and confess everything he’d kept buried for years, he needed to end things—properly and honestly.

He took a deep breath and started across the campus grounds, weaving through clusters of students and staff hurrying toward the auditorium. His heart pounded—not from excitement this time, but from a gnawing impatience.

He checked every familiar spot: the backstage area, the garden path near the art wing, even the cafeteria where Suzy and her friends usually gathered. But she was nowhere in sight.

“Where is she…” he muttered, breath coming short as he jogged toward the next building. The morning sun was climbing higher, its heat clinging to his skin, but he didn’t stop.

He needed to end things with her. He couldn’t carry the weight of that guilt any longer.

...

Finally, after almost an hour of searching, he spotted her through the glass window of the dressing room in the upper floor of the auditorium.

Suzy was there, fixing her makeup in front of the mirror, surrounded by a few friends from her performance group. 

Yibo stood frozen for a moment, catching his breath, his chest rising and falling hard. Then, gathering every ounce of courage, he reached for the door handle and stepped inside.

The room fell silent for a brief second as everyone turned to look at him.

“Yibo?” Suzy blinked, surprised but smiling. “I’m glad you came. I’ve been looking for you since yesterday.”

But the look in his eyes made her smile slowly fade.

“Girls, can you give us a moment, please?” Yibo said quietly to the couple of girls in the room.

They exchanged mischievous grins. “Sure, sure,” one of them teased. “Just don’t wrinkle Suzy's outfits, okay? Our turn’s coming up after two more performances. Yibo, don’t be too naughty.”

One girl winked before they both giggled their way out, closing the door behind them.

Suzy stepped closer, looping her arms around Yibo’s neck, her voice soft and teasing. “So… what’s with that serious face?” She leaned in, about to kiss him. But Yibo caught her gently by the shoulders.

“Suzy…” His voice came out tight, almost trembling. He swallowed hard, shifting on his feet as his eyes darted away before he forced himself to look at her again. “The reason I came—” he paused, breath catching, “—is to end things between us.”

For a moment, Suzy just stared at him, her expression blank as if the words hadn’t quite sunk in. Then her brows drew together, confusion flickering in her eyes. “What… do you mean?” she asked quietly, her voice uncertain.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice trembling. “I haven’t been honest with you… or with my—” He hesitated, the word catching in his throat. “—my husband.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Husband?”

Yibo nodded slowly. His hands fumbled for the chain around his neck. He pulled it out, revealing a gold ring hanging from it.

“Yes… husband. I’m already married,” he whispered, guilt thick in his voice. “I’m sorry for being so immature—for agreeing to date you when I shouldn’t have. But I’ve realized how much I love my husband… and I don’t want to lose him. I want to be honest with him—and start things with him properly.”

The words tumbled out in a rush, his voice shaking. Yibo’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he forced the confession past the tightness in his throat.

Suzy blinked, stunned. “Do I know your hus—”

She didn’t even finish when a familiar voice suddenly echoed through the speakers.

Yibo’s heart skipped a beat. His breath hitched as the sound of Zhan's voice filled the room.

> “Good morning, everyone. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you all for making my stay here a memorable one. It was short, but truly wonderful.
However, my stay is only temporary. The university has accepted my resignation, effective today.
I’ve decided to return to Paris to continue the career I left behind. They’ve been waiting for my final decision for months, and now… I’ve made it.
But don’t worry—the director has already found my replacement.”

Yibo’s world tilted. His pulse roared in his ears. He wasn’t sure if it was the shock of what he heard—or the fact that he hadn’t eaten since last night. The room seemed to spin as he stumbled backward, catching himself against the nearest chair.

“Yibo, are you okay?” Suzy asked, her voice filled with worry.

But Yibo barely heard her. His eyes were fixed on the speaker, frozen as Zhan’s voice continued—

>“Again, thank you, everyone, for making my stay so-”

A sudden voice cut him off. A female student from the waiting group shouted from the stage, her tone sharp with curiosity and boldness.

> “Professor Xiao! Since you’re leaving, why don’t you be honest for once?”

The audience stirred. Murmurs rippled through the hall as the girl turned to face everyone.

> “Professor Xiao is married! Married to one of the students here! He’s married to the popular Wang Yibo—who’s been dating Suzy!”

Gasps filled the room. Zhan’s face went pale. The audience erupted into whispers.

> “Professor Xiao is married?”
“To a student?”

From the faculty section, one professor nudged another. Professor Liu leaned back in her chair, a satisfied smirk curling on her lips.

> “You just found out? They have been fooling us all this time.” she murmured.

Zhan took a steadying breath, gripping the mic tighter.

> “First, I want to apologize—for keeping it a secret,” he said, his voice low but steady. “But please… don’t make Yibo’s remaining school days difficult because of this.”

He paused, letting the murmurs in the crowd settle before continuing.

