Work Text:
The first time Wang Yibo ever felt the need to take care of someone was when he met Xiao Zhan on set The Untamed. It made no logical sense. Xiao Zhan was six years older than he was, an adult who had gone through university and even held a job before getting into the entertainment industry. He was someone who knew how to cook, knew how to hand wash his own clothes, knew what reasonable prices for groceries at the market should be.
And yet, he had a host of terrible habits. So Wang Yibo got used to hanging onto Xiao Zhan by the elbow when they were filming on rooftops to make sure he didn’t fall over and slide off like he’d nearly done a few times. He made sure to keep snacks on hand and a little electric fan to give to Xiao Zhan whenever he started looking glassy-eyed and pale after the time he’d nearly fainted from heat and low blood sugar. And because Xiao Zhan was a picky eater, had even gone out of his way to order food for him a handful of times when Xiao Zhan looked at the boxed rice they sent to set and refused to eat, saying he couldn’t stand to look at another piece of limp fried pork.
So Wang Yibo didn’t even think about it when they walked into the makeup room early one morning, and Xiao Zhan, wearing only a T-shirt and shorts in preparation for a hot day, shivered in the AC.
“Do you have anything to wear?” Wang Yibo didn’t even bother asking Xiao Zhan if he’d brought an extra jacket before he’d motioned over his own assistant to ask.
“There’s a windbreaker,” his assistant said. “Company wants you to wear this when you fly back to Changsha tonight,” he said and handed over a bag containing a white windbreaker with a pattern of black stripes on it.
“Here,” Wang Yibo said, handing it to Xiao Zhan. “Put it on,” he ordered when Xiao Zhan looked surprised.
“Your assistant just said you have to wear it,” Xiao Zhan said.
“You can give it back later. You’re shivering. You want to catch a cold and go to the hospital?” Wang Yibo said.
“So bossy,” Xiao Zhan complained even as he obediently pulled the shirt on, tugging the sleeves to trail down over his hands even though he was both taller and older than Wang Yibo and had no right acting like a windbreaker that should fit him perfectly fine was oversized, and looking so cute doing it.
So Wang Yibo hit him, making Xiao Zhan squawk and hit him back, which started off a hitting war. Wang Yibo could hear the makeup artists sigh when they walked inside.
“All right, young couple, stop fighting now,” one of the makeup artists said, rolling her eyes and grinning as she ushered them to their seats.
“Yeah, Lan Zhan would never hit Wei Ying,” Xiao Zhan said.
“We’re still in the Cloud Recesses. I could barely stand you,” Wang Yibo pointed out. “We fought all the time.”
“What do you mean you could barely stand me?” Xiao Zhan said, indignant, as they launched into arguing about characterizations.
And so Wang Yibo forgot all about that windbreaker, and it wasn’t until they were already on the way to the airport that night and his assistant wanted him to change that he realized Xiao Zhan had never given it back. It had forced his assistant to go shopping when they got to Changsha for the same windbreaker albeit he could only find one in black for Wang Yibo to wear on the way back to Hengdian.
Wang Yibo never bothered getting it back from Xiao Zhan, forgetting about it entirely, because it was just one jacket in the hundreds he wore on a weekly basis, and wasn’t even really his to begin with.
The thing was, Xiao Zhan’s biggest claim to fame at the time was an excellent sense of fashion. He wasn’t popular enough yet to warrant getting paid to wear many clothes yet, so most of what he was seen wearing in public were just his own clothes. He liked a refreshing, artsy style that made him look like a young university student rather than an actor in his late-20s, favoring oversized clothes with personality. But those were still outfits he was going out in public wearing.
In the summer, it was so hot and that as soon as they could strip out of costume, they did, and no one—not even the girls—wanted to wear anything other than comfy T-shirts and shorts off screen. When you had to wear a stuffy wig for sometimes 16 hours at a time, comfort was king.
So it just wasn’t strange to see Xiao Zhan in oversized T-shirts and shorts more often than his usual, artsy style that summer.
