Archive of Our Own

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The backseat was a battlefield. Not in a violent way—no, in the sense that Xie Lian had lost all rights to personal space and dignity about two hours ago. He was half-asleep, draped across Hua Cheng, cheek smushed into his chest, one leg unfortunately wedged between Hua Cheng’s in what could only be described as an “accidental intimacy position.”

To his credit, Hua Cheng didn’t seem to mind. He had one arm slung protectively over Xie Lian’s waist like he was guarding him from rolling off the seat and onto the floor. Or possibly into the void. It was hard to tell with how dramatically underfunded He Xuan’s car was in terms of legroom. Who even designed backseats like this? Sadists?

The sun was setting outside, slanting golden light through the windows, casting everything in a dreamy glow that should have been romantic, but felt more like the prelude to heatstroke. Someone's bag of chips rustled every time they turned. There was sand already in the cup holders. They weren’t even at the beach yet.

“How much longer?” Xie Lian mumbled into Hua Cheng’s shirt, voice hoarse from sleep and minor emotional despair.

In the front seats, Shi Qingxuan had flopped her legs up onto He Xuan’s lap, sunglasses perched on her head like she was auditioning for a teen summer romcom.

“Not long, A-Lian! Only like… four hours!”

He Xuan didn’t blink. “You said that an hour ago.”

“I’m manifesting it,” she said, wiggling her toes dangerously close to the gear shift. “Positive thinking.”

“Is that legal?” Xie Lian whispered, staring at her outstretched limbs in horror. “Like. Her legs. On the driver. We’re going to get pulled over. We're going to jail. I’m going to have to call my parents from jail.”

“I’ll be there with you, gege,” Hua Cheng murmured, voice low and lazy, like the idea of getting arrested together was somehow romantic.

“I’m serious,” Xie Lian whispered. “They’re going to ask me what happened and I’ll have to say ‘our friend did a kickflip into the glovebox and our other friend was cuddling me to death and that’s why we missed the turn signal.’”

He Xuan sighed so loudly it shook the rearview mirror. “If any of you even look like you’re going to start a singalong, I’m pulling over and leaving you in a Denny’s parking lot.”

Shi Qingxuan looked offended. “I was literally just about to start Casual.”

“Exactly,” He Xuan said.

Xie Lian buried his face back into Hua Cheng’s chest. He would survive. Maybe. If the heat didn’t kill him, and Shi Qingxuan didn’t get them arrested, and He Xuan didn’t abandon them, and Hua Cheng didn’t fall asleep and accidentally crush him with affection.

Hua Cheng’s thumb was rubbing gentle circles into Xie Lian’s waist, probably to soothe him, but it was having the opposite effect. Xie Lian was not soothed. He was unsoothed. He was actively stressed.

“We have to check in at the hotel at exactly 10 PM or after,” Xie Lian said suddenly, voice muffled by cotton and dread. “Just a reminder. So you can, like, go slower. If you want. Or if you were thinking of going faster, don’t. I’m scared.”

“Why exactly at 10?” He Xuan asked without inflection, because he had long since accepted that nothing that came out of Xie Lian’s mouth was going to be normal.

“Because the front desk lady sounded mean,” Xie Lian said, lifting his head just enough to give the front seats a haunted stare. “She said ‘No early check-ins, sir’ like I had just threatened her family.”

“She was doing her job,” Shi Qingxuan said, still wiggling her feet like a rich aunt on her sixth mimosa. “Anyway, we’ll get there when we get there. Time is fake.”

“Time is very real and the hotel lady is scarier than death,” Xie Lian said. “I don’t want to start this vacation with a curse.”

“Too late,” Hua Cheng said into his hair.

Shi Qingxuan giggled. He Xuan exhaled like he was remembering every life choice that led him to this car.

They hit a bump in the road and Xie Lian bounced half an inch into the air, landing fully back on Hua Cheng’s chest with a soft oof.

“I’m going to be fused to you like a melted fruit roll-up,” Xie Lian mumbled. “We’re going to have to peel me off. Like a sticker.”

“I’ll keep you on my laptop,” Hua Cheng said, not even missing a beat.

“I’m going to die,” Xie Lian said.

“You always say that on road trips,” Shi Qingxuan called cheerfully. “And yet you live! It’s like a miracle every time.”

“Not a miracle,” He Xuan muttered. “Just bad luck.”

“Why are you even driving if you hate us?” Xie Lian asked, fully sitting up now and looking at him with betrayal in his eyes.

“Because.” He Xuan said, glancing pointedly at Hua Cheng through the rearview mirror.

Hua Cheng caught He Xuan’s pointed stare in the rearview mirror and responded with the fakest, most insincere smile Xie Lian had ever seen stretch across his face. All teeth. Zero warmth. It was the kind of expression you give a cat before it claws your face off.

“Drive safe,” Hua Cheng said sweetly, like a threat.

He Xuan didn’t even flinch. “Buckle up.”

Xie Lian clutched the seatbelt across his chest like it was a rosary. “San Lang,” he whispered, eyes wide as he stared at the speedometer. “He’s going eighty. Eight zero. In miles. That’s not even a number. That’s a cry for help.”

“It’s the freeway,” He Xuan said coolly. “This is how you merge.”

“We are not merging, we are ascending. I can see God.”

Shi Qingxuan was still harmonizing off-key in the front seat, entirely unbothered, now drumming on the dashboard with both hands. “If we go fast enough we’ll time travel! Into summer fun!”

“We’re going to die,” Xie Lian said, voice cracking. “And the police will find this car wrapped around a palm tree and assume we were running from something. And we were! We were running from you!”

“I haven’t even changed lanes yet,” He Xuan said.

“You don’t need to,” Xie Lian choked. “We’re skipping lanes. We’re becoming the concept of a lane.”

Hua Cheng, still lounging like they weren’t being flung down a highway, tightened his hand around Xie Lian’s thigh. “Want me to kiss you so you stop thinking about the speed?”

“No!” Xie Lian squeaked. “Unless it works! Do you think it would work?!”

“Worth a try,” Hua Cheng murmured.

Shi Qingxuan made a gagging sound from the front seat. “If you guys make out in that backseat while I’m singing, I swear to god—”

He Xuan groaned, one hand tapping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to sanity. “Can you two just go back to sleep? I liked it better. The car was actually silent.”

“I refuse to believe it was quiet,” Xie Lian said, dramatically clutching the headrest in front of him like he was giving courtroom testimony. “Shi Qingxuan was blasting her Beabadoobee playlist.”

“It set the vibe,” Shi Qingxuan said indignantly, now braiding her own hair in the sun visor mirror. “You people have no respect for tone!”

“The only tone I heard was ‘perpetual emotional crisis,’” Xie Lian muttered. “I learned the lyrics to Glue Song against my will.”

“I like that one,” Hua Cheng said thoughtfully. “It’s cute.”

“It is cute!” Shi Qingxuan gasped, spinning around to face the backseat. “Hua Cheng, I knew you had taste.”

“I have phenomenal taste,” Hua Cheng replied. “I’m dating Xie Lian.”

“Oh my god,” Xie Lian hissed, slapping a hand over his face. “Take me back to when I was asleep. Put me in the trunk. Let me be a suitcase.”

“Technically,” Hua Cheng said with zero shame, “you were draped across me like a weighted blanket. It was nice.”

“I was trying to survive!” Xie Lian wailed.

He Xuan exhaled sharply through his nose. “Incredible. I’m trapped in a clown car with a cast of performance artists.”

“I am a communications major,” Shi Qingxuan said proudly. “Performance is literally the only skill I have.”

“She’s not wrong,” He Xuan muttered.

“I don’t know how to file taxes,” she added cheerfully. “But I do know every line to the bridge of ‘Beaches’ by Beabadoobee.”

Xie Lian paused, squinting suspiciously at Hua Cheng. His hair was starting to stick to his forehead a little, and his skin looked ever so slightly flushed—more than usual. Panic bloomed immediately.

“Wait,” he said, sitting up straighter. “You’re warm. Are you warm? You’re warm. Oh my god—San Lang, you’re overheating—!”

“I’m fine,” Hua Cheng said calmly, because of course he did. He could be melting into the seat like a popsicle in July and still say he was fine.

“No you’re not, you’re a furnace,” Xie Lian said, already digging through the chaos of their bags at his feet. “Where’s the water bottle—where’s the—drink this. Right now. Hydration is not a suggestion, it’s a lifestyle.”

“I’m not even sweating,” Hua Cheng said, amused, as he obediently took the bottle.

“You don’t sweat, you just suffer in silence,” Xie Lian fussed. “This is exactly how you get heatstroke and die and I will not be blamed for it when the news article says ‘young couple found tragically fused together in backseat.’”

“I thought you wanted to be a suitcase,” Hua Cheng said.

“I’ve changed my mind!” Xie Lian snapped. “Now drink more. And lean back. And breathe slower. And—Shi Qingxuan, stop singing about doomed love for five seconds, San Lang is wilting!”

“He is not,” He Xuan said flatly, adjusting the AC. “If anything, he’s thriving. I, however, am being driven to madness.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Xie Lian whispered to Hua Cheng, who had dutifully taken another sip of water and was now looking at him with heart eyes. “He doesn’t know your delicate constitution.”

“I’m literally immortal,” Hua Cheng murmured, clearly enjoying every second of this.

“And yet you are not immune to humidity,” Xie Lian said, wiping his forehead again.

Shi Qingxuan looked back and offered her smoothie. “Do you want to hold this against his face?”

Xie Lian took the smoothie with all the urgency of a man handed a sacred relic. “Thank you. This will save his life.”

“It’s mango-pineapple,” Shi Qingxuan added. “So if he dies, at least his face will smell good.”

“I’m not going to die,” Hua Cheng said patiently as Xie Lian gently pressed the cup to his cheek. “But if I do, I want it known that this is the ideal way to go.”

“Oh my god,” Xie Lian muttered. “You’re being dramatic.”

“You’re the one cradling me like I’m the last egg in a dragon’s nest,” Hua Cheng pointed out. “You could just sit on my lap and keep me cool that way.”

“San Lang!” Xie Lian squeaked.

“Body heat regulation,” Hua Cheng said innocently. “Science.”

“Sex,” Shi Qingxuan coughed not-so-subtly. “It’s called sex, Xie Lian. You can say it. We’re all adults here.”

“I am trying to save a life!” Xie Lian cried, horrified. “Not start a porno in He Xuan’s backseat!”

“Please don’t,” He Xuan said without looking back.

“San Lang, are you feeling better?” Xie Lian asked anxiously, leaning in to check Hua Cheng’s forehead with the back of his hand. Then his palm. Then both cheeks. Then, for good measure, his neck.

“I’m feeling great,” Hua Cheng said, clearly reveling in the attention. “Especially now that you’re all over me.”

“I’m assessing your hydration levels,” Xie Lian snapped, poking gently at his collarbone like it might give him a reading. “You’re warm. You’re so warm. What if your organs are baking?!”

“Then you’ll have to eat me like a rotisserie chicken,” Hua Cheng said, totally deadpan.

Xie Lian made a noise like a boiling kettle and immediately shoved the smoothie back into Shi Qingxuan’s waiting hands.

“Emergency over,” he declared. “Return to your previously scheduled nonsense.”

Shi Qingxuan took it one-handed, the other lazily sprawled across the back of He Xuan’s headrest, her manicured toes still propped up and wiggling on his lap like she was sunbathing instead of riding shotgun at eighty miles an hour.

“Wow,” she said, sipping happily. “It’s so brave of you to make PDA look like CPR.”

“I was not making out with him!” Xie Lian shrieked.

“You were checking his pulse with your whole soul,” she said.

“You’re not allowed to talk until your feet are restrained,” He Xuan muttered.

“Then restrain me, daddy,” Shi Qingxuan said.

The entire car went silent.

Hua Cheng, after a beat of stunned silence, murmured under his breath, “What the fuck?”

“Agreed,” He Xuan said, staring dead ahead like the highway was the only thing tethering him to reality.

“I’m going to pretend none of this happened,” Xie Lian announced with finality, before dramatically flopping back down across Hua Cheng’s lap. “Wake me up when it’s ice cream time. Goodnight.”

“You’re sleeping again?” Shi Qingxuan asked, mildly scandalized. “You just woke up twenty minutes ago!”

“I’m emotionally exhausted,” Xie Lian said, already burying his face in Hua Cheng’s shirt. 

Hua Cheng smoothed a hand down Xie Lian’s hair in lazy, affectionate strokes. “Sweet dreams, gege. I’ll keep you cool.”

Hua Cheng leaned back against the seat, one hand lazily scrolling through his phone, the other lifted just enough to shield Xie Lian’s face from the evening sun peeking through the window. His fingers shifted occasionally, adjusting for every bump in the road or change in the angle of light, casting a shadow over Xie Lian’s cheek.

Shi Qingxuan, remarkably, had also gone quiet, scrolling through her phone with the same idle grace as someone judging celebrity breakups on Instagram. She sipped at her smoothie every few swipes, legs still propped up, toes twitching to some song only she could hear.

For the second time since this hellride began, the car was silent.

Gloriously, miraculously, silent.

Even He Xuan seemed to ease off his eternal sighing, content with the rare gift of uninterrupted highway and zero nonsense—at least for the next five minutes.

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Thirty minutes.

That was how long the silence lasted. 

It ended abruptly with a thunk so aggressive it rattled the entire car—like the earth itself had decided they were having too much peace.

Xie Lian jolted upright, blinking in alarm. “What was that?!”

“He Xuan hit a pothole,” Hua Cheng said calmly, smoothing a hand through Xie Lian’s hair like he was hitting a reset button. “Go back to sleep.”

“It felt like we ran over a cow,” Xie Lian mumbled, rubbing his eyes blearily.

“We did not run over a cow,” He Xuan replied, completely unfazed. “But if we had, I would not be stopping.”

Shi Qingxuan didn’t move. Not even a twitch. Her head stayed tilted back against the seat, sunglasses still perched daintily on her nose, smoothie straw resting peacefully on her lower lip like she’d died mid-sip. Only her toes were alive, still faintly wiggling in time with whatever dream playlist was blasting in her head.

