Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

illustrated by guavi

a short foreword

back in 2018, i (sevenzeroseven) started this fic with the intention of it being a short, silly, self-indulgent modern AU of my favorite dynamics and ships within TBF, and less than a year later, it blossomed into a wonderful collaboration with some amazing TBF fans who became friends i will forever treasure meeting. thank you for turning this little fic into a passion project far beyond my wildest imagination and expectations! & thank you to everyone who read this story and supported us on not only ao3 but also twitter, tumblr, and other social media platforms. & also a quick thank you to the TBF staff for creating a show that has inspired and continues to inspire us and so many other fans to new creative heights!

the full story (with beautiful accompanying illustrations like the above cover art from guavi!) was originally completed and distributed back in 2019, but now that we are reaching the end of this wild ride that has been TBF, we have decided to publish that version to ao3. in the upcoming weeks, i will be reformatting and updating the chapters here to include the illustrations, edits, rewrites, & new scenes that we created together--look forward to it!

below are the main artists and writers of 'dusk till dawn' with ao3 & social media handles linked, and each individual chapter & illustration will be credited accordingly. 

main artists: guavi (twitter/plurk/instagram/tumblr), illu (twitter/bluesky/instagram/tumblr), orie (twitter/instagram/tumblr/bluesky)
main writers: mimi (twitter/bluesky), tiger (twitter/bluesky)

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

“Shang, you should get an assistant." Lang said it passingly, quietly. It was a flat statement to the casual observer, but something weightier between the two of them.

"Too much trouble." Shang waved away the idea and set his phone down, intent on ignoring it for the rest of the evening. The agenda, however, remained open in his hand, and he used the pen he'd been taking notes with to tap his temple. 

"Sorry," he muttered, frowning at his chicken scratch scrawled across the page. "Didn't mean to be on the phone all night..."

"It's fine." 

Shang could sense the disappointment even if Lang didn’t verbalize it. He finally snapped his booklet shut and shoved it aside. 

"Had to reschedule a meeting with Dong Li Entertainment... Looks like I'll be heading back to Taipei earlier than expected. Oh, and Ling Ya says he'll be flying over in the morning. Also, says congrats on the show."

Shang grinned through his exhaustion and reached over to clink his beer against Lang's glass. 

Lang hummed, seemingly unaffected, but shared in the celebratory drink anyway. "The attention isn't so enviable." 

His calm, blue-green eyes found some indeterminate spot behind Shang's shoulder. 

Shang turned. A bark of laughter immediately erupted from his mouth, and he pivoted back with a grin and a jerk of his head in that direction. The women sneaking furtive glances at their table startled. 

"Oi, oi, forget attention; you're goddamn famous." 

A small, rare smile found Lang’s features and disappeared just as quickly. "And between that and your work, we haven't seen each other in two months."

Shang’s eyebrows rose. Had it really been that long? 

"Two months, huh? That’s—" He laughed haltingly and scratched his nose.

Lang raised a hand, and his expression softened ever so slightly. He leaned forward in his seat. "It's fine. I only mention it because I'm worried about you. Xiao Kuang Juan has been working you hard."

Shang scoffed and took another swig of beer before shoving sushi into his mouth. "That bastard's always had his eye on my job. Honestly, I'm more concerned about Xie Ying Luo and her underhanded methods, but—" He laughed. "I can handle them.” 

When Lang remained quiet, Shang reached across and gave his shoulder a light clap. “Hey, don't worry about me. Just focus on keeping your rabid fangirls at bay." 

Shang nodded behind him. The gesture drew a quiet chuckle out of the musician as he finally seemed to relax. 

"Shall we go?" he asked once he saw that Shang had finished his beer and sushi. "You have an early morning, right?"

"Right, yeah." Shang got up, grabbing the scarf and jacket draped over the back of his seat in the process. His eyes glanced over at the bill Lang had paid in advance.

Before the other could throw his guitar case over his shoulder, Shang reached out and gave his arm a nudge. "Hey."

"Hm?" 

"Thanks for the meal. I appreciate it. Guess I needed the break after all."

Lang smiled, wider than he had before. "Sure. Let me know when you're leaving. I'll drive you to the airport." 

"Nah, you don't have to."

Shang followed Lang into the aisle and dimly registered their waiter bidding them goodbye. They were practically at the exit when a familiar voice called out to him.

"Not even a hello, Shang Bu Huan?"

Chapter Text

"Shang?" Lang sidled back up to him with a raised eyebrow, peering around his body to get a look at the stranger. His expression didn’t change; there wasn’t even a blip of recognition. "Friend of yours?" he asked.

All Shang could do was say yes. "Y-Yeah," he started and shot Lin a thinly veiled glare. "Go on ahead without me. Sorry."

Lang didn’t look convinced, so Shang put on an apologetic smile and said, "Business-related. I'll call you in the morning." 

"Oh." Lang passed Lin one last tepid glance before conceding. He nodded to the both of them. "Then, see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, see you tomorrow." 

Shang made sure Lang had walked out of the restaurant before turning sharply toward the interloper.

“When did you remember?” was the first thing out of Lin's mouth as soon as their eyes met. 

The question was unexpected enough to throw Shang off. He held in the sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He didn’t answer, wasn’t obligated to, and frankly didn’t want to, but he found himself dragging out the chair opposite Lin anyway. The sigh naturally heaved out when he dropped into it.

When he took his hand away from his face, Lin was staring at him with the same shrewd eyes from a lifetime ago.

“A bit after we ran into each other at the party, I guess," he started reluctantly then cleared his throat.

The truth was that he didn’t remember everything. Things mostly came back to him in half-awake dreams. As soon as he tried honing in on details, they slipped away like water through mesh. Other memories might as well have been smoke with how fragile they were. 

He thought he'd gone crazy. Accepting a "past life" was a hard pill for anyone to swallow, so he’d pushed it to the back of his mind and left it there for months, just déjà vu and dreaming. Whatever his ‘past life’ had been didn’t have any bearing on the present. That was what he told himself, but confronted with the Enigmatic Gale's truth, he needed more time to process everything.

Threading his fingers together loosely, he placed his elbows along the edge of the table and leaned in to reconsider Lin. 

"You just don't give up, do you?" he growled. It was a half-hearted growl at best, which Shang blamed on the alcohol and the hour.

Lin hummed and inverted the bowl of his pipe into the ashtray on his left, taking his time to refill it. He hadn’t changed in the slightest. Out of all the affluent patrons, Lin stood out most with his pale hair and red eyes, the fur trim on his white overcoat, and that goddamn pipe.

Shang’s patience was running thin by the time Lin finally shifted in his seat and continued. "That was Lang Wu Yao, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Shang returned dryly. "He doesn’t remember anything.”

They lapsed into silence. Shang noted Lin hadn’t ordered anything other than a glass of wine.

"So, what is it you want?" Shang cocked his head to the side and had half a mind to leave. They may have known each other in the past, but in the present, they were all but strangers.

"I love you."

Shang blinked. "You, you—what?"

Lin's expression barely changed. He continued in the same matter-of-fact tone after taking a draught of his pipe. "You see, it took me an entire lifetime and then some to realize it, but I love you.”

Now that Lin repeated it, Shang knew he hadn’t misheard, but the wrongness persisted like a rock in his stomach. His brain kicked into overdrive trying to place words and scenes—a whole other life he'd lived that was more dream than reality. He kept looking for something to anchor his thoughts, some explanation or sleight of hand, but there was nothing.

Lin quietly interrupted him, and he glanced up from his consternation. Shang realized that the other wasn’t so much looking at him as looking through him. 

“You may not remember, but you ultimately perished because of me. One of my schemes had gone... a bit too far.”

Lin paused, and if Shang didn’t know better, he would have said the smile that crossed his face was wistful.

“It was very lonely without you, Bu Huan." Another pause. "Cripplingly so.”

He brought the lip of his pipe to his mouth. Shang's eyes lingered on the action before shifting elsewhere. His own name tickled his senses, not because he wasn’t used to the familiarity but because he was. Lin said it so easily that some distant part of him accepted it without question. 

He shook his head as if to shake himself free of the distraction and tapped his right temple. "Look," he started after the pause. “You know I have nothing for you to steal this time either, right?”

“Ah, that’s where you're wrong, Sir Shang."

Shang pulled a face between disbelief and confusion. Lin didn’t elaborate. The confession sat between them, light and airy, as if it'd soon disappear. 

"Xue Ya... you serious?"

"Of course. Why else would I be here?" Lin's faint grin fell. For once, he looked upset. Genuinely upset. 

"O-Oi. Lin—" Shang shifted in his seat, suddenly alarmed and uncomfortable. Lin pulled a napkin to dab at his red eyes, now redder with what looked like tears?

"I came with a heartfelt confession... only to see you with the same man you refused to let go of last time. Can you imagine how I feel?"

Shang's expression flatlined. “Nevermind."

He got up without another word or glare spared in Lin's direction and turned to go. His exit was accompanied by light laughter he'd heard a million times over that was no less vexing now than before.

"Hahaha, Shang Bu Huan, don't be such a stranger. We're cosmically bound, you know?”

Chapter Text

Shang yawned loudly and scratched his nose. The days were getting warmer, and the suit he'd donned was stifling. He hadn't worn it in years; the age probably showed. He didn't care much and had never been up-to-date with fashion, but his boss gave him a sour look as soon as he stepped past the sliding doors. 

'What?' was his response in a shrug and a glance. 

“You’re not a junior manager anymore; you’re an executive. Shouldn’t you look the part?” The older man shook his head when Shang said nothing and turned to lead the way. 

They made small talk in the elevator, Shang elaborating on the sightseeing details of his trip to Japan. His personal time had been limited, given the trip had been for business, but the elder seemed bright-eyed for scenery recommendations, so Shang embellished a little with details he'd heard from Ling Ya. The most outstanding thing about his week had probably been Lang's concert and Lin’s—

Shang choked in his recounting as his train of thought hit a wall. 

The other turned to him with a puzzled expression. "Hm? Sorry? What sushi bar was that?"

Shang laughed. "Ah, yeah, I'll double-check the name for you. It was packed, though; you're gonna need a reservation."

The conversation moved on, and Shang sighed inwardly. He'd been expecting Lin to appear again, but the days had been calm. Too calm. The feeling was uncomfortably familiar. He'd been doing what he could to ignore it, hope for the best, let sleeping dogs lie, etcetera.

His phone buzzed as they were making their way past clusters of cubicles, Shang waving cursorily at old co-workers as they passed. His eyes flickered over the notifications just before his boss shut the door to his office. 

Lang Wu Yao
Dinner?

Shang made a mental note to reply after the meeting before slipping the device back into his pocket. 

"Shang, take a seat."

Shang complied and picked up the neatly stapled packet before him. He could tell it was some new project from the cover, but he didn't start flipping through until his boss gestured for him to open it.

A new TV drama, historical setting, big budget, and optimistic projected ratings. 

Huh. 

Shang scratched his temple as the older man explained. He tuned him out when he reached the cast list, skimming the names under consideration, and did a double take. Not only was Dan Fei one of the candidates, but Lang Wu Yao had been penned in for third lead. Shang released a short breath of disbelief and folded the page back to read it again. All of the roles were, as of printing, still up in the air except Lang’s. 

He quickly flipped through a few more pages to Lang's contract in the back and caught Ling Ya's signature at the bottom. Right, that made sense. Shang refrained from snorting, eyebrows knitting together instead. Was that guy going to be okay with this? Did he even know about it yet?

“Shang, are you listening?” 

He was so absorbed in the sudden revelation that he missed half of what his superior was saying until the other cleared his throat. Shang startled out of his reverie and glanced up. 

"Huh? Yeah, sure, I'm just ah—" He interrupted himself with a laugh and tugged at the tie chafing around his neck. "Don't really get what I'm doing here, or why you're telling me all this." 

He closed the packet and waved it in front of his face. "Dealing directly with clients is not my department anymore. Wish you the best, but I’d rather not get involved."

His tone had an impolite edge he hadn’t intended, but their relationship had grown comfortable enough that he rarely needed to watch his tongue. His boss took his words in stride and mirrored his laugh, reclining in his leather seat. He folded his thin fingers across his chest and considered Shang for a moment with a narrowed gaze before adopting another faint, chagrined smile. 

"Straight to the point, I see. As expected. Well, I suppose I'll just come out and say it then. We're going to need you back at the main office for a while." 

He paused as an unsettling feeling passed over Shang. Shang shifted in his seat. "Something happen?" he asked.

"Yes. Something good, but the client had a few... stipulations." 

His boss stood and circled his chair before stopping behind it to rest his forearms on top. "A big name has agreed to star in the production." 

"Oh?" Shang flipped back to the casting list, but the other only made a disavowing gesture. 

"Don't bother. It hasn't been updated. We were only contacted a day ago. Both the director and producer are ecstatic to have him on. Not only that, but he's dropped his agency and is coming over to Xi You." 

Shang's eyebrows shot up again. "Hey, that's great news. Didn't think Xi You would be contracting so many big names in the new year. But what’s the catch?"

As soon as he spoke, the unsettling feeling returned.

"You see, he's not without his... scandals. I know you don't keep up with the industry much outside company projects, but he's been through a few high-profile relationships and a few run-ins with the government in the last couple of years. However, his popularity has only continued to grow both inside and outside the country and especially among the younger generation. He'll be a face-lift for the company. We have high hopes for this production." 

Another pause. Shang had a feeling he knew where this was going, but he couldn't quite bring himself to confirm it.

"He specifically requested to have you smooth over this transitional period."

Shang stood. "Look, I really—"

A knock at the door startled him, and he glanced over as a young female face appeared behind it. He recognized her as the secretary he'd passed on the floor.

"Ah, perfect timing!" His boss's expression lit up, and he gestured rapidly for the secretary to bring the guest in. "Come in, come in! We were just discussing the production."

"Haha, it seems I was right to be early then."

There was no mistaking that silvery voice. Shang had heard it just a couple of weeks ago. He wasn't as surprised as he’d thought he'd be, but his stomach churned and his hands had curled into fists before he knew it. He forced himself to take a few steadying breaths—in and out, in and out—before turning.

"Lin Xue Ya, this is Shang Bu Huan. He will be overseeing this production and your transition to Xi You."

Lin smiled as he reached a hand out to him, the other preoccupied with a familiar pipe. "I look forward to working with you, Sir Shang."

Chapter Text

"Open wide."

"Huh?"

Shang almost did as he was told, distracted as he was, until his head registered the voice and his eyes focused on the cruller being shoved toward his mouth.

He immediately yanked the shao bing you tiao out of Lin's hand before the other could force-feed it to him.

"Cut the bullshit," he snapped. 

The tray Lin was balancing with the rest of their breakfast wobbled, but otherwise, he went unfazed. He laughed, and suddenly Shang was hyperaware that they were being watched.

They’d already missed the morning rush, but the place was still crowded enough for the attention to make his skin itch. He tore into the fried dough with more force than necessary and swallowed the first bite without chewing.

"We’re in public," he groused as an addendum rather than exception, but of course Lin took it for the latter.

"And if we weren’t?" Lin smiled knowingly, either anticipating Shang's snark or getting a rise out of him.

Shang tried to relax back into his seat. "You know what I meant."

Lin hummed in response and retreated. Before sitting, he laid the tray down between them. On one side was a bowl of steaming soy milk, on the other a plastic cup and straw. 

The lull in conversation allowed Shang to give Lin a good once-over. He wasn’t so gaudily dressed for a change. The white coat sitting on his shoulders wasn't fur-trimmed. He still had that belted choker, but his shirt was a simple navy rather than floral, gold-embroidered, and bright red. 

Much to Shang’s dismay, Lin caught him staring. “We’re in public,” he parroted. A smile spread across his fairness like molasses. 

Unable to retort, Shang shifted his gaze away and took another constipated bite. Lin pushed the tray forward and plucked his cold milk off the surface, breaking the cover with the straw.

Shang pulled a face when Lin sipped. “That’s all you’re eating?” he asked, punctuating the question like an accusation.

Lin dragged his sip out and maintained eye contact for a good few seconds before pulling away. “I have a shoot in the afternoon. The camera, as they say, adds ten pounds. Cruller adds another ten. But you enjoy.”

Something about the way he said that... Shang snorted and grabbed the bowl of soy milk. Instead of drinking, he fixed Lin with a hard stare. “Why don’t you just go ahead and tell me what the hell you’re doing?”

Lin brandished his pipe in his left hand and leaned forward as though he were disclosing a secret. “I believe we’ve spent the better part of the morning discussing that already?”

“I told you to cut the bullshit.” Shang’s lips pursed together between bites of dough. “You really expect me to believe you’re here on a whim?”

”Hmm,” Lin murmured, tilting his head askance in mock thought. “I’d expect you to know best that I only ever do things on personal whims.”

”Shut up.” Shang gestured toward the thief with his half-eaten flatbread-cruller. “You know I’ve got nothing for you to steal, and you’ve already had a good laugh at my expense. If you’re looking for another puppet to dance on your strings, you can forget about it. I’m not looking for a repeat of last time. Never again.”

He didn’t sugarcoat the words; he didn’t need to. But rather than the supercilious expression he expected, Lin looked pensive.

Lin reached across and pushed the bowl toward Shang. He kept pushing until it practically spilled over the table’s edge. 

“Oi—”

“I told you that you’re wrong.”

Lin sat back, right hand going to tousle a long strand of hair that’d fallen over his shoulder. “Of course, whether you believe me is your choice.”

The seriousness of Lin’s intonation was undercut by his smile. Shang shook his head, understanding the situation no better than he did before as Lin’s confession churned uncomfortably in his thoughts. He’d already written it off as a tasteless joke, so why did it still bother him? Rather than admit uncertainty, he focused on finishing breakfast instead. Grabbing the bowl and setting the edge against his lips, Shang downed the soy milk while ignoring Lin’s heavy gaze. 

He gingerly returned the bowl to the table when it was empty and pressed a napkin to his mouth before muttering, “About last time—”

Lin broke a sip of his drink to interrupt. “Don’t tell me you’re still doubting our shared past and misadventures?”

Shang scoffed. “No. If I was, I’d have to accept we’ve both gone crazy. Or else you’re feeding me lies while somehow reading my mind. That’s something I’d have to put past even your capabilities.”

Lin chuckled, no doubt taking the remark as a backhanded compliment. Shang cleared his throat before continuing.

“Look. The way I see it? Not much you can do to me anymore. The worst is dying, and I’ve already done that. Getting fired? Company tanked?” Shang shrugged. “Nothing world-shattering. I really don’t care. You’re just a regular human this time, Lin, surrounded by regular humans in a normal, boring world.”

Lin had lit his pipe while Shang wasn’t looking. The last bite of food weighed uncomfortably in Shang’s stomach, and the sensation of Lin’s penetrating gaze didn’t help. Those red eyes had always been unnerving, but Shang had never backed down, and he didn’t intend to now.

