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Nie Huaisang may be slick, but he’s not that slick.

The moment Jiang Cheng sees him “casually” weaving his way through the campus dining hall, clutching a stack of papers, he knows what it’s about.

Of course, knowing, and being able to do anything about it are two entirely different matters.

His so-called best friend is shooting a short film for the final of his digital histories class and of course—of course—he’s managed to guilt trip and manipulate every single person in his life into being a part of it. Nie Huaisang claims that their participation is crucial to his grade, but Jiang Cheng knows for a fact that one of his classmates is writing a series of blog posts about Ada Lovelace and calling it a day. Even if the students had been required to make a film, there’s no way that the professor was expecting his students to make the twenty-five-minute time travelling epic packed with a complicated plot, multiple side stories, and overwrought dialogue that Nie Huaisang has meticulously scripted and planned out.

Jiang Cheng has expertly dodged Nie Huaisang for a week, but it looks like his number is up. The cafeteria is in an unhelpful state of busyness: too empty to hide among the other bodies, and too crowded to make a quick escape. As his friend approaches, Jiang Cheng steels himself to say “no” and stay firm. The idea of being on camera, of the strangers in Nie Huaisang’s class watching his every little move and judging him, there being a permanent recording that they can continue to watch and judge forever? Yeah, fuck no.

This won’t be the first time Nie Huaisang has asked. When Nie Huaisang initially approached him, Jiang Cheng had turned him down flatly with the reasoning that he was both a terrible actor and didn’t have time to film this close to finals week.

Apparently, that first refusal hadn’t been enough to deter Nie Huaisang.

“Jiang Cheng! Fancy seeing you here!” Nie Huaisang exclaims, even though everything about his demeanor suggests he isn't surprised at all.

“You hate the dining hall food,” Jiang Cheng points out with a sigh before cutting to the chase. “And the answer is still no.”

Nie Huaisang’s puppy dog eyes have been getting better. Jiang Cheng didn’t know it was possible to make your eyes such a large percentage of your face.

“But I thought about what you said!” Nie Huaisang pleads. “And I’ve already factored in your awful acting skills.”

Jiang Cheng scowls. Even if he’s already admitted his dearth of acting ability, it still feels a bit rude for Nie Huaisang to bring it up so bluntly. Nie Huaisang seems to have realized this miscalculation as well, rushing to continue.

“Jiang Cheng, please! I used you as the basis of this character when I wrote the script!” he begs. “I just need a body. You won’t even have to act; you can stand there and read the lines as yourself!”

While a decent argument, it doesn’t change the fact that Jiang Cheng simply doesn’t want to. And after a lifetime as Wei Ying’s younger brother, he likes to think of himself as immunized to all manner of wheedling and begging.

“I don’t have the time,” Jiang Cheng says. “You know my finals schedule is a nightmare and how my parents... look, I need all the time I can to study. I need to do well on the geology final if I want to save my grade.”

“You know if you asked I bet da-ge would be thrilled to help you with that, and you haven’t even read the script,” Nie Huaisang says. “It’s so good. It’s got drama, romance, and intrigue! You’ll love it.”

Given that Jiang Cheng’s film preferences tend to skew towards the kind of gruesome horror movies that leave Nie Huaisang sleeping with the lights on, he has his doubts. Nie Huaisang shoves the script into his hands anyway, clearly laboring under the misguided assumption that the strength of the script is going to change Jiang Cheng’s mind. Jiang Cheng flicks through the script in an attempt to be polite, though he’s sure his irritation is exposing itself through the tight knit of his brow. As his eyes glaze over page after unending page of florid dialogue, he can distantly make out Nie Huaisang expounding upon his “vision.”

His grimace must have become even more pronounced, because Nie Huaisang abruptly switches tactics.

“Ah, please, Jiang Cheng!” he cries, “it won’t take any time at all. It’s really such a small role and everyone else is already cast so I can’t ask them.”

“If it’s so small,” Jiang Cheng says (rather reasonably if he does say so himself), “then cut it.”

