Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Under the blazing Taiwanese sun, a boy perched atop a high-rise, his sharp eyes scanning the streets and shadowy alleyways below, ever watchful for signs of danger and crime. But he wasn’t just any boy. No — he was one of Taiwan’s top heroes, a beloved figure admired by all. Yet behind the kind smile and noble deeds, he hid himself behind a mask — a mask that saw everything, but revealed nothing. Yet there’s something about him that no one knows. Something he keeps buried so deep, even the brightest lights of the city can’t illuminate it. He smiles for the cameras, waves to the crowds, saves lives in broad daylight — but behind closed doors, behind that unyielding mask, lies a truth he swore no one would ever uncover.

Not his allies.

Not his enemies.

Not even the people who claim to love him.

And perhaps one day, that secret will come to light. But not now. Not yet. That… is a story for another time.

He stood tall at six-foot-four, his lean yet muscular frame moving with quiet confidence. Jet-black hair, slightly tousled, framed a sharp face marked by piercing gray eyes that seemed to see everything yet revealed nothing. His pale skin contrasted against the vibrant city below, giving him an almost otherworldly presence.

When he donned his suit, the transformation was striking. The matte-black fabric clung to his body like a second skin, absorbing the light around him and blending him seamlessly into the shadows. A large white spider emblem stretched boldly across his chest and back, its legs extending under his arms and tracing the contours of his sides—a silent warning to anyone who dared cross his path.

His mask covered every inch of his face except for his eyes, which gleamed behind reflective lenses that shifted in color with every movement, adding to his mysterious aura. Hidden beneath the sleeves of the suit were sleek web-shooters, always ready for swift action.

“Nothing good ever happens after midday in this part of the city… Wait.”

His eyes narrow as he spots a suspicious figure slipping into a narrow alley.

“Looks like someone’s about to make a mistake”

He cracks his knuckles, voice low but confident

Time to remind them why the streets belong to no one but me.

Without hesitation, he pushed off the edge of the rooftop, the wind whipping through his black suit as he plummeted. In a fluid motion, his wrist flicked — the web-shooter released a thin, strong strand that caught onto a nearby antenna.

With a powerful swing, he soared over the labyrinth of alleyways below, his body cutting through the air like a shadow. The city blurred beneath him, but his eyes never left the target — that careless figure who thought they could slip by unnoticed.

As he neared the ground, muscles coiled and ready to strike, he whispered to himself with a hint of a smirk:

“Let’s see how far you run.”

——————-

The evening air was thick with the scent of sizzling meats and simmering broths as the small corner restaurant nestled within the city walls came to life. The flickering lanterns cast a warm glow on the weathered wooden tables, each scarred by years of use and the stories of countless patrons. Inside, the clatter of dishes and the murmur of conversation created a comforting symphony of daily life.

Behind the counter stood Mo Guan Shan , his amber eyes scanning the room with a mix of vigilance and weariness. At 6’1” (186 cm), his presence was commanding, yet there was a softness in his demeanor that contradicted his tough exterior. His natural red hair, slightly tousled, framed his face, and his white peach skin tone gave him an almost ethereal appearance.

Dressed in a simple white shirt with yellow accents, he moved with practiced ease, serving customers with a nod and a grunt. Despite his gruff manner, there was a warmth in his interactions, especially when he spoke to his mother, who worked alongside him.

“Mom, the soup’s ready. Should I start plating?” he called out, his voice carrying a hint of concern.

His mother, a petite woman with kind eyes, smiled warmly. “Yes, dear. Thank you for helping.”

Guan Shan nodded, his lips curling into a rare smile. He was a man of few words, but his actions spoke volumes. The kitchen was his domain, and he took pride in every dish he prepared. His father had once owned this very restaurant, and though the memories were bittersweet, Guan Shan found solace in continuing the legacy.

As the evening wore on, the restaurant buzzed with activity. Customers came and went, each greeted by Guan Shan’s silent nod or a brief exchange. He was a fixture in this neighborhood, a constant amidst the ever-changing cityscape.

But beneath the surface, there was more to Guan Shan than met the eye. His past was a tapestry of hardship and resilience, and the walls of this restaurant held more than just the scent of food—they held memories, secrets, and a longing for something more

Mo Guan Shan moved through the cramped kitchen with mechanical precision, every motion deliberate and efficient. The heat from the stove painted his skin with a faint sheen of sweat, but he barely noticed—his amber eyes were locked on the task at hand.

Orders came fast and furious, and he didn’t waste a second. Ladling broth into bowls, sliding plates across the counter, wiping down tables with a quick swipe of his calloused hands. His expression remained stern, brows knitted tight, lips pressed into a thin line. To anyone watching, he looked like a storm about to break — rough, unapproachable, and fiercely protective of the place he called home.

A young woman approached the counter, smiling politely. “Thank you, Mo Guan Shan,” she said softly.