After a prolonged silence, Lin finally broke his stare to take a slow inhale of perfumed smoke. “I’ve always been just a regular human, Bu Huan. One who so happens to have a multitude of tools at his disposal.”

Familiar words, again. Shang’s expression turned into a grimace, and Lin shifted in his seat, laughing.

“Oh-ho, I have missed you,” he admitted freely. 

This was not candor Shang was accustomed to hearing, much less from Lin. Or, at least, not the Lin he remembered. 

His phone suddenly buzzed, providing a much needed distraction. Before he could reach for it, Lin already had it in his hands. 

“No lock? So trusting, Sir Shang.”

“Hey!”

Shang made a swipe for the device, but Lin’s fingers were swifter and typing something before he could stop him.

“Oi, Lin!”

Shang lunged; Lin only twisted and avoided him for a second longer before tossing the phone back to him. Shang scrambled to catch it. 

“You—!”

His free hand swept down his face and rested on his chin. The screen lit up, revealing his conversation with Lang. God, he’d been afraid of this. His eyebrows furrowed as he read Lin’s response on his behalf.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked, not hiding the irritated edge or the flash of indignation in his eyes. "I don't even know if I'm gonna be free at 7, and even if I was, the hell is this restaurant? You're not invited!"

Lin tutted, having pulled out his own bedazzled phone while sipping his soy milk. "Some friends of mine opened a restaurant that’s been gaining popularity recently, and this would be as good an opportunity as any to visit." He smirked faintly, quirking an eyebrow. "What? It’s not as though it was a date, was it?"

Shang knew Lin was dangling bait; he knew it, yet he bit anyway. "Yeah, it's a goddamn date, and you're not invited," he snapped sarcastically.

Lin waved away the assertion as he stood. 

"I don't mind playing third wheel," he said simply. Before Shang could rise to argue with him, he added, "Besides, if he and I are co-starring, we'll have to get along at some point. I can't imagine a better opportunity than this dinner."

Before the conversation could continue, Lin was walking away. Shang gathered his things in a hurry and chased after him. He pulled ahead absentmindedly to grab the door for himself only to have Lin weasel through first without so much as a thanks. 

"Keep him out of it," he growled once they were out on the streets with Lin slightly ahead of him.

"Hm? Out of what?" Lin forged ahead at a brisk pace. 

"Don't play dumb. It ain't cute." Shang grabbed Lin's shoulder, forcing him to stop and look at him. "Whatever the hell you're doing,” he continued. “Tch… like I said, he doesn't remember."

Shang stepped back and let go when the other fixed him with an appraising gaze. 

"Hmm," Lin murmured as if considering the proposition. "Is he still that laconic, angry fellow who's hard to deal with?" 

Shang ignored the question. "He's doing well for himself right now, and I'll be damned if I let you screw that up."

Lin grinned. He took a few deliberate steps into Shang's space. Before Shang could react to distance himself again, a hand was running along his neck and down the crease of his collar. He stared dumbly as Lin’s fingers curled to fix the misaligned fabric. When he finished, he gave Shang’s chest a pat. 

"Then,” Lin started, bridging what was left of the gap as his voice dropped to a whisper. “Keep a good eye on me, Bu Huan." 

Rays of sunshine peeked out between several skyscrapers just then, bathing the street in bright light and accentuating the mischievous glint in Lin's eyes. The glint disappeared behind a flashy pair of sunglasses as soon as an expensive car rolled up to the curb. A chauffeur hopped out and shunted Lin away before Shang could register what was happening.

“See you at dinner.” 

With a short wave, Lin disappeared into the backseat and left Shang alone to hold his head in frustration.

Chapter Text

The pool of blood around him kept expanding farther and farther past the periphery of his dimming vision. No matter how much Shang clutched at his midriff, he couldn’t staunch the flow. 

Pain—or was it weakness?—forced him to his knees. From there, the grass and mud provided the backdrop for his life draining out of him in rivulets. His entire body had numbed, but like the final flickers of a dying flame, the rest of his senses remained sharp. He could hear someone calling his name.

There was movement at his side, but he didn’t have the energy to lift his head. At least, not until he registered who it was.

Shang—

A familiar, grating voice. Between clenched teeth, anger seethed into a slow, steaming hiss as if water had been brought to a boil inside his head. The blue-trimmed robes, silver-laced shoes, and feather-light silks were unmistakable.

When he finally lifted his face to speak, he realized he couldn’t. Iron filled his lungs, his mouth, the very air he struggled to breathe before gurgling forth to paint the front of his robes dark red. Shang tried anyway. He’d curse and drag that figure to hell if it was the last thing he did, but the words caught in his throat as soon as he saw that expression.

An expression he didn’t think Lin Xue Ya was capable of making.

Much less at him.

Bu Huan—!

Shang woke in stepwise fashion, vision returning to him first. It was dark, and for a moment, he completely forgot where he was and what he was doing. His right hand fell into his lap and hovered over his stomach. The disorientation lingered, followed closely by inexplicable agitation, but the stupor vanished when he blinked and the interior of his car slowly materialized before him. 

Right. He’d arrived early and decided to park at the curb for a nap. Except he'd made the mistake of not setting an alarm, so—?

He scrambled for his phone, patting down his clothes and seat as he tried arranging his thoughts into some semblance of coherence through sluggish movements. The dream kept him reeling with a pervasive sense of disconnection—as if his reality wasn’t real at all. After a minute or two of fumbling, he found the device face up near the brake, screen riddled with notifications.

Rubbing a finger across bleary eyes, Shang squinted down at the time.

“6:42,” he murmured, sighing in relief that he hadn't overslept, but his reprieve lasted for only an instant. The corners of his lips turned sharply downward as he read the text directly below.

0935-XXXXXX
Don’t forget our date ~

A flurry of questions cracked through him like lightning. What happened to playing the third wheel? How had Lin gotten his number? And when? 

Shang groaned and leaned back in his seat, fully awake now but wishing he could’ve kept sleeping instead.

Chapter Text

The room Lin booked was less of a room than it was a display. Thick glass panes stood in for walls, showcasing a panoramic view of the city spread as far as the eye could see. A crystal chandelier cast soft light across a circular table much too large for three, and gently flickering candles surrounded a porcelain vase of red roses within the center. 

Slumped in one of the ornate chairs was Lang. He had his oversized headphones pulled across his ears and his arms cushioning his head beneath him. Shang sighed good-naturedly at the sight and shrugged out of his jacket.

"We'll begin bringing out the dishes shortly." 

Shang pivoted back toward the hostess after taking a few steps inside. "We haven't ordered."

"The gentleman who made your reservation ordered ahead. Your waiter will bring your drinks and a menu should you want to add anything. Please enjoy." She bowed out of the room, and before Shang could say anything the door clicked shut and left them alone.

Shang draped his jacket over his forearm and shifted his gaze to the skyline again. The cityscape had completely darkened since he’d parked, but there was still a faint purplish hue on the horizon. Headlights winked through glass towers, snaking along main roads that were strips of neon on a bright grid of office buildings and high-rise hotels. Staring too long at the tiny, moving structures made him dizzy with the realization that they were 56 floors up. If he didn't know better (and he wasn't sure he did) he'd have said Lin picked the venue to mess with him.

He held back a grimace and tore his eyes away to sweep them across the rest of the room before landing on Lang’s still form. He must have been tired, and Shang didn’t have the heart to wake him. He hung his jacket on a peg by the entrance and was in the process of loosening his tie and sliding into the seat to Lang’s right when the musician suddenly stirred. 

“Shang...” He blinked awake and shifted his head, greeting Shang with a voice still thick with sleep.

Shang refrained from chuckling at the stray strands sticking out of his braids. As if sensing it anyway, Lang used a hand to sweep the hair over his shoulder. His other pulled the headphones off his ears as he yawned, "You're on time. For once."

"Hey!" Shang dropped into his seat the rest of the way and knocked into Lang’s arm playfully. "I called off the gym for this, you know."

Lang snorted. "Could stand to lose some muscle weight." He rubbed the shoulder Shang had collided into with exaggerated offense, and Shang nearly rolled his eyes.

"When you get older and all you do is desk work and social drinking, you start putting on the pounds a lot faster. But I wouldn't expect you to understand yet, Mr. Guitar Hero," he teased.

Lang's lips quirked up in response. It was nice seeing the younger relax even as Shang knew the rest of the evening would probably ruin that. The private room wasn’t so bad now, but what about when their third arrived?

Shang threw his tie over the empty seat beside him and undid the first button of his dress shirt before clearing his throat. "Hey, listen, Lang—" He hesitated. "Someone else is joining us."

He dragged his eyes away from the skyline and noticed Lang's expression hadn't changed. It remained impassive, but his voice dropped slightly, eyes going from Shang's to the garish display of roses. 

"I thought it was weird for you to pick this place," he started, slinging his right arm over the back of his seat as his left leaned into the edge of the table. "Who?"

The door burst open as if on cue. Speak of the devil, and he was sure to appear. Shang had half a mind to question whether Lin hadn't been hiding in the hallway and eavesdropping this entire time. 

"Were you waiting long for me?"

Lin entered with a flourish and a presence that demanded attention. Shang was loath to give it to him, but he found himself doing so anyway. As expected, Lin had changed into a completely different outfit for the evening, a grey three-piece and polished shoes that looked far more expensive than anything Shang had ever owned. He discarded the jacket as soon as he stepped into the warm interior, but even in just the dress shirt, waistcoat, and necktie, Lin looked out of place. Or rather, he made them look out of place.

As Shang’s gaze lingered for an extra second or two, the thought inadvertently crossed his mind that Lin could make anything look good. Modeling suited him.

When Lin caught his stare (again), chagrin made Shang retort, "Yeah, but I should've expected you to keep us waiting after making us jump through all these hoops."

Lin draped his jacket across an empty chair and smiled. "Fine dining requires a little more effort at times, Bu Huan. I wanted to make a good first impression, after all."

Lin turned to Lang, his gracious smile flattering features made pleasant by the mellow ambiance. "I’m glad you were both able to find the place without much trouble."

Though the place was out of the way and time-consuming to find, the greater issue was that Lin had decided to invite himself. Shang bit his tongue and turned to regard Lang, slightly anxious for his reaction. But there was none, just a vacant, unamused stare waiting for explanation.

"He's—"

"I remember."

The hair on the back of Shang's neck stood on end. In his periphery, he caught Lin shifting his undivided attention to the redhead. Shit, not good. Before he could explain, Lang cocked an eyebrow and asked, "Your friend from Japan?"

Self-satisfaction oozed out of Lin as he meandered to Shang’s side, one finger tracing a path along the circumference of the table. "Indeed." 

"Not friend," Shang cut in sharply. "Business associate."

"Oh?" Lin feigned surprise and settled into the seat directly beside him, leaving him uncomfortably sandwiched between the two. "I’m hurt. But I suppose Shang has his reasons for keeping our relationship hush-hush."

If looks could kill... Shang shot him such a scathing glare that anyone with a smidgen of shame would have quailed. Lin, however, remained unruffled and leaned in closer. Whatever perfume he was wearing assaulted Shang’s senses; it smelled of earthy spices with something effervescent thrown into the mix and—tobacco smoke? Shang coughed and leaned closer to Lang. 

"Don't listen to him." He waved away the insinuation, but Lang’s eyebrows had already drawn together. "He's an eccentric," he explained and tried to change the topic.

Jerking a thumb at Lin, he began informal introductions. "Lin Xue Ya. Actor. Model too, I guess."

"Hm." Lang regarded Lin coolly, his expression tapering into indifference once more. Shang could tell he was on edge, though; tension radiated off him despite his best efforts. "Never heard of him."

The bluntness of the reply caught Shang off guard.

"Well," Lin interjected. "I suppose most of my work has been international." He unfurled the carefully folded cloth napkin on his plate and draped it over his lap without missing a beat. "I've heard of you, however. A popular musician on a meteoric rise." 

He paused after smoothing the fabric across his lap, and when he looked up there was a glint in his eye that set off the alarms in Shang's head. "I very much look forward to working with you, Lang Wu Yao."

Lang froze. "Excuse me?"

Shang raised a hand to silence Lin before he could continue. Coincidentally, the door to their private room opened. A waiter entered pushing a cart of assorted wine, beer, liquor, and sake ahead of him. He veered the mini bar toward Lin upon recognizing him and did Shang the favor of distracting the instigator while he gave Lang his full attention. 

"Why didn't you say anything about the TV drama?" Shang started and grabbed the napkin off his plate. 

Lang looked startled and then wary, minute facial changes belying his stoicism. "Ling Ya did it on his own." He paused. "He only told me recently." 

Shang sighed. He’d figured it was Ling Ya. Before Shang could inquire further, Lang's gaze settled on Lin again, who was in the middle of comparing bottles of grand reserve wine. "You don't mean—?"

"Yeah." Unfortunately. "He's your co-star. And Xi You's newest contract. I got assigned to the production to help him settle in."

Lang quieted, lips pursing into a thin, straight line. 

"And it was quite the fortuitous happenstance," Lin interrupted, lavishly pouring dark red wine into the three glasses that the waiter had left. He pushed the first toward Shang. "I'm a big fan of yours."

Lang scoffed. "Are you? Or do you just like listening to yourself talk?" 

Shang nearly choked on his wine and barely stifled a laugh with a cough. Lang’s lip curled while Lin’s unflappable expression faltered.

"That as well, certainly," Lin finally returned after the pause. "I suppose that's just the occasional difference between us actors and musicians." 

Lang said nothing in response but rejected the wine in front of him with a push. "I don't drink."

That was a lie, of course. Shang had seen Lang knock back more than his fair share of liquor, but the other had good reason not to partake tonight. Instead of commenting, Shang guzzled the rest of his own wine and felt the warmth spread down to the pit of his stomach. He definitely needed it to get through the rest of dinner. 

Before Shang could think of a topic to ease the tension, Lang suddenly stood. The door opened again, and a multitude of waitstaff passed into the room laden with an array of dishes placed on gleaming silver salvers. 

Lang ignored all of it, speaking curtly. "I’ll be leaving, Shang."

"Huh?" Shang stood with him, frowning. "Dinner’s just started."

"Ling Ya wants to meet. He says it can’t wait." Lang had his phone in hand as he stepped around the waitress setting down a platter of duck. He barely acknowledged Lin in parting as he added, "I'm sure there'll be other chances for us to get to know each other."

The explanation didn’t sit right with him. Shang quickly followed, squeezing past the staff with carts, and caught Lang’s arm before he could maneuver it into his jacket.

"Lang." Shang raised an eyebrow. "You alright?"

"I'm fine." Lang’s eyes evaded his, finding some inscrutable spot on the floor before shooting back up to him with a defiant air. "Are you sure you can handle someone like him?"

"Me?” He was taken aback but snorted after briefly considering his response. "Hey, man, you're the one who's gonna be working with him."

"Hm."

They stepped aside to avoid blocking the path of the servers filing in and leaving a spread of entrées in their wake.

"Such a shame you won’t be able to join us, Sir Lang," Lin remarked airily from the table as he picked up his chopsticks.

As if refusing to be baited, Lang finished pulling on his jacket and moved into the hallway without another word.

"Lang!" Shang called and followed him outside. 

Lang stopped in his tracks this time, and Shang sighed, shaking his head at the situation. The whole affair felt planned even though Ling Ya’s intervention couldn’t have been. He rubbed his temples and decided to change the topic to something else that’d been on his mind.

"I wanted to ask before I forget—since I have to be in Taipei for this, would you mind letting me crash at your place til it’s over? Commuting's a pain, but if that’s too much trouble—"

"Of course not." Lang cut him off. His shoulders sagged as he paused in his haste to turn his head and give Shang a look as if to say, 'Did you think I'd say no?' 

Shang rarely saw genuine frustration or upset in the other, but there were traces of those emotions now as Lang briskly fished keys from his pocket and grabbed Shang's wrist to drop them in his palm.

Shang paused. He hadn't expected to be given keys outright. He turned them over in his hand, a little incredulous. "You don't need this?"

"Ling Ya has a spare."

"Oh." He let out a small breath through his nose. "Then thanks, man, I appreciate it."

"Will you be coming over tonight?"

Lang's eyes flicked toward the room with its door ajar and Lin barely visible through the crack, but the buzzing of his phone drew his attention away again. His brow furrowed briefly when he saw the caller. Shang caught ‘Ling Ya' on the screen before Lang pivoted away. Instead of taking the call immediately, he looked at Shang as if he were more intent on getting an answer to his question than following the social niceties of responding to his manager.

"No, I’ll be back at my place for another week or two. I’ll let you know."

"Hm." Lang glanced over his shoulder with a mien like he had more to say. His lips parted, but before they could form words, his phone buzzed again.

This time he turned and walked to the elevator at the end of the hall, waving a hand back in departure. 

"Talk later," he parted as he took the call and Ling Ya’s chatter instantly burst across the line loud enough for Shang to hear.

"Yeah, see ya." 

Lang disappeared behind the sliding doors, and Shang sighed. He supposed he needed to go back in for his empty stomach if nothing else.

Lin hadn't eaten much. Most of the dishes only sported evidence of casual grazing. As soon as Shang shut the door behind him, Lin propped an elbow against the table. His long lashes fluttered innocently as he spoke and simultaneously cupped his chin in his hand.

"Why didn't you ask me?"

"Ask you what?" Shang grumbled before realization struck. He immediately leveled Lin an annoyed glare and paused in pulling out his seat. Lin continued staring up at him innocuously, but he couldn't completely eschew the sly intonation, not with him. "You were eavesdropping, huh?"

"Perhaps," he acquiesced, scooting closer as soon as Shang settled down. "Eavesdropping is such an unseemly term. I much prefer... information gathering."

Shang scoffed, too hungry at this point to argue or notice the invasion of personal space.

"I would have been happy to accommodate," Lin continued. "I have a house and two apartments in the area, you know."

"I'd rather commute."

Lin seemed to take the retort in good stride. He smiled silently as Shang poured himself another glass of wine and helped by sliding meat dishes in front of him with wordless encouragement to eat. 

Shang spared Lin one last dubious glance before kowtowing to hunger and exhaustion; he started scarfing down his food. Lin ate sparingly, which annoyed him more than anything else. Less because he cared and more because it made the amount he was inhaling seem far more ridiculous by comparison. He washed the food down with wine from a glass that never seemed to empty, and he didn’t think to question the phenomenon until it was too late.

He didn't know what they'd been discussing or whether they'd been talking at all when he inarticulately slurred, "Didn't think you'd get your feathers so ruffled by ‘im."

The words contained a badly concealed chuckle as his elbows hit the table’s marbled surface. Shang was starting to feel the full effects of the alcohol, mouth growing a little looser and lighter. He held his temple in his right hand and tried to pretend he still had some grasp on his inhibitions, but his eyes slipped shut despite himself.