“Yes, I am married to him—but only on paper. It was something he was forced into, to fulfill his grandfather’s dying wish. Yibo is still young… just an ordinary college student, buried in deadlines, trying to figure out his life. He deserves to be free—to date whoever he wants, to live the way he chooses.”

His voice broke slightly.

> “I’m setting him free,” his voice cracked slightly. “The divorce papers are already signed.”

The room fell silent.

> “So please,” Zhan said, bowing deeply, “don’t make things difficult for him."

He handed the mic back, his head bowed, and walked off the stage with a heavy heart.

...

Yibo felt his chest tighten painfully as Zhan’s voice echoed from the speakers. Zhan was going back to Paris? Leaving him again—just like before?

A cold rush of panic swept through him. Was he already too late?

“Did Zhange… not love me anymore?” he whispered to himself, barely aware that Suzy was still standing right in front of him.

Tears spilled freely down his cheeks before he could stop them.

“So Professor Xiao is your husband…” Suzy said softly, breaking the silence, her voice heavy with defeat. “No wonder he came to see me finding out who I was.”

Yibo’s head snapped up. “He… came to see you?”

Suzy nodded faintly.

Yibo’s thoughts spun. So he already knew—even before seeing that clip on TV. And yet, he hadn’t said a word…

Guilt surged through him, wrapping tight around his chest until it was hard to breathe.

He forced himself to stand, shoulders trembling as he tried to steady his breath. “Suzy… I’m really sorry. You can punch me, yell at me—whatever you want. But right now… I just need to find Zhange.”

Suzy looked at him for a long moment before giving a small, bittersweet smile.

“There’s no need for that, Yibo. I understand now.” Her voice was calm, though her eyes shimmered. “I guess that’s why you never even tried to kiss me. Because you don't love me.”

She took a soft breath before continuing. “Professor Xiao is a kind and sweet man. I’ve seen him in the faculty lounge during breaks, helping students with their work. Some of them even tried to flirt with him, but he always kept his distance.”

She let out a quiet sigh. “And I think he loves you… just as much as you love him,” she said softly. “He deserves to be happy. So go, Yibo… find him, and don’t let him go.”

For a moment, Yibo just stared at her, stunned by her calm acceptance.

“Suzy…” he murmured at last. “Thank you… for understanding.”

She only smiled, eyes glistening as she gave a small nod.

Without another word, Yibo turned and rushed out of the dressing room—his heart pounding, tears blurring his vision.

He dashed down the stairs toward the auditorium, his breath coming short and quick. But when he reached the hall, Zhan was already gone.

“Dude, where have you been?” Seungyeon called out as soon as he spotted him. “Professor Xiao looked really heartbroken when he left. You sure he doesn’t love you back?”

Yibo let out a shaky breath, his voice cracking as he spoke. “It’s a long story, Yeon… but to make it short, I found out last night that I’m Zhange’s first and only love. So I broke up with Suzy before coming to find him.”

Seungyeon’s eyes widened, a mix of relief and worry flashing across his face. “Then what are you still doing here?” he said, half-laughing, half-scolding as he started pushing Yibo toward the exit. “Go after him—quick!”

All Yibo wanted was to run home—to find Zhan, to stop him from leaving.
But before he could move, the speakers crackled to life, echoing through the hall.

“Next performers, the University Varsity Players and Dance Troupe, please get ready.”

His heart dropped. That was his group. They’d already been called.

And he hadn’t even changed into his costume yet.

As much as he wanted to leave, he couldn’t abandon the performance. He had to be professional. Zhan wouldn’t be proud of him if he ran away now.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Yibo forced himself to stay. He headed to the male dressing room and began changing into his outfit, each movement heavy with the weight of his thoughts.

.

.

The lights dimmed, and the entire auditorium buzzed with anticipation.

“A warm applause to the University’s Varsity Players and Dance Troupe—!” the emcee’s voice boomed through the speakers, his words quickly swallowed by a wave of cheers and clapping that shook the hall.

Then came the beat.
BIGBANG’s “Good Boy.”

A roar from the crowd.

The dancers took their positions onstage, the spotlight slicing through the haze. At the center stood Yibo and Seungyeon, the team’s most dynamic duo.

Yibo’s jaw was tight, his heart still pounding from the chaos earlier, but as the music dropped — “Yeah… I’m a good boy!” — instinct took over.

He moved.

Every pop, every slide, every kick hit the beat with perfection. His body remembered even when his mind didn’t — moving on instinct, all control and rhythm. On the outside, he was all confidence, every motion sharp and fluid. Seungyeon matched him effortlessly, their movements colliding and flowing together in electric sync.

The crowd screamed as they hit the chorus — footwork clean, transitions seamless, Yibo’s charisma radiating with every move.

Inside, though, his chest burned.
Zhange is leaving. Going back to Paris. Leaving me again.

