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1. It doesn’t count if it’s a threat.
Bai Yutong is always surprised that Zhan Yao is still alive, considering his abysmal self-care routine. If it weren’t for Yutong, would he think of feeding himself at decent meal-time hours? No. Would he observe good sleeping schedules? Absolutely the fuck not.
Case in point — Yutong’s only just left for two days, and Zhan Yao is back to still being asleep at 3:52pm on a Saturday afternoon, highly suggestive of the fact that he must’ve been up till dawn, caught up in work again, even though Yutong specifically told him not to, and Zhan Yao had promised over the phone that he would go the bed at 11pm.
He spares a moment to glare at Zhan Yao, sprawled out on his stomach, dead to the world, despite the fact that Yutong’s drawn the curtains open, and it’s disgustingly bright outside.
He nudges Zhan Yao on the arm. “Wake up,” he says loudly. “Zhan Yao, we’ve got dinner at my parent’s place tonight. Da-jie is back and she will literally murder us if we’re late.”
Zhan Yao, unsurprisingly, does not respond, and so Yutong tugs at Zhan Yao’s duvet. “I’m serious, you bastard,” he growls. “How can you still be asleep?”
Zhan Yao, again, does not respond, but his grip on his duvet tightens, and he lets out a distressed sounding noise, the same ones he used to make when he was a child and trying to trick their mothers into thinking that Yutong is bullying him.
Oh good, so now Yutong’s the bad guy, is he?
“I swear to God,” Yutong says, continuing their tug of war with the duvet, “if you don’t wake up right now, I’m going to kiss you.”
At this, Zhan Yao gurgles out something that doesn’t sound even remotely Mandarin. He still doesn’t wake up, or even bother letting go of his duvet, so Yutong does what he said he would do —he is a man of his words, after all— and leans down and presses his lips to Zhan Yao’s.
That, at last, has Zhan Yao’s eyelids flying open.
He pushes Bai Yutong away, and wipes at his mouth with the duvet. “Bai Yutong, you-”
Yutong just smirks at him, and gets off Zhan Yao’s bed. “I did warn you first,” he tells Zhan Yao.
“YOU!”
“Wake up, wash up, get dressed,” Yutong says, unconcerned. “We’ve seriously got to go. Unless you remembered to get a homecoming present for da-jie, we still need to detour to the city to get her something.”
Zhan Yao blanches at that. “Da-jie is back? Today?”
Yutong just gives him a very pointed look, and laughs when Zhan Yao scrambles to get untangled from his duvet so that they can get moving.
2. It doesn’t count if it’s a bribe.
It’s in Yutong’s nature, he thinks, to worry about Zhan Yao, and it’s the most annoying thing in the world because Zhan Yao, outside of academia and his terrifying competency at work, is a fucking disaster.
He’s been in his study working on this paper he’s writing for whatever that psychology journal he likes to read in his free time, and he hasn’t taken a break in what feels like more than 24 hours to Yutong. It’s only reasonable that Yutong is worried that Zhan Yao is going to keel over and die; Yutong really doesn’t have time to deal with the paperwork or the hassle of having their apartment become a crime scene.
“Dr. Zhan,” he calls out sarcastically from the kitchen, voice raised so that Zhan Yao can hear him, “do you have time to eat some dumplings, or should I finish them all?”
Zhan Yao doesn’t say anything for a moment. Yutong is just starting to wonder if Zhan Yao has heard him at all, when Zhan Yao calls out, “What kind of dumplings?”
“Your favourite kind,” Yutong hollers back, making his way to the study, so that he can try to tempt Zhan Yao into moving out to the dining room with his sincere eyes.
Or, well, with the promise of dumplings, at least.
Zhan Yao must be hungry.
Yutong hasn’t seen him move from the study, not even to come out and have a snack. If Yutong hadn’t at least been bringing him his favourite oolong tea at certain intervals, Zhan Yao would’ve probably been content to go without fluids too.
“It’s still piping hot,” Yutong tells him. “I made them from scratch.”
He can almost feel Zhan Yao wavering, and is about to pump his fist in victory, when the mess of a man says, instead, “Eat on your own first, I’ll be fine.”
Yutong closes his eyes, and prays for strength when the soft sounds of typing picks up again.
Yutong honestly thinks he should just seriously let Zhan Yao starve to death. Yutong spent the entire morning making those dumplings, and this highly ungrateful man is just going to let them sit there, in the kitchen, and starve himself over a goddamn academic paper? What in the fuck?
He almost does just roll his eyes and step out of the study too, except he notices the bags under Zhan Yao’s eyes, and sees how haggard Zhan Yao is looking, and gives up on pretending that he’s not worried that Zhan Yao is overworking himself and probably going to die if Yutong doesn’t give in to his whims.
