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“Due to Shen Yuan’s current condition, we’ll need to sub a player in for the next match.”

Luo Binghe’s hands paused in their action of massaging his captain’s wrist. He had tried to ignore it before, but the tremble of Shen Yuan’s fingers was similar to that of an elderly person, despite the young man’s nonchalant expression. Luo Binghe’s own worried expression cracked as he looked at his captain.

“It’s okay, Binghe.” Shen Yuan noticed Luo Binghe’s gaze, and he smiled, light and easy, stroking the younger boy's head as though it were Luo Binghe who was injured. “It’s just a little bit of bad timing; I’ll be fine after I’ve rested for a few days.”

“Captain…”

With the touch of Shen Yuan’s hand, an uncontrollable, comfortable heat flooded Luo Binghe’s cheeks, and he returned his attention to diligently rubbing Shen Yuan’s wrist, his caress as careful and gentle as though he were polishing porcelain. He pressed his lips together in a thin line, too many words and emotions springing to mind and muddling his head. The subtle soothing that warmed his heart dissipated and left behind only worry, anger, and stress. It overwhelmed him, and an uncomfortable heat stung his eyes.

It was an unpleasant situation to be in.

Their esports team, TPC, was new on the block, only founded around a year ago. Compared to the monster teams that had been around since esports began, TPC had a lot of work ahead of them if they wanted to claim a place on the scene.

Looking at it positively, TPC’s players were all talented individuals. From a negative point of view, the young team members were still learning to get along and cooperate. Although they all had the skills to earn their high salaries, there was no doubt that one team member in particular was the sun that the others orbited.

Shen Yuan, the nineteen-year-old captain of the team, was a one-in-a-million talent.

The team may have had their hiccups, but with Shen Yuan present, their victory seemed unquestionable. The young, up-and-coming player had single-handedly carried his team to the finals of the national competition.

Needless to say, the esports crowd loved it. They loved Shen Yuan. Strength was all that mattered, and Shen Yuan had it in droves. He became a fan favourite. The hope of many and their new idol.

Shen Yuan was Luo Binghe’s idol.

He was also Luo Binghe’s first love.

But Shen Yuan wasn’t actually Luo Binghe’s captain.

At fifteen years old, Luo Binghe was recruited into the club’s youth team as promising fresh blood. Initially, Luo Binghe had looked up to the main team’s captain, aspiring to one day reach the stars like him. There was no such thing as ulterior motives within his heart, and Luo Binghe, as part of the youth club, had no expectation of entering his idol's eyes; he wasn’t good enough. Why would an amazing, capable person like Shen Yuan pay attention to a weak, no-good group like the youth team? Luo Binghe needed to work hard, hard enough that he could enter the main team, and only then would he deserve to be seen by their captain.

Not once had Luo Binghe thought he would be noticed by the star player.

Shen Yuan had taken notice of the younger boy during a training match when Luo Binghe managed to hold his own against Shen Yuan’s teammates after his own was completely decimated. Of course, the main team wasn’t playing all that seriously, or Luo Binghe would have been destroyed along with his immature team. It was like a pack of wolves toying with a group of lost puppies.

His teammates were disappointed with the loss, but it came as no surprise. It would be more of a shock if a new and unskilled team such as them could beat the core team and their more experienced players. So, while the other youthful members sighed, shrugged their shoulders, and carried on with their days, a bitterness appeared in Luo Binghe’s chest that soured his tongue. Against his will, his eyes had teared up and his fingernails carved into his palms.

It seemed the day he would be able to proudly greet the person he admired was as far away as the heavens.

Yet, beyond Luo Binghe’s expectations, after the match, Shen Yuan singled out the young player as a promising little sheep that he had decided to take under his wing. Ever since then, Luo Binghe had spent every spare moment that he wasn’t training with his own teammates to learn from the main team's captain like a little apprentice.

It was more like he was sticking to Shen Yuan’s side like seaweed to a glutinous rice ball. He wrapped himself around him, refusing to peel.

And so, after spending months at his idol’s side like a shadow, being doted on and cared for, and having affection rained on his shoulders, it was inevitable that the orphaned Luo Binghe’s fragile teenage heart would be moved.

So now, upon hearing that Shen Yuan’s injury had flared up at the worst possible time, Luo Binghe’s first thought wasn’t about the effect this would have on their chances of winning; it was heartache for the pain and guilt that his captain must feel.

The other team members, like Luo Binghe, also took the bad news in stride.

They were well aware of their captain's injury, and over the past few weeks leading up to the competition, they had encouraged Shen Yuan to rest and cut his training time short; it’s just that their captain would never listen. No threats, bribes, or blackmail would sway him. Even his older brother, Shen Jiu, couldn’t be used as a weapon. The team and their management were starting to worry about their thinning hairlines. It was only in the last couple of days before competing that they discovered the most successful way to coax Shen Yuan was to get his little apprentice involved.

All it took was for Luo Binghe to hold onto their captain’s arm with a nervous smile, tentatively asking their captain to watch his gameplay. Shen Yuan would turn his PC off in a matter of seconds and follow his little apprentice to the youth club's training room. Like a worried mother or brother? Neither description felt quite right, but the team members' shoulders would all relax, and they voluntarily ignored how easy it was for the younger boy to coax their captain. It was best for the mental health of the team.

So when the news of the substitution was raised, although the team members were disappointed knowing the likely outcome of their final match, they didn’t make a fuss. It would be pointless, and they were aware of their own shortcomings. Besides, it was their first national competition; they would have plenty more in the future.

“Who will be subbing in?” Yue Qingyuan, the oldest member of their team, asked the most important question.

Luo Binghe’s hands stuttered, matching the tremble of Shen Yuan’s, and his throat tightened, making it almost impossible to breathe.

In an established, popular team, this question would be like a wife in a supermarket, carefully considering what brand of rice to buy. There are so many options, but which would work best?

For TPC, it was as if the wife had rushed into the supermarket to find that they only had cheap, mediocre brands in stock.

TPC didn’t have any substitutes.

As a brand new team, their core members were all locked in. At twenty-two years old, Yue Qingyuan was their calmest and most stable member. His time to play professionally was coming to an end, but he could easily hang on for another year or two. They also had Liu Qingge, eighteen years old, a spitfire with an aggressive playstyle. Their youngest team member was Gongyi Xiao, who was only sixteen years old, just a year older than their captain's little apprentice. He was steady and reliable, which made up for his slightly weaker skills.

But substitutes?

They hadn’t prepared any. They weren’t able to prepare any.

It was a struggle for the management to find these four players who could play well enough to enter the finals, and three of them were only somewhat better than deadweight, just barely able to support the truly skilled captain of their team.

Where on earth would they find skilled and experienced players willing to sit on the bench for a team that had quite literally nothing to show? And let’s not talk about money. Shen Yuan’s contract alone had stolen half of the club's funds. Fortunately, Shen Yuan’s performance so far had attracted the attention of sufficient sponsors to more than cover his contract fee.

Back to the issue of substitute players; there really weren’t any!

Not officially, anyway.

In fact, as luck would have it, there were two professional players in the team competition lounge that could actually qualify to play as substitutes: Luo Binghe and a fellow player from the youth club, Ming Fan.

Although the two fifteen-year-olds were part of the youth club, they could also qualify to play in the professional league as there were no lower age limitations. The purpose of the team's youth club was to find younger players that they could hone for a year or two and then transfer to the main team as and when needed. So Luo Binghe and Ming Fan, both young players who had been identified as having potential, had been brought along to see what a live competition was like, and coincidentally, they could both act as player substitutes.

No one thought that the team could still win when they lacked Shen Yuan’s participation, but they could at least wipe the sweat from their brows: they wouldn’t have to forfeit without playing at all.

Now, they just had to decide which lamb was being sent to the altar.

Luo Binghe snuck a glance at Ming Fan. The other boy's eyes were bright, keen, and excited. Who wouldn’t want the chance to walk up onto the stage of the finals? It would be even better if they could contribute to the team's win.

The dreams of children were fantastical, and Luo Binghe was no different.

Luo Binghe’s brows twisted. Unknowingly, his unmoving fingers pressed down on Shen Yuan’s wrist. His unblinking eyes turned to the coach, a faint stirring of anticipation in his stomach.

In Luo Binghe’s opinion, it was a no-brainer.

There were a couple of reasons for this:

First, Luo Binghe simply didn’t get along with Ming Fan. The latter was always making jibes at Luo Binghe, harassing him, prodding him, and constantly bullying him. The reason was understandable: What member of the youth team wouldn’t want to be the captain's apprentice? Such an opportunity, a dream within reach if only they were skilled and lucky enough. All young, aspiring players would daydream that they were the chosen ones. So, if someone else were to be handed that dream in front of their eyes, obviously it would spur an unpleasant churning in their gut.

It also didn’t help that they were both at the age where they were sensitive, and it was too easy to give in to their emotions. Too old to feign ignorance of their wrongdoing, but too young to fully understand the consequences and implications. To succumb to temptation and blame others for one's own inadequacies. Ming Fan was clearly more susceptible to this, as demonstrated by his sneer and childish remarks. Luo Binghe, meanwhile, was more mature, having grown up in an orphanage until he was adopted by an older lady who passed away just before he joined the club. That didn’t mean his thoughts weren’t as petty as Ming Fan’s; he was just better at hiding them.

Due to his upbringing—or lack thereof—while in the orphanage, Luo Binghe was a lot more grounded and aware of his capabilities. To put it simply, he knew he was a better player than Ming Fan.

Therefore, although Luo Binghe was extremely worried about his captain, he also couldn’t help the small popping bubbles that fizzed through his veins and filled his head with hot air.

Was this his chance?

If Luo Binghe was chosen to sub for this match and performed well, could that open the door he so desperately wanted to beat down? If he were to outperform his peers and show his true worth, would that mean he could possibly become a permanent member of the main team? 

Would he finally be able to stand by his captain's side with his head held high and proud?

He may not be able to play with his beloved idol in this game, but Luo Binghe took a sly side look at Gongyi Xiao, the boy only a year older than him who also received some of Shen Yuan’s pampering. Maybe if Luo Binghe carried the team to victory, he could replace that eyesore.

“Well, we only have a couple of options.” The coach explained to the team members, gesturing to the two youth club members' expectant faces. He was a chubby, older man with a thick moustache. To see him, you wouldn’t think he was an avid gamer, and that guess would be correct unless you took into account games such as Tetris and Snake. He was a coach in name more than anything else; there was only really one person who called the shots within their team. “I discussed it with the captain earlier, and we decided...”