“How come you have so many plain T-shirts and shorts,” Xiao Zhan complained one day as he rolled around on Wang Yibo’s bed. “Don’t you get tired of wearing the same black and white every day? Look how basic I look wearing your clothes,” he said, tugging at the Thrasher T-shirt he had on and basketball shorts.
“Get up and dry your hair. If you get my bed all wet, I’m gonna kill you,” Wang Yibo said, pulling Xiao Zhan up by one arm until he nearly fell out of the bed and quickly righted himself.
“Okay, okay, you’re so rough,” Xiao Zhan complained, pouting as he straightened up and obediently let Wang Yibo blow dry his hair.
They’d been running lines in Wang Yibo’s room (rather, Xiao Zhan was running lines, Wang Yibo was grunting every once in awhile à la Lan Wangji) and Xiao Zhan had asked to use Wang Yibo’s shower, too lazy to go back to his own room, and then ended up borrowing Wang Yibo’s clothes for the same reason.
“Who’s rough?” Wang Yibo said, tugging on Xiao Zhan’s hair.
“Ow, stop! I’m already going bald from these wigs,” Xiao Zhan complained.
Wang Yibo grinned. “Getting old already, Zhan-ge?” he teased. “Early balding’s not a good sign.”
“If I go bald it’s because of you,” Xiao Zhan said, reaching back to smack Wang Yibo’s thigh.
Wang Yibo grinned. “It’s okay, even if Xiao-laoshi is completely bald, you’d still be the most handsome.”
“Not as handsome as Wang-laoshi,” Xiao Zhan said, tilting his head back, eyes shut in relaxation as Wang Yibo ran his hands through his hair, passing the hair dryer over the strands. “No one can be as handsome as Lao Wang.”
“Except Lao Xiao,” Wang Yibo said. “Zhan-ge is not only handsome but cute. Super cute.”
“All right, are you done?” Xiao Zhan said, starting to go shy and pink, which, of course, only goaded Wang Yibo on.
“Too cute,” Wang Yibo said. “How can a human being like this exist? Xiao-laoshi must be a fairy—”
Xiao Zhan turned, unable to keep the pout on his face because he was laughing as he hit Wang Yibo. “Can you stop? Are you a demon?”
“To your fairy—stop! Do you still want me to dry your hair?” Wang Yibo demanded, blowing the hair dryer right in Xiao Zhan’s face until Xiao Zhan obediently turned back to let him keep working.
Xiao Zhan looked nice in Wang Yibo’s clothes, comfortable and soft, as he smiled, tilting his head back to look at Wang Yibo. And so Wang Yibo never noticed that when Xiao Zhan finally went back to his own room to sleep, he took Wang Yibo’s clothes with them and never gave them back.
Looking back, during that year between filming and broadcast, there was one particular incident where Wang Yibo was a little ashamed of not having caught on, and that was the time Wang Yibo’s flight got delayed out of Beijing. It left him with four hours to kill so he’d called up Xiao Zhan to see if he was free to grab a coffee at the airport.
The two of them had kept in touch after filming mostly thanks to the private chat they had. Early on, Yu Bin had made a group chat for all the main cast members of The Untamed, but when Wang Yibo and Xiao Zhan had, during one of the Wen sect scenes they weren’t in, gotten bored and ended up in a meme war, spamming the chat with a total of 253 messages, they’d been booted into their own private chat. And even though they’d been added back later on, it had just been easier, more convenient, to keep talking in their private chat. They spent the most time together, had the most similar filming schedule due to the number of scenes they had together and so naturally also spent the most amount of time together off set too. Wang Yibo was the one who Xiao Zhan would drag to the convenience store with him to buy drinks. Wang Yibo was also the one who Xiao Zhan made get up in the mornings to go jogging with him to keep Wei Wuxian’s girlish figure.
Between the amount of time they were used to spending together, the stream of memes they competitively sent to each other on the daily, and how Wang Yibo had to keep an eye out to make sure Xiao Zhan was eating enough and drinking enough and hadn’t passed out on the street anywhere, it was practically impossible to stop talking to each other.
It also naturally followed that since they knew each other’s schedules, whenever they were in the same city, they’d make an effort to get together. This time, in Beijing, Wang Yibo was on a particularly tight schedule—flying in past midnight for an early morning call, and back out in the afternoon so he hadn’t told Xiao Zhan in advance.
