Work Text:
The library was supposed to be a sanctuary. Rows of bookshelves bathed in the weak glow of fluorescent lights, the faint rustle of pages turning, whispers bouncing softly off the walls.
Lu Guang sat alone at the corner table — the one near the tall window where the late afternoon sun spilled golden light over his textbooks and notes. He liked it there. Quiet. Controlled. The way he could lose himself in logic and facts, where emotions were irrelevant and could be neatly boxed away. He didn’t notice the shadow at first. Until the voice—smooth, effortless, like silk sliding over steel—cut through the stillness.
“Why are you always so serious?”
Lu Guang glanced up, startled to see a boy leaning casually against the bookshelf nearby.
Liu Xiao. He was impossibly composed — every movement deliberate, every glance sharp, and those eyes... too knowing for someone so young. Lu Guang closed his book slowly, wary. “Excuse me?”
Liu Xiao smiled, a slow curl of lips that made his expression both inviting and dangerous.
“I’ve seen you here every day after school. You bury yourself in those books like they’re the only thing keeping you sane.”
Lu Guang stiffened, hands curling into fists on the table. “I don’t see why that’s any of your business.”
“Because,” Liu Xiao said, stepping closer, “I’m bored.” He plucked a pen from the table, tapping it rhythmically against his palm. “Bored with the same faces, the same routines. And I’m curious about you.”
Lu Guang’s rational mind screamed to build walls — but something in Liu Xiao’s gaze made him hesitate. Not fear. Something else. “Curious how?” Lu Guang asked, voice low.
Liu Xiao tilted his head, studying him like a puzzle to be solved. “Curious if someone as cold and rigid as you can be broken.”
The words landed like a challenge — sharp, electrifying. Lu Guang’s chest tightened, and for the first time, he didn’t push Liu Xiao away. Instead, he found himself asking, “And if I said no?”
Liu Xiao’s smile deepened, dangerous and certain. “Then I’d say you haven’t met me yet.”
The library’s quiet seemed to stretch around them — a fragile, suspended moment where everything shifted.
Lu Guang wanted to retreat, to dive back into the safety of his logic, but Liu Xiao’s presence was magnetic. A slow, inevitable pull.
That day, in that quiet corner of the library, the game began. Liu Xiao had found his mark — and Lu Guang, despite every instinct, let the first thread unravel.
(Library, one week later)
Lu Guang told himself it was coincidence. It had to be. Just because Liu Xiao had been haunting the edges of his awareness for days — eyes lingering in the cafeteria, shoulder brushing his arm in the hallway, lazy smiles thrown his way — didn’t mean anything. But when he pushed open the library door that evening, the quiet hum of the room wrapped around him — and there he was again.
Liu Xiao.
Slouched casually in the chair across Lu Guang’s usual table like he owned the place, spinning a pen between his fingers, expression unreadable.
Lu Guang’s steps faltered for half a second — just enough for Liu Xiao to catch it. “That seat’s taken,” Lu Guang said coolly, recovering fast.
Liu Xiao’s lips curved, eyes glittering. “I know.”
A pause, heavy, lingering. “I saved it for you.”
Lu Guang’s pulse jumped. He hated how effortlessly Liu Xiao bent the situation to his rhythm.
Still, he slid into the seat opposite, stacking his textbooks between them like a barricade.
“I thought you were bored with people,” Lu Guang muttered, opening his notebook.
“Correction,” Liu Xiao leaned forward, chin resting on his palm, “I’m bored with 'ordinary' people.” His gaze sharpened, focused entirely on Lu Guang. “You’re not ordinary.”
Lu Guang tensed. “You don’t know me.”
“I intend to,” Liu Xiao shot back smoothly. His voice was velvet over glass—soft, cutting. “It’s rare someone ignores me twice.”
“That implies I care about your attention.”
Liu Xiao only laughed — a low, rich sound that sent warmth crawling under Lu Guang’s skin despite himself.
“You’re interesting when you get defensive,” Liu Xiao noted, eyes scanning every subtle shift of Lu Guang’s posture, every twitch of his fingers. Calculating. Dissecting. “What’s your deal, really?”
Lu Guang stayed silent, pen tapping rhythmically against the page.
“You always so guarded?” Liu Xiao pressed, voice dropping lower, more intimate. “Or just with people who make you nervous?”
Lu Guang’s pen froze mid-stroke. His jaw clenched. He hated that Liu Xiao could read him like this — peeling back layers with a few well-placed words, no effort at all. “Your charm doesn’t work on everyone,” Lu Guang muttered, pushing his notes aside.
Liu Xiao’s eyes sparkled dangerously. “It will,” he promised, voice threaded with quiet arrogance.
“Patience.”
Lu Guang stood abruptly, the chair scraping softly against the floor. But Liu Xiao wasn’t flustered. He leaned back, watching him with that same quiet satisfaction. “Leaving already?” Liu Xiao asked lightly. “You’ll miss me.”
“Doubtful.”
Liu Xiao’s smile never wavered. “I’m good at getting under people’s skin, Lu Guang.” His tone was silken, predatory. “It’s only a matter of time.”
Lu Guang turned away, jaw tight, heart pounding a little too fast — but not from fear. And that was the most dangerous part. Because even as he walked off, he could feel Liu Xiao’s eyes on him, steady, patient, coiled with quiet promise.
The walk home did little to settle his nerves. Lu Guang replayed the library encounter in his head, every word, every glance, the way Liu Xiao had spoken like he already knew how the story would end. It shouldn’t bother him. But it did.
The apartment was dark when he stepped inside, quiet except for the faint hum of the city beyond his window. His backpack dropped to the floor with a dull thud as he sank onto the edge of his bed, rubbing a hand over his face.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Screen glowing.
/Instagram — 1 new message./
Lu Guang’s brow furrowed. He rarely used Instagram beyond the occasional mindless scroll. Still, curiosity flickered. He unlocked his phone — and his chest tightened when he saw the name.
/Liu Xiao — Followed by 7,582 people/
Of course. The guy probably collected admirers the way others collected books.
His thumb hovered over the message notification before he exhaled slowly, forcing his heartbeat down, and tapped it open.