He bit his lower lip, forcing his emotions down, and threw himself into the next set. Arm waves flowed into a spin, a quick drop to the floor, then a crisp pop back up—the choreography hitting every beat like muscle memory set ablaze.

Seungyeon met his glance just once . He knew. He could feel the tension rolling off him, but he matched his pace, grounding him through motion alone.

When the freestyle section came, Yibo stepped forward, taking center stage under a single white beam.

His movements shifted seamlessly—a sharp chest pop, a roll of his hips along the floor, a slide, and then a crisp freeze perfectly on the beat.

The crowd went wild, shouting his name, praising every move, every curve, every thrust of his hips — his trademark that never failed to steal attention.

“GO YIBO!”
“GOOD BOY!!!”
“SLAY THAT STAGE!”

Each cheer cut through the fog in his head, but didn’t reach his heart.

As the last beat hit, Yibo and Seungyeon struck their final pose—backs to each other, arms crossed over their chests, heads turned toward the audience.

The auditorium exploded. Thunderous cheers, whistles, and the relentless flash of phones lit up the room.

Yibo bowed along with the other dancers, forcing a small smile as the applause thundered through the auditorium. But instead of stepping backstage with the rest, he walked slowly toward the emcee, his heart hammering against his ribs as he asked to borrow the mic.

The host, startled, handed it over. Yibo took a shaky breath and turned to face the audience.

“G–good day, everyone,” he began, his voice trembling slightly. “First of all, I want to apologize for keeping such a secret. But I… I want to properly address what you heard earlier from Zhange— I mean, from Professor Xiao Zhan.”

A ripple of murmurs passed through the crowd, the room suddenly falling into tense silence.

“It’s true,” Yibo continued, eyes darting to the floor for a moment. “I’m married to him. And yes… we were both forced into it.”
He swallowed hard, gripping the microphone tighter.

“Zhange and I are neighbors. I love sleeping over at their house. He used to take care of me when I was little. Actually…” — he let out a small, trembling laugh — “he’s still taking care of me, even now.”

A soft ripple of laughter passed through the crowd, easing the tension just enough to let Yibo breathe a little.

“He spoils me in everything. He’s always there, even when I don’t ask. For the longest time, I thought what I felt for him was nothing more than… brotherly affection. But living with him these past months, I realized…”

He paused, eyes glistening, voice breaking. “I realized I was just too blind to see it. I love him—not just as an older brother, but as a husband. I think… I always have.”

“I’ve already cleared things with Suzy, and I’m so thankful for how understanding she was. And… now that Zhange has already resigned, I can finally say this without fear. I love Xiao Zhan, and I want to start over with him. I’m sorry for hiding it before. I was immature… scared.”

He looked up, meeting the audience’s gaze with tear-filled eyes.

“But not anymore. I want everyone to know— I belong to him… just as he belongs to me.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, catching the light as the entire hall fell silent. The kind of silence that carried weight— like the air itself was holding its breath.

Then, slowly, a single clap broke through.
Another followed.
And another— until the entire auditorium erupted into thunderous applause.

Some of the students stood, cheering through teary smiles. Others wiped at their eyes, whispering to each other about how sincere he sounded. Even the emcee, who was caught completely off guard, was grinning wide, clearly moved.

Yibo stood frozen for a beat, blinking through his tears. He didn’t expect them to understand— he only wanted to speak his truth. But the warmth pouring back from the crowd hit him like sunlight breaking through a storm.

Not everyone was smiling, though.
Professor Liu sat stiffly in her chair, her jaw tight. No matter how the others rejoiced, she couldn’t let go of the bitterness twisting inside her. 

Onstage, Yibo took a shaky breath, the corners of his lips trembling into a small, grateful smile. He bowed deeply— a full ninety degrees, tears spilling freely this time.

“Thank you,” he whispered into the mic, voice barely audible over the applause.

Clutching the microphone to his chest for a brief second, he handed it back to the emcee, then spun on his heel and ran offstage.

The crowd erupted, shouting their names, a wave of cheers and excitement crashing through the hall.

“Go for Professor Xiao Zhan! Go, Yibo!”

As he vanished behind the stage, the roar of the auditorium faded into a muffled echo.

There was only one thought pounding in his chest now—

Find Xiao Zhan. Apologize. Confess. Before it’s too late.

-To be continued...

Chapter Text

The deafening silence greeted Zhan as he opened the door to their apartment.

He walked straight to his room with heavy steps, not wanting to linger in the living room as memories of him and Yibo happily eating and watching TV together started flashing in his mind.

But as soon as he opened the door to his bedroom, he froze.

The bedsheets were crumpled, and he could still smell the faint scent of Yibo in the air — that familiar mix of soap and mint shampoo.

“Bodi must have slept here last night,” he murmured, a faint smile forming on his lips. But it vanished the moment his eyes fell on the empty spot on the table. The divorce papers were gone.