It wasn’t very suspenseful for Luo Binghe.

He considered it a foregone conclusion.

So he couldn’t help but slip into a daydream.

The bright lights were blinding. The loud cheers were deafening. Yet, despite this, the wild screams were muffled in Luo Binghe’s ears, and he could clearly see the words You Win floating on his monitor. Disbelief lifted his heart; it fluttered and threatened to fly away. Was he imagining things, or had they really won?

“Binghe!” He heard someone yell, the voice recognisable and anchoring him, dragging him back down to solid ground. The person, Shen Yuan, grabbed Luo Binghe’s shoulders, shaking him, tears of joy streaking down his cheeks as he cried, “You did it! You won! It’s all thanks to you! I knew if anyone could do it, it would be you.”

And before Luo Binghe could respond, Shen Yuan yanked him into an embrace. Their bodies were plastered together, leaving not enough space for even a sheet of paper to slip between them.

Then there was a tender, soft, and moist press of lips against skin. Fleeting at first, like the first cherry blossoms in spring. Gradually, the barren trees bloomed, delicate pink petals blossoming one by one, gentle and lovely, brushing Luo Binghe’s skin one after another, staining his cheeks in a matching colour.

“Binghe, you…”

The petals scattered, but the view wasn’t any less beautiful.

Shen Yuan’s hands moved up Luo Binghe’s chest, winding around the young player's neck, settling on his nape. He looked into Luo Binghe’s eyes, emotion surging with an undeniable heat. His charged gaze swept over Luo Binghe’s lips, and he leaned forward, crossing the small space that separated them.

And just before their lips could touch, Shen Yuan said,

“Ming Fan will be subbing in for me.”

~☆~

It had been three years since then.

Luo Binghe reclined in his gaming chair, the light from his phone shining on his face, the screen reflected in his disinterested eyes. The rest of his team was busy practicing on their own while their captain busied himself messing with the rival team's captain.

Just another standard day.

Some of Luo Binghe’s teammates exchanged glances. They felt sorry for the poor guy being targeted by their ruthless, vindictive captain, but none of them had the courage or the inclination to raise a problem with Luo Binghe’s behaviour. Why open the door and invite trouble? It wasn’t their fault that their captain was a temperamental eighteen-year-old who had a history and a grudge against Shen Yuan.

In their defence, Luo Binghe’s teammates weren’t part of the group chat, so they could only make assumptions. An educated guess based on the circle gossip. Although the messages were private, it was common knowledge that Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan’s relationship was complicated and strained. Having seen both Luo Binghe’s strong, conflicting emotions whenever he bumped into Shen Yuan, it didn’t take a genius to know that any messages between them would be just as unpleasant.

Anyway, it wasn’t just the two of them in the chat either, and lips would always loosen in the right environment.

Although they were all competitors, most of the esports teams were friendly with one another. They were all of a similar age with the same passion and interest, and it came in handy for arranging practice matches. At some point, one of the team captains suggested a great idea: the captains should join a group chat!

It was an innocent suggestion with good intentions, and, for the most part, it worked well. It allowed the teams to easily mingle without being overwhelmed by voices. Casual and easygoing, the captains maintained friendly relations through this method.

Obviously, as captain of TPC, Shen Yuan was a member of this group.

And, because of one specific person, obviously, Luo Binghe was also a member of this group.

Although Luo Binghe definitely wasn’t there to be friends.

Many things can change in three years, and many things can also stay the same.

Over time, TPC had changed, and so had Luo Binghe.

Yue Qingyuan retired as a professional player and became the coach of TPC. Shen Yuan was still the captain, but, as a man with a ridiculous salary and a rich family, he had bought the team, becoming its owner. The team manager was replaced by the person Luo Binghe considered his mortal enemy: Shen Yuan’s older brother, Shen Jiu, and Liu Qingge and Gongyi Xiao were still starters, along with a new and unnamed member who was mediocre and earned Luo Binghe’s ire.

And in case you hadn’t guessed, Luo Binghe, well, he left the team.

After Luo Binghe was relegated to the bench during that competition three years ago, he thought about a lot of things. He thought about how he had overestimated himself, about how Shen Yuan clearly didn’t think that much of him; about how betrayed he felt. It was a mess. He was a mess. It was as if he was filled with sludge. Heavy limbs, heavy heart— why couldn’t it be him?

Things weren’t the same with his captain after that.

Shen Yuan had tried to continue as normal. Nothing had changed in his eyes, and he maintained their previous master-apprentice relationship. Luo Binghe couldn’t do it. It would be one thing to pretend that Luo Binghe wasn’t insulted and essentially told he wasn’t good enough, but Shen Yuan also evaded Luo Binghe’s questioning as to why it had to be Ming Fan. His persistence was met with silence, and a dog will only search for kindness for so long before it gives up.

So, Luo Binghe gave up.

In the end, when another team, THD, approached Luo Binghe and offered him a guaranteed seat in their core team, Luo Binghe grabbed the opportunity after a single moment's hesitation.

Why stay on a team where he wasn’t wanted?

Luo Binghe’s feelings on the matter were both complex and simple. On the one hand, he resented Shen Yuan’s decision. Choosing Ming Fan as the sub was Shen Yuan’s biggest mistake, in Luo Binghe’s opinion. It was stupid and unfathomable, and did Shen Yuan really have so little confidence in him? On the other hand, Luo Binghe’s adoration and idolization for his captain had consumed him. Eaten him whole and refused to spit him out.

Ultimately, Luo Binghe threw the temper tantrum of a fifteen-year-old boy and decided to leave. But, even three years later, Luo Binghe’s resentment and infatuation remained at their peak, and everyone else knew it.

Everyone else except for Shen Yuan, that is.

Although that was only in regards to Luo Binghe’s little crush.

Every other player in their league was well aware of Luo Binghe’s romantic feelings towards Shen Yuan. Even the gaming fans were suspicious. Luo Binghe didn’t exactly hide it well. Whether it was the Shen Yuan merchandise in his room, his Shen Yuan-branded gaming setup, or his Shen Yuan fan clothing. It was like a lighthouse guiding ships home at night; you could plainly see Luo Binghe’s obsession with the other player, despite how much he stupidly denied it.

Then, when it came to his resentment… Luo Binghe’s words and actions towards Shen Yuan were the polar opposite of his fanboy collection. Shen Yuan couldn’t be wholly blamed for seeing Luo Binghe’s obsessive possessiveness as sarcastic irony—a way to taunt and torment him. As far as Shen Yuan was concerned, Luo Binghe absolutely hated his guts.

So both Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan were surprised by the current turn of events.

Luo Binghe had been taunting Shen Yuan in the captain’s chat as usual. At this point, it could be considered his part-time job. The two teams, TPC and THD, were due to face off in the finals of the national competition in a few days.

The heat for this match was undeniable.

An old legend and a new star competing for the trophy.

Game enthusiasts were camping the live streams days in advance, and the sponsors were busy counting the coins they expected to roll in.

It was destined to be a match that no one would forget.

The players involved had their own opinions on the matter as well.

Luo Binghe, for one, was cocky and confident. No longer was he the young, fifteen-year-old boy still wet behind the ears. The hidden arrogance from his younger days was now worn like a badge of honour on his sleeve, and with good reason. He was well aware of his own strength, and having memorised his old almost-captains skills like the lyrics of his favourite song, he considered himself to be even stronger than Shen Yuan, the current number-one ranked player. He even liked to rub it in his previous captain’s face like a child desperate for attention.

It was something he did on a daily basis in the captain's chat, and today was the same as ever. His words were twisted and subtle with underlying taunts, but whether Luo Binghe actually meant them or if they were a desperate plea for acknowledgment, well, everyone had their own opinion.

In the midst of his understated roasting, a rogue captain tumbled into the chat like a bowling ball, aiming for a strike.

While the excitement for the match was at an all-time high, this rascal felt that it could reach even higher heights. Why not add a little more fun to the mix? A little more pressure. It wouldn’t be the first time the players had gambled in the background, but no one had ever tried to pull in these two prominent figures, who were always at odds. The unnamed captain proposed: the winner wins it all, and the loser has to face a forfeit of the winner's choosing.

The chat went as quiet as an abandoned city in the apocalypse.

No one dared to make a sound.

To be fair, the proposal was made in jest. Who would be fool enough to add more stress when they were fighting for the championship? It was stupid, but both Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe’s emotions were at the tip of a roller coaster, and neither of them felt able to back down.

For Luo Binghe, when he saw the proposal, something curled in his gut. He struggled to swallow, and it felt as though the phone in his hand was on fire, yet his grip only tightened, refusing to loosen.

If he won, he could ask Shen Yuan to do one thing?

Anything ?

Luo Binghe fell into a daze. Meanwhile, Shen Yuan had already replied and agreed to the dare, seemingly angered into agreeing. Unknown to all observers, including Luo Binghe, this wasn’t the case at all.

Shen Yuan wasn’t triggered by Luo Binghe’s insults. He never had been. In fact, the older captain's intentions have always been to appease his younger ex-apprentice, ever since he made the decision to allow Ming Fan to be his substitute.

It was the least he could do.

However, over the years, Luo Binghe had never really thought about why Shen Yuan was so accommodating to him, just letting him push his senior around. He assumed it was due to Shen Yuan’s relaxed and laid-back personality. Maybe it was guilt that Shen Yuan refused to acknowledge. Whatever the reason, Luo Binghe never stopped to consider that Shen Yuan dreamed of their relationship returning to how it was back then.

Upon seeing Shen Yuan’s acquiescence to the additional condition, Luo Binghe’s mind blanked for a moment. Why would Shen Yuan agree? Did he still think Luo Binghe was the same amateur player as back then? Did he still underestimate Luo Binghe? Better yet, did he not consider just what Luo Binghe could and would make him do?

What would Luo Binghe make him do?

He could make him do anything.

Anything.

A buzzing white noise. A dry mouth. Luo Binghe wet his lips. It was static, static, static .

By the time he regained consciousness, Luo Binghe found that his hands had typed by themselves, and his victory prize was sitting silently in the chat for all to see. He swallowed as he stared at the words, wondering if it was too late to recall the message, though a large part of him was reluctant to do so. He was at a crossroads created by his conflicting emotions, but which path should he take?