The message was simple. Direct. That same effortless confidence bleeding through the screen.
Liu Xiao:
"You looked good today when you were pissed off. You always do."
Lu Guang stared at the words. His jaw tightened instinctively, thumb hovering over the keyboard — but he didn’t type. Not yet.
Three dots appeared. Liu Xiao was still there, waiting.
A second message arrived:
Liu Xiao:
"You gonna ignore me here too, or is this where you start being honest?"
Lu Guang cursed under his breath, tossing the phone beside him on the bed like it burned. But his eyes drifted back to the screen. That DM was a trap. He knew it. Liu Xiao thrived on control, on provoking reactions, pulling strings. And yet, his fingers itched to reply. To meet that confidence with sharp edges of his own. For a long moment, Lu Guang just sat there, the faint city glow seeping through the curtains, heart pounding against his ribs. Finally — against his better judgment — he picked up the phone again.
Lu Guang:
"Don’t confuse curiosity with interest."
Message sent.
Read immediately.
The typing bubble appeared again, unhurried, like Liu Xiao had been expecting this.
Liu Xiao:
"Call it whatever you want. You’re still thinking about me."
Lu Guang scowled — but the worst part? Liu Xiao was right.
Lu Guang’s fingers hovered over his keyboard, irritation simmering beneath his skin — not just at Liu Xiao, but at himself.
He could block him.
Mute him.
Walk away.
But he didn’t.
Lu Guang:
"You think too highly of yourself."
Liu Xiao:
"No, I think exactly what’s true."
Liu Xiao:
"You didn’t even hesitate to open my message."
Lu Guang’s grip tightened around the phone. "Arrogant bastard." But his pulse betrayed him — that flutter just beneath his sternum, that quiet thrill he couldn’t reason away.
Lu Guang:
"If this is just some game to you, find someone else to play with."
Liu Xiao:
"Oh, it’s a game."
Liu Xiao:
"But only because you make it interesting."
There was a moment where Lu Guang considered ending it there. But something in him — a thread he couldn’t cut — tugged him forward.
Lu Guang:
"What do you want, exactly?"
Liu Xiao:
"You."
The word sat there.
Bold. Simple. Undeniable.
Lu Guang’s chest tightened. His thumbs hovered, unsure. What answer could he give?
His breathing slowed as he typed.
Lu Guang:
"You’re annoying."
Liu Xiao:
"Is this a way to say you're interested?."
Lu Guang’s eyes narrowed.
Lu Guang:
"You’re persistent for someone I barely know."
Liu Xiao:
"I don’t need to know you. I can already see you."
Liu Xiao:
"Tell me I’m wrong. Go on."
Lu Guang didn’t reply.
Couldn’t.
The silence stretched, but Liu Xiao didn’t press further. He knew. He always knew how to leave just enough space for Lu Guang to stew in it.
A final message arrived.
Liu Xiao:
"Tomorrow. Library. Same time. You’ll show up."
Lu Guang’s thumb hovered over the unsend option. Over block. Over silence.
But instead, he locked his phone and let it fall beside him on the sheets. He stared at the ceiling, lips pressed into a thin line, his heartbeat betraying him again.
Because Liu Xiao was right.
He would show up.
And that scared him more than anything else.
(Library — the next day)
Lu Guang told himself he wasn’t going. Told himself this was beneath him, childish, predictable. Yet — there he was. Books in hand, stepping into the dimly lit corners of the campus library at precisely the same hour as yesterday. The place was nearly empty, fluorescent lights humming low, dust drifting in the sunbeams slicing through the windows. And then — like clockwork — Liu Xiao appeared. Leaning against one of the tall shelves, dark eyes, posture infuriatingly casual. Like he’d been waiting exactly five minutes, no more, no less.
Like he knew.
Their eyes met. Liu Xiao’s lips curved — not into a full smile, but that same dangerous tilt. “Predictable,” Liu Xiao murmured, straightening. His voice was quieter than last time, made for confined spaces. “But I like that about you.”
Lu Guang exhaled slowly, placing his books on the table without acknowledging him at first.
“You’re wasting your time,” Lu Guang replied, fingers ghosting over textbook spines, eyes pointedly down.
“Wrong,” Liu Xiao corrected, stepping closer — shoes silent against the faded carpet. “I never waste my time.”
The air between them shifted — tight, humming, like the static before a storm.
Liu Xiao’s presence was magnetic — too composed, too deliberate. His fingertips brushed the edge of the table beside Lu Guang’s hand, not touching — but close enough that Lu Guang’s skin prickled. “You can’t help it,” Liu Xiao added, voice low. “Being curious.”
Lu Guang’s jaw tensed. “I’m not curious.”
A soft chuckle — silk over knives. “Lying doesn’t suit you,” Liu Xiao teased. “But I’ll let you pretend.”
Lu Guang finally lifted his gaze. Their eyes locked — meeting something darker, sharper, unreadable. “You do this to everyone?” Lu Guang asked, calm, but the undertone wavered.
Liu Xiao tilted his head, considering. “Only the ones worth the effort.”
Silence stretched, brittle and electric.
“You don’t even know me,” Lu Guang pointed out, but the words tasted hollow.
“Oh, I know enough.” Liu Xiao’s smirk deepened, gaze never faltering. “You hate losing control.”
His fingers finally brushed against Lu Guang’s wrist — light, fleeting, as if testing boundaries.
Lu Guang stiffened, but didn’t move away.
Lu Guang’s heart beat harder, traitorous. Everything about Liu Xiao screamed warning signs — manipulation wrapped in beauty, a puzzle with missing pieces.
But the worst part? He wasn’t walking away. And Liu Xiao knew it. “Keep telling yourself you’re not curious,” Liu Xiao whispered, stepping back with maddening grace. Liu Xiao retreated only by inches, enough to leave a breath of space, enough to let the pulse in Lu Guang’s wrist settle — but not enough to sever the connection. His presence lingered and Lu Guang exhaled through his nose, carefully collecting his books. His fingers were steady. His pulse wasn’t. “You think this is clever?” Lu Guang asked, tone even but frayed at the edges. “Back me into a corner and wait for me to trip?”