He goes back out to the kitchen, picks up the plate of dumplings, and heads back to Zhan Yao.
“I really don’t have the time, Yutong,” Zhan Yao says, not looking up at all, when Yutong reenters the room.
Yutong sighs. He really needs to be given a sainthood after he dies. Saint Bai Yutong — patron saint of criminal psychologists who can’t look after themselves. That has a ring to it.
“I know you don’t have time,” he tells Zhan Yao. “Open your mouth.”
Zhan Yao spares him a look at that, surprised.
Yutong can feel his cheeks heat, and snaps, “Keep working. You don’t have time, remember?”
The corner of Zhan Yao’s lips twitch a little before he turns back to his screen and resumes typing. When Yutong doesn’t do anything except to just look at him for a moment, Zhan Yao complains, “I’m hungry, Yutong.” He opens his mouth wide.
“I really should just let you starve to death,” Yutong grumbles, but lets Zhan Yao have his dumpling. He’s aiming to have his patience rewarded with a sainthood, he reminds himself.
Zhan Yao munches happily, continuing to type out sentences that Yutong loathes to even try to understand. He can make out all the words separately, but they make no sense to him in a sentence.
“Could do with some chilli oil,” Zhan Yao comments, once he swallows.
“The chilli oil is in the kitchen,” Yutong says. “Easily accessible to us if you’d just agreed to eat outside like a normal person.” He feeds Zhan Yao another dumpling all the same, already considering if he should just go and drizzle some chilli oil on the dumplings for Zhan Yao.
“I really am busy,” Zhan Yao says with his mouth full, which exasperates Yutong to no end.
“Even if you are busy,” Yutong says, in the tones of someone who has had to repeat himself multiple times, “you still need to rest.”
“I’ll rest when this is all done,” Zhan Yao promises —lies—, and makes a face as he swallows his second mouthful. “Yutong, this really could use some chilli oil. Or vinegar.”
Yutong sets the plate of dumplings down on Zhan Yao’s desk, and then swoops down, pressing a quick kiss to Zhan Yao’s lips.
Zhan Yao makes a noise of surprise against Yutong’s lips, and stares at Yutong after Yutong pulls away. “You-”
“Seriously,” Yutong says firmly, “let’s go eat properly outside. You can have all the chilli oil and vinegar you want. I’ll even chop some ginger slices up for you.”
Zhan Yao stares at him for a long moment. And then, to Yutong’s surprise, nods, saves his document, and picks up the plate of dumplings. “Okay,” he says, quiet.
Huh.
3. It doesn’t count if I’m trying to save your life.
It...becomes a thing.
Yutong honestly tries very hard not to misuse this newfound power, but it’s so easy to just give in because of how effective it is. If he wants Zhan Yao’s attention, and Zhan Yao doesn’t give it to him, he’ll just have to get it on his own somehow, doesn’t he?
And if it means also getting to kiss Zhan Yao, then, well. Yutong’s not really complaining, is he?
Zhan Yao still hasn’t tried to kill him over it as well, which is a point in Yutong’s favour. He is also always, always more agreeable to whatever Yutong is suggesting after Yutong kisses him, which Yutong tries really hard not to read too much into.
He doesn’t really want to get his hopes up, only to find out that Zhan Yao just really enjoys kissing, as opposed to, y’know, maybe returning Yutong’s feelings.
Point is. It becomes a thing, but it’s something they keep between themselves, it’s something that really only happens when they are at home, or at the very least, alone and in private.
It is. Until it isn’t.
—
“It’s Zhao Jue!” Bai Chi cries from where he’s standing by Yutong. “It must be! He’s done something to the painting!”
“Zhan Yao,” Yutong growls across the comms.
There is no response from Zhan Yao who is just standing there, staring at the painting that Zhao Jue has left in his wake, unmoving.
“Zhan Yao!” Yutong snaps again.
“We should break his concentration, Bai Sir,” Bai Chi says. “We should divert his attention away from the painting. Maybe if-”
Yutong doesn’t bother listening to the end of Bai Chi’s sentence, electing to instead dash out of the surveillance van — he knows the best way to redirect Zhan Yao’s attention, and every second they aren’t doing anything means that Zhan Yao is potentially still in danger.
He makes it to the room in record time, climbing the stairs two steps at a time. Zhan Yao doesn’t react when Yutong bursts into the room, eyes still glued to the painting, and Yutong goes to him, and fucking kisses Zhan Yao.
Unlike their previous encounters, all of them short pecks that are meant more to surprise than anything else, this kiss is long and lingering. One of Yutong’s hands cups the back of Zhan Yao’s neck, grip firm, while the other frames his face, gently thumbing across Zhan Yao’s cheek.