Before he could make up his mind, however, a new message popped up in the chat.

It was a simple reply.

A single word.

But it deafened Luo Binghe, his head as light as a balloon as he blinked, checking over and over that his eyes were correct, that he hadn’t fallen into another of his wistful delusions.

No matter how many times Luo Binghe closed the app, every time it was reopened, the message was the same, sitting there in bold, flashing like a neon sign.

Well.

That’s how it is, then.

If Luo Binghe’s team wins… 

Then Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan will be going on a date.

~☆~

Shen Yuan stared at his phone. His hands had been quicker than his brain, just like whenever he played the game—his instinctual response to an event. He had agreed to the dare without really thinking. Isn’t that always how it goes whenever Luo Binghe is involved? He was so eager to placate the younger boy, who was still in the midst of his three-year tantrum, that he never thought things through.

But… a date?

What was Luo Binghe thinking?

Was this a new form of humiliation that he had come up with?

Shen Yuan felt complicated. Uneasy. Foreboding. Like there was an ominous grey cloud overhead on a day he had forgotten his umbrella. 

Two men going on a date.

Shen Yuan was an open-minded person. Love is love, love is free. Who cares if a man loves a man or a woman loves a woman? Hell, a person can even love a toaster as long as it doesn’t harm anyone! But a date with Luo Binghe? It just didn’t make sense.

Shen Yuan is straight. Luo Binghe is straight.

So why would Luo Binghe choose to go on a date? Shen Yuan didn’t mind too much. He had confidence in his team's abilities, and if they did happen to lose, it would just provide an opportunity for Shen Yuan to coax his little apprentice out of his stubbornness, something he had been trying to do for 3 years but without ample opportunity. So Shen Yuan couldn’t help thinking, isn’t it supposed to be a penalty for him ? Why did it feel like Luo Binghe was punishing himself?

After all these years, his little lamb kept on proving that perhaps Shen Yuan didn’t understand him as well as he thought.

Shen Yuan slumped in his chair. Lashes brushing his cheeks and a hand on his forehead, it was impossible to decipher Luo Binghe’s thoughts.

And he still couldn’t shake the nervous premonition that something would happen if he were to lose this bet.

Ignoring his intuition and telling his gut that it was creating trouble out of nothing, Shen Yuan told himself that at least he wouldn’t suffer too much at Luo Binghe’s hands if things didn’t work in his favour.

Yet, despite thinking like this, Shen Yuan returned his attention to his monitor and raised his voice, demanding nothing but the best from his teammates. 

They must win this competition.

~☆~

The match was as nail-biting as expected.

Two extraordinary teams battling it out for one championship title. Two of the best players in the country fighting it out on a stage watched by thousands. No one could predict the outcome of this anticipated clash. When the winners emerged victorious, the stadium was drowned in cheers.

Once the competition had ended, handshakes were over, and interviews were completed, the teams returned to their respective resting lounges.

The winners were celebrating in their lounge with a warm, cheerful air. Meanwhile, the losing team coldly huddled in their own. It felt like winter, despite the summer sun beaming through the window.

The atmosphere was at an all-time low. Dense and heavy on the shoulders of everyone present. No one was in the mood to reflect on and discuss the previous matches where they were well and truly destroyed. Although wins and losses were never guaranteed, they hadn’t expected it to be such a one-sided fight.

TPC had lost.

And that was putting it nicely.

The skills of THD’s members were nothing to sneeze at; they knew this, especially with Luo Binghe’s talents, which seemed to be ever-evolving. But who would have guessed that Luo Binghe had improved tenfold since the last match they observed? It was almost demonic how well he played. Had he not been playing to his full potential previously, or was there another reason for his insane plays that left everyone present speechless?

With Luo Binghe around, it seemed that the path between the two teams had widened like a deep canyon.

Unsurprisingly, after such a loss, the team members all seemed to be on edge. Well, all other than the captain.

Nervous, upset, or torn glances were tossed in Shen Yuan’s direction, but the twenty-two-year-old just relaxed in a computer chair, his head tilted back, eyes closed, and arms folded across his chest. He looked like he was resting after a tiring game of carrying his teammates, but they all knew he was likely analysing their playstyle and where they could improve.

And, most likely, he was thinking about Luo Binghe.

It was about time for them to leave the competition venue. The ticket holders had emptied from the stands, and cleanup staff had arrived to tidy the lounges and strip them of the personalised decorations that the venue management had kindly put up. There was nothing else left for the players other than for them to return to their base.

Yet not one of them made a move.

All eyes remained on their captain, the owner of the club, and the person whose instructions they must obey.

But that person also seemed to have no intention to leave.

It was as if he expected something.

As if he were waiting for something or someone.

In the next moment, three loud, crisp knocks startled the people inside who were standing on a tightrope. Gazes, one after another, turned to the source of the sound, and no one dared to breathe. If a pin were to drop, it would be as thundering as a stampede.

Logic told them that in all likelihood it was probably a staff member arriving to hurry them along and guide them out, but they couldn’t help but feel that there was a man-eating monster on the other side of the door.

A collective breath was taken as the only exit to the room slowly creaked open, revealing the dreaded creature that had come to visit.

“Binghe.”

It was silent until Shen Yuan said the person's name without opening his eyes.

It seemed he had predicted the other captain's arrival a long time ago.

Luo Binghe didn't blink. He didn’t acknowledge nor notice the other bodies in the room. From the moment the door opened, his eyes were solely trained on the man casually resting in the chair.

The violence of Luo Binghe’s heart constricted his rib cage. An increasing thump, thump, thump that rattled and ached. It jumped up and up until he could feel it in his throat, and he expended all his effort to not choke.

“I’m here to take you on our date.”

Shen Yuan was the clear target of this sentence; anyone else present was cannon fodder; they didn’t warrant an ounce of Luo Binghe’s favour.

There was a lack of oxygen in the room, thinning, becoming sparse. Rigid and volatile. Every person who witnessed this strange scene held a different opinion.

One wanted to argue—to kick the intruder, boot him out, then tell their captain to rest and not waste time on an ingrate. One watched the ongoings with rapt attention, only lacking melon seeds to gnaw on. One wanted to fade out of existence, to lean against the wall and become one with the wallpaper.

In the end, it was the team's coach, Yue Qingyuan, who tore through the delicate screen.

“Alright, everyone get to the bus. You can all have the evening off to rest, and we will reconvene tomorrow. Shen Yuan, you…” Yue Qingyuan trailed off, looking between the two captains as though they were two street cats facing off. He thought for a second before slumping his shoulders and weakly smiling. He chose to sacrifice himself: “I’ll explain to your brother.”

The rest of the team filed out of the room awkwardly. They all knew about the additional agreement between their captain and Luo Binghe. Everyone in the industry did. Unless you had been living under a rock, the gossip was known to all. The team members held their tongues, biting back scathing or sympathetic comments. Some pitied their captain; others wanted to ridicule him. There was even one who wanted to shake some sense into Shen Yuan and ask why he would foolishly agree to and fulfil such a stupid bet.

Nevertheless, there was nothing they could do when their captain was an oblivious idiot who sauntered into a danger zone like he was taking a walk in the park.

With that, the room emptied until only two remained in the chilly space.

“Do we have to do this right now?” Shen Yuan asked. These were his first words, other than greeting the visitor, since leaving the stage, fatigued, lethargic. His eyes didn’t open, too heavy a task. “I’m tired,” he commented, all while knowing the answer he would receive.

Luo Binghe observed the older boy. His messy mop of hair and scruffy bangs almost covered his eyes. The glasses that would constantly slide down the straight slant of his nose. Softly parted lips that still retained the concentration from the game. Rigid jawline from too much tension. And the gentle slope of Shen Yuan’s neck disappearing into his uniform t-shirt, hiding his slight shoulders and prominent collarbones.

Luo Binghe swallowed.

“You promised.” He replied, hoarse, tight, impatient. He felt stiff. Like a robot. His bones almost creaked when he tossed a few items at his old team's captain and added, “Change into these.”

At last, Shen Yuan opened his eyes. They were bright, albeit tired. He wearily looked at Luo Binghe, and the latter remained expressionless with much effort, like this was as much of a chore for himself as it was for Shen Yuan.

“Fine.”

As was expected, Shen Yuan easily caved in. Just like always.

Without much thought, he caught the clothing and stood up, removing his team's uniform shirt and exposing his bare chest.

Luo Binghe suddenly felt that the room was ten times hotter. Like he was sweltering under the midday sun in a heatwave. His eyes were unexpectedly full of the soft expanse of Shen Yuan’s abdomen and torso. He coughed, glued his eyes shut, and swiftly turned around. He could have sworn that record temperatures were reached at that moment.

It was completely outside of Luo Binghe’s expectations.

How was he to know that Shen Yuan would perform a strip tease directly in front of him!?

And how was he to know that turning away to give Shen Yuan some privacy would backfire so tragically!?

Luo Binghe found himself in a dire situation. Directly in front of him was a window, and within the reflection, he could almost clearly see Shen Yuan.

It was a different taste, spying on his half-naked ex-captain through a reflection. Sordid and degenerate. Like a pervert hidden in a locker in the women's changing room. Shame and abashment coloured his skin, yet Luo Binghe couldn’t bring himself to avert his gaze as his mind wandered into a common fantasy.

“I’m ready.”

Jolted out of his inappropriate daze, Luo Binghe turned to face Shen Yuan, and, really, things only worsened.

It must be understood that what Luo Binghe had given to Shen Yuan was one of his own t-shirts.

Yet another hormone-driven fantasy appeared in Luo Binghe’s mind.

It was one of Luo Binghe’s favourites. Red and fitted. On Luo Binghe, it fit perfectly, wrapping around his torso like a well-fitting glove. But on Shen Yuan, it was too big. Not quite enough to bury him, but enough to hide what must not be seen if Shen Yuan were to remove his trousers... Luo Binghe slapped his thoughts back on track.

His inner turmoil drove him forward, and he tentatively reached out. Whatever was going on in that head of his was a mystery even to himself, like a song playing at five times the speed; fragments of words registered, but not enough to make sense. In the end, Luo Binghe grabbed the mask from Shen Yuan’s hands and helped him wear it.

Though that was also a mistake.

It was impossible for Luo Binghe to carry out this task without touching Shen Yuan, and he grimaced when his fingers touched Shen Yuan’s ears, his skin tickled by black strands of scruffy hair. It was like running through a house on fire. Oxygen was lacking, and it was too hot, too hot, too hot.

