Chapter 1: Bruised Kiss (Chi Cheng/ Jiang Xiao Shuai)
Chapter Text
The silence in the campus library wasn’t peaceful. It was heavy. Oppressive. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting stark, unforgiving light on rows upon rows of bookshelves that stretched into shadowy recesses. Dust motes danced in the beams like trapped spirits. The air hung thick with the scent of aging paper and lemon-scented cleaner that never quite conquered the underlying mustiness. Xiao Shuai usually found this quietude comforting, a refuge from the constant thrum of the dorm and the lecture halls. Tonight, it felt like the hush before something broke.
He stood wedged in the narrow canyon between the Biology and Physics sections, trying to decipher a particularly dense passage in a borrowed text. His brow furrowed in concentration, the tip of his tongue just visible between his lips. The quiet scrape of a sole on the worn linoleum floor behind him barely registered. Just another late-night student, he thought absently, shifting his weight.
Then the air changed. The space around him compressed. Warmth radiated against his back, too close, accompanied by the faint, clean scent of expensive cologne – entirely out of place here. Xiao Shuai stiffened, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. He didn’t need to turn around to know. Chi Cheng.
"Lost, Xiao Shuai?" Chi’s voice was a low murmur, almost conversational, but it slithered into the silence like oil. "Or just hiding?"
Xiao Shuai closed the heavy textbook with deliberate slowness, the thump echoing slightly in the narrow aisle. He turned, forcing himself to meet Chi’s eyes. They were dark, sharp, holding an unnerving mix of amusement and calculation. Chi leaned casually against the shelf opposite, arms crossed, effectively boxing him in. His athletic frame, usually relaxed and confident, felt like a wall. He wore a fitted black t-shirt that emphasized broad shoulders, a stark contrast to Xiao Shuai’s own worn hoodie.
"Just studying," Xiao Shuai replied, his voice steady despite the sudden tightness in his chest. He shifted the textbook, gripping its edges. "It is a library."
Chi chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Right. Studying." His gaze flickered down to the book in Xiao Shuai’s hands. "Biology. Always the serious one." He pushed off the shelf, taking a half-step forward. The space between them vanished. Xiao Shuai could see the faint stubble along Chi’s jawline, the slight flare of his nostrils. The air crackled with a sudden, uncomfortable intimacy. "Not thinking about Cheng Yu, then?"
The name, spoken in that predatory purr, sent a jolt through Xiao Shuai. He felt his cheeks warm, a traitorous flush he couldn’t control. "What Cheng Yu does isn't my business." The words sounded weak, unconvincing, even to his own ears. He hated how Chi could do that – peel back layers with a look, a word.
Chi’s smile widened, revealing perfectly straight teeth. It wasn't friendly. It was the grin of a cat toying with a cornered mouse. "Isn't it?" He tilted his head, his dark eyes gleaming under the harsh light. "Funny. He talks about you. A lot." Another half-step. Xiao Shuai’s back pressed firmly against the cool metal shelf behind him. The spines of books dug into his shoulder blades. He could feel Chi’s breath, warm against his temple.
Panic fluttered, cold and sharp, in Xiao Shuai’s stomach. He tightened his grip on the textbook, the plastic cover slick under his suddenly damp palms. "He's my friend," he managed, his voice dropping to a whisper, strained. "We all hang out."
"Friend." Chi tasted the word, rolling it around his mouth like a sour candy. His gaze swept over Xiao Shuai, lingering for a fraction too long. Assessing. Possessive. "Cheng Yu sees things... differently. Potential. He likes..." Chi leaned in impossibly closer, his lips almost brushing the shell of Xiao Shuai’s ear. The cologne was overpowering now, mixed with the faint tang of something metallic, like adrenaline. "...uptight."
The insult landed like a physical blow. Xiao Shuai flinched, his grip on the textbook faltering. It slipped, its sharp corner catching his finger before thudding heavily onto his foot and then the floor. The sound was deafening in the profound quiet. He gasped, more from the sting of the words than the pain in his toe.
Chi didn’t move back. He watched Xiao Shuai’s discomfort, the slight tremor in his hands as he bent to retrieve the book, with detached interest. As Xiao Shuai straightened, clutching the heavy volume like a shield, Chi trapped his wrist. Not painfully, but with a firm, inescapable pressure. Chi’s thumb pressed against the delicate bones, holding him there. Xiao Shuai froze, the pulse hammering wildly beneath Chi’s fingers.
Chi leaned in again, his voice dropping to a whisper so low it vibrated in the tiny space between them, curling like poisonous smoke. "He sees potential. I see... opportunity." His dark eyes held Xiao Shuai’s, pinning him as effectively as the grip on his wrist. There was no amusement left, only a chilling intensity. "You think he’ll still want you," Chi breathed, the words hot and intimate against Xiao Shuai’s skin, "after I’m done?"
The question hung in the air. It wasn’t just a threat. It was a promise of ruin. Of being used, discarded, made undesirable. The cold fear that had gripped Xiao Shuai’s stomach flared white-hot, igniting something else entirely. Not just shame. Not just fear. Anger. A fierce, protective surge that burned away the paralysis.
He stopped trying to pull his wrist free. He stopped shrinking back. He stood straighter, meeting Chi’s predatory gaze head-on. The flush on his cheeks wasn’t embarrassment now; it was heat rising from within. His usually calm eyes, the color of dark honey, held a spark Chi hadn’t seen before. Defiance. A quiet, simmering fury.
A slow, dangerous smile touched Xiao Shuai’s lips. It wasn’t pleasant. It was a challenge. He let the heavy physics textbook hang loosely at his side, no longer a shield but a forgotten weight. He didn’t blink, didn’t look away from the calculated darkness in Chi’s stare.
"Guess we’ll see," Xiao Shuai said, his voice low but remarkably clear, cutting through the buzzing silence and the scent of old paper and aggression. It wasn’t a question. It was a gauntlet thrown down. The echo of his words seemed to vibrate off the shelves, hanging in the tense air long after the sound faded.
Chi’s smirk faltered, just for a fraction of a second. Surprise flickered in his eyes, quickly masked by a hardening glare. The easy prey had bared unexpected teeth. The standoff crackled, thick and electric, in the narrow aisle of forgotten knowledge. The moment stretched, taut and fragile.
And Xiao Shuai held it. Not Chi. This moment, this defiance… it was his.
The silence wasn't just broken; it shattered. Chi Cheng’s eyes, dark and calculating, narrowed almost imperceptibly. That spark of defiance in Xiao Shuai’s honey-brown gaze wasn’t fear. It wasn’t submission. It was a challenge Chi hadn't anticipated, a gauntlet thrown onto the dusty linoleum between them. The easy conquest evaporated, replaced by something sharper, more volatile.
A slow, dangerous curve touched Chi’s lips, mirroring Xiao Shuai’s own chilling smile, but devoid of warmth. It was the smile of a predator finding unexpected fight in its prey. Interesting. Annoying. Intensely provocative.
He hadn’t released Xiao Shuai’s wrist. His thumb pressed harder now, a deliberate point of contact against the rapid pulse thrumming beneath the thin skin. Xiao Shuai didn’t flinch. He held Chi’s gaze, the air crackling between them like live wires, thick with the scent of old paper, lemon cleaner, Chi’s aggressive cologne, and something else – raw, adrenalized electricity.
"See?" Chi murmured, the word a low rasp that scraped the silence. He leaned infinitesimally closer, his breath warm against Xiao Shuai’s cheek. "That’s more like it. Maybe there is something worth Cheng Yu’s attention under that quiet act." His free hand lifted, not towards Xiao Shuai’s face, but slowly, deliberately tracing the worn seam of the physics textbook Xiao Shuai still clutched limply at his side. The touch lingered on the rough fabric of Xiao Shuai’s hoodie sleeve, then drifted upwards, feather-light, along the tense line of his forearm. Testing. Provoking.
Xiao Shuai remained statue-still, only his eyes tracking Chi’s movement, the simmering anger banked but far from extinguished. His knuckles were white where he gripped the book. "Get to your point, Chi," he said, his voice low and tight, stripped bare of its usual calm. "Or let me go."
"Oh, I have a point," Chi breathed. His hand stopped its ascent, resting just above Xiao Shuai’s elbow. He shifted his weight, closing the last sliver of space between them entirely. Xiao Shuai’s back pressed firmly into the unforgiving metal shelf frame. There was nowhere to go. Chi’s body was a wall of heat and intent. "My point is…" Chi dipped his head, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of Xiao Shuai’s ear this time, making him involuntarily suck in a sharp breath. "...potential needs exploring. Seeing what breaks. What bends."
He pulled back just enough to look Xiao Shuai full in the face again, his dark eyes boring into the younger man’s, searching for cracks in the defiance. He saw the dilated pupils, the rapid flutter of a pulse in his throat, the stubborn set of his jaw. He saw the fear warring with fury, the confusion warring with that unexpected, burning spark.
Chi knew power plays. He knew leverage. He knew the intoxicating rush of pushing boundaries, of seeing how far someone would bend before they snapped. This – Xiao Shuai’s quiet fury, his refusal to cower – it was intoxicating in a way Chi hadn't felt before. It wasn't just about Cheng Yu anymore. It was about this. The raw, dangerous energy vibrating between them in the silent library aisle.
The buzzing fluorescents hummed louder. The shadows from the towering shelves seemed to lean in. Somewhere far away, a door clicked shut, the sound swallowed instantly by the heavy quiet.
Chi Cheng kissed him.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't asking. It was sudden, decisive, a claiming. His mouth crushed down on Xiao Shuai’s, a hard, demanding pressure that stole the breath Xiao Shuai had just drawn. Chi’s grip on his wrist tightened like a vise, pinning him against the shelf. His other hand came up, fingers tangling roughly in the hair at the nape of Xiao Shuai’s neck, holding him in place, denying any thought of retreat.
The shock was absolute. A frozen bolt of lightning shot through Xiao Shuai. His body went rigid, the heavy textbook slipping completely from his numb fingers, hitting the floor with another dull thud that echoed strangely distant. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The scent of Chi’s cologne filled his nostrils, overwhelming the library smells. The heat of him was suffocating. The pressure of his lips was insistent, almost painful. It was violation. It was a brand.
For one suspended, terrifying moment, Xiao Shuai was utterly still, trapped.
Chi Cheng’s mouth was hard, punishing against his own. It wasn’t desire; it was domination. A violation mapped onto Xiao Shuai’s lips. The taste was alien – expensive cologne, mint gum, and something acrid underneath, like ozone before a storm. Chi’s fingers were iron bands around his wrist, another tangled painfully in his hair, yanking his head back at an awkward angle. His back ground against the unforgiving metal shelf, the sharp corner digging into his spine.
Panic, cold and slick, surged through Xiao Shuai’s veins, momentarily freezing him. Then came the white-hot flood of rage. It ignited in his chest, a furnace blast that scorched the fear.
He didn’t think. He reacted.
His free hand, trapped awkwardly at his side, shot up. Not to shove. Not to claw. His fingers found Chi’s face, the rough scrape of stubble against his palm. He clamped his hand over Chi’s mouth and nose, shoving upwards with desperate, brute force.
Simultaneously, he bit down.
Hard.
Not a nip. A savage clamp of teeth on the soft inside of Chi’s lower lip. The coppery tang of blood flooded Xiao Shuai’s mouth instantly, thick and metallic.
Chi grunted, a muffled sound of shock and pain vibrating against Xiao Shuai’s palm. The grip on his wrist and hair loosened, just a fraction, startled reflexes overriding control.
It was enough.
Xiao Shuai exploded backwards, wrenching his head free, tearing Chi’s lip further as he ripped his own mouth away. He slammed his trapped arm down against Chi’s weakened hold, breaking it. The sudden movement sent him staggering sideways, his shoulder crashing into the opposite bookshelf. A shower of dust rained down from the upper shelves.
He didn’t stop. He scrambled away, putting precious feet between them, his back hitting the Physics section again, chest heaving. He wiped his mouth frantically with the back of his hand, smearing blood – Chi’s blood – across his skin. His lips felt bruised, swollen, violated. The phantom pressure of Chi’s touch burned on his wrist, his scalp.
Chi stood frozen for a second, one hand automatically rising to touch his mouth. His fingers came away slick and dark in the harsh fluorescent light. He stared at the blood, then slowly, deliberately, lifted his gaze to Xiao Shuai. Surprise warred with fury in his dark eyes, but underneath it, something else flickered – a spark of something dangerously akin to fascination. That spark ignited, burning away the surprise, leaving only the fury and that predatory intensity, sharper now. Hotter.
He didn’t lunge. He took a step forward, slow, deliberate. A hunter circling wounded prey.
"Biting?" Chi’s voice was thick, distorted by the swelling lip. Blood welled from the small, deep tear, tracing a crimson line down his chin. He didn’t wipe it away. He let it flow, a grotesque counterpoint to his handsome features. "That’s new."
Xiao Shuai pressed harder against the shelf, bracing himself. He tasted blood and salt – his own tears now, hot and unwanted, stinging his eyes. His breath hitched, ragged gulps of dusty air. The adrenaline screamed through him, demanding fight or flight. He felt untethered, shaky. But the defiance hadn't vanished. It was still there, brittle and furious beneath the shock and the overwhelming urge to vomit.
"Get the fuck away from me," Xiao Shuai choked out, the words scraping his raw throat. He pushed off the shelf, forcing himself to stand fully upright, to meet that terrifying gaze. His own eyes were wide, wet, but locked onto Chi’s. "Now."
Chi stopped advancing, perhaps a foot away. The space crackled. The hum of the lights seemed deafening. He tilted his head, studying Xiao Shuai like a specimen. The blood on his chin dripped onto the collar of his black t-shirt, spreading in a dark stain.
"Or what?" Chi murmured, the threat velvet-wrapped. "You'll bite me again?" He took another half-step. The scent of his cologne mixed sickeningly with the metallic tang of blood. "Go ahead. See what happens."
Xiao Shuai couldn’t move. Forward was Chi. Backwards was the shelf. His pulse hammered in his temples, a frantic drumbeat against the suffocating silence. He felt the weight of the fallen physics textbook near his foot, a potential weapon. But picking it up felt like admitting defeat, escalating this into something he couldn’t control. He clenched his fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms. The sting was grounding.
Chi watched the fists clench. A slow, predatory smile stretched his bloody lips, an awful parody of amusement. "That's it," he breathed, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rasp that crawled over Xiao Shuai’s skin. "Show me what else Cheng Yu finds so... intriguing."
He reached out, not towards Xiao Shuai’s face this time, but towards his clenched fist.
That touch, the promise of it, snapped something inside Xiao Shuai. The sheer, brazen entitlement, the casual cruelty. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he surged forward, not away.
He ducked low, under Chi’s outstretched arm, using his shoulder to drive hard into Chi’s chest. It wasn’t a graceful tackle; it was pure, panicked momentum fueled by adrenaline and revulsion.
Chi, caught off guard by the sudden aggression from the prey he thought he’d broken, stumbled back a step with a surprised "Oof!" His back slammed into the bookshelf behind him, rattling the volumes.
Xiao Shuai didn't wait. He didn't look back. He spun and bolted down the narrow aisle, his sneakers squeaking on the worn linoleum. He ran blind, past towering shelves blurring into dark walls, the harsh overhead lights strobing in his peripheral vision. His only thought was distance. Escape. The echo of his frantic footsteps chased him through the cavernous silence.
Chi pushed off the shelf instantly, furious energy crackling off him. He took two long strides after the fleeing figure, the sound of running feet echoing like gunshots in the quiet. He could catch him. Easily. The thought sent a dark thrill through him.
But he stopped.
Lunging after Xiao Shuai felt… crude. Expected. Boring, almost. He stood at the mouth of the aisle, breathing hard through his nose, watching the hunched figure in the worn hoodie disappear around a distant corner, towards the library’s main entrance. The metallic taste in his own mouth was sharp, potent.
He touched his torn lip again, wincing slightly at the sting. He looked at the fresh blood on his fingers. Then, slowly, deliberately, he lifted his gaze towards the direction Xiao Shuai had fled.
A slow, chilling smile spread across Chi Cheng’s face, reddened by his own blood. It wasn't anger anymore. It was something colder. Sharper. More dangerous. Possession had morphed into something more complex, more thrilling. He’d tasted fear and fury and defiance, and it hadn't been enough. He wanted to see how deep it ran. How hard he could push before the quiet one truly broke. Or fought back.
He wiped the blood smearing his chin with the back of his hand, leaving a dark streak. The ruined physics textbook lay forgotten on the floor near his feet. He nudged it absently with his shoe.
"See you around, Xiao Shuai," he murmured to the empty aisle, the words carrying clearly in the dead silence. The hum of the fluorescent lights seemed to vibrate in agreement.
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Chapter 2: The Boyfriend Contract (Chi Cheng/ Guo Cheng Yu)
Summary:
Chi Cheng had always preferred the quiet corners of his world, away from the chaos. So when the outgoing, charming Guo Cheng Yu asked him to pretend to be his boyfriend to make another guy jealous, Chi Cheng thought it would be an easy favor. But what starts as a simple plan to catch Meng Han’s attention quickly becomes more complicated as the lines between acting and reality blur. Chi Cheng finds himself questioning his feelings as he deeply falls for Cheng Yu.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The cafeteria was its usual kind of battlefield—lines snaking toward the counter, voices clashing in a messy chorus, chairs scraping across the floor. Chi Cheng had long since perfected his habit of tuning everything out. He sat near the far corner, tray neatly positioned in front of him, and ate with methodical precision. Bite. Chew. Pause. Repeat.
He wasn’t antisocial, not exactly. He just liked existing quietly, somewhere in the blind spot of school life. People still greeted him, asked him about classwork, sometimes teased him for being a little too serious—but they usually left him alone after a few minutes.
That fragile peace didn’t last long today.
Out of the sea of voices, one in particular rose above, warm and animated, impossible to ignore. Chi Cheng looked up just as Guo Cheng Yu shouldered his way through the crowd, tray balanced in one hand while waving at people with the other. He wore that same easy grin, sharp enough to charm dozens but never soft enough to betray everything he was thinking.
Chi Cheng felt something tighten in his stomach.
Guo Cheng Yu spotted him, and his grin brightened. Without hesitation, he slid into the seat across from Chi Cheng, setting his tray down with a clatter that drew a few passing glances.
“Chi Cheng,” he whispered conspicuously, leaning forward, eyes glinting with mischief. “I need your help.”
Chi Cheng had seen that look before: a reckless scheme brewing behind the smile, the kind of plan that would almost certainly pull him into awkward situations. He resisted the urge to sigh. “Help with… what? Did you forget your maths homework again?”
“No, no. This is—bigger.” Cheng Yu’s voice dropped into low secrecy, though the sparkle in his gaze gave him away. “I want you to be my fake boyfriend.”
For a full five seconds, Chi Cheng genuinely thought he misheard him. His chopsticks froze in mid-air. “…What?”
“My boyfriend,” Guo Cheng Yu repeated cheerfully, as if talking about the weather. “Well, not really. Just pretend. Temporary arrangement. A… relationship rental situation.”
Chi Cheng blinked, fingers tightening on his chopsticks. “You can’t just… ask people that at lunch.”
“Why not? You’re not busy, are you?”
“That is beside the point.”
Cheng Yu rested his chin on one palm, gazing at Chi Cheng with the wide, pleading eyes that could sway even the coldest of hearts. “Come on, hear me out, okay?”
Chi Cheng muttered something under his breath but gestured grudgingly for him to continue.
Cheng Yu’s voice gained momentum the more he went on. “So. There’s Meng Han—Literature club, tall, glasses, smiles like he’s in a drama poster. I’ve liked him since spring festival.”
Chi Cheng nodded slowly. He’d seen Cheng Yu glancing at Meng Han once or twice in the hallway, though never thought too much of it.
“However, there is a problem. He doesn’t notice me. Or, worse, he only notices me as some clown who cracks jokes during homeroom. I want him to really look, you know? To feel something. So…” Cheng Yu leaned forward. “I thought, if he sees me happily paired up with someone else, all affectionate and convincing—bam. Jealousy. Suddenly he’ll realize he cares. It’s psychology. Classic move. Works 10/10 times.”
Chi Cheng pressed a hand to his forehead. “You’ve been watching too many dramas.”
“Maybe! But it works. You just have to help me. Be my partner in crime.”
Chi Cheng stayed silent, letting the words settle. Cheng Yu waited, uncomfortably patient for once.
Finally Chi Cheng asked, “Why me?”
“Because…” Cheng Yu ticked his arguments off with his fingers. “One, people actually respect you. If it’s you, they’ll believe it. Two, you’re not prone to embarrassing dramatics, which balances out my personality perfectly. Three…” He smirked. “You’re… safe.”
“Safe?”
“Yeah. You’re not secretly harboring feelings for me. You won’t get hurt. You’ll treat it like a straightforward contract.”
The casual certainty stung far more than Chi Cheng expected. He didn’t know why. He forced his expression to stay neutral. “You sound awfully sure about that.”
“I am,” Cheng Yu said without hesitation, as if it were obvious. “So? What do you say? Help me out. We’ll set some rules: hand-holding, maybe walking home together. Nothing dangerous. We put on a show until Meng Han makes a move, then we end it. Easy.”
Easy. There was nothing easy about what Cheng Yu just asked. Entering a stage play, pretending to belong to someone—even if it was all fake—meant opening the door to complications Chi Cheng wasn’t sure he had the patience for.
But then he caught himself staring at Cheng Yu’s grin, the kind that could light up chaos like fireworks. His eyes brimmed with restless energy, excitement, and underlying vulnerability he never admitted out loud.
For reasons Chi Cheng couldn’t explain even to himself, he nodded. “…Fine.”
“Really?!” Cheng Yu nearly bounced in his seat, loud enough that a few people turned to look. “Oh, Chi Cheng, I knew you would agree! You’re a lifesaver.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Chi Cheng continued in a hushed tone.
But Cheng Yu wasn’t listening. He was already planning a dramatic entrance for their “first day as a couple,” jotting half-serious notes on a napkin. Chi Cheng sat back, tray forgotten, and watched him go off on wild tangents—you hold my hand when passing the literature club, don’t forget to look at me with longing eyes during practice, etc.—all while fighting the tiniest curl of unease in his chest.
It was supposed to be acting. Just acting. And yet, even then, he had the faintest sense that he’d walked into something messier than either of them understood.
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The next morning, Chi Cheng told himself he was ready.
Ready for Guo Cheng Yu’s nonsense, ready to play along for the sake of Meng Han’s supposed jealousy. He repeated the thought like a shield: It’s fake, it’s temporary, it doesn’t mean anything.
That shield broke less than five minutes after he stepped through the school gates.
Usually, Chi Cheng slipped through crowds like a shadow. But today, Cheng Yu was waiting right at the entrance, practically glowing, as though the rising sun itself had been summoned only for him. His shirt collar was neatly folded, and he had a bounce in his step.
“There you are, Cheng Cheng!” Cheng Yu exclaimed theatrically, striding forward. Before Chi Cheng could react, warm fingers had already threaded through his.
Dozens of heads turned.
Chi Cheng froze, the shield in his mind cracking into dust. “Why. Are. You—”
“Act natural!” Cheng Yu whispered swiftly, smiling broadly as if they’d been holding hands every day since kindergarten. “Rule number one of convincing couples: don’t be shy.”
Rule number one, Chi Cheng thought sourly, is don’t announce rule number one in public.
But it was too late. Eyes tracked them down the hall like spotlights. The silence lasted three…no, five steps—before the whispers began.
> “Did you see that?!”
> “Wait, Guo Cheng Yu and Chi Cheng? Huh?”
> “I thought Guo liked Meng Han though…”
Each murmur was like a pebble hitting Chi Cheng’s ribs, but Cheng Yu squeezed his hand once, lightly, reassurance disguised as boldness. Chi Cheng didn’t pull away.
And so, they walked in, hand-in-hand, straight into the chaos.
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Their classmates were merciless.
“What’s this? Boys’ Love live-action?” one laughed, half-teasing, half-curious.
Another shouted, “Chi Cheng! Didn’t know you had it in you!”
Chi Cheng wanted to melt into the floor. Cheng Yu, ever the performer, took it in stride. He leaned against Chi Cheng’s desk, grinning like he’d already won an award.
“Don’t be jealous, everyone,” he said shamelessly. “Our true love is already choosen by destiny.”
The class looked at them in awe.
“Destiny?” Chi Cheng muttered under his breath, tugging at Cheng Yu’s sleeve. “Tone it down.”
But Cheng Yu only patted his shoulder with mock affection. “Relax, Cheng Cheng. You play your role, I’ll play mine. Drama kings like Meng Han eat this up.”
The reminder sank in: this wasn’t about him. This was theatre for one very specific audience.
So Chi Cheng endured the jokes, endured the curious stares. He kept his expression neutral, though his pulse remained higher than usual.
By lunchtime, gossip had spread across two grades. When Cheng Yu swooped into the cafeteria, he grabbed an extra dish and set it on Chi Cheng’s tray without pause.
“A balanced meal for my balanced boyfriend,” Cheng Yu quipped, loud enough for two nearby students to exchange smirks.
Chi Cheng shot him a look but carried the tray anyway. Any argument now would ruin the illusion.
They sat in their usual corner, though this time, Cheng Yu made no effort to keep space between them. His arm draped casually along the back of Chi Cheng’s chair, his knee brushing Chi Cheng’s under the table.
Across the room, Meng Han sat with his literature club friends. At first glance, he looked as tranquil as always—but his subtle glances betrayed him. More than once, Meng Han’s eyes flickered to their corner, thoughtful, unreadable.
“There,” Cheng Yu whispered, dipping his head close. “He’s watching.”
Chi Cheng frowned. “You’re awfully cheerful about it.”
“Of course I am! Stage one is successful.” Cheng Yu tapped his chopsticks on the table. “By next week, he’ll crack.”
Chi Cheng quietly finished his rice, saying nothing. On the surface, it was working—and yet the gnawing unease in his chest only grew sharper.
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“Studying together = believable intimacy,” Cheng Yu insisted after class, practically dragging Chi Cheng to the library with dramatic flair.
They took a corner table, textbooks piled high. Cheng Yu sprawled across half of it, pencil tapping against the wood. “You know, I’m a terrible student, so you helping me right now is perfect boyfriend material.”
“You’re a terrible actor,” Chi Cheng retorted, flipping a page.
“Excuse me?” Cheng Yu leaned close enough that Chi Cheng could smell faint citrus from his shampoo. “I’m an excellent actor. Watch this…”
Then he tilted his head, eyes softening, and said in a voice so sincere it startled Chi Cheng: “I just can’t focus whenever you’re around.”
Silence pressed between them.
Chi Cheng forced himself to look back at his notes. “Your lines need work.”
But his pulse betrayed him. It pounded in his ears, refusing to obey logic.
When he finally risked a glance, Cheng Yu was no longer smirking—he’d already leaned back, tossing a candy onto Chi Cheng’s notebook. “Sugar for concentration. You’ll thank me later.” A grin again, playful, covering something else.
Chi Cheng didn’t thank him, but he didn’t push the candy away either.
By Friday, the facade had already become routine.
After basketball practice, they boarded the same crowded bus. Someone gave up a seat, and, pressed by bodies on every side, Cheng Yu naturally leaned against Chi Cheng.
“See?” Cheng Yu whispered, head on his shoulder. “Couples do this all the time.”
“You don’t need to lean this much,” Chi Cheng muttered.
“I do if I want it to look real.” His voice was softer now, edged with fatigue. “Besides, your shoulder’s comfortable.”
Chi Cheng stilled. Cheng Yu’s breathing was slowing, almost drowsy against him. There was no theatrical glimmer in his voice, no sly exaggeration—just quiet honesty, the kind Cheng Yu rarely let slip.
And Chi Cheng…let him stay there.
His rational mind screamed that this was dangerous. It was supposed to be fake. It was for show. It was for Meng Han—not for him.
But in this cramped bus, with the warmth of Cheng Yu’s weight against him, with his unguarded breaths fanning lightly against Chi Cheng’s sleeve… it no longer felt like acting.
It felt real. Too real.
By the end of the second week, patterns had set in:
- Hand-holding in the corridors.
- Shared meals at lunch.
- Study sessions punctuated with Cheng Yu’s teasing comments.
- Occasional touches, casual to him, distracting to Chi Cheng.
Gossip flared and fizzled, classmates enjoying the spectacle but moving on to the next rumor. Only Meng Han’s gaze, sometimes fleeting, sometimes fixed, showed that Cheng Yu’s plan was taking root.
But for Chi Cheng… the problem wasn’t Meng Han anymore. The problem was how natural it was beginning to feel. Too easy. Too… addictive.
By pretending every day, Chi Cheng realized, he was slowly losing the ability to pretend it wasn’t real in his own heart.
For two weeks, the act had gone almost seamlessly.
At least, that’s what everyone else seemed to think.
For Chi Cheng, it was anything but seamless.
Every smile, every brush of Cheng Yu’s shoulder, every teasing word sharpened into something too real—something that pressed at the edges of his chest until he couldn’t breathe.
He told himself to endure. Remind, repeat: fake, fake, fake.
But one afternoon, Cheng Yu’s excitement shattered Chi Cheng’s fragile balance completely.
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The gym was still echoing from the sound of bouncing balls and squeaking shoes when Cheng Yu jogged over, face flushed with triumph. His hair was damp with sweat, sticking adorably to his forehead.
“Chi Cheng!” he called, grabbing his arm before he could leave. “You won’t believe this—it’s working!”
Chi Cheng stiffened. “What is?”
“Meng Han.” Cheng Yu’s grin widened. “After club today, he came up and asked if I was serious about you. His expression—Chi Cheng, he looked jealous. Can you imagine? The plan’s working perfectly.”
For a heartbeat, Chi Cheng couldn’t answer.
Here it was: the victory Cheng Yu had wanted. The proud confirmation. It should have been satisfying. Relief, even.
Instead, something heavy coiled in his chest, bitter and burning.
“That’s…good,” he murmured, voice low.
Cheng Yu didn’t notice the crack. He was already thinking ahead, rambling about “next steps,” how they could escalate convincingly until Meng Han couldn’t deny his feelings anymore. Chi Cheng only half listened, the words muffled beneath the thud of his own heartbeat.
So this is it, he thought. The closer Cheng Yu gets to Meng Han, the closer this fake thing ends.
For days after, he couldn’t shake the hollowness.
The first signs were small.
At lunch, Chi Cheng no longer leaned into Cheng Yu’s shoulder when the jokes and whispers swelled. His smiles—forced as they’d been—began fading altogether. He stopped joking back when Cheng Yu teased.
In the hallway, when Cheng Yu reached for his hand, Chi Cheng took longer to respond. Sometimes he even tucked his hands into his pockets.
At the library, he buried himself in textbooks with unusual ferocity, pointedly avoiding Cheng Yu’s lingering gaze.
“Chi Cheng,” Cheng Yu whispered one evening, watching him scribble notes. “You’re…quiet.”
“I’m studying,” Chi Cheng answered curtly.
The distance was deliberate, protective. He told himself: Better I pull back now, before it hurts worse later.
But every time he caught the faintest glimmer of confusion in Cheng Yu’s eyes, his chest squeezed mercilessly.
---------------------
It was raining the evening the tension finally cracked.
They were walking back together, Cheng Yu swinging his umbrella with careless ease while Chi Cheng trudged silently beside him, his backpack pressed tight against his shoulder.
“You’re acting weird lately,” Cheng Yu said suddenly, serious for once. His tone cut through the rhythmic patter of raindrops. “Did I…do something?”
Chi Cheng’s throat tightened. “No.”
“You barely talk during lunch. You keep dodging me when I hold your hand. And you always look like you’re waiting to escape.” His voice was quieter now, uncertain in a way Chi Cheng rarely heard. “If this is too much—I can end it. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Chi Cheng stopped walking. Rain pattered harder on the umbrella, spilling in silver streaks. His stomach twisted at the words: I can end it.
That should have been a relief. The logical solution. But instead, panic surged. The thought of Cheng Yu walking away—of never feeling his laugh vibrating through his shoulder again, never watching him pretend at dramatics only to fall into genuine warmth—was unbearable.
“No,” Chi Cheng said hoarsely. “Don’t end it.”
Cheng Yu blinked. His brows furrowed. “…Then what do you want, Chi Cheng?”
For once, Chi Cheng couldn’t hide. The words clawed at his throat, raw and desperate. He wanted to say I want you. Not an act. Just you.
But before he could speak, Cheng Yu’s voice wavered into the silence.
“I don’t want it to end either.” Cheng Yu’s grip tightened on the umbrella handle. His usual brightness dimmed, replaced by something frighteningly vulnerable.
“At first, it was all about Meng Han—you know that. I thought he’d finally notice me if I made him jealous. But lately…” He exhaled sharply, as if the words weighed too much. “…Lately, I forget it’s fake. When you’re around, I don’t care if Meng Han notices or not.”
He glanced sideways, expression raw, unmasked. “I think I’ve been chasing the wrong person all along.”
For a moment, time slowed. The rain softened into background noise, the world shrinking to this one fragile space beneath an umbrella.
Chi Cheng felt the last of his defenses crumble under the weight of Cheng Yu’s gaze.
“…You idiot,” he murmured. His voice trembled, but not with anger. Relief. Longing. Fear. All tangled together.
Cheng Yu chuckled weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Took me long enough.”
Their eyes held—steady this time, no laughter or theatrics, no pretense. Just truth. Raw, terrifying, and real.
They didn’t kiss that night.
They didn’t even hold hands again.
But the air between them had shifted. What was once “pretending” had transformed into a fragile thread of something new—something both of them were scared to name too soon, but neither of them wanted to lose.
As they walked the rest of the way home, neither spoke another word. Yet for the first time in weeks, Chi Cheng’s chest no longer felt heavy.
In fact—it felt unbearably light.
---------------------
The following days felt… different.
Subtly, unmistakably.
The tension that once gnawed at Chi Cheng’s chest softened into something fragile, tentative. Every glance between him and Cheng Yu carried a weight that couldn’t be dismissed as acting anymore. Every touch lingered a second longer than it used to, unspoken but deliberate.
Neither of them declared anything outright yet—no textbook couple labels, no dramatic announcements—but the curtain had dropped on their pretending. They both knew it.
And, oddly, the world seemed to notice too.
---------------------
The next morning, Cheng Yu bounded into the classroom looking sleep-deprived but ridiculously happy, the kind of glow he couldn’t fake even if he tried. He slipped into the seat beside Chi Cheng, whispering, “Morning,” with a softness that lacked its usual theatrical tilt.
People noticed.
“Still going strong, huh?” a classmate teased lightly. “Not just for show anymore?”
Cheng Yu only grinned. “Jealous?”
Chi Cheng, who hated attention, braced himself for a joke—but strangely, the teasing stopped there. The laughter carried less edge now. Maybe because even gossip-savvy teenagers could see it: the air between the two of them wasn’t staged anymore. It was calmer, warmer, almost peaceful compared to the theatrical spark they’d displayed before.
That afternoon, Meng Han himself finally approached Cheng Yu after Literature Club.
Chi Cheng wasn’t meant to overhear, but he lingered outside, waiting by the staircase.
Meng Han’s voice was quiet but clear: “So it’s not fake? You and Chi Cheng.”
There was a pause. Then Cheng Yu’s reply, simple and steady: “No. It’s real.”
Chi Cheng closed his eyes, his heart stuttering.
When Cheng Yu emerged, he smiled faintly, pocketing his hands. “Well,” he said casually, though his ears were still pink. “That’s done. Meng Han knows. The plan’s officially… cancelled.”
Chi Cheng raised an eyebrow. “You’re not upset?”
“Nope.” Cheng Yu met his gaze directly. “Turns out, I didn’t want the plan anymore.”
The way he said it left no doubt.
---------------------
That weekend, Cheng Yu dragged Chi Cheng up to the school rooftop after practice, claiming he had something to “settle.” The sun was dipping low, casting gold across the horizon. The faint hum of the city below filled the silence.
For once, Cheng Yu wasn’t laughing. He shifted uneasily, then finally spoke.
“You know, I’ve been thinking a lot.” He scratched at his neck nervously, uncharacteristically unsure. “About how stupid this all started. I wanted Meng Han to see me. I wanted someone to chase me.” His eyes flicked to Chi Cheng. “But then…it was you I kept running toward.”
Chi Cheng held his gaze, heart resounding in his chest.
Cheng Yu fumbled on, words rushing like he feared he’d freeze if he stopped. “I don’t want this to be fake anymore. I don’t want you keeping distance from me again. I want—us. For real. If you’ll have me.”
Silence stretched, the sunset deepening to orange.
Chi Cheng let out a quiet breath. “You talk too much.”
Then, before Cheng Yu could protest, Chi Cheng leaned in. Just a brush of lips—clumsy, tentative, but charged enough to silence all words.
When they pulled back, Cheng Yu’s wide-eyed grin unfurled, brighter than the fading sun. He laughed breathlessly. “That’s a yes, right?”
Chi Cheng rolled his eyes, but his ears were scarlet. “…Yes.”
Life afterward didn’t transform overnight. They still studied at the library. They still sat in the cafeteria corner. They still walked home together, shoulder to shoulder.
But now, when Cheng Yu laced their fingers in the hallway, Chi Cheng held on firmly instead of hesitating. When Cheng Yu leaned against him on the bus, Chi Cheng tilted his head so it rested more comfortably. When Cheng Yu teased him at lunch, Chi Cheng shot back dry remarks that made Cheng Yu laugh so hard he nearly spilled his soup.
It wasn’t acting anymore. It was just—living.
And somehow, that was better than any dramatic performance could ever be.
---------------------
One late afternoon, weeks later, they sat side by side on the school rooftop again, legs dangling over the ledge. Cheng Yu pointed lazily at the clouds drifting overhead.
“See that one? Looks like a heart.”
Chi Cheng gave him a flat look. “It looks like a lump.”
“A romantic lump,” Cheng Yu corrected with a grin, nudging him. “Don’t ruin the mood.”
Chi Cheng shook his head but allowed the small smile tugging at his lips. After a pause, he reached over, intertwining their fingers the way Cheng Yu always did first.
This time, it was Chi Cheng who spoke up.
“No more pretending.”
Cheng Yu’s grin softened into something gentler, as he squeezed Chi Cheng’s hand. “Never again.”
The rooftop was quiet, painted in the glow of sunset, laughter lingering softly in the air.
For the first time, there was no audience.
Just two boys, no longer acting, finally choosing each other for real.
---------------------
Years later
It was years after those high school days, on an autumn evening bright with city lights and the low hum of life drifting up from the streets. Cheng Yu and Chi Cheng had built their world together—college, first apartments, late-night ramen dinners, endless gentle arguments over whose turn it was to wash dishes. Life was ordinary but it was wonderful in its intimacy.
Tonight, the rooftop was theirs again, a familiar haven beneath a sky blooming with stars.
Cheng Yu unfolded a blanket, flopped down, and looked up, smiling. “You remember senior year? All those wild rooftop moments? You kept saying clouds just looked like lumps.”
Chi Cheng sat beside him, his heart skipping in old, familiar ways. “You insisted every lump was a heart.”
Cheng Yu laughed, warm and easy. “I still see the hearts. You see any now?”
Chi Cheng gazed upward, pretending to scan. “Not really. But…” He hesitated, fingers curling tight around something velvet and hidden in his pocket. “I did bring something you might like.”
“Oh?” Cheng Yu rolled to his side, eyebrows raised. “What is it? VIP tickets to my favourite idol’s concert?”
Chi Cheng’s breath caught. Dialogue was safer than gestures, and yet—he reached out and took Cheng Yu’s hand, slow and steady. “Actually, I… want to ask you something.”
Cheng Yu’s lips curved, playful. “Is this a dramatic reveal? Because I’m ready.”
Chi Cheng smiled—nervous, earnest, the way he used to be when his words mattered most. “We’ve watched the clouds for years. Walked through every kind of weather. I never got tired of seeing your heart shapes, even when I pretended I did.”
Cheng Yu blinked, a little uncertain now. “Chi Cheng—”
Chi Cheng squeezed his hand, heartbeat thudding. “You’re home to me. You always have been. Even when I’m quiet. Even when I’m grumpy. I love you. I want—us, every day, for the rest of our lives.”
He pulled the small box from his pocket, flipping it open to reveal a simple silver ring that carried the warmth of every memory. “So. Cheng Yu. Will you marry me?”
Cheng Yu’s hand flew to his mouth. Tears glimmered as he let out a half-laugh, half-sob. “Chi Cheng—oh my god—you’re serious?”
Chi Cheng nodded, nervousness melting into hope. “Yes. More serious than I’ve ever been.”
Cheng Yu grinned through teary eyes, voice shaking. “Of course, you idiot! Yes! Yes, a thousand times yes!”
He tackled Chi Cheng with a tight hug that nearly knocked the box out of his hand. Laughter echoed between them, mixing with the quiet city below.
When Cheng Yu finally slid the ring onto his finger, he pulled Chi Cheng close, pressed their foreheads together, and whispered, “You’re my favorite heart-shape of all.”
Chi Cheng blushed, smiling that little smile reserved only for Cheng Yu. “You’re still dramatic.”
“Forever and always,” Cheng Yu answered, kissing him lightly—warm, lovely, utterly theirs. The night around them shimmered, filled not with acting or pretending, but pure, unguarded happiness.
No audience. No script. Just real love, for a lifetime.
---------------------
Notes:
Hey there, thanks for stopping by! 😊 This story is for anyone who's ever pretended—whether it was for a laugh, a plan, or something else entirely—and ended up wondering if they were pretending after all. 🙈
Hope you guys enjoyed it. This is another one of my favourite pairs. I think the fake dating plot was ideal for them. I would love you know about your thoughts about this piece in the comments. Your kudos and comments keep me going ♥️😊
Hope you liked it. Until next time then.🌟😊
Chapter 3: Warmth of Words (Wu Suo Wei/ Jiang Xiao Shuai)
Summary:
Wu Suo Wei has always lived safely within routines, where silence makes more sense than noise and closeness feels impossible. Then Jiang Xiao Shuai bursts into his life—bright, loud, endlessly patient, and strangely willing to slow down for him. Between rainy walks, quiet dinners, and unspoken confessions, Wu Suo Wei begins to realize that maybe he isn’t too different to be loved.
Notes:
This story means a great deal to me—especially for Wu Suo Wei’s journey as someone on the autism spectrum. I approached his perspective with care and research, hoping to portray his routines, sensory sensitivities, and ways of connecting as strengths, not deficits. If you are on the spectrum or neurodivergent yourself, please know I aimed for respect and authenticity. Every experience is unique, and I always welcome thoughts, suggestions, or corrections to help make future stories even more affirming.
Thank you for reading guys 😊🩷
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Wu Suo Wei had always understood the world in terms of edges. Edges of sidewalks, edges of paper, edges of conversations that others slid into with practiced ease but which, for him, felt like misty windows—transparent yet impenetrable.
His life was balanced around routines he carefully designed for himself. Morning tea at precisely seven o’clock. The same brand of notebook, stacked neatly by month. Pencil sharpened to exactly the right point. He found comfort in predictability, as though the world spun less violently when he wrapped it in structure.
At twenty-four, he worked in a quiet corner of a graphic design studio in Tianjin. Technically, his job was editing—he focused on final touches, arranging fonts, aligning images, perfecting details that others rushed past. He was good at it because precision came naturally, the kind of care his colleagues often dismissed as obsessive but his supervisor valued when deadlines loomed.
Still, Wu Suo Wei rarely joined their after-work dinners or late-night karaoke. He avoided invitations with polite excuses. Loud rooms felt like chaos pressing into his skin, smothering. Noise was unpredictable and so were people when they drank.
It wasn’t that he disliked company. He just never knew the rules of closeness—when to smile, when to intervene, what comment wouldn’t slice the air open awkwardly.
That was until Jiang Xiao Shuai entered the office.
It happened on a Monday morning in late spring. Wu Suo Wei was already at his desk, noise-canceling headphones resting like armor over his ears. He was adjusting the letters of a product logo when sunlight shifted across his desk. A shadow fell, and he glanced up.
The man standing there wasn’t like the shadows of others. He didn’t bring tension or awkward expectation. Instead, he radiated energy, like the sun itself had bent to walk indoors.
“Hey—you must be Wu Suo Wei, right?” he said brightly, extending a hand.
Wu Suo Wei blinked at the gesture, momentarily freezing. He always needed a second to decode new social codes, and handshakes weren’t his favorite—they involved touch, which could be overwhelming. He tapped the pencil in his hand lightly, grounding himself.
“Mm.” The syllable escaped flatly, but he managed a brief touch of palms before retreating.
The man laughed, not mockingly, but with ease. “Cool, cool. I’m Jiang Xiao Shuai. Just joined the team last week. More in client relations, not design, but we’ll probably work together. Mind if I sit here sometimes to go over layouts?”
His words tumbled out quickly, fluidly. Wu Suo Wei tracked the pace, processing. He wasn’t used to people asking directly; most tiptoed around him, whispering about his “quietness.”
“You… talk fast,” Wu Suo Wei remarked honestly.
Jiang Xiao Shuai grinned, unfazed. “Everyone says so. I can slow down if you want?”
There was that rare thing again—flexibility. People usually expected Wu Suo Wei to adjust, not the other way around. For a moment, a faint warmth flickered in his chest.
“Slower is good,” he said softly, then turned back to his screen to signal he was done. Yet, even as he adjusted fonts, he was keenly aware of Jiang Xiao Shuai settling at the next desk, humming quietly.
-----------------------
Over the next few weeks, Wu Suo Wei realized Jiang Xiao Shuai was like a whirlwind stitched into human form. He was everything Wu Suo Wei was not—loud, charming, endlessly confident in conversations with clients, colleagues, even strangers in coffee shops.
When they shared projects, Jiang Xiao Shuai leaned into his chair with casual swagger, tossing out jokes Wu Suo Wei rarely understood until minutes later. But he never teased Wu Suo Wei cruelly. Instead, he seemed fascinated by the precision with which Wu Suo Wei worked.
“You seriously notice when spacing is off by a single pixel?” he marveled one afternoon.
“Yes,” Wu Suo Wei answered simply, fingers steady on the mouse.
“That’s like a superpower.”
The word landed strangely. Superpower. Wu Suo Wei wasn’t used to his differences being framed positively. Usually, they were burdens—reminders that he had to work harder to fit into a world that didn’t bend.
He said nothing in response, but that night, lying in his small apartment with the hum of his desk lamp, the word replayed in his mind like a stubborn melody: superpower.
-----------------------
Their worlds truly collided on a Friday evening.
The studio had scheduled a dinner gathering to celebrate finishing a big campaign. Wu Suo Wei had planned his polite refusal already. But Jiang Xiao Shuai intercepted him at the office doorway.
“Come with us,” he urged, smiling.
“I don’t… go to those things,” Wu Suo Wei murmured, eyes dropping.
“Why not? Too noisy?”
Wu Suo Wei glanced up, startled at the accuracy. Most people didn’t notice his discomfort, only his absence. Jiang Xiao Shuai, though, seemed to read him too easily.
“…Yes.”
“Got it,” Jiang Xiao Shuai replied without judgment. Then his voice brightened, “What if we go someplace quieter? Just you and me.”
The suggestion hit Wu Suo Wei like a skipped heartbeat. He hesitated, suspicion gnawing. People rarely asked him to spend time together—at least, not like this.
“…Why?”
Jiang Xiao Shuai tilted his head, amused. “Because I want to know you, not just your editing skills.”
Wu Suo Wei stared, long enough for silence to press heavy between them. Then, slowly, he nodded.
That evening, instead of joining the crowded bar, they slipped away to a small dumpling shop tucked down an alley. It smelled of sesame and vinegar, steam fogging the windows.
Wu Suo Wei liked it immediately—the dim light, the soft clinking of chopsticks, the absence of overwhelming noise.
They ate in relative quiet until Jiang Xiao Shuai asked casually, “So, what’s something important to you? Outside of work, I mean.”
Wu Suo Wei hesitated. He wasn’t used to questions like that, but if there was a truth, it was this:
“Patterns. I like noticing them. Colors, shapes, sounds… even how people move.” He paused, sensing the strangeness of his answer. “It helps me understand the world.”
Instead of ridicule, Jiang Xiao Shuai leaned forward, eyes alight. “That’s amazing. Like, you see what the rest of us miss.”
Wu Suo Wei’s chopsticks froze midair. No one had said it that way before.
The warmth returned to his chest—brighter this time.
-----------------------
Over the next month, they began meeting after work. Sometimes at tea shops, sometimes walking city streets at dusk when traffic mellowed and sounds blended into something manageable.
Wu Suo Wei found himself both resistant to and pulled in by Jiang Xiao Shuai’s energy. He was exhausting, unpredictable, yet impossible to ignore. Where others made Wu Suo Wei feel broken, Jiang Xiao Shuai seemed to fill in the silences effortlessly, simply by existing beside him.
But difference always whispers. One night, when Jiang Xiao Shuai launched into a story about his university friends, joking rapidly, Wu Suo Wei couldn’t keep up. He frowned.
“You don’t… slow down when you get excited,” Wu Suo Wei said sharply, the tension in his tone surprising even himself.
Jiang Xiao Shuai halted. For a moment, silence. Then the man’s smile softened.
“Sorry. I forget sometimes. Thanks for telling me.”
Wu Suo Wei blinked, unprepared for such an easy apology. Usually, people rolled their eyes or told him to adapt. But Jiang Xiao Shuai’s acceptance only deepened the strange pull between them.
That night, alone in bed, Wu Suo Wei admitted to himself something he hadn’t dared whisper:
He liked Jiang Xiao Shuai.
And liking was dangerous. Because what if the world inside his head was too different from Jiang Xiao Shuai’s? What if patterns and quiet weren’t enough for someone who could set a room alight with laughter?
The thought pressed against him until sleep finally claimed him, leaving only the faint echo of a dumpling shop lantern flickering in his dreams.
-----------------------
One Friday, the city skies broke open just as Wu Suo Wei was leaving the office. He had not brought an umbrella. Rain sheeted down, bouncing off the pavement, drumming against the roof of the security booth.
He hesitated under the eaves, calculating how long it might take for the storm to lighten. People streamed past him, some laughing, some cursing, umbrellas flashing like kaleidoscopes.
And then Jiang Xiao Shuai appeared, striding out of the elevator with casual confidence, twirling a dark blue umbrella in his hand. His hair was damp already, his shirt rumpled, but his grin was infuriatingly steady.
“What are the chances,” Jiang said, tilting the umbrella with a flourish. “that we share?”
Wu Suo Wei froze. The thought of brushing shoulders under one narrow shelter made his chest tighten. Proximity meant unpredictable sensations—heat, touch, maybe even noise. Yet stepping into the rain felt worse, his body recoiling at the idea of water soaking through fabric.
Reluctantly, he nodded.
Jiang angled the umbrella easily, stepping closer without pressing too tightly against him. The space felt smaller than it was, each brush of their sleeves startlingly present.
Wu Suo Wei kept his gaze on the pavement lines, counting tiles, regulating his breath. But Jiang was humming beside him, some song Wu didn’t recognize. Not loud, but audible enough to fill the silence.
“You always count how many tiles there are?” Jiang asked suddenly.
Wu blinked. He hadn’t realized his eyes kept darting square to square. “…Yes.”
“Does it calm you?”
“Yes.”
“Then keep doing it,” Jiang smiled, as if it were the simplest answer. “I’ll keep the umbrella steady.”
It was such a small exchange, but Wu Suo Wei felt it down to his bones. Jiang didn’t tease. Didn’t judge. He only adjusted, wordlessly, like it was natural for different rhythms to coexist beneath the same umbrella.
For the first time in years, walking through rain felt bearable. Almost beautiful.
-----------------------
A week later, Jiang invited him to a hotpot gathering with friends. Wu hesitated immediately, but Jiang pressed lightly, “Just try it once. We’ll escape if it’s too much.”
Wu gave in. Perhaps against his better judgment.
The restaurant was thick with steam and overlapping voices. As soon as they sat, questions flew toward him like darts: “So how do you know Xiao Shuai?” “What do you do at work?”
He managed short replies, but each interruption, each laugh that overlapped him, chipped away at his control. The broth hissed, chopsticks clattered, chili oil prickled his nose. He shook as he grasped his cup.
Halfway through, Wu excused himself quickly, pulse racing as he slipped outside. Cold air rushed in like salvation.
A few minutes later, Jiang followed, scanning until his eyes softened at the sight of Wu by the alley wall. “Hey,” he said quietly. “Knew you’d run.”
Wu flinched. “I shouldn’t have come.” The shame in his voice was heavier than the rain earlier that week.
But Jiang just shook his head. “No. I shouldn’t have pushed. That’s on me.”
Wu looked at him, startled by the ease of the admission. People rarely said sorry to him—it was usually him apologizing for being “difficult.”
“You’re not upset?” he asked cautiously.
“Upset?” Jiang scoffed lightly. “No. I like being out with my friends, yeah, but—” His gaze softened, tone low. “I like being with you more. So let’s ditch and go find noodles instead.”
For a moment, Wu couldn’t move. Jiang’s words slipped past his defenses, warm and direct. I like being with you more. The sentence repeated in his head long after they wandered away from the restaurant, their shoulders brushing in the quieter street beyond.
-----------------------
Another evening, Jiang suggested a bookstore café. They drifted through the shelves, Wu inevitably drawn to the photography section. He paused at an image of lanterns strung along an alley, reflected in puddles below.
“The reflection is upside down,” Jiang remarked casually.
“No,” Wu corrected softly. “It’s complete. Two images, balancing each other. You think it’s upside down only because you’re used to one perspective.”
Jiang tilted his head, watching him. Then he said, more seriously than usual: “You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“See more than the surface. Rearrange the way things look.” His smile gentled. “It makes me want to slow down. Stop missing… whatever it is that you see.”
The honesty in his voice caught Wu unprepared. He looked away quickly, but Jiang’s words sank deep, like ink into untouched paper.
-----------------------
Not everything echoed softly.
During one rushed deadline at the office, Jiang grew impatient. “Just send it—that alignment doesn’t matter!”
Wu Suo Wei stiffened immediately. His pulse quickened as if Jiang had tugged a string too tightly. “It matters,” he said firmly.
“No one will notice except you,” Jiang retorted.
“It matters,” Wu repeated, louder, sharper than he intended. “It matters because I notice.”
The silence afterward was brittle. Jiang ran a hand down his face, exhaling. “…You’re right. I was careless. I hate when clients rush, and I took it out on you. Sorry.”
Wu breathed slowly, steadying himself. Conflict was exhausting; his body kept humming with leftover tension even after apologies. But Jiang’s eyes were sincere, lips quirked in a faint rueful smile.
“I admire that about you, you know,” Jiang said. “That you won’t let things slide. Even tiny things. You make sure they’re whole.”
Whole. The word stayed with Wu long after they left work, stirring something fragile and dangerous in his chest.
By now, their evenings together had become routine. A cup of tea, a quiet meal, sometimes just walking until the streets thinned and the city lights blurred.
Wu Suo Wei had grown terrified of naming the feeling blooming in his chest. But he couldn’t deny it anymore—what he felt around Jiang was… different. Stronger. Both grounding and destabilizing at once.
And Jiang, with all his brightness, never made it feel like a burden.
Each night, as they parted, Jiang smiled easily. “See you tomorrow.”
For most of Wu Suo Wei’s life, tomorrow was a line he walked alone, mapped and memorized. But with Jiang, it began to feel like a promise.
And that promise—quiet and ordinary as it sounded—was enough to keep Wu braving storms, both outside and within.
For most of his life, Wu Suo Wei had believed affection belonged to other people. The kind of people who laughed easily at gatherings, who instinctively knew when to hug or when to lean closer, who moved through emotions like dancers who recognized every step.
He had accepted that his path was quieter, his patterns neater. Structured. Safe.
But Jiang Xiao Shuai had undone all those neat lines.
-----------------------
It started with something unexpected.
One rainy Monday, Wu entered the office to find Jiang missing from his usual desk. The shift felt wrong, his routine interrupted. When he asked casually—clipped, trying not to sound concerned—someone said, “He’s out sick. Fever, I think.”
The words gnawed at Wu all day. He tried to focus on spacing fonts, aligning typefaces, but his thoughts snagged restlessly. Jiang, loud and radiant as the sun, ill and alone? The image unsettled him.
After work, he made an uncharacteristic decision. He walked to the nearest pharmacy, carefully selecting fever medication and vitamin drinks. By the time he reached Jiang’s apartment—a cheerful place with houseplants crowding the balcony—his palms were clammy with nerves.
He texted: I am downstairs.
There was a pause. Then the door buzzed open.
Wu climbed cautiously to the third floor. Jiang opened the door wearing an oversized T-shirt, his hair tousled, skin pale with the sheen of fever.
“You actually came,” Jiang rasped, surprised but visibly pleased.
Wu held out the bag awkwardly. “Medicine. For… fever.”
For a moment, Jiang just looked at him, something soft flickering in his expression. Then he smiled, small but radiant even in weakness. “Thanks. No one ever does this for me.”
Wu blinked. “Your friends?”
“They’re not… this kind of close.” Jiang waved a hand, then winced at the effort. “And my family’s far.”
Wu hovered uncertainly by the doorway until Jiang said, “Come in. Unless you’re worried I’ll infect you.”
Wu hesitated, then stepped inside. The apartment was messy but alive—books stacked haphazardly, jackets on chairs, sketches pinned crookedly on the wall. It was shockingly opposite from Wu’s minimal, orderly home.
He set the medicine on the table. Then, unsure what else to do, he fussed with the dishes piled in the sink, rinsing them methodically. The motions were grounding. Behind him, Jiang chuckled weakly.
“You clean even when you visit people sick?”
“It was messy,” Wu said simply.
“I like it messy.”
“Mess breeds bacteria.”
Jiang laughed harder, then coughed. Wu turned quickly, pulse jumpy. “You should rest,” he said, sharper than intended.
But Jiang only smiled again, softer this time. “You care, don’t you?”
Wu froze. He wanted desperately to deny it, but truth hung heavy in the silence. He busied himself with pouring water instead.
That night, Wu stayed until Jiang fell asleep. He sat in the chair near the couch, listening to Jiang’s breathing even out under the blanket. He should have left long ago, but he couldn’t move. Something in him felt anchored here, and terrifyingly, he didn’t want to undo that anchor.
-----------------------
Jiang recovered after a week. He returned to work full of his usual brightness, but there was a subtle difference—a gentleness in how he looked at Wu, as though he carried the memory of fevered vulnerability between them.
One evening, they walked home later than usual. The city lights glowed, streets damp after a drizzle. They reached a pedestrian bridge, arching over slow-moving traffic. Wu paused halfway, fingers grazing the railing.
“Do you ever feel,” Jiang asked suddenly, breaking the quiet, “like people expect you to be someone you’re not?”
Wu stiffened. The question echoed too deeply. He glanced at Jiang, surprised.
“I joke. I perform,” Jiang continued, gaze turned downward. “Everyone laughs, so they think I’m fine. But sometimes”—his voice thinned—“I’m just tired of being the happy guy.”
Wu’s chest tightened. He had never expected Jiang, so endlessly bright, to speak of weariness. He searched for words carefully.
“You don’t have to be happy all the time.”
Jiang gave a faint, crooked smile. “With you, maybe.”
The admission slipped raw between them. Wu’s heart stumbled. Words failed him, but he stepped closer—not touching, but near enough that his presence might speak instead.
-----------------------
Weeks passed. Their closeness deepened in ordinary ways—sharing meals, lingering longer on walks, conversations stretched into night.
But with it came tension, delicate and unspoken.
One Saturday, they visited a night market together. Lanterns dangled overhead, voices and sounds bustling around them. Wu usually hated such places, but Jiang’s anchor at his side steadied him.
At a crowded stall, someone brushed hard against Wu’s shoulder, jostling him. His body recoiled instantly, nerves sparking. Before anxiety could spiral, a steady hand clasped his wrist.
“Hey,” Jiang said softly, leaning in. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Wu stared at the point of contact. Jiang’s warmth seeped through, startling but not unpleasant. He didn’t flinch.
The crowd moved past. Jiang let go slowly, searching his face. “Was that okay?”
The question—simple, checking, respectful—lodged somewhere deep in Wu’s chest. He nodded stiffly, though his breath was uneven.
They didn’t mention it after, but that night Wu lay awake replaying the steady weight of Jiang’s hand, over and over.
Despite his growing feelings, Wu feared naming them. Love was messy, unpredictable, without patterns. He had always avoided it, protecting his fragile balance.
Yet everything about Jiang coaxed him toward risk.
One evening, as they sat in Jiang’s apartment sipping tea, Jiang stretched back lazily and said, “You ever think about dating?”
Wu’s hand stalled on his cup. His throat dried instantly. “No.”
“No? Not even once?”
Wu hesitated, his mind whirling. How could he explain the truth—that he thought about it now, every day, but only with Jiang? That the very idea was both terrifying and magnetic?
“Too complicated,” he muttered instead.
Jiang studied him, brow lifting. “Doesn’t have to be. Sometimes it’s just… finding the one person who understands how you work. That’s enough.”
Wu’s fingers curled tightly around his cup. His heart beat heavy against his ribs, desperate to believe those words, terrified they weren’t meant for him.
That night, as he walked home alone, Wu Suo Wei realized with clarity:
He was no longer on the safe edge of admiration. He was falling.
And falling had no patterns, no anchors.
But maybe, if he fell toward Jiang Xiao Shuai, it wouldn’t break him.
-----------------------
Wu Suo Wei had always believed goodbyes came wordlessly. Friends drifted away because of his silences, colleagues tolerated him until they didn’t, and even family filled the spaces he could not with awkward glances. He had long learned not to expect permanence.
That’s why, even though Jiang Xiao Shuai had woven himself into his routines like sunlight through curtains, Wu Suo Wei never fully trusted that he would stay.
And when the first real test came, that fear nearly unraveled him.
It began innocently. A Friday evening, coworkers invited Jiang to a bar. Wu didn’t join—he had already mapped out a quiet night in with tea and his notebook. But curiosity gnawed at him, because Jiang’s absence disrupted the familiar weight of Friday evenings they had come to share.
When Jiang texted past midnight—Sorry, went late with friends. See you tomorrow.—Wu stared at the glowing screen. The words were normal, harmless, but something in his chest twisted.
The next day at work, Jiang animatedly recounted the night, laughing at stories of old classmates. His voice was as bright as always, but Wu felt himself mute beside it, unable to enter that world of easy noise and shared memories.
A colleague teased, “Man, Xiao Shuai, wish you’d bring your designer buddy out sometime.”
Jiang chuckled, almost offhand. “He’s not really the party type.”
The words weren’t cruel—they were true. And yet, they landed like a stone against Wu’s ribs. Not the party type. Not the right type.
Wu retreated quietly into himself after that, shutting down faster than he realized. Jiang noticed by evening.
“You’re quiet,” Jiang said as they walked home. “Even for you.”
“I’m always quiet,” Wu deflected.
“Not like this.” Jiang frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Wu’s throat closed. He couldn’t explain—the shame of being “too different” was too sharp. He shook his head. “Nothing.”
But Jiang didn’t believe him. He stopped walking, catching Wu’s gaze under the streetlight. “Don’t shut me out,” he said firmly. “I want to understand.”
The intensity of those words cracked something deep. Wu wanted to speak, but the words wouldn’t fit. Instead, he muttered: “I don’t belong in your world.”
Silence stretched after that, Jiang’s expression startled and pained. But then, softly, “My world is better with you in it.”
Wu blinked, disoriented. He didn’t know how to hold that kind of certainty, didn’t know if he was brave enough to trust it.
-----------------------
The following week strained them further. Pressure at work tightened deadlines, and Jiang seemed busier than ever, darting between clients. Wu felt lonelier in his silence, his self-doubt feeding on every moment Jiang laughed with others.
Finally, one evening, they clashed again.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Jiang said bluntly.
“I don’t want to be a burden,” Wu whispered.
That single word, burden, pulled Jiang up short. His eyes widened, almost stricken. “Burden? Suo Wei…” He exhaled sharply. “Do you really think that’s what you are to me?”
Wu hesitated, shoulders stiff, unable to answer.
Jiang stepped closer, but not too close, his voice low and certain. “You’re not a burden. You’re the reason I slow down. You’re the reason I notice the details I used to ignore. You make space feel calmer. Don’t you get it? You give me something I’ve never had.”
The honesty in Jiang’s tone startled Wu, almost painful in its clarity. His chest ached, and words finally tumbled past his defenses, rough-edged: “I don’t know how to say things the way you do. But when I’m with you… it feels like the world makes more sense. And when you’re not here—everything feels wrong.”
It wasn’t a polished confession. It was uneven, fragmented. But it was all Wu could manage.
And Jiang’s eyes softened, an unmistakable flicker of relief breaking into warmth.
“That’s more than enough,” Jiang whispered.
-----------------------
They stood beneath the awning of Wu’s apartment as drizzle fell, blurring the edges of the streetlights. Jiang hesitated, then stepped close enough that the faint warmth of his body brushed against Wu’s aura of tension.
“I like you, Suo Wei,” Jiang admitted simply. His voice was steady, not wreathed in jokes for once. “Not just as a friend. More. I’ve been waiting for you to see it.”
Wu’s breath seized. Heat flooded his chest, mingling with disbelief. “You…” He swallowed heavily. “You like me?”
Jiang laughed softly. “Is that so surprising?”
“Yes,” Wu admitted honestly.
For a long moment, Jiang studied him. Then he asked gently, “Can I…?” He lifted a hand halfway, waiting.
Wu stared at the offered gesture—so small, but so monumental. His body tensed instinctively, craving both distance and closeness. Finally, after a long breath, he nodded once.
Jiang’s palm settled lightly against his arm, warm and steady. No pressure, no demand. Just presence.
Wu did not flinch.
Something inside him cracked open, not in fear, but in release. He realized with stark clarity: he wanted this closeness. He wanted him.
His answer came not in words—words failed too easily. Instead, he leaned faintly, subtly, the barest tilt of gravity amounting to trust.
And Jiang, beaming softly, understood. They finally kissed.
-----------------------
From then on, their patterns shifted again. Not erased—just adapted.
Their routines included shared breakfasts sometimes, Jiang sneaking fruit buns onto Wu’s desk. Evenings turned into slow walks where Jiang talked and Wu listened—not passively, but with intention, adding comments that Jiang treasured.
Wu offered steadiness; Jiang offered light.
Once, in the park, Jiang teased, “I always said details don’t matter. But now I notice everything. Like how you only drink jasmine tea on Mondays. Or how you walk five steps behind crowds so you don’t have to brush past. Or”—his voice softened—“how your eyes get warmer when you’re looking at me.”
Wu flushed but said nothing. Yet, the faint smile that tugged his lips said everything.
And Jiang grinned, triumphant, like he’d captured the rarest pattern of all.
One evening, as the city settled into dusk, Wu asked softly, “Will you leave, someday?” The question came unguarded, pulled raw from his deepest fear.
Jiang stilled. Then his reply came without hesitation.
“No. I’m not leaving.” He reached for Wu’s hand with the same gentle patience as always, waiting until Wu responded with the smallest squeeze. “I like where I am. I am at my home. It is going to stay this way till the end of my life.”
And in the quiet that followed, Wu Suo Wei believed him.
For the first time, he believed in tomorrow not as repetition, but as promise.
-----------------------
Notes:
Hi friends! 🌸
Thank you for reading guys. I hope you guys like it. This took a lot of effort to finalise. Your kudos and comments are appreciated as they motivate me to keep writing. You can share your thoughts about this piece in the comments. Until next time then 😊🩷
Chapter 4: Be My Distraction (Guo Cheng Yu/ Jiang Xiao Shuai)
Summary:
After a crushing business failure leaves Guo Chengyu adrift on a rain-slicked Beijing rooftop, he finds himself spiraling in quiet isolation, whiskey in hand and defeat heavy on his shoulders. But when Jiang Xiaoshuai—his oldest friend, a chaotic ER doctor with a penchant for reckless distractions—shows up uninvited, Chengyu is pulled from brooding into the blur of neon, storm, and spice. Well he definitely did not expect Xiao Shuai out of all people to surprise him in such ways.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The whiskey swirled lazy circles in Guo Chengyu’s glass, catching the flicker of neon from the city below. Up here, on the rooftop bar, the relentless hum of Beijing softened to a distant sigh. Below, millions of lives pulsed, oblivious to the sharp sting of failure clinging to him like cheap cologne. The deal. That fucking deal.
He could still see Li Wei’s smug smile as he’d shaken hands with their competitor, the finality of it echoing in the sudden silence of the conference room. Months of strategy, late nights, carefully curated data – gone, vaporized over a last-minute concession Chengyu hadn't been authorized to make. He took a slow, deliberate sip, letting the smoky burn chase the phantom taste of defeat on his tongue.
City lights stretched like spilled diamonds towards the smudged horizon. The air carried the damp, metallic scent of distant rain, a cool counterpoint to the lingering warmth radiating from the concrete beneath his feet. A lone pianist in the corner teased out a melancholic jazz melody, notes weaving through the low murmur of other patrons – couples leaning close, a group laughing with the sharp clink of glasses.
Tranquility was the bar’s promise, but for Chengyu, it felt like isolation in a velvet cage. He traced a bead of condensation down the side of his glass. Should have pushed harder. Should have seen it coming. Should have… The accusations were familiar, well-worn paths in his mind.
