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Guan Shan has started sneezing around He Tian.
He doesn’t really notice it in the beginning. There was no way for him to know what was causing it. At least not at first.
“Take some medication,” his mom tells him when he comes home from school in a particularly violent sneezing fit that makes his eyes water. “I can grab some Benadryl on my way home today.”
But Benadryl always makes him tired and he’s fallen behind on schoolwork recently, so he settles with splashing some cold water on his face and blowing his nose and that’s that. Except it’s not so easy to solve at school. Classmates start giving him disgusted looks after a lunch break spent with three idiots, when his nose is runny and his eyes are red in the corners from itching. He gives them the same response he did when He Tian had gifted him the guitar and no one could mind their fucking business: a deft middle finger, punctuated by a sharp sniff of his stuffy nose. They usually leave him alone after that.
Jian Yi, on the other hand, gives him shit for it every day.
“Are you dying?” the boy asks when Guan Shan has to pause in their pick-up game to wipe his nose on the inside of his shirt. “That’s gross. Ew. Is it a disease?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Guan Shan tells him. “Just allergies. Annoyin’ as hell. Now hurry up and pass the ball, dumbass.”
Jian Yi clutches the basketball to his chest like a child. “No way, Snot Fingers. I’m not trying to die from unknown causes.”
“The cause won’t be so fuckin’ unknown if I don’t have that ball in my hands in three seconds,” Guan Shan growls. The threat seems to work, Jian Yi beginning to pout — but then it’s all ruined by a sneeze. Then two. Then three. Guan Shan swears under his breath when the fit passes, swiping unbidden tears from the corners of his eyes.
“Maybe you should get that checked out,” Zheng Xi offers from where he and He Tian sit on the sidelines, taking a water break. “Sounds like it hurts.”
“It doesn’t hurt, it’s just fuckin’ annoyin’,” Guan Shan reiterates. “You idiots act like you’ve never heard of allergies before.”
“I’m allergic to peanuts,” Jian Yi offers happily, like it matters. “But it’s more of the I’ll-die-if-I-eat-too-many type of allergy and not the sneezy, zombie-eyes type of allergy.”
Guan Shan gives him a sharp look. “Note taken,” he says, vaguely menacing, and while Jian Yi reflects on his mistake of oversharing Guan Shan spares a glance at He Tian.
He can’t help the low twist in his stomach; the same feeling he’s had for about a week now, ever since the day he’d gotten the guitar. Something has been off about He Tian since then. He’d be damned if he allowed himself to think about it too long, but he can’t help to ponder it in moments like these. He Tian’s water bottle is still open, dripping onto the concrete from where it’s loosely held in his palm. He’s looking at the empty space between his bent legs, elbows resting atop his knees, sweat-damp fringe falling into his eyes.
Guan Shan has never been able to read He Tian at the best of times; the guy’s everyday smile can derive from bloodlust or adoration, and sometimes it’s scary how similar each expression can be. But recently, it’s more than that. It’s the way He Tian hasn’t been eating much at lunch, offering most of his side dishes to Guan Shan even though he knows it’ll be rejected, and the way Guan Shan received a text from him at four a.m. on a school night (Mo-gege, stop appearing in my dreams~~ you’re too distracting~~). It’s the way He Tian’s jaw had tightened when they were walking together after school and Guan Shan pointed out a black sudan with tinted windows that had been following them for a block, and how He Tian had hesitated before telling Guan Shan to text him later (he didn’t) before tensely stalking off to confront the car alone.
It’s the way that, right now, He Tian is sitting next to Zheng Xi on the warming concrete taking a break and staring at fucking nothing when Guan Shan is still playing and lingering around even though his shift starts in half an hour. Half an hour. As in, Guan Shan should’ve left fifteen minutes ago. As in, Guan Shan doesn’t know why he’s still here or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit it to himself but he thought maybe, maybe He Tian would’ve figured it out by now.
(Besides, Guan Shan can’t remember the last time he played without feeling He Tian’s wide palm on his shoulder, his elbow, cuffing his ear, tugging his curls. Somehow it’s more distracting without He Tian hanging over him. How the hell is that even a thing?)
