Work Text:
Qiao Yifan is absolutely certain it’s his unschooled face that has gotten him into this— not that he’s complaining.
It’s just that… nobody at Royal Style would have been so delighted about him being dumped yesterday, if only he’d been able to hide his irritation in the weeks leading up to it. Nobody would have immediately attempted to hook him up on celebratory dates, either, if he’d just done a better job at hiding how tired he was of his crumbling relationship; more importantly, if he’d just done a better job at concealing how disappointed he still was to be dumped less than twenty-four hours before the big Christmas Day date he’d had planned for ages now.
It’s not like Christmas Day is that big of a deal, really. It’s not like his ruined date plans had been excessively complicated, either — some ice-skating, a fancy dinner reservation, hopefully some low-key PDA for once. But he really had planned it all ages ago. It’s his last weekend before he joins the main team’s roster, after all, and he’d wanted to celebrate that— winding it up in the trappings of someone else’s holiday, all fluff and fun, had just made it feel… safe. It had made it feel less like he was celebrating himself, less like he was being prideful. The fact that he’d had to organise it himself — that his ex hadn’t thought of taking him out somewhere to cheer on his promotion — that was just… well, it was what it was.
Still. He’d already cancelled the dinner reservation. He really could have turned down the blind date as well. He definitely could have pushed away his teammate’s insistence that she knew someone in Tiny Herb’s reserves— ‘I met him through my cousin,’ Zhu Mingxuan had said, after clapping at Qiao Yifan’s break-up news. ‘I really think you’d like him. He’s super sweet! And I know you had that whole Christmas thing planned— take him along instead! You’ll have fun!’ She’d been tapping away at her phone as she’d been talking. ‘Hey, he already said yes! I’m surprised, he’s usually kinda shy, I thought he’d take more persuading. I guess he had plans fall through for tomorrow, too. Looks like it’s a date, Yifan!’
Qiao Yifan absolutely could have said no. He’s gotten so much better at that.
He’s glad he didn’t, though. He’s glad, truly, that he’s decided to just have a fun day of it, when he scans near the statue in the centre of the busy square — the place his teammate had sent him to meet his date — and he spots a boy so cute that he finds himself grinning, finds himself hoping that nobody else in Tiny Herb colours will turn up to meet him here instead (‘Both of you will be wearing your team scarves!’ Zhu Mingxuan had said). He’s telling himself he’s being foolish, even as he swerves through the crowd. He’s still grinning, though, when he comes to a stop in front of Tiny Herb green, a thick scarf wrapped around the boy’s neck and a green beanie pulled down around his ears. His hair curls out from beneath it. Qiao Yifan has the deeply unhelpful urge to touch.
‘Hi,’ he says, anchoring his hands on the flowing ends of his own his gold-and-black scarf instead. ‘I’m Qiao Yifan. Are you Zhu Mingxuan’s friend? Are you—’ He lowers his voice a little; he talks carefully, ‘Are you here to meet a guy from Royal Style for a date?’
The boy looks at him, eyes shy but bright, just looks at him unbelievably softly, and Qiao Yifan thinks, oh no. Qiao Yifan thinks, this is more than I signed up for. Qiao Yifan thinks he’s going to get fondly cross with Zhu Mingxuan, because nobody should be gazing at a stranger with an expression like that. Qiao Yifan suddenly isn’t sure where to look, but he doesn’t quite want to look away either. He falls back on smiling some more, waiting for an answer to his question as the boy colours and lowers his eyes, lashes dark against his face.
‘I am,’ the boy says, his own voice hushed. ‘Hi. I’m Gao Yingjie, from Tiny Herb.’
‘Hi, Gao Yingjie,’ Qiao Yifan echoes back, throat a little tight. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’
Gao Yingjie’s smile, when he looks back up and makes eye-contact is — no matter the cold wind sliding between them — enough to make Qiao Yifan’s belly warm.