Forty minutes later, Xiao Zhan showed up to the airport in an all black workout outfit, looking a little flushed and breathless as his smile widened, striding over to Wang Yibo who took his hand and knocked their shoulders together in a greeting.
“You came from the gym?” Wang Yibo asked.
Xiao Zhan nodded, looking a bit unkempt, hair messy but eyes bright. “Give me some advance notice next time,” he said. “I didn’t even have time to shower first.”
“Xiao-laoshi always looks handsome,” Wang Yibo said, grinning. “Whether he showers or not.”
“Are you starting right now?” Xiao Zhan said, but he was laughing as he took the boba Wang Yibo handed to him.
“Even Xiao-laoshi’s sweat would smell like flowers,” Wang Yibo continued.
Xiao Zhan smelled a little too strongly of deodorant and some kind of cologne like he’d been paranoid of how he smelled.
“I’m not Wang-laoshi,” Xiao Zhan said.
“Xiao-laoshi even looks good in gym clothes,” Wang Yibo said. “Extra much in all black.”
Xiao Zhan looked down at himself and, for some reason, began to turn red. “Stop, Lao Wang. I’m never going to come see you again.”
“Okay, okay,” Wang Yibo gave in. “But it’s true,” he added. “Since when do you wear all black?”
Xiao Zhan liked colorful clothes, clothes that made him look soft and fashionable at the same time unlike the sporty outfit he had on now. He fidgeted. “Who doesn’t wear clothes like these to work out?” he said.
And well, Xiao Zhan didn’t. The first time Xiao Zhan had invited him to go jogging with him, Wang Yibo had gone mostly out of curiosity—almost any type of sport, he’d try once. He didn’t particularly love jogging—it was kind of repetitive, not much of a challenge—but he liked running next to Xiao Zhan. Somehow everything with Xiao Zhan turned fun. He liked how they could joke around and talk when they jogged. Sometimes, it turned into a race and then it got really fun.
But Xiao Zhan’s workout clothes, though plainer than his usual clothes, were still refreshing and came off minimalist and trendy. He liked things like patterned sweatbands for his hair and lighter colored clothes that he said made it so it was less hot when he was jogging, favoring blues and whites.
Wang Yibo was the one who wore all sports clothes from Nike, both his favorite brand and the brand he was paid to wear. He liked the dark colors, things that were unobtrusive and cool. So he’d wear all black to jog and remembered because Xiao Zhan had teased him for it, saying he was going to die of heat.
So that Xiao Zhan was showing up in an all black Nike outfit was unexpected.
“Didn’t you say it’s too hot to wear black to work out?” Wang Yibo said.
Xiao Zhan, if anything, turned more red. “I added to my collection, and anyway, it’s winter and I’m at the gym so it’s not like that matters. There was a sale last time so I picked up some things,” he said all at once. “Anyway, what happened to your flight? Delayed?” Xiao Zhan said.
“Yeah, something to do with maintenance,” Wang Yibo said.
Xiao Zhan pouted. “So if your plane didn’t get delayed, you weren’t going to tell me you came to Beijing?”
“It was only for the morning,” Wang Yibo found himself explaining like a guilty boyfriend, completely distracted from the original line of questioning. “I got here past midnight yesterday and an old man like you needs his sleep. You would have killed me if I woke you last night. Drink your boba,” he added.
Xiao Zhan, with his eyes still narrowed at Wang Yibo, took a sip, and then his eyes widened and his face blossomed into a smile. “Is this...this is the brown sugar boba milk?”
Wang Yibo grinned. “Not from Xing Fu Tang though. How is it?”
Xiao Zhan had spammed him with tons of pictures of some trendy boba drink that was popular in Taiwan so when Wang Yibo saw a brown sugar boba milk on the menu, he’d automatically found himself in line, buying it for Xiao Zhan.
“I don’t think there’s a Xing Fu Tang in Beijing,” Xiao Zhan said, laughing, and held it out for Wang Yibo to try. “It’s really good.”
Wang Yibo wrinkled his nose. “Kind of sweet,” he said.