Nie Huaisang gives him a small but potent glare. “I can’t do that! It’s small but very important! It adds a romantic subplot that’s very necessary! How can you even ponder the humanity of AIs without touching on the question of love?”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t have a clue what Nie Huaisang is on about, but he does know he is utterly unqualified to carry a romance. In fact, Jiang Cheng is beginning to doubt Nie Huaisang’s claims that the character was based on him at all; Nie Huaisang has been exposed to nearly the same number of Wei Ying’s jokes about Jiang Cheng's lack of "game" as Jiang Cheng has. He flips the script closed to try and return it to Nie Huaisang, but Nie Huaisang somehow manages to keep his hands constantly fluttering and barely out of reach.

“Oh, don’t look like that, it’s really such a tiny ask, and for your best friend! You show up, shoot four or five scenes—max—with very few lines." Nie Huaisang’s voice suddenly gets very quiet and his words come out in a rush, so that Jiang Cheng has to lean forward to understand him. “…culminating in one very small, not-a-big-deal-at-all kiss opposite the Chifeng-Zun character, who da-ge has already graciously agreed to play.”

Jiang Cheng pauses, hands tightening back around the pages in spite of himself. Nie Huaisang had said that last bit casually, but Jiang Cheng is very aware of how carefully Nie Huaisang is watching him, seeing if this is going to make him balk further.

Embarrassingly, it’s having the opposite effect.

The thing is, Jiang Cheng might already have the slightest, tiniest, completely debilitating crush on Nie Huaisang’s brother.

It wasn’t always so bad; at first the attraction had been purely physical. Nie Mingjue had seemed like the perfect sort of unattainable, handsome jock that Jiang Cheng could admire from afar without the inconveniences of emotional attachment that would distract him from his studies.

But then during a study session at the Nie’s shared off-campus apartment (Nie Huaisang long passed out on top of his books) Nie Mingjue had the gall to offer to help Jiang Cheng with his geology class, claiming he was a geology major.

If Jiang Cheng had any sense, he would have said no right there. In his defense, Nie Mingjue had been wearing a tank top.

It was the beginning of the end.

In just under an hour, Nie Mingjue managed to showcase how smart, patient, and funny he could be. All while remaining, of course, so, so handsome. Men that attractive should not be able to make metamorphic rock jokes funny. Jiang Cheng could barely concentrate for how sweet the curve of Nie Mingjue's cupid's bow was, and yet somehow, he'd managed to score 10% higher on his last assignment.

Jiang Cheng knows it’s embarrassing to agree to be part of Nie Huaisang’s film so he can have one measly fake kiss with Nie Mingjue, but he also can’t ignore the insidious voice in his head pointing out that this is quite likely his only shot at ever kissing the man of his dreams.

Nie Mingjue is nice to Jiang Cheng, sure, but Jiang Cheng knows how different the leagues he and Nie Mingjue are playing in are. Jiang Cheng is pretty sure they’re not even playing the same sport.

Whenever they’re around each other, Jiang Cheng manages to show off his worst sides: sarcastic and frustrated, stumbling over a class he’s struggling in or dragging a drunk Wei Ying and Nie Huaisang home while wearing some ridiculous club outfit.

And on a more superficial level… Jiang Cheng does his fair share of working out, but Nie Mingjue? He’s seen Nie Mingjue lift more than Jiang Cheng weighs at the gym (and, yes, he has thought about the implications of that, thank you very much). Nie Mingjue is the kind of tall and muscular that makes girls and old ladies alike giggle and blush from across the room. His muscles have muscles, and Jiang Cheng has imagined more than once what it would be like to put his hands on them. Maybe squeeze a little.

Jiang Cheng knows he’s not the only one to notice either; Jiang Cheng has seen the number of strangers who approach Nie Mingjue at the gym to compliment him and offer up their numbers, blushing as they offer themselves up to him. Jiang Cheng would sneer at them if he related less.

