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Chapter Text

Mèng Yìrán knew growing up that she was, to an extent, spoiled.   Her parents had a hard time denying her what she wanted, whether it be ballet and piano classes or new outfits.  As she got older, she got better at only asking for things that were worthwhile, or at least worthwhile at the time.  The only times when she was told “no” were the times her scores were less than what her parents deemed satisfactory.  Yìrán rarely let her grades ever drop to that level, always wanting to ensure she wouldn't hear “no” come out of their mouths.  As a result, she was usually in the top three spots in her class.  Looking back at her past self, Yìrán would say that she wasn't dumb. But perhaps ignorant was a better descriptor.  She could, at one point during a horrible year of chemistry, recite the periodic table from first element to last element and back.  She was academically very keen, very good at not only learning and reciting the information back, but she was very good at analysis and scored well on most essays.

Unfortunately, academic intelligence can only get you so far.  After that whole mess, she left Qīng University and China behind her for three, long years.  She spent those three years in the States, going to a university there to get her degree in communications and opening her mind to new things.  She met so many interesting people who had, consciously or not, given her such different ideas on what life should be like.  On what she should be like.

Even though she knew she would change while overseas, it was different for her when she came back home to her family.  None of the “friends” she made in her first two years stuck around in her life when she left.  She wasn't too torn up about that, though.  That was part of the point of her move.  Her family expected the same flighty, slightly empty-headed, and naïve girl that had left Qīng University.   The Mèng Yìrán that returned was more self-aware and strong in her beliefs and faith in herself.  She didn’t have up wall after wall to get to her heart—Nana had betrayed her, sure—but she wasn’t a quick and easy read either.  Yìrán was a bit more skeptical, more distrusting of people who tried to befriend her.  She’d been burned once; she wasn’t going to let it happen to her again.  At times, it was painful for her to see the way her parents would look at her and see a stranger.  But they soon grew to appreciate and love the new version of Yìrán for who she is now, not who she was then.

Her uncle had offered her a position at Zhēn Yì, but she declined.  She wanted to get a job on her own merit, not because she was related to the people in charge.  And Yìrán knew that if she put herself in a position like that, all of the hard work she’d done to better herself would be for nothing.  She would be forced to put up a front to her co-workers, most of whom would expect her to act a certain way.  Knowing her uncle, the people who were working there three years ago would be the same people working there now.  They weren't bad people, necessarily, but she had been cruel to some of them in her single-minded pursuit to Xiāo Nài.    

She started applying wherever she could.  She didn't even look at Zhì Yī, both because it was just starting to solidify its base the year before, and also because it was Xiāo Nài's company.  Yìrán wanted to leave her past behind her, and applying for a position in his company doesn't exactly lend itself to that.  She wanted to talk to him again, and Wēiwēi, to apologize for everything she did to them.  She didn't get too much of a chance to do so before she left.  The lack of apology wasn't a weight that hung over her constantly, but it did alter her behavior and how she interacted with people.  If they didn't accept her apology, she could at least thank them for helping her to realize she needed to change her behavior.

So when she got an offer to meet with Zhì Yī, she was very surprised.  She had choked on her coffee, and the barista at her local shop had almost called emergency services.  Sīsī was a worrier, and she wore every emotion she felt on her face.  She had become a dear friend to Yìrán, and Yìrán appreciated her transparency.  She knew Sīsī had gone to Qīng University, but she didn't let that shade how Yìrán was now.  Sīsī only worked at the coffee shop because her brother owned it.  In her free-time, she worked freelance, doing whatever it is that computer engineers do.  Sīsī tried to explain what she did, once, but quickly got frustrated with her inability to explain the technical words and phrases.  Yìrán appreciated the effort, and was trying to learn what she could about what Sīsī does when she wasn't busy.  Sīsī's reaction to Yìrán's shock at the meeting with Zhì Yī was something that proved to Yìrán how much she had changed.  She can't imagine Sīsī would have almost called emergency services when they were in uni together.  She probably would have gotten the dorm head or something similar.