Luo Binghe only felt relief after he finalised Shen Yuan’s outfit with a black baseball cap. He unceremoniously whacked it on Shen Yuan’s head with what appeared to be the finesse of a bull in a china shop, but actually, this bull was a fan of ceramics and took great care to keep his tail and horns in check.

He looked down at Shen Yuan, the latter wearing Luo Binghe’s clothes, and something rippled in his chest. Luo Binghe pressed down on the peak of the cap, hiding Shen Yuan’s deep and unfathomable eyes, although Shen Yuan had just rearranged the cap to a more comfortable position.

What was he doing?

Luo Binghe questioned himself, not for the first time, and turned his back on the other captain.

His steps were loaded with uncertainty and confusion, but there was no going back.

“Let’s go.”

~☆~

The first stop on this so-called “date” was a nice, expensive restaurant.

Subtle, understated decor. Large, spacious rooms. Flowers and candles decorated every table. Quiet background music sets the mood, and the gentle hum of chatter not loud enough to distinguish.

The food was homely while also being restaurant quality—simple, authentic dishes.

Luo Binghe had confidently and obnoxiously booked a private room weeks in advance. He had spent hours browsing the web, conducting research, choosing the perfect place that matched Shen Yuan’s tastes.

Once again, Luo Binghe questioned just what he was doing.

With such meticulous planning, it would be a fair assumption that the date was off to a perfect start.

The truth was the polar opposite.

This was the first time the two men had been alone together since they parted ways on bad terms three years ago.

Luo Binghe’s hours of internet browsing weren’t wasted. The restaurant itself was pleasant enough, right up Shen Yuan’s alley. It’s just that the waves of discomfort within the private room were at odds with the ambiguous state of the rest of the restaurant. It was enough to make the waiter break out into a cold sweat.

Far from a romantic, intimate date, it was more like a young couple having a lovers spat.

The silence was unbearable, and the two captains were lost in their own deep thoughts.

Luo Binghe was arguing with himself. An angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other.

This was his first date with Shen Yuan. An event he had quite literally dreamed of for years. The angel on his shoulder was singing hymns, playing the harp. Luo Binghe should be bounding around like an adolescent goat, overflowing with excitement, performing parkour tricks. But then there was the dastardly devil whispering in his ear.

This is the person who betrayed him.

The person who abandoned him like a used and dirty napkin.

The person who chose someone else.

Bitter, spiteful bubbles popped in his stomach, churning and scratching the inner lining. They reminded him that Shen Yuan didn’t want to be here; he didn’t choose to be here; he would rather be somewhere, anywhere else, other than stuck with Luo Binghe.

It soured his mood, reflected on his face by the thin line of his lips and brows scrunched into a scowl.

On the other side of the table, Shen Yuan felt awkward and suspicious.

He still hadn’t sussed Luo Binghe’s deal and was on tenterhooks, waiting for the younger captain to start the punishment.

How would Luo Binghe bully him today?

Shen Yuan had already conceded that he was willing to sacrifice to pacify his little apprentice. Yet, they had been sitting here for so long, the steam from the fresh food gradually dissipating, but Luo Binghe hadn’t spoken a single word since they had arrived.

Well, other than to order all of Shen Yuan’s favourite dishes.

It was strange. It was uncomfortable. It was troublesome.

The pressure had slowly grown heavier, weighing down on his shoulders, but it really seemed as though Luo Binghe had no intention of uttering a single word, opening his mouth only to carelessly stuff tasteless food inside.

Shen Yuan really couldn’t bear it anymore.

He cleared his throat, sipped his water, then tentatively spread a napkin over his lap, patting it twice before talking directly to the table.

“So… How have you been?”

The question held all the awkwardness of a person stumbling across their parents on a nudist beach.

It made Luo Binghe snort. It was a ridiculous question. Multifaceted. So many meanings with so many answers, yet also quite simple, showing the wide ravine between them. Shen Yuan rolled his eyes at the younger man. Luo Binghe was the one to force them into this situation. Did he think Shen Yuan would want to be here with him if not for their wager? Oh, it seemed Shen Yuan was a glutton for punishment, as he actually would… Anyway, Shen Yuan didn’t give up. He picked at one of the dishes on the table, serving it into his own bowl.

“You played well earlier.” Shen Yuan said, tentative, probing, and without much hope. Seeing as he was here, he thought he should at least try and strike up something resembling a decent conversation. Though the only common and safe topic seemed to be about work. Well, whatever, at least it was something , and it was as easy as taking a walk for Shen Yuan to comment on Luo Binghe’s gameplay.

“The triple kill you got was impressive.”

Luo Binghe squirmed in his seat. Like he was sitting on needles.

The angel and the devil were hard at work again; one ecstatic, Shen Yuan had complimented his gameplay, complimented him , and it was just like old times when that familiar rush of elation would barrel through like a runaway minecart full of gold. The other giggled, a mocking, ridiculing laugh. It was taunting Luo Binghe, disdaining him for believing that Shen Yuan meant what he said.

Luo Binghe hated it.

Because he knew the devil was right.

He was still foolish enough to believe Shen Yuan meant his words.

His body flooded with warmth, and Luo Binghe’s shoulders hunched like a turtle trying to hide in its shell. He stared at his empty bowl and snorted again, softly this time, without any bite to it.

In a poor attempt to appear nonchalant, Luo Binghe muttered, “It wasn’t bad. I should have gotten a quadra kill.”

It was an arrogant statement. Cocky and haughty. But it was a fair point. Luo Binghe didn’t have the habit of talking empty air. The quadra kill was there, right there in front of him. One click of a key or the mouse, and the entire stadium would have erupted, stunned by such a play in the championship finals. But he didn’t take it. To the confusion of his fans, who later had to fight the anti’s tarnishing Luo Binghe’s name, Luo Binghe didn’t take the quadra kill.

“You were going easy on me.” Shen Yuan chuckled softly. Indulgent and somewhat questioning.

It was a mystery that Shen Yuan could not untangle, like a cat caught in a ball of yarn.

Shen Yuan was of the same mind as Luo Binghe’s fans.

The younger captain clearly could have taken his head in that game, but he chose not to.

It wasn’t the first time, either.

In a twisted, pessimistic way, Shen Yuan assumed that Luo Binghe was making a point. That he was shouting: Hey, look! His team could win the game even without taking Shen Yuan’s head!

Shen Yuan sighed wistfully as he thought back to the innocent boy, who would never have thought of such unscrupulous play methods back when they were in the same club. He mourned for his lost little lamb.

On the other side of the table, Luo Binghe furrowed his brow.

No one knew better than him how easily he could have taken Shen Yuan’s head. His finger had already been touching the key that would spell death for the other captain’s character. His fans may have been confused, and his teammates also harboured bitterness, but, honestly, Luo Binghe was the most frustrated of them all!

His hands had just refused to cooperate!

But that wasn’t anything new.

Over the years, the number of times Luo Binghe had killed Shen Yuan in-game could be counted on one hand. Whether or not he had the skills to take down Shen Yuan was never the question; it was his heart that was the problem. Even in a game, Luo Binghe felt reluctant to stab his blade into his old teacher. Luo Binghe would only ever slay Shen Yuan if he had no other choice.

“Well, it doesn’t matter if you go easy on me.” Shen Yuan interrupted Luo Binghe’s pitiful self-reproach. He smiled and reached over, placing a serving into the younger man's bowl. “You’re a much better player than I am now.” He admitted it with a small, proud smile. “No one can beat you anymore.”

Luo Binghe blinked, focused on the food that appeared in his bowl. Although Luo Binghe had ordered the majority of dishes on the table, he had also let Shen Yuan tap in some additional items. He had sneered at the time. What could Shen Yuan be adding to their order considering Luo Binghe had already picked all of Shen Yuan’s favourites? He thought that Shen Yuan was being difficult, but... wasn’t this one of Luo Binghe’s favourites?

The thought was like the sun behind a cloud on a rainy day. It started to peek out, the rain turning to a drizzle, but Luo Binghe didn’t dare to believe that the sun would emerge and vanquish the rain; he didn’t dare to believe that Shen Yuan actually remembered his preferences.

But Luo Binghe had no choice but to believe it.

Shen Yuan’s chopsticks busied back and forth, picking at dishes while avoiding others, building a small mountain in Luo Binghe’s bowl. Luo Binghe ticked off each dish; they were all without a doubt one of his favourites and something that he hadn’t ordered.

The rain cleared, and the sun arrived, but the clouds were dark and grey. Luo Binghe felt the rumble of thunder, his mind becoming chaotic and his hands growing restless.

The next time that Shen Yuan reached over, Luo Binghe caught his wrist in a tight grasp.

“You…” Luo Binghe frowned. Everything was disorderly—too much, too many emotions twirling around like a spinning top. He forced himself to meet Shen Yuan’s pure gaze, eyes that had never once wavered when looking at him, eyes that held nothing but innocence and a promise of unconditional fondness, and he must be imagining it, so he tore his eyes away. But how could Luo Binghe be unaffected? He mumbled, thoughtlessly admitting, “You can beat me. You’re the only one that can.”

Shen Yuan laughed out loud. The sudden, hearty sound shook Luo Binghe’s grip from his wrist. It was funny. Enough to warrant a full belly-aching laugh. Shen Yuan wasn’t a fool. He was also very self-aware. Yes, he may have once been the best player in the country, but there was constant fresh blood injected into the scene. Three years ago, Shen Yuan witnessed this. He had been shown a glimpse of the future. For when his own blood wasn’t as fresh and time and injury had taken their toll, Shen Yuan had seen a cute little puppy who he knew would become a wolf. 

“No need to flatter me, Binghe.” Shen Yuan wiped a tear from behind his glasses, amused and nostalgic. The young Luo Binghe of three years ago was always sweet with his words; it was nice to see that the younger captain hadn’t completely hardened his shell.

Shen Yuan scooped up a mouthful of food and swallowed it in one bite.

“I’m just an old man now; there’s only so much I can do.”

Twenty-two may sound like a spring chicken to some, but in the pro-gaming circle, a person's career is short-lived. The late nights and constant training grated on the players, and their senses and reaction times would deteriorate. Then there were the occupational hazards—injuries, one of which Shen Yuan had. The older captain may still be one of the best, but his time was limited.

It was something Luo Binghe refused to accept.