He glanced up briefly, the hardness in his eyes melting just a fraction. “Eat well,” he muttered gruffly before returning to the next order, his hands never slowing.

~~~~

Sweat trickled down Mo Guan Shan’s temple, catching the dim light of the kitchen as his amber eyes narrowed with sharp focus. His brows were furrowed deeply, carving shadows across his forehead, while his jaw clenched tight — every muscle taut with determination.

The faintest crease formed between his eyebrows, a silent testament to the weight he carried. Despite the fierce, almost intimidating look etched on his face, there was a flicker of something softer behind those fierce eyes — a quiet resolve, a hidden tenderness buried beneath the hardness.

His lips pressed into a thin line, as if holding back words and emotions he refused to show. The faint glow of the stove flickered across his high cheekbones, highlighting the pale warmth of his skin and the faint scar near his left ear — a mark of battles both seen and unseen.

For a brief moment, he blinked, and the world beyond the kitchen blurred, but only for a second. Then, with a steady breath, the steel returned to his gaze, and Mo Guan Shan bent to his work once more — the silent guardian of this small corner of the city.

The restaurant door jingled as a customer stepped inside—tall, confident, eyes scanning the room with a calm intensity. Mo Guang Shan glanced up from the counter, already on edge.

Without missing a beat, he furrowed his brows and folded his arms, planting himself firmly in front of the tray of food like a blockade. His amber eyes locked onto the newcomer, cool and sharp.

“close!” Mo said with a frown “ you can go away. I already said we are closed. I have something to do.”

But the man just ignored him and sat down at one of the stools. And somehow, Mo couldn’t keep his eyes off him. He was mad to say it, but he was stunning… “ umm..” he was speechless. He did not say. “ hello?” Then he snapped out of it. “ oh yes, we’re close so go away.”

He Tian paused, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His dark gray eyes swept over Mo, slow and deliberate, like he was taking his time memorizing every detail of the fiery redhead blocking his way.

“Well,” he drawled, his voice low and smooth, “someone woke up on the wrong side of the kitchen this morning.”

He leaned casually against the counter, unbothered by Mo’s glare, his hands slipping into the pockets of his black jacket. “Relax, handsome. I’m just here for some food. Unless…” He Tian’s grin widened slightly, sharp and teasing. “You plan to feed me something else with that attitude of yours?”

Mo scoffed, rolling his eyes and even blushed little bit that comment caught him off guard ,and jabbing a finger toward the empty table by the wall.

“Sit. There. Keep your comments to yourself, and you might actually get to eat before the place closes.”

He Tian chuckled under his breath, clearly amused, but he obeyed, sauntering over to the table Mo had pointed at. As he sat down, he shot Mo a look over his shoulder—smug, knowing, and just a little bit interested.

“I like this place already,” he murmured, just loud enough for Mo to hear.

Mo pretended not to notice, but the faint heat creeping up the back of his neck betrayed him.

The end of chapter 1

Chapter Text

The next day dawned just as hot and hazy, the streets already alive with the buzz of scooters and chatter. Inside the little corner restaurant, Mo Guan Shan was at the counter, absentmindedly wiping down a clean plate for the third time.

His mother peeked out from the kitchen, frowning slightly.

“Guan Shan, you okay? You’ve been quiet all morning.”

“I’m fine,” he said flatly, setting the plate down harder than necessary.

But he wasn’t fine.

That guy . That cocky, rude, smug guy from yesterday—he was still stuck in Mo’s head like a splinter. The way he’d leaned against the counter like he owned the place. The way he smiled like nothing Mo said even touched him. And then that final comment, just before leaving:

I like this place already.

Mo could still hear it, like it had been whispered right into his ear.

“Asshole,” Mo muttered under his breath, yanking a tray off the shelf with a little too much force.

Why the hell was he even thinking about it? He’d served plenty of annoying customers before. Why did this one feel… different?

His mother’s voice cut through his thoughts again.

“You should smile more, dear. You scare the customers when you look so serious.”

Mo rolled his eyes and mumbled something under his breath, but deep down he knew. He wasn’t serious because of work. He was serious because of him .

And even though he refused to admit it, a tiny part of him was already wondering—

…what if he came back?

The lunch rush passed in a blur of bowls, orders, and chatter. Mo Guang Shan worked like he always did — fast, efficient, no-nonsense — but the whole time, his mind wasn’t really on the customers. It kept drifting back to him .

That smug face. Those dark, amused eyes that seemed to see right through him. That lazy grin, like nothing Mo said could ever wipe it off his stupidly handsome face.

Mo scowled harder just thinking about it.

What the hell is wrong with me? he thought, slamming another bowl down on the counter a little too loudly.

It wasn’t like the guy had done anything special. He’d just waltzed in, acted like he owned the place, and left. That was it. Plenty of guys came in here thinking they were hot shit. Plenty tried to flirt, or tease, or push his buttons. He never cared before.

But this one—this one had gotten under his skin somehow.

“Like this place already,” Mo muttered, mocking He Tian’s voice under his breath. “Tch. What’s that even supposed to mean? Dumb ass.”

Yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the memory of how he’d said it. Low, warm, almost like a promise. Like he was planning to come back.

And then there was that look.

That damned look .

Mo could still feel it — that heat creeping up his neck when those dark gray eyes stayed on him for just a little too long.

He scrubbed at a stubborn stain on the counter that wasn’t even there, jaw tight.

“Why am I even thinking about this?” he muttered to himself. “He probably doesn’t even remember me. Just another bratty alpha behind a counter to him.”

But the thought didn’t make him feel any better.

If anything, it made his chest feel heavier.

Mo leaned on his elbows, staring out the window at the street beyond, his mind annoyingly full of a certain stranger with a lazy smile and eyes sharp as knives.

And despite himself, a tiny, reluctant thought slipped through before he could shove it away:

…what if he really does come back?

————-

The city lights stretched below like a sea of stars as He Tian leaned against the floor‑to‑ceiling window of his sprawling penthouse. His tall frame—lean but muscular—was draped in a sleek black tracksuit. Dark gray eyes flicked over the glittering skyline, restless and unreadable.