Hua Cheng didn’t look up from his phone. “You slept through twenty five Instagram reels, two K-pop fancams, and one very loud ad for men’s shampoo,” he said. “You were out cold.”

“I’m not proud of it,” Xie Lian muttered, reaching for the water bottle again and taking a long, tired sip. “But I needed it. Your lap is very comfortable.”

“You’re welcome,” Hua Cheng said, finally glancing over with a lazy smile. “Should I start charging rent?”

Xie Lian squinted at him, water bottle still in hand. “What would the rent be, exactly?”

Hua Cheng turned back to his phone, swiping idly. “One kiss per hour. Two, if you drool.”

“I didn’t drool,” Xie Lian said, scandalized.

“You definitely drooled,” Hua Cheng said, smug. “Right here.” He tapped his thigh dramatically.

Xie Lian looked mortified. “San Lang, you’re lying!”

Hua Cheng tilted his head with mock innocence. “Can’t prove it. Court of law would side with me.”

“I’m never napping again,” Xie Lian mumbled. “You’ve turned affection into extortion.”

“Flattery,” Hua Cheng said. “I’m just creatively collecting taxes.”

He would’ve kept going—probably with increasingly outrageous rent conditions—but a sudden, blood-curdling shriek from the passenger seat shattered the atmosphere like a dropped smoothie.

“ICE CREAM!”

Shi Qingxuan, who had previously been dead to the world, was now bolt upright and clutching her phone.

“ICE. CREAM. He Xuan, STOP THE CAR. I NEED IT. I NEED IT RIGHT NOW.”

Xie Lian yelped. “Where did that come from?!”

“There’s a stall!” Shi Qingxuan wailed, slapping the window with both hands like a desperate child at the zoo. “They have waffle cones and toppings, I saw sprinkles—pull over pull over pull over—”

To everyone's shock and awe, He Xuan calmly flipped on the turn signal and guided them toward the side of the road like this was all part of the plan.

“You’re actually stopping?” Xie Lian asked, bewildered.

“I’ve learned,” He Xuan said darkly, “that resisting her only makes it worse.”

The car rolled to a stop beside a tiny roadside shop with a wooden sign that read “Yushi’s Organic Ice-creams”.

Shi Qingxuan threw the door open and launched herself toward it like a rocket. “I want two scoops and every topping you have!”

“I want one of whatever she gets,” Xie Lian whispered, dazed.

“I want to watch you try to eat that without spilling,” Hua Cheng murmured, leaning in. “And I want to kiss you behind that shop.”

“San Lang!”

“What?” he grinned. “It’s a scientific method. Cooling off and making out. Dual purpose.”

Xie Lian narrowed his eyes. “Is there any problem in your life that doesn’t get solved by kissing me?”

Hua Cheng pretended to think about it. “Hmm. No.”

“Of course not,” Xie Lian muttered, just as Shi Qingxuan’s shriek rang out again from the stall.

“A-Lian! They have lavender honeycomb! And lychee cheesecake! And—OH MY GOD, IS THAT BASIL STRAWBERRY?!”

“What the hell is basil strawberry?” 

“Delicious,” Xie Lian answered, already half out the door.

By the time Hua Cheng and He Xuan made it over, Xie Lian and Shi Qingxuan were full-on strategizing.

“If we each get different flavors,” Shi Qingxuan said, counting on her fingers, “and then trade bites, we can try all of them without exploding.”

“I love the way your brain works,” Xie Lian said solemnly.

“You’re both going to get sick,” He Xuan warned, already fishing his wallet out as Shi Qingxuan threw eight scoops worth of enthusiasm at the poor teen behind the counter.

“They need this,” Hua Cheng murmured, standing beside Xie Lian as he sampled a scoop of lychee cheesecake like it was rare wine. 

Xie Lian was already halfway through strawberry basil, eyes bright. “This one tastes like summer in the countryside.”

“It tastes like you,” Hua Cheng said quietly, brushing his thumb across Xie Lian’s lower lip.

Xie Lian blinked. “I have ice cream on my face, don’t I?”

Hua Cheng leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, lips soft and a little cold from his own cone.

“Got it,” he murmured.

Xie Lian flushed from his ears to his toes. “That was unnecessary.”

Xie Lian cleared his throat, trying to recover from the kiss like it hadn’t just reset his entire nervous system. He dug his spoon into a new scoop.

“San Lang, this one,” he said, voice hushed like he’d just discovered buried treasure. “You have to taste this. It’s—it's like caramel, but better. But not too sweet. Just…just taste it.”

He held the spoon up to Hua Cheng’s lips. Hua Cheng arched a brow, amused, but leaned in obediently and let Xie Lian feed him the bite of dulce de leche.

His expression shifted almost immediately—eye narrowing slightly, tongue flicking across his bottom lip like he was analyzing the taste on a molecular level.

“…Mm,” Hua Cheng said reverently.

“I know,” Xie Lian whispered, absolutely delighted. “It’s like if love had a flavor.”

“You mean you again,” Hua Cheng said, licking the spoon clean.

Xie Lian immediately turned pink. “Stop! I’m trying to share a culinary experience with you.”

“I’m having a religious one,” Hua Cheng said, already leaning forward. “More?”

Xie Lian scooped up another bite and fed him again, grinning so wide it hurt his cheeks. Hua Cheng let his eye flutter shut this time, smiling slow and easy like the sun on his face was coming from Xie Lian instead of the sky.

“You’re going to get cavities,” He Xuan muttered behind them.

“You’re just jealous because your soul is beige.” Shi Qingxuan replied, sticking her tongue out.

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They ended up trying nearly every flavor on the menu—some twice, others simultaneously, thanks to Shi Qingxuan’s spoon-juggling strategy. Sticky fingers and laughter clung to the group like the early evening heat. At some point, Xie Lian had leaned too far trying to taste Shi Qingxuan’s cone and ended up with a generous smudge of blackberry swirl on his cheek. Hua Cheng wiped it off with his thumb and licked it without thinking. Xie Lian’s soul visibly left his body.

Eventually, the scoops were finished, the cones discarded, and the sun began to sink into the horizon like a soft sigh. The air cooled just enough to carry the scent of roadside flowers, the breeze tugging gently at the hems of their shirts as they meandered back toward the car.

Shi Qingxuan was the first to flop dramatically back into the passenger seat, sighing like she’d just finished a three-course meal instead of inhaling six scoops of dessert. “I regret nothing.”

“You ate bubblegum and green tea together,” He Xuan said, climbing in behind the wheel. “You should regret that.”

“It was experimental cuisine,” she declared.

Xie Lian climbed into the back, and nestled back into Hua Cheng’s side like it was the most natural thing in the world. “That was the best twenty-one dollars I’ve ever spent.”

“I paid for it,” Hua Cheng said.

“Exactly,” Xie Lian smiled. “Best twenty-one dollars you’ve ever spent.”

He hummed quietly and pressed a kiss to the top of Xie Lian’s head, his arm looping loosely around his waist as the car started back down the road. The warm light of the sunset poured through the windows, painting everyone in gold.

After a long, comfortable silence, Xie Lian looked over at Shi Qingxuan, who was now lazily re-braiding a section of her hair.

“Qingxuan,” he asked softly, “is your brother coming this time?”

Shi Qingxuan made a face. “Ugh. No. He’s back in China. Said something about wanting to ‘reconnect with his roots’ or ‘rekindle old friendships’—I wasn’t really listening.”

“Oh,” Xie Lian said, a little surprised. “So it’s just us?”

“Yup,” she said, leaning her head dramatically against the window. “Mom and Dad are on some romantic cruise through New Zealand. Probably wine drunk on a sheep farm or whatever.”

“Wow,” Xie Lian murmured. “Must be nice.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I asked if they wanted me to come and they said, and I quote, ‘Absolutely not.’”

He Xuan snorted.

“I’m a delight!” Shi Qingxuan protested.

“You’re a handful,” He Xuan corrected.

She beamed. “Exactly.”

Xie Lian smiled, watching the sky shift slowly from peach to plum, the last of the sun slipping away behind them. The road stretched out like a ribbon ahead, and for the first time in a while, everything felt simple.

Just them. A road trip. Ice cream and sunset and laughter and—

Hua Cheng squeezed his hand gently.

Yep. Just right.

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They'd barely made it ten minutes down the road again when Shi Qingxuan, in a moment of complete stillness, suddenly inhaled and burst into song.

“YOU CAN KISS A HUNDRED BOYS IN BARS. SHOOT ANOTHER SHOT—”

Xie Lian jolted so hard he nearly headbutted the car window.

“Shi Qingxuan.” He Xuan groaned, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.

“GOOD LUCK, BABE!,” she wailed, chest-deep in passion and clutching her invisible microphone, “YOU’D HAVE TO STOP THE WORLD JUST TO STOP THE FEELING.”

“Qingxuan,” He Xuan said again, lower this time. The kind of tone that said he was five seconds from veering into a ditch on purpose.

“What?” she blinked. “It was quiet! I was bored!”

“You’re always bored,” He Xuan muttered. 

“And yet I’m charming,” she said, resuming her seat with a proud little hum as if her impromptu performance hadn’t nearly shattered everyone’s eardrums.

Xie Lian sighed and leaned his head back against the window, but the soft press of fingers against his cheek caught his attention. He turned his head slowly—and found Hua Cheng looking at him through the lens of his phone.

Click.

“You could warn me,” Xie Lian said, half-laughing as Hua Cheng took another picture.

“But then it wouldn’t be natural,” Hua Cheng said, grinning. “Candid beauty, remember?”

“I’ve got sprinkles on my shirt,” Xie Lian muttered.

“You’ve got stars in your eyes,” Hua Cheng murmured, and snapped another shot. “The rest is just scenery.”

Shi Qingxuan, clearly bored of the radio and the sound of her own humming, perked up with sudden inspiration. “Oh! Oh my god—A-Lian, you have to see this fancam. This guy? Literal sex on legs.”

Xie Lian blinked as she angled her phone toward him. A K-pop idol, glittering under stage lights, swept across the screen with alarming precision, body rolling in slow motion, gaze sharp enough to kill a man.

“He’s so hot, right?” Shi Qingxuan said reverently. “His waist could cut glass. Look at that footwork.”

Xie Lian squinted. “He is pretty,” he admitted, voice light with amusement. “And those hips are—illegal, I think?”

“Right?” Shi Qingxuan said, delighted.

Before Xie Lian could process the next sinful hip thrust, the phone was snatched clean out of his hands.

“Hey—!” he started, startled.

Hua Cheng, completely unbothered, held the phone out to Shi Qingxuan without even looking at her. “Don’t show him that kind of stuff.”

Shi Qingxuan took her phone back, eyes wide with faux innocence. “Oh? Someone jealous?”

“I’m preserving his brain cells,” Hua Cheng said smoothly, turning back to Xie Lian. “You don’t need that visual pollution, gege.”

Xie Lian turned toward Hua Cheng, still half-curled in his seat, and looked at him for a long, considering beat.

Then, with the softest sigh, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of Hua Cheng’s mouth. Barely there. Featherlight. The kind of kiss you give someone not because they’ve earned it, but because they’re already yours.

It was a little pitiful, actually.

“I was just appreciating choreography,” Xie Lian murmured. “You don’t have to act like I’ve betrayed you.”

“I saw the way you looked at his hips,” Hua Cheng grumbled.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Xie Lian said, brushing a thumb along the curve of his cheek. “You think I’d pick sequins and choreography over you?”

“Yes,” Hua Cheng deadpanned. “Every time.”

Xie Lian tried not to laugh. He failed.

Shi Qingxuan, delighted, turned around in her seat and snapped a picture of them mid-affection. “Oh my god, I’m sending this to Mu Qing. Caption: ‘They’re gross and you’re missing it.’”

“I think he would be happy he’s missing it,” Xie Lian said, deadpan.

Shi Qingxuan cackled. “Fair. But I’m sending it anyway.”

“He’s going to block you,” He Xuan muttered from the driver’s seat.

“He already muted me. Blocking would just be a formality,” she replied, entirely unbothered as she fired off the message with a dozen obnoxious heart emojis and sparkles.

“Mu Qing is going to break his phone in half,” Xie Lian said, a little horrified, a little impressed.

“Good,” Shi Qingxuan declared. “He deserves to suffer just a little bit.”

“You are starting a war over international waters,” He Xuan sighed.

“I dont care!” she chirped.

Xie Lian leaned his head against the window, watching the dusk settle over the landscape in soft, purpling waves. “I miss Mu Qing and Feng Xin,” he said quietly. “I haven’t really talked to them in a while. Ever since I came to the U.S. for university, it’s been… harder.”

Shi Qingxuan immediately softened, turning down her energy like a dimmer switch. “Aw, A-Lian.”

“It’s not like we’re fighting or anything,” Xie Lian added quickly, glancing down at his hands. “We just—stopped calling as much. Time zones, school, life.”

He Xuan didn’t say anything, but his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, expression unreadable.

“You know,” Shi Qingxuan said gently, “they’re probably thinking the same thing. Missing you. Not knowing how to reach out without making it weird.”

“Maybe.” Xie Lian smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“And ever since I told them I have a boyfriend,” Xie Lian added, voice softer now, “it just got a bit weird.”

Shi Qingxuan frowned, but didn’t interrupt.

“I don’t think they don’t support me,” he went on, fingers fiddling with the seam of his jeans. “They’ve just been… different. Weird about it. They’re always rude to San Lang. Not outright, but—little comments. Little jabs.”

Hua Cheng clicked his tongue, head tilted, entirely unbothered. “It doesn’t get to me, gege. I told you so many times—it’s fine.”

Xie Lian looked over at him, eyes full of something fragile. “But it’s not fine. They don’t even know you.”

“They don’t need to,” Hua Cheng said easily. “You do.”

“That’s not the same,” Xie Lian murmured. “They’re important to me.”

Hua Cheng’s thumb pressed more firmly against the back of his hand. “And I’m not asking you to choose. Let them be weird. Let them get over it in their own time. I’m not going anywhere.”