“I don’t know what you expected from something called brown sugar boba milk,” Xiao Zhan said, grinning as he took another sip. “But if you don’t like it, then less for you and more for me! Thanks, Lao Wang, let’s go find somewhere to sit,” he said.
And so Wang Yibo forgot all about that incident. After all, it really was winter and it was just workout clothes—it wasn’t like Xiao Zhan had changed his usual street fashion.
Then there was that one odd conversation that time they were accidentally caught in the background of a Douyin video.
It had been a day that Wang Yibo was particularly looking forward to because both of them had full days off for once and would both be in Changsha. The last time they’d had a full day to hang out had been months ago, so he and Xiao Zhan had been discussing plans for two weeks now.
There were a dozen places Wang Yibo wanted to take him to eat at in Changsha, getting recommendation after recommendation from Qian Feng, and Wang Yibo had even gotten to pick Xiao Zhan up with one of his motorcycles, enjoying the praises as Xiao Zhan hopped on behind him, arms wrapped around his waist as Wang Yibo drove them to the city center to the lunch reservation he’d made.
After lunch, they had a few hours to wander around the shopping center before heading to the matinee showing of the newest Spiderman movie that Wang Yibo had already booked. They mostly window shopped, and Wang Yibo got a kick out of offering to buy anything Xiao Zhan pointed out, making Xiao Zhan roll his eyes and scold him for wasting money.
Before they headed in to the movie, Xiao Zhan yawned and said he wanted coffee, so they had just gotten in line at a Starbucks, Wang Yibo glancing at the specials when Xiao Zhan nudged him.
“Look,” Xiao Zhan said, jerking his chin over to where Wang Yibo saw a girl had her cell phone out, clearly recording something.
“You need a face mask?” Wang Yibo asked.
Neither of them was particularly well known yet. Wang Yibo was more famous than Xiao Zhan for his regular appearances on Day Day Up, but The Untamed would be their biggest roles to date when it came out and if it ended up being popular. Usually, if they got any glances, it was just for being tall and good-looking.
“No, I think she’s recording them,” Xiao Zhan said, gesturing to a couple walking by, hand-in-hand. “It’s probably for one of those street fashion Douyins.”
The couple was obviously a couple not just because of their linked hands, but because of their outfits. They both wore the same patterned shirt but one in blue and one in red, the girl was in a denim skirt while the guy wore denim jeans, and both had sunglasses perched on their heads.
“It’s really cute, isn’t it,” Xiao Zhan said, smiling as he watched.
“What? Filming a Douyin?’ Wang Yibo said, losing interest and looking back at the Starbucks menu.
“Couples that match their outfits,” Xiao Zhan said. “You can tell right away they’re a couple.”
“That’s so much trouble to go to,” Wang Yibo said. “Who dresses up just to go shopping?”
Xiao Zhan rolled his eyes. “You’ve been in the entertainment circle for too long,” he said. “A lot of people dress up to go out even when they’re not paid.”
“What if you wear different sizes?” Wang Yibo pointed out. “They had to go out of their way to buy the same clothes in different sizes.”
“So then you can go shopping together,” Xiao Zhan said.
Wang Yibo grinned. “Well, you’re a celebrity so you can forget about matching with your future girlfriend,” he said and paused. “Unless she’s also famous and you guys end up in a couple photoshoot.” He grinned wider. “Or if she’s a fan and copies you.” He nudged Xiao Zhan. “That’s who really likes to match—fans. How do they even find out the clothes we wear? Like the unsponsored stuff?”
Xiao Zhan sighed. “That’s the whole point,” he said. “If fans didn’t want to buy the clothes we wear, no one would pay us to wear them.”
“You were a boy band fan,” Wang Yibo teased. “Weren’t you into EXO? Did you ever buy a matching outfit? Admit it.”
“You’re so stupid, Wang Yibo,” Xiao Zhan said, rolling his eyes and gave him a little push. “Go order. It’s our turn.”
“Iced coffee?” Wang Yibo asked, pulling out his phone to pay, already used to Xiao Zhan’s usual order and the way Xiao Zhan nodded and smiled.