Though he hadn't specified whom or what he'd been referring to, Lin seemed to understand implicitly as he hmm'd in response. Tobacco smoke wafted around the room from the pipe he’d taken out at some point during their chat. "You seemed to be enjoying yourself at my expense this time."

If Shang didn't know better, he'd have said Lin sounded forlorn. 

"If you like teasing me so much, you can do it yourself.”

"Yeah?" Shang straightened, or tried to, and threw a very sloppy and inebriated smirk in Lin's direction. "Hell, if I'd known it was that easy, I would've."

Lin froze, the action barely perceptible, before relaxing again and shifting in his seat. He said nothing. Emboldened and carefree, Shang took that as an invitation to continue.

”You’ve got a bad habit of teasing others for your own amusement. But it’s not okay for others to do it to you?”

Lin exhaled, smoke curling with his breath. “Of course you’d turn this into a teaching experience. Ever so proactive, Sir Shang.”

He tapped the bowl of his pipe against the table. Shang was sure he heard irritation in Lin’s voice; the less-than-enthused pout confirmed it. Shang didn’t hold back his laughter this time as his chest constricted and grew inexplicably warm.

“It’s what you get for being so goddamn cheeky,” he threw out at the tail end of a chuckle before standing. The entire world swayed and nearly flipped upside down.

”Shit.”

He caught himself against the table. A solid presence rushed to support him before he could get his bearings. Even if he had, he wasn’t in any state to reject the assistance.

“Good grief,” Lin sighed, voice teasing but soft. “It seems someone has overestimated himself.”

”Shut up,” Shang immediately growled, straggling forward as Lin began guiding them toward the door. “Whose fault is that?”

The trip to the car was a blur. He only remembered Lin’s perfume tickling his nose and Lin’s long, white hair brushing against his cheek. Lin’s arm tight and unfaltering around his waist.

As soon as they emerged outside, Shang’s skin prickled under the cool night air. He was in pretty poor shape. His head roared at the thought of driving, so he only vaguely registered the other talking on the phone. After that, nothing else. They simply waited. 

Shang couldn’t shake the feeling of being gently watched as Lin continued lending his shoulder. He distantly wondered how long it’d been since they were last this close to one another. Centuries, probably. 

Just as a car finally rolled up to the curb, Shang muttered, “Thanks.”

To which Lin replied, “You don’t have to thank me, Bu Huan.” 

His voice was so quiet that Shang would have missed it if he hadn’t spoken into the shell of his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. The tone was familiar, like the echoes of a dream or the whispers of an exchange held a lifetime ago. 

Shang’s instinct stirred, and he found himself retorting, “What the hell happened to you?”

It wasn’t a question he expected an answer to; he barely even registered asking as Lin helped him into the backseat. He scooted to the far side and leaned into the window, raising a hand half-heartedly in Lin’s direction.

”Stay away from me. You smell like shit,” he slurred.

"It's Tom Ford."

”Could be liquid gold for all I care.”

Shang folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes. As soon as the car lurched into motion, he was flickering in and out of consciousness.

At some point, he became vaguely aware of something softer and warmer replacing the cool glass against his face. The strong scent of spices and tobacco wafted into his nostrils again as he shifted, burying his face into it. Before he could process the change any further, the gentle sway of the vehicle lulled him to sleep.

Chapter Text

The hangover hit him like a train. He’d been expecting it, but it managed to offend him anyway. Shang took it as a testament to Lin’s abilities rather than his own hubris. Maybe this wasn’t Lin’s fault directly, but indirectly? Without a doubt. Lin always worked in the indirect.

He’d barely regained enough consciousness to bemoan his situation and the onset of a splitting headache before the persistent hum of a cell phone caught his attention. He ignored it until it stopped and started anew. Shang groaned; all he wanted was for the noise to stop. 

The instant he shifted on the bed, his head started to swim as the nausea rolling in his gut redoubled its efforts. He didn’t know if he’d thrown up the night before, but from the disgusting taste left in his mouth and the uncomfortable, empty churning in his stomach, he assumed he had.

He let the buzzing fall silent again. It took him a good while afterward to register the direction it’d come from. Somewhere in the room. His room? No, something felt off...

His hand shot out to grab the source of the vibrations as soon as they started once more. He took the call with his eyes half-shut.

“Shang?”

Lang’s voice cut through the fogginess, drifting distantly across the receiver as Shang readjusted his hold. He squinted at the light coming from the screen and blearily made out the other’s name before bringing it to his ear.

His mouth was so dry that his tongue struggled to form words and curled thickly around the only syllable it could manage. “Yeah.”

It came out sounding far more choked and miserable than intended.

A pause. No doubt Lang had guessed his state. Shang took the silence to raise himself onto his elbows. His muscles screamed in protest at every move. He’d completely forgotten what being hungover felt like, but thanks to Lin...

“You alright? I’ve called three times. You sound...”

“Hungover?” Shang snorted and immediately winced as another pang of pain ricocheted through his head. “Yeah.”

He held his free hand across his eyes for a moment, shutting out the sliver of light streaming through the cracks in the curtain.

Sunlight.

It was morning.

“Shit. What time is it?” he croaked. Not even the violent recollection that they’d gone out on a weekday could fully rouse him from his stupor.

“Quarter past nine,” Lang answered briskly, sounding a little... strained. Shang honed in on the time.

“Ah, fuck,” he swore and flipped himself over with some effort to lean across the left edge of the bed.

“Sure you’re okay?” Lang didn’t sound convinced. Hell, neither was he. “Where are you?”

“I’m—” That was a good question. Where was he? “Home.”

He definitely wasn’t home. Shang blinked in the darkness and made out the silhouette of a lavish bedroom that was far bigger and more elaborate than his own. Lin’s place? No, this wasn’t actually a bedroom; it was more of a—hotel room?

“Did Lin Xue Ya take you home?”

Lin. If he was in a hotel, then Lin was...? The realization dawned on him all at once. Horror—or terror—quickly followed. 

His hand shot out before he could overthink things as he prayed—

He didn’t finish the thought. His hand met air and the smooth expanse of unruffled silk sheets. No dip in the mattress. No lingering warmth. No evidence of Lin.

The relief was instantaneous. He released an audible sigh at the same time that his eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

“Shang?”

“Yeah,” Shang answered belatedly, clearing his throat. “He must’ve.” Absentmindedly, he swept his hand across the surface again as though he’d find Lin hiding in the springs or the duvet if he looked carefully enough. Pausing midway through the action, he snorted at himself and shook his head. “Sorry, I’m still—“

“Don’t worry about it,” Lang cut in. There was a sudden burst of background chatter on the other end; Shang thought he caught Ling Ya’s voice amidst the static. “You’re going to work?” Lang continued a moment later, unperturbed.

Shang rubbed the bridge of his nose. The idea of work made his temples throb. On any other day, he would’ve called in sick, but as luck would have it… “Have to. Meeting with the drama people.” When? 10? 10:30? 11? “In an hour,” he sighed.

He cautiously peeled back the sheets, wincing all the while. It turned out that he wasn’t as naked as he’d initially feared. At least he was still in his underwear. The next question was whether or not he’d undressed himself. 

“Need a ride?”

Shang waved aside the notion as though Lang could see him. “Nah, I’m good,” he amended and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. The room felt off-kilter, but he counted it as a win when he managed to stand without face-planting into the floor. “I’ll figure something out.”

He groped around in the dark for his clothes and used the outline of the bed to guide himself. “You got that thing today, right?” he asked, trying to rack his brain for events beyond the hazy lethargy it was steeped in. “Don’t worry ‘bout me.”

Standing somehow made him exponentially more parched, but the room was larger than he expected. If there was a mini fridge, Shang didn’t see it. If his clothes were hung up somewhere, he didn’t see that either. A rush of irritation suddenly overtook him. The fact that Lin had left him alone… Not having to deal with him first thing in the morning was a blessing, but Shang felt irritated anyway.

Shang didn’t notice the break in conversation until Lang spoke again. “Hm,” he murmured. “Alright.”

The verbal concession held some weight behind it. An edge that Shang wasn’t used to hearing. He paused for a moment, about to inquire whether he was okay when Lang cut in again. “Do you have time today? I want to talk to you.” He hesitated. “Or tomorrow,” he added, “when you’re feeling better.”

Shang sighed. “I dunno, man,” he confessed and pivoted where he stood, half-resigned to giving up when his foot connected with something. Cocking his head aside, he bent to retrieve it. 

“It’s gonna be pretty busy…” Shang trailed off. His fingers froze as they snagged in the jacket sitting atop a pile of wrinkled clothes. They were definitely his but suspiciously smelled of someone else.

But that wasn’t what gave him pause. It was the abrupt silence in the room followed by the realization that the previous noise he’d been listening to was the rhythmic crash of a showerhead all along. 

Before he could find his bearings, the door to the bathroom swung open. Lin emerged in nothing but a towel, steam wafting out after him.

“Lang,” he hurriedly interrupted. “Sorry. I, uh, I gotta go. I’ll call you back later.”

He ended the call without waiting for a reply and instantly felt bad about it, but Lin didn’t give him the chance to dwell.

“Oh-ho, you’re awake,” he purred, eyes meeting his with self-satisfaction.

Shang grimaced at the halo of fluorescent light. Lin took a few steps out and used the towel resting across his shoulders to tousle his wet hair. Water from a few loose strands dripped off his torso and onto the floor. Shang couldn’t help tracing the path with his gaze. As expected, Lin was thin, but there was still the subtle definition of muscle along his abdomen.

“How did you sleep?” Lin asked, readjusting the towel at his waist.

Shang looked away, suddenly hyperaware that they were both nearly naked. The search for his clothes had been forgotten. Irritated, he slumped onto the edge of the bed and cleared his throat.

“How do you think?” he snapped and shot Lin a glare. 

Lin’s laugh was so airy and light in response that it juxtaposed starkly with how heavy and leaden he felt. Shang really wished he could sew his damn mouth shut. 

As if he hadn’t noticed Shang’s animosity, Lin moved across the room, taking languid steps toward the bed to stop deliberately in front of him. 

“Judging by your expression…” Lin hummed. “You didn’t think I left, did you?” 

Was that a smirk? 

“I wouldn’t do that to you, Shang.”

Shang refrained from meeting his gaze. “As if you haven’t before,” he muttered then dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. “That’s not the point. Point is—why didn’t you take me home?”

“Hm? I don’t know where you live, of course.”

“You—” A sharp stab of pain through his head cut him short. “Fuck,” he groaned and immediately dropped his face into his palm, fingers spanning his forehead to try alleviating the pressure in his temples.

Shang was skeptical. Lin was nothing if not persistent; if he already had his number, then he probably had his address too. While Shang waited for the spasm to pass, a gentle tug on his arm diverted his attention. Peeking through his fingers, he saw a bottle of water being offered to him.

“Here.” Lin nudged him again. This time, the motion was accompanied by the familiar rattle of painkillers.

Shang grimaced but set his phone aside to take the drink in his right hand and the pills in his left. He almost said ‘thanks’ by force of habit, but déjà vu stopped the word on the cusp.

He shook his head free of the distraction before it could take root and said nothing instead. Unscrewing the cap, he downed half of the water immediately then knocked a handful of pills into his palm.

Lin watched him closely with the kind of rapt attention he often saw Lang receive from fans. But it wasn’t fawning admiration; there was something calculating and oddly wistful. It was the same sensation Lin had given off back in Japan, and just like before, it threw him off. Shang did his best to ignore it. Nevertheless, he nearly flinched in the opposite direction when Lin dropped onto the bed a hand’s breadth away.

Too close. Shang finished off the water and made to say as much but hesitated when Lin cupped his chin in his hand.

Instead of complaining about the lack of distance, he ended up barking, “What?”

Lin remained silent even as his gaze intensified. It was as if he were trying to will him into saying something, but hell if Shang knew what that was.

“Why the look?” Shang groused. “Yeah, I already know I look like shit.”

“I take it you don’t remember what you said last night?”

“What.” Shang pulled a face.

Lin only responded with a smile and a flutter of his lashes.

“What?” Shang repeated. “What could I’ve said to you?” he sputtered, doubtful of whatever Lin intended to claim. Some unkind words came to mind, but they probably weren’t what Lin was referring to.

Shang called his bluff. Scoffing, he glanced aside and brushed Lin away before standing. Another bout of nausea hit him, but he swallowed it down and managed to throw out, “I’m not playing your games. I gotta shower.”

He made sure to take his clothes with him. 

It wasn’t until he was out of the water and ready to get dressed again that he pulled a face in the privacy of the luxurious bathroom. He recalled why he’d been so put-off by the idea of showering without access to his wardrobe. Everything smelled like Lin, especially up close where that woody, smoky aroma was more obvious. Sticking to his freshly washed skin, the heady scent made his hangover even worse. And on top of it all, he couldn’t find his tie.

Shang exited the bathroom armed with a sharp rebuke. “Oi, Lin–”

But Lin countered with one of this own. “You don’t really intend on going to work looking like that, do you?”

Shang paused midway through buttoning his shirt and shot daggers at him. Lin had moved in front of the floor-length mirror, admiring an outfit that was different from the one he wore last night. It accentuated all the right places, which only served to draw more of Shang’s ire.

“Where the hell did you get a change of clothes?” Shang snapped indignantly.

“I always have a change of clothes. It wouldn’t do to be unprepared.”

The thin, white overcoat sitting on Lin’s shoulders shifted as he did several half-twirls before turning to regard Shang fully. Shang did a double take, mouth opening and closing as his comment on the very low v-neck died in his throat. He dragged his gaze away to continue buttoning his own shirt instead, defaulting to silence.

Lin laughed. “As I was saying, you don’t really intend on going to work looking like that, do you? We can’t have you getting fired or taken off the project before we even start, can we?”

Shang huffed quietly. “Sounds like a pretty good idea to me.”

It was only when Lin’s cologne tickled his nose again that he realized Lin had somehow stepped in front of him. Before he knew it, the other’s hands were reaching toward his face, and he startled, taking half a step back.

“Oi. What the hell are you doing?”

Lin relaxed his fingers and revealed their contents. “Eye cream. Concealer. Among other things. Like I said, we can’t have you getting fired before we even start, can we?”

“I don’t need ‘em.” That wasn’t exactly true. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen and his skin sallow, but Shang stubbornly turned aside regardless. “Maybe I want to get fired.” 

“Please. If that was the case, you would have already quit.” Without waiting any longer for permission, Lin grabbed Shang’s wrist and jerked him in the direction of the bed.

The unexpectedness of the action had Shang stumbling along until he hit the edge of the mattress and his knees buckled. His head spun but not enough that he couldn’t catch Lin’s wrist again, gripping harder this time. Ire bubbled back up his throat like acid, and he would’ve spat out something acerbic if Lin hadn’t interrupted him.

“You don’t trust me anymore.”

Shang blinked, bewilderment etched in the thin line of his mouth.

“Why?” Lin asked the question quietly though a sardonic smile spread across his features the longer that Shang hesitated. The humor didn’t quite reach his eyes, and there was no real mockery either. It was almost as if he were expecting a genuine response.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Shang finally scoffed. “Because you’re you. If I trusted you before, it was because I didn’t have any other choice.”

The corner of Lin’s mouth twitched ever so slightly as if the answer disappointed him.

“And you do now?” Lin shifted closer despite the ironclad grip on his wrist.

“Well,” Shang grumbled. “This isn’t exactly life and death.”

“Then why are you being difficult?”

Shang’s eyebrows knitted together in frustration. Lin could use logic to run circles around the issue forever; it was easier to give in now. With a sigh, he let the other’s wrist go.

Lin quickly got to work, popping off the cap of the eye cream before gesturing for Shang to come closer. Shang reluctantly obliged.

Chapter Text

For a moment, Shang couldn’t figure out what had woken him. It couldn’t be the door. At this hour? He huffed and closed his eyes. The knock came again, this time louder—or it simply felt that way because he’d already been roused.

Then again.

And again.

Each knock was spaced out just long enough for him to think it could be ignored before it sounded again. On the fifth, Shang threw off the covers and staggered out of his room into the hallway.

Even in his foggy state, he had a few guesses as to who it was. Just not why.

Blinking back the corridor’s harsh, fluorescent lights, Shang made out the all-too-familiar figure framed in his entryway.

“What—“ Shang cleared his throat when his voice came out groggy and sleep-addled. “What‘re you doing?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose with the hand that wasn’t on the doorknob. “Do you know what time it is? How‘d you get past the—“

“Good evening to you as well, Sir Shang.” Lin smiled, and Shang’s discomfort at being woken at this godforsaken hour for unknown reasons eased. He quickly looked him up and down. If nothing else, Lin seemed fine.

Lin had a pleasant, unhurried expression as he used his pipe to gesture past Shang’s shoulder. Unlit, it was just another accessory, a pointer. Shang had half a mind to smack it out of his hand.

“May I?” he asked and stepped forward.

Shang immediately blocked him with his arm. “May you what?”

Lin stepped back again. “I need a place to sleep for the night,” he answered simply, right hand coming up to stroke his ponytail.

“You what?” It was too late (or too early) for this. Shang sighed and wiped a hand down his face in exhaustion. “Why didn’t you go to a hotel?”

The question he chose to ask seemed to amuse Lin as his lips quirked up further and he cocked his head to the side. “Is Sir Shang going to turn me away?”

Shang gave him a look. The urge to do so was strong. He seriously considered it for a moment.

“You came because you knew I wouldn’t.” It came out like an accusation because it was. He didn’t know what gambit Lin was playing, but he was too tired to question it.

His arm dropped, and he shuffled back into the condo without waiting for Lin to follow. Hardly half a second later, the door clicked shut and locked behind him. Lin’s shoes squeaked across the laminate flooring.

“I don’t wanna hear it,” he warned over his shoulder.

“Hm?”

The condo was small; just a few steps took them into the space he called a living room which connected to the cramped kitchenette. Shang’s hand found the lamp’s pull chain by memory. He tugged, and the soft reciprocal glow answered Lin’s curious croon better than he ever could.

“Ah.”

“Shut it.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I know it’s a mess. Wasn’t expecting visitors,” Shang groused.

Takeout containers, scraps, and plastics were scattered here and there; the blanket had fallen off his singular couch, and the floor was in desperate need of a vacuum. The condo wasn’t the only messy thing. His hair was probably sticking out at odd angles; his clothes were rumpled too. But he didn’t care to put on airs for Lin. He didn’t care in general, but especially not for him.

He straggled to the cabinet in the hallway leading to his bedroom where the lamplight just barely reached. Shang still felt as though he were half-dreaming, but Lin’s presence hovering behind him was too firm and real.

“You can take the bed,” he muttered and opened the door in the same breath. He stared at what bedding he had: floral sheets he bought on sale that suited him just fine but probably wasn’t of the material or thread count Lin preferred.

“Oho, how very gallant of you, Sir Shang.”