His vision blurred. “He must have signed them,” he whispered, almost inaudibly.

He blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall. You chose this, Zhan, he reminded himself. You’re doing what’s best for him.

Taking a deep breath, he turned toward his half-packed suitcase. One by one, he took out the clothes left in his closet and folded them carefully, trying to keep his hands from trembling.

He paused, realizing that some things were harder to pack than others.

His eyes landed on their framed wedding photo on the table. He hesitated, unsure whether to bring it or not. If he really wanted to move on from Yibo, the best choice was to leave it — to leave behind everything that reminded him of their marriage.

But in the end, his heart won.

He wasn’t sure if he would ever move on from his feelings for Yibo, but he wanted to keep at least one memory of the happiest moment in his life — being married to him, even if it only lasted a short time.

He picked up the frame and ran his thumb gently over Yibo’s face, the glass cold under his skin. “I really do wish you happiness, Bodi,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Even if it’s not with me.”

He held the frame close to his chest for a moment before carefully placing it inside his suitcase and zipping it shut.

Zhan rose to his feet, scanning the room for the few things he still needed to pack when he heard the front door open — hurried footsteps echoed straight toward his room.

“Zhange—!”

Yibo stood in the doorway, chest heaving, sweat running down his temples. He was still in his performance outfit, damp hair clinging to his forehead, breathing uneven. His knees wobbled slightly from exhaustion and the meals he’d skipped since last night.

But to Yibo, none of that mattered.

Because Zhan was still here.

Zhan froze, eyes widening in surprise.

Yibo should be at the University Foundation event—so what was he doing here? “Bodi—”

Before he could say another word, Yibo crossed the room in three quick steps and threw himself into Zhan’s arms.

The impact made Zhan stumble back, but he caught him instinctively, arms wrapping tightly around Yibo’s trembling frame.

“Zhange,” Yibo choked out, his voice breaking between sobs and gasps of relief. “You’re still here.”

Zhan stiffened, feeling the warmth and weight of Yibo in his arms dissolve the sadness that had weighed on him for days.

“I’m sorry, Zhange…” Yibo’s fingers fisted into the back of Zhan’s shirt, clinging desperately.

“There’s nothing you need to be sorry for, Yibo,” Zhan whispered against the crown of his damp hair, one hand gently rubbing his back.

“There is…” Yibo’s voice wavered as he drew a shaky breath. “I dated Suzy… while I was married to you.

Zhan’s arms around him loosened slightly.

“You’re not wrong for liking her, Yibo.” He looked up, blinking rapidly to hold back his own tears. “I’m setting you free — so you don’t have to carry the guilt anymore.”

His voice softened even more. “You’ve signed the divorce papers… right? I’ll be going back to Paris once it’s finalized.”

Yibo suddenly pulled back, eyes wide. His tear-streaked face trembled as he shook his head.

“I didn’t… I threw them in the trash,” he hiccupped, voice cracking. “I don’t want a divorce.”

Zhan stared at him, breath caught.

“You said—” Yibo’s words stumbled through sobs. “You said the person you loved was your only visitor in the army. I visited you, Zhange.” He fumbled with the folded paper in his pocket, tears streaming down his face. “You got my letter… so that means… it was me, right? I am your first love? The only person you love?”

His voice cracked completely, tears falling faster as he choked on his words. “Then why… why are you leaving for Paris? Why are you leaving me again?” His breathing hitched, shoulders trembling violently. “Am I wrong? Was there another person who visited you in the army? Was it not me?”

Zhan’s eyes widened like a rabbit caught in headlights, panic flashing across his face as he saw Yibo breaking down.

Without thinking, he gathered Yibo into his arms again, holding him tightly. “Bodi… no—no, I mean yes… it was you. It’s always been you,” he said quickly, his voice trembling.

“I’m sorry for loving you that way. I never meant for it to happen.” His voice cracked again, raw and desperate. “I tried to stop it. I even ran to Paris six years ago… to try to forget, to make it—”

“Wait,” Yibo cut him off, blinking hard. “The reason you left me for Paris… is because you loved me?”

Before Zhan could answer, Yibo started throwing weak punches at his chest, his voice cracking with anger and heartbreak.

“You’re such a coward, Zhange! Why are you such an idiot?” Another soft thump landed on Zhan’s chest. “You could’ve just told me!”

Zhan didn’t move — didn’t even try to block the hits. He just stood there, eyes heavy, letting Yibo’s fists fall weakly against him. He deserved it. Every punch. Every word.

“I don’t think telling you would’ve changed anything,” he whispered, barely above a breath.

Yibo stopped, his shoulders trembling as fresh tears welled up. “Why are you deciding for me?” he asked, voice breaking.

Zhan frowned softly. “You said you only liked girls.”

“When did I say that?”

“When we were watching TV… and saw two men kissing,” Zhan said, his voice barely audible. “You looked disgusted.”