“... for that kind of stuff,” Zheng Xi is saying and Guan Shan looks away from He Tian to find the brunette looking at him. “You should consider that.”
“Uh huh,” Guan Shan mutters and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. He doesn’t have a damn clue what he was just told to do, but sixteen years of detention (or the equivalent) have taught him that if he just agrees, the conversation will end quicker. Hopefully it wasn’t important.
“Anyway,” Jian Yi chirps, and Guan Shan turns just in time to catch the basketball thrown at his face. “If I die, I die. Oh well! Let’s play again, Redhead!”
Simmering irritation and a need for an outlet makes Guan Shan agree. A 1v1 against Jian Yi was never particularly hard but today Guan Shan feels fueled, sidestepping the blond’s fumbling footwork to put up a third basket. As Jian Yi grumbles about cheating and fouls as he chases after the ball, Guan Shan turns as He Tian— well, as He Tian finally moves. Because apparently that’s the fucking standard they’re at now. He Tian moving = He Tian acting like a goddamn human being again = Guan Shan being hyperaware of his every motion as if his life depends on it.
It’s fucking ridiculous, how much Guan Shan cares.
This time, He Tian moves to pick up his phone from the grass and peer at the screen.
“Little Mo, you’ll be late for your shift today,” he says, waving his phone screen toward Guan Shan. His voice is neutral; normal, even, if both of them didn’t know better by now. “Auntie will be angry again if she finds out it was me who distracted you.”
Funny. Guan Shan wants to curl his upper lip and ask how it could be possible for He Tian to distract him when all he’s been doing is sitting on his ass the entire game, but Guan Shan already knows how it’s possible because somehow he has been distracted by He Tian the entire game. “Like hell I’d ever bring up your name in front of her again,” he says instead, walking toward his bag which is unfortunately close to He Tian. “She still watches over my fuckin’ shoulder every time I have to peel the mangos, you know.”
He Tian huffs at this, leaning back on his palms. Zheng Xi has dutifully gotten up to join Jian Yi on the court in Guan Shan’s absence, and so Guan Shan has to try very hard not to look at He Tian as he stuffs his water bottle and books into his backpack and shrugs on his jacket. As he straightens and slings the backpack over his shoulder, he finds He Tian already on his feet too, waiting.
“I don’t need a fuckin’ escort,” Guan Shan mutters as he begins to walk. He Tian falls into an easy stride beside to him.
“I was going to head home soon anyway,” says He Tian.
Guan Shan scowls. “You live in the other direction, idiot.”
He sees the smile from the corner of his eye: a small, smirk-like thing, shameless and pleased but tense. “Guilty,” He Tian says. “What’s the point of me staying when you’re not there?”
Guan Shan shuts his mouth, not trusting himself to respond sensibly to that. But luckily he doesn’t have to because all of a sudden there’s a sharp tickle in his nose and he sneezes so hard that it hurts the back of his throat. It’s followed by another, and another, and another, and another — and eventually Guan Shan stops walking altogether, mouth buried in the crook of his elbow as he endures it. After a while it passes, and through a thin wet blur he sees He Tian watching him, expression caught somewhere between amusement and surprise.
“You know, they say that sneezing a lot means you’re on someone’s mind.”
“Yeah?” Guan Shan says a bit drily, sniffing hard. “Then what a fuckin’ shame.”
He Tian watches him. “For you?”
“For the bastard unfortunate enough to have gotten me on their mind,” Guan Shan answers, walking again. He hates how nasally and gross his voice sounds, and the back of his throat feels sore. “If someone’s thinkin’ of me this fuckin’ much, it can’t be good news for either of us. Trust me.”
“Ah,” He Tian says, and then nothing more. They don’t speak for another ten minutes which Guan Shan tries hard to ignore, and when He Tian waves him goodbye when they arrive at the convenience store, Guan Shan stands there and watches him go until his tall figure disappears into the crowd.