Liu Xiao’s eyes glinted, head tilting just enough to let the low library lights catch the sharp line of his jaw. “I don’t need to back you into anything,” he replied smoothly. “You’ll come to me all on your own.” The audacity of it sparked something hot in Lu Guang’s chest — irritation twisted with something harder to name.
He should walk away.
He should.
But his feet didn’t move.
Liu Xiao leaned forward slightly, voice dropping lower, as though offering a confession just for him. “You’re predictable, Lu Guang,” he said, savoring the name like it held weight. “Methodical. Neat. Always in control.” His gaze dragged slowly, deliberately down to Lu Guang’s hands — steady on the book spines — then back up, locking their eyes again. “But people like you… fall the hardest.” Lu Guang’s throat tightened. He opened his mouth — to argue, to cut through the fog of control Liu Xiao exuded — but the words tangled. Liu Xiao smiled wider, sensing the crack. “You’re already unraveling,” he whispered, stepping closer again — an inch, maybe two — the space between them taut as wire.
Lu Guang’s pulse thrummed violently in his ears, but his face stayed unreadable. Barely. “I’m not some project,” Lu Guang bit out, tone clipped. “If you’re looking for a game—”
“Oh, I’m not 'looking',” Liu Xiao interrupted, his fingers ghosting again near Lu Guang’s wrist — deliberate, tempting. “I already found one.”
Lu Guang’s stare sharpened, his patience worn thin — but before he could retort, Liu Xiao straightened with maddening calm, slipping his hands into his pockets.
“We’ll talk again,” Liu Xiao added softly, turning as if their interaction was already decided, fate stitched in place.
With that, he drifted down the aisle, vanishing behind the maze of shelves. Lu Guang stood frozen, the echo of Liu Xiao’s words settling beneath his ribs like coiled wire.
_____________
(Liu Xiao’s Thoughts — That Same Night)
"Predictable."
"But so satisfying."
Liu Xiao leaned back in his chair, scrolling absently through his phone, the faint glow of the screen casting sharp light across his jaw. His other hand traced the rim of his glass, untouched whiskey warming between his fingers. "Lu Guang." Even his name had weight to it — like clean lines and unspoken rules, the sound of someone who builds walls and believes they’ll hold. Cute. Liu Xiao let his head tip back against the chair, eyes half-lidded, mind replaying every second of their library exchange — the tension wound tight in Lu Guang’s shoulders, the sharpness of his stare, that tiny stutter in his pulse when their skin nearly touched. Controlled. But fraying. "It’s always the quiet ones," Liu Xiao mused, the corner of his mouth curling. The ones who live their lives in checkboxes and calendars, neat handwriting, every decision calculated. They think they’re safe inside their little glass cases — untouchable, distant. But they crack the most beautifully.
And Lu Guang? He was already splintering. His irritation wasn’t rejection — it was interest. Liu Xiao tilted his phone, scrolling to their messages — Lu Guang’s blunt replies, all false indifference and paper-thin walls.
"Wasting your time," he had said.
"Not curious," he had insisted.
Lies.
Liu Xiao could taste it — the conflict, the restraint. Lu Guang’s defenses weren’t for Liu Xiao; they were for himself. He was terrified of what would happen when those lines blurred. That made it delicious.
And dangerous.
Liu Xiao’s gaze sharpened. He wasn’t naive. People like Lu Guang didn’t unravel overnight. It took precision, patience. You don’t just break someone like him — you peel him apart, thread by thread, until he can’t tell where your influence ends and his thoughts begin.
Soon, that rigid self-preservation? It would erode. One glance. One word. One well-placed touch at a time. And when it happened, when Lu Guang finally caved — Liu Xiao wanted to be there. Watching. The thought curled around him, warm and addictive. He poured himself another drink, tapping the side of his phone. His reflection stared back faintly — composed, dangerous, exactly as he intended. “This’ll be fun,” Liu Xiao murmured under his breath, the words silk-smooth.
_______________
It was past midnight when Lu Guang’s phone buzzed. He’d told himself he wouldn’t care. Wouldn’t check. Wouldn’t be waiting for anything. And yet, when he picked up his phone from the nightstand and saw the notification —
Liu Xiao: Instagram DM — his heart betrayed him. Just a little.
He unlocked his phone.
Liu Xiao:
"You’re not sleeping yet, are you?"
Of course he wasn’t. Lu Guang rolled his eyes, fingers hovering over the screen, debating whether to reply. It was stupid. He had no reason to keep talking to him. But before he could talk himself out of it, his thumbs moved anyway.
Lu Guang:
"That’s none of your business."
The response came instantly. As if Liu Xiao was waiting for him.
Liu Xiao:
"Sharp as always. I like that."
Liu Xiao:
"Do you drink coffee? Or are you one of those boring people who only drink water?"
Lu Guang frowned, fingers pausing mid-reply.
What was he doing? Why was he letting this conversation continue?
Lu Guang:
"Why are you texting me?"
There was a beat. Maybe a purposeful delay. Then—
Liu Xiao:
"I want to see you outside the library."
"Coffee suits you better than fluorescent lights."
Lu Guang stared at the message, pulse tightening.
It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t phrased as a game. It was… simple. Deceptively casual.
But nothing about Liu Xiao was casual.
Lu Guang:
"Why?"
Liu Xiao:
"Because you intrigue me."
"And I like watching you pretend you’re not interested."
Lu Guang’s jaw tensed.
Liu Xiao:
"So? Tomorrow? 4 p.m.? There’s a place near the south gate. I’ll send you the pin."
Lu Guang’s chest felt tight. There were a dozen reasons to say no. But none of them left his fingertips.
His screen buzzed again.
Liu Xiao:
"You can say no, you know. I won’t stop you."
"But you won’t."
Lu Guang stared at the message. His throat dry.
Lu Guang:
"4 p.m."
A second later:
Liu Xiao
"Good boy."
Lu Guang’s grip on his phone tightened, heat creeping under his skin.
Infuriating.
Presumptuous.