A gentle click echoed from behind him. He Cheng entered—towering, muscular, and practically a mirror image of his younger brother. His presence was heavy with unspoken authority.   He Cheng’s eyes met He Tian’s in the reflection, and for a moment, the skyscraper’s glow softened between them.

“You should be sleeping,” He Cheng said quietly, though there was no accusation in his tone—only a familiar concern.

He Tian’s lips curved into that trademark mischievous smirk. “Funny, I thought I was living here alone. Miss me, big brother?”

He Cheng’s jaw clenched, memories flickering behind his gray eyes. He remembered that day by the river—the storm, the puppy, the choice.    He Cheng crossed his arms. “If you want to keep running from Dad, running won’t help.”

A flicker passed across He Tian’s face—anger, defiance, pain. “Don’t lecture me, Cheng. I’m not dumb.” He turned from the window, flicking a ghost of a glance: “It’s not you I need saving from.”

Silence settled. The penthouse, luxurious and immaculate, felt colder—two brothers trapped by the past. He Cheng sighed, stepping closer. “I didn’t kill the puppy, Tian,” he whispered, voice low. “I buried it where no one could find it.”    He Tian’s breath hitched.

“He Cheng…” He Tian exhaled, eyes hard. He stepped forward, placing a hand on his brother’s arm. “Thanks… but it’s too late.”

He Cheng watched him, pain etched into his features, before finally nodding. “Be careful. With him.” He gestured toward the city lights, hinting at Mo Guan Shan—though unnamed. He Tian just nodded, eyes softer.

As He Cheng left, He Tian lingered by the window. In his clenched fists and shadowed gaze, you could see it: a man torn between rebellion and responsibility, longing for connection… and maybe, just maybe, someone to hold onto.

The soft click of the penthouse door closing behind him echoed in the hall. He Tian strode through the private elevator lobby, long fingers pulling his black hood up as he went. His brother’s words still lingered in his head—quiet, heavy—but he pushed them aside like he always did.

He had work to do.

By the time the elevator reached the ground floor, the easy smirk was back on his face. He stepped out into the night air, the city alive around him with neon lights and distant sirens. The streets belonged to him at night—just as much as the mask did.

In a quiet alley, he crouched down and slipped the black suit from his bag. The fabric shimmered faintly in the shadows, matte yet sharp, with that stark white spider emblazoned across the chest. Piece by piece, he tugged it on until he was no longer the smug heir lounging in his penthouse.

Now he was something else entirely.

Pulling the mask over his face, he straightened, testing the web‑shooters on his wrists with a practiced snap of his fingers. The faint thwip of webbing rang out as he aimed for a rooftop ledge and reeled himself up in one fluid motion.

From above, the city sprawled below him—chaotic, alive, dangerous. Just the way he liked it.

He crouched on the ledge of a high‑rise, gloved fingers resting lightly on the concrete. The moonlight glinted off his reflective lenses as he scanned the streets. Somewhere down there was trouble.

And where there was trouble, there was him.

“Alright…” he muttered under his breath, voice muffled behind the mask.

“Let’s see who needs saving—or smashing—tonight.”

With one powerful leap, he swung out into the night, a streak of black cutting through the glowing skyline, vanishing into the shadows like a phantom.

End of chapter 2

Chapter Text

The night was quiet for now, the kind of quiet He Tian didn’t trust. He swung effortlessly between buildings, his black suit blending into the shadows, the only sound the faint thwip of his webs cutting through the air.

But his mind… his mind was elsewhere.

No matter how many alleys he checked, how many rooftops he cleared, his thoughts kept drifting back to that little corner restaurant.

That brat behind the counter.

The way he’d stood there, arms crossed like he owned the place. That fire in his amber eyes, sharp enough to cut through He Tian’s lazy grin. No one ever talked to him like that anymore. Not like they meant it.

And that mouth on him—

He Tian chuckled under his breath, landing lightly on the edge of a rooftop. He crouched there for a moment, watching the traffic crawl below, his fingers idly tapping against the ledge.

He didn’t even know the kid’s name. He didn’t need to.

He just kept seeing that scowl. That little tilt of his head, like he was daring He Tian to step closer. That faint blush at the base of his neck when He Tian had stared a little too long.

For some reason, it stuck with him.

“You’ve got teeth, huh,” he murmured to himself, the corners of his mouth quirking behind the mask. “Cute.”

He leaned back on his heels, gazing up at the moonlit sky.

It wasn’t often someone managed to get under his skin—usually, he was the one doing the unsettling. But something about that redhead’s bratty attitude made him want to come back.

Not just for the food.

He Tian stood, stretching his shoulders as the wind ruffled his hood.

“I should swing by there again,” he muttered, smirking faintly. “See if his bite’s as good as his bark.”

And just like that, he leapt into the air, catching the next building’s ledge with a flick of his wrist, the city lights blurring as he swung on. But in the back of his mind, the memory of that little restaurant — and the boy with the fire in his eyes — stayed with him.

The restaurant was quieter tonight. A few regulars huddled at the tables, slurping noodles or gossiping softly. The lanterns out front glowed a dull amber, casting long shadows on the cracked sidewalk.

The door chimed as He Tian pushed it open, the sound somehow louder than usual in the calm of the evening.

Behind the counter, Mo Guan Shan froze mid-step, tray in hand. His amber eyes flicked up — and narrowed instantly.

Him.

That smug bastard from the other night.

He Tian leaned lazily on the doorframe for a second, hood pushed back just enough to reveal that same infuriatingly calm face. His dark eyes swept over the room, then locked on Mo with an easy, crooked grin.

“Miss me?” he drawled, his voice smooth, teasing.

Mo’s cheeks heated, though whether it was from annoyance or something else, even he couldn’t tell. “Don’t sit there acting like you own the place,” he shot back, setting the tray down with a sharp clack . “You want something or are you just here to stare at me?”

He Tian chuckled under his breath, finally moving toward the counter. He didn’t miss the faintest wrinkle of discomfort in the air — like something was just slightly… muted.

It was odd. Usually, he could catch an omega’s scent a mile away, even if they were suppressing. But here? Nothing. Just faint warmth and that sharp mouth.