Shi Qingxuan, who had been trying very hard not to sniffle, made a valiant and completely unconvincing show of looking out the window. “Okay,” she said thickly, “but you guys keep saying stuff like that and I’m going to cry and we are not equipped for tears on a road trip.”

He Xuan muttered, “Speak for yourself,” but he reached into the glove box and tossed a travel pack of tissues anyway.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

About an hour later, the sky had gone from soft violet to inky black, and the road ahead was swallowed by the kind of darkness that made the headlights feel like they were cutting through mist. Shi Qingxuan’s playlist was rolling through a mix of indie pop, sad girl anthems, and aggressively danceable K-pop. And some other stuff she’d compulsively added at 2AM.

Xie Lian, half-dozing against the window, hummed absentmindedly to a few familiar tunes—just soft little echoes under his breath, like muscle memory.

Then Church by Chase Atlantic came on.

He hummed to that too.

There was a beat of stunned silence before Shi Qingxuan turned in her seat like a dramatic owl.

“You know this song?”

Xie Lian opened one eye. “Yeah?”

He Xuan’s brows raised slightly. Even Hua Cheng looked like he was questioning his entire understanding of reality.

“It’s about going to church, right? I think so. I didn’t listen to the lyrics well.” Xie Lian said innocently. “I listen to it when I’m at the gym. It’s fun!”

Shi Qingxuan burst out into laughter.

“It’s not about going to church,” Hua Cheng said flatly.

Xie Lian blinked. “It’s not?”

“It’s about—” He Xuan started, then stopped. “Actually, you know what? Sure. Church. Let’s go with that.”

“I mean, it makes me want to run,” Xie Lian said brightly. “Or lift something heavy.”

“Oh, I bet it does,” Shi Qingxuan wheezed, tears of laughter in her eyes. “You’re so pure it hurts.”

“I’m not pure,” Xie Lian said, frowning. “I’ve been to clubs.”

“You sat in the corner drinking lemon water and complimented people’s shoes,” Shi Qingxuan grinned.

“It was a very good lemon water!” Xie Lian defended.

Hua Cheng lifted his head, clearly trying to suppress a smirk. “Alright, gege,” he said, eye gleaming with mischief. “Let’s hear it. Enlighten us. Your ‘not pure’ checklist.”

Xie Lian sat up straighter, face earnest. “Okay. One—I’ve had alcohol before.”

“What kind?” Shi Qingxuan asked.

“…Sangria,” Xie Lian said, after a pause. “Half a glass.”

“Dangerous,” He Xuan deadpanned.

“Two,” Xie Lian continued, undeterred, “I have lied to a professor before. About being sick. I wasn’t sick. I just didn’t want to go.”

“Oh my god,” Shi Qingxuan gasped, mock scandalized. “We’ve got a rebel in the car!”

“Three,” Xie Lian said, warming to the bit now, “I have seen an R-rated movie. Unsupervised.”

“Four—I once wore ripped jeans to a family dinner.”

“Stop,” Shi Qingxuan wheezed.

“And five,” Xie Lian added, with the tone of someone delivering a mic drop, “sometimes I think things that are… not safe for work.”

The silence that followed was stunned.

Then Hua Cheng leaned in, voice low and dangerous. “Oh? Like what, gege?”

Xie Lian’s face immediately turned a shade of red previously unknown to science. “That’s private!”

Shi Qingxuan looked like she was about to combust from sheer delight. “A-Lian! You can’t just say that and not share. This is a safe space. A sacred space. We are all friends here.”

“No,” Xie Lian said, firmly, pressing his palms to his cheeks as if he could physically hold the blush in. “I will take those thoughts to my grave.”

“But you have them,” Hua Cheng said, practically glowing with satisfaction. He turned slightly in his seat to face Xie Lian more fully. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

“You are not allowed to weaponize this information,” Xie Lian hissed.

“I would never,” Hua Cheng said, all mock innocence. “But I am going to think about it every time you look at me for longer than three seconds.”

Xie Lian groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I hate you.”

“I know,” Hua Cheng said cheerfully, draping his arm across the back of the seat to lightly tug at Xie Lian’s shirt. “That’s why you keep kissing me.”

“Because I feel sorry for you,” Xie Lian mumbled into his palms.

He Xuan, who had been driving in silence for the past ten minutes, finally spoke. “If you’re all done, there’s a gas station coming up. We need to stop.”

“For snacks?” Shi Qingxuan perked up immediately.

“For gas,” He Xuan said.

“…And snacks?” she tried again, more hopeful this time.

He sighed. “Yes. And snacks.”

Xie Lian perked up slightly. “Do they have those weird gummy worms that taste like laundry detergent but are strangely addictive?”

“You have such a refined palate,” Hua Cheng said dryly.

“It’s a nostalgia thing,” Xie Lian argued.

The car rolled to a stop beside the pump, the bright fluorescent lights of the station casting everything in a weird glow. Shi Qingxuan bounded out the passenger door like a child on a field trip.

“Come on,” she called back, “let’s go make poor financial decisions!”

“I thought you only brought fifty dollars,” He Xuan said as he got out.

“Exactly,” she said. “Which is why every decision I make is either inspired or tragic.”

Xie Lian stretched as he slid out of the backseat, the sultry night air washing over him. He turned, expecting Hua Cheng to follow, but found him still sitting, eye half-lidded with a lazy sort of amusement.

“You coming?” Xie Lian asked.

“In a sec,” Hua Cheng said. “I like watching you walk away.”

Xie Lian threw his hands in the air. “See?! This is why people are weird about you.”

“It’s not my fault I have an eye,” Hua Cheng shrugged, finally getting out and brushing imaginary dust off Xie Lian’s shoulders. “Go get your worms, gege. I’ll meet you inside.”

Xie Lian scurried after Shi Qingxuan and He Xuan before he could combust on the spot, mumbling something about needing to “sanitize his entire life.”

Inside the gas station convenience store, Shi Qingxuan had already loaded her arms with an assortment of junk food that would probably cause at least three minor medical emergencies. “They have Takis! Do I want these?”

“No,” He Xuan said immediately.

“But—”

“No.”

Xie Lian, meanwhile, was carefully reading the ingredients on a bag of sour belts, brow furrowed like he was selecting wine.

“You’re thinking too hard about this,” Shi Qingxuan said, leaning over. “Just grab whatever’s neon and vaguely edible. That’s the gas station way.”

“I don’t want to get a stomachache halfway through the trip,” he said.

“We have ginger chews. And youth,” she replied sagely. “We’ll survive.”

Behind them, the bell above the door chimed.

Xie Lian didn’t even need to look up. He felt it—that tiny shift in the air. The gravity of someone familiar.

Hua Cheng joined them a moment later, holding two bottles of water.

“What’d you get?” he asked, peering into Xie Lian’s basket.

“…Fruit snacks and Pepto-Bismol,” Xie Lian said. “Balance.”

Hua Cheng smiled, soft and stupid and so smug. “I love you, gege.”

Xie Lian blinked. “Yeah? Wanna make out in the bathroom?”

Hua Cheng straightened. “Really?”

Xie Lian’s soul left his body. “NO! No! That was a joke!”

“Oh.” Hua Cheng took a step back, utterly deadpan. “Just for that, I’m not paying for your snacks.”

“You were going to pay for them?”

“I was. But now I’m emotionally wounded.”

Shi Qingxuan, from three aisles over, yelled, “I told you two needed to get it out of your system before the trip!”

“No one asked you!” they both yelled back in unison.

He Xuan, the only one treating this pit stop like a war strategy, silently filled his basket with enough snacks to feed a small army—or, more accurately, himself for the next three hours. Chips. Trail mix. Sour candy. A suspicious-looking protein bar. More chips. He ignored the argument behind him with the ease of someone who had learned long ago that Hua Cheng and Xie Lian were best left to sort out their own weird romantic tension.

Hua Cheng was still staring at Xie Lian with betrayal in his eye.

“You said we could make out in the bathroom,” he muttered.

“You said I love you in a gas station,” Xie Lian hissed back.

Shi Qingxuan wandered over, dropping something vaguely radioactive into Xie Lian’s basket. “This glows. You should try it.”

Xie Lian blinked. “What even is that?”

“Don’t ask questions,” she said.

Hua Cheng made a dramatic show of putting only his two bottles of water on the checkout counter, raising a single brow at Xie Lian like you brought this on yourself.

Xie Lian, not to be outdone, dumped his basket beside it with the dignity of a man who definitely wasn’t sweating from social humiliation. Fruit snacks. Pepto. The glowing mystery item. A single granola bar like that somehow redeemed everything.

“That’ll be $17.34,” the cashier said, unfazed.

“I’ll pay for myself,” Xie Lian declared, because pride.

Behind him, He Xuan was emptying his basket like he was stocking up for the apocalypse. The cashier blinked. “...All of this is for you?”

“Yes,” He Xuan said.

“No shame,” Shi Qingxuan added brightly, already tearing into a bag of cheese puffs she hadn’t technically paid for yet. “You’re bulking. For the vibes.”

Xie Lian peeked over. “Are those all just for tonight?”

He Xuan didn’t even look up. “I was told I’m resting, remember?”

Xie Lian winced. “Okay, yes, but—”

“You spent fifteen minutes coaxing Hua Cheng into taking the wheel,” He Xuan said, deadpan. “I’m honoring your very loud, very unnecessary guilt trip. I’ll be in the backseat seat. Asleep. Good luck.”

“You don’t even sleep in cars,” Xie Lian muttered.

“I do now.”

Shi Qingxuan beamed. “This is going to be the best trip ever.”

They made it to the car. Shi Qingxuan sighed, flopped dramatically into the back, and immediately sprawled across He Xuan like a weighted blanket.

“I’m a delicate flower,” she announced, elbowing him in the ribs as she made herself comfortable.

He Xuan, already opening a bag of chips like his life depended on it, didn’t blink. “You’re a traffic violation.”

Meanwhile, Xie Lian slid into the passenger seat, acutely aware of the cold shoulder radiating from the driver’s side. Hua Cheng said nothing as he adjusted the mirrors, set his phone into the mount, and started the car like it hadn’t just been ten minutes since he’d confessed his love in a gas station and gotten jokingly rejected.

Xie Lian cleared his throat. “So…”

Silence.

“…You’re mad at me.”

“No,” Hua Cheng said, tone level, eyes on the road. “I’m just wounded.”

“Oh my god,” Shi Qingxuan said from the back. “Just kiss already.”

“We are literally driving,” Xie Lian hissed, ears turning red.

“That hasn’t stopped people before,” Hua Cheng muttered, still not looking at him.

Xie Lian whipped around to glare. “What people? Who are you talking about?”

Shi Qingxuan gasped. “He’s talking about the people from that article we read last week!”

Xie Lian turned so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. “What article?!”

“You know,” she said, suddenly very invested in peeling the plastic off a convenience store sandwich, “the one about that couple who got caught doing it on the highway. Mid-traffic jam. In the driver’s seat.”

Hua Cheng, eye still on the road, raised an eyebrow. “See? People make out in cars. I’m not unreasonable.”

“They also got arrested!” Xie Lian cried, clutching the dashboard like it might save him.

“Worth it,” Hua Cheng said under his breath.

“I HEARD THAT!”

Hua Cheng said nothing else—but one hand slid smoothly off the gear shift and came to rest on Xie Lian’s thigh.

Xie Lian choked on his own breath. “San Lang.”

“Yes, gege?” Hua Cheng asked, all innocent affection and zero remorse, thumb brushing over the seam of the inside of Xie Lian’s jeans like it belonged there.

“I—” Xie Lian reached for the stereo like it might drown out the sound of his internal screaming. “I’m playing music. Right now.”

Shi Qingxuan immediately perked up. “Oooh! What’re we listening to? Something romantic? Something—”

The speakers buzzed to life—

“I’m heavy / I’m by your side…”

Heavy by The Marías floated through the car like a warm breeze, all dreamy vocals and soft drums. Xie Lian froze, bracing for embarrassment, but—actually. Oh. He liked this song. It was cute. Kind of floaty. It had a nice rhythm, enough to hum to. Safe.

He leaned his head against the window with a soft exhale, letting his eyes slip shut. Hua Cheng’s hand was still on his thigh, but now it felt less like a threat and more like a grounding weight. A quiet presence.

Shi Qingxuan was whisper-singing along in the backseat, off-key but enthusiastic. He Xuan was still chewing like the world might end if he stopped.

And for once, everything was still. Xie Lian let the lull of the music and the faint vibrations of the road lull him into sleep.

He didn’t even realize he’d fallen asleep.

The next thing he knew, someone was brushing his shoulder.

“Gege,” Hua Cheng murmured, low and fond. “We’re here.”

Xie Lian blinked blearily awake to the glowing sign of the hotel, the dark sky overhead, and the sound of Shi Qingxuan already arguing with the front desk through the car window.

He Xuan was gone. So were most of the snacks.

“I dreamed I was still in the car,” Xie Lian mumbled.

“You are still in the car,” Hua Cheng said, gently unbuckling his seatbelt. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

Xie Lian let himself be guided out, eyes half-lidded, cheeks warm. “Are you still mad at me?”

Hua Cheng smiled. “Ask me after I’ve seen the hotel bed.”

Xie Lian blinked. “Wait. What does that mean—”

But Hua Cheng was already walking ahead, bag slung over one shoulder, eye glittering in the moonlight.

Xie Lian stayed frozen next to the car before catching up to Hua Cheng.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Xie Lian already knew the room arrangements—Shi Qingxuan had announced them in the group chat three days ago, complete with 4 emojis and a huge lack of negotiation. She’d be rooming with He Xuan, which meant Hua Cheng was with him. Naturally.

He didn’t protest.

He followed Hua Cheng down the carpeted hallway, soft overhead lights making the edges of everything feel dreamlike. Or maybe he was just still sleep-drunk. Either way, when they stepped into the room and he was met with a blast of cool air from the humming AC and the soft glow of ambient bedside lamps, he nearly sighed out loud.

He kicked off his shoes, walked straight past his suitcase, and flopped onto the bed.

“Oh my god,” he mumbled into the pillow. “This bed is made of clouds.”

“Good,” came Hua Cheng’s voice from the bathroom, followed by the sound of water running. “Then you’ll never want to leave.”