Dangerous.
And yet, the corner of his mouth twitched. Just slightly.
The coffee shop near the south gate was tucked between old brick buildings, its front window fogged with condensation, warm light spilling onto the sidewalk. Lu Guang stood outside for precisely thirty seconds longer than necessary, watching his reflection blur in the glass.
"You can say no. But you won’t."
Liu Xiao’s words looped in his mind like static.
With a sharp exhale, Lu Guang pushed the door open. The bell overhead chimed softly, the smell of espresso thick in the air. His eyes adjusted quickly — and there he was. Liu Xiao sat at a corner table, dark sweater rolled to his forearms, one hand curled around a coffee cup, the other casually scrolling his phone. His posture was perfect — aware, the type of ease you couldn’t fake. Their eyes met instantly, like Liu Xiao had sensed him before the bell even rang. “Punctual,” Liu Xiao observed, lips curving as he set his phone down. “I was betting you’d stand me up.”
Lu Guang shrugged, sliding into the seat across from him. His heart was steady — too steady — but his palms felt warm. “Curiosity isn’t commitment,” Lu Guang said coolly, resting his elbows on the table. “This is coffee. Nothing more.”
Liu Xiao tilted his head slightly, studying him. “If that helps you sleep at night.”
The server approached, interrupting the moment. Lu Guang ordered black coffee. Liu Xiao didn’t even glance at the menu — just gestured to his half-full cup.
As soon as they were alone again, the air thickened — humming with unspoken words, sharp undercurrents.
“Why me?” Lu Guang asked, voice steady, fingers curled lightly around his cup.
Liu Xiao’s gaze flicked over him — precise, dissecting. “Because you look like you’d rather set yourself on fire than lose control,” he said simply, leaning in. “And that makes me wonder what happens when you finally do.”
Lu Guang’s pulse spiked, but his expression didn’t crack. “You enjoy making people uncomfortable?” Lu Guang countered.
“I enjoy peeling them apart.” Liu Xiao’s voice was low — smooth, with an edge buried beneath it. “You’re just harder to unravel.”
Silence laced between them, taut and brittle.
Lu Guang sipped his coffee, the bitterness grounding him. But Liu Xiao’s eyes never wavered — sharp, dark, too knowing. “I’m not one of your little projects,” Lu Guang warned, setting his cup down, fingers brushing the ceramic edge.
“Good,” Liu Xiao replied, lips curling. “Projects are boring. I prefer… games.”
Lu Guang should’ve left. He told himself he would leave. Any second now. But Liu Xiao’s foot brushed his under the table — fleeting, deliberate — and Lu Guang didn’t move.
“See?” Liu Xiao murmured, gaze locked onto him. “Curious.”
Lu Guang’s jaw tightened, pulse traitorous.
“This is just coffee,” Lu Guang repeated, quieter, more for himself than for Liu Xiao.
Liu Xiao’s smile deepened, infuriatingly calm. “For now.”
The coffee between them grew cold. Neither of them seemed to notice. Liu Xiao watched him — not with idle curiosity, but like a man measuring the weight of glass before it breaks. His eyes flicked from Lu Guang's hand, resting too still beside the cup, to the faint crease between his brows. Every detail catalogued, dissected. "You overthink everything," Liu Xiao remarked, voice low, tracing the rim of his cup with one fingertip. "It's exhausting, isn't it?" Lu Guang’s expression didn’t falter. But the tightness at the corner of his jaw deepened. "No one asked for your analysis." A faint, amused tilt of Liu Xiao's lips. "You walked in here. Sat down. Drank coffee with someone you don't trust. That's not caution. That's curiosity."
Lu Guang’s fingers tapped the ceramic, once, deliberate. "You sound so sure of yourself."
"I usually am." Liu Xiao's smile didn't reach his eyes, and that made it worse. "But with you, it's… fun to guess."
Their legs brushed again under the table — fleeting, intentional, but wrapped in plausible deniability. Lu Guang didn't move away this time. Instead, he met Liu Xiao's gaze head-on, calm but laced with quiet defiance. "And what is it you think you know?"
Liu Xiao leaned forward, elbows on the table, closing the space between them — enough that Lu Guang could catch faint traces of his cologne, crisp and dark. "I know you're stubborn," Liu Xiao murmured. "Rigid. You like control wrapped around you like armor."
For a second, Lu Guang hated how right he was. Hated the thrill curled beneath his irritation. "You overestimate your influence," Lu Guang retorted, steady.
Liu Xiao's smile sharpened, dangerous now. "No," he said, quiet but unshakable. "You underestimate your need for chaos." Silence folded over them, brittle as ice. Around them, the coffee shop blurred — the murmur of other voices, the distant hiss of steam — none of it cutting through the pressure hanging between them. "You'll deny this," Liu Xiao continued, easing back with maddening grace, fingers tapping his empty cup. "Again and again. Until you don't."
Lu Guang exhaled slowly, standing, chair scraping softly against the floor. His heart was steady — too steady — but his skin buzzed beneath his jacket. "Enjoy your games, Liu Xiao," he said evenly, gathering his things.
Liu Xiao tilted his head, watching him, unreadable. "Oh, I will," Liu Xiao replied, eyes glittering with something colder, sharper, infuriatingly patient. "See you soon."
And Lu Guang hated how certain that sounded.
_______________
That night, Lu Guang told himself he wouldn’t check his phone. It buzzed once around midnight.
Liu Xiao \[00:02 AM]:
"You left too quickly. I was just getting comfortable."
Lu Guang stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the notification. He should’ve ignored it. Should’ve blocked the number. Should’ve gone to sleep.
But instead, his fingers moved.
Lu Guang \[00:05 AM]:
"There’s nothing comfortable about you."
The reply came almost instantly, like Liu Xiao had been waiting.
Liu Xiao \[00:06 AM]:
"You’re thinking about me. That’s enough."
Lu Guang’s jaw tightened. He typed, then deleted. Typed again.
Lu Guang \[00:08 AM]:
"You’re arrogant."
Liu Xiao \[00:09 AM]:
"You like that about me."
Lu Guang exhaled, sharp and irritated. His fingers flew.
