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Qiao Yifan finished the match flushed with success. He hadn’t been certain that his Ghost Feast mirage would work in practice—the long hours of testing it with An Wenyi and Luo Ji had been in carefully controlled environments, nothing like the pressure of having Xiao Shiqin chasing him across a dueling map!
To pull it off was enough. To have felt Xiao Shiqin’s surprise in the moment, seen his little smile, and heard his murmured words of praise after the match? He would be savoring this feeling for at least the rest of the week.
Especially if Happy could pull off this win. Qiao Yifan accepted his teammate’s praise, shouted encouragement at Ye Xiu, and settled back into his seat with a prayer of hope as the arena matches continued.
He could savor his personal victory later, after the team’s success was settled.
Qiao Yifan’s phone was blinking with a text from an unknown number when he woke up the next morning, head pounding from the team’s victory celebration. He squinted at it, then registered the first words:
This is Xiao Shiqin, it began, and Qiao Yifan’s eyes widened as he rubbed sleep from his eyes to read it properly. I asked Mucheng for your contact information. I greatly enjoyed our match, and I was wondering if you would be interested in chatting about that Ghost Feast technique of yours sometime; it’s a fascinating innovation.
“What,” Qiao Yifan croaked. His throat was dry from sleep, and the words didn’t make sense. Especially once he saw the Sent time was 1:18am, which was possibly later than Qiao Yifan himself had been up.
Next to him in the puddle of bodies they’d become after stumbling home, Baozi grumbled, “Go to sleep or be awake somewhere else,” and pawed blearily at him.
Qiao Yifan patted Baozi’s head and carefully extracted himself from the puppy pile. An Wenyi promptly filled in the gap, pressing his back against Baozi’s warmth, and Qiao Yifan smiled to see it. Across the room, he caught sight of Mo Fan’s eyes opening at the sound of footsteps, but they fell shut again after Qiao Yifan gave him a little wave.
I’d love to meet you, Qiao Yifan texted back after a shower, a quick breakfast, and half an hour of disbelief that Xiao Shiqin, the Master Tactician, thought he was worth talking to. Maybe at a cafe next Wednesday morning? He’d need those days to get over screaming about the idea.
Then, to distract himself from waiting for Xiao Shiqin to respond, Qiao Yifan threw himself into preparing food for everyone else—with Mo Fan’s help, since he had wandered into the kitchen not long after Qiao Yifan himself. He was a quiet, steady presence, and Qiao Yifan chattered to him about Xiao Shiqin’s text and what Xiao Shiqin might want to talk about all through the process of making celebratory breakfast pastries that were more complicated than Qiao Yifan might’ve attempted on his own but that Mo Fan seemed very comfortable making.
Mo Fan mostly spoke to tell Qiao Yifan what the next step in the baking process was, but once the pastries—buttery dough made from scratch wrapping around Happy-red strawberries soaked in their own sugar—were in the oven, he said, “Is it a date?”
Qiao Yifan stopped in the middle of the kitchen and did not drop the cutting board he was about to clean off in the sink. “Oh,” he said, the little excited voice in his chest clicking into context. “I mean. Uh. No? It’s not a date. It’s just. Meeting. At a cafe. To talk.”
Mo Fan gently took the cutting board from Qiao Yifan’s flour-coated hands and patted his shoulder sympathetically.
“Fuck,” Qiao Yifan said as the water turned on and Mo Fan started washing all the dishes they’d used. “It’s not a date. But I kind of wish it was.”
Brunch next Wednesday sounds perfect, Xiao Shiqin texted back, roughly when the last of the Happy-themed pastries were polished off. Qiao Yifan felt his face burn hot as he grinned at his phone. He was about to get teased and he didn’t even care. 10:30am at Common Grounds?
It was a slightly more upscale—and intimate—cafe than Qiao Yifan would’ve suggested himself, but he sent Yes, sounds great! before he could overthink it.
“Is that Yingjie?” Tang Rou asked from across the table. “Tell him hi for us if it is!”
“It’s not,” Qiao Yifan said, though Gao Yingjie had also sent his effusive congratulations in multiple texts since Team Happy’s victory and Qiao Yifan had felt his heart filled to bursting from each and every message.
Su Mucheng cackled. “Xiao Shiqin.”
Qiao Yifan peered suspiciously at her. “You knew that already.”
“Doesn’t make it less true.” She stood with a grin and ruffled his hair as she passed. “Don’t be anxious, Yifan; he’s going to like you too.”
“How do you know that?” Qiao Yifan demanded, swiveling to face her. The rubber band tangled in his fingers stretched taut, and he was certain everyone else could see his blush, but his heart was too high in his throat for him to avoid asking now that Su Mucheng had given him the opening.
She paused at the door and smirked. “He’s had his eye on you for a while,” she said. “He’s said you’re one of the strongest members of the team. I think he wanted to recruit you, if Excellent Era had won the final, but there’s no chance of that anymore.”
“Oh,” Qiao Yifan said faintly. He sank back into his seat as Su Mucheng disappeared and—mercy of mercies—An Wenyi dragged Baozi into a discussion of whether professional teams had zodiac birthdays that was absurd and loud enough to take the attention off Qiao Yifan. He could sit there, quiet and stunned and wondering if Glory had been the only reason Xiao Shiqin had kept an eye on him.
Xiao Shiqin hadn’t given anyone else a smile and words of support before their match’s start, after all.
Qiao Yifan twisted his rubber band around his fingers as he entered the cafe. He’d made a point of arriving early, because he couldn’t bear the idea of being late. There weren’t many other customers in the warmly-lit cafe, for which he was grateful, and it was easy to order a pot of tea and take a seat in a quiet corner where he could watch the door for Xiao Shiqin.