***
They talk on the bus, a lot. Sure, a small child kicks the back of Qiao Yifan’s seat whenever he tries to speak. Sure, the grandpas on the other side of the aisle make him feel a little self-conscious about being on a date with a boy, even if there is no way for them to know he is. But they talk, anyway. They talk about their parents. About leaving school. About Glory, though nothing too specific, as though the both of them are walking carefully around some unseen obstacle that Qiao Yifan cannot quite put his finger on; he guesses that they’re both still too fresh to their teams to feel entirely comfortable with what they can talk about and what they cannot.
Gao Yingjie explains that he plays a witch, and Qiao Yifan hums softly, thinking about what that might mean in a team where Vaccaria is king.
They talk, and Qiao Yifan is acutely conscious of the warmth of Gao Yingjie’s body beside him. He tries to keep out of his space — he knows how much both the boys he’d dated had disliked him being too close in public — but Gao Yingjie doesn’t seem to notice when the motion of the bus shifts them in against each other. There’s no indication that he’s bothered by it, anyway.
The backs of their hands brush as they get off the bus, as they move quickly out of the way of the other passengers. Qiao Yifan fumbles in his pockets for his gloves. He feels stupid at the sight of Gao Yingjie’s hands, pretty against the dark of his coat — slender fingers; soft, he imagines, and clever, he is already certain; and then he bites at his lip because he’s not like this. He bites even harder, though, at the sight of them being slid carefully out of view beneath bright red wool.
‘Are you hungry?’ Qiao Yifan asks. It’s not long since he had lunch, but it’s polite to check while they’re on a main road with plenty of options.
Gao Yingjie shifts from one foot to the other. ‘I’m not,’ he admits, slowly, as though this is somehow an offence.
‘Me neither,’ Qiao Yifan assures him quickly and then pats at his bag. ‘Besides, I brought snacks.’
‘Oh, me too.’
Qiao Yifan thinks, for the third time in far too few minutes, that this Gao Yingjie is impossibly cute when he’s happy.
It isn’t a long walk from the bus stop to the lake. Entrance is free, and renting the ice states is cheap, and Qiao Yifan feels momentarily embarrassed at how small a price tag their date has.
Gao Yingjie just looks pleased as he laces up his skates and then stands, hand on the temporary fence. He also looks, very clearly, like someone who is not terribly comfortable with skating.
Qiao Yifan’s embarrassment evaporates, giving way to panic at the thought of a pro player falling and hurting their hands. He’s been skating his whole life — he’s not worried for himself — and he’d originally planned this outing with a law student in mind. This is, he realises, actually an awful idea. ‘Um,’ he says, stress audible in his voice. ‘Maybe… maybe if you’ve not done this before then… maybe it’s not a good idea? You could get hurt? Wang Jiexi might kill me? He seems a little bit scary?’
Gao Yingjie blinks, an unreadable expression flitting across his face before he straightens his shoulders and says, ‘I’ve skated before. My grandparents used to bring me. Just… it’s been a few years. But I’m not—’ He pauses. ‘Besides, your captain is the scary one. He’s huge.’
Qiao Yifan huffs out a laugh.
He thinks of Captain Tian, thumping him on the back and congratulating him, mortifyingly, on shaking loose his ‘rubbish ex’. He thinks of Captain Tian, putting in extra hours with him, training him, one-on-one and with the guild, talking about the importance of dragging Royal Style back to the heights they belong at. He thinks of Captain Tian, supportive but determined, making sure they don’t run over time, making sure Qiao Yifan goes off and gets proper rest. (He thinks of the way Jia Shiming has thanked him for that, though Qiao Yifan is still drawing the threads together that will let him understand why.) He knows how Tian Sen’s reputation works, though, to the outside world. He just shakes his head, and smiles, and keeps his mouth shut.
In front of him, Gao Yingjie wobbles alarmingly.
‘Would you help me?’ he asks.
Qiao Yifan blinks and then reaches out a hand, tentatively.