Lu Guang \[00:12 AM]:
"Block yourself."
Another message appeared before he could toss the phone away again.
Liu Xiao \[00:12 AM]:
"If you really wanted me gone, you wouldn’t answer. You’re still here. That’s all I need to know."
Lu Guang sat on the edge of his bed, phone clutched tightly, thumb hovering again.
Lu Guang \[00:14 AM]:
"You talk like you’ve already won."
Liu Xiao \[00:14 AM]:
"I don’t need to win. I just need you to stop pretending you aren’t enjoying this."
There it was — that dangerous thing in Liu Xiao’s words. Soft enough to slip under skin. Sharp enough to stay. Lu Guang’s throat tightened. He told himself to leave the message unanswered. To reclaim some sliver of ground. But the weight in his chest wasn’t disgust — it was something else, something worse.
Lu Guang \[00:17 AM]:
"Meet me tomorrow. Library. Same time."
The typing bubble appeared immediately. Liu Xiao didn’t even try to hide his satisfaction.
Liu Xiao \[00:18 AM]:
"Predictable. I like that about you."
Lu Guang muted his phone, set it face-down, and lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling, pulse still beating too hard. "I can stop this anytime," he told himself.
And yet — he already knew he wouldn’t.
Lu Guang arrived first this time. Books stacked neatly, jacket folded over the back of the chair. He’d picked a more secluded corner, somewhere the sun didn’t quite reach, as if shadows could dull the sharpness Liu Xiao carried with him. And yet, when he heard those measured footsteps approaching, that same pressure settled in his ribs. Liu Xiao slid into the chair across from him, like he belonged there. Like this had been inevitable. “Didn’t make me wait today,” Liu Xiao mused, resting his chin on his palm, eyes dragging slowly over Lu Guang’s face. “I’m flattered.”
“You’re imagining things,” Lu Guang said, voice steady. He didn’t look up immediately, flipping a page with calculated indifference. “I just came to study.”
“You could’ve chosen another library.”
Lu Guang’s silence was answer enough.
Liu Xiao smiled, a quiet kind of victory.
There was something about this — this ritual they were building — that buzzed just beneath the skin. The unspoken game of how close is too close. Liu Xiao leaned forward, elbows on the table, crowding the space without touching him. His voice dropped, soft but certain. “You’ve been thinking about me.”
Lu Guang turned the page again, deliberate. “You’re projecting.”
Liu Xiao’s gaze sharpened. “Your tells are obvious, you know. You sit straighter when I’m near. Your fingers pause for half a second when I say something that gets under your skin. You’re not as unreadable as you like to think.”
“That’s cute,” Lu Guang replied, closing the book with a soft thud. “You think you’ve figured me out.”
Liu Xiao’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something more serious beneath the teasing. “I know I haven’t. That’s what keeps me interested.”
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then, slowly — carefully — Liu Xiao’s hand drifted across the table, fingers brushing the edge of Lu Guang’s sleeve. A faint touch, not quite asking permission, not quite taking it either.
Lu Guang’s skin prickled at the contact, but he didn’t pull away.
Liu Xiao’s thumb traced a light line over the fabric, a barely-there motion that somehow set Lu Guang’s pulse stuttering. “Do you want me to stop?”
Lu Guang met his gaze, level and unwavering. “If I wanted you to stop, you would.”
A slow smile tugged at Liu Xiao’s lips, soft but undeniably pleased. “Good,” he murmured, thumb pressing slightly firmer against Lu Guang’s wrist now, sensing the beat beneath his skin. “You’re finally starting to be honest.”
The tension between them wasn’t suffocating — not yet. It was something taut, like a thread pulled between them, waiting to snap.
Liu Xiao leaned back at last, fingers slipping away, leaving behind the ghost of his touch.
“We could get coffee again,” Liu Xiao offered, casual on the surface, but his eyes still pinned Lu Guang like he was a puzzle to be undone. “Or something else. If you stop pretending you’re indifferent.”
Lu Guang picked up his book again, flipping the next page with excruciating calm. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
Lu Guang’s lips twitched, almost — almost — a smile. “I like to keep you curious.”
Liu Xiao’s laughter was soft, real this time. “Dangerous.”
“Right back at you.”
They sat there, the silence no longer brittle but charged, steadying into something that neither of them had the language for yet. Not a friendship. Not something else either.
But it was theirs.
\[DM on Instagram — 11:42 PM]
Liu Xiao:
"You free this weekend?"
Lu Guang:
"Depends."
Liu Xiao:
"On?"
Lu Guang:
"On what you’re about to say."
Liu Xiao:
"I’m asking you out. Properly this time."
"Not just coffee. A date."
Read.
No reply.
Three minutes. Four.
Liu Xiao lets his phone rest in his palm, gaze fixed on the screen, waiting.
Lu Guang:
"Where?"
Liu Xiao:
There’s a quiet place near the station. Bookstore café. Has the best lemon tarts. Thought you’d like that.
Lu Guang:
"That’s oddly specific. You stalked my food preferences now?"
Liu Xiao:
"I notice things."
"You linger on the lemon-flavored ones in the cafeteria."
"You always pick unsweetened tea."
"You hate waiting in long lines but you’ll tolerate it for fresh pastries."
Lu Guang:
"…You’re unsettling."
Liu Xiao:
"You like that about me."
Lu Guang:
"Don’t put words in my mouth."
Liu Xiao:
"I’d rather put other things there."
Read. Typing… stopped.
Lu Guang:
"You’re insufferable."
Liu Xiao:
"Is that a yes?"
Lu Guang:
"…I’ll think about it."
Liu Xiao:
"You’re already thinking about what to wear.
You’ll come."
Lu Guang:
"You’re so sure of yourself."
Liu Xiao:
"Only when I know I’m right."
[The next day — their date]
Lu Guang arrived early again. He told himself it wasn’t because he was eager. He just didn’t want to give Liu Xiao the satisfaction of being the first one there. That was all. He browsed the bookstore aimlessly, fingers brushing over spines he wasn’t reading, pretending not to search for the sound of those familiar footsteps. When Liu Xiao appeared — dressed casually, but still irritatingly perfect — their eyes met, and the corner of Liu Xiao’s mouth lifted, slow, knowing. “Told you you’d come,” he murmured as he approached.
