Chapter Text
Wang Yibo shifts his feet minutely as the girl sitting across the table from him starts to cry. Just a curl of his toes, really. Enough to release a bit of his growing discomfort over the whole display, but not enough to make it look like he’s fidgeting or impatient for her to finish.
He’s long since lost the thread of what she’s upset about, something about a… well, he’s not sure anymore. Maybe a forgotten birthday, or an anniversary… or was it the text messages from the other woman? Or was that the girl from yesterday?
Honestly, at this point, it’s all blah blah blah in his head.
But he has to at least appear to care, so to feign attention, he stares at the smudge of mascara under her eye and tries not to visibly cringe at the loud and wet sniffles that make the other people in the coffee shop turn to look at their table.
Yibo imagines them tsk-tsking to themselves, at the way Yibo sits stiffly across from the crying girl, hands folded in his lap, staying silent apart from the occasional Mn. He hasn’t even bothered to order himself a coffee, the empty space in front of him yet another sign of how little Yibo has invested in this interaction.
Whatever. In another 23 minutes, it won’t be his problem anymore. He’ll never see them again. Or her, for that matter. When his time is up, he’ll stand up, bow to the girl — because it’s the polite thing to do — and make a hasty retreat for his next destination.
Yibo’s never been to this particular coffee shop before, and he has no plans to return. He came here only because the girl had paid him. 550 RMB (to be exact) to just sit quietly, listen to her, and not say or do anything. It’s the perfect job for Yibo because he hates small talk. He hates having to think of the polite, socially acceptable words to say for this or that topic. If it’s not LEGOs or motorcycle racing, who cares?
Yibo had started this gig on a lark, after his roommate Wenhan had read an article about a guy in Japan who was famous for being a rented companion.
“But isn’t that, like, illegal?” Yibo had asked over beers and takeout, when Wenhan told him he wanted to give it a try. “Like prostitution?”
“Oh my god, Yibo-yahh!” Wenhan had snorted, earning him a glare from Yibo (because there was no way Wenhan’s mind hadn’t gone to the same place). “Dude, there’s no sex involved! The guy gets paid to just sit there, hired by people who don’t want to be alone.”
And then Wenhan had turned to Yibo and grabbed him by the shoulders, his eyes lit with excitement and inspiration. “Bobo, this would be the perfect job for you — you wouldn’t have to touch them or even talk to them! You’d be the best rental dude!”
Yibo was skeptical, though. The idea of spending hours with strangers and listening to their problems didn’t appeal to him in the least. And it seemed too good to be true, to be paid to do literally nothing.
It also turned out to be a lot harder to do well than it appeared.
Wenhan was so sure it would be easy money, a painless way to supplement what they were being paid as dance instructors at a local studio. But after a couple of disastrous meetings where he couldn’t keep from laughing at exactly the wrong time, his reviews were so bad he stopped getting any bookings.
After Wenhan’s embarrassing stint (and after having a good, long laugh at his expense), Yibo’s more sensible roommate Yixuan decided to give it a try. Yixuan had much better results, but ended up quitting after only a half-dozen or so meetups because he wasn’t able to stop himself from caring about what the other person was saying. “It’s too hard not to want to offer advice,” he’d lamented, “and a few of the girls have been really pretty—”
Yibo rolled his eyes at Yixuan’s weakness for a beautiful face, but in his head, he was already setting up his own account. Watching his friends fail so miserably was just what he needed to stoke his competitive fire.
Fast forward a year and Wenhan was right: Yibo really is the best rental dude, easily the most sought-after rented companion in Beijing. No one is better at sitting with people and giving them absolutely nothing but his presence.
He goes by Tracer85 on his profile, a “cool guy” name he spent hours thinking up, but annoyingly, everyone just calls him Rental-Ge, probably because of that one blogger who’d interviewed him a few months into his new venture. Yibo decides he doesn’t care. He’s making more as Tracer85 than he ever did as a dance instructor, even with the unpredictable hours. So as long as he keeps getting hired, he can put up with the sadly generic nickname.
Demand for Yibo’s time was driven even higher by reports of his physical attractiveness, which spread like wildfire over social media (to Wenhan’s delight; he’ll never let Yibo live down the fawning Weibo posts). Predictably, Yibo started getting an annoying number of bookings by starry-eyed girls and boys alike, all looking for a handsome companion to make an ex jealous, or wanting to go on a romantic date someplace special, on the pretense of needing to process a broken heart.