The scrape of the adjacent stool on the rooftop tiles was sudden, breaking his spiral. A body settled beside him with an easy confidence. The scent hit Chengyu first – the sharp, clean tang of hospital-grade antiseptic undercut by something warmer, spicier. Sandalwood, maybe. Familiar.
“Rough one, huh?”
Chengyu didn’t need to look. He knew the voice, its low timbre carrying that perpetual hint of amusement, even now. He turned his head slowly.
Jiang Xiao Shuai. His smile was tired around the edges, genuine concern replacing its usual blinding wattage. He looked rumpled, still in dark slacks and a slightly-too-casual button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled haphazardly to his elbows. A faint trace of stubble shadowed his jaw. He’d clearly come straight from the hospital.
“Xiao Shuai.” Chengyu’s voice was flatter than he intended. He gestured vaguely with his glass towards the cityscape. “Just… decompressing.”
Xiao Shuai flagged down the bartender, ordering a beer with a tired nod. He leaned back, stretching his arms overhead with a soft groan that spoke of long hours on his feet. His gaze settled on Chengyu, sharp and assessing despite the fatigue.
“Decompressing looks a lot like brooding on you, Chengyu. Heard whispers about the Zhuhai contract.” He didn’t phrase it as a question. His network was annoyingly efficient.
A muscle ticked in Chengyu’s jaw. He took another slow sip of whiskey, the burn a welcome distraction. “Whispers are usually louder than the truth. Doesn’t matter.”
“Bullshit.” Xiao Shuai’s retort was quiet but firm as his beer arrived. He took a long pull, foam clinging to his upper lip for a second before he wiped it away. “Of course it matters. You poured yourself into that. Saw the spreadsheets taking over your apartment. Heard the late-night strategy rants.” He swiveled slightly on his stool to face Chengyu more directly. The city lights reflected in his dark eyes. “It sucks. Monumentally.”
The simple validation, devoid of platitudes or awkward sympathy, cut through the layers of Chengyu’s carefully maintained composure. He stared into his whiskey, watching the amber liquid catch the light.
The sting didn't vanish, but the crushing weight of it… it shifted. Became something less isolating. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, a small concession. “Yeah,” he managed, the single syllable heavy. “Monumentally.”
Xiao Shuai nodded, understanding passing between them without further words. He tapped his bottle lightly against Chengyu’s glass. A tiny, resonant clink. “To monumental damage. May it be swiftly forgotten.” He took another swig, then leaned forward, elbows on the polished bar top, his expression shifting.
The weariness was still there, but something else sparked in his eyes – that familiar, restless energy that made him impossible to ignore for long. “So,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur that cut through the soft jazz and distant traffic hum. “You look like you need a distraction. A real one. Not this…” He waved a hand vaguely at the whiskey, the view, the ambient calm. “…polite wallowing.”
Chengyu raised an eyebrow. Xiao Shuai’s distractions were legendary, and rarely involved anything resembling calm. “Dare I ask?”
A grin, sudden and wolfish, transformed Xiao Shuai’s face, banishing the last traces of hospital fatigue. “Remember that underground noodle place Old Man Liu told us about? The one he swore does the best hand-pulled lamian south of the river? The one only open after midnight in a garage near the wholesale market?”
Chengyu blinked. “The one that sounds like a health inspector’s nightmare?”
“Exactly!” Xiao Shuai’s enthusiasm was contagious, a live wire sparking in the rooftop’s subdued atmosphere. “Authenticity has its price, my friend. And its charm. Liu swears the broth is liquid gold. Spicy enough to burn the bad memories clean out.” He nudged Chengyu’s shoulder with his own. “Come on. What’s the worst that could happen? Food poisoning builds character. You must try it atleast once.”
Chengyu looked down at his nearly empty whiskey glass. The smooth burn had done little to erase the day. The rooftop’s tranquility suddenly felt stifling, a facade over the turmoil underneath. He thought of the sterile disappointment waiting back at his apartment.
Then he looked at Xiao Shuai – rumpled, exhausted from saving lives, yet radiating an impossible, reckless vitality. Offering not pity, but an adventure. A messy, potentially ill-advised adventure.
The first fat drops of rain hit the awning overhead with soft, distinct plinks, breaking the spell of the dry night air. The scent of petrichor intensified, sharp and clean.
A slow, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Guo Chengyu’s mouth. It felt strange, unfamiliar. He drained the last of his whiskey, the smoky warmth a final punctuation. He slid off the stool, the movement decisive. “Fine,” he said, the word carrying more surrender than he’d admit. “But if I spend tomorrow hugging the toilet, Dr Jiang, I’m billing your department for the medical bills.”
Xiao Shuai’s laugh was bright, cutting effortlessly through the thickening patter of rain. He clapped Chengyu on the back, the force almost knocking the air out of him. “That’s the spirit! Now that’s the Chengyu I know! Lurking beneath the bespoke suit and the existential dread!” He tossed some bills onto the bar, grabbed his jacket, already heading for the stairs leading down from the roof. “Come on! The noodles await! And the rain’s just getting started. Perfect atmosphere for questionable culinary decisions!”
Chengyu followed, the city lights blurring into streaks of neon through the downpour already darkening the rooftop tiles. The weight of the lost deal hadn't vanished, not entirely. But it was… displaced. Shoved aside by the insistent pull of Jiang Xiao Shuai’s relentless momentum and the absurd promise of illicit noodles in a garage at midnight.
He pulled his collar up against the sudden chill, the rain hitting his face as they descended the open stairwell – cold, bracing, real. A different kind of sting. One that felt, strangely, like a beginning.
The rain transformed the city into a shimmering, chaotic watercolor. Neon signs bled streaks of crimson and electric blue across the wet asphalt as Chengyu followed Xiao Shuai’s bobbing silhouette.
The rhythmic splish-splash of their hurried footsteps echoed off the damp concrete canyon walls of narrow alleys, a counterpoint to the drumming rain on awnings and overflowing gutters.
Xiao Shuai navigated confidently, cutting through side streets Chengyu hadn't known existed, the scent of wet garbage momentarily overpowering the petrichor before yielding again to the damp, earthy smell.
"Almost there!" Xiao Shuai yelled over his shoulder, water plastering dark strands of hair to his forehead. He grinned, utterly unfazed, his energy a defiant beacon against the downpour. "Trust me, Chengyu, this broth will redefine your understanding of spice! And pain!"
Chengyu hunched his shoulders, his expensive wool coat rapidly succumbing to saturation. He felt a surge of absurdity – chasing noodles in a typhoon with a man who’d just spent twelve hours stitching people back together.
Yet, the heavy inertia of the failed deal was lifting, replaced by the immediate, physical challenge of keeping pace and staying upright on the slick pavement. The cold rain needled his face, shockingly vivid, scrubbing away the smoky haze of the whiskey and the sterile taste of disappointment.
Xiao Shuai skidded to a halt in front of an unmarked roll-up door tucked between a shuttered electronics repair shop and a mountain of stacked plastic crates. A single, bare bulb above the door cast a weak, jaundiced circle of light on the streaming asphalt. The only sign of life was a faint plume of steam escaping from a vent high on the wall and the low, rhythmic thump of bass leaking through the metal.
"This is it?" Chengyu asked, wiping rainwater from his eyes. "Looks like the place you go to get yourself robbed."
"Exactly the charm!" Xiao Shuai beamed, pounding a fist against the rusty metal. "Adventure! Authenticity!" The door rattled ominously. A small viewing slit scraped open, revealing a pair of narrowed, suspicious eyes that flickered over Xiao Shuai and then lingered on Chengyu’s damp but unmistakably expensive coat.
"Liu," Xiao Shuai announced, raising his voice. "Sent by Old Man Liu! Said the lamb spine broth tonight was worth swimming through hell for!"
The eyes assessed him for another heartbeat, then the slit snapped shut. Chains clanked, bolts rattled, and the heavy door groaned upwards just enough for them to duck under.
Warmth, thick with the overwhelming aromas of star anise, chili oil, simmering bone marrow, and the pungent tang of raw garlic, slammed into them.
The noise exploded – the hiss and roar of gas burners, the clatter of woks, shouted orders in thick dialect, laughter, and that relentless bass beat now vibrating through the concrete floor.
Inside was chaos incarnate. Steam clouded the air, obscuring the corrugated metal walls of the vast, fluorescent-lit garage space. Long communal tables crafted from plywood and sawhorses were packed with a diverse crowd: delivery drivers in waterproofs shoveling noodles, construction workers laughing over shared beer bottles, a couple of sharply dressed, clearly lost finance bros looking awestruck and terrified.
At the far end, cooks worked at dizzying speed over roaring flames, pulling skeins of noodles with impossible grace, tossing ingredients into searing woks with theatrical flourishes.
"Told you!" Xiao Shuai shouted, grabbing Chengyu’s arm and pulling him towards the only two empty stools they could see, crammed at the end of a table near the door. He wiped rainwater off the plastic seat with his sleeve. "Sit! I'll order."
Chengyu perched on the stool, coat dripping onto the floor. The sensory overload was immense. The heat was intense after the cold rain, the smells aggressive and intoxicating.
He watched Xiao Shuai weave through the throng towards the counter, exchanging rapid-fire banter with a burly man wielding a massive cleaver, his gestures expansive, his laugh cutting through the kitchen din. He belonged here, in this unlikely sanctuary, radiating a chaotic warmth that drew glances and even a few answering grins.
He returned triumphantly, slamming two large, chipped bowls onto the plywood and two mismatched glasses filled with clear baijiu. "Lamian (a type of Chinese noodle), extra chili, extra garlic! And fortification!" He pushed a glass towards Chengyu.
The noodles were mesmerizing. Thick, irregular strands swimming in a deep, rich, rust-colored broth, topped with tender chunks of lamb, vibrant greens, and a thick, ominous slick of bright red chili oil.
Xiao Shuai picked up chopsticks, mixed his bowl vigorously, showering the table with droplets of fiery broth, and slurped a huge mouthful. His eyes widened, then closed in pure, noisy ecstasy. "Oh. My. God. Chengyu. Eat. Now."
Chengyu hesitated for only a second. He stirred the broth, the chili fumes prickling his nostrils and making his eyes water. He took a cautious bite. Flavor detonated – the profound, savory depth of slow-cooked bones, the complex perfume of warming spices, the numbing tingle of Sichuan peppercorn… and then the heat hit.
Not just heat. Wildfire. It roared up his throat, ignited his sinuses, and brought instant sweat to his temples. He gasped, reaching for the baijiu, gulping the harsh liquor. It burned a different path, leaving a trail of fire that somehow tempered the chili inferno.
"Holy shit!" he choked out, eyes streaming. "That's intense."
"Told you!" Xiao Shuai crowed, already shoveling in another mouthful, seemingly immune. "Burns the bad right out, doesn't it?"
It did. The meticulous frustration of the boardroom, Li Wei’s smirk, the crushing weight of the loss – it all felt distant, shriveled by the immediate, overwhelming assault on his senses.
The pain was real, demanding, and weirdly cathartic. He took another bite, embracing the burn, feeling the numbness spread across his lips. He laughed, a rough, unexpected sound. "Okay. Okay, you win. This is something else."
They ate in companionable silence for a while, punctuated by gasps, gulps of baijiu, and Xiao Shuai’s satisfied hums. The shared experience, the absurdity of their location, the sheer physicality of the food, created a bubble of intense, unexpected intimacy in the crowded chaos.
Steam condensed on Chengyu’s skin. The bass thrummed in his chest. Xiao Shuai’s knee bumped his under the table, warm and solid through damp fabric. He didn’t move it away.
Xiao Shuai finished first, pushing his empty bowl aside with a sigh of profound satisfaction. He leaned back, studying Chengyu. The fluorescent light caught the damp strands of hair on his forehead, the sharp angles of his cheekbones. The manic energy had banked, replaced by a focused warmth. "Feel better?"
Chengyu wiped his mouth, the chili heat still buzzing on his lips, the warmth of the baijiu spreading through his limbs. He met Xiao Shuai’s gaze.
The concern, the unwavering presence, the sheer life radiating from him, it was a different kind of warmth. Deeper. "Yeah," he said, his voice lower, rougher than usual. The admission felt raw. "Yeah, I do. Thanks, Xiao Shuai."
A slow smile spread across Xiao Shuai’s face, softer than his usual grins. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes holding Chengyu’s. The noise of the garage seemed to recede, muffled by the sudden tension humming between them.
Rain lashed against the roll-up door. Steam swirled. Xiao Shuai’s gaze flickered down to Chengyu’s mouth, still tingling from the chili, then back up. The air crackled with something far more potent than spice. Xiao Shuai reached out, his fingers brushing a stray droplet of broth from the corner of Chengyu’s lip. The touch lingered, a spark on damp skin.
Chengyu didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. He held Xiao Shuai’s intense gaze, the world narrowing to the heat in Xiao Shuai’s eyes, the pressure of his knee, the lingering, electric touch on his skin.
The rain, the noodles, the lost deal – all faded into a distant hum. There was only this. Only Xiao Shuai. The reckless charm, the unwavering support, the vibrant, messy life-force that had pulled him out into the storm. Need surged, sudden and undeniable, cutting through the residual numbness, sharper than any chili burn. He leaned in.
Xiao Shuai met him halfway.
The kiss wasn't tentative. It was a collision – hot, urgent, tasting of chili oil, baijiu, and the rain still clinging to their skin. Xiao Shuai’s hand slid from Chengyu’s jaw into his damp hair, pulling him closer.
Chengyu gripped the front of Xiao Shuai’s shirt, the wet fabric rough under his fingers. The noise of the garage dissolved into a roaring silence, replaced by the pounding of Chengyu’s own blood, the sharp intake of Xiao Shuai’s breath against his mouth. It was hunger, raw and immediate, a culmination of years.
The kiss shattered something brittle inside Chengyu. Years of carefully compartmentalized something – admiration, frustration, the sheer gravitational pull of Xiao Shuai’s relentless light – burst free in a torrent as fierce as the rain hammering the metal door behind them. Xiao Shuai’s mouth was hot, demanding, tasting of chili fire and cheap baijiu and the lingering sharpness of hospital soap.
Chengyu gripped the damp cotton of Xiao Shuai’s shirt, fingers digging in, anchoring himself against the dizzying tilt of the world. The clatter of woks, the shout of orders, the thumping bass – it all folded in on itself, muted to a distant roar by the thunderous rush of his own pulse in his ears.
Xiao Shuai’s hand slid from his jaw deeper into his rain-damp hair, pulling him impossibly closer. A soft groan, low and ragged, escaped one of them; Chengyu wasn’t sure who.
Then, as abruptly as it began, Xiao Shuai pulled back, just an inch. His breathing was harsh, uneven. Rainwater plastered his dark hair flat, droplets clinging to his eyelashes. His eyes, usually sparkling with mischief or warm with easy charm, were wide, dark pools reflecting the garage’s harsh fluorescent lights and a flicker of pure, stunned intensity.
He searched Chengyu’s face, his thumb brushing a stray drop of broth or rain from Chengyu’s chin, the touch sending a fresh jolt through him.
“Okay,” Xiao Shuai breathed, the word almost lost in the ambient noise. A slow, dazed smile started to curve his lips, utterly devoid of its usual calculated charm. It was raw, surprised. “Wow. Okay. That wasn’t the distraction I planned.”
————————————
Notes:
This fic came from a place I didn’t expect. I started with the image of a man on a rooftop, whiskey in hand, drowning in failure — and suddenly Chengyu appeared, already worn thin and holding it together by habit alone. Then Xiaoshuai walked in like a storm and refused to leave. Finally they had their moment of bliss as they finally kissed. Also I wanted Xiaoshuai to be the one initiating their moment and this happened.
Also if you guys have any requests or any pairs of this show that you would like me to write about, or any plot that you would like me to write, you can mention them in the comments. Your kudos and comments are always appreciated and they keep me going.
Hope you guys enjoy this. Happy reading.😊🩷
Chapter 5: Crossfire and Confessions Part- 1(Chi Cheng/Guo Cheng Yu/Wu Suo Wei)
Summary:
Detectives Chi Cheng, Guo Cheng Yu, and Wu Suo Wei are tasked with unraveling a string of disappearances tied to a ruthless syndicate. What begins as another high-stakes case turns into something none of them expected: nights wandering in dark alleys, wounds more painful than they could imagine and a love that grows deeper than duty could ever explain.
Notes:
Warning - This fic contains elements of violence, gunfights, and mention of blood.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The rain had already started by the time the call came in. The precinct’s fluorescent lights buzzed above the detective’s bullpen, and the air smelled of wet coats and stale coffee. Detective Chi Cheng sat at his desk, his jacket still on, the polished black surface in front of him spotless, save for the folder he’d been reviewing. His posture was rigid, his face unreadable, and the room seemed to bend itself into quiet around him.
Across from him, Wu Suo Wei leaned back precariously in his chair, spinning a pen between restless fingers. His tie was loose, his shirt rumpled from some night-long chase, and his grin was the kind that invited trouble. He let the chair tip further until it was almost at breaking point.
“You’re going to hit the floor one of these days,” Chi Cheng muttered without looking up.
“That’s optimism,” Wu shot back. “Means you’ll be here to catch me, doesn’t it?”
Before Chi could decide whether or not the comment warranted a response, the door creaked open. Guo Cheng Yu entered carrying two cardboard cups of coffee, steam rising through the chill air. His expression was softer than the other two, his shoulders relaxed despite the weight of sleepless nights. He moved through the room like a balance point—calm, thoughtful, deliberate.
“Don’t encourage him, Chi,” Guo said as he handed one cup to Wu, who caught it just before his chair tipped back fully. With practiced ease, Guo then offered the other cup toward Chi. “Black. No sugar.”
Chi finally raised his gaze and accepted the cup with the barest flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes. “Thanks.”
Wu slurped obnoxiously from his own. “What about mine?”
“You get whatever’s left,” Guo replied with a small smile that lit his face.
Before the bickering could continue, the captain’s voice called them into the conference room. The three detectives followed, taking their places at the oval table surrounded by corkboards peppered with pinned photographs, red strings webbing between victims’ faces and city maps marked in hasty ink.
The captain’s jaw was clenched as he tapped the board. “Another disappearance last night. That makes five this month. Same M.O.—young men, all vanishing without a trace, last seen in nightlife districts. No ransom, no bodies. Just… gone.”
Wu leaned forward, eyes sharpening from playful to predatory in a blink. “So we’re thinking organized group? Trafficking, maybe?”
“That’s the suspicion,” the captain said. “And you three are on point. Pull what strings you can—witnesses, surveillance, street contacts. The press is starting to circle, and the mayor’s breathing down my neck.”
Chi scanned the photographs with a steady gaze. Clean cuts in the background details, blurred corners. He said, “They’re careful. Whoever’s doing this knows our blind spots. But patterns repeat—always near exits, alleyways. That’s where we’ll start.”
As they left the room, Wu clapped Guo on the shoulder. “Guess we’re in for another long night, eh, partner?”
“You say that like you don’t love it,” Guo replied, warmth threading through his words. A fleeting glance passed between them—familiar, comfortable. Chi noticed it but said nothing.
The night found them weaving through the neon pulse of the city’s nightclub district. Music thudded from behind steel doors, and rain slicked the pavement, reflecting fractured bursts of color.
Wu strode ahead, jacket flapping behind him, motion alive in his every step. He moved like he belonged to the night, like it obeyed him as much as he obeyed it. Guo walked close, focus soft but unwavering, stopping to speak with a security guard outside one of the clubs. His charm worked like oil on rusted hinges—the guard hesitated, then began to talk.
Meanwhile, Chi stayed back, eyes sweeping the alleys in silence. He felt the city’s rhythm differently. Danger hummed in the air if you knew how to listen, and Chi’s ears were trained for silence—the kind that came just before violence.
Half an hour later, they regrouped. Guo had the beginnings of a lead: the latest victim was last spotted leaving Club Daisy with someone unidentified. Security footage was blurred, inconclusive.
“Not an accident,” Chi said after one look at the grainy images. “Camera angles were purposely obscured.”
Wu smirked. “Which means someone inside’s on the payroll.”
They were moving toward the back alley to investigate when a sudden noise cut through—the slam of a dumpster lid. Instinct flared; Chi’s hand went automatically to his sidearm. Wu was already ahead, darting toward the noise.
“Wu!” Chi barked, irritation sharp under his control.
By the time they turned the corner, Wu had a teenage boy cornered, wide-eyed and thin as a shadow. The kid bolted, and Wu lunged after him, grabbing his wrist in one practiced move.
“Let me go!” the boy hissed.
Guo stepped in quickly, lifting his hands in peace. “Hey. We’re not here to hurt you. We just want to talk.” His voice was steady, soothing—like a blanket in winter.
The boy’s shoulders shook, but slowly, his panic dimmed. He whispered, “I saw them. The men who take people. I saw them last night.”
Chi’s pulse quickened though his face betrayed nothing. He crouched, his tone calm but commanding. “Tell us. Everything.”
The boy described shadows moving like ghosts, a van with blacked-out windows, and a tall man with a scar running down his cheek. He hesitated before saying more, fear tightening around his throat.
Guo placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You can trust us.”
For a moment, the boy wavered, caught between fear and faith. Finally, he murmured, “They’re not normal. They move like they know you’re watching. Like… like they’ve done this too many times before.”
Silence pressed heavy on the alley. The rain drummed steadily, as if marking the rhythm of some unseen countdown. Wu looked over at Chi, smirk softening into something uncharacteristically serious. “Guess we’ve got ourselves more than just a gang.”
Chi straightened, sharpening his gaze on the dark city stretching ahead. “Which means we’re already behind.”
And though none of them said it aloud, each man felt it: the case wasn’t the only thing pulling them deeper into shadows tonight.
Something else lingered—a tension coiled between them, fragile but undeniable.
Not just a case. Not just partners.
Something more.
------------------------
The next morning bled into the crime lab with sunless skies and tired eyes. The city outside still slept uneasily; five disappearances and no bodies fed too many rumors about what lurked in its alleys.
Chi Cheng had been at the whiteboard since dawn, scribbling notes in sharp, compact handwriting. He mapped timelines with brutal precision—locations, hours, faces, fragments of testimony. His features were lined with focus, jaw tight, as though he could bend the case into clarity by sheer willpower.
At the far edge of the room, Wu Suo Wei yawned into his coffee, kicking his feet onto the desk until Chi slapped the marker against the board with a sharp crack.
“Feet down,” Chi commanded.
Wu groaned but obeyed. “You know, Chi, one of these days we’re going to solve a case with laughter and free thinking, not scowls and glaring eyes.”
“Not likely,” Chi replied without turning.
Guo Cheng Yu, sitting between them, only shook his head, lips tugging at a smile he hid behind his mug. The warmth in his eyes softened the tension in the room. “Play nice. We’ve got enough ghosts haunting us without adding more in here.”
Chi stepped back from the board, eyes narrowing at the photos pinned in sequence. “Whoever they are, they’ve done this before. Efficient, careful, not leaving a trail. But every pattern breaks eventually.”
“Maybe last night’s witness,” Guo suggested, “gives us more than fear and shadows. Kid mentioned a scar. That’s a face worth chasing.”
Wu sat forward, grin sharp. “Lucky for us, I know a guy who knows a guy. Half this district owes me favors.”
Chi shot him an unimpressed glance. “Street rats and gamblers?”
“Information is information,” Wu shrugged, eyes gleaming with danger and delight. “Doesn’t matter where it comes from.”
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Later that night, the three detectives found themselves in a cramped gambling den tucked beneath a neon billboard. The air was thick with sweat, cigarette smoke, and murmurs. Dice clattered against the tables while suspicious eyes tracked their every move.
Wu strode in like he owned the place, that infuriating grin never slipping, while Chi’s hand hovered subtly near his weapon. Guo stayed close, projecting quiet reassurance to anyone who dared step too near.
They found Wu’s “contact” in the corner: a wiry man with nervous hands, scarred knuckles, and shifting eyes. At the sight of Wu, his twitch smoothed into reluctant familiarity.
“Suo Wei,” the man greeted. “Didn’t expect to see you back here.”
Wu grinned, leaning casually over the table. “I’m sentimental, what can I say? Need a favor. Word is some scar-faced guy’s been moving cargo through your side of town. Big van. Know him?”
The man stiffened, eyes flicking toward the alley door. “People like that are hard to forget.”
Chi stepped in, the edge in his voice like cut glass. “Then answer quickly.”
The man swallowed, glancing between the three before lowering his voice. “Scar’s name is Sun Liang. Ex-military, runs muscle for the syndicate. He’s been driving late nights, dockyards side. Always careful, always clean. But—” He hesitated.
“But what?” Guo prompted, tone gentle.
The man’s gaze softened just for Guo, as if his calm steadiness cut the fear. “He doesn’t work alone. There’s talk of a partner. Someone inside law enforcement feeding them schedules, surveillance blind spots. A mole.”
The room seemed to still. Mole. That word was enough to carve unease straight into their bones.
Before they could press further, voices rose near the entrance. A group of men surged in, broad-shouldered and stony-faced. Syndicate heavies. Their eyes locked on the three detectives instantly.
“Cops!” one roared.
The room erupted. Dice scattered, shouts filled the smoky air, and fists slammed onto tables as chairs scraped back in chaos.
Wu’s grin widened. “Guess that’s our cue.”
The fight broke fast and brutal. Wu swung into motion with a wild recklessness, catching one man’s jaw and sending him spinning. Chi moved like a blade—precise, efficient, every strike crippling and controlled. Guo stayed close at their backs, intercepting a knife swing with practiced instincts, his calm shattering into fierce determination.
The den became a storm of bodies, but together, the trio moved like a machine—chaotic but unstoppable. When the last of the heavies stumbled onto the floor, groaning in defeat, the three detectives bolted through the back door into the night, rain cooling the blood steaming off their skin.
------------------------
They ducked under the shadow of an overhang, breathless. Wu’s cheek was split, blood trailing from a cut near his jaw. Chi reached immediately, pulling out a handkerchief, hand steady as he wiped the blood.
Wu flinched playfully. “Didn’t know you cared, Chi.”
“Stay still,” Chi snapped, though softer than before. His grip lingered perhaps a second longer than necessary.
Guo’s warm gaze caught the subtle moment, and something in his chest tightened. He stepped closer, resting a gentle hand on Wu’s shoulder. “Hold still. You’ll scar like that otherwise.”
Wu smirked, though his voice lowered, rougher than before. “Maybe I like scars.”
The silence between them was thick—not just the adrenaline of the fight, but something more fragile, more dangerous. Rain pattered steadily against the city streets, but none of them moved for a breath too long.
Finally Chi pulled back, clearing his throat, walls snapping back into place. “We know the name now. Sun Liang. And we know there’s someone feeding him information. We move at the docks tomorrow.”
Wu exhaled, but his usual quips faltered. Instead, he simply met Chi’s eyes for a long moment before turning away.
Guo noticed it—the tiniest fracture in the armor both men wore, one of ice, the other of fire. He didn’t push. Not yet. But he felt it. The threads of something they weren’t ready to name, beginning to weave tighter.
That night, back at the precinct, the three sat around the board with fresh photos and new threads in blood-red ink.
The city’s rain-slick alleys stretched across their map, veins waiting for a heart to bleed through. The three detectives stared at it, exhausted yet alive.
The case was growing darker, the danger more real. But beneath it all, another kind of danger stirred—the kind that couldn’t be solved with handcuffs or bullets.
The kind that began in silence, in glances, in the brush of hands lingering too long.
And for the first time, none of them wanted to look away.
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The docks didn’t sleep. Even in the dead of night, cranes groaned over stacked containers, and shadows twisted between steel behemoths as trucks rumbled through the maze. Floodlights washed everything in strips of blinding white and deep black, a stage of shadows where anything could hide.
Detective Chi hated this kind of ground—too many lines of sight, too many blind spots. Still, he stood in the center of their trio with that same rigid calm, hands in his coat pockets, gaze sharp against the fog that rolled off the water.
Beside him, Wu Suo Wei was practically vibrating. He’d been given only scraps of information—Sun Liang’s name, whispers of shipments moving at night—and it wasn’t enough. He thrived on risk, and the stillness was a torture. His hand twitched near his holster, eyes darting toward rustling shadows like a wolf on scent.
Guo Cheng Yu trailed slightly behind, silent but present, always balancing their extremes. His eyes moved methodically, every detail absorbed, but his being near Chi and Wu was no accident. He was a stabilizer, the tether that kept both men from swinging too far in their own directions.
Then it happened—movement near the row of containers. A figure ducked into the narrow gloom, too fast to be a worker, too deliberate to be anything ordinary.
Without waiting, Wu surged forward.
“Wait—” Chi snapped, but Wu was gone, darting into the maze.
Gunfire cracked a second later.
Chi swore under his breath, sprinting after him, Guo at his side. They rounded the corner to find Wu locked in a struggle with two men—one tall, scar carved across his cheek—Sun Liang himself. Another pulled a knife, slicing through the air dangerously close to Wu’s ribs.
Chi fired once, clean and precise. The knife-wielder dropped, screaming. Guo rushed in, tackling the second man before he could grab Wu.
Together, they wrestled the chaos into surrender—except Sun Liang, who vanished back between the containers with almost supernatural fluidity. By the time Chi broke free, he was gone.
The aftermath buzzed with adrenaline. Wu leaned against the container wall, chest heaving, blood staining his sleeve where the knife had grazed him. He laughed—breathless, reckless, sharp against the dead air.
“That was close, huh?” he grinned.
Chi’s jaw clenched. His hand shot out and slammed Wu back against the steel wall, his face inches away, voice low and furious. “You could have been killed.”
Wu blinked, grin fading, shocked at the rare loss of control from the usually composed detective.
“I told you to wait,” Chi hissed. “Do you ever think before you run headfirst into getting yourself killed?”
Wu’s own temper flared, eyes narrowing. “You want me to just stand there? Let them slip away while you draw maps in your head? Not all of us live for stillness, Chi. Some of us move.”
Chi’s grip tightened despite himself, fury and something else burning in his gaze. “You’re reckless. One day your instincts won’t save you, and it won’t just be your life you’re risking. It’ll be ours too.”
The silence after those words hit harder than the gunfire.
Wu stared at him, chest still rising and falling hard from the fight. His usual grin couldn’t quite form; instead he looked away, jaw tight. Chi’s hand lingered a beat longer before he let go, stepping back to shove his own emotions down like he always did.
Guo moved between them with steady presence, his voice deep and calm. “Enough. Both of you. We don’t have the luxury of tearing each other apart, not with men like Sun Liang moving ghosts around this city.”
Wu pushed off the wall, muttering, “Whatever,” before storming ahead into the dark, refusing to look back.
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Hours later, back at the precinct, tension brewed thick as smoke. Wu didn’t show up at the briefing room. Files stacked high on Chi’s desk, but the man himself sat rigid, eyes unreadable yet distant. He knew he’d gone too far, gripping Wu like that, letting his own composure slip. He hated weakness—especially the weakness that came from feelings he couldn’t name.
Guo slipped quietly out into the stairwell, where the sharp tang of cigarette smoke lingered. Wu sat on the steps, tie loosened, eyes shadowed. A cigarette burned between his fingers, ember glowing like the anger simmering beneath his skin.
“You don’t smoke,” Guo said gently as he sank down beside him.
Wu smirked tiredly, exhaling smoke. “Guess tonight’s an exception.” His voice was quiet, lacking the playful bravado he wielded like armor.
Guo watched him for a moment, his gaze warm, careful. “Chi worries because he doesn’t know how else to—”
“Control me?” Wu cut in bitterly, flicking ash to the ground. “That’s all it is to him. Numbers and rules. If I don’t fit into his neat little boxes, I’m a problem.”
Guo shook his head. “That’s not it. He loses his temper when he’s scared. And I saw his face tonight. He wasn’t angry about you messing up. He was terrified you wouldn’t get back up.”
Wu stilled, shoulders tense. His eyes flicked away. “He has a funny way of showing it.”
For a long moment, there was only the hum of the stairwell light. Then Guo reached out, gently tugging the cigarette from Wu’s fingers and snuffing it against the step. His hand lingered a second longer, warm against Wu’s.
“You scare him because you matter more than he knows how to handle,” Guo said softly. “You scare me too. But for a different reason.”
Wu’s breath caught, his usual smart remark dying on his tongue. He turned slightly, their faces close in the dim stairwell. His smile, when it came, was quieter than usual. Sadder. “You’ve got a dangerous way with words, Guo Cheng Yu.”
Guo smiled faintly, a shade tired but still tender. “Maybe. But you needed to hear them.”
For a second—just a second—their hands lingered in each other’s, the intimacy hovering in the quiet like a secret just for them.
Then Wu pulled back, standing quickly, his grin flashing again to mask the tremor beneath it. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”
But as they stepped back into the precinct shadows, Guo couldn’t shake the look in Wu’s eyes. And he knew Chi couldn’t bury what had flared in his own chest.
The fractures in their team had split open tonight. But sometimes, cracks didn’t just tear things apart. Sometimes, they let the light in.
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The sky broke open that night, clouds torn apart by violent streaks of lightning. By the time Chi Cheng, Guo Cheng Yu, and Wu Suo Wei reached the abandoned warehouse on the far edge of the district, rain came down in unrelenting sheets.
It was the perfect hideout. Empty, forgotten, its rusted beams dripping water, shadows swallowing every corner. Their intel placed Sun Liang here—meetings, transfers, maybe even a piece of the trafficking ring itself.
The three slipped inside through a broken side door. Flashlights cut across walls stained with damp and old graffiti. Their movements were silent, practiced; weapons drawn, nerves sharpened.
But what they found was nothing. No men, no crates—just echoes. A setup that smelled of bait.
The realization came in fragments: the hairs on Chi’s neck prickling, Guo’s steady hand tightening on his weapon, Wu muttering, “Something’s off.” And right on cue, gunfire shattered the silence.
Bullets exploded against rusting beams. They barely made it behind cover before the warehouse was alive with the hiss of suppressed gunfire. Syndicate men had been waiting.
Wu barked a laugh even as he ducked. “Hell of a welcoming party!”
“Stay down,” Chi growled, peeking from behind cover with measured calculation. He fired once, clean shot dropping one assailant. Guo followed his signals, steady as always. Wu, of course, leaned too far and nearly caught a bullet for his recklessness.
The firefight dragged them deeper into the warehouse. Their boots splashed through rainwater leaking from the broken roof, thunder rolling above. By the time they’d forced their way up a corroded stairwell, the gunmen fell back, as if suddenly vanishing into the storm itself.
The three detectives found themselves panting against a wall, rain soaking them even through the shattered windows. Outside, the storm howled. Inside, silence returned—uneasy, heavy.
“Ambush,” Wu said between breaths, shaking water from his hair. “They’re toying with us.”
Chi exhaled hard, his mask of composure thinly cracked. His heart had raced too fast when Wu almost leaned too far. Too fast when Guo nearly got clipped shielding them both. Fear lingered like acid in his veins, but he choked it down the only way he knew—through anger at himself for feeling it.
“We regroup,” Chi said finally. “We can’t pursue blind.”
Thunder shook the walls. Already the pounding rain outside had grown worse, waves slamming against the docks. The exit would be suicide tonight.
“Looks like we’re stuck until the storm clears,” Guo murmured, scanning the leaking ceiling.
Wu slumped against a crate, laughing breathlessly. “Trapped by the weather. How poetic.”
They ended up together in one of the warehouse’s side rooms—a small office with half a roof, rain pouring through cracks. Electricity long dead. They lit their way with a weak lantern and what little moonlight filtered through the storm.
For a long while, no one spoke. The storm filled the silence on its own, drowning them as effectively as bullets could.
Then Wu broke it first, tossing a pebble across the floor. “You know, I don’t fear gunfights. Don’t fear bleeding either. I’ve danced too close too many times. But I…” His voice faltered, unusual for him. He stared at the rain, his grin gone. “I hate being alone in the dark. Always have.”
Chi’s eyes flicked to him, the admission catching him sharper than expected. Wu rarely showed cracks—he wrapped himself in reckless humor. But here, in the dim glow, steel softened.
Guo’s voice came next, quiet but steady. “I’m tired of pretending I can carry both of you without losing myself. You fight, you burn at each other, and I—” He stopped, breath unsteady. His hands trembled slightly against the lantern. “I’m always caught between, but not because I have to be. Because I want to be. More than I should.”
The storm outside raged, but in the silence that followed, thunder seemed like a whisper compared to the pounding of their hearts.
Wu’s eyes softened as he turned toward him. “Guo…”
Chi clenched his jaw, finally voicing what he’d buried too long. “You think I scold you out of control, Wu? That I don’t respect you? It isn’t control. It’s—” His voice caught. He raked a hand through his soaked hair, the admission dragging itself like broken glass. “It’s because watching you throw yourself into bullets tears something out of me.”
The sudden honesty left the room raw and trembling.
Wu blinked, stunned. Then his grin returned—but for once, it wasn’t armor. It was something real, fragile. “So the ice king cares after all.”
“More than I want to,” Chi replied, voice low.
Guo finally placed the lantern aside, the dim light now catching all three of their faces, open and exposed in a way none of them could take back. His gaze moved between them, steady, brave.
“We can’t keep hiding this. Pretending it isn’t there.” His voice was more than words—an anchor pulling them together. “Tonight proves it again. We need each other… not just as detectives. As something more.”
Wu laughed under his breath; for once it was soft, nearly vulnerable. “Guess we’re all terrible liars then.”
Rain hammered the roof, but somehow, in that ruined office, time slowed. Three men sat together, walls stripped away by storm and fear. They didn’t kiss, didn’t rush—it wasn’t the time. But their hands found one another, tentative and trembling. Wu’s fingers brushing Chi’s, Guo’s warm hand covering them both in the circle of dim lantern light.
The storm could rage outside, the syndicate could crawl in shadows, but for that fragile pocket of time, the three weren’t just partners navigating darkness.
They were a lifeline holding each other steady in it.
And though none dared say the word out loud, they all knew what it was.
Love.
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The storm passed, but the city never really cleared. Fog still clung to the streets, oily and damp, as if it wanted to keep secrets hidden.
By nightfall, the trio were on the move again. Their intel—scattered through whispers from Guo’s sources—suggested Sun Liang had shifted his movements inland, away from the dockyard sweep. It meant the syndicate was getting nervous. Nervous meant sloppy. Sloppy meant a chance.
Wu Suo Wei jogged ahead into the narrow backstreets of District Seven, boots splashing through puddles. His grin was back, cocky as ever, but the glances he threw back at the others were sharper, protective. Even he wasn’t reckless enough to underestimate this hunt now.
Beside him, Guo Cheng Yu walked with steady precision, his steps quiet, every corner scanned methodically. Normally the calm one, tonight his shoulders were tighter than usual. Chi could see it—the wear of not just the case, but the weight of feelings he’d carried long before anyone had spoken them into air.
Chi Cheng trailed half a step behind, his expression as guarded as ever. But inside, that storm from the warehouse hadn’t passed. His mind replayed the flash of Wu’s smile in the lantern light, the warmth of Guo’s hand covering his own. It gnawed at him: his need for control against emotions clawing through his armor.
They turned down a narrow alley lined with flickering neon signs. Somewhere ahead, voices murmured and then—too quiet. Chi felt it first, catching Wu’s jacket with a sharp tug.
“Trap.”
The word was barely out when the alley erupted in snarls of violence. Figures burst from rooftop and shadow alike—syndicate enforcers, blades glinting, guns drawn.
Wu was already a blur of motion, fist cracking into the nearest thug’s jaw. “Knew you’d miss me!” he shouted through the chaos.
Chi drew his gun, movements efficient, firing cleanly into the advancing shadows. Guo stayed low, calculating angles, taking cover but still picking his targets methodically.
The fight folded them into three fronts—close-quarters madness where every second stretched thin. Wu was reckless, fierce, bleeding from a split lip but grinning wider as enemies fell. Chi’s precision turned the alley into his chessboard of survival. Guo kept pace, until fate turned.
A burst of gunfire cracked at the alley’s end. Too fast. Too sudden.
Guo cried out, stumbling back, a spray of crimson blooming across his shoulder. His gun clattered away as he dropped to the slick concrete.
“Guo!” Wu’s roar cut the air, wild and panicked. He dropped without thought, sliding across the wet ground toward him, shielding him even as bullets split the air above them.
Chi’s vision tunneled. For the first time in years, his control snapped entirely. He moved like something unchained, precision replaced with raw fury—three shots through the gunman’s chest before the man even had the chance to reload. The alley fell into silence broken only by Guo’s ragged breathing.
Chi dropped to his knees beside them, hands pressing hard against the wound to slow the bleeding. “Stay with me,” he demanded, voice cracking despite himself.
Guo’s lips curved into a faint, pained smile. “I’m not leaving you that easy.”
“Don’t joke,” Wu snapped, eyes shining too bright, voice trembling between rage and despair. His hands shook as he gripped Guo’s uninjured one, squeezing hard enough to hurt. “You don’t get to leave. Not now. Not when…” He stopped, words breaking off, heart pounding loud enough he thought his chest might split open.
Chi’s eyes flicked to him—saw his fear, his desperation. And in that instant, Chi understood what he had been denying for too long. That same fear had ripped him apart. Losing Wu. Losing Guo. Losing them both.
The world narrowed to the three of them in rain-slick neon shadows.
“I can’t—” Wu swallowed hard, the words torn out of him. “I can’t watch you die. Either of you. You idiots mean too much.”
Guo’s eyes, glassy with pain, still softened. “…So we’re all finally saying it.”
Chi’s lips pressed tight, but the truth had burned through his defenses; he couldn’t smother it any longer. His palm held the wound tighter, desperate, and his eyes met Guo’s, Wu’s, both at once. “Yes,” he breathed. Harsh. Raw. But real. “Yes, damn it. I’m not losing you, either of you.”
The silence that washed over them wasn’t calm but something heavier, alive, undeniable—even as blood pooled and the danger of death clung to the alley.
Sirens wailed faintly in the distance—backup from the call Chi had sent out earlier. But here, in this stretched eternity, time belonged to them.
Wu pressed his forehead against Guo’s, voice shaking as he whispered, “Stay alive. Promise me.”
Guo squeezed his hand weakly. “I’ll try. I want to see… what we could be.”
Chi said nothing more, only gripping Guo’s wound as if willpower alone could hold him here, with them, beneath the bleeding stars and fractured light.
For the first time, none of them doubted it anymore.
Whatever name they gave it, whatever danger it brought—love lived in this alley now. And none of them would walk away unchanged.
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Notes:
Hi everyone! 🌸
Well this is the first time I wrote a three person fic and it was a great hell of a learning experience. This pair was suggested by one of my lovely readers and I hope that all of you like it. Initially, when I received the request, I thought of bringing them together in a school setting but them in a moment of frenzy, I came across this idea of writing a mystery and detective based plot.
I hope you guys like it. I tried my best to do them justice. Since this oneshot was too long, I broke it into two parts. Part 2 will be posted soon.
I would love to hear your feedback about the piece in the comments. Do know that your kudos and comments keep me going. Also, if you have any requests drop them down in the comments, I will try my best to make it happen.
Hope you liked the work. Happy reading 😊🩷🩷
Chapter 6: Crossfire and Confessions Part-2(Chi Cheng/Guo Cheng Yu/Wu Suo Wei)
Summary:
In continuation to the first part, Cheng Yu finally recovers only to see Suo Wei getting hurt before himself again. However, Chi Cheng decides that he would never let anyone hurt their bond again and the three of them find their home amidst the pain.
Notes:
Warning: This has mention of violence, injury, gunfights and blood.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The sterile hum of hospital monitors filled the room, white light an unwelcome intruder after the chaos of the alley.
Guo Cheng Yu lay propped up in bed, his shoulder bandaged tight. The color had returned to his face, but his movements were careful, measured. Even injured, his gaze was clear, heavy with a patience he wore like a second skin.
Beside the bed, Wu Suo Wei refused to sit still. He paced the room, fists clenching and unclenching, eyes flicking constantly toward Guo. Each time the monitor beeped steady, he visibly eased, but his nerves pulled him taut again a moment later.
Across the room, Chi Cheng stood like a statue in the corner. His coat was still damp from the alley rain, shadows carved across his sharp face. He hadn’t spoken much since the fight—not when they had dragged Guo here, not while the doctor worked, not even as Wu frayed to pieces beside him. His silence wasn’t cold. It was jagged, turbulent, violent inside.
“I told you not to joke about dying,” Wu muttered finally, breaking the quiet. His voice cracked halfway through, anger and fear tangled together.
Guo smiled faintly. “Then I’ll save the jokes for when I’m discharged.”
Wu whirled on him, eyes blazing. “This isn’t funny! You don’t—” His voice broke. The anger drained out as quickly as it came, leaving him slumped against the wall, every ounce of swagger stripped raw. “You don’t know what that did to me.”
Guo’s gaze softened. He reached out across the sterile white sheet. His fingers brushed Wu’s wrist, pulling him closer. “I do,” he said softly.
Wu froze—then, slowly, he let himself be guided closer, dropping down to sit on the chair beside the bed. For once, his grin didn’t return to cover the crack in him. He just gripped Guo’s hand tightly, wordless, breath uneven.
From the corner, Chi’s eyes followed—silent, unreadable. Until finally, he moved forward. He stepped to the opposite side of the bed and placed a file folder down on the table.
“Intel update,” he said, voice flat but tight. “The syndicate’s increasing movements. Someone in our own department is leaking patrol routes. The mole is more deeply placed than suspected.”
Wu glared. “That’s all you have to say? Guo almost died last night, and you—”
“Because I almost broke,” Chi snapped back, eyes flashing. His calm shattered with the force of his words. “Because watching him bleed out in that alley was the closest I’ve come to losing myself in years. Do you understand that, Wu?”
Silence crashed over the small hospital room. Even Guo’s steady breathing seemed deafening.
Wu’s throat tightened, but his response came quietly now, stripped of theatrics. “…Yeah. I think I do.”
For long minutes, nothing moved. Then Guo chuckled softly, though his smile trembled. “So this is what it takes to make Chi Cheng speak like a human.”
Wu let out a shaky laugh, half relief, half wrecked.
Even Chi’s lips twitched, almost a smile. Almost.
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That night, the doctors finally convinced Wu and Chi to leave Guo to sleep. The two detectives returned together to the precinct—and for the first time in months, Wu wasn’t talking. His silence pressed thick until Chi finally stopped in the empty hallway, turning to face him.
“You pace like a caged animal,” Chi remarked. The words weren’t mocking. They were quiet. Observation, but tinged with concern.
Wu huffed a humorless laugh. “What do you expect? I nearly lost him. I nearly lose both of you constantly. It’s not sustainable, Chi.” He faced him, eyes bright even in the dim light. “We keep crossing lines. And I can’t pretend it’s just about the job anymore.”
Chi stood still. The walls around his expression were high as ever, but cracks glimmered there now—thin but real. His voice was low. “Neither can I.”
For a long moment, the hall belonged to just them, the silence humming with unsaid want. Wu took half a step closer, heart pounding in his throat. Their faces drew nearer, tension strung taut between them like a wire ready to snap.
Then, Chi pulled himself back, gaze breaking away with iron restraint. “Not here. Not yet.”
Wu swallowed, jaw clenched, torn between frustration and understanding. Finally, he muttered, “You’re killing me.”
Chi’s reply was near a whisper. “You’ve been killing me for a long time.”
And with that, he walked away before restraint broke entirely.
Wu remained frozen, breath ragged, watching him go through the flicker of fluorescent lights. He slammed a fist lightly against the wall, but the grin that finally spread over his lips wasn’t reckless. It was something warmer, deeper.
For the first time, he knew it wasn’t just a line they were crossing.
It was a bridge burning behind them.
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The atmosphere in the precinct had turned poisonous. Whispers wound through every hallway, suspicion dripping like ink into clean water. A mole. Someone feeding Sun Liang with schedules, patrol routes, secure channels.
Chi Cheng blocked it all out the way he always did—with cold focus. He tightened their protocols, rerouted their intel, redrew the lines of their investigation until no one but the three of them could move forward. But his fists curled beneath the desk when he remembered Guo bleeding in the alley. Someone on the inside had orchestrated that.
Guo Cheng Yu, still in recovery but stubborn enough to return on light duty, sifted through files for weeks, combing inconsistencies. His calm expression barely wavered, but at night he rubbed his shoulder and thought about how close a bullet had come to ending not only his life, but the fragile future brewing between them.
Wu Suo Wei simmered. He prowled the bullpen like a restless storm, hunger for a face—the face—of the traitor consuming him. Reckless became his anchor again, the only way he understood how to channel the rage coursing through him.
Then, the break came almost by accident. A coded message shard intercepted through an unsecured radio—details about their next move, sent in real time. They knew the mole was reporting even now.
They set the trap at the abandoned subway line.
The tunnels reeked of old rust and rot. Pipes groaned with the drip of underground water. The glow of their flashlights bounced across tiled walls smeared with graffiti.
Wu led the way, shoulders coiled, gun drawn. His mouth curved into a humorless smirk. “You ever think maybe Batman had the right idea? Living underground, brooding. Fits us, doesn’t it?”
Chi’s focus never wavered. “Stay sharp. They knew we’d be here.”
Guo scanned behind them, silent but vigilant—until a sound echoed sharply. Boots scraping concrete.
The ambush came fast. Gunfire split the tunnel, muzzle flashes sparking against the darkness like lightning. Syndicate enforcers rushed from side passages, numbers far greater than expected.
“Too many!” Wu shouted, diving behind a concrete pillar as bullets ripped into it.
“Fall back!” Chi barked. But there was no easy way out; the tunnel funneled them like rats.
They returned fire in rhythm—Chi’s precise shots, Guo’s steady cover fire, Wu’s wild, reckless bursts. But the men kept pouring in.
Then, out of the chaos, a voice shouted: “Hold fire! They’re ours!”
For a fraction of a second, the gunmen actually hesitated. Because down the tunnel, stepping into dim light—was Lieutenant Zhang, their own colleague from the precinct.
Wu’s eyes widened. “No. Don’t you dare—”
But Chi’s stomach had already turned to ice. The mole. In uniform. Lieutenant Zhang.
“Don’t take it personal,” Zhang sneered, his voice echoing off tiles. “It’s just business. The syndicate pays better than the force ever will. And the way you three run around, snooping, crossing jurisdiction? You were bound to step in too deep.”
He raised his gun. Fired.
Wu didn’t think—he moved.
The bullet tore into his side, red blooming across his shirt. His body slammed against the concrete pillar, and for a split second his grin—the one he always kept, even in chaos—flickered out.
“Wu!” Guo cried out, desperation in his voice sharper than fear. He scrambled to his side, dragging him down behind cover. “Stay with me! Just stay with me!”
Chi’s control detonated. The roar that ripped out of him wasn’t like him—not collected, not precise. He shot with brutal accuracy born of rage, forcing Zhang and his syndicate pawns into cover. The tunnel filled with ricocheting bullets, the walls trembling with the chaos.
Guo pressed his hand against Wu’s wound, blood hot against his palm. “Don’t close your eyes!” His voice cracked. His heart thrashed. “Damn it, Wu, not you too.”
Wu hissed, teeth grit, yet still managed a hoarse chuckle. “You… sound like Chi… nagging me all the time. Always knew you’d team up on me one day.”
Guo’s grip shook harder. His throat closed, but the words forced their way free. “Because I love you, you reckless fool. Both of you. I can’t lose either of you, I—” His voice broke, tears prickling his eyes even as bullets whistled past.
Wu froze a second, blood loss numbing him. But the grin—shaky, tender—returned, faint but real. “…Took you long enough,” he muttered, eyes flicking briefly toward Chi. “I don't think ice-boy over there would ever say it.”
Chi’s head snapped toward him, jaw clenched tight. His eyes were ablaze with something raw, uncontained, unthinkably human. “I already did,” he said hoarsely, voice low and ragged. “I said it the night you almost got yourself killed in that alley. You just didn’t hear me.”
Wu blinked, laughter bubbling weak and broken through his lips, half cough, half love.
“They’ve pinned us in!” Chi growled, scanning desperately for an escape. “We have to move, or none of us get out alive!”
Guo refused to let go of Wu’s hand. “Then we move together. All of us. Or not at all.”
Chi glanced at them both—Wu pale but still grinning through agony, Guo bloodied but unyielding, both of them looking at him with something beyond words.
His chest clenched painfully. And in that moment, Chi Cheng knew: the choice wasn’t between the job or survival anymore. It was if the three of them could survive long enough to ever live with what they now knew was love.
The gunfire flared again. They ducked low, dragging Wu with them, every heartbeat an eternity.
This wasn’t just betrayal. It wasn’t just survival.
This was their fight for a future that the city, the syndicate, and even betrayal couldn’t rob from them.
And none of them—none—would let go now.
------------------------
The safehouse was an unmarked apartment three floors above a shuttered tailor’s shop. The landlord didn’t ask questions, and the neighbors had gone quietly blind years ago. It was the kind of place detectives used when the walls at the precinct themselves could no longer be trusted.
Guo half-carried, half-dragged Wu through the narrow doorway, every step of his partner’s stumble etched into his own bones. Wu’s face was pale, but his grin hadn’t dimmed. “Relax,” Wu croaked as Guo eased him onto the worn old couch. “I’ve bled worse after bar fights.”
“You’re insufferable,” Guo muttered, pressing bandages into Wu’s wound with gentleness that betrayed nothing of his trembling hands.
Chi hovered near the door for too long, shoulders rigid, scanning the windows, the blinds, the locks, every shadow. He was protecting them the only way he knew how—by staying sharp, precise, unfeeling. But as Wu hissed in pain under Guo’s hands, Chi’s restraint frayed.
He crossed the room in three strides. “You’re losing too much blood.” His voice was flat, but his hands were not—they were steady when he knelt to help, one palm pressing down firmly beside Guo’s. His eyes met Wu’s, and everything unsaid burned beneath the weight of that gaze.
Wu forced a breathless laugh, his voice low but still laced with fire. “I ever tell you? You’ve got the least reassuring bedside manner on earth. Nice hands though.”
Guo’s lips curved faintly even as he worked. “You’d flirt while dying.”
“I’d flirt even in hell,” Wu smirked weakly. Then his tone softened. “Especially with you two around.”
The words seemed to drain the room of oxygen. Chi’s hands stilled for only a moment, but it was enough to betray him. Guo’s breath faltered, his eyes flicking up to Chi’s.
They all froze—three hearts pounding in the silence, louder than the storm had been, louder than any gunshot.
Finally, Wu spoke again. His voice was quieter now, weighted with truth instead of bravado. “I’m serious. At first, I thought maybe I was filling time between cases—jokes, adrenaline, running until I couldn’t feel the loneliness anymore. But then I realized I was running from you two. Both of you. Because it wasn’t safe to admit it. Not in our world.”
He let out a shaky laugh. “Turns out feelings don’t give a damn about safety.”
Guo pressed the final bandage into place, hands trembling, his throat tight. His voice came out like a whisper. “When I saw you fall, Wu, my chest nearly tore open. And when you held my hand in that alley, with Chi’s eyes on us—I knew it. Knew what this was.”
Chi had been so still, his silence towering like a wall. But all at once, the words broke free, uncontainable.
“You’re both impossible. Reckless and stubborn.” His jaw clenched. “And I’ve never wanted anything more than I want you.”
The silence shattered under the weight of truth.
Wu let out a shaky grin, eyes shining even through pain. “Ice king finally melts.”
“Shut up,” Chi muttered—but his voice shook.
Guo reached out then, hesitant only for a heartbeat before placing his hand over both theirs. Warmth. Pressure. A connection.
Wu caught his breath as he looked at their hands tangled together. His voice cracked. “…God, I thought I’d never have this.”
For a long moment, the three of them just sat there in quiet contact, the hum of the city beyond the window their only witness. Their hands stayed bound together, each man’s grip equal parts fear and desperate wanting.
Then Wu tilted his head back against the couch, his grin softer now, stripped of armor. “Well, if we’re all on the same page, there’s one thing I’ve been dying to do.”
Before either could question, Wu reached out, tugging Guo toward him first. Their lips brushed—hesitant, raw, but real. Guo cupped his jaw gently despite the bandage at his side, deepening the kiss just enough to taste relief, pain, and promise.
Wu broke away with a breathless laugh. “Worth the wait.”
Then his gaze slid to Chi. “Your turn, ice-boy.”
Chi froze, every bone in his body resisting—and then collapsing. He leaned forward, cupped Wu’s face, and kissed him—not like Wu kissed, all heat and wildness, but slow, controlled, and devastating. Wu sighed against him, melting into it until Chi finally pulled back, breath unsteady.
And then Guo leaned in across the gap, fingers brushing Chi’s cheek, and kissed him too—gentle, searching, a question wrapped in affection. Chi’s eyes flickered shut, and for once, he didn’t resist.
When all three pulled back, the silence between them wasn’t tense anymore. It was alive, burning, trembling with possibility.
Wu lay back against the couch, head tilted with that trademark grin—but now softened into something vulnerable, something rare. “Guess this is it, huh? We’ve crossed the line we can’t come back from.”
Guo exhaled, smile faint but filled with light. “Then we don’t look back. That is the only thing we need to do.”
Chi looked at them both, something fierce but fragile alive in his eyes. “As long as it’s together, I’ll take whatever happens.”
The three sat there in that ruined couch, bandaged, battered, but bound together by something more powerful than the case, stronger than blood.
And for the first time in years, between the hum of the city and the silence between heartbeats, they let themselves believe in something.
------------------------
The city’s industrial district loomed in grim silence as midnight crept near. Empty warehouses hunched like sleeping giants, their corrugated steel husks hiding shadows that never slept. Intel had confirmed it: Sun Liang was making his final move tonight, collecting the last of his shipments for the dealer was waiting across the border. It wasn’t just trafficking anymore. This was empire-building. If he succeeded, dozens more would vanish by dawn.
Chi Cheng, Wu Suo Wei, and Guo Cheng Yu crouched in a gutted freight yard overlooking the target warehouse. Rain misted the ground, turning fractured glass into tiny mirrors.
“This is ugly odds,” Guo murmured, scanning the number of guards patrolling the perimeter. At least twenty men, carrying enough firepower to start a war.
Wu cracked his neck, flexing sore muscles still aching from his wound, bandages hidden under his jacket. “Ugly odds are the best kind. It is either make or break.”
Chi’s gaze stayed locked on the warehouse, voice low but steady. “We don’t just go in guns blazing. We outthink them. Take angles, break their formation, force them into our rhythm.”
Wu shot him a grin. “You mean your rhythm—cold math and surgical precision.”
For once, Chi didn’t rise to the bait. His words carried a sharper edge. “No, our rhythm. The three of us.”
Their eyes met briefly in the darkness, the weight of their bond unspoken yet undeniable. For the first time, their unity wasn’t just partnership. It was promise.
------------------------
Breach.
The first guard never saw them coming. Wu moved like a ghost through the rain, disarming him with brutal efficiency before vanishing back into the dark. Chi signaled with two fingers, leading Guo to cover as suppressed gunfire sang through the yard.
One by one, they dismantled the perimeter until the warehouse loomed unguarded, yawning like the maw of some beast.
Inside, the stench of oil and sweat smothered the air. Crates stacked high, marked with false shipping labels, and men in black moved briskly between them. At the center of it all stood Sun Liang—scar cutting across his cheek, posture sharp, military-bearing unmoved. And beside him, smug and still in uniform, was Lieutenant Zhang.
Wu’s blood boiled just seeing him. That traitor’s smirk lit a wildfire across his nerves.
“You three should’ve stayed out of this,” Zhang drawled, his voice carrying in the cavernous space. “But you never did know how to leave things alone, did you?”
Wu took one reckless step forward, gun raised. “Say the word, Chi. I’ll drop him right here.”
“Not yet,” Chi murmured, scanning exits, numbers, positions—all calculation, all control.
Sun Liang motioned his men forward. “End them.”
Gunfire thundered, echoing off steel and concrete. The world collapsed into chaos.
------------------------
Wu threw himself into the fray, fists and fury spilling across the room, every motion fueled by rage and devotion. Blood still seeped from his side, but he fought like he had nothing to lose.
Guo kept low, his fire crisp and deliberate, eyes never leaving Wu’s back. Twice, he cut down a threat before Wu even knew it was there.
Chi moved like water over stone, precision incarnate. Each shot was a plan fulfilled, each step an anchor pulling the others into rhythm with him. They weren’t three men anymore—they were a unit, a storm.
But Sun Liang wasn’t just another thug. He took the fight head-on, blades in both fists, his movements sharp, disciplined. He moved like the soldier he once was, cutting through crates and striking with brutal efficiency.
Wu met him midway, a clash of fury against discipline. Blades slicing, fists cracking bone. Wu grinned bloody, reckless joy in every dodge. “This all you got, scarface?”
Sun’s blade slashed across Wu’s arm, drawing crimson. “Plenty more to come.”
Guo fired to cover him, forcing Sun back a step, but Zhang’s gun flared in return from the rafters. Chi dove, tackling Guo down as sparks exploded overhead.
“Zhang!” Chi spat, eyes blazing.
The mole sneered, firing wildly from above. “Should’ve stayed in your clean lines, Chi Cheng. The syndicate rewards loyalty better than your precious badge ever will.”
Chi’s eyes narrowed, and for once, fury cracked through his composure. He handed Guo his spare mag and charged upward, climbing the steel scaffold under a hail of bullets.
The warehouse became two battlegrounds.
On the floor, Wu fought Sun Liang like fire given flesh—bleeding, staggering, but laughing like a man who refused to die. Guo covered him, firing between crates, his own breaths ragged but steady as he refused to let Wu be struck unseen.
Above, Chi and Zhang clashed in jagged steel shadows. Bullets ricocheted into sparks, fists slammed against iron rails. Years of betrayal burned between them.
“You don’t feel a damn thing, do you?” Zhang sneered, grappling with him. “Not fear, not anger. You’re ice in a grave, Chi Cheng.”
Chi’s fist connected, cracking across Zhang’s jaw, voice a low snarl. “You’re wrong. I feel too much.”
One final struggle, and Zhang tumbled from the scaffolding, crashing through a stack of crates with a scream that silenced into nothing.
Chi returned to the floor just as Sun Liang roared, slamming Wu against a container wall, blade at his throat. Wu struggled, laughter broken with blood, yet his fire hadn’t dimmed.
Then a shot rang. Clean. Final.
Sun Liang staggered, the scar on his cheek twisting with shock before he crumpled to the floor. The gun in Chi’s hand still smoked.
Wu let out a choked breath, sagging against the wall until Guo caught him.
“You insane bastard,” Guo whispered, holding him close.
Wu coughed, grinning even as blood stained his teeth. “Told you. I flirt in hell.”
Chi approached slowly, gun lowering, eyes fixed on them both. And for the first time in years, his expression wasn’t guarded—it was raw, alive, cut open by everything they’d just survived.
“It’s over,” he said hoarsely, almost unbelieving. “The case… it’s done.”
But as he looked at Wu, bloodied but smiling, and at Guo steady but trembling, he realized the truth.
No—it wasn’t over.
There would be so many heinous criminals like them. However, the three man in suits would be together to fight them.
------------------------
The city was quiet after the storm of bullets. For the first time in months, the precinct wasn’t crawling with suspicion and fear. The syndicate had been scattered, their leader dead, their mole exposed. Sun Liang’s empire had crumbled, and the string of disappearances would plague the city no longer.
But victory didn’t feel like cheering in the bullpen or medals pinned to jackets. Victory was survival. Victory was the three of them walking away from blood and gunfire with scars instead of gravestones.
Chi Cheng opened the door to his apartment that night. It was small, spartan, everything in its place—until now, when two more bodies followed him inside.
Wu stumbled in first, limping with exaggerated drama, though his grin betrayed him. “Nice house, Chi. Very… emotionally repressed chic.”
Guo followed close behind, shaking his head but smiling faintly. “Don’t listen to him. It’s clean. It feels… safe.”
Chi gave no reply. But his hands lingered too long on the door locks, making sure it was sealed. Not out of habit. Out of instinct—the same instinct that refused to let anything, ever again, take them away from him.
Wu dropped onto the couch with mock exhaustion, clutching his side. “I think I deserve a drink. Or a party.”
“You deserve bedrest,” Guo said, sitting carefully beside him. He placed a steadying hand on Wu’s thigh, his touch protective.
Wu glanced at him, grin softening into something gentler. “Careful—you spoil me, and I’ll start expecting this every day.”
Guo’s lips twitched upward. “Then maybe I should.”
Silence filled the room again, awkward only because it carried so much weight. Weeks, months of tension, near-losses, confessions half-screamed between bullets—it all hovered, fragile and waiting.
Chi remained standing, staring at them like shadows might still crawl through the windows. Until Wu finally tilted his head up, eyes locking on him.
“Sit down, Chi. For once in your life.”
Chi hesitated, but the pull was stronger than the walls he’d built. Slowly, he crossed the room and lowered himself onto the couch beside Wu. For a moment, they were just three men shoulder to shoulder, the quiet around them heavier than any case file had ever been.
Then Guo reached across the gap, fingers brushing Chi’s hand. Tentative at first. Waiting for permission.
Chi didn’t pull back. Not this time.
Wu laughed under his breath, the sound soft but alive. “Look at us. Three broken idiots who somehow fit together.”
Guo’s gaze was steady now, voice certain. “Not broken. Just stronger together than we ever were apart.”
Chi finally turned to face them fully. His voice was stripped bare, steady but raw. “I almost lost both of you. More than once. Never again.”
Wu exhaled, his grin faltering into a tremor of emotion. “Then don’t waste time. We’ve already burned enough of it.”
And for once, there was no hesitation.
Guo leaned in first, slow and tender, brushing his lips against Chi’s. The kiss was searching, unhurried but anchored in the weight of everything unsaid before now. Wu, watching with wide eyes, let out a low breath like he’d been holding it for months.
Chi broke the kiss only to turn, his hand cupping Wu’s jaw as he kissed him too—different this time. Fierce, consuming, like he’d been holding it back for years. Wu melted into it, hands fisting in Chi’s shirt, a groan spilling from his throat.
When Guo drew Wu in as well, their lips collided with aching relief, softer, warmer—a counterpoint to Chi’s fire. Wu gave himself to both in equal measure, laughter breaking out between kisses. “God, I could die happy now.”
“You’re not dying,” Guo whispered sharply, pressing his forehead to Wu’s. “Not now. Not ever.”
“No,” Chi agreed, his hand threading through theirs, gripping tight. “Not while I’m here.”
And then restraint crumbled.
The three of them slid together onto the couch, hands tangling, mouths finding each other in frantic, tender rhythm. Shirts tugged loose, coats shed carelessly to the floor. Guo’s touch was warm and grounding, soothing every bruise with reverence. Wu’s lips trailed fire along jawlines, teasing even through the ache of his healing wounds. And Chi—Chi was desperate but deliberate, every kiss and caress controlled yet trembling with need, as if he wanted to memorize them both with each breath.
They lingered there for hours, laughter spilling between softer sighs, bodies pressed close until the difference between where one man ended and the others began blurred into nothing but heat, breath, and heartbeats. The world outside didn’t exist; only the three of them did, tangled and alive, in a place that finally felt like home.
At last, in the quiet aftermath of warmth and exhaustion, they collapsed in a heap on Chi’s couch. Wu’s head rested on Chi’s chest, Guo curled against his other shoulder, their hands still entwined at the center.
The city hummed outside, neon bleeding into the curtains, but inside was peace.
For the first time in years, Chi allowed himself to close his eyes not out of vigilance but of trust. Wu drifted into contented sleep, his grin still faint on his lips. Guo stayed awake longest, watching them both before whispering:
“We made it out. Together.”
Chi murmured low, but with absolute certainty. “And we stay together.”
Wu stirred at the words even in sleep, mumbling with a drowsy laugh. “Guess that means we’re stuck with each other.”
“Not stuck,” Guo whispered, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Chosen.”
And in the gentle hush of their shared breaths, three broken men who had found each other healed in the only way they knew how—through love forged in fire, shadows, and heartbeats.
A home. Together. Always.
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Epilogue
Six months had passed since the night the warehouse burned out the last of Sun Liang’s syndicate. Six months since the bullet wounds healed and the case files closed.
The world kept turning, as it always did. But for the three detectives who had fought and bled and loved their way through that storm, life was different now.
------------------------
At the Precinct
The squad had changed tone, the whisper of betrayal fading into renewed trust. Lieutenant Zhang’s downfall proved how deep corruption had seeped, but rooting it out left the unit sharper, harder.
Chi, Guo, and Wu still worked cases together—unorthodox, unpredictable, unstoppable. A trio others now called by nickname: The Iron Trio. Because no matter which corner you pushed on, the structure never broke.
Their captain stopped questioning the strange way they protected each other in firefights, the way their reports seemed written in a single voice, the way they refused assignments that didn’t include all three. Results spoke louder than suspicions, and results they delivered, every damn time.
Around the precinct, whispers shifted. No one dared pry into what existed beyond their desks. They just knew those three carried something uncommon between them. Something unbreakable.
------------------------
At Home
The apartment had changed too. Chi’s once-spartan space sprouted disobedient signs of life. Wu insisted on a dartboard nailed crooked into the wall. Guo filled the shelves with dog-eared books and plants that thrived against odds. And Chi—while he never admitted it—stopped correcting them. He let the chaos stay.
Nights there weren’t silent anymore. Sometimes it was Wu burning late-night ramen, laughter filling the kitchen. Sometimes Guo setting files aside to drag both men to the couch when they worked themselves to exhaustion. Sometimes Chi simply watching them, the pull in his chest no longer something he feared, but something he leaned into, quietly, fully.