Yibo blinked at him in disbelief, tilting his head with an incredulous look. “Zhange,” he said, half-sobbing, half-scolding. “I was fifteen! What did you expect me to understand back then? You seriously took that to heart?”

He wiped his tears furiously with the back of his hand. “You’re so unfair! You left me for six years because of that?” His voice cracked again. “You didn’t even give me the chance to understand my feelings.”

“Shhh… Zhange is sorry,” Zhan murmured, pulling him back into his arms, his own eyes misting. “It doesn’t matter now, Yibo. Because you love someone else, and that’s okay.”

“No, it does matter!” Yibo protested, muffled against his chest. “Because I love you.”

Zhan smiled faintly, his heart clenching. “I know you love me, Yibo… as a brother.”

Yibo froze, then narrowed his eyes. Without warning, he bit Zhan on the shoulder.

“Ow—Yibo!”

“Not as a brother, idiot!” Yibo yelled, his voice trembling but fierce.

He pulled back, cupped Zhan’s startled face in both hands, and—before Zhan could even blink, Yibo kissed him on the lips.

The kiss wasn’t graceful. It was messy and desperate — half anger, half love.

Zhan froze, eyes wide, as Yibo’s lips met his — uncertain, hesitant, unsure where to position or how to move them.

For a moment, Zhan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Yibo… loved him? The same way he’d loved Yibo all this time? How could something that once felt impossible suddenly be real?

Then Yibo groaned into the kiss, mumbling against his mouth, “Do you understand now? I love you like this, ge!” — his voice small and trembling as he kept kissing Zhan, awkward and messy.

Zhan could tell right away — it was Yibo’s first kiss. The thought made his chest ache and his heart melt all at once.

It was awkward, a little clumsy, yes — but every movement screamed sincerity. Just Yibo, trying his best to show love in the only way he knew how.

To Zhan, it was the most romantic kiss he had ever experienced.

He cupped Yibo’s cheek, thumb brushing over flushed skin. “You…” he whispered, smiling helplessly between kisses. “You really mean that, right?” Zhan's voice shook, still trying to believe what he just heard.

“Mn, so much, ge,” Yibo hummed, kissing him again — soft but insistent, as if trying to convince Zhan through the kiss.

This time, Zhan returning the kiss with a mix of hesitation and need. His hand slid to the back of Yibo’s neck, guiding him gently. Their lips moved awkwardly at first, breaths tangling, until Yibo finally found the rhythm.

When Yibo let out a quiet moan, Zhan snapped back to the present — the sound pulling him out of the haze.

He pulled away, chest rising and falling. “Sorry,” he murmured, voice low. “I… went too far.”

But Yibo clearly hadn’t had enough. He leaned in again, eyes half-lidded, ready to chase another kiss.

Zhan chuckled softly and placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Let’s take it slow, Bodi,” he said, smiling. “I believe you.”

“You better,” Yibo pouted, his lips glistening and slightly swollen from the kiss, looking impossibly soft and tempting.

Zhan wanted nothing more than to lean in again and devour those soft, full lips. But he forced himself to hold back, afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop once he started. Besides, they still needed to have a serious talk.

So he took a slow breath, his heart still racing from the kiss. As much as he didn’t want to ruin the moment, there were things that needed to be cleared up.

“But what about your girlfriend?” Zhan asked carefully.

“I broke up with her,” Yibo said simply. “I apologized — and then I told everyone on stage.”

Zhan blinked. “Told them what?”

“That I love you.” Yibo’s lips curled into a smug little smile, his voice gaining that familiar confidence again. “I told them I belong to you.”

Zhan’s breath hitched. “You… did that?”

Yibo nodded proudly, that crooked grin deepening. “So you can’t leave me now, Zhange. Not when I finally announced it to the whole university.”

Zhan could only stare — equal parts disbelief and affection battling in his chest.

Then Yibo’s bravado faded. His shoulders slumped as he looped his arms lazily around Zhan’s waist, burying his face in the crook of his neck. “But ge,” he whined softly, voice small and pitiful, “I think I’m dying.”

Zhan’s eyes widened. “Huh? What do you mean dying?”

When he gently pushed Yibo back to look at him properly, he finally noticed the boy’s pale face and glassy eyes. Panic shot through him. “Bodi, what’s wrong with you?”

“Ge… I haven’t eaten since last night,” Yibo mumbled, blinking drowsily.

Zhan’s eyes darted to the clock on the table — past two in the afternoon. His heart dropped. “Oh my God, Yibo, you could’ve collapsed! Why didn’t you eat?”

“How could I eat when you didn’t come home — and even blocked me?” Yibo’s lower lip jutted out in an accusing pout.

“Blocked you?!”

“Mn.” Yibo frowned. “My calls couldn’t get through.”