The one thing that about this meeting that she was in control of, another surprise in this already huge one, was that she was encouraged to choose where they meet.  She decided on the coffee shop.  It was the place she felt most comfortable, and having Sīsī there during this… whatever it is, easier.  And Sīsī promised that regardless of how the meeting went, she would have a few warm chocolate croissants for Yìrán after.  Yìrán had done some research into Zhì Yī after she agreed to the meeting.  Their website, to no-one's surprise, was beautifully done.  Everything was modern, but still easily navigated, and sketches from their first game appeared as you scrolled down the page.  She was impressed, and a little intimidated by it.  Something that surprised her was that in their “Founders” tab, the only person with his picture on the page was Xiāo Nài.  She didn't read the page at all; she saw his picture and she immediately exited the tab.  Yìrán hoped she wasn't meeting with him, and the language used in the email supported that.

She assumed that whoever was coming to meet with her already knew what she looked like.  She was the one who was left in the dark.  Yìrán got to the coffee shop about twenty minutes earlier than her meeting was supposed to start.  She hoped that gave her enough time to get her head on straight.  Yìrán gave Sīsī her regular order and sat down, getting her laptop and a notebook and pen out in anticipation for the meeting.  She was on her phone when her order was called out, which Yìrán passively noted as odd, since Sīsī normally just called her up.  Still, Yìrán walked the familiar path to the end of the counter and reached out one hand for her drink, eyes still focused on the latest article about Zhì Yī.  She felt it was best to be prepared as much as she could when walking into this meeting.

She jumped when her hand brushed someone else's.  Yìrán quickly locked her phone, slipping it into her pocket with an apology ready on her tongue.  She looked up to see a guy standing there, her age or a few years older, an embarrassed smile on his face.

“Sorry,” both of them say at the same time.  There was a pause before they both laughed about it, the stranger pushing the cup towards her.

“Looks like we ordered the same thing,” he says.  He was handsome, hair styled well and out of his eyes.  He wore an open gray flannel over a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans.  It was a casual look, but it seemed to suit him more than a blazer and tie would.

Yìrán, for the first time in a while, hoped that she could keep talking to him.  “I guess we did,” she replies, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.  The more she looked at him, the more familiar he looked to her.  She couldn't place where she'd seen him, though.

By the look in his eye, she would hazard a guess that he was thinking the same.  “I'm sorry, but do I know you?”

Any answer Yìrán was about to give got cut off by the second coffee making its appearance.  “Thanks, Sīsī,” he says with far more familiarity than just reading her name off her name tag.

Despite knowing that Sīsī was dating a woman she only referred to as “Xǐxǐ”, Yìrán felt a little bit of disappointment well up in her.  She turned away, heading back to her table, berating herself mentally.  Why would she feel disappointed when she doesn't even know this man's name?  She let out a small sigh, thankful that this small interlude distracted her from her worry.  Yìrán decides to put it out of her mind; it's not like she would be able to talk with him for a while anyway, especially given her meeting is now less than twenty minutes away.

She sits back down, setting her cup of coffee a little ways from her laptop.  She had to get a new one recently, having accidentally knocked her coffee over her old one when she turned to ask Sīsī something.  Yìrán opens her notebook, deciding that she should work out the rest of her nerves by drawing.  She had taken several courses while overseas, and she felt justified enough to say that she drew fairly well.  It was good enough for her to gain a few thousand followers on the “art-stagram” her American friends had insisted she make.

“Hi,” she hears a voice say, just as she gets a few abstract strokes on the page.  She looks up and sees the guy from earlier.  “We were interrupted earlier,” he shakes his coffee cup.

“Right,” she says, setting down her pen.  She hesitates for a moment, before adding, “Would you like to sit down?  Fair warning, I do have a meeting soon.  I might have to ask you to leave when we get close.”

“Noted,” he says with a wink, pulling the chair out across from her and sitting down.  When he's settled, he folds his hands together, resting his chin on top of them, and gives her a thoughtful look.  Yìrán resists the urge to fix her hair, which was currently being held back securely in a French braid.  “Did we meet at the dog park?”

“No,” she says, copying his pose, “I don't have a dog.”

“I don't either!”  He smiles cheekily.  Before Yìrán can ask, he says, “I was dog-sitting for my friends.”

Yìrán nods, “Is it my turn to guess?”

“By all means, go ahead.”

“Hmm, did we meet at a luggage carousel at the airport?”  He tilted his head in question, and Yìrán explains, “I've been in the airport a lot recently.”  He raises his eyebrows at the answer, but she doesn't give him any more information.

Instead of asking about it further, he respects her answer.  “Was it… the bakery that makes the Sanrio character-themed things?”

“Nope, but I'm intrigued,” she tilts her head, eyeing him, “Cinnamoroll is my favorite, and you seem like Pompompurin kinda guy.  Was it at Comic Con?”

