Archive of Our Own ^beta

The mouse hovers over the smile, smoothing out the skin until any evidence of creases or lines are erased. The colors brighten, just a tad bit to appear more radiant as the background is blurred out.

A few taps here, a few clicks there, and the center of the newly debuted Yuehua Boys, Zhu Zhengting, shines at him with a wink.

Xukun still can't see it.

“I don’t get it.”

“Mhm,” Ziyi hums, leafing through one of the many photobooks stacked on the coffee table.

“Honestly, he's not even that good.”

“Sure thing.”

“Why,” Xukun starts, looking up from his laptop with furrowed brows, “do I get the feeling that you’re not even listening to me.”

Ziyi pauses for a brief moment only to roll his eyes at him. “I am. I just find it a little ironic since, you know”—he gestures to where Xukun’s sitting—“you're busy retouching my photos.”

Xukun gives an indignant response, which Ziyi promptly ignores, having gone back to the photobook. He continues to grumble under his breath, returning to the photo on his screen.

Zhu Zhengting’s saturated wink is almost blinding, but not enough to detract from the rest of him. The neat peace sign, the silky hair—airbrush be damned—gives the photo an overall cutesy image that has Xukun mentally hearing the fans squeal in delight.

“I just really don’t get it,” he huffs, making sure to click extra hard through the filter options.

“You don’t see a lot of things that aren’t you ,” Ziyi points out. “Also, scoot over.”

He doesn’t even have time to feign ignorance, feet already hauled off the couch and dumped unceremoniously onto the floor.

“Hey—”

“Thank you.”

Ziyi flashes him one of those tiny smiles that clearly tells him the conversation has ended, and Xukun may be an asshole, but he isn’t an idiot—contrary to popular belief—so he bites his tongue until Ziyi’s back faces him.

Sticking out your tongue at your best friend of too many years is definitely something college students still do, which is why Xukun doesn’t feel bad about the act, not in the least.

He nearly bites his tongue off when Ziyi suddenly turns around; Ziyi doesn’t even bat an eyelash.

He’s got the stack of photobooks hugged against his chest, free hand setting a cardboard box on the spot that Xukun’s feet just occupied. With careful movements, he places each album into the empty space as to ensure no corners are dented.

The word Vermilion covers the front, golden embroidered letters shimmering against the velvet material.

Xukun watches the whole thing unfold. It looks far too expensive, far too classy, for the content provided that he can’t help but snort.

Ziyi jerks his head up, an all too familiar glare present. “Xukun, we’ve talked about this.”

“I know, I know,” he holds his hands up, shrugging. “I just, don’t really see why—”

“Look, no one ever forced you to help me out. If you don’t like this, you don’t have to do it.”

He slams the box shut with a bit more force than necessary, gripping the sides tightly. Xukun scrambles to his feet as Ziyi stands up, placing a hand on top of the cover to halt him.

“I’m sorry, that was…” he trails off, racking his brain for the right words. “Insensitive of me. And I, well, I shouldn’t question what makes you happy.”

The stilted delivery has him cringing internally. Had it been anyone else they’d probably accuse him of being insincere, but this is Ziyi who’s known him for an embarrassingly long time yet still stuck with him, so he gets an eye-roll in response.

“You can do better than that.”

“I’m sorry I’m such a dick?”

Ziyi scoffs, but Xukun can feel his grip on the box loosening somewhat. He meets his eye with what he hopes is a sheepish smile, watching as Ziyi lets out a deep sigh, the fight seemingly slumping along with his shoulders.

“A massive one,” he finally says, shaking Xukun’s hand off the box.

“That’s what sh—”

“Shut up, and go finish that photo.”

He salutes him, nodding in earnest. “Roger that, master Vermilion.”

Ziyi actually snorts, unable to hide a small smile as he turns towards the hallway. Xukun feels a sense of accomplishment rush through him, sitting down on the couch and kicking his feet up on the vacant cushions for extra emphasis.

Another day, another successful attempt at making Ziyi not want to throw him out on the streets.

He wakes his laptop up, greeted by none other than Zhengting, shining even brighter with the newly added filter. The sight kills his mood somewhat. Pursuing his lips, he settles on just enhancing the colors of his outfit before saving all progress.

As much as Xukun doesn’t get it, he’s come to the realization—after months of doing this bizzare task—that most photos of Zhengting don’t actually need that much retouching.

He’d never admit it out loud, though.

Still, that doesn’t stop Xukun from not seeing the general appeal, or that it factor everyone keeps harping on about, or what his best friend likes in—

“Just add the watermark already,” Said best friend calls out, and Xukun gives him the finger, knowing full well that he’s aware of it despite the wall separating them.