“Nonsense!” Luo Binghe abruptly cut off Shen Yuan’s laughter, his voice thick, throat constricted. Shen Yuan should have at least another three or four years left before he has to retire. Through Luo Binghe’s rainbow-coloured sight, Shen Yuan’s skills hadn’t declined one bit; he was still the number one player in the league! And Luo Binghe could prove it!

“Earlier, your strategic retreat saved your team's lives. If you hadn’t pulled that move with perfect timing, none of them would have gotten out of it alive, and I would have had another triple kill!”

See? Shen Yuan still had plenty of ability! His team still relied on him to save their sorry asses! Shen Yuan was still the best of the best!

The person in question shook his head with a smile.

“I was lucky.” He said. “If you had used your ability, then my move would have been wasted, and it would have been a quadra kill in your hands.”

Of course, Luo Binghe wouldn’t accept that.

“No way!” He pouted, speaking with as much force as an innocent prisoner on trial. “Impossible. You wouldn’t be so easily defeated. Besides, there was also the ultimate you used that took out two of my teammates. That really put us in a tight spot.”

Shen Yuan grinned upon seeing Luo Binghe’s familiar expression—the expression of a toddler determined to get the toy they wanted.

How long had it been since Shen Yuan got to see the cute side of his disciples' stubborn streak?

He had missed it.

It made him feel sentimental.

He remembered that every time he would try to praise his little apprentice, the young Luo Binghe would praise Shen Yuan with thrice the effort, sparing no change to raise Shen Yuan’s pedestal.

Shen Yuan softened.

It turns out Luo Binghe may not have changed all that much after all.

Things were a lot more relaxed from then on.

Earlier in the day, the two had competed in the game, and now the pair were competing over who could praise the other more.

The waiter no longer had a cold sweat whenever he visited the table, but instead he felt all hot and bothered as the two would mutually praise each other with the straightest of faces. These two should really get a room! Oh, they were already in a private room. Maybe they should move to a hotel…

Needless to say, from that point on, the evening was more pleasant.

When it came time to pay the bill, Luo Binghe took the lead, handing his card over without a second thought. Shen Yuan, as the senior, didn’t agree.

“Binghe, I can’t let you pay!” Shen Yuan argued.

Luo Binghe pursed his lips, the way that always crumbled Shen Yuan’s resolve. This time, he steeled his heart and presented his own stubbornness. 

“If anything, I lost the bet, so I should be the one paying!”

Luo Binghe’s lower lip protruded even more, the two men in a standoff, a challenge to see who would budge first.

Neither wanted to concede.

After a few moments, Shen Yuan was the first to break, but not in the way Luo Binghe expected. The older captain quietly moved around the table, huddling up to Luo Binghe. He gently tugged on Luo Binghe’s sleeve, not knowing how coquettish he seemed, and quietly said, “At least let me transfer half of the bill to you.”

Under Shen Yuan’s touch, Luo Binghe’s arm trembled. He stared fixedly at the hand clutching his sleeve. Perhaps such a move would have weakened another man, but it only reinforced Luo Binghe’s intention.

“No.”

He was ruthless in his refusal, and Shen Yuan’s face cracked. Then, Luo Binghe offered a reason that Shen Yuan was unable to refute.

“Shen Yuan is on a date with me. He needs to listen to what I say.”

It was childish. Unreasonable. Spoken with a haughty righteousness. But Shen Yuan actually couldn’t refute it!

A bet was a bet, and he had lost. Whatever Luo Binghe said was whatever must happen. If that meant Luo Binghe wanted to pay, then Luo Binghe must pay, regardless of how uncomfortable it made Shen Yuan feel.

For a moment, he wondered if this was Luo Binghe’s plan—to make him feel guilty and useless—but he quickly stopped that train of thought.

Shen Yuan was a little lost as they left the restaurant.

For a long time, he had wished that he and Luo Binghe could return to how things were. He had been prepared to endure Luo Binghe’s punishment during this trip, but on the contrary, Luo Binghe had only been a true gentleman, albeit somewhat cold initially. Once the room had warmed up, however, Shen Yuan was able to see traces of the little lamb who used to trot along behind him. Sweet and cute. Shen Yuan just wanted to squeeze him. And the thought that the date was now over, that Luo Binghe would revert to the proud, obnoxious man who spurned and scorned Shen Yuan...

Shen Yuan discovered that he didn’t actually want to go home.

“Let’s go.”

Shen Yuan stopped in his tracks. He stilled, his mind a blank page, and he asked, “Go? Go where?”

The older captain was a bit frazzled. Had Luo Binghe read his mind? Was he that predictable? Or had his face given him away?

He thought that with the meal over, their date had ended and it was time for them to go their separate ways.

It seemed that his assumption was wrong.

Luo Binghe looked back at his old captain.

After an intense fight, Luo Binghe surrendered to the delighted angel on his shoulder. The devil was hastily locked inside a cage, and Luo Binghe decided not to let it out for the rest of the night. Even if it was only temporary, Luo Binghe thought, now that he had him, how could he let Shen Yuan escape?

So, he spontaneously extended their date.

“We’re going to watch a movie.” Luo Binghe explained, looking at his clean, white trainers. He added, “It’s part of the date.”

And oh.

Oh.

Well, Shen Yuan guessed that it made sense. A typical date plan, a good meal followed by a movie. The standard set. There was a flutter in Shen Yuan’s stomach. The excitement of reconciling with Luo Binghe—at least, he hoped they were reconciling.

Shen Yuan wasn’t sure what he would do if the ‘date’ ended and their relationship returned to barbed wire.

That being said, it was all the more reason Shen Yuan should humour the younger man for a little bit longer.

Shen Yuan’s lips twitched up imperceptibly. A few quick steps, and he matched Luo Binghe’s pace, merrily walking next to him with a skip in his step.

“Let’s go, then.”

Despite trying to hide his grin, Shen Yuan failed miserably. His lips lifted up in a bright curve, and his eyes glistened with stars.

It was really too much for Luo Binghe.

The younger captain stumbled, then hurriedly pulled the mask resting on Shen Yuan’s chin to cover the older man's face. Inside his chest was the steady beat of a drum, louder, louder, louder, strong, and frantic. He shoved down the peak of Shen Yuan’s cap, recovered his previous distant personality, then scolded, “You’re out in public; cover your face.”

Luo Binghe glanced around the barely populated street. No one was paying them any attention, and he silently breathed out the stress and tension that gathered from Shen Yuan’s smile. Who let Shen Yuan show such an expression in public where it could topple mountains and start wars? Shen Yuan was a danger to have out in the streets!

A visit to the movies wasn’t originally on Luo Binghe’s agenda.

The awkwardness between the two captains had receded a bit, beginning to resemble the time when one couldn’t be seen without the other, but it was still awkward nonetheless. Luo Binghe thought, if they were to settle back into something frigid, tight, and volatile, then he would milk everything he could during this time of peace.

On the way to the theatre, Luo Binghe subtly booked the movie tickets online.

“Oh! I’ve been wanting to watch that!” Shen Yuan exclaimed.

Luo Binghe nodded in his heart. When the trailer for the movie was first released, Shen Yuan was the first thing to cross his mind. Of course, at that time, he would have scoffed in the face of anyone who told him he would accompany Shen Yuan to watch it on a date.

“Do you want any popcorn or a drink?” Luo Binghe asked as they made their way through the theatre.

“No, thanks.” Shen Yuan replied, patting his bulging stomach. If he ate any more, then he would probably explode; he already felt sleepy from stuffing himself with a satisfying meal and good company.

Usually, he would only graze at meal times, but with a feast of his preferred flavours and the joy of reunion, he found that his chopsticks hadn’t stopped moving the entire meal.

So, the pair entered the screen empty-handed.

Luo Binghe guided them to their seats, and Shen Yuan was pleasantly surprised. They were perfect. The optimal position and distance from the huge screen. He commented as much and praised Luo Binghe for his choice. Luo Binghe responded with an absent “en”. He thought back, recalling the time three years ago when Shen Yuan had lectured him on how to choose the best viewing spot in a cinema. How could Luo Binghe forget?

They settled into their seats, the lights dimming, blanketing them in darkness, the large screen at the front lighting up.

Luo Binghe felt as though he had ants crawling all over him. Hyper aware of the person next to him, their proximity, how he could easily, coincidentally, accidentally place his hand on Shen Yuan’s resting on the arm between them. Shen Yuan’s quiet whispers during the advertisements were nothing but buzzing in Luo Binghe’s ears, and he hoped that Shen Yuan didn’t expect a response because he wouldn’t be able to give one.

This continued until the movie started and Shen Yuan’s incessant chatter faded into silence.

Nothing changed for Luo Binghe.

He was a stiff, unmoving doll in his seat the entire time. Too self-conscious to talk, to move, to even breathe.

Who decided visiting a movie theatre was a great idea for a date!?

Luo Binghe would like to have a nice conversation with them.

It was ironic in a way. Luo Binghe was so conscious of Shen Yuan next to him that he wasn’t paying the latter any attention at all. So it startled him into almost jumping to his feet when a heavy weight bumped into his shoulder, remaining there like a brick dropped into the ocean.

“Shen Yuan?” Luo Binghe whispered, stuffy and stifled.

What was the other captain doing? They were in a dark room. Shen Yuan was leaning on his shoulder. His head was resting on Luo Binghe like, like, like some sort of intimate cuddle.

Luo Binghe thought he might throw up.

Were his dreams coming true? He never expected Shen Yuan to return his feelings. He never expected Shen Yuan to be so bold . What should he do? Hold Shen Yuan’s hand? Put his arm around Shen Yuan’s shoulder? Kiss Shen Yu–

A muffled, stilted snore abruptly cut off Luo Binghe’s thoughts.

Luo Binghe deflated, wrinkling up like an old prune.

Shen Yuan was out like a light.

Luo Binghe shouldn’t have been surprised.

It had been a long day.

Playing a game may sound like a bit of fun, but at a professional level, it was mentally taxing. Luo Binghe’s impatience dragged them out after an exhausting competition, but he didn’t regret it at all. Especially not now with Shen Yuan’s head resting on his shoulder. Especially not after Shen Yuan moved, nestling into Luo Binghe’s side as much as he could with the arm rest between them, twisting his head until it was buried into the crook of Luo Binghe’s neck.