There’s no good way to know ahead of time when it’s all a ruse, so Yibo will sometimes sit through an entire session with a client, only to have to endure a teary, embarrassing confession at the end of it all. It's always awkward when this happens, but at least Yibo feels no hesitation about slamming that door firmly shut.
The beauty of being Rental-Ge is that he can be politely cold and walk away at the end, because that is literally all he owes to anyone, to be remote and silent, to be nothing more than a blank slate for people’s feelings.
Still, to be absolutely sure that there’s no chance of anyone getting the wrong idea, Yibo instituted a rule that he’ll never take a second booking from anyone. No repeat customers. No follow-up engagements as a fake boyfriend or long-lost son or any number of requests he’s gotten after finishing a gig.
Even though Yibo came up with this rule to put an end to people catching feelings and booking him for dates, repeat meetings would also be antithetical to the service he’s providing. Having regular clients would give Yibo a connection to another person that would result in what his clients are trying to avoid in the first place: all the social burdens and expectations, the need to say the right words, the worries about the other person’s feelings.
It doesn’t hurt that these are all things he’d rather avoid too.
Undoubtedly he’s leaving money on the table by not cultivating a loyal client list, but Yibo is fine with the tradeoff. Beijing is a big city, and he doesn’t lack for business.
Yibo is busiest around China’s six Valentine’s Days. Six. He used to hate these holidays, the whole production of it: the ostentatious flower arrangements, the serenading, the gaudy gifts, the way that couples would smugly parade their happiness in public.
And yes, the badgering he would get from his parents over why he hadn’t met any nice girls yet.
Tracer85, however, loves all these couple’s days. For each annoyingly happy couple, there are several unhappy, uncoupled people willing to pay someone like Yibo to keep them from having to spend the day alone.
Today is Qixi, so he’s been booked solid all day. In addition to having to sit in the coffeeshop with the crying girl, he also visited a gravesite with an elderly widow and sat through a romantic movie with a middle-aged woman.
Yibo steps into a trendy sushi restaurant and situates himself by the bar, where he’s supposed to wait for his last client of the day. He’s exhausted from having to meet clients all over the city, and this final engagement is the only thing that stands between him and the blissful quiet of his room. Even though Yibo hasn’t had to make conversation with his clients, spending this much time around other people is still enormously draining for an introvert like him.
He checks his watch and is relieved to see that, despite running overtime for his last gig, he’s still ten minutes early. Being early is another thing that garners him glowing reviews, because it spares his clients from the creeping mortification of having to wait on someone.
Most of the time, he’s hired to help his clients work through a bad memory, to figuratively hold their hand through an awkward situation, or to just make sure they’re not alone. He’s learned that being there when they arrive is an important part of the service he provides.
“Tracer85?”
Yibo looks up and promptly chokes on his tongue at the sight of a tall and blindingly handsome man standing in front of him.
“Oh! Oh no, I’m so sorry!” Yibo hears the man exclaim as he coughs helplessly, his eyes starting to water as he struggles to catch his breath. A long arm brushes past Yibo’s shoulder to grab a napkin from the bar behind him, and he takes it gratefully.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” the man offers with an apologetic smile. The corners of his large, doe-like eyes crinkle appealingly and Yibo feels his heartbeat start to race.
“One - one sec—” Yibo chokes out, and turns away, burying his face in the napkin, in part to wipe the tears out of his eyes, but mostly to hide his embarrassing reaction to his new client.
What the fuck was that?
Yibo breathes steadily through the napkin for what seems like the longest, most excruciating minute, until the pulse pounding in his ears slows and he finds his voice again.
He straightens up and clears his throat, his face burning with annoyance that he’s already ruined his image as an impassive and cool presence. “I - I’m, uhh, Wa— I mean Tracer85, yes, that’s me,” he stammers, the tips of his ears surely glowing bright red. “S-sorry,” he adds lamely.
The man inclines his head kindly, one eyebrow raised in concern, and extends a hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Xiao Zhan.”
Yibo shakes Xiao Zhan’s hand, then chews on his bottom lip, anxiety rising in his chest as he racks his brain for what to say next. Did I already introduce myself? I did, didn’t I? Do I tell him he looks nice? He looks really nice. Yibo opens his mouth — and then remembers he’s not supposed to initiate any conversation. Xiao Zhan didn’t hire him to make small talk.