The thing was Wang Yibo entered the entertainment circle from a young age and so he was no stranger to the way fansites and paparazzi worked. They’d follow leaked itineraries to take photos to sell or put on fansites, and brands would pay celebrities to wear their clothes to encourage fans to buy them.
So when Xiao Zhan’s airport looks started to look a little more plain—sneakers, T-shirts, and caps quite unlike his usual artsy look, Wang Yibo assumed he was just being paid for it. He was even asked, once, in an interview, what he thought of Xiao Zhan’s outfit in a photo. Xiao Zhan was wearing a fairly plain outfit—black collar T, baggy trousers—more something Wang Yibo would wear than him, so Wang Yibo had easily answered that Xiao Zhan wasn’t wearing his own clothes anyway.
He had no idea how right he was.
It might have taken Wang Yibo years to catch on, if not for that completely mundane night.
After The Untamed began broadcasting, their popularity had shot up overnight and suddenly there were sponsorships, ads, movie and drama scripts, invitations to shows and interviews all being thrown at them. When they could have walked through a shopping center with no one giving a second glance before, now, they couldn’t walk in public without facemasks and bodyguards to stop the mobs of fans that came out.
Wang Yibo hated the fans part of it, but liked the amount of work he had now—enough that he could actually pick and choose what he wanted for once in his life. He also liked how the popularity of The Untamed had resulted in a bunch of extra fan meetings and fan concerts set up, a photoshoot, and a few invitations to variety shows, mostly because it meant more time he got to spend with Xiao Zhan.
On this particular night, they were both in Beijing for an event, and had even gone out to eat a late night dinner together after. But on the way back, Wang Yibo’s hotel location had been leaked and gotten completely mobbed by fans. He had been complaining to Xiao Zhan about how he was trapped in his van, not sure how long it’d be before he could get to his hotel room, so Xiao Zhan had invited him over to stay at his apartment.
“Long time no see,” Wang Yibo said, grinning when Xiao Zhan opened the door.
“So long,” Xiao Zhan said, rolling his eyes. “Twenty whole minutes.” He laughed, walking back through the entranceway. “Anyway, it’s not like you haven’t been here before. Really, if you’re in Beijing, you can stay with me anytime. It’ll be like old times.”
Even though they’d just eaten together, Wang Yibo always liked seeing Xiao Zhan who had clearly already showered and changed into loose pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, no makeup at all and hair still half wet.
“You didn’t bring your luggage?” Xiao Zhan asked, going to his coffee table to tidy up some of the plushies that had been left out on his couch together with what looked like a pile of scripts he was reading through.
“It’s trapped at the hotel,” Wang Yibo said, shrugging off his outer coat so he was just in his sweatshirt and jeans now. “My assistant’s going to go pick it up later.”
“Go shower,” Xiao Zhan said. “You can borrow my clothes. You know where they are. I’m cleaning up in the kitchen—you’re not allowed to look until I’m done.”
“Wow, is Zhan-ge’s kitchen really dirty right now?” Wang Yibo said, grinning. “Xiao-laoshi doesn’t clean his kitchen after he cooks?”
“At least I cook, and it’s not my fault we’ve been super busy these last few days,” Xiao Zhan said, grinning and pushing him a few times to go down the short hallway. “Go shower! How much product is in your hair?”
Most of the time when they met up, it was out in public somewhere, though with their recent popularity, Wang Yibo thought they might have to rethink that strategy—not that either of them had really had time to meet up much outside of work lately. Still, he’d been to Xiao Zhan’s apartment a handful of times before—the first being the time he and Xuan Lu had surprised him with a cake for his birthday last year, and a handful of other times when he’d gone to Xiao Zhan’s place to pick him up.
So since Wang Yibo had gotten the tour before, he went automatically to Xiao Zhan’s bedroom. It was a homey bedroom with an unmade bed and blankets and sheets that didn’t match, random clothes thrown onto a chair instead of the floor as though that made it less messy somehow.
Wang Yibo went straight for Xiao Zhan’s closet and opened it up, looking for any type of plain T-shirt and shorts he could borrow.