He stamps the golden seal right across Zhengting’s face, the red “Vermilion” covering both the wink and peace sign, snickering a little until Ziyi coughs a bit too loudly.

He nearly breaks the undo button.

Only after the watermark is shrunk to an appropriate size and placed in the top right corner, does Xukun allow himself to stretch. His joints crack at the motion—a reminder that he’s way too old to be doing this. Then again, so is Ziyi, yet he’s been nothing but faithful to this new lifestyle.

As if on cue, he shows up carrying another cardboard box Xukun didn’t even know they owned. He watches as slogans, posters and whatever fan lingo he still hasn’t wrapped his head around are arranged inside, before Ziyi disappears with the box into the hallway.

Xukun refrains from making any comments, because honestly, what right does he have? If he could gain a fraction of the traction Ziyi’s made from photographing pretty boys, he’d be front-row and center at every event.

The only difference is that Ziyi actually likes doing what he does, while Xukun tries his best not to be condescending and act like a proper best friend once in a while.

But he doesn’t complain, even if he’s spent more time familiarizing himself with Zhu Zhengting’s face than his own. Since they moved in together, the times they’ve hung out, much less seen each other, have grown sparser, both of them too preoccupied trying to make sense of the hectic schedule known as adulthood.

The Yuehua Boys debut brought some sense of routine back, whether unwelcome or not, that made Xukun reminiscence the old days where they’d bicker about trivial things that didn’t involve rent or proper heating .

So he doesn’t complain, choosing instead to just edit another photo.

***

He’s complaining, he’s complaining a lot , and Ziyi’s knows he’s complaining but he doesn’t argue back because he also knows that this is all his own fault.

“I thought you were in an accident,” Xukun growls into the phone. He tries to keep his voice low despite the frustration boiling in him, having already received enough fearful looks from passersby.

“Would you have come if I’d told you the truth?” Ziyi counters.

“Don’t be smart with me”—he narrowly dodges a group of girls barreling past—“how did this even happen?”

“I’m sorry, okay,” he sighs, and Xukun can picture him worrying his lower lip. “I mistook the dates.”

“How do you, of all people, mistake anything?”

There’s scuffling on the other line, Ziyi no doubt in a similar position as his own. He hears a deep breath before Ziyi’s voice returns, clearer through the speaker. “I forgot. I was too busy with the goods that I didn’t double-check, and now everything's happening at the same time and I can’t be at two places at the same time.”

Xukun’s never heard him sound this distraught before, which is why he douses his irritation with a sigh. “Alright, I get it.”

“Thank you,” Ziyi whispers, the relief in his tone palpable.

“Just be honest with me,” he mutters. “I’d rather hear you say you messed up than get one text with ‘something happened’ and an address attached.”

Ziyi chuckles, but at least has the decency to sound a bit sheepish. “Yeah, my bad.”  

“Make sure to have fun with your PPAP boys—”

“It’s BBT.”

Xukun rolls his eyes, knowing Ziyi can picture it on the other end. “Whatever, I’ll tell your precious Zhu Zhengting you’ve moved on.”

“He’d never believe you anyways,” and the conviction in those words has Xukun feeling somewhat offended. “Besides, he’d understand how important this is to me.”

“Wow,” Xukun lets out a low whistle, “I didn’t know you two had that kinda relationship.”

Ziyi snorts. “You wish, but we don’t.”

The line goes dead before Xukun has a chance to reply, leaving him gaping at his phone like a fish on dry land. His curses are cut short by yet another group of girls sprinting past him, trying and failing to contain their excitement as they join the sea of people that have formed at the front.

He stares at the giant mob, then at his phone, then back at the giant mob again.

Ziyi doesn’t pick up, not even after Xukun dials his number for the thirteenth time.

He’s left grumbling to himself as more people stream in from all sides, locking him in place in the middle of the shopping mall. His phone buzzes just as a girl bumps into his backpack, and he throws hurried apologies at her while focusing on the text message, ignoring the angry glare she shoots him.

check your bag

Short and simple, the Ziyi special that Xukun doesn’t know if he’s come to hate or love. When he discovers a DSLR camera, an album and a numbered ticket taped to the cover, he decides he rather hates it.

asshole , is all he texts back to Ziyi.

The bastard had planned this all along.

There’s a wave of shrieks rushing over him, the sound raised to an almost painful level. Xukun’s body moves on its own accord, fishing the camera out of his bag and pulling the camera strap over his head before the crowd becomes rowdier.

He’s just about drawn himself up to his full height, elbows tucked in tightly against body, when he spots them making their way onto an elevated stage.