Interesting.

He leaned his elbows on the counter, bringing himself just a little closer to Mo. Close enough to make him bristle.

“Relax,” He Tian murmured, his tone lower now. “I came for the food. And maybe a little entertainment.”

Mo rolled his eyes and reached for a menu, practically shoving it at him. “Then order something and shut up.”

He Tian smirked wider, catching the edge of the menu but keeping his eyes on Mo. Something about him — that quiet defiance, that muted, almost hidden presence — was more intriguing than ever.

He couldn’t quite put his finger on it yet, but whatever this kid was hiding, He Tian already knew one thing:

He wanted to find out.

He Tian flipped the menu lazily in his hands, though his eyes didn’t leave Mo Guan Shan even once.

The kid was all sharp edges and attitude — the way he snatched the pen off the counter, the way he stood just a little too stiff, chin up like he was daring He Tian to say something else.

But what really threw He Tian off?

The lack of scent.

He leaned a little closer, under the guise of reading the specials written on the wall behind the counter. Nothing. Not even a trace of that sweet, cloying undertone that omegas always had, no matter how much they tried to suppress it.

Just… clean air.

At first, he thought maybe Mo was using strong suppressants. But even then, there was usually something — faint, buried, but there.

And yet, standing here, all He Tian could pick up was the faint heat of kitchen oil and spices clinging to his clothes.

“Beta,” He Tian thought to himself, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

Figures. That would explain why he acted so damn bold. Betas didn’t have pheromones to throw others off balance, and they didn’t have to worry about their heats or ruts catching up to them at the wrong time. No wonder this one barked at him like a cornered dog.

Still. Even knowing that, something about him was… odd.

The way he flushed faintly under He Tian’s gaze — barely noticeable, but there. The way his fingers tightened just slightly on the pen when he realized He Tian was watching.

There was something deeper hiding under all that attitude.

But fine. He Tian could play along for now.

He finally set the menu down, tapping the counter lazily with one long finger. “Noodles. Pork. Extra chili,” he said, his dark eyes glinting with quiet amusement. “And don’t skimp just because you don’t like me.”

Mo scoffed, scribbling the order down with a roll of his eyes. “You’re not that special.”

He Tian chuckled under his breath, leaning back with an easy smile.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.”

And in the back of his mind, a quiet thought curled like smoke:

If he really was just a beta… why did He Tian still feel like he was being pulled toward him anyway?

End of chapter 3

Chapter Text

Why the hell is he here again?

Mo slammed the order slip onto the counter and spun on his heel, marching back toward the kitchen with his jaw clenched so tight it hurt. He could feel that guy’s eyes on him, following every move, like some predator just waiting for him to slip up.

It made his skin crawl.

Well — crawl and heat up, damn it.

Mo set the pot boiling, grabbing a handful of noodles and tossing them in like they’d done him wrong. He wasn’t about to let some smug alpha—well, probably alpha, who even cared—get under his skin.

The worst part was, he didn’t even understand why the guy bothered him so much. Sure, he was cocky, with that lazy grin and those sharp eyes. Sure, he acted like Mo owed him something just for existing. But there were plenty of cocky jerks in the world. Mo had told plenty of them off before without a second thought.

So why the hell was his chest feeling tight?

Why did his cheeks feel hot every time he caught him watching?

He stirred the noodles harder, muttering under his breath. “Thinks he’s so slick… walking in here again like I asked him to come back. Bet he’s one of those alphas who just can’t stand being told no.”

The thought made him scoff bitterly.

“Bet he doesn’t even know what I am,” he mumbled to himself.

Because of course he didn’t. Nobody ever did. Not unless they got really close.

A recessive omega.

It didn’t matter much most of the time — he didn’t give off pheromones like the others, didn’t go around making everyone’s heads turn. He was practically invisible to most alphas unless his heat hit… and he worked damn hard to make sure nobody ever saw that.

And yet…

Mo froze for a second, gripping the spoon a little too tight.

That guy.

The way he looked at him — it wasn’t like everyone else. Even though he couldn’t smell anything off Mo, couldn’t sense anything, it still felt like he knew . Like he saw straight through all of it.

Mo shook himself, shoving the thought away and dumping the finished noodles into a bowl with practiced efficiency.

He wasn’t going to let some stranger figure him out.

Not now. Not ever.

He wiped his hands, slapped the bowl onto the tray, and lifted his chin high as he carried it out to the dining room.

If that jerk wanted a fight, he’d get one.

But Mo wasn’t about to let him win.

Mo stalked out of the kitchen, tray in hand, and set the bowl down in front of him with more force than necessary.

The chopsticks clattered against the ceramic as He Tian looked up at him, unbothered as ever, with that damned crooked grin plastered across his face.

“There,” Mo said flatly, crossing his arms. “Noodles. Pork. Extra chili. Just like you asked. Now eat it, pay for it, and get the hell out of my restaurant.”

He Tian tilted his head, dark eyes glinting with amusement as he picked up the chopsticks. “Aw, don’t be like that. You’ll hurt my feelings.”

“You don’t have feelings,” Mo shot back, already turning on his heel to walk away.

But He Tian’s voice followed him, smooth and low: “Oh, you’d be surprised.”

Mo froze mid‑step, his back stiffening. His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms as that strange heat crept up the back of his neck again.

What was his deal? Why was he looking at him like that? Like he was already three moves ahead?

He Tian slurped a bite of noodles, then added casually, “So… you still not gonna tell me your name?”

Mo turned halfway, scowling, his amber eyes sharp enough to cut glass. “Why the hell would I?”

He Tian grinned, setting the chopsticks down just long enough to lean forward on his elbows, his voice dropping into that teasing murmur again:

“Because I’m gonna keep coming back until you do.”

Mo’s breath hitched—just slightly—and he hated himself for it.

His scowl deepened as he spun fully around and stalked back toward the kitchen. “Then starve. I don’t care.”

He Tian chuckled softly behind him, the sound low and warm, echoing in Mo’s ears even as he ducked back behind the counter to hide the faint blush burning at the tips of his ears.