Slow, calm breaths blew through Shen Yuan’s slightly parted lips, brushing against Luo Binghe’s skin. He looked down, lowering his head and squinting his eyes to see as much as he could in the darkness of the theatre. Luo Binghe was struck. Although he could barely see, he still confirmed: Shen Yuan was really handsome.

Oh, and the cute, quiet noises he made during his sleep were what Luo Binghe wanted to hear every morning and night.

Maybe he should record it…

Luo Binghe abandoned that thought with a sigh. The movie was too loud; it would detract from the sweet sounds. He wouldn’t be able to do them justice.

“Mm.”

Shen Yuan grunted in his sleep, freezing Luo Binghe’s body as he thought the older captain may be waking up. Satisfied contentment curled inside him when he realised Shen Yuan was just trying to get more comfortable, and Luo Binghe rearranged himself, accommodating Shen Yuan’s wishes and allowing the latter to lean into him more. Luo Binghe was more than happy to work as Shen Yuan’s pillow, if only it was a full-time position.

He used the opportunity to look more carefully at the man who was once almost his captain, using the bright flashes of the movie to study Shen Yuan’s face.

Shen Yuan looked exhausted.

During the matches that day, Shen Yuan practically carried his team single-handedly after THD gained momentum. It was just like when the team first formed and Luo Binghe observed from the sidelines of the youth team. Since then, all the players had improved, and against any other team, the TPC players would have been able to hold their own, but with Luo Binghe as an opponent… Luo Binghe’s opinion from three years ago still stood: It would be different if Luo Binghe was on his team.

The taste of lemons flooded Luo Binghe’s mouth.

Sour and astringent.

Three years ago, Shen Yuan had the chance, but he threw Luo Binghe away.

Far away from the movie theatre, Luo Binghe lost himself in the past. He didn’t think much when he reached out and picked up Shen Yuan’s hand that was lying on the arm rest between them.

With an absent mind, he played with Shen Yuan’s calloused fingertips one by one. He rubbed the rough fingertips and hardened skin formed by constant key pressing. He slid down Shen Yuan’s slender fingers, placing their palms together, entangling them, and absorbing their warmth. He stroked his prominent knuckles, gently massaging them. And he thought about Shen Yuan’s injury. He thought about whether the older man had reduced his training time; whether he had relaxed at all and taken it easy.

Luo Binghe already knew the answer.

The fact that Shen Yuan’s skills were still as good as ever proved that the other captain was still as stubborn and driven as before.

He shouldn’t be.

He shouldn’t have to be.

He should have teammates that he could rely on. Teammates that could carry him for once.

There was aching in Luo Binghe’s chest.

Yet he also felt that Shen Yuan deserved it.

In the loud theatre, in the midst of guns shooting, starships exploding, meteors colliding, Luo Binghe sneered.

Just as quickly as Luo Binghe’s resentment had surfaced, it scattered like the stardust on the big screen as soon as his eyes landed on Shen Yuan’s face.

He couldn’t blame Shen Yuan.

He really couldn’t blame him.

It must have been Luo Binghe’s fault.

Luo Binghe could only blame himself for being weak, useless, for being untrustworthy.

Because he could never blame Shen Yuan.

Never.

Luo Binghe thought it was fortunate that Shen Yuan had slept through the entire movie. He needed the time to recover his emotions and settle into his usual aloof and cold nature, prepared to treat Shen Yuan with the same detached distance as he had for the past three years.

“Hm?” Shen Yuan blinked as the credits began to roll. He rubbed his eyes, peeling himself off Luo Binghe’s shoulder. “It’s over? Did I fall asleep?”

Faced with such a sight, Luo Binghe’s front collapsed. Dim lights lit up the theatre, and, helplessly, Luo Binghe wiped away the drool on Shen Yuan’s cheek.

How could Luo Binghe not melt into a soft, fluffy lamb when greeted by Shen Yuan like this?

“Mn.” He grunted softly, averting his gaze from Shen Yuan’s sleep-reddened cheeks. “You fell asleep.”

Luo Binghe could be cold, and Luo Binghe could be aloof. But not right now. Not with Shen Yuan. Not tonight.

Tomorrow. Luo Binghe promised the tantrum-throwing child in his heart. Everything will return to the way it should be tomorrow.

“Oh.”

Shen Yuan lowered his fluttering eyelashes, tracing his cheek and the heat left behind by Luo Binghe’s touch.

“I must have been tired.” He chuckled awkwardly, looking anywhere except the seat next to him. His gaze settled on the screen and the rolling credits. “Well… was the movie good?”

Luo Binghe wasn’t sure what to say.

Who knew whether the movie was any good? It’s not like he had watched any of it.

He offered another noncommittal grunt in response and hoped that Shen Yuan wouldn’t ask anything more.

Conversation fizzled out, and the two men fumbled for a moment before following the footsteps of the other guests leaving the theatre.

The crowds thickened and thinned as they journeyed from the screen, through the cinema, and out into the crisp midnight air. The pair stood outside the doorway, and the quiet between them was a stark contrast to the excitable chatter of other theatregoers around them. Eventually, only the two of them and a stifled silence remained.

Shen Yuan coughed. His fist in front of his mouth, quiet and subdued. He wasn’t sure if Luo Binghe had anything else planned, but the latter also wasn’t saying anything, so Shen Yuan took matters into his own hands and proposed, “Then we should probably head home?”

Luo Binghe neither agreed nor disagreed, so Shen Yuan scrambled in his pockets, searching for his phone. Having slept through the movie, he was a little bit muddled, his sense of time utterly out of whack. The dark night sky and glowing moon only told him that it was late, and the breeze that hugged him told him it was cold.

He shivered.

The bleak night air seeped into his skin; his fingers and thumbs were stiff and rigid, inconveniencing his attempt to unlock his phone.

Another chill crept up his spine, and he cursed his stupidity at not bringing a jacket with him. The days may have been warm, but the nights were brisk and cool. He considered joking about it to lift the heavy silence between himself and Luo Binghe, but Shen Yuan's shoulders were suddenly swamped by a comfortable warmth.

Shen Yuan didn’t need to look to know that Luo Binghe’s jacket was now wrapped around him. He didn’t need to look, because he could smell it. A familiar scent. One that used to cling to his side every day, begging for attention and approval. Shen Yuan pulled the jacket further around him, glancing at Luo Binghe beside him, who seemed invulnerable to the cold.

“Thank you.” He whispered, subconsciously worried that anything louder would break the fragility of this moment.

Luo Binghe, however, didn’t seem to share the sentiment.

“The trains have stopped running.”

The thanks were ignored, the moment—whatever moment it was—was broken, and Shen Yuan was delivered the sudden news.

Bewildered, Shen Yuan hastened to unlock his phone and confirmed what Luo Binghe said was right. The trains had really stopped running. Oh well, Shen Yuan thought, that’s what taxis are for!

But that plan was also destined to fail.

Apparently pre-empting Shen Yuan’s thinking, Luo Binghe informed him: “There aren’t any taxis available.”

“What? Why?”

Shen Yuan was startled. He frantically tapped on his phone and saw the lack of service in the area. Was it because the trains weren’t running? Ah, a little bit more research told him that there was also an event in the area. Taxis were in high demand, and Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe were just unlucky.

“What are we supposed to do now?”

Befuddled, Shen Yuan blinked his worried eyes at Luo Binghe, unwittingly presenting his reliance on the younger teen.

Luo Binghe stared. It almost made him want to laugh. Shen Yuan was the older of the two; surely, at a time like this, the senior should be the one to take charge. However, it had always been like this. Even when Luo Binghe was only fifteen years old. Despite Shen Yuan being four years older, he had always looked to Luo Binghe, his little apprentice, for support.

It was strange.

He relied on Luo Binghe in situations like this, so why hadn’t he done the same in the game?

It really made one frustrated.

And it really tickled one’s temptations.

Luo Binghe flexed his fingers.

Logically, Luo Binghe could call one of their managers to arrange for someone to come collect them. Their bases weren’t local enough to walk, but also not far enough away that it would be difficult to arrange a pick-up. The two teams' bases were also fairly close to each other, so one car could deliver them both home.

That was the logical solution.

Unfortunately, when it came to Shen Yuan, Luo Binghe was never logical. 

“We should check into a hotel.”

~☆~

The hotel lobby had tall ceilings and large windows. Potted plants and generic vases and decorations were placed around the large room. This late at night, the reception desk was manned by a single person—a man who looked like he would rather be anywhere else, especially with the conversation taking place in front of him.

“One double room, please.”

Luo Binghe took the lead, and Shen Yuan happily sat in the back seat until he heard the request.

“Eh?”

Shen Yuan darted forward, no longer complacent. What was Luo Binghe thinking? Although the inner workings of Luo Binghe’s brain were something that was always an impossible puzzle to Shen Yuan. Even still, this was beyond his expectations.

He latched onto Luo Binghe’s shirt, tugging the material with urgency.

“Binghe,” he appealed in a hushed voice. “Why not two rooms?” Then, for good measure, he added, “It’s not like we can’t afford it.”

And it wasn’t as if Shen Yuan was asking Luo Binghe to pay for the rooms either. Shen Yuan had expected to pay for his own room, and he was even planning to sneakily pay for Luo Binghe’s.

However, Luo Binghe disagreed.

He wrinkled his nose like a spoiled child told no for the first time. Shen Yuan even thought that the teen would start crying any minute.

Luo Binghe folded his arms, and he huffed.

“What kind of date would this be if we booked separate rooms?”

Shen Yuan was taken aback.

Hadn’t the date ended once the movie was over? What was going on? Why hadn’t Shen Yuan known? But sleeping in the same room? On the same bed? Did Luo Binghe really have to take it so far? It was only a fake date after all!

Shen Yuan had many reasons to refuse, to decline, to demand his own room, or his own bed at least.

But Luo Binghe stomped on his words before they could leave his mouth.

“Besides,” The teen muttered, “It’s not like we haven’t slept together before.”

Shen Yuan’s ears burned.

Admittedly, in a literal sense, what Luo Binghe said was true. Back when the two had been in the same club, a certain clingy koala would often sneak into Shen Yuan’s bed in the middle of the night. More often than not, Luo Binghe had used the excuse of discussing tactics or begging for feedback. Shen Yuan figured that Luo Binghe was still young and without a family, so he probably sought the affection he lacked from the older captain.

