Chapter Text
The hallway was quiet except for the soft hum of the elevator. Feng Xin shifted the box of cakes in his hands, feeling the weight of it, both physically and metaphorically. He still wasn’t sure why he had let himself be roped into this—it wasn’t as if he cared much for meeting new neighbors, but it was a reasonable thing to do. And it wasn’t like Mu Qing had any better plans.
“We could have just stayed in our apartment,” Mu Qing muttered, crossing his arms as they walked down the corridor. “There was no need to do this.”
Feng Xin shot him a look. “It’s called being polite. You wouldn’t know much about that.”
Mu Qing scoffed but didn’t argue. Instead, he glanced around, taking in the refined decor of the building. It was high-end, no doubt about that. He had been surprised when they found a unit available at the end of the hall, but now he was wondering what kind of neighbours they would be dealing with.
They reached the next door, and Feng Xin knocked, shifting his stance slightly as they waited. A moment later, the door swung open.
The sight before them sent a shock straight through Feng Xin’s system.
A familiar face, one they had both thought was long gone from their lives, stood in the doorway.
For a brief, frozen moment, no one spoke.
Xie Lian’s smile lingered on his face for half a second too long before faltering, his entire body stiffening. He looked like he had been laughing just moments ago, his face still faintly flushed, the oversized red sweater he wore slipping slightly off his shoulder. His legs were bare except for an indecently small pair of shorts, and for some reason, that detail made Mu Qing's eye twitch.
Feng Xin felt like he had been punched in the gut.
Xie Lian was alive and well .
He was here.
And they had walked right up to his door without a clue.
Xie Lian’s fingers curled into the fabric of his sweater, gripping it like something solid to hold onto. Feng Xin could see the moment realization fully hit him—the way his throat bobbed slightly, the flicker of emotions in his eyes. He was shocked. Maybe even horrified .
No more than they were, though.
“Xie Lian?” Feng Xin finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Xie Lian blinked, then seemed to snap out of whatever daze had overtaken him. He straightened, schooled his face into something unreadable, and after a beat, simply said, “Yes.”
The tension in the air was suffocating. Feng Xin didn’t know what to say, and Mu Qing, for once, was speechless. Though it was him who recovered first, his voice carried its usual bite.
“Well. That answers one question,” he said coolly. He gestured toward the hall with a tilt of his head. “We moved in. End of the hallway.”
Xie Lian’s fingers twitched, but he said nothing.
“Feng Xin insisted on going door to door, like we’re friendly people or something,” Mu Qing continued, his arms still crossed. “I got dragged into it.”
Feng Xin shot him an irritated glare. “It’s called being decent, Mu Qing. Try it sometime.”
Mu Qing rolled his eyes, but Feng Xin didn’t care. He was too busy watching Xie Lian, trying to gauge what the hell he was thinking, trying to understand how it was possible that they had found him here, of all places, after all these years.
Eight years . And now, suddenly, they were neighbours?
“Do you live here?” Feng Xin finally asked, wary.
Xie Lian hesitated, then nodded.
Feng Xin exhaled, feeling something unnameable press against his ribs.
Mu Qing, however, raised a brow, and he could already see the sharp thought forming in his mind before he even spoke.
Feng Xin’s shoulders tensed, and he shot his roommate a warning look, but Xie Lian didn’t react the way he expected. There was no flinch, no obvious wound. Instead, there was something else—a shift in Xie Lian’s posture, a flicker of something that looked more like frustration than shame.
Before anyone could say anything else, a voice called from inside the apartment.
“Gege?”
Feng Xin and Mu Qing both stiffened as a new presence made itself known.
Xie Lian blinked rapidly, as if only now remembering where he was, then turned his head slightly and called back, “It’s our new neighbours.”
There was silence for a beat, and then the sound of approaching footsteps.
A moment later, a man appeared beside Xie Lian, stepping fluidly into view.
Feng Xin and Mu Qing both went completely still.
The man was striking, his long, dark hair still damp from a shower, a towel draped lazily over one shoulder. He was only half-dressed—black dress pants, sharp and expensive-looking, paired with a red silk shirt left completely unbuttoned, exposing smooth, pale skin.
He was… something.
More than that, his expression was cold.
His gaze flickered between Feng Xin and Mu Qing, and the temperature in the hallway seemed to drop.
“What do you want?” the man asked, voice smooth but laced with ice. “If you have nothing to say, then fuck off.”
Feng Xin and Mu Qing were stunned into silence.
“Xie Lian,” Feng Xin said slowly, unable to keep the tension from his voice, “who is this?”
The man’s crimson eye flashed with something sharp as he turned to Xie Lian. “Gege knows them? Are they friends?”
Xie Lian hesitated, then answered, “They’re not friends.”
Something in Feng Xin cracked. Mu Qing said nothing, but his expression tightened.
Xie Lian exhaled and added, “I knew them a long time ago. That’s all.”
The man studied him for a moment, then nodded. That seemed enough for him.
Xie Lian then turned back to them and, in a voice far too steady, said, “This is Hua Cheng. My fiancé.”
Feng Xin’s stomach dropped.