He’s also witnessed Nie Mingjue politely turn them all down, coolly disinterested in people of all genders with their gorgeous, toned bodies and easy smiles. People less awkward, much more attractive, much friendlier, just—much better than Jiang Cheng, with his aforementioned lack of game. It’s honestly infuriating and frankly a little selfish; can’t Nie Mingjue do him one fucking favor and take himself off the market so Jiang Cheng can go back to focusing on more important things?

So, yeah, Jiang Cheng isn’t so delusional to think that he has a shot.

…at least, under normal circumstances.

As casually as he can, he flips back to the last scene in Nie Huaisang’s script, the one with the kiss. This time, he actually reads it, rather than letting his eyes gloss over the text. The scene is as eye-rollingly lurid as the rest, but Jiang Cheng can’t deny that with this new context the descriptions are a little more… appealing. Not that he’s seriously considering doing this.

But reading Nie Huaisang’s overly-descriptive directions, it’s too easy to imagine Nie Mingjue drawing him close, one of those incredibly large hands cupping his face, skin rough but movements tender…

Jiang Cheng inhales sharply, face flushing.

It’s pathetic, the way he’s so desperate for Nie Mingjue to notice him that he’ll even fantasize about Nie Mingjue pretending to like him. It makes him want to crawl into himself and keep crawling, until there’s nothing left of him but a little purple mote.

Don't give in, he reminds himself. No matter how thoughtful and kind and handsome—oh, for fuck's sake.

He'll live with this shame, just like he lives with all the rest of it.

Carefully, he closes the script. He lets Nie Huaisang ramble for a couple more sentences, not wanting to make it too obvious what exactly has changed his mind. He’s done his best to hide his crush from Nie Huaisang and he thinks he’s been succeeding, but… it’s Nie Huaisang.

“Okay,” he finally interrupts when Nie Huaisang starts to launch into an explanation of the “meta-project” of his movie.

Luckily, Nie Huaisang seems too relieved to examine Jiang Cheng’s abrupt about face too closely. His face lights up and he swears up and down to Jiang Cheng that filming will only take a day, max.

What a fucking lie.

Jiang Cheng knows how he got here, but he’s not exactly sure he knows how he got here. Two sets of blinding white lights are focused on his face, and he’s dressed head-to-toe in thick brocade. The beams are hot and bright, causing sweat to bead along his hairline and exposing every single one of his pores to the prying lens of a high-definition camera.

It’s also day three of filming for Jiang Cheng’s supposedly “small” and “easy” part.

Again: what a fucking lie.

At his most charitable, he could acknowledge that there is, technically, a way this could have taken a single day. Of course, that would require Jiang Cheng to be much better at acting than he is.

And Jiang Cheng is not feeling charitable. In fact, he's over politely trying to hide how cranky he is at all; doesn’t think he could if he tried. There’s no way someone could remember the endless memorized lines, blocking, and emotion he’s supposed to be conveying all at once.

Of course… the frustration is mutual. Jiang Cheng’s can’t remember the last time he saw Nie Huaisang this invested, or infuriated. It heightens the sibling resemblance in strange and terrifying ways that he’s choosing not to dwell on. Nie Huaisang is the picture of directorial (or, more accurately, dictatorial) authority, shoulder-length hair swept into a messy ponytail, delicate neck ensconced in a sleek black turtleneck, and legs crossed as he perches on a director’s chair that he produced from god knows where.

"You’re supposed to be angry! You’re always angry, so why can’t you just be that way!” Nie Huaisang demands, uncharacteristically blunt in a way that Jiang Cheng might be amused by if he weren’t currently sweating to death and counting down the minutes to his rapidly approaching finals.

Jiang Cheng is angry, alright; the only problem is that he can no longer remember what he normally does with his body and face when he’s angry.

“And my god, Jiang Cheng, that is not how you have ever, in your entire life, pronounced the word ‘water.’” Nie Huaisang wails, slumping and burrowing his head in his hands.

Jiang Cheng flushes bright red from embarrassment. Or from anger. The difference between the two disappeared roughly 36 hours ago.