Gao Yingjie takes hold.
Qiao Yifan expects Gao Yingjie to hold his hand in the simplest way possible, but he laces their fingers together instead— proper, intimate hand-holding. Qiao Yifan’s face heats at the feel of it. Gao Yingjie’s fingers are warm through the wool of their gloves. Qiao Yifan forces himself to focus on the ice, on his balance; he leads them carefully onto the lake, with Gao Yingjie safe between himself and the fence.
Qiao Yifan is glad that skating is something he does every year, that it’s something he finds effortless.
He is pleased that Gao Yingjie is holding hands in a way that is comfortable, rather than tight with fear.
He is relieved that, even if his face is probably screaming his reaction right now, he’s at least gotten better at keeping his words in.
After skating for a short while, though, he sees Gao Yingjie start to dart glances from their joined hands to himself.
Gao Yingjie is blushing. He relaxes his hold a little but he doesn’t let go. He says, ‘I can manage without now, I think, if you’re not comfortable. It’s okay, really. I don’t have— expectations. Of you, I mean. And I’m pretty sure I’ve remembered the basics.’
Qiao Yifan stares at the backs of the people skating in front of them. He can’t seem to bring himself to let go.
When he doesn’t, Gao Yingjie adds, all in a rush, his voice warm, ‘It’s really nice though. Holding your hand.’
Qiao Yifan swallows. He’s never held hands on a first date. He’s never really held hands outdoors at all, unless you count furtive stolen moments in empty streets at night. He’s certainly never held hands somewhere like this, children and families skating around them, brightly coloured jackets and laughing faces. He feels bold and brave and brazen, even if both their own faces are half hidden behind their scarves, even if nobody is actually paying them any attention. ‘I—’ he starts and then stops himself. It really is nice, even if they are practically strangers by any normal estimation. It’s nice, not to be told he can’t do this in public. It’s nice, to have someone unashamed of being seen with him. It’s nice, too, because it’s this particular boy beside him, and the feel of this particular hand makes his heart race faster.
He squeezes his fingers in what he hopes is a straightforward, friendly manner. ‘It really is nice,’ he says. ‘So long as you like it.’
Gao Yingjie darts another little glance at him. ‘I do.’
Qiao Yifan is used to the cold. He’s used to skating. He’s used to Weiming Lake, trees dark at the edges and bowing in towards them. He’s not used to any of it with a boy who keeps looking at him, smiling shyly, with a boy who keeps a warm hold of him, even after their scarves have been pushed down from their faces and their cheeks have grown pink from exertion, from talking and giggling as they glide across the ice.
They take a break, light casting golden across the trees that still have leaves. They sit on a bench and share their snacks. They drink Qiao Yifan’s thermos of tea. They watch the people wandering past them. They talk about the books they like, about the games they have played that are not Glory, about going from being only children to living in dorms with roommates.
They return to the lake, elbows linked together even though Gao Yingjie really has found his stride, his confidence, his skating skills. Perhaps, Qiao Yifan thinks, he is a very quick study. Either way, he’s happy to keep holding on. They push their woolly hats back on their brows. Gao Yingjie’s face grows bright with laughter at the stories Qiao Yifan tells him.
Qiao Yifan knows he’ll be sore from this much ice-skating tomorrow, no matter how much time he’s spent in the club gym since being signed to Royal Style, but he isn’t quite willing to ask to stop.
Eventually, though, the sun starts to set. The gold on the trees around them grows darker, grows bronze. The city becomes shadows, and the bright lights of street lamps flicker into life. It’s not really late, but they’ve still been here for hours. Most of the children on the lake are being called away by their families.
Qiao Yifan’s face grows icy again where the air can make direct contact. He tugs his scarf back up; he pulls his hat back down. He resists the urge to take ahold of Gao Yingjie’s scarf and tuck it in around him better; he feels relieved when Gao Yingjie does it himself a few minutes later.