So yes, Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan had shared a bed, had slept together. But having it said in such a way in front of another person, Shen Yuan was flooded with shame, his mind taking a different turn. He peeked at the receptionist, who either hadn’t heard or was very good at pretending he hadn’t. It didn’t alleviate Shen Yuan’s embarrassment at all.

Luo Binghe also reminisced about the times he had slipped into the older man's bed with some bullshit excuse. Shen Yuan didn’t need to know that the young boy's intention had always been to cuddle into the captain's arms and stare at him in his sleep.

Shen Yuan also didn’t need to know that Luo Binghe may have the very same intentions right at that very moment.

But, just as Luo Binghe had thought many times during their supposed date, it was only for one night.

After this one night was over, everything would fall back into the same strained, uneasy relationship of the past three years. They would go their separate ways, returning to their respective teams. Luo Binghe would go back to carrying the blame for his own worthlessness, and Shen Yuan would once again become the target of the former's frustration.

Just one night. That’s all Luo Binghe was asking for. Just one night.

None of this was said, but Shen Yuan was torn. The solemnity in Luo Binghe’s eyes stabbed into Shen Yuan’s chest, although he couldn’t understand why. A thousand and one reasons that this entire idea was absurd had popped into his head. He should say no. He should put his foot down and tell Luo Binghe that he was being ridiculous, that they were two grown men; that they can’t share a bed anymore because… because…

“Okay.”

The room they checked into was small but nice. It was modern and suitable enough for their needs.

On their way to the room, Shen Yuan floated behind Luo Binghe like a stranded ghost. Although he knew what he was about to face, the hope that there had been some kind of mixup lingered. Perhaps when they opened the door, there would be banners and streamers, and it would be announced that they had won a prize—the prize being two separate rooms or two separate beds.

It was a far-fetched dream created by his anxiety.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to share a room or a bed with Luo Binghe. It was just…

Shen Yuan reeled.

White noise.

His brain refused to finish that thought.

When they arrived at the door to their room, Shen Yuan still held a glimmer of expectation. The sparkles dimmed when the door opened.

There were no streamers. There were no banners. There were no congratulations for winning a prize. And, of course, there was no second bed.

“You can go and shower first.”

Luo Binghe had already entered and stood by the bed, checking that the cleanliness was up to standard and the comfort level was up to par. He was polite, a bit robotic as he offered up the first use of the bathroom, and Shen Yuan lunged at the chance to escape this desperate uncomfortableness.

The awkward atmosphere that had dotted their evening had returned with a new, raging fire. Shen Yuan hoped a cold shower would extinguish it.

By the time the running water of the shower could be heard, Luo Binghe still hadn’t moved. He stared at the bed—the lone, double bed—as though he were facing off against some terrifying, intimidating monster.

He was terrified. Overflowing with regret. His life was at stake; adrenaline surging through him. The funny thing is, the battle hadn’t even begun yet.

What had he done?

Was he trying to torture himself?

Not only had he set himself up to suffer in Shen Yuan’s bed, now he even had to listen as his obsession of the last three years showered in the bathroom, separated only by a flimsy door that Luo Binghe reckoned he could probably open with a kick or two…

No. That would be taking it too far.

Instead, he was rooted to the spot, weeds growing around his feet, his petals blooming a brilliant red. Because Shen Yuan was just a few feet away. Naked. Water trickled over the lines of his body. Down his slight shoulders, over his firm chest, following the curves of his soft stomach, maybe collecting in his cute belly button.

Luo Binghe swallowed. His tongue rubbed the roof of his mouth.

He was really thirsty.

Frustrated, Luo Binghe marched to the side, where he snatched a bottle of ice-cold water from the minifridge.

It did nothing to quench his thirst or cool his heat.

He really was foolish, willingly walking into a trap of his own creation.

The worst thing was that Luo Binghe was trying to convince himself that this wasn’t what he wanted at all.

He didn’t want to reconcile with Shen Yuan. He didn’t want to watch him in the shower. He didn’t want to crawl under the same sheets as him. And he didn’t want to wake up with him in his arms.

Luo Binghe was just a tall, handsome, walking mess of a contradiction.

And when Shen Yuan exited the bathroom, there was a faint ethereal mist surrounding him, the fresh smell of soap in the air, and he was wearing only Luo Binghe’s shirt and a pair of boxers… Maybe Luo Binghe ran inside the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him without saying a word.

Luo Binghe took the longest shower of his life.

When Luo Binghe sheepishly exited the bathroom like a convict concealing their sins, the hotel room was plunged into darkness with only a single dim light lit next to the bed.

On the bed was a small mound, a human-shaped lump, where Shen Yuan had huddled under the covers like a hermit crab crammed inside its shell. He seemed to want to take up minimal space; maybe he even wished he could disappear, unseen, ignorant, oblivious. Luo Binghe paused, fixated on this conspicuous bump, and he stared.

The steady rise and fall and lack of movement indicated that Shen Yuan had already fallen asleep.

What a shame.

What a blessing.

And Luo Binghe tiptoed over to the bedside, to Shen Yuan’s bedside, and observed.

Shen Yuan’s face was the only part of him that was exposed; the duvet wrapped around him like a chocolate-dipped strawberry. It was very sweet. It made a man want to reach out to see if it tasted as sweet as it looked.

Luo Binghe’s hand stopped an inch away from Shen Yuan’s sleeping face. Those unsteady fingers clenched into a fist, balled up at his side, and Luo Binghe turned away. He quietly trod over the carpet to the other side of the bed.

There was only one blanket, and Shen Yuan was hogging it.

The spiteful menace in him tempted him to just yank it. To unroll the person and leave them cold and uncomfortable. It would be simple. Easy. Shen Yuan deserved it. 

Luo Binghe released a long-suffering sigh.

Quietly, he pulled at a loose corner, gently tugging on it, lifting it just enough so he could squirm his way in without disturbing the person sharing the bed.

He settled on his back. A small distance as wide as an impassable river between him and Shen Yuan. Luo Binghe lay there like a plank of wood; not a hint of sleepiness entered his wide-open eyes. He may as well have been lying on a bed made of nails.

Restless, Luo Binghe rolled over onto his side, and the wall was the only thing he could see. His eyelids twitched. Thousands of needles pricked into his back. His toes curled, agitated, fidgety. Less than ten seconds later, Luo Binghe rolled over again, this time resting on the side facing Shen Yuan.

His itch was finally scratched.

Luo Binghe was comforted facing the back of Shen Yuan’s head.

Shen Yuan was right there.

But Luo Binghe was also hit by a wave of helplessness.

Shen Yuan had never felt so far away.

It was as if he wasn’t really there.

Luo Binghe was in something of a muddled daze. His impulses overwhelmed him, and he crawled his hand over the mattress, tentative, nervous. Like a secret, he snuck his hand closer to Shen Yuan, to his back, and he didn’t stop until soft cotton brushed his fingertips.

Shen Yuan was within his reach. The thin material separated them like a paper door, but Luo Binghe was too afraid to punch through it.

Instead, he stood there like a sobbing child, rubbing his eyes and wailing his woes.

Why? He cried. Why wasn’t he good enough?

The turbulent emotions tumbled inside, chaotically confusing him, dragging him down, sinking him in a quagmire.

It was all he had thought about for three years.

Three long years.

The abandonment. The betrayal.

Why didn’t Shen Yuan choose him?

The choppy waters swelled and swelled, peaking, rocking, thrashing, until the dam holding them at bay finally broke and Luo Binghe cracked.

“Why?” He whispered, finally asking the question that had tormented him all this time. “Why didn’t you choose me?”

Shen Yuan was asleep. Luo Binghe knew this. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have the courage to voice the question that haunted him. There was a reason Luo Binghe had never asked Shen Yuan for an explanation before: The ground beneath his feet would disintegrate if – when – Shen Yuan confirmed his worst fears.

Even Luo Binghe had a limit for self-harm.

His fingertips lightly rested against Shen Yuan’s back. He held his breath. Torn between grabbing the fabric and letting go. Between pulling Shen Yuan into his arms and demanding answers, or pushing the older captain away and abandoning this love.

He wanted to know how Shen Yuan would reply. He didn’t want to know how Shen Yuan would reply.

It consumed him like a gentle wave.

Luo Binghe wanted to laugh at himself.

Numbness spread from the tips of his fingers, flowing through his blood, running cold.

It was foolish. Silly. Unreasonable.

Really, just what was it that Luo Binghe wanted?

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

It was quiet. Low. A leaf carried in the wind. Easy to mistake as one's imagination.

At that moment, everything seemed to be still. Time stopped. Luo Binghe’s pulse drummed in his ears. He was lightheaded. Dizzy. Hallucinating.

But then the mound of person next to him moved, turning over, and suddenly Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan were face to face. 

Two sets of dark eyes met. One determined and one startled. Luo Binghe rushed to lower his line of sight, choosing to stare at the gap between them. He blinked rapidly, still in disbelief about whether he had unknowingly fallen into a dream.

“I didn’t want you to compete because I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

The sentence was like lightning striking at Luo Binghe, flashing menacingly, threateningly.

“The circumstances weren’t right.”

Each word was another collision.

“I didn’t want you to suffer.”

A violent force smashed into Luo Binghe’s chest, rattling him from the inside out.

“I- I don’t understand.” Luo Binghe said, weak and disjointed, allowing himself to indulge in what must be a dream. “I wouldn’t have gotten hurt. I wouldn’t have suffered.”

The rest was left unsaid.

I just wanted to help you.

I just wanted to impress you.

It permeated the stilted silence.

There was a rustle of sheets, and Shen Yuan rubbed his forehead. The low light of the hotel room lamp cast melancholic shadows on his cheeks, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes and his complicated emotions.

He sighed.

“Do you know what happened after that match?”

The time it took for Shen Yuan to ask this felt like an eternity.

“Do you know where Ming Fan is now?”

He pressed, searching for something from Luo Binghe. The latter shook his head.

Back then, like many of the team's fans, Luo Binghe had criticised every single key press and mouse click Ming Fan had made in that game. He had thought: I wouldn’t have done that; he should have done this; that was a stupid move to make , etc. And, as expected and predicted by Shen Yuan’s absence, TPC lost the match. The arrogance of a teen with the skills to back it up had gone to Luo Binghe’s head, and he was positive that, although they may have still lost, he would have at least performed better than Ming Fan.

Everything snowballed quickly after that.

Luo Binghe left the team, and he never heard of Ming Fan again.

It was his assumption that the other trainee had been labelled a waste and relegated back to the youth club.