Shang continued staring into the cabinet. “I’m not gonna have you tell people I made you sleep on the couch. But you’re gonna have to make do with this.”

Shang grabbed the bedsheet, pillow case, and last clean blanket and straightened to hand them off. Lin made no motion to take them, left hand stubbornly holding onto his pipe while his right remained limp at his side. Shang met Lin’s placid gaze with a frown.

“Here.” He pushed the fabric forward with emphasis.

“I don’t need it.” Lin tapped the bedsheet on top with the bowl of his pipe.

“What?”

“You’ve already given me the bed. I wouldn’t be a very courteous guest to make you change the sheets as well. At this hour?”

Shang grimaced. Something about Lin’s tone rubbed him the wrong way. Or maybe it was the faint curl of his lips and complete lack of remorse.

Or maybe the smell radiating off him, something sharper than just perfume. More pungent. Shang had picked up on it at the door, but at this distance in his cramped hallway… He was sure of it. Lin may have had a talent for sobriety, or the illusion of it, but even he couldn’t hide the smell of alcohol. 

Shang stepped forward, closing the already minute distance between them until Lin came within hand’s reach. He took a deep breath and let the scent of flowers, smoke, and booze fill his nostrils.

The silence dragged. Shang wasn’t thinking about anything in particular—certainly not the why’s, how’s, and who’s of Lin’s drinking—when Lin shifted and jarred him out of his half-formed thoughts. 

“Shang?” The other tilted his head, allowing their eyes to meet again.

Shang could never read Lin as well as Lin could read him, but he thought he detected something less-than-confident in his scrutiny for once. Deflating, Shang shook his head and stepped away. He shut the cabinet with his foot and set the sheets atop the same end table as the lamp.

“Fine. Do whatever. I’m putting these here. Take ‘em or leave ‘em.” He paused once the pile left his hands, debating whether he should say more. His head told him to leave it, but...

“You should drink some water.” He pivoted toward the kitchen without looking back. “You better not be hungover tomorrow.”

Lin didn’t follow or say anything until Shang grabbed a glass off the drying rack and started filling it with filtered tap water.

“I don’t get hungover.”

Shang snorted.

Lin crossed his arms and leaned into the frame of the open entryway rather than squeeze in after him. His pipe bobbed in his hand, ostentatious jewel occasionally catching moonlight and reflecting it across the ceiling. The muted, ethereal glow only made everything feel that much more surreal as Shang bumbled around in the semi-darkness. He shook off the discomfort and reached forward to push the drink into Lin’s hand before stepping back again.

“Thank you.”

Lin took a few sips then paused with the rim at his lips. Ruby hues swept from oven to window to Shang leaning against the sink, arms crossed and gaze hard.

“You’re not going to ask?” Lin prompted, amusement etched into the soft hum.

Shang rubbed his open hand against the side of his nose and huffed. It could’ve been laughter if he wasn’t so tired and haggard. “Ask what? You wouldn’t have come here without making a half-assed reason. Does it matter what it is?”

Lin’s answer was another sip. Shang didn’t know which was worse: Lin’s unexplained silences or his overexplained orations.

“Thought you had five houses,” he acquiesced.

“One house and two apartments. Weren’t you listening, Sir Shang? I had to sell two of them.”

Shang fixed Lin with a look of disbelief, though he had an inkling of where this was going. “Yeah. And?”

“And... The last one, well.” Lin exhaled quietly through his nose and walked into the kitchenette. He set the glass on the tiled counter, still half full. “I take it you remember Wu Sheng?”

“Hard to forget.” Shang scoffed. “You were with him that time.”

Lin didn’t react to the statement, not that Shang had expected him to. It was mostly for himself, something to anchor him to the present and those two’s relationship in it. That party, Lin’s behavior, Wu Sheng’s bizarre observations. He’d pushed it all out of his mind until now. 

“You screwed him over again, didn’t you? So, he’s back to chasing you. And you’re still dodging him.”

Shang left no room for Lin to deny.

“Precisely.” Lin smiled. The action seemed more perfunctory than anything else. He fingered the carvings on his pipe and tapped the bowl against his chest. “I see no more reason to entertain his desires this time than I did last.”

“Guy was an assassin before. Made a sport of killing. I didn’t agree with your methods, still don’t, but you had your own twisted logic to it. How about now?” Shang pushed off the sink and stepped to Lin, who hadn’t looked away since the topic of Wu Sheng came into the conversation. “You telling me he’s still an assassin? What’s the point in this?”

As soon as the question left his mouth, Shang realized Wu Sheng’s situation could be applied more broadly. It wasn’t so different from his own, was it? They had Lin in common. 

Sighing, he raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose again. “Look, Lin. Wu Sheng, Dan Fei, Can Yun, Lang... Aren’t we just repeating the beats of the past? Which didn’t end well, did it?”

Flashes of tear tracks on pale skin flickered across his mind. He glanced away and back to see that Lin’s expression hadn’t changed. The position of his pipe hand had, however, and he raised it to make a whimsical gesture upward.

“Your hair’s shorter.”

“What?”

“And you still have white strands at your age.” Lin chuckled. “Genetic, Sir Shang? Or overworking yourself again?”

Shang waved Lin’s pipe aside. “It’s not as though I can control it either way.”

Shang didn’t appreciate the topic change, but he’d expected it. When was Lin one to give straight answers? An inkling of frustration stirred in his gut. Relaxing his arms completely, he folded himself between Lin and the entryway. The small space forced them together for a moment that felt like an eternity before spitting Shang out onto the other side. He immediately reached for the lamp and gave the chain a jerk, returning the condo to darkness.

“Go to sleep. You can pull this shit now, but I’m moving in with Lang next week.”

“I know.”

Shang jerked around. That response felt more unaffected than anything else Lin had said. 

His instinctive retort died in his throat at the image of Lin standing in his doorway still dressed in his outerwear. Lin drew a sharp contrast with Shang’s plain surroundings. He always had. His fame had followed him into the next life and changed forms. But notorious thief or model, he was just another person, though more annoying than most. And at four in the morning backlit by the moon through Shang’s cramped kitchenette, he didn’t appear any more larger-than-life than anyone else. He looked small. Vulnerable.

...Lonely. Shang backtracked on that thought. Lin? Lonely? He snorted but hesitated anyway, struggling between his annoyance and his—whatever. Whatever it was about Lin that always made him pause. 

“Pick whatever to sleep,” Shang concluded, holding his face in his hand. “Clothes are in the closet.”

He dropped onto the couch without another word, grabbing the blanket off the floor in the process and draping it haphazardly around his lower half. The furniture was just big enough for most of him; only his feet hung off the armrest. Not the most comfortable, but better than the floor.

He turned onto his side and settled for staring at the polyester cushion rather than Lin’s silhouette. He was tired enough to knock out immediately, but he didn’t. He kept expecting Lin to continue pestering him, but he didn’t. The room fell quiet, interrupted by the ticking of an analog clock. He thought he could hear birds chirping too, which only highlighted the ridiculous hour. He should’ve been sleeping; he should’ve already fallen asleep. 

Instead, he was hyper-attuned to Lin’s presence. It was a full minute before he moved from his spot, steps squeaking up until he entered Shang’s room and shut the door. He hadn’t taken the sheets after all. 

The walls were thin, so he could hear Lin opening his closet, rummaging through his hangers, touching all his things, probably. Shang flipped onto his other side and regretted offering the bed. He imagined Lin splaying across the mattress and taking up every inch of space. By morning, everything would be tainted by his scent. He’d have to change the sheets if he didn’t wanna sleep in it. 

But then again, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d fallen asleep to Lin’s scent. At some point, the air conditioner turned on in the other room, low whir masking any other movements. He listened to it until the exhaustion finally overpowered everything else and chased a white-haired troublemaker out of his mind.

Chapter Text

Shang sighed as he slid into the empty seat. He was ready to leave. It showed in the slouch of his frame and the slope of his shoulders. His tolerance for self-important people had about dried up, and he needed a stronger drink than champagne to tide him over.

He didn’t bother tempering his voice or his tone as he rapped impatiently on the counter. “Oi, barkeep! I’ll have a—“

“Same as me.”

Shang swung around and cocked an eyebrow at the man sitting two seats down from him. He hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone. 

“You’re...” Shang paused, struggling to recall a name he hadn’t been given but felt he should’ve known anyway.

“My treat.” The stranger raised his glass in a conciliatory cheers, voice cutting across the surrounding hubbub as sharp as a sword. His presence somehow commanded its own sphere of quiet.

Shang released a breath of laughter. Something told him the drink still came at a price. Given their run-in half an hour ago, this show of generosity piqued his interest. He’d been pretty damn curious since then, actually. Who was this guy? And why the feeling of déjà vu?

He accepted the offering with a tilt of his head and a light shake of the glass he’d been given, knocking ice together. “Well, then, I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

He raised his tumbler with a nod and a “cheers” before throwing it back.

His usual fare paled in comparison to the whiskey’s smooth taste. Shang finished it with an appreciative hum. It was good stuff. He might have commented had he not been beaten to the punch.

“Good, isn’t it? It’s imported from Scotland.”

“Yeah? Probably beyond what I could afford, then.” Shang made another gesture with the newly empty glass. “Appreciate the charity.”

The man scoffed, lips curling faintly at the edges. “I wouldn’t call it charity per se...” He trailed off and motioned for a refill. “What’s your name?”

Shang paused. He was supposed to be making connections. Why did this feel confrontational?

He relaxed the muscles in his shoulders and answered simply. “Shang Bu Huan.”

“Shang Bu Huan, hm?”

“Yeah, and who’re you? You were with that... Lin guy earlier, weren’t you?” His reaction seemed to surprise the other. 

Manicured eyebrows arched upward as the addressed replied, almost cautiously, “Lin guy... You can’t mean to say you don’t know him?”

Shang snorted. The sound dissolved into the tail end of a laugh as he picked up his tumbler and swished it around. “Am I supposed to? All media folk get so offended when you say you haven’t heard of ‘em. Don’t tell me I bruised his ego?”

“That’s...” His drinking partner laughed then turned in his seat to regard him fully. “Lin certainly seemed to know you.”

Shang remained facing forward, turning his head instead. This guy was right. The encounter bothered him more than it should have. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been mistaken before, but it felt strange to say they hadn’t met. The words didn’t sit right, and he’d been questioning himself over them for the last half hour.

Shang shrugged regardless. “Didn’t answer my question. Who’re you?”

The addressed smiled. “Sha Wu Sheng. Lin’s... friend.”

Shang gave Wu Sheng a curious look. “Friend, huh? So, was I right? I bruised his ego? You looking for a fight?” Shang laughed as Wu Sheng’s expression only grew colder.

“I don’t know if you bruised his ego. I’ve never seen him act that way before.” Wu Sheng cut himself short to take a swig of whiskey. With his lips at the rim, he muttered, “So I figured you must have been one of his exes.”

That made Shang laugh, full-bellied and perhaps a little too loud. “Oi, you serious, man?” Shang shifted uncomfortably in his seat, neutral expression turning into something more incredulous. “Didn’t you hear me say I didn’t know him? How’d you figure we were exes?”

“So it seems,” Wu Sheng conceded, finishing his drink. “My mistake.”

He stood, adjusting the lapel of his jacket in the process. “I’m sure a glass of scotch that you wouldn’t have been able to afford otherwise is compensation enough?”

“I don’t know, Wu Sheng, is it?”

The voice behind them sent a tingle down Shang’s spine. He inhaled sharply before swiveling to greet the owner. Lin was all smiles this time; his earlier distress seemed like a distant memory.

“You have quite the bad habit of hounding my acquaintances.”

“Nonsense.” Wu Sheng bristled but seemed to calm when Lin passed Shang to lay a hand on his shoulder.

“I do apologize, Sir Shang.” Lin flashed an oddly soft smile.

Sir Shang again... This guy was certainly an eccentric. Shang waved aside the apology and stood. “No harm done.”

Lin held Shang’s gaze as he continued. “It’s about time we leave, Wu Sheng.” 

Only after he said it did he turn to look at Wu Sheng. Before Wu Sheng could respond, Lin stepped forward and slid a piece of paper across the counter. Shang blinked, taking far too long to recognize it for what it was.

“My business card.”

When Shang made no move to take it, he added, “You said you work at Xi You, correct? You’re a connection I’d like to have.”

Shang hesitated, but his fingers eventually reached out to drag the card toward him. As soon as he tucked it into his pocket, Lin brightened. 

“You know what they say. Once you see someone once, you start seeing them everywhere.”

Chapter Text

Shang didn’t smoke, but constantly being around Lin reminded him that there were times the habit could be relaxing—like now. He thought he’d managed to evade notice, even Lin’s for a change, when he sneaked out of the studio for a break. 

He was in the process of nudging a cigarette from its crumpled package when the back door opened. He didn’t need to look to know who it was. The silhouette told him enough. He heaved a sigh as soon as the man spoke.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding,” Lin commented, swishing up to him in full costume.

“Oi, oi.” Shang muttered around his unlit stick and gave Lin a constipated glare. His eyes flicked rapidly between the hem of the other’s robes dragging along the concrete and his smiling red eyes. “You’re gonna get those dirty. At least change first.”

“Oh, I doubt anyone will notice,” Lin dismissed. 

Shang would’ve argued if he wasn’t running on four hours of sleep and sheer willpower. As it was, he remained quiet, flicking his lighter shut instead only to have it instantly stolen. Lin plucked it out of his fingers with a coy grin. The familiar pipe appeared from some hidden fold, and in one quick motion, he ignited the tobacco in the bowl. Thick smoke percolated into the space between them, tickling Shang’s nose. Whatever Lin smoked was a lot more aromatic than his cigarettes.

“You shouldn’t disappear like that,” Lin chided, tone full of teasing. “I missed you.”

He tossed the lighter back to him, and Shang caught it midair with a scoff. 

“It’s been five minutes,” he groused then cocked his head to the side. His expression turned pensive. “You keep saying that.” Exasperation leaked into his voice, and he took another puff in an attempt to ease the tension. “But what does that even mean?”

“Hm?” Lin pushed off the wall they were leaning against. Shang winced when he saw fabric snag on the rough surface. “It means what it means.”

“As if anything with you were that simple,” Shang scoffed.

Lin’s grin faltered at that response, and Shang did a double take. Humor him, a small voice in the back of his mind prompted.

“And even if it were...” he acquiesced, sighing again as he lifted the thumb of his cigarette hand to scratch the bridge of his nose. “What the hell does that mean, Lin?”

He looked Lin directly in the eyes this time because despite not expecting a serious answer, he was serious about the inquiry. To his surprise, the other looked away. The moment was so brief that Shang could have blinked and missed it. When Lin turned back, there wasn’t a hair out of place. He met Shang’s haggard, somewhat irritated expression head-on with a flat, neutral one of his own. 

It was a perfectly measured response that felt strangely surface deep. It'd only been for a moment, but Lin had hid rather than confront him.

“It means when you died you managed to steal away a part of me too. It means I missed who I was when I was with you.”

Lin smiled softer than before and took a draught of his pipe. “As I said, Bu Huan,” he breathed, glancing away once more. “It simply means I missed you.”

Chapter Text

Shang scribbled his signature across the bill and set it aside. As soon as he did, Lang shifted in the seat across from him.

“I’m going to the restroom.”

Shang grunted his acknowledgement around the piece of bread in his mouth as he glanced up from his agenda.

“Also, I’m done with this.” Lang grabbed the plastic cup off the table and gestured it at him. “Do you want the rest?”

“Oh.” Shang wasn’t crazy about iced coffee, but Lang had barely finished a third of it. “Yeah, sure, give it here.”

Lang passed it off to him. Shang took it and watched him go, pulling on the straw with his teeth. As soon as the musician walked out of earshot, his shoulders sagged as though a weight had been lifted. He popped the last bite of bread into his mouth before clearing his throat.

“Alright, I know you’re there,” he said, loudly enough to catch the addressed’s attention but not to disturb the other diners on the patio. He turned 45 degrees in his seat and frowned as Lin walked into view as casually as though he’d just been passing by.

“Seriously...” Shang sighed, throwing an arm across the back of his chair. “Are you following me?”

“I just happened to be taking lunch with the director across the street,” Lin supplied innocently as though that were the God’s honest truth.

“Uh-huh,” Shang muttered, unconvinced. He took another sip and flipped his planner shut. In the process, he felt Lin’s gaze fix itself intensely on him.

“What?” he asked once he’d re-pocketed the little booklet and pen.

“Hmm,” Lin hummed and leaned against the railing separating the dining area from the street. “I didn’t know you two were so... close.”

Shang paused mid-sip and looked at Lin as though he’d grown another head. “What are you talking about?”

“Well...” Lin’s eyes traveled from his face to the coffee.

Shang let out a hard breath through his nose that bordered on a laugh. More of a snort of disbelief. “You serious?” he asked, tilting his head aside. “You not have friends, Lin?”

He continued without waiting for Lin to answer. “Well, I guess, considering who I’m talking to...”

“I have friends,” Lin rapidly interjected. The speed with which he said those words had Shang raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah?” he scoffed, smirk tugging at his lips. “And how’s that? I don’t count, and we both know this guy,” Shang nodded to the empty seat, “has hated your guts for centuries.”

He’d expected some witty comeback. When Lin fell moodily quiet instead, pulling on his pipe to fill the silence, Shang genuinely laughed.

Lin could be surprisingly endearing when he wasn’t constantly strutting about.

Shang shook his head free of that intrusive thought, chuckle dying down as his eyes swept across the table and caught the to-go container sitting on the edge. He’d told Lang that he wanted something sweet for later, but the truth was that he’d ordered it without thinking. Or rather, he knew someone else who’d like it and then ordered it without thinking.

Clearing his throat, Shang reached across the table and looped a finger through the paper handle. “Cheer up,” he said and turned back to dangle the box within Lin’s reach. “Here.”

Lin blinked but offered his free hand for Shang to drop the container in his palm.

“This is...?”

“Cheesecake. You like that shit, right?” Shang leaned back in his seat and scratched his nose absentmindedly. “This place’s supposed to be pretty famous for it.”

Lin’s face split into a knowing grin. “Oh-ho,” he purred. “Just for me? I’m touched, Bu Huan.”

“Man, shut up. They’re just leftovers,” he lied.

Chapter Text

Shang watched from the sidelines, set papers rolled up in his hand. Fleeced into providing Lin a ride to his shoot ("It's in a studio just down the street"), he waited as Lin posed for the camera. It was for a fashion and celebrity magazine—Shang was neither—but Lin seemed to be right at home with multiple hair and makeup people to coo over him. The shooting assistant called out for a break, and the creative editors, photographer, and set director huddled around a laptop to discuss the results.

Lin, on the other hand, walked toward him.

"You should go review the shots," Shang chastised him. 

"They're fine," Lin said with a wave of his hand. 

"You'll get a reputation for being difficult."