Lu Guang rolled his eyes, feigning exasperation. “The lemon tart better be worth it.”
“It’s not the tart you’re here for.”
Liu Xiao’s voice was softer now, less teasing, more certain — like he was peeling away a layer of the game they’d been playing.
Lu Guang hated how his pulse betrayed him at that.
They sat in a quiet corner, sunlight slipping through tall windows, the faint aroma of coffee and old paper hanging between them. The conversation was easy — surprisingly so. Liu Xiao asked about books, about classes, about Lu Guang’s silent observations of the world, as if he genuinely wanted to know.
But beneath the calm words, the undercurrent was always there.
The slight lean across the table.
The way Liu Xiao’s gaze lingered a little too long on Lu Guang’s lips when he spoke.
The light, fleeting touches — a brush of fingers when handing him a menu, the brief nudge of knees under the table.
Lu Guang didn’t pull away. He didn’t shut it down.
And Liu Xiao noticed. Of course he did.
When they finished, Liu Xiao offered to walk him home.
“I can manage,” Lu Guang said.
“I know,” Liu Xiao replied, stepping just close enough that Lu Guang could feel the warmth radiating from him. “I like walking you anyway.”
There was no kiss — not yet.
Just that tension, steady and coiled, stretching between them like a line neither of them wanted to cut.
When they parted, Liu Xiao texted that night.
Liu Xiao:
"Let’s do this again."
Lu Guang:
You’re relentless.
"Liu Xiao:"
You wouldn’t have it any other way.
\[Late Night — Lu Guang’s Phone Screen]
12:03 AM
Liu Xiao:
"You got home alright?"
Lu Guang:
"Yeah. Thanks for walking me."
Liu Xiao:
"I don’t do things halfway. Especially when it comes to you."
Lu Guang stared at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, then typing out…
Lu Guang:
"You’re impossible."
Liu Xiao:
"Maybe. But I’m your kind of impossible."
Lu Guang:
"There’s no such thing as “my kind” of impossible."
Liu Xiao:
"Tell me that after you’ve spent another night wondering if I’m going to show up again."
A silence stretched, thick and loaded.
Lu Guang:
"You know I don’t do ‘wondering.’"
Liu Xiao:
"Not even a little?"
Lu Guang:
"…Maybe a little"
A teasing emoji appeared on Liu Xiao’s side.
Liu Xiao:
"Good. I like that."
Lu Guang:
"Don’t flatter yourself."
Liu Xiao:
"Not flattering. Fact."
Lu Guang bit his lip, suddenly feeling exposed under the digital gaze.
Lu Guang:
"Why do you do this? Push so hard?"
Liu Xiao:
"Because you’re worth the push. Worth the trouble."
Lu Guang:
"Trouble’s not exactly the word I’d use."
Liu Xiao:
"Call it what you want. I call it 'us'"
Lu Guang:
"'Us' is complicated."
Liu Xiao:
Complicated’s sexy.
Lu Guang chuckled softly, shaking his head.
Lu Guang:
"You’re hopeless."
Liu Xiao:
"Maybe. But you’re hooked."
Lu Guang:
"I don’t know about that."
Liu Xiao:
"I know."
Lu Guang:
"I should sleep."
Liu Xiao:
"Stay up a little longer. I’ll keep you company."
Lu Guang’s thumb hesitated. Then…
Lu Guang:
"Maybe just a little longer."
The screen dimmed but the words lingered between them — unspoken promises wrapped in digital text, pulling tighter, inching closer to something neither wanted to name yet.
[Weeks Later — After Their Third Date]
They weren’t strangers anymore. Not really.
Three dates. Three quiet, charged meetings where every look and touch was carefully measured, every word layered with something unspoken. Lu Guang had started to expect Liu Xiao’s messages, even crave the subtle pull of his voice in the late hours. Liu Xiao, meanwhile, seemed to read him better each time, knowing exactly how close to push, how far to pull back.
Tonight, they met again at a small jazz bar Liu Xiao had picked out — dim lights, velvet seats, the faint hum of saxophone weaving through the air. Lu Guang arrived early, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, scanning the room. Liu Xiao was already there, leaning against the bar with that infuriatingly calm smirk. “Right on time,” Liu Xiao said smoothly as Lu Guang approached.
Lu Guang shrugged, trying to hide the flicker of a smile. “Not that I’m counting.”
Liu Xiao’s eyes flicked over him like a slow burn. “Oh, you are.”
They slipped into a corner booth, the city lights casting soft shadows on their faces.
For a while, they talked about everything and nothing — classes, music, the smell of rain, the way the city never really slept. But beneath the surface, the tension hummed, thick and almost tangible. At one point, Liu Xiao reached across the table, fingers lightly grazing Lu Guang’s wrist — not quite touching, just enough to make Lu Guang’s pulse quicken.
Lu Guang didn’t pull away. Not this time. Instead, he met Liu Xiao’s gaze, steady and unreadable. “You’re good at this,” Lu Guang said quietly. “At getting under my skin.”
Liu Xiao smiled — slow, knowing.
The night stretched out around them, heavy with promises and danger, two people orbiting closer and closer, drawn by something neither could fully resist — or control.
The saxophone’s warm notes floated through the smoky air, weaving between the low murmur of conversations and clinking glasses. The dim amber light softened the edges of the world, leaving only Liu Xiao and Lu Guang in sharp focus.
Liu Xiao’s hand rested lightly on the table, fingers twitching as if to reach out but hesitating. Lu Guang watched him, heart steady but hammering beneath his ribs.
“You know,” Liu Xiao said quietly, voice barely above the music, “I’ve been thinking about how you try so hard to keep control.”
Lu Guang’s eyes flicked up, meeting Liu Xiao’s dark gaze. “Control’s all I have.”
“Maybe it’s time to let go,” Liu Xiao whispered, leaning forward just enough that Lu Guang could feel the heat radiating from him.