Or more specifically, he spots him .

Xukun freezes, finger halting on the shutter button.

“Hello everyone, we are the Yuehua Boys.” Zhengting’s warm voice carries through the crowd, somehow heard even in the mess of shrieks. “Thank you all for coming to this open fansign.”

His smile is bright—none of the filters or effects Xukun’s used on could ever compare.

Xukun takes a picture without thinking, then another, and then another, and before he can fully wrap his head around what’s going on, the mob pushes forward.

“Your ticket?”

He blinks at the staffer. Somehow, he’s gotten pressed into a line separate from the larger crowd, hushed excitement vibrating around him as the girls file onto the stage. He stares at her outstretched hand until a light bulb finally goes off.

“Ah, yeah,” he stumbles, scrambling with his bag and pulling out the album with the ticket stuck to it.

She doesn’t spare him much thought, just takes the slip of paper before letting him through. It’s only when he’s staggering across the stage that he realizes his current situation.

Up on this elevated platform, there are no guys—save for the Yuehua Boys—and he finds himself sticking out like a sore thumb with the camera still clutched in his hands.

“Woah, handsome,” he can hear a whisper from the side, a mop of blonde hair catching in his periphery.

Xukun thinks all those months helping Ziyi weren’t for nothing, quickly identifying the boy as Justin. Justin seems to notice his furtive glances, shooting him a toothy grin that has most girls in his vicinity outright cooing. Xukun doesn’t particularly get it, nor does he get the squeals when another boy, Fan Chengcheng, leans his chin on Justin’s shoulder to get a better look.

But then he spots Zhengting, sitting at the end of the table, smiling endearingly at the two, and he actually kind of gets it.

“Hello, hello, handsome bro!”

He snaps out of his musing, coming face to face with none other than the two boys ogling him. Xukun suddenly feels awkward, smile as tight as the grip on his camera. If Justin or Chengcheng notice, they don’t show it, maintaining their grins.

“Don’t worry,” Justin reassures, extending his hand across the table. “We’ll take good care of you, big bro.”

He takes the open hand, shaking it tentatively before stopping when Justin doesn’t reciprocate. Instead, the boy stares at their linked hands, dumbfounded expression plain as day.

“Um,” Chengcheng coughs from the side, biting on his lip in a poor attempt to not laugh. “Your album.”

Whatever Xukun feels, it shifts in an instant to that of stinging awkwardness.

He drops Justin’s hand as though he’s been burnt, wondering if his face looks as red as it feels. Judging from how Justin instantly loses his composure—Chengcheng following suit—he’s pretty sure he could substitute his skin for every shade of the color.

He’s never helping out Ziyi, ever again.

The small commotion attracts quite the attention, and Xukun can already imagine his flushed face appear on too many sites. The thought alone forces him into stilted conversations with the other Yuehua members, messy autographs scribbled on the album’s front as he scurries past them.

He slows down when Justin tries to force Chengcheng into a heart sign, the act drawing most of the attention, and comes to a halt in front of Zhengting.

“Hi,” Zhengting greets, warm smile fixed in place. Xukun thinks there’s a hint of amusement laced within, but that may as well be the after-effects of public humiliation playing tricks on his brain.

“Hey,” he replies, placing the album on top of the table.

Zhengting starts signing, neat strokes etched across the cover. “So, was today BBT’s debut?”

Xukun blinks. “Huh?”

He really shouldn’t be doing this whole chasing idols business, or leaving his home in general, for the sake of what little dignity he has left.

Zhengting stifles a laugh, the act somehow still graceful. “Ziyi told me he was pretty excited to see his friends finally debut, said he had lots to prepare. I guess he must’ve mixed up the dates, so he sent you to come here.”

“How are you so sure?” Xukun asks in bewilderment.

“If he hadn’t, then he’d be here right now, wouldn’t he?”

He gives the camera dangling from Xukun’s neck a knowing look, and Xukun doesn’t know why, but his face feels infinitely hotter than during the botched handshake.

“What’s your name?”

His mind reels as he stares wide-eyed at Zhengting, as if he’s never heard such a question before.

“I don’t think it’s…” He trails off, squinting at the messy handwritings of his members. “Handsome bro?”

It strikes like lightning, the realization that Xukun hadn’t even given his name. Justin and Chengcheng too busy laughing to ask for one, and Xukun too focused on avoiding the eyes of the crowd to have a proper conversation with any of the other members.

He drags a hand over his face, running through the pros and cons of jumping head first off the stage. “No, it’s just Cai Xukun.”