"I already have a reputation for being difficult." Lin dug out the bag of leftovers and, most crucially, the cheesecake. Shang watched him hold the plastic clamshell like a holy chalice, spear a bite of cheesecake with a catering fork, and then dunk it into the accompanying cup of raspberry sauce. Even though Lin hid his emotions fairly well, the eye-rolling expression of bliss didn't seem like something he would bother faking.

"Good?"

Lin blinked at the question, but nodded. "Delicious." His lips twitched. "Want a bite?"

Shang hesitated, just long enough for Lin to load the fork with a perfect morsel of cheesecake and drizzle raspberry sauce over it. Lin cupped his hand under the fork and held it out for Shang.

Shang snorted. "I'm not going to let you feed it to me."

One of Lin's eyebrows arched, but he smiled just the same. He ate this bite as well, his eyes closing briefly in satisfaction. He put the takeout container down, dropping the fork into it with a clatter. When he turned to look at the discussion happening by the laptop, Shang's eyes fell on the unprotected cheesecake.

Quick as a flash, Shang gored a bite of cheesecake and jammed it in his mouth.

Lin... knew somehow. As if he had eyes in the back of his head, or some kind of sympathetic recognition for desserts. He turned and gave Shang a discerning look. "You gave me that cheesecake for the price of a bite, huh?"

"Seems like a fair trade, " Shang said, not bothering to hide the fact that he was still chewing it. 

The set director called Lin over. "Animal," Lin said playfully as he turned away. "Didn't even use a fork."

"I did," Shang protested.

The look Lin shot over his shoulder at Shang made him feel like he'd fallen into a trap.

Chapter Text

Shang wasn’t in the best mood. He knew it, and at this point, everyone else did too. He came across like a man with a bone to pick. It wasn’t directed at Lin, not really, but Lin factored into it. (He always did.)

Xiao Kuang Juan’s taunts were still ringing in his ears when he found Lin on the balcony. He set aside the small-time villain’s machinations to focus on the bigger picture—Lin’s picture. He didn’t know what it was. After all this time, he knew less than he did to begin with.

Or maybe he was ignoring a truth that was inconvenient for him. That’d be a first. He pushed the thought aside and entered the balcony, letting the glass door slide seamlessly shut behind him.

He was in casual wear—sweater, jacket, sneakers, sweats. Lin wasn’t, but there was one thing out of place, and Shang immediately remarked on it. 

“Where’s the pipe?”

Lin didn’t shift his gaze or turn his head. He merely took another drag of his cigarette.

“Forgot to bring it.”

“So, the Enigmatic Gale makes mistakes, huh?”

Lin paused to tilt his head. His expression, however, stayed neutral. “You should know I do.” He tapped the cigarette ashes off the edge of the building. “Can I help you, Sir Shang?”

Shit, he’d gotten distracted and veered off-topic. That was another thing that kinda pissed him off. Lin didn’t even have to try to dull his anger sometimes. It just happened on its own, more and more often. A sign he was getting used to the other’s antics? 

Chagrin played across Shang’s face as he cleared his throat. “Look, Lin. This whole scenery change thing—“

“I have my reasons.”

“You’re being difficult.”

“Sir Shang doesn’t suffer for it.”

“I do, actually.” Shang took a step forward and gripped the metal post. Lin’s eyes deflected to his hand before glancing away again. He’d been off ever since the spat with the art director.

Just thinking about it gave him a headache. Shang’s free hand went to hold his temple. “Difficult actors don’t make great press. They don’t bring in great business either.”

When Lin remained quiet, Shang sighed and added, “You’re just making it difficult for yourself. Pretty sure that art director’s got it out for you now.”

“That doesn’t concern me.”

“Yeah?” Shang snorted and shook his head. “How’s that work? You saying you don’t care? Then why the hell do you care about some snow?”

Lin finally looked at him. Smiled for him too. But it was a bit wane, a bit defeated. Not a look Shang was used to seeing on him.

(But startlingly familiar all the same.)

“I simply don’t like it, Bu Huan. Do I need more reason than that?”

There was a flash of something in his eyes when he looked away and inhaled from his cigarette. Shang fell silent and watched Lin Xue Ya. This was Lin Xue Ya, wasn’t it? Shameless and completely unrepentant. Yet, during these moments...

Shang released a hard breath through his nose. “Fine. It’s not like I didn’t know you were difficult when I agreed to work with you.”

He stepped close enough for Lin to look at him again and plucked the cigarette from his thin, tapered fingers. It’d mostly burnt to a stub by now, but that was alright. Shang took a quick puff and leaned his elbows against the railing.

“About before—“ He’d had that dream again. He opened and closed his left hand; one moment it was drenched crimson and the next it wasn’t. “Way before,” he specified. “Back then, you were there, right?”

It was a rhetorical question.

When he looked up at Lin’s face, there wasn’t a trace of emotion left. Whatever resonated with his dream, whatever made him open his mouth and ask, was gone. Lin seemed unaffected. Maybe a little pissed off about the cigarette.

Shang shook his head and laughed, then took a final puff. “Never mind.” 

He crushed the stub against the post and shoved off the railing. “I’ll smooth things over with the art director. Just—no more unreasonable demands. Got it?”

Without waiting for an answer, he chucked the cigarette butt into the trash by the door and left. Shang didn’t feel any better than he did before. Talking to Lin might’ve actually made it worse because now he had to talk to the art director too.

Chapter Text

“Lin.”

Shang knocked once, twice. The door inched forward with no answer. He waited for the span of a breath before knocking again. Unlike his usual hammering and pounding, his knuckles barely grazed the surface this time, but that was enough to push the door the rest of the way inward. 

Lin stood at the vanity, head bowed. The script had demanded that he look a mess, so that was what he looked—headpiece ajar, fake blood staining his clothes, hair undone.

That wasn’t what startled him.

What startled him was the cracked vase lying in a puddle on the floor. It hadn’t shattered, but a sizable chunk of the lip had broken off.

Shang shut the door behind him with a sigh. He gingerly bent down to pick through the mess of glass and flowers, salvaging the few that still had petals and dropping them back into the vase. When he spotted the drenched note card, he couldn’t help feeling ornery on the fans’ behalf. The words “WE ♥ LIN XUE YA” were so smudged they were practically unreadable.

By the time he’d finished and returned the vase to the table, Lin still hadn’t moved or even acknowledged him. Shang took a few wary steps forward, like approaching a wounded animal.

“Lin?” he asked cautiously. 

He thought he’d seen this scene before, but Lin managed to surprise him anyway. Before he got close enough to reach out, the other pivoted and crumpled into him.

“Oi!”

Lin buried his face into his chest, arms circling Shang’s midsection in a surprisingly strong grip. “Shut up.” 

Shang froze like a deer in the headlights, looking down at the top of Lin’s head. A part of him wanted to shove him off and yell at him for making him worry, except when his hands moved to do so… He felt a tremor. It was barely noticeable, but it was there; Lin’s shoulders were shaking. It was only then that Shang realized the strength in Lin’s grip came partly from desperation.

“Just...” Lin murmured, breathing deeply. “Be quiet for a moment.” His voice caught ever so slightly. “Please.”

Shang... listened. He didn’t quite return the embrace, but his right hand lifted to rest against the small of Lin’s back through the thick costume fabric. After a few seconds, his thumb started rubbing circles on its own.

They stayed like that until the tremors stilled and the thudding of Lin’s heart steadied to match his own again.

Lin didn’t speak, and Shang didn’t ask. Shang understood intuitively. The bodyguard’s death had hit too close to home. Watching Lin act through shaky gasps and sobs while clutching a fictional corpse had dredged up unpleasant memories in them both.

“Hey,” he said as he pulled back, chin brushing against Lin’s hair in the process. “It’s okay.”

Much to his surprise, Lin broke out laughing and stepped away as well. When their eyes finally met, Lin’s were bloodshot and swollen. Shang felt the sudden and irrational need to reach out and wipe some of those tear tracks away. (They weren’t real, he reminded himself.)

“You said that before too.” Lin calmed and turned to settle back at the vanity.

Shang frowned, scratching his temple. Had he?

“Perhaps it was okay for you, but not for me,” Lin finished. His eyes flickered to Shang’s in the mirror then quickly away again. 

“Hey—” Shang stepped forward, feeling as though there was more to be said but unsure of what to say.

“I am fine now, Sir Shang.” Lin paused. “Thank you.”

Lin promptly removed himself from the conversation. He was already busying himself with the items scattered across his vanity when Shang shook his head and sighed. Shang knew he should go, but the inkling of doubt kept him rooted to the spot. 

“Let’s go out tomorrow.”

Lin stopped, and Shang swore he saw a smile rise out of his ashen expression. “Are you asking me out on a date, Shang?”

Shang rolled his eyes. “I mean, to dinner.”

“So, a date?”

Shang wiped a hand down his face. “Whatever.”

Lin hummed. He didn’t confirm or deny, but the smile gave Shang all the answer he needed.

Chapter Text

Shang didn't stay in the same hotel as Lin. He didn't care about marble bathrooms or fancy hooch in the minibar. All he needed was a bed, so he picked the cheapest one he could find. Doesn't even have to be that nice a bed. One investigative sit on the mattress later, he was sure he would be out cold as soon as his head hit the pillow.

The shower in this cheap hotel was cramped, but big enough to turn around in. He turned on the water to let it warm up and began to strip off his clothing.

It was only when he'd got his shirt on the hanger for the hotel laundry that he noticed a couple spots: Lin's makeup and some of the fake blood from the scene he shot today. Shang turned the fabric to see how deep the stains were. Not bad, should come out in cleaning. Still, he lingered over them, remembering the trembling warmth of Lin's breath against his chest through the shirt.

He held his own shirt up to his nose. Smelled mostly like him, of course, and a bit like the fine face powder they'd patted onto Lin's face.

Somewhere underneath that was an undercurrent, a whiff of Lin's cologne. Another inhale and the scent profile blossomed: woody, floral, a subtle, acrid tang of smoke. It reminded him of something... something long ago.

Snorting, he flattened the shirt out with his hand and stepped away, leaving it hanging in the bathroom doorway. There was no need to go further than that.

In the shower, he rubbed his face, washing the smell of Lin out of his mind.

Chapter Text

Shang got up for a piss in the middle of the night, feeling his way unsteadily into the bathroom. He ran face-first into the Lin-touched shirt. Washing his hands did no good to rid himself of that scent.

Unwisely, he chose to go back to bed without scrubbing his face. The smell of Lin came back with him to bed, tucked him in, laid next to him on his pillow, and slid with him back into his dreams.

He was okay with remembering things from the past life in his dreams—it had happened before. He had even been fine with upsetting things like watching Lang be tortured, or feeling poison burn through his meridians. This time, he remembered watching Lin move through the process of isolating the Princess of Cruelty's venom. The scent of the reagents, the heat of alchemy, the methodical elimination of wrong answers.

He helped Shang to help himself—is what Shang had always told himself. Something he had always 'remembered'. Lin didn't ask anything in return—not anything tangible, anyway. He gave his expertise of his own volition and provided a sounding board for Shang's own worries.

And in the end...

In the end...

For Lin, he...

Shang surfaced into wakefulness, sucking in a breath, his lungs burning. He sat up in bed, shaking, feeling like he'd awakened in the middle of telling a tale and someone depended on him to finish it. But it was dark and he was alone.

With a sigh, Shang sagged back into the soft bed. He flipped his pillow to the cool side and tried to forget the haunting smell of smoke and Lin’s white hair all around him.

Chapter Text

Lin was a lot less present than he normally was. Drinking more too. He’d been fine in the morning, accepting Dan Fei’s fruits and flowers with an airy laugh and reassurance. But now he seemed worse off than during the day of the shoot.

“That’s enough.”

Shang grabbed the newest bottle of wine that the waiter had uncorked and set down between them. Lin looked mildly offended that the alcohol had been stolen from him, but then he smiled. It was a very hollow smile, somewhat unnerving.

“My, I don’t remember ever limiting your intake.”

“Yeah,” Shang scoffed as he refilled his own empty glass and set the bottle firmly back down on his side. If they were talking about that one night Shang had gotten shit-faced, and Lin had kept egging him on, then— “Because you’re a bad influence.”

“Not that this makes me a much better one,” he amended as he slung his left arm across his chair and fixed Lin with a contemplative (worried?) gaze. This was supposed to be a celebratory dinner; at least, that was what he’d told himself. Last day of shooting before the holiday break. How’d it end up like this?

It wasn’t as though Lin was acting wildly different. It was just the small things. The lulls in their conversation. The glazed looks. The clipped phrases that felt like they hid more ambiguity than usual. Shang tilted his head to the side and held his chin for a moment with his free hand before leaning forward again.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Are you worried about me?”

Shang snorted. “Do you always have to answer a question with a question?”

Lin leaned back in his seat, pipe sitting idly in his left hand. “Then, let me ask you another. May I?”

“Get on with it.”

Lin smiled again more naturally, and Shang felt his chest inexplicably warm.

“You say you remember everything, but... how much exactly do you remember of—” Lin’s head lolled to the side as his eyes briefly darted away. “The circumstances of your death?”

Shang frowned. He didn’t mind talking about it, but the subject evoked an uncomfortable throb in his gut. It felt pointless to rehash. “Enough,” he said simply. “The stab wound. The bleeding out. Leaving behind world-ending, unfinished business.” He paused. “...You.”

“And how did you... feel about it?”

It was a strange question given the circumstances but elicited a small chuckle out of him regardless. He picked up his fork absentmindedly and pushed around the few peas left on his plate as he answered, “How do you think? I wasn’t happy about it.” He thought for a moment. “Angry, frustrated.”

“Oh?” Lin asked, voice dropping so low that Shang could barely hear it above the din of the crowd. “Were you now? Angry at me?” Lin’s gaze had redirected to some indeterminate spot behind his shoulder as he slowly inhaled from his pipe.

Shang shifted in his seat, frown deepening. “Does it matter?”

Lin hmph’d and refocused his eyes into clarity. He straightened, though he seemed to wobble as he did, and flagged down the waiter for yet another bottle. 

“It does, actually.” His attention returned to Shang when his request had been acknowledged. “Because you see, Bu Huan, it seems we remember things quite differently.”

They lapsed into silence for a few seconds before Shang finally asked, “And how do you remember it?”

Lin tapped the bowl of his pipe against the table. “Well...” he started. “You said, ‘It’s okay.’”

“Did I?”

“You did.” Lin took another draught of his pipe. He seemed calm, eerily so. “In fact, you had no harsh words for me at all.” His face suddenly brightened as if he were genuinely amused by what he was going to say next. “If only you had cursed me with your dying breath, then maybe I wouldn’t have...”

“Lin—”

“Well, that’s enough of that.” Lin cut him off. Before Shang could react, he’d grabbed the wine bottle back to his side and filled his glass to the brim. “It seems I’ve brought up an unpleasant topic. This is a celebratory dinner, no?”

“So,” he finished, clinking his glass against Shang’s and sloshing some of the dark red liquid over the sides. “Let’s celebrate.”

Chapter Text

"Can I kiss you?" 

"Never thought you'd be the one to ask that." Shang swirled the last of the wine in his glass and then sucked it down. 

"That's not an answer." 

"Yeah, well you've never been forthcoming yourself?" Shang groused at Lin’s impish pout. "'N what are you going to do with no answer, huh? Nothing," he continued, putting the stem glass down on the table. "Which means I get a break from worrying about whatever you're going to do next." He chuckled, proud of himself. 

"As luck would have it, I’m also quite patient," Lin replied, rising from his seat on the other side of the table. "After all, a nod is as good as a yes." 

"Mm," Shang agreed, reaching out for the third unopened bottle of wine, but Lin swiped it first, giving Shang a chiding click of his tongue and a smug smile. A frown flashed onto Shang’s features, but he finally sat back in his chair. "What do you want to kiss me for, anyway?" 

The smile on Lin's face flickered. He uncorked the bottle, drawing another glass close. "I thought you remembered everything." 

"I do."

The wine flowed into Lin's glass and then Shang's. "Then you remember that I didn't get the chance... before."

Before, in their past lives. "Mmm," Shang grunted. "I remember." 

Something unidentifiable crossed Lin's face; his eyelashes fluttered, and he pushed Shang's glass back toward him. Without waiting for him to pick it up, he gently touched his glass to Shang's and lifted it up. It rang in the space between them. 

"Cheers."

Chapter Text

Lin was midway through adjusting his hairpiece when the door flew open. It wasn’t who he was expecting, but he didn’t let that show as his eyes flickered to the figure reflected in the mirror. His lips curved into their perfunctory smile.

“Sir Lang,” he said languidly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Lang remained silent and stepped farther into the dressing room before shutting and locking the door behind him. At the click of the bolt, Lin pivoted to offer a questioning look. Before he could fully turn, Lang had crossed the room.

The other’s forearm slammed into his collarbone with enough force to drive his head into the mirror. The glass crunched as the entire structure violently shook.

The unexpected ferocity drew a pained grunt of surprise from Lin’s throat. The assault wasn’t completely out of the blue considering the musician's recent behavior, but it hurt nonetheless. A sardonic smile slowly replaced the displeasure on his lips as he met Lang’s angry blue-green gaze with a perfectly calm red one.

“I remember,” Lang hissed through clenched teeth. A hard press of his forearm drove Lin farther into the shattered glass.

Lin winced, but his smile didn’t falter. “Oh-ho? Do you now? This is a bit of an overreaction, though, isn’t it?”

“Shut up!” Lang snapped. “You’re not even going to deny it!” 

As forcefully as Lang had barked the words, there was still some sense of astonishment in them that Lin found very funny. So funny, in fact, that he couldn’t help laughing despite the pressure crushing his chest.

“Deny? What is there to deny?”

“You know what I’m talking about! Shang—and everything else! You practically ended the world!”

Lin had never been very fond of Lang, and with all pretenses now lifted, he could finally discard the feigned neutrality. “Oh? Isn’t that also to say you couldn’t stop me?”

“Shut up!” Lang snarled between a hiss. His arm slid farther up until his elbow dug into the hollow of Lin’s throat with strength enough to make him choke. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but I won’t let you toy with him again.”

It took Lin some effort to squeeze his next words out, but he still managed an infuriating smile to bait with. “Isn’t that his choice to make?” he asked. “And as far as I can see, he’s already made it.”

“What?” Lang’s posture slackened. Confusion flitted across his cold, unforgiving gaze.

“You didn’t think you were the only one who remembered, did you? How conceited.” Lin took the other’s distraction to shift his body into a less precarious position. Lang wouldn’t be able to pincer off his airway in the same fashion now.

“Then, why—”

“Why don’t you ask him? Or,” Lin added with deliberate gravitas, “Would that interfere with your agenda too much?”

“What are you talking about?” Anger followed hot on the heels of Lang’s frustration.