‘Look at me,’ Yutong thinks, ‘pay attention to me, come back to me.’
He can tell the exact moment Zhan Yao regains his wits. Zhan Yao doesn’t push Yutong away, this time. Leans into his touch a little, even.
Yutong draws away slowly. “You alright?” he asks quietly.
Zhan Yao nods, and reaches out to squeeze Yutong’s hand briefly before letting go. “Thanks,” he murmurs.
4. It doesn’t count if it’s for work.
Yutong hates this part of his job the most — the part where he has to set Zhan Yao out into the wild with minimal backup so that he can feel the suspect out. He’d been so against the idea when Zhan Yao had suggested it, because he hates it, hates not being right by Zhan Yao’s side to protect him, hates that if anything should happen, Yutong won’t be able to step in right away.
Logically, he knows that Zhan Yao can take care of himself, but it still doesn’t stop that feeling of worry and anxiety for Zhan Yao’s wellbeing trying to claw its way out of Yutong’s chest.
This particular case and this particular suspect, he hates the most.
Zhan Yao has already attracted the suspect’s interest. And how could he not, dressed in a bespoke suit that hugs him in all the right places, soft smile in place, cheeks a little flushed from that one drink that he’s had?
Yutong throws another drink back, and wills himself to stay in his own corner as Zhan Yao artfully dodges the suspect’s wandering hands. Again.
They are here to do a job. Yutong is a professional. He will not let his jealousy get in the way of-
Jesus fucking Christ, is he leaning in to kiss Zhan Yao?
Yutong is by Zhan Yao’s side, an arm around Zhan Yao’s waist, pressing a kiss to his cheek, before Wang Zhao can make the requisite objections in his ear through the comms.
Zhan Yao, to his credit, doesn’t even look fazed. It’s almost as if he was expecting Yutong to do this.
“Hello, darling,” Yutong murmurs. “I’ve missed you.”
Zhan Yao turns to him slightly, smiles, demure. “I’ve missed you too,” he says quietly, and Yutong’s heart thumps painfully in his chest, startled by how much Zhan Yao doesn’t really sound like he’s lying.
God, Yutong likes him so fucking much.
The suspect is still there, looking like he’s still trying to figure out a way to intrude, to try his luck with Zhan Yao, and Yutong squeezes Zhan Yao’s waist in some semblance of a warning before he gives into his urge to claim and draws Zhan Yao in for a kiss, nipping at his lower lip, barely suppressing his own shiver when Zhan Yao’s lips part for him easily.
“Off limits,” the suspect murmurs when Yutong pulls away from Zhan Yao. “I understand what you’re trying to get at.”
“Good,” Yutong says smoothly. And then, because they’ve still got a job to do, “I hear you’re in the business of procuring objects that are, how should we say this? Hard to come by? Can I interest you into doing some business with me?”
5. It doesn’t count if it’s meant to comfort.
“Zhan Yao…”
“Don’t even talk to me right now,” Zhan Yao snaps. “I could strangle you to death myself.”
Yutong sighs, and drops onto the sofa alongside Zhan Yao, shifts close enough so that their thighs are pressing together. “I already apologised,” he whines. “And look! I got out of it unscathed, didn’t I?”
Zhan Yao glares at me. “The more you speak, the more I want to murder you myself.”
“We had the situation under control,” Yutong lies, because they really didn’t, and it’s only by sheer luck that the perp had already ran out of bullets when he finally got the drop on Yutong.
Zhan Yao turns to face him. “How can you be so…indifferent about this, Bai Yutong?” he asks. “He had a gun to your head! He pulled the trigger!”
“And yet,” Yutong says quickly, defiant, “I’m okay, aren’t I?”
Zhan Yao stands up, and storms off to his room, not even bothering to respond to Yutong.
—
It’s not like Yutong didn’t have the whole oh, shit moment when it happened. It’s not like he doesn’t retrospectively feel like he dodged a bullet (ha) majorly. It’s not like he didn’t have that one moment where his entire life flashed in his eyes when the barrel of the perp’s gun was pressed against his temple.
He’s afraid to die, of course he is.
He’s still young. He’s not ready to die. He hasn’t even mustered enough courage to fucking tell Zhan Yao that he might be in love with him yet, how can he die?
He’s just not sure what good it does to still feel fear over something that didn’t happen.
But there really were other ways, better ways of dealing with the situation with Zhan Yao than to just feign nonchalance over the entire incident. He knows Zhan Yao was worried; he would’ve been exactly the same, if not worse, if Zhan Yao had been in his place instead.