Zhengting nods after he’s explained the Chinese characters, jotting them down next to one of the many ‘handsome bros’—Xukun tries not to pay too much attention to that minor detail.

“Alright then, Xukun.” Zhengting puts the cap back on the marker pen. He holds the album out, but gives a sudden pause to survey the cover.

Xukun waits with bated breath, nearly choking on his own air when Zhengting looks him straight in the eye.

“Any other names?”

He blinks, once, twice, even thrice before the question properly registers. Zhengting waits, the patience of a saint on display as Xukun wrestles with his own thoughts for some sort of answer.

“A-August?” He tries, wincing at how squeaky his voice comes out.

Zhengting chokes, pressing both lips together to not laugh and Xukun’s starting to believe that all those times Ziyi called him an idiot weren’t for nothing.

“No, I meant,” he coughs, schooling his features, “the name attached to that .”

He tilts the album towards the camera, movement causing something to click with Xukun.

“Pearls,” he blurts out. “Dive for Pearls.”

Zhengting raises both eyebrows at him, and he’s sure his brain hasn’t caught up yet; it’s the only fitting explanation for why no warning bells have gone off in his ears. But then Zhengting nods in what seems like approval, somehow appearing even brighter than before.

“Neat,” he beams at Xukun, grabs his stunned hand and places the album in it.

The world seems to become a blur when he wobbles off the stage. He can barely feel the pointed looks, the hushed whispers, targeting him on all fronts. The only thing that feels somewhat real is the camera in his hands, jerky clicks of his finger on the shutter button keeping him grounded until the end of the fansign.

He starts a new Weibo account as soon as he’s home.

Ziyi returns at the same time Xukun pumps both fists in the air, cheering as the username Dive for Pearls shows up as free. He doesn’t comment though, choosing instead to wave his phone in front of Xukun’s face; the search term Yueha Boys fanboy trends across all social media.

Only after spending a good amount screenshotting every fanboy related post, does he help Xukun with the layout.

***

Dive for Pearls gains traction—definitely not thanks to Ziyi forwarding everything he posts to his own page—and Xukun finds himself using more emoticons than he’d ever thought possible.

“You know,” Ziyi comments, “you don’t have to reply with a smiley every time someone leaves a compliment.”

He pokes him in the ribs for extra emphasis, dodging the slap Xukun throws his way. There are more than a hundred comments on his latest post, ranging from incoherent keyboard smashes to long-winded essays on how pretty the edits are.

In the beginning, he’d managed to reply to every comment. But as more of his work started moving around social media, as more people found out he was that fanboy at that Yuehua fansign, replying to everyone had become impossible.

Xukun still ensures replies to the top ten comments, typing out emoticons and flowery language and all that jazz.

“You’re just jealous.” He fires back, typing harder.

He doesn’t have to look up to see Ziyi do his trademark eye-roll. “Sure thing,” he calls over his shoulder, cereal bowl in hand while walking towards the kitchen.

Xukun’s too focused on picking either a shocked emoticon with comically large eyes, or a joyful one with tiny laughter following its mouth, to give him the finger. He finally decides on the shocked one, trying to stay somewhat true to himself.

A message pops up in the corner of his screen, Ding Zeren’s dimpled smile lighting up the profile picture.

yuehua fanmeet this saturday u comin?

Fansite master Shifu, Ziyi had introduced him to a couple under the guise of having an extra hand around now that BBT had taken up more of his time than he’d intended.

Xukun knows full well though that it’s just because he doesn’t trust him to not cause a scene, or a mess, or bodily harm to others.

ya sure i need more pics

Shifu sends a large row of tearful laughter faces in response; Xukun has to squint to pick up the lone thumbs-up and some more information on the event. A tingle creeps up his spine briefly, the nervous feeling all too familiar.

Truth be told, Xukun hasn’t ever met these other fansite masters. He’s only messaged them, reading their funny anecdotes and sharing whatever funny reaction images found on the web. Everyone treats him like a close friend, but he still realizes how out of touch he is whenever they talk about specific scenarios or special meetups.

He hadn’t been lying though when he’d said needed more pictures. Xukun hasn’t quite gotten the hang of the whole fansite lifestyle, and as a result he’s missed out on an embarrassing amount of events related to the Yuehua Boys.

Ziyi has offered to share his own photos, but Xukun only feels guilty accepting that. Which is why he’s kept on sticking to the many pictures he took on that first, and thus far only, fansign—bless his trigger finger—while waiting for another chance to arise.

“Calm down, he won’t bite you.”

“And you shouldn’t be inside other people’s brains,” Xukun retorts, glaring at Ziyi as he makes his way out of the kitchen, cereal bowl refilled.