He closes his mouth again and gives Xiao Zhan a polite nod instead.
To Yibo’s dismay, Xiao Zhan has obviously taken note of Yibo’s awkwardness. “Ah, I guess I didn’t need to do that? Sorry, I don’t really know how this works,” Xiao Zhan says, waving his hand between them with a nervous giggle. It's adorable. “Listen,” he goes on, “thank you so much for taking me at the last minute. You - you must be really busy on Qixi, right?”
Yibo had been fully booked, but the person who had hired him for his last slot of the day dropped out suddenly, leaving Yibo fuming over getting a cancellation so late on one of his most lucrative days. “Yeah, but I—” Yibo starts, then catches himself before he blurts out how much he’s thanking the universe for this change in plans. He nods again.
“Sorry, sorry,” Xiao Zhan laughs, “I keep asking you questions, but I’m not really supposed to do that, ah?”
“Well—” Yibo says, shrugging a little sheepishly because it’s true. One of the things about the job that he loves the most is that he never feels obligated to engage in conversation. Tracer85 is getting paid good money to not talk to people — something that people are constantly telling Wang Yibo is rude and off-putting.
But if Xiao Zhan wants to talk to him, maybe get to know him, he could make an exception. Just this one time. Or really, as often as Xiao Zhan wants, just as long as he keeps smiling at Yibo. ”Actually,” Yibo offers, “if you want, I—”
“No, no, I get it, that’s not what you’re here for! I promise I won’t keep trying to make you talk to me,” Xiao Zhan assures him with a little wave of his hand, and Yibo feels unaccountably disappointed. “Right, we’ll get seated and I’ll do all the talking, I promise.”
“Waahh,” Xiao Zhan sighs once they’re at their table. “This was the most impossible reservation to make,” he tells Yibo, his eyes bright with excitement. Yibo looks around the restaurant, the chic finishings, the sharp, clean cut of the uniforms on the highly disciplined waitstaff. From the looks of it, dinner here would be far above what Yibo would be able to afford, and he finds himself wondering what Xiao Zhan must do for a living, to be able to enjoy a meal (for two!) at a restaurant like this.
“You know,” Xiao Zhan says, “I was so lucky to get a table and had been looking forward all month to trying the kaiseki tasting menu. Then Jingjing had this trip come up.” He stops and huffs out a little breath while he plays with the cuffs on his immaculate suit. “It’s always something.”
“I was going to just come here alone,” Xiao Zhan goes on. “I didn’t want to miss out on this experience I’d been looking forward to for so long, but then you know what happened? I was watching — well, there’s this idol I admire — and get this! He’s asked in an interview what advice he’d give to his fans for how not to be alone on Qixi, and the man had the audacity to say, 'how should I know?' and 'jiayou ba,'” Xiao Zhan says, throwing air quotes up, his fingers framing his incredulous face. “Like seriously, he just smiled and told us, his fans, to ‘try not to be alone.’ Can you believe that?”
Yibo snorts, despite himself. He quite admires the savage response, but Xiao Zhan seems offended by it, so he says nothing.
Xiao Zhan shakes his head. “I did try not to be alone, you smug bastard,” he mutters under his breath, and Yibo startles for a moment before he realizes Xiao Zhan is addressing his idol. “It’s not like I chose to be stood up!”
He looks up at Yibo and cocks his head. “Oh, you’re probably wondering why I didn’t invite a friend to dinner instead. Well, I couldn’t bring a friend because then I’d have to admit that my boyfriend had canceled on me—”
Yibo swallows, his mouth suddenly dry at the revelation that Xiao Zhan’s date was a boyfriend. This beautiful man likes men? Yibo straightens up in his seat, and dips his chin a little lower to give him a smoldering look but Xiao Zhan doesn't seem to notice as he goes on with his tale.
“—and, well, they’ve never liked him, and I just didn’t want to deal with my friends crowing all through dinner, I told you so and all that, you know? And even if they didn’t—” Xiao Zhan sighs deeply, “I wouldn’t want to be a burden on them, because who wants to sit through me whining about my bum boyfriend, especially after I’ve had a few cups of sake in me?”