That gets a laugh out of him, the smile lighting up his face.  “Could be,” he relents after his laughter dies off.  “And I am a Pompompurin kind of guy; I'm surprised you pinned it that quickly.  Most of my friends think it's Keroppi.”  He squints at her, considering his next question.  “Okay, uh, did we go to the same university?”

“Depends,” she says, “are you asking about here or abroad?”

There's a look in his eye at her question that she can't quite place.  “Here,” he says slowly, “Qīng University.”

She feels the smile on her face freeze.  If he knew her from uni, then there was a solid chance that she's been rude to him at some point.  Possibly even more than once.  She doesn't answer, but she figures her silence and fading smile give him the answer anyway.

“I see,” he says, leaning back in his chair.  She fully expects him to leave immediately now that he knows who she is.  “Mèng Yìrán, campus belle.  Niece of the CEO of Zhēn Yì Technology.”  His tone changed, going from warm and friendly to cold and stiff.  It was like he was reading off facts about her from a piece of paper.

Yìrán has too much self-preservation to flinch at his voice, but only just.  She wonders if her past is always going to haunt her present.  Is she forever going to be beholden to the mistakes she made, to the poor judgement she had?  Aware that she let the silence stretch longer than necessary, she speaks.  “I… I am no longer the person I was then,” she starts carefully, “I was immature, and spiteful, and not focused on the right things.  I had people in my life I had thought I could trust, but were using me as a means to an end.  I'm not trying to excuse my behavior.”

She shifts in her chair, twisting the ring on her index finger.  It was a nervous tick she developed in the States.  Her parents gifted her the ring when they dropped her off at the airport.  “There's not a lot that I could justify to begin with.  I just want to explain why I did what I did.”  She lets out a slightly self-deprecating laugh.  “Hell, I ended up leaving China to make sure I was out of the influence of those people.  I wanted to,” she pauses, “no, that's not right.  I needed to figure out who I am without the possibility of being drawn back into their circle.”

“And are you happy with who you are now?”  He asks, and neither his face nor his tone give away what he's thinking.

Yìrán wants to say immediately that she is, but she thinks the question holds more weight than its face value.  She looks at the corner of a table behind him, focusing on that while she thinks.  He seems content to let her sort through her feelings, sipping at his coffee.  She follows his example, sipping at the near-lukewarm drink.  “I think,” she says, speaking more into her coffee than anything else, “that I am happy with who I am becoming.  I am a better person than I was several years ago, but I know I'm not yet at the standard I've been striving towards.”  Yìrán didn't know why she felt so comfortable telling him all of this, but she figures it's because he's a stranger.  Or, stranger-adjacent.  Her parents didn't quite understand, and Sīsī seemed like she already figured out why Yìrán did all of this.

“If you don't mind another personal question in this already very personal conversation, what is the standard you're striving for?”

Yìrán feels heat creeping up her neck, feeling embarrassment to her bones.  “I'm not sure if you'd remember, but, um.  Do you remember the girl who came second to me in the campus beauty poll?  Bèi Wēiwēi?”  She doesn't wait for his answer, “She was someone who had a big heart and cared a lot about her friends.  But despite her kindness, she didn't let people push her around.  She was sure of herself, and of her station in her friends' esteem.  She… she forgave me, once, for how I acted early in her relationship with, um, Xiāo Nài.  So, yeah…”  Yìrán finishes awkwardly.  She takes another sip of her coffee for lack of anything better to do.

The silence sits heavy between them.  She's sure that the Zhì Yī employee she's meeting with is going to walk in any second and see the awkward vibe and walk right out again.

Suddenly, the man across from her straightens up, as if a switch was flicked.  He holds out his hand over the table for a handshake.  “I'm Yú Bànshān,” he says, a smile starting to grow on his face, “Welcome to Zhì Yī Technology.”

Chapter Text

Yìrán couldn’t help the small, breathless giggle that escaped her mouth as Bànshān pulled her to him.  The surprised, but pleased, look on his face is so endearing to her.  A wave of affection for him washes over her.  She wraps her arms around his waist, leaning back to look at him.  He had forgone his contacts this morning, and instead wore the same pair of glasses he’s had since uni.  (Sīsī was her informant for that lovely tidbit of information.  Yìrán didn’t know whether to laugh or be mortified, but then again, she was a different person.)