Ziyi plops down on the couch, tapping him on the head. “That would imply you had something in here.”

He barely sets aside his bowl before Xukun tackles him to the floor, setting off the first wave of a tickle war. Ziyi wheezes under his hold, but manages to slip away. He flips their positions, unleashing his own barrage of tickles on Xukun who laughs until tears slide down his cheeks.

The war rages on until they’re both leaning breathless against the couch. Xukun isn’t going to admit it out loud, but it does a lot to calm his nerves.

“No need to thank me,” Ziyi huffs through a lopsided smile.

Xukun elbows him, and the war restarts.

***

It turns out Xukun’s worries were for nothing. Shifu, or Yanchen—Xukun still struggles to keep in mind that real friends actually do go by real names—has got to be the sweetest person he’s ever met, all sunny smiles and positivity wrapped in a tall package.

“So, why did you decide to follow Zeren?” He asks while fiddling with his lens, eyeing the crowd around them and the large stage at the front.

He knows the answer, having received messages as long as essays about Zeren’s endless determination, but there’s a difference between reading and hearing the reasons in real life. Yanchen thankfully doesn’t seem miffed, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.

Xukun finds the contrast quite stark for someone who’s been nothing but grins from ear to ear since they’d met up.

“I actually didn’t like their debut music video that much,” Yanchen says, ducking his head. “But then they released their dance practice, and I was hooked.”

“Hooked on him, right?” Xukun lets slip and he slaps a hand over his mouth.

How to ruin first meetings, written and directed by Cai Xukun.

Yanchen snickers though, stopping him from a complete meltdown. “Yeah, I’ve always been passionate about dance so he instantly caught my eye. Then I started checking out more of their content like variety shows, interviews, you know all that stuff, and it just made me realize that—”

He cuts himself off, waving in the air as if grasping for the right words.

“He’s just very persistent.” He settles on, fond smile gracing his lips.

Xukun watches him, a sudden tenderness surging through him at the sight of Yanchen. He reminds him of Ziyi in an odd way, the way that they’re both able to somehow exude calmness without doing anything specific.

“What about you?”

The question throws him slightly off guard. He tries to dig through his brain for the reasons why as he avoids Yanchen’s eager face. Unlike Yanchen, he hasn’t been that devoted to finding out every available piece of information, nor dedicated his time to checking up on every activity.

Honestly, he’s a pretty crappy fansite master, and even crappier with words, unable to come up with anything decent all the while Yanchen continues to beam at him.

The lights dim, saving him from the mental gymnastics. Xukun flinches when the buzz morphs into thunderous cheers. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it, fingers tightening around his camera while pressing closer to Yanchen.

A large spotlight shines onto the stage. Music blasts from the speakers. The cheers grow louder. One by one, the Yuehua boys step into the light.

And just like that, a word—his word—emerges.

Breathtaking, that’s what he found Zhengting to be on that day.

And, as the Yuehua boys take the stage, as Zhengting takes the stage, his breath hitches.

“Hold on,” Yanchen hisses in his ear, one hand holding onto the railing, the other steadying his camera on top of it.

Xukun follows suit, death grip on the metal as the crowd pushes closer. He tries to focus all of his attention on the camera in his hands, keeping Zhengting in his line of sight at every twist and turn.

Ziyi had mentioned in passing that being a fansite master required a lot of patience, to which Xukun had scoffed at. Now, squashed between a railing and a flood of people, he can barely muster a noise of complaint.

The frustration is boiling, almost reaching its peak when someone bumps into his arm, messing up his shot. Yanchen shoots him a worried glance, but Xukun shakes his head. He realigns his hold, leans closer to the railing and tries his best not to—accidentally or purposefully, but mostly purposefully—elbow someone in the face.

“Please be mindful of each other,” Zhengting calls out in a soft yet stern tone, gazing out at the crowd. “This is a time for fun, so it would really hurt us if any of you got hurt.”

A loud squeal travels through the venue, which Xukun is definitely not part of despite the amused smirk Yanchen aims at him.

“Big words for someone who hurts his own members,” Justin fake whispers while he raises both eyebrows at Zhengting.

Zhengting raises his fist, eliciting a dramatic cry from Justin that has Chengcheng snorting loudly into the microphone. The image of a frustrated Zhengting comes out perfect; Xukun bites his lip to stop himself from whooping too loudly.

Yanchen laughs, but shuts up fast when Zeren’s asked to freestyle in front of everyone. Xukun used to think he had a fast trigger finger, but upon seeing Yanchen take what sounds like hundred pictures in seconds, he quickly reconsiders.