He Tian watched the redhead’s back disappear behind the kitchen door, the faint slam of it echoing in the little restaurant.

A slow, satisfied smirk curved across his lips as he picked his chopsticks back up.

Feisty.

He slurped another bite of noodles, leaning back in his chair. Damn good. Spicy, just like he’d ordered — but not nearly as fiery as the one who’d made it.

That kid.

He Tian’s eyes lingered on the kitchen door, his thoughts turning over lazily in his mind like cards. The way he moved, the way his amber eyes lit up when he got mad. The way his blush crept up his neck no matter how hard he tried to act tough.

But more than that—

He Tian frowned faintly, just for a second, though no one was around to see.

The scent. Or rather, the lack of it.

Most omegas, you could smell before they even stepped in the room — sweet, thick, cloying sometimes. He hated it. Betas had nothing at all, but they were usually quieter about it. Passive.

But this one?

This bratty, hot‑tempered kid with the fire in his eyes?

Nothing. Clean air. And yet somehow… still something.

He Tian tapped his chopsticks idly against the rim of the bowl, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as his smirk returned.

He thinks he’s a closed book. Cute.

He Tian didn’t know yet what the kid was hiding — maybe a beta with a chip on his shoulder, maybe something else entirely. But he already knew one thing.

He wanted to find out.

And he was going to keep coming back until he did.

The thought made him chuckle quietly to himself as he polished off the last bite of noodles, dropped his money on the counter, and stood.

As he stepped out into the night air, he glanced back at the little restaurant, the faint glow of lanterns casting golden light across the windows.

“See you tomorrow,” he murmured under his breath, dark gray eyes glinting with quiet determination.

Then he pulled his hood back up and disappeared into the shadows — already planning his next move.

End of chapter 4

Chapter Text

The little dumbbell clinked back into its stand as Mo wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist, breathing heavy. His tank top clung to his chest and shoulders, damp with sweat, but he didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

Not with his head still full of him.

Mo dropped to the floor and started a set of push‑ups, fast and sharp, counting each one under his breath.

“—seventeen, eighteen, nineteen…”

That cocky bastard. That smug grin. The way he leaned on the counter like he owned the place.

Mo ground his teeth and dropped to his elbows, switching into planks, his core trembling under the strain.

“Thinks he’s so funny,” he muttered. “Coming back again like I didn’t tell him to get lost. Like he’s—what—special?”

He lowered himself lower, his arms burning, but his mind wouldn’t quiet.

The worst part was, Mo couldn’t even figure out what the guy’s deal was. He acted like he was flirting — but it wasn’t the usual kind. He didn’t leer or coo or make gross comments like some alphas.

It was more… subtle. More like he knew something.

Mo scowled, his stomach twisting as he flipped over and started doing sit‑ups. He wasn’t even supposed to get looks like that. Not from alphas. He didn’t give off the usual omega pheromones. No one ever noticed him that way — which was fine by him.

So why the hell did that guy look at him like he knew?

Mo fell back onto the mat with a grunt, staring up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling fast.

“Asshole,” he muttered to himself.

But even as he closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the tightness in his chest, he could still see that smirk in his mind.

Still hear that smooth, lazy voice.

“See you tomorrow.”

Mo sat up suddenly, grabbing the dumbbells again and gripping them tight.

“No, you won’t,” he growled under his breath.

But as he started his next set, deep down, he already knew.

He’d be there.

And Mo hated himself a little for wondering if he actually wanted him to come back.

Mo sat on the edge of his bed, toweling off his hair, still feeling that frustrating heat in his chest.

No matter how many reps he’d pushed through, how much he worked himself into the ground, it didn’t help. That guy’s voice — that smug, low see you tomorrow — still rang in his head.

He tossed the towel aside with a huff and flopped back onto the bed. His phone buzzed on the nightstand with a notification. Out of habit, he picked it up and started scrolling.

News. Weather. Some dumb gossip.

Then a headline stopped him cold:

NOIR SPIDER-MAN STRIKES AGAIN: MYSTERIOUS HERO TAKES DOWN ARMED ROBBERS IN DA’AN DISTRICT

Mo blinked, his thumb hovering over the image that accompanied it — a blurry, dark figure caught mid-swing between two rooftops. Black suit. White spider stretched across his chest. Masked face.

The article went on about the city’s so-called vigilante, some kind of underground hero no one could quite figure out. He’d been spotted in the early hours breaking up a smuggling ring a few nights ago.

People called him “Noir Spider-Man.”

Mo narrowed his eyes at the screen, lips pressing into a thin line.

He didn’t know why he kept staring. Heroes weren’t anything new around here — even ones working in the shadows. But something about this one… the sharp lines of the suit, the way he moved even in the grainy photo… it felt—

Familiar.

Mo scoffed, tossing the phone aside and falling back against his pillow.

“Yeah, right,” he muttered, covering his eyes with his arm.

But as much as he tried to push the thought away, that blurry figure in black kept creeping back into his mind.

And for some reason he didn’t want to admit, his stomach tightened when he thought of the cocky customer sitting at his counter earlier — leaning in close with that lazy smile, like he already owned the place.

“…nah,” Mo whispered to himself.

No way it was the same guy.

Once in a blue moon I say… can’t be him

Right?

End of chapter 5

Chapter Text

The next evening, the little corner restaurant was busier than usual — a steady hum of chatter and clinking bowls filled the air.

Mo Guan Shan was behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, his apron tied tight. He was in a mood — sharp and snappy as he barked orders back to the kitchen and slapped receipts on the counter without looking twice at anyone.

Until the chime over the door rang.

And he walked in.

Mo’s stomach dropped the second he looked up and saw him.

Same black hoodie. Same lazy smirk. Same maddening confidence like he owned the place already.

He Tian.

Mo’s jaw tightened as he turned back to the kitchen window. “Your usual?” he called flatly over his shoulder.

He Tian chuckled softly, leaning casually against the counter. “Sure. But add one more thing.”