///
“What the fuck,” Guan Shan mutters, rearranging his fingers on the strings. He hits the laptop’s spacebar to pause the YouTube video and shifts the guitar’s weight on his lap. The woman on the screen talks too goddamn fast for a video titled A Beginner’s Guide to Guitar: Play with me! and the pads of his fingertips are starting to hurt from the bite of the strings. He tries strumming a trio of G major chords again — quietly, because the walls of his apartment are thin — and winces as it comes out sounding strange. If he were more confident he’d say that the guitar isn’t tuned correctly — but then again, he honestly has no fucking clue what he’s doing.
Giving up, Guan Shan rests the guitar against the wall and leans back, sprawled atop his mattress. It’s nearly dinner time and his mother hasn’t returned from work yet, working a late shift. Guan Shan, on the other hand, had been released from his shift an hour and a half early because his manager took one look at his puffy eyes and leaking nose and didn’t believe him when he said he wasn’t sick, just— you know. Allergies. So she put him in the back room and away from the customers, breaking down boxes and labeling packages for the entire afternoon. It was boring.
Now, Guan Shan touches his fingers to his throat. It still feels a bit raw but not as much as his nose, red and chafing from all the rubbing and blowing. Luckily his body has seemed to pull it together since he got home, and Guan Shan sighs. This is more tiring than he thought it’d be. He’s never been affected by allergy season — though he heard, once, that his father is a tragic victim to pollen every spring. So… maybe it’s genetic? A late-bloomer kind of thing. Is that how it works? He doesn’t know what else it could be.
Guan Shan sits up. He should just bite the bullet and get some medication. Just some over-the-counter pills to hold him together until… well, he sure as shit isn’t going to waste time and money going to see a doctor, so the convenience store medication better work fucking wonders for the rest of the season. If not, then at least he can say he tried.
He gets up, sidestepping the homework and books strewn on the floor, grabbing his wallet, his phone, his jacket— and then something flutters by his feet. Guan Shan pauses before reaching down to pick up the photo. A corner is creased, only slightly, and he smoothes it over with a thumb as He Tian grins back at him. He doesn’t look at himself because he hates looking at pictures of himself, but then that only leaves He Tian for Guan Shan to look at and he doesn’t know why it feels so goddamn weird to do that, too. He Tian gave it to him; obviously the photo is meant to be looked at. Guan Shan had told himself that he was going to toss the photo as soon as he got home because he couldn’t accept both the guitar and the photo. He didn’t know why he couldn’t, but he couldn’t. It seemed logical at the time. Still kinda does. Except here it is, in his palm and very much Not In The Trash Can, and Guan Shan wonders where he should put it.
Put it next to that stupid note you kept that he gave you weeks ago, a snide voice sneers in his head. Guan Shan scowls and shrugs on his jacket, movements jerky. The photo is left on the edge of his desk face-down. He shuts his bedroom door behind him.
///
Guan Shan wipes the bottom of his wet shoes on the store’s welcome mat before going inside because he knows how much of a bitch it is to mop mud off the tile floors. He hadn’t even realized it had rained today until he stepped outside and was greeted with wet concrete and that particular rain smell. It was probably only a drizzle, but it was enough to leave a dreary gray sky over the city.
Now, he walks inside. It always feels odd visiting his workplace during his off-hours. Almost as if he’s guilty for, like, not working. It’s strange but he doesn’t really have a choice because this place is the closest to his home and besides, he gets a discount. He finds what he needs quickly (apparently they sell a non-drowsy Benadryl rip-off brand, so that’s convenient) and heads to checkout. There are no employees working the counter so he’s considering just checking himself out when the backroom door opens and his manager appears, carrying a box of apples.
“Ah, Guan Shan!” she says, setting down the box. She looks him over. “What are you doing here? I thought I just told you to go home and get some rest!”
“Auntie, I’m okay,” he assures her. “Look— my eyes are normal.” He shakes the pill bottle. “I just wanted some meds so that it doesn’t happen again.”
“Aish,” she replies, shaking her head. But she takes the bottle from him nonetheless and rings him up, tapping on the register. “You kids will be the death of me. Never listening, running around on your own. What does your mother say? I’m already lacking in employees, you know? I’m being worked to the bone all alone in here!”