A slow smile curved Liu Xiao’s lips, one that promised danger and something more — something addictive.
Lu Guang’s breath caught. He wanted to say no, to remind himself who he was, what he believed. But the words caught in his throat. Instead, he let his hand inch closer to Liu Xiao’s, the space between them shrinking until finally, their fingers brushed.
The touch was electric. A silent acknowledgment of the pull between them.
Liu Xiao’s eyes darkened, flickering with something fierce and tender all at once.
“Stay with me tonight,” Liu Xiao murmured, voice low and raw.
Lu Guang swallowed, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He wanted to retreat, to pull back into the safety of reason. But then Liu Xiao leaned in, slow and deliberate, until their breaths mingled. The kiss was gentle at first — a question, a test — before deepening with a slow-burning intensity. Lu Guang’s hands found Liu Xiao’s wrists, holding him close, grounding himself in the reckless warmth of that kiss. For a heartbeat, the world fell away — no rules, no barriers, just two broken pieces fitting together in the quiet jazz-lit night.
When they finally parted, breathless and still tangled, Liu Xiao’s lips brushed against Lu Guang’s ear.
“I like you,” he whispered.
Lu Guang’s chest tightened — and for once, he smiled.
The city streets outside the jazz bar were quiet, the night wrapping around them like a velvet cloak. Lu Guang’s pulse still hammered from the kiss — that reckless, tender collision of lips that left a trail of heat in its wake. Liu Xiao’s hand found his again, fingers curling possessively around Lu Guang’s wrist as they slipped out into the cool air. “You sure about this?” Lu Guang asked, voice low but steady.
Liu Xiao’s dark eyes locked on his, sharp and certain. “I’m sure.”
They moved through the night with a shared urgency — a silent agreement that whatever came next was theirs to claim.
At Liu Xiao’s apartment door, the world shrank until it was just the two of them. Liu Xiao’s hand pressed against the doorframe, pinning Lu Guang between his body and the wood, eliminating every inch of space.
The air crackled with tension, thick and electric.
Liu Xiao’s gaze dropped to Lu Guang’s lips — then back up, searching.
“No running,” he whispered, voice rough.
Lu Guang’s breath hitched, heart pounding in his ears. There was no running. Not anymore.
Liu Xiao leaned in slowly, but the kiss that followed was anything but slow — fierce and urgent, demanding and claiming.
His hands slid to the sides of Lu Guang’s face, fingers threading through hair, pulling him closer.
Lu Guang melted into the heat, the intensity washing over him like a tide — overwhelming, undeniable.
When they finally broke apart, Liu Xiao’s forehead rested against Lu Guang’s, breaths mingling.
“You’re mine,” Liu Xiao said, voice low, a promise laced with something darker.
Lu Guang didn’t say anything.
He just nodded.
Because maybe, for the first time, he wanted to belong.
Liu Xiao wasted no time. His hand tightened on Lu Guang’s wrist, tugging him inside the apartment with a smooth, controlled force. The door clicked shut behind them, the soft click like a final seal on the night. The air inside was heavy with anticipation, charged and thick — every shadow, every silent breath amplifying the tension. Without breaking eye contact, Liu Xiao closed the distance between them, pressing Lu Guang against the wall near the door. His fingers tangled in Lu Guang’s hair, pulling his head back just enough to expose the curve of his throat. Their lips met again, this time hotter, deeper, a fierce urgency behind the kiss that stole all reason away. Liu Xiao’s hands roamed possessively, tracing the line of Lu Guang’s jaw, sliding down his neck, fingers burning against skin. Lu Guang’s body trembled, a mix of surprise and desire spiraling inside him — the rigid control he always clung to melting under the heat of Liu Xiao’s touch.
“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” Liu Xiao murmured against his lips, voice low and rough. Lu Guang could only breathe, his world narrowing to the sharp edge of sensation — the taste of Liu Xiao, the electric press of lips, the slow, hungry exploration that left him dizzy.
Liu Xiao’s hands slid lower, gripping Lu Guang’s waist, pulling him flush against the hard plane of the wall. The kiss broke for a moment, just enough for Liu Xiao to whisper, “You belong to me.” And then he was back, lips searing, claiming, a wildfire that consumed every piece of resistance left inside Lu Guang.
The night stretched on — hot, raw, and undeniable — two fractured souls tangled in the storm of their own making.
The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a streetlamp filtering through the curtains. The air felt thick—heavy with everything left unsaid, with the promise lingering between them. Liu Xiao’s hand never left Lu Guang’s wrist as he guided him toward the bed. Their bodies moved close, a magnetic pull neither fought. Liu Xiao’s fingers traced slow, deliberate paths down Lu Guang’s arm, sending shivers rippling beneath his skin. He leaned in, lips brushing the sensitive hollow of Lu Guang’s neck, hot and tantalizing. Lu Guang’s breath hitched, the rigid control that usually anchored him unraveling thread by thread.
Liu Xiao’s lips pressed soft, demanding kisses along that delicate line, his fingers sliding beneath the hem of Lu Guang’s shirt — light, exploratory touches that teased and ignited.
“Do you feel that?” Liu Xiao murmured, voice low and thick with promise.
Lu Guang swallowed hard, unable to form an answer.
His hands found their way to Liu Xiao’s chest, steadying himself, anchoring against the intensity of it all. Liu Xiao’s touch grew bolder, mapping the contours of Lu Guang’s body, every movement both possessive and tender.
The world outside ceased to exist. There was only the heat between them, the slick tension, the slow burning fire of something dark and beautiful. Liu Xiao’s breath brushed against Lu Guang’s skin, and with a slow, deliberate pull, he drew Lu Guang closer — the kiss following, deep and consuming, stealing what little resistance remained.
They fell together onto the bed, tangled limbs and whispered promises, the night stretching out like a secret only they knew.
