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Zhang Xinjie wasn’t one for casual touch. It was clear in the way he shifted away from the friendly back pats and hugs that some of the other players liked to hand out. It became known throughout the Pro Alliance that Zhang Xinjie preferred distance between himself and his peers, content with pre and post-match handshakes and little else.
Most assumed that Tyranny’s vice-captain was like this with everyone, that he was someone who simply preferred to keep himself apart from physical contact, that he preferred to be slightly distanced from others. And as Zhang Xinjie never made any attempt refute the assumption, it was never challenged.
It had started when he was young. His parents had always told him he was a serious child, that he’d move away from sudden touch, refuse to submit to hugs if he didn’t want them. He soon cultivated a reputation of not liking it when people made contact with him and eventually word spread, even as he grew up and Zhang Xinjie found that people no longer offered hugs or friendly casual touch and he found himself unsure of how to ask.
Even as he grew older, Zhang Xinjie shied away from touch at first, uncomfortable with acquaintances reaching out, stepping back with a shake of his head or verbally refusing. But once his relationships shifted, once he found himself comfortable around people, he wanted touch, wanted the same, easy familiarity that other people seemed to receive so easily. But no one noticed, believing that Zhang Xinjie was content with things the way they were.
Zhang Xinjie watched as the practice room emptied out slowly, his teammates leaving in trickles, chatting to each other, nudging at one another, arms slung casually over shoulders, laughter floating through the air. An all too familiar ache throbbed in his chest and Zhang Xinjie busied himself with his notes, sorting them into neat piles, well-used to pushing down the dull ache.
It faded eventually, discarded in favour of more important things, better things that Zhang Xinjie needed to spend time on. He had the team composition for the next match to sort out, he had the last match of Blue Rain against Happy to look over and analyse, many things to fill his schedule with and distract him from the sting of loneliness in his chest.
Zhang Xinjie was tired, steady ache behind his eyes as he began packing up his notes, writing down where he’d stopped analysing the match. It was too early for him to stop, but the light of the screen only made the throbbing in his head worse and as much as it pained him to deviate from his schedule; his vision was blurring and he was self-aware enough to know that trying to push through would be less effective.
As he made his way through the club’s halls he could feel his head spin, spots dancing in front of his eyes and he winced, pausing to lean against a wall until it felt like the world had stopped moving beneath his feet.
His papers slipped out of his hands as he entered his room, landing on the ground in an untidy heap that would usually have him crouching to retrieve the papers but he could barely think with the throbbing in his head. He stumbled over to his bed, collapsing onto his bed in relief, letting his eyes slip shut as tears stung with the pain in his head. Even lying still, the ground still seemed to be shifting at random, making Zhang Xinjie squeeze his eyes tighter, one hand over his face to block out as much light as he could.
He didn’t notice when he fell asleep, in too much pain to stop himself from drifting off.
Zhang Xinjie was late. Han Wenqing glanced at the watch on his wrist, a gift from his vice-captain that felt like a subtle dig at all the times he’d had to ask the other player for the time. From the way Zhang Xinjie’s lips had been ever so slightly curved up, it likely was a dig, but Han Wenqing knew that no one would ever believe him if he protested.
The point was, that Zhang Xinjie prided himself on sticking to a strict schedule, always on time down to the second, never deviating from his set tasks. Zhang Jiale even liked to joke that Zhang Xinjie scheduled when he was going to be sick, choosing the most convenient times to catch colds to ensure they never interfered with training.
Everyone knew it wasn’t true, but it often felt like that, Zhang Xinjie was in perfect control of himself and his life, something that seemed to bring him comfort. Which was why it was so strange that he was missing and Han Wenqing checked his watch again.
Fifteen minutes late. Late enough that Han Wenqing left to check on his vice-captain, wondering if he’d been caught by a member of their team or been pulled in to discuss something with their management team. He knocked on Zhang Xinjie’s door and when there was no answer, he knocked a little more loudly. Han Wenqing frowned when everything remained silent and he keyed in Zhang Xinjie’s door code, his vice-captain having given it to him for efficiency.
The first thing he noticed was the scattered pages of paper on the floor; when Han Wenqing stooped to gather them he realised they were Zhang Xinjie’s notes and his brow furrowed, his vice-captain always kept his notes in perfect order.
The next thing he noticed Zhang Xinjie, still fully dressed, lying on his bed with his glasses still on. Han Wenqing gathered up the scattered pieces of paper and left them on Zhang Xinjie’s desk before he moved over to check on his vice-captain, laying a hand carefully against his forehead. The other’s skin was hot to the touch and Han Wenqing felt worry curl in his stomach as he left to grab some supplies.
There was something cool against his forehead. Zhang Xinjie made a soft noise of contentment at the touch of the cloth, relaxing into the sensation. He thought he could hear someone speaking softly, but his mind was too hazy to make out any of the words. When the gentle motion of the cloth moved, Zhang Xinjie made a soft protesting noise, shifting in search of it again.