Guan Shan thinks to remind her that she was the one who sent him home early when he told her he was fine, but he decides against it. “Yes, Auntie. I’ll be fine for my next shift, okay?”
“Aish!” she sighs again, sharp. “A troublemaker, you are. Bringing all your troublemaking friends over here, too. Aish. Making my heart go weak, the lot of you.”
Guan Shan frowns as he hands her his payment. “Friends?”
“Yes, yes! That tall handsome one was just in here, you know. Thought he was shoplifting, what with all the wandering around he was doing!”
Guan Shan goes still as she begins calculating his change. Continuing, his manager says, “He only bought a microwave meal and soda. A big person like him shouldn’t be eating that kind of stuff. Don’t tell him that, though. I want to keep making sales. But aish, Mo Guan Shan, you ought to find friends with better manners. He tracked all kinds of mud and dirt across the store, I had to sweep up—”
“When was he here?” Guan Shan asks, jolted into sensibility again.
She gives him a warning look, ruffled by the interruption. “Only a while ago,” she answers. “Nearly came in right before you. Business has been so slow; I wouldn’t mind if he became a regular. Other than the mud, he’s a very kind boy.”
“Ah,” Guan Shan stutters, not knowing what to say. He swipes the pill bottle off the counter and pockets it. “Keep the change, Auntie,” he says, heading for the doors. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”
She calls something after him, probably a reprimand, but her words are lost in the chime of the welcome bell as he swings open the door. But he pauses as soon as he’s on the sidewalk. There’s a low feeling in his stomach as he considers his options: left or right. Going left would lead him towards the school, the park, the theatre. Going right would take him downtown, to the outlets, to—
Oh.
Guan Shan goes right. His pace is quickened but not quite running, and for a moment he wonders what the hell he’s doing. He’s never been the best with gut feelings; life or fate or god(s) or whatever the hell you want to call it usually has a thing for doing the exact opposite of what he expects, just for the hell of it. It keeps him on his toes. It keeps him mistrustful, even of himself. But despite the universe’s best efforts, there’s just no mistaking some signs.
Some gut feelings are just too—
4:16 AM
Mo-gege, stop appearing in my dreams~~
you’re too distracting~~
4:18 AM
I miss you, Little Mo. Have lunch with me tomorrow.
4:18 AM
Sweet dreams~
///
Guan Shan hears it before he sees it. The ring of metal against metal; footsteps falling heavy on asphalt. It’s tucked in the corner of some suburban-esque neighborhood, right next to the public children’s park. They left a ball in the far bushes, too lazy and irresponsible to remember to bring one with them every time they wanted to play on the weekends. It’s Guan Shan’s basketball, actually, one that he got for some birthday as a kid. No one has stolen it yet so they decided to just keep it there. Thank fuck for that.
The court sits atop a small grassy hill. It’s a slick walk, what with the rain dampening the soil and grass blades, but Guan Shan makes do. The wind nips at his cheeks as he approaches the figure outlined by the deepening sky. He Tian is making lazy shots; a half-half chance of the ball actually going in the basket. It sounds loud when it bounces against the empty court, small echoes in the evening, and He Tian moves slow to recover it every time it ricochets off the rim. Guan Shan is sure to stay in his line of sight as he comes near, and although He Tian doesn’t show any sign of acknowledging him, Guan Shan knows he sees him.
Guan Shan tries not to think too much about it when he steps over a plastic bag (presumably the microwave meal) and He Tian’s black backpack at the edge of the court. The backpack, he realizes on passing glance, is wet. As if it had sat out in the rain.
“No shift today?” He Tian asks as he recovers the ball. He throws it back up as soon as he has it again. Guan Shan is a bit startled that he talks first. Even more surprised that he doesn’t ask how Guan Shan found him. Are they both really that predictable?
“I did,” Guan Shan answers. “I mean, I had work. I went in but got sent home early.”
The basketball sinks through the hoop, net swishing quietly like a whisper. He Tian doesn’t respond; only dribbles the ball back into his control.
“You thought I was still workin’,” Guan Shan says. Guesses. Always a guess.
“I went in,” says He Tian, “and you weren’t there.”