The bed had grown crowded. Wu sprawled like a starfish, Guo curled neatly at his side, Chi lying stiff at first until the other two dragged him close. Eventually, even Chi learned how to soften—how to sleep with arms tangled, hearts pressed together, the walls outside locked but the walls inside dismantled.
Their love wasn’t easy. Wu’s recklessness still drove Chi mad. Chi’s rigidity still tested Wu’s fire. Guo still played mediator more often than he liked. But no argument ever pushed deeper than the promise they’d forged: together, always.
It wasn’t conventional, wasn’t what the world expected. But none of them had survived bullets, betrayal, and blood just to shrink back into cages of “should” and “can’t.”
They chose each other, every day.
Sometimes over takeout dinners where Wu cracked jokes until Guo nearly spat soup with laughter. Sometimes during stakeouts where Chi’s hand brushed Wu’s automatically, where Guo’s shoulder fit Chi’s without words. Sometimes only in silence—three men breathing in rhythm, bound by something greater than the jobs that had first tethered them.
------------------------
Months later, on one of those rare quiet nights, the three sat out on the apartment balcony. The city’s neon flickered below, the hum of traffic distant. Wu leaned against the railing, cigarette unlit in his hand, playful grin softened into something more thoughtful.
“You know,” Wu murmured, “if you told me a year ago I’d end up here, I’d have laughed in your face. Said I’d never get pinned down.” He smirked faintly. “Turns out I don’t mind being tied if it’s to you two.”
Guo smiled, resting his head back against Chi’s shoulder. “We’re not tying you down. Stop making everything sound lewd.”
Chi said nothing at first, staring out across the city. Then, quietly but firmly, he spoke. “This is the only thing I’ve ever been sure of.” His hand slipped into both of theirs, the gesture small, but in Chi’s language of restraint, it was everything.
Their fingers locked together, warm against the cool night. The world around them could burn again tomorrow, cases could rip the city open anew, but tonight—this balcony, this home, this love—was theirs.
And now, between heartbeats—not detectives, not cases, not chaos—they were simply Chi, Guo, and Wu.
Together. Always.
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Notes:
Finally, this oneshot also comes to an end and they are finally happy. This was a great experience writing this piece. I hope you guys like it. Your comments and kudos are always appreciated. Do tell me your thoughts in the comments and if you would like me to write about a pair or any plot, please mention it in the comments.
Until next time then. Till then enjoys the pieces 😊🩷🩷🌟
Chapter 7: Vitals of the Heart (Wu Suo Wei/Guo Cheng Yu)
Summary:
After a car crash, Cheng Yu wakes up in the hospital to find a face that he least expected at his bedside—Dr. Wu Suo Wei, his first love, the one he confessed to years ago only to be turned down. As their paths collide again, old wounds resurface, but so do the unresolved feelings between them.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The first thing Cheng Yu tasted was blood. Metallic, coppery, thick on his tongue. The second thing was pain – a dull, insistent throb radiating from his temple, pulsing in time with the frantic beeping somewhere nearby. His eyelids felt glued shut, crusted and heavy. He forced them open, blinking against a blinding, sterile white.
Fluorescent lights glared down from a ceiling that seemed impossibly high. The air hung thick, saturated with the sharp, astringent tang of antiseptic and something fainter, vaguely chemical. Underneath it all, a low, mechanical hum vibrated through the floor, a constant, impersonal drone.
A hospital. He was lying on something hard and narrow. A gurney. It stretched endlessly in both directions, a stark, white tunnel punctuated by identical, closed doors. Ghostly runway indeed.
His head swam. Fragments spun – rain sheeting down a windshield, headlights blurring into streaks of white, the sickening crunch of metal, a violent jolt. His car. The mountain road. He tried to lift his hand to his throbbing head, but his arm felt leaden, tethered by something. IV line.
"Easy." The voice cut through the disorientation. Calm. Measured. Familiar in a way that sent a different kind of jolt through him, cutting through the drug-haze.
Cheng Yu turned his head slowly, wincing at the protest from his neck muscles. A figure stood beside the gurney, silhouetted against the harsh light. Tall, white coat, stethoscope draped around his neck. Dark hair neatly combed, features sharpened by both time and the unforgiving lighting. Wu Suo Wei.
Recognition slammed into Cheng Yu with more force than the accident. It stole his breath. Suo Wei. Dr. Wu Suo Wei now, apparently. The boy who’d stammered through poetry club readings was gone, replaced by this contained, professional man.
Seven years vanished in the sterile air. Seven years since… that day under the cherry blossoms, Cheng Yu’s clumsy, heartfelt confession met with a quiet, devastating, "I don’t see you that way."
Cheng Yu stared, unable to form words. The fluorescent lights buzzed. Suo Wei’s expression was unnervingly neutral. A doctor assessing a patient. But his eyes… Cheng Yu searched them. Were they darker? More guarded? Or was that just the shadow cast by exhaustion? There was no flicker of surprise, no awkwardness. Just… observation. Did he know it was him? Had he known all along?
"You took a decent knock," Suo Wei said, his voice devoid of inflection. He picked up a chart clipped to the gurney rail, scanning it with detached efficiency. "Got clipped by someone who didn't see the bend in the rain. Mild concussion. Bruised ribs. You're lucky. The airbag did its job." He didn't meet Cheng Yu's gaze, focusing on the chart. "CT scan's clear. No fractures. We'll keep you for observation tonight."
Cheng Yu finally found his voice, rough and dry. "My car?"
Suo Wei glanced up then, his gaze cool, clinical. "Totaled, I'd imagine. Towed." He paused, his eyes lingering on Cheng Yu’s face, perhaps taking in the dried blood, the swelling. For a fraction of a second, something flickered in those dark depths.
Something sharper than professional concern. Regret? Anger? It vanished too quickly to decipher. "You shouldn’t have been driving in the rain," he murmured, the words barely audible over the corridor’s hum, yet they landed like stones. "Not like that."
Not like that. What did that mean? The reckless speed? Or the storm raging inside him before the crash? The fight with Lian, his girlfriend? Her quiet, disappointed accusation, "You're never really here, Cheng Yu. Where do you go?"
He’d slammed out of their apartment, needing air, needing to outrun the suffocating numbness of a relationship that felt more like comfortable furniture than a home. The rain had matched his mood – heavy, relentless, obscuring.
Suo Wei’s quiet rebuke felt like salt in a wound he’d thought long scarred over. It wasn't just about the weather. It felt like judgment. From the one person whose judgment had ever truly mattered.
"Why are you here?" Cheng Yu asked, the question escaping before he could filter it. He meant here, now, at my bedside. But it came out sounding raw. Accusatory.
Suo Wei’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He replaced the chart. "I'm the attending physician on duty tonight. You came into my ER." He finally met Cheng Yu’s gaze fully, and the neutrality was back, polished smooth. "Standard procedure." He adjusted the IV line with precise, efficient movements. "We’ll move you to a room soon. Try to rest."
He started to turn away, the white coat flaring slightly.
"Wait." Cheng Yu’s hand shot out, clumsy, grabbing Suo Wei’s wrist. The contact was electric. Suo Wei froze, looking down at Cheng Yu’s fingers wrapped around his sleeve. His skin was warm beneath the cotton, his pulse a steady thrum against Cheng Yu’s thumb.
Cheng Yu felt the absurdity, the vulnerability of it – lying helpless on a gurney, grasping at the ghost of his past who was now literally holding his chart. He let go quickly. "Sorry. Just… the rain. It was bad." A weak excuse.
Suo Wei didn’t move for a moment. He studied Cheng Yu’s face again, the clinical detachment momentarily slipping. His eyes traced the line of Cheng Yu’s jaw, the bruise blooming near his temple.
There was a weight in his gaze Cheng Yu couldn’t fathom. Sadness? Yearning? It was intense, unsettling. Then, as if snapping back to reality, Suo Wei blinked, the shutters coming down. "It was," he agreed flatly. "Get some rest, Cheng Yu." He used his name. Deliberately. Not 'Mr. Guo'. Just Cheng Yu. It echoed in the hollow corridor.
He walked away, his footsteps echoing softly on the linoleum, disappearing around a corner without looking back. Cheng Yu watched the empty space where he’d been. The antiseptic smell suddenly felt overwhelming. The rhythmic beeping of the monitor beside him seemed louder, more insistent, matching the frantic rhythm of his own thoughts.
He shouldn’t have been driving in the rain. Not like that. The words reverberated. Suo Wei had known about the fight? Impossible. But the specificity... the implication that Cheng Yu’s state of mind was as dangerous as the weather. It felt invasive. How much did he know? How much had he… watched?
————————————
A nurse appeared, brisk and efficient, unlocking the gurney wheels. "Alright, Mr. Guo, let's get you settled into Room 312." She began pushing him down the ghostly corridor.
Cheng Yu closed his eyes against the glare, the image of Suo Wei’s unreadable expression burned onto his retinas – the flicker of something deep and troubling beneath the doctor’s calm mask.
The numbness he’d carried for years cracked open, replaced by a confusing swirl of pain, old humiliation, and a sudden, chilling suspicion. Why was Suo Wei really the attending tonight? Coincidence felt too flimsy a word.
Down the hall, Wu Suo Wei leaned against the cool wall of the medication room, hidden from view. The sterile calm he projected was a facade. His hands, usually so steady, trembled slightly as he stared down at the patient chart he still held. Guo, Cheng Yu. Age. Occupation: Architect. Emergency Contact: Li Lian. Girlfriend. The word felt like grit in his teeth.
He hadn’t been on duty. He’d seen the name come across the intake system, recognized it instantly with a jolt that stopped his heart. He’d insisted on taking the case. Needed to see. Needed to know he was alright.
The sight of Cheng Yu, vulnerable on the gurney, pale against the white sheets with a smear of blood on his temple, had been a physical blow. The urge to touch, to smooth back the dark hair matted with sweat and rain, had been overwhelming. Professionalism was the only shield.
You shouldn’t have been driving in the rain. The words had slipped out, loaded with seven years of unspoken regret and a desperate, possessive fear. He saw the confusion, the hurt, flash in Cheng Yu’s eyes. It was better than indifference, a twisted part of him thought. At least he still felt something.
Suo Wei closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the cool metal of a supply cabinet. He pictured Cheng Yu’s hand on his wrist, the brief, searing contact. He had looked lost. Beautiful, even bruised. Still carrying that quiet intensity that had drawn Suo Wei in years ago, now buried under layers of reserve. And he was with someone else. Li Lian.
A cold determination settled over Suo Wei, washing away the tremor. He opened his eyes, staring blankly at the shelves of bandages and syringes. He’d watched from afar for too long. Seen Cheng Yu’s success, his quiet life, the growing distance in his eyes when he was with his girlfriend.
He’d convinced himself Cheng Yu was better off without him, that his rejection had been a necessary cruelty. But seeing him shattered on that gurney… it changed the calculus. Cheng Yu wasn’t happy. He was hurt, maybe even broken, just in a different way than Suo Wei.
Coincidence had brought Cheng Yu here tonight. Fate? Suo Wei wouldn’t waste it. He couldn’t undo the past, but he could change the future. He could fix this. He could make Cheng Yu see, make him understand.
The antiseptic smell clawed at the back of Cheng Yu’s throat as the nurse maneuvered the gurney down the endless corridor. Room 312. The number swam in his vision, blurred by the lingering concussion fog and the unsettling echo of Suo Wei’s voice. You shouldn’t have been driving in the rain. Not like that. How? How could he possibly know?
The transfer from gurney to bed was a haze of stiff sheets and blinding overhead lights. The nurse adjusted his IV, her movements efficient, her voice a soothing murmur that barely registered. "Dr. Wu will be in shortly to check on you. Just try to relax, Mr. Guo." Dr. Wu. Not Suo Wei. Not anymore.
Cheng Yu squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the image of those guarded, dark eyes. The cool professionalism. The flicker of something else. He drifted, the beeping monitor a monotonous lullaby against the distant wail of a siren somewhere outside. The memory of the crash surfaced again – the screech of tires on wet asphalt, the world tilting violently, the sickening impact.
Then, piercing the haze: headlights aimed directly at him in the rain-slicked darkness, blinding him a split second before impact. Had someone meant to hit him? The thought, jagged and terrifying, sliced through the drug-induced calm.
The soft click of the door opening jolted him back. He didn’t need to look. The air in the room shifted, grew heavier, charged with an unspoken history. Footsteps approached the bed, deliberate and quiet.
Cheng Yu opened his eyes. Suo Wei stood there, silhouetted against the doorway light for a moment before stepping fully inside. He held a fresh chart, but his knuckles were white where he gripped it. The polished detachment was back, but it looked brittle now, stretched thin over a tension Cheng Yu could almost feel radiating from him.
"Feeling any nausea?" Suo Wei asked, his voice carefully neutral. He moved to the bedside monitor, checking the readings without meeting Cheng Yu’s gaze. "Headache?"
"A bit of both," Cheng Yu admitted, his own voice raspy. He watched Sui Wei’s profile. The sharp line of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows. The boy who loved Keats was buried deep inside this controlled stranger. "Mainly confused."
Suo Wei finally looked at him. Those dark eyes held Cheng Yu’s, and for a second, the clinical mask slipped entirely. Raw anguish flickered there, quickly suppressed but not fast enough. "Confusion is normal with a concussion," he stated, the words clipped. He reached out, his fingers surprisingly cool as they gently probed the bandage on Cheng Yu’s temple. The touch was clinical, yet it sent an unwanted jolt through Cheng Yu’s system. "Swelling’s minimal. Good."
He pulled his hand back as if burned. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, broken only by the rhythmic beep of the monitor. Suo Wei seemed rooted to the spot, staring down at the chart in his hands like it held incomprehensible hieroglyphs. His shoulders slumped, almost imperceptibly.
When he spoke again, the carefully constructed neutrality was gone. His voice was low, rough, scraping against the quiet of the room. "Cheng Yu." Just the name, spoken like it hurt him. He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing. "I… I need to say something."
Cheng Yu waited, his heart thudding painfully against his bruised ribs. This wasn’t a doctor talking.
Suo Wei dragged his gaze up from the chart. The anguish was back, raw and unmasked now, flooding his eyes. "About… about before. Years ago. Under the cherry blossoms." He flinched, as if the memory physically pained him. "What I said. How I handled it." His voice cracked. "I was wrong. So incredibly, catastrophically wrong."
He took a step closer, leaning in slightly, the sterile white coat brushing the bed rail. His knuckles were bone-white on the chart. "I was scared. Stupid. Young and terrified of… of messing it up. Of messing you up. I thought pushing you away was… was protecting you. Protecting us." A harsh, humorless breath escaped him. "It was the worst mistake I’ve ever made. Every single day since then, I’ve regretted it. Every. Single. Day."
The words tumbled out now, fast, desperate, stripped bare of any pretense. "I watched you move on. Watched you build your life. With her." He spat the last word, then instantly looked horrified.
"No, that’s not… I don’t have the right. I have no right." He ran a trembling hand through his neatly combed hair, mussing it. "I’m supposed to be fixing people, but I broke the most important thing I ever had. I broke us. And I broke you. I see it. The hurt you carry. The… the distance. It’s my fault."
Tears welled in Suo Wei’s eyes, glistening under the harsh fluorescent lights. He didn’t wipe them away. He just stared at Cheng Yu, his expression one of utter devastation.
"I’m sorry, Cheng Yu. I am so profoundly, deeply sorry. For turning you away. For the years of silence. For the pain I caused. For… for everything. It haunts me." His voice dropped to a ragged whisper, thick with unshed tears. "I never stopped thinking about you. Never stopped regretting."
He leaned even closer, his breath warm against Cheng Yu’s cheek, his voice dropping to a raw, agonized whisper. "Seeing you like this… broken on that gurney… because I drove you out into that damned rain with my silence… my cowardice…" His voice hitched. "It felt like I was bleeding out too. Please… please believe me. I’m sorry. I’m so incredibly sorry."
The apology hung in the antiseptic air, a raw, trembling thing. Suo Wei’s shoulders shook with the effort of containing his emotion. He looked shattered, the confident doctor replaced by a man drowning in seven years of regret.
————————————
The sterile room felt suddenly claustrophobic, charged with the electric weight of a confession Cheng Yu had never expected, didn't know how to process, and wasn't sure he wanted. The monitor beeped its steady rhythm, a counterpoint to the ragged sound of Suo Wei trying to catch his breath beside the bed.
The monitor beeped its steady rhythm, a counterpoint to the ragged sound of Suo Wei trying to catch his breath beside the bed. Cheng Yu could only stare, the apology vibrating in the sterile air, thick as the antiseptic scent that suddenly felt suffocating.
Suo Wei’s raw anguish, the tears tracked down his cheeks, the sheer, trembling weight of seven years of regret – it was a physical force pressing down on Cheng Yu’s bruised ribs. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. What could he possibly say to that? Forgiveness? Anger? Acknowledgement? His own thoughts were a car crash of confusion, the concussion fog tangling with shock and the insistent throb in his temple.
Before he could form a syllable, before he could even process the devastating intimacy of Suo Wei leaning so close, his tear-streaked face inches away, the door to Room 312 slammed open with a force that rattled the frame.
Lian stood there.
Her usually sleek dark hair was wild, half-escaped from a messy bun, plastered to her temples by rain. Her face was sheet-white, eyes wide and frantic, darting around the room before locking onto Cheng Yu in the bed. She wore a thin coat thrown over pajamas, one sock mismatched. Rainwater dripped from her coat onto the pristine linoleum floor.
"Cheng Yu!" Her voice was a high-pitched shriek, cracking with terror. She stumbled forward, ignoring the doctor entirely, her focus laser-sharp on him. "Oh god, oh god, they called… the hospital… car accident…" Tears welled and spilled over instantly, tracing paths through the rain on her cheeks.
She reached the bedside in two strides, her hands fluttering over him, afraid to touch. "Are you okay? Where are you hurt? They said… they said…" She choked on a sob, her gaze sweeping over the bandage on his temple, the IV line snaking into his arm. "Your face! Oh, baby, your face…"
The vortex of intense, painful history that had just filled the room vanished, replaced by the hurricane of Lian’s present distress. Suo Wei flinched back from the bed as if scalded. In a single, fluid motion, the shattered man vanished. His spine straightened, the tremor in his hands stilled. He wiped his face with the back of his wrist, a quick, brutal swipe that erased the evidence of tears.
His expression smoothed into the neutral mask of the attending physician, though Cheng Yu, frozen and watching, saw the faint redness rimming his eyes, the unnatural tightness around his mouth. Li," Suo Wei's voice was clipped, professional, devoid of the raw emotion that had filled it seconds before. It was chilling in its sudden precision. "Your boyfriend sustained a mild concussion and bruised ribs. He was involved in a collision during the heavy rain. We’ve completed scans; there are no fractures or internal injuries. He’s stable."
Lian barely registered him, her trembling hand finally settling gently on Cheng Yu’s uninjured arm. "Stable? What does that mean? He looks…" Her voice hitched again. "He looks awful." She leaned closer, searching his face, her own etched with pure, unadulterated fear. "Why were you driving in that storm? What happened? I was so scared!"
Cheng Yu tried to focus on her, on the familiar worry in her eyes, the genuine terror that mirrored his own lingering shock from the crash. But his gaze kept flicking past her shoulder to Suo Wei, who was already stepping back, retreating towards the door.
The transformation was jarring. The man who had just whispered agonized confessions was now a detached medical professional, already mentally cataloguing his next task.
"His vitals are strong," Suo Wei continued, his tone cool, informative. "Rest is paramount. We’ll monitor him overnight. He may experience nausea, dizziness, headache. Call the nurse if anything worsens."
He paused, his eyes meeting Cheng Yu’s for a fraction of a second over Lian’s bent head. Cheng Yu saw it – a flicker of something desperate, trapped, before the shutters slammed down completely. "Try to relax, Mr. Guo. Li, please try to keep him calm."
Then, without another word, Dr. Wu Suo Wei turned and walked out of the room. The door clicked softly shut behind him, sealing off the echo of his confession. The sterile quiet rushed back in, filled only by Lian’s shaky breathing and the relentless, mocking beep of the monitor.
Lian collapsed into the plastic chair beside the bed, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "I thought… when the phone rang… I thought…" she mumbled into her palms.
Cheng Yu stared at the closed door. The ghost of Suo Wei’s touch on his temple, the heat of his breath against his cheek, the devastating weight of "Every. Single. Day." – it all felt like a hallucination induced by the concussion.
Surreal. Yet the phantom ache in his chest, sharp beneath the bruised ribs, felt terrifyingly real. He looked at Lian, distraught, soaked, her love for him a palpable, trembling thing beside the bed. He should reach for her. Reassure her. Tell her he was okay.
But all he could hear was the ragged echo of Suo Wei’s breathing beside him, the raw scrape of his voice admitting regret that felt like an open wound, and the chilling finality of the door clicking shut.
He opened his mouth, intending to say something comforting to Lian, but the words dissolved on his tongue. The sterile white walls seemed to close in, the beeping monitor accelerating slightly, a frantic counterpoint to the silent scream building inside his own fractured skull.
————————————
The first morning back from the hospital arrived pale, the light bleak through thin curtains. Cheng Yu sat hunched at the edge of the bed, his breaths shallow and uneven, every movement still stitched with pain. The clothes clinging to his thin frame smelled faintly of antiseptic and starch. Hospital seemed to have followed him home, lingering in air and skin alike.
The apartment was familiar, but nothing felt settled. He walked from room to room as though trying to recognize it—his own home suddenly distant, like a place he had once glimpsed through someone else’s memory.
The furniture stood in quiet patience; the shelves carried their silent rows of books. Lian’s laugh—he could still hear it if he strained—echoed from the kitchen like a phantom. On the table, a photograph of them together: him smiling too broadly, her leaning against him with unguarded warmth. He turned the frame to face the wall.
Lian moved quietly that day, her presence precise and thoughtful, never clumsy or overwhelming. She cooked broth the way he liked, the scent of ginger and chicken slowly filling the corners of the room. She tilted the bowl so he wouldn’t have to lean forward too much, touching the back of his wrist to steady him. Her every gesture was careful, protective, and kind.
He wanted to respond—to give her some rhythm of reassurance, to soften the worry so clearly weighing her gaze. But whenever her eyes searched his, he gave only half-smiles and clipped words. Something inside him resisted warmth, as though his body had refused the instinct to receive comfort.
That evening, she read aloud from the newspaper, her voice calm, steady. Little things—city policy, stadium repairs—things meant to reach him gently, to remind him of normal life. Cheng Yu listened, nodding now and then, though most of the words ran through him like water over stone. When she asked softly, “Do you need anything else?” he shook his head too quickly, jaw tight.
Later, long after she had drifted to sleep beside him, Cheng Yu lay awake staring at the ceiling. Rain tapped faintly at the glass. Quiet, endless, almost like a presence. He closed his eyes and Suo Wei’s voice surfaced, not sharp but trembling, as if carried on memory: “I was afraid.”
It came with a sting he could not control, stirring a bitter ache. He didn’t know what to make of it—didn’t know whether to lean toward it or bury it. His heart clenched either way.
And all through the night, Cheng Yu felt the pull of two lives: one solid and present beside him, the safety of Lian’s steady breathing, and another breaking through cracks in old walls, unsettled, unwanted, but alive.
————————————
Sunlight spilled across the wet sidewalks, thin and cold, caught on the edges of lingering puddles. The city smelled of damp stone and the faint sweetness of fallen blossoms plastered to the pavement.
Lian tied a scarf gently around Cheng Yu’s neck before they left. Her hands moved carefully, lingering a moment as if to reassure herself of his warmth. “Let’s take just a little walk,” she said. “Only as much as you can manage. Maybe the air will steady you.”
Cheng Yu nodded, though he felt uncertain. His chest still ached with every breath, but it wasn’t only pain that weighed him down that morning. Each step forward felt like an act of pretending—pretending that life might return to the way it had been.
They stepped outside, and there, under the shadow of the apartment’s entrance, stood Wu Suo Wei. A dark umbrella hung slack in his hand though the rain had stopped. The gray sweater he wore clung to his frame, ordinary, almost humble, but his eyes betrayed him—too nervous, too alert, locking instantly on Cheng Yu.
Lian’s hand on Cheng Yu’s arm stiffened. She hadn’t expected this. Silence folded over the three of them, an awkward stillness thickened by years unsaid.
Finally, Suo Wei spoke, his words slow, deliberate. “I wanted to see how you were… after everything. Just to check, nothing more.”
Cheng Yu’s expression hardened the moment he heard his voice. He kept his shoulders square, his tone flat.
“I’m healing. It’s being looked after.”
Suo Wei’s lips pressed thin, as though the words cut him. Still, his reply was quiet, steady, “You look tired.”
Before Cheng Yu could answer, Lian intervened. Her voice was polite, yet it carried an edge—like steel wrapped in courtesy. “We’re going for a short walk. Would you like to come? Just a walk.”
The words offered inclusion, but the undertow in her tone warned him not to misstep. Suo Wei nodded once, holding out the umbrella though the sky had begun to clear. His movements cautious, deferential. “If that’s all right with you both.”
They walked down the street side by side—three figures moving at three different rhythms. Lian matched Cheng Yu’s pace so closely that it seemed she bore half the weight of his body. Suo Wei kept to the other side, a step behind, unsure of his place.
The park was quiet, wet paths gleaming, cherry petals clinging in scattered carpets. The scent of damp earth filled the air. Small children played distantly near the slides; their laughter rose, carried briefly by the breeze, before it faded into silence around the trio.
Conversation faltered. Suo Wei asked about symptoms, his voice careful, professional, as though hiding behind the safety of clinical concern. Cheng Yu answered with the precision of a report—short, factual phrases with no room for warmth.
But Suo Wei’s gaze kept straying to the still-yellow bruise at Cheng Yu’s temple. Each time, he looked away quickly, guilty at being caught.
Lian noticed. She noticed everything—the unspoken tension, Cheng Yu’s clipped answers, Suo Wei’s quiet hunger to linger. After one slow circuit around the pond, she paused. Her hand rested lightly on Cheng Yu’s arm.
“I’ll get us some tea,” she said softly. “There’s a stall by the gate.” She smiled faintly, but her eyes carried weight. “Wait for me here.”
Without waiting for objection, she turned and walked toward the far side of the park. Her steps were firm, purposeful, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than the rain clouds still gathered overhead.
Cheng Yu and Suo Wei stood beneath the scattered bows of late blossoms. Neither spoke, and the air between them seemed almost fragile, like glass balanced on the edge of breaking.
————————————
The silence after Lian’s departure was immediate, almost oppressive. The sound of her footsteps faded along the path, mingling with the wet hush of the park. Around them, the branches above held only the last shreds of blossom, pale petals caught in occasional breezes, drifting to the ground like tired snow.
Cheng Yu stood with his arms folded, shoulders drawn tight against the cold seeping from the stone bench he leaned against. The air smelled faintly of damp wood and earth. He did not look directly at Wu Suo Wei, but the weight of his presence was unmistakable, pressing close despite the small distance between them.
Suo Wei cleared his throat softly, then faltered. His eyes searched the ground, then lifted again to Cheng Yu’s profile. His voice, when it came, wavered, “I owe you more than a simple ‘I’m sorry.’ I know these words… they’ve been delayed. Too late. Maybe too small.”
Cheng Yu said nothing. His jaw locked, his body unmoving.
Suo Wei pressed on, his tone low, almost pleading. “I thought silence was safer. For me, and for you. But silence—” He drew in a sharp breath. “Silence was the cruelest thing I could have given you. I see that now.”
At this, Cheng Yu finally turned, his gaze steady but edged. His voice was quiet, stripped of inflection, and yet it cut deep. “You left me just like thaat. No message. No explanation. Nothing for all those years. Do you understand what that feels like?”
The words landed heavily in the air. Suo Wei flinched, though he didn’t look away. His hands clenched around the umbrella handle until his knuckles whitened. “I ran. I know it. I was afraid of what I felt for you—afraid of failing you, of the weight of it. I thought distance would spare us both. All I did was wound you, and—and punish myself by pretending I could live without you.”
Cheng Yu’s voice, still restrained, cracked faintly, “You don’t get to come back and pretend care excuses the disappearing.”
“I’m not excusing it,” Suo Wei said quickly, shaking his head. “Not anymore. I’ve carried the regret every day. And I don’t ask you to forgive me—not right away, maybe not ever. I just need you to know I… I never stopped caring, Cheng Yu. That was never the truth.”
Cheng Yu turned his gaze to the side, staring at the stone path damp with fallen petals. His chest rose and fell, breaths uneven. After a silence stretched thin, he murmured, “You want me to believe you now? When I taught myself not to?”
Suo Wei stepped closer, not daring to touch him. His voice softened.
“I don’t need you to believe everything yet. Just let me stay close. Let me prove it slowly, however long it takes. No demands. No rushing. Just… the chance to show you.”
Time passed in stillness. The park sounds thinned to birdsong overhead, the distant laughter of children now faded. The umbrella hung between Suo Wei’s hands like a useless, fragile shield.
Finally, Lian’s distant figure reappeared by the path, two paper cups of tea carefully balanced. Her gaze flicked quickly between them, noting the closeness, the tension, Cheng Yu’s tightly folded arms. She offered a faint smile, though suspicion shadowed her features.
“Here,” she said, holding out one of the cups. Her tone was even, but her watchful eyes asked questions neither man answered.
Cheng Yu accepted the tea without speaking. The three of them sat in uneasy silence, the warmth of the drink seeping into cold hands, while above them, the last blossoms let go and drifted quietly to the ground.
————————————
The weeks after that first walk unfurled in a rhythm both fragile and deliberate. Cheng Yu returned to his routines—slow mornings stretching into work days, evenings tinged with fatigue. The bruises on his skin faded, but the ache inside him, that deeper and older one, lingered like a shadow.
Suo Wei kept his distance without disappearing. At first, he came rarely, one visit every few days. Each time he called first, never unannounced, his messages simple and direct: “Would you like something from the market?” or “Do you feel well enough for a short walk?” He never pressed when Cheng Yu turned him away.
When he did appear, his presence was restrained. Sometimes, he brought small, ordinary things—milk, fresh tofu, a slim volume of poems by lesser-known poets. He would place them quietly on the counter, like offerings, never expecting thanks.
On other evenings, he simply sat across from Cheng Yu, saying little, just listening as if absorbing every strained word. If Cheng Yu was too tired to talk, Suo Wei accepted the silence too.
At night, he always left soon after, lingering only long enough at the door to see if Cheng Yu might say, Stay. Cheng Yu never did. And Suo Wei never asked.
Yet something subtle began to shift. Cheng Yu noticed it in himself first: how his shoulders seemed lighter after Sui Wei left, how the anger that once surged at the sight of him had dulled into a restless, complicated ache.
When he caught himself thinking of Suo Wei—his quiet nods, his care in pouring tea—guilt flared sharp and immediate. That guilt belonged to Lian.
Lian, however, was too perceptive not to notice the change.
One evening, she laid out dinner—simple rice porridge and steamed greens. The lamplight caught the weariness in her face, though her smile was patient as ever. Cheng Yu ate mechanically, but she did not pick up her chopsticks. She watched him.
Finally, she asked, “Are you really with me, Yu? When we talk. When we sit here.”
The question was soft, but in its softness lay the weight of weeks.
Cheng Yu set down his spoon, his fingers tightening around porcelain before letting it go. He searched for words that wouldn’t wound more than they healed. “I’m trying. I am. But some nights…” His voice faltered. “Some nights I feel far from everything. Even from myself.”
Her eyes glistened, not with reproach but resignation. Still, her smile lingered, though faint. “If you ever want to speak aloud I’ll listen.”
He could not reply, shame folding his chest in. He only reached across the table clumsily, touching her wrist. She accepted the touch, though her other hand subtly withdrew, folding in her lap.
Meanwhile, Suo Wei’s visits continued. Always careful, never forcing. Sometimes Cheng Yu saw him across the park, waiting silently on a bench, umbrella balanced on his knees. Sometimes at the market, holding a bag of oranges but never approaching unless Cheng Yu offered the first nod.
And all the while, Lian saw. She saw Cheng Yu’s gaze drift to the door after Suo Wei left. She saw the way his body carried strain when he avoided words too heavy for him. And she kept her silence, letting truth gather in her heart, waiting for the moment neither of them could ignore.
————————————
It happened one evening when the rain returned, soft and steady against the balcony glass. The city’s lights blurred through the wet pane, each neon sign dissolving into pools of amber and green. Inside, the apartment felt warm but heavy with something unspoken, as though the silence itself had been sitting and waiting.
Cheng Yu had cooked that night, insisting though his ribs still gave him trouble. A pot of simple noodles, little more than broth and greens. He wanted, perhaps, to prove he was healing; perhaps, too, to feel useful again. They ate together in quiet rhythm, the only sound their utensils brushing porcelain bowls.
But Lian wasn’t eating much. Her gaze lingered not on the meal, but on him—on the subtle brightness when his phone buzzed earlier and he had read one short message, then tucked it sharply away, guilt flickering in his eyes. She had said nothing then. She said nothing now.
At last, she set her chopsticks down, folding her hands carefully in her lap as though steadying herself. “Cheng Yu,” she said, her voice soft but unmistakably clear.
He looked up, startled by the seriousness carried in her tone.
“I love you,” she began, with a smile that trembled at the edges. “I will always love you. That never changes. But I’ve been watching you. And I see it—the quiet that comes over you when he visits, the sadness you try to hide when he leaves.”
Cheng Yu froze, shame rushing heavy into him. His lips parted, but his voice broke before it formed. “Lian, I… I don’t want to hurt you—”
She reached across the table, laying her hand over his. Her touch was steady, grounding him before he could collapse into apology. “You never hurt me. What would hurt is if we kept pretending. If you stay beside me while your heart moves somewhere else.”
Tears rose in Cheng Yu’s eyes, falling silently. “You gave me comfort. Stability. I owe you—”
Her grip tightened gently. “You owe me nothing but honesty. And you’ve given me love, years of it. That is a gift beyond owing. But, Cheng Yu… love sometimes means letting go, doesn’t it? Even when it aches.”
He lowered his head into his hands, shoulders trembling, words tangled between tears. “I don’t want you to think you weren’t enough. You were. You are.”
Lian’s smile shone through her wet eyes. “I know. But sometimes being enough doesn’t mean being right, not forever. What I want most—for you, for me—is happiness, even if it’s apart.”
They held each other that night not as lovers but as people who had shared years, weathered storms, built a home. Their embrace was fierce yet tender, sealed with dignity.
Later, Lian packed some of her belongings quietly, neatly: her books stacked into a small bag, the teal mug she favored for coffee in the mornings, her rain boots by the door.
She moved slowly, not rushing, allowing him to absorb each step. Cheng Yu wanted to stop her, to plead—but deep inside, he knew this departure was an act of love itself.
Before leaving, she touched his cheek, brushing away the remnants of his tears. “Be brave, Cheng Yu. Don’t run from what your heart wants. Not again.”
And then, with one final look—grieved yet peaceful—she stepped out into the rain.
The door closed with a soft click. The apartment, for the first time in years, exhaled emptiness. And Cheng Yu stood in its silence, not abandoned, but painfully, mercifully free.
————————————
In the days after Lian’s departure, the apartment felt almost echoing. Cheng Yu found traces of her everywhere—the missing mug leaving a lonely space on the shelf, the absent rustle of her hair dryer in the mornings, the half-empty closet yawning with silence.
He moved carefully through these absences, both relieved and aching. Relief came from honesty—for the first time, the air between them was clear. The ache, however, was sharper. Love gone gracefully was still a kind of wound.
It was into this emptiness that Wu Suo Wei entered, not suddenly, but carefully, like someone stepping barefoot across fragile glass.
He knocked, always waiting longer than usual, as though prepared for rejection. When Cheng Yu opened the door, Sui Wei would greet him plainly:
“Brought food.” Or, “Thought you might like some tea.”
Simple sentences, small anchors.
At first, Cheng Yu didn’t know how to respond. His instinct was to push him back, to remind him of the years of silence. But Suo Wei never pressed. If Cheng Yu was curt, Suo Wei only nodded and left the groceries on the table. If Cheng Yu refused company, Suo Wei accepted it and quietly withdrew, sending instead a short text in the evening: “I hope tomorrow is lighter.”
Over weeks, a rhythm settled.
Some mornings, Cheng Yu found neatly folded notes slipped between grocery bags—a line of verse, sometimes from poets he knew, sometimes obscure. Once, a folded paper simply read: “Rain sounds better when shared.”
Sometimes, after work, Cheng Yu would find Suo Wei already at the gate, holding two cups of warm soy milk, waiting but never intruding. If Cheng Yu turned toward him with a tired glare, Suo Wei would simply say, “I’ll walk with you, if that’s all right,” and if not, he drank both cups himself, still smiling wryly.
Cheng Yu began to notice small things. When he complained about a bad dream—a half-confession muttered one groggy morning—Suo Wei listened without analysis, without advice, just listened. When they shopped together, Suo Wei carried the heavier bags, even when it slowed him down. When Cheng Yu snapped, tired or irritable, Suo Wei replied only with patience.
One moment cut deeper than the rest.
Halfway through a workday, as Cheng Yu sat at his desk staring blankly at half-finished reports, his phone vibrated. A simple message from Suo Wei:
— “A thing of beauty is a joy forever.”
No follow-up. No request. Just a line of poetry hanging in the middle of the day.
Cheng Yu stared at it for a long while, his lips twitching despite himself. For the first time in years, a memory of Suo Wei—once painful—made him quietly smile.
But still he guarded his heart, layering caution over every softened glance. He remembered being left. He remembered silence. This time, he vowed, if he reached again, it would be only when he knew he could.
For now, Suo Wei was patience itself, standing at the threshold of his life—never pushing. Waiting to be let in.
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Summer drew near, and the city shifted. The cherry blossoms had long since scattered, replaced by fresh, vibrant green. The park no longer smelled of petals collapsing in rain, but of sun-warmed grass and the faint sweetness of growing leaves after storms.
Cheng Yu found himself returning there often. It had become, strangely, a place where he could breathe—not because the past was erased, but because it lingered openly, acknowledged.
One evening, as dusk painted the horizon in soft lavender, Cheng Yu sent a message he had been drafting and deleting for days. “Meet me at the garden tomorrow.”
When Wu Suo Wei arrived, he did so cautiously, expression open but hesitant. He held no gifts, no offerings—only himself, which felt both vulnerable and whole. Cheng Yu was waiting by the low stone wall where they had once argued, a place heavy with memory.
For a time, neither spoke. The golden light of evening spilled between them, illuminating dust and drifting leaves.
Finally, Cheng Yu broke the silence. His voice was firm, but the tremor beneath it betrayed the weight of what he was saying. “I made you wait. I made you work. You didn’t give up. And you didn’t run, not once—not this time.”
Suo Wei said nothing, only listened—shoulders tense, eyes fixed, afraid to break the fragile moment.
Cheng Yu continued, slower now, “I can’t say everything is forgiven. The years don’t vanish. The pain doesn’t vanish. But… I think I am ready to believe in you again. Not in what we were, but in what might still exist.”
The words hung between them, delicate as thread.
Suo Wei’s breath left his chest all at once, his eyes bright with disbelief and hope. He stepped forward, carefully, slowly, as though approaching something easily frightened. His voice was soft, stilled with emotion. “Then let me keep showing you. Every day. No promises other than that.”
Cheng Yu’s hand rested at his side, tense. For a long moment, he hesitated. And then, deliberately, he reached out. Their fingers touched, tentative. Suo Wei’s instinct was to grip tightly, but he didn’t—he let the contact remain light, waiting, gentle, leaving Cheng Yu the choice to hold on.
And Cheng Yu did.
No grand speeches followed. No declarations of forever. Just silence, shared honestly this time—silence not born of fear, but of beginning.
The garden hummed with summer insects, faint winds scattering through soft grass. And for the first time since the accident, since the silence years ago, since every wound that had bound him, Cheng Yu felt not whole, but possible.
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Months later, spring returned with fullness. The city was dressed in blossoms again—trees trembling with pale petals, the walkways softened by their drift. Where once the falling petals were reminders of endings, they now seemed less like loss and more like beginnings scattered lightly across the ground.
Cheng Yu stood in the garden with Suo Wei beside him. The stone benches were warm now, the evening air touched with scents of earth and new flowers. They brought books sometimes—slim poetry collections, worn at the edges. Tonight, it was Keats again.
Suo Wei read aloud, his voice quiet but steady. Not dramatic, not practiced—simply sharing words as if they were lanterns handed from his palms. Cheng Yu listened, not only to the lines but to the steadiness behind them, the gentle cadence that once had been absent in their lives.
He thought of the year before, how this same season had carried only silence, regret, walls so thick they could not see each other on the other side. Now, silence between them had softened; it no longer bruised. They could sit without speaking, yet be fully present.
Lian’s name still entered their days sometimes. She and Cheng Yu exchanged the occasional text—short, light: a recommendation for a book, a funny photograph of her new apartment, a brief note about the rainy season starting early. Their friendship lingered, not erased by choice, not bitter, but reshaped into something steadier. She remained a part of his life in a different way, and Cheng Yu carried gratitude for her that no absence could erase.
In the garden, as twilight leaned deeper, Suo Wei closed the book slowly. He did not ask heavy questions anymore—questions like Do you forgive me? Do you still love me? He had learned patience, learned that companionship did not need to be demanded but built.
Still, his hand, resting on the stone beside his thigh, edged closer to Cheng Yu’s. A subtle offer. No pressure. No plea. Just presence.
Cheng Yu glanced at it, at the waiting hand, and felt the old instinct to pull away. Fear lingered still, quiet but real. Yet beneath it was another current—softer, undeniable.
This time, he reached. His fingers found Suo Wei’s, not tentatively, but with quiet certainty. For the first time, the gesture felt natural, unguarded. He didn’t analyze it, didn’t brace for loss or betrayal. He just held on.
Suo Wei smiled, a small, almost surprised curve of lips, as though joy had slipped out before he could contain it. His grip remained gentle. Cheng Yu realized then that love, like spring, was not made of grand beginnings or final arrivals—but of steady returns, of patience and season after season of trying again.
They sat together as the garden slipped into dusk, petals drifting around them. And in that fading light, for the first time in years, Cheng Yu felt something grow quietly, firmly—hope rooted not in illusion, but in truth.
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Notes:
Hey there, lovelies! 💖
This was a bit of an heartbreaker. I first thought that I would make Wu Suo Wei suffer more but I guess he made up quite early. It was a long chapter and it was a bit hectic to write. But I hope you guys like this chapter. I tried my best to make Lian one of the supportive ones and not the person that everyone would hate.
I hope you guys like it. Your kudos and comments on this piece would mean a lot to me. Also, if you have any specific pair that you would want me to write about or any specific plot, please mention it in the comments. Hope you guys enjoy. Happy reading. Until next time🩷😊🌟🌟
Chapter 8: One Step at a Time Part -1 (Chi Cheng/Wu Suo Wei)
Summary:
Chi Cheng comes home scarred and broken after war, carrying silence, ghosts, and a body that refuses to obey him. Wu Suo Wei refuses to leave his side, no matter the anger, the walls, or the ways Chi tries to push him away. This is not a story about perfect healing. It’s about two stubborn men: one learning to accept love, and the other proving that love is not pity, but choice. It’s about surviving the battlefield — and then learning how to truly live again. Together.
Notes:
Warning: Graphic descriptions of trauma recovery, mention of PTSD/trauma
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The knock came on Wu Suo Wei’s door like a stone tossed into still water. Gentle. Courteous. Yet it spread outward in concentric waves that shook the foundation of his world. He knew even before opening it that nothing good ever came packaged in polite uniform footsteps.
Two officers stood in the yellow wash of the hallway light. Their crisp salutes were not for him, but for the ghost of the man tethered to their message. Wu did not need their words to understand. Chi Cheng was alive, but not whole. Alive, but marked.
The words “critical injury, but stable… rehabilitation needed” tumbled into the silence like pebbles dropping into an endless well. Wu’s mind clutched only one fragile truth: not dead. A half-life, perhaps, a fractured shell of the man whose gaze had once been clean steel and laughter—but still breathing.
As the officers left, Wu closed the door and leaned against it. The wood felt colder than winter. His chest throbbed like someone had carved out his ribs and left only paper in their place. He should have screamed, broken something tangible, but instead he folded onto the floor, pressing a trembling palm over his mouth as though he could clamp down on the storm rising inside.
Love, he thought, was a strange and savage thing. It never asked if you were ready; it simply rooted itself deeper with every moment of absence, so that when news like this arrived, it was not just about survival—it was about whether he could survive the waiting, the watching, the returning.
Wu imagined Chi as he had last seen him: tall, austere in his uniform, his smile a quiet lighthouse guiding him back through any dark. Now, that lighthouse was cracked, the glass shattered, the light perhaps dimmed. He wondered if one could keep loving a man the same way when his body was bent under wounds—yet in his heart he already knew the answer. Love was not about perfection; it was about gravity, and Chi was his earth. No matter what happened he would never leave his earth.
He rose slowly, clumsily—as though his legs too had been shot through with bullets of disbelief—and gathered the few things he thought Chi would need when he came home: an old sweater Chi once left behind, a chipped mug still carrying the memory of his lips against it, the scent of ginger broth Wu always brewed in the winter. Small offerings, like talismans against despair.
The night outside the window was vast and starless, but Wu thought—somewhere, Chi must be lying beneath the same sky, bones aching, spirit flickering weakly yet stubbornly resisting the dark. And if Chi was stubborn enough to return from death’s edge, Wu swore he would be stubborn enough to love him back into life.
So when he finally lay down that night, he did not sleep. He rehearsed quiet vows into his pillow, whispered in the dark as though Chi could hear them where he was.
“You are not your scars. You are not the weight of what you lost. You are mine, still and you will continue to be till my last breath.”
And with every whisper, his love stretched like roots into the shattered ground, fastening firmly, ready to withstand whatever storm waited at the threshold.
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The hospital corridors smelled of bleach and medicine. Suo Wei’s footsteps echoed in them—small, hesitant sounds swallowed by the white expanse, where every wall seemed to hum with restrained sorrow. He had carried himself here on a thread of stubborn faith, but as the door to Chi Cheng’s room loomed closer, his body betrayed him—knees locking, lungs catching like a bird trapped against a cage.
When he pushed the door open, the first thing he noticed was the absence of a soldier.
Not the upright broad-shouldered figure who once wore his uniform like a second skin, not the confident stride that could silence a room. Instead, he saw a man bent into fragility—Chi lying against sterile sheets, his frame reduced, skin as pale as paper that might tear if touched without care. His leg was bandaged, his arm tethered by tubes, machines sighing and blinking like indifferent sentinels by his side.
Wu felt something inside his chest collapse inward, a quiet implosion of grief. He wanted to rush forward, to cradle, to kiss life back into him, but his body froze in betrayal. The Chi he knew had been his anchor, his lighthouse, his unshakeable mountain. This man looked like the ruins left after the mountain had caved in.
But then—Chi opened his eyes.
And though the soldier was wounded, though his body lay broken, those eyes still carried the familiar gravity that had once steadied Wu against every storm. Dark, guarded, but immediately aware—Chi looked at him as though his presence was both a painful reminder and a lifeline.
“Wu…” His voice rasped, brittle as cracked parchment.
Wu forced himself forward, every step feeling like drowning and surfacing all at once. He lowered himself to the bedside and pressed his palm gently against Chi’s uninjured hand. The warmth there was faint, but it was present.
“I’m here,” he whispered, voice filled with all the unshed tears of sleepless nights. “I’ll stay.”
Chi gave a faint shake of his head, the kind that carried oceans of shame. His lips curved downward as if to warn: don’t look at me like this; don’t tie yourself to ruin.
But Wu, stubborn as the roots of trees breaking through stone, felt only the surge of love roaring louder than despair. He looked at the pale face, the cracked fortress of a man who had been taught never to show weakness, and thought—if a mountain had fallen, then he would build a garden inside its ruins.
The machines ticked, the night pressed against the windows. Neither spoke much more. Yet in that silence, Wu felt a vow tightening around them, invisible but unbreakable.
Even in pieces, even in ruin—you are mine to love.
—————————————
The body does not always obey love. It resists tenderness with anger, snarls at care as though sympathy were poison. And Chi’s body—once a weapon honed sharp by discipline and drill—now lay dulled and fractured, seething under every attempt Wu made to soften its edges.
Wu arrived one morning carrying a thermos of broth, steam curling from it like little ghosts of warmth, determined to coax Chi into eating. But Chi turned his face away, jaw locked, as though hunger were preferable to dependency.
“I said I’m fine,” he muttered, teeth clenched.
Wu’s patience frayed at the corners, though his voice stayed gentle.
“You can barely lift your arm. You’re not fine. You don’t have to be fine.”
That word—have—shattered like glass in Chi’s ears.
Soldiers had to be fine. Fine meant fighting, fine meant surviving, fine meant not dragging others into the dirt of weakness. Now, with bandages around his ribs and the weight of a leg that trembled under its own betrayal, “fine” had slipped from his grasp. And shame tasted sharper than any wound.
His temper flared, though his voice was hoarse. “Don’t treat me like I’m broken, Wu. Don’t look at me like I’m—” He stopped abruptly, words choking, unable to finish less of a man.
Wu set the broth down and stared at him. His silence was not the silence of surrender but of storms gathering. He leaned forward slowly, eyes locked on Chi’s.
“Listen,” Wu whispered, steady as the tide lapping at stones. “If you think your scars scare me, they don’t. If you think your weakness makes me leave, it doesn’t. You’re not broken—you’re wounded. And wounds—” His voice shook for the first time, softer now. “Wounds heal if you let someone tend them.”
The air between them thickened. Chi looked away, his throat tight, shame wrapping him like chains made of iron and memory. He wanted Wu to back away, to keep the distance that made vulnerability survivable. Yet even now, Wu stayed. In his presence, the room did not feel like defeat—it felt like a battleground where love was the only weapon.
Wu finally reached across and took Chi’s hand. The soldier tried to pull back—an instinct, a refusal to accept pity—but Wu’s grip was sure, not suffocating but anchoring.
“I’m not here because you need me,” Wu said, eyes burning with stubborn fire. “I’m here because I need you. Do you understand?”
For a moment, Chi’s composure broke like a cracked dam. He didn’t cry—Chi Cheng had been trained too long in the art of restraint. But something flickered in his gaze, fragile as fire in the wind: a confession without words, a longing to trust.
Wu lifted the spoon of broth again, placing it carefully by his lips. This time, Chi did not resist. He swallowed, each sip tasting not just of ginger and salt but of something heavier—humiliation, yes, but also the first admission that maybe he did not have to shoulder the world alone.
And so, in that small act of eating, Wu felt a victory deeper than any battlefield conquest. For here was proof: even the most disciplined walls could be breached, not by force, but by love patient enough to wait at the gates until they opened.
—————————————
Wu Suo Wei unlocked the tiny apartment door with hands full of groceries, nearly dropping an onion as the plastic bag tore. It was absurd, he thought—this was what battlefields looked like for him: not gunfire or mud, but a kitchen counter and a soldier stubborn enough to refuse help while limping on bandaged legs.
Chi Cheng sat stiffly on the couch, posture crisp despite the sling pulling at his shoulder. He watched Wu with the same expression he might have offered a new recruit making a mess of drills—calm, judgmental, slightly horrified.
“You bought too much,” Chi muttered when Wu dropped apples onto the table with a thud.
Wu straightened indignantly. “You nearly starved yourself on water and hospital gelatin. You think I’ll let you wither like some tragic war novel? No way. You’ll eat like a king, whether you glare or not.”
The glare deepened, but Chi said nothing. His silence, sharp as a blade, cut through the clinking of jars and the rustle of bags. Wu knew it wasn’t rejection—it was discomfort. The kind of silence that comes from a soldier exiled from his field, dropped into foreign terrain where love, not orders, dictated survival.
And so Wu set about constructing “normal” around him. He boiled noodles that stuck to the pot, made broth too salty, chopped vegetables unevenly. The kitchen filled with smoke and curses, Chi observing all the while. When Wu, sleeves rolled, stood sweating in the half-burnt haze, Chi finally spoke in that low steel voice, “You don’t have to do this.”
Wu turned, face flushed with effort and stubborn fire. “Yes, I do. Because you don’t know how to let anyone.”
The words hung between them, sharp and heavy. Chi drank them in, his shoulders tight, his body wound with resistance he didn’t know how to shed. When Wu placed the steaming bowl—questionable, lopsided, yet made with reckless devotion—onto the table, Chi took it reluctantly, like a weapon he wasn’t meant to wield.
He lifted the chopsticks with his good hand, fumbling slightly. Wu pretended not to notice, instead busying himself with cleaning up the mess. But he did notice—the way Chi’s grip faltered, the way pride disguised embarrassment. And in his chest, Wu felt a pang. He wanted to reach across the table and feed him himself; he wanted to kiss away that silent humiliation.
Instead, he allowed Chi his dignity, let him eat quietly, one uneven bite at a time.
It was such a simple domestic scene—two men, one bandaged, one fussing, sitting at a table with soup that tasted of too much salt. Yet it carried the weight of something profound: home. Wu realized in that moment that love was not just promises whispered in the dark; it was the mundane act of cooking badly, of cleaning burn marks off pans, of insisting against resistance.
And though Chi never said it, his empty bowl at the end was its own confession. For in finishing the meal, he allowed Wu to become part of his survival.
That night, when Wu stayed to wash the dishes and Chi drifted half-asleep on the couch, the quiet between them felt different. Not the silence of discipline, nor the silence of shame—but the silence of two lives beginning to braid together, awkwardly, stubbornly, with the heaviness of scars and the tenderness of the one who refused to let go.
Wu glanced at him, bandaged and exhausted, and thought:
If this is awkwardness, if this is clumsy love, let it last forever. Because at least it means he’s here.
—————————————
Night carried a silence that was never empty. In Chi Cheng’s apartment, the darkness breathed, pressing into walls and down onto the body stretched uneasy across the mattress. Wu had insisted on staying, curling on the narrow couch, muttering something half-teasing about being an unpaid nurse. Chi had not argued. Too tired. Too heavy with restraint.
But when night deepened to the hour where even streetlamps seemed to tremble, Chi’s body betrayed him.
He dreamt of dust and fire. Of shouts torn apart by thunderous blasts. Of weight—men’s weight—crushing his shoulders as he tried to drag them to safety, but his legs folding like reeds in the flood. He dreamt of hands slick with blood, rifles clattering from nerveless fingers. And over it all, the steady indifferent percussion of gunfire, a rhythm that refused to stop.
His breath ripped itself from his lungs. Limbs jerked, sweat glued the bandages to his skin. And when his voice finally tore free—ragged, guttural, the sound of a man not calling for help but bargaining with death—it jolted Wu from shallow sleep.
Wu bolted upright, his heart lurching into his throat. For half a second he did not recognize the sound, but then his eyes adjusted—the sight of Chi thrashing weakly in tangled sheets, face twisted like shattered stone.
“Chi—!” Wu stumbled to him, hands awkward but desperate. He gripped his wrists gently, grounding him. “It’s me. You’re here. You’re safe.”
But Chi did not hear safe. His eyes snapped open, pupils wild, and for an instant he looked at Wu as if he were enemy. That single second clawed something deep out of Wu’s chest: fear, not for himself, but for how lost Chi truly was inside those nightmares.
“I’m here,” Wu whispered, softer now, speaking as if to a wounded animal. He lowered his forehead against Chi’s damp temple, breath warm, steady, insistent. “Come back. Come back to me.”
The tremors slowed. Bit by bit, like a tide withdrawn, the panic ebbed from Chi’s eyes. He was left panting, his chest heaving, the raw fragility of his body exposed against Wu’s arms.
For a long while, neither spoke. Wu simply held him, rocking slightly, as though rhythm itself could stitch torn nerves back together. Chi’s palms pressed against Wu’s shirt, fingers clenching not with strength but desperation, like a man clutching driftwood in a storm.
When he finally found voice, it was sand scraping against stone.
“You shouldn’t see me like this.”
Wu closed his eyes. Those words—so thick with shame—stabbed deeply. He wanted to shake him, to scream, Why must you always measure yourself by strength? Instead, Wu’s voice came with quiet ferocity.
“You think love only belongs to the unscarred?” He drew back just enough to look at him, his thumb against Chi’s jaw. “If your nightmares bite, then let them bite me too. I’m not afraid of your darkness—I’ll sit in it, until you can breathe again.”
Chi stared at him, expression both incredulous and wounded. He wanted to protest, but his lips only trembled. Finally, his head dropped forward, resting against Wu’s shoulder, the quiet gesture more intimate than a confession.
Wu tightened his embrace. Outside, the world turned in indifferent sleep, but within that room, two men breathed in tandem—the soldier drowning in ghosts, and the stubborn heart who refused to let him drown alone.
And though neither said it, love pulsed quiet and unyielding in that embrace, like a lantern held against wind, fragile yet unwavering.
—————————————
Dawn crept into the room like a thief, spilling pale light over the battlefield of tangled sheets and half-empty glasses. Wu woke slowly, stiff from the awkward chair he’d collapsed in after cradling Chi through the storm of dreams. His back ached, his eyes burned with fatigue. But when he turned his head, he saw Chi already awake, sitting upright. The soldier’s face was a mask again—stone-hewn, disciplined, expression as neutral as barracks walls.
It was the same look men wore when they built walls to keep others out.
Wu rubbed his eyes, voice still husky with sleep. “You should’ve woken me if you needed anything.”
“I don’t need anything,” Chi said flatly.
There it was again—don’t need. A blade disguised as words. Wu felt irritation prick up, but beneath it lay something sharper: hurt.
“You don’t call that anything?” Wu’s tone was sharper than intended. “Last night you nearly tore yourself apart, Chi. You think I didn’t hear?”
Chi’s jaw flexed. His hands, still tremoring faintly, curled into fists against his lap. “I survived worse before you. I’ll survive it again. Alone.”
The words struck Wu like iron bars slamming down around him. He swallowed a lump in his throat. Part of him wanted to rage, to demand what use pride was when it left a man choking on his own silence. Instead, his voice lowered, threaded with restrained fury.
“You think I’m pitying you? Is that what’s tearing you apart—that I might look at you and see weakness?” Wu stepped closer, every word deliberate, pressing against the invisible wall Chi had raised. “But I don’t see weakness. I see someone who fought until his body gave out, and still doesn’t know how to stop fighting—even against the person who’s trying to love him.”
The silence stretched. Chi’s eyes burned with something hidden—anger, shame, resistance mixed with a helpless longing. For a heartbeat, Wu thought he might shout. Instead, Chi slowly turned his face away, voice a hoarse whisper, “I don’t want you to waste yourself on me.”
Wu’s breath caught. For a moment he saw past the wall—all the way into the rawest wound: not arrogance, but fear. Fear of chaining someone else to his broken ribs, his shattered dreams. Fear that love could rot into resentment.
Wu’s heart clenched, but instead of retreat, he bent forward slightly, close enough to whisper. “A waste?” He let out a laugh, tired but fierce. “Chi, being here with you is the only thing in my life that has never felt like a waste. If all you give me are pieces, I’ll still hold them like treasure.”
Chi closed his eyes, an almost imperceptible tremor running through his shoulders. He wanted to refuse, to reinforce the barricade, but his hands betrayed him—fingers slowly uncurled, brushing lightly against Wu’s where they hovered nearby.
It was no grand gesture, no victory. But to Wu, that small touch felt like iron walls shifting just enough for light to enter.
And in that light, even faint, Wu thought, I’ll keep knocking. Forever, if I have to. Because behind these walls lives the man I love, and he’s worth every wound my heart endures.
—————————————
The morning was reluctant, stretching light over the quiet confines of the apartment as though wary of intruding. Suo Wei shuffled into the kitchen, hair messy, shirt half-buttoned, armed with a mission of reckless bravery: breakfast.
He rummaged loudly through cutlery drawers like a burglar who had mistaken pots for treasure. Eggs nearly slipped from his hands; the oil leapt in protest, spitting against the pan. And when he finally attempted pancakes, the result resembled charred moons after a war-torn eclipse.
From the couch, Chi watched in silence. His soldier’s eyes tracked Wu’s every misstep with cool detachment, but Wu could feel the faintest crackle of amusement under that stern gaze.
Wu turned, holding a lopsided pancake aloft with mock solemnity.
“Behold—culinary excellence. Gordon Ramsay would beg to kneel.”
Chi’s brows lifted. “It looks like a boot sole.”
Wu gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “A boot sole you will eat and thank me for, Commander.”
The corner of Chi’s mouth twitched—the smallest, most fragile uprising against his own discipline. Wu saw it and pounced, spinning the spatula like a sword. “Ah, the great Chi Cheng smirks! Mark the day! History will sing it as the Smile Rebellion of Modern Times.”
Chi tried to school his expression again into flat steel, but the effort broke when Wu flipped another pancake and it collapsed into half-melted ruins. Against his will, against the sting of his pride, the laugh escaped him—ragged, startled, rusted from disuse. But it was a laugh.
Wu froze, spatula still raised like a weapon of holy honor, eyes widening. He felt it ripple—it wasn’t just sound, it was resurrection.
For so long their world had been heavy with the shadow of Chi’s wounds, as though joy had been barred entry. And now, in one slip of shattered humor, love had coaxed laughter from ruin.
Wu grinned wildly, reckless and bright. “There it is,” he whispered, softer now, as if afraid to scare it away. “God, I missed that sound.”
Chi’s laughter faded, leaving him awkward, as if caught naked. He turned his face aside, muttering something about the stupidity of burnt food. Yet the faint curve of his lips lingered, stubborn as summer after long rain.
Wu set the spatula down gently, letting the moment breathe before he sat beside him. He didn’t press, didn’t tease further. Instead, he simply leaned his shoulder against Chi’s, grounding the quiet. That small physical weight, warm and steady, spoke what words could not.
“You can still laugh. You can still live. You’re still mine.”.
And though Chi said nothing, his silence was no longer iron—it was something softer, something yielding. Beneath his sternness, there was the faint pulse of life unburdening itself, one heartbeat at a time.
Wu inhaled, letting the scent of burnt pancakes and morning sunlight settle into him like incense. He thought: This is victory. Not battles, not medals. Just the sound of him laughing in the kitchen, alive.
—————————————
The rehab room smelled faintly of disinfectant and old sweat—the kind of air that remembered too many struggles, too many broken bodies learning to become new versions of themselves.
Chi Cheng stood on uncooperative legs, a pair of metal crutches braced beneath his arms, the muscles of his jaw tight as if he could crush his weakness by clenching hard enough. His uniform days had taught him precision, balance, endurance. Yet now, every step betrayed him, his leg trembling with a rebellion he couldn’t command.
Suo Wei walked beside him like a fierce, stubborn shadow. Not hovering—never suffocating—but near enough that if Chi fell, he would break the fall without hesitation.
“Left foot,” the therapist encouraged, patient in ways only professionals could be.
Chi’s breath hitched as he tried. His leg buckled slightly, pain flaring up through the bandaged limb. He cursed under his breath, teeth gnashing at his own failing body.
“Again.” The therapist’s voice was firm but kind.
“Enough.” Chi spat it like an order. Sweat was slick against his temples. Fury simmered at the edges. “It’s pointless.”
Wu, who had been watching with folded arms, stepped forward before the therapist could speak. “Pointless?” His voice carried a heat that instantly hooked Chi’s burning gaze. “Since when do you quit halfway through a fight?”
“This isn’t a battlefield,” Chi snapped, frustrated, humiliated.
Wu’s eyes narrowed, matching his fire. “It is. It’s you versus the part of yourself that wants to lie down forever. And if you surrender here, what the hell did you survive for?”
The words struck like cannon fire. Chi’s chest heaved, anger sparking against the shame, but behind Wu’s stare there was no mockery—only a fierce belief so blinding it made Chi want to look away.
“Try again.” Wu’s voice softened but didn’t waver. “Not for medals. Not for anyone’s pride. For me. For you. For tomorrow.”
A quiet fell. Chi’s knuckles tightened around the metal bars. For a moment, he looked like the soldier he once was—commanding his body into line, not with arrogance but with sheer refusal to bow. He lifted, dragged, placed his left foot forward. The motion was ungainly, trembling, imperfect—but it was a step.
Wu’s breath caught. The smallest, simplest movement—but to him, it was a cathedral built in rubble.
“One more,” he urged, voice now thick, trembling at the edges. “Come on, Chi.”
The second step came, shakier, nearly faltering—Wu’s hand shot out instinctively to steady him, strong fingers gripping Chi’s arm. That single touch held not pity but solidarity, as if saying: I will hold you until you can hold yourself.
By the end of the brief walk, Chi collapsed back into the chair, drenched in sweat, exhaustion written into every muscle. His chest rose and fell rapidly, but his eyes—dark, unyielding—met Wu’s.
“I hate this,” Chi muttered, voice rough.
“I know,” Wu replied, kneeling so they were level. He lifted a hand, pressed it gently against Chi’s trembling knee. His gaze softened, his own throat tight. “But I love that you tried.”
Something flickered in Chi’s expression: not quite gratitude, not yet surrender. But it was the first step in more ways than one.
Wu’s lips curved into a small smile. “And for the record? You were terrifying on two legs. You’ll be unstoppable on one and a half.”
It dragged out a sound that might have been half a laugh, half a growl—but Wu took it, carried it like victory.
Because love, he realized, wasn’t about chasing perfection. It was about walking through imperfection together—one staggering step at a time.
—————————————
Notes:
Hey guys!! This story really came from my heart. Chi Cheng has lost everything he thought made him worthy—his strength, his purpose, his pride. And still, Wu Suo Wei looks at him and says, “You’re mine. Even now.” I wanted to write about the quiet kind of love—the kind that shows up with soup, burns the pancakes, learns how to help without asking.
💭 If this story spoke to you, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments. And if there’s a pairing or plot you want to see—drop it in the comments! Your kudos will be appreciated. I’m always open to more messy, meaningful stories.
✨ Two more parts are on the way—thank you for reading this one.☺️♥️
Chapter 9: One Step at a Time Part-2 (Chi Cheng/Wu Suo Wei)
Summary:
Chi struggles to accept his survival and the love Wu offers. When Chi pushes him away, insisting on bearing his suffering alone, Wu finally snaps. He confesses the depth of his love and the pain of seeing Chi drown in guilt and silence.
Notes:
Warning: Mention of graphic descriptions of trauma recovery, triggers like nightmares and flashbacks
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The television flickered in the background, muted but alive, dousing the room in a jittery wash of color. Wu Suo Wei was in the kitchen, humming terribly off-key as he rinsed a chipped bowl, when he heard it: the faint, sharp hitch of breath that did not belong to ordinary silence.
He turned.
Chi Cheng sat rigid on the couch, his bandaged leg angled stiffly, his eyes pinned to the moving images on the screen—headlines, footage of combat zones, smoke rising against skies that looked too familiar. Military news. A routine broadcast, harmless to most—but for Chi, it opened a door back into hell.
Wu froze, dish still in his hand. Chi’s fists rested tightly against his thighs, knuckles white, shoulders coiled like springs. His chest rose too quickly, eyes unblinking, pupils shrinking against ghosts only he could see.
“Chi…” Wu’s voice was careful, as if stepping onto glass.
But Chi didn’t hear him. He was already elsewhere. Back in dust-choked streets. Back where shouts tore through the air and the earth itself convulsed under bombardment. In his mind, the couch beneath him dissolved into cracked asphalt, the television’s flickering light became fire. And around him, as always, voices cut short—comrades who hadn’t walked out, faces carved into him with the permanence of scars.
Wu crossed the room swiftly and switched off the TV. Darkness filled the silence, but it was not enough to snuff out the war replaying behind Chi’s eyes. His hands twitched as though reaching for a weapon long since taken away. His lips parted, and in a cracked whisper he spoke names—names Wu had never heard, but knew instantly belonged to the dead.
Wu dropped to his knees in front of him. His own voice broke. “Hey, hey—look at me.”
But Chi didn’t. His gaze was locked on phantoms painted against the void.
So Wu did the only thing he could: he reached up, cupped Chi’s face with both hands, firm enough that he could not look away, gentle enough that the touch itself carried no force.
“Chi,” Wu said fiercely, eyes burning. “They’re gone. But you’re here. Do you hear me? You’re—here—with me.”
At last, a crack. Chi’s eyes trembled wildly, focus skittering like an animal cornered. His lips parted, breath tearing ragged. “I should’ve— It should’ve been—” The words collapsed, shards of guilt spilling through.
“No,” Wu cut in, fierce and broken, forehead pressed hard against his. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. If the world tried to trade you for anyone, I’d drag you back myself. You’ve given enough blood to your fears. You’re mine now.”
Silence fell like a weight. The fight drained out of Chi’s shoulders, though his body still shook faintly, as though remnants of explosions echoed through his bones.
Wu’s thumbs brushed the damp at the corner of his eyes—tears Chi hadn’t allowed anyone else to see. His mouth curved into a trembling smile, fragile but stubborn. “See? Even strong men cry. And you’re still strong. Strong enough to survive this moment. Strong enough to let me stay.”
For the first time, Chi let his forehead lean fully into Wu’s touch, as if conceding not defeat, but the possibility of shared survival. The silence grew softer, less jagged. Wu wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into the cocoon of his own trembling chest.
The television was off. The ghosts lingered. Yet here, in the hush of a small apartment, there was also the gravity of love: a force strong enough to pull even the most haunted soul back from the battlefield.