“Please. Your acting is laughable when it comes to matters of the heart,” Lin pointed out, shooting the musician a glare. “I’ve been very... candid about my intentions. And Bu Huan hasn’t completely rejected them. But it seems the same can’t be said for you.”

Lang seemed to quail for the briefest moment before doubling down. His expression became even more inscrutable, but Lin had years more experience when it came to swallowing and parsing emotions. He scoffed. “Dressing up your affections as platonic concern seems a bit disingenuous, doesn’t it?”

Lang’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I don’t want to hear that from you,” he snarled, voice dropping from explosive pitch to low, rumbling growl.

He’d just raised his other hand when a sharp rap at the door drew both of their attentions.

“Lin! Where the hell have you—“ The handle rattled impatiently. “What—did you lock the door? What the hell are you doing that you need to lock the—“ Shang broke off with an irritated sigh. “You know what? I don’t wanna know. Just hurry up. You were supposed to be out there fifteen minutes ago. Everyone’s waiting for you. If you make me stay five hours over again, I’ll really throttle you this time.”

A pause. When Lin didn’t answer, Shang’s voice sharply cut the silence. “Lin.”

Lin and Lang exchanged glances before Lin firmly but silently shoved the other off him. His left hand went to rub his collarbone as he called, “Ah, did I oversleep? It seems you were right; perhaps I am a bit tired. I’ll be there shortly.”

Shang sighed. “Thought so.” There was the faint sound of shuffling and something being set beside the door. “Drink this coffee before you head out. I’ll let ‘em know.”

Lin watched Lang’s expression, but nothing changed. He supposed he still didn’t know the man’s nuances well enough. Pushing past him to dust his costume off in the fractured reflection, Lin inspected the damage. From what he could tell, the only injury was a bruise forming on the back of his head. It throbbed gently with every other step he took.

He swept his eyes dispassionately across the cracked mirror and remarked, “You owe me a replacement.”

“And allow me to remind you we still have another scene to shoot today, Sir Lang,” he added, piecing back together his genial facade. “It wouldn’t do either of us any good not to perform to the best of our abilities.”

With that, Lin unlocked the door and swept into the hallway toward the restroom, picking up the coffee Shang had left him in the process.

Chapter Text

Lin arrived on set just in time to see Lang storm off, leaving a very befuddled-looking Shang in his wake. As soon as he caught Lin in the periphery, he made his way toward him with long strides and heavy footsteps.

“What the hell happened?” he asked. The accusation came out between a bark and a snarl.

Lin released a breath that bordered on a chuckle. “No hello?” 

He hadn’t meant to sound mocking or dismissive, but Shang seemed to take it that way as his expression soured. “Did anything happen?” Lin continued, tapping the coffee the other had left him, still three-quarters full. “What did he tell you?” 

For all of Shang’s urgency, Lin’s composure remained. He’d chosen to focus on offsetting the less-than-agreeable mood Lang had put him in instead of rigorously checking for wounds. The back of his head throbbed to remind him.

“Nothing. He just—stormed off when I tried to ask him what’s wrong.”

“Is that all?” Lin answered calmly, though he didn’t bother hiding the edge of scorn. “Do I always have to be the reason for that boy’s tantrums?”

He wasn’t this time. Not really. His eyes remained steady on Shang as he sipped his lukewarm coffee.

“Who else could it be?”

“Hmm,” Lin hummed. “Maybe Sir Lang has found himself a lover?”

Shang’s hand suddenly twisted in the collar of his shirt hard enough to tear. “I’m being serious, Xue Ya!”

Hearing his given name startled him; the volume of Shang’s voice startled everyone else.

This was the second time Shang had called him that. And this time—ah, there it was. That look in his eyes. He was actually upset with him. Not annoyance or irritation, but a flash of genuine hatred. If he’d looked at him like that before, Lin could have found a way to let go. He could have let everything go. Now it just... hurt.

Lin’s chest clenched painfully, but his gaze remained stoic and unyielding. He even forced a faint smile just before Shang tsked and turned away. Upon hearing the director bark his name with shrill disapproval, he shoved Lin back and let him go.

“Everything’s fine,” Shang called to the crew members who’d started gathering to watch and to pry them apart. “Sorry.”

Shang pinched the bridge of his nose and pivoted to give Lin his back. He took half a step forward before pausing again and shifting his head over his shoulder without meeting Lin’s gaze.

“When are you going to stop playing games with me?”

The words were quiet and meant only for Lin. There was no anger. No exasperation. Just... disappointment.

“Bu Huan, I—“

“I’m going for a break,” he announced, less to Lin than to everyone else, and left without another word.

Lin watched him go, a complex miasma of emotion bubbling in his chest. It was odd wanting someone to hate you and not at the same time. Had he finally passed the limits of Shang’s patience? How many more allowances would he be given, if any?

Lin’s chest hollowed out. It wasn’t as though he were playing games. At least not in the same vein that he used to. He’d tried honesty. He’d tried Shang’s way. What else was left to him?

Wincing, he finally reached behind to touch his head where he was undoubtedly bruised. When his fingers came back stained and wet, Lin could only laugh. How hadn’t he noticed?

Chapter Text

Lin hadn’t expected to see him. He never did; at some point, he just... stopped expecting. It was easier to numb himself. (He had a whole other lifetime of experiences to attest to that.) 

But that didn’t mean he stopped looking. With every movie, series, and editorial, there was always that niggling thought in the back of his head that maybe this one would be the one. Lin would finally find him, or vice versa, if he was even here to begin with.

He didn’t know when the bitterness settled in—the fear—but he supposed it was around the same time he picked up Wu Sheng. The man remembered nothing, and it was a relief. 

(He remembered nothing, and it was a... disappointment.) 

Wu Sheng worked fine as a lifeline. He was within reach; he tided him over. He reminded Lin that he wasn’t the only one and that he wasn’t insane for trying. If Wu Sheng was here, then surely...

“Lin?”

Wu Sheng’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Lin painted on a smile for his accompaniment of the night as the other pressed closer and tangled a finger in the ends of his white hair. Lin refrained from stepping back, gaze flickering elsewhere.

“You seem... distracted,” he continued.

“Do I?” Lin asked, faint chuckle underlying the words. “Must be the champagne.”

“Then, stop drinking.” Wu Sheng plucked the half-empty flute out of his hand. 

It took quite a bit of control not to shoot the man a dirty glare. “Oh-ho? You’re being rather attentive tonight, Wu Sheng.”

“I’m always attentive.”

Lin made a dismissive gesture that felt empty without the steadying weight of his pipe. “You should enjoy yourself. That’s the whole reason I brought you here, you know?”

Wu Sheng was midway through a retort when another voice cut through the fray as clear as a bell. 

“Hah? I didn’t hear anything about that.”

Lin’s head swiveled sharply. The ballroom was thick with mingling bodies; finding the source wasn’t an easy task. He started gravitating toward the center in search. The memory of the sound guided him, and everything else fell by the wayside.

“Hey, Lin!” 

Wu Sheng’s voice was lost to conversation as soon as Lin re-entered the crowd. A few people tried to engage him, but he quickly declined and kept moving. His eyes continued searching, jumping from face to face. In his single-minded objective, he grew careless and ran into someone’s shoulder. 

“Watch it!”

Lin paid no heed, but several bystanders turned their way. That man glanced up as well, curiosity written in the familiar lines of his face. 

Lin’s body reacted before his mind did; every nerve flared to life. Their eyes met for a split second that lasted an eternity, and suddenly, the gulf of people separating them disappeared. The air rushed out of Lin’s lungs as if he’d been punched. He only remembered to breathe again when the other started pivoting away. 

“Shang!” he called.

The man paused, eyebrows knitting together. His hair was down, and someone had forced him into refined clothing, but he didn’t look any different than how Lin remembered. He still managed to stick out like a sore thumb, and Lin didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

He broke past the final barrier of bodies and came to an abrupt halt a few steps away. It took everything in him not to reach out a hand to make sure he was real, that this was real. 

Lin had never felt so impatient across two lifetimes as when he stood in front of this Shang, swallowing past the lump in his throat to repeat his name in a trembling whisper. “Sir Shang?”

The addressed turned to look at him once more. His honey brown eyes, vacant and confused, answered Lin’s silent question before he did.

“Yeah, that’s me. Have we met before?”

Chapter Text

Lin was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows when Shang walked into the conference room. He looked over his shoulder to acknowledge Shang's presence and then went back to staring out at the Taipei skyline. 

"Well?" Shang said, hardly able to hide the irritation in his voice. "If you're going to say something, then say it. I don't have time to waste on this." 

"Yes, you have to see to a dozen other clients or so, I'm sure," Lin said frostily. 

Shang stiffened, prepared to defend himself, like a street cat who raises its hackles to look big and menacing. But he has no intention of fighting today. 

"Lang remembers." Lin turned, his hair glowing like sunlight on snow. 

"Bullshit. He'd tell me," Shang said. 

"Oh, would he?" Lin stepped over to the conference table, his manicured nails drumming once on the surface. 

"Of course he would. We don't play games with each other." It was clearly meant to delineate who did play games with him. 

"I see," Lin said. He reached down into the seat of the executive high-back chair next to him and pulled out a small album. "Here." He slid it across the table. 

"What's this?" 

"I had it made for you. For your portfolio." 

"Keep it. I don't need a portfolio."

Lin shook his head almost imperceptibly. "You're going to be in demand soon, so it would do you some good to be mindful of that." 

"In demand?" Shang frowned. "What kind of trick are you pulling now?" 

"You keep saying that, and... it's getting a little tiring, Sir Shang." Lin walked around the table, looking every inch the high-powered man in his three-piece suit. "In our past lives, I deserved it. I was a confidence man who kept lords and emperors living in fear of my tricks and mastery of poison or theft." 

The muscle in Shang's jaw tensed. "You're still a confidence man. Figuring out your tricks is the only reason I've agreed to stay on this long." 

"You're wrong, Sir Shang." Lin paused while he considered his words, then let out a small sigh. "In this life, I'm just another pretty face." He held out his hand for a handshake. When Shang didn't immediately accept it, Lin withdrew his hand, tucked it into his pocket and walked past him. 

"Where are you going?" 

"Somewhere," Lin tossed over his shoulder. "Do ask Lang something he wouldn't know except for in the past life. Then, if you want, we can talk about honesty."

Shang didn't see Lin for another month after that. Given how busy his shooting schedule was, it was a miracle that they didn’t run into each other. But he slipped in and out of studios, right on time, and never close enough to Shang to merit a nod or a greeting. 

Just the kind of stuff Shang expected from him, really. 

Shang ended up at a bar—because that's how this kind of thing always happens. There was a variety show on the TV above the bar. Shang watched, his fingers resting on the cool sides of his glass of whiskey. Lin was one of the guests; he played the games required of him, laughing when he was supposed to (That's not what he actually laughs like, Shang thought) and offering bon mots that were appropriate for the occasion and audience. 

When the barman picked up the remote to change the channel, Shang lifted his voice. "Oi. Leave it." 

"What, do you care about this?" 

"So what if I do?" 

With a shrug of his shoulders, the barman put the remote down. 

"What about you, Sir Lin?" The presenter asked. "Do you have any plans to get married soon?"

"Oh," Lin said, with a winsome smile. "I'm afraid I'm quite put off the whole concept." 

"Oh no," one of the other celebrities said, sounding concerned. "Did you have a bad break-up?" 

Everyone around the panel leaned forward, eager to hear the mysterious Lin Xue Ya dish on his relationships. 

Lin looked at her with a mixture of pity and kindness. "I did not. Just a bit of unrequited love." 

The panel erupted. Everyone scrambled to press the names of co-stars and likely starlets against Lin, but the cameraman kept the camera on Lin the entire time. 

Lin kept his lashes lowered, almost demurely, then looked up at the camera once before smiling and suggesting they move on to another topic. 

"Oi," Shang barked, calling the barman over and rattling the ice in his glass at him. "Another one of these. Keep 'em comin'."

Chapter Text

Shang stared at the door to his and Lang's shared apartment, Lin’s words echoing in his ears. Do ask Lang something he wouldn't know except for in the past life.

Damn that Lin. Laying a trap for Lang wasn't his style. He didn't want to catch him in a lie, as if Lang had been trying to hide it. He wanted Lang to be forthcoming with the fact that he'd remembered. The adventure, the stakes, the end of it all. But if Lin was right, then Lang had been hiding it from him already. To Shang's mind, that seemed worse. Lin he could assign ulterior motives to without end. It was harder to think what kind of ulterior motives Lang might have, and harder still to imagine how he'd deal with them.

There was no good way to do this, but he wasn't going to do it like Lin, hiding behind veils and words with three meanings. 

Shang fumbled with his keys for a moment before finding the right one and unlocking the door. Maybe Lang wasn’t home. But the lights inside were on, and the gentle click of a pick on the strings of an electric guitar stopped abruptly.

"You’re back here late." Lang sounded as if he was in the middle of something, and a few more steps inside revealed that he was sitting in his usual chair, guitar in hand. 

Lang's apartment—and Shang's too, he supposed—was cluttered. Along one wall was a rolling rack of gig clothes, with a vague odor of smoke and sweat. Even though he'd started getting roles in TV dramas, Lang still went out to perform in clubs. Shang's lips twitched in a smile. Couldn't stop from making music. 

"Do you want some tea?” 

"It's okay; I’m not thirsty. And I’m heading right back out anyway." Shang sat down on the couch and rubbed the back of his neck. How to approach this... "I wanted to ask you about something. About Lin." 

"What's that?" Lang had a calm look on his face despite the keen interest he’d taken when Shang said he was going back out. 

"Well, the tension on set has been noticed by the rest of the crew. It’s making things difficult for everyone else—me included, you know. And I don't want your career to get sidetracked because of..." Shang frowned. "I don't even know what you got in a fight about." 

"It's not important." 

"It is important. If you get a reputation for being hard to work with this early in your career, it will scare away potential jobs." 

"Don't worry about that," Lang said. "I can work with anyone if I have to." 

"Even Lin Xue Ya?" 

Lang set his jaw, and didn't respond. 

Shang swallowed hard. "Lang, if he did something to you, there's cameras, okay? We just need to know when, and we can pull some footage, and he won't get away with it." 

"There's no footage of what he did."

"He did it out of sight of cameras?"

"No."

"Did he pick a place where there weren’t any cameras? A cab?"

"No."

"You know I believe you, right?" 

Lang looked away, with a barely muttered, "Yeah." 

Shang's heart felt like it fell out of the bottom of his chest. Lin couldn’t be right, could he? "Then what is it? What’s got you so mad?" 

Lang scowled, looking away. After a few moments where he picked at a loose thread on his chair, he finally licked his lips and started talking. "...I'm mad at him for something he did in a dream." 

"In a dream?" 

"Yeah." 

Shang chuckled, but inside, he felt hollowed out. "You can't hold someone responsible for what you dreamed about them." 

"No." Lang turned and met Shang’s gaze with eyes like ice. "This dream was real." 

"The dream about Ling Ya? And Xie Ying Luo?" Shang paused. He felt like mouth was filled with dead leaves, dry and choking. "And the monk?"

Lang looked back at him, and then began picking again at the loose thread on the arm of his chair. At length, he grunted in the affirmative. 

Shang let out a long-held breath. "So you do remember about all of that. Everything that happened." 

"Yeah." 

"Then you remember that I...died." Lang's face twisted, his lips puckering as he held back emotion. In a few more seconds, it was gone, but all he did was nod. Shang pushed on him a little more. "And you remember Lin being there." 

"Yeah, I remember." Lang's voice simmered. "I remember how you died, and I found out later. I remember how I asked him for help to defeat the demons. There were so many of them just wandering around, going from village to village and—" Lang broke off. He shifted his weight in the chair, uncrossed his legs, and then crossed them again. "It was terrible, without you there to help." Lang's features suddenly wrenched again, this time into a mask of anger. "All he could do was sit there, in a corner, staring at your body. He left you unburied for a week. A week!" 

Shang shook his head slowly, looking down. Lin? Acting like that?

But Lang kept going. "Even once he was finally forced to do something because of the... state of you, he just buried you and wandered off. He didn't lift a finger to help fight." 

Shang’s eyebrows rose in surprise. "You asked him to help?" 

"Of course I asked him! What else could I do?" Lang gripped the arms of his chair, his knuckles blanching. "I told him you would want us to keep fighting!" 

Shang smiled, and then a chuckle slipped out. "You're right." 

"Right?" Lang's eyes were red with rage, but he kept talking. "He was the only one that could have helped, and he refused to do anything!” Lang set his guitar down in the stand next to the chair and stood up. "I almost had him dead! If Lin had helped, it would have worked!" He paced away from the chair and then turned back to Shang, shaking his head first slowly and then more vigorously. "And when I asked him to help save the world, all he could say was something like, 'a world without Shang Bu Huan isn't a world I want to save.'" Lang looked to Shang for sympathy. "Even at the end of the world, he has time to be scheming and melodramatic." 

Shang winced inwardly. "That does sound like him." 

Lang folded his arms across his chest. "He did it on purpose. He KNEW there was going to be another life or another world or something..." 

"Oi." 

"What?" 

"You're heading into some... really crazy stuff here. Knowing in advance there was more than one life? Come on." 

"Why else would he just lie down somewhere and die peacefully? Can you imagine that guy dying peacefully? Anywhere?" Lang's eyes were lined with angry tears that refused to fall. It only seemed to get worse when Shang stayed silent: Lang set his jaw in a stubborn way that said he wouldn’t be dissuaded. "You weren't there, Shang! I took his hand and tried to pull him away from your body! I wanted to mourn you too, but I had a responsibility to you, to kill that thing!" Lang let out a shuddering breath, close to a sob. Still, he couldn't quite let his emotions out properly. The hatred for Lin came roaring back into his voice. "But all HE did was say 'leave me alone', like saving the world could wait!"

With these last words, Lang flung himself back into his chair, but he didn’t pick up his guitar again. They sat in silence, Lang picking at the arm of his chair, and Shang staring down at his feet. 

The quiet gave him time to process what Lang had actually told him—and more to the point, what Lin had not. All of that happened after he died? Shang tried to imagine Lin moping around and found the image impossible to reconcile with the Lin he knew. And yet, Lang had told him about this, not Lin, so the information was automatically trustworthy. 

Lin always had a flair for the dramatic, but being so morose when a demon god that could end the world was running around? You’d think he’d lost his wife or something… 

Shang’s breath caught in his throat. 

If you’d lost someone dear to you, and you had never told them what they meant to you... and then you found them in the next life... what's the first thing you would say?

He let his breath out and shook his head a little, but his first meeting with Lin after he got his memories back echoed in his mind. He’d said, I love you. 

"Well," Shang said at last, pushing his thoughts into a dark corner of his mind to deal with later. "There is no point dwelling on it now, is there?" 

"Shang." Lang shook his head. "How can you say that? He let you die." 