To Yibo’s surprise, a voice in his head starts chanting Me, me, me, as if Yibo hadn’t just this morning wanted to flee from someone crying over a broken heart. Why does everything about Xiao Zhan make Yibo want to burrow close, to offer a comforting hug, to say something to make him smile?
“Yeah, the only person who’d put up with my heartbroken ass is someone I have to pay,” Xiao Zhan says with a rueful laugh, and something goes thunk in Yibo’s stomach at the reminder that he’s not Xiao Zhan’s friend or confidante. He’s just a warm body to him. The Rental-Ge.
Yibo frowns at the thought.
“Oh no,” Xiao Zhan says, bringing a pretty hand to his lips, “I didn’t mean any offense, of course! I appreciate what you’re doing. It can’t be easy to sit and listen to all this.”
Yibo shakes his head with a smile and holds his hands up to assure him that no offense had been taken, then gestures at Xiao Zhan to continue talking, which he does. As he talks, Yibo nods and says Mn at all the right times, but Xiao Zhan is right, it is hard to sit and listen to him. It’s not that it’s hard to listen to Xiao Zhan’s voice, because Yibo finds that he loves the beautiful music of it, the way the warmth of it feels in his chest.
No, what Yibo doesn’t like is what Xiao Zhan is saying because it makes Yibo’s shoulders tense up to hear Xiao Zhan talk about his bruised heart and how this guy keeps hurting him, making him feel unimportant because honestly HOW DARE HE— But wait, Yibo reminds himself… he doesn’t care, he really doesn’t. Xiao Zhan is just a client, and his client’s problems are not his problems.
Yibo shuffles in his seat and tries to let Xiao Zhan’s words wash over him and then retreat, like a gentle wave lapping at the shore. He can’t get caught up in the shitty things Xiao Zhan’s boyfriend says and does, so instead, Yibo drinks in the sight of him, his beautifully expressive eyes and the way they crinkle when he smiles, his delightfully animated way of talking, that little mole under his pretty lips.
Yibo watches silently as Xiao Zhan enjoys his food, making these pleased little noises that roll through Yibo like liquid heat. He’ll take a bite of sushi, and then his eyes will flutter shut, an expression of pleasure on his face that Yibo can’t take his gaze off of. He feels certain he could listen to Xiao Zhan talk about food all day, maybe get off on just watching him eat, on the sensual dart of his tongue over his lips, the way his mouth closes around his fingers as he licks them.
True to his word, Xiao Zhan’s polite restraint gives way with each cup of sake he throws back. “—Jingjing would be so mad if he saw me now,” Xiao Zhan giggles, turning the tiny cup over and over with his delicate fingers. “Sloppy drunk, he calls me. Says it’s - it’s embarrassing to be seen with me when - when I drink.” Xiao Zhan sets the cup down too loudly, reaches for the sake bottle, and upends it clumsily to refill his cup, dribbling alcohol onto the table. Yibo shoots his hand across the table to steady it.
Xiao Zhan startles at the touch of Yibo’s hand on his, and would surely have dropped the bottle but for Yibo’s firm grip over his hand. He takes the bottle from Xiao Zhan with his other hand and sets it on the table.
Yibo laughs to himself. Xiao Zhan is indeed a lightweight, and can’t hold his liquor, but “sloppy drunk” isn’t the phrase that comes to Yibo’s mind when he takes in Xiao Zhan’s blushy cheeks and sleepy eyes. Adorable, he’d say. Or maybe, I’d like to wrap you up in warm blankets and tuck you into bed.
But it’s not Yibo’s place to say these things. Instead, he grits his teeth in helpless frustration over the casually cruel things Xiao Zhan’s so-called boyfriend says to him. Why would anyone say such cutting words to such a lovely, beautiful man? And why does Xiao Zhan put up with it?
The waiter comes by to clear their dinner plates, then hands them each little printed cards of the dessert offerings. “Oh, oh, I shouldn’t,” Xiao Zhan protests, but Yibo sees the way his eyes light up, so he takes the cards and tells the waiter to give them a few minutes.
Xiao Zhan smiles gratefully as he studies the dessert list, worrying the edges of the card as he does. “Shhh,” Xiao Zhan says in a comically-loud whisper, even as he hunches over like he’s sharing a secret, one finger pressed to his shapely lips, “promise you won’t tell Jingjing, but I really want to order the mochi ice cream.”
Yibo nods, but he knits his brows at the idea that Xiao Zhan’s boyfriend would deny him a small treat that he obviously would enjoy.