Qiao Yifan says, ‘I can’t believe we both had plans fallen through for today.’
‘Oh,’ Gao Yingjie says, and his feet go out from under him, the noise he makes sounding for all the world like he’s had all his air punched out.
Qiao Yifan holds on as best he can. Gao Yingjie still hits the frozen lake in a flurry of limbs, a hair’s breadth from taking Qiao Yifan down with him. They stay like that, shocked, for a long moment— Gao Yingjie on the ice, looking stunned and hurt, and Qiao Yifan half bent to the lake beneath the pull of his body.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks, trying to assess Gao Yingjie’s reaction before helping him to his feet.
‘I’m fine,’ Gao Yingjie says. ‘Thank you.’ He pushes himself up from the cold surface, letting Qiao Yifan pull him too. There’s an awkward quiet, which Qiao Yifan does not understand, and then Gao Yingjie pushes off again and Qiao Yifan keeps pace. They don’t skate for long, after that. The mood has shifted, though Qiao Yifan doesn’t know why, and they both agree that they’re too cold. They return their skates.
Still. Qiao Yifan stops lacing his boots to look at Gao Yingjie lacing his, his face sweet in the light from the streetlamp above him. He finds it hard to breathe again. This was meant to be just for fun. It was never meant to be— whatever this has been, hours of talking and this, here, Gao Yingjie glancing at him and seeing him staring, his pretty eyes widening and his clearly freezing face flushing warm.
Qiao Yifan finds himself fumbling at his laces and at his words. He says, ‘I’m hungry, I’d like to eat with you, would you like to eat with me?’
Gao Yingjie smiles, eyes cast to one side as though he’s embarrassed by his own happiness, but Qiao Yifan knows people, he can read things, he can read the delight rolling off him. It’s why he offers his hand, when they both stand up. It’s also why he doesn’t let go — stomach warm, chest tight, no justification for the contact other than he likes it. Gao Yingjie gets out his phone with his other hand, biting his glove off his fingers long enough to pull up a map and to pick a place that they both decide looks okay.
Qiao Yifan makes a point of not staring at Gao Yingjie’s hand, his fingers definitely too clever, definitely too pretty, as they fly across the lit-up screen.
Even after just one afternoon, Qiao Yifan has begun to learn the feel of them, though. He thinks being allowed to touch someone in public is probably bad for him; it has left him yearning in a way he’s not experienced before, not even when he’d been allowed to touch people in private. It’s more, this longing. It’s more, and he suspects he should be scared, but he leans into it, instead; he leans into Gao Yingjie and the things Gao Yingjie has to say.
Besides, he suspects he’d be yearning anyway, even if he couldn’t touch, what with the way Gao Yingjie’s eyes smile whenever he finds Qiao Yifan looking, listening, paying him heed.
The restaurant is nothing fancy — is nothing like he had originally had reserved — but Qiao Yifan doesn’t feel embarrassed by it like he might have if they’d started their date here. Not with the enthusiasm Gao Yingjie has for the food they order. Not with the way he lets their knees touch beneath the table. Not with the way he puts meat in Qiao Yifan’s bowl, like they’ve been doing this for far more than one afternoon.
By the time they’ve finished eating, it has started to snow. Neither of them is apparently willing to get on a bus just yet and, though night has fallen properly, it’s not really very late. They move easily past the other people out walking, the paths cleanly swept beneath them growing pale as the snow falls; the piles on either side growing taller, glinting brighter beneath the lamps.
They rest for a while in front of a store, a security grill pulled down over the door but the front window lit up brightly. Qiao Yifan looks at the Christmas-themed display encouraging the purchase of couple’s gifts and peace apples. He’s glad it’s too late for it to be open, his fingers twitching inappropriately with the urge to buy Gao Yingjie something small but nice.