Xie Lian cracked an eye open and turned his head slightly. “Are you drawing me a bath?”

“I am,” Hua Cheng called. “Because you looked very tired, and very cute, and because I’m not mad at you anymore.”

“You were never really mad.”

“I was being dramatic. I’m allowed.”

Xie Lian let out a weak laugh, muffled by the comforter. “This is so excessive.”

“Excessive,” Hua Cheng echoed, stepping out a moment later to adjust the water temperature, sleeves rolled up and eyes amused. “From the man who carries three different kinds of face masks on every trip.”

Xie Lian lifted his head. “You do that too! That’s just good skincare.”

“And this is good boyfriend-ing,” Hua Cheng said. “Get in the bath, gege. Before I carry you.”

That shouldn’t have sounded like a threat. And yet.

Xie Lian scrambled off the bed. “Okay, okay! I’m going!”

The bathroom was warm, the tub already filled with steaming water and even a few drops of lavender-scented something he didn’t remember packing.

Xie Lian paused in the doorway, looking back at Hua Cheng. “You really did all this for me?”

Hua Cheng leaned against the doorframe, smile lazy. “Of course. You’re my favorite part of the trip.”

Xie Lian shut the door before he could combust on the spot.

By the time Xie Lian emerged from the bath, flushed pink from the heat and swaddled in one of the hotel’s comically oversized robes, he felt like a new person. A sleepy, mildly pruned, but very pampered person.

He padded back into the room, hair still damp, just in time to hear the water running again.

“You’re up next?” he called toward the bathroom.

“Yep,” Hua Cheng replied. “Don’t eat without me.”

“I won’t!” Xie Lian lied, already eyeing the dinner bags Hua Cheng had brought up from the little restaurant downstairs. They had two steaming bowls of noodles, some grilled chicken skewers, and two desserts. He set everything out neatly, turned on the hairdryer, and sat back on the bed, scrolling through his phone—like he was in a commercial for peaceful, responsible adulthood.

And then twenty minutes later—

The bathroom door opened.

And Hua Cheng stepped out.

Steam billowed around him like he was walking out of some ethereal mist. His hair was pushed back, a little damp at the ends, a towel slung low around his waist and nothing else. His skin was flushed from the heat, his eye half-lidded and absently drying his other hand with another towel as he looked up at Xie Lian.

“Smells good,” he said, voice low and casual, clearly talking about the food.

Xie Lian’s brain short-circuited.

Because—yeah. It did smell good in here. The noodles, the skewers, the dessert.

But mostly? He smelled good.

Warm skin and lavender and maybe even a hint of the hotel’s body wash—something subtle and masculine and currently floating across the room like a very personal, very unfair kind of assault. Hua Cheng looked like a fantasy that had wandered out of Xie Lian’s subconscious and into this very real, very small hotel room, towel clinging low and water still tracking down the lines of his abs like gravity itself had an agenda.

Xie Lian’s thoughts were already halfway to R-rated and sprinting toward NC-17.

Yeah, he thought wildly, you smell good. You look like that, and you smell good, and if you don’t put on clothes right now I’m going to start speaking in tongues and ascend on the spot.

Outside, he managed—just barely—to say:

“Yeah. Dress up quickly. I’m hungry.”

Hua Cheng blinked at him, clearly biting back a smirk. “So impatient, gege.”

“Because I want to eat,” Xie Lian said stiffly, staring very hard at the takeout containers and absolutely not at the single droplet of water that just ran down Hua Cheng’s chest and disappeared into the towel.

“Of course,” Hua Cheng said innocently. “The food. I’ll be quick.”

And then he turned around.

Turned around.

Xie Lian didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse that his back looked just as good.

Hua Cheng let out a shaky breath and turned the hairdryer on full blast again, aiming it directly at his own face.

For the heat. For the noise. For the distraction.

Okay. Okay. He had a shirt on.

Xie Lian peeked again, cautiously, like one might glance at a solar eclipse. Confirmed: black t-shirt. Clinging a little too well to still-damp skin, sure, but—it was something. Progress. Safety. Sanity.

He could think again.

Almost.

Because the shirt still managed to hint at Hua Cheng’s shoulders. And the sleeves rode up just enough to show the edge of his bicep. And his hair was dripping water down the side of his neck in the most infuriatingly erotic way imaginable. And he was humming. Just casually. 

Xie Lian snatched the remote and jabbed the power button. The TV blinked to life with a dramatic jingle from some over-acted soap opera—someone was slapping someone else dramatically, which felt spiritually relevant.

He turned the volume up. Loudly.

Hua Cheng emerged from his side of the room fully dressed, hair half-dried, towel slung around his neck. “Everything okay, gege?”

“Perfect,” Xie Lian said, still staring at the TV. “Totally normal. Mentally sound. Hungry.”

“You turned the TV on just in time,” Hua Cheng said, eyeing the screen as a woman pulled out a gun from under a wedding dress. “Plot twist.”

“Yes,” Xie Lian said faintly. “Plot.”

Not thoughts of dragging Hua Cheng back into the bath. Or onto the bed. Or into sin.

After a while—after the food had cooled just enough, after Xie Lian’s brain had crawled back from the gutter and remembered how to function—they settled down side by side on the bed, cross-legged with the takeout containers balanced between them.

The TV droned on in the background, still playing the soap opera. Neither of them was really watching.

Hua Cheng held out a skewer. “Open up.”

“I can feed myself,” Xie Lian mumbled, but leaned forward anyway, taking a bite with a hum of satisfaction. “Mm. Good.”

“Told you,” Hua Cheng said, popping a handful into his own mouth before nudging Xie Lian’s shoulder. “One more?”

Xie Lian narrowed his eyes but opened his mouth again anyway. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Obviously,” Hua Cheng said. “You’re cute when you chew.”

“I’m cute all the time.”

“True,” Hua Cheng said, without hesitation.

Xie Lian flushed and retaliated by stealing a piece of meat on Hua Cheng’s skewer. “Mine now.”

They bickered through half the meal like that—stealing bites, feeding each other noodles. And when they reached dessert, Hua Cheng didn’t even give him a chance.

He scooped a spoonful of chocolate pudding—his own—held it up, and when Xie Lian blinked in suspicion, said, “Say ‘ah.’”

Xie Lian stared. “You have your own mouth.”

“And yet here I am, offering you dessert,” Hua Cheng said solemnly.

Xie Lian sighed, leaned forward, and took the bite.

Hua Cheng immediately spooned another helping—this time from Xie Lian’s pudding—and offered it just the same. “And another.”

“That’s mine!”

“Correction,” Hua Cheng said, grinning. “Was yours.”

Xie Lian laughed, soft and helpless, as Hua Cheng sneakily scooped another bite of his dessert and held it out like it was a peace offering instead of a personal attack. He leaned in again, lips brushing the spoon, eyes locked on Hua Cheng’s.

“Unbelievable,” he said around the chocolate.

“You like it,” Hua Cheng murmured, voice low now, a thread of something darker curling at the edges. His gaze didn’t waver—locked in, locked down, like Xie Lian was the only thing in the room. “You let me steal your dessert.”

“You didn’t steal it. You’re offering it.”

“And if I offered something else?”

Xie Lian’s breath hitched. Hua Cheng was close now—too close. The TV still buzzed in the background, the remnants of their dinner stacked on the nightstand. Xie Lian sat motionless, caught in the eye of a storm as Hua Cheng’s fingers brushing his jaw.

His heart was hammering. “San Lang…”

Hua Cheng tilted his head, voice barely a whisper. “Tell me to stop.”

Xie Lian didn’t. Couldn’t.

Instead, he surged forward—just a little. Enough.

The kiss wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t desperate. But it carried weight, the kind that anchored and lifted in the same breath. Hua Cheng kissed him like he’d been waiting years. Xie Lian kissed back like he finally realized he’d been waiting too.

And when they finally broke apart, faces flushed and breathing uneven, Xie Lian leaned his forehead against Hua Cheng’s and whispered, “I’m not ready.”

Hua Cheng didn’t even blink. “I know.”

“Are you mad?”

“Never.”

And then he kissed him again, slower this time, with every ounce of patience in the world.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The next morning, Xie Lian woke up to sunlight filtering through long hotel curtains, tangled in the comforter, hair a mess, lips still tingling. Hua Cheng was already awake, sitting by the window in his T-shirt and sweatpants, nursing a coffee and scrolling through his phone.

When he noticed Xie Lian stirring, he looked up and smiled. “Morning, gege.”

Xie Lian blinked at him, bleary and overwhelmed by how gentle everything felt. “Hi.”

Hua Cheng walked over, sat on the edge of the bed, and leaned down to press a soft kiss to Xie Lian’s temple.

Hua Cheng had barely pulled back when Xie Lian reached out, fingers curling into the front of his shirt and tugging him down—not roughly, but with purpose.

“Gege?” Hua Cheng said, just before he found himself nose-to-nose with Xie Lian, who looked entirely too awake now, cheeks pink, eyes heavy-lidded with sleep and something else.

“You kissed me first,” Xie Lian mumbled.

“I did.”

“Responsibility,” he whispered, before pulling him in and kissing him full on the mouth.

Hua Cheng made a soft sound of surprise—quickly swallowed by the way Xie Lian’s lips parted, needy and warm and sweet from sleep. He tasted like indulgence.

Xie Lian didn’t know what he was doing, really, only that he wanted. Wanted the weight of Hua Cheng pressing into him, the hand braced beside his head, the low rumble in Hua Cheng’s throat as he kissed back, slower now, deeper.

And then, suddenly, Hua Cheng pulled back just an inch, voice wrecked. “Gege, wait—”

“No,” Xie Lian said, breathless, stubborn. He chased his mouth, kissed him again, tugged on his shirt until their chests were flush.

“You’ll kill me,” Hua Cheng groaned, forehead pressed against Xie Lian’s. “You know I’ll never say no to you.”

Xie Lian’s voice dropped. “Then don’t.”

They didn’t go any further—not really. But the kisses turned lingering, and lazy, and then intense, until Hua Cheng had him pinned under the sheets, both of them flushed and gasping, pressed close with too many layers between them and still not enough space to breathe. Hua Cheng’s hand cradled the back of his head like it was precious. His mouth never strayed far.

Eventually, when the fire dulled to a low, steady burn, Xie Lian blinked up at him and muttered, “Okay. Now I’m awake.”

Hua Cheng laughed, completely ruined. “Good morning, then.”

“Good morning, San Lang.”

Hua Cheng pressed one last kiss to Xie Lian’s cheek, then rolled off him with a groan that sounded far too much like regret. “Okay. Okay. We really have to get going.”

Xie Lian flopped dramatically onto his stomach. “No we don’t.”

“We do,” Hua Cheng said, already rifling through their bags. “Qingxuan’s beach house is only an hour away. She texted me—He Xuan’s awake, they’re already downstairs getting breakfast.”

Xie Lian groaned into the pillow. “He Xuan is always awake. He probably slept standing up in the corner like a horse.”

Hua Cheng laughed. “If we leave now, we can get to the beach before noon. You can pick seashells or force me into another matching hat. And there’s a big bathtub there in the room too. We’ll bathe once we arrive.”

“Mmph,” Xie Lian said into the comforter, not moving.

Hua Cheng crossed the room again and crouched by the bed, pulling the blanket down just enough to reveal his very messy, extremely kiss-bitten boyfriend. “If you get up now, I’ll brush your hair for you.”

That got an eye open.

Xie Lian narrowed it. “With the nice brush or the travel one?”

“The nice one,” Hua Cheng promised solemnly. “The black one with the gold engraving you pretended not to care about and then packed first.”

Xie Lian pouted. “…Fine.”

Ten minutes later, he was sitting cross-legged on the bed, shirt hanging off one shoulder while Hua Cheng knelt behind him, gently working a wide-toothed comb through his tangled hair.

“See?” Hua Cheng murmured, smoothing a hand down his back. “Just like a prince.”

Xie Lian smiled faintly. “Spoil me more.”

“Gladly.” Hua Cheng pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade. 

Despite the plan to bathe at the beach house, they ended up rinsing off anyway. They dressed, packed up, and made their way downstairs where the scent of fresh coffee and syrup pulled them straight toward the hotel’s breakfast lounge.

There were stacks of pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, and waffles drenched in whipped cream. Hua Cheng loaded up their plates while Xie Lian hovered behind him like a sleepy shadow, still not quite recovered from their morning. They ate slowly, exchanging fond looks over cups of orange juice and stolen bites of each other’s food.

When they got outside, the sun was already warm and bright, bouncing off the windows of the waiting car. Shi Qingxuan was seated shotgun with her hair loose and flowing, wearing a teal sundress that swished around her knees. A pair of oversized sunglasses perched on her nose, and she was sipping an iced latte.

He Xuan was already seated in the driver’s seat, arms crossed and expression unreadable, dressed in a black tee and the world’s most ridiculous fish-patterned swim shorts.

“Nice shorts,” Hua Cheng said as he and Xie Lian slid into the back.

“I didn’t choose them,” He Xuan muttered.

“I did,” Shi Qingxuan said cheerfully. “You’re welcome.”

Xie Lian barely lasted five minutes into the drive. He kicked off his shoes, stretched out dramatically, and promptly flopped across the backseat with zero grace—head pillowed on Hua Cheng’s lap, limbs sprawling everywhere like he’d melted.

“You’re not even going to pretend to sit up?” Hua Cheng asked, clearly trying not to smile.

“Too early,” Xie Lian mumbled, pulling his sunglasses off and tossing them somewhere near the cupholder. “You’re comfy.”

Xie Lian turned a little, sighing as he nuzzled his cheek against the soft cotton of Hua Cheng’s shirt. It smelled stupidly good—like warm skin and something clean and spicy that clung to the fabric, probably a cologne he hadn’t even noticed before. His nose brushed against Hua Cheng’s stomach, and then his mouth did too, purely on accident, of course.

“You’re cuddling my abs,” Hua Cheng said, voice low and amused.

“I’m sleeping,” Xie Lian mumbled, already half under again. “Shirt smells good.”