He knows Nie Huaisang is right, but… he warned Nie Huaisang.

And now Nie Mingjue is standing across from him on the set, brow furrowed slightly with his arms crossed, as Jiang Cheng humiliates himself over and over again. Jiang Cheng can’t imagine he’s ever looked less desirable.

The only saving grace is that Nie Mingjue is also undeniably bad at this. Jiang Cheng can’t really concentrate on what Nie Mingjue is doing when they’re acting opposite each other, but he's hung around the sidelines for Nie Mingjue’s other scenes.

And, well... Nie Mingjue is clearly only there to help his brother, not because of some innate acting talent. He’s been typecast as well, meant to be an intense badass, but he keeps freezing up. He forgets Nie Huaisang’s directions, defaulting to shifting from one foot to another and robotically reciting his lines. Jiang Cheng thinks it might be even worse when he acts across Jiang Cheng, the two of them grinding production to a halt with ruined take after ruined take. Combined with Jiang Cheng's own lack of skills, Nie Mingjue stumbles over lines, the hand on his prop sword twitching anxiously.

Watching Nie Mingjue act, Jiang Cheng can see what Nie Huaisang means about Jiang Cheng’s own acting, even through the rose-tinted lens of his attraction. It’s not enough to know what you’re supposed to do—you have to know how to do it. And when the cameras turn on, it’s suddenly impossible to remember how to be yourself, let alone anyone else.

Not that understanding what’s happening has made it any more possible for Jiang Cheng to fix the damn problem and get through his godforsaken scenes.

At least Nie Mingjue looks good, which is more than Jiang Cheng can say for himself. As miserable as it is for Jiang Cheng to shoot his scenes, he has to admit it is… nice, to have an excuse to stare openly at Nie Mingjue when it’s his turn.

Normally at the gym or the rare party when they run into each other, Jiang Cheng finds himself surreptitiously meting out glances, trying not to be so obvious. But on set? On set you’re allowed to watch people. You can even examine their face and bodies since they’re acting. It’s a completely reasonable, non-stalker-y thing to do.

And with Nie Mingjue’s scenes taking almost as long to film as Jiang Cheng’s, Jiang Cheng can really look at Nie Mingjue: his long hair, normally neatly out of the way in a bun, is loose, since Nie Huaisang wanted him to look more “wild.” Jiang Cheng thinks it’s a miscalculation. The dark waves of hair only make him look more like some kind of fairytale hero, soft strands contrasting with the strong square cut of his jawline and the coiled power in his rugby-honed thighs. Jiang Cheng will admit that the pull of his broad shoulders on the slightly small leather motorcycle jacket Nie Huaisang dug up does have the desired effect. The whole, slightly incongruous look, is enough to make Jiang Cheng weak in the knees. Or get on his knees.

A heavy hand finds its way to Jiang Cheng’s shoulder and squeezes. Jiang Cheng freezes and Nie Mingjue retracts his hand like he’s been burned. Jiang Cheng somehow finds a way to redden further, hoping it isn’t clear what he was just shamelessly daydreaming about.

“You’re doing…” Nie Mingjue pauses and Jiang Cheng can see him struggling to be supportive while staying honest. “Well, better than I am,” he offers, which does make Jiang Cheng smile in spite of himself. Nie Mingjue smiles back, a dimple peeking out, and Jiang Cheng does his best acting yet, pretending like he isn't about to swoon.

Thankfully, Nie Mingjue clears his throat and turns his attention back to their director. “Huaisang, we’re all doing you a favor so be nice.”

Instead of being chastised, however, this only leads Nie Huaisang to round on his brother. Jiang Cheng doesn’t think he’s ever seen Nie Huaisang stand up to his older brother like this.

“You!” Nie Huaisang says. “Do not even get me started on you! Why are you so tense? You sound like a robot when you’re speaking.”

“You said he was supposed to be stoic!”

“Stoic, but alive! Da-ge, please remember to move your face!”