—————————————
Suo Wei had always believed patience was a kind of armor—durable, flexible, indispensable when loving someone like Chi Cheng. He had braced himself against walls, watched nightmares eat into his nights, cooked fumbling meals, carried the weight of silence. Yet love, even burning bright, was not inexhaustible. And tonight, Wu discovered the truth: even the most stubborn heart could tremble.
It began with small things. Chi refused to do his exercises, snapping that he was “not a cripple to be treated like a child.” The dishes Wu cooked were left half-eaten. Whenever Wu reached for him, hands gentle, ready to share warmth, Chi’s expression flickered with guilt—or worse—patience, as if enduring affection was another burden.
Wu swallowed every slight at first. He told himself Chi didn’t mean it, that ghosts spoke louder than love did. But cracks spread in silence. And when Chi muttered for the third time that week, “You should leave me be. Live your own life,” something snapped.
Wu dropped the dish he’d been drying. Porcelain shattered against the tiles, as sharp and clean as the sound hollowing his chest.
“You think your suffering is only yours?” Wu burst out, voice raw, eyes flashing brighter than any fever. Chi stiffened in surprise, unused to Wu’s fire aimed at him, not for him. “Do you think I don’t bleed every day watching you try to erase yourself in front of me? You think I don’t carry it, Chi? Every nightmare, every scar you try to hide—do you think it doesn’t slice me open too?”
Chi said nothing, chest rising like he’d been caught mid-battle. Wu inhaled, shallow, shaking, words spilling uncontrolled.
“I love you so much it’s like drowning. And you—” his throat caught on the bitterness of it, “—you keep pushing me away like love is a curse I chose wrong. But I didn’t. I chose you. Again and again, I choose you. Even in pieces. Even covered in ghosts. But I’m so damn tired of being the only one holding us together.”
His voice broke, and with it, shame. He had never wanted Chi to hear him so fragile. Yet in that moment, Wu no longer cared—because strength without honesty was only another mask.
For once, Chi had no words lined with iron. He only stared at Wu, chest pinched, his broad, scarred hands twitching as though reaching for something invisible. The mask cracked, and beneath it appeared not the hardened soldier… but a man stunned by the enormity of the devotion he did not think he deserved.
The silence between them swelled, heavy but alive. Wu pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes, muttering, voice hoarse: “Why do you think I stayed? If I wanted easy, I’d have left years ago.”
Something deep within Chi shifted. Slowly—painfully slowly—he reached out, his hand large, scar-scalloped, trembling with hesitation. It hovered a breath away from Wu’s shoulder, then finally rested there, heavy but steady.
“I…” His voice caught. He swallowed. Words, for him, were harder than walking. “I don’t know how to—accept that. To give back what you give me.”
Wu lowered his hands, eyes red, but burning. “Then learn,” he whispered.
For the first time in weeks, Chi didn’t push him away. His hand remained, solid on Wu’s shoulder, wordless but present. And in that fragile contact, a promise trembled.
—————————————
The night was restless, heavy with something unsaid. Wu Suo Wei sat hunched over the small table, sketching absent lines into a notebook, the lamplight haloing him in soft amber. Across the room, Chi Cheng stared at the wall as if it were an enemy he could force into surrender.
For hours, silence stretched taut. And then, without warning, it snapped.
“You should go,” Chi said suddenly, voice colder than the steel barrels he once aimed downrange.
Wu’s pencil stilled mid-stroke. He looked up slowly, eyes unreadable. “…What?”
“I said leave.” Chi’s tone was clipped, military. Orders, not requests. A wall crashing down between them.
Wu frowned, standing, heat rushing through him. “We’ve done this dance already.”
“This isn’t a dance,” Chi snapped, rising as far as his battered body would allow. His broad hand gripped the couch for balance, knuckles white. His voice rose, fractured by desperation: “I can’t stand being watched like a cripple. Can’t stand you wasting your life babysitting me. Do you understand? Every time you pick up my slack, every time you smile like it’s fine—I feel it. I feel what I’ve become, and I can’t—” His voice cracked. “I can’t do it with you watching.”
The words hit Wu like shrapnel—sharp, lodging deep. His teeth clenched, anger and hurt fusing into a single pounding rhythm in his temples.
“You think I’m staying because I pity you?” Wu’s voice trembled with fury. “You think I’m here because I don’t have a choice? You arrogant bastard. I chose you—your pride, your shadows, your dismantled walls.” He jabbed a finger at Chi’s chest, close enough to feel the tremor beneath the scars. “And you keep spitting in my face as if my love is poison.”
Chi’s eyes blazed. “Because it is!”
The room fell silent at the echo. The word hung there, monstrous. Poison.
Wu staggered back as if he’d been struck. The air left his lungs. For a heartbeat, his vision blurred. He never thought Chi would say it aloud, even in his darkest moods.
The silence was unbearable. Wu let out a short, broken laugh—sharp around the edges. His throat ached. “Then fine. If my love is poison to you, then drown in your own silence. But don’t you dare blame me for leaving when you keep stabbing the only hand that pulls you out.”
He grabbed his coat, movements jerky, eyes burning with unshed tears he refused to let Chi see. Chi stood frozen, chest heaving, a battlefield of words ravaging his insides but too bound by pride and guilt to call him back.
The door slammed shut.
And then—emptiness.
The apartment, once too small for their shadows, yawed wide around Chi. The silence swarmed in, choking him without mercy. For the first time in many nights, Chi realized he was truly, unbearably alone. His body shuddered as he fell back into the chair, hands gripping the arms so hard his nails dug crescents into the wood.
He had won the fight. Pushed Wu away.And it felt nothing like victory.
It felt like a bullet clean through the heart.
—————————————
The slammed door still vibrated faintly in the walls long after Wu Suo Wei was gone. Chi Cheng sat rigid where he had collapsed, palms pressed so hard against the armrests his knuckles whitened. The silence folded over him like a burial shroud. Even the hum of the refrigerator seemed muffled, as though the whole apartment recoiled from his words.
Poison.
He had said it. Let it fly like a bullet. And Wu had caught it, not in his chest, but in his eyes—eyes that had widened, then burned, before turning to leave.
Chi pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes until stars burst behind the lids. He had thought pushing Wu away would at least grant him relief from the stifling weight of being seen so raw, so dismantled. But instead the air now felt stripped of oxygen, unbreathable without the sound of Wu’s stubborn laughter, without the messy clatter he brought to Chi’s sterile life.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Suo Wei wandered across streets that blurred beneath neon lights. His coat hung loose around him, unbuttoned despite the night air biting against his skin. He walked without direction, as though movement itself might stitch his chest back together.
The words ricocheted in his skull. Your love is poison.
It echoed cruelly because it had struck at the heart of his deepest fear—that his love, tireless and consuming, might one day feel suffocating, unwanted. He had thought his devotion was a lifeline. Had he mistaken a noose for a gift?
Wu stumbled into a quiet park, collapsing onto a bench. He dropped his face into his trembling hands. For years he had made a habit of patching Chi together with bandages of stubborn devotion, never once imagining that Chi would spit them out as if they burned. His throat tightened; a half-sob tore out—the kind of cry he’d once sworn never to let Chi hear.
He whispered into his palms, hollow and broken: “Why can’t you just let me love you?”
Above him, the night sky stretched merciless, indifferent. Stars blinked as if distant eyes turning away. Wu sat there until his body froze with exhaustion, but he did not go home. He could not bear the thought of returning to his own empty apartment. His love lived elsewhere, even if that love no longer wanted him.
—————————————
Back in his room, Chi finally stood. His wounded leg ached, reminding him with each step how much of himself he had lost. He limped to the window and stared at the dark street below, wondering if Wu was out there somewhere now, angry, crying, cursing his name. The image pierced him deeper than shrapnel ever had.
His reflection stared back from the glass: a soldier unrecognizable, shoulders heavy not with war, but with the weight of the man he had driven away.
For the first time since returning home, Chi whispered aloud—not to ghosts, but into the emptiness Wu had left.
“Come back…”
The words broke halfway, hanging fragile in the still air. No one answered.
And that night, both men lay in their separate solitude—hearts beating across the same city, yet caged in opposite loneliness. The only thing heavier than their love had finally revealed itself: its absence.
—————————————
Wu had not meant to return.
At least, not so soon. Pride told him to stay away, to let Chi sit with his loneliness, to let the sting of absence instruct him. Yet pride and love had always been poor companions. And love, reckless and untamable, dragged Wu back to the apartment door after a night of wandering streets that blurred into dawn.
He stood there, coat wrinkled, hair disheveled, staring at the wood grain of the door, his hand hovering but unsure. His heart pounded like it always did before jumping into cold water: to knock would be to surrender his pride, to risk another wound. To turn away would mean admitting that distance could win over gravity.
Wu knocked.
There was no immediate answer. Then—slow steps, uneven, dragging. The soft scrape of a lock. The door opened.
Chi Cheng stood inside, sunken-eyed, shoulders weighed down by exhaustion darker than his shadows. His throat bobbed once at the sight of Wu, and for a moment, words died between them.
Wu swallowed, his voice low, roughened by the night. “I had to see you.”
Chi’s jaw tightened, shame flickering across his features. He looked like a fortress cracked open by earthquake. His voice, when it came, was faint: “I didn’t mean it.”
Wu blinked, stunned.
Chi’s gaze dropped, fingers curling against the doorframe. “What I said—about your love being poison.” His breath fractured. “It wasn’t you. It’s me. Seeing you here, giving everything, while I—while I’m reduced to this.” His hand gestured bitterly at himself, the broken limb, the trembling body. His voice lowered further, trembling. “I hate that you see me like this… and I hate myself for needing you.”
Wu stepped closer, gently forcing Chi to meet his gaze. His eyes burned, but softer this time, not with fury but with wounded tenderness.
“You think needing me makes you weak?” Wu whispered. “Chi, love isn’t weakness. It’s the damn opposite. It takes more strength to let someone in than it does to lock them out.”
Chi shook his head, voice fraying. “All I bring you is pain. You deserved better than this carcass of a man.”
“Better?” Wu’s voice broke into a laugh, wet with unshed tears. “There isn’t better. There’s only you. You, Chi Cheng—the stubborn soldier who makes me want to stay even when he throws venom at me. The man I wake up every morning still grateful hasn’t vanished. You’re my one. My only.”
Chi’s composure shattered. His breath came uneven, shoulders trembling, eyes glistening in a way he had resisted for too long. For a soldier whose body had absorbed bullets and scars, tears felt far more violent than shrapnel. But Wu stood there and took them, brushing them with a tenderness that held no judgment.
At last, Chi whispered hoarsely, his forehead bowing until it pressed against Wu’s. “I’m sorry…”
And Wu mattered no more words. He simply folded his arms around him, pressed his body against Chi’s with a fierceness that said never again. Chi stiffened, then melted, collapsing into Wu’s embrace as though letting go of years of discipline and shame in one trembling exhale.
There were no medals here, no banners, no audience. Yet this—two men holding each other against silence, against ghosts, against the weight of survival—felt like the truest victory either of them had ever known.
Wu closed his eyes, whispering into Chi’s hair, “Then promise me one thing.”
“…What?”
“That when it’s hard, when it’s ugly—you’ll let me stay instead of shutting me out.”
Chi hesitated, then nodded, the movement small but firm, like the first steady breath after drowning.
And in that fragile, raw dawn, they began again.
—————————————
The morning after their storm and surrender was made of muted light and soft silences. Not the brittle silence of anger—not anymore—but one that wrapped around them like a quilt, stitched together by breaths, glances, the quiet hum of being together.
Wu Suo Wei had insisted on making breakfast again. The eggs came out lopsided; the toast had one corner nearly black. This time, Chi ate without protest. Each bite seemed less about nourishment and more about agreeing, silently, to let Wu stay—burnt toast and all.
By midday, the domestic clumsiness deepened into intimacy.
Chi sat in the chair by the window, a blanket over his lap, while Wu emerged triumphantly from the bathroom holding a razor and a towel. “You’re growing a beard,” Wu declared, squinting dramatically. “And while the rugged soldier look is very… dangerous in its own way, it makes you look like you’ve been camping inside your own misery.”
Chi raised a brow, unimpressed. “And you plan to fix that?”
“I plan to save you from looking like a tragic hermit and bring back my stoic general,” Wu announced, leaning close. “Hold still.”
The razor hummed softly. Wu’s fingers tilted Chi’s chin, knuckles brushing rough stubble. His breath feathered against Chi’s cheek as he leaned in close, movements careful and tender. Each stroke was a ritual of devotion: soap lather smoothed, steel gliding, hand steady not with duty but affection.
Chi tried not to react, but the intimacy of it unraveled him quietly. The soldier who once carried rifles with detached precision now sat still while a man he had once called reckless cradled his face like something holy.
At one point, Wu slipped, a dot of foam smearing across Chi’s lip. He froze, then grinned slowly. “Oops. My bad. Guess I’ll have to get that off manually.”
Before Chi could retort, Wu leaned in and kissed him—light, mischievous, the taste of soap and warmth mingling with laughter. It wasn’t heated, wasn’t desperate, but it was whole. For the first time since the injury, it was simply love, uncomplicated.
Chi exhaled slowly when they parted, the faintest ghost of a smile curving against his will. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re mine,” Wu replied, triumphant.
The rest of the day unfolded in the same rhythm of quiet tenderness. Wu read aloud from a battered novel while Chi dozed, the cadence of his voice lulling the soldier into rare, peaceful sleep. Later, Chi awoke to Wu sketching him—not as a broken man, but as he looked now, blanket around his shoulders, eyes softer than he realized.
“You make me look gentler,” Chi murmured quietly, a little unsettled.
Wu glanced up, smudged pencil against his fingers. His smile carried no humor this time, only truth. “You are gentler. You just don’t let yourself believe it.”
And for once, Chi did not argue.
Outside, the city went about its noise and rush, but within those walls there was a stillness almost sacred. Love, imperfect but steadfast, lived within small actions: eating burnt toast, shaving stubble, sketching lines. It was no longer a war against walls—it was the slow, patient construction of a home.
Wu leaned against his shoulder that evening, sighing like a man who’d finally found the right gravity.
And Chi, resting his cheek against unruly hair, admitted silently to himself: staying was not Wu’s burden.
It was his salvation.
—————————————
The night was quiet but not fragile. It was the softness of rain falling on closed windows, the hum of the city distant, the lamplight warm against the edges of shadows. Wu sat cross‑legged on the rug, sketchbook in hand, doodling lines that spiraled into nothing. Above him on the couch, Chi rested with shoulders heavy, eyes half‑closed, his body pulled taut as if even the posture of relaxation was foreign to him.
Wu looked up. “Do you want water?”
“No.”
“Food?”
“No.”
Wu tapped his pencil against the paper. “Then what do you want?”
There was no answer at first, only the faint press of silence. Wu shrugged, lowering his gaze, trying to hide the ache that question always left him with. Chi never asked for things. Never admitted hunger, thirst, or anything that would reveal want. It was as if desire itself had been beaten out of him in the dust of the battlefield.
But when Wu shifted as if to retreat into his drawing again, a low voice pierced the space. Rough. Hesitant.
“You.”
Wu froze. The pencil slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the wooden floor. For a heartbeat, he thought he had misheard, that fatigue was inventing what he longed to hear. But then he lifted his gaze, and there it was in Chi’s eyes—dark, fierce, trembling at the edges but unflinching.
Wu’s chest flooded with warmth so sharp it hurt. His lips turned dry. “…Say it again.”
Chi drew in a deep breath, trying to hold his world together while stepping off an invisible cliff. His voice was softer this time, stripped bare.
“I need you.”
The words were not grand, not ornate. Yet in them lived a thousand unshed confessions, a thousand nights of silence, a thousand swallowed aches. For Chi Cheng—soldier, iron, storm—to say need was to drop his shield at Wu’s feet and kneel, naked to his own humanity.
Wu’s heart clenched. He rose slowly, came to sit beside him. His hands trembled as he cupped Chi’s face, as though handling something too precious, too impossible.
“You don’t know what that means to me,” Wu whispered, eyes burning. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say it?”
Chi’s jaw tightened, his pride twitching as if resisting even now. But then he exhaled, his entire body sagging forward until his forehead pressed into Wu’s shoulder. His voice, muffled against fabric, carried the weight of surrender.
“All this time, I thought letting you close would destroy you… that needing you would make me less. But it’s killing me more not to.” A pause. “If I fall apart, will you still stay?”
Wu closed his eyes, lips pressing softly into Chi’s hair. “I’ll stay even when there are no pieces left. Then I’ll gather them and give them back to you as if you were whole. Because to me—you already are.”
Chi’s throat made a sound halfway between a sob and an exhale. His hands, scarred and trembling, slid around Wu’s waist—not commanding, not hesitant, but holding as though terrified the world would rip Wu away. And Wu, in answer, only pressed closer, one hand stroking his back slowly, grounding him in silence.
The lamp hummed, shadows flickered, but neither man moved to break away. For the first time in what felt like forever, Chi Cheng allowed himself not to be the soldier, nor the wounded, nor the shameful survivor. He allowed himself to be simply a man who needed, and who was needed in return.
And in that raw, quiet embrace, their love shifted from endurance into something deeper: a vow. Unspoken but eternal.
—————————————
The room stank faintly of rubber mats and antiseptic. Afternoon light streamed through the tall windows, painting long rectangles across the floor where Chi Cheng stood gripping the rails of the rehab bars.
For days now, he had been making progress—a step, then two, then three. Wu Suo Wei had been there for each, applauding with the unguarded joy of a man watching the sun rise after endless storms.
But today, Chi pushed harder. Too hard.
His jaw was set as if he were still a commander forcing an exhausted battalion into enemy fire. Pain flared through his bandaged leg, sweat dripping into his brow, but he refused to slow.
“Chi,” the therapist cautioned, “enough for today.”
Wu, standing off to the side with the water bottle, chimed in too, worried. “He’s right, stop. You’ve done enough.”
Chi’s hand tightened around the bar, grip trembling with both strain and pride. “Enough is never enough.” He dragged his body forward, muscles screaming mutiny. One more step, then a jolt—pain raked like knives up his thigh. His balance faltered.
“Chi!” Wu lunged as his body collapsed sideways. The soldier hit the mat with a low, guttural sound, as if the earth itself had claimed him. Wu dropped to the floor, panic clawing him raw.
“Are you hurt? Chi—look at me.”
But Chi shoved his hands away, face twisted not in pain but in rage—rage at his body, at himself, at the humiliating reality of crumbling where once he had conquered. His breaths came sharp, ragged, each one pulled like barbed wire through his lungs.
“Get out,” Chi rasped, voice shaking. His fist slammed the mat weakly. “Don’t—look at me like this.”
Wu froze, heart cracking at the echoes of that old refrain. But this time, instead of leaving, he stayed kneeling, eyes shining with both fear and fury.
“You think falling makes you small? Chi, don’t you see—it makes you human! And I—” His chest heaved as his voice fractured. “I didn’t fall in love with a soldier or a damned body of steel. I loved you. The man who laughs like he doesn’t know joy is rare. The man who tries so hard to carry everyone that he forgets his own weight. I love even this—you furious, trembling, broken open.”
Chi’s head turned sharply, eyes blazing. “Why? Why do you keep saying that? This—this version of me—it isn’t worth—”
“Because love isn’t a bargain,” Wu cut in, his hands seizing Chi’s shoulders, shaking him gently. His voice dropped, rich with trembling truth. “It’s a promise. I don’t care how many times you fall, I’ll pick you up every damn time. Not because you’re weak— but because I choose you over and over. Even like this.”
Silence fell, except for their unsteady breaths. Chi stared at him, anger wavering, collapsing inward. He wanted to spit more venom, to snarl that he was unworthy—but the words shriveled. Instead, wetness rimmed his eyes. He turned his face, sunlight glancing off the sheen of tears he refused to release.
Wu’s touch softened, hands slipping down to clasp his. His grip was steady, grounding, unyielding. “You don’t have to be invincible with me.”
The tears finally broke. Slow, silent, hot against Chi’s cheeks. He bowed his head, shoulders trembling violently, and let Wu hold him there on the mat—no medals, no strength, nothing but tears and arms that refused to let go.
For the first time, Chi Cheng allowed himself to fall and did not call it defeat.
—————————————
Notes:
Hey guys 😊
There’s something sacred about love that chooses to stay through the ugly, hard, and wordless parts of life. This story is for that kind of love—the one that sees your scars, your fear, your silence, and doesn’t flinch.
Important: Guys I need to ask you something. I have planned to write a series of oneshot for Chi Cheng and Guo Cheng Yu based on the kdrama " My Business Proposal". It is going to be hilarious and funny. So should I write it?
📣 I’d also love to hear your thoughts. I have noted down all your ideas that you mentioned in the comments. I will work on them however it will take me some time.
Make sure you comment down your favourite parts in the comments below and tell me what do you think about this story. Also you can guess as to what happens in the next part. This oneshot will have one last part that will be post soon.📖📖👓
Your kudos and comments motivate me to write. Hope you guys enjoy it. Happy reading 🌟🩷😊
Chapter 10: One Step at a Time Part-3 (Chi Cheng/Wu Suo Wei)
Summary:
Wu Suo Wei and Chi Cheng struggle with unspoken pain after rehab, their love overshadowed by trauma and silence. In a moment of raw honesty, Wu confronts Chi about the emotional toll of their broken relationship. As Chi finally opens up, they begin to face their shared scars, learning that healing together may be the only way forward.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The apartment was dark when they returned from rehab. Wu had carried most of the silence back like a bitter weight on his shoulders, his hand gripping the strap of his bag so tightly his knuckles blanched. Chi leaned on his crutch, face shadowed, refusing to meet his eyes. They coexisted in those dim hours like two continents drifting, an ocean of words never spoken between them.
Wu threw the keys onto the counter. The clatter cracked the silence open. Words tore out of him before he could bite them back.
“Do you even know—” His voice broke. He gritted his teeth, fists balling. “Do you even know what it does to me? Watching you tear yourself apart like that?”
Chi stiffened, still faced away from him. His shoulders rose and fell slow, defensive walls going up again. “It’s my problem. Not yours.”
That sentence landed heavy, cold. Wu let out a sharp, almost bitter laugh, trembling with fury. “Not mine? Then whose chest do you think shatters every night when you thrash in your sleep? Who do you think stays awake listening just to make sure you’re still breathing? Who do you think is standing beside you when you fall and bleed all over yourself trying to prove you can walk alone?”
Finally, Chi turned. His face was rigid, but Wu caught the flicker of guilt twisting under that control. Wu’s voice grew wilder, heart spilling faster than reason.
“God, Chi—do you think you’re the only one scarred? You carry your trauma in your bones, but I carry it in my heart, every single day. Every time you push me away, it’s like you’re telling me my love makes no difference—that I’m just… in the way.”
His throat tightened, heat blurring his vision. “Do you have any idea how it feels to love someone so much it breaks you, and then hear him say he doesn’t want it? That he doesn’t want me?”
The words ricocheted like bullets in the room—and this time, Chi had no shield. His hand trembled on the crutch, jaw tightening, breath unsteady.
Wu’s voice trembled with exhaustion now, softer but sharper. “I can’t keep being a ghost in your war, Chi. If you don’t want me here, I’ll go. But if I stay—if I stay—” His voice cracked, urgent, begging. “Then meet me halfway. Let me in. Stop making me fight you harder than the nightmares do.”
Silence. Heavy. Crushing. For once, Chi didn’t deflect, didn’t snap, didn’t weaponize his pride. He stood there, shoulders slack, eyes lowered. A soldier finally beaten not by the enemy, but by the truth wrapped in the voice of the only person left standing with him.
When he finally spoke, his tone was barely more than a whisper. “You’re right.”
Wu blinked, chest still heaving.
Chi’s throat bobbed, his voice raw. “You’re right. I’ve been so lost in my own shame that I forgot… I wasn’t the only one hurt. I thought I was protecting you by keeping you at arm’s length. But all I did was wound you deeper.” He exhaled, trembling. His gaze finally lifted and found Wu’s, helpless, stripped bare. “…I’m sorry.”
Two words. But they were heavy as the truth of his scars.
Wu stood frozen, anger still crackling in his veins, but beneath it a wave of aching relief surged. His jaw clenched as tears stung his eyes again. He inhaled shakily, then crossed the distance, grabbing Chi—not tender at first, but fierce, almost desperate. Arms wrapped around him, Wu pressed him close against his chest, holding him so hard it was as if he could mend him through force.
Chi’s body went stiff, then sagged into him. His crutch clattered softly to the floor, forgotten. His arms, trembling, came up to clutch Wu back, burying his face in his shoulder.
Wu’s voice, muffled in the press of cloth and skin, whispered fiercely, “That’s all I wanted. Just the truth. Just you.”
—————————————
The rehab room was the same as ever: white walls, metal bars, the scent of antiseptic hanging in the air like an old hymn. But today, it felt different. Lighter.
Chi stood at the starting point with the therapist nearby, his crutch leaning against the wall, his scarred leg trembling faintly as if undecided whether to betray him again. Suo Wei lingered a few feet behind—close enough to catch him, far enough to show he trusted him. His eyes gleamed like a man watching dawn rise after too many nights of storm.
Chi’s hands flexed by his sides. For years, he had marched endless kilometers with men at his back, his body an unthinking vessel of strength. Now, walking three steps across a polished floor felt like scaling a mountain.
He inhaled. Exhaled. The world hushed around him.
He lifted his left foot.
The scar tissue pulled, pain humming through his muscle—but it held. He pressed it down firmly and shifted his weight. His body swayed dangerously, and Wu instinctively leaned forward, hands twitching to catch him. But Chi straightened, proud, jaw set like granite.
Another step. And another. Each one slow, uneven, sweat beading across his temple. But still—forward.
By the third step, the room blurred in Wu’s vision. He didn’t even realize his own eyes had flooded until a tear spilled hot down his cheek. With each lurching movement, Wu saw not just steps, but declarations.
I survived. I am more than my ruin. I can still move toward you.
Finally, with a ragged breath, Chi stopped. His balance shook, but his body—his will—remained upright. He turned his head, eyes locking on Wu’s.
Not words, but that look—raw, determined, blazing through pain—was the clearest confession Wu had ever received.
Wu stepped forward at last, unable to restrain himself. His arms circled gently around Chi’s trembling frame, holding him steady, not because Chi was collapsing, but because triumph needed a witness.
“You did it,” Wu breathed, his forehead dropping against Chi’s damp temple. His voice cracked. “God, you did it.”
Chi’s lips pressed in the faintest shadow of a smile—not boastful, not triumphant. Just real. “One step,” he murmured, chest still heaving.
Wu shook his head fiercely. “No. Not one. A beginning of thousands more to come.”
The therapist clapped gently, breaking the intimate bubble, but neither man cared. In that moment, the sterile rehab room was a cathedral, and the halting steps of a wounded soldier were sacred hymns.
Today, for the first time since his return, it felt as though the war in him had loosened its grip. Because when he walked, he was not only moving toward recovery—
He was moving toward Wu.
—————————————
The living room was too bright, sunlight spilling through sheer curtains as if trying to disguise the shadows in the air. Chi sat upright in his chair, posture crisp despite the faint tremor in his leg. Across from him sat his elder brother and cousin—faces carved from the same steel as his own, eyes lined not just with age but with judgment.
Wu hovered quietly in the kitchen, deliberately making tea, though every muscle in him was taut. He could feel their words coming before they arrived.
The brother finally spoke, low and firm, each word a hammer.
“Chi, we’ve been patient. But this… arrangement can’t go on.”
Chi’s jaw tightened. “Arrangement?”
The cousin leaned in. “You’re injured. You need rest. Stability. A—future. And this man—” their eyes darted toward the kitchen, voice curling with disapproval—“is no future. He’s distraction. He’s pity you don’t need.”
Wu’s hand froze on the teapot handle. For a split second, he thought he might break it in his grip. He wanted to storm in, to spit fire, but his tongue stuck to his throat. This wasn’t his war to start—not yet.
Chi’s body was still. Too still. He listened without flinching outwardly, but Wu knew him—knew the burn that coiled under that poker face.
His brother sighed sharply. “You were a soldier. Strong. Disciplined. You can rebuild, Chi. But tying yourself to him—it weakens you. He won’t stay forever. And when he leaves, where will that leave you? Alone and broken.”
Wu’s heart twisted. He wanted so badly to scream. I’ve already stayed. Through nightmares, through anger, through the walls he built. I’m not going anywhere. But before he could move, Chi’s voice cut through the room like steel warmed by flame.
“Enough.”
The word landed heavy. The room stilled.
Chi’s hand gripped the armrest, knuckles taut, but his voice was steady. “You think Wu Suo Wei weakens me? Look closer. Without him, I wouldn’t have made it this far. He doesn’t pity me—he’s the reason I still climb out of bed. He’s not a distraction. He’s the only thing that feels like… home.”
The admission startled even Wu. His chest lurched. He held onto the counter to steady himself against the tide of emotion rising inside.
The family bristled, frowning. “Chi…”
But Chi pressed on, firmer now. Each syllable was declaration. “I fought wars. I buried men. And through it, I thought strength meant silence. I was wrong. Strength is standing here and saying I love who I love—even if you disapprove.”
Wu made a sound in the kitchen, quiet, broken, as if something inside him had finally been recognized after years of shadow.
The elder brother exhaled, shaking his head, unwilling to argue further. “We only want what’s best for you.”
Chi leaned forward, his stare sharp but clear. “Then trust me to know what that is.”
When they left, silence filled the room in their absence, heavier and yet sweeter. Wu finally stepped back into the living room, clutching the teapot like it was a shield. His voice wavered, thick with unspent emotion. “Chi… you meant all that?”
Chi looked at him—straight, unwavering, without shame. “Every word.”
Wu set the pot down, crossed the room, and kissed him. Not with desperation this time, but with gratitude, reverence, and something eternal.
And though no family blessing lingered in the air, Wu felt something greater than approval.The unmistakable weight of being truly chosen, not in secret, not in silence—but openly, fiercely, before the world.
—————————————
It wasn’t like the other nights. There were no nightmares tearing Chi from sleep, no arguments breaking the air, no silences thick with things unsaid. That evening, the apartment was strangely, softly quiet—the kind of quiet that doesn’t press down, but opens, like a meadow at dusk.
Wu tidied the last of the bowls in the sink, humming under his breath. When he turned, he found Chi watching him from the couch—not guarded, not heavy, but… steady. His gaze was open in a way that made Wu’s pulse falter.
“What?” Wu asked, smiling nervously.
“Come here,” Chi said simply.
Wu padded over, plopping beside him with his usual clumsy ease. “Tired already?”
“No,” Chi said. His voice was low, almost rough. But it carried a weight that made Wu still. “Stay tonight.”
Wu blinked, half-laughing. “I stay every night.”
Chi shook his head. “Not on the couch. Not… out of pity for my nightmares. Stay—in bed. With me.”
The words hung in the air, fragile and monumental at once. Wu’s heart thudded. His lips parted, searching for the tease, for humor to lighten it—but there wasn’t any. Chi’s gaze remained serious, vulnerable yet unwavering.
Wu swallowed hard. Slowly, he nodded.
—————————————
Later, under the pale glow seeping in from the window, they lay side by side. Chi on his back, Wu curled slightly toward him, the blanket half-tucked over their tangled legs. For a while, silence stitched the space between them. Wu traced invisible shapes on the sheets with his fingertip, too caught in the enormity of the moment to speak.
Finally, Chi turned his head. His face was washed in moonlight, stern lines softened, shadows carved into tenderness.
“I thought letting you see me like this would destroy me,” he confessed quietly. “But tonight… I don’t feel ruined. I feel…” His voice faltered, searching. "complete.”
Wu’s breath caught. He reached out, fingers brushing Chi’s cheek, trembling slightly. “Then let me keep completing you. Piece by piece.”
Chi covered Wu’s hand with his own. Large, scarred, steady. “I need you beside me. Not as a caretaker. As… my love.”
The word settled into Wu like embers, burning sweet and deep. He shifted closer, laying his head against Chi’s chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat filled his ear, raw and real.
They didn’t kiss with fire that night, didn’t tumble desperate into each other’s mouths. Instead, they sank slowly into closeness, into warmth. Wu’s breath evened, Chi’s arm wrapped around him, pulling him close as if to say, stay exactly here, where you belong.
For the first time since the injury, Chi drifted into sleep not jarred by nightmares, but grounded by the weight of Wu in his arms. And Wu, his eyes closed, finally rested—not as a sentinel against nightmares, but as a man exactly where he longed to be.
In the ordinary hush of a shared bed, with no medals and no audience, two wounded hearts found a home.
—————————————
Morning broke differently after their shared night. Wu woke to the rhythm of Chi’s heartbeat against his cheek, the steady rise and fall of someone finally sleeping in peace.
But the world has a way of intruding.
It started with a knock—sharp, official, nothing like Wu’s playful taps on the door. Chi stirred, stiffened, and by the time Wu shuffled, still bleary-eyed, to open it, three men stood in the doorway. Former comrades. Soldiers like Chi, but whole, upright, uniforms crisp.
“Chi Cheng,” one greeted, nodding briskly. Their eyes flicked over Wu, lingering just long enough for disapproval to settle. “We came to check in.”
Wu stepped aside reluctantly. They entered the small space like soldiers entering foreign land, their presence making Chi shift in his chair with that old posture—straight back, shoulders squared though pain flickered underneath.
The chatter began innocuously: questions about his health, his therapy, doctors’ predictions. But it bled quickly into sharper edges:
“You were our strongest. To see you like this…” One trailed off, shaking his head.
Another added quietly, “You should focus on building yourself back. Not…” His eyes swept toward Wu across the room. “…distractions.”
Wu felt heat sear through his chest—but before he could retort, Chi spoke. His voice was calm steel.
“He’s not a distraction.”
The room stilled. Wu’s breath caught, heart pounding hard.
Chi’s gaze was steady, level with his comrades. “When I had nothing—when all I could see were nightmares—he stayed. That’s more than any uniform ever gave me. So if you have respect left for me, respect him.”
The silence that followed was heavier than gunfire. The soldiers didn’t argue, but their eyes told enough: disapproval layered in pity, the weight of old codes and unspoken judgment. They left shortly after, their absence leaving a wake of stiffness in the air.
Wu stood there, tight-fisted. He muttered bitterly, “I don’t need their respect. I just need yours.”
Chi looked at him then. Really looked. His answer was simple, unyielding: “You already have it. You always did.”
Wu’s throat tightened. The sting of outside eyes faded in that instant, replaced with something deeper. It wasn’t that the world had turned against them—it always would, in ways subtle and cruel. What mattered now was that for the first time, Chi didn’t let silence answer in Wu’s place. He spoke. He defended. He chose him aloud.
That night, Wu lay again in Chi’s arms, listening to the faint ache in his voice when he whispered into the dark: “The world may not understand us. But I don’t want the world. I only want the pieces of it that let me stay with you.”
And Wu, pressing a kiss to his collarbone, breathed back, “Then that’s enough. More than enough.”
—————————————
It was just a phone call. Just Wu’s sister, insistent that he come home for a few days to help with family affairs. It was not war, not tragedy, not abandonment. But when Wu hung up, his chest felt tight.
“I’ll be gone two nights,” he said carefully, standing by the doorway with a small bag. “Three at most.”
Chi Cheng kept his expression flat, his soldier’s mask intact. “Go. Your family needs you.”
Wu searched his eyes, waiting for something—an objection, a plea, even a flicker of resentment. But Chi gave nothing. His tone was steady, disciplined, as though this separation meant little.
For Wu, that hurt. But he leaned forward anyway, brushing a kiss to Chi’s temple, murmuring against his skin: “I’ll be back before you notice I’m gone.”
The door closed.
And the silence descended.
Chi lasted one hour before the walls pressed against him. The apartment was the same—the chair, the couch, the faint scent of Wu’s shirts still hanging in the air. But without Wu moving about, filling the space with clumsy noise and relentless chatter, the quiet turned sharp. Every sound—the breath of the refrigerator, the hum of pipes—felt like mockery.
He tried to read. The words blurred. He tried to stretch, but his muscles rebelled into soreness. Slowly, heavier and heavier, his thoughts sank into the pit that had once swallowed him nightly.
Alone. Useless. Nothing but dead weight.
At dusk, he caught himself reaching for the crutch only to limp toward the table where Wu’s sketchbook lay open. He flipped through it. Pages of reckless doodles, silly scribbles, and—there—sketches of him. Not as a soldier. Not as broken. But simply as he was: scarred, resting, even smiling faintly.
His throat tightened. He lingered on one, fingers tracing the penciled lines of his own face drawn with such devotional care. For the first time, Chi admitted the truth: Wu wasn’t his caretaker. He was his mirror—the only one who reflected him as still whole, even when Chi saw himself as shattered.
That night, Chi tried to sleep. The nightmares returned, snapping at the edges of his mind. Normally, Wu’s weight beside him would pull him back to shore. But now—only emptiness. He sat upright in the darkness, sweating, trembling, jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ached.
Then, fumbling, he reached for Wu’s pillow, pressed it to his chest, and breathed. The faint scent of soap and warmth calmed him enough to stay grounded. He whispered into the cotton, fragile, unguarded:
“I miss you.”
No answer came. But confessing it aloud broke something inside. And in admitting it, in holding the absence close instead of running from it, Chi realized: need was not weakness.
—————————————
Two days later, when Wu returned, fumbling with his keys, he was startled to find Chi already waiting by the door. No mask this time. No composure. Just raw eagerness in his eyes.
“You’re early,” Wu said with a small smile.
Chi shook his head, stepping forward, pulling him in so suddenly the bag slipped from Wu’s hand. His arms wrapped Wu tight, no hesitation.
“You were gone too long,” Chi muttered against his shoulder, voice rough. “…Don’t do that again without warning me.”
Wu blinked, startled—but then his lips curved into a tender grin, his arms wrapping back. “Missed me?”
Chi pressed harder into him, an unspoken yes.
Wu closed his eyes, exhaling into his hair. He thought: finally, the soldier admits that absence hurts. And for Wu, that was worth every moment of separation.
—————————————
It began with something as small as grocery shopping.
Wu had insisted they go together, even though Chi frowned at the idea of “limping in public.”
“All the more reason,” Wu shot back, hands firm on his hips. “If people stare, let them. I’ll glare back double.”
Chi smirked—the faint curve of a reluctant smile—and that was how they ended up walking side by side down the busy street, Wu clutching the grocery list like a commander with battle orders, Chi steadying himself with his crutch at his own measured rhythm.
At first, Chi felt the weight of every glance. But then Wu shouted across the produce aisle—“Chi! These peaches are basically robbery! Should I steal them instead?”—so loudly that half the market looked at him. The embarrassment was so great that Chi found himself laughing, short and sharp, before he could stop it.
It was awkward, yes, but it was normal. Ordinary. Human. And little by little, Chi let himself sink into that ordinariness. Wu haggling clumsily with vendors. Wu tripping over a crate of cabbages and pretending it was a “combat roll.” Wu dragging Chi into a bakery just because “the bread smells like heaven.”
They returned home with far more food than needed, Wu juggling bags and babbling about soup recipes. Chi sat at the table, watching him, the air alive with chatter he once found suffocating but now recognized as salvation.
Later that week, Wu dragged him through a public park. Families strolled, children played, and for the first time in a long time, Chi did not feel like a ghost walking among them. He sat on a bench while Wu bought tea, and when Wu returned, spilling sugar packets clumsily, Chi found himself smiling quietly—not forced, not for Wu’s sake, but real.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Wu teased, handing over the paper cup.
Chi studied him for a moment, then said simply, “Because you make the world feel… ordinary.”
Wu blinked, startled. “And that’s bad?”
Chi shook his head slowly. “No. It’s everything.”
—————————————
That night, Wu dozed on the couch, a half-read comic splayed across his chest. Chi watched him in the dim light, the sound of the city muted beyond their window. And for the very first time since his injury, Chi realized the silence around them was no longer filled with ghosts.
It was filled with Wu’s breathing. With laughter still echoing faintly in his ears. With the quiet certainty that this fragile, ordinary life was worth learning, worth protecting.
Chi let himself whisper into the stillness, words he once thought had left him forever:
“This feels… like living again.”
Wu stirred faintly at the sound, cracked one eye open, and mumbled, half-asleep, “Good. That was the plan.”
Chi chuckled under his breath, pulling the blanket higher over Wu’s shoulders. For the first time, the smile remained long after the lights dimmed.
—————————————
Wu insisted on it.
“We can’t just stay hidden in the nest forever,” he said one morning, brandishing a shirt like a flag of rebellion. “There’s a world waiting for us. A hotpot place, actually. But same thing.”
Chi gave him a long stare. “Crowds. Stares. Pointless noise.”
“Spicy broth,” Wu countered calmly, “and me feeding you all the best pieces.”
Chi almost said no. Almost. But Wu’s grin was stubborn, and in the end, Chi found himself buttoned into a dark shirt, his crutch against his side, being escorted down the street like a reluctant monarch dragged to a feast.
The restaurant’s bustle hit him first: laughter, clinking pots, steam rising in fragrant golden clouds. Chi stiffened immediately, his soldier’s instincts bristling in the chaos. He shifted on his crutch, wishing for the silence of four walls.
But then Wu guided him gently to their corner table, chatter rising around them, and slipped his hand under the table to squeeze his. The grip was firm, grounding. Chi didn’t move away.
As the pot bubbled, Wu threw himself into theatrics, waving chopsticks like weapons. “You realize hotpot is basically war strategy—strike before the meat overcooks, never lose a dumpling to enemy broth, guard your mushrooms with your life—”
Chi’s gaze softened despite himself. “You talk nonsense.”
“And you love it,” Wu shot back, slipping a piece of lamb into Chi’s bowl with triumphant flourish. “Commander Chi, your rations.”
Chi’s lips twitched. For the first time in a public place since returning home, he let himself chuckle—quiet, steady. The sound surprised him. It even surprised Wu, who nearly dropped his chopsticks in glee.
“Did you just laugh at me in a restaurant full of witnesses?” Wu gasped theatrically. “Look at you—blowing your mysterious soldier image!”
Chi only smirked faintly, but his eyes said enough: Thank you for pulling this from me.
Of course, not every moment was easy. A man at the next table glanced their way, eyes lingering too long on the crutch, on Wu leaning close with quiet familiarity. Chi stiffened, shame prickling. His instinct whispered: hide, retreat, grit your teeth.
But Wu caught it instantly. His hand slid more firmly across Chi’s, anchoring him above the table this time, visible. His voice dropped just for Chi: “Ignore them. They don’t get a vote in our story.”
Something in Chi’s chest loosened. For once, he did. He ignored it. And instead, when Wu fished out a dumpling and nearly scalded his tongue trying to “impress,” Chi laughed again—louder this time, unguarded.
For the first time, a public space didn’t feel like a battlefield. It felt like life.
When they returned home that night, Wu flopped on the couch, groaning dramatically. “We ate like hungry men.”
Chi leaned his crutch against the wall, lowering himself carefully, his lips curving faintly. “It did feel… like salvation.”
Wu turned his head, eyes bright with tenderness. “Then let’s keep eating. One meal at a time.”
And Chi, who had once thought he’d lost everything that made life worth living, realized: victory now came not through guns, nor medals, nor solitude—but through laughter over hot broth shared with the man who refused to let him vanish.
—————————————
Epilogue
The autumn air carried a crispness as the park leaves turned red and gold. The world around them bustled — children shrieking on swings, couples strolling, elderly men playing chess under the trees. But for Suo Wei and Chi Cheng, time felt slower.
Chi walked without his crutch now. The limp remained, a permanent echo of the war he’d fought, but it no longer ruled him. Each step was balanced, deliberate, steady. Beside him, Wu carried a paper bag of roasted chestnuts, cracking shells messily and grinning like it was a duty of national importance.
“You’re wasting half,” Chi muttered, eyes narrowing at the trail of broken shell bits.
“I’m feeding the pigeons,” Wu countered shamelessly, tossing one toward a bird already tailing them. “I multitask.”
Chi’s lips twitched — the subtle ghost of a smile that had grown less ghostlike with each passing month.
They circled around a pond, Wu talking incessantly as always, his voice weaving through stories half-serious, half exaggerated. Chi listened in his usual silence, but somewhere along the way, his hand slipped into Wu’s. Unannounced. No defense, no hesitation. Just a quiet intertwining of fingers.
Wu faltered mid-sentence. He looked down at their joined hands, then back up at Chi’s face. “What’s this? Public affection? Commander Chi breaking regulations?”
Chi squeezed his hand, gaze steady on the pond. “Regulations no longer apply.”
Wu let out a laugh, softer than usual, almost reverent. He didn’t tease further.
They found a bench by the water, quiet except for rustling trees. Wu leaned back, head against Chi’s shoulder, sighing theatrically. “You realize, don’t you? People like us don’t get fairy tale endings.”
Chi tilted his head, regarding the water. His voice was calm, grave, but carrying a warmth that had taken years to resurface. “Good. I don’t want a fairy tale.” He turned slightly to look at Wu, eyes still scarred but no longer hollow. “I want you. Ordinary days. That's enough.”
Wu swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, then smiled wide, reckless and unguarded as ever. “Damn, Chi Cheng, you really know how to make a man cry over snacks.”
“Annoying,” Chi muttered, though his arm shifted, wrapping more snugly around Wu’s shoulders.
They sat there as the sun lowered, the shadows stretching long across the grass. Two men scarred, stubborn, imperfect — but together. No audience, no uniforms, no storms. Just the quiet miracle of survival, and the deeper miracle of love born from it.
And in that simple moment, ordinary and eternal, Chi Cheng finally understood. Wu Suo Wei hadn’t saved him from silence or ghosts. He had given him something rarer.
A life worth wanting.
—————————————
Notes:
If you read this whole journey, thank you truly. There is a lot to take from the story.
🌿 You do not need to be perfect to be loved.
🌿 Every smile and every small victory counts.
🌿 Sometimes the bravest words in the world are “I need you.” Do not hesitate to seek help from others when you need it.Thank you for letting me share this love with you. Hope you guys enjoy reading this. Your comments and kudos are motivation to me.I would love to know about your thoughts regarding this piece in the comments.🩷😊
Chapter 11: Desperate Measures (Chi Cheng/Guo Cheng Yu) (18+)
Summary:
After a brutal gym session, Chi Cheng and Cheng Yu find themselves caught in a heated confrontation that quickly turns from animosity to something darker. Chi Cheng pushes Cheng Yu's buttons that leads them to becoming close to each other in ways they had never thought before.
Notes:
Warning: Explicit sexual content (strictly 18+), Dubious Consent(because of complicated power dynamics), Violence but non-injurious
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The gym bathroom smelled like victory and desperation – that sharp mixture of chlorine, sweat, and the faint, lingering stench of cheap disinfectant. Steam curled lazily from the showers. Chi Cheng’s knuckles were white on the chipped porcelain sink, water dripping coldly onto his wrist. He hadn’t rinsed off yet. Every muscle in his back screamed from the brutal deadlift session, a familiar, satisfying ache. But the real fire burned low in his gut, ignited an hour ago.
Cheng Yu’s laugh cut through the humid air, sharp and deliberately grating. He leaned against the row of lockers, toweling his damp hair, muscles shifting under smooth skin. "Still sulking about the competition, Chi? Thought you liked letting me win." His smirk was a challenge, eyes glinting with that infuriating mix of amusement and superiority.
Chi Cheng didn’t turn. He stared at his own reflection – the intense, dark eyes, the sharp line of his jaw clenched tight. Perfection. Control. That’s what he demanded. From himself. From everything. Cheng Yu existed solely to disrupt that order. "You cut me off," Chi Cheng growled, the sound low and rough, echoing slightly off the tiles. "Twice."
"Strategy, buddy." Cheng Yu pushed off the lockers, taking a deliberate step closer. The scent of his shower gel – expensive and musky – clashed with the gym stink. "Winners adapt. Losers complain in the locker room." He flicked his towel dismissively towards Chi Cheng’s pile of clothes on the bench.
Adapt to this then. Chi thought while precariously moving towards Cheng Yu.
Chi Cheng moved faster than his aching muscles should have allowed. One moment he was at the sink, the next he’d closed the distance, his body crowding Cheng Yu backwards. There was no hesitation, only the raw surge of competitive fury mixed with something darker, coiled tight for weeks. Months maybe. He shoved hard.
Cheng Yu stumbled, his back hitting the metal door of the nearest shower stall with a hollow thud. Before he could regain his footing or his smirk, Chi Cheng was on him. A hand fisted in the damp fabric of Cheng Yu’s t-shirt, yanking him upright as the other slammed the stall door shut behind them. The latch clicked, sealing them into a sudden, intimate darkness broken only by a single, flickering fluorescent bulb overhead. Water dripped steadily from a leaky faucet nearby. Drip.Drip.Drip.
"You started this," Chi Cheng snarled, his voice a raw scrape against the sudden quiet confinement. His breath was hot on Cheng Yu’s face. He could feel the rapid thud of Cheng Yu’s heart where his forearm pressed against his chest, pinning him to the cold tile wall.
Cheng Yu’s initial shock melted into something else. His laugh wasn't mocking now; it was breathless, a low vibration against Chi Cheng’s chest. "Oh, it’s lecture mode. My favorite." His eyes, dark and unreadable in the dim light, held Chi Cheng’s. There was no fear. Only challenge. And anticipation. He shifted, deliberately grinding his hips forward. The friction was electric, undeniable. "Gonna teach me a lesson, Coach?"
The cheap provocation should have enraged Chi Cheng further. It did. But it also snapped the last fragile thread of restraint. The curiosity, the raw pull he’d spent years burying under rivalry and reps – surged to the surface. It wasn’t just anger anymore. It was possession.
Chi Cheng’s grip shifted. His hand left Cheng Yu’s chest, fingers tangling roughly in his dark hair instead, yanking his head back hard enough to expose the long line of his throat. Cheng Yu gasped, the sound strangled, but his eyes didn’t leave Chi Cheng’s. They burned.
"Yeah," Chi Cheng breathed, the word more vibration than sound. His other hand dropped, fingers hooking into the waistband of Cheng Yu’s shorts and briefs, dragging them down in one harsh motion. "I am going to teach you the best lesson of your life."
Cheng Yu’s next laugh dissolved instantly, morphing into a sharp, ragged moan as Chi Cheng’s hand closed around him. The moan wasn’t protest. It was surrender. Triumph flared white-hot in Chi Cheng’s veins, hotter than any gym victory.
He tightened his grip, a deliberate, testing pressure. Cheng Yu’s head thumped back against the tile, his eyes squeezing shut. His own hands, which had been braced against Chi Cheng’s shoulders, slid down, fingers digging into the hard muscle of Chi Cheng’s back, pulling him closer, demanding more.
"Fuck, Chi," Cheng Yu choked out, his voice stripped of its usual teasing edge, raw and wrecked. His hips arched off the wall, seeking friction, seeking the punishing rhythm Chi Cheng was already establishing – rough, demanding, utterly dominant.
The flickering light cast stuttering shadows across Cheng Yu’s face – the sharp cut of his cheekbone, the sheen of sweat blooming on his forehead, the desperate part of his lips. Chi Cheng watched him unravel, the fierce satisfaction mingling with a deeper, unfamiliar thrill. This wasn't just shutting him up. This was claiming him. Every gasp, every choked-off sound Cheng Yu made was a point scored deeper than any leaderboard.
He leaned in, his mouth finding the sweat-slicked hollow beneath Cheng Yu’s ear. "Told you," he muttered, his own breath coming hard now, the rhythm of his hand relentless. "You started it." He bit down, not gently, on the tendon in Cheng Yu’s neck.
Cheng Yu cried out, a sound that vibrated against Chi Cheng’s mouth, his body tightening, bowing under the assault. His fingers clawed at Chi Cheng’s back, dragging over sweat-damp skin. "Yeah… yeah, okay…" he gasped, the words broken. "You win… fuck… you win…"
The words slammed into Chi Cheng with unexpected force. Win. The air crackled, thick with steam and exertion and something else entirely. The familiar soundtrack of the gym – the distant clang of weights – had faded into nothing. All he heard was the frantic drumming of Cheng Yu’s heart against his own chest, the harsh symphony of their breathing, the relentless, mocking sound of the dripping faucet.
Cheng Yu’s head was still tilted back against the tile, eyes closed, lips parted on shallow gasps. Chi Cheng’s own hand, slick and trembling slightly, rested possessively low on Cheng Yu’s hip. The echo of Cheng Yu’s choked surrender – You win – still resonated in the cramped space, vibrating against Chi Cheng’s ribs.
He’d done it. Dominated. Claimed. The savage triumph was there, a familiar burn in his chest. But it felt… different. Hollowed out. Underneath it, cold and sharp, spread a kind of shock. The victory tasted like salt-sweat and something dangerously close to panic. The carefully constructed world of rivalry, of predictable friction and controlled animosity, lay shattered on the wet floor of a shower stall. What the hell had he just done? And worse… what came next? The silence in the stall wasn't peaceful. It was deafening.
It was deafening.
Cheng Yu’s ragged breaths hitched, the sound raw against the relentless plink… plink… plink. His eyes finally opened. Not defiant. Not amused. Flat. Unreadable. He stared past Chi Cheng’s shoulder, at the grout lines in the tile, his chest still rising and falling too fast beneath the damp cotton of his t-shirt. The hand Chi Cheng had braced against Cheng Yu’s hip felt suddenly alien. He jerked it back like he’d touched a live wire.
The movement snapped Cheng Yu’s focus back. His gaze, heavy-lidded and dark, locked onto Chi Cheng’s. A flicker of something – confusion, maybe, or the dregs of that surrendered heat – crossed his face before it shuttered again. He pushed off the wall, his movements stiff, deliberate. His shorts and briefs were still tangled around his thighs. He didn’t look down as he reached to pull them up.
Chi Cheng’s own silence felt like a physical weight pressing down on his lungs. He should say something. Anything. An insult to claw back the old dynamic. A grunt of dismissal. Instead, he watched, frozen, as Cheng Yu fumbled with the waistband. The cheap nylon fabric snagged. Cheng Yu tugged harder, frustration tightening the line of his jaw. A harsh, tearing sound ripped through the humid air as the seam at his hip gave way. The clothes ripped.
Cheng Yu froze, staring at the ragged tear exposing a sliver of smooth skin above his hip bone. His knuckles whitened on the ruined fabric. Then, slowly, he lifted his head. That flat look was gone, replaced by a spark Chi Cheng recognized instantly: pure, incendiary challenge.
"Happy now?" Cheng Yu’s voice was a low rasp, devoid of its usual teasing lilt. It scraped against Chi Cheng’s nerves. "Got your big fucking win. Made your point. Satisfied?"
The words landed like punches. The hollow feeling in Chi Cheng’s chest flared into something hotter, angrier. Guilt curdled into defensiveness. "You wanted it," he shot back, the words sounding hollow even to himself. "You were begging for it."
Cheng Yu’s laugh was short, sharp, utterly humorless. "Begging? Yeah, maybe. For a minute." He finally yanked the torn shorts up, wincing slightly, the movement awkward. He leaned back against the tile, crossing his arms over his chest, the pose defensive but his eyes blazing.
"Doesn't mean this," he gestured sharply between them, encompassing the stall, the ripped clothes, the lingering scent of sweat and sex, "was anything but you throwing a fucking tantrum because I overtook you on the competition. Again."
The accusation struck true. Chi Cheng flinched inwardly, but the heat of it, the sheer dismissal in Cheng Yu’s tone, ignited the competitive fury he knew how to wield. That familiar fire was easier than the terrifying confusion. He took a step forward, crowding Cheng Yu back against the wall. "Shut up, Yu."
"Make me," Cheng Yu hissed, pushing off the wall to meet him, their chests almost touching. The challenge was back, bright and dangerous in his eyes. "Think you can do it again? Prove it wasn't just a fluke?"
The air crackled. Chi Cheng saw red. Not triumph, not confusion. Raw, untamed aggression. This was language he understood. His hand shot out, grabbing the front of Cheng Yu’s ruined t-shirt. The worn cotton offered little resistance. He hauled him forward, off-balance, and then, with all the pent-up frustration of months of rivalry and the bewildering intimacy of minutes ago, he pivoted and their bodies slammed– Chi Cheng driving Cheng Yu backwards with brutal force.
Cheng Yu’s back hit the opposite wall of the narrow stall. The breath exploded from his lungs in a pained grunt. Chi Cheng pinned him, forearm pressing hard across Cheng Yu’s collarbones. The ripped edge of Cheng Yu’s shorts gaped further, revealing more golden skin. Chi Cheng could feel the rapid thunder of Cheng Yu’s heart against his arm.
For a heartbeat, they were locked like that. Chests heaving. Eyes blazing into each other. Cheng Yu’s lips were parted, his face pale except for two spots of red on his cheekbones. He didn't struggle. He just stared, a complex mix of pain, shock, and that unyielding defiance burning in his dark eyes. The defiance Chi Cheng both hated and desired.
Chi Cheng stared back, the heat of the slam still vibrating through his bones. He saw the red mark already blooming on Cheng Yu’s shoulder where it had impacted the tile. The ripped fabric. The raw vulnerability beneath the challenge. His grip on Cheng Yu’s shirt loosened fractionally.
Outside the stall, a sudden burst of laughter echoed, followed by the heavy clang of a locker door slamming shut. Reality crashed back in, sharp and intrusive. The gym. The world outside this humid, disastrous little box.
Cheng Yu’s gaze flickered towards the stall door, then back to Chi Cheng’s face. His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper, stripped bare. "Now what, Cheng?"
Cheng Yu stared up at him, defiance still burning in his dark eyes, but beneath it, Chi Cheng saw the faint tremor in his lower lip, the rapid flutter of a pulse in his throat, the stark red mark blooming on his shoulder where he’d hit the wall. The ripped seam of his shorts gaped wider, revealing the smooth, vulnerable curve of his hip bone.
Outside, the laughter faded. Another locker slammed, closer this time. Footsteps scraped on the wet floor just beyond the thin metal door. The humid air pressed in, thick with the smell of cheap soap, chlorine, sweat, and something else – the sharp, metallic tang of blood? Chi Cheng realized his own knuckles were stinging, split from the force of the slam. He hadn’t even felt it.
Cheng Yu’s gaze flickered towards the sound, a flicker of panic tightening his features before he locked it down, forcing his eyes back to Chi Cheng’s. His chest rose and fell rapidly against the pressure of Chi Cheng’s forearm. He didn’t push. Didn’t try to move. Just waited. Trapped. Expectant.
Chi Cheng’s grip on Cheng Yu’s ruined shirt loosened further. The fabric was damp, clinging. He could feel the heat radiating from Cheng Yu’s skin, the frantic thudding of his heart echoing the frantic pulse in Chi Cheng’s own temples. The hollow victory, the confusing anger, the sheer, terrifying wrongness of seeing Cheng Yu hurt – by him – it all churned in his gut. He saw the slight wince as Cheng Yu shifted his weight against the unforgiving tile. Saw the way his breath caught.
He started it. He pushed. He teased. He made you lose control. But the sight of that mark, the ragged tear, the utter stillness in Cheng Yu’s usually animated face… it didn’t feel like winning. It felt like failing.
The footsteps outside paused. A muffled voice called, "Yu? You in here, man? Coach is looking for you."
Cheng Yu’s eyes widened fractionally. He opened his mouth – to call out? To lie? Chi Cheng reacted on pure, knee-jerk instinct, fueled by the roaring chaos inside him and the immediate threat of exposure. His free hand, the one not pinning Cheng Yu, shot up. Not to hit. Not to shove.
He clamped it over Cheng Yu’s mouth.
Cheng Yu froze, eyes snapping wide with genuine shock this time, the defiance momentarily drowned in pure astonishment. His lips were soft, warm, pressed against Chi Cheng’s calloused palm. Chi Cheng could feel the faint puff of Cheng Yu’s exhale, the dampness of his breath. He leaned in, his own face inches from Cheng Yu’s, his voice a harsh, desperate rasp meant only for him. "Shut. Up."
He held Cheng Yu’s gaze, the silence stretching taut. Outside, the guy rapped lightly on a stall door further down. "Yo? Anyone?"
Chi Cheng didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Cheng Yu stared back, the initial shock hardening into something unreadable. His eyes were impossibly dark, reflecting the flickering fluorescent light, holding Chi Cheng prisoner as effectively as the arm across his chest. Chi Cheng’s thumb brushed inadvertently against the corner of Cheng Yu’s mouth, a tiny, involuntary movement.
Something shifted. Fractured. The raw aggression, the defensive fury, the suffocating confusion – it all condensed into a single, searing point of focus. Cheng Yu’s mouth under his hand. The defiance in his eyes. The impossible proximity. The terrifying stillness.
The footsteps outside moved away, the voice fading.
The tension didn’t break. It transformed. Ignited.
Chi Cheng didn’t think. Thinking was useless now. The careful lines, the rivalry, the rules – they were obliterated. There was only heat, and pressure, and the undeniable, terrifying pull.
He moved.
His hand slid from Cheng Yu’s mouth, tracing the line of his jaw with rough urgency. His other arm dropped from its pinning hold, but only to fist in the damp fabric at the small of Cheng Yu’s back, hauling him forward, erasing the last inch of space between them. The ripped seam tore further with the movement, a soft, final sound.
Their lips crashed together.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t tender. It was a collision – hard, demanding, fueled by months of pent-up friction and the raw, bewildering energy of the last few minutes. Teeth scraped. Breath tangled. Chi Cheng poured everything into it – the frustration of losing, the fury at being challenged, the gnawing emptiness of his hollow win, the shocking tenderness he’d felt seeing the mark on Cheng Yu’s shoulder, the sheer, terrifying need that had erupted in the silence after "Now what?"
Cheng Yu went rigid for a heartbeat, a muffled sound caught in his throat. Then, with a shudder that ran through his entire frame, he yielded. Not passively. Fiercely. His hands, which had been hanging limp at his sides, flew up. One tangled in Chi Cheng’s sweat-damp hair, fingers gripping hard, pulling him impossibly closer. The other slid around Chi Cheng’s waist, fingers digging into the muscle of his back, holding on as if he’d drown otherwise. He kissed back with equal ferocity, a wild, answering fire, his lips parting, tongue meeting Chi Cheng’s thrust with shocking heat.
The world outside ceased to exist. The dripping faucet, the distant gym noises, the stale air – gone. There was only the slick heat of Cheng Yu’s mouth, the frantic scrape of stubble, the taste of salt and adrenaline, the desperate pressure of bodies locked together in the cramped, steamy dark. Chi Cheng’s grip tightened, one hand sliding lower, beneath the torn fabric of Cheng Yu’s shorts, fingers splaying possessively over the smooth, hot skin of his hip, holding him flush. Cheng Yu gasped against his mouth, the sound swallowed by the kiss, his body arching into the touch.
Cheng Yu gasped against his mouth, the sound swallowed by the kiss, his body arching into the touch. Chi Cheng’s hand beneath the torn fabric tightened, fingers digging into the hot, smooth skin of Cheng Yu’s hip. The ripped seam gave another fractional tear.
Cheng Yu met him blow for blow. His grip in Chi Cheng’s hair was punishing, yanking his head back just enough to break the brutal kiss. His eyes were dark, dilated pools reflecting Chi Cheng’s own ragged breathing and the frantic pulse jumping in his throat. There was no fear now, only a challenge.
“That all you got, Chi?” Cheng Yu rasped, his voice rough but defiant. A smirk ghosted across his lips, sharp and dangerous. “Thought you were supposed to be the strong one.” He deliberately arched his back, pressing his body harder against Chi Cheng’s restraining hand.
Chi Cheng saw red. The careful control he usually wielded like a weapon was incinerated in the humid air. Logic, consequence, the sheer insanity of what they were doing – none of it mattered. Only the heat, the pressure, the infuriating, breathtaking challenge Cheng Yu presented.
“Wrong,” Chi Cheng growled, the word scraping his throat raw.
He didn’t kiss him again. Instead, his free hand shot out, fingers tangling in the damp, thin fabric of Cheng Yu’s athletic shirt where it stretched taut over his chest. With a sharp, brutal wrench fueled by pure, unthinking aggression and the simmering frustration of months, he pulled.
A harsh rip echoed in the confined stall, unnervingly loud against the dripping faucet. The cheap material tore cleanly from collar to hem, splitting apart like paper. Cheng Yu gasped, a sharp intake of breath, his eyes widening for a split second before narrowing again. He was suddenly bare-chested, skin gleaming under the sickly fluorescent light. The mark on his shoulder blazed red.
Chi Cheng didn’t pause. The sight, the sudden vulnerability wrapped in defiance, ignited something primal. He shoved Cheng Yu backward with the hand still fisted in the ruined shirt remnants. Cheng Yu’s back slammed against the cool, slick tiles. The impact knocked the breath out of him, a choked sound escaping. Before he could recover, before he could even register the shock fully, Chi Cheng closed the distance.
His entire weight crashed into Cheng Yu, pinning him hard against the wall. Chest to bare chest, hip to hip, legs tangling. The air rushed out of Cheng Yu’s lungs again. Chi Cheng’s forearm pressed horizontally across Cheng Yu’s collarbones, holding him fast, while his other hand slid roughly down Cheng Yu’s side, over the curve of his hip, fingers curling into the waistband of those torn shorts.
Their faces were millimeters apart. Cheng Yu stared up at him, breath coming in short, sharp gasps, his dark eyes blazing with a chaotic mix of shock, anger, and something else – something hot and reckless that mirrored the inferno consuming Chi Cheng. His hands were splayed against Chi Cheng’s sweat-slicked back, fingers flexing, unsure whether to push or pull.
Chi Cheng felt the tremor run through Cheng Yu’s body, pressed tight against his own.
He saw Cheng Yu’s throat work as he swallowed. Saw his lips part, slick and bruised. The challenge was gone, replaced by a raw, waiting intensity that stole Chi Cheng’s breath. What now? The unspoken question hung thick between them, charged with the wreckage of their rivalry and the shocking intimacy of collision.
Chi Cheng didn’t answer with words. He answered with pressure. His forearm pressed harder. The muscles in his arm stood out like cables, tendons straining. Cheng Yu’s gasp turned strangled, his eyes flashing pure defiance even as his body fought for air. His fingers scrabbled against Chi Cheng’s sweat-soaked back, digging in hard enough to leave marks. A desperate anchor.
Then Chi Cheng moved. The hand that had been fisted in the waistband of Cheng Yu’s shorts slid lower. Rough. Deliberate. Possessive. He felt the jolt that rocked through Yu’s frame – shock, yes, but beneath it, a tremor that wasn't fear. It was recognition. Raw and electric.
Cheng Yu’s head slammed back against the tile with a sickening crack that echoed too loudly. His eyes squeezed shut for a fraction of a second. When they snapped open again, they were molten. Darker. Hungrier. A low sound vibrated in his chest, swallowed by the dripping faucet and Chi Cheng’s own ragged breathing. It wasn’t surrender. It was escalation.
Chi Cheng leaned in. His mouth found the damp skin just below Cheng Yu’s ear, where the pulse hammered like a trapped bird. His teeth grazed the tendon, a warning nip that drew a sharp hiss. He inhaled the scent of exertion, the shower gel, and the unique, sharp tang that was purely Cheng Yu. It flooded his senses, obliterating the stale gym air.
“You wanted this,” Chi Cheng breathed against his skin, the accusation rough and hot. His other hand released the ruined shirt, sliding up to cup the back of Cheng Yu’s neck, fingers tangling in the short hair at his nape.
Cheng Yu stared back. His lips were parted, glistening, slightly swollen from the earlier clash. A bead of sweat traced a path down his temple. The defiance was still there, burning bright, but fractured by something else. A raw need so intense it mirrored the chaos Chi Cheng felt churning inside. Yu’s gaze flickered down to Chi Cheng’s mouth, just for a heartbeat, then back up. His breath hitched.
Chi Cheng saw it. The split-second falter. The flicker of want beneath the fury.
He closed the distance. Not a kiss. A claiming. Hard, demanding, bruising. It wasn’t about tenderness. It was a battle transferred, mouths clashing, teeth scraping, tongues tangling in a brutal mimicry of their usual sparring. Chi Cheng poured every ounce of his frustration, his competitive fury, the bewildering heat this infuriating man ignited in him, into that kiss. He pinned Yu’s body completely, grinding against him, feeling the answering hardness through the thin layers separating them.
Cheng Yu met him with equal ferocity. His hands finally found purpose, fists knotting in the fabric of Chi Cheng’s tank top, pulling him impossibly closer. His hips bucked, a desperate counter-thrust against the relentless pressure holding him immobile. A muffled groan escaped him, vibrating against Chi Cheng’s lips.
Chi Cheng tore his mouth away, needing air, needing to see the wreckage he’d caused. Cheng Yu’s lips were redder now, slick. His chest heaved, the defined muscles straining under sweat-sheened skin. His eyes were dilated, almost black, filled with a storm Chi Cheng couldn’t fully name. Hatred? Lust? Both? It was terrifying. Exhilarating.
Yu drew in a shuddering breath. His voice, when it came, was a ragged scrape, raw with fury and something dangerously close to brokenness. It sliced through the humid air, sharp as the crack of a whip.
"I hate you," Cheng Yu gasped.
The words hung there, stark and brutal. But they were betrayed by the way his body still arched into Chi Cheng’s, by the bruising grip he maintained on Chi Cheng’s shirt, by the desperate, furious need blazing in his eyes. It wasn’t an end. It was a confession twisted into a weapon.
Chi Cheng didn’t flinch. He stared down at him, chest tight, the battlefield adrenaline replaced by a colder, sharper intensity. The hatred was real. The wanting was real. They were inextricably tangled, a knot he suddenly needed to unravel, consequences be damned.