Hua Cheng laughed quietly and let him. His hand never stopped its slow, absent-minded petting through Xie Lian’s hair, fingers occasionally curling just behind his ear or brushing the side of his neck. The rhythm of the road and the quiet lull of the car did the rest.

By the time Xie Lian stirred again, blinking slowly against the sunlight, the car was turning off the highway, and the GPS was announcing they’d reach their destination in ten minutes. A soft song drifted through the speakers—Clairo, something wistful and dreamy with gentle guitar loops—and Xie Lian barely had to lift his head to feel the salt in the air.

He rubbed his cheek against Hua Cheng’s stomach once more before finally shifting, peeking up through his lashes. “Are we there yet?”

“Almost,” Hua Cheng said, brushing hair out of his eyes. “You snore when you’re happy.”

“Liar.”

“Okay. You breathe cutely when you’re happy.”

“…Better,” Xie Lian said, and sat up for the last stretch of the drive.

Shi Qingxuan was practically vibrating in her seat, legs bouncing, one hand still gripping her iced latte while the other smacked He Xuan’s arm in rapid succession.

“OhmygodIhaven’tbeenheresincelastyearIwannagotothebeachandjumpinIcan’twaitHeXuan—drivefasterdrivefasterDRIVEFASTER!”

He Xuan didn’t even blink. “You say that every time. We’re going exactly the speed limit.”

“Your shorts say fun and your driving says pain!” she wailed dramatically, already craning forward like she could will the beach into view with sheer energy.

Xie Lian, now sitting up, blinked blearily and turned to Hua Cheng. “Did I dream that or is she broken?”

“She’s always like this near sand,” Hua Cheng said, perfectly calm, hand resting on Xie Lian’s thigh like it belonged there.

“Drivefaaaaasteeeer—” Qingxuan sang at the top of her lungs, wind whipping her hair as she rolled the window down completely. “I wanna live, He Xuan! I wanna feel the waves in my lungs!”

“Keep yelling and the only waves in your lungs will be seawater,” He Xuan said mildly, but his mouth twitched like he was this close to smiling.

“Worth it!” she shrieked.

The car finally rolled to a smooth stop in front of a whitewashed beach house nestled just past the dunes, the scent of salt and sea air instantly wrapping around them like a welcome-home hug. The sky was a perfect blue, the waves audible even from here, and Shi Qingxuan exploded out of the car before the engine was fully off.

“YES!” she screamed, grabbing the keys from her bag and sprinting up the porch steps. “Open sesame, baby!”

The door swung open with a cheery little ding of the chime, revealing an airy, sun-drenched interior with pale wooden floors, gauzy curtains, and lemony fresh air-conditioning. Qingxuan stopped mid-step, eyes wide.

“…Wow. The cleaner slayed,” she said reverently. “Did they exorcise the dust too? Everything’s sparkling.”

He Xuan appeared behind her with two suitcases in one hand like they weighed nothing. “I’m more impressed they got the wine stain out of the rug. I remember exactly what you did last summer.”

“I do not know that woman,” Qingxuan said loftily, already toeing off her sandals and spinning in the middle of the room like she was auditioning for a sundress commercial. “Okay! Bags down, sunscreen on, and into the ocean we go!”

Xie Lian wandered in behind them, dragging their duffel lazily with one hand, Hua Cheng close behind. The sun lit up the whole space.

“Do we even unpack?” he asked.

“I don’t wanna go outside,” Hua Cheng said immediately, dropping their bag just inside the doorway and squinting suspiciously at the golden sun streaming in like it was an enemy. “The sun sucks the life out of me. I’m not built for this.”

“You say that like you’re a vampire,” Xie Lian said, smiling as he kicked his shoes off. “You’ll be fine. You can stay under the umbrella while you watch us play.”

Hua Cheng gave him a deeply unamused look. “You want me to go sit in a roasting sandpit?”

“Yes,” Xie Lian said sweetly. “But I’ll lather you up with sunscreen like last time.”

That made Hua Cheng pause.

“I bought two big bottles,” Xie Lian added casually, already walking backwards toward the hallway where they’d dropped the towels. “The good kind. Coconut-scented.”

“…You’re evil,” Hua Cheng muttered, ears turning pink.

“And you like it,” Xie Lian sang, grabbing one of the bottles and tossing it over. “Let’s go.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The beach was already hot, sand glittering like powdered gold under the sun. They staked out a good spot near the shoreline—close enough to hear the waves, far enough not to get splashed. He Xuan and Qingxuan were already thigh-deep in the surf, arguing about something Xie Lian couldn’t hear.

Hua Cheng, true to his word, flopped down on the beach blanket with the air of a man submitting to divine punishment. Shirt off, eyes closed behind a pair of sunglasses, he stretched out like he had all the time in the world to suffer beautifully.

Xie Lian straddled his hips a moment later, bottle in hand.

“I’m here to save your mortal flesh,” he said, dramatic, and flipped the cap open with a flourish.

Hua Cheng cracked one eye open. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Obviously.” Xie Lian squeezed a generous amount of sunscreen into his palm and rubbed his hands together. 

He started with the shoulders, firm but gentle, fingers working the lotion into muscle and bone. Hua Cheng let out a sound that could’ve been a sigh. Or a groan. Or a prayer.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he muttered, voice muffled by his folded arms.

Xie Lian didn’t deny it. His hands slid down, slow and thorough, tracing over the curves of Hua Cheng’s spine, the sharp line of his waist. He smoothed the lotion over every inch of skin, warm from the sun and growing warmer by the second.

“You have to be protected,” he murmured, rubbing lazy circles into Hua Cheng’s lower back. “SPF 80. Doctor’s orders.”

“Gege,” Hua Cheng rasped. “You’re going to kill me.”

Xie Lian only hummed, trailing his hands lower. “You’ll live.”

Hua Cheng was seconds from melting into the towel. Or combusting entirely.

Xie Lian’s hands had worked him over like a symphony—so innocent, so gentle, and so devastatingly effective. His entire back tingled, not from the sun, but from the ghost of Xie Lian’s touch. And he was still sitting on his hips. Light as a cloud. Warm as sin.

Hua Cheng’s sunglasses were doing all the work of hiding the absolute state he was in. Heart pounding. Thoughts scrambled. Heat pooling low in his gut like a threat.

He might die on this beach. Happily.

Then Xie Lian leaned down, lips brushing against his ears like a blessing, and whispered, “There’s a cooler box right beside you, by the way. If you get too hot, press a water bottle to your face.”

And then, cheerfully: “I love you, okay bye!”

Before Hua Cheng could reply—or beg him to not leave him like this—Xie Lian stood up in one graceful movement and ran straight into the water, laughing as he went, hair bouncing, long legs flashing in the sun.

He dove into the waves like it was homecoming.

Hua Cheng groaned and grabbed a bottle of ice water from the cooler, unscrewed the cap, and poured half of it over his face.

The waves were cool and inviting, fizzing around their ankles like champagne. Shi Qingxuan shrieked with delight every time a particularly strong one splashed her, sunglasses crooked from all her spinning.

Xie Lian had tucked his hair into a loose bun and was wading knee-deep beside her, holding up seashells like precious artifacts. “Look at this one,” he said, proudly holding out a pale pink spiral. “It’s perfect.”

He Xuan, meanwhile, had claimed a solemn spot further out, sitting in the ocean like an old man meditating. Waves crashed gently around his shoulders. He did not move. He might’ve been asleep. Or plotting.

“You’re doing great, sweetie!” Shi Qingxuan called to him.

He Xuan raised one hand in a vague wave. Didn't even open his eyes.

Xie Lian turned back toward a cluster of rocks, eyes lighting up when he spotted a gleam of white under the water. He crouched, reached for it—

And yelled.

“OW—!”

Shi Qingxuan whipped around. “What happened?!”

Xie Lian stumbled back, flailing upright. “A crab! A crab bit me!”

“Oh my god, where?!”

“My knuckle! The audacity!” He held up his hand like it had been personally betrayed. “I was offering it kindness!”

From the shore, Hua Cheng—who had been pretending very hard not to watch—was already up on his elbows, eye narrowed in concern. “Are you bleeding?”

“Just my pride,” Xie Lian shouted back.

“That’s been gone,” Shi Qingxuan snorted.

Hua Cheng stood with a dramatic sigh, brushing sand off his chest as he grabbed a bandaid from the cooler—one of those cartoon ones Shi Qingxuan insisted on packing. He walked barefoot down to the shoreline, wind teasing his damp hair, the bottle of water still dripping from where he’d dumped it over himself moments earlier.

“You walked through the valley of death for me,” Xie Lian said solemnly, holding out his injured finger.

Hua Cheng took his hand without a word, wiped the salt and sand off gently with the hem of his shirt, and slapped the bandaid on with unnecessary force.

“Better?” he said flatly, disappointed.

Xie Lian blinked at the tiny cartoon frog now stuck to his knuckle. “…My hero.”

“Now that you’re done hibernating,” Shi Qingxuan cut in, hands on her hips, “you can play volleyball with us!”

Hua Cheng looked at her. Then at the volleyball she was already cradling with way too much excitement.

“I am so not built for this,” he muttered.

“You’re so built for this,” Shi Qingxuan said, tossing him the ball anyway. “Let’s go, sun-hater.”

Shi Qingxuan didn’t wait for permission—she reached into the ocean, grabbed He Xuan by the arm, and yanked him to his feet with surprising strength.

He Xuan blinked, water cascading down his shoulders. “I was at peace.”

“You were being boring,” she said cheerfully, dragging him toward the makeshift volleyball court they’d set up with towels as boundaries. “Time to suffer.”

She tossed the volleyball over to Xie Lian and Hua Cheng’s side. “First serve is yours! Losers pay for lunch!”

“I don’t have my wallet,” Xie Lian said instantly.

“That’s fine,” Hua Cheng replied, cracking his neck. “I’ll win for both of us.”

Xie Lian grinned. “Now that’s love.”

The first serve came from Hua Cheng—fast, precise, just enough spin to be annoying. Shi Qingxuan dived for it, narrowly bumping it back over the net. He Xuan followed up with a lazy, almost disdainful spike that somehow managed to land perfectly in the corner.

“Cheater,” Xie Lian muttered.

“He’s just built different,” Shi Qingxuan said, panting already. “You got this!”

Xie Lian returned the next volley with a spectacular overhand—straight into Shi Qingxuan’s face.

She shrieked, caught it midair, and kicked it back. “I love this game!”

Points flew fast. Hua Cheng played with laser focus and murderous precision. Xie Lian mostly flailed, but somehow always managed to be in the right place at the right time.  

They were tied. Final point.

Hua Cheng wiped sweat off his brow, eye narrow behind his sunglasses. “This is it.”

Xie Lian served. It sailed clean and cruel over the net. Shi Qingxuan lunged. He Xuan jumped.

And missed.

The ball thudded into the sand with the finality of fate.

“YES!” Xie Lian whooped, arms in the air. “Lunch is on you two!”

Shi Qingxuan collapsed dramatically into the sand. “My bones… my bones are broken… I demand a rematch after food…”

He Xuan just sighed and walked back into the ocean.

Xie Lian turned to Hua Cheng, eyes bright, cheeks flushed with sun and victory. “Come on,” he said, catching Hua Cheng’s hand. “You earned a swim.”

“I already sweated for our survival,” Hua Cheng protested, but he didn’t resist as Xie Lian tugged him toward the water. “I’m not a sea creature like you.”

“You are now,” Xie Lian laughed, pulling him faster. “Resistance is futile!”

The waves welcomed them with open arms—cool, salty, and endlessly playful. Xie Lian splashed Hua Cheng first, water glittering in the sun like liquid diamonds. Hua Cheng retaliated by scooping him up and tossing him straight into a wave.

“You traitor!” Xie Lian shouted, emerging with soaked hair.

They chased and dunked and splashed like kids with no cameras on them, no headlines waiting to write their names. Shi Qingxuan eventually crawled back in, groaning the whole time, only to immediately cannonball beside them. Even He Xuan returned—wordlessly, of course—and sat in the surf like a sea-worn deity again, content to be near them without partaking in the chaos.

The hours slipped, until the sun started pressing down harder, the breeze slowing, the tide shifting. Sand clung to their skin and the inside of their clothes. Hua Cheng rubbed at his shoulder with a grimace. “I think the sun is trying to cook me.”

Xie Lian pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Then let’s get you out of the oven.”

Shi Qingxuan was already halfway back to the house. “Twenty minutes to rinse, change, and rehydrate or I will die and haunt your lunch table!”

He Xuan followed her with slow steps and zero urgency.

Xie Lian slung an arm around Hua Cheng’s arm. “Come on, San Lang. Let’s go rinse the sun off.”

Hua Cheng leaned into him. “Only if you help me wash my back.”

Xie Lian smiled, shameless. “I thought you’d never ask.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Their room was cool and quiet, the buzz of the air conditioning a gentle contrast to the blazing sun outside. Xie Lian kicked the door shut behind them, dripping water onto the hardwood as he toed off his sandals. Hua Cheng peeled his shirt off with one hand and shook his hair out like a wet dog.

Xie Lian paused. Just for a second.

Then cleared his throat and rummaged through their shared duffel for clothes. “Towels,” he said, mostly to distract himself. “Change of clothes. Maybe even underwear, if we’re being fancy.”

Behind him, Hua Cheng chuckled low. “I like it when you pretend to be civilized.”

“I am civilized,” Xie Lian huffed, standing up with the clothes in hand. “You’re the uncultured one.”

“You’re the one who said ‘I love you, okay bye’ while I almost cried.”

“Bath. Now.”

They left a trail of wet footprints to the bathroom. Hua Cheng stepped under the showerhead and hissed when the cold water hit his sun-warmed skin. “Shit, that’s good.”

Xie Lian grabbed the body wash—and stepped in behind him. “Back?”

Hua Cheng didn’t even pretend to play it cool. He nodded, hair slick and falling over one eye, already bracing his hands on the tiled wall. “Please.”

Xie Lian lathered up his hands and started slow.

His palms slid over warm skin and toned muscle, the gentle drag of soap-slick fingers tracing along shoulder blades, spine, the dip of Hua Cheng’s waist. Xie Lian had washed his back before. This shouldn’t feel so—intimate. Or so inappropriate.