“Did you need somethin’?”
“No. Just shopping.”
“You don’t just shop.”
“Really?”
There’s a certain edge to He Tian’s voice. Something small and unseeable but dangerous, like the micro-shards of glass after a cup is dropped. Guan Shan, in his reasonable defense, mistakes it for anger.
“What, you think I lied to you about my shift?” he asks.
“You weren’t there.” The ball trembles the backboard.
"You walked me there."
"I did."
Guan Shan looks around a bit. He’s not sure what he’s searching for. “These allergies have been a pain in my ass. I left early because apparently I looked like shit, and I went back to find some meds and heard that you bought frozen food. You have a market right next to your apartment.”
“Hm,” He Tian says. He spins the ball in his palm, smooth. “Guess I needed a walk?”
“You’re… wet.”
It’s true. At first glance one might think the dampness clinging He Tian’s hair to his face and neck is sweat, but Guan Shan has been watching the kind of effort the guy has been putting into these free throws and he’s not impressed. Besides, the sleeves of He Tian’s shirt are flat against his skin, his sweatpants a shade darker than usual and sticking together every time he takes a step. He’s soaked from head to toe. And, honestly, it looks like he doesn’t even notice.
“It rained over an hour ago,” Guan Shan continues when no response is forthcoming. “It’s only, like, a twenty minute walk from your place to my convenience store.”
Finally, He Tian looks at him. Guan Shan isn’t sure what he sees there, lurking in the narrow of his eyes like creatures’ shadows beneath the surface of the ocean. He wonders where he should categorize this expression in the catalog: bloodlust or adoration?
“So smart, Little Mo,” He Tian says. “Look at you. Thinking it through, piecing it all together. If the teachers knew, they’d be shellshocked.”
“I have more important shit to put my energy into than fuckin’ algebra homework.”
“Like?”
He’ll look so fucking stupid if he doesn’t have an answer, so instead of succumbing to silence, Guan Shan says the first thing that tumbles into his head.
“Guitar.”
He Tian pauses. Then he tilts his head. Bounces the ball: once, twice.
“You’ll be good at it,” he tells him, and Guan Shan’s chest tightens. “You’ve always had that kind of emotion in you. I mean, I know fuck-all about music, but I know that people say the musician is just as much an instrument as the instrument itself.”
It’s strangely poetic and strangely eerie coming from He Tian’s mouth. Guan Shan shifts on his feet, fiddling with the pill bottle in his pocket.
“I tried playin’ it today,” he says. “And, uh, other days too. I can’t— I mean, I’ve tried watchin’ some tutorial videos and shit, and—” Why does this feel so fucking embarrasing? “—there’s a lot of basic chords I can’t play. And I’ll have to learn how to read music and count beats and shit.” He wipes his hands on the sides of his pants. “Basically I’m sayin’ I’m horrible right now.”
He Tian ducks his chin. “Well, it’s part of the process.”
“It takes fuckin’ forever,” Guan Shan mutters. “‘Self-taught’ sounds real great in theory until your ass starts to hurt because you’ve been sittin’ in the same position for three fuckin’ hours and you still can’t even play children’s songs.”
He Tian huffs. He turns, bouncing the basketball in preparation. “It is hard,” he says. “But it’ll be worth it. I’ll teach you.”
Guan Shan frowns. What is he implying? Because there’s no fucking way he— that he—
“Teach me?”
“Of course,” He Tian says. “My only price is that you remember every single song I teach you. Every note. Deal, Little Mo?”
Guan Shan doesn’t respond. The ball flies through the air. It taps the rim, circles around once, falls through the net. It seems to linger in the space between the hoop and the ground, plummeting silently. He Tian catches it on the second bounce and Guan Shan holds up a hand.
“Pass it,” he says when he catches He Tian’s eye as the latter lines up for another shot. “Let’s play.”
He Tian looks him over. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You were shit earlier.”
He Tian chuckles. “I wasn’t even playing.”
Guan Shan jerks his chin, rolling up his sleeves. “Pass the ball.”