They were standing around the corner of Zhì Yī Tech’s elevator, in a lesser used corridor of the building.  Down the side of the hallway they stood in were just a bunch of storage for unused parts and miscellaneous items.  She was almost positive that one room was filled with art supplies that were only used for mockups and preliminary sketches of art for whatever game or game update they were working on.  Down the other side was a few bedrooms for when the employees of Zhì Yī are on a deadline and need to sleep without leaving.  It was obvious that no one was there, or else he wouldn’t have risked bringing her here.

Their relationship was not a secret, necessarily, but neither of them really went around the office shouting it.  Despite working at Zhì Yī for several months, now, Yìrán still didn’t feel quite comfortable being there.  Part of this, she knows, is that the main set of people in charge at the company are Bànshān’s friends.  Which meant they went to uni together.  And, not only did they go to uni together, but he was roommates with three of them.  So they knew who she was.  Working with them has (hopefully) changed their opinion of her, but she knows that the four of them are brothers in everything but blood.  The second part was that she still hasn’t managed to get a chance to talk with Xiāo Nài and Wēiwēi alone.  She knows that it will happen eventually, and she’s been busy getting their communications department up-to-date, but it still weighed on her from time to time.  And third…

She saw what happened with other girls in her family’s circle when they dated within whatever company their dads ran.  She was part of what happened, the talking behind their backs, the rumors spread within the company.  Yìrán knows that, to an extent, her situation is different.  She was hired long before they even started dating, and they didn’t even work in the same department.  But in many ways, it is the same.  Her insecurities from university about not being enough still had a grip on her now.  The doubts sank their claws into her bones, and sometimes it felt like she would never be able to get rid of them.

Is it possible she just got the job as part of some long form revenge plot?  Did Bànshān actually like her at all?  Does she even deserve to be working here?  Should she have taken up her uncle’s offer instead?  Sure, she’d be hiding who she is, but in a way isn’t that what she was doing now?

Bànshān brings one hand up to cup her face, his thumb stroking over her cheekbone absentmindedly.  His other is wrapped around her waist, anchoring her.  “Hey, are you with me?”

Yìrán hadn’t even realized she was spiraling until he asked.  She blinks a few times, regaining her bearings.  She focuses on breathing, on feeling the fabric of his shirt under her arms, the heat of his body under that.  It isn’t until a few deep breaths later that she realizes Bànshān was breathing with her.  She tilts forward, her forehead resting against his sternum.  “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice muffled by the Henley.

He moved his hand when she started tilting into him.  He gently stroked the back of her head, his fingers sliding through her hair easily.  “Why?”

Yìrán looked up, her chin resting where her forehead had been.  Bànshān looked genuinely confused at her apology, which made Yìrán frown in confusion.  She had just spiraled into her basket of insecurities when he definitely had pulled her around the corner for something else.  “You were being all cute and romantic and having a secret rendezvous, and I ruined it.”

Bànshān’s confusion turns into a fond smile.  This isn’t the first time that she got in her head about something, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.  Lucky for him, ‘words of affirmation’ was one of his stronger love languages.  He tucks some of her hair behind her ear.  “I wouldn’t say you ruined it.  After all, we’re both still standing here, hm?  Neither of us have been in any grave dangers, right?”  He moves to cup her face in his hands, “I’d put this in the “Win” column, personally.”

His comment had the intended effect.  Yìrán’s face broke into a smile.  “You would, would you?”  She brings one of her hands up to his heart and rises up on her toes.  “Prove it.”

“Of course,” Bànshān says, leaning down to meet her lips.  He stops just before their lips meet and he changes course and pulls back.  Before Yìrán can do so much as pout, Bànshān kisses the tip of her nose.  And then moves to her forehead.  And then temples.  Soon, he’s just peppering kisses all over her face, savoring her giggles.  Yìrán moved to hold his wrists, just enjoying the sudden affection.  She was surprised that he felt this comfortable in the office to be so free with it, but she chalked it up to that he wanted to reassure her.  … and the fact that no one else was on this floor, so they didn’t have to explain themselves if they were to be caught.

He kisses the part of her cheekbone that was right next to his thumb, and Yìrán lets out a small whine.  “Yú Bànshān!  Just kiss me already!”  She barely got the order out before he finally, blissfully, pressed his lips to hers.