But it did.

“Gege,” Hua Cheng said after a beat, voice a little rough. “You’re not washing me. You’re petting me.”

“I’m being thorough,” Xie Lian muttered, cheeks warm even in the cool mist of the shower.

His hands dipped lower, following the curve of Hua Cheng’s hips, skimming the edge of his swim trunks. The water ran down in lazy rivulets, catching on his skin, his breath catching right with it.

Hua Cheng leaned back slightly. “If you go any lower,” he said, low and amused, “lunch is going to be very late.”

Xie Lian swallowed.

Paused.

Then squeezed his hip lightly and stepped back. “All clean. Let’s go before I accidentally do something regrettable.”

Hua Cheng turned his head, gaze molten. “Coward.”

“Pervert.”

“You started it.”

Hua Cheng tilted his head, water streaming down his jaw, a slow grin curling his lips. “Then it’s only fair I wash your back, gege.”

Xie Lian hesitated.

That was a mistake.

Because suddenly Hua Cheng was behind him, warm hands on his waist, soap lathering in his palms. And when those hands slid up over his shoulders—firm, reverent, teasing—Xie Lian nearly dropped the body wash entirely.

“I think I’m being very thorough,” Hua Cheng murmured, mouth far too close to his ear. “Don’t you?”

Xie Lian let out a sound. It wasn’t a word. It was vaguely criminal.

Hua Cheng worked slowly, dragging his fingers down the delicate line of Xie Lian’s spine, dipping into the hollow of his back before palming the sides of his hips. He leaned in like he meant to kiss him, all heat and intent, and—

“Wait,” Xie Lian said.

Hua Cheng paused. “Wait?”

Xie Lian stepped back, brows furrowed, eyes scanning Hua Cheng’s chest, shoulders, then narrowing with increasing alarm. “San Lang,” he said, very seriously. “Turn around.”

Hua Cheng turned slowly.

And Xie Lian gasped like someone had died.

“Oh my god.”

“…What?”

“You’re burning. You’re actually burning, San Lang!”

Hua Cheng blinked. “No I’m not—”

“Yes you are! You’re a tomato!” He grabbed his shoulders, horrified. “The last time this happened, you started peeling!”

“Oh my god.”

“Don’t ‘oh my god’ me! Get out of the shower—now.”

They scrambled out, dripping and still very naked. Xie Lian barely remembered to grab towels, too focused on damage control. He wrapped one hastily around his waist, yanked down his soaked swim trunks and the very evident proof of how much they both had sex brain, shoved on underwear and jeans in a whirlwind of panic.

Hua Cheng was halfway through toweling his hair when he was pushed down, face-first, onto the bed.

“Gege,” he drawled, muffled by the sheets, “you’re very eager.”

“Shut up.” Xie Lian was already opening the aloe vera bottle like a man on a mission. “This is medical. This is urgent. This is an emergency.”

The gel was cold. Hua Cheng hissed.

“Gods, that’s freezing.”

“You’ll live,” Xie Lian said grimly, smoothing it over his shoulder blades. “You better live. I didn’t get blueballed for nothing.”

Hua Cheng bit the pillow and made a sound halfway between a moan and a whimper.

Xie Lian spread the gel with brisk, practiced hands—over the curves of his shoulder, the long line of his back, all the places already flushed pink and angry with sun. “If you hadn’t been so busy eyeing me, you’d have remembered to reapply.”

“I did reapply.”

“Not enough.”

“I was distracted!”

“You’re always distracted!”

“I’m distracted right now.”

Xie Lian smacked aloe into his lower back.

Hua Cheng groaned. “I am experiencing the duality of man. I am in pain. I am also feral.”

“Gege—fuck,” Hua Cheng gasped, muscles jumping under Xie Lian’s hands.

Xie Lian paused, squinting suspiciously at the back of his head. “Is that a pain fuck or a pleasure fuck?”

Hua Cheng buried his face deeper into the pillow. “I don’t know anymore.”

“Well, figure it out,” Xie Lian snapped, uncapping the aloe again. “Because if you start getting horny about this, I swear—”

“I’m not!” Hua Cheng said, though it didn’t help that his voice broke a little when Xie Lian dragged cool gel down the arch of his spine. “It just—stings. A lot. But your hands are also really soft and I—shit, okay, ow, ow—”

“Then stop moaning like I’m doing something else,” Xie Lian muttered, fighting to keep his own brain from spiraling. This is aloe. This is first aid. This is not foreplay.

Unfortunately, Hua Cheng’s noises were doing nothing to support that.

“Sorry,” he groaned, fists clenched in the sheets. “I’m trying to behave. But you’re straddling me, and your hands are on my back, and you’re hot, and I’m in hell—”

Xie Lian moved on autopilot, fingers gliding from the broad curve of Hua Cheng’s shoulders down to his arms, kneading the tension out gently—almost unconsciously. He traced the lines of muscle with aloe-slick hands, pressing into knots, smoothing over sun-scorched skin with the kind of care that was only partially medicinal.

Hua Cheng made another low noise into the pillow.

“You’re not helping your case,” Xie Lian muttered, thumb digging into the back of his neck.

“I’m suffering,” Hua Cheng said, “in every possible way.”

“Good.”

When he finished the worst of the burns on his back, Xie Lian got off him, moving to the side of the bed and tugging lightly at his arm. “Roll over.”

Hua Cheng obeyed, a little sluggish from the sting, the heat, the entire sensory overload of the past twenty minutes.

And when he rolled onto his back, towel slipping low on his hips, Xie Lian caught sight of the very obvious tented front.

Xie Lian blinked once. Then again.

“Are you—seriously,” he said flatly. “San Lang.”

“I said I couldn’t tell if it was pain or pleasure,” Hua Cheng said weakly, trying to look apologetic and absolutely failing. “Apparently it was both.”

Xie Lian narrowed his eyes. He looked like he wanted to throttle him. Instead, he climbed back up, straddled Hua Cheng’s hips, and sat right on top of the problem like it didn’t exist.

Hua Cheng’s head hit the pillow again with a faint thud. “Gege.”

“Shut up.” Xie Lian popped open the aloe bottle again, expression deadpan. “I’m not letting you peel.”

His hands were back on him immediately, smoothing the gel over the flushed skin of his chest, down the ridges of his abdomen, around the dip of his waist. Every time he spotted another angry streak of red, he dotted it with cool, tender care. Every time Hua Cheng twitched or sighed or gasped, he sighed a little harder.

He did not, however, move off his lap.

“Gege,” Hua Cheng tried again, breath shallow now for several reasons.

Xie Lian dipped more gel onto his palm, dragging it along the sharp edge of a hipbone. “You’re very needy when you’re dying.”

“I’m not dying,” Hua Cheng said, voice low. “Just mildly immolated. And also hard.”

“I noticed.”

“Gege…”

Xie Lian let the silence stretch between them for a moment, his hands poised just above the last stretch of red skin below Hua Cheng’s navel, before he abruptly sat back with a sigh that was far too dramatic to be casual.

“Okay. We’re done.”

“We are not done—” Hua Cheng protested, breath catching when Xie Lian rolled off of him entirely, towel shifting precariously.

Xie Lian ignored him, stepping off the bed with fluid grace and disappearing into the en suite bathroom. A moment later, there was a clack of metal hooks and a rustle of cotton—and then a wad of clothing flew out and smacked Hua Cheng squarely in the face.

“Get dressed,” Xie Lian said from behind the door. “We’re going to miss lunch.”

“You’re evil,” Hua Cheng muttered into his shirt, which had landed crookedly over his head.

“I’m merciful. I could have left you to crisp into jerky,” came the very unsympathetic reply.

By the time Hua Cheng sat up and halfheartedly started putting on the hoodie Xie Lian had thrown at him, the man himself reappeared—his own shirt now tugged neatly over his frame, soft white cotton with a koi fish curling elegantly across the back. The front was blank, modest, like everything about him—but the casual knot of damp hair tied at his nape gave him a sort of radiant, just-showered serenity that made Hua Cheng want to lay back down and be useless forever.

Xie Lian ruffled his hair dry with a towel for a few more seconds, then walked over, opened the mini-fridge, and grabbed a bottle of cold water. He tossed it lightly toward Hua Cheng.

“Hydrate,” he said simply.

Hua Cheng caught it, cracked it open, and took a long sip, eyes never leaving his gege.

“You know,” Xie Lian added, tone light, “I only torment you because I love you.”

That got a pause. Then a soft, barely-there smile bloomed on Hua Cheng’s face, warm as the beach sun outside.

“Mmn?” he hummed lazily. “Really, Gege?”

Xie Lian gave him a sideways glance as he looped a hair tie around the base of his ponytail. “Yes, really.”

“I love you too,” Hua Cheng said, quieter now, but sure.

There was a beat.

Then—

“What are you guys doing in there?!” Shi Qingxuan’s voice rang out from the hallway, pitched high with theatrical horror. “It’s been twenty-one minutes!”

Xie Lian sighed as Shi Qingxuan’s voice echoed dramatically from the hallway, then turned toward Hua Cheng—who, by this point, had managed to pull his pants up but was still fumbling with the buttons like a man who’d momentarily forgotten how hands worked.

“Nope,” Xie Lian said. “We don’t have time for your slowness.”

Before Hua Cheng could protest, Xie Lian was already crossing the room, grabbing the hairdryer off the counter with one hand and snatching Hua Cheng by the wrist with the other.

“Gege—!”

“Vanity. Sit. Now.”

Xie Lian plopped him down on the little stool in front of the mirror with no room for negotiation, plugged in the dryer, and immediately began blasting warm air at Hua Cheng’s tangled, still-damp hair. His fingers worked fast, combing through the strands with practiced efficiency.

“This feels illegal,” Hua Cheng muttered over the roar of the dryer, blinking at his reflection as Xie Lian smoothed and fluffed and flattened with very aggressive tenderness.

“What’s illegal is making me wait because you can’t multitask buttoning your jeans and brushing your hair,” Xie Lian retorted, adjusting the angle to dry behind his ears. “Honestly, for someone who seduces like it’s breathing, you’re useless under time pressure.”

“I was distracted!”

“You’re always distracted,” Xie Lian shot back, mimicking his earlier words with a smile.

Hua Cheng groaned and slumped further into the seat, eye fluttering shut under the warm air of the dryer. “I’m letting you get away with this because I love you.”

“Good,” Xie Lian said, turning off the dryer with a triumphant flick. “Then you’ll love this next part too.”

He tousled Hua Cheng’s hair into one last artful sweep and stepped back, admiring his work. “Ta-da. Done. You’re beautiful. Now move before Qingxuan kicks down the door.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The restaurant was stunning—a hidden gem nestled on the edge of the beach, all soft wood and swaying palms, with paper lanterns strung overhead like lazy stars. The sea glittered just beyond the railing, waves rolling in with a warm breeze that smelled like salt and lime and grilled seafood.

Hua Cheng and Xie Lian sat on one side of the booth, the view stretching wide behind them. Across from them, Shi Qingxuan was sipping from a coconut-shaped glass with a paper straw, legs crossed and eyes already narrowed at the other half of the table.

Namely, Hua Cheng.

“Okay,” she said, lowering her drink. “What is wrong with him?”

He Xuan didn’t look up from his menu. “Pick a direction.”

Shi Qingxuan jabbed her finger at Hua Cheng, who was slumped against the wall, arms crossed, and eyes vacant like he’d ascended into another plane of existence.

“It’s ninety-five degrees,” she said. “Why is he wearing a hoodie? A black one too… yikes. Why is he sulking like we just banned eyeliner? What happened in the room? Actually, no, I don’t want the answer to that. I just want to know if he’s going to die in this restaurant and ruin my appetite.”

Xie Lian gave a faint laugh into his iced tea. “He’s fine.”

“Mmn,” Hua Cheng said vaguely, eye still on some distant, shimmering point beyond the patio.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian prompted gently.

Hua Cheng blinked once. Twice.

Then, slowly: “I’m not sulking. I’m… processing.”

The waiter approached with a notepad and a polite smile, glancing between the four of them.

“Ready to order?”

“Yes,” Xie Lian said smoothly, passing him a warm smile. “We’ll have the grilled snapper with salsa and the summer noodle salad with jasmine rice. Oh, and the garlic shrimp skewers to share.”

The waiter nodded, jotting it all down. “And for drinks?”

“I’ll take the hibiscus cooler,” Xie Lian said, then turned slightly, resting his elbow on the table as he looked at Hua Cheng. “San Lang, would you like a cocktail?”

Hua Cheng didn’t respond right away. His gaze was still fixed somewhere out near the horizon—over the glittering ocean, over the heads of laughing tourists, possibly into the void. A seagull flew by. He didn’t blink.

Then, as if from far, far away, he gave the faintest nod.

“Mm.”

The waiter raised an eyebrow.

Xie Lian didn’t miss a beat. “He’ll have the lychee cocktail.”

Another nod. Still hadn’t looked at him.

The waiter took the rest of the group’s orders and walked off.

He Xuan didn’t bother hiding the smirk he shot across the table. “Was it aloe again?”

Hua Cheng’s eye twitched. Slowly—finally—he turned his head from the horizon and leveled a baleful stare at He Xuan.

“It was first aid,” he said flatly, voice hoarse from a mix of dehydration and emotional damage.

He Xuan didn’t even flinch. “That wasn’t a no.”

Hua Cheng exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “You know what, He Xuan? Fuck you. Fuck your seafood recommendations, fuck your smug little face, and fuck whatever god made you so naturally gifted at being an asshole.”

Shi Qingxuan nearly snorted hibiscus soda through her nose.

“You need to take a walk,” she said between wheezes. “Touch some sand. Find inner peace.”

“I did,” Hua Cheng growled. “That’s how I got burned, remember?”

He Xuan shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy ogling your boyfriend you wouldn’t have forgotten sunscreen.”

Hua Cheng didn’t even hesitate. He lifted his hand from under the table, middle finger already extended like it had been waiting for this moment.

“Eat shit, He Xuan,” he snapped. “Choke on your stupid lime wedges and get stung by a jellyfish. Preferably at the same time.”