But the first T-shirt he found in there was a very familiar looking Thrasher black T-shirt. It took him a few moments wondering why Xiao Zhan would have a skater T-shirt that looked more like something Wang Yibo would wear until he remembered that one time he’d lent Xiao Zhan this very shirt. Thinking that he may as well wear the shirt he’d lent Xiao Zhan before, he took it off the hanger.
Except the shirt behind it was also a strangely plain looking blue collar shirt. And the one after that was a Pikachu sweatshirt—not particularly strange because Xiao Zhan loved cartoons like these though his one looked strangely familiar. Behind that was a checkered black-and-white flannel shirt, and then after that, an olive green sweatshirt.
Then, Wang Yibo saw the white windbreaker—the one he’d lent Xiao Zhan and had gotten him scolded by his manager when he showed up to the airport without it, so it had forced his assistant to scour Changsha for the same one, returning only with a black version of it that Wang Yibo wore on his way back.
And it all clicked.
These clothes looked familiar because Wang Yibo had worn them before. There were sweatshirts he’d worn while traveling caught by paparazzi, there were trousers he’d been seen wearing live at events, there were shirts he’d worn on photoshoots before that he didn’t even own.
“Yibo, did you find…” Xiao Zhan’s voice trailed off when he saw Wang Yibo standing in his bedroom, closet open. “W-Why are you in my closet? Who hangs T-shirts?” Xiao Zhan mumbled, quickly walking over to a dresser Wang Yibo hadn’t noticed earlier and pulling it open to take out a random white T-shirt and shorts for Wang Yibo.
“Zhan-ge…” Wang Yibo didn’t move from his place in front of the closet. “Did you steal my clothes?”
“What? No,” Xiao Zhan said and visibly flinched when he saw the Thrasher T-shirt Wang Yibo was holding. “You gave me that one.”
Wang Yibo didn’t bother arguing the semantics between “gave” and “lent,” more concerned with bigger questions. “Didn’t I wear this for an event before?” He pointed to the blue collar shirt. “This one too,” he said, pointing to the checkered one. “Or was it a photoshoot? And this one—I wore this one to the practice for that concert we did. You said it was ugly and you stole it?”
“I bought everything I own!” Xiao Zhan said but his face was going from a pale white to a deep red.
“You bought these?” Wang Yibo repeated.
Xiao Zhan nodded. “You’re wearing the same thing right now.”
Wang Yibo looked down at the olive green sweatshirt he’d changed into after getting out of his clothes from the event and then looked at the identical olive green sweatshirt that was hanging in Xiao Zhan’s closet.
“Are you trying to match with me?” Wang Yibo asked and turned back to the closet to rifle through now that he knew what he was looking at. Sure enough, while a bunch of these clothes were the exact same thing Wang Yibo had worn before, another chunk were clothes that, even more incriminatingly, weren’t the exact same thing but matched—a shirt in a similar pattern, a jacket of the same brand but a different color. “Why are you trying to match with me?”
“I’m not!” Xiao Zhan said but had, in the cutest way, started wringing his hands, twisting them into the shirt he was wearing, glancing at the bedroom door as though considering if he could get out of this by running away.
“Zhan-ge, do you like me?” Wang Yibo blurted out.
Xiao Zhan, thin-faced as he was, really did turned on his heel and sprinted out of the door, but Wang Yibo had raced him enough times jogging to chase right after him and out to the kitchen where Xiao Zhan, cornered, began cleaning up a completely clean kitchen. “You should check if your hotel is clear now,” he said, wiping a spotless counter with a rag.
“You like me,” Wang Yibo repeated.
“Stop,” Xiao Zhan said, turning his back to him when Wang Yibo walked closer.
The full weight of it came crashing down on Wang Yibo—Xiao Zhan, his favorite Zhan-ge who was six years older and had none of the same hobbies and who Wang Yibo adored with all his heart and soul—Xiao Zhan liked him. Liked him enough to stalker buy a bunch of the clothes he’d seen Wang Yibo wear even knowing they weren’t all Wang Yibo’s choices just to match with him. Liked him enough to wear things that didn’t at all match his usual style that he had fans for all because he wanted to wear the same things as Wang Yibo, a little point of commonality.