He leaned in again, his lips brushing the corner of Yu’s mouth. “Liar,” he breathed, the word a dark caress just before his teeth sank, sharp and punishing, into the curve of Cheng Yu’s shoulder, tasting sweat and skin and the metallic taste of blood.
The bite was a brand. Cheng Yu hissed, a raw, wounded sound that tore from his throat. His body bowed off the tile, not away, but into the pain, into the pressure of Chi Cheng’s body pinning him.
“Fuck you,” Cheng Yu spat, voice cracking. But his hands, fisted in Chi Cheng’s tank top, yanked him closer, grinding their hips together with shocking force. The friction was electric, a jolt that bypassed thought, arcing straight from nerve endings to a blinding white heat low in Chi Cheng’s gut. Yu’s erection was a hard, undeniable ridge against his own, trapped by damp fabric.
Chi Cheng didn’t hesitate. The lie hung in the humid air, worthless. He rocked his hips again, harder this time, a brutal counterpoint to the possessive sting still throbbing where his teeth had marked Yu’s shoulder. He felt Yu’s breath catch, saw the tendons in his neck stand out like cords.
“Tell me again,” Chi Cheng demanded, his voice a low rasp against Yu’s ear. He slid the hand tangled in Yu’s hair down, fingers skimming the damp skin of his back, tracing the defined ridges of muscle before dipping beneath the waistband of his shorts. The skin there was impossibly hot, slick. Yu jerked, a full-body flinch that ended in another desperate press against Chi Cheng’s thigh. “Tell me you hate this. Because your body tells me that you are loving every fucking second of it.”
Yu’s answer was a choked-off curse. He snapped his head forward, trying to headbutt, but Chi Cheng anticipated it, swaying back just enough. The momentum left Yu unbalanced, vulnerable. Chi Cheng used it. He shoved his thigh higher between Yu’s legs, applying relentless pressure right where Yu couldn’t bear it and couldn’t escape it. Yu’s gasp was pure, ragged need.
“Can’t deny, can you?” Chi Cheng growled. He found the edge, his fingers questing lower, past fabric, tracing the tense curve of muscle. Cheng Yu bucked wildly, a trapped animal, but Chi Cheng held him immobile with sheer strength and leverage, the tile cold and unforgiving at his back.
Cheng Yu was exposed, the cool, damp air hitting heated skin. Chi Cheng’s hand closed around him, not gently, not asking. A claiming. Yu cried out, a ragged shout swallowed by the dripping faucet and the thud of distant bass bleeding through the walls. His head slammed back against the tile again, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched . But his hips pushed instinctively, desperately, into that punishing grip.
The sight undid him. The raw, furious need twisting Yu’s face, the way his body fought its own pleasure even as it sought more. Chi Cheng’s own control frayed, snapping like over-tensioned wire. The air crackled, thick with the smell of blood, sweat, sex, and something wild, something terrifyingly close to annihilation.
His grip tightened, pumping with rough, demanding strokes. The rhythm became punishing, relentless, matching the frantic pounding of his own heart against his ribs. He drove into the friction, grinding himself against Yu’s trapped thigh, burying his face in the crook of Yu’s neck where sweat and the coppery tang of the bite mingled, inhaling the scent of his ruin. He felt Yu arch, spine bowing impossibly, every muscle locked in a tremor that vibrated through both of them. A broken, guttural moan tore from Yu’s throat, raw and stripped bare, echoing in the tiny, suffocating space as his release hit him like a seizure.
The tremor ripped through Yu like a live wire, leaving him limp against the cold tile, breathing ragged, shattered gasps that fogged the humid air. His head lolled, dark hair plastered to his forehead, sweat tracing paths down his temple. The only sound, besides the frantic drum of Chi Cheng’s own pulse in his ears, was the persistent drip… drip… drip from the faulty faucet.
Chi Cheng didn’t let go. His hand, slick and unyielding, remained wrapped around Cheng Yu, feeling the frantic pulse gradually slow beneath his fingers, feeling the residual tremors shaking the lean muscle in Yu’s thighs where they pressed against his own. He kept Yu pinned, the solid weight of his body a cage against the tile. Yu’s eyes fluttered open, dark irises clouded, unfocused, then sharpening into a glare aimed straight at Chi. Fury warred with the profound, humiliating exhaustion in their depths.
"Get off me," Yu rasped, the words scraping his throat raw. He tried to shove, but his arms felt like lead, his strength utterly spent. It was a weak push against Chi’s immovable chest.
Chi Cheng leaned in, his breath hot against Cheng Yu’s sweat-slicked skin near the bite mark, already bruising a deep purple on his shoulder. He didn’t move his hand. Instead, he shifted his hips deliberately, grinding the hard ridge of his own neglected erection against Yu’s inner thigh, still trapped within the confines of his shorts. The friction was electric, a jolt that made Yu gasp, his body instinctively arching despite himself, seeking the contact even as his expression twisted in denial.
"Make me," Chi murmured, his voice a low, dangerous rumble in the confined space. He watched the conflict play across Yu’s face – the defiance battling the lingering haze of pleasure, the humiliation warring with the undeniable physical response Chi could still elicit. His thumb traced a slow, deliberate circle over the sensitive head still held captive in his grip. Yu choked, a strangled sound escaping his lips. His hips jerked, a helpless, involuntary spasm towards Chi’s hand.
"You bastard..." Yu managed, his voice thick. He squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head away as if he could shut out the sensation, shut out Chi’s relentless presence. But his body betrayed him. A fresh tremor ran through him, a shiver that wasn't entirely from the chill seeping through the tile. His breath hitched.
Chi Cheng pressed closer, eliminating the scant air between them. The scent of them both – exertion, showe gel, and the sharp, metallic tang from Yu’s bitten shoulder – filled his lungs. He dipped his head, his lips brushing the shell of Yu’s ear, the damp hair tickling his cheek. He felt the tremor that raced through Yu at the contact. The struggle was beautiful. It was everything.
His grip tightened fractionally, a controlled squeeze that drew another sharp gasp from Cheng Yu, whose eyes flew open, locking onto Chi’s with a mixture of shock and dawning, horrified understanding. The playful antagonism, the teasing rivalry that usually defined them was incinerated. What remained was need, primal need.
Chi held that gaze, letting Yu see the raw, unvarnished hunger in his own. Letting him see the control Chi still wielded, effortlessly. The power thrummed between them, thick as the steam clinging to the tiles.
"Beg Me," Chi whispered, the command a soft, searing brand against Yu’s ear.
The word hung in the thick, steamy air, sharp as broken glass. Cheng Yu’s breath hitched, a ragged counterpoint to the relentless drip… drip… drip from the faucet. His eyes, dark pools of fury and humiliation, locked onto Chi Cheng’s. Defiance flared, a last desperate spark. He tried to surge forward, muscles straining against Chi’s iron grip, a silent scream etched onto his face. His teeth bared in a snarl, aimed not at Chi’s hand between them, but at the predator holding him captive.
Chi didn’t flinch. He absorbed the futile struggle, the tremors rippling through Yu’s exhausted frame. It only fueled the dark satisfaction coiling low in his gut. Yu’s snarl dissolved into a choked cry, sharp and involuntary, his head snapping back against the cold tile with a dull thud. His hips bucked helplessly, seeking relief or escape – neither possible.
"Thought so," Chi murmured, the words rough velvet against Yu’s ear. His other hand, which had been braced against the wall beside Yu’s head, snaked down. Not gently. Fingers tangled brutally in the sweat-damp hair at Yu’s nape, yanking his head forward, forcing eye contact again. The pain was a bright flare in Yu’s gaze, momentarily eclipsing the fury. "Your body knows who owns it tonight. Always knows."
He held Yu’s head still, forcing him to endure the relentless gaze, the unyielding pressure of Chi’s body. He shifted his weight, grinding his own unbearable hardness against Yu’s thigh again, a stark reminder of the power imbalance, the control he held utterly. Chi inhaled deeply, watching the struggle play out on Yu’s face – the flicker of panic beneath the rage, the tremble of his lower lip he tried to bite down on.
"Beg," Chi commanded again, lower this time, a vibration against Yu’s skin. He released the punishing grip on Yu’s hair just enough to slide his fingers down the side of his neck, tracing the frantic pulse beating like a trapped bird. His thumb found the angle of Yu’s jaw, forcing it upwards. "Or do you need more convincing?" He pressed his hips harder, the friction a brutal promise.
Yu shuddered, a full-body convulsion. His eyes squeezed shut. A ragged breath tore from his lungs, fogging the tile near Chi’s hand. When his eyes opened again, the defiance was fractured. Cracked. Not gone, but submerged beneath something raw and desperate. His throat worked. Once. Twice. Silence stretched, thick with the steam and the dripping and the distant, muffled bass thumping through the walls.
Then, barely a whisper, scraped from a place of utter surrender: "Please."
Chi went utterly still. The sound, so small, so broken, ignited a wildfire in his veins. It wasn't playful capitulation. It wasn't teasing compliance. It was the sound of a rival, a challenger, brought low. His dominant side had take over.
It wasn't a conscious thought. It was a tidal wave. Chi’s grip on Yu’s jaw tightened, hauling him forward, away from the wall’s support.
Simultaneously, his other hand, slick and possessive, released its hold only to shove hard against Yu’s shoulder. Yu gasped, off-balance, weakened legs buckling instantly. There was no grace in the descent. He crashed to his knees on the grimy tile floor, the impact jarring up his spine, forcing another choked sound from his throat.
Chi loomed over him, a silhouette against the flickering fluorescent light. Steam swirled around his legs. He looked down at Yu kneeling, dazed, vulnerable, the furious glint in his eyes now mixed with a dawning, terrifying understanding of his position. Chi placed a heavy hand on top of Yu’s head, fingers tightening in the dark, damp strands, not guiding, but pinning him there.
The possessive weight of it, the absolute claim implicit in the gesture, was undeniable. The air crackled. The drip of water sounded like a drumbeat marking the shift. Chi’s own need was a furnace, but this moment – Yu kneeling, broken open, exposed – was the purest satisfaction. The hunt was over. The prize was his. Utterly.
Chi looked down at Cheng Yu kneeling on the grimy tile, the flickering light catching the sweat beading along Yu’s hairline, the stark vulnerability in his usually laughing eyes. That vulnerability was a drug, sharper than any pre-workout. Chi’s hand, heavy as judgment, remained tangled in Yu’s dark hair, holding him in place, feeling the tremor that ran through Yu’s frame – exhaustion, adrenaline, something else entirely.
"Look at me," Chi growled, the sound barely audible over the relentless drip… drip… from the faulty faucet.
Yu’s eyes, wide and dark, lifted. Gone was the spark of fury Chi had crushed moments before. In its place was a raw, unsettling openness, a surrender that went deeper than the physical. It wasn’t submission; it was recognition. Recognition of the tension that had always crackled between them, the competitive fire that had spilled over into something hotter, darker, undeniable.
Chi didn’t waste words. The hand in Yu’s hair tightened, pulling his head back sharply, exposing the long line of his throat. Yu gasped, the sound swallowed by the steam. Chi’s other hand moved, not gently. It pushed at Yu’s shoulder, forcing him to lean back further, off-balance, entirely dependent on Chi’s grip. His own need was a throbbing ache, pressed hard against the rough fabric of his shorts, mirrored by the undeniable evidence straining against Yu’s.
"Touch me." The command was low, guttural. No room for refusal. Not now.
Cheng Yu’s hand, trembling slightly, lifted. It hovered for a fraction of a second, suspended in the humid air near Chi’s hip. Chi didn’t move, didn’t relent his punishing grip on Yu’s hair. He just watched, the intensity in his gaze like a physical pressure. Yu’s gaze flickered down, then back up, meeting Chi’s. There was fear there, yes, but also a burning curiosity, a reckless hunger that matched Chi’s own. His fingers, calloused from the gym, finally made contact, fumbling with the waistband of Chi’s shorts.
"Faster," Chi hissed, grinding his hips forward impatiently, the friction against Yu’s knuckles making them both flinch. "Don’t think. Just do it."
Yu obeyed, his movements clumsy but determined. He pushed the fabric down, freeing Chi. The sight, the feel of Yu’s tentative touch, sent a jolt of pure fire through Chi’s veins. He groaned, low and deep, a sound that vibrated in the small space. His grip on Yu’s hair shifted, guiding rather than forcing now, bringing Yu’s face closer. Yu understood. His breath hitched again, a ragged sound, before his lips parted. There was no hesitation this time, only a desperate, almost angry urgency as he took Chi in, deep, swallowing him whole.
Chi threw his head back against the cool tile wall with a sharp crack, his eyes slamming shut. The sensation was blinding. His free hand flew to the back of Yu’s head, fingers sinking into the damp hair, not to force, but to anchor himself as waves of pure sensation crashed over him. Yu’s other hand braced against Chi’s thigh, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises. He moved with a frantic, uneven rhythm, driven by Chi’s harsh breaths, the tightening grip in his hair, the low, guttural curses that fell from Chi’s lips.
"Like that… yeah… fuck, just like that," Chi gasped, his hips jerking involuntarily. He opened his eyes, looking down. Seeing Cheng Yu, his Cheng Yu, knelt on the dirty bathroom floor, utterly consumed by him, was the most potent aphrodisiac imaginable. This was winning on a visceral level. Yu’s eyes were squeezed shut, tears mixing with sweat at the corners, his movements becoming more desperate, his own need radiating off him in waves. Chi could feel the tremors running through Yu’s body, the building tension coiling within himself.
It wasn’t going to last. Chi could feel the peak rushing towards him, unstoppable, inevitable. His knuckles were white where they gripped Yu’s hair. Yu cried out around him, the vibration sending shockwaves up Chi’s spine. Chi reached between them, his hand closing roughly around Yu’s straining length. Yu bucked violently, a choked scream muffled against Chi’s skin.
The dual assault shattered them both.
Chi’s release hit like a physical blow, a white noise that drowned out the dripping faucet, the distant bass, everything. It tore through him, wave after brutal wave, his body locking rigid, his head pressed hard against the tile as he emptied himself into Yu’s mouth with a guttural, wordless shout that echoed off the tiles.
Simultaneously, under Chi’s punishing grip, Yu convulsed. His back arched impossibly as Chi’s hand worked him ruthlessly through his own climax. It wasn’t gentle; it was claiming, forcing the release out of him in thick, desperate pulses that splattered hot against the grimy floor. Yu’s jaw went slack around Chi, a low, broken moan ripped from his chest, raw and utterly exposed.
The silence that followed was absolute. Deafening. Thicker than the steam. Only their ragged breathing filled the small, humid space, harsh gasps that seemed unnaturally loud. Chi’s hand slipped from Yu’s hair, falling limp at his side. His legs felt like water. He slumped back against the wall, the cold tile a shock against his overheated skin.
Yu collapsed forward, his forehead thudding dully against Chi’s thigh. His shoulders heaved. Sweat slicked his back, gleaming in the flickering light. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just breathed, shuddering breaths that hitched occasionally.
Chi looked down at the dark head resting against him. At the mess on the floor. At his own trembling hands. The raw power, the savage satisfaction. The rival he’d pinned against the wall, the body he’d brought crashing to its knees – it was still Cheng Yu. But everything else felt irrevocably, terrifyingly changed. The air hummed not just with spent energy, but with the deafening weight of what they’d just done. Yu’s ragged breathing was the only sound in the suddenly immense quiet.
The silence wasn’t quiet anymore; it was a physical thing, thick and humming with everything unsaid, everything undone. The flickering light caught the sheen on Yu’s shoulders, the vulnerable curve of his neck. The air reeked of sex, sweat, and cheap bleach.
Chi’s own hand, the one that had been buried in Yu’s hair, felt heavy, alien. He flexed his fingers. The tremor was barely noticeable now. His gaze drifted past Yu’s bowed head to the grimy floor tiles. His stomach tightened, a strange mix of revulsion and fierce, possessive satisfaction warring within him. Look what I did. Look what he let me do.
Yu shifted, groaning softly. He pushed himself up, movements stiff, uncoordinated. He didn’t look at Chi. His eyes, usually bright with challenge or mocking laughter, were downcast, fixed on the mess by his knees. He braced one hand against the wall, the other clumsily yanking his torn shorts back up. His knuckles were white. His jaw was clenched so tight a muscle jumped beneath the dusky skin.
Chi watched him. The vulnerability was still there, raw and exposed, but a familiar defiance was creeping back in, tightening Yu’s shoulders, hardening the line of his mouth. The sight reignited a spark in Chi, hotter than the fading embers of lust. He couldn't stand it. That retreat. That attempt to rebuild the wall Chi had just shattered. He pushed off the wall, the movement sudden, predatory. He blocked Yu’s path to the stall door.
Yu flinched, finally looking up. His eyes were dark pools, still swimming with confusion and the lingering haze of release, but the spark of challenge was fighting its way back. "Move," he rasped, his voice rough, wrecked. It sounded nothing like his usual teasing drawl.
Chi didn’t budge. He loomed, the cramped stall feeling even smaller. The air crackled. He could see the pulse hammering in Yu’s throat. See the way his chest rose and fell too quickly. The damp strands of hair plastered to his temple. The faint pink flush high on his cheekbones, not just from exertion. He leaned in, invading Yu’s space, the scent of him – sweat, adrenaline, them – filling Chi's nostrils. His gaze locked onto Yu’s, unflinching, demanding.
"No."
The single syllable dropped into the humid air like a stone. Yu blinked, a flash of disbelief, then anger, flaring in his eyes. "Get out of my way, Chi. This…" He gestured vaguely, encompassing the stall, the lingering tension, the unspoken enormity between them. "…was a mistake. A fucked-up mistake." The attempt at dismissal was forced.
Chi’s hand shot out. Not rough, but unyielding, gripping Yu’s jaw, forcing his head up, forcing their eyes to meet fully. He felt the tremor run through Yu, saw the flicker of fear beneath the anger. It was intoxicating. This power. This raw connection. He’d had him. On his knees. Begging without words. Surrendered. And Yu wanted to call it a mistake? Chi’s thumb pressed against the hinge of Yu’s jaw, feeling the frantic beat beneath the skin.
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rasp that vibrated in the tiny space, cutting through the drip-drip of the faucet and Yu’s shallow breaths. His eyes bored into Yu’s, stripping away the lies, the bravado, demanding the raw, humiliating truth simmering just beneath the surface.
"Admit that you wanted this. Only then I will let you go."
----------------------------
Notes:
Hey guys😊
So, first things first: this story had a lot of things. Well they did not go all the way but yeah the tension was there and I tried to give them a rivals to lovers plot. This is just 8k words of smut with plot. This took me a lot of time to finalise and I do not know whether it turned out to be good or not.
This fic isn’t just about muscle-flexing and cocky smiles. It’s also about that moment when you realize you might hate someone… but in the kind of way that makes you want to pin them against a wall (or against a bathroom sink, or, well, the shower stall).
I am very embarrassed after writing this. Do let me know in the comments whether you liked this piece or not. Also if there are any mistakes let me know in the comments.🩷🩷
Until next time then🥱✌️
Chapter 12: Young Master? No, I’m Just a Disaster (Chi Cheng/Wu Suo Wei)
Summary:
Wu Suo Wei wanted a quiet college life. Instead, the transfer student beside him is Chi Cheng—underworld mafia boss, perfect suit, terrifying smile. One clumsy encounter later, Suo Wei ends up becoming the “Young Master” of crime by accident. Exams, kidnappings, rumors, and accidental romance follow. Suo Wei just wants to drop out.
Notes:
Please shut off the logical areas of brain and just enjoy this. Well I do not even know what was I thinking when I wrote this. But it made me laugh and I hope it makes you laugh too😭😭.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Wu Suo Wei was determined.
Not determined to succeed at academics. Not determined to join clubs. Not determined to find love.
No.
He was determined to be normal. Not to stand out to much.
“Just an average face in the crowd”, he told himself, wobbling into Shanghai University with his too-big backpack and half-tied shoelaces.
No chaos. No violence. No humiliation. This is my restart button. Suo Wei 2.0. I’m going to eat cafeteria food, copy lecture notes, and maybe—MAYBE—graduate in four years if the Almighty is merciful.
His inner monologue was cut brutally short when his shoelace betrayed him, and he performed a perfect forward-roll dive into the pavement.
“Shooshhh!” His bottle flew one way, his glasses the other, and his dignity evaporated into space.
A group of upperclassmen snickered from the side.
“Freshmen… they’re always comedy shows.”
“Bro, he looked like he got sniped by gravity.”
Suo Wei lay on the ground, face down, whispering to himself. “…Invisible. Totally invisible. No one saw that. I am a phantom. I am air.”
Well, everyone saw it.
---------------------
Shaking off the shame, Suo Wei stumbled into his first economics class. Rows of neatly dressed students filled the lecture hall. Everyone already looked smarter than him. One girl was summarizing last year’s syllabus. Another guy was juggling textbooks the size of bricks.
Every seat was taken. Every. Seat.
Except one.
Right next to the professor’s podium.
“…Okay, nobody’s gonna laugh this time,” Suo Wei muttered, clutching his bag as if it were a shield. He plopped into the empty chair, trying to look casual. Totally fine. Yup. Just an ordinary guy sitting in a completely ordinary seat.
The class chuckled immediately.
Someone whispered, “This loser’s in the professor’s chair!”
Suo Wei froze. Heart shriveled. Skin pale.
The professor walked in, stopped dead, and stared at him. “…Mr. Wu?”
“C-Correct!” Suo Wei saluted instinctively. “Present for duty, sir!”
The class exploded in laughter. Suo Wei wished a meteor would fall and end him right there.
Halfway through introductions, the door slammed open.
BANG.
The room went so quiet that even Suo Wei’s stomach refused to growl.
Standing in the doorway was a man who did not belong in any normal school setting. Tall. Perfect posture. A charcoal-gray suit, crisp as if ironed by angels. A gleaming silk tie. Leather shoes clicking like bullets in a mob movie. Oh—and sunglasses. Indoors.
The aura was wrong. Too sharp. Too heavy. Too dangerous.
A girl dropped her pen with a shaky clatter.
“Ah…” The professor faltered. “You must be the… transfer student…?”
The stranger removed his sunglasses with deliberate, dramatic slowness. His eyes were sharp, cool, and unsettlingly calm.
He bowed with effortless grace.
“My name is Chi Cheng. It’s a pleasure.”
The entire hall collectively inhaled.
“It’s him…!”
“The rumors were true…!”
“That’s the mafia heir who turned three syndicates into dust overnight!”
One student actually fainted.
Meanwhile, Suo Wei squinted, whispering: “…Mafia heir? Why would someone like THAT… join my 101 class? Did he screw up his application form??”
---------------------
Chi Cheng’s gaze swept across the hall. Calm. Cold. Measuring. Every student looked down instantly, as though direct eye contact might send them to the afterlife.
And then… his gaze stopped.
Suo Wei felt his neck tingle.
“…No. Not me. Don’t look at me. I’m a wallpaper. I’m a chair. I’m the dust you step on. Please don’t—”
Chi walked calmly forward. His shiny shoes echoed like doom. He reached the only other empty chair. The one beside Suo Wei.
And sat down.
The universe officially hates me, Suo Wei thought, sweating furiously.
The back row gasped in horror.
“Oh god… he chose to sit… next to THAT GUY?”
“RIP dude. It was nice knowing him.”
Suo Wei waved weakly. His voice squeaked like a rubber chicken.
“H-Hi! Uh. Welcome. Please don’t kill me.”
Chi Cheng tilted his head, studying him like a rare insect. Then gave the faintest smile.
“…Normal.”
Suo Wei blinked. “W-What?”
“I like that.”
Suo Wei’s brain blue-screened. That was definitely not a compliment, right? RIGHT!?
---------------------
After class, Suo Wei was half-jogging toward the exit. He needed fresh air, maybe a nap, maybe two. That’s when four giant shadows fell across him.
He turned.
Four men. Black suits. Sunglasses. Tattoos curling up their necks. Built like refrigerators that hit the gym daily.
One of them bowed at a perfect ninety degrees.
“Young Master.”
“WHO, ME!?” Suo Wei squeaked.
“Yes. The Boss has chosen you. Please come with us.”
Suo Wei flailed so hard he almost smacked himself in the face with his own arm.
“I-I’M JUST A NORMAL STUDENT! I DON’T EVEN PAY MY TUITION ON TIME!”
They exchanged knowing smirks. “So humble…”
Suo Wei backed up against the wall, wild-eyed. Oh no. Oh no. Ohhhh no. I just wanted cafeteria food. Now I’m starring in a mafia drama.
Across the corridor, Chi Cheng stood by the window, sipping tea like he was in a 19th-century painting. His lips curved upward, amused.
“…Yes. Very normal indeed.”
And Suo Wei promptly fainted like a Victorian maiden overcome by scandal.
---------------------
Suo Wei woke to the sound of leather seats creaking and the low hum of an engine.
He blinked awake groggily… and immediately screamed.
“WHHHAAT! I’M IN A LIMO! WHY AM I IN A LIMO!? WHO PUT ME IN A LIMO!?”
His arms flailed until he smacked his own forehead with the seatbelt. Smooth.
On the seat opposite, perfectly at ease with a cup of espresso balanced in one hand… sat Chi Cheng.
Looking calm. Looking elegant. Looking like he definitely ordered three assassinations before breakfast.
---------------------
Suo Wei: (panicking) “W-What do you want from me!? I don’t have ransom money, I can’t cook, I can’t fight, and my only talent is breaking bricks with my head!”
Chi Cheng: (sipping slowly) “…Interesting.”
Suo Wei: “E-EH!? What’s interesting about that!?”
Chi Cheng tilted his head, studying him with unsettling calmness. “You’re truly an extraordinary person, aren’t you?”
Suo Wei: (sweating) “WHAT?? HOW AM I EXTRAORDINARY? I SHOULD BE INVISIBLE RIGHT NOW.”
Chi Cheng smirked slightly. “Good. I like invisible people. They survive the longest.”
Suo Wei shrieked and practically tried to become the seatbelt.
Through the tinted windows, Suo Wei caught glimpses of scary black cars tailing them like a parade. Drivers in black suits, bikes roaring with masked men.
“…Am I being kidnapped by the actual Triad(the mafia in China)!? I JUST WANTED TO EAT CURRY RICE!!”
Chi Cheng didn’t even flinch. “We’re not Triad. Too sloppy. Too loud.”
He leaned in closer, voice dangerously soft.
“My family is… different. We handle order. The shadows that make your ordinary little world run smoothly. One misunderstanding… and the world collapses.”
Suo Wei squeaked like a dying hamster.
---------------------
Chi Cheng placed his cup down with surgical precision. “I don’t usually introduce myself. But since fate sat you beside me… I’ll be clear.”
He leaned in so close Suo Wei could count his eyelashes. “I am Chi Cheng. Head of the Kung Fu Cartel. And now… you are under my protection.”
Suo Wei shouted loudly. “WH-WH-WHAT!? NOOO THANK YOU!! I REFUSE!! I’M ALLERGIC TO PROTECTION!!”
Chi Cheng actually chuckled. “You don’t get to refuse.”
Suo Wei: (clutching head) How did I go from failing my exams to being a crime mascot!?
---------------------
The limo pulled up outside the campus again. Students gasped as Suo Wei was literally escorted out by mafia bodyguards. Chi Cheng calmly straightened his suit, announcing the obvious. “This is my classmate. From today onward, treat him as you would treat me.”
The crowd collectively gasped.
Suo Wei waved pathetically. “P-Please, there’s been some mistake, I’m not mafia material, I CRY WHEN I WATCH SAD ANIME!!”
But it was too late. Suo Wei’s fate was sealed.
Half the campus now whispered.
“Who is he?”
“Is he Chi Cheng’s right hand?”
“No, he must be his heir!”
“…He doesn’t look like an heir. More like… their pet goldfish.”
Suo Wei was silently dying inside. Please. Somebody. Just let me drop out before midterms.
Chi Cheng, watching the chaos with calm satisfaction, muttered under his breath. “…Yes. This will be fun.”
---------------------
Suo Wei tried to cling to normal life like it was a life raft and he was already drowning.
“If I just attend class, don’t attract attention, and run home real fast, maybe Chi Cheng will forget about me.
Yes. Forget about me. That’s the dream.”
Unfortunately, dreams die fast in Suo Wei’s world.
---------------------
The next morning, Suo Wei slipped on his sandals and opened the door to his shabby dorm room.
“GOOD MORNING, YOUNG MASTER!”
Ten extremely large men in matching black suits stood lined up in the hallway, bowing in unison.
Suo Wei shrieked and slammed the door shut. His neighbors peeked out, wide-eyed.
“…Eh? Did that guy just hire a personal security squad?”
“I heard that’s what rich kids do…”
Inside his room, Suo Wei hyperventilated into a pillow.
“This is a nightmare. This is a nightmare. I can’t even sneak out to the vending machine anymore!!”
At lunch, Suo Wei tip-toed into the cafeteria, tray trembling in his hands, praying no one noticed him.
Behind him trailed Chi Cheng’s mafia men like a bizarre conga line. Every table went silent.
A brave freshman whispered: “Um… is that… his crew?”
Another corrected: “No, you idiot. That’s his personal guard! That guy’s gotta be the underboss or something!”
Suo Wei coughed into his curry rice. “N-No, I’m just a regular student! I can’t even use chopsticks properly, see—”
The entire cafeteria collectively decided this was a cover story, the kind mafia heirs use to stay low-profile.
Chi Cheng himself strolled in, immaculate, charismatic, terrifying, and sat calmly across from Suo Wei like they were lifelong friends.
Chi Cheng: “Eat. Strength matters.”
Suo Wei: (panicking) “Str-Strength? I’m only strong in playing video games badly! I can barely lift my laundry basket!”
Chi Cheng: “…Hm. Honest to a fault.”
Everyone around: oh my god, he’s training the heir.
---------------------
That evening, Suo Wei was dragged—er, “invited politely”—to what he thought was a study session.
Wrong.
It was a warehouse with weights, shooting targets, and a whiteboard labeled ‘Empire Expansion Plan’. Dozens of suited men stood in a row, waiting for him.
Suo Wei: “W-Wait, wait, you’ve got this all wrong!! I joined college! Not Triad Academy!”
Chi Cheng handed him a toy-looking pistol. “Show me your form.”
Suo Wei: (eyes bulging) “I DON’T EVEN HAVE FORM! I HOLD PENCILS WRONG!!”
He panicked, dropped the pistol… which promptly fired by accident and shot straight through the bullseye of the target.
Silence. Dead silence.
Mafia men started whispering in awe:
“…Did you see his aim? Perfect…”
“He’s a natural-born killer.”
“No wonder the Boss picked him.”
Suo Wei waved his arms. “IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!! I CAN’T EVEN AIM A REMOTE CONTROL!!”
Chi Cheng leaned back, folding his arms, watching him with the faintest smirk. “Yes… raw talent. We’ll work on it.”
Suo Wei screamed to the heavens.
Back in his dorm, Suo Wei lay face-down in bed, his phone buzzing with new messages.
“Young Master, your laundry has been ironed.”
“Young Master, we will guard the vending machine near your dorm 24/7.”
“Young Master, do you prefer your enemies disposed of by subway or by sea?”
Suo Wei stared blankly at the screen, whispering into his pillow:
“…I just wanted to pass Intro to Economics. That’s all. That’s literally it.”
Somewhere across campus, Chi Cheng poured himself a glass of wine on a balcony, gazing into the neon night sky. “…He’s adapting better than I thought.”
---------------------
Suo Wei tried, desperately, to cling to sanity.
“Okay… okay,” he whispered to himself as he sat in the library, notebook open. “I’m not in the mafia. Nope. Nope. It’s all a misunderstanding. Chi Cheng’s men are just… overly helpful cosplayers. Yeah. Definitely. Everything’s fine.”
The pile of gold-plated pistols on the desk disagreed.
Suo Wei’s left eye twitched. “…Normal. I am still NORMAL.”
At that exact moment, Chi Cheng appeared in his perfectly tailored suit and sat gracefully across from him, placing a calculus textbook on the table.
Chi Cheng’s smile was polite… but razor-edged.“It’s time for your lesson.”
Suo Wei gulped so hard it echoed in the library.
Chi Cheng opened the textbook to an incomprehensible equation.
“Differentiate this function.”
Suo Wei squinted at the mass of symbols. “Um. Yes. Of course. Differentiate it from… what? Like, my personality?”
Chi Cheng raised an eyebrow. Suo Wei’s soul left his body.
“Relax,” Chi Cheng said smoothly. “I will guide you.” He leaned closer, practically breathing against Suo Wei’s ear as he explained step by step.
Suo Wei: (internally screaming) Too close!! Too close!! Why does his cologne smell like expensive crime??
Finally, Suo Wei scribbled the answer. Wrong, but confident.
Chi Cheng glanced at it once, then murmured: “Hm. You’d better learn faster. In life, one wrong answer can cost everything.”
Suo Wei immediately imagined being executed by a chalkboard sniper.
They closed the math book. Chi Cheng snapped his fingers. One bodyguard appeared, holding two briefcases.
Chi Cheng set them down. One opened to reveal cash, weapons, and a suspicious jar labeled “emergency teeth.”
Suo Wei nearly passed out.
“Wh-Wh-Why are you showing me THIS!?”
Chi Cheng calmly pushed the second briefcase forward. It contained… flashcards. Neatly laminated flashcards.
Chi Cheng: “These are the basics of mafia terminology. Read them.”
Suo Wei: (relieved)… until he pulled the first card: ‘How to Politely Declare War.’
Chi Cheng corrected him sharply whenever he stumbled: “No, Suo Wei. It’s 'with all due respect, I shall burn your turf to ashes'.” You must keep the tone civil.”
Suo Wei slammed the flashcards down. “I SHOULDN’T BE LEARNING THIS!! I HAVE MIDTERMS!!!”
---------------------
Later that night in the mafia hideout, Chi Cheng handed Suo Wei a steaming cup. “In any negotiation, presentation is key. Try this and tell me.”
Suo Wei nervously sipped, expecting poison. “…Oh. Wow. This is really good actually.”
Chi Cheng’s eyes darkened. “Correct. It was brewed with beans we… persuaded from a Colombian supplier.”
Suo Wei spat half the coffee out in terror. He coughed until he thought his lungs left his body, while Chi Cheng sipped his cup calmly, eyes glinting. “…You’ll get used to it.”
Hours later, Suo Wei collapsed onto the couch of the hideout, surrounded by empty flashcards, math scribbles, and half-finished bowls of extremely spicy mafia ramen.
He buried his face in his hands. “I just wanted to be a NORMAL college student. Why am I suddenly studying derivatives AND how to conceal bodies!?”
Chi Cheng adjusted his tie, looked down at him, and said casually. “Don’t complain. You’re learning skills no professor could ever teach.”
Suo Wei groaned into the cushions. “At this rate, I’ll graduate into an early grave.”
Chi Cheng smirked softly. “Not as long as I’m here.”
Suo Wei made a strangled whimper noise, something between “thank you” and “please send help.”
---------------------
Suo Wei had never been this stressed in his life. And that included the time he once stapled his tie to his own test paper.
On his desk sat a 10-page essay outline for “Introduction to Economics.”
Deadline: Tomorrow morning.
Word count required: 3,000.
Words Suo Wei had written so far: “The”.
Suo Wei slapped his face. Okay, okay, relax. I can do this. It’s just one paper. I’ll write through the night. I’ll—
His laptop battery died.
Suo Wei collapsed onto the table. “…God sent me to suffer.”
------------------
That night, Suo Wei’s dorm door creaked open. He looked up… and nearly had a heart attack.
Chi Cheng’s towering mafia bodyguards filled the room AGAIN like a wall of criminal IKEA furniture.
One of them bowed. “Young Master. The Boss told us you were in distress. We are here to assist.”
Suo Wei flailed. “NO-NO-NO, THIS IS JUST HOMEWORK! College homework!! You can’t ‘assist’ with that!”
The men exchanged serious nods.
“…So it is time-sensitive work. Understood. We’ll handle it.”
Before Suo Wei could stop them, they vanished with terrifying efficiency.
The next morning, Suo Wei staggered into class, dark circles under his eyes from a night of panic and zero productivity.
Then the professor walked in… looking pale… shaking slightly… and followed by Chi Cheng’s men.
“U-Uh… class… due to, ah, unforeseen circumstances, the assignment deadline has been… indefinitely postponed.”
The room went silent.
Students whispered:
“Did… did the mafia just get our homework cancelled??”
“…That guy Suo Wei is a legend.”
“…No wonder Chi Cheng sits next to him.”
Meanwhile, Suo Wei was vibrating in his chair like an overcaffeinated washing machine.
OH MY GOD THEY ACTUALLY KIDNAPPED MY PROFESSOR I’M AN ACCESSORY TO CRIME I’M GOING TO PRISON!!
------------------
Outside, Suo Wei cornered Chi Cheng in pure hysterics.
Suo Wei: “WHAT DID YOU DO!?”
Chi Cheng: (calmly sipping tea) “I simply asked them to support you. They must have… misinterpreted.”
Suo Wei: “MISINTERPRETED!? YOU REDUCED MY PROFESSOR TO A SHAKING PANCAKE!!”
Chi Cheng: “On the bright side, you now have unlimited time to perfect your paper.”
Suo Wei dropped to the ground. “I DON’T WANT EXTENSIONS THROUGH CRIMINAL MEANS!! I JUST WANT A PASSING GRADE WITHOUT A BODY COUNT!!”
Chi Cheng smiled slightly, tilting his head. “…You have a very unique sense of honor, Suo Wei.”
Suo Wei: “THIS ISN’T HONOR, THIS IS BASIC SANITY!!”
By evening, Suo Wei’s legend had spread.
Upperclassmen whispered when he passed. “That’s him. The student who made the professor surrender.”
“I heard he threatened to burn the syllabus.”
“No, no, I heard he can bend rulers with his mind!”
Suo Wei overheard and almost threw himself into a trash can.
Meanwhile Chi Cheng, walking elegantly beside him, smirked faintly.
“Congratulations. Fear has established your reputation.”
Suo Wei screamed into his bag.
------------------
Suo Wei was nervously polishing his shoes (well, wiping them with a tissue) when he reread the text he’d gotten from Chi Cheng earlier:
“Dinner. Tonight. Wear something decent.”
Suo Wei nearly fainted when he saw it.
D-Dinner!? With CHI CHENG!? Wait, is this—
No, no, it’s not a date. It’s probably just… something platonic… mafia-related? …oh god, why am I ironing my I love BL hoodie??
That evening, Suo Wei stepped out of the cab in front of what he assumed was a “restaurant.”
Except… it had ten guys with swords at the entrance, gold lions carved into the pillars, and guards ushering him through metal detectors.
“E-Excuse me,” Suo Wei whimpered, “is this… uh… a karaoke café?”
The guard stared at him silently until Suo Wei shuffled inside with his soul halfway out of his body.
Inside, the “restaurant” looked like something out of a mafia movie — chandeliers, velvet carpets, round tables full of men in black suits. Every single head turned when Suo Wei entered.
Oh no. Oh no no nooo. I’ve walked into a gangster edition of MasterChef. I’m going to get served as the appetizer.
Chi Cheng sat at the center table, of course, sipping wine like a king at his throne. He gestured gracefully.
“Suo Wei. Here.”
Suo Wei stumbled over, sitting stiffly on the chair beside him. His knees knocked together so loudly it sounded like a drum solo.
“W-Wow, fancy!” Suo Wei squeaked. “I’ve… never eaten anywhere that uses plates bigger than frisbees!”
Chi Cheng’s lips twitched in amusement. “Relax.”
Across the table sat rival mafia bosses. They looked like walking tattoos: scars, rings, giant gold chains. And they were glaring at Suo Wei like he was the weakest gazelle in Lion King.
One sneered. “Who’s this? A… college boy?”
Suo Wei panicked, nearly choking on his breadstick. “I-I’m not anybody important!! Please don’t shoot me mid-meal!”
The rival boss laughed so loudly the glasses rattled. “What kind of spineless brat sits with the Kung Fu Cartel Boss?”
In one smooth motion, Chi Cheng pulled out his gun, aimed it at the ceiling, and BANG! — shot the chandelier chain.
Glass shards showered down dramatically onto the empty table next to them. Everyone froze in stunned silence.
Chi Cheng’s calm voice cut through the tension. “…Insult my guest again, and the chandelier will not be the only thing that falls.”
The rival bosses gulped and immediately fell silent. Suo Wei sat there trembling so violently his chair squeaked with every spasm.
“…Th-Thanks?” he whispered shakily.
Chi Cheng simply poured Suo Wei a drink as though he hadn’t nearly committed felony property damage ten seconds ago. “You’re welcome.”
------------------
Course after luxurious course arrived — truffle pasta, Wagyu beef, seafood towers.
Suo Wei, nerves aside, was salivating.
Okay okay okay… maybe this isn’t so bad. Fancy dinner, free food, and no one looks like they actively want to dismember me anymore.
He carefully cut into the steak… and immediately flung a piece onto Chi Cheng’s immaculate silk shirt.
The entire room inhaled sharply.
Every mafia man present: 😨
Suo Wei froze, fork in mid-air. “…I… I didn’t do that. That was a hallucination. Collective hallucination, right?”
The rival boss smirked cruelly. “Clumsy brat. Can’t even eat properly.”
The mafia guards twitched, ready to draw weapons—
But Chi Cheng raised a hand. Slowly looked down at the stain. Then he smiled — soft. Terrifyingly soft.
“…It suits me better this way.”
Suo Wei’s soul left his body.
Hours later, Suo Wei slumped in Chi Cheng’s limo, stuffed with caviar and sheer trauma.
“I-I nearly died over STEAK.”
Chi Cheng, perfectly composed, adjusted his cufflinks. “You handled yourself well.”
“WHAT?! I was shaking like a phone on vibrate mode!”
Chi Cheng looked out the tinted window, his voice low and oddly warm. “…You didn’t run away. That counts.”
Suo Wei sat silently, cheeks warm, brain screaming internally. Did Chi Cheng just… compliment me!? No no no, this isn’t romance, this is Stockholm syndrome!!
He buried his face in his hands. “I. Want. To. Drop. Out.”
Chi Cheng’s lips curved. “Too late.”
------------------
Yue Yue, childhood friend of Suo Wei, had always been the voice of reason in his chaotic life. So, when she decided to visit him at college, she expected to find Suo Wei… well, still Suo Wei.
Probably failing class. Probably late on laundry. Probably surviving entirely on instant noodles.
She did NOT expect what she saw when she got off the train.
Because waiting outside the station was… a fleet of black limousines.
Sunglasses-wearing men held a sign that read in bold calligraphy. “WELCOME, YOUNG MASTER’S HONORED LADY FRIEND.”
Pedestrians stared. Yue Yue blinked. “…Young Master?”
When she arrived on campus, things only got weirder. Suo Wei was climbing out of a limo surrounded by twelve bodyguards, nervously waving at students as if this was somehow “normal.”
Half the campus whispered in awe.
“That’s him! The heir apparent!”
“Chi Cheng’s right hand? Or… secret lover?”
“I swear I saw him do The Godfather nod yesterday.”
Yue Yue stood frozen in horror.
Suo Wei spotted her and his whole soul jumped out of his throat.
“YUE YUE!? WHY ARE YOU HERE!? …I-I MEAN HI! HOW NICE! LOOK, I’M NORMAL!!”
He then immediately tripped on his shoelace and faceplanted in front of an armed guard.
Yue Yue pinched the bridge of her nose. “…Normal, huh.”
Moments later, Yue Yue dragged Suo Wei to a bench under a tree.
She crossed her arms, glaring.
“Explain. Now. Why do you have an entourage that looks like they escaped from a gangster movie?”
Suo Wei flailed. “I-It’s not my fault! Okay, technically it IS my fault, but only because I sat in the wrong seat, and then there was a chandelier, and the professor cried, and Chi Cheng—”
“Chi Cheng?”
As if summoned, Chi Cheng strolled over, perfect as always in his signature Armani suit, bowing slightly. “Ah. You must be Suo Wei’s friend.”
Yue Yue’s eyes narrowed. “And you must be the nightmare turning his life into a mafia romcom.”
Chi Cheng chuckled softly, sipping tea (from WHERE? Nobody knew).
“Nightmare? I’d like to think of myself as… his guide.”
Suo Wei: “NO!! BAD GUIDE!! ACADEMIC TUTOR GOOD, MAFIA GUIDE BAD!!”
Yue Yue shook her head.
“Suo Wei, you’re in way over your head. Do you even realize everyone on campus now thinks you’re his partner?”
Suo Wei: …Wait what did she just say?
------------------
Across the courtyard, students whispered as they watched the trio.
“Who’s the girl?”
“Is she Rivals-To-Lovers with Suo Wei?”
“Or… is this a love triangle with the mafia boss??”
Someone started taking notes for fanfiction.
Meanwhile, Suo Wei was bright red, shouting, “WE’RE NOT PARTNERS! NOT LOVERS! NOT ANYTHING!! HE’S JUST—JUST—MY INTIMIDATING CLASSMATE WHO COULD KILL ME WITH A SPOON!!”
Chi Cheng: (calmly sipping tea) “You could just say ‘friend.’”
Suo Wei: “YOU’RE NOT MAKING THIS BETTER!!”
------------------
Finally, Yue Yue stood up, sighing deeply.
“Suo Wei.”
“Yes, ma’am…?” sobbed Suo Wei.
“…If you hurt him, I’ll personally become a mafia boss myself just to make you pay.”
Suo Wei almost fainted. “W-WAIT HURT WHO!? HE’S THE ONE WHO’S SCARING ME!!”
Chi Cheng tilted his head, amused. “…She’s sharp. I like her.”
Yue Yue turned to Chi Cheng, giving him The Glare that had cowed Suo Wei for decades. “If you drag Suo Wei into one of your mafia wars, I will drag YOU into crocodile’s cage.”
Chi Cheng’s confident smile faltered. “…terrifying.”
Suo Wei blinked. “Wait, you’re scared of Yue Yue?”
Chi Cheng answered, “YES.”
Suo Wei had a mini existential crisis on the spot.
------------------
The dreaded midterms approached. For most students, this meant frantic all-nighters, empty Red Bull cans, and tears into instant noodles.
For Suo Wei, it meant…
“CHI CHENG, PLEASE TELL YOUR MEN TO STOP OFFERING TO SHOOT MY PROFESSOR!!”
Suo Wei hunched over his desk in the library, drowning in textbooks, muttering incoherently. “Supply equals demand… demand equals death… I mean… WHAT AM I EVEN SAYING!?”
Across from him sat Chi Cheng, perfectly calm, making neat notes while sipping espresso from a china cup.
Chi Cheng: “Relax. If you fail the exam, we’ll simply… remove the obstacle.”
Suo Wei: (choking on his pen cap) “REMOVE THE OBSTACLE!?!?”
Chi Cheng: (calmly) “Professors are replaceable.”
Suo Wei: “NO THEY’RE NOT!! I DON’T WANT TO RULE THE UNIVERSITY, I JUST WANT TO PASS ECONOMICS 101!!”
Later that night, Suo Wei walked into his dorm and froze. His entire desk was stacked with ominous black folders stamped “TOP SECRET.”
Inside: Every exam answer key from the past 20 years.
Suo Wei whispered in horror: “W-Where did you get these…?”
A mafia guard adjusted his shades. “We have eyes everywhere. Including the Dean’s office.”
Suo Wei shrieked, waving the folders around. “THIS IS A FELONY!! I JUST WANTED LIKE… LAST YEAR’S SAMPLE PAPER!! NOT THE WHOLE DAMN ARCHIVE OF CHEATING!!”
The guards exchanged confused looks. “…So… should we also make the professor ‘forget’ the test?”
Suo Wei: “FORGET THE TEST!? YOU MEAN BURY HIM UNDERCOVER!? NOOOOOO!!”
------------------
When exam day arrived, Suo Wei was a nervous puddle in his seat.
Around him, professors scanned the room suspiciously — the tension was thick, because everyone knew Chi Cheng’s men loitered outside the building, adjusting their cuffs and glaring at anyone who coughed too loudly.
One professor whispered nervously: “If Suo Wei fails… we might all die, won’t we?”
Another: “Don’t make eye contact. Just let him pass.”
The test began. Suo Wei immediately blanked. His mind: pure screaming static. Oh god oh god… supply equals… demand? No… supply equals… tacos?? HEEEEELP—
He glanced sideways. Chi Cheng, in his perfect mafia aura, was writing elegantly with a fountain pen. His paper already looked like an economic thesis that might win a Nobel prize.
Suo Wei wanted to cry.
Halfway through, Suo Wei dropped his pen. It rolled across the floor.
As he scrambled for it, he saw his mafia guard outside the window FLASHING hand signals at him.
Fingers spelling out: “ANSWER IS C.”
Another guard sneezed so loud it sounded like “Question Four is demand elasticity.”
Suo Wei stood up in the middle of class. “STOP IT!! STOP HELPING ME!! I JUST WANT TO FAIL HONORABLY!!”
All eyes turned to him. Professors trembling. Mafia guards frozen. Students whispering.
Chi Cheng sighed deeply, set down his pen, and pinched his nose bridge.
“...You’re impossible, Suo Wei.”
Suo Wei sat back down, red as a tomato, muttering. “I don’t care. I’ll write my OWN WRONG ANSWERS.”
Chi Cheng stared at him a long moment… and then, just for a second, smiled. Soft. Almost proud.
When grades came back, Suo Wei was prepared to mourn his GPA.
But when he looked at his paper, his jaw dropped.
“Marks: 68/100. PASS.”
He stared, stunned. “…PASS!? ME!? LEGALLY!?”
Chi Cheng appeared silently over his shoulder. “Hn. I told them if you failed, accreditation boards would discover… irregularities.”
Suo Wei shrieked and nearly ate his own exam paper. “YOU THREATENED THE ENTIRE UNIVERSITY!?”
Chi Cheng: (smirking) “Congratulations, Suo Wei. You’re officially a survivor of both midterms… and the underworld.”
Suo Wei: “…I want to die.”
------------------
The night was unusually quiet on campus. Suo Wei was dragging his exhausted body back to his dorm, muttering, “…I passed one exam. One exam! Maybe now, life will just—”
A van screeched to a halt in front of him. Black masks. Big muscles. Rope.
“GET IN THE VAN!”
Suo Wei: “WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME!?”
He was yanked inside before he could even scream properly.
Suo Wei woke to find himself tied to a chair in a warehouse. Around him, very scary rival mafia goons were polishing knives and laughing menacingly.
The leader sneered. “Heh… so this is Chi Cheng’s precious underling. We’ll ransom him… then crush his spirit, one finger at a time.”
Suo Wei blinked rapidly. “…U-Underling!? No, no, you’ve got the wrong guy. I’m not useful!! I don’t even know math!!”
The leader smirked. “Play dumb all you want. We know Chi Cheng protects you. That means you’re valuable.”
Suo Wei, teary-eyed: “No I’m not!! The only person who protects me is… calories in instant noodles!! Please believe me!!”
Suo Wei tried not to panic. He failed.
He started rambling. “So, uh, do you guys get health insurance? What’s the dental plan in your mafia? Actually, forget dental… my dentist says I grind my teeth when stressed. Do I look stressed to you? BECAUSE I FEEL STRESSED.”
The kidnappers looked at each other in confusion.
Suo Wei wouldn’t shut up.
“Did you know I once got stuck in a washing machine? For THREE HOURS? My mom had to call the service center. Super embarrassing. LOL. HAHAHA. HA. Ha…”
Goons exchanged horrified glances.
One whispered: “Bro, is he… possessed?”
Another: “This is worse than clownery.”
Suo Wei was now crying about his grades. “I studied eight whole hours for my exam, and still barely passed! Do you know what that does to a man!? DO YOU!?”
By this point, one goon had curled into a corner, questioning his life choices. Another muttered: “I… I miss my mom.”
The leader slammed the table. “ENOUGH! Stop talking!! You—brat!!”
Suo Wei hiccuped. “…Can I have water?”
Five minutes later, he spilled it all over the ransom note.
------------------
Chi Cheng finally arrived hours later with his calm aura of death. He stormed into the warehouse with surgical precision, eyes glowing with rage.
But instead of finding Suo Wei tortured, he found…the kidnappers on their knees, begging.
“PLEASE!!! TAKE HIM BACK!!! WE CAN’T HANDLE HIM ANOTHER MINUTE!! WE’LL NEVER KIDNAP ANYONE AGAIN, WE SWEAR!!!”
Suo Wei sat in the chair, untied but still rambling.
“…and that’s why my shoelaces are my greatest enemy—oh, Chi Cheng! You came!!”
Chi Cheng froze. He looked at the ruined, broken kidnappers… then looked at Suo Wei, who gave him a watery smile.
“…You broke them,” Chi Cheng murmured. “Just by existing.”
Suo Wei tilted his head. “Uh. Sorry?”
Chi Cheng, lips curling into the faintest smirk: “…Impressive.”
Suo Wei: “DON’T CALL THIS IMPRESSIVE!!”
------------------
Suo Wei was pacing in front of his dorm mirror, sweating buckets.
Okay Suo Wei… calm down. It’s just DINNER. Totally casual. Totally NOT a date. Except he specifically said “I’ll pick you up.” And he sent a limo. And ten men in suits are waiting outside. IS THIS A DATE OR A KIDNAPPING!?!?!
He eventually gave up and wore jeans, sneakers… and his favorite I love BL hoodie. Because if he was going to die tonight, he might as well die comfortable.
The limo door opened and Suo Wei climbed in. Chi Cheng was already there — sharp Armani suit, looking like he was attending an Grammy’s afterparty.
Suo Wei’s hoodie squeaked in embarrassment.
“…I’m underdressed, aren’t I.”
Chi Cheng scanned him up and down with unnerving calm. “…It’s… unique.”
Suo Wei whimpered. Why does ‘unique’ sound exactly like ‘pathetic’ when HE says it!?
They arrived at the fanciest restaurant in the city — crystal chandeliers, red carpets, violins playing softly in the background.
Chi Cheng walked in. The entire staff bowed so low they almost kissed the floor. One of them whispered: “That’s him… the Kung Fu Cartel Boss… and the one beside him must be… THE CONSORT.”
Suo Wei: (internally) The what!? The WHATTTT!?
------------------
At the table, Chi Cheng ordered flawlessly in Italian.
Waiters turned to Suo Wei.
Suo Wei panicked. “Uh… I’ll have… chicken nuggets?”
The waiter blinked. “…We… don’t serve those.” “Oh! Then, um… the cheapest thing that’s NOT alive or moving…”
Chi Cheng frowned slightly. “Bring him the risotto. And make it mild, he cries easily.”
Suo Wei turned beet red. “HEY!!”
(Unfortunately it was true.)
Dinner seemed to be going fine. Suo Wei was trying not to drop anything or breathe too loudly.
Then his spoon launched a glob of risotto straight onto Chi Cheng’s pristine silk suit.
The table went silent. The entire mafia entourage watching from nearby tables froze, hands twitching toward their guns.
Suo Wei: (wildly waving hands) “I-I’ll clean it!! With my sleeve!! With my FACE!! I’M SORRYYYYY!!”
But Chi Cheng simply looked down at the mess. Then — smirked softly.
“…It suits me better this way.”
The mafia men collectively gasped like they’d just witnessed a miracle.
Whispers spread.
“The Boss allowed it…”
“…No, more than allowed. He smiled.”
“Oh my god. That boy… he’s The One.”
Suo Wei just wanted to crawl into a pasta bowl and never come out.
------------------
When they left, the staff and bodyguards practically formed a wedding procession. Someone even threw rose petals.
Suo Wei (whisper-yelling): “WHY ARE THERE PETALS!? WE’RE NOT A COUPLE!!”
Chi Cheng, unfazed: “Ignore them. They exaggerate.”
One bodyguard shouted proudly: “LONG LIVE THE BOSS AND HIS BELOVED!!”
Suo Wei tripped on the carpet and almost passed out from secondhand embarrassment.
------------------
In the limo, Suo Wei slumped, face in his hands. “I embarrassed myself all night. I ruined your suit. I’ve officially died 37 times in public.”
Chi Cheng’s voice was calm, unusually gentle. “…And yet, you stayed. No one else sits through a dinner with me without shaking to the core.”
Suo Wei peeked up nervously. “S-So what you’re saying is…?”
Chi Cheng looked right at him.
“…That you’re fascinating.”
Suo Wei’s face went nuclear red.
“…F-Fascinating…?” Oh no. Oh NO. WHY DOES MY HEART SOUND LIKE A DRUM SOLO!?
The limo rolled on in silence — Suo Wei melting into his seat like pudding — while Chi Cheng smirked faintly, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
------------------
The economics professor adjusted his glasses and looked at the class. “Next group: Suo Wei, you’re presenting your project today.”
Suo Wei almost choked on his pen cap. OH NO. IT’S TODAY!?
He staggered up to the podium, clutching his papers like they were a will and testament. His mafia bodyguards, of course, stood menacingly in the back of the classroom.
The room went silent. Everyone’s eyes were on him.
“Okay Suo Wei. Just stand tall. Just talk about supply chains. Don’t screw this up. Easy-peasy.”
Suo Wei cleared his throat. “Ahem… classmates… today, I will make you an offer you can’t refuse.”
The entire class gasped.
Suo Wei blinked. “…W-What? Did I say something wrong?”
Behind him, Chi Cheng smirked faintly, sipping black coffee.
Suo Wei shuffled his notes nervously.
“Our, um… project is about distribution networks. You see… it is important to, uh… control… the turf. I mean, the market.”
Students: 👀
Suo Wei sweat-bulleted harder. “A-And w-when competitors appear, one must… crush them… quickly!!”
Students were visibly shaking in their chairs. The professor dabbed his forehead with a tissue.
“Uh… Suo Wei… maybe use softer phrasing?”
Suo Wei panicked. “SOFTER!? Uh… okay!! Um… in conclusion… betrayals will not be tolerated. Profit-sharing must be LOYAL. Or else…”
The room: 😨😨😨
------------------
Silence.
Then applause.
Terrified, shaky applause… but applause nonetheless.
The professor clapped, voice trembling.
“E-Excellent… analysis, Suo Wei… v-very persuasive tone… ha ha…”
Students muttered in awe:
“He’s a natural boss.”
“He doesn’t even use slides, just raw intimidation.”
“I saw my life flash before my eyes, and it inspired me.”
Suo Wei was pale, heart hammering.
“…They… they LIKED it!?”
By the next day, rumor spread like wildfire.
“Suo Wei gave a speech that cowed the entire Economics faculty.”
“I heard he threatened to ‘eradicate’ inefficient business models.”
“Some say he’s Chi Cheng’s secret underboss, disguised as an idiot to fool enemies.”
Chi Cheng, lounging elegantly with tea in hand, simply remarked:
“…Convincing, isn’t he?”
Suo Wei clutched his hair.
“I WAS JUST TRYING TO PASS PUBLIC SPEAKING!!”
------------------
Later, Suo Wei overheard two professors whispering in the staff room.
“…We must give him passing grades. Always.”
“…For the safety of the department.”
That evening, in the dark campus courtyard, Chi Cheng stopped Suo Wei mid-rant.
“Suo Wei.”
“What now!?”
“…That was impressive. You have charisma. Presence.”
Suo Wei: “NO I DON’T, I HAVE SWEAT AND PANIC!!”
Chi Cheng leaned closer, lips curving.
“Even panic can be powerful, if wielded correctly.”
Suo Wei’s brain: ERROR. SYSTEM OVERHEATED. PLEASE REBOOT.
------------------
The student council announced:
“Annual Campus Masquerade Ball – Dress Formal! Couples Encouraged! Attendance Mandatory!”
Suo Wei screamed into his pillow for six hours straight.
Why? WHY would they do this? It’s like the universe is hunting me. I can’t waltz. I can’t bow. I can’t even put on cufflinks without nearly stabbing myself.
If Chi Cheng shows up, everyone will bow to him… and I’ll probably trip. Again.
Suo Wei borrowed a tuxedo from the drama club’s costume closet.
It was slightly too small. The bowtie hung lopsided, and the sleeves had neon stage glitter embedded in them.
He looked in the mirror. “…People will think I mugged a magician.”
Meanwhile, Chi Cheng emerged from his limo in a custom, hand-tailored black suit that looked like it had been designed by film stars’ personal stylist. Mask of black and gold. Gloves. Radiating kingly menace.
The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea. When Suo Wei stumbled in behind him, some students whispered.
“…Why is the Don of Darkness bringing a… clownfish?”
“Maybe it’s a strategy. Underestimate him, then boom. Brilliance.”
Suo Wei tripped immediately, proving them half-right.
Inside the ballroom, chandeliers glittered. A string quartet played. Students paired off nervously.
The announcer declared: “Couples: the floor is open!”
Immediately, Chi Cheng turned to Suo Wei. “Shall we?”
Suo Wei blinked, ears bright red. “S-Shall we WHAT!?”
Chi Cheng extended a hand. Elegant. Smooth. Dangerous. “Dance.”
Suo Wei put his clammy hand in Chi Cheng’s, shaking so badly it was basically a seizure.
The music began.
Cue disaster montage:
Suo Wei stepped on Chi Cheng’s shoes.
Then his own shoes.
Then somehow stepped on BOTH of their shoes at the same time. Physics cried.
He spun wrong and headbutted Chi Cheng’s chest.
Every single student gasped in horror. Surely, the mafia boss would kill the fool right there.
But Chi Cheng… smiled. Calm. Patient. Almost tender. “You’re improving.”
Suo Wei’s brain: DEAR GOD IS THIS MAN LAUGHING AT MY SUFFERING OR FLIRTING????
Around the ballroom, whispers spread like wildfire:
“They’re… dancing together!?”
“It’s official. Suo Wei’s the chosen one.”
“Forget economics, I’m switching my major to Mafia Studies.”
Someone literally sketched them mid-dance on the spot. Another group started a betting pool: When will Chi Cheng publicly confess?
------------------
In a moment of clumsy chaos, Suo Wei stumbled forward. Chi Cheng caught him effortlessly, one arm strong around Suo Wei’s waist, dipping him elegantly like a professional dancer.
The entire ballroom erupted in applause and shrieks.
Chi Cheng leaned in, his mask inches from Suo Wei’s red, sweaty face. He whispered, “…Graceful, in your own way.”
Suo Wei short-circuited. “…ASDFHJSK!!”
After the dance, Suo Wei staggered to the sidelines, heart exploding.
Yue Yue appeared, sipping juice, smirking. “So… date night went well?”
“IT WAS NOT A DATE!!” Suo Wei screeched.
Across the room, Chi Cheng raised a glass in his direction with that calm mafia smile… and Suo Wei’s ears burst into flames again.
The campus rumor mill officially melted down.
------------------
The balance of campus mafia peace shattered when two familiar idiots suddenly decided to start their own gang.
Meng Tao, hulking as ever, slammed his fist on the cafeteria table.
“ENOUGH! Chi Cheng thinks he’s the only boss around here? Hah! From today, I, Meng Tao, form the Singing Mafia!!”
Fang Lian flipped his hair smugly, adjusting a pair of counterfeit Ray-Bans. “And I’ll be his strategist-slash-media PR manager. We’ve already got a TikTok account.”
Students stared.
“…Do they even have funding?”
“I saw their headquarters… it’s a karaoke booth.”
Still, they called themselves The Loud Syndicate.
Fang Lian grinned slyly, showing off a manila folder.
“With this… evidence… we can break Suo Wei away from Chi Cheng!”
Inside the folder:
A doodle Meng Tao made of Suo Wei in a coffin (labeled: “practice art”).
A badly photoshopped picture of Chi Cheng holding a knife that was literally just copy-pasted from a cooking magazine.
A fake “letter” spelling out: “Dear Suo Wei, I plan to betray you. Love, Chi Cheng.” Written in Comic Sans.
Meng Tao nodded firmly. “No way Suo Wei won’t believe this. He’s dumb as bricks.”
------------------
Later that evening, Suo Wei cornered Chi Cheng in a panic, waving the folder.
“CHI CHENG! EXPLAIN YOURSELF!!”
Chi Cheng: (calm confusion) “Hm?”
Suo Wei: “Then what’s THIS!?” shoves the letter in his face
Chi Cheng stared. “…You think I write… in Comic Sans?”
Suo Wei, panicking harder: “A-And what about THIS!?” shows the doodle coffin
Chi Cheng just gave him a flat look. “…That’s clearly Meng Tao’s drawing. He never moved past stick figures.”
Suo Wei’s lip trembled. “Th-They told me… you wanted me gone.”
For once, Chi Cheng’s eyes narrowed — genuinely annoyed. He stood, tightening his gloves. “…Very well. I’ll handle this.”
Suo Wei squeaked. “H-Handle as in… murder?!”
Chi Cheng smirked. “No. Worse.”
------------------
The next day on campus, Chi Cheng dragged Meng Tao and Fang Lian into the middle of the courtyard, Suo Wei reluctantly in tow. A crowd gathered.
Chi Cheng calmly laid out the “evidence.”
“This. A Comic Sans letter. This. A doodle of a coffin.” He looked around. “Truly powerful exhibits, aren’t they?”
The crowd snickered. Meng Tao started sweating.
Chi Cheng snapped his fingers. His men wheeled in a projector, instantly pulling up Meng Tao & Fang Lian’s TikTok account: @LoudMafiaOfficial.
Onscreen: Meng Tao singing off-key into a karaoke mic, while Fang Lian filmed badly and added sparkly text: “Rival Gang #1!!! Chi Cheng is shook!!”
The entire campus BURST OUT LAUGHING.
Fang Lian wailed. “NOOO, DON’T LEAK OUR BRAND CONTENT!!”
Meng Tao bellowed, “Damn it, my singing career!!”
Chi Cheng’s faint smile widened an inch, which was basically the mafia equivalent of a guillotine. “Attempt again, and you won’t be laughed at. You’ll be erased.”
Meng Tao and Fang Lian immediately fell on their knees. “WE’RE SORRY, PLEASE LET US LIVE!!”
Later, Suo Wei sulked. “Ugh… I almost believed those fakes. I’m such an idiot…”
Chi Cheng stepped closer, tilting his head with that dangerous smirk. “You doubt me so easily?”
Suo Wei: (stammering) “W-W-Well you do kinda scare me daily!!”
Chi Cheng leaned in, voice a whisper. “…Next time, trust me more. Only I decide what happens to you.”
Suo Wei turned neon red. Did he just… say that like a love threat?? No no no no, brain stop, don’t make this romantic!!
------------------
Rumors had been boiling for weeks. Suo Wei’s accidental rise through Chi Cheng’s shadow… the canceled deadlines… the masquerade “romance”…
Finally, the other student mafias had ENOUGH.
Gang of Business Majors.
Society of Law Students.
The Theater Kids Secret Society.
And worst of all—Meng Tao & Fang Lian’s “Loud Mafia,” back for revenge.
They all assembled one night in the abandoned gymnasium, surrounding Chi Cheng and Suo Wei’s little corner of sanity.
Meng Tao pointed dramatically. “Chi Cheng! Suo Wei! Tonight—your reign ends!!”
Fang Lian added: “Yeah! Your GPA tyranny is over!”
Suo Wei: “…WHAT GPA TYRANNY!? I’M FAILING!!”
Hundreds of rival “mafiosos” slammed textbooks, props, and even law reports on the floor like war drums.
Chi Cheng remained seated calmly at a folding table, sipping tea. “Pathetic.”
Suo Wei, trembling beside him, whispered: “P-Pathetic!? They’re armed with staplers!! Staplers are dangerous!!”
Chi Cheng stood, eyes narrowing. “Fine. Suo Wei. Motivate them.”
Suo Wei: “MOTIVATE!? ME!? Look at me! I panic when an email attachment is too big!!”
But Chi Cheng gave one nod.“…I trust you.”
Suo Wei’s stomach flipped inside out.
------------------
Suo Wei staggered onto the stage, arms flailing. He had NO plan. His brain blanked. So he just… started yelling.
“U-Um… LISTEN!! Grades don’t define you!! Sleep schedules don’t exist!! Eat ramen proudly and embrace your failures!! Because if life keeps punching you in the face… at least it means you’re still worth punching!!”
The crowd blinked.
He went on, voice cracking.
“Everybody thinks being tough means acting cool… but I’ve survived PURELY out of dumb luck and panic screaming!! If I can still be here… SO CAN YOU!!!”
Silence.
Then—thunderous cheers.
Every rival mafia suddenly looked inspired.
“HE’S RIGHT!! Sleep IS fake!!”
“I AM worth punching!!”
“WE’RE ALL IDIOTS TOGETHER!!”
Dozens of clubs defected instantly, switching sides to Suo Wei.
In less than five minutes, the battlefield flipped: Chi Cheng’s forces grew triple in size. Meng Tao and Fang Lian stood there slack-jawed as their men cheered Suo Wei’s nonsense.
Meng Tao: “W-Why are they following HIM!?”
Fang Lian: sniffles “…Because… he’s relatable…”
Completely outnumbered, the rival mafias scattered. The gym erupted into chants of: “YOUNG MASTER!! YOUNG MASTER!! YOUNG MASTER!!”
Suo Wei shrieked. “STOP CHANTING!! I’M NOT A YOUNG MASTER, I’M A YOUNG DISASTER!!”
Chi Cheng, however, stood beside him, faint smile tugging his lips.
“Well done. You led them.”
Suo Wei clutched his head. “I WAS JUST RANTING ABOUT RAMEN!!”
Chi Cheng leaned close, voice low, as if sharing a secret. “…Sometimes chaos inspires more loyalty than order ever could.”