A gentle hand rested on his shoulder, warm and comforting as the voice spoke once more, quiet and soothing until he relaxed back onto the bed. The cloth soon returned and Zhang Xinjie sighed out happily, content to remain still and compliant as the warm hands carefully manoeuvred him out of his clothes and under the covers. He thought about protesting the lack of the cloth, but one hand began to card through his hair, and he hummed, letting the rhythmic motions soothe him asleep once more.
When Zhang Xinjie woke again, he was surprised to find that it was dark and he moved to sit up, only to be stopped by a hand against his shoulder. He turned his head to find Han Wenqing beside his bed, a furrow between his eyebrows and Zhang Xinjie was struck by a sudden realisation.
“We had a meeting captain-“ Zhang Xinjie was cut off by Han Wenqing shaking his head and he fell silent, waiting for the other to speak.
“You’re overworked, the meeting doesn’t matter.”
“It’s important for team cohesion, we were finalising the training plan after the last match, adjustments had to be made-“ Han Wenqing’s hand stopped him from sitting up once more, though the hand retreated when it became clear that Zhang Xinjie would remain still.
“Your health is more important.” Despite his voice not getting any louder, Han Wenqing’s expression gave Zhang Xinjie pause, concern clear in his eyes. “And I apologise.”
“For what?”
“For making contact with you, we are aware that you prefer distance.” And Zhang Xinjie wasn’t sure why, wasn’t sure what make him say it, but it came out before he could over think it.
“I don’t mind when it’s you.” Han Wenqing visibly startled and Zhang Xinjie could feel his cheeks heat but he didn’t stop, taking the opportunity before it passed, “if I trust you, I don’t mind.” He watched as Han Wenqing processed the information and then the cool cloth was back on his forehead and Zhang Xinjie felt the urge to close his eyes at the blissful sensation.
“Take a rest Xinjie.” And Zhang Xinjie thought about protesting, thought about pushing through the lingering ache in his mind before giving in to the heaviness weighing down his eyes. The last thing he felt was Han Wenqing’s hand in his hair once more, and a soft smile tugged at his lips.
Zhang Xinjie was halfway to Han Wenqing’s room when he remembered that his captain was out for the day, busy with a photoshoot and he took a breath, trying to steady his breathing. He wanted the steady presence of Han Wenqing, after spending the past two days trying to mitigate the damage of a comment taken out of context; he was exhausted and frustrated with himself.
He’d been tired, the comment had been unintentional, not fully thought out and it had been eviscerated online. He’d had multiple meetings with the management team where they’d complained and berated him for hours, he’d met with different reporters to clarify, made multiple statements online, checking every word, every possible nuance and meaning and his head ached and all he wanted was to lie down with Han Wenqing.
But he couldn’t.
“Vice-captain Zhang!” Zhang Xinjie stilled at the voice and he took a deep breath to centre himself before he turned around, trying to keep the exhaustion off his face as he met Zhang Jiale’s eyes. “I was wondering about the new training schedule,” he trailed off as he caught sight of whatever emotion he could see on Zhang Xinjie’s face. “Are you alright?” When the other didn’t answer, Zhang Jiale pressed a little further, “is it because of the media storm?”
Zhang Xinjie wondered about brushing off the other’s worry, thought about trying to keep his tiredness to himself, but Zhang Jiale’s eyes were soft with understanding and Zhang Xinjie recalled the outrage when the other player had transferred to Tyranny. How fans had spat insults at him, bombarded him with venom, calling him a traitor, a coward, a deserter and worse. Remembered how Zhang Jiale’s smile had been strained and he’d leant into the touch of his teammates eagerly, seeking their comfort.
Zhang Jiale’s hand was outstretched slightly, as if seeking permission and Zhang Xinjie moved into the touch, seeking the comfort. Zhang Jiale’s hand was warm against his skin and Zhang Xinjie let out a long breath, still seeking composure.
“I’m tired,” he admitted and Zhang Jiale’s expression was sharp with understanding he slung his arm around Zhang Xinjie’s shoulder, leading him away from Han Wenqing’s empty room. Zhang Xinjie didn’t bother paying attention to where they were going, letting Zhang Jiale lead the way, more focused on the reassuring weight of his arm over his shoulders.
He found himself tucked up on the sofa between Song Qiying and Zhang Jiale, with the other members of his team scattered around the room, similarly curled up on various soft furnishings. There was something playing on the screen, a drama he’d heard Su Mucheng dissecting the last time he’d seen her. The noise of it faded into the background as he let himself settle into the warmth of his team, the press of their shoulders grounding him and pushing the stress of the past few days to the back of his mind.
He drifted off, relaxed for the first time in days and comfortingly warm.
Zhang Xinjie woke up to warm arms around him, feeling himself jostled slightly as he was braced against the wall as someone keyed in his door code. He blinked his eyes open to see Han Wenqing, at least he assumed it was Han Wenqing, unsure if Zhang Jiale would be able to lift him. He felt his eyes flutter shut once more, still tired and he nearly missed being tucked into bed.
“Thank you,” he isn’t sure if Han Wenqing caught the words, mumbled softly as he drifted back into sleep. He nearly missed the gentle touch against his forehead, the quiet rumble of Han Wenqing’s voice before he left.