He Tian does. It hits Guan Shan’s palm with a little more force than necessary, but Guan Shan chooses to turn his words into actions. They move into their respective positions on the court, the ones they’re both familiar with. In another day, in another timeline, they’ve collapsed in the grass, sticky skin and heaving chests pressed together and He Tian’s hands curled into fists next to Guan Shan’s head as he pins him. But right now Guan Shan frowns when he meets He Tian’s eye. That was a lifetime ago. He dribbles once, twice, then presses forward.
At first, they play how they always do. He Tian isn’t aggressive but he uses his height advantage in a way that makes it feel aggressive, and Guan Shan spends most of his energy trying to escape the warm press of He Tian’s body against his back. They move like that, not talking, breath quickening, muttered curses breaking the silence when someone puts up a basket and either fails or succeeds. The air gets cooler with the rising night, burning their lungs, and it’s only then when Guan Shan starts to question the nature of this game when he throws up a risky lay-up and it somehow makes it into the basket, unhindered. He collects the following rebound just as easily — too easily — and Guan Shan looks over his shoulder when he notices the lack of warmth at his side.
From a few feet away He Tian is looking back at him, breathing maybe a little too hard for how little time they’ve been playing, hands loosely resting on his hips. He looks a bit… weathered. Like an opponent playing a losing match, except Guan Shan didn’t really think this was that serious. Isn’t this game just for the hell of it? Just because they can? But maybe— maybe it isn’t, because He Tian barely ate any lunch today and Guan Shan had heard that he came to second period late (the girls swore they could still see pillow marks on his face) and because there’s a frozen microwaveable meal melting in a plastic bag on the side of the court and, fuck, is Guan Shan the asshole for playing basketball with him as if everything is okay? As if Guan Shan hadn’t flushed red when his mother’s eyes widened at the guitar case strapped on his back when he came home that day? As if He Tian hasn’t memorized his work schedule and walks through the pouring rain to visit him during his shift?
(Does there always have to be someone to blame?)
“Come on, Mo-gege, we’re not done yet,” He Tian says. Guan Shan only looks at him. Their breathing sounds loud between them, and a flock of silhouetted birds flies overhead, cutting through the pastel sky. “Guan Shan?”
Look at him, Guan Shan tells himself, scanning the increasingly serious look spreading over He Tian’s face. Look at him and understand. Read him like he reads you. Look at him and see through it. See through it. See...
“Mo Guan Shan,” He Tian says. He’s close enough now that he can take the ball from Guan Shan’s hands, and Guan Shan’s arms drop to his sides now that they have no use. The basketball is tucked under He Tian’s arm, held at his waist as he regards Guan Shan carefully. “Are you sick?”
“No,” Guan Shan snaps, slapping away He Tian’s hand as it was raising up to— to do something. “I’m tired of people askin’ me if I’m fuckin’ sick. I’m not sick.”
“Okay,” He Tian says. “Do you... wanna keep playing?”
They’re close— like really close, only a foot or two away from one another. And maybe that’s the normal distance between two normal people having a normal conversation, but Guan Shan is starting to believe he’s prone to overthinking when it’s just the two of them. This isn’t normal. The way He Tian has been acting recently isn’t normal.
“Tell me,” Guan Shan says, quiet.
He Tian’s eyes flicker down his face. “Tell you what?” he asks, low.
“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Guan Shan seethes, glaring up at him. “But there’s somethin’ you’re not tellin’ me. I'm not stupid. And now Zhan Zheng Xi and Jian Yi aren’t here and we’re alone and— isn’t this how it usually works for us? Fuckin’— closed doors and shit?”
He Tian looks at Guan Shan like there's something wrong with him. "Closed doors," he repeats.
"You know what I mean," Guan Shan spits. His jaw tightens until it hurts, and a sudden realization makes his chest ache. “Or is it always just goin’ to be me? Is that what you want?" He swallows hard. "To get a goddamn foothold on me and all my shitty baggage and give nothin’ in return?”
If you can withstand the pain, I'll consider letting you go.
Silence. "That... is not at all what I—"
"Then how am I supposed to know that?" Guan Shan demands.