Zhan exhaled, rubbing his temple. “I didn’t block you, Bodi. I left my phone in your house last Sunday night.”

Yibo’s pout deepened. “You could’ve just come home then.”

Zhan could feel the warmth of Yibo’s face pressed against his shoulder, the pout audible even in his tone.

“Do you really love me, ge?” Yibo murmured, voice low and just a little shaky. “Then how’s it possible you didn’t even come to see me when I was dying here alone?”

He knew he was being unreasonable. He understood that Zhan needed space. But still — he wanted to whine. He wanted Zhan’s attention, wanted to be fussed over, wanted compensation for two whole days of being ghosted.

So he sulked even more, playing the spoiled baby he absolutely wasn’t supposed to be — but somehow always turned into whenever it came to Zhan.

Zhan choked up and pulled Yibo closer, wrapping his arms tightly around him. “Sorry, baobao…” he whispered, voice trembling. “Your Zhange is a coward. I was hurt—seeing you kissed by Suzy. I didn’t know how to face you, pretending it didn’t affect me. I stayed at Xian’s place and only came home when you’d already left for the university. But not for a single moment did I stop missing you, Yibo.”

His voice cracked on the last word. He pressed a soft kiss into Yibo’s hair, breathing him in before slowly pulling back.

“Zhange will explain everything later, okay? But for now… let’s get you something to eat and change your clothes. Your sweat’s already dry — you’ll get sick like this.”

Zhan guided him toward his own room.

Yibo followed quietly, obedient as ever, his tired eyes never leaving Zhan — as if afraid that if he blinked, Zhan might disappear all over again.

He gently nudged Yibo inside the room, smiling softly. “Come out when you’re done, okay? I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“But… you’re not gonna leave while I’m changing, right, ge?” Yibo mumbled, his voice small — like a kid afraid of being left behind again.

“I won’t, baobao,” Zhan said, brushing his thumb over Yibo’s cheek. “Not without you.”

“But your clothes are still in the suitcase,” Yibo murmured, glancing toward Zhan’s room. “When are you going to put them back in the closet? I can help. Let’s do it now.”

He was already about to turn when Zhan gently stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Later, okay? I promise I won’t leave. And if I ever do…” he smiled faintly, “…I’ll take you with me.”

He brushed his knuckles along Yibo’s cheek before leaning down to press a reassuring kiss to the corner of his lips. “Now, change your clothes so you can eat.”

“Mn.” Yibo’s reply was short — but this time, he smiled, bright and genuine.

. 

.

By the time Yibo finished eating and took a quick shower, he was already struggling to keep his eyes open from sheer exhaustion.

But even half-asleep, he stubbornly insisted on putting Zhan’s clothes back into the closet—like he was afraid Zhan might run away the second he closed his eyes.

“Baobao, you can rest first. I’ll finish it later,” Zhan coaxed gently, smiling as he took one of his shirts from Yibo’s hands.

“Let’s finish this first, ge,” he murmured, a yawn escaping halfway through the sentence. Still, he continued pulling Zhan’s clothes out one by one, neatly putting them back into the closet.

He didn’t get far, though.

When Zhan turned around after hanging the last coat, he found Yibo fast asleep on the bed. His upper body lay sprawled across the mattress while his legs were still dangling off the edge, feet touching the floor.

Zhan couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking his head. “Aiyo… this kid.”

He walked over and carefully lifted Yibo’s legs onto the bed, pulling the blanket over him.

“I love you, Yibo,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from Yibo’s forehead before leaning in to plant a kiss on Yibo's cheek.

...

It was already dark outside when Yibo opened his eyes.

He blinked a few times, disoriented, then sat up and glanced around the room. Panic rose in his chest when he didn’t see Zhan anywhere.

He quickly got out of bed, almost tripping over the blanket as he hurried out of the bedroom. His heart was pounding, the fear of Zhan leaving again gripping him tighter with every step.

But relief washed over him the moment he saw Zhan standing by the window, phone pressed to his ear, his back turned.

“Yes, Grandpa,” Zhan was saying, his tone polite and warm. “We might stay over for the evening. Don’t worry, Yibo and I are okay. We’re not having the divorce.”

Quietly, Yibo walked closer.

Zhan listened for a few more seconds, smiling faintly at the old man’s voice on the other end. But then he felt Yibo’s arms slide around his waist from behind, the younger boy’s head resting against his back.

The gesture made his heart melt instantly. For a brief moment, Zhan forgot what he was even saying. He closed his eyes, feeling the steady heartbeat pressed against him.

“Yes, Grandpa. Bye for now,” he said softly, ending the call.

Turning around, he met Yibo’s sleepy eyes and faint pout.

Without a word, Zhan pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around the younger boy and resting his chin lightly atop his head.

“Sorry,” he murmured with a smile, “I used your phone without asking first.”