“No trouble,” Han Wenqing lingered for a few moments, hand resting against his vice-captain’s forehead, watching as Zhang Xinjie pressed into the touch unconsciously, seemingly content to soak in Han Wenqing’s presence.
Zhang Xinjie made a quiet, mumbled protest when Han Wenqing moved away, vocally displeased but he soon settled back into sleep, face peaceful. He let his lips quirk up in a smile at the sight as he slipped out of the door, only to come face to face with Zhang Jiale.
“Is he okay?” The Spitfire’s face was drawn with worry and Han Wenqing wasn’t sure how to answer.
“He’s sleeping.” Something flickered across Zhang Jiale’s face, too quickly for Han Wenqing to decipher before the other smiled.
“We’ll take care of him.” Zhang Jiale nodded decisively, almost to himself and Han Wenqing nodded at the other player, glad that Zhang Xinjie had others looking out for him when he forgot to look out for himself.
Zhang Xinjie was fading, eyes fluttering shut as they waited for their bus. After a mix up of times, they’d been waiting at the stadium for hours and it was growing later and later. Zhang Xinjie checked his watch and Lin Jingyan caught the frustrated huff of breath that he let out before he settled back in the chair. Han Wenqing had left, already beginning to exchange curt, clipped sentences with their management team while the rest of Tyranny were scattered around the waiting room, either talking amongst themselves or engrossed in their phones.
When Lin Jingyan looked back over at his vice-captain, Zhang Xinjie had fallen asleep, head tilted at an awkward angle, even as he looked peaceful. Lin Jingyan was convinced the new position wasn’t good for Zhang Xinjie’s neck and he shifted on the sofa until he was sat beside the other. Very carefully, trying not to wake him, Lin Jingyan shifted the sleeping man until his head was resting against his shoulder, at a far more comfortable position than the one he’d been in.
Zhang Jiale glanced up from where he was sat and shrugged off his jacket, laying it over Zhang Xinjie before moving to sit beside Lin Jingyan, eyes resting on Zhang Xinjie’s sleeping form, something unnameable in his eyes. All three were asleep by the time Han Wenqing came back to collect them when the bus finally arrived, making their way onto the bus before curling up with each other once more, this time with Zhang Xinjie in the centre.
Han Wenqing smiled at the sight, his teammates all leaning against one another, fast asleep with Zhang Xinjie pressed into the contact, lips curved up at the touch. When the bus hit a speedbump, jostling them, Zhang Xinjie’s eyes fluttered open and he seemed surprised but not unhappy to find himself sandwiched between Zhang Jiale and Lin Jingyan.
“Go back to sleep,” his vice-captain’s gaze flicked to him, eyes still bleary with sleep and Han Wenqing repeated himself, keeping his voice low as not to wake the others. “Go back to sleep Xinjie, it’s late.” Zhang Xinjie seemed to be ready to protest but Lin Jingyan shifted in his sleep, pressing more weight against him, while Zhang Jiale seemed to shuffle closer and the close contact was nice. Comforting. Zhang Xinjie let himself relax into the warmth again and he drifted off again quickly, curled between his teammates.
Zhang Xinjie didn’t like touch. It was an accepted truth of the Glory Pro Alliance, something that all players were aware of. Tyranny’s vice-captain would take part in the pre and post-game handshakes but anything else, he kept himself distanced from, would sidestep hugs or arms slung around his shoulder. Besides, Zhang Xinjie was so precise, so professional, that many assumed he didn’t want physical touch and never offered it in the first place.
And if pro players never saw Zhang Xinjie with his team, they’d never have this assumption challenged.
Tyranny, on the other hand saw a very different side of Zhang Xinjie, at least when it came to how he dispensed touch. It was common for him to offer a quick pat on the shoulder, a pat on the head for their younger members, even occasionally on their older members, if only to watch Zhang Jiale squawk and complain about how he was Zhang Xinjie’s senior and that he deserved more respect than this.
Zhang Xinjie’s lips would curl up into a subtle smile, an edge of mockery in his eyes, prompting Zhang Jiale to open his mouth to protest further, only for Han Wenqing to begin speaking, cutting off the Spitfire, something that Zhang Xinjie clearly planned from the way he’d turn to face their captain, smugness radiating off him. Zhang Jiale would mumble something under his breath, sensing the collective amusement of his team, keeping his eyes on Han Wenqing, maintaining his huff, fighting down the smile tugging at his lips.
The moment Han Wenqing turned his back, Zhang Jiale would turn and stick his tongue out at his vice-captain, whipping back around before anyone noticed, making the rest of the team snicker when Zhang Xinjie kept an unaffected look on his face, making Zhang Jiale scowl at the lack of a reaction. Before he could try again, Han Wenqing turned back around, pointing at the screen and Zhang Jiale snapped to attention once more.
And if he threw tiny balls of paper at Zhang Xinjie’s head for the rest of the meeting when no one was looking?
Well if no one noticed and Zhang Xinjie didn’t react then it was almost as if it wasn’t happening was his justification. No one caught the smile stretching across Zhang Xinjie’s lips as he recalled his team’s affection, head ducked as he took notes.
He was content.