Something flashes across He Tian’s face. Guan Shan won’t know what it is until later, when he’s lying in bed and watching the clock move forward without him. And it’s not so difficult to figure out, he eventually comes to learn. Actually, the signs are stupidly clear. But at the time — now — all of Guan Shan’s senses are narrowed down to two things and two things only:
- The basketball dropping and rolling away, and
- He Tian stepping into his space, breathing his air and making Guan Shan choke.
Luckily, Guan Shan’s body knows itself better than he does. His palm immediately comes up to press back against He Tian’s chest, keeping him away, but he doesn’t step back. So they stand there, nearly chest to chest, Guan Shan finding it impossible to swallow, He Tian making it impossible to focus.
“So smart,” He Tian murmurs, his voice a vibration, his face too close to clearly see. Guan Shan shakes his head and their noses brush with the action.
“You’re makin’ this fuckin’ difficult again,” he says, strained. “It doesn’t have to be like this. You’re bein’—”
“Is that you telling me no?” He Tian asks. The question makes everything inside Guan Shan jolt like a bolt of electricity in his veins.
He shudders against He Tian’s breath, lets his mouth part, and answers: “No.”
He Tian kisses him.
It’s rough and crushing and painfully aching. Guan Shan falls back a step and grips the collar of He Tian’s damp t-shirt to steady himself, a high-strung feeling of panic beginning to rise in his chest. But it’s smothered by the feeling of He Tian’s hand on his neck, his jaw, pulling Guan Shan into him like something natural. A grounding weight settles on the small of his back, supporting his balance as He Tian kisses all coherent fucking thoughts right out of him. And Guan Shan likes it.
He Tian’s wet hair feels cold against Guan Shan’s forehead as they work their mouths against each other, mapping out uncharted territory. Again and again and again. Long, devilish fingers work their way into the base of Guan Shan’s neck, tugging at the wispy strands of hair, and He Tian takes advantage of Guan Shan’s small, open-mouthed exhale to deepen the kiss in a way that they did and didn’t have before. Because before, Guan Shan didn’t feel surrounded by He Tian. Not like this. And before, Guan Shan didn’t tilt his head so that they could slot their mouths more perfectly against one another, his hand running through the clumped strands of He Tian’s hair, his throat making a small sound when He Tian nips gently at his bottom lip. They didn’t have this kind of kiss before because they didn’t have this before — guitars and handwritten notes and video calls and shared lunches and hospital bills — and Guan Shan shudders when one of He Tian’s fingers on his waist presses into sensitive skin, the hand on his neck massaging quietly into the muscles there.
Time is indeterminable, lost in each other. Guan Shan gently rakes his nails down He Tian’s scalp (savoring the low noise He Tian makes deep in his chest) before pulling back, lips feeling full and wet. He Tian tries to follow him, chasing his mouth, but Guan Shan stops him with a press on his chest, collarbone, higher. Breathing unsteady, he dares to look into He Tian’s eyes and finds naked hunger, but also something defenseless. Yearning.
“Closed doors,” Guan Shan mumbles against him, and He Tian shakes his head, running the pad of his thumb along his jawline.
“I don’t want you to think it’s like that,” He Tian says. “I don’t want it to be like that.”
Guan Shan’s eyes flutter shut as He Tian leans down to press his lips to his cheek, his ear, the underside of his jaw. Small actions that he didn’t know he was capable of. Small openings that he didn’t think he’d be able to take in stride.
“Then fuckin’ tell me, He Tian,” he says, moving his head away. If he’d stayed still he would’ve let He Tian keep doing whatever he wanted. Neither of them can afford that right now.
He Tian sighs, barely audible. He pulls back to look at Guan Shan and his expression is earnest.
“I can’t tell you right now,” he says, and he doesn't let Guan Shan look away when the latter scoffs in disbelief. “But I will once I figure it out. Because I will figure it out. It might just… take some time. And a lot of phone calls. Family reunion type shit, but without all the happy feelings.”
Guan Shan lets his hand fall to He Tian’s shoulder. “Your brother?” he asks, recalling the dark stature of the man.