“Mn, it’s okay. You can use any of my stuff without asking,” Yibo mumbled against his chest. “What were you talking about with Grandpa?”

“I told him we’d come over and stay the night. I also need to get my phone back,” Zhan explained.

Yibo looked up at him, lips curling into an exaggerated pout, his eyes wide and pleading — like a sulky puppy who knew exactly how to get his way with Zhan.

“But I don’t want to go anywhere,” he whined. “Can we visit on the weekend instead? I just want to spend more time with you… only you. Besides, I still have to report to the university tomorrow.”

Zhan sighed in defeat. He could never say no when Yibo gave him that look — the same puppy eyes that always worked like a weapon against his resolve.

“Aiya, this is so unfair, Wang Yibo!” he said, though his lips curved into a smile.

Yibo just wiggled in his arms, deepening his pout, clearly pleased that he was winning.

“Okay, okay,” Zhan gave in with a soft laugh. “We’ll just call the elders again later.”

...

They cooked a light dinner together — or at least tried to.

Mostly, Yibo chopped vegetables while Zhan grumbled about the growing mess, and Yibo argued back that real chefs were supposed to be messy.

It was funny — Yibo was usually very organized in the kitchen. But tonight, he seemed more interested in making a mess, just to hear Zhan scold him softly. He wanted attention, and the warmth of being close again.

During dinner, their playful banter slowly faded into a serious hush. Yibo sat deep in thought, tracing idle circles on his plate.

If he truly wanted to start over—if he wanted to make things right this time—he had to be honest about his feelings. And more than that, he needed to know one thing: was Zhan still planning to go back to Paris? And if he was… what did that mean for them?

Zhan noticed his silence. “What is it, Bodi?” he asked gently. “Is there something else you’re not telling me?”

Yibo startled a little, then smiled awkwardly. Even after six years apart, Zhan still read him too easily.

“Mn…” he began quietly, biting his bottom lip. “What about your work in Paris?” he asked, cautious—almost afraid of Zhan’s answer.

Zhan set down his chopsticks and met Yibo’s eyes. “Thank you for bringing it up,” he said gently. “We really need to talk about it. Like I told you earlier—I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Yibo let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“So… are you coming with me after your graduation?” Zhan asked.

Yibo blinked in surprise. “I want to,” he answered quickly, “but… how about our parents, ge? They’re getting old. When you left, I looked after them. But if we both go—”

Zhan reached across the table and pinched his cheek lightly. “My baobao has really grown up,” he said with a fond smile. “I never thought about that seriously before. I just assumed they’d be fine without us. You’re more mature and thoughtful than me. I am so proud of you.”

He squeezed Yibo’s hand. “I’m sorry for leaving everything to you and thank you for taking care of my parents… for me.”

Yibo’s face warmed. “You don’t have to thank me. They treat me as their own son…” He let out a soft, self-conscious laugh.

“They let me slept in your room almost every night for the first two years after you left. I guess I missed you too much.” His smile faltered. “Then I stopped. I thought it was pointless to keep holding on to the memory when it felt like I was the only one doing it. You never came back.”

His voice trembled, eyes glistening at the memory.

Zhan stood quickly and moved behind him, wrapping his arms around Yibo’s shoulders. He rested his chin gently on Yibo’s hair.

“I’m sorry, baobao,” he murmured. “For putting us both through that pain. No wonder you stopped messaging me. And I let it happen—thinking that maybe distance would help me forget my feelings for you. But it never did.”

He let out a shaky breath. “I dated a lot of girls, but every time I came home to an empty apartment, it was you I thought of. Your warmth beside me, the way you’d cling to me in your sleep… I missed that more than I wanted to admit.”

He knelt beside Yibo’s chair and turned him gently to face him.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you — for the rest of my life.”

Yibo looked at him, eyes glassy with unshed tears. “And how exactly are you going to do that, hm?” he asked, smiling faintly.

“I’ll love you and spoil you every day until you get tired of it,” Zhan said with a grin.

“I’ll never get tired of you, ge.” Yibo’s smile softened. “I know I realized my feelings too late… but I think I’ve always loved you. I just didn’t know what it was before. Then you left, and I never had the chance to understand it.”

Zhan cupped his face gently. “Zhange is sorry, baobao.”

Yibo leaned into the touch, eyes soft but searching. “But you still haven’t answered me, ge… what about your work?”

“I’ll stay here with you, because you are my home, Yibo,” Zhan said firmly.

“There’s an opening at the National Art Gallery — I’m a strong candidate. I’m also thinking of setting up my own studio. I’ve saved enough for that.” He smiled, brushing his thumb over Yibo’s hand. “But we’ll figure it out together, later.”

“You… you’re sure? You won’t regret giving it all up for me?”

“Of course, you’re worth it, Yibo. I’ll still need to return to Paris to hand in my resignation and collect my things, but I can keep working remotely until then.”