Jiang Cheng watches as the two Nie brothers grow steadily more frustrated with each other. Nie Mingjue is enraged, a vein twitching in his forehead, but it’s perhaps the truest testament to his love for his brother that he never storms off.

In fact, it’s Nie Huaisang who attempts to call things off.

“Look,” he says, and Jiang Cheng can practically see the sarcasm dripping from each word, “thanks so much to you and Jiang Cheng, but I think I’ll just fail the class. Or maybe I’ll just film a couple of campus squirrels and call it a day. It would probably be easier and better.”

Jiang Cheng winces.

Nie Mingjue frowns, expression darkening.

“Finish what you started, didi,” Nie Mingjue says. “This is your final project and you know you don’t have time for that.”

Nie Huaisang looks around, taking in Jiang Cheng’s exhaustion and Nie Mingjue’s furious face.

“Okay,” Nie Huaisang magnanimously declares, “the last take was good enough, I guess. Fifteen minute break to get something to eat and then we shoot the last scene.”

The last scene.

Jiang Cheng swallows nervously. There’s no way he’s going to be able to eat anything, but he wanders over to the food table Nie Huaisang’s set up to the side of the lounge to get away from the lights and catch his breath.

Unfortunately for him, Nie Mingjue follows him, handing him a clementine from the table.

“Here,” Nie Mingjue says, “you like these, right?”

Jiang Cheng tries desperately not to read into the gesture. It’s just a stupid fruit that probably everyone likes. He does not have the urge to hide the fruit in his bag and keep it forever as some sort of weird memento to stare at like a 12-year-old girl.

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” Jiang Cheng says, tucking clementine into his bag. “For later.”

Nie Mingjue nods. Even though they’re not on camera anymore, his shoulders are still stiff.

“So we’re really killing it out there, huh? Think we’ll make it to Cannes?” Jiang Cheng jokes weakly in an attempt to fill the silence.

A little of the tension drains from Nie Mingjue and he chuckles.

“If you mean ‘killing it’ in the most literal of senses, then I think that yes, yes we are.”

“I am going to feel bad if he fails this project because of us,” Jiang Cheng admits. As frustrated as Jiang Cheng is, Nie Huaisang doesn't actually deserve to fail.

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” Nie Mingjue says. “It’s a digital histories class, not a film class. I don’t think our acting is actually what he’s getting graded on, or I would have insisted he recast us three days ago.”

Jiang Cheng sighs. “He really should have recast us when he still had the chance. I don’t know why he thought this was a good idea. You know he told me he typecast me? Now that I’ve actually read the script, I’m a little insulted.”

Nie Mingjue crosses his arms, studying Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Cheng resists the urge to hide behind the table.

“I don’t know about that,” Nie Mingjue says quietly. “I actually quite admire your character. He’s clearly devoted to his family and there’s definitely a real strength to him.”

Jiang Cheng’s breath catches, and maybe it’s the residual heat of the lights, but he thinks Nie Mingjue’s cheeks might be pink.

Nie Mingjue coughs awkwardly and hands Jiang Cheng a water bottle.

“…at least drink something,” he says. “I’ll see you out there.”

What the hell was that? Jiang Cheng wonders as he unscrews the top of the bottle, hands sweaty enough that it takes him a couple of tries. Jiang Cheng manages a few sips before Nie Huaisang starts yelling again.

“Okay, last scene, let’s go! One kiss and then we can all be free!”

And just like that, every muscle in Jiang Cheng’s body goes on high alert. He stumbles back under the lights, barely taking in what Nie Huaisang is saying. Robotically he makes his way through his lines, the kiss looming closer and closer with each word.

He thought he would be excited, but now all he can think about is if he’s going to fuck this up like he’s fucked up every other scene of this movie. He can thank a few drunken nights on the dancefloor that at least this isn’t his first kiss.

Although given how this whole process has been going, it seems… not unlikely that he forgets how to kiss just like how he’s forgotten how to perform every other basic human function during this filming.