After being teased for so long, despite however enjoyable it was, Yìrán relishes the feeling.  She sighs into the kiss as his hands move position again, grabbing her hips and pushing her back to the wall.  Her arms come up around his neck, one hand holding him in place and the other playing with the ends of his hair.  Despite her earlier worries, Yìrán does feel a small thrill run up her spine at someone seeing them.

She likes Bànshān, really and truly likes him.  And for all her posturing, sometimes she wishes that more people than Sīsī and his friends knew.  While she wouldn’t do anything in the office, at least in the main part, that would be inappropriate, she would like to go out to dinners and not have to sit away from him.  Occasionally, by some conversion of the fates, they were able to sit next to each other.  But, in a way, that was almost worse.  She would be able to feel him next to her, and couldn’t do so much as lean into him.  Not in front of co-workers who didn’t know they were dating.

The press of his glasses against her skin is not something she often feels.  Bànshān prefers to wear his contacts whenever possible, despite Yìrán badgering him about being in front of the computer for so long.  Even she bit the bullet and bought herself a pair of glasses that had the special technology stuff that was supposed to prevent eyestrain and headaches.  She knows his are the same, which makes it all the more annoying he never wears them.  Still, she pampered him whenever he complained about having a headache, taking his contacts out, and laying his head in her lap.

Yìrán tilts her head slightly, mid-kiss, and accidentally catches his lip on her teeth.  The choked groan he lets out has her flushing from head to toe, her veins filled with electricity.  Momentarily forgetting herself, she does it again.  Purposefully this time.  She nips his lower lip and his fingers tighten around her hips, the fabric bunching.  The wrinkles would instantly tell the world what they are up to, even if they get themselves sorted before going downstairs.  All of her senses are focused on him.  The sound of their breaths and lips, the feeling of his body against hers, the smell of his cologne… every part of Yìrán is drowning in him.  She doesn’t want a life raft.  The passion he was showing, normally kept to either of their apartments, is addicting.

The loud ring of his phone, echoing around the empty hall, jolts them out of their reverie like cold water to the face.  Bànshān, his eyes glazed, has to force himself to let go of her.  He takes a step back, putting some distance between them.  He shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone roughly, glaring at it.  Yìrán watches him, taking in the small details of their post-makeout session.  His hair is messy, sticking up in odd places.  His clothes are rumpled, though she’s not sure how that happened.  Bànshān’s lips are red from the kissing and the biting.  Yìrán touches her lips and knows, in her heart, that they look the same as his.

“… alright, alright, I’ll be right there,” he says into the phone, his free hand coming up to run through his hair.  “Yeah.”  The word is drawn out and filled with caution.  Whatever the person on the other line said makes Bànshān’s eyes widen.  He looks at Yìrán with mild panic.  “No,” he says forcefully, “we do not need to have that discussion.  God.  Goodbye.”

Yìrán raises an eyebrow as she smooths out her clothes.  “Do I want to know or…?”  She holds her laughter back as Bànshān walks back over to her, defeated.  He drops his head on her shoulder, and she blinks rapidly, fighting the smile that wants to rise on her face.  “There, there,” she says, patting him on the shoulder.

“Stop enjoying this,” he mumbles half-heartedly.

“Okay, baby, sure I will,” Yìrán agrees easily, knowing she will continue to enjoy this.  After a few more seconds, she says, “We should probably go downstairs.”  She moves her shoulder, attempting to gently move her boyfriend into an upright position.

Bànshān releases a dramatic sigh and stands up properly.  Yìrán’s hands come up automatically to fix his hair; his earlier attempt didn’t really do all that much if she was being honest.  As she does that, his thumb swipes under her bottom lip, and she’s suddenly reminded she had put on a pink lipstick that morning.  After she sorts out his hair, she does the same motion to him, trying to wipe away the pink smudges.

“You go ahead,” she says when she finishes.  “I have to go to the bathroom and reapply the lipstick you took off.”

Bànshān gives her a cocky smile.  “That just means I fulfilled my job as boyfriend properly.”

She rolls her eyes and pushes off of the wall, heading down the other corridor to the bathrooms.  “Goodbye, Bànshān,” she calls over her shoulder, putting as much exasperation as she can into her tone.  “Have fun downstairs!”

She hears his answering groan of resignation and smiles.  He fulfilled his job as boyfriend, and now he’s got to fulfill his job as one of the founding members of Zhì Yī.  All Yìrán has to do after she’s fixed herself up is look at her emails.  And maybe plan a way to reward Bànshān later tonight for being a good boyfriend…