He brushed a hand through Yibo’s hair, smiling softly. “You’ll come with me after your graduation, right?”

Yibo nodded, leaning in to wrap his arms around him. “Mn, I will." he murmured against Zhan’s shoulder, holding him tight. 

.

.

When it was finally time for bed, Zhan went to his room only to find Yibo already there, sitting comfortably on his bed, like he’d always been meant to be there.

Zhan blinked, bewildered. “Why are you here?”

“What else?” Yibo said innocently, patting the space beside him. “To sleep.”

“Bodi…” Zhan started, rubbing the back of his neck. “We won’t fit here. And besides…” He paused, his face heating up. “Your mother said we can’t sleep in the same room until you graduate.”

He quickly looked away, hiding his flushed face.

Yibo whined. “Zhange, my graduation’s only a few weeks away. And we’re married — I don't see a reason why we can't share a bed.”

“The bed is for one person,” Zhan argued weakly.

“Then…” Yibo tilted his head with a mischievous smile, “let’s use the master bedroom.”

Zhan stared at him, momentarily speechless. “Yibo!”

Yibo only laughed, flopping down on the bed like a spoiled cat.

In the end, Yibo won — of course he did.

Zhan sighed in defeat as they moved to the master bedroom.

...

The bed was wide and soft, and the moment they lay down, Yibo immediately scooted over and latched onto him like an octopus, arms and legs wrapping around him.

“Bodi—” Zhan groaned, trying to pry him off gently. “We can’t do this anymore. It’s… it’s different now.”

Yibo pulled back slightly, frowning. “What is it now? What’s different?”

Zhan’s face turned red all the way to his ears.

“Yibo! Do you really want me to elaborate?”

Yibo blinked, looking all innocent, then sat up a little, thinking hard for a few seconds before his eyes lit up in realization. “Ahhh, you mean because we’re… ahhh—” He dragged out the sound, pretending to be deep in thought, then broke into a mischievous grin. “Because we’re a real couple now!”

Zhan groaned, already regretting his life choices. “Yibo—”

“Then that means,” Yibo said, grinning wider as he leaned closer, “we can do that thing, ge.”

“WANG YIBO!!!”

Zhan’s scandalized shout echoed through the room as Yibo laughed so hard he nearly rolled off the bed.

Zhan watched as Yibo’s laughter slowly faded into a serious and needy face. “Then… can I have a kiss at least, ge?” Yibo asked softly, eyes trembling like a puppy begging for a treat.

Zhan had always been weak for that puppy look, and the brat knew exactly how to use it.

Unconciously, Zhan leaned in and captured Yibo’s lips in a gentle kiss.

It was meant to be just a peck , but the moment their lips met, Yibo moved his lips against him with surprising certainty, deepening the kiss until Zhan could feel the younger man’s heart pounding as fast as his own.

The kiss was different from their first one that afternoon. Yibo moved against him effortlessly, as if kissing came to him naturally. Zhan’s breath caught, his mind going blank as he felt Yibo’s lips against his—soft, sweet, and full, tasting faintly of candy, warm, and entirely him.

Zhan let him take the lead, responding just enough not to lose control. He allowed Yibo to explore—to taste, to feel—until the boy let out a soft, needy moan against his lips. That was when Zhan finally pulled away, breathless, his chest rising and falling in sync with Yibo’s.

Yibo let out a low groan of protest, eyes half-lidded, his lips still parted as if searching for more.

He looked up at Zhan, gaze hazy and full of longing, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he released a frustrated sigh, his fingers curling lightly into Zhan's shirt.

“Breathe, baobao,” Zhan murmured, brushing his thumb over Yibo’s swollen lips in slow, soothing strokes, waiting patiently until Yibo’s breathing calmed and he relaxed fully against him.

His lashes fluttered, half-lidded, as he pressed his body close, nestled into Zhan’s chest. “Good night, ge… I love you,” he murmured, voice small and content.

Zhan’s heart softened completely. He pressed a tender kiss to Yibo’s temple and whispered, “I love you more, Yibo. Good night.”

The sound of Yibo’s breathing soon evened out.

Zhan lifted a hand to brush a few stray strands of hair from his forehead, his chest tightening with quiet, overflowing love.

“I’ve been holding myself back for so damn long, Bodi,” he whispered, breath warm against Yibo’s skin. “If it were anyone else, and my body reacted like this, I probably wouldn’t be able to stop myself. But it’s you—my precious baobao.” His thumb brushed Yibo’s lower lip, eyes dark but gentle. “You’re the one I want to protect, the one I want to love the right way. You deserve to be cherished properly.”

He leaned closer. “So I’ll wait—for the right time, for when you’re truly ready. Because you’re the only one my body ever responds to… and you’re worth every second of holding back.”

He hugged Yibo tightly, eyes closing as he listened to the soft rhythm of Yibo’s breathing against his chest.

-To be continued...