Mo didn’t bother to turn. “Yeah? What.”

He Tian leaned closer over the counter, dropping his voice low enough that only Mo could hear it.

“Your number.”

Mo froze mid‑step, the tray in his hands tilting dangerously before he caught it.

He whipped around to glare at him, his cheeks already heating. “The fuck did you just say?”

He Tian’s grin widened. “You heard me.”

“You—you think you can just…” Mo sputtered, his ears burning, “…walk in here, order noodles and—what—my number?!”

He Tian tilted his head, completely unbothered.

“Well,” he drawled, “you’ve been on my mind since the first time I walked through that door. So yeah. Thought I’d make it official.”

Mo scowled, slamming the tray down. “You’re out of your mind. ”

“Probably,” He Tian said easily, propping his chin on his palm as he watched Mo’s every move with that infuriating calm. “But it’d save me a lot of time if you just gave it to me now.”

Mo huffed, turning back toward the kitchen window. “Not a chance.”

He Tian chuckled again, his voice warm and quiet this time — but still teasing.

“That’s okay,” he murmured. “I’m patient. I can come back tomorrow. And the next day. And the next.”

Mo stiffened, biting the inside of his cheek as heat curled low in his stomach against his will.

“Suit yourself,” he muttered.

But even as he stomped back into the kitchen, he couldn’t shake the faint thrill in his chest — or the way his hands trembled just slightly as he set the next tray down.

Day 1

He Tian leaned against the counter, grinning lazily. “Your number yet?”

Mo didn’t even look up from wiping a table. “Not today. Not ever.”

He Tian chuckled as he slurped his noodles. “We’ll see about that.”

Day 2

The door chimed and Mo swore under his breath when he saw him walk in.

He Tian leaned on the counter. “Evening. Ready to give me your number yet?”

Mo glared, shoving a menu at him. “Ready to shove you out the door yet?”

He Tian just smiled wider.

Day 4

Mo was already glaring at the door before He Tian even stepped in.

This time, He Tian set exact change on the counter with his usual order — and a pen.

“You can write your number right here, sweetheart.”

Mo shoved the pen back at him. “Use it to write your own obituary.”

Day 7

By now, the regulars were starting to notice. One of the older ladies in the corner even giggled behind her hand.

Mo all but slammed his tray down in front of He Tian.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

He Tian gave him a slow, easy grin. “You have no idea.”

Day 9

Mo practically threw the noodles at him this time, his ears red as fire.

“You’re pathetic.”

He Tian caught the bowl without flinching, smirking. “Maybe. But persistent.”

Mo muttered under his breath as he stalked back to the kitchen.

Day 12

He Tian leaned close over the counter this time, his voice dropping low enough for only Mo to hear.

“You’re making me work for it. I like that about you.”

Mo’s breath hitched despite himself — but his glare stayed razor‑sharp.

“Like hell you’re getting it.”

Day 15

Mo stomped out with his arms crossed before He Tian even sat down.

“You know you’re wasting your time, right?”

He Tian just smirked and propped his chin on his palm, watching him.

“Funny,” he murmured, “you said that fifteen days ago. Still here, aren’t I?”

Day 20

By now, the staff was making bets in the back. The regulars whispered and giggled behind their bowls.

Mo glared, cheeks hot as He Tian casually held up his phone screen, already open to a blank contact page.

“C’mon,” he murmured, his dark eyes glinting. “Don’t make me wait another twenty.”

Mo just about threw a ladle at his head.

It was day… what now? Twenty‑something?

Mo had stopped counting.

What mattered was the same infuriating chime of the door. The same lazy stroll to the counter. The same smug grin.

Mo dropped the bowl of noodles in front of him with a loud clack . “No,” he said flatly before He Tian could even open his mouth.

But this time… He Tian didn’t say what Mo expected.

He didn’t hold out his phone. Didn’t smirk and murmur, “Your number yet?”

Instead, he just sat there for a long moment, elbows resting on the counter, dark eyes fixed on Mo with an expression that was somehow softer… and sharper all at once.

“…Your name.”

Mo blinked. His mouth opened, then closed.

“What?”

He Tian tilted his head, watching him carefully now, his voice lower and smoother than usual.

“Your name,” he repeated. “That’s all I’m asking for tonight.”

Mo stared at him, caught completely off guard.

For weeks this guy had been showing up, cocky as hell, making him bristle and blush and want to throw something at him every damn night. And now—just like that—he changed the game.

“…Why?” Mo asked finally, crossing his arms tight over his chest.

He Tian just smiled faintly — but not like before. This smile was quieter, almost… genuine.

“Because,” he said simply, “if I’m gonna keep coming back every day, I should at least know what to call you. Don’t you think?”

Mo swallowed, hard, his throat suddenly dry.

He hated the way his chest tightened at those words.

He Tian leaned forward just a little, his eyes glinting.

“So… are you gonna tell me? Or do I have to keep calling you sweetheart?”

Mo glared at him — but this time, his cheeks were hotter than ever, and his voice came out softer than he meant.

“…Mo.”

He Tian’s smirk widened — slow and satisfied.

“Mo,” he repeated, as though tasting it. He let the name roll off his tongue like something he’d been waiting for.

“Nice to finally meet you properly, Mo.”

And for the first time in weeks, Mo couldn’t think of a single thing to say back.

End of chapter 8

Chapter Text

Sooooo my mom look through my phone and found not good things….like yaoi and this sooo…. I will post in the next week maybe… sorry hehe…🙏🙏🙏🙏

Chapter Text

The next evening, the little corner restaurant was busier than usual — a steady hum of chatter and clinking bowls filled the air.

Mo Guan Shan was behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, his apron tied tight. He was in a mood — sharp and snappy as he barked orders back to the kitchen and slapped receipts on the counter without looking twice at anyone.

Until the chime over the door rang.

And he walked in.

Mo’s stomach dropped the second he looked up and saw him.

Same black hoodie. Same lazy smirk. Same maddening confidence like he owned the place already.

He Tian.

Mo’s jaw tightened as he turned back to the kitchen window. “Your usual?” he called flatly over his shoulder.

He Tian chuckled softly, leaning casually against the counter. “Sure. But add one more thing.”

Mo didn’t bother to turn. “Yeah? What.”

He Tian leaned closer over the counter, dropping his voice low enough that only Mo could hear it.

“Your number.”

Mo froze mid‑step, the tray in his hands tilting dangerously before he caught it.