Oh god. They’re going to have their one and only kiss, and Nie Mingjue is going to think he’s a horrible kisser. Why is this only occurring to him now? This movie is the worst idea he’s ever had in his life. Forget it, Nie Huaisang deserves to fail his class for roping Jiang Cheng into this. But it’s too late. Nie Huaisang is already directing them to move closer, to angle their heads slowly.

With Nie Mingjue this close to him, it’s the tiniest bit easier to ignore the rising panic within. To imagine that there’s actually something between them, that the want that threatens to eat Jiang Cheng alive could be welcome. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, a nervous gesture, and Nie Mingjue’s eyes track the movement as he draws closer still. His nostrils fill with the smell of Nie Mingjue’s soap, pine and clean sweat and he glances down once more at Nie Mingjue’s lips, plush and inviting, before his eyes flutter closed.

And then…

Nie Mingjue pulls away.

Jiang Cheng’s mind, still blurry from their former proximity and reeling from the sudden lack of body heat, takes a moment to realize what happened. He blinks, confused, trying to clear his mind as much as his eyes.

“I can’t do this,” Nie Mingjue says, taking a few more steps away. His voice is low, serious and firm, and Jiang Cheng’s heart sinks.

Nie Huaisang, however, seems to be taking this in stride. “Of course you can’t. You’re terrible at this. But you’re the one who pointed out we need to finish this anyway, so it doesn’t matter if you’re bad. Please, dear god, let’s just finish a take.”

But Jiang Cheng knows. Knows that’s not what Nie Mingjue means. Not when Nie Mingjue’s squeezed into a four different costumes, and memorized countless lines, and put up with getting yelled at by his brother for the last 72 hours. What Nie Mingjue means is that he can’t do this with Jiang Cheng.

And sure enough, Nie Mingjue says, “no, Huaisang. I can’t kiss Jiang Cheng. You have to rewrite it."

The confirmation is a gut punch. Sure, he knew that Nie Mingjue didn’t particularly want to kiss him, but he didn’t realize it would be such a hardship. Unless… he’s been too obvious, the want too blatant on his face. Subtlety’s never been Jiang Cheng’s strong suit. Maybe he’s even known for a while now, creeped out but too worried about ruining his brother’s friendship to say anything.

The rejection stings, and some part of Jiang Cheng wants to lash out, ask who the hell Nie Mingjue thinks he is that he can’t even pretend not be grossed out by Jiang Cheng for one moment, but he controls himself.

“…you can recast me,” he grits out.

He doesn’t really want to kiss anyone else, and as much as it’ll suck to watch Nie Mingjue make out with someone else, it’s certainly better than forcing Nie Mingjue to do what he clearly thinks is torture.

The corner of Nie Huaisang’s eye twitches. He’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s almost terrifying enough to distract Jiang Cheng from his abject misery.

“I can’t.” Nie Huaisang says through gritted, smiling teeth. “We’ve already shot all the character’s other scenes and it’s due on Monday.” As he speaks, his eyes grow wider, more maniacal, each word spat out like a bullet. “And I still need to edit. You both insisted this was fine when I suggested recasting. Two. Damn. Days. Ago.”

Jiang Cheng is chastened but it’s still not enough to make miserable roil in his stomach go away entirely.

Nie Mingjue sighs long and deep, rubbing a hand to his temple with a pained expression.

“Okay,” he says, but he’s shaking his head. “Huaisang, you know I love you, but I still need to say something to Jiang Cheng.”

He turns to Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Cheng folds his arms, flimsy posturing to cover the rejection he still feels all the way in his bones. Nie Mingjue refuses to be cowed, however, which Jiang Cheng supposes he can begrudgingly respect.

“Jiang Cheng, I need to tell you something, and… and I understand if it makes you uncomfortable. If it does, you can drop out and Huaisang will just have to rewrite or shoot around it.”

Nie Huaisang moves to protest, but Nie Mingjue puts up a hand to stop him.