(Lu Guang's thought)
"His breath was hot against my neck, fingers tracing fire trails beneath my shirt. I should pull away—this isn’t me. Control is what keeps me grounded, what keeps the chaos at bay. But every touch, every whispered word, unravels that control thread by thread. Liu Xiao isn’t just dangerous—he’s magnetic, a storm I can’t predict or outrun. And somehow, in this moment, I don’t want to. The rigid walls I’ve built around myself are crumbling, brick by brick, under the weight of his presence. Part of me screams to stop, to hold on to reason. But the rest—maybe the part I never wanted to admit—thinks maybe this is what I’ve been missing. The way he makes me feel alive in a way no logic ever could. I’m falling. Not just into him, but into something more complicated. And I don’t know if I’ll ever find my way back."
(Liu Xiao's thoughts)
"He’s so tense beneath my fingers—trying to hold on, trying to stay composed. But I can feel it, that brittle edge breaking away with every touch, every breath I steal from his neck. Lu Guang’s rigid control only makes this sweeter. It’s like unraveling a tightly wound thread—slow, deliberate, intoxicating. I’m not just taking him apart; I’m owning every piece. His skin is soft, warm beneath my lips, and the way his body responds—just barely trembling—that’s my proof. I’m getting under his skin, closer than anyone else ever dared. I want to drown him in this heat, strip away all that cold logic until there’s nothing left but me—only us. I’ll break his boundaries, fold him into my chaos, and make sure he never forgets who owns him."
"Tonight, I don’t just want his body. I want his surrender."
They collapsed onto the bed together, the world outside shrinking into silence. Liu Xiao’s lips trailed from Lu Guang’s neck to the hollow beneath his jaw, each kiss searing and demanding, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His hands moved with a confident, deliberate touch—exploring, claiming, memorizing the lines of Lu Guang’s body beneath trembling skin. Lu Guang’s breath hitched, every nerve alight with the intoxicating tension of surrender and control lost. The rigid walls he’d built began to crumble, brick by brick, under the weight of Liu Xiao’s heat and presence. Liu Xiao’s fingers slipped beneath the hem of Lu Guang’s shirt, skin meeting skin, and the air between them thickened with unspoken promises. Each touch was a command and a caress, every movement painting desire with shades of danger.
As the night deepened, they moved together in a slow, scorching dance—two souls tangled in a storm of need and control, seduction and submission. In Liu Xiao’s arms, Lu Guang discovered a new kind of chaos, one that threatened to consume him completely.
But tonight, he didn’t care. Tonight, he belonged.
______________
Morning light seeped softly through the curtains, casting a pale glow across the tangled sheets and two bodies still entwined. Liu Xiao’s arm was draped possessively over Lu Guang’s waist, fingers tracing idle patterns on skin that was still warm from the night before. The air was heavy with silence, but not awkward — more like the calm after a storm, fragile and intimate. Lu Guang stirred first, blinking against the soft light, the coolness of the room settling on his heated skin. For a moment, reality pressed in — the rigid, rational part of him pushing to surface, reminding him of boundaries, of control. Yet, as his gaze landed on Liu Xiao’s face — calm, almost unreadable in sleep — the tension eased, replaced by a quiet curiosity.
Liu Xiao’s eyes fluttered open, dark and smoldering, and he caught Lu Guang’s glance with a knowing smile — that same dangerous curve of his lips, softened by something almost like warmth. “Morning,” Liu Xiao murmured, voice low, still thick with last night’s promise.
Lu Guang swallowed, feeling the weight of unspoken questions, of fragile trust hanging between them. He didn’t know what this meant, or where it was headed. But for now, he let himself stay here — caught between the pull of reason and the surrender to something far more unpredictable. “Morning,” Lu Guang replied, his voice steadier than he felt.
And just like that, the night’s chaos folded into the quiet dawn, leaving them both breathless and tethered — two broken pieces, dangerous and imperfect, trying to fit.
______________
Weeks had slipped by, each one folding into the next like the slow turning of pages in a book neither wanted to end. The initial sparks between Liu Xiao and Lu Guang had settled into something deeper, though no less charged. Their relationship was a taut wire—electric and fragile—built on unspoken understandings and the delicate dance of power and surrender. Lu Guang, once rigid and guarded, now found himself cracking open in ways he hadn’t imagined possible. Liu Xiao’s presence was a constant, a thrilling disruption to his ordered world. There were still moments of tension—sharp glances, subtle tests of boundaries—but beneath it all was a current of something fiercely possessive and undeniably real.
Their dates were a blend of sharp wit and quiet moments: nights spent in jazz bars where Liu Xiao’s intensity simmered beneath the surface, and mornings when Lu Guang caught glimpses of the man behind the seductive mask—intelligent, calculating, but not without his own vulnerabilities. They weren’t perfect. Far from it. But in the tangled mess of emotions, control, and desire, they’d carved out a space just for themselves.
And for now, that was enough.
______________
The night was thick with tension, the air charged as they moved together in Liu Xiao’s bedroom. The city lights outside spilled faint patterns across the walls, but inside, the world had shrunk to the heat radiating between their bodies. Liu Xiao’s touch was fierce—intense and commanding, yet never crossing the fragile boundary where pain would begin. Every kiss, every stroke was deliberate, like a promise and a claim all at once. He was both storm and shelter, rough in ways that made Lu Guang’s breath catch but always careful, reading the subtle shifts in his expression and breath.
Lu Guang’s heart pounded wildly — this was new, terrifying, and exhilarating all at once. He was vulnerable in a way he had never allowed himself to be. But with Liu Xiao, that vulnerability wasn’t weakness — it was a kind of strength. A truth he could no longer deny. As they moved closer, the intensity between them deepened. Lu Guang felt every touch, every whispered command, every shudder of pleasure and uncertainty. And in the quiet spaces between the gasps and murmurs, something profound settled in his chest.
He was falling. Not just into the moment, but into Liu Xiao.
It was Lu Guang’s first time—an experience wrapped in a mixture of fear, trust, and raw desire. Liu Xiao’s intensity was undeniable—rough and demanding—but always attuned to Lu Guang’s limits, never causing pain, only igniting a fire that spread through every fiber of his being. As they moved together, Lu Guang’s breath hitched and heart raced, but somewhere beneath the confusion was a clear, undeniable truth blooming in his chest: he was falling deeply, irrevocably in love.