“Tempting,” He Xuan said dryly, “but I’d rather not share a trauma category with you.”

“You little—”

“Okay!” Xie Lian cut in brightly, clapping his hands once like a teacher herding problematic children. “Let’s maybe not fight at the pretty beachside restaurant, hmm?”

Hua Cheng slouched further in the booth, arms crossed. “I’m not fighting. I’m verbally defending my honor.”

Just as Hua Cheng opened his mouth to deliver what was sure to be a truly poetic string of profanities, the waiter returned—this time with a tray of sizzling shrimp skewers.

“Garlic shrimp for the table,” he announced, sliding the plate onto the middle of the table, the aroma immediately cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter.

There was a beat of silence.

“Ah,” Xie Lian said, with a too-bright smile. “Look at that! Shrimp! Haha… ha…”

No one moved. The shrimp steamed gently in the center like an unwitting peace offering.

Xie Lian, in a move born of both panic and decades of diplomatic skill, reached out and snatched up one of the shrimp skewers. With swift precision, he twisted the skewer and slid a perfectly de-shelled shrimp off the stick, holding it out to Hua Cheng like he was offering a treat to a wild animal.

“Here,” he said quickly. “Eat. Just the meat—no shell, no tail. Very safe. Very chewable. Let’s keep your mouth occupied with this and not death threats.”

Hua Cheng blinked at him. Then at the shrimp. Then slowly opened his mouth to accept it, still glaring at He Xuan like he was imagining the man’s face on a dartboard.

Shi Qingxuan made a muffled aww noise behind her glass.

“There,” Xie Lian said, wiping his fingers on a napkin. “Isn’t that better? No more murderous thoughts. Just seafood.”

Hua Cheng chewed slowly, eye still narrowed. But he didn’t say anything. Mostly because his mouth was full.

He Xuan didn’t even try to hide his smirk. “Wow. You’ve really got him on a leash, huh.”

“I will pierce you with the skewer,” Hua Cheng said through a mouthful of shrimp.

Xie Lian sighed. “Progress.”

The garlic shrimp did its job: it de-escalated the threat of imminent violence and set the table onto the path of what could generously be called a “very normal lunch.”

Dishes arrived one by one, filling the table with vibrant color and beachy aromas—citrus-glazed snapper, cool noodles tangled with herbs, rice with delicate steam curling upward. Overhead, the lanterns swayed gently with the breeze, casting soft gold patterns over their plates.

Hua Cheng, once de-sulked by shrimp and Xie Lian’s peacekeeping, leaned in to fork a piece of grilled fish and hold it up to Xie Lian’s mouth. “For gege,” he said sweetly, the venom in his voice from ten minutes ago vanished like mist.

Xie Lian accepted it with a faint smile, chewed, and then, without breaking eye contact, picked up a bite of rice with shrimp and mirrored the gesture. “For San Lang.”

“God,” Shi Qingxuan muttered, “I’m gonna need sunglasses for this. Too radiant. It’s burning my eyes”

He Xuan just grunted, busy fending off a piece of tomato Qingxuan was aggressively trying to get him to eat.

“It’s good for your skin,” she said, waving it like a threat near his face.

“I don’t like tomatoes,” he replied, leaning away.

“Oh my god—open. Your. Mouth.”

She ended up shoving it in before he could finish his retort. 

She grinned triumphantly and sipped her drink. “See? Very normal lunch.”

And it was. Very normal. Ridiculously scenic. Very sunny. Very Californian. Four overly attractive people (two of whom definitely should not be left alone with pointy utensils), enjoying grilled seafood and passive-aggressive flirting with the Pacific sparkling behind them.

Just another vacation lunch with friends. Very normal indeed.

Shi Qingxuan adjusted her sunglasses, leaned back in the booth, and held up her phone. “Okay. Nobody move. The lighting is doing something right now and I refuse to waste it.”

Click. Click. Click.

She turned the phone slightly for an overhead shot of the table—plates half-picked at, cocktails sweating gracefully, the lanterns casting dreamy shadows.

Xie Lian, delicately picking a bit of cilantro off his noodles, glanced up with a serene smile. “Just don’t tag me in anything where I’m chewing, please.”

Before Shi Qingxuan could respond, Hua Cheng spoke up, his voice low and unbothered as he reached lazily for his drink. “Gege looks cute when he’s chewing, though.”

There was a brief, stunned silence. Even the seagulls seemed to pause in midair.

He Xuan didn’t even look up from his plate. “Can you guys not do this in front of my food? I think I’m going to throw up.”

Shi Qingxuan cackled, nearly dropping her phone. “Oh my god. You’re such a hater.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The beach house had long since settled into a gentle hush, broken only by the soft rush of the waves and the occasional creak of the old deck chairs. It was well past midnight when Hua Cheng and Xie Lian wandered outside, barefoot and quiet, a shared silence between them as natural as breathing.

The sky above was ink-dark and scattered with stars, the kind that only appeared far from city lights. The moon hung low, casting silver across the ocean like a brushstroke, soft and shimmering.

They stretched out on the lounge chairs left on the back deck, shoulders brushing, gazes turned upward.

“They’ve been gone for a while,” Xie Lian said eventually, voice barely louder than the wind.

“Probably arguing over what kind of wine to get,” Hua Cheng murmured. “Or Qingxuan’s trying to buy something pink and sparkling and He Xuan’s threatening to leave her in the parking lot.”

Xie Lian huffed a soft laugh, eyes still on the stars. “I can hear it already.”

Hua Cheng turned his head, just a little. “It’s nice like this.”

“Mhm.”

Xie Lian tilted his head, a soft smile playing at his lips. “You always get poetic under the stars.”

Hua Cheng scoffed gently. “You’re the poetic one. I’m just a guy in love, trying not to spontaneously combust from how pretty you look in moonlight.”

Xie Lian turned his face toward him with a faint laugh, eyes warm. “Flatterer.”

“Fact,” Hua Cheng corrected. He leaned closer, their noses nearly brushing. “You’re unfairly beautiful. It’s a health hazard.”

Xie Lian hummed thoughtfully. “And yet you seem to be surviving just fine.”

“Barely,” Hua Cheng said. “I’m seconds away from needing CPR. Mouth to mouth. Maybe some chest compressions—although I’d prefer you use your thighs.”

Xie Lian let out a choked laugh, immediately slapping a hand over Hua Cheng’s mouth. “San Lang!”

Hua Cheng grinned under his hand. “I’m just saying. You’re medically responsible for me now. You feed me, you keep me alive with your beauty, and you have to kiss me regularly or I’ll die.”

“Tragic,” Xie Lian said dryly, but he was laughing too. “I didn’t realize dating you came with a first-aid certification.”

Hua Cheng gently pulled Xie Lian’s hand away from his mouth, his smile curling into something more intimate. “Don’t act like you’re surprised, gege. You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to date a man who worships the ground you float over.”

“I thought I was getting a sweet, mysterious artist with a tragic past and good hair,” Xie Lian said lightly.

Hua Cheng raised a brow. “You did. And also a man with a one-track mind.”

“Oh, I noticed,” Xie Lian muttered, lips twitching. “You’re very subtle about it, truly.”

“Come on,” Hua Cheng said, sliding his hand down to Xie Lian’s waist. “I’ve been so good today. Didn’t try anything in public. Didn’t even grope you when you were feeding me stuff.”

“That is not something you get a gold star for.”

“Oh?” Hua Cheng smirked, fingers curling just slightly at Xie Lian’s hip. “But wouldn’t you reward good behavior, gege?”

Xie Lian gave him a flat look, though his ears were already pink. “If this is your idea of good behavior, I’m terrified to see what bad looks like.”

Before Hua Cheng could respond with something undoubtedly illegal, the sliding door banged open behind them.

“HA!” Shi Qingxuan shouted, already halfway to the back deck, holding up a bottle of tequila like a trophy. “He Xuan thinks he can outdrink me! In my own house! With my glittery shot glasses!”

He Xuan followed, looking like a man walking to his own execution, sleeves rolled up and jaw set. “It’s not a real competition if the rules are just ‘drink until someone falls over.’”

“It absolutely is,” Shi Qingxuan said cheerfully, already setting up shot glasses on the deck railing like a tiny glittery battlefield. “Come watch us self-destruct!”

Hua Cheng perked up. “You know what? That actually sounds fun.”

Xie Lian blinked. “You want to do a tequila shot contest?”

“I want to beat He Xuan at something. And also you look really hot when you’re judgmental. I need motivation.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

Shi Qingxuan slammed down another glittery shot glass and spun toward the lounge chairs with frightening enthusiasm. “A-Lian!” she called, grinning. “Come play with us too! It’s no fun if you just sit there looking pretty.”

“I’d really rather not,” Xie Lian said, hands raised in gentle refusal. “You know I don’t drink.”

“Oh come on,” she wheedled, already pouring a fourth shot despite his protests. “Just a teeny bit! A ceremonial sip! For friendship!”

“Qingxuan,” Xie Lian said patiently, “the last time you said ‘ceremonial sip,’ I woke up in a bathtub full of rose petals and someone else’s sandals.”

“Exactly! You had fun!”

“That’s one word for it,” he murmured. Then smiled, soft but firm. “No, thank you. I’ll be your designated responsible adult. Someone has to keep you from skinny-dipping into the beach again.”

“That was one time,” she huffed, though her eyes sparkled. “Fine, fine. Boo. But you have to cheer really dramatically, okay? None of that polite clapping.”

“I can do that,” Xie Lian said with a graceful nod.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

By the time the third bottle was cracked open—ten minutes in and already glittering with condensation like it, too, was drunk—Xie Lian had moved from his lounge chair to a seat closer to the chaos, legs crossed elegantly as he spectated.

“All right!” Shi Qingxuan announced, slightly swaying but still standing. “Tally check! Let’s see which of you boys is still clinging to your dignity!”

Xie Lian lifted a hand like a referee. “Shi Qingxuan: six shots.”

She gave a sloppy thumbs up. “I feel amazing.”

“He Xuan: also six shots.”

He Xuan sat very still, eyes narrowed, like he was trying to physically restrain his soul from leaving his body. “I’m fine,” he said flatly. “You’re all weak.”

“Of course,” Xie Lian said politely, marking it down on his phone’s notes app.

“And San Lang…” He paused, glancing at the stack of overturned glasses in front of him. “Seven shots.”

Hua Cheng smiled lazily. “Didn’t even feel the last three.”

Shi Qingxuan narrowed her eyes. “That’s not human. What are you made of, pure spite and alcohol?”

“Yes,” He Xuan muttered. “That explains everything.”

“Don’t be jealous,” Hua Cheng said, reaching for another shot. “Some of us are naturally talented.”

Xie Lian arched a brow. “That’s not something people usually say about drinking contests.”

“It is when you’re winning,” Hua Cheng replied, knocking back the eighth with a flick of his wrist like it was water. He barely flinched.

Shi Qingxuan leaned heavily against He Xuan’s shoulder. “I hate to say it, but… I think he might win. That’s not fair. I’m cute and sparkly. Where is my victory?”

He Xuan shrugged her off. “On the beach. With your other bad decisions.”

Xie Lian just sipped his water and crossed another tally into the chart. “This is fine. Everything’s fine. We’ve definitely reached the part of the night where bad decisions grow legs and start doing cartwheels.”

The seventh bottle was something dark and smoky, with a label that looked like it cost more than Xie Lian’s entire monthly grocery budget. Aged something, imported something, way too strong for people who were already several rounds deep—but naturally, that only made it more appealing.

Hua Cheng poured with practiced ease, barely blinking as he downed his ninth shot. Across from him, He Xuan tipped his back with mechanical determination, like he was trying to outdrink Hua Cheng purely out of spite. They were silent now—no taunts, no snark—just the intense focus of two men locked in battle, glass by glass.

Shi Qingxuan, meanwhile, had completely lost the plot.

She was half sprawled in He Xuan’s lap, giggling into his neck. “You smell soooo nice,” she mumbled, petting his hair. “Like the ocean. And woodsmoke. And really sexy cologne.”

“You’re drunk,” He Xuan muttered, not even looking at her, still glaring at his glass.

“I’m not drunk,” she said, very seriously, before attempting to boop his nose and missing by several inches. “I’m just full of affection. And tequila. And maybe one—one or two molecules of brain cell.”

Xie Lian, watching from his lounge chair like the world’s most tired lifeguard, pressed his knuckles to his mouth to keep from laughing. “One or two?”

“Okay, fine, none,” Shi Qingxuan admitted cheerfully. 

“Truest thing you’ve said all night,” Hua Cheng muttered, slamming his tenth shot down with an elegant flick of his wrist.

“I’m gonna kiss him,” she whispered loudly, already climbing onto He Xuan’s lap like a determined cat.

“You already are,” Xie Lian pointed out mildly.

“Right,” Shi Qingxuan said, then promptly smashed her mouth against He Xuan’s in what could generously be called a kiss, if kissing involved a lot of nose bumping and hair pulling.

He Xuan sighed into it like a man accepting his fate.

Hua Cheng didn’t even glance their way. “Still sober,” he said, licking a drop of liquor off his thumb. “Can’t say the same for those two.”

Xie Lian shook his head, smiling helplessly as he marked Qingxuan down for being out of the game. “She lasted longer than I thought she would.”

“Oh well,” Hua Cheng said, entirely unbothered, pouring another shot.

Xie Lian eyed the tangle of limbs that was now Shi Qingxuan and He Xuan—she was giggling breathlessly, one leg hooked over his thigh, hair a mess of wind. He Xuan had his hand somewhere it absolutely shouldn’t have been in front of others. Possibly in a previous lifetime, Xie Lian had committed some great sin to deserve witnessing this.

He cleared his throat delicately. “Should we... leave them like that? Or…”

Then Shi Qingxuan moaned.

Not a subtle one. Not a maybe-she’s-just-sighing one. A full-bodied, head-thrown-back, I-am-having-a-moment moan.

Xie Lian stiffened. His soul left his body. His face didn’t change, but his spirit recoiled violently.

“Oh,” he said, blinking. “Oh no. I wasn’t supposed to see that.”