A girl pushes against Xukun rather hard, and he nearly topples over. She doesn’t even spare him an apology, voice reaching unimaginable heights as the lights dim again, the Yuehua Boy’s debut song blasting through the speakers.

The crowd moves as one unit, rushing towards the front. Xukun feels the pressure of more people, holding onto the railing until his knuckles turn white. Yanchen doesn’t seem fazed, too engrossed in following Zeren to notice either commotion or Xukun’s struggles.

Xukun clutches his camera, the only anchor in this ocean. He doesn’t get how Yanchen can show such calmness while maneuvering through the people adamant on crushing them.  

Until he narrowly dodges an elbow, and gets a better glimpse of Zhengting.

Zhengting, singing his heart out, completely lost in his own performance. Xukun loses himself in the midst of it too.

The pressure, the sharp jabs of people trying to force their way past him, every bit of frustration seems to seep out of him in this moment. An effortless air washes over him instead, reflected through Zhengting in his voice and his movements.

It’s not that Xukun doesn’t appreciate the other members. It’s just that Zhengting has that something that captivates him in an instant, that has him waiting with bated breath for the next move.

It pushes him to continue snapping picture after picture until the fanmeet is over.

“Thank you so much for coming,” Zhengting says, a little short of breath. “We’ll do our best to continue working hard, so please take good care of us in the future.”

A loud cheer comes in response, and Xukun joins in at the end. His voice carries over the rest, and Zhengting arches an eyebrow in his direction while Zeren takes over the microphone. Xukun blinks, suddenly feeling as though he’s been transported back to that fansign.

The smile he receives is blinding.

He barely registers his finger moving on autopilot, shutter sound not enough to break him free from his daze.

Xukun’s pretty sure his own smile isn’t even half as dazzling, but that doesn’t stop his cheeks from hurting as he continues to grin back. He feels so giddy, overwhelmed to the point where he’s unable to feel Yanchen poke and prod him in the face.

The giddiness remains until they’re in the parking lot, waiting along with a smaller group of fans.

“Isn’t this a bit too much?” Xukun asks nervously.

“Don’t worry,” Yanchen reassures him, “it’s fine as long as we don’t crowd them.”

He gestures to the other fans standing next to them, keeping a respectable distance from the exit in silent agreement. Most of the people left are other fansite masters, large DSLR cameras a dead giveaway. They recognize Yanchen in an instant, and don’t shy away from striking up a conversation that involves gushing over the various members.

Xukun steps aside, not wanting to loom over Yanchen’s shoulder while he talks. He tries to shake off that familiar awkwardness—which is much easier said than done—as the fansites start grouping together, separating him from Yanchen who’s started to resemble a celebrity.

“Not the popular type?”

Xukun yelps, almost jumping out of his skin at Zhengting’s sudden appearance.

His reaction draws attention, yet to his surprise there are no screams that follow. Instead, there seems to be a amicable tone in the air as idol greets fansite master. He watches as Yanchen naturally starts chatting with Zeren, and how other Zeren enthusiasts follow suit.

Xukun doesn’t have time to stay bewildered though, not when Zhengting’s amused expression cuts into his line of sight.

“Sorry,” he says, despite his face telling otherwise. “I thought you always had your eyes on me.”

“Only when I can see you,” Xukun retorts, and he’s surprised at how steady his voice sounds.

Zhengting chuckles, patting him on the shoulder before turning away, and Xukun’s too caught up in trying to not freak out over Zhengting’s hand on his shoulder to care about other fans in the vicinity.

He suppresses the urge to pinch himself while Zhengting’s busy giving out autographs. This time is different than the last one. It’s too casual. Zhengting isn’t wearing his flashy stage outfit anymore; he’s dressed in simple clothes—yet probably still worth more than Xukun’s entire wardrobe.

Xukun has thought of him as breathtaking, as an entity admired from afar. But up close and personal like this, he feels like even more of a bumbling fool than at the fansign.

Yet, under the less glaring lamppost lights, he notices how each smile doesn’t quite reach Zhengting’s eyes. He sees the taut lines, the slight tension in the shoulders, almost as if inherent rather than acquired.

It’s as though every flaw Xukun’s spent time on retouching have manifested in front of his eyes. He thinks it’s the first time he’s ever seen Zhengting look so human, and wonders how many times he’s missed it prior to this.

When Zhengting returns to him, strained smile still in place, all he can think of is the word bittersweet.

“You’ve worked hard,” he says out loud, unable to stop.

Zhengting blinks at him, smile wavering for a split second before he swiftly schools his features. “Everyone’s worked hard,” he points out, but Xukun notices how his grip on the marker pen tightens a bit.