“I’m sorry, Huaisang, but that’s not negotiable.” He turns back to Jiang Cheng, eyes blazing and back straight. “Jiang Cheng, this isn’t how I’d hoped to tell you, but you should know I have feelings for you. If I kiss you for this scene, I can’t deny that I’ll be getting some enjoyment out of it that’s not wholly professional. I took advantage of the situation and for that I am very sorry. So—and if you’re even a little uncomfortable with this, we don’t have to do it—are you still okay shooting this scene?”

That’s… not what Jiang Cheng was expecting.

For a moment he’s too confused to fully process what Nie Mingjue’s said, but then a wave giddy pleasure washes over him. Nie Mingjue likes him. The idea thrills him so much that he can’t quite bring himself to be embarrassed about his own lack of concern for the morality of this at all. It’s undeniably very upstanding of Nie Mingjue to have done so, but Jiang Cheng isn’t going to pretend he had any such qualms.

He realizes that both Nie brothers are staring at him, and he blushes. He would have thought his answer was obvious, but apparently not. Suddenly shy, he says, “…I’m still okay with shooting this.”

And Nie Mingjue actually looks surprised. In fact, he looks a little nervous, which isn’t an expression Jiang Cheng is used to seeing on his face. Nie Mingjue wipes his hands on his jeans.

“Okay, I promise I won’t make it weird.”

Jiang Cheng’s palms are sweaty too; Nie Mingjue has laid his feelings out there so plainly that there’s no room for misunderstanding but there’s always that little voice in his head warning him that something could still go wrong, there’s always a way for things to go wrong. His heart is thumping so loudly that he’s sure the mics are picking it up.

Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath. “I should probably also admit that I only agreed to film this once I saw that it was you I was going to be kissing.”

Nie Mingjue’s brow furrows and he looks confused for a moment. “Oh?”

Jiang Cheng coughs awkwardly. “…yeah.”

Something seems to connect for Nie Mingjue and his eyes light up.

“Oh,” he repeats, voice soft and awed.

He’s still got his eyes fixed on Jiang Cheng, burning so bright that Jiang Cheng thinks there’ll be nothing left of him when he’s done. Nie Mingjue closes the distance between them, his strides steady and purposeful. He keeps moving closer, and closer still, until Jiang Cheng can feel the warmth of his body and then the warmth of his breath. When Nie Mingjue pulls their bodies flush, Jiang Cheng can feel his heartbeat, galloping thumps to match Jiang Cheng’s own. Their noses bump, and Jiang Cheng’s breath catches.

Their first kiss isn’t tentative or shy. It’s big, earth-shattering, and all-consuming.

Jiang Cheng’s forgets everything but the two of them, forgets that they’re on camera, even forgets how to stand. Luckily, Nie Mingjue’s hand spreads across his back, supporting him even as he loses his footing. Jiang Cheng holds on tight, fingers tangling in Nie Mingjue’s surprisingly coarse hair and anchoring himself for dear life.

Then Nie Mingjue’s tongue swipes against his bottom lip and what few remaining brain cells he has surrender to the tingling, dizzying sensation.

They break apart, breathless, and Nie Mingjue grins at Jiang Cheng, rapturous. This close and under the hot glare of the lights, Jiang Cheng can make out the faint freckles across the bridge of Nie Mingjue’s nose. He wants to trace them with his fingertips or his lips or both. For the first time since they started shooting, maybe even before, he feels like he’s doing exactly what he’s supposed to be doing.

Nie Mingjue seems to remember that his brother is in the room, although he doesn’t seem to be the least bit bothered.

“Well, Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue asks triumphantly, “how was that for a kiss? I’d say that was the best shot yet, don’t you think?”

Nie Huaisang stares at them balefully.

“…I wasn’t rolling, you idiots.”

But Nie Mingjue is undeterred. He grins, triumphant, turning his full attention back to Jiang Cheng.

“Oh, well,” he shrugs. Jiang Cheng is still tipped and slightly dizzy in his arms, “I guess we’ll have to do it again.”