Wang Yibo walked closer into Xiao Zhan’s kitchen, and Xiao Zhan got even more frantic, wiping at the counters, turning to rearrange already arranged plates in his cabinets.
“Zhan-ge,” Wang Yibo said. “Xiao Zhan,” he repeated when Xiao Zhan just wiped at his sink harder.
“Can you not?” Xiao Zhan said, voice quiet and a little scratchy like he was about to start crying.
Wang Yibo’s chest actually hurt at the thought that he might be making Xiao Zhan cry and he didn’t think as he gathered Xiao Zhan into his arms. “It’s okay. I’m not—I’m not mad?”
Xiao Zhan was stiff in his arms though he didn’t pull away, trembling like a large rabbit.
“I like you too,” Wang Yibo said, the words coming as naturally as though this wasn’t the first time he was realizing it. Because he did.
He wanted to be with Xiao Zhan all of the time. There wasn’t a single day that went by where he didn’t want to talk to Xiao Zhan. He loved being around him, loved making him laugh, loved everything that made Xiao Zhan happy and hated everything that made him upset.
“I like you, Xiao Zhan,” Wang Yibo said.
Xiao Zhan glanced up at his face and then back down very quickly. “You...you do?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Wang Yibo said.
“Since when?” Xiao Zhan asked in a small voice, sounding even more like he was about to start crying.
“Since forever,” Wang Yibo said. “Since the first time I saw you. Even though my Zhan-ge is so cheesy and likes to match clothes.”
Xiao Zhan bit his lip, a tear sliding down his face, and then another.
“Even though my Zhan-ge would rather buy the same clothes as me instead of confessing like a normal person,” Wang Yibo said, grinning wider as Xiao Zhan cried, tugging him in to hold him and rubbing a hand down his back. “Even though my Zhan-ge is so thin-faced to cry about something like this but still thick-faced enough to go visit me at the airport in my Nike workout clothes.”
“Are you human, Wang Yibo?” Xiao Zhan complained into his shoulder. “Is this funny for you? Does making fun of me make you happy?”
“Zhan-ge,” Wang Yibo said. “Everything about you makes me happy.”
When Xiao Zhan was in the shower the next morning—Wang Yibo didn’t do things in halves and had immediately taken Xiao Zhan to bed despite Xiao Zhan’s half-hearted complaints that they hadn’t gone on a single date yet (Wang Yibo argued they had gone on nothing but dates albeit unofficial), and the sex was great because how could sex with Zhan-ge, his Xiao Zhan, not be amazing—Wang Yibo snuck in to leave Xiao Zhan a little surprise before sneaking back out, and going to order them breakfast.
“Wang Yibo, are you human?” he heard Xiao Zhan screech as he was bringing in the delivery and grinned as Xiao Zhan came out of the bathroom in Wang Yibo’s T-shirt from the night before, stopping at mid-thigh on him and nothing else. “Where’s the rest of my clothes? And your shirt stinks of sweat! You didn’t even wash this!”
“Zhan-ge likes wearing my clothes,” Wang Yibo said, giving Xiao Zhan a very clear up and down glance, and whistled.
Xiao Zhan rolled his eyes even as he went pink. “You’re disgusting,” he said, but he was laughing.
“But you like me,” Wang Yibo said.
“Heavens knows why,” Xiao Zhan said with a sigh.
“Because I got you breakfast,” Wang Yibo said, holding up the delivery to lay out on Xiao Zhan’s dining table—hot soy milk, and sesame and pork sung pastries that made Xiao Zhan’s eyes brighten. “And because I bought us these.”
Wang Yibo held out his phone screen to show Xiao Zhan a payment for the newest pair of limited edition Nikes coming out in a few months—one red and one blue.
Xiao Zhan rolled his eyes but he was grinning as he dropped into Wang Yibo’s lap and picked up one of the pastries to eat. “You’re going to be insufferable, aren’t you?” he said.
Wang Yibo grinned, settling his hands on Xiao Zhan’s hips. “Now that I know Zhan-ge likes it,” he said, “do you know how many companies make matching outfits? Cause I just did a search...”