He whipped around to glare at him, his cheeks already heating. “The fuck did you just say?”

He Tian’s grin widened. “You heard me.”

“You—you think you can just…” Mo sputtered, his ears burning, “…walk in here, order noodles and—what—my number?!”

He Tian tilted his head, completely unbothered.

“Well,” he drawled, “you’ve been on my mind since the first time I walked through that door. So yeah. Thought I’d make it official.”

Mo scowled, slamming the tray down. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Probably,” He Tian said easily, propping his chin on his palm as he watched Mo’s every move with that infuriating calm. “But it’d save me a lot of time if you just gave it to me now.”

Mo huffed, turning back toward the kitchen window. “Not a chance.”

He Tian chuckled again, his voice warm and quiet this time — but still teasing.

“That’s okay,” he murmured. “I’m patient. I can come back tomorrow. And the next day. And the next.”

Mo stiffened, biting the inside of his cheek as heat curled low in his stomach against his will.

“Suit yourself,” he muttered.

But even as he stomped back into the kitchen, he couldn’t shake the faint thrill in his chest — or the way his hands trembled just slightly as he set the next tray down.

Day 1
He Tian leaned against the counter, grinning lazily. “Your number yet?”
Mo didn’t even look up from wiping a table. “Not today. Not ever.”
He Tian chuckled as he slurped his noodles. “We’ll see about that.”

Day 2
The door chimed and Mo swore under his breath when he saw him walk in.
He Tian leaned on the counter. “Evening. Ready to give me your number yet?”
Mo glared, shoving a menu at him. “Ready to shove you out the door yet?”
He Tian just smiled wider.

Day 4
Mo was already glaring at the door before He Tian even stepped in.
This time, He Tian set exact change on the counter with his usual order — and a pen.
“You can write your number right here, sweetheart.”
Mo shoved the pen back at him. “Use it to write your own obituary.”

Day 7
By now, the regulars were starting to notice. One of the older ladies in the corner even giggled behind her hand.
Mo all but slammed his tray down in front of He Tian.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
He Tian gave him a slow, easy grin. “You have no idea.”

Day 9
Mo practically threw the noodles at him this time, his ears red as fire.
“You’re pathetic.”
He Tian caught the bowl without flinching, smirking. “Maybe. But persistent.”
Mo muttered under his breath as he stalked back to the kitchen.

Day 12
He Tian leaned close over the counter this time, his voice dropping low enough for only Mo to hear.
“You’re making me work for it. I like that about you.”
Mo’s breath hitched despite himself — but his glare stayed razor‑sharp.
“Like hell you’re getting it.”

Day 15
Mo stomped out with his arms crossed before He Tian even sat down.
“You know you’re wasting your time, right?”
He Tian just smirked and propped his chin on his palm, watching him.
“Funny,” he murmured, “you said that fifteen days ago. Still here, aren’t I?”

Day 20
By now, the staff was making bets in the back. The regulars whispered and giggled behind their bowls.
Mo glared, cheeks hot as He Tian casually held up his phone screen, already open to a blank contact page.
“C’mon,” he murmured, his dark eyes glinting. “Don’t make me wait another twenty.”
Mo just about threw a ladle at his head.

It was day… what now? Twenty‑something?

Mo had stopped counting.

What mattered was the same infuriating chime of the door. The same lazy stroll to the counter. The same smug grin.

Mo dropped the bowl of noodles in front of him with a loud clack. “No,” he said flatly before He Tian could even open his mouth.

But this time… He Tian didn’t say what Mo expected.

He didn’t hold out his phone. Didn’t smirk and murmur, “Your number yet?”

Instead, he just sat there for a long moment, elbows resting on the counter, dark eyes fixed on Mo with an expression that was somehow softer… and sharper all at once.

“…Your name.”

Mo blinked. His mouth opened, then closed.

“What?”

He Tian tilted his head, watching him carefully now, his voice lower and smoother than usual.

“Your name,” he repeated. “That’s all I’m asking for tonight.”

Mo stared at him, caught completely off guard.

For weeks this guy had been showing up, cocky as hell, making him bristle and blush and want to throw something at him every damn night. And now—just like that—he changed the game.

“…Why?” Mo asked finally, crossing his arms tight over his chest.

He Tian just smiled faintly — but not like before. This smile was quieter, almost… genuine.

“Because,” he said simply, “if I’m gonna keep coming back every day, I should at least know what to call you. Don’t you think?”

Mo swallowed, hard, his throat suddenly dry.

He hated the way his chest tightened at those words.

He Tian leaned forward just a little, his eyes glinting.

“So… are you gonna tell me? Or do I have to keep calling you sweetheart?”

Mo glared at him — but this time, his cheeks were hotter than ever, and his voice came out softer than he meant.

“…Mo.”

He Tian’s smirk widened — slow and satisfied.

“Mo,” he repeated, as though tasting it. He let the name roll off his tongue like something he’d been waiting for.

“Nice to finally meet you properly, Mo.”

And for the first time in weeks, Mo couldn’t think of a single thing to say back.

End of chapter 8

Chapter Text

The evening air was warm and thick with the scent of rain just past. Mo was wiping down tables, the quiet hum of the nearly empty restaurant surrounding him.

The door chimed softly, and He Tian strolled in, that same confident grin tugging at his lips.

Mo’s heart thudded a little harder, even though he tried to keep his expression neutral.

He Tian leaned casually against the counter, eyes sparkling under the dim light.

“So,” He Tian began, voice smooth but with a hint of something softer beneath the usual teasing, “how about you ditch this place for a night?”

Mo blinked, setting the rag down.

“What?”

He Tian chuckled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small slip of paper — a movie ticket.

“Come with me,” he said simply. “Dinner, a movie, maybe some trouble. Just… a date.”

Mo’s cheeks flared red, and for a moment he opened his mouth to refuse — but the words caught in his throat.

He glanced away, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the counter.

“Why?” he finally muttered.

He Tian’s grin softened.

“Because,” he said quietly, “I’ve been waiting too long to ask.”

Mo’s breath hitched, the tension between them suddenly electric and unspoken.

After a long pause, Mo nodded—just barely.

“Okay,” he whispered.

He Tian’s smile lit up the room like the city lights outside.

“Good,” he said, sliding the ticket across the counter. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Mo swallowed hard and forced himself to look He Tian in the eyes.

“Don’t be late.”