“Oh,” Xiao Zhan says, his delighted smile sliding away as he studies Yibo’s face, “you don’t approve either, do you?” He sighs heavily and puts the dessert card down. “If he were here, he’d ask me if I really should be having dessert. I - I’m a six, you know. That’s what Jingjing says,” Xiao Zhan tells Yibo. There’s a smile on his face, but his eyes are sad. He laughs ruefully. “Ah, the beauty of hiring you for tonight is that you - you wouldn’t say anything like that, would you?”
Yibo is caught off-guard by the hot rush of anger that burns through him and before he can stop himself, he mutters, “Your boyfriend sounds like an idiot. Is he blind?”
“I mean—” Then Xiao Zhan stops mid-sentence, as if he’s just processed what Yibo has said and he looks up from the table at him. The combination of his upturned gaze and pouting lips nearly stops Yibo’s heart.
“I - I’m sorry… you, uh—”
“Oh,” Yibo says, clearing his throat. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… ah… hmm…” he trails off, waving a hand at Xiao Zhan to continue with whatever he was going to say. He’s horrified that he hadn’t been able to hold his tongue. Xiao Zhan had said he didn’t want to be with his real-life friends today because they would do exactly this, criticize his boyfriend when he didn’t want to hear it. Yibo had one job tonight, and he's fucked it up.
Xiao Zhan is still staring with an expression Yibo can’t read and he starts to panic, wondering if there’s anything he could say to salvage the moment. But then Xiao Zhan clears his throat and plasters on a smile. “Oh, don’t get the wrong idea! He’s just joking, he does that! Our friends are always misunderstanding the things he says, but it’s because they don’t understand his humor. He - he loves me, I know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t talk about him like this. Jingjing is - is really wonderful, and I’m so lucky, really.” Xiao Zhan shakes his head and gives Yibo another smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
Yibo grinds his teeth at Xiao Zhan's polite deflection and thinks, goddammit I did that. He’d driven Xiao Zhan to defend his insensitive piece of shit boyfriend, and if only Yibo had kept his mouth shut like he’s supposed to, maybe this lovely man would have eventually talked himself into seeing what a jerkwad his boyfriend really is. Instead, he’s making excuses for him like Yibo imagines he does, too often, and it makes his blood boil.
Xiao Zhan doesn’t order the mochi ice cream in the end.
“Ah, I’m already full anyway,” he chirps unconvincingly, “and I don’t want to ruin a wonderful meal by overeating!”
Yibo has the wild urge to order the damn dessert himself and feed Xiao Zhan one from his fingers, just to see him smile in genuine delight again (and okay, maybe for the chance to brush a thumb across the beauty mark under Xiao Zhan’s perfect lips).
Instead, he says nothing and reminds himself that Xiao Zhan had hired Tracer85 to just sit and listen. Yibo has already screwed up by speaking his mind, by not heeding his own rules. He can’t make that mistake again.
In the DiDi on the way home after dinner, Yibo rests his head against the window and stares out at the cityscape passing by. He’d always considered it a blessing that Beijing is so full of people; it’s easy to just skateboard through the days and not have to worry about any of them, even those who have hired him to listen to their most personal thoughts for an hour or two. At the end of a gig, he can brush off everything he’s heard and move on to the next.
Tonight, he doesn’t feel any of that relief. When the check had been paid and Xiao Zhan had stood to thank Yibo for his time, all Yibo wanted to know was, “when can I see you again?” Of course he didn’t ask; he knows the answer is “probably never.” His rules, his choice.
Life goes on, and Yibo keeps himself busy with a stream of new clients. They’re always new, by design. But even though they may have different faces, their worries and pains are distressingly familiar, almost always about a frayed, broken, or lost connection with someone. Yibo congratulates himself on managing to avoid all that messiness, and happily lets all of his clients’ faces and stories bleed together in his mind.
All of his clients but one.
Weeks later, Yibo is still thinking about Xiao Zhan. He’ll be sitting with yet another crying girl and zoning out, imagining Xiao Zhan’s handsome face, hearing his lovely voice. Xiao Zhan wouldn’t have been so rude to that barista. Xiao Zhan tells funnier jokes. Xiao Zhan has a prettier smile.
Xiao Zhan has an asshole boyfriend, and there’s nothing I can do about it.