"That world..." Shang rubbed his hands and then pressed them together. "Don't you think this one is better than that? No demons, no magic, no sword index, no killing. No cursed voice," he said, nodding to Lang. 

"...Yeah." 

"We can just live normal lives, right?" 

"Maybe. Maybe I could have, before I remembered." Lang shook his head. "Now, I don't think I can... I don't know." He rubbed his face with both hands, cradling his forehead. "I'll think about it. But don't hold your breath."

Chapter Text

A commercial for a coffee drink. A walk-on spot on a variety show (again), where he once again charmed women and impressed men with his skills at acting and looking beautiful while doing so. Interviews in two newspapers. A bit part in a radio play. A commercial for toothpaste. A dub role for a foreign film. A non-speaking role in a modern drama, which was shocking, but there were rumors he'd lost his voice and traded with a lesser-known bit part. A commercial spot for a local dim sum chain. Three magazine spreads (with two collectible covers); Shang'd had to visit several newsstands to get one of each. 

It had only been six weeks, but he was everywhere, and Shang couldn't escape him. It'd been Lin's idea to break up—that was the only thing that meeting could have been—but here he was, working three times as hard as when he and Shang had been a team. 

It had to be some kind of revenge on his part. 

He got to Lin's apartment building and angrily stabbed the intercom button with his finger. The speaker came on, but he heard no sound, and then the speaker clicked, turning off. Irritation prickled hot under his skin.

Lin, you bastard, don't run away from taking responsibility for—

The intercom buzzed. 

Shang leaned on the door, and it swung inward.

He took only a few bewildered steps before straightening his shoulders and walking to the elevator. Lin lived high up, overlooking the city with a panoramic view, way better than anything a scruffy bachelor could afford. His apartment was one of four on this floor, speaking to the elite kind of person who lived here. But Lin's door was still locked when he got to it. Shang pounded on the door with his fist. 

"Lin!" 

The door opened almost instantly, as if Lin had been waiting next to it. His skin was a little dull, and his lips were chapped. He wore some kind of soft, slinky loungewear, his collarbone exposed by a wide collared shirt. But he had a distracted look, as if Shang had interrupted him in the middle of something. But he still offered Shang a smile, and any imperfections faded away as he leaned on the doorframe. 

"Sir Shang." 

"Don't you 'Sir Shang' me. What's this about?" 

"This?" Lin looked honestly puzzled. "What is 'this'?"

He wasn't going to confess to his attempts to... to..."You've been working harder than ever. I've seen numerous commercials, interviews, parts in radio, on TV..." 

"Oh." Lin shook his head, and his hair swayed behind him. "I have had a lot more free time in the last month, so..." He shrugged, and the shirt threatened to fall off his shoulder. "...What better way to fill my time than with work?" 

"Work?" Shang frowned. "Work is fine, but this kind of pace isn't sustainable." 

Lin's eyes tightened, as if someone had put one of his fingers in a vise. "Are you worried about me, Sir Shang?" 

Shang opened his mouth to say 'No, I'm not!' but the words didn't come out, and after a full second, Shang just closed his mouth again. 

Lin pushed himself up off the doorframe and withdrew into the interior of his apartment, leaving the door hanging open. 

"Lin... Lin, dammit..." Shang stepped inside, closing the door and leaving his shoes in a messy pile next to it. 

Every surface was gleaming white. The floors were sparkling terrazzo, the furniture pristine and modern. Lin was in the stand-alone kitchen, which was also white, with a mirror-like piano finish on the cabinets. His fridge was open—how could you even tell that was a fridge; everything looked so Space Age in here—and Lin took out a bottle of white wine, and then from the freezer a single large ice cube.

"You're right," Lin said. "I haven't been taking time for myself." 

Shang's eyes flicked uneasily around this slick lion's den, and then back to the lion himself, who had brought out a familiar bottle with amber liquid. 

"Oi." 

"What?" 

"That's my favorite kind." 

"I know." Lin dropped the ice cube into a rocks glass. 

"That's creepy, knowing a man's favorite liquor." 

"Perhaps I'd always hoped I'd get the chance to welcome you here, Sir Shang," Lin said, uncapping the bottle. The whiskey glugged out over the ice cube, coming halfway up the sides of the glass. He slid the glass over the counter toward Shang. "And simply wished to be prepared."

Chapter Text

Lin's apartment had chairs he could nearly lie down in, taut strips of white leather wrapped around chrome tube frames. They looked like they should be the most uncomfortable chairs in the world, but whether they were actually comfortable or it was just the whiskey talking, Shang couldn’t tell.

"You're so full of shit," Shang slurred, relaxing back in his chair with a glass of whiskey cradled in his hands. "You were full of shit then, and you're full of shit now." 

"You say that like it's an insult," Lin answered. He had his own glass of wine though he was not nearly as deep in his cup as Shang. The more whiskey Shang drank, the looser his tie got until it was barely tied at all. First one button and then a second gaped open, trying to relieve the heated flush of drunkenness. 

"Isn't it?" Shang frowned. "Of course you wouldn’t take it like one. You should be loyal and humble." He looked down into the bottom of the rocks glass, his discussion with Lang coming back to him and all the ways Lin had not told him the whole truth about the circumstances surrounding his death in the past life. "'N honest," he added as an afterthought, pointing at Lin with his drink.

Lin chuckled, perched carefully on the arm of the sofa across from him. "Then reincarnation is a success." 

"'S not," Shang murmured. "You still tell lies." 

"I tell them professionally," Lin corrected him. 

"Still lying." Shang slung the retort, but he had a sullen, inward look on his face that told Lin that he was not entirely focused on their current conversation. 

A wise man might have chosen not to rock the boat. But Lin Xue Ya's cleverness wouldn't let Shang's stubborn declaration stand unchallenged. "Omitting the truth isn't lying." 

"Dunno about that." Shang let his head rest against the back of the chair. His brow furrowed. "Call it trickery, then. Either way, can't trust you." The glass hollowed out his voice when he spoke. "Everyone should just... tell the truth about things. Everything's easier that way."

"What makes you think I'm lying?"

"Who the hell just... meets someone and says 'I love you', huh?" Shang scowled at his whiskey, almost as if it were Lin. "What if I'd been someone else?" 

"But you aren't." Lin paused. "I made sure of who you were before telling you anything." 

"It was reckless. A reckless lie to tell anyone, whether it's me or a stranger." 

"You seem caught up on the 'reckless' part." Lin swirled the wine in his glass.

"Can't blame me." Moodily, he stared a hole in his large ice cube. "Everyone likes to get into trouble, especially when you're around. Feels like a win when everyone gets out alive." He put his mouth up to the rim of the glass; his words crushed together. "Or almost everyone." The whiskey had burnt down his inhibitions like a red-light district. "Everyone gets caught in the crossfire, and it feels so dangerous..." He looked up at Lin, his eyes slightly unfocused. "You even had to make killing Mie Tian Hai reckless. Didn't ask for help or anything." 

Lin let him talk. What was the idiom? Enough rope to hang himself?

"Although, I was happy to see you could take care of Mie Tian Hai on your own." Shang stared at the whiskey with a far-off look, then sucked in a big breath and let it out. "It was a big relief that you got out of that fight alive." 

"Were you worried about me?" 

"Yeah," Shang replied without missing a beat. 

"And here I was thinking I was just like everyone else." 

"Nah," Shang muttered, sliding even farther down into the chair. He let the glass sit on the armrest, rocking it back and forth under his hand. His eyes were unfocused, staring into space. In the next moment, Shang pierced Lin with his dark gaze, hot and steady, like a live coal. "You're nothing like anyone else."

The silence that stretched beyond let Shang's words echo in his own mind. He started to open his mouth to say something and then, even through the whiskey, thought better of it. With a grumpy sound, he let his eyes slide closed. 

"Sir Shang."

"..."

"Sir Shang." Lin put his wine down on the low table next to the couch and stood up in the manner of a host telling a guest it was time to go. "If you fall asleep, you’ll have to walk home in the morning in front of all the paparazzi."

"Every day, it's 'Sir Shang' this and 'Sir Shang' that," Shang harrumphed, sitting forward and leaning on the other armrest to try and dig himself out of the incredibly comfortable chair. "Can't we just be normal in this life? Without that other life?"

Lin watched him get to his feet, still steady although he was clearly drunk. "It's not that simple." 

"I want it to be that simple." He relinquished the (mostly) empty glass to Lin's outstretched hand. "All I ever wanted was for things to be simple." 

Lin put the whiskey glass down on the glass coffee table. "If you want things to be simple, the best thing to do is just accept my 'reckless lie' as truth."

Shang paused, looking down the hall towards the toilet. Then shook his head and started toward the door. "If I do that, it just makes things more complicated." He snorted a laugh. "But it's easier for you, huh? That's all that matters."

Lin followed him to the door to get a better view of Shang trying to use fine motor skills while plastered. "Have you ever known me to like taking the easy way?" 

Shang, who had been staring down at shoes with laces that needed to be tied, turned and gave him a look that was too discerning for a man who had downed as many whiskeys as he had. Unable to argue with Lin's statement, he just gave a grunt of assent. 

Lin leaned against the wall, ready to watch the circus of Shang trying to put his shoes back on. "Why does that make things more complicated, anyway?"

Shang turned on him, slamming his hand against the wall, and his body followed, pressing into Lin. He had been so fast that it was hard to believe Shang was drunk, but he seemed unable to properly savor the shock on Lin's face. "Because then I wouldn't be able to keep from doing this." 

He claimed Lin's mouth in a kiss, not letting him give voice to anything in protest, neither trickery nor truth. Lin's mouth softened under his, like lead in the summer sun. He yielded, letting Shang's tongue inside without more than a soft sigh of surrender through his nose. Shang took more, pushing his knee between Lin's, plunging his tongue into Lin's mouth. His hands seared Lin's sides, roamed over his ribs; Lin gasped into the kiss, winding his arms around Shang's neck. 

The heat of Shang's hands burned Lin through his clothes. He pulled their bodies closer together, touching and claiming each part of him hungrily, until he held Lin's face in his hands. 

With a jerk of finality, Shang ended the kiss and stepped back. Lin's breath came out in small gasps, thin and uneven, his kiss-swollen mouth still slightly open. Shang licked his lips and gave Lin a firm nod, congratulating himself on a kiss well done.

Shang leaned down and grabbed his shoes with one hand, and let himself out of Lin's apartment with the other.

The door had barely slammed shut behind him when it opened again. "Bu Huan!" 

"What?" Shang turned around, only to see Lin in stocking feet in the hallway. 

"What?" Lin parroted. "You're leaving, just like that?" 

"Yeah." 

"You don't want to stay?" 

"First, you were pushing me out the door, now you're asking me to stay?"

"I thought you wanted space." Lin's voice was suddenly small in the high-ceilinged hallway. 

Shang's scoff of disbelief echoed in the foyer. There was no one in the hallway but the two of them, but the loudness of it seemed to remind Shang of appearances, even in the very exclusive walkway of a very exclusive set of apartments. 

Lin walked toward him slowly, like someone approaching a skittish street dog. 

Shang shifted his weight as if to leave. Quickly, Lin slipped forward, taking Shang's shoes from his hand. "Stay?" He looked up into Shang's face, beloved, familiar from this lifetime and the last, and swallowed his pride. "Please?"

Shang's eyes raked over Lin's face, touching with his sight what he could not admit he wanted to spend hours touching with his hands, his mouth, his body. "What happens if I do?" 

"I don't know," Lin said, capturing Shang's roaming gaze with his own. "That will be up to you." 

They stood close together for what seemed like several minutes, their breathing the only sound between them. Then, Lin took Shang's hand and pulled at his arm. 

Shang let himself be led back inside. The door locked behind them. 

Chapter Text

Long before the morning sun’s rays would have reached into the modest surroundings of his room in Lang’s apartment, they shone down through the diaphanous curtains above Lin’s bed. Shang, unwilling to move, watched them touch the stirred-up sheets, and then Lin’s naked shoulder. The sun combed through his hair spread over the pillow, and finally, Lin’s lashes fluttered open.

He blinked once, twice, and then reached out to touch Shang, sliding his fingertips over his bare belly, curving his hand under his flat breast. Each movement he followed with his eyes until his fingers wound their way up to Shang’s jaw and pulled at Shang’s lips.

The rustle of the sheets was loud as he leaned in to press a feather-light kiss against Shang’s lips.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” Shang replied, his voice husky.

Lin scooted closer under the sheets and tangled his legs together with Shang’s. “Have you been awake long?”

“A while.”

Lin smiled as he pillowed his head against Shang. Shang’s hand slid up over Lin’s back and rested on his shoulder. “Feeling any of that scotch still?”

“Every single drop.” Shang’s eyes flicked to Lin. “If I stay still, the headache isn’t so bad.”

Lin hid a chuckle by bowing his head and rolling out of his side of the bed. His hair was down, swaying over his bare backside, and might have offered the suggestion that Lin hadn’t slept naked in the same bed as Shang. But on his way back into the room a few moments later, there was no hiding Lin’s nakedness, not that he would have tried. He offered Shang an amused smile along with a bottle of water and a few pain relievers.

“Thanks.”

Lin crawled back into bed with him, resuming his cuddling position with Shang between the sheets.

Shang rested the bottle of water on the bed, and then let out a deep sigh. “So last night really happened, huh?”

Lin stiffened. “Yes.”

“I bet the photographers noticed I didn’t leave last night.”

“Of course.” Lin picked his head up to look at Shang. “I do recall telling you that before you were going to leave.”

“Mmm.” Shang gathered Lin against his body and closed his eyes. “That’ll be a pain to deal with later.”

Lin put his head back down on Shang’s shoulder and closed his eyes as well. His fingertips continued to move on Shang’s chest, stroking the same area over and over for several minutes as Shang dozed.

“You’re gonna wear a hole in me,” Shang muttered before quieting Lin’s fingers with his hand.

“Ah.” Lin’s gaze moved from his fingers to Shang’s face.

“Don’t be so nervous.” Shang’s voice was quiet; he waited a heartbeat longer before continuing. “You were right. Lang does remember.”

“Is that why you showed up here last night?” Lin’s words seemed carefully chosen and contained no hint of a triumphant smirk or ‘I told you so.’

“One of many reasons.” Shang opened his eyes again. He searched Lin, the slant of his brows, the tightness around his mouth. “I don’t regret it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“You don’t?”

“No.” Shang’s lips quirked in a smile. “What’s the saying? Drunk words are sober thoughts?” He snorted a soft laugh. “It’s true enough I’d thought about it more than once.”

“Since when?”

“Since I recognized you.” Shang shook his head almost imperceptibly, his lips a thin line. “No, even before that. In the past life, I wanted you. Well, I wanted you to be good, so that I wouldn’t feel guilty about making you mine. But I didn’t do anything about it.” His other hand settled on Lin’s shoulders again. “And then I did something stupid.”

“You were more than a match for that demon.” Lin’s voice was thick with emotion.

“I couldn’t let her kill you.”

Lin rubbed his face against Shang, leaving traces of uncried tears on Shang’s skin. “You were always ready to fight for everyone else. You never had any consideration for your own life.”

“And you did?” Shang’s eyes were serious. “Lang told me what happened after I died. All of it.”

“All of...” The blood drained from Lin’s face. “What?”

“Mm-hmm.” Shang’s smile widened. “You should be thankful to him for telling me exactly how you were after I was gone.”

Lin sat upright in bed, cold anger beginning to take hold of him. “Thankful? To him?”

“Of course,” Shang said, sitting up. “If even Lang could see how much my death gutted you, I can only imagine how it must have felt for you.” He pulled Lin closer, into his lap, and held him close, cupping Lin’s cheek in his hand. His voice was low, meant only for Lin’s ears. “I’m sorry for leaving you like that.”

It was white all around them, just like that time. In the snow, Shang Bu Huan, with chilled hands and fading eyes, lifted his hand to touch Lin’s cheek. The comfort he’d tried to give with his last breaths had feelings like this behind it. Freed from their previous lives and limitations, in another world, their hearts were brought together again by fate.

Lin covered Shang’s hand with his own and drew in a steadying breath. His voice was nearly a whisper, but in the stillness of the bedroom, it roared. “It’s okay.”

Chapter Text

Our team engaged in some Modern AU-ception and started to think what kind of drama Lin, Lang and Dan Fei would be in. We thought the most entertaining idea would be a cheesy drama with equally cheesy names, as well as roles that force unlikely dynamics between these characters to contrast with their actual relations.

Name & Synopsis

雪心傳 - Xue Xin Zhuan - Legend of the Ice Heart
A riveting (?) love story wrapped in political intrigue and filled with homoerotic subtext (?), centered around a cursed prince, a kind maiden, a childhood friend, and... a fiercely loyal bodyguard?

This title is also a homonym for "Legend of a Bloodbath," which fans love to poke fun at.

Characters

黎羽霜 - Li Yu Shuang - Dawn feather frost
Played by Lin

A gentle prince cursed with a weak heart, doomed to die before his 28th birthday unless the curse is broken—presumably by true love.

雷鳴 - Lei Ming - Literally just Raimei
Played by Lang

The female lead's protective childhood friend. A musician of few words. He later became one of the prince's closest friends through their trials together.

夏翠玫 - Xia Cui Mei - Summer jade rose (cui as in fei cui 翡翠, referencing Dan Fei)
Played by Dan Fei

Main female love interest. Her beauty, grace, and a possibly misinterpreted prophecy led everyone to believe she is the one destined to break the curse.

Nameless Bodyguard

Faithfully devoted to the prince. Just a one-arc side character. ...Looks suspiciously like a certain Edgeless Blade if you squint.

Chapter Text

Shang’s fingertips slide up smooth curvature, tracing past the protruding vertebrae at the base of Lin’s neck and under the collar. He supposes Lin never breaks a sweat for the accessory to become uncomfortable, but given the situation… it’s strange that he hasn’t removed it yet.

Lin’s head is tossed forward, silken strands dripping forward into the pillow as he gasps quietly under the shifting weight above. He’s tighter than Shang expects, and he grunts in response to the effort exerted. His fingers smooth over the skin under the leather, meeting the baby hairs at the base of Lin’s skull. Lin is running hot all over, but especially here.

It can’t possibly be comfortable.

“Why do you wear this thing anyway?”

The question is part curiosity and part concern. Lin tightens and trembles around him—the opposite of what he wanted. It becomes harder to move and then he realizes Lin is laughing at him. He doesn’t really know what he expected.

There’s a thin sheen of sweat on porcelain skin, and Lin’s voice squeezes out, breathless.

“Of all times…”

The blood rushes to his face when he realizes how foolish the question is at this moment. He doesn’t care what other people think of him, but Lin is on a different tier than other people. And their relationship is especially…

“Is it really so weird to want to know?”

He blusters, unhooking his finger from under Lin’s collar as he pulls out. With a huff, he grabs Lin’s upper arm to maneuver their bodies so Lin’s back presses into the bed. Even if he can hear the amusement, it’s a different thing to see it in front of him.