He knocks on Zhan Yao’s door gingerly, with the intention of apologising. When Zhan Yao doesn’t respond, Yutong tries the handle, and is grateful to find that Zhan Yao hadn’t locked the door. “I’m coming in,” he calls out, and waits dutifully for Zhan Yao to tell him to piss off.
Zhan Yao doesn’t; he must be so angry at Yutong.
Yutong winces, and opens the door.
Zhan Yao is on his bed, back towards the door. It’s clear from the stiffness in his posture that he’s still awake and fuming.
“Kitten,” Yutong says quietly, approaching him, “I’m sorry.” When Zhan Yao still doesn’t say anything, Yutong climbs into bed, and plasters himself to Zhan Yao’s back. “I’m sorry,” Yutong says again. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”
Zhan Yao scoots away from Yutong’s touch. “I’m not angry because I had to worry about you,” he snaps, turning to face Yutong.
“Oh.”
Zhan Yao looks, for some reason, even more irritated at that. “Bai Yutong, you could have died,” he rasps out, and the irritation seeps out of his words, replaced almost entirely by distressed. “If he hadn’t ran out of bullets, you really could’ve died-” He chokes off at that, chest heaving like even the thought of it is too much to bear. “What will I do if you- If you-”
Yutong acts on instinct, reaches out for Zhan Yao, and tugs him in close, pressing their lips together.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, between kisses that feel too real and too desperate. The severity of the situation hits him all of the sudden. If he had died, if something had really happened to him then, Zhan Yao would’ve had to watch it happen. He feels sick just thinking about being in Zhan Yao’s place, being forced to watch something bad happen to Zhan Yao. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was too reckless. I won’t scare you like that again. I won’t do anything like that ever again.”
They fall asleep like that, that night, holding each other close, Zhan Yao’s face pressed to the crook of Yutong’s neck, Zhan Yao’s palm pressed against Yutong’s chest, right over where his heart lies, as if he needs the reminder that it is still beating.
Bonus: Does it count if I’m the only one who means it?
He closes the bathroom door behind him, painfully hard from just kissing Zhan Yao, from the way Zhan Yao had mewled and bucked into his touch when Yutong had palmed over his erection.
Christ, he wants Zhan Yao so much, wants him all the time.
But then Zhan Yao had called out for him to stop, probably snapping out of whatever madness it was that made him actually want Yutong back, even if it was just only for a moment. Yutong’d pulled away and escaped to the bathroom as soon as he could.
Yutong leans against the bathroom wall, thankful for the chill from the tiles, and sucks in a couple of deep breaths.
His chest hurts from the rejection, even if a tiny part of himself was already expecting it.
Of course Zhan Yao doesn’t feel the same, of course he doesn’t. Why would he?
He’s still in the middle of unsuccessfully trying to soothe the ache in his chest when the door is thrown open, and Zhan Yao comes in, cheeks still flushed, lips still swollen from the way Yutong’d bitten down, shirt still halfway unbuttoned.
He also, inexplicably, looks furious. “Bai Yutong, what are you doing?”
Yutong shrinks into himself. “I…” he trails off, not knowing what he can say to make the situation any better. He’s completely unable to spin this off into a joke right now, not when he probably looks as terrible as he feels just from knowing for sure that Zhan Yao doesn’t like him the way he likes Zhan Yao. “I…” he tries again, but comes up empty again.
Zhan Yao’s eyes narrow. “Do you like me?” he demands. When Yutong doesn’t offer up an answer immediately, Zhan Yao steps closer, and repeats, “Do you like me, Bai Yutong?”
“Of course I do!” Yutong spits out. And then, gentler, “Of course I do, I like you so fucking much, Kitten.”
“Okay,” Zhan Yao says, and comes closer, steps back into Yutong’s arms. “Okay, then let’s go back to bed, you fucking lunatic. Why would you run away from me?”
“What?” Yutong asks, thrown.
Zhan Yao rolls his eyes. “Whatever reason you thought it was that I asked you to stop going to town on my neck, it’s not it,” he tells Zhan Yao. “I just wanted to make sure that we were both on the same page before we did anything.”
“What.”
“I like you too, you goddamn mess of a man,” Zhan Yao tells him, fondness and exasperation both evident in his tone. “What even goes on in your mind? How can you not tell?”
“I…” Yutong blinks at him. “What.”
“Why would I keep letting you kiss me if I didn’t like you back?” Zhan Yao asks, exasperated.
“I thought you just liked kissing,” Yutong says defensively.
Zhan Yao lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I do like kissing,” he says, slowly, “I like kissing you.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. Oh,” Zhan Yao says, and then looks at Yutong meaningfully.
Yutong sweeps him off his feet in an easy bridal carry, and carts him off to bed where they can continue exploring just how much Zhan Yao likes kissing Yutong.