Gao Yingjie presses a glove to the window, looking thoughtful. ‘I still have hot chocolate,’ he says, suddenly. He tugs his backpack off one shoulder and unzips it, pulling out a thermos. ‘Do you want some? It’s not going to be very hot anymore, but it’ll still be warm.’
They drink, taking turns, and they continue their walk, shoes crunching in the snow, the world muffled just a little bit by the soft patter of it falling. Gao Yingjie has knit their hands back together yet again. He keeps them together, even when they reach the bus shelter where they really do need to bring their walk to an end. They keep trading the hot chocolate with their free hands.
This was not the date Qiao Yifan had visualised, but it is, he can’t help but think, so much better.
Then Gao Yingjie says, quietly, ‘Yifan, I should have told you something, when we met in the square today. I feel really bad that I didn’t.’
Qiao Yifan feels everything come to a sudden stop.
Gao Yingjie is peeking at him, is looking guilty.
‘I— it wasn’t that I, um, had plans fall through today. The thing is, Yifan, we’ve met before. Mingxuan told me your name when she was trying to persuade me and I— I’m sorry. I should have told you straight away. I shouldn’t have let you go on believing that I—’
Qiao Yifan stares. He moves without planning on it; he gets in Gao Yingjie’s space, he gets Gao Yingjie backed up against the wall behind the footpath, and then feels bad about doing so. He steps back again, just a little. Gao Yingjie is looking down, is looking upset. Qiao Yifan is trying to process why he looks like he’s been caught out when nothing he’s said sounds that bad.
Yifan, we’ve met before.
The snow is falling heavily, now. Gao Yingjie’s green wool is layered with it.
Qiao Yifan fumbles in his bag with his free hand; he pulls out his umbrella. He flicks it open to one side of them and then holds it above them. He steps in closer again, so it covers them both. There’s the soft sound of snow falling on taut nylon. There’s the louder sound of people walking around them— students laughing, a woman calling out to her friends in an amused voice, a boy shouting, the steady hum of cars on the road.
‘I don’t remember us ever meeting,’ he admits, softly. He finds it hard to believe that he could have met Gao Yingjie and not have remembered him, not when he’d made his breath hitch at first sight today.
‘We met at the training camps sign-up event,’ Gao Yingjie says. ‘I was volunteering at Tiny Herb’s table. I took your paperwork. You— you were so kind and you smiled like—’ He stops. ‘I noticed you, Yifan.’
‘Oh.’ Qiao Yifan smiles, a little ruefully. ‘I— don’t really remember anything from that event. I was so stressed and so hyped and I just— I don’t think I’d have noticed if every All Star had turned up, to be honest.’ He thinks for a moment and then adds, hushed and truthful, ‘On a normal day, I know I’d have noticed you. When I saw you, today, I— Yingjie, I saw you and all I wanted to do was say hi. I was so glad my date was you. I was so glad I’d agreed to this whole thing. I’m even gladder, after spending time with you.’
Gao Yingjie looks up. His lips part. He sways a little between Qiao Yifan and the wall. ‘I memorised your name,’ he admits, shamefaced. ‘Back then. I read it on the sign-up form and I— I memorised it. I know I shouldn’t have, but— I did. I’d hoped you’d come to Tiny Herb and then I could… but I found out later that you’d signed with Royal Style. I saw your name on their reserve list, you know. And then I saw you, when you filled in on the main team not that long ago.’ He’s really looking at Qiao Yifan, now. His gaze is bright and fierce. ‘Your Ghostblade is amazing, Yifan. You— you’re amazing.’
Qiao Yifan flushes, but Gao Yingjie has not finished talking.
‘I should have told you, right at the start. Or at least on the Lake. I really didn’t have any ruined plans. It really is just because she mentioned your name when I was in the middle of saying I wasn’t interested in dating and I— changed my mind. I didn’t want a date, but I wanted a date with you. I wanted it to be you. The boy I saw at the training camps sign-ups. The boy I saw play for Royal Style.’
The snow is growing louder on the umbrella.