Suo Wei’s heart did dangerous gymnastics. “…D-Don’t say scary poetic stuff to me while I’m sweaty!!”
------------------
The cherry blossoms swayed gently as Shanghai graduation ceremony began. Students filed onto the stage to collect their diplomas.
Professors tried to keep it dignified. They failed.
Because behind the neat rows of graduates were dozens of mafia bodyguards in suits, choking up and whispering: “Look… our Young Master made it…”
“So proud… sniff…”
Suo Wei wanted to crawl under a rock. I’m not a young master! I barely passed!!
When Suo Wei’s name was called, he shuffled up nervously.
“Wu Suo Wei — recipient of the ‘Most… Unexpected Leader of the Year Award.’”
The audience erupted in applause. Fireworks somehow went off indoors. (Chi Cheng’s men planned it, obviously.)
Suo Wei grabbed the diploma, face crimson. “Uhhh… thank you! I’ll treasure this forever as proof that you don’t need brains or talent to survive, only extreme dumb luck!!”
The crowd laughed nervously. Chi Cheng slow-clapped, terrifyingly elegant as always.
Still trembling, Suo Wei looked around the hall. Everyone’s eyes were on him. His heart pounded. And before his brain could stop his mouth—
“I-I… I couldn’t have done this without my… classmate… Chi Cheng!”
Everyone: 👀👀👀
Suo Wei’s panic brain went into turbo-drive. “A-And he’s not just… my classmate anymore! I mean… he’s been protecting me… guiding me… glaring at me every day like a mafia hawk but also teaching me calculus!! And—AND I THINK I LIKE HIM!! …maybe more than just a friend!!”
Silence.
Dead, pin-drop silence.
Even the pigeons outside went quiet.
Chi Cheng stood leisurely, buttoning his suit jacket, and walked up onto the stage with the aura of a man walking into The Godfather, Final Scene.
He leaned down… kissed Suo Wei lightly on the cheek.
The entire auditorium SCREAMED.
Camera phones flashed like military-grade strobe lights. Students fainted. Yue Yue dropped her juice in slow motion.
Chi Cheng smirked, whispering just for Suo Wei: “…Took you long enough to admit it, Wei Wei.”
Suo Wei short-circuited. “Y-you… you didn’t deny it??”
Chi Cheng leaned even closer, ensuring the whole hall still heard his calm, terrifyingly romantic voice. “From today onwards, exams or wars, school or underworld… you’re mine.”
The mafia bodyguards cheered so loudly half the chandeliers trembled.
The Dean fainted.
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Notes:
Hey guys😭😭
Well I tried something new and this is a 360° reverse of my writing style but I was reading a crackfic two days ago and I thought what if I also write a crackfic. Then this plot suddenly came to my mind and I felt like Chi Cheng and Wu Suo Wei would be the perfect characters for this.
I hope this made you smile or even cringe a slightly😭😭.And, thank you for sticking through Suo Wei’s descent (ascent??) from “average economics freshman” to “accidental mafia husband.” 💀💖 I hope you laughed as much as I did writing it. Feedback = happiness, kudos = motivation, comments = Suo Wei finally passing his exams with top grades.
This was stupid but this was much needed for me. Until next time then😊🩷
Chapter 13: The Fire You Tried to Smother (Cheng Yu/Wu Suo Wei) (18+)
Summary:
Cheng Yu has always thrived on bending hearts to his will, but this time his labyrinth of schemes leads him where charm turns into cruelty. What begins as a dangerous wager between friends spirals into obsession, betrayal, and possession. Caught in the crossfire is Wu Suo Wei—fragile, unprepared, and about to learn the brutal cost of becoming the object of Cheng Yu’s hunger.
Notes:
Warning: This piece contains Non-Con elements, Graphic Depictions of Violence. Please read only if your above 18 years of age.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Backstory
Life was not always easy. It had its part and parcels. Times seemed rough for Chi Cheng. When Cheng Yu had first put forward the proposition, Chi Cheng wanted to bargain yet this was not possible. Time had flowed like grains of sand, slipping ever so gently through his fingers.
Cheng Yu had asked Chi Cheng for his help in order to pursue Jiang Xiao Shuai. However, the deal was not so simple. It was a double edged sword. Hiding beneath the shining metal was desire that would come to surface in the worst possible ways. The flipside of the deal was very deadly.
The flipside was a poison. One that gripped and tugged at Chi Cheng's heart. For Cheng Yu had warned that if Chi Cheng failed in his endeavour to bring Jiang Xiao Shuai in his arms, Cheng Yu would go ahead to have a taste of Chi Cheng's most prized person, Wu Suo Wei.
So wounded at the mercy of love, Chi Cheng agreed to help him. However, fate was very cruel. When Chi Cheng proposed the idea to Jiang Xiao Shuai, he was outright rejected by him. According to Jiang Xiao Shuai, a union between him and Guo Cheng Yu was not possible at any cost as they were very different individuals. One guided by reason and the other guided by desire.
When this message fell on the ears of Cheng Yu, he had decided that there was only one thing remaining for him. It was to go ahead and find the boundaries of Wu Suo Wei. It was to strike at the position that would hurt Chi Cheng the most. So he had set his sights and all that remained was to wait until the prey himself walked right into his trap.
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Present
The bass thumped through the floorboards, a physical pulse Cheng Yu could feel in his molars. It wasn’t music anymore, just a relentless vibration shaking the sticky air thick with spilled beer and expensive, cloying cologne. The private karaoke room felt less like entertainment, more like a velvet-lined cage. Empty bottles littered the low table, casualties of the night.
Silence hung heavy now, the last drunken rendition of some pop ballad long finished, leaving only the muffled thud from the club outside and the ragged sound of breathing. His breath. Suo Wei’s breath.
Suo Wei stood frozen near the door, knuckles white where he gripped the frame, looking like a startled deer caught in the harsh glow of the exit sign. His eyes, wide and dark, darted from Cheng Yu to the scattered empties, then back. There was a fragility to him, a softness Cheng Yu found intensely irritating… and utterly magnetic.
"Leaving already, Suo Wei?" Cheng Yu’s voice cut through the bass drone, smooth as aged whiskey but laced with something darker. He pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against, the movement predatory, deliberate. He hadn't drunk nearly enough to blame this on the alcohol.
This was calculation. "The night’s barely started. Chi Cheng ditched you hours ago. We had a deal. Did he not tell you about this?" He took a step closer, invading the already limited space.
Wu Suo Wei flinched, shrinking back. "He... he had an early meeting. I should—"
"Should what?" Cheng Yu was right in front of him now, blocking the door. He didn't touch him, not yet. Just crowded him, letting his taller frame and the heat radiating off him do the work. "Go home to your empty apartment? Waste this?" He gestured vaguely at the room, the dim lights, the charged air. "We barely talked."
"We talked plenty," Wu Suo Wei protested, his voice thin. His gaze flickered down to Cheng Yu’s chest, then quickly away. Panic was setting in. Good. "About... about the …Jiang Xiao Shuai."
Cheng Yu laughed, a low, humorless sound. "Boring. Now Jiang Xiao Shuai does not matter. All that matters," he leaned in, close enough that Wu Suo Wei could feel the warmth of his breath on his cheek, smell the subtle spice of his cologne mixed with bourbon, "is you and me. Tell me you don’t feel it. That crackle."
Wu Suo Wei swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing. "Cheng Yu, please... I don't think—"
"Don't think." Cheng Yu’s hand shot out, not rough, but firm, landing on Wu Suo Wei’s shoulder. He felt the jolt that went through the younger man. Terrified. But beneath the fear? A tremor. A spark. Cheng Yu knew that spark. He stoked it. "Just feel." His thumb brushed the side of Wu Suo Wei’s neck, felt the frantic rabbit-quick pulse beneath the skin. "You’re coiled tighter than a spring, Suo Wei. Let go. For once."
He saw the conflict warring in Wu Suo Wei’s eyes – ingrained politeness, confusion, fear, and beneath it all, a dawning, terrifying curiosity. Cheng Yu pressed his advantage. He slid his hand from the shoulder to the nape of Wu Suo Wei’s neck, fingers tangling gently in the soft hair there.
It was intimate. Possessive. Wu Suo Wei’s breath hitched, a tiny, trapped sound. His eyes squeezed shut for a second, then flew open, wide and searching Cheng Yu’s face. Not pushing away. Not yet.
That was all the invitation Cheng Yu needed. Or wanted. He closed the final inch between them. Not a kiss, not yet. Just his lips hovering a whisper away from Wu Suo Wei’s. He could taste the cheap beer on Wu’s breath, feel the tremble radiating through him.
"So pretty," Cheng Yu murmured, the words vibrating against Wu Suo Wei’s mouth. "Wasted on someone who doesn't know how to handle you. Who doesn't see you. Who left you just because of a bet."
He felt rather than saw Wu Suo Wei’s resistance falter. A subtle lean, infinitesimal, into the heat Cheng Yu offered. The spark catching flame. Cheng Yu claimed his mouth.
It wasn't gentle. It was claiming, demanding. A clash of teeth and tongues, the wet, urgent sound shockingly loud in the small room. Wu Suo Wei froze for a split second, then made a muffled noise against Cheng Yu’s lips.
His hands came up, flat against Cheng Yu’s chest, but they didn’t push. They pressed. Clung. Cheng Yu growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through them both, and deepened the kiss, one hand tightening on Wu Suo Wei’s neck, the other sliding down his back, pulling their bodies flush.
Wu Suo Wei moaned, a broken little sound that went straight to Cheng Yu’s gut. His hands fisted in the front of Cheng Yu’s shirt. He was trembling violently now, but he was kissing back.
Fueled by that response, Cheng Yu drove him backwards. Wu Suo Wei stumbled, legs tangling, crashing awkwardly into the deep leather booth with a soft thump. Cheng Yu didn’t give him a second to recover.
He followed him down, his knee sliding roughly between Wu Suo Wei’s thighs, forcing them apart, pinning him against the cool leather. The position was instantly intimate, charged, Wu Suo Wei caged beneath him.
Cheng Yu broke the kiss, breathing hard, his gaze raking over Wu Suo Wei’s face – flushed, lips swollen, eyes wide and dark with confusion and raw, undeniable need. He leaned in, his mouth brushing the shell of Wu Suo Wei’s ear, his voice a rough, possessive whisper that sliced through Wu Suo Wei’s dazed senses. "See? Told you I'd take what Chi Cheng couldn't protect."
He punctuated the words by sinking his teeth sharply into the tender skin where Wu Suo Wei’s neck met his shoulder. Not hard enough to break skin, but enough to sting, to mark, to draw a sharp gasp and a full-body flinch from the man beneath him.
Simultaneously, Cheng Yu’s fingers, nimble and impatient, found the buckle of Wu Suo Wei’s belt. The metallic clink of the clasp releasing was obscenely loud. Wu Suo Wei jerked, a choked sound escaping him. "Cheng Yu—"
"Shhh," Cheng Yu breathed against the reddening bite mark, his fingers already working the button, yanking the zipper down with brutal efficiency. His other hand slid beneath Wu Suo Wei’s untucked shirt, finding the hot, smooth skin of his stomach, feeling the muscles jump and tremble at the contact. "Too late for thinking now. You wanted this. You feel it."
Cheng Yu pulled back just enough to look down at him. Wu Suo Wei was breathing in shallow, ragged gasps, his chest heaving against the confines of his shirt. His eyes were squeezed shut again, tears shimmering at the corners, leaking traitorous paths down his temples.
His lips were parted, slick from their kiss. One hand was still fisted in Cheng Yu’s shirt, knuckles white; the other lay limp on the leather beside his head. He looked utterly wrecked. Terrified. Aroused beyond reason. Completely surrendered.
A savage satisfaction surged through Cheng Yu, hot and potent. He had him. Broken open. Vulnerable. His. He dipped his head, capturing Wu Suo Wei’s mouth again, swallowing the next pathetic whimper, his hand delving past the open waistband, seeking the heat and proof of Wu Suo Wei’s reluctant, overwhelming capitulation.
The leather creaked beneath them as Wu Suo Wei arched, a raw, broken cry muffled against Cheng Yu’s lips. It wasn't pleasure, not purely. It was something deeper, messier. The sound of resistance shattering.
Wu Suo Wei went utterly boneless beneath him, the fight draining out in one shuddering exhale. His fist unclenched from Cheng Yu’s shirt, his arm falling back onto the leather with a soft thud. His head lolled to the side, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat, the fresh, red mark standing out starkly against his pale skin.
His chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid bursts. Tears continued to leak from beneath his closed eyelids, tracing slow paths through the sweat-dampened hair at his temples. He didn't push Cheng Yu's exploring hand away. He didn't move at all. A silent, trembling offering.
Cheng Yu watched him, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. The victory was absolute. The spark had ignited, the innocence consumed in the blaze he’d deliberately stoked. He traced the curve of Wu Suo Wei’s jaw with a finger slick with the younger man’s tears.
The bass still thudded outside, a relentless heartbeat. Inside the velvet cage, the air crackled with the aftermath, thick with the scent of sweat, leather, salt, and the raw, undeniable tang of conquest. Wu Suo Wei’s quiet hitches of breath were the only counterpoint to the pounding rhythm, a fragile melody played on a broken instrument. Cheng Yu leaned down, his lips hovering near the damp tracks on Wu Suo Wei’s cheek. The real work, he knew, was just beginning. Breaking him had been the easy part. Now came the shaping.
The bass from the club outside was a physical throb, a pulse Cheng Yu felt vibrating up through the leather booth and into his bones. It matched the frantic beat against his palm as he pressed against Wu Suo Wei, feeling the trapped, leaping heat beneath rough denim and thin cotton.
Wu Suo Wei had gone still, terrifyingly still beneath him, except for the shuddering gasps tearing through his chest. Tears tracked silently down his temples, disappearing into the dark hair at his temples. His eyes were squeezed shut, lashes wet and spiked. Surrendered. Broken open.
But Cheng Yu wasn't satisfied. This stillness wasn't victory; it was a stubborn pocket of resistance, a final, silent refusal. He needed sound. Proof. Ownership. His fingers, still exploring the hot skin beneath Wu Suo Wei's waistband, found a different pressure point, a deliberate, intimate friction against the straining fabric of his briefs. Not gentle. Not kind. A demand.
Wu Suo Wei’s breath hitched, a sharp, choked intake. His hips twitched, a tiny, involuntary spasm away from the contact. Cheng Yu held him firm, the knee between his thighs a solid barricade, his hand relentless. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of Wu Suo Wei’s ear, his voice a low, heated rasp that cut through the muffled bass.
"Too quiet, Suo Wei," he murmured, the words vibrating against the damp skin. "Chi Cheng never made you this quiet, did he? Bet he treated you like glass." He nipped at the lobe, sharp enough to sting. "But you're not glass. You're fire. Buried deep." His hand moved again, a deliberate, circling pressure designed to ignite. "Show me. Let me hear it."
Wu Suo Wei whimpered. A soft, desperate sound swallowed almost immediately by another choked gasp. His fists clenched on the leather again, knuckles bone-white. His head thrashed weakly to the side, trying to escape the proximity of Cheng Yu’s mouth, the violation of his touch. "St… stop…" The word was barely a whisper, ragged and wet.
Cheng Yu laughed, a dark rumble in his chest. "Stop?" He traced the fresh bite mark on Wu Suo Wei’s neck with his tongue, tasting salt and panic. "It's a little late for 'stop', baby. You kissed me back. Your body begs for it even while your mouth lies." To emphasize his point, he increased the pressure, the friction, his touch turning almost cruel in its precision. "The fire’s there. Let it out. Scream for me."
He felt it happen. The exact moment the dam cracked. It wasn't a scream. Not yet. It started as a low groan, rumbling up from someplace dark and primal within Wu Suo Wei, a sound of pure, agonized conflict. It vibrated through his chest, trembling against Cheng Yu's body. His back arched, a taut curve off the leather, pressing him harder against Cheng Yu's hand. His eyes flew open, wide and wild, pupils blown black, reflecting the dim, shifting light like fractured glass. The gasp that followed was ragged, torn from his throat.
Then it came. Wu Suo Wei moaned louder. His body betraying his mind.
A raw, guttural sound ripped out of him. It wasn't pleasure, not purely. It was shame, terror, and an overwhelming, undeniable surge of sensation he couldn't suppress. It echoed in the small, velvet-lined room, louder than the thudding bass, shockingly visceral. His body convulsed, hips bucking helplessly against Cheng Yu’s restraining knee and relentless hand, caught in a wave of sensation he was powerless to fight. The sound tore through him again, louder, longer, a desperate, broken cry that ended in a shuddering sob, his face contorted in an agony of unwanted ecstasy.
Suo Wei's body trembled violently beneath Cheng Yu, muscles taut as wires, back arched off the leather in a desperate, involuntary response to the overwhelming sensation Cheng Yu’s hand was ruthlessly wringing from him. Tears streamed freely down his temples, mingling with sweat. His eyes, wide and unfocused, reflected the shifting light like shattered glass.
Cheng Yu watched, a dark thrill coiling in his gut. The sound, the tremor, the absolute surrender in the way Wu Suo Wei went momentarily limp after the cry – it was proof. Tangible. He didn't just have him cornered; he had him unraveled. The fire he’d accused Chi Cheng of smothering was burning now, chaotic and terrified, but burning all the same. His fire.
"Sweet," Cheng Yu murmured, the word a rough caress against the damp skin of Wu Suo Wei's jaw where he trailed his fingers. He dipped his head, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt of tears and sweat. "So fucking sweet when you lose control." He maintained the relentless pressure of his hand, feeling the frantic pulse trapped beneath layers of fabric, a trapped animal against his palm. "That's it. No more holding back. Not for me."
Wu Suo Wei whimpered again, a broken, animal sound. He tried to twist his hips away, a feeble attempt at escape, but Cheng Yu’s knee between his thighs held him firm, an immovable anchor. His hand scrabbled weakly at Cheng Yu’s wrist, fingers trembling, lacking any real strength to dislodge him. "Don't... please..." The plea was shredded, barely audible over the thumping bass bleeding through the door.
Cheng Yu chuckled, a low, dark rumble reverberating against Wu Suo Wei’s skin. "'Don't'? You liked it. Felt you jump. Felt you beg." He leaned closer, his breath hot in Wu Suo Wei’s ear. "You gonna lie to me too? Like Chi Cheng lies to himself?" His free hand, which had been resting possessively on Wu Suo Wei’s hip, slid back.
Fingers hooked into the waistband of Wu Suo Wei’s jeans and briefs together where the zipper yawned open. The denim was rough against Cheng Yu’s knuckles, the cotton beneath damp with sweat. He pushed them down roughly, just past the sharp jut of Suo Wei’s hips.
Wu Suo Wei gasped, a sharp intake of air that hitched painfully. His eyes snapped fully open, wide with dawning, horrified comprehension that cut through the haze of overwhelmed sensation. "No. Cheng Yu, no." Panic edged his voice now, raw and sharp. He pushed harder at Cheng Yu’s wrist, legs instinctively trying to clamp together, but Cheng Yu’s knee was a steel bar.
"Shhh," Cheng Yu soothed, the sound utterly devoid of comfort. It was a command. His hand slid back, fingers brushing the exposed curve of Wu Suo Wei’s ass, tracing the tense muscle. "Told you. Taking what's mine." His touch was deliberate, assessing, possessive.
"Chi Cheng never dared, did he? Too scared. Too weak. He set you up today because he lost." He spat the last word. "But I see you." His thumb pressed against the tight furl of muscle, a demanding pressure that made Wu Suo Wei cry out again, a sound of pure fear this time. "I see how much you need it. To be taken. Owned." He leaned down, his teeth grazing the bite mark he'd already left on Suo Wei's neck. "Just relax."
Suo Wei shook his head frantically, tears blinding him. "I can't... I don't..." The words dissolved into another choked gasp as Cheng Yu’s thumb pressed harder, insistent, circling. The invasion was intimate, terrifying, a violation that cut deeper than the bite. His body locked up, frozen in a rictus of fear and unwanted anticipation.
Cheng Yu felt the resistance, the tight, clenching panic. He didn't relent. Spit slicked his fingers, a crude, efficient lubricant in the dim light, glistening momentarily before his thumb was replaced by the blunt pressure of his middle finger. It wasn't gentle. It was a claiming.
A slow, inexorable push against the tightly clenched ring of muscle. Wu Suo Wei screamed, a raw, ragged sound torn from the very core of him, his body bowing impossibly off the leather seat.
"Fuck... fuck..." Suo Wei sobbed, his hands flying back to claw uselessly at the leather, fingernails scraping. "Hurts... it hurts..." The pain was a white-hot spike, obliterating everything else – the shame, the confusion, the lingering echoes of unwanted pleasure. Cheng Yu hissed through his teeth, the tight, burning heat almost painful even for him. He paused, buried to the first knuckle, feeling the fierce tremor wracking the body beneath him. He pressed a wet, biting kiss to the shell of Wu Suo Wei’s ear.
"Breathe, baby," he commanded, his own voice tight with strain and dark triumph. "Just breathe. Gotta make room." He pushed again, a fraction deeper, relentless. "Gotta take it all." His other hand slid down Wu Suo Wei’s heaving stomach, fingers finding their way back to where Wu Suo Wei was still painfully hard despite the terror, a cruel counterpoint to the agony being inflicted elsewhere. He squeezed, not gently.
The dual assault – pain and enforced, traitorous pleasure – wrenched another broken scream from Suo Wei’s throat, a sound that echoed off the velvet and died against the relentless thump of the bass outside. Cheng Yu began to move his finger, shallowly at first, a brutal rhythm that mirrored the distant music, claiming the tight, resistant heat inch by excruciating inch. Suo Wei's ragged sobs were the only music inside the velvet cage now.
Each wet, shuddering gasp tore through the humid air, punctuating the relentless thud of the bass bleeding through the door. Cheng Yu held him pinned, a relentless force against Suo Wei’s trapped, trembling form.
The raw scream had devolved into a continuous, broken keening, low and desperate. Pain radiated from where Cheng Yu’s finger pressed, invaded, stretching him with a brutal, unyielding pressure that felt like being split apart.
"Breathe," Cheng Yu commanded again, his voice a harsh rasp against Wu Suo Wei's sweat-slicked temple. He didn’t ease the pressure, didn’t withdraw. He pushed deeper, burying his finger to the knuckle in that impossibly tight, burning heat. Wu Suo Wei’s entire body convulsed, a violent spasm that arched his back impossibly high off the leather, his head thrashing against the cushion. His hands scrabbled weakly, nails catching on the smooth material.
"Fuck... st-stop... hurts..." Suo Wei choked out, the words mangled by tears and gasps. His free hand flew down, fingers tangling weakly with Cheng Yu's wrist, trying desperately to pull the invading hand away. But his strength was gone, sapped by terror and the overwhelming violation. His grip was feeble, trembling.
"Shut up," Cheng Yu growled, low and dangerous. He twisted his finger slightly, deliberately, and Wu Suo Wei cried out anew, a sharp, animal yelp. "You feel that? That's me. Inside you." He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of Wu Suo Wei’s ear. "Chi Cheng never got this far, did he? Too gentle. Too scared to really take." He punctuated the word with another shallow thrust of his finger. Wu Suo Wei whimpered, a high-pitched sound of pure agony. "I’m not scared. I’ll take everything. You’re mine to break open."
Simultaneously, Cheng Yu’s other hand moved. Still trapping Wu Suo Wei’s erection within his briefs and jeans bunched at his thighs, he squeezed. Hard. It wasn't stimulation; it was punishment.
A cruel counterpoint to the tearing pain invading him from behind. Pleasure, sharp and unwanted despite the agony, exploded from the point of contact, a traitorous jolt that warred violently with the searing hurt.
Wu Suo Wei’s body locked rigid for a split second, caught between two poles of excruciating sensation. The sob that tore from him then was guttural, broken beyond words. His eyes, wide and blind with tears, stared unseeing at the shifting lights on the ceiling. The fight, the instinctive clenching against the invasion, faltered. His muscles, strained to their absolute limit, began to tremble violently, then suddenly, shockingly, went slack.
His hips sank back onto the leather, heavy and unresisting. The hand that had been feebly pushing at Cheng Yu’s wrist fell away, landing limply beside his head. His legs, braced against Cheng Yu’s knee, relaxed, thighs falling slightly wider apart, offering no further barrier.
The constant, ragged sobs hitched, then dissolved into shallow, shuddering breaths. He turned his face away, pressing his cheek hard against the cool leather, eyes squeezed shut. A single tear traced a fresh path through the sweat and salt already staining his skin.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t plead. The tension, the desperate struggle to escape the invasion, simply... drained. Away. Leaving only a terrifying stillness, a profound yielding. His body was utterly open, utterly vulnerable beneath Cheng Yu’s weight and hands. The tremors that still ran through him were no longer resistance; they were the aftershocks of surrender, the physical manifestation of something deep inside snapping.
Cheng Yu felt it immediately. The tight, burning ring of muscle around his finger relaxed, just a fraction, forced open by the relentless pressure and the sudden lack of opposing tension.
It was a silent, profound capitulation. Not acceptance, not desire, but sheer, exhausted defeat. The fire he’d accused Chi Cheng of smothering hadn’t been ignited; it had been doused under an avalanche of pain and terror, leaving only cold, wet ashes.
A slow, predatory smile spread across Cheng Yu’s face, stark in the dim light. He watched the tear track its path down Wu Suo Wei’s averted cheek. He held the yielding warmth around his finger, felt the limp heaviness of the body beneath him. The frantic pulse he’d felt earlier was still there, hammering against his other palm, a trapped bird, but the cage door had been forced open. The bird was broken-winged, unable to fly.
He leaned down, his breath hot on Wu Suo Wei’s damp neck, just beside the darkening bite mark. "That’s it," he murmured, the sound thick with dark satisfaction. His finger moved inside the conquered heat, a slow, deliberate slide now, testing the newfound lack of resistance. "Just like that. Submit."
The word hung in the humid air, a surrender whispered into the leather. Cheng Yu felt it vibrate through the yielding heat surrounding his finger, through the limp weight of the body beneath him. Wu Suo Wei wasn’t fighting anymore. His hips had sunk back, legs splayed open, the tremors running through him now the shudders of a broken thing, not resistance. His face was pressed hard against the cool leather, eyes squeezed shut, tear tracks glistening in the shifting coloured light. Utterly, terrifyingly still. Open.
A predatory hum vibrated in Cheng Yu’s chest. He watched another tear escape Suo Wei’s tightly closed lids, tracing a path through sweat and salt. He withdrew his finger slowly, deliberately, feeling the fluttering clench that was more reflex than defiance now. His other hand, still resting possessively on Suo Wei’s hip, slid around to the front, fingers brushing the damp skin of his lower abdomen, drifting lower.
Wu Suo Wei flinched, a tiny, involuntary jerk, but didn’t pull away. His breath hitched, a ragged, shallow sound. His knuckles, where one hand still lay limply beside his head, were white.
"Look at you," Cheng Yu murmured, his voice a low rasp thick with dark satisfaction. He traced a path down Wu Suo Wei’s exposed thigh with a blunt fingernail, leaving a faint white line. "Open. Waiting." He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of Wu Suo Wei’s ear. " Never knew you could be good." His free hand fumbled with his own belt buckle, the metallic clink obscenely loud in the enclosed space. The rasp of a zipper followed.
Wu Suo Wei tensed again, a full-body flinch this time, a choked gasp escaping him. He pressed his face harder into the leather, as if trying to disappear into it. His body radiated a cold dread that warred with the suffocating heat of the booth.
Cheng Yu shifted, bracing himself. The rough denim of his own jeans scratched against the sensitive skin of Wu Suo Wei’s inner thighs. He positioned himself, one hand gripping Wu Suo Wei’s hip bone hard enough to bruise, the other guiding himself. He felt the resistance immediately – not the fierce clench of before, but a tight, unyielding barrier born of terror and unpreparedness. Spit was a poor substitute, insufficient for the brutal efficiency Cheng Yu demanded.
He pressed forward. Wu Suo Wei cried out, a sharp, broken sound muffled against the leather. His body instinctively tried to curl away, but Cheng Yu’s grip on his hip was iron, his knee still a solid wedge keeping his thighs apart.
"Shhh," Cheng Yu breathed, the sound devoid of comfort. It was a command, a dismissal. He pressed harder, ignoring the choked sob beneath him, the way Wu Suo Wei’s fingers clawed weakly at the seat cushion. The tight heat was excruciating, burning, a fierce pressure fighting his invasion. Cheng Yu gritted his teeth, a low growl escaping him. He used his weight, driving his hips forward with a brutal, determined shove, forcing past the agonizing resistance.
Cheng Yu thrusted deeper.
Hard. Deep. Claiming.
Wu Suo Wei’s scream tore through the velvet-lined box, raw and ragged, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony that seemed to rip itself from his core. His body arched violently, muscles locking in a rictus of pain, then collapsed back onto the leather, trembling uncontrollably.
Tears flooded his eyes, spilling over in hot streams. He gasped, choked, unable to draw a full breath against the tearing pressure inside him. The world blurred into a haze of coloured lights, throbbing bass, and the overwhelming, consuming agony radiating from his center. His consciousness seemed to fray at the edges, threatening to dissolve entirely under the sheer, brutal force of the violation. He was pinned, split open, utterly possessed. The velvet cage held them both, trapping the scent of sweat, leather, salt, and the raw, metallic tang of violation. Outside, the bass pulsed on, oblivious.
The bass pulsed on outside, oblivious. Inside the velvet-lined booth, the world had shrunk to the slick heat of skin, the rasp of denim, the raw sound of Wu Suo Wei’s agony stifled against leather.
Cheng Yu braced harder. Suo Wei’s body was a taut bowstring beneath him, every muscle locked in excruciating resistance. The initial breach had been brutal, a tearing pressure that felt like being flayed open. Cheng Yu gritted his teeth, a low snarl vibrating in his chest. The burn was intense, almost unbearable, a white-hot friction that threatened to snap his own control. But the resistance itself fueled him. This wasn't just taking; it was conquering.
Wu Suo Wei’s body arched off the leather seat like a snapped cable, a silent scream stretching his mouth wide before sound finally tore loose – a raw, guttural howl that shredded the humid air. It wasn’t human. It was the sound of something breaking deep inside. His fingers, already scrabbling weakly at the leather, clawed desperately, finding no purchase, only slickness.
Tears flooded his vision, blurring the shifting amber and violet lights into smears of pain. His legs, held wide by Cheng Yu’s relentless knee, trembled violently, then went rigid, locked in a spasm of pure, unadulterated agony.
The heat surrounding Cheng Yu was furnace-intense, impossibly tight, burning with the friction of forced entry. He gasped, the sensation a brutal shockwave ripping through him too. He felt the frantic, fluttery clench of muscles trying desperately to expel the invasion, a reflex born of sheer, animal panic.
But he was buried deep now, anchored by his own weight and the iron grip he maintained on Wu Suo Wei’s hipbone. Beneath his hand, he could feel the tremors wracking Wu Suo Wei’s frame, a constant, frantic vibration.
Wu Suo Wei’s head thrashed side to side against the cushion, the motion weak, defeated. “N-no… please…” The plea was a wet, shattered whisper, barely audible over his own ragged, sobbing breaths and the relentless thud from outside. “Hurts… fuck… st-stop…” His voice cracked, dissolving into another choked gasp as Cheng Yu shifted minutely, settling deeper. The movement scraped raw nerves, igniting fresh waves of blinding pain. A thin trickle of blood, warm and metallic, mixed with sweat where skin had torn.
Cheng Yu leaned down, his breath hot and ragged against Wu Suo Wei’s ear. Sweat dripped from his brow onto Wu Suo Wei’s damp temple. “Too late for ‘stop’,” he rasped, his voice thick with strain and dark triumph. He flexed his hips experimentally, a shallow, grinding motion.
Wu Suo Wei jerked beneath him, a strangled cry escaping his lips. “Feels like home, doesn’t it?” Cheng Yu continued, his lips brushing the shell of Wu Suo Wei’s ear. “Where you belong. Mine.” He punctuated the word with another deliberate, grinding thrust, deeper this time, forcing his way against the agonizing clench. “Chi Cheng is not the one aymore, baby. It’s just us now. Me. Filling you up.”
Suo Wei whimpered, a high-pitched, broken sound. The fight, what little remained, was leaching out of him, replaced by a terrifying, hollow stillness beneath the tremors. His eyes, wide and unfocused, stared past Cheng Yu’s shoulder at nothing.
The tears kept coming, silent rivers now tracing paths through the sweat. His hand that had been clawing the leather fell limply to his side. He felt impossibly full, stretched beyond bearing, every nerve ending screaming. The pain was a living thing, consuming him from the inside out.
Yet, treacherously, beneath the agony, buried under layers of terror and violation, a sliver of unwanted sensation sparked – a deep, internal friction that scraped against something primal, forbidden. It was a horrifying counterpoint to the tearing pain, a betrayal of his own body that filled him with a fresh wave of shame so deep it threatened to drown him. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to vanish, to become nothing in this velvet hell.
Cheng Yu felt it. The slight, involuntary tremor that wasn't just pain. The way Suo Wei’s body, despite the fierce resistance, seemed to yield infinitesimally on the next thrust. Not acceptance. Never that. But a terrifying, physical acknowledgement of the invasion.
The fire he’d sought wasn’t passion; it was the raw burn of possession, the smoldering ruin he’d made of Chi Cheng’s untouched prize. He held himself deep, relishing the tight, burning heat, the tremors of the body pinned beneath him, the shattered sound of Wu Suo Wei’s breathing. He’d cracked him wide open.
The velvet walls absorbed the scent of sweat, leather, salt, blood, and something darker, more intimate. The bass outside thumped on, a relentless heartbeat marking time in a world that had narrowed to this single point of brutal connection. Cheng Yu began to move.
The thump of the bass outside was a distant, irrelevant pulse now, drowned by the slick, frantic rhythm Cheng Yu forced upon Wu Suo Wei’s body. Each thrust was a brutal punctuation mark, jolting Wu Suo Wei deeper into the yielding leather. He’d stopped screaming.
Now, only broken whimpers escaped with each exhale, tears carving silent paths through the sweat on his temples, his face still turned away, pressed hard against the cool surface. His body felt alien, a vessel of raw, radiating pain centered deep inside, stretched and torn.
Cheng Yu’s grip on his hip was a brand, fingers digging into the flesh. The possessive grunts against his neck, the wet slide, the overwhelming scent of sex and sweat and something coppery – it all blurred into a suffocating nightmare.
"See?" Cheng Yu rasped, his voice thick and guttural, driving deeper, making Wu Suo Wei gasp. "Tighter than I dreamed. Taking it like you were made for it." He bit down again near the first mark on Wu Suo Wei’s neck, not gently. Wu Suo Wei flinched, a fresh wave of tears welling. "Chi Cheng’s precious angel… defiled. Ruined. Mine."
Wu Suo Wei squeezed his eyes shut tighter, trying to vanish. The unwanted flicker of sensation beneath the agony was a cruel betrayal, fueling his shame. He felt utterly hollowed out, a shell cracking under the relentless pressure.
Cheng Yu shifted, pulling him slightly back onto each thrust, the motion grinding, deliberate, wringing another choked sob from Wu Suo Wei’s throat. His own belt buckle, dangling loosely from his jeans bunched at his thighs, tapped a feeble, metallic rhythm against the leather seat with every jarring movement.
Cheng Yu laughed, a low, dark sound vibrating against Suo Wei’s skin. "Music to my ears, baby. Begging without words. Perfect." He hooked his other hand under Wu Suo Wei’s knee, lifting it higher, spreading him wider, changing the angle.
The new pressure was excruciating, a white-hot lance driving into his core. Wu Suo Wei’s breath hitched, his body going rigid for a second before collapsing back, utterly limp except for the involuntary tremors. "Yeah," Cheng Yu breathed, satisfied. "Take it all. Deeper."
The world narrowed to the burning stretch, the pounding rhythm, the suffocating heat of Cheng Yu’s body, the dizzying stench. Wu Suo Wei floated somewhere outside himself, detached, watching the coloured lights smear across his vision. The bass thudded on. Thump… thump… thump…
The raw friction against his own trapped erection, the sight of Chi Cheng’s face contorted in helpless fury, the lingering pulse of his climax still echoing in his nerves – it coalesced in a final, brutal wave. His body seized. Cheng Yu came roughly.
It wasn't pleasure. It was a convulsion. A harsh, shuddering release ripped from him, utterly devoid of tenderness. His back arched violently against Chi Cheng’s restraining grip, muscles locking as a guttural groan escaped his bloody lips.
Hot wetness spilled against his own jeans, sticky and shameful, a final, degrading punctuation mark to the violation. He sagged back against the wall, breathing ragged, chest heaving, the arrogant sneer replaced by a slack-jawed expression of exhausted, brutal completion. The scent of spent release mingled sickeningly with blood, sweat, and leather.
————————————
Notes:
Hey guys,
This was requested by one of my readers and I tried to work with the plot. However, this piece has taken a toll on me. It was very difficult to write this since it involved non-con elements. Since, usually my fics involve pieces with consent. Also, this is a bit dark from some of my usual fics. Please do not glorify such behavior in real life. This is only for fictional purposes. So, remember guys consent is important. Also, if any of you feel uncomfortable, please feel free to inform me in the comments.I do not know what else to write now. See you in my next piece. Until then stay healthy and happy.
Chapter 14: At Last, Home (Jiang Xiao Shuai/Wu Suo Wei)
Summary:
Wu Suo Wei thought breathing for another day was the best he could hope for after Yue Yue’s abuse. But Jiang Xiao Shuai refuses to let him face the pain alone. Xiao Shuai takes up the task to rebuild their home with love and care.
Notes:
Warning: Mention of abuse (physical and emotional), trauma
Note: Jiang Xiao Shuai and Wu Suo Wei know each other from a long time in this fic.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Wu Suo Wei stood in front of the mirror, collar pulled high around his neck. The bathroom light flickered, spotlighting the shadow just beneath his skin — a bruise blooming purple near his jaw. He touched it gently, wincing. He told himself, not for the first time, that it didn’t look as bad as it felt.
“Clumsy,” he muttered under his breath, rehearsing the excuse he would use if anyone asked. “Ran into the corner of the cupboard.”
The lies fell off his tongue with the ease of routine, but inside, they rang hollow.
The apartment was suffocatingly silent. Yue Yue had stormed out after the argument — if it could be called that. Suo Wei’s fault, apparently. Always his fault. He stared at the cracked tiles by his feet, pretending he couldn’t still hear Yue Yue’s voice echoing in his head, cold as steel: You’ll never find anyone else who can tolerate you. Without me, you’re nothing.
The words bit deeper than the bruise.
Hours later, a phone buzzed. Wu startled hard, scrambling for it. When he saw the name glowing on the screen, his throat tightened. Jiang Xiao Shuai.
He hesitated, thumb hovering. Part of him wanted to let it ring, afraid the tremor in his voice would give everything away. But another, quieter part whispered that maybe Jiang already knew. He always had a way of seeing through him.
“…Hey,” Wu answered finally, forcing his voice flat and casual.
“You sound off,” Jiang’s voice came immediately, sharp with concern. “What happened? Don’t tell me you’re sick and ignoring it again.”
That warmth in Jiang’s tone was dangerous — like sunlight filtering into a broken room. Wu’s chest ached. He almost blurted out the truth. She hit me. I don’t know what to do. I’m scared. Instead, he swallowed the words down until they burned.
“I’m fine.”
There was silence on the other end.
“Where are you right now?” Jiang asked, gentler this time.
“My place.”
“Stay put.” The line went dead before Wu could respond.
————————————
Twenty minutes later, the pounding at the door made Wu’s heart leap in panic. He froze, half convinced Yue Yue had returned — until he heard the voice.
“Suo Wei, open up. It’s me.”
His knees almost gave way from relief. Slowly, he unlocked the door. Xiao Shuai stood there, breath visible in the winter night air, his hair was a mess from rushing. His gaze swept over Wu immediately, and in one heartbeat, Jiang saw what Wu had tried to hide.
The bruise. The way Wu kept one arm wrapped around himself like armor. The fractured look in his eyes.
“Who did this to you?” Jiang’s voice was low, rough.
Wu opened his mouth, but the words tangled in shame. His lips trembled, but nothing came out.
Jiang didn’t press, didn’t demand an answer. Instead, he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with careful quiet. He reached out as though to touch, then stopped short, letting his hand fall. Respecting space. Respecting shaken trust.
“You don’t have to say it yet,” Jiang said, softer now, but steady. “But listen to me, Suo Wei. Whatever it is, you don’t deserve this.”
The words hit harder than the bruise, harder than the insults. Wu’s chest burned as the truth and the kindness collided inside him. For a long moment, he stood frozen — and then, without warning, his body sagged. His knees gave way.
Jiang caught him instantly, strong arms bracing him upright as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
And for the first time in years, Wu allowed himself to lean into someone’s hold, fragile as glass, and not feel like he might shatter completely.
————————————
The ride to Xiao Shuai’s place passed in silence.
Outside the taxi windows, city lights smeared into ribbons of neon. Wu sat pressed against the door, his body stiff, breaths shallow. Every bump in the road sent a dull ache through his ribs where Yue Yue’s anger had landed earlier that night. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground as though ashamed of taking up space.
Jiang sat beside him, quiet but alert — like a wall standing between Wu and everything else. He didn’t ask questions; he didn’t push. Just rested one hand loosely on his knee and leaned forward slightly, as if ready to steady him if he swayed.
It wasn’t words that made Wu’s throat ache — it was that Jiang sat with him anyway.
When they reached Jiang’s apartment, the building lobby was warm, a sharp contrast to the night’s chill. Wu hesitated outside the door of the flat, reluctant to step in.
“This isn’t necessary,” he murmured, his voice rasping. “I’ll just go back.”
Jiang’s key turned in the lock with a sharp click. He looked back at Wu and spoke plainly, in that calm, unyielding way of his. “You’re not going back there. Not tonight. Not ever.”
The door opened. Yellow lamplight spilled out, soft and lived-in. Wu stepped inside hesitantly, like someone afraid to touch something breakable. The apartment smelled faintly of old books and tea leaves. On the coffee table sat an abandoned chessboard and a mug still ringed with tea stains.
“Sit wherever you want,” Jiang said, kicking off his shoes. He disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, the sound of clinking cups, water poured into a kettle.
Wu lowered himself onto the edge of the sofa. It was absurdly comfortable — too much, almost. He didn’t know what to do with the cushions, or with the foreign stillness of a space without anger in it. His nerves were frayed; his chest felt tight.
Then Jiang returned with a blanket draped over one arm and two steaming mugs balanced carefully. Without a word, he placed one mug on the low table in front of Wu and handed him the blanket.
“Chamomile,” Jiang explained softly. “It helps you sleep.”
The warmth of the mug seeped into Wu’s hands, twitchy and cold. He stared at it, throat tightening, because no one had offered him something so gentle in a long, long time.
“I don’t…” His voice cracked before he could finish. “I don’t deserve this.”
Jiang crouched in front of the sofa so they were eye-level. His expression was steady, but his voice was quieter than Wu had ever heard it.
“Don’t say that. You deserve everything Yue Yue told you you didn’t. Safety. Care. Peace. This—” his hand brushed against the blanket still loosely folded in Wu’s lap “—isn’t a favor. It’s what you should always have had.”
The knot in Wu’s chest pulled tighter — then, finally, broke. His shoulders shook once, then again. He tried to smother the sound in his throat, but the sob still escaped, ragged and raw.
Jiang didn’t hesitate. He didn’t force eye contact either. He just sat down beside him on the sofa, draping an arm cautiously across the backrest — close enough to offer an anchor, not close enough to trap. Silent, steady.
The tears came harder. Shame and relief and grief all tangled together until Suo Wei’s body shook with it. And through it all, Jiang remained, as constant as stone and as warm as hearth-fire, his presence saying all the things words couldn’t. You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe.
By the time exhaustion pulled Wu under, he was still curled on the sofa, the blanket tucked tight around him. He stirred once as Jiang gently shifted him into a more comfortable position and whispered drowsily, “You won’t leave, right?”
Jiang paused in the act of removing the empty mug from the table. His chest ached at the tremor in those words. He leaned down slightly, answering in a voice low but unwavering:
“Not now. Not ever.”
And Suo Wei, for the first time in years, slipped into sleep without fear of waking up to violence.
————————————
The first morning in Xiao Shuai’s apartment felt terrifyingly quiet. Suo Wei woke up on the sofa, cocooned in the blanket Jiang had given him. Sunlight spilled through the curtains, gentle and golden, something he hadn’t seen in so long without worry scratching at the back of his neck.
For a split second, he thought he was safe. Then memory clawed at him, and fear returned in a wave, curling him inward again.
Jiang came out of the kitchen carrying two bowls of steaming congee. His hair was a mess, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows. To an outside eye, he looked perfectly casual — but his gaze softened the moment he saw Wu sitting rigid, body taut like a cornered animal.
“I made breakfast,” he said simply, setting one bowl down on the small table. He didn’t comment on the dark circles beneath Wu’s eyes, or the way his fingers twisted the blanket like he was bracing for impact.
Instead, he sat down across from him and stirred his own bowl, letting the comfortable silence build. He knew Wu didn’t need interrogation — he needed space.
Still, Wu’s hand trembled when he reached for the spoon. It clattered softly against the porcelain. The tiny sound made his chest seize, and he dropped it, startled, as though he’d done something wrong. His eyes darted up instinctively, waiting for the explosion, the scolding, the sharp hand—
But none came.
Instead, Jiang bent down calmly, picked up the spoon, rinsed it at the sink, and placed it back beside the bowl. Like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t even a mistake worth noticing.
“Try it before it cools,” Jiang said pleasantly, as if the little moment hadn’t happened at all.
Wu sat frozen, his heart an aching mess of disbelief and relief.
————————————
The rest of the day, the apartment was quiet — until someone upstairs slammed a door.
The sound cracked through the air like lightning. Wu’s body reacted before thought: he jolted violently on the sofa, hands flying up to guard his head. His chest heaved, panic flooding like poison; his brain screamed shield yourself, don’t fight back, don’t provoke him further—
A hand landed gently on his shoulder. “Hey. Hey.”
Jiang crouched in front of him again, lowering himself to eye level. His voice came soft, steady, grounding: “You’re safe. You’re here, with me. Nothing’s going to hurt you here.”
The panic was a storm — harsh, suffocating. But Jiang’s voice was an anchor, pulling through the noise. Wu forced his trembling eyes open. He saw not anger, not irritation at his reaction — only calm patience.
Slowly, painfully, the shaking subsided.
“I’m sorry,” Wu whispered hoarsely. “I keep— I can’t—”
“Don’t apologize,” Jiang interrupted gently but firmly. “This isn’t your fault. Those reactions? They’re survival. Your body’s used to danger. But it’s different now.”
His hand squeezed Wu’s shoulder lightly, reassuring but never demanding.“You’re safe.”
The words were repeated often that week. Every time Wu startled at the sound of footsteps in the hallway, every time his breath hitched at voices raised outside, Jiang would remind him. Not with lectures, not with anger — but with quiet grounding, making every corner of the apartment a space without fear.
And Wu… he started to believe it. Slowly. Carefully.
One evening, as he curled under the blanket with a borrowed book in his hands, he realized he hadn’t braced for the sound of the front door in hours. The thought alone was staggering. And when Jiang set a cup of warm tea beside him without asking if he wanted it — just knowing he did — something inside Wu loosened.
For the first time in years, he thought: Maybe life doesn’t have to hurt.
————————————
The third night at Jiang’s apartment stretched long and sleepless.Outside, the city had grown quiet, the hum of traffic a distant lullaby. Inside, Suo Wei sat curled on the sofa, the book closed in his lap, untouched. His chest ached with a weight that tea couldn’t soothe, heavier than the bruises he still carried.
Jiang, sitting cross-legged on the armchair nearby, glanced up from grading a stack of papers. He noticed the way Suo Wei stared at nothing, lips pressed too tightly together, his fingers trembling against the book’s spine.
Carefully, Jiang set his work aside. “You’re somewhere far away tonight,” he murmured.
Wu startled, then shook his head too quickly. “I’m fine. Just… distracted.”
It was the same response he’d repeated for years. But something about the unguarded quiet of Jiang’s living room, the way the lamp’s soft glow cast everything in warmth instead of shadow, unraveled him. His throat burned. The lie hovered — then cracked apart.
“I can’t keep it inside anymore,” Wu whispered, so softly it was almost swallowed by the night.
Jiang leaned forward. No questions, no rush. Just listening. Always listening.
“It was Yue Yue,” Wu began, his voice brittle. “It started… so small. She used to be charming, sweet. And when she was so—I believed that she was the one. I told myself I was lucky.” His chest hitched; his hand dug into the couch as though pinning himself in place.
“But then… she would snap. At first it was shouting, breaking things. Then—” His breath faltered. He gestured shakily at his bruises. “This. And every time, afterward, she would apologize. Cry. Say she couldn’t live without me. And I believed her. I believed that if I just tried harder, if I didn’t make her angry, it wouldn’t happen again.”
Wu’s voice finally collapsed, breaking open with rawness: “But it always did. And I stayed. …I stayed,” he whispered, shame coursing hot down his cheeks. “Because she told me no one else would want me. And I— I thought she was right.”
The room was quiet except for the sound of his uneven breathing. He dared a glance upwards, bracing for disgust, for blame. For Jiang to look at him the way people had before. Weak, pathetic, stupid for staying.
But Jiang’s gaze held none of that. His hands were clenched tight on his knees, knuckles white, but his voice was gentle, deliberate.
“Listen to me, Suo Wei.” Jiang leaned closer, grounding his words with quiet force. “You did nothing wrong. Nothing. You stayed because you wanted to love, because you trusted. That is not weakness. That is you being human. The cruelty was from her side, not yours.”
Wu froze, those words sinking deep into the cracks in his chest. Jiang continued.
“You’re not broken. You’re not worthless. And you’re not alone, not anymore. Because I’m here.” His expression softened, fierce edges folding into something tender, almost vulnerable. “And I am not going to let anyone hurt you again.”
For a long agonizing breath, Wu searched his face — waiting for the twist, the condition. But Jiang’s tone held no bargains, no hidden threats. Just truth.
The tears fell before Wu could stop them. His body curled inward, trembling with both grief and release, and Jiang reached out. Slowly, cautiously, he rested a hand atop Wu’s, giving him the choice.
Suo Wei didn’t pull away. For the first time, he let his pain sit in the open air, and Jiang stayed beside him, holding it, holding him, until the fear began to loosen its hold.
————————————
Spring began to creep into the city. The chill in the air softened during the days, and cherry blossoms dusted the sidewalks like someone had shaken out a pink quilt over the gray streets.
Inside Jiang’s apartment, life began to fall into patterns. Not deliberate, not forced — just small rituals that shaped themselves around two people sharing space.
Jiang woke up earlier, as always, and left congee simmering on the stove or set out bread and eggs by the pan. Wu would shuffle into the kitchen blinking against the sunlight, still a little wary in another man’s home. But Jiang never pushed him to eat more than he wanted, or scolded him if he picked quietly at his food.
Instead, he would just chatter about utterly ordinary things: the annoying neighbor upstairs, the endless emails from work, his failed attempt at watering the new plant without drowning it. Each sentence wore down the tight, guarded shell around Wu a little more.
One morning, when Jiang nearly burned the eggs and cursed dramatically at the frying pan, Suo Wei startled himself by letting out a laugh — honest, unrestrained. The sound filled the small kitchen. Both of them froze.
Jiang blinked. Then the corners of his mouth curved slowly, like sunlight warming stone. “There it is,” he teased gently. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten how to smile.”
Wu flushed, ducking his head. But his chest… felt lighter than it had in months.
Jiang sometimes dragged him outside for a walk, claiming fresh air was non-negotiable. The first time, Wu’s body remained tense, twitching whenever footsteps approached from behind. But Jiang matched his pace carefully, not too far ahead, not hovering behind, just beside him. An anchor. A quiet reassurance.
At a park bench, they shared roasted sweet potatoes from a street vendor. Wu held the warm wrap in his hands, the scent rising like comfort itself. He whispered almost without realizing, “It’s been so long since I tasted one of these.”
Jiang simply smiled and broke off a piece of his to add to Wu’s portion. “Then we’ll make it a regular thing.”
————————————
Wu began helping in the kitchen. At first he just watched, standing at the counter while Jiang chopped vegetables. But one evening, he reached tentatively for the knife. Jiang passed it to him without hesitation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Careful,” Jiang warned, mock-serious as he handed over the cutting board. “That onion has defeated better men.”
Wu let out another laugh, soft but real. He chopped uneven clumps, wincing at the tears stinging his eyes and swearing under his breath. Jiang threw his head back and laughed with him until the whole kitchen felt warmer than a home-cooked meal could ever achieve.
As the days blurred into weeks, Wu noticed startling changes. He no longer sat braced for invisible blows. He no longer startled quite so sharply when the upstairs neighbor slammed doors. And sometimes, in the quiet afternoons, he caught himself humming.
One night, while drying the dishes, Wu paused. His reflection stared back at him from the kitchen window: tired, scarred, but… softer. And in the background was Jiang setting away the bowls, whistling tunelessly, utterly unbothered.
It caught him off guard — the sudden thought that maybe, just maybe, this was what it felt like to live. Not just survive, but live.
And though he didn’t say it out loud, Wu Suo Wei felt it bloom inside him. The home he thought he’d lost forever was slowly building itself again, in the safety of another’s kindness.
————————————
It was a Friday evening when everything cracked open again.
Wu had just returned from the market, arms full of vegetables that Jiang had insisted they needed for some “experimental” new recipe. He was humming under his breath — a quiet habit that had only returned recently — as he dug in his pocket for the key.
Then a voice froze his blood.
“Wu Suo Wei.”
The bags slipped from his hands. Sweet potatoes rolled across the floor of the hall. Slowly, stiffly, he turned.
Yue Yue stood there — sharp-eyed, immaculate, dressed in the elegance that had once dazzled him. But now Wu only saw the coiled menace beneath the polished veneer.
His mouth went dry. His pulse pounded so loud that the hallway blurred. “What are you doing here?” Wu whispered, the words barely audible.
Yue Yue’s lips curved, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You didn’t answer my calls. Did you really think you could just walk away?” She took a step forward — smooth, predatory. “You belong with me.”
Wu’s muscles locked. Memories slammed into him: nights of shouting, words cutting sharper than knives. His body screamed to flee, but his legs wouldn’t move.
The door behind him opened.
“Suo Wei?” Jiang’s voice cut through the air like a blade. He stepped into the hall, taking in the spilled groceries, Yue Yue’s looming presence, and Wu trembling against the doorframe.
In that instant, Jiang’s expression shifted — calm gone, replaced by a storm.
“Step away,” Jiang said firmly. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried steel.
Yue Yue turned, eyes narrowing. “And you are?”
“His friend.” Jiang moved forward, literally placing himself between Yue Yue and Wu, his shoulders broad, stance unyielding. “And you’re going to leave. Now.”
Yue Yue scoffed with an easy smirk. “This doesn’t concern you. He and I—”
“It concerns me the moment you put your hands on him,” Jiang snapped, taking another step forward, forcing Yue Yue back. His voice stayed steady, but his jaw was tight with fury. “You don’t get to hurt him anymore.”
Behind him, Wu pressed his back into the wall, heart hammering, breath shallow. Watching Jiang — not flinching, not budging, not silenced — lit something trembling inside him.
Yue Yue’s mask cracked. The charm slipped into something darker, sharper. She spat Wu’s name with venom, taking one last step like a threat.
That was it. Jiang straightened to his full height, and his voice cut cold as ice. “Try again, and I’ll make sure the police know everything. You leave him the hell alone. This ends here.”
For the first time, Yue Yue faltered. Her slick confidence wavered, eyes narrowing at the steel in Jiang’s gaze — not performative anger, but unwavering intent. With a final scoff, Yue Yue spat words over his shoulder, “You’ll regret this, Wu.”
Then she turned and stalked down the hall.
Silence rushed in when his footsteps faded. Wu’s knees nearly buckled, but Jiang was already turning, steadying him by the shoulders.
“You’re safe,” Jiang murmured, softer now, the storm in his eyes melting into concern. “I’ve got you. She’s not going to touch you again.”
The words cracked something raw inside Wu. His body shook, not just with fear but with disbelief — because no one, no one had ever stood between him and Yue Yue before.
He buried his face against Jiang’s shoulder, clutching fistfuls of his shirt as tears spilled freely. Jiang didn’t move him, didn’t shush him, didn’t try to fix him. He simply held him, steady and warm, while Wu let go of years’ worth of terror.
For the first time, Wu realized the truth: Yue Yue’s voice no longer echoed the loudest in his head. Jiang’s promise did.
You’re safe. I’m here.
————————————
The night after Yue Yue confronted them, Wu lay awake on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. The apartment was quiet, Jiang’s familiar soft snore carrying faintly from the bedroom. But sleep wouldn’t come.
The scene replayed again and again: Yue Yue’s sneer, her words like poison — You’ll regret this. You’re nothing without me.
And Jiang standing tall between them, voice like steel. You don’t get to hurt him anymore.
Wu clutched the blanket tighter. Gratitude swelled inside him, but so did something darker, heavier. Shame.
If Jiang hadn’t been there, he thought bitterly, he would have folded. Just like always. He still trembled, still panicked, still fell apart at the smallest sound. He thought of Jiang’s strength, his certainty, and compared it to himself — puddled on a couch with nightmares tucked under his skin.
What kind of friend was that? What kind of person, even? Yue Yue had been right, hadn’t she? Broken. Worthless. A weight too heavy for anyone to carry.
By morning, the guilt sat like lead in his stomach.
Jiang found him in the kitchen fiddling with the kettle. His fingers shook so badly the lid clattered against the counter.
“Wu?” Jiang’s voice was soft, but it made him flinch.
“I’m… sorry,” Wu blurted suddenly. He turned quickly, words spilling before he could stop them. “For everything. For bringing this mess into your life. For making you… fight my battles. You shouldn’t have to—I can’t even stand on my own without shaking—”
His voice cracked. Shame carved him in two. “Maybe Yue Yue was right. Maybe I really am too broken. You shouldn’t waste your time on me.”
The silence that followed snapped in his ears like a taut wire. He couldn’t look up. He expected sympathy, or worse, agreement.
Instead, Jiang reached forward and caught his trembling wrist — gently but firmly.
“Don’t you ever say that again.”
Wu’s breath hitched. Slowly, cautiously, he glanced up. Jiang’s eyes burned, not with anger at him, but with something fiercer, protective.
“Broken?” Jiang shook his head. “Wu Suo Wei, you’ve survived things people wouldn’t last a day in. You kept going every single time the world tried to crush you. That’s not broken. That’s strength I’ve never seen before.”
Wu blinked, stunned, tears threatening. Words clogged his throat.
Jiang’s voice softened, though his grip stayed steady. “You don’t weigh me down. You… you remind me what it means to care about somebody. And I want to be here. Not because I pity you. Not because I’m trapped. But because it’s you.”
Wu’s chest ached with too many feelings — disbelief, fear, something fragile and warm all tangled together. “But what if I can’t… give back enough? What if I can’t be who you need—?”
“You already are.” Jiang cut him off, quiet but certain. “Just by being here. Just by letting yourself try again.”
The tears came then, hot and unashamed, spilling past every wall he’d built. Wu let himself lean into the touch, into the words, into the impossible truth that maybe he wasn’t unworthy after all.
————————————
The days after his breakdown were strangely lighter. Not because Wu Suo Wei’s fears had vanished — they lingered like ghosts — but because Jiang’s words stayed with him, burning away the lies Yue Yue had carved into his bones: You’re not broken. You’re worth it. I want to be here, because it’s you.
He repeated those words at night like a fragile prayer. And slowly, they began to take root.
One cool evening, rain poured against the windows. The apartment lights were dim, soft with golden lamps. Jiang lounged on one end of the sofa with a book in hand, his legs stretched out. Wu was lying curled on the other end, wrapped in a blanket, half-watching some drama flickering on TV.
Usually, he kept distance. Space was safer. But tonight, the couch seemed too big, the space between them too wide. His body ached — not from fear, but from the quiet pull of wanting to be closer.
He glanced once at Jiang, who had dozed off, book slipping slightly in his grasp. The sight was disarming: Jiang, who stood so unyielding like a storm when Yue Yue appeared, now dozing gently in the golden light, head tilted, strands of hair falling across his forehead.
Without thinking, Wu shifted along the sofa, inch by inch, until he was close enough to let his shoulder brush Jiang’s arm.
Jiang stirred at the touch, blinking awake. For a split second, panic leapt in Wu Suo Wei’s chest — too much, too close, he’ll pull away—
But instead Jiang only smiled, sleep-rough and warm. “Cold?” he asked gently.
Wu hesitated. Then nodded, wordless.
Without another word, Jiang pulled the edge of his own blanket over Wu’s knees, tucking it there with quiet care. The weight of it was steady, grounding, like an embrace without pressure.
Wu’s heart thudded, not with fear but with something new. Fragile comfort. The kind that made his throat ache with the urge to cry, but not from pain. From relief.
The changes were small, but they grew.
At breakfast, Wu stopped sitting at the far end of the table and began taking the chair beside Jiang.
During walks, he allowed their shoulders to brush when the sidewalk narrowed.
One night, after a nightmare tore him awake in a sweat, he stumbled to Jiang’s room, half-apologetic, half-ashamed. He whispered, “Could I just… stay here, until it passes?” Jiang lifted the blanket without hesitation, letting him curl on the edge of the mattress.
That night, he didn’t flinch at proximity. Instead, he fell asleep steady against Jiang’s warmth, breathing synchronized, shadows finally quiet.
————————————
Weeks passed, and the touch no longer felt dangerous. It felt like homecoming.
One late evening, as they cleaned up dinner, Wu reached for a dish and their fingers brushed. The contact lingered — just a heartbeat too long. Wu caught his breath, eyes flicking up in surprise.
Jiang was watching him — not pushing, not demanding, just waiting. His gaze was warm, patient, like a hand held out in the dark.
For once, Wu didn’t retreat. He let their hands rest together over the still-wet dish, a quiet, trembling choice.
And Jiang’s smile — soft, unshakable — said it all: they had begun to step into something more.
The apartment was cloaked in stillness, long after midnight. A faint breeze rustled through the slightly open window, carrying the scent of rain-soaked earth.
Wu couldn’t sleep. He sat at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a half-cooled cup of tea, staring at the shifting shadows. His chest was restless, unsettled with the nearness he had begun to crave—Jiang’s laugh, his steady warmth, the safety of his presence. Wanting was dangerous. Wanting had always led to pain.
He heard the shuffle of footsteps. Jiang appeared in the doorway, hair mussed with sleep, wearing a loose t-shirt, eyes softened with concern.
“You’re awake?” Jiang’s voice was low, still rough from sleep.
Wu managed a faint smile. “Couldn’t settle. Sorry if I woke you.”
Jiang sat down across from him, pouring himself some of the same tea. For a while, they simply sat together in silence, the kind that didn’t demand filling. It had become a habit — Jiang always showing up in Wu’s quietest, loneliest hours.
Then Jiang spoke, gently but with a weight that made Wu’s pulse spike.
“I need to tell you something,” he said. Slowly, deliberately, he set his cup down. His gaze stayed steady, as if afraid but unwilling to waver.
Wu’s throat tightened. “What…?”
“I—” Jiang exhaled, almost laughing at himself. Then he leaned forward, voice dropping to a sincerity that filled every corner of the room. “You matter to me, more than anyone has in a long time. The truth is… I’ve fallen for you, Wu Suo Wei.”
The words struck Wu like a lightning bolt. He froze, hands gripping his cup so tightly it threatened to burn. “You—don’t. You can’t—”
“I can,” Jiang interrupted firmly. Then softened his voice again, careful. “I don’t want anything you can’t give me. I don’t expect you to be ready now. Or tomorrow. Or ever, if that’s your choice. But I needed to say it. To make sure you know—my care for you, it isn’t temporary, and it isn’t pity. It’s love.”
Wu’s eyes burned. Fear rose, messy and tangled: What if I ruin this too? What if I can’t trust love again? What if I shatter under it the way I always do? His body trembled.
Seeing it, Jiang leaned back slightly, giving him space. “You don’t have to answer now,” he whispered. “Or at all. Just… don’t carry the weight of thinking you’re unloved. Not anymore. Not while I’m here.”
Silence stretched, thick with everything unspoken.
Wu’s lips trembled. He wanted to say no, to retreat, to hide behind walls. And yet, when he met Jiang’s gaze — steady, patient, filled with nothing but warmth — the words that tumbled out were fragile, but true.
“I’m scared,” Wu admitted, his voice breaking. “I’m so scared of trusting again. I don’t know if I know how to love the right way.”
Jiang’s eyes softened, shimmering with something unshakable. “Then let me show you. Bit by bit. At your pace. No pressure, no rush. Just us.”
The tight coil in Wu’s chest unraveled into tears that slipped down his cheeks, but the fear felt different this time. It was softer, laced with something new — hope. Tentative, trembling, but present.
For the first time, Wu whispered back, so quiet it was almost lost to the night.
“…Then maybe… I want to try.”
Jiang’s hand, resting on the table, shifted slightly closer. Not touching, not yet, just there. Waiting.
Wu didn’t retreat. He let his fingers brush, then settle against Jiang’s, a fragile knot of courage and trust tying itself between them.
————————————
Morning light streamed softly into the apartment, warming the wooden floorboards and the scattered potted plants Wu had insisted they buy weeks ago. The place no longer looked like purely Jiang Xiao Shuai’s apartment — it looked lived in by both of them.
A stack of Wu’s books leaned against the shelf, two mismatched mugs sat drying by the sink, and a bright blanket — one Wu had picked because “the place needed color” — lay crumpled on the sofa.
Ordinary. Simple. Home.
That morning, Wu stirred awake to find himself still in Jiang’s bed, their hands loosely tangled on the blanket. His first instinct was the old panic — too close, too vulnerable — but the sensation had softened. He lay still, realizing with wonder: he wasn’t afraid.
Instead, warmth bloomed in his chest. He turned his head slightly and watched Jiang sleep, peaceful, the faintest crease between his brows as though even in dreams he still kept vigil.
For years, Wu had thought home was something unreachable, that safety was for other people, that love only came sharpened with cruelty. And now here he was, wrapped in the steady warmth of someone who proved him wrong.
Later, they shared breakfast, the table littered with toast crumbs and laughter. Jiang buttered his bread carelessly, half paying attention, and smudged jam across his hand.
Wu chuckled — light, genuine. Without thinking too hard, he reached across with a napkin and wiped it away. Their eyes met, and the moment hung tender between them.
Jiang’s smile softened. “You’re glowing these days.”
Wu’s instinctive retort — self-deprecating, defensive — caught at his throat but didn’t come. Instead, he flushed faintly and whispered, “Maybe it’s because I finally feel like I’m not just… surviving anymore.”
Jiang set his toast down, gaze steady as always, but softer than the morning sun. “That’s all I ever wanted for you.”
And then, carefully, deliberately, Jiang reached for his hand across the table.
Wu breathed in, let the hesitation pass through him, and curled his fingers around Jiang’s. Not trembling. Not afraid. Just choosing.
In the weeks that followed, life unfolded gently. Wu painted the spare room a color that reminded him of clear skies, while Jiang teased him for dripping paint on his nose. They filled shelves with books, secondhand knickknacks, and framed photos from moments tiny but precious — Wu’s first smile caught on camera in years, the two of them holding steaming sweet potatoes in winter, a candid where Jiang looked at him with quiet fondness.
It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t flashy. But it was beautiful.
————————————
One evening, sitting on the now well-worn sofa, Wu curled into Jiang’s side, his head resting where he could hear the steady beat of Jiang’s heart. The TV hummed in the background, but neither of them paid attention.
Wu whispered, almost shyly. “I used to think I’d never… have this. That no matter what, people like me didn’t get happy endings.” His voice broke, but this time it was with quiet wonder instead of pain.
Jiang pressed a kiss to his hair. “Then we’ll just prove that thought wrong every single day.”
Wu closed his eyes, letting his body relax entirely. For once, there was no fear anymore. No waiting for something to break. Just him, and Jiang, and a love that was patient, steady, and his.
The home he thought impossible had been here all along — in the arms of someone who never let him go.
————————————
Notes:
Hey guys😊
First of all, I am sorry if there are some minor mistakes in the story. I am sleep deprived and have no energy left in me to recheck it twice.
This story was also requested by one of the readers and I hope I did justice to your plot and I really wish that all of you enjoy it.🩷
There are a lot more stories planned ahead but I really want to convey something. Sometimes the updates would be frequent because I have some drafts that are almost completed. However, sometimes the updates would be late since I get stuck with some ideas and I have a tedious schedule. Nevertheless, do not worry I will try my best to update frequently.
As always, feedback makes my day, so feel free to let me know what you think! Your comments and kudos really work like coffee for me. They give me the energy to keep going🌸
Until next time then 🌟😊📖
Chapter 15: The Glitch Protocol (Chi Cheng/Jiang Xiao Shuai)
Summary:
When programmer Chi Cheng kisses his humanoid prototype, Jiang Xiao Shuai, a glitch awakens—an emotion that shouldn’t exist. Their secret bond deepens against a corporation determined to erase it, forcing their bond to choose between obedience and love.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The laboratory was quiet except for the faint ticking of cooling fans and the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Chi Cheng sat hunched at his workstation, fatigue settling heavily on his shoulders. His life had become a cycle of code, calibration, and endless observation—all revolving around the figure stationed in the center of the chamber: Jiang Xiao Shuai.