“My father,” He Tian says, “among other things. Things that I thought were…”
Late evening has set in. Guan Shan can hardly see He Tian with the last few precious moments of sunlight, the automatic streetlights flickering on one by one, but he can tell his eyes are closed, shut against the pain of something unseen and unspoken. Guan Shan only hesitates for a moment before he leans forward to press his lips to the side of He Tian’s mouth, and then those dark eyes slide open again.
“Savor that,” Guan Shan tells him. “Because you won’t be gettin’ anythin’ more until I have my answer.”
He Tian huffs a laugh. The hand on Guan Shan’s neck reaches up to grab Guan Shan’s wrist, and He Tian presses a kiss to the inside of his palm. “That’s really unfair, Mo-gege,” he says lowly into his skin, and Guan Shan tries to ignore the warmth in his ears, the twinge in his chest. He plays it off with a shrug.
“It’s only fair in my opinion, and besides, I don’t—”
Guan Shan’s eyes suddenly sting as an overwhelming urge overcomes him. He steps back just in time to avoid spraying He Tian’s face with spit, the sneeze racketing throughout his entire body. It’s followed by another one that makes his already-sore throat flare, and Guan Shan has to wave away He Tian mid-sneeze as the latter tries to reach for him.
“Fuck,” Guan Shan spits before another violent sneeze shuts him up. “God, fuck, I—”
“Here,” He Tian says, and Guan Shan opens his watery eyes to see a small hand towel dangling in front of him.
“What the fuck,” Guan Shan says as he takes it. As expected, it's one of the softest and probably needlessly expensive hand towels he's ever held in his life.
“I keep it in my bag for emergency spills or something,” He Tian explains. “Just... keep it.”
Guan Shan grumbles before sneezing again, this time into the towel. It's kind of a shame. He starts to wipe his nose with it, grossed out by himself— when he notices something.
There, woven into the fibers of the cotton towel, is a small golden hair.
Guan Shan pulls it away from him. It would be more accurate to say that the little hairs are everywhere in the towel, embedded deep. If Guan Shan didn’t know better, he’d think…
Biting back another sneeze to the point of pain, Guan Shan suddenly grabs He Tian by the shirt, pulling him towards him. Sure enough, on closer glance, he sees even more of the hairs scattered across He Tian’s shirt, nearly translucent but definitely there. There’s no goddamn way.
“Is this fuckin’ fur?” Guan Shan asks, incredulous. He Tian only looks confused for a moment before he looks down at himself. And then, slowly, the bastard begins to smile.
“I— wow,” He Tian says. He laughs. “Mo Guan Shan, you’re allergic to dogs?”
“Dogs?” Guan Shan nearly yells, shoving He Tian away as if he'd burned him. “Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me right now? Yes, I’m allergic to fuckin’ fur, you idiot! I’ve been sneezin’ all week like this because of you?!”
“How could you be allergic?”
Guan Shan gives him a Look. “Are you seriously askin’ me that? You think I chose to be allergic? Trust me, I tried more than once to convince my parents to get me a dog when I was a kid but every fuckin’ time we went to see a breeder, I nearly fuckin’ died!”
He Tian must find all of this absolutely hilarious because the laughter spills forth like bubbling water, simultaneously one of the best and worst things Guan Shan has ever heard. Guan Shan steps back when He Tian tries to come near him again, snarling.
“Abso-fuckin’-lutely not, asshole,” he growls. “This shit has been tormentin’ me for days now. And when did you get a fuckin’ dog anyway?”
“It’s a long story. She’s staying at my place for the meantime,” He Tian says, his smile fond. Adoration, Guan Shan thinks. Maybe he is getting better at this. The whole He Tian thing. “She likes to sleep on my laundry and bags, so I guess that explains a lot.”
“Yeah,” Guan Shan spits, swiping at his nose, “it does. Don’t touch me.”
“Awh, Guan Shan—” He reaches for him, grabby hands.
“No, I’m fuckin’ serious, He Tian! Don’t come near me! I’m goin’ home, fucker. You go home too and wash your damn clo— AH-CHOO! AH-CHOO! Stop fuckin’ laugh— AH-CHOO! Fuck you! Stay away from me, He Tian! AH-CHOO!”