————

The late afternoon sun filtered softly through the small apartment’s kitchen window as Mo paced back and forth, fingers twitching nervously.

He wasn’t the type to get flustered easily. He was strong, stubborn, and fiercely independent. But tonight was different.

Because tonight, he was going on a date.

And not just with anyone — with He Tian.

Mo glanced down at the neatly folded shirt on his bed, then back at the mirror hanging crookedly on the wall. He ran a hand through his messy hair, biting his lip.

He knew he had to tell his mom. She wasn’t one for secrets, especially when it came to her son’s life.

Taking a deep breath, Mo headed to the kitchen, where his mom was chopping vegetables for dinner.

She looked up and raised an eyebrow. “You look like you’re about to fight a war.”

Mo grunted. “No, I… I gotta tell you something.”

His mom wiped her hands on her apron, leaning against the counter. “Shoot.”

Mo hesitated, cheeks burning. “I’m going out tonight. On a date.”

His mom’s eyes sparkled with surprise — and then amusement.

“Well, finally,” she said with a teasing smile. “About time someone caught your stubborn ass off guard.”

Mo scowled but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips.

“Who?” she asked, folding her arms.

Mo sighed, looking away. “His name’s He Tian.”

Her smile softened. “I’ve seen that one around. That kid’s got charm — and he’s not easy to pin down.”

Mo nodded. “Yeah, well, he’s been annoying as hell. But I think… maybe it’s not all bad.”

His mom chuckled warmly. “Good. Just remember, you don’t have to play it tough all the time. Let someone in. You deserve that much.”

Mo swallowed hard, feeling a strange mix of nerves and excitement.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m gonna try.”

She reached out and ruffled his hair again. “That’s my boy.”

As Mo headed back to his room to get ready, he couldn’t help but think that maybe this was the start of something… different.

End of chapter 11

Chapter Text

He Tian stood in front of the full-length mirror in his sleek apartment, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. The usual sharp grin was there—but tonight, there was something softer in his eyes.

He picked out an outfit that was less about making a statement and more about not looking like he just threw something on. Slim black jeans, a crisp white shirt, and a leather jacket he rarely wore except for special occasions.

He ran a hand through his hair, letting it fall messily but intentionally.

“Don’t screw this up,” he muttered under his breath.

He checked his phone one last time—no messages from Mo yet, but that was expected. He smirked, slipping his phone into his pocket.

Stepping out onto the balcony, he took a deep breath, the city lights sprawling below him.

“This is just a date,” he told himself. “Nothing more. Just a date.”

But as the minutes ticked by, He Tian couldn’t help but wonder how long he could keep playing it cool.

Every few seconds, he adjusted the collar of his jacket or ran a hand through his hair, trying to play it cool—but the faint tapping of his fingers betrayed his nerves.

“Relax,” he told himself. “It’s just a date.”

Still, when the door finally opened and Mo stepped out, looking a little more composed than usual but with that unmistakable flare of stubbornness, He Tian’s grin widened.

“Finally,” he said softly, pushing off the wall and stepping forward.

The door to the building creaked open, and Mo stepped out into the evening air.

He was wearing dark, fitted jeans, sneakers clean for once, and a simple button‑down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His red hair looked freshly washed and a little too fluffy, like he’d actually tried but didn’t want to look like he tried.

He Tian’s grin spread slowly, his dark eyes glinting as he took him in from head to toe.

“Well,” he said smoothly, slipping his hands into his pockets, “you clean up nice.”

Mo scowled faintly, tugging at his sleeve. “Don’t start.”

He Tian tilted his head, stepping just close enough to make Mo glance away.

“Start what?” he teased. “Complimenting you? You better get used to it, sweetheart. You look good.”

Mo’s ears turned pink instantly.

“You—” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Whatever. You’re late.”

He Tian chuckled softly at that.

“No, Mo,” he said with a little smirk. “You’re just early. Couldn’t wait to see me, huh?”

Mo shot him a look that could cut steel, but the faint flush on his cheeks betrayed him.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he huffed, brushing past him.

He Tian let him pass, biting back a laugh as he fell into step at Mo’s side.

“Awfully cute for someone who claims they don’t like me,” he murmured, just loud enough for Mo to hear.

“Shut up,” Mo shot back instantly, eyes fixed straight ahead.

But He Tian caught the corner of his mouth twitch—like maybe, just maybe, Mo was fighting a smile.

And that was all the confirmation He Tian needed to know this date was already worth it.

The two of them walked side by side, the streets glowing gold under the warm city lights.

Mo kept his hands shoved in his pockets, his gaze fixed straight ahead, trying to ignore the way He Tian kept sneaking glances at him with that infuriating grin.

Finally, Mo broke the silence.

“Where the hell are we even going?”

He Tian chuckled low in his throat.

“You’ll see,” he said simply, turning a corner with practiced ease.

Mo’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re dragging me to some tacky place just to show off, I’m leaving.”

He Tian just smirked, ignoring the jab.

A few minutes later, they stopped in front of a sleek little restaurant tucked on the corner of a quiet block — soft lights glowing inside, the faint scent of garlic and herbs wafting through the open door.

Mo blinked up at the sign. It wasn’t flashy. It actually looked… kind of nice.

“This is it?” he asked, almost suspicious.

He Tian nodded casually.

“Best pasta in the neighborhood,” he said. “And only a five‑minute walk from my place.”

Mo froze.

Then slowly turned his head to glare at him.

“…You planned that on purpose, didn’t you?”

He Tian’s grin widened into something downright wicked.

“Of course,” he said easily, leaning a little closer so Mo could hear the low purr of his voice. “Gotta keep my options open for after dinner, don’t I?”

Mo’s cheeks flamed instantly, and he shoved past him toward the door.

“You’re disgusting,” he muttered, though his ears stayed red.

He Tian followed behind, hands in his pockets, watching him with a quiet laugh.

“You say that,” he murmured under his breath, “but you didn’t run.”

And as they stepped inside, Mo could feel his heart beating just a little too fast in his chest — and hated himself for noticing how warm He Tian’s smile looked when no one else was watching.

End of chapter 12