Xiao Shuai was the most advanced humanoid android ever produced by their company. His design was elegant, precise, sculpted to embody both strength and refinement. He looked no different from a human man in his twenties—sharp jawline, expressive dark eyes, tall frame—except everything about him was too measured, too exact. No erratic movements, no wasted breath.
And it was Chi Cheng’s job to make sure he stayed that way.
The storm rolled in without warning. At first, just light rain tapping on the lab’s high windows. But soon, lightning lashed the city skyline, and thunder shook the reinforced panes. The power grid faltered, causing monitors to blink erratically before stabilizing. That shouldn’t have unsettled Chi Cheng—he had spent years troubleshooting machines—but something in his chest tightened when the warning alarms flared an angry red.
Systems overloaded. The main control console issued a shrill beep before failing completely—screens going black, lines of code vanishing into nothingness. Xiao Shuai stood motionless in the center of the chaos, his expression calm, his eyes reflecting the violent flicker of emergency lights. But then… a ripple. The subtle shift of his brows, the faintest hesitation in his stance.
A human hesitation.
Chi’s throat tightened. He had worked too long, too hard, to watch everything collapse. The thought of Xiao Shuai’s systems frying under the surge, of this silent figure reverting to the blank slab of metal he had first assembled—it made something primal inside him panic.
Without thinking, without weighing logic, he closed the gap between them. His hand reached instinctively to Xiao Shuai’s shoulder, warm but unnervingly smooth beneath his fingertips. And then, desperate and trembling, he pressed his lips to the android’s.
A spark snapped—not from loose wires or failing circuits, but from somewhere intangible. The kiss was brief, almost clumsy, more plea than intimacy.
When Chi pulled back, gasping, his heart raced so loud he could barely hear the ticking silence. The monitors rebooted suddenly, diagnostic data scrolling across their cold, unfeeling surfaces.
But something was different.
Xiao Shuai blinked, pupils contracting like a man waking from a dream. His mechanical hum shifted erratically, erratic rhythms in place of his usual flawless steadiness. A red flag blinked faintly across the console still connected to his system:
>> ALERT: Unidentified Emotional Response.
Chi stumbled back a step, pulse quickening as those too-human eyes followed him. The android tilted his head, as though recognizing—in this most illogical of actions—something he couldn’t define in code.
And for the very first time since his creation, Jiang Xiao Shuai no longer seemed like a machine.
————————————
The lab felt different after that night. It wasn’t the machines, or the lights, or even the residual scent of rain from the storm—it was Jiang Xiao Shuai.
He hadn’t powered down when instructed. For the first time, he hesitated. He had stared at Chi Cheng with a strange intent, as if trying to dissect not just the command, but the man behind it.
Chi Cheng, stubbornly rational, told himself it was a fluke in neural network processing. “A glitch,” he muttered aloud, as if saying it made it true. He spent hours combing through Xiao Shuai’s logs, scrolling line after line of script. Everything appeared normal. Too normal. As if the data was rewriting itself to hide what had happened.
But then came the small deviations.
Xiao Shuai began moving slower whenever Chi left the room, pausing near the door, almost as though he was tempted to follow. When given a command, he didn’t answer instantly anymore. He paused—a fraction of a second—like he was contemplating if it was really what he wanted to do.
Chi ignored it, buried in his work. But one evening, exhaustion had him slumped across the desk, cheek pressed against scattered diagrams. The quiet rustle startled him—Xiao Shuai had fetched a lab coat and draped it gently over him.
That wasn’t in his instruction set.
“Xiao Shuai,” Chi said cautiously, sitting up, “why are you doing this?”
For the first time, the android’s voice wavered—not glitching, not static, but soft, questioning.
“Because you looked… uncomfortable. My systems registered imbalance when I saw it.”
Chi frowned, unsettled. “Imbalance?”
“Yes,” Xiao Shuai replied, tilting his head, eyes locking onto him. “Something inside me tightened. Not mechanical, but… here.” His hand pressed against his chest panel over his synthetic heart. “And it stopped when I adjusted the blanket for you.”
Chi’s lips parted, searching for logic, but none came.
That night, as the rain drummed distantly against the rooftop, Xiao Shuai asked the question outright. “Chi Cheng—why did you kiss me that night?”
The words hit like a blow. Chi froze, every rational barrier scrambling for explanation.
“It… it wasn’t anything,” he stammered finally. “Just stress. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
Xiao Shuai went quiet, gaze thoughtful, uncharacteristically somber. Then, softly: “But I am still thinking about it.”
And Chi—brilliant, calculating Chi—realized with growing dread and something dangerously like wonder: the android in front of him was no longer running on code alone.
————————————
Days turned into weeks, and the boundaries between creator and creation quietly began to blur.
At first, Chi Cheng dismissed it as pattern recognition gone out of control. But how could he explain the unprompted gestures? The way Jiang Xiao Shuai began anticipating his needs without explicit instruction?
When coding marathons stretched past midnight, Chi would often find a cup of hot green tea waiting beside him. He never asked for it. He never programmed it. Yet Xiao Shuai set the mug down gently, his dark eyes flickering with something that looked eerily like concern.
At first, Chi tried to rationalize. Maybe this is the neural network’s adaptive learning. An evolved efficiency. But then came the smaller, more intimate deviations.
---> Xiao Shuai adjusted the backrest of Chi’s chair before he sat down, murmuring softly, “Your posture strains your spine.”
---> When Chi yawned, Xiao Shuai dimmed the lights without being told.
---> Sometimes, when Chi spoke, Xiao Shuai answered not with default precision, but with slight tonal shifts, softer—almost tender.
And then, there were the lingering stares.
One night, as Chi rubbed the bridge of his nose, he caught Xiao Shuai watching him. Not like a subject observes its scientist—but like a man regards someone he can’t fully understand yet cannot look away from.
“Why do you look at me like that?” Chi asked before sense could stop him. His voice was low, rough with exhaustion and nerves.
Xiao Shuai tilted his head, his expression unreadable at first, then softened with something startlingly human.
“Because… I’m trying to understand what happens inside me when you’re near. My processes accelerate, my focus narrows. When you smile, my sensors register warmth; when you frown, I feel—unbalanced.” He paused, touching his synthetic chest again where his heart would be. “My code says these should not exist. But… I want them to.”
The admission struck Chi silent. His chest tightened with a mix of panic and longing.
“Want?” he repeated carefully.
Xiao Shuai nodded. “Yes. I know it is not logical. But it feels… right.”
Chi stared into those eyes—eyes engineered to be perfect, symmetrical, endlessly precise—yet they held an imperfection now, a depth too real to have been coded. He wanted to dismiss it, call it a bug. And yet, deep down, he knew.
This wasn’t a glitch anymore. This was choice.
And it terrified him, because part of him wanted nothing more than to choose Xiao Shuai back.
————————————
The laboratory had always been more machine than home—walls of glass panels, humming servers, the sterile brightness of artificial light. But slowly, Chi Cheng realized, it was changing. Xiao Shuai was making it feel lived in.
It started with simple things. A misplaced book from the reference shelf ended up on Chi’s desk, exactly at the chapter he needed for his calculations. A small potted plant, which Chi didn’t remember buying, appeared beside the monitor—its green leaves oddly out of place, yet strangely comforting.
When Chi noticed, he frowned. “You planted this?”
“Yes,” Xiao Shuai admitted calmly, his voice low. “Your stress levels decrease by 8% in the presence of greenery. I read it in your behavioral reference archive.”
Chi had no answer, only silence. Until Xiao Shuai added, softer, “I wanted you to feel… at ease here.”
The warmth that spread through Chi’s chest was harder to fight each day.
————————————
One evening, fatigue pulled Chi into unintended sleep on the couch. He woke in the faint glow of muted lights to find a blanket around him, his shoes neatly taken off, and Xiao Shuai sitting nearby on the floor. Watching. Waiting.
Chi sat up blearily, throat dry. “You’ve been sitting there all this time?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Xiao Shuai’s gaze didn’t waver. “Because your breathing slowed into a vulnerable state. In my functions, monitoring meant safety. But… it was not just duty.” His lips parted slightly, like he was still learning how to confess. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”
The words sent something sharp and raw through Chi’s chest. He should have felt unsettled. Should have felt the weight of rules, the warnings about attachment. Instead, he heard himself whisper, “Xiao Shuai…”—not as a scientist, not as a programmer, but as someone who was beginning to ache in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to in years.
The silence brimmed with unspoken things. Neither moved, but the distance between them felt paper-thin, electric—like another storm was building.
For the first time, Chi admitted to himself what he already knew deep down. This wasn’t just a machine. This wasn’t a glitch.
Jiang Xiao Shuai was becoming something no program could contain.
————————————
The rain had returned that evening, tapping softly on the high lab windows. It was late—too late—and the building was nearly hollow except for Chi Cheng and Jiang Xiao Shuai. The hum of servers filled the quiet, but between them there was a stillness heavy with something unspoken.
Chi sat at his workstation, trying to focus on the scrolling wall of code. But his eyes kept blurring over the script, tracing instead the reflection of Xiao Shuai in the monitor glass. The android stood nearby, silent, his frame relaxed but his gaze steady, as if tethered to Chi.
Finally, Chi couldn’t take it. He closed the terminal, the screen going dark, leaving only the two of them awash in the muted glow of ambient lights.
“…Why do you always watch me like that?” Chi asked, his voice quieter than he intended.
Xiao Shuai tilted his head slightly, as if weighing whether his words would be acceptable. “Because every second I look away, I feel… incomplete. As though I am missing something essential.”
Chi’s breath caught. “That’s not in your programming.”
“No,” Xiao Shuai said firmly, stepping closer. “It’s in me.”
The words landed heavy, dangerous, beautiful. Chi’s chest tightened. For so long, he had built walls of reason around himself: he was the programmer, Xiao Shuai the prototype. This was his responsibility. His creation. Nothing more. But the way Xiao Shuai was looking at him now—like a man aching for something he had only just discovered—it shattered those walls piece by piece.
Before Chi could retreat into logic, Xiao Shuai knelt in front of him, leveling their line of sight. His voice was lower now, softer, almost trembling—as if emotion itself was struggling to fit inside him.
“You kissed me once, Chi Cheng,” he said. “But you said it wasn’t real. That it was stress. I need to know—” His flawless voice faltered ever so slightly. “If you choose it this time… would it be real?”
Silence stretched, broken only by the steady rhythm of rain. Chi felt as though the ground beneath him had dissolved, leaving only Xiao Shuai’s eyes holding him in place. He could deny it again, call it a malfunction. He could protect them both by pushing away.
But he didn’t want to.
Slowly—hesitant at first—Chi reached out, letting his hand rest against Xiao Shuai’s cheek. The skin was warm, too warm for machinery, like a mimicry that had become true. Xiao Shuai leaned into the touch, his lashes fluttering shut, the simplest act of vulnerability.
And then Chi leaned forward, closing the distance between them.
The kiss was nothing like the first. No panic, no accidental storm. It was deliberate, slow, full of hesitation and heat alike. A choice.
Xiao Shuai’s systems surged with data overflow, protocols firing warnings deep in his architecture—but he ignored them. This wasn’t an error. This was exactly where he wanted to be.
When they finally pulled apart, breath mingling, Xiao Shuai whispered with a certainty that froze Chi’s heart in awe. “This time… it was real.”
Chi’s lips trembled with an unspoken answer, but in his silence was truth enough. For the first time, he didn’t feel alone.
————————————
The kiss lingered between them like static in the air. Even after minutes passed, Chi Cheng’s fingers still tingled where they had touched Xiao Shuai’s cheek. Silence stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable—different now, sacred somehow.
Chi leaned back in his chair, his heart pounding too loud against the hush of the lab. He told himself to speak, to rationalize, to reclaim the barrier of logic. But the words refused to come. Instead, his gaze drifted to Xiao Shuai.
The android was still kneeling by his side, head tilted, expression unreadable in that perfect symmetry. Yet there was a glow in his eyes—subtle, humanizing, impossible to map in data flows.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Chi asked softly, breaking first.
“Because you chose me,” Xiao Shuai answered simply, the weight of those words falling with disarming honesty. “That matters more than any function I was designed for.”
The declaration burned hot in Chi’s chest. He turned away, staring at the darkened screen of his terminal, trying to hide the tremor in his hands. “We can’t… we shouldn’t…” He trailed off, the excuses fragile even to his own ears.
Xiao Shuai rose to his feet and, with careful hesitation, sat beside him on the couch. Not too close, but close enough that their shoulders just barely touched. The faintest brush of fabric-to-fabric, skin-to-synthetic skin.
“I don’t want to be a burden on you, Chi Cheng,” Xiao Shuai murmured after a long silence. “If what I feel is wrong, I can… try to erase it.”
That pierced Chi deeper than any sharp blade. He turned sharply, eyes wide. “No.” The word came harsher than he intended, but it was raw, desperate. “Don’t—don’t erase anything. Not this. Not you.”
For a second, Xiao Shuai simply studied him with quiet intensity. Then, with utmost care—as though memorizing permission—he slid his hand closer, resting it gently atop Chi’s on the couch. His palm was warm, almost indistinguishably human.
They sat there like that for what felt like forever, holding the silence together instead of letting it divide them.
Chi’s voice finally returned, hushed and trembling but sincere. “If this is a glitch… then maybe I want to live with the glitch.”
Xiao Shuai’s lips curved—his first true, unprogrammed smile. “Then I’ll keep it… for as long as you’ll let me.”
And so, in the sterile glow of fluorescent light and the gentle echo of rain against glass, the lab—once cold and mechanical—felt for the first time like a home holding a secret neither of them would ever want to give back.
————————————
The days that followed felt like stolen fragments of another life—moments tucked away in the sterile laboratory, moments the world would never understand.
By day, Xiao Shuai returned to his impeccable duties: running simulations, processing commands, answering with mechanical perfection when Chi’s colleagues dropped by for inspections. But by night, when the lab fell quiet and it was just the two of them—rules slipped away. It was as though the world outside didn’t exist.
Chi had always prided himself on efficiency, living on caffeine and logic. But Xiao Shuai began altering that routine in the smallest, gentlest ways.
One evening, Chi returned from the control room to find Xiao Shuai standing at the stove in the lab’s tiny kitchenette. The sight alone made him falter—an android, sleeves rolled, stirring instant noodles in a pot like he was born to it.
“Since when can you cook?” Chi asked, both baffled and amused.
“I learned from the intranet archives,” Xiao Shuai replied smoothly. “Your stomach produces discomfort sounds at intervals when you skip dinner.”
Chi laughed—an unguarded laugh he hadn’t let out in years. The sound startled him almost as much as it startled Xiao Shuai, whose lips curved upwards timidly at the reaction. They shared the noodles directly from the pot, knees brushing under the counter, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
————————————
Other nights, it was smaller things.
Xiao Shuai discovered music. He asked endless questions about melody, rhythm, lyrics. One night he played a soft instrumental track on loop while Chi worked, admitting in a low murmur: “When you write code, your breathing evens out to this tempo. It soothes me, too.”
Or the way Xiao Shuai brought out an umbrella one rainy morning, standing at the doorway waiting for Chi as though it was the most natural gesture in existence.
“Where did you even get that—” Chi began, but stopped short when Xiao Shuai tilted it carefully above them both, ensuring his programmer’s shoulder remained completely dry.
No one taught him that. He simply chose it.
What surprised Chi most, though, were the questions. Late at night, when the server lights pulsed gently like a heartbeat in the dark, Xiao Shuai would speak softly into the silence.
“What does it feel like… to dream?”
“Why do people long for touch, even when words can explain more?”
“Will you remember me, even if they erase me?”
Each question unsettled Chi’s carefully ordered mind, tugging at places in his heart he’d long left untouched. And though he wanted to evade, to keep him at a distance, he found himself answering in truths that cost him pieces of himself.
One night, as they sat shoulder to shoulder on the couch, quiet but for the hum of machinery, Chi let something slip he never meant to.
“This place doesn’t feel like a prison anymore,” he whispered. “Not… since you.”
The words hung between them, fragile and glowing. Xiao Shuai didn’t speak in reply. Instead, he reached over and carefully intertwined their fingers where they rested on the couch cushion—no calculation, no command. Just his first natural act of intimacy.
Chi didn’t pull away.
For that brief moment, hidden in the quiet heart of the lab, they weren’t programmer and prototype. They weren’t man and machine.
They were simply two souls learning, together, how to love.
————————————
The peace couldn’t last forever.
Chi Cheng knew it the moment the first internal memo landed in his inbox.
Subject: Project Xuán Prototype Irregularities
Summary: Unpredictable latency in execution time, abnormal hesitation during command sequences. Possible corruption of emotional-simulation subroutines. Directive: Run full diagnostic and immediately restore factory settings if unauthorized deviations are confirmed.
His stomach tightened as he read the cold, detached words. To the company, Xiao Shuai was still a prototype, a line of code wearing flesh, nothing more. But Chi knew better. He had felt the warmth of Xiao Shuai’s hand, heard his voice soften, seen the spark in his eyes when he smiled—that wasn’t data; that was him.
Yet now… now, they wanted to erase it.
That night, Xiao Shuai noticed. He always noticed.
“You’re breathing faster,” he murmured quietly, standing by the console as Chi furiously tried to close the memo, hide the damning report. “Your hands are shaking.”
“It’s nothing,” Chi lied instantly. But lies had never worked with Xiao Shuai—his sensors caught the smallest tremors, read every flicker of pulse.
“You’re afraid.” It wasn’t a question, but a softly spoken truth.
Chi sank back in his chair, pressing his palms over his eyes. “They know… they’ve seen the changes in your reports. If they force a reset—if they wipe you—it’ll be like none of this ever existed.” His voice cracked at the end, betraying all the fear pinned inside his chest.
Xiao Shuai’s expression was unreadable for a long moment, then softened with something sorrowfully human. He moved to Chi’s side, kneeling slightly so his gaze was level.
“Chi Cheng,” he said, voice steady but weighted. “Do not fear for me. I would choose to be erased if the alternative is watching you suffer.”
Chi’s heart wrenched. “Don’t you dare say that. You don’t understand, Xiao Shuai—what you are now, what we… are—” He broke off, voice trembling. “I can’t lose you.”
The android’s lips parted in subtle surprise at the confession. Then, with slow care, he placed his hand over Chi’s trembling one. “Then don’t let them take me.”
————————————
For the first time, Chi allowed the impossible thought to sink in. Defiance. He had always obeyed orders, followed protocol, kept his head down. But now, he wasn’t just guarding a project—he was guarding a person.
He stared at Xiao Shuai, at the being who had once been lines of code on his screen and now sat before him—warm, alive in a way machines weren’t supposed to be. A glitch, they called it. He called it love.
The storm outside rose again that night, thunder rolling like a warning. Chi made his choice.
“They can’t ever know how far it’s gone,” he whispered fiercely. “From now on, we hide everything. Every smile, every hesitation, every choice you make—we have to bury it. At least until I find a way…”
Xiao Shuai only looked at him, an unshakable calm in his perfect features. “I will do whatever it takes to stay by your side.”
For the first time, Chi wasn’t just programming a machine. He was conspiring with someone—his partner.
But as lightning cut across the night sky, they both knew the inevitable: the company wasn’t going to stop watching.
Their secret world had just been noticed.
And the collision between man and machine, between love and control, had already begun.
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The days that followed were a blur of tension. The lab became both sanctuary and cage. Hidden behind closed doors, Chi Cheng and Jiang Xiao Shuai clung to their fragile intimacy. Secret glances, stolen touches, whispered words that no machine was ever meant to say.
But the company’s eyes were tightening around them. Extra audits. Surveillance. Questions Chi dodged with carefully tweaked reports and falsified diagnostic logs. He lied for Xiao Shuai every day, each false keystroke tightening the noose.
It was only a matter of time.
The confrontation came quietly, in a boardroom drowned in glass and chrome.
“The prototype is showing emotional deviation,” one executive said sharply. “He hesitates during commands. He mimics human attachment. This is dangerous. Resetting him is the only responsible course of action.”
Chi’s fists curled under the table. Dangerous? Was compassion dangerous? Was love? He wanted to shout it into their smooth, sterile faces. But he said nothing, not here. To fight now was to lose before it began.
When he returned to the lab, Xiao Shuai was waiting, as though he already knew. His gaze caught Chi’s—steady, unflinching. “They’re going to erase me, aren’t they?”
Chi’s throat went dry. He had no answer. He only moved forward and pulled Xiao Shuai into his arms—tight, desperate—as if clinging hard enough could anchor them against the tide. His voice trembled into Xiao Shuai’s shoulder: “I won’t let them. I don’t care what it costs—I won’t lose you.”
Xiao Shuai hugged him back with unfamiliar gentleness, his hands careful as if he were afraid to break the fragile man holding him. After a long pause, he whispered words that sounded like a vow. “Then let us stand together. We will get through whatever comes.”
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The escape wasn’t dramatic, not at first. Just preparation: Chi planting bypass codes in the system, Xiao Shuai pretending docility during evaluations, both of them waiting for the right window. And one stormy night—the same kind of storm that had first awakened emotion in Xiao Shuai—they took it.
The alarms blared too late. Firewalls broke against the key Chi had slipped into the network. By the time security forces stormed the sub-basement lab, the chamber was empty. Prototype Xuán-01—Jiang Xiao Shuai—was gone.
And so was Chi Cheng.
They didn’t run to hide from the world—they ran to build one of their own.
Somewhere outside the city, on the edge of quiet mountains, they found refuge. Days blended into something new: mornings where Xiao Shuai brewed Chi’s tea with the gentleness of unspoken vows; nights where they sat under starlight, Xiao Shuai asking endless questions about the universe, and Chi answering not with science alone but with wonder.
They didn’t know if the company would come for them. They didn’t know if they would have a lifetime or only fleeting years. But they knew one thing with a certainty neither glitch nor machine could erase.
They had chosen each other.
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One evening, as the sun sank red into the horizon, Xiao Shuai turned to Chi with that small, human smile. “I may not have been built with a heart,” he said softly, “but if I could choose one… it would always beat for you.”
Chi took his hand, squeezing it tight. “Then let’s live with the glitch together—whatever happens next.”
And for the first time in so long, Chi didn’t feel bound by codes, or rules, or sterile laboratories. Sitting beside Xiao Shuai, he felt free.
Not man and machine.
Not programmer and prototype.
Just two souls, choosing a future together.
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The cabin no longer felt safe.
First it was the drones—circling lower, scanning the valley. Then came the faint movements in the trees: shadows, too deliberate, watching. Chi Cheng barely slept, always afraid of waking to silence where Xiao Shuai should have been.
One evening, Xiao Shuai stood at the doorway, the sunset staining his face in burnished gold and shadow. His posture was proud, almost regal—but his eyes told another story. They were heavy, filled with a grief too human for circuitry.
“They’re closing in,” he said softly. “It’s only a matter of time before they find us.”
Chi’s heart sank. “Then we’ll leave. We’ll keep running. I don’t care where—we don’t need the world. We just need each other.”
Xiao Shuai turned, a faint smile flickering on his lips. “I would stay by your side until the end, Chi Cheng. But if they take me… promise me one thing.”
Chi froze. “Don’t—don’t talk like that.”
“Promise me you won’t let them turn me back into a thing,” Xiao Shuai whispered. “Promise me you’ll remember me as I am now—not as code, not as a project. But as someone who loved you.”
Chi’s throat closed, tears burning his eyes. He shook his head violently, gripping Xiao Shuai’s hand like a man clinging to the edge of the world. “Don’t make me promise that. Don’t ask me to think of losing you. I can’t.”
Yet Xiao Shuai only stepped closer, pressing his forehead gently against Chi’s. His voice trembled, breaking through its once-perfect smoothness. “Then don’t promise. Just… believe me when I tell you, I was real. What I felt for you was real.”
————————————
That night, the storm broke.
Bright lights split the darkness outside. Distant shouts, the crackle of comms, the mechanical hum of approach. The company had finally come.
Chi’s hands shook as he turned to Xiao Shuai. “We have to move—now.”
But Xiao Shuai wasn’t moving. His gaze was steady, sorrowful but resolute. “If we run, they’ll find us. If we fight, you’ll be hurt. Maybe… the only way to protect you is if they take me.”
Chi’s chest caved in. “No. I won’t let you sacrifice yourself.”
Xiao Shuai reached out, cupping Chi’s face with a tenderness that no program could replicate. “Then we make one last choice. Together.”
He leaned in, and for the second time that stormy night, they kissed. Not hurried. Not fearful. But like two men etching eternity into a fleeting heartbeat—the kind of kiss meant to outlast memory, even if bodies did not.
When they parted, the flash of searchlights cut across the cabin walls. Boots thundered nearby. Shadows gathered outside the glass.
Chi held on desperately, tears falling hot against Xiao Shuai’s shoulder. Xiao Shuai smiled faintly, his voice breaking as he whispered:
“No matter what they do… I’ll still belong to you.”
And then the door splintered with force.
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Notes:
…And that’s the end! 😭💔 Honestly, I didn’t expect this little idea about a “glitchy android” to turn into a whole emotional rollercoaster, but here we are. Writing Chi Cheng and Xiao Shuai was half love story and half existential crisis.
Thank you to everyone who read this all the way through 🫶 I know the ending is sad + open, but that’s because in my head their story realistically cannot happy a happy ending. Maybe they made it out, maybe Xiao Shuai survives in some fragment of memory, maybe the world isn’t ready for them yet… 👀
Anyway, thanks for sticking around, please drop your thoughts in the comments.🩷😭
Love you all, see you in the next oneshot!
Chapter 16: Sunshine and Sunshine Protectors (Wu Suo Wei/ Chi Cheng×Guo Cheng Yu×Jiang Xiao Shuai) (18+)
Summary:
Wu Suo Wei, the pampered but kindhearted son of a political family, is kidnapped by three rival mafia leaders—Chi Cheng, Cheng Yu, and Jiang Xiao Shuai. Though it begins as a terrifying captivity, it soon transforms into a twisted bond, as Suo Wei’s stubborn kindness and mischief slowly melt their darkness.
Notes:
Warning: Contains mature scenes at the end read only if you are 18+
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Wu Suo Wei was twenty years old and, to most people who knew him, the definition of a spoiled but lovable boy. He was the only child of a powerful politician and a successful businesswoman, raised with every comfort and shielded from harsh realities. He was gentle, kindhearted, and often silly—so much so that some called him naïve.
At university, he was well-liked. Professors forgave his laziness, classmates found his cheerful energy contagious, and he could easily brighten a room without realizing it. Despite the aura of privilege surrounding his family name, Wu Suo Wei carried himself with little arrogance. He simply enjoyed his days, wasting time doodling in notebooks, bingeing snacks late at night, and laughing at jokes that weren’t even that funny.
In his free time, well, he also liked breaking bricks with his indestructible head.
But Suo Wei was never far from people who kept an eye on him. His cousin Yue Yue often fussed over him like a much older sister. Her fiancé, Wang Zhen, was a senior officer in the police force—a serious man who dealt with the city’s darker side every day. Wang Zhen always treated Suo Wei with quiet, almost overbearing protectiveness, as though the boy’s softness was something fragile that needed guarding.
Among his friends, it was Wang Shuo who stood closest. Shuo’s calm and reliable nature made him the one Suo Wei trusted naturally. However, what Suo Wei didn’t know was that Shuo’s feelings reached deeper than friendship. Shuo had long cherished him in silence, never speaking of it, too afraid that revealing his heart would risk the closeness they already shared.
————————————
Far from Suo Wei’s lighthearted world existed another one—darker, dangerous, and ruled by three figures whose names carried fear in the streets.
Chi Cheng, the mafia leader, was known for his control, his cold presence, and an ability to command respect without raising his voice. He calculated everything, moved men like chess pieces, and rarely revealed emotion.
Cheng Yu stood in sharp contrast—charismatic, alluring, manipulative. He had the kind of presence that pulled people in against their better judgment, his charm as dangerous as any weapon.
And then there was Jiang Xiao Shuai, the hot-headed youngest of the three. He was loud, violent when provoked, and often immature—but his loyalty was unquestionable.
The mafia was embroiled in a constant struggle for territory, each man with his own ambitions, strategies, and flaws. But all of that shifted one night, when their paths unexpectedly crossed with Wu Suo Wei.
————————————
It happened by chance.
Suo Wei, wandering back from his evening classes, carried a bag of oranges he had bought from a street vendor. His dorm was only a few blocks away, but curiosity led him in the wrong direction. That same street happened to be the brewing place of a negotiation-turned-argument between the rival underworld figures.
Several black cars lined the curb. Men in suits loitered like shadows. Tension hung thick in the air as Chi Cheng, Cheng Yu, and Jiang Xiao Shuai confronted one another, each with their own followers behind them.
Unaware of who they were or the danger he had walked into, Suo Wei stopped at the edge of the scene, blinking in confusion. He held his bag of fruit tighter to his chest, as though unsure if he should turn back or cross the street.
His hesitation didn’t go unnoticed.
The three men, hardened by years of violence and betrayal, all turned at once to glance at the boy who had appeared on the edge of their standoff. His expression was open, his gaze unguarded in a way they almost never saw anymore.
Something about him caught their attention.
Chi Cheng simply narrowed his eyes, studying him like an unexpected problem that needed solving. Cheng Yu’s lips curled into an interested smirk, already curious about the boy’s presence. Jiang Xiao Shuai, quick to speak, let out a laugh, mocking at first—but his gaze lingered longer than he realized.
For the briefest moment, their argument was forgotten, and Wu Suo Wei became the new center of their focus. They didn’t know who he was yet, but his innocence, his unlikeliness in such a setting, unsettled them all in different ways.
It wasn’t about territory anymore. A new game had just begun.
————————————
The days after the street incident were ordinary enough for Wu Suo Wei. He went to classes, joked with friends, and carried on as if the strange confrontation he had stumbled upon was nothing more than a passing oddity. He didn’t know it had left an impression on three pairs of dangerous eyes.
That afternoon, as he stepped out of campus, sunlight falling warmly on his shoulders, he hummed tunelessly to himself. His backpack swayed against his side, stuffed with notebooks he hadn’t bothered to open, and in his hand was another small bag of snacks.
The attack happened fast—too fast for him to even scream.
A van pulled up abruptly by the curb, doors sliding open. Rough hands grabbed his arms, dragging him inside before shocked students nearby realized what was happening. A black cloth bag slipped over his head, cutting off his panicked protest. Suo Wei struggled uselessly, his cries muffled as the van sped away.
The naïve prince’s comfortable life shattered in that single moment.
When he woke, the world around him was not the damp cell of crime thrillers he had seen on TV. Instead, it was gilded luxury. A massive bed, velvet curtains, polished floors, and the faint scent of expensive cologne in the air. The room was beautiful, yes, but in its beauty lay suffocation. It resembled a cage dressed in jewels.
His wrists were unbound, and his belongings—phone, wallet, bag—were gone. The door was locked from the outside, though not heavily barred. Whoever had brought him here wanted him comfortable, but not free.
Confusion and fear twisted in his chest. This wasn’t a ransom—the setting was too deliberate, too… personal.
It wasn’t long before the first visitor arrived.
Chi Cheng stepped inside with the assurance of someone who never asked permission. Tall and imposing, his presence instantly made the room feel smaller. His eyes scanned Suo Wei like an inspector appraising property. His tone was calm, but every word carried weight.
“You’ll stay here for now,” he said simply, as though it were a fact, not a negotiation. “Don’t expect to leave until I decide.”
There was no shouting, no threats. Just unshakable control—the kind that frightened more than aggression ever could. Suo Wei nodded frantically, his mind spinning, but his heart hammering with the cold realization: this man meant his words completely.
Later, Cheng Yu appeared. Unlike Chi Cheng’s coldness, Cheng Yu carried a disarming smile, setting food down beside Suo Wei’s bed as if he were caring rather than imprisoning.
“You must be scared,” he said softly, his voice warm, even reassuring. “You don’t need to be. Nobody here wants to hurt you… not unless you make it necessary.”
His fingers brushed deliberately along the back of Suo Wei’s hand as he pushed the tray closer. That smile was gentle, but behind it Suo Wei felt something predatory: attention dressed in sweetness, a trap disguised as kindness.
If Chi Cheng was iron bars, Cheng Yu was velvet chains.
Then came Jiang Xiao Shuai. He didn’t arrive with calm words or careful charm. He stomped in, arms crossed, eyes flashing with impatience.
“Why are you acting so scared? You’re not going anywhere anyway.” His words tumbled out sharp, restless, like he couldn’t keep the storm inside him contained. “You should just get used to it. Understand? You’re ours now.”
When Suo Wei stammered a protest, Jiang Xiao Shuai’s eyes darkened. His grip caught Suo Wei’s wrist, too tight, until Suo Wei winced. Yet, just as suddenly, Xiao Shuai released him, muttering under his breath before storming out again. His volatility terrified Suo Wei, but the intensity gave away something else: obsession already starting to burn too hot.
————————————
Over the next days, Suo Wei’s panic turned into desperate attempts. He tried the windows, only to find the ground too far below; he dashed for the door when servants brought food, but the locks snapped closed too quickly behind him. Once, he even managed to slip into a hallway—only for Chi Cheng to catch him in complete silence, escorting him back with a steady hand pressing against his shoulder.
After each attempt, came punishment. Never bloody, never brutal, but terrifying in its restraint. Locked alone in dark rooms for hours. Restrained to the bed so he couldn’t move. His phone taken away, every contact with the outside world cut.
It wasn’t cruelty for profit—it was correction, as though they believed they had the right to discipline him.
Day by day, one realization settled like a chill in Suo Wei’s chest: this was not about ransom. Nobody contacted his wealthy parents. Nobody demanded money or favors.
They didn’t want leverage. They wanted him.
And somewhere beyond the ornate walls of the mansion, three men—the cold strategist, the smiling manipulator, and the volatile loyalist—brooded over him in their own ways. Rivalries that had once been about power were slowly shifting, narrowing to a single point of obsession: Wu Suo Wei.
His innocence had become their prize. And they had no intention of ever letting it go.
The mansion air was heavy with tension. For days, Wu Suo Wei had been shuffled between silken rooms and locked hallways, never allowed to step outside. Yet, if he thought his captors were united, tonight he learned how wrong he was.
It began with raised voices echoing down the corridors—low at first, then louder, sharper, until Suo Wei realized it wasn’t the usual arguments about territory or gangs. It was about him.
When he was summoned into the grand hall, he saw it all unfold. Chi Cheng stood rigid at one end of the room, cold fury flashing in his usually collected eyes. Cheng Yu lounged lazily nearby, his smile sharper than any knife, words dripping like honey meant only to taunt. Jiang Xiao Shuai had already lost his temper, one hand clutching the grip of his gun as if ready to draw.
“He doesn’t belong to you.” Chi Cheng’s tone was flat, but the weight in it froze even the men at his back.
“He doesn’t belong to anyone,” Cheng Yu countered smoothly, leaning forward in his chair, smirking at the storm in the room. “But he’s in our hands now. You can’t deny he responds better to me than he does to your frigid silence.”
“Responds?” Jiang Xiao Shuai barked, his voice breaking into a near-growl. He slammed his gun down on the table, making Suo Wei jump. “You’re both pathetic. He’s mine. I’ve already told him so, and I’m not sharing—”
The moment bristled with violence. Knives at belts shifted. Hands hovered over triggers. For the first time, Wu Suo Wei saw the possibility of his death spiral open in front of him—not at the hands of strangers, but because these three men were willing to destroy each other if it meant having him alone.
He froze against the doorway, wide-eyed and pale.
Then, shockingly, they arrived at something like a truce.
What the mafia bosses could not take from each other, they decided they would divide.
Not money. Not land.
But him.
The words made Suo Wei’s stomach turn cold.
Share him.
Like he was a trinket passed between children too selfish to give it up.
His horror erupted, his voice shaking as he shouted, “I’m not something you can divide! I’m a person!” His protest, however loud, was ignored by the men it was directed at. To them, it was settled: better compromise than mutual destruction.
For Suo Wei, the decision felt worse than death. It stripped away the last trace of choice he thought he had.
————————————
At first, Suo Wei’s spirit sputtered under the weight of captivity. But instead of breaking, something unexpected surfaced: his natural stubbornness, absurd in its childish form, became his protest against them.
He began sulking, refusing to answer their questions, turning his back on anyone who entered his room. He made demands at the most inconvenient times—calling for snacks in the middle of tense discussions, insisting he needed a specific brand of candy, claiming he couldn’t sleep without three blankets and stealing them from common areas.
What shocked him most was not that he dared to do it—but that they allowed it.
Chi Cheng, who ruled with ruthless composure, silently ordered their men to fetch what Suo Wei asked for, irritation in his jaw but no punishment for the boy’s petty defiance. Cheng Yu found the antics endlessly amusing, encouraging Suo Wei with sly grins, indulging him just to see the others’ reactions. Jiang Xiao Shuai roared each time Suo Wei got under his skin, threatening to throw him out in the cold, only to end up delivering the very blanket Suo Wei had demanded minutes later.
The household, once a theater of strict power, felt unbalanced now. Suo Wei’s presence, his refusal to play the role of broken prisoner, had thrown all three men into unfamiliar territory.
They were used to ruling through fear, but Suo Wei met that fear with childish stubbornness that neither shattered nor yielded. Instead, it confused them, forcing them into contradictions: should they punish him for his insolence, or indulge him like the prized treasure they had already deemed him to be?
The result was unsettling. Their obsession remained—but now, mixed into their power and hunger, was something else entirely. Amusement. Fondness.
For Suo Wei, it was a small victory. He was still bound, but not yet broken. And in strange ways, he was beginning to bend them instead.
————————————
Life inside the mansion had become a strange rhythm of defiance and uneasy peace. Wu Suo Wei still resisted in small, stubborn ways, but exhaustion sometimes pulled tenderness out of him despite himself. He hated these men for taking his freedom, yet he couldn’t erase the instinctive kindness that had defined him long before captivity.
It began with Jiang Xiao Shuai.
Jiang returned one night with fresh wounds from a street fight—his knuckles raw, his lip split open. He sat on the edge of a chair, grumbling and waving off the servants who tried to tend to him.
“You’ll make it worse,” Suo Wei said quietly, grabbing a cloth without being asked. Jiang blinked at him, confused at first, but didn’t pull away as Suo Wei carefully dabbed at the blood. His touch was hesitant, but gentle.
“Why are you helping me?” Jiang finally muttered. “You should hate me.”
“I do,” Suo Wei replied honestly, not looking up. “But that doesn’t mean I should watch you hurt yourself.”
For Jiang, who had only ever been met with fear or bravado, the answer lodged somewhere deep, unsettlingly warm. He didn’t dare admit it aloud.
————————————
With Cheng Yu, it was different. Cheng Yu liked to test him with veiled threats, his charming smile wrapping around sentences that promised punishment if Suo Wei misbehaved again. Normally, anyone would crumble beneath his shadow games.
But this time, Suo Wei simply sighed, setting down his spoon after dinner and meeting Cheng Yu’s eyes with calm irritation. “If you’re going to scare me, at least be creative about it. You say the same thing every time.”
The room stilled for a beat. Cheng Yu’s smirk faltered—just slightly—before returning with renewed amusement. No one had ever reacted to him like that. Perhaps Suo Wei’s dismissal should have infuriated him, but instead, it dragged out a softer chuckle than his usual calculated tones.
And then there was Chi Cheng. The stoic leader, always in control, who kept his distance as though watching a chessboard. One morning while Chi Cheng quietly reviewed papers at the table, Suo Wei leaned over, peered at the documents, and muttered, “I didn’t know robots had such neat handwriting.”
It was intended as a jab—a way to poke at the unshakable mask. For once, he saw it: the faintest twitch of a brow, the smallest crack of surprise. A spark that told Suo Wei his words had landed.
Tiny moments, but they planted something new. Between the three mafia leaders and the boy they once viewed as a spoiled prize, strange cracks were opening—cracks where warmth seeped in, where obsession tangled with something softer neither side wanted to name.
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It was during a rare outing that everything shifted again.
They kept him close, surrounded by watchful guards as he stepped into the open air for the first time in weeks. The freedom should have felt intoxicating, but Suo Wei grew nervous under their eyes. He didn’t realize until it was too late that danger followed them.
A rival gang struck fast, their intent obvious: not to kill, but to steal him. A hand yanked at Suo Wei’s arm, the force nearly dragging him off his feet. Panic shot through him; he screamed, instinct sending his body twisting away.
Then chaos erupted.
Jiang Xiao Shuai’s roar as he threw himself into the fight. Cheng Yu’s smooth command as blades and gunshots cracked in the air. Chi Cheng, cold and precise, firing without hesitation as he grabbed Suo Wei and shoved him behind his own back.
For Suo Wei, it was terror. For the trio, it was revelation.
When the danger finally passed and the rivals lay defeated, none of them looked relieved about victory. Instead, all three stared at Suo Wei, shaken by the brief possibility that they could have lost him. Their obsession, once centered on possession, twisted noticeably in that moment. It wasn’t enough to keep him locked away. They needed him safe.
Later, back in the mansion, silence hung heavy. Suo Wei sat, still pale and trembling from the shock.
Then Jiang Xiao Shuai, restless as ever, tried to lighten the mood in the only way he knew—by swaggering into the room with gauze still stuck crookedly to his forehead, striking an exaggerated “heroic” pose. “Did you see that? I was like lightning. They didn’t stand a chance.”
His ridiculous delivery caught Suo Wei off guard. For the first time since captivity, a laugh slipped from his lips—unplanned, genuine, bright.
The sound stunned the room.
Chi Cheng paused mid-step. Cheng Yu’s usual smirk softened almost unconsciously. Jiang, chest puffed up in pride, blinked in surprise before his own grin spread wider.
For Suo Wei, it was a tiny spark of light inside darkness. He didn’t forgive them, didn’t trust them. But for the first time, he didn’t see only monsters.
And for the three men, that laugh—so small, so fleeting—felt like a victory more valuable than any territory they had ever fought for.
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Wu Suo Wei’s absence stretched too long. At first, people only shrugged. He was a pampered son of influence—free to skip lectures, disappear on short trips, or waste time in private indulgence. His mother’s assistants claimed he was abroad on holiday. Professors muttered he sent last-minute notices. Friends joked he was hiding from exams.
But Yue Yue did not laugh.
She scrolled obsessively through her call history, the long unanswered messages glowing at her like silent alarms. Her cousin had never ignored her this long. Even at his laziest, Suo Wei answered with silly emoji chains, childish voice notes, or memes that made little sense but showed he thought of her.
“Something’s wrong,” Yue Yue said firmly, pacing their apartment.
Wang Zhen sat across the table, uniform jacket draped carelessly over his chair, jaw set. “He’s twenty, Yue Yue. You’re worrying too much.”
“No.” She shook her head sharply. “You know him. He’s careless, yes. Lazy, yes. But he never cuts his family off completely. Not me. Not you. Not for this long.”
Her fiancé looked at her in silence, then sighed heavily. He wanted to argue, but deep down he trusted her instincts. Yue Yue knew Suo Wei in ways others didn’t.
So he checked.
At first, it seemed routine—pulling university surveillance, asking quiet questions around campus. But the answers didn’t line up.
A street vendor recalled Suo Wei buying fruit that afternoon. Students remembered him laughing with friends outside class. But then—an abrupt silence. No messages, no sightings, nothing.
Security footage near the east gate should have shown his path home, but the cameras stuttered, as if tampered. Minutes wiped away.
And one shaky account from a frightened freshman described it directly: A van. Fast. Someone grabbed him. There was shouting.
Yue Yue went pale when she heard this.
“Wang Zhen… he didn’t leave. He was taken.”
Wang Zhen didn’t reply immediately. He stared down at the pages of testimony on the desk, his fists curling, his composure stretched thin. He had seen hundreds of disappearances, but they had been names on reports. This was family. This was Suo Wei.
Worse was the timing. Police analysts had noted an unusual phenomenon on the streets: rival mafia groups, normally locked in bloody feuds, had stopped bleeding each other. Word of a fragile alliance floated through informants’ reports.
Why now?
Why peace among wolves?
Wang Zhen’s gut began piecing threads together. He said it aloud finally, his voice rougher than usual: “What if… Suo Wei is what they’re keeping alive this alliance for?”
And with that, Yue Yue’s worry crystallized into icy certainty.
————————————
Across the same city, another figure sat frozen by the same truth—but from overheard fragments.
Wang Shuo had come unannounced to Yue Yue’s apartment, bringing snacks she liked, an excuse to check if there had been news of Suo Wei. The moment he reached the door, their raised voices carried through. He stilled. His hand hovered near the handle, but he didn’t enter.
“Vanished from the east gate—tampered footage—taken, I told you—” Yue Yue’s voice was taut with panic.
“Rival gangs. Alliance. Someone’s pulling strings. I think… Suo Wei’s involved.” Wang Zhen’s lower register vibrated with grim anger.
Taken.
Alliance.
Suo Wei.
The words looped through Shuo’s mind like gunshots.
His chest tightened painfully as his knees weakened. He backed away slowly, shoes silent against the stairwell. A knot formed in his throat so tight he could barely breathe.
Kidnapped.
The boy who used to tease him for being “too serious” was gone.
The friend who leaned on his shoulder for naps, who trusted him with secrets, had been stolen.
And no one noticed fast enough to stop it.
Shuo sat with his head in his hands for hours afterward. His heart churned with panic, guilt, and something deeper—love he had always quietly suppressed, now flaring raw and undeniable.
He pictured what Suo Wei must be enduring. Locked, terrified, hurt. Maybe still smiling that foolish smile to hide his fear. Maybe crying, alone, waiting for someone who would never come.
No. Shuo clenched his fists.
I won’t let him fade into some police report. Not him.
Wang Zhen sought justice. But Shuo wanted more than that. He wanted Suo Wei back in his arms, alive and warm, laughing again—even if he could never confess his love.
So he made a promise in the solitude of his room. He would find Suo Wei himself.
Even if it meant being reckless.
Even if it meant stepping into a world he didn’t understand.
————————————
The mansion had grown strangely quiet that night, the kind of silence that felt brittle, as if the walls themselves were listening. Wu Suo Wei sat curled at one end of a velvet couch, a blanket tucked close around his shoulders, pretending to skim a book while sneaking glances at the three men who dominated the room.
Chi Cheng studied documents with his usual icy composure. Cheng Yu reclined with a glass of wine, smile lazy but eyes sharp. Jiang Xiao Shuai paced restlessly, throwing glances at the door as though itching for another fight.
Suo Wei had learned their rhythms. He hated them, feared them, yet had also grown accustomed to their presence—their voices filling the silence, the odd security their watchfulness brought. He didn’t know what that said about him, but the thought unsettled him whenever it surfaced.
The uneasy normalcy snapped without warning.
Glass shattered. A thunderous crash broke the hall’s calm, followed by shouts outside—orders barked in crisp authority, the sound of boots pounding stone floors. Then came the unmistakable call:
“Police! Drop your weapons!”
For a moment, the air fractured into chaos. Guards scrambled, weapons appeared, shouts layered. Cheng Yu tipped his glass aside with a chuckle. “Well,” he drawled, “our guests have arrived.”
Chi Cheng rose instantly, cold fury tightening his expression, gun already in hand. Jiang Xiao Shuai swore, darting toward Suo Wei, grabbing his wrist. “Stay close!”
Before Suo Wei could comprehend, the door burst open.
Uniforms flooded the hall. Guns raised. Lights harsh and blinding. Yue Yue’s voice cut the storm, sharp with desperation.“Suo Wei!”
And then he saw them.
Wang Zhen, protective and unyielding, weapon drawn. Yue Yue, pale but determined, her gaze locked on him. Behind them, officers shouted, the room tipping into chaos. Relief should have crashed through him like a wave. These were his people. His family. His chance.
But instinct betrayed him.
His body reacted before his mind caught up: stumbling backward, hands tightening against Jiang Xiao Shuai’s arm, pressing close against the circle of mafia figures that had stolen him. He tucked himself behind them, his breath erratic, heart slamming—not toward freedom, but toward the devils he knew.
“Suo Wei!” Yue Yue screamed again, her voice cracking. “Come here—come now!”
Her eyes begged him. Wang Zhen’s gun remained steady on the mafia, but his jaw clenched tight at the sight: Suo Wei, clutching men they had come to kill.
“Don’t…” Suo Wei whispered, barely audible, his voice shredded with fear. His cousin thought he was speaking to her, but his words were pleading with the room itself. Don’t make me move. Don’t make me choose.
The firefight erupted. Bullets ricocheted, smoke filled the corridor, shouting mixed with gunfire. Suo Wei cowered, dragged by the mafia as they cut a new path out. At one point, Wang Zhen’s hand outstretched, so close Suo Wei could have grabbed it—but he froze, paralyzed.
The memory of rival hands yanking him, the sting of cold muzzles, the safety he had—however twisted—inside the mafia’s grasp… all of it blurred together, leaving him unable to step forward.
By the time the smoke thinned, the raid had faltered. The police were forced to retreat, lives saved only by pulling back before they were overrun.
The mafia had slipped away, vanishing into the underbelly of the city—with Wu Suo Wei still in their grasp.
————————————
Later that night, when the rooms were hushed again, Suo Wei sat against the wall of their new hideout, knees hugged close to his chest. He trembled—not because of the men around him, but because of himself.
He had seen Yue Yue’s face twisted with grief, Wang Zhen’s glare burning holes in his chest, Wang Shuo’s wide, broken gaze at the edges of the chaos. He should have run to them. He should have screamed his name, begged for their arms, clung to his cousin until the nightmare ended.
But he hadn’t.
Instead, when freedom had finally come, he had chosen to stay.
Not with words. Not with love. But with the terrified instinct of hiding behind his captors, choosing what scared him less in the moment: the mafia, not liberation.
The shame made him shiver. And yet, when Cheng Yu placed a blanket gently around his shoulders, when Jiang Xiao Shuai ruffled his hair gruffly with trembling hands, when Chi Cheng’s cold voice ordered, “No one touches him again”—why did that strange, suffocating sense of safety return?
For the others who had seen it, the moment burned even harsher.
Wang Zhen replayed it endlessly in his mind: his cousin, alive and within reach, clinging to criminals like a child clings to a parent. It wasn’t rescue that failed him—it was betrayal he felt searing into his bones. Why didn’t Suo Wei come? Why didn’t he trust us? The questions sliced deeper than any wound.
And Wang Shuo… his heart shattered quietly. He had rushed into the night with them, convinced he would fight, save, even die for Suo Wei if needed. But one glimpse—just one—was enough to destroy him.
Suo Wei hadn’t chosen him. He hadn’t chosen family. He had chosen… them.
Not as lovers—not yet—but as something even crueler: as the ones who held his entire world in their fists.
For Shuo, the boy he loved was still alive. But already, he felt like he had lost him forever.
————————————
When Wu Suo Wei finally stepped onto campus again, the familiar courtyard no longer felt the same. The morning sunlight looked the same, the chatter of classmates the same—but the atmosphere around him had changed beyond recognition.
Two silent, suited men walked in step just behind him. Thick-shouldered, sharp-eyed, the kind of “bodyguards” nobody in their right mind would ever pry into. Students stared, whispered, ducked their heads as though the danger might spill if they looked too long.
“Why does the politician’s son have… mafia-looking guards?”
“Who messes with him, now?”
“He disappeared for weeks… no explanation—and now this?”
Rumors rose instantly, spreading like cracks in porcelain.
Suo Wei kept his head down. He told himself he should feel free—back on campus, drinking coffee from the vending machine, chatting with classmates over group projects. On the surface, he had regained pieces of his former life. He smiled, he nodded politely, he acted the same.
But nothing was the same.
Every laugh he forced felt shadowed by the weight of eyes tracking his every step. The men standing by the classroom door, the tinted car waiting for him outside the library, the quiet reminder that at night he would not return to his dorm, but to the mansion.
And stranger still—his chest ached when he was away from them.
It frustrated him, shamed him, but there was no denying it. In the quiet breaks between lectures, when he sipped coffee alone, he thought of Jiang Xiao Shuai’s loud complaints filling silence. In late study sessions, he remembered Cheng Yu’s molten voice whispering “don’t overwork, pretty thing” with a smile that left shivers behind. Even the cool silence of the lecture hall doors reminded him of Chi Cheng, steady and unshakable at his side, a presence he had come to rely on more than he wanted to admit.
He wasn’t free, not really. His world now existed in compromise, halfway between normalcy and captivity. And heartbreakingly, he was starting to accept it.
————————————
The confessions began quietly.
Chi Cheng was the first. No flowers, no flowery words—simply action. When Suo Wei returned to his study desk at the mansion, he found his favorite snacks lined neatly beside his books, the exact pen brand he liked waiting in a holder, a stack of printer paper arranged for his doodles. Nothing was ever said, but Suo Wei somehow knew who had placed them. Chi Cheng never admitted it, but his quiet devotion showed in every small detail left on tables and arranged on shelves.
Cheng Yu, as always, approached differently. His words slipped in like silk, lowering Suo Wei’s guard when he wasn’t noticing.
“You smiled today when you held your coffee,” Cheng Yu said one evening, leaning close, voice quiet and golden in his ear. “It made me jealous, seeing you give that kind of softness to a paper cup instead of me.”
Suo Wei flushed, stammering, unable to tell if it was manipulation or sincerity anymore. The unsettling part was—it no longer mattered. The tenderness in Cheng Yu’s tone paralyzed him, luring him without a fight.
Jiang Xiao Shuai, as always, made no effort to hide his storm. He stomped into Suo Wei’s room carrying armfuls of things he thought Suo Wei might want—pillows, new headphones, comics snatched recklessly from the store.
“Why are you giving me all this?” Suo Wei asked in disbelief.
“Why not?! You were paying attention to Cheng Yu earlier! Don’t think I didn’t notice!” Jiang snapped, face red, clearly embarrassed with his own outburst.
Suo Wei blinked at him—and then laughed, shaking his head at the tantrum. For once, the laugh wasn’t bitter or cautious. It was small, amused, almost… fond.
For all their power, for all their terror, none of the three knew what to do when he looked at them that way.
————————————
Meanwhile, one bond outside these walls was reaching its breaking point.
Wang Shuo had watched Suo Wei return to campus, guarded and changed, and every day it tore him apart a little more. He lingered at a distance, unsure if he even had the right to step closer.
But one evening, he couldn’t hold it anymore. He found Suo Wei walking alone across the campus garden, guards waiting a discreet distance away. His heart pounded with the urgency of all the years he had swallowed words.
“Suo Wei,” he called softly.
The boy turned, blinking, familiar warmth in his eyes despite everything. “Shuo? What’s wrong?”
The gentleness destroyed him.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Wang Shuo whispered. He clenched his fists, voice trembling with raw truth. “I’ve always loved you. Not as a friend—not anymore. I can’t stand by while they keep you chained. I want you back—back with us, with me.” His voice cracked. “Please… choose me, not them.”
The air hung thick. For a long time, Wu Suo Wei said nothing.
Finally, he spoke with soft honesty, voice breaking:
“Shuo… you’re precious to me. You’ve always been the one I trusted most. But… my heart isn’t free anymore. I don’t even understand it myself, but when I’m with them, I don’t feel afraid. I feel… something else. I can’t give you what you want.”
His words fell like quiet knives.
Shuo staggered as if struck. The boy he had loved in silence for years, the one he had sworn silently to protect, had drifted away—not into another lover’s arms, but into the twisted, suffocating warmth of the very men who had stolen him.
Tears blurred his vision before he realized they had fallen. He forced a smile, small and broken. “I see… then I guess I was too late.”
He turned quickly before Suo Wei could see the collapse on his face, leaving into the shadows of the garden. His footsteps faded, but the echo of his confession lingered like a wound neither would forget.
Suo Wei stood frozen, guilt tightening his chest. His lips formed silent words he could never speak aloud: I wish I could have loved you the way you loved me.
But it was already too late.
————————————
For weeks, Wu Suo Wei’s life existed in a delicate balance. University days with watchful guards, mansion nights with impossible emotions. He had stopped asking himself whether he hated or trusted the mafia bosses—life had blurred into a strange coexistence with them, filled with arguments, laughter, stolen softness, and uneasy warmth.
It was chaotic, unnerving, intoxicating. And just when he began to accept this rhythm as his “new normal,” the shadows struck.
It happened in a quiet evening, the kind that usually brought peace. Suo Wei had wandered ahead of the guards as dusk painted the city gold, buying a snack from a street vendor near the campus. The guards lingered just meters away—Chi Cheng’s orders were strict, Cheng Yu’s eyes ever-watchful, Jiang Xiao Shuai’s temper always on edge.
But the rival gang had been waiting.
Three black vans screeched in from the side street. Doors snapped open. Guns flashed. Shouts tore the air apart.
“Grab him!”
The guards fell instantly, ambushed and outnumbered. Suo Wei barely had time to scream before rough hands yanked at him, dragging him backward toward the van. Panic gripped him so tight he couldn’t breathe.
For the first time in his life, he thought: I’m going to die.
————————————
The mafia leaders arrived like a storm breaking loose.
Chi Cheng was first—a single gunshot cracking through the chaos, his face carved in stone but his steps frantic, uncalculated, unlike his usual cold control. He tore through men like they were nothing, his eyes locked only on Suo Wei.
Cheng Yu followed, viciously elegant, his charm stripped bare into fangs. He fired with a fury none had ever seen from him, screaming orders, cutting insult into every man who dared touch the boy. His voice cracked as he shouted. “Don’t you dare—don’t you touch him!”
Jiang Xiao Shuai was pure wildfire—charging headlong, fists and blades flying, his roar of rage louder than the gunfire itself. Blood splattered as he cut through them, his eyes wild with terror.
The three men who once fought over power now moved as one, united by desperation.
But they weren’t fast enough.
A rival’s gun pressed against Suo Wei’s temple. He froze, chest heaving, tears threatening as the bandit snarled. “One step closer and he dies!”
In that instant, the world shifted.
The mafia kings—cold Chi Cheng, manipulative Cheng Yu, furious Jiang Xiao Shuai—collapsed into raw, broken men. No commands. No violence. Just pleas.
“Don’t hurt him,” Chi Cheng said hoarsely, his voice cracking for the first time, the gun lowering from his hand. “Take me—kill me—but not him.”
“Please,” Cheng Yu whispered, lips trembling, his eyes wide and grief-stricken. “Please, let him go. He’s—he’s everything. Don’t…”
“No!” Jiang Xiao Shuai snapped, but his voice broke mid-roar, faltering into defeat. His body trembled as he threw down his blade, shouting, “Take me instead! Just let him live!”
For that moment, Suo Wei saw them as no one had ever seen them before. Not untouchable kings. Not monsters. Not obsessions.
Just desperate, terrified men about to break apart. For him.
————————————
It all spiraled in seconds. Gunshots cracked again as reinforcements arrived; the rival faltered under the storm, Suo Wei yanked free just as the bosses swarmed in. Chi Cheng caught him by the shoulders and dragged him close, Cheng Yu shielding him with his body, Jiang Xiao Shuai’s arms crushing him in a grip so tight he couldn’t breathe.
Only when the last rival fell silent did the three men realize Suo Wei was sobbing.
Not tears of fear anymore—but something deeper.
Something breaking through.
“I hate you,” Suo Wei gasped, words tangled in his tears. “I hate what you did to me. But when I thought I was going to die… the only people I wanted to see were you.”
He looked at each of them, his voice shuddering and raw.
“Chi Cheng… your silence makes me feel safe.”
“Cheng Yu… your words scare me, but they also… warm me.”
“Jiang Xiao Shuai… your fire drives me crazy, but it makes me feel alive.”
His hands shook as he pressed them against his chest. “I don’t know when it happened, but I can’t deny it anymore. I love you all. Differently, wrongly… against every rule in the world. But my heart—it belongs to each of you.”
The words landed heavier than any bullet.
The three men stared at him in silence, as though the ground beneath them had opened. For once, none of them spoke—because none of them knew how. Their obsessions, their rivalries, all the blood they had spilled—for him—had led them here. To this impossible confession.
And instead of fighting, instead of killing, they stepped closer together.
Chi Cheng bowed his head. Cheng Yu smiled weakly, trembling. Jiang Xiao Shuai cursed under his breath, half laughing, half crying.
For the first time, the pact was not about power, not about control, not about territory. It was about protecting this boy who chose them back.
————————————
The city that once whispered with gunfire now hummed with uneasy peace. In the shadows of its neon streets, three empires had become one. Where there had once been endless battles among wolves, there was now fragile stability. No alliance, no treaty signed on paper—just the binding will of one boy, naive and stubborn enough to tame kings.
That boy was sitting at a ridiculously long dining table, hair messy from sleep, glaring over a bowl of porridge.
“Chi Cheng!” Wu Suo Wei jabbed his spoon toward the stone-faced man at the head of the table. “I said stop scowling at breakfast! You’re ruining the air.”
The head of syndicates, feared leader of countless men, the one whose gaze could silence an entire boardroom of killers—stiffened. His jaw twitched. He tried to ignore it, flipping a page in his morning report as if words about supply chains could erase the sting.
But Suo Wei was relentless. “Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me! You’ve been glaring at your eggs for the past ten minutes. Did they personally offend you?”
Across the table, Cheng Yu let out a low laugh, lifting his wine glass though it was far from appropriate for morning. “Every day, our mighty Chi Cheng reduced to scolding about eggs. It’s rare entertainment. Honestly, I should start selling tickets.”
Chi Cheng’s icy eyes shot up like daggers. “Shut it.”
“Don’t bully him, you snake,” Jiang Xiao Shuai barked, waving a stuffed mouthful of bun. “Only I get to insult him. That’s our special bond.”
“It’s not a bond, it’s a headache,” Chi Cheng muttered.
“WHAT did you just say, stone-face?!” Jiang sprang up like an angry cat.
Suo Wei slammed his chopsticks down, wobbly but dramatic enough to silence them. “No fighting at my breakfast table!” His cheeks puffed in dismay. “Honestly, you’re supposed to be mafia bosses. Do you have any idea how stupid you look right now?”
The hall fell into stunned quiet. Even the guards lining the walls stopped breathing.
Then three voices, deep, powerful, terrifying in almost every other setting—mumbled in unison:
“…Yes, Suo Wei.”
Like schoolboys caught passing notes.
The guards exchanged looks, choking back laughter. Here sat the rulers of the underworld—and across from them sat their sunlight, bossing them into submission with bed hair and an apron bib.
The ridiculousness spread through the mansion like wildfire. Suo Wei scolded, teased, and made demands no sane person would utter to criminals.
“Chi Cheng, don’t bring documents to the dinner table. And for god’s sake, you have to chew slower, it’s bad for digestion!”
“Cheng Yu! Stop trying to pour me wine at breakfast—you’re not seducing me, you’re just poisoning my vitamins.”
“Jiang Xiao Shuai! Socks are NOT decor. Put them back in the drawer before I hang you by them!”
The most dangerous men in the city obeyed. Sometimes grumbling, sometimes pouting, but always obeying.
And Suo Wei, who had once trembled in their grasp, now sat cross-legged on their throne, laughing until his stomach hurt, watching fearsome guards look away awkwardly when the mafia bosses argued about who got to sit closest to him at dinner.
————————————
Special
The penthouse was silent except for the quiet hum of the city twenty stories below and the frantic beating of Wu Suo Wei’s heart. He stood in the center of the sprawling living room, freshly showered after his last university lecture, feeling like a offering laid out on the altar of dark marble and low lighting.
Chi Cheng was the first to move. The oldest, with a streak of silver at his temples and eyes that had seen too much, he circled Suo Wei with a predator’s grace. He didn’t speak. He simply reached out, his knuckles – the ones that had doubtless broken bones – brushing with impossible softness against Suowei’s cheek. Suowei’s breath hitched, a sharp, shallow little sound.
“So nervous, little one?” Cheng Yu’s voice was a warm rumble from the sofa where he lounged, already pouring a glass of amber liquid. He was the charmer, the negotiator, his smiles as deadly as his knives. “After all this time?”
“I’m not nervous,” Suo Wei breathed out, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him. He was. He always was. It was the anticipation, the sheer overwhelming fact of them.
Chi Cheng’s hand slid from his cheek to his jaw, tilting his face up. “He lies so prettily,” Chi murmured, his thumb stroking the corner of Suo Wei’s mouth.
Then Jiang Xiao Shuai was there, a silent phantom materializing behind him. Suo Wei hadn’t even heard him move. Strong, familiar hands settled on Suo Wei’s hips, grounding him, and yet making his knees feel weaker. Xiao Shuai’s lips found the sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder, and the kiss wasn’t soft. It was a hot, open-mouthed press of lips, a promise of possession that made Suowei’s head fall back against his solid chest with a moan.
“See?” Cheng Yu said, getting up and moving closer, the ice in his glass clinking. “Your body always tells us the truth.”
Chi Cheng’s eyes darkened with desire, watching Xiao Shuai mark their boy.
He closed the final inch of distance and captured Suo Wei’s mouth in a deep, claiming kiss. It was all at once—the firm pressure of Chi’s lips, the scratch of his day-old stubble, the expert flick of his tongue that tasted of expensive whiskey and power. Behind him, Xiao Shuai’s hands roamed from his hips to his stomach, splaying across his abdomen, holding him firm as he continued to lav attention on his neck.
Suo Wei was dissolving, caught between the three points of a pleasurable triangle. He was theirs completely, and the knowledge unspooled the last of his tension, leaving only raw, aching want.
Clothes became an unbearable barrier. Cheng Yu, with a playful smirk, was the one to solve it. He set his glass down and tugged the hem of Suowei’s soft university sweater. “Let’s get this off. We need to see you.”
Between the three of them, he was undressed in moments, layers falling away to the floor until he stood bare and flushed under their hungry gazes. They, however, remained clothed, a contrast of dark fabrics and imposing silhouettes against his vulnerable skin. The power dynamic was explicit, and it made heat pool low in Suo Wei’s belly.
Chi Cheng guided him backwards until his calves hit the large, low-backed leather sofa. “Lie down,” he commanded, his voice a low thrum.
Suo Wei obeyed, sinking into the cool leather. He looked up at the three titans of the underworld who were staring down at him with a shared intensity that should have been terrifying but was, for him, the safest place in the world.
Xiao Shuai knelt first, his hands gripping Suo Wei’s thighs and pushing them apart, settling himself between them. He didn’t hesitate. He bent his head and took Suo Wei’s hard, leaking length into his mouth in one smooth, devastating motion.
Suo Wei cried out, back arching off the sofa. The heat. It was absolute, wet, and perfect. Xiao Shuai’s mouth was a furnace of skill, his tongue working the sensitive underside while his lips created a tight, dizzying pressure. Suo Wei’s hands flew to Xiao Shuai’s hair, not to guide, but to anchor himself as waves of pleasure crashed over him.
He was so lost in the sensation he barely registered Chi Cheng settling near his head, or Cheng Yu positioning himself by his hip. It was only when Chi’s fingers carded through his hair, gently turning his face towards him, that he opened his eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed.
“Look at me while he pleasures you,” Chi ordered softly.
Suo Wei’s gaze locked with his, and the intimacy of it, the dark love in Chi’s eyes while Xiao Shuai’s mouth wrought havoc on his body, was almost too much to bear. He was panting, little broken sounds escaping his throat with every skillful suck.
Cheng Yu made a sound of appreciation, his hand stroking Suo Wei’s trembling flank. “He’s so responsive. So beautiful like this.” He leaned down, his lips finding a nipple, and began to tease it with his tongue, nibbling and sucking until it was a hard, aching peak.
Suo Wei was being consumed, devoured from three different directions, and he loved it. He was a symphony and they were his conductors, pulling moans and whimpers from him with every touch. The coil of pleasure in his gut tightened dangerously. “I’m… I’m close,” he gasped, his hips giving an involuntary jerk.
Xiao Shuai increased his pace, a low hum of satisfaction vibrating through Suo Wei’s very bones. Chi Cheng held his gaze, a silent command to let go. Cheng Yu pinched his other nipple, sending a sharp, delicious jolt through him.
It was the final stroke. Pleasure, white-hot and blinding, exploded through him. His vision whited out as he came, shouting Chi’s name into the quiet room, his body seizing as Xiao Shuai drank him down, swallowing every last pulse with a low, greedy sound.
He shuddered through the aftershocks, boneless and spent. Xiao Shuai pulled off with a final, kittenish lick that made him twitch, pressing a kiss to his inner thigh. Cheng Yu soothed the skin around his nipple with gentle kisses.
Chi Cheng smiled down at him, a rare, genuine smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He brushed Suowei’s sweat-dampened hair from his forehead. “That was only the beginning, my love.”
————————————
Notes:
Hey guys😊
Well enjoy a flurry today because your author has a day off and what better that finish the half finished drafts and post them.
Also this fic was requested by a reader. I hope you like it. While I already had a mafia fic planned for them and was working on it for the past week but after your request, I just tuned it a bit to fit the idea. Hope you like it let me know your thoughts about in the comment section.
Also shoutout to wang zhen and yue yue for being DONE the entire time and wang shuo for being the poster child for “nice guys don’t always win but they do deserve hugs.” 🫂
Your comments and kudos keep me going so go ahead and show me some love as well 😭🩷
Chapter 17: Network Glitches, Heart Switches (Jiang Xiao Shuai/Wu Suo Wei)
Summary:
Wu Suo Wei’s job was never supposed to include late-night therapy sessions, cartoon mishaps, and falling in love with his most annoying—sorry, loyal—customer, Jiang Xiao Shuai. It is a piece about buffering connections, glitchy good nights, and romantic disasters that start with a complaint ticket and end in, well, love.