It didn’t take long; he’d barely placed his order and taken a seat when Xiao Shiqin walked in. For a moment, Qiao Yifan wanted to hide—he didn’t feel nearly prepared enough for this—but then Xiao Shiqin caught his eye and smiled.
“I see we have the same theory of timeliness,” Xiao Shiqin said as he approached. “It’s good to see you, Qiao Yifan.”
“Captain Xiao,” Qiao Yifan said, stumbling to his feet. “I mean, Vice-captain—”
Xiao Shiqin raised a hand, cutting him off. “Please, there’s no need for titles today. We’re here as friends, are we not?”
“I—” Qiao Yifan knew he was blushing. “Of course, Xiao Shiqin.”
It was terribly unfair that Xiao Shiqin was so good at Glory and had such a fantastic smile. “Good,” he said, sitting down. “Now, have you ordered anything yet?”
It was such a normal question that Qiao Yifan relaxed into it, his heartbeat settling down to normal as they sorted out their orders and waited to receive them. Xiao Shiqin was easy to talk to, setting up easy topics to chat about and following up like this wasn’t the first extended conversation they’d had.
Only when their food had arrived—an assortment of savory pastries to share—and the edge of hunger had been sated did Xiao Shiqin lean forward and say, “How did you discover that trick with the ghost boundaries? I’ve never seen anything like it. Neither had Li Xuan, when I called him after the match.”
Xiao Shiqin had even asked Void’s captain? Qiao Yifan bit his lip, grateful that Li Xuan had finally seen him play a Ghostblade the way he intended instead of fumbling around with ignorant desperation at All-Stars. The rubber band pulled taut between Qiao Yifan’s fingers with the realisation that Xiao Shiqin would likely tell Captain Li about this conversation, too. But if he really had discovered something so interesting, they would simply be proud of him.
Qiao Yifan intentionally relaxed his hands and met Xiao Shiqin’s curious eyes. “I was experimenting in-game, and noticed the effect. My teammate—my friend—Luo Ji helped me study and refine the mirage effect into a replicable event.”
“It’s quite a risk to use such a new technique in an important match.” Xiao Shiqin propped his chin on a hand, the tiny smile Qiao Yifan was beginning to think of as his default expression still lighting his all-too-handsome face. “Were you worried?”
“Of course I was.” Qiao Yifan laughed a little, remembering his nerves as he’d entered the player’s booth and plugged in his keyboard. “I was facing you. But we’d made it that far, and Captain Ye always tells us to use every trick we have, and I knew I would need to in order to gain victory.”
“Ye Xiu has always excelled at using every tool in his hand.” Xiao Shiqin shook his head; exasperation, Qiao Yifan thought, as well as respect for his opponent. “The next time we face each other will be interesting. I’m curious to learn how effective your ghost mirage will be without the element of surprise.”
Qiao Yifan grinned, excitement bubbling in his chest. “If the possibility of a mirage makes you pause, even for a moment, then it’s useful.” He leaned forward, not quite mirroring Xiao Shiqin’s posture, but coming close. “Excited to find out?”
Xiao Shiqin’s eyes met his, dark and warm and more intense without any glasses to shelter them. “Yes,” he said. “I am.”
They lingered longer than Qiao Yifan expected, leaving only when the lunch crowd came and they couldn’t justify hovering over their refilled pot of tea any longer.
Outside, once they’d cleared the doorway and stepped out of the flow of people, Qiao Yifan turned to Xiao Shiqin. “Thank you,” he said. “I had a good time.”
Xiao Shiqin smiled at him, leaning casually against a wall, hands in his pockets and the sun casting highlights on his hair. “Would you like to do this again?”
Laughter bubbled out of Qiao Yifan’s throat. Nervous, delighted, surprised—he couldn’t untangle the emotions. “I— Yes,” Qiao Yifan bounced on his toes. “I like talking about Glory with you; I can learn so much.”
“I’m not asking you because of Glory.” Xiao Shiqin tilted his head, the fringe of his hair falling into his eyes. “Or, not just because of Glory,” he amended. “I would enjoy getting to know you better, Yifan.”
“Same time next week?” As soon as he said the words, Qiao Yifan wanted to take them back; they belonged to someone more confident. But he was a champion, Qiao Yifan reminded himself. He was a pro player, and he had gone toe-to-toe with Xiao Shiqin and forced a tie.
Xiao Shiqin nodded, eyes shining golden in the sun. “It’s a date,” he said, and started walking off while Qiao Yifan froze, processing those words.
He had disappeared into the crowd by the time Qiao Yifan recovered.
A minute later, Qiao Yifan grinned and pulled out his phone. You wanted me to ask what you meant, he wrote, so that you’d have an excuse to keep texting me. Tacticians. He shook his head, but his heart was light to really mind the scheming.
I meant what I said, Xiao Shiqin replied, a mischievous One Autumn Leaf emoji accenting the crisp lines of text. It’s a date. If you want it to be.
Qiao Yifan almost walked into a lamppost as he read Xiao Shiqin’s words over and over. Then, standing perfectly still so he wouldn’t hurt himself, he typed, I’d like that.
Xiao Shiqin sent back a smiley face, and that alone was enough for Qiao Yifan to clutch his phone against his chest, smiling at nothing from sheer delight and disbelief.
He was going to date Xiao Shiqin! Him! Qiao Yifan, the player nobody believed in last year!
Everywhere he looked, the future looked increasingly bright.