“You know what I mean,” Xukun presses on, keeping his voice low enough so the other fans won’t hear.

There’s an almost pained expression flashing over Zhengting’s features, pulling at his smile until it starts resembling a grimace. He sighs, frowning at the ground.

“I’ll just sleep on it, don’t worry.”

The phrase sounds rehearsed, spoken too many times at too many similar occasions for there to bear any significance.

A staffer walks towards them, placing a hand on his shoulder and gesturing at the van waiting in the parking lot. Zhengting starts to move, eyes downcast, and Xukun watches him. He’s still within reach, but Xukun feels as if he’s staring behind an enhanced lens; the distance growing further with each movement.

Sure, he doesn’t really know Zhengting, at least not in the way warranting the worry that prickles his skin. But even though Xukun doesn’t know him, he knows the happiness he brings to others—to himself—and he wants nothing more than for Zhengting to get it.

“Sleep well, then.” He whispers, afraid that he might shatter something unknown, something fragile if he were to just raise his voice.

Zhengting lifts his head up, meets his eye, and he wants to believe there’s a hint of gratitude present. Xukun gives a faint smile in the hopes of receiving something, anything, other than silence.

A beat passes, followed by an incessant tug from the staffer, before Zhengting lets out a sigh, deeper than the previous one.

“I will…” He hesitates. “Thank you, Xukun.”

He gives a small smile of his own, seemingly brighter under the light of the lampposts. Xukun doesn’t need a camera to store that image, he makes sure he’ll keep it engraved in his mind.

One small commotion later—Justin and Chengcheng too engaged in a photo battle with their own fansites—they watch the van drive away, car lights quickly fading in the distance.

“You two looked close,” Yanchen comments while waving goodbye to the other fans. “I thought you guys only talked once before.”

“I guess I’m lucky,” Xukun replies, and something quite inexplicable tugs at his heart.

Yanchen lets out a low whistle, nudging him in the side. “Dive for Pearls? You should rename yourself to Dive for Hearts with the way you’re going at it.”

That, does break Xukun’s solemn mood somewhat, but the laugh that escapes is like a weight off his shoulders, so he doesn’t complain.

***

Xukun can’t explain it, but somehow, everything falls into place on its own.

One moment, he’d been editing the photos he took at the fanmeet, sipping on overpriced iced coffee and waiting for Ziyi to finish a late-night BBT event.

The next moment, he’d almost choked on his overpriced iced coffee, overhearing a stranger tell her other stranger friend that “Zhu Zhengting isn’t even that good”.

And this moment, this moment is him in rather heated argument with said stranger about how totally wrong she is.

“How can you say he’s not that good if you haven’t even watched any of his work?” He snaps, arms crossed over his chest.

“Why would I want to watch his work?” She retorts, mimicking his stance. “I’m not a fan—”

“Then how can you be so sure he isn’t good enough?”

She has the decency to look a bit abashed, glancing at her friend for help. Her friend shakes her head, stepping back and the glare she receives even makes Xukun wince.

“I’m just saying,” he begins, taking a sip for extra emphasize, “if you haven’t seen any of his work, don’t act like you know him.”

“Oh, and you do?” She fires back.

He rolls his eyes, not even bothering to hide his annoyance. “I don’t have to know him to know that he puts his heart and soul into everything he does. I don’t have to know him to get why he’s popular because—”

Xukun blinks at the loud gasp, watching as her eyes widen to a near comical degree. She grabs her friend—whose eyes are equally wide—before he can continue his speech, and bolts out the coffee shop in a flash.

“Well then,” Xukun says, mind already singing a victory tune. “One point for Cai Xukun, zero points for stranger.”

He hears someone stifle a laugh behind him. The sound is oddly familiar, yet not quite enough for him to pinpoint directly. The thought of another hater enters his mind, and Xukun bites down on his straw hard as he turns around to face them.

This time, he does choke on his overpriced iced coffee.

“Y-You,” he coughs, “n-need to stop doing th-this!”

Zhengting’s stuck somewhere between trying hard not to laugh, and trying hard not to let Xukun die. He chooses the latter, slapping Xukun on the back until Xukun’s sure his lungs are filled with actual air; only then does his brain catch up to the current situation.

Not a fansign, not a fanmeet, just a coffee shop, like one of Ziyi’s poorly hidden rom-coms come to life.

“Are you stalking me?” He splutters, covering his laptop screen as if Zhengting’s about to steal content of himself.

“You wish,” he snorts, voice slightly muffled by the face mask. “I actually quite like the coffee here.”