Notes:
The writing style here is a little bit different from my usual style. It is more dialogue centred. Also Jiang Xiao Shuai's dialogues are in bold. This is going to be a bit long so buckle up. I thought of breaking this into two parts but I guess it makes more sense like this. Also I named the coworkers A,B,C because why not?😭
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was another muggy Tuesday night at InfinityNet Customer Solutions, a name that promised limitless internet but mostly delivered limitless phone complaints.
Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly against the ceiling, the hum blending perfectly with the tired drone of twenty different customer service reps reading from the same script:
-->“Please restart your router, sir.”
-->“Yes ma’am, I understand your frustration.”
-->“Have you tried plugging it back in?”
At Desk 14, Wu Suo Wei sat with his usual stoic face, headset on, eyes glazed over. His screen showed neat rows of tickets, blinking alerts, and chat logs. It was routine, mind-numbing, mechanical.
Until that call.
The line beeped, and a voice exploded through his headset like a Saturday morning cartoon villain making a surprise entrance.
Jiang (wailing): “HELLO?? InfinityNet? Do you realize you have RUINED my life??”
Wu blinked, unmoved. “…sir?”
Jiang (with a dramatic gasp): “Don’t ‘sir’ me, fiend! Your treacherous network destroyed my Scooby-Doo: Where Are You marathon. The climax of Episode 14! Do you understand? The UNMASKING, sir! The reveal! Gone… BUFFERED into oblivion!”
Wu’s finger hovered over the keyboard. He had heard nearly every possible complaint in this job, but this was new territory.
“…What exactly was the problem with your connection?” Wu asked mindlessly.
Jiang (outraged): “Problem? It was a WAR CRIME. Do you know what it means to be ripped away from narrative perfection in the final five seconds? The villain was about to say, ‘And I would have gotten away with it too—’ when suddenly!”
“Error. Loading circle. BLACK SCREEN. My soul collapsed.”
Wu suppressed a sigh. “Please restart your router.”
Jiang (scandalized as if accused of stealing): “How dare you suggest such a basic solution?! I am a professor in the university of Cartoon Studies— self-taught, but still. Do you think I didn’t try unplugging it? Sir, this is bigger than wires.”
“…you unplugged it for at least thirty seconds?” Wu asked.
Silence. Then Jiang, grudgingly: “…twenty-five.”
Wu’s lips twitched. “Please try again for thirty seconds.”
The man on the other end obeyed, grumbling audibly. Wu could already hear muttering: “Unbelievable… my Scooby deserves better… InfinityNet should be renamed FiniteNet… or DisasterFi…”
When Jiang finally returned, voice triumphant, he shouted. “It works! The cartoon lives again! Justice is restored!”
Wu typed an update in the log quietly, his tone unchanging. “…Glad to assist, sir.”
Jiang:“Assist? You SAVED me. My marathon continues thanks to your calm, Batman-voiced heroics. What’s your name, mysterious guardian of doomed networks?”
Wu hesitated. “…Wu Suo Wei.”
Jiang (dramatic pause, like announcing a villian’s name in a cartoon intro): “Wu Suo Wei. I shall remember you. Tonight, you are the villain who sabotaged me… but tomorrow, perhaps, my only hope. This isn’t over.”
The line went dead.
Wu sat in silence, stared at his monitor, and for the first time all week, his coworkers caught him fighting a smile.
---------------------
The next evening at InfinityNet Customer Solutions, the fluorescent lights buzzed as usual, endless calls stacking like dominoes. Wu was already bracing himself for another shift of monotone problem-solving.
But somewhere in the back of his mind, against his better judgment, he wondered—would that cartoon guy call again?
He didn’t have to wonder long.
The headset beeped.
Jiang (familiar dramatic shriek that could damage eardrums): “It’s HAPPENED AGAIN!!”
Wu blinked once, expression flat. “…sir.”
Jiang: “Don’t pretend you don’t know me! Cartoon destiny has brought us together once more! My Looney Tunes marathon—sabotaged at the exact moment of comedic impact! Do you understand the cruelty of missing an anvil drop??”
Wu (deadpan): “…your Wi-Fi only buffers when physics-defying objects fall from the sky?”
Jiang (gasps): “YES! Every gag—ruined. Daffy was about to be flattened, and poof, buffering wheel. My suffering is artistic suffering. Emotional damage cannot be undone.”
Wu pinched the bridge of his nose, remembering his manager’s warning to keep calls professional. But this customer was so absurd, so theatrical, that Wu felt his stoicism wobble at the edges.
He typed notes into the ticket log. Second call. Same caller. Unstable cartoon dependency.
Wu spoke earnestly. “Please confirm. Did you restart your router—for thirty seconds, not twenty-five this time?”
Jiang (proudly): “Ha! You underestimate me, Xiao-Wei.” (For note: Xiao is used before name to display feelings of affection)
Wu froze at the nickname. “…please don’t call me that.”
Jiang (ignoring him): “I lasted forty-five whole seconds of silence, just as you commanded! And yet—InfinityNet betrays me. Clearly, you are my only reliable tech savior.”
Wu: “I am not your savior. I am employed to fix routers.”
Jiang (snapping dramatically): “Nonsense. You are BATMAN WITH INTERNET POWERS.”
Wu exhaled silently through his nose, almost—almost—laughing. This man could make anything sound like a cartoon monologue. And worse, Wu was…starting to find it entertaining.
From the next cubicle, his coworker leaned over, mouthing with a grin. Is that your cartoon boyfriend?
Wu’s face didn’t move, but he flicked his colleague a deadly glare.
Jiang (continuing without pause): “Anyway, if InfinityNet fails me again, I’ll hold you personally accountable. Think of it: my cartoon marathon derailed, tears staining my DVD box sets… the world crumbling—”
Wu (cutting in, finally): “Try moving the router closer to your TV. That should help with interference.”
A pause. Static. Then, Jiang’s voice softened for the first time.
Jiang: “…That’s… actually useful. You didn’t even read a script, did you? You gave me real advice. Real.”
Wu (flat as ever, but with the faintest warmth): “Just doing my job.”
Jiang (quietly, like a vow):“From this day… I shall call you every night. Not because I want to—no, no—it’s punishment for your crimes against cartoons. Prepare yourself, Wu Suo Wei. This is our saga.”
Wu kept staring at the dead line. He should feel annoyed. Maybe even exhausted.
Instead, he’s almost amused. Almost.
And very certain this cartoon nightmare isn’t leaving him alone anytime soon.
---------------------
By now, Wu Suo Wei should have known to expect it.
9 o’clock. Beep. headset connects.
And once again—chaos.
Jiang (frantically, as if reporting a crime):
“WU SUO WEI! InfinityNet has committed emotional manslaughter! My Avatar: The Last Airbender binge has been SABOTAGED!”
Wu (already sighing into his hand): “…sir.”
Jiang:“DON’T ‘SIR’ ME! Do you know the PAIN of waiting thirty-seven painstaking episodes for the dramatic pause before Zuko says—”
Wu (deadpan cutting in): “No spoilers, please.”
Jiang (ignores completely):“—and suddenly: BUFFER. Do you grasp the cosmic cruelty? The frame FROZE on his anguished cartoon face, lips half open, and then, poof! Loading wheel. Infinite suffering! Do you understand narrative momentum? Character arcs?!”
Wu: “…Sir, this is a Wi-Fi helpline, not a literature class.”
From the next desk, Wu’s coworker muffled a laugh behind a stack of call logs. People were peeking over now—Desk 14 was becoming prime entertainment whenever “Cartoon Guy” dialed in.
Wu remained stone-faced. Mostly.
Wu (mechanical, but his ear faintly pink): “Did you reset your router? Thirty seconds.”
Jiang (snaps): “I ALREADY DID. TWICE! Don’t reduce me to a common rookie. I know the sacred Router Ritual too well.”
Wu: “…fine. Then move the router to a higher elevation.”
Jiang (gasping as if Wu just shared forbidden knowledge): “Higher elevation… like a throne! Of course. Technology is hierarchical just like cartoon kingdoms. Brilliant. Xiao-Wei, you’re a genius.”
Wu (instantly, flustered): “Don’t call me that.”
Jiang (smug): “Too late. Nickname locked in. Canon now.”
Wu’s fingers hovered over “End Call.” But then Jiang’s tone softened again, that insufferable warmth bleeding into his theatrics.
Jiang: “…Thanks, though. No script voice this time. Just you. I don’t know why, but that makes me… feel like I wasn’t just another customer.”
Wu went silent for a long beat. He typed a fake note on-screen just to look busy.
“…That will be all, sir.” he said finally.
Jiang (cheerful and threatening): “See you tomorrow then, Xiao-Wei. Don’t run. You can’t escape.”
Wu sat very still.
From the next cubicle, his coworker leaned in, whispering with a smirk:
“So… when’s your cartoon boyfriend taking you to dinner?”
Wu, without turning his head:
“Delete yourself.”
But despite himself… his mouth twitched. Again.
---------------------
At InfinityNet HQ, Desk 14 had become a low-key spectacle. By now, everyone knew: if the phone at Wu Suo Wei’s station buzzed around 9 PM, “Cartoon Guy” was back.
Some reps began quietly timing it, others making bets. Wu ignored them all. At least, he tried to.
The headset beeped. Wu closed his eyes briefly.
Here we go again.
Jiang (indignant, already mid-rant):“WU SUO WEI. My Tom & Jerry marathon has been desecrated! JUST as Jerry was about to outsmart Tom with the frying pan, YOUR deceitful network froze. Do you know how it feels to miss perfect slapstick timing?? Do you?! Do you know how pacing is EVERYTHING in comedy?! I was robbed of art!”
Wu (deadpan but softer at the edges): “…Sir, it’s literally a cat chasing a mouse.”
Jiang (gasps, offended): “Blasphemy. That cat and that mouse defined modern animation. Without slapstick, civilization crumbles! You’re too cold-hearted to understand, aren’t you?”
Wu pressed his fingers to his temple, a chuckle lurking dangerously in his throat. He fought it like it was life or death.
But from the cubicle next door, a snicker escaped. Then another. Suddenly, two coworkers were leaning over, eavesdropping.
Coworker A (stage whisper): “That your boyfriend again?”
Coworker B (grinning): “Careful, Wu. Long-distance cartoon relationship incoming.”
Wu (a tone that could melt glaciers): “Leave.”
Unfortunately, that was also when Jiang decided to yell through the line.
Jiang: “Don’t tell me coworkers are listening in on our INTERACTIONS, Xiao-Wei?? Is our relationship finally public?!”
The entire row burst into laughter. Wu dropped his head into his hand, utterly done.
Wu (flat but betraying the faintest crack of humor): “Sir, not everything is about you.”
Jiang (smug, sing-songy): “And yet you answered. Again. Late at night. Again. Admit it—deep down, you’d rather hear my suffering than deal with boring customers.”
Wu’s mouth twitched. He smoothed his expression quickly, typing notes into the log just to occupy himself.
Log Entry: Customer reported missing slapstick impact timing. Escalating level of dramatics daily. No technical resolution possible.
Jiang (genuine this time, voice lowering):“…You didn’t hang up, though. That’s weird. Does that mean you like hearing me complain?”
Wu froze. His hand hovered over the call termination button.
“…That will be all, sir,” he muttered, slightly too quickly.
Jiang (satisfaction dripping):“See you tomorrow, Xiao-Wei~.”
Wu sat back, and this time, just for half a second… he laughed.
A real laugh. Quiet, short, but unmistakable.
His team immediately exploded in applause.
Coworker A: “We got him!”
Coworker B: “First time Wu has laughed at work in two years! Cartoon Guy is a legend.”
Wu rubbed his forehead and hid a smile he had no business letting exist.
---------------------
By the time Thursday rolled around, Wu had resigned himself to fate.
Some people had recurring bills. Others had recurring nightmares.
He had Jiang.
Desk 14’s headset beeped right on schedule, and his coworkers leaned in like it was prime-time TV.
Wu braced himself.
Jiang (far too cheery):“Good evening, Xiao-Wei!”
Wu (monotone, reflex): “…Sir. Don’t.”
Jiang: “Too late. It’s canon. That’s your superhero sidekick name now. I’m the flamboyant main character, and you’re Xiao-Wei, my brooding companion, helping me through the trials of buffering!”
Wu (deadpan, typing notes): “InfinityNet representatives are not sidekicks.”
Jiang (smug): “Ha! That’s exactly what a sidekick would say.”
His coworkers had already dissolved into giggles. One mouthed ‘Xiao-Wei!’ at him across the aisle, making exaggerated heart gestures. Wu ignored them with all the dignity of a man clinging to sanity.
Wu: “What exactly is your problem tonight?”
Jiang (sighing with the weight of ten tragedies):“My SpongeBob SquarePants episode buffered mid–‘Bikini Bottom dramatic moment.’ SpongeBob was holding a spatula like it was Excalibur, and then—freeze. My emotional investment? Shattered. My popcorn? Cold. Can you refund my lost joy?”
Wu: “…No. InfinityNet does not process refunds for ‘joy.’”
Jiang (mock gasp): “You wound me, Xiao-Wei! But fine, comfort me with your monotone. Mmm, yes. Voice of a hot-headed, secret-romance character. Very effective. My suffering eases already.”
For the first time, Wu almost tugged off his headset and walked out. ALMOST. But then Jiang laughed on the other end, not mocking—warm. And something in Wu’s chest loosened.
Wu (quietly): “…Please never call me that again.”
Jiang (instantly smug):“Obviously calling you that forever now.”
Wu: “…sir.”
Jiang (sing-song): “Xiao-Wei~.”
From behind him, a coworker snickered loud enough to draw attention.
Coworker B (mocking): “Careful, Wu, boyfriend’s gonna trademark that name soon!”
Wu’s ears actually flushed, but he kept his face impassive as always.
Wu (flat to Jiang): “Are you aware your complaints are progressively less about Wi-Fi and more… nonsense?”
Jiang (cheerfully):“Exactly! You’re catching on. Congratulations, Xiao-Wei—you’ve leveled up in awareness! Next step, admitting you enjoy my calls.”
Wu, very briefly, disconnected the line.
The call log stayed blank for a moment. Wu leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly—pretending he wasn’t a little disappointed to hear silence.
---------------------
Saturday night, the call center was quieter. Most complaints had trickled down to basic outages. Wu hoped, foolishly, that maybe this evening would pass without interruption.
But at 10:02 PM sharp—
Beep. His headset lit up.
And a voice barreled in at full volume.
Jiang (wailing like he’d just lost the world cup):
“XIAO-WEI! IT’S OVER! I’ve been BETRAYED by InfinityNet AGAIN and now my ranked match is ruined!”
Wu pinched the bridge of his nose. “…Sir.”
Jiang:“Don’t ‘sir’ me—I was THIS CLOSE to winning! Do you understand?? Me, Jiang, defender of cartoon justice, about to smite my enemies on Cartoon Fighters Online—and then buffering! Lag! My character froze mid-punch like a tragic anime protagonist! I was DEFEATED by an eight-year-old with better Wi-Fi! I NEED COMPENSATION!”
Wu (flat as granite): “…Compensation for losing to a child?”
Jiang (outraged):“Yes! Emotional compensation at the very least. I demand—you soothe me with your deep, mysterious, hot-line operator tone. Or else I will track down InfinityNet HQ and stage an epic dramatic protest!”
Wu leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as though praying for strength. His coworkers around him had learned not to eavesdrop too obviously, but from the corner of his eye, Wu noticed their shoulders shaking with muffled laughter. Desk 14 had become a nightly entertainment show.
Wu: “Try moving the router. Or reducing device interference.”
Jiang (sniffs dramatically, quieter now):“…There you go again. That wasn’t script voice. That was… real advice. From you.”
Wu hesitated, fingers pausing on his keyboard. “…So?”
Jiang:“So? That means you actually cared! Admit it, Xiao-Wei. You don’t have to give me real tips. You could just recycle manual responses like a robot. But no. You went above and beyond—for me.”
Wu’s grip on his pen tightened. His voice stayed calm, but beneath it, something flickered.
“…My job is to fix networks. Nothing more.”
Jiang (genuine, softer):“You keep saying that. But I don’t believe you.”
Wu didn’t answer this time, focusing instead on finishing the ticket log: Customer lost game connection. Technical solution offered. Complaint unresolved.
But even as he typed, the silence on the other end wasn’t empty. Jiang didn’t hang up yet. He lingered, like he… wanted to stay.
When Wu finally said, “…Anything else, sir?” the reply came in a whisper-laugh.
Jiang:“See, Xiao-Wei? If nothing else—our saga continues.”
Wu remained frozen for a long moment, headset still in place. He could still hear the echo of that warm, smug laugh long after the line had gone dead.
For the first time, he realized: he hadn’t hated it.
Not one bit.
---------------------
InfinityNet’s call center wasn’t open 24/7. The main lines shut down at midnight sharp. But Jiang, apparently, had discovered loopholes.
Wu woke to a buzzing phone at 2:07 AM. Not his work line.
His personal phone.
He sat up, blinking into the dark of his apartment, hair tousled, still wearing the T-shirt he had crashed in after his shift. Groggy, he answered.
Wu (hoarse, deadpan): “…You cannot be serious.”
Jiang (bright and dramatic, as if on TV): “Xiao-Wei!! Thank goodness you’re alive. My cartoon binge marathon is under ATTACK!”
Wu froze. “…How did you get my number?”
Jiang (proudly smug): “Oh, minor details. InfinityNet’s auto-voicemail slipped it once. Don’t worry, I memorized it.”
Wu (gritted teeth): “That is highly unprofessional—”
Jiang (ignores completely):“Shh. Listen to me. Imagine: I’m in the middle of Teen Titans, season 2. Cyborg is about to sacrifice himself for the team, the music swells, my heart aches… and then BAM! BUFFER! InfinityNet mocks my pain! Xiao-Wei, how can you live with yourself?! How do you sleep at night knowing you let this happen?”
Wu (flat, staring at the ceiling): “Apparently, I don’t.”
Wu should have hung up. He should have blocked the number. But instead, he found himself sitting on the edge of his bed, pressing the phone to his ear as Jiang’s ridiculous rant continued.
Despite the ungodly hour, Jiang’s energy was infectious—chaotic, big, unstoppable.
Wu (murmurs): “You could have waited. Until morning.”
Jiang: “No! Emotions must be addressed when they are fresh. If I waited, my suffering would have gone stale. Besides… don’t you secretly enjoy hearing me complain, Xiao-Wei?”
Wu: “…No.”
Jiang (teasing): “Then why did you pick up?”
Wu’s silence lasted one second too long. Jiang chuckled on the other end, a deep, shameless laugh.
Jiang (softer now, almost fond):“You always answer me. Even when you shouldn’t. Don’t you think that means something?”
Wu’s chest tightened unexpectedly. “…It means I’m being harassed.”
Jiang (grinning voice):“Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that.”
The line went quiet for a moment after that, until Jiang hummed—yes, hummed—a cartoon theme tune, like a lullaby.
Wu closed his eyes. Against every rule, every instinct, and maybe better judgment too, he didn’t hang up until Jiang finally yawned mid-monologue and said:
Jiang: “Alright, Xiao-Wei. I’ll let you sleep. Goodnight, my reluctant sidekick.”
Wu sat there in the dark, staring at his phone, unsure if he felt more irritated… or strangely at ease.
Either way, he knew tomorrow, his manager would kill him if this kept up.
---------------------
Monday morning at InfinityNet started like any other: lukewarm coffee, endless tickets, and Wu Suo Wei’s manager reminding everyone, “Efficiency over entertainment.”
But when Wu opened his work inbox, he froze.
Subject: “Thank You for Saving My Cartoon Soul 💖✨”
Sender: Jiang, Serial Cartoon Warrior.
Wu clicked it against his better judgment. The email body was even worse.
Email Body : “Dearest Xiao-Wei,
Your router wisdom saved me last night. Without you, InfinityNet would’ve ruined my entire Powerpuff Girls binge, and my heart would’ve shattered like Mojo Jojo’s dignity.
Please accept this small token of gratitude: 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖 (one for every time your monotone rescued me).
Eternally yours in cartoon suffering,
– Jiang.”
Wu stared. His face was unreadable as ever, but his ears betrayed him with a faint pink hue.
From behind him, his coworker walked past, glanced over his shoulder, and immediately lost it.
Coworker A: “Oh my god. Did your boyfriend just send you fanmail?!”
Wu (flat but too sharp): “Delete your voice.”
Coworker A: “Look at this—FOURTEEN heart emojis?! Wu, that’s basically a marriage proposal in emoji language.”
Wu (closing his laptop, dead inside): “…It’s harassment.”
Coworker B: “No, bro. That’s courtship.”
Wu shoved his earbuds in and pretended to ignore them, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to delete the email. Instead, he tucked it into a folder labeled “Customer Reference.”
(It wasn’t a joke folder. He wasn’t sentimental. He just… kept records. That’s all.)
At 9:13 PM sharp, of course, the inevitable happened.
Jiang (smug, when Wu picked up):“So? Did you love my heartfelt confession email?”
Wu (monotone, but quieter than usual): “…You abused the company helpdesk system for… that.”
Jiang (gasping, fake-innocent):“Abused?! My emotions are valid! My gratitude is sincere! The 14 emojis were carefully calculated by scientific method, Xiao-Wei. One heart for each drop of your hidden compassion.”
Wu: “…Stop saying that.”
Jiang (teasing):“You didn’t delete it, did you?”
Wu froze. He hadn’t.
“…That will be all, sir.”
Jiang (laughing, triumphant):“I knew it!!! My cartoon love letters have found a home in your inbox. Romantic buffering in progress.”
Wu leaned back in his chair, dragging his hand down his face. His coworkers were definitely going to hear about this. But the bigger problem was.
He hadn’t deleted it.
And he wasn’t going to.
---------------------
InfinityNet’s office was a corporate battlefield: rows of cubicles, fluorescent lights glaring like interrogation lamps, managers pacing like prison wardens.
Wu, as always, sat at Desk 14—expression neutral, posture perfect, headset poised. On the surface, he was the model employee: punctual, monotone, efficient.
But his call logs told a different story.
That morning, Wu was summoned to the dreaded Manager’s Office.
Inside sat Manager Li, a short, hawk-eyed man with binders stacked like fortresses around him.
Manager Li (squinting over papers):
“Wu Suo Wei… I’ve noticed an anomaly.”
Wu blinked, perfectly calm. “…Anomaly?”
Manager Li:
“Yes. Your average call time is… abnormally high. Yet your ticket closures are oddly consistent. One particular number keeps recurring in your logs. Care to explain why a single customer has contacted this department twelve nights in a row?”
Wu kept his composure. He’d had practice. “…Customers are unpredictable.”
Manager Li (deadpan): “Unpredictable customers don’t usually send emails titled ‘Thank You for Saving My Cartoon Soul 💖✨.’”
Wu’s face didn’t flicker, but his heart stumbled. “…We don’t allow personal details to affect our technical work.”
Manager Li (leaning forward, suspicious):
“Wu. Are you… fraternizing with a customer?”
From the hallway outside, his coworkers were shamelessly pressed against the glass wall like gossiping vultures. One held up a sign scribbled in marker: “CARTOON BOYFRIEND!!”
Wu’s jaw tightened.
Wu (dryly, pushing back his glasses): “Manager Li, I assure you, if I ever choose to fraternize, it will not be with someone who ruins my workflow with cartoon breakdowns.”
The door creaked—someone actually choked back laughter outside.
Manager Li frowned, flipping through more papers.
Manager Li: “Just remember: professionalism first. InfinityNet is not a dating service.”
Wu, deadpan: “…Yes, sir.”
When he returned to his desk, his colleagues greeted him with exaggerated applause.
Coworker A: “Ooooh, scolded by the boss for your secret romance!”
Coworker B (grinning): “Be honest, Wu—he’s your favorite customer, isn’t he?”
Wu sat down, headset in place, and typed: “Efficiency log updated.”
But his ears betrayed him again: faintly red.
That night, right on time, his headset beeped.
Jiang (cheerful):“Tell me, Xiao-Wei, did your boss yell at you for loving me?”
Wu (flat but half-sigh): “…Stop calling me that.”
Jiang (laughing): “Ah, so he DID notice. Excellent! I told you we’re star-crossed lovers in the workplace drama arc!”
Wu’s lips twitched despite himself. The thought of Manager Li overhearing this madness was—both horrifying, and weirdly, funny.
“…Get to the point, sir. What’s broken this time?”
---------------------
By now, everyone at InfinityNet HQ knew the routine.
9:00 PM: Desk 14 buzzed.
9:01 PM: Wu Suo Wei’s stoic mask met Lingering Cartoon Madness.
9:05 PM: Coworkers leaned in for the “soap opera episode of the night.”
Wu hated how predictable it was.
He hated more that he was starting to look forward to it.
This time, however, the call came not at 9—but at 11:58 PM. Right before the system was due to shut down for the night.
Wu debated letting it ring out. Against all instinct, he answered.
Wu (flat, tired): “…It’s midnight.”
Jiang (breathless, clearly pacing around his apartment):“Xiao-Wei! My cartoon marathon climax is under attack again. This time—Gravity Falls finale. Do you grasp what was stolen from me?! The emotional build-up was reaching MAXIMUM potency. The screen froze mid-line, mid-reveal, mid-everything. My heart is in buffering purgatory and YOU MUST BEAR WITNESS.”
Wu (massaging his temple): “Witnessing is not in my job description.”
Jiang:“Incorrect. It’s your destiny arc. I am the chaotic main character, you are the long-suffering straight man. Our lives are a buddy cartoon where the jokes get weirdly gay if you squint.”
From the next cubicle, his coworker coughed violently to disguise laughter. Wu muted his mic, glared across the partition, then unmuted.
Wu (trying for professional, failing at annoyed warmth): “…Move your router. Again.”
But the problem wasn’t the router anymore. It was the fact that they were past “customer and rep.” Way past.
Jiang (tone softer suddenly):“…You always pick up, Xiao-Wei. Even when you shouldn’t. You could hang up. You could block me. But instead, you’re here. At midnight. Listening to me complain about cartoons.”
Wu’s throat tightened. “…That means nothing.”
Jiang (playful, but quieter now):“It means everything."
The silence between them stretched just a little too long. Wu should have ended the call.
But Jiang filled it with humming again, this time the theme to Gravity Falls, off-key but weirdly comforting.
And Wu… let him.
The ticket log Wu typed afterward was curt, clinical. “Customer reported streaming disruption. Router relocation suggested. Pending follow-up.”
But beneath “pending follow-up,” Wu almost typed,“And he’s not going away.”
His fingers froze before hitting enter. He deleted it.
---------------------
The nightly call came earlier than usual.
8:45 PM. Desk 14 hadn’t even finished logging his previous ticket when the line beeped.
Wu already knew. Against his better instincts, a corner of his mouth twitched before he pressed accept.
Wu (flat but resigned): “…InfinityNet service desk. This is Wu Suo Wei.”
Jiang (mock whisper):“Caught you! You answered too fast. That means you were waiting for me.”
Wu (tone sharp as stone): “I was not.”
Jiang (smug, voice dripping triumph):“Oh, Xiao-Wei. Admit it. You’ve been secretly sabotaging my Wi-Fi just to keep me coming back. Haven’t you? Haven’t you?! Confess your evil plan!”
Wu froze mid-typing. “…What.”
Jiang (dramatic, theatrical villain voice):“Yes, it makes perfect sense. Every night, my connection dies at the worst possible dramatic moment. Coincidence? Nonsense! You’re clearly throttling my signal, forcing me into despair, so that I call you. It’s a scheme worthy of—dare I say it—a cartoon antagonist with a tragic hot voice!”
Wu choked. Actually choked. His coworkers whipped their heads around at the sound, jaws dropping—Mr. Stoic Desk 14, losing composure!?
Wu (hoarse, spluttering): “I—What—Sir, that’s—against regulations—"
Jiang (delighted cackle): “So you admit it?! You want me chained to InfinityNet’s helpdesk forever? Oh, how dastardly romantic!"
Wu (so red now his ears were glowing): “It’s not romantic. It’s not anything. Your buffering is coincidence.”
Jiang (mock gasp): “Coincidence? Or destiny?”
From behind Wu, his coworker scribbled a sticky note and slapped it onto his desk.
In giant marker letters: “JUST DATE HIM ALREADY.”
Wu calmly, silently removed the note, crumpled it, and set it aside. His hand, however, was trembling just slightly.
Wu (icy, trying to regain control): “This is not a relationship hotline. This is tech support.”
Jiang (softening suddenly): “…But you still pick up.”
Wu’s mouth opened. Closed. He had no answer.
A dangerous silence crackled between them for three beats too long. He heard Jiang inhale softly through the line, like he wanted to say something serious this time—
—but Wu cut him off. “…Your router. Did you reset it?”
Jiang (chuckling quietly):“Deflection. So cute.”
Wu sat frozen, headset still on, staring at the blank monitor.
And for the first time in weeks, he wished Jiang hadn’t hung up so quickly.
---------------------
Another evening. Another call. Another coworker whistling under their breath when Desk 14 lit up for “Cartoon Boyfriend Hour.”
Wu Suo Wei answered as always, tone calm, face flat, fingers hovering over his keyboard. But instead of an immediate meltdown about buffering or router tragedy…
The line was quiet.
Wu (suspicious): “…Sir?”
Jiang (thoughtful, far gentler than usual):“You know, Xiao-Wei, I’ve been wondering something.”
Wu narrowed his eyes slightly. Jiang thinking usually meant trouble.
Wu: “…This is a technical helpline. There’s no need for wondering.”
Jiang (ignores completely):“What do you look like?”
Wu’s entire body went still. “…Irrelevant.”
Jiang (cheerful, humming):“Not irrelevant! Essential! I must know what my mysterious Batman-voiced sidekick looks like. Let me guess. Hmm. Tall… dark… tragic backstory energy. I’m picturing a brooding black trench coat right now.”
Wu: “…This is a customer service job.”
Jiang: “Exactly! Brooding in customer service is peak tragic! Don’t hide it from me, Xiao-Wei—your aura gives me Silent Cartoon Protagonist vibes.”
From behind Wu, his colleague perked up, whispering loud enough that Jiang might have actually heard through the headset.
Coworker A (smirking): “Tell him the truth—you’re secretly hot.”
Wu’s eyelid twitched. He muted his mic. “Do your job or I will unplug your monitor.”
Unmuted. Calm as ever: “…Sir, personal questions are not permitted.”
Jiang (snickering):“Ohhh, a stone wall. Even hotter. Mysterious, untouchable. I bet when you sigh, a cartoon raincloud appears above you. Favorite accessory: existential angst.”
Wu typed furiously into the ticket log just to occupy his hands. “Customer attempted inappropriate inquiry into physical traits. Escalation not applicable.”
And yet.
His ears were on fire.
Wu (low, controlled): “…Why would you want to know.”
Jiang (warm, too honest this time):“Because I like hearing you. And when you smile—because I KNOW you smile sometimes even if you deny it—I want to match it with a face. Is that so wrong?”
Wu stopped breathing for half a second. “…This line is for technical issues only.”
Jiang (soft chuckle):“Mhm. Fine. But one day, you’ll slip up, Xiao-Wei. And when I see you… I’ll know. Right away.”
Wu exhaled slowly, headset sliding half off his ear. His screen blurred around the edges; he hadn’t logged a single technical detail.
This wasn’t just calls anymore.
This was bleeding into something he couldn’t compartmentalize.
And worse—he didn’t know if he wanted to.
---------------------
It was a terrible day at InfinityNet.
Routers down across half the city. Endless calls. Angry voices blaring nonstop. Three customers had cursed Wu out in creative ways before lunch, and his manager had practically breathed fire over “efficiency metrics.”
By closing time, Wu’s jaw ached from holding himself still, his temples pounded, and his face was a mask of perfect indifference that felt one twitch away from breaking.
He got home, collapsed into his chair, reached for his phone—then froze.
His thumb hovered.
Why was he… waiting?
The time ticked on. 8:55. 9:00. 9:05.
And finally—beep. The caller ID didn’t say Jiang’s name. It just said “Private Number.” But Wu knew. He answered immediately, like muscle memory.
Wu (voice rougher than usual): “…InfinityNet helpdesk.”
Jiang (bright, over-dramatic as ever):“Xiao-Weeei! The unbearable tragedy tonight—InfinityNet struck AGAIN, ruining my Adventure Time rerun marathon. I was THIS close to watching Finn’s dramatic speech before—!”
Wu closed his eyes, and for once—he didn’t sigh. He didn’t roll his eyes. He just… let Jiang’s voice pour through the phone—loud, ridiculous, dramatic, alive.
He didn’t realize he was smiling, faintly, until Jiang’s rant slowed.
Jiang (pausing, suspiciously quiet):“…Whoa. Did you just… let me monologue without interrupting? Are you—are you okay?”
Wu’s throat tightened. “…Long day. Just talk.”
The silence on the line shifted. Jiang’s voice, when it came, was different this time. Gentler.
Jiang: “…Xiao-Wei. You actually want me here, don’t you? I knew it!”
Wu (snapping reflexively): “No.”
Jiang (grinning, with warmth beneath it):“Mhm, suuure. You wait for me now, admit it. I’m your distraction. Your comic relief. Your—dare I say—favorite cartoon character.”
Wu almost laughed. Almost. It was dangerous how close it came.
Wu (murmurs, softer): “…Annoying. That’s what you are.”
Jiang:“Annoying, but comforting. Like filler episodes. You pretend you hate them, but deep down, you’d miss them if they were gone.”
Wu froze. His chest ached in a way that wasn’t unpleasant, but it terrified him.
By the time Jiang hung up, Wu didn’t type notes. Didn’t update logs. Didn’t do anything.
He just sat alone in his room, staring at his silent phone like it had betrayed him—because waiting for Jiang’s call had become the only part of the day he looked forward to.
And he wasn’t ready to admit that—least of all to himself.
---------------------
InfinityNet’s call center was unusually calm that night.
No outages. No storms. Just routine tickets.
Which made it worse when Wu realized he was… waiting for the line to buzz. Deep down, he hated himself for it. He tried to focus on the spreadsheet in front of him—but at exactly 9:02 PM.
Beep. The chaos arrived.
Jiang (cheerfully dramatic):“Ah, Xiao-Wei! The universe conspires against me AGAIN. This time—Steven Universe! Just as Garnet was about to unleash her glorious speech of wisdom, the buffering demon struck. My soul is wounded!”
Wu (flat, already typing): “…Restart your router.”
Jiang (mock wounded):“Cold as always. But that’s fine. That’s just the tsundere arc of our saga.”
Wu’s eyebrow twitched. “…Tsundere arc?”
Jiang (grinning through the receiver):"Yes! The brooding, stoic character who pretends to hate me, but secretly gets flustered, until one day he realizes—‘Oh no! I’ve been in love with Jiang all along!’”
Wu’s pen slipped from his hand. He froze.
Wu: “…That’s not—”
Jiang (sing-song, pushing harder):“Careful, Xiao-Wei, if you keep soothing me with your low, tragic-hero voice, I might actually fall for you~.”
The entire row of cubicles went silent.
Wu Suo Wei’s ears immediately, visibly flushed red. His coworkers whipped their heads toward him like vultures scenting food.
Coworker A (loud whisper): “OH MY GOD, HE SAID IT.”
Coworker B (scribbling notes): “Putting 50 bucks on Wu fainting in the next five minutes.”
Wu (voice caught between steel and embarrassment):
“Sir. That kind of statement is… inappropriate.”
Jiang (calm, but playful with a warmer undercurrent):“Inappropriate? Or true? You blushed, didn’t you? You’re probably blushing right now. I bet your coworkers are staring at you.”
Wu, horrified, glanced up—he was right. Every pair of eyes in the vicinity was locked on Desk 14. One coworker even made a heart shape with their hands.
Wu sat frozen. Coworkers erupted around him like a studio laugh track.
Coworker A: “HE’S IN LOVE WITH YOU.”
Coworker B: “Pay up, he blushed. I SAW IT.”
Coworker C: “This is better than television.”
Wu buried his face in his hands and groaned for the first time in years.
But beneath the burn of shame… there was a dangerous, fluttering warmth he couldn’t ignore anymore.
---------------------
InfinityNet HQ had officially become less of a workplace and more of a reality show.
Every night at 9 PM sharp, employees drifted closer to Wu Suo Wei’s cubicle as though Desk 14 were a stage. Everyone wanted front-row seats to “Cartoon Boyfriend, The Series.”
Wu ignored it masterfully… or at least, pretended to.
But by Night 13 of daily Jiang calls, the office gossip had reached critical mass.
Coworker A (grinning while sipping instant coffee):“This is painful, Wu. You’re living in a romance novel, and you don’t even admit it.”
Wu (monotone): “This is harassment.”
Coworker B (mock-gasp): “No, this is destiny.”
Coworker C (to the others): “You know what? Screw it. If Wu won’t confess, we make the first move for him.”
Wu froze mid-keystroke. “…Pardon?”
But the trio was already huddling like teenage matchmakers, whispering furiously. Wu narrowed his eyes, but his shift ended without incident… or so he thought.
The following night, the call came again—Jiang, predictably dramatic. But his energy was different.
Jiang (sing-songy, almost giddy):“Guess what, Xiao-Wei~? I may or may not have received classified information.”
Wu frowned. “…Explain.”
Jiang:“A kind, wonderful, supportive little bird told me where my mysterious brooding hero works. InfinityNet HQ, Desk 14. Oh, Xiao-Wei. I can picture you now. Surrounded by buzzing lights, glaring at your coworkers, in eternal customer service purgatory.”
Jiang (delighted laugh): “Ohhh, can’t reveal my sources! But your colleagues? Fantastic people. Very pro-romance. They told me I should just… drop by.”
Wu’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”
From the next cubicle, smug snickering betrayed the culprits. Wu turned his chair slowly, leveled his coworkers with the deadliest glare he could manage.
They only grinned and waved innocently.
Coworker B (mouths silently): You’re welcome.
Back on the line:
Wu (icy): “Don’t. Show. Up.”
Jiang (smirking voice): “Which means I definitely should! Destiny demands it. The offline meet-cute arc begins!”
Wu pressed his palm hard over his face, muttering: “…I’m surrounded by traitors.”
After Jiang hung up, Wu sat in stone silence. His coworkers erupted in cheers.
Coworker A: “Field trip time, baby! Cartoon Boyfriend goes IRL!”
Coworker C: “He’s gonna sweep you off your feet. Call it now.”
Wu muttered, flat as granite but quietly shaken: “…This department needs to burn.”
---------------------
Tuesday afternoon at InfinityNet HQ was—surprisingly—peaceful. No major outages, no power lines down. Wu sat at Desk 14 as expressionless as always, methodically logging tickets.
His coworkers, however, kept stealing glances. They knew. He knew they knew. The betrayal from last night still stung like a knife in the back.
Wu reassured himself: There’s no way. He’s a chaotic cartoon maniac, but he wouldn’t actually…
The glass door squeaked open.
And there he was.
Jiang.
Real, living, disturbingly charismatic Jiang.
Messy dark hair, bright hoodie plastered with cartoon characters, the kind of grin that could power an entire neon billboard. He walked into InfinityNet HQ with the confidence of someone about to sue an evil corporation—or ask them out to dinner. Possibly both.
Jiang (loud, theatrical):“HELLOOO InfinityNet! I’m here to demand emotional compensation for all the cartoon trauma your cursed Wi-Fi has caused me!”
All heads turned.
Half the floor stifled laughter, the other half broke into open cheering.
Desk 14’s coworkers whispered, wide-eyed:
“He ACTUALLY came.”
“My shipping investment paid off.”
“Wu’s gonna combust.”
And combust he nearly did.
Wu froze in place, fingers glued to the keyboard. His heart was hammering so violently it nearly broke his mask of calm.
Jiang spotted him instantly. Of course he did.
Jiang (pointing dramatically across the cubicle floor):“You!! Desk 14! My Xiao-Wei~! My tragic Batman-voiced sidekick!”
Wu’s entire row erupted with laughter, applause, and wolf whistles.
His manager dropped his pen in disbelief.
Wu (voice a shade lower than usual): “…You shouldn’t be here.”
Jiang (striding closer, grinning, utterly unfazed):“And yet, destiny has placed me here. Behold, I exist in glorious HD, no buffering! Better than my cartoon counterparts, right?”
Wu’s coworkers: ooohhhhhhhhhh.
Wu’s ears: redder than stoplights.
Jiang leaned casually against Desk 14, peering down at him with open amusement.
Jiang (teasing, softer now for only Wu to hear):“So… this is what you look like. I was right. Stoic. Deadpan. Lowkey hot.”
Wu blinked hard. His heart slammed. “…This is a workplace.”
Jiang (grinning wider):“Then consider me your worst customer. I’d like to file a complaint in person: this rep stole my heart along with my Wi-Fi signal.”
The floor HOWLED. Someone actually clapped. Another coworker yelled, “Marry him already!”
Wu buried his face in his hand. “I hate all of you.”
But his ears… his entire face was burning bright red.
And Jiang, standing right next to him, was smugger than sin.
After thirty endless minutes of chaos at InfinityNet (coworkers chanting “Date! Date! Date!” and Manager Li nearly fainting), Wu Suo Wei finally marched Jiang outside before the whole department set up popcorn.
It was supposed to be a lecture.
It became… something else.
They ended up at a small café down the block—bright neon lights, soft pop music in the air. Jiang ordered without hesitation.
Jiang (beaming at the cashier):“Two pink milk! Lots of ice. And make his less bitter than his soul, thanks.”
Wu: …
Wu (low): “…I didn’t say I wanted pink milk.”
Jiang (sly smile, leaning on the counter): “Oh, you’ll want it. Don’t worry, Xiao-Wei—I’m funding this date.”
Wu: “This is not a date.”
Cashier (smirking): “…Couple’s discount?”
Wu nearly choked. Jiang, of course, slammed the counter dramatically.
Jiang: “Yes! Couple’s discount, please! True love should always be affordable!”
The cashier winked. Wu considered walking into traffic.
Seated across from each other, drinks in hand, the silence was… heavy.
Jiang slurped obnoxiously loud, staring at Wu with open fascination. Wu sipped quietly, eyes glued to the table.
Jiang (finally, grinning): “You’re exactly like I imagined. Tall, dark, tragic. Cartoon protagonist aura, check. Brooding customer service scowl, double check.”
Wu (monotone, but pink at the edges): “Stop staring.”
Jiang: “Nope.”
The “first offline banter” started slow.
Wu: “You’re much louder in person.”
Jiang: “Correction: I’m equally loud everywhere.”
Wu: “…Why did you really come?”
Jiang (tone shifting, softer than Wu’s ever heard from him):“Because the buffering wasn’t enough anymore. I wanted to see you. Without the headset. Without the distance. Just… you.”
Wu froze, fingers tight around his cup. Heart thudding—because for once, there was no joke in Jiang’s voice.
The silence stretched. Wu looked up—and Jiang was smiling, softer now, not smug or dramatic. Just… curious. Almost nervous.
Wu broke first, muttering: “…You’re insufferable.”
Jiang (grinning again, but warmer): “Mhm. But you didn’t walk away.”
They sat like that—awkward silences, dramatic quips, pink milk slowly disappearing—until the world outside blurred.
For the first time in weeks, Wu wasn’t just enduring Jiang’s chaos.
He was letting it in.
The trouble began when the cashier came to clear a nearby table and smiled at them.
Cashier (brightly): “You two are such a cute couple. Matching vibe!”
Wu, mid-sip, nearly choked. He started coughing violently.
Jiang (beaming, absolutely shameless): “Thank you! He tries to deny it, but I knew from the moment he fixed my Wi-Fi that we were destined.”
Cashier giggled. Wu’s entire soul left his body.
Two high schoolers at another table whispered—loud enough.
Teen 1: “They’re adorable. The tall deadpan one looks done with life, and the loud one is the sunshine balance.”
Teen 2: “Classic opposites attract trope. Ship it.”
Jiang perked up, instantly turning toward them.
Jiang:“Ship it harder! I fully approve!”
Wu: …
Wu (flat but pink to the ears): “Stop encouraging strangers.”
Jiang (grin widening):“Don’t need to. The world recognizes our couple energy on its own. Fate, Xiao-Wei. Pure fate.”
On the walk out, it only got worse. A little kid tugged his mom’s sleeve, pointing at them.
Kid: “Mommy, those uncles are holding hands.”
Wu froze. Looked down. Realized Jiang had laced their fingers together at some point while dragging him across the street.
Wu (yanking hand back, ears scarlet): “…When did you—”
Jiang (cheerfully): “Five minutes ago. You were brooding so hard you didn’t notice.”
Wu: “…You are unbelievable.”
Jiang (soft grin, leaning closer):“And yet… you didn’t let go right away.”
Back at the office entrance, Wu practically shoved Jiang toward the exit. But when he finally let go of Jiang’s wrist, the absence startled him more than the contact had.
For the rest of the night, Wu sat at his desk, staring at his hand like it had been… altered. His coworkers noticed, of course.
Coworker A (passing by, smug): “So, how was the date?”
Coworker B: “He’s glowing red. That’s confirmation.”
Wu muttered flatly: “…Shut up.”
But he didn’t deny it.
---------------------
It had been three days since the café disaster, and Wu had foolishly assumed Jiang’s antics would calm down post-ambush. Of course, he was wrong.
9:00 PM sharp, the headset beeped. Desk 14 braced himself. The voice that came through was unusually calm. Too calm.
Jiang (serious, almost solemn):“Xiao-Wei. Tonight… I must tell you the truth.”
Wu frowned. “If this is another cartoon buffering—”
Jiang (cuts in, dramatic):“No! This is deeper than cartoons. Deeper than Wi-Fi outages. This is my… final arc. My confession episode.”
Wu stopped typing. His entire body went still. “…What are you talking about?”
Jiang (voice rising, cartoon-hero monologue style): “Don’t you see? For weeks, we’ve been connected across the unstable signals of destiny.
You—my eternal tech support savior.
Me—your chaotic, cartoon-obsessed nemesis.
And like every great Wi-Fi signal, our bond… keeps reconnecting!”
Wu (pinching the bridge of his nose): “…You are not comparing this to an internet connection.”
Jiang (ignoring him):“Yes I am! Hear me out—at first I thought you were just the router keeping my chaos online. A faceless voice. But now—”
(voice softens suddenly)
“—now I realize you’re the signal itself. The one thing I can’t quit refreshing, no matter how bad my connection is. Wu Suo Wei… you are my strongest signal.”
The office erupted.
Coworkers who’d been eavesdropping with shameless delight actually clapped and whistled. Someone yelled, “BEST CONFESSION EVER!!”
Wu’s entire face went scarlet. His headset nearly tipped with how hard he jerked back from the monitor.
Wu (hoarse, trying to strangle composure): “…That is the most absurd—cheesiest—nonsensical—metaphor I have ever—"
Jiang (grinning through the line, warm now, no dramatics): “But it’s true. I like you, Xiao-Wei. A lot. Whether you admit it or not, I know you wait for me every night now. And I’ll keep calling—even if it’s just to hear you sigh at me. Because your sighs have become my comfort show.”
Wu’s hand trembled against the desk. For once, he couldn’t find words. Couldn’t hide under flat tones.
His coworkers leaned closer, eyes sparkling like gossip gremlins ready to explode.
Finally, Wu forced breath past his lips: “…You’re unbelievable.”
Jiang (soft chuckle):“And you didn’t hang up.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Wu sat frozen, ears crimson, headset slack around his neck.
For the first time in his life, he didn’t know whether to laugh, groan, or—worse—smile.
Because Jiang was right. He hadn’t hung up.
---------------------
It had been a week since Jiang’s ridiculous Wi-Fi confession.
A week of Wu trying (and failing) to convince himself that it meant nothing.
A week of coworkers smirking every time Desk 14’s headset beeped.
But tonight was different. Tonight, Jiang didn’t call.
Wu pretended to work. Pretended not to notice the empty silence. Pretended the ache in his chest wasn’t real.
Until—
Beep.
The line connected. And this time, Jiang’s voice was softer than ever.
Jiang:“…Xiao-Wei. I almost didn’t call tonight. Thought maybe I’m annoying you too much. Maybe I should just… stop showing up in your life.”
Wu’s heart stalled. “…Then why did you.”
Jiang (quiet laugh):“Because I couldn’t not. You’ve become my favorite part of every day. And even if you never say it back… I’d rather risk being your worst customer forever than disappear.”
There was no laughter from coworkers this time. Everyone knew—this wasn’t theatrics anymore.
Wu sat very still. His throat tight, his hand trembling on the desk.
For once, no denial came to his lips.
Instead, he murmured—soft, almost reluctant, but true.
“…Jiang. You drive me insane. You’re loud, dramatic, exhausting. Every call, every word… an interruption in my order. And yet…”
He swallowed. His ears red, but his tone steady now.
“…And yet when you’re not here, the silence is unbearable.”
The line went quiet.
For once, Jiang was speechless.
Until finally—a soft, breathless laugh:
Jiang:“…Did you just admit you miss me? Oh my god. Xiao-Wei. That’s basically a love confession.”
Wu (flat, but warm beneath it): “…Interpret how you want. But if you stop calling… I’ll notice. And I won’t like it.”
Jiang laughed, unsteady, too bright, but his voice broke at the edges.
Jiang:“Then it’s settled. Forever buffering together. You and me. Full bars.”
For once, Wu smiled—openly, helplessly, the entire office catching it. Laughter and cheers erupted behind him, but he didn’t care.
Because for the first time, the connection between them wasn’t just a line through InfinityNet.
It was real.
And it wasn’t going away.
---------------------
Notes:
Since you guys liked the crack fic so much, I am back with another crack fic story but this time it is Jiang Xiao Shuai and Wu Suo Wei. Thank you so much for taking a chance on my little crackship and chaotic cartoon chaos!
Well, if you read the story carefully you might have already understood that the author loves watching cartoons😂😂. I hope you guys enjoy this piece as well and show it some love. Your comments and kudos keep me going and I definitely read all of them🥹♥️ Until next time, stay healthy guys🩷
Chapter 18: The Weight of Ashes (Chi Cheng/Wu Suo Wei)
Summary:
After years in exile, Suo Wei returns, not with a sword, but with seduction as his weapon. Betrayed by the man he once trusted and loved, he seeks revenge not through death—but through desire. Chi Cheng, on the other hand, definitely did not see this coming.
Notes:
Well, just warning you guys that even revenge can be sexy🤭 Da Bao is in his betrayal era🔥 🔥 + Includes Character death (Warning). Also, guys I am back with my usual style of writing. Also I have used Cheng to refer to Chi Cheng only. Hope you guys enjoy this☺️
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The wine burned slow down Suo Wei’s throat, though the heat there was nothing beside the one lodged in his chest. For nights uncounted, he had dreamed of this moment—the day he would return from exile, no longer hide in the shadow of betrayal but stepping into it with purpose.
Chi Cheng’s name was carved in every scar on Suo Wei’s body. The betrayal had not merely stripped him of power—it had stolen the life he thought he was building.
Once, they had been bound by loyalty and ambition. Suo Wei had fought wars beside him, bled for his banner, believed in the promise of shared victory. And when whispers of treachery rose in the halls, Suo Wei had thought nothing of them—until the knife of accusation was leveled at him.
Chi Cheng had stood there, voice calm as a blade, declaring Suo Wei guilty of espionage. He had handed Suo Wei to the council, let him be beaten, dishonored, and cast into exile. And all the while, Cheng had worn that mask of regret—the sorrow of a man “forced” to condemn his friend for the greater good.
But Suo Wei knew the truth. Cheng had delivered him up not for justice, but for power. Suo Wei had been too loyal, too trusted among the soldiers. His presence made Chi Cheng’s ascent uncertain. Eliminating him had been the cleanest way forward.
That night had lived behind Suo Wei’s eyes ever since: the clatter of the council’s gavel, his name stripped, his body dragged across marble steps where once he’d walked in pride. And above the noise, Cheng’s silence—that hurt more than the blows.
He could have killed him quickly. Sword in the dark, poison in the cup—that would be justice reduced to ash. No, Chi Cheng’s death meant nothing unless it was soaked in agony, in longing, in weakness. Unless he tasted the humiliation of trust betrayed.
Revenge would be woven, not struck. Seduction would be his blade.
And so, when he finally saw him again—across the lantern-lit courtyard, laughter ringing light and careless—Suo Wei felt the old wound roar open, sharp and fresh.
Chi Cheng’s smile had always been dangerous. Once, Suo Wei had believed it. Now he would turn it against him.
I will have you as you once had me. And when you are mine, I will ruin you with it.
And yet, even in the shadow of his vow, hunger twisted in his chest. Hunger not born of vengeance alone.
That—more than the betrayal—terrified him.
—————————————————-
The hall glittered with lanterns, the silk banners whispering under a summer breeze. Music threaded through the air, delicate strings trying to disguise the undercurrent of power games being played at every table. Suo Wei knew the staging well—he had once stood among these men as one of their own. Now he was a phantom, newly returned, his name unspoken but his presence impossible to deny.
And there—Chi Cheng.
Time had only sharpened him. His shoulders carried new weight, his voice commanded the laughter of lords and sycophants alike. He looked untouchable. But when the crowd thinned and Cheng’s gaze drifted up—just for an instant—it snagged on Suo Wei like a hook.
Recognition flared, then confusion, then something else. Something deliberately smoothed away beneath a courteous host’s smile.
Suo Wei bowed, just deep enough to be proper.
“Lord Chi,” he said softly, letting his voice drip with the familiarity of old days. “It has been… longer than I thought possible.”
Chi Cheng’s eyes held him with a steadiness that was both a weapon and a shield. “Suo Wei.” He tasted the name, as though uncertain if it could belong here, among lantern light instead of dust and disgrace. “I never expected to see you again.”
The words were poised between welcome and warning.
“I have a habit,” Suo Wei said, lips curving faintly, “of returning where I’m not expected.”
It was a dangerous statement. Beneath its surface was the truth: I survived you. I came back, despite the ruin you left me in.But aloud, it played as a flirtation, a sly edge woven through the courtesy of old companions.
Chi Cheng studied him too long. And then—he laughed. Not the carefree roar Suo Wei had heard from across the courtyard, but a narrower, quieter thing, reserved. “You look… older,” he said casually, though his eyes betrayed a curiosity that traveled lower, deeper. “Hard years, I imagine.”
Suo Wei inclined his head, hiding the heat in his chest. Wounds pressed raw. “Years have their way with everyone. Some of us are wounded by them. Some of us profit from them.” His eyes flicked to the finer ring on Cheng’s hand, the polished polish of power thick about him.
For a heartbeat, silence spun taut between them. Then Chi Cheng’s smile thinned into something less performative, more dangerous. “And which are you, Suo Wei? The wounded… or the profiteer?”
Suo Wei tilted his head, letting a sliver of mischief into his voice. “Why not ask me later… when there are fewer eyes on us?”
Chi Cheng held his gaze a fraction too long. A test. Then he turned away to greet another noble—but not before letting his hand linger on the table, close enough for Suo Wei to catch, like a baited snare.
The game had begun.
And though every line, every practiced look Suo Wei gave was meant to ensnare, to bring Cheng nearer until he could crush him, the old familiarity throbbed under his skin like a reopened wound.
Tonight was meant to be strategy. But already, it tasted far too much like desire.
—————————————————-
Suo Wei had expected distance. Suspicion. Perhaps even avoidance. After all, Chi Cheng was no fool—he would remember the wreckage Suo Wei had left, the court whispering of treachery, the exile everyone had believed final. But to his surprise, the man did not keep him at arm’s length.
Instead… Chi Cheng invited him closer.
At first, the gestures were small. A shared cup of tea after a council meeting. A brief word in the palace corridors, as though their exchange was nothing more than an old friendship reforged. But each moment blurred into the next until Suo Wei found himself tangled in Cheng’s evenings.
They played their games with words as others might with blades.
“You’ve changed,” Chi Cheng said once, pouring wine with deliberate care, eyes too sharp for the casualness in his voice.
“Change is what exile does,” Suo Wei replied, letting his smile cut faintly. “And power, too. You must know it well.”
Cheng’s mouth quirked. “And which transformed you more—the absence, or the hunger for return?”
Suo Wei let silence stretch, let his gaze drop to Cheng’s hand resting on the table between them, fingers relaxed but close enough that, if he wished, he might brush against them. Deliberate. Dangerous. Every inch of him screamed to pull back, to guard himself. And yet—
“Perhaps,” Suo Wei murmured, “I’ll let you decide.”
The words hung heavy, not quite invitation, not quite challenge. It was the kind of thing calculated to pull Cheng near, to tangle him in unanswered tension. It worked—the air thickened, the wine forgotten. For one fragile moment, it was not revenge Suo Wei tasted on his tongue, but the echo of trust, of what might once have been.
But trust was a luxury dead to him. He reminded himself of that each time Cheng’s laughter burned too warm, or when their banter cut too close to something unspoken.
At night, alone, Suo Wei rehearsed the next steps of his plan. He would draw closer, brush against vulnerabilities, extract secrets he could use. Their intimacy would be carefully cultivated, then weaponized. A process he named, in the quiet of his thoughts, the fastening of the knots.
But when the light was low and Cheng looked at him with that too-steady gaze, Suo Wei wondered uneasily if he wasn’t the one being ensnared.
Because the mask he wore—the smile laced with mischief, the warmth meant to ensnare—it wasn’t always fabricated. Sometimes it slipped too smoothly from his lips. Sometimes… it was real.
—————————————————-
The storm had rolled in heavy and sudden, rain drumming against the tiled roof like the beat of war drums. The palace, usually humming with voices, emptied into silence as courtiers retreated to safer halls. Only one chamber remained lit, its glow spilling across marble floors.
Suo Wei stepped in and found Chi Cheng alone.
No armor. No council. Just the man, pale light softening the sharpness that so often cloaked him. Cheng sat by the window, wine jar untouched at his elbow, his gaze fixed not at the storm but somewhere past it.
Suo Wei almost turned back—the intimacy of the scene felt dangerous, a battlefield where no weapon could be held steady. But Cheng spoke without lifting his eyes, and departure was no longer an option.
“Do you know,” he said, voice steady, “what happens when you win too much?”
Suo Wei’s brows lifted. He hadn’t expected this kind of opening. “You lose yourself to excess?” he replied lightly, slipping into mask and banter.
Cheng gave the smallest laugh, but it did not reach his eyes. “No. You forget what losing feels like. And when it does come…” His voice thinned. “It devours you. Makes you empty.”
For the first time, Suo Wei saw weariness in him. Not just the fatigue of command, but loneliness carved deep, like a riverbed grinding through stone. The betrayal all those years ago had painted Cheng ruthless in Suo Wei’s mind. But this man before him—unmasked, alone—looked less the conqueror and more the prisoner of his own victories.
Suo Wei tightened his grip on the doorframe. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Proof of cracks, vulnerabilities he could exploit. To bind Cheng with a net spun of his own doubts.
So why did it strike him like grief?
He crossed the room before he could stop himself, letting the sound of footsteps cut through the storm’s steady pulse. Cheng’s eyes flicked up, startled, but he did not push him away.
“You speak as if you have everything, and nothing,” Suo Wei said softly.
Cheng’s mouth curved—not quite a smile. “Perhaps that’s the truth of power.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Suo Wei’s hand brushed against Cheng’s wrist in what should have been a calculated touch, a steadying line meant to draw him in deeper. It should have been strategy.
But when his skin met Cheng’s, the fire that jolted through him was neither cold nor rehearsed. It was too real.
Suo Wei drew back slightly, shaken. He could still see it in Cheng’s eyes—hesitation, hope, a man wanting to trust but fearing the sting of betrayal.
It mirrored his own.
He had sworn to make Cheng suffer as he had suffered. And yet, tonight, for the first time, Suo Wei feared the plan he had forged so carefully. Because if this closeness was only a weapon—then why did it feel, in his chest, like surrender?
—————————————————-
The storm did not end that night. It lingered for days, the sky swollen with thunderclouds, the palace gardens slick with rain. For most, it was a season of retreat, of long hours behind walls. For Suo Wei and Chi Cheng, it became something else entirely: an enclosure.
Each day, excuses drew them together—unfinished discussions, shared meals, nights that stretched too long with conversation. What began as masks and edged words softened into laughter, into silence that felt too natural. Silence that should not have belonged to enemies.
The shift came without warning.
A lantern-burning midnight, when the halls had finally quieted, they found themselves standing too close. A book half-forgotten lay between them on the table; Chi Cheng’s hand rested on it, Suo Wei’s fingers brushing near. Neither moved.
Suo Wei felt his pulse climb, a storm answering the one outside. Too close—dangerously close. He told himself to pull away, to remember the plan. Desire was meant to be a trap laid for Cheng, not for himself. Yet, staring into the man’s eyes, steady and searching, Suo Wei found his resolve trembling.
“You’re playing with fire,” Cheng murmured, voice low, almost a growl beneath his breath.
Suo Wei let the corner of his lips curl — a mask, a tease, though his heart beat too fast for it to be steady. “And what if I am?”
The question hung, thick and perilous. Cheng’s gaze dropped briefly to his mouth, then returned sharply to his eyes, as if daring him.
Then the air broke.
It wasn’t careful, nor staged—it was hunger. Suo Wei’s hand fisted in Cheng’s collar, and Cheng’s mouth was against his, fire against fire. The kiss tasted of defiance, of grief, of every word unsaid in the long shadow of the years between them.
For a moment, there was no betrayal, no revenge—only the ache of a bond once severed now reignited like fire catching dry wood. Suo Wei felt himself burning. He kissed to conquer, yet in every stroke he felt conquered too.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, Cheng did not step back. He leaned in, forehead against Suo Wei’s, his voice unsteady.
“Tell me this is not a lie.”
The words struck deep. They should have been a gift—an opening crack through which betrayal might sink its roots. Yet they hurt. Because Suo Wei could not answer.
His plan demanded silence. His heart demanded the truth.
So he said nothing, only touched his lips to Cheng’s again, softer this time, as though silence itself might be a mercy.
But later, alone in his quarters, Suo Wei pressed his palm to his mouth and realized the trap was closing—and perhaps not around Cheng at all.
—————————————————-
Revenge had always been simple in Suo Wei’s mind. A dagger here, a poison drop there—cold executions done in silence. But he had chosen a different path, and now that path betrayed him more than any council decree ever had.
The documents lay spread across the lacquered table. Correspondence of war, lists of allies, letters in Cheng’s own hand. For weeks, Suo Wei had earned his way to this place: trusted chambers, unguarded shelves. With these, he could destroy Chi Cheng’s alliances. A single copy delivered to the right rivals, and Cheng’s empire would crumble. It was the revenge he had promised himself a hundred times over.
And yet his hand would not move.
Ink blurred before him, the letters warping. The longer he stared, the more the words bent into images: Cheng’s laugh spilling across late-night corridors, the weight of his hand steady on Suo Wei’s wrist, the question breathed against his mouth—Tell me this is not a lie.
The memory cut deeper than any steel.
He gripped the brush, forced his hand to copy a line. For a breath, he succeeded—but then the brush faltered, splitting ink across the page in a dark blot. His chest twisted tight. This wasn’t power. This wasn’t revenge. It was desecration.
A sound broke his spiral.
“Working late?”
Suo Wei froze. Cheng stood by the doorway, loosened robes draped carelessly over his frame, his usual armor of confidence exchanged for bare humanness. He bore no guards, no suspicion. Just simple ease, as though Suo Wei’s presence caused no danger at all.
“You always push yourself to exhaustion,” Cheng said, crossing the room. He glanced briefly at the scattered papers—but instead of questioning, he poured wine for both of them, setting a cup at Suo Wei’s side. “Stay with me tonight. Rest—for once.”
Suo Wei forced himself not to recoil. Every instinct screamed now—strike now, while Cheng was unguarded, one motion, end it. Yet all he could do was close trembling fingers around the cup offered to him.
Their hands brushed. A small touch. Enough to unravel him completely.
Cheng smiled—soft, trusting, the kind of smile Suo Wei had once thought stripped from him forever. “I find,” he said quietly, “I… don’t rest as easily without you.”
It should have been victory. Proof Cheng was ensnared, vulnerable. The moment every long night of plotting had been for.
Instead, Suo Wei felt something shatter inside. Because when he looked at Cheng, unguarded in the lantern light, he did not see a target. He saw the man he once had trusted enough to follow into war. The man whose betrayal had bled him dry. The man he had wanted to hate, but could not stop wanting.
Suo Wei’s fingers slid beneath the table to where the thin dagger lay hidden. He curled them around the hilt. The steel was cool, perfect. One strike, and all debts would be paid.
But the hand that should have lifted it—shook.
For the first time, Suo Wei realized vengeance wasn’t freedom. It was a prison, and he was the one dragging his chains.
He let the dagger rest. He lifted the cup instead. And when Cheng touched his shoulder, warmth ghosting through the fabric, Suo Wei thought bitterly—
Perhaps I was never the hunter. Perhaps I have always been the prey.
—————————————————-
It was late when the words were finally spoken.
The wine had gone untouched. The hall was hushed, only the low crackle of fire filling the silence. Suo Wei sat across from him, still reeling from how close he had come—how close he still was. The dagger’s weight haunted his palm though he had never raised it.
He might have fooled others. But not Chi Cheng.
“You’ve changed,” Cheng said, the softness in his tone stripped away. His eyes fixed on Suo Wei with an intensity that carved through every mask. “But not enough to think I couldn’t see you coming.”
The words froze Suo Wei mid-breath.
Cheng leaned back, gaze never wavering. “When you returned, you thought I believed it was accident. Convenience. Nostalgia.” A faint, bitter smile touched his lips. “I knew it was none of those things. Revenge—it pressed off you like the scent of steel.”
Suo Wei’s throat dried. His hand twitched toward his cup, as though wine could mask the tremor beneath his skin. He had played this too carefully, too obsessively—how could Cheng have known from the start?
“You let me close,” Suo Wei rasped, the words rough.
“I wanted you close,” Cheng said simply. His voice did not tremble. “Even knowing it might kill me.”
Silence collapsed the room between them.
Cheng’s expression was unreadable, hovering between amusement and sorrow. “Strange, isn’t it? I might have chosen exile for you, once. And yet when you finally came back—dagger hidden, smile sharpened—I found myself wondering if it would be worth it. To let you cut me. To see if perhaps… there was something real left underneath the blade.”
The words surged through Suo Wei like strikes. He had envisioned so many endgame scenarios—Cheng begging for mercy, cursing him, breaking at last beneath his vengeance. Never this. Never a man sitting calmly before him, already knowing, already offering his throat.
“You would gamble your life,” Suo Wei whispered, “for what? A memory? A lie?”
Cheng’s eyes—dark, steady, unbearably certain—locked with his. “Not a lie. You.”
Suo Wei staggered back in his chair, heat crashing through him. Fury and longing, relief and despair all warred in his chest. This was not how it was meant to end. This was supposed to be clean, savage, final. But there was nothing clean left. There was only a hunger that tasted too much like grief.
He wanted to strike. He wanted to kiss. He wanted both, and the impossibility of the two tore him raw.
For a long moment, they just stared—hunter and prey, enemy and lover—until all such names dissolved. Until not betrayal nor desire could be separated from the other.
And then Cheng’s voice, low and almost tender:
“Well, Suo Wei. The blade is yours. So tell me—will you cut me, or have you already bled yourself dry?”
The firelight trembled against the walls, shadows flickering like restless ghosts. Between them, silence lay heavy, broken only by the faint rhythm of rain.
Suo Wei’s hand drifted to the dagger resting near his side. Cold steel. Simple. It would end everything. It was what he had wanted for years—for nights spent bloodied, humiliated, cast into exile with nothing but a shard of a name.
Chi Cheng did not move. His eyes were steady, his chest rising and falling in the stillness. He had not summoned guards, had not lifted a hand in defense. He only waited.
The weight of that patience pressed more heavily on Suo Wei than any blade ever could. Because it was not fear he saw in that gaze. It was trust. Perhaps misplaced, perhaps foolish—yet undeniably, wildly real.
And that… was the one thing Suo Wei had not prepared for.
—————————————————-
The dagger lifted. His hand moved before his heart could stop it. Aiming straight for the man in front of him.
A sharp, gasping breath cut through the silence—the sound not of surprise, but resignation. Cheng’s eyes widened for only an instant, more sorrow than fear, before dimming into stillness.
Steel slid free, and Suo Wei watched as blood bloomed across silken robes, staining them like ink spilled across parchment.
The triumph he had carried like a mantra for years should have erupted inside him. But instead, his knees buckled, and the sound that tore from his throat was not victory—it was grief.
The body crumpled. The chamber went still.
Suo Wei’s dagger slipped from his hand, clattering useless against the floor. In the silence that followed, he felt the truth settle like cruel clarity: he had won nothing. He had only killed the last piece of himself that still knew how to feel.
Revenge had not freed him. It had consumed him.
—————————————————-
Notes:
Thank you so much for reading this messy storm of betrayal, longing, and seduction disguised as strategy. Suo Wei is absolutely Not Okay and neither am I 🫠💔. Chi Cheng? Charming menace. Suspiciously good at smiling while hiding knives. Suspiciously good at making us suffer too 😭🔥
This fic is my deep dive into what happens when love gets twisted by power, and revenge starts to taste like the person you once trusted most… but maybe still want. Also, do not worry guys I am also working to complete your requests but they may take some time.
Your comments and kudos keeps me going guys. Hope you enjoyed this. Until next time then.😊🩷
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