Hua Cheng glanced over, raised a brow, and gave a low whistle. “Well, that escalated.”

“They’ll be fine,” Xie Lian said very quickly, already rising to his feet and dusting invisible dirt off his shorts. “They’re adults. They’re in love. This is... natural. Beautiful. Completely normal. Okay. Goodnight.”

He grabbed Hua Cheng’s wrist like he was escaping a war zone, dragging him inside the house with barely restrained dignity.

They padded down the stairs barefoot, the house hushed except for the distant crash of waves through the open deck doors. Xie Lian still looked mildly haunted.

“Midnight snack?” Hua Cheng suggested, already veering toward the kitchen.

Xie Lian sighed, rubbing his face. “Yes, please.”

The fridge door opened with a soft whoosh. Inside was chaos—half a fruit tart, a suspiciously large wedge of cheese, three different brands of tonic water, and—

“Ah,” Xie Lian said, peering in. “They did bring something. Look at that. Fancy sandwiches. And... is that shrimp cocktail?”

Hua Cheng reached in and grabbed a bottle of wine, cracking the seal with one hand like he did this daily—which, to be fair, he probably did. “Shrimp cocktail at midnight is a bold choice.”

“So is wine,” Xie Lian said pointedly, watching as Hua Cheng already began pouring himself a generous glass.

“I won’t drink too much,” Hua Cheng said smoothly. “Promise, gege.”

Xie Lian gave him a flat look that said he absolutely did not believe him.

Then Hua Cheng’s eye lit up. “Ice cream.” He reached into the freezer triumphantly and pulled out a pint of something dangerously expensive and chocolatey.

They settled on the couch, legs tangled together and a soft throw blanket draped haphazardly over their laps. The overhead lights cast a soft yellow light through the room. The wine glass glinted in Hua Cheng’s hand, half-full, while the pint of ice cream rested comfortably in Xie Lian’s.

He took a spoonful for himself, let it melt slightly on his tongue, then scooped another and held it up to Hua Cheng without a word.

Hua Cheng leaned in, lips wrapping around the spoon with something just shy of suggestive.

Xie Lian raised a brow. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Hua Cheng said innocently, licking a smear of chocolate from the corner of his mouth.

Xie Lian didn’t answer. Just fed him another spoonful.

In the quiet, they heard the unmistakable thump of uncoordinated footsteps descending the stairs—followed by a soft thud and a giggle. Then He Xuan appeared, stoic as ever, carrying a very disheveled Shi Qingxuan in his arms. Her hair was tangled, her eyeliner slightly smudged, and her expression was one of absolute bliss.

“We’re going to bed,” He Xuan said blandly, not stopping.

“We noticed,” Xie Lian said, not looking up as he offered Hua Cheng another bite.

Their bedroom door clicked shut.

There was a beat of silence.

“I’m choosing not to imagine what’s happening next,” Xie Lian said calmly.

“Wise,” Hua Cheng murmured, sipping his wine.

Xie Lian gave him a serene smile and lifted another spoonful of ice cream. “Open up.”

“Gege, you’re spoiling me.”

Hua Cheng downed the rest of his wine with a smooth tilt of his head, the last sip slipping past his lips like it had been waiting for a grand finale. The glass made a soft clink as he set it on the coffee table, and without missing a beat, he reached for the bottle again.

Xie Lian’s hand shot out, spoon still in it, and lightly poked him in the cheek.

Hua Cheng blinked.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian said, in the exact tone one might use to scold a puppy chewing on expensive curtains.

“What?” Hua Cheng said, freezing with the bottle halfway tilted toward his glass. “I’m still coherent.”

“You’re on your third glass after ten shots and a tequila contest.”

“...And ice cream,” Hua Cheng added hopefully.

Xie Lian gave him a long, unimpressed stare. 

Hua Cheng sighed dramatically and set the wine down with exaggerated reluctance. “Fine. Deprive me of life’s small joys.”

“You have ice cream and me. How many more small joys do you need?”

Hua Cheng paused. Then grinned, warm and a little too smug. “You’re right. You’re all the joys I need.”

Xie Lian tried to glare. Failed. Ended up blushing instead, cheeks faintly pink in the soft light.

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, scooping another bite and holding it out wordlessly.

Hua Cheng leaned in again, gentler this time. “Ridiculously in love with you.”

The spoon lingered between them for a second, and Xie Lian looked at him—really looked at him. The wind-tossed hair, the lazy, wine-soft grin, the dimple he got when he smiled too big.

“Me too,” Xie Lian whispered, barely audible over the ocean breeze drifting in.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The next morning arrived slowly, like a tide rolling in soft and steady. Sunlight slanted through the sheer curtains in golden beams, casting warm patterns across the floor and up the edge of the bed.

Xie Lian was still asleep, limbs tangled in soft sheets and warmer limbs. At some point during the night, his shirt had vanished—tossed somewhere in a heat-dazed haze—and the air conditioner had given its best effort before surrendering to the muggy, coastal summer.

Now, Xie Lian lay sprawled half on top of Hua Cheng, bare-chested and pillow-less, cheek pressed against the other’s chest like it was the only anchor in a drifting world. His hair was tousled and a small, very undignified line of drool had formed on the sheets beneath him.

Hua Cheng was awake.

He hadn’t meant to be—he’d woken up briefly, then gotten entirely distracted by the warm weight of Xie Lian curled against him, and had never quite gotten around to going back to sleep.

His arm was around Xie Lian’s waist, fingers splayed lazily along the curve of his back. His other hand rested on the pillow above, carding absently through tangled chestnut colored strands.

Xie Lian made a soft noise, shifting slightly, brow furrowing as he burrowed further into Hua Cheng’s chest like a sleepy animal.

“Mmmn,” he mumbled, voice still hoarse with sleep. “Hot…”

Hua Cheng’s brows then furrowed like he was fighting off some aggressive, vengeful headache—one that had crawled into his skull and started pounding away with a tiny, merciless drum. He let out a low groan, squeezing his eye shut, the hand in Xie Lian’s hair coming to a pause.

“I told you not to drink that much,” Xie Lian mumbled, still half-asleep himself but smug about it nonetheless.

“Worth it,” Hua Cheng croaked, though it sounded less like conviction and more like someone being strangled by dehydration.

Xie Lian huffed out a quiet laugh and tilted his face up to kiss the corner of Hua Cheng’s mouth—gentle and brief, like a promise. “I’ll go make something for your hangover. Try not to die while I’m gone.”

“No promises,” Hua Cheng mumbled into the sheets.

Xie Lian rolled out of bed with a groan, stretching his arms overhead as he padded around the room in search of his shirt. He found it hanging pathetically from the bedside lamp, pulled it on, and made his way downstairs.

He hadn’t even reached the bottom before he heard the chaos.

In the kitchen, two very familiar figures were sprawled across the counter like shipwreck survivors. Shi Qingxuan had her head buried in her arms, hair a knotted mess, one sock missing and a teal water bottle clutched in her hand. He Xuan sat beside her, sunglasses indoors and face-down on a cold pack like it owed him money.

“I can’t walk,” Shi Qingxuan was saying—no, yelling—without lifting her head, “because you went super fucking hard last night and I have a splitting headache, fuck you, He Xuan!”

“You’re the one that told me to be rough,” He Xuan said into the counter, voice deadpan and muffled by the ice pack.

Xie Lian froze in the doorway.

Then calmly turned around and opened the fridge like he’d heard nothing at all.

“Morning,” he said mildly.

“Don’t talk so loud,” Shi Qingxuan groaned, slumping even lower into the counter like she was trying to sink into it entirely. “We’re dying.”

“You’re dying,” He Xuan corrected. “I’m fine.”

“You split me in half!”

“That was you. Begging.” He didn’t even lift his head.

Xie Lian blinked very slowly. Then reached for the eggs and the leftover shrimp cocktail with a quiet sigh. “I’m making congee and ginger tea,” he announced. “Nobody say anything else until I’m done.”

A muffled, grateful noise from Shi Qingxuan. Silence from He Xuan, which was probably as close to a thank you as Xie Lian was going to get.

The congee should have been simple. Just rice, water, maybe chicken, vegetables, some shrimp—easy, right?

Except Xie Lian, standing in front of the stove in a sleepy daze and still internally reeling from the morning’s... conversations, had decided to improvise. The fridge was depressingly empty. So he got creative. Some of the shrimp cocktail went in. A very wilting spring onion. Half a wedge of brie cheese (don’t ask). And—for flair—he dusted in what might’ve been cinnamon, but the label had peeled off long ago, and now it was a mystery spice that smelled “interesting.”

He stirred it with determination, like a soldier going into battle.

After twenty-five minutes of bubbling, he ladled the thick, alarmingly chunky concoction into bowls. He placed them carefully in front of Shi Qingxuan and He Xuan, proud like he was unveiling a masterpiece.

“For nourishment and healing.”

Shi Qingxuan blinked at the bowl like it had wronged her. “This looks like the inside of a curse.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Xie Lian chided gently, sitting down with his own bowl.

He Xuan, ever stoic, grabbed a spoon. He took one bite.

Then his eye twitched. He blinked slowly. Then—without a word—lowered his head onto the table and didn’t move again.

“...He’s fine,” Shi Qingxuan said faintly. “He’s just processing.”

Xie Lian frowned. “Is it really that bad?”

Shi Qingxuan braved a single spoonful.

She gagged.

“Oh my god,” she choked. “I forgot why you’re not allowed to cook. But now I remember. I remember forever. This is going into my trauma journal.”

Xie Lian looked genuinely wounded. He picked up his own spoon, took a small, careful bite.

He chewed.

He paused.

“It’s just a bit salty...” he said, sounding betrayed. “Not that bad…”

Shi Qingxuan reached across the table to take his hand gently. “Xie Lian, I say this with love. You’re beautiful. You’re kind. You’re the light of our lives. But this tastes like low tide.”

He Xuan snored into the table.

Xie Lian pouted, poking at the stew. “I thought the brie was a nice touch…”

Shi Qingxuan patted his arm. “It’s okay. You can make tea. You’re good at tea.”

Xie Lian sighed, staring down at the disaster he had wrought. He considered dumping the rest. Or eating it himself. No way was he going to offer it to Hua Cheng. Not when Hua Cheng had suffered enough last night.

He turned to the sink, rinsing out the kettle and filling it with water to boil for tea. At least he could do that right.

Then footsteps—slow, steady—creaked down the stairs.

He didn’t even have time to turn before warm arms slid around his waist and a familiar head burrowed into the curve of his neck.

“Gege…” Hua Cheng’s voice was hoarse, low, thick with sleep and something fond. “You’re warm.”

Xie Lian’s hand stilled on the kettle. “San Lang. Hi.”

“I think I’m dying,” Hua Cheng mumbled into his skin. “Why do hangovers exist?”

“You challenged Shi Qingxuan and He Xuan to a shot-for-shot drinking game,” Xie Lian said, pouring the water into the pot and clicking on the burner. “Also, tequila.”

“Mmm… crimes against humanity,” Hua Cheng groaned. “What’d you make?”

Xie Lian stiffened slightly. “I… attempted congee.”

Hua Cheng blinked against his neck. “Smells interesting.”

“I had to improvise.”

“I wanna try it.”

Xie Lian twisted to look at him. “No, it’s—Qingxuan said it tastes like low tide.”

“I still wanna try it,” Hua Cheng said, smiling lazily. “Gege made it.”

Xie Lian hesitated. Then sighed and reached for a clean spoon. He scooped out a portion with caution and brought it to Hua Cheng’s lips.

“Open,” he said softly.

Hua Cheng leaned in, eye half-lidded and affectionate, and took the bite like it was ambrosia. He chewed. Swallowed. Paused.

“It’s a little salty,” he said with a straight face.

Xie Lian lit up. “I told you guys!”

From the table, Shi Qingxuan made a weak retching sound and flopped face-down again.

He Xuan didn’t even twitch.

Hua Cheng grinned, arms tightening around Xie Lian’s waist. “I want more. Feed me, gege.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

Xie Lian flushed faintly, but obediently scooped up another bite and held it out. Hua Cheng opened his mouth with exaggerated devotion and hummed happily as he chewed.

“Perfect,” he said.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Their three days at the beach house blurred into one long, golden afternoon.

Day two involved more sunburn than anyone anticipated, thanks to Shi Qingxuan declaring she didn’t “need” sunscreen because she had “the spirit of the sea.” She later had to be bribed with aloe vera and ice cream to stop whining dramatically into the throw pillows.

He Xuan dragged her into the water anyway. She screamed. Then made him carry her out bridal-style, shrieking something about crabs biting her toes.

Hua Cheng and Xie Lian mostly stayed near the shore—walking barefoot through wet sand, fingers laced, Hua Cheng trailing little doodles with a stick while Xie Lian collected seashells. One morning, they woke up before the others and watched the sunrise in silence, the only sound the waves and the occasional seagull. Hua Cheng had rested his head on Xie Lian’s shoulder and whispered, “I want a hundred more mornings like this.”

Xie Lian hadn’t answered. He just leaned into him and smiled.

On the final night, they all piled into the living room again, watching Netflix while Shi Qingxuan was wrapped burrito-style in a blanket, He Xuan playing with her hair without thinking about it and Hua Cheng braiding tiny flowers into Xie Lian’s hair like it was the most natural thing in the world.

There were no tequila contests this time. Just music playing low, Xie Lian’s infamous tea in everyone’s hands, and the kind of peace that felt rare.

The drive back was quiet.

Shi Qingxuan passed out in the passenger seat with sunglasses sliding off her face and her legs sprawled out over He Xuan’s lap. He Xuan drove with one hand on the wheel and the other on her knee.

Xie Lian sat beside Hua Cheng in the back, head resting on his shoulder, both of them watching the coastline disappear behind them.

“Back to university,” Xie Lian murmured with a soft sigh.

“Mmn.” Hua Cheng looked at him. “But we’ll still have late-night walks. And your tea. And… you.”

Xie Lian glanced up with a smile, soft and quiet. “And you.”

The road stretched out ahead of them—long and open, full of the same chaos and sweetness and love that made up the very best of their days.

It wasn’t the end. Just the ride home.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