He gives the plastic cup in his hand a gentle wave, and the overpriced iced coffee—similar to the one cooling in Xukun’s lungs—swirls in greeting.

“Okay,” Xukun replies, albeit still a bit wary, uncovering his screen. “I’ll trust you, for now.”

Zhengting laughs at that, bright and brilliant, leaving Xukun to stare blankly. He doesn’t understand why, but somehow, whenever he’s with Zhengting, he feels like he always tips over the line between coherent sentences and blank spaces.

“I guess I’ll just have to earn your trust,” Zhengting says, grabbing a chair. “August, my knight in—”

Xukun groans, all thoughts flying out the window as he covers his face. “I can’t believe you still remember that.”

“How could I not?” Zhengting laughs again, and despite the urge to bolt out the door, Xukun wants nothing more than to hear that sound on repeat.

He presses his cheek against the keyboard in a poor attempt to hide from Zhengting’s amused gaze. He can feel him suddenly lean closer, hovering over him to the point where he’s convinced his heart is about to burst at the seams.

Forget toeing the line between coherent and blanking out, Xukun thinks his body’s close to shutting down on itself.

“This one was real, you know.”

“What?” He squeaks, not daring to peer up.

He can feel the low chuckle, feel the vibrations pass through his shoulder as Zhengting’s slender hand comes into view.

“This,” he points at the screen.

Xukun follows his finger, tracing the blinding smile—the moment when their eyes had met.

“So, you don’t have to edit it—”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Xukun interrupts him, because it’s important that Zhengting gets it, gets that he wasn’t planning on editing it, or selling it, or showing it to any other person besides himself.

“Oh,” Zhengting whispers.

Xukun lifts his head, looking right at him. Up close like this, regardless of the face mask, he sees the myriad of emotions flickering in Zhengting’s eyes before stopping on one.

One that shines unwavering and determined.

“Oh,” Xukun echoes.

They sit in silence, until Zhengting pulls down his mask.

“Well then, Dive for Pearls,” he begins, head tilted to the side. “Do you want to get to know me?”

Xukun doesn’t miss a beat.

There’s a tug at his heart, akin to that of affection, coursing through him with such a strong force that he can’t help but grin broadly.

Somehow, everything just falls into place on its own.

***

“Don’t you have work to do?” Ziyi asks with a frown.

Xukun looks up from where he’s sitting, laptop perched on his knees. “Uh, I’m working right now?”

“Not you, genius, I’m asking him .”

“We’re not robots,” Zhengting notes, leaning his head on Xukun’s shoulder. “We’re allowed to have vacation too.”

“Can it not be in my house?”

“Technically,” Xukun says in his best know-it-all tone, “it’s my house too.”

Ziyi groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fine, you know what?” He grabs a pair of home keys off the coffee table. “I’m leaving.”

He stomps towards the hallway, and had it been any other day Xukun would’ve followed him in protest. But a day with Zhengting isn’t ever any other day, especially not when he insists on having his mouth on Xukun’s neck, at all times.

“H-Have fun,” he stutters as Ziyi slams the door, fingers tightening around his laptop. “S-Stop it, I’ve still got—”

Teeth grazes his skin and his breath hitches, grip nearly slipping. He can feel fingers trail lightly down his sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake, and a part of him wants to see how much further Zhengting will go.

But another part—the more sensible one, cultivated through the act of actually owning something important—screams at him that he’s behind on goods, so many goods.

It takes every ounce of willpower for Xukun to stand up. He staggers forward, laptop hugged to his chest as he tries to put some distance between them.

“Look,” he starts, avoiding eye contact. “I have to finish this before I can do… That .”

He coughs, partially to hide his own embarrassment, partially to dispel Zhengting’s gaze practically burning into him. He keeps his eyes glued to the floor, afraid that if he looks up he’ll do something stupid, like drop his laptop and fling himself at the other man.

The sound of footsteps almost seem too loud, and Xukun’s never been as scared of socks in his life as in the moment Zhengting’s come into view. The white colors are a stark contrast to the dark wooden floor, alerting Xukun that there’s way too much proximity for his own self-control.

“What if I give you exclusive photos of Justin and Chengcheng?” Zhengting whispers, close to his ear.

Xukun screws his eyes shut. “Everyone and their mom has exclusive photos of them, that won’t—”

“Wenjun and Zeren.”

“Wenjun and Zeren?” Xukun asks, staring at him incredulously.

Zhengting smirks, edging closer. “You heard me.”

“Deal,” he says, a bit too quickly and a bit too out of breath.  

Because if there’s anything he’s learned in the time spent with Zhengting, it’s that though he may be breathtaking, he’s also quite the bastard.