And despite everything, he does want to see it. To fully experience everything of Lin beneath him after having spent a lifetime apart.

“No, I’m… happy, Bu Huan.”

Lin fingers the leather at his neck with a smile. For once, it looks genuine, and Shang’s ears feel hot at the implication.

The moment lingers pleasantly before morphing into something more intentional. Lin’s arms coil up and wrap around Shang’s neck to drag them closer together, digits curling into the tangle of peppered filament. A whisper brushes gently over Shang’s earlobe.

“But if you’re so curious, then why don’t you dive deeper to find out?”

Shang accepts the invitation.

"Good morning."

Chapter Text

They stood together just inside the apartment, the sound of the lock being thrown echoing in the foyer. Lin turned around, pressing his back against the door, and was met by Shang's heated stare. They stood like this for a moment, committed to whatever would happen tonight, but with all the delicious possibilities not yet realized.

Shang stared at Lin's face for entirely too long for Lin to feel comfortable. "You're not... blushing? Are you?"

Now that Lin had told the truth to Shang, had let him inside the web of self-satisfied words and trickery, Lin wanted to do it again. "I don't know," Lin replied. "Maybe?"

"I didn't think you could blush." Shang crowded Lin back against the wall, trapping him. Their gazes met as Shang lifted Lin's chin with his forefinger. Then, with what Lin could only describe as a smirk, Shang kissed him.

Shang still tasted of whiskey, but the urgency—the thievery—of the first kiss was gone. This time, Shang asked with his lips, and Lin answered. He entreated with his hand at Lin's jaw, and Lin acquiesced. He smoldered, stealing breath after breath from Lin, and Lin, like snow in August, could only melt.

"Ah—," Lin gasped. "Bu Huan...!"

"Mn," Shang murmured, dusting his lips over Lin's collarbone. He pulled at the loose parts of Lin's shirt that had been artfully tucked into his pants. Broad fingers flattened against Lin's ribs, smearing up over his chest to his shoulder. With his fingers, he caught all the soft fabric, gathering it up around Lin's neck.

Following Shang’s lead, Lin pulled the shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. Shang yanked at his own shirt, trying to pull it open, buttons be damned. As he became distracted enough by the shirt to stop kissing Lin, Lin intervened to push Shang's shirt up his body. Eagerly, Shang peeled it off and threw it aside.

Shang was on Lin again as soon as the shirt was on the floor, seeking Lin's exposed neck like a drunken man falling upon a feast. His firm hand passed over Lin's hip and pulled his leg up around his own, locking them together in a tight embrace. A small breath left Lin's lips as Shang's body weight pressed between his legs. Anticipation throbbed between them, heavy and scarlet. Shang dragged his tongue over the skin of Lin's neck; every frisson of pleasure that rattled Lin sent one down his spine as well. His fingers ventured below the waistband of Lin's pants, squeezing his ass appreciatively.

A small moan fell from Lin's mouth, hemmed in by his excited breathing. "Bu Huan?"

"Now what?" Shang sounded a little irritated at being interrupted again.

"…We should go to bed."

Shang looked around at the foyer, as if he'd just realized they were about to do this next to the front door, and broke into a smile. "Yeah."

The bedroom broke the sterile decoration of the main living area. Gauzy white curtains veiled the windows; the lights of Taipei shone behind them, giving the room a soft glow. Lin flipped a switch—artful spotlighting revealed sparkling cobalt glass vases, a frothing arrangement of white flowers in a wide red lacquered dish, gold accents on an ornately carved Chinese credenza. There was a small reading area in one corner with royal blue upholstered chairs and a low gilded footstool covered in a stack of scripts. The bed seemed to hover just above the ground, framed by white nightstands and geometric wall carvings. White netting hung around the huge, decadent bed, cocooning it in soft drapery. Fluffy white sheepskin rugs arranged on the cold terrazzo floor showed exactly where Lin spent his time: the bed, the en-suite bathroom, and the reading area.

"Oi," Shang muttered. "Why does the rest of your apartment look like… the way it does?" He gestured to the bedroom. "And in here, it’s like this?"

Lin chuckled. "'Like this?'"

Shang walked to the edge of the bed and batted some of the filmy curtains out of the way so he could sit down. "Normal. Well, normal for you." Shang leaned on one elbow, looking at ease as he watched Lin move around his room.

"Questioning my interior design at a time like this?" Lin walked closer to the bed, unbuttoning his pants.

Shang didn't respond, abandoning his inquisition in favor of consuming Lin with his eyes. Lin crawled onto the bed, planting his knee between Shang's legs. He pinned Shang against the bed with his presence and leaned down to seal him into the sheets with a kiss. Shang's broad hand pressed into the curve of Lin's waist and then skated farther down. Shang slipped his fingers between pants and briefs, grabbing a handful of Lin's ass.

Lin's smile broke the kiss. "To tell the truth, I was redecorating," he said.

"Which way?" Shang pulled back to look at Lin. "Like out there or in here?"

"In here." Lin ran his fingers over Shang's brown nipples. His hair spilled over his shoulder and trailed across Shang's chest.

"Mm," Shang grunted, squeezing Lin's ass again. "Good." He followed Lin's eyes as they looked him over. "You're not all cold like it is out there," he said, gesturing with his eyes in the general direction of the rest of the apartment. "It's more like you in here."

Vulnerability played on Lin's face for a moment before he smiled and glanced away. "You're drunk, Bu Huan."

One of Shang's fingers on Lin's chin guided his attention back to him. "I am," Shang replied. Shang's eyes kissed every part of Lin's face, lingering on his cheeks, his nose, his lips. Only when he'd looked to his heart's content did he meet Lin's gaze once more. He huffed out a small breath like a laugh and then gently knocked their foreheads together. "I think I may be too drunk to take advantage of you, Lin Xue Ya."

Lin threw his head back and laughed.

"Oi!"

Lin's open smile was halfway to laughing again. "Sir Shang, you are on your back in my bed. To suggest that you are taking advantage of me is…"

"Oh yeah?" Shang leaned up, pulling Lin down on top of him. Then, Shang rolled to the side and flipped them, so that Lin was on his back instead.

"Bu Huan!"

"Hmm?" This time it was Shang's turn to be smug.

Lin opened his legs easily, wrapping them around Shang's hips. "Do you really think you're in any condition to take advantage of me like this?"

To answer, Shang pressed his hips closer against Lin's, grinding their erections together. Lin rested his arms around Shang's shoulders like a garland, reveling in Shang's body against him. Whatever initial resistance he may have had to lowering his defenses, Lin let go of all of it now.

Shang was as he always was, in this life and the last: a man who forged ahead against a difficult enemy with limitless confidence. He lacked the laser-sharp focus of the assassin, the cruel edge of the fox, or the absolute enthrallment of the monk. But Shang was Shang. His intensity and power were unparalleled, and all of it fell on Lin.

Lin arched up into Shang's hungry kisses. Shang plucked at Lin's nipples roughly first with his fingers and then with his mouth. Lin's hands tangled in Shang's hair, thrilled by every playful nibble and bite. Lin never would have thought that sadism was part of Shang's personality, but he teased Lin to the point of exasperation, and then… stopped. Only to smile when he heard the moan of frustration that fell from Lin's mouth. Shang took him apart inch by inch, down to the waistband of his pants.

"Bu Huan…"

"Mm?" Shang's voice had a low, lazy quality. He unbuttoned the top of Lin's pants, and then—"Oi, are you not wearing anything under here?"

"Go down farther," Lin said, propping himself up on his elbows.

Giving Lin a suspicious look, Shang unzipped Lin's pants slowly. Down, down the zipper went. Just as Shang was about to gripe that you aren’t wearing anything at all! the waistband popped into view. Shang pulled Lin's pants down to his thighs and stared at the tiniest pair of royal blue bikini briefs barely holding back Lin's arousal. The tip was crowned by a wet spot a little bigger than a ten dollar coin. Under Shang's scrutiny, Lin's cock strained upward.

Lin's eyes were glued to Shang's face. His small grin broadened when he saw a blush creep up over Shang's neck. "Do you like what you see, Sir Shang?"

"Don't call me that when you're—" Shang cleared his throat. "If you've already been calling me 'Bu Huan,' it's weird to be so formal when we're in the bedroom."

"Then…" Lin looked sidelong at Shang. Lashes lowered, he played the coquette, giving Shang the kind of smile that might be glimpsed behind the folds of a fan. "Do you like what you see, Bu Huan?"

"Yes," Shang replied without hesitation.

Shang gave away his desires so easily. His mouth was immediately on the bulge in Lin's briefs, taunting him through the fabric. Lin pushed up against those lips, letting out all his breath. One pale hand threaded through Shang's dark hair; his fingers curled against Shang's scalp. "Ah…"

Shang's fingers flipped down the waistband of those already-precarious briefs. Whether for daring photo shoots or personal preference, the only hair Lin had seemed artfully placed. Shang's lips pressed against the side of Lin's balls, and Lin's legs twitched open wider.

Together, as if they had reached the same point of frustration in being clothed, Lin stripped off the last of his pants at the same time Shang stood up to remove his. Shang kneeled on the bed again as Lin retrieved a bottle and a towel from the nightstand.

Any questions that Shang might have had about the presence of such a bottle—awfully convenient for him to have lube just sitting around—vanished when Lin snapped open the top. Lin spread the towel underneath his backside. He loaded his fingers with lube and then moved his hand below his hips. Humming softly, he spread slick over his puckered hole and teased himself by running his lubed finger along the cleft of his ass. His eyes never left Shang.

The effect on Shang was instantaneous. Lin clearly knew exactly how good he looked with his body asking to be filled. And perhaps, a very small voice in the corner of Shang's mind wondered how long Lin had been doing something like this alone, looking lustfully at a Shang that wasn't there.

Shang leaned down and licked a long stripe up the length of Lin's dick. As Shang leaned in, Lin pushed a finger inside himself, and the combination of the two made him arch up.

"Bu Huan!" Lin's fingers pinched around the curve of his ass. A bead of pre-cum pulsed out of the tip of Lin's cock, painting a shine on his stomach. There was a terrible ache between his legs, a yearning to be connected to Shang in the most intimate way. Lin pushed at his hole, pulling himself open as Shang engulfed him with his mouth.

"Bu Huan… that feels so good…aah!"

Lin's soft moaning set a rhythm, and Shang kept time with his mouth as best he could. Though he was inexperienced with this sort of situation, the sounds Lin made were intoxicating. He had to hear more of them, have his ears filled with Lin begging him for pleasure. Below, Lin had greedily pushed a second digit inside his body, fucking himself with his fingers as Shang sucked him off.

"No more," Lin said, his voice shaking. His face and chest were dusted with a becoming shade of pink. "I'll finish if you keep going."

Shang moved up between Lin's knees and took the bottle of lube, pouring some on himself. "Are you ready?"

"I have been for a long time," Lin answered. A ghost of a smile touched his lips as he wiped his fingers off on the towel and waited.

Shang shifted his weight behind his hips and pushed forward without another word. A gasp left Lin's mouth as the tip of Shang's cock dug into his hole. Shang's hands were shaking. He stilled them on Lin's thighs and pressed forward again. Shang sank into him all at once, molding their bodies against each other.

"Bu Huan…" Lin's fingers clenched in the sheets, but he stayed still.

"Is it okay?"

Lin gave him a wobbly smile and closed his eyes. "It's better than okay."

Shang crouched over Lin, first kissing his neck, and then caught his chin in his hand. "Don't close your eyes."

Shang leaned over Lin and gave him a lingering kiss. His breath fanned the white fringe of Lin's hair. "Stay here with me, Xue Ya."

The first thrust knocked a cry out of Lin's mouth. Shang hit the most pleasurable spot inside him with ease, as if his body were made for this. Every movement grazed that spot, building Lin's pleasure higher and higher. Lin reached between them and pumped his hand over his own cock.

"Bu Huan… Bu Huan!" Each time he called Shang's name, Lin's voice slid higher.

Shang pushed Lin's legs open wider, pressing his knees closer to his ears. Each time Shang rammed home, Lin's senses shattered into light and color. Lin's hips moved, sinuous, beckoning Shang farther into him. His vision waned by turns as his eyes rolled back into his head. Every muscle in his body tensed, his throat tightening as his orgasm built.

"Bu Huan! I'm going to come!"

The rough slapping of their hips together faltered for only a moment. "Go ahead," Shang rasped. "It's okay."

Lin clawed at Shang's back, rolling his hips up into the pounding of Shang's body. Lin's groan was high and wordless as he came, scattering drops of cum over his stomach. Shang slowed for a moment, taking in the sight of Lin completely, messily undone. Breathing hard, he leaned down and kissed Lin's forehead and then rolled to the side, hauling Lin on top of him.

Taking Lin's ass in both of his hands, Shang began to push up into him. Lin gasped, his teeth creasing his lower lip before he pressed them together to hold back his voice. Shang buried his nose in the bend of his neck, kissing and nipping at his shoulder. Shang squeezed his hips and thrust up into him again. His fingers dimpled Lin's flesh, grinding him down onto Shang's cock.

Lin couldn't even move, couldn't undulate his body in a sinuous, tempting way. Lin reached out to hold onto the headboard, his voice rising out of him each time Shang's hips slammed home. "Bu Huan!"

"Mm?"

"You—" Lin swallowed a moan and then clamped down around Shang, stopping the battering thrusts long enough to form a sentence. "...You're still not done?"

"No," Shang replied, his lips close to Lin's ear.

"I'll hold you responsible if I miss a day of shooting."

"Oh, you will?"

"I will," Lin panted.

Shang pulled away to look Lin in the face and then began to fuck him again. Lin, despite his best efforts to remain cool and collected, let out a small squeal. "Bu Huan!"

Shang's hips met Lin's with one loud slap. "You know, I never thought I'd say this, but I miss the thing you used to wear." His gaze skated across Lin's forehead. "Back then, they glittered a lot whenever we came together."

"Aren't you supposed to be looking at the face of your lover when you're—!!—embracing?" Lin braced himself against Shang's chest as Shang started thrusting again. This time, Shang was intent on finishing.

A few moments later, Shang groaned low in his throat. "Xue Ya," he growled, and then he spilled himself deep inside Lin.

"Mmm!" A smile spread across Lin’s face at Shang's soft gasps and the dig of his blunt fingernails into the flesh of Lin's thighs.

Shang kissed Lin's sweat-damp temple as they lay together afterward, Shang's hand cupping the back of Lin's head. When Shang's breathing finally slowed, he cleared his throat. "I'm surprised you remember the sex at all since you don't remember the rest of it."

"The rest of it?"

Shang's voice was low. Even though they were alone in Lin’s apartment, alone in his bedroom, his voice was meant only for Lin as he recounted their one and only tryst in their past life.

"I said, 'I love you, Lin Xue Ya,' and then you turned and looked at me and said I was rustic for saying it out loud like that, instead of something more poetic like 'the moon is beautiful.'"

Color rose in Lin's cheeks.

"What, you really didn't remember?"

"...No."

Shang gave him a playful scowl. "Don't tell a man that when you've just been making love for an hour."

"...You are rustic, but I'm glad to hear you say it."

"Say it again, you mean."

Lin's lips twitched, and he leaned forward to cup Shang’s cheek and draw him in for a kiss. "Yes, again."

Chapter Text

a short afterword
june 2025

phew! sorry for the delay in getting everything posted! started re-posting in october 2024 and finally finished in june 2025, 8 months later... well, i (kind of) finished within the period of TBF's finale (at least the english release), so i guess that counts for something? thank you to all the returning and new readers for enjoying this zine! i had a great time re-reading it as i transferred everything over; it was definitely a walk down memory lane and reminded me how much i love this series, the fans, and the friends i made through it—old and new! it was actually going to anime central and attending the TBF panel that reinvigorated me to finish the re-upload. it's amazing to see the enthusiasm and new fans that TBF continues to attract every year and hopefully for many more years to come.

below, please enjoy the original pages of concluding author and artist notes from the main contributors who worked on this passion project. it's been a blast; see you around!

as i write this i am still anal-retentively editing and rephrasing some of the sentences in my pieces lmaooo life is suffering _(´ཀ`」 ∠)_

anyway, thank you to everyone who’s bought and supported this lil’ zine! the best part of working on it has definitely been meeting and befriending all these awesome ShangLin / TBF content creators and fans ( ´ ▽ ` ) i feel so blessed to have been on this project with y’all! everyone is so talented and hard-working; i’ve had so much fun rambling into the early morn about modern scenarios, and it feels so surreal to (soon!!) hold the culmination of all that in my hands!

thank you illu for extensively editing my rambling prose and guavi and tiger for fleshing out this AU far beyond what i could have managed on my own. you guys and orie, fe, and moui make me so emotional with your writing and illustrations (ಥ‿ಥ) many tears of happiness and pain have been shed, and i wouldn’t have it any other way (◡‿◡✿)

hmmm i guess i should say something about my artistic process but it’s really a crapshoot 90% of the time. HOWEVER i do want to credit the inspiration for when i first started writing to @satoru_minamoto’s fashion fiction illustrations of the TBF crew as well as the modern AU illustrations that followed from other artists such as @InnneN and @NISINsambora, who was responsible for season 2’s 4koma comics. the fuel to continue writing came from my zinemates!! and @Pike_Klaisic who helped brainstorm and supply dialogue when I was still working on the Ao3 version before the zine came together ( ´ ▽ ` )

this project has been such a challenge and learning curve—it feels like over 6 months of muscle training!!!╭( ･ㅂ･) و we hope you enjoyed the fruits of our labor!!

much love, mimi
twitter: @maidjyushi
ao3: sevenzeroseven

It’s hard to believe, but our work on this zine is finally done!
Thanks first and foremost to Mimi, who created this little AU, and who graciously allowed me to play in it. Alternate universes are difficult for me to enjoy, and even more difficult to get inspired by, but Mimi’s sincere love for ShangLin came through and touched me deeply. After that, I only have to say thank you for being so generous with your AU, and welcoming me into it.

I also can’t thank Illu and Guavi enough for accepting me into ShangLin family so readily. It’s like finding another home, and you’ve both been so supportive and have touched off so much creativity in me. I’ve loved yelling with you (and at you) about ShangLin and the art you’ve made for them, and I hope we can continue to be partners in ShangLin crimes for years into the future.

Thank you to the other contributors to this zine, whom I don’t know as well: Orie, Fe and Moui. Thank you for jumping in with both feet when this zine was first being put together and making such beautiful illustrations.

The interest we got for this project was more than I expected, but I’m pleased that ShangLin has so many fans around the world. Being a part of telling a new story for them was very fulfilling. To everyone who’s bought this zine and shown us support, I’m immensely grateful. I hope you’re pleased with what we’ve made.

Love,

Tiger
twitter: @_tigerine