Mu Qing’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing slightly. Neither of them spoke.
Hua Cheng’s gaze didn’t waver. He watched them both, his presence suffocating, possessive in a way that made it clear exactly where Xie Lian stood in his life now. There was no room for hesitation, no room for intrusions.
Feng Xin swallowed, his grip tightening around the box of cakes he still held.
Xie Lian had moved on.
Feng Xin doesn’t know what to say.
The weight of years presses down on him, thick and suffocating. Xie Lian stands in front of them, a figure they once knew better than anyone, yet now he feels like a stranger. The silence stretches, heavy and unmoving, and he knows they should say something—anything—but the words won’t come.
Beside him, Mu Qing is equally silent, though his expression is harder to read. His arms remain crossed, his posture rigid, and yet there’s something about the way his eyes linger on Xie Lian that betrays his unease. Neither of them had expected this—stumbling into him like this, realizing too late that their past had settled just a few doors away.
Xie Lian looks as if he wants to speak, his mouth parting slightly, but then—
The soft chime of the elevator at the end of the hall.
“A-Lian!”
Feng Xin barely has time to react before the voice fills the space, bright and unmistakable. He turns just as someone steps into view—a man in flowing robes, full of boundless energy, striding toward Xie Lian like he belongs there. Another figure follows behind, quieter but just as sharp-eyed.
“There you are!” the first man beams, closing the distance without hesitation. “We’ve been waiting downstairs forever! You know, I almost thought you two were—” He stops, grins. “Wait a minute. You were, weren’t you?”
Xie Lian startles. “Qingxuan!”
Shi Qingxuan laughs, clapping Xie Lian’s shoulders as if there’s nothing wrong, as if the air between them isn’t thick with unspoken history. “I’m so happy for you, Xie Lian! Seriously, your wedding is in a month?! We need to celebrate properly tonight!”
Xie Lian winces. “Qingxuan, not so loud—”
Only then does the guy seem to notice them, his eyes flicking between Feng Xin and Mu Qing with a look of vague curiosity. “Oh? Who are these guys?”
Feng Xin stiffens. Mu Qing does too, though his expression doesn’t change much—just a slight narrowing of the eyes, a twitch of his fingers against his arm. Neither of them rushes to answer.
He, however, doesn’t wait. “I’m Shi Qingxuan! Xie Lian’s best friend and the witness for his marriage next month.” He gestures toward the man at his side. “And this is my husband, He Xuan.”
He Xuan dips his head slightly, though his sharp gaze lingers on them both before returning to Xie Lian. “We came to pick you up.”
Shi Qingxuan brightens, turning back toward them. “And you two? Xie Lian’s friends?”
Feng Xin doesn’t get the chance to answer.
“No,” Xie Lian says, voice firm.
The words hit like a physical blow.
Feng Xin feels something twist in his gut. He sees Mu Qing flinch beside him, even if it’s barely noticeable. His lips part slightly, as if he wants to argue—but then, he closes them again, jaw tightening.
Shi Qingxuan blinks, clearly taken aback. “Oh—”
“They’re just new neighbours,” Xie Lian says smoothly, his voice steady, as if the words don’t cut as deep as they do.
Feng Xin forces himself not to react, but the sting is undeniable.
Shi Qingxuan hesitates for only a second before brightening again. “Oh, okay! Well, come on, A-Lian, let’s get you ready!”
Xie Lian offers a quick smile—thin, distant—and then, without another word, he steps back into the apartment.
Hua Cheng lingers, his presence like a shadow in the doorway. His gaze is sharp, unwavering, a silent warning that neither of them can miss. He doesn’t move, doesn’t need to say anything—his presence alone is enough to make the message clear.
Then the door shuts.
Feng Xin exhales, slow and steady, but it does nothing to ease the weight in his chest.
Storming into their apartment, he drops the box of cakes onto the counter with more force than necessary. “What the hell just happened?”
Mu Qing follows behind, closing the door quietly. “We ran into Xie Lian. That much should be obvious.”
Feng Xin turns sharply. “Don’t give me that. You heard what he said. ‘Just new neighbours.’ Like we’re just—just nobodies.” His jaw clenches. “It’s like we don’t even exist to him anymore.”
Mu Qing crosses his arms, his gaze distant. “Maybe we don’t.”
Feng Xin’s anger wavers for a second. “You really think that?”
Mu Qing is silent for a long moment before exhaling. “I don’t know. But I do know that he didn’t hesitate when he said it.”
Feng Xin runs a hand through his hair, frustration clawing at his chest. “And that guy—Hua Cheng.” He frowns. “Did you see the way he looked at us? Like we weren’t worth the time of day.”
Mu Qing’s lips press into a thin line. “He doesn’t have to see us as anything. He already won.”
Feng Xin scoffs. “Won?”
Mu Qing looks at him then, eyes sharp. “He has Xie Lian. And we don’t.”
The words settle between them, undeniable and painful. Feng Xin wants to argue, wants to say that things aren’t so simple, that they still have a chance to fix things. But after tonight, after seeing the way Xie Lian had looked at them—
He wasn’t so sure anymore.