Qiao Yifan stares at Gao Yingjie. His eyes are so dark. There is hot chocolate above his upper lip.
Qiao Yifan pulls off a glove and reaches out; he wipes the chocolate away with his fingertip.
Gao Yingjie trembles.
‘I don’t— I don’t do this,’ Qiao Yifan says, fingers on Gao Yingjie’s face. ‘And I know that sounds like a line but you can ask Mingxuan and she’ll tell you that I truly don’t do this and I— Yingjie, I’d really like to kiss you now. If you’d like that.’
The snow falls harder. Even beneath the shade of the umbrella, the snowflakes are bright in Gao Yingjie’s curls where they bounce out from beneath his beanie. They are on his cheeks, on his nose, on his lashes; they are melting where they touch his skin. He is looking at Qiao Yifan so silently that Qiao Yifan fears he has made a terrible mistake. Then Gao Yingjie is placing the thermos in his backpack and is letting go of Qiao Yifan’s hand; is letting to go wind his arms around Qiao Yifan’s neck; is leaning over and in, and his lips are cold and dry like Qiao Yifan’s, but his mouth, when he opens it, is hot and wet. Gao Yingjie’s kissing is awkward, is inexperienced; Qiao Yifan doesn’t care. He tastes like chocolate and eagerness, when Qiao Yifan shivers and kisses deeper, kisses warmer, his own mouth open, licking gently in.
The cold has faded into the background, has become irrelevant, nothing but warmth between the two of them, and Qiao Yifan sighs when he pulls away, sighs and then sways back in, a chaste kiss brushing against where his mouth has just left.
Gao Yingjie’s tongue darts out and touches at his own lips, as though chasing after Qiao Yifan. Embarrassed, he lets out a small sound and buries his face in Qiao Yifan’s golden scarf.
Qiao Yifan tilts the umbrella so they’re even harder to see from the footpath. ‘I’m really glad you said yes because you’d noticed me, because you’d remembered me,’ he whispers. ‘I’m really glad I got a second chance to notice you, too.’
Gao Yingjie raises his head again; he looks at him with eyes unfairly full of feelings.
Qiao Yifan really should be scared, he thinks. To be looked at like that. He leans in for their second kiss, instead, still hidden from the world behind the umbrella. He slides his free hand up beneath Gao Yingjie’s coat and splays his fingers across the warmth of Gao Yingjie’s waist. His heart pounds at touching beneath his clothes, even if he’s above other clothes, too; his heart pounds at the way their mouths fit together, Gao Yingjie following his lead and then sucking at his bottom lip experimentally.
Gao Yingjie is, indeed, he is now absolutely certain, a very quick study.
Gao Yingjie has his hands in Qiao Yifan’s hair, has them knitted together for all the world like he wants to hang on and not let go.
They only part — slowly, unwillingly — at the sound of their bus rumbling to a halt.
Qiao Yifan lowers the umbrella. He shakes it out and folds it small and blushes at the backs of the other people waiting. He and Gao Yingjie file on last and sit, perfectly politely, entirely respectably, next to each other.
It’s Gao Yingjie who asks, very softly, pressing their arms together from shoulder to elbow, if they could exchange contact details.
Qiao Yifan presses their legs together from hip to knee and reads out his QQ number, low and hushed for only Gao Yingjie to hear.
They part ways when they reach the point where Gao Yingjie needs to veer north-east and Qiao Yifan needs to head south. Qiao Yifan leaves first. Gao Yingjie’s hand darts out and grabs at him as he stands; they just look at each other, and then Qiao Yifan grins and says, ‘Message me,’ and hurries out and onto the footpath.
He has to tug his coat tighter around himself the minute he hits the weather, but he does not get his umbrella back out until after he has waved the bus out of sight.
His phone buzzes in his pocket before he’s even finished opening the umbrella.
Gao Yingjie’s face, a shaky selfie taken in the dark of the bus, is all smiles.