“He went back to school.” A simple explanation, said lightly, like discussing the weather. “He’s studying history. Thinking of being a teacher or something?”

Luo Binghe narrowed his eyes, unsure why Shen Yuan was telling him such unimportant information. Shen Yuan then continued in the same casual tone.

“He couldn't handle the backlash from the fans.”

“He quit.”

The truth barreled into Luo Binghe like a high-speed truck.

He remembered. Pushing his own self-righteous feelings aside, Luo Binghe remembered. He may have been harsh about Ming Fan at the time, but the fans were something else entirely. All of the blame sat squarely on Ming Fan’s shoulders. Slurs, insults, and even death threats were posted online and delivered to their door.

But Ming Fan was only one member of an entire team.

The other players weren’t let off the hook, but their sentences were much lighter.

Still, Luo Binghe ignored the hammering in his chest and grasped at straws.

“I was stronger than him.” He argued. It was the truth. Maybe things would have been different, but Shen Yuan didn’t even let him try .

“I could have helped the team more; I wouldn’t have let us lose so miserably. I-”

“Binghe.”

A single word was bitten out with unprecedented sharpness. Luo Binghe pressed his lips together until they paled.

Rarely had Shen Yuan’s tone been so stern when addressing the younger captain, but Shen Yuan couldn’t... He didn’t want to skirt around this anymore.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

The line of Luo Binghe’s lips thinned even more, deepening the crevice between his brows, and Shen Yuan reached out, absently smoothing it out with his finger.

“You’ve been in this industry for long enough to understand.” Shen Yuan mumbled, concentrating on relaxing Luo Binghe’s scowl. “It didn’t matter who went up. It could have been the best player in the world. But… if our team didn’t win, then whoever subbed in would be held accountable by the fans.”

Luo Binghe’s frown didn’t budge. Indignant, upset. A refusal to accept.

“Binghe,” Shen Yuan sighed, “it’s not that I didn’t trust you or have faith in you.” He continued quietly, finally confessing the truth—a truth that appeased Luo Binghe’s raging heart.

“I just didn’t want you to carry that blame.”

The storm cleared. Clouds parted, and blue skies were seen overhead. Sunshine blazed down, hot enough to cause forest fires.

For years, Luo Binghe blamed his captain; he blamed himself for being too weak, too pathetic. But really…

“What I did was wrong.”

Shen Yuan admitted his faults. His finger massaged soothing circles against Luo Binghe’s forehead. He was absent-minded. Disgusted with himself. Reflecting on his past actions and the ridiculousness of it all.

“It wasn't right of me to push Ming Fan out, knowing what would happen. That’s why I never told you.”

Shen Yuan laughed, mocking and self-ridiculing.

“What sort of captain takes a promising new young player and feeds them to the dogs like that?”

How could I let you think badly of me?

Shen Yuan had entered the dark cavern of his past. It was a time that he would rather forget. He personally destroyed someone's hopes and dreams thanks to his own weakness: his injury and his favouritism.

He should have taken a different route. But he couldn’t let Luo Binghe play. He should have just played himself. Ruining his own wrist would have been better than risking Luo Binghe’s innocent, sweet smile.

But now he has ruined it anyway.

What would Luo Binghe think of him?

Well, it wasn’t as if they had been on friendly terms in recent years anyway.

While Shen Yuan was wallowing in self-scorn, he was oblivious to the changes taking place in front of him.

Luo Binghe had swallowed a breath of fresh air. There was a lightness in his body that felt unreal, like a cloud drifting along or a balloon floating up into the sky.

He was wrong.

All along, he had been wrong.

Shen Yuan didn’t disdain him; didn’t think he was a runt worth less than scrap paper. He had been protecting him.

All this time, Shen Yuan had been abhorrent towards himself.

And it was all for Luo Binghe.

White noise. That’s all Luo Binghe could hear. All sounds were muted, hushed, obscured by the pounding in his chest and the throbbing of his heart.

Was this real?

It felt like a dream.

If it was a dream, Luo Binghe never wanted to wake up.

Overwhelmed and stimulated, Luo Binghe became impulsive. Deaf to Shen Yuan’s mutterings, three years worth of adoration hit Luo Binghe like an atomic bomb. Chaos ensued.

Shen Yuan was ignorant, oblivious to the fire gradually growing beside him. Perhaps if he had seen the gradual darkening of Luo Binghe’s eyes, he would have been frightened into shutting up, or maybe he would have been terrified by excitement.

As it was, Shen Yuan received a shock when he found himself rolled over onto his back with his wrists pinned to the mattress and a large, well-toned body hovering over him.

“Binghe!?”

Shen Yuan looked up, his body restrained, and was trapped in an unfathomable gaze. Luo Binghe was staring at him. So deep and dark, like nothing he had seen before. This wasn’t how Luo Binghe usually looked at him. Gone was the adorable rabbit who hopped after him. Shen Yuan likened Luo Binghe to a giant feline—a panther who had finally captured its prey.

Even as an ominous, bloodthirsty creature, Shen Yuan still thought his little apprentice was the most handsome.

“Are you telling the truth?”

The room seemed to sizzle. Oxygen-depleting, Luo Binghe’s voice was low and hoarse; he could barely swallow through his tight, anxious nerves.

“You never meant to exclude me? You… You’re not lying to me?”

Shen Yuan’s lashes fluttered, his glazed eyes regained clarity, and, despite the dangerous position they were in, Shen Yuan laughed. He actually laughed.

“Lying?” Shen Yuan’s face scrunched up like someone had stuffed a bar of soap into his mouth. “Do you really think I’d lie about something as shameful as this?”

Peals of laughter fell, dancing like musical notes—the most beautiful melody Luo Binghe had ever heard.

“My reputation would be destroyed!” Shen Yuan added with nonchalant humour, then, as though it were the most obvious thing, he said, “Besides, Binghe, you already know how much I wanted to have you on the team back then.”

Luo Binghe exhaled a long, unsteady breath. His head fell forward, thumping against Shen Yuan’s shoulder, and his hands relaxed their determined grip. A few moments later, his entire body started to silently shake.

“Binghe?”

The change was so sudden—Luo Binghe’s body was so boneless—that panic swept through Shen Yuan, his blood running cold. He broke out of Luo Binghe’s hands and clung to the younger captain, rubbing and patting Luo Binghe’s back. The trembling worsened, increased, grew more and more pronounced, and Shen Yuan held Luo Binghe tighter.

“Binghe! Are you okay!?”

Shen Yuan was anxious, on the verge of calling an ambulance, thinking that Luo Binghe was having a seizure. Fear choked him until there was a muffled sound next to his ear.

“Binghe?!”

Then, Shen Yuan was stunned.

The noise deepened. Quiet at first, easily mistaken for soft sobs, then increasing, louder and louder, until Luo Binghe’s delighted chuckles filled Shen Yuan’s ears and ignited a flame that scorched his skin.

It had been a long time since Shen Yuan had heard Luo Binghe so joyous, his laughs so uninhibited. He had almost forgotten the sound, almost forgotten how much he loved it. It distracted him. Distracted him from his panic; distracted him from the arms that wound around his waist; distracted him from the bubbling emotions popping in his bloodstream. He just basked in the nostalgic sound.

“You really wanted me on the team?”

Luo Binghe had to ask again. He had to hear Shen Yuan confirm it, confirm that he wasn’t lost in his fantasies; confirm that his ears hadn’t deceived him. If the answer was always the same, he could ask a thousand more times without tiring.

He raised his head, revealing eyes spilling over with starlight.

“I thought… I thought you wanted me to leave.” Luo Binghe confessed with a tremor.

The confession came as a shock to Shen Yuan. Is that what Luo Binghe had thought all along? How could he even think that? Shen Yuan had practically lived with Luo Binghe stuck to him like a leech. How could Luo Binghe ever think that Shen Yuan didn’t want him on the team?

“Of course I never wanted you to leave!” Shen Yuan announced, indignant and in disbelief. He wondered how Luo Binghe’s brain circuit had come to such a conclusion. He added, “You left so quickly back then. If I had known your plans, I would have fought to keep you! Why else do you think I was training you so diligently? I just wanted to play on the same team as you!”

Three years. Luo Binghe had spent three years both loving and hating the person who was once almost his captain, thinking that the same person hated him. And now he was being told that the truth was the complete opposite.

Luo Binghe wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh at himself. He wanted to curse—to beat himself up for three lost years.

But now he had the chance to grasp what he had always wanted.

Luo Binghe’s eyes crinkled. Shen Yuan’s disgruntled expression was cute. Too cute. So cute that he wanted to squash the man in his arms and absorb him into his body.

His head dropped again, and he laughed, suppressing his overflowing joy so he could look Shen Yuan in the eyes and ask, “So, do you still want to play on the same team as me?”

It was a loaded question, appearing simple on the surface with an underlying subtlety.

Less than a second after the question was asked, Shen Yuan brightened. He lit up like a single star in the night sky, destined to lead a wandering nomad home. He trembled with excitement, his hands clutching at the back of Luo Binghe’s shirt.

“Yes! Binghe, yes! Of course I still want to play on the same team as you!” Shen Yuan rushed to answer, his enthusiasm as if he were responding to a marriage proposal. He started negotiating immediately.

“When does your contract expire? How much do they pay you? I’ll pay you double! No, triple!”

Luo Binghe laughed. The unrestrained laugh of a small, delighted child. His shoulders shook with joy, and he hid his face against the skin of Shen Yuan’s neck, squeezing Shen Yuan’s waist at the intensity of his overwhelming relief and happiness.

The resentful grudge lodged in his heart vanished. But once it had gone, Luo Binghe found that his suppressed adoration was as hot and overwhelming as a volcanic eruption.

Magma seemed to scald Luo Binghe’s skin. It tingled with heat and restlessness. He held Shen Yuan close, inhaling the older captain's scent, wishing to drown in it. Smoke gathered in his chest, clogging his airways and filling his lungs, blurring right from wrong and sense from reason.

Lifting his head, Luo Binghe gazed into Shen Yuan’s eyes.

They sparkled like large, precious gems. Luo Binghe’s reflection was the only thing present. The only person present. Just as Luo Binghe wished. He wanted to be the only one that Shen Yuan could see—the only person to enter Shen Yuan's eyes.

Luo Binghe pressed in closer to Shen Yuan. Eclipsing any light, any distractions, he brought their faces together until they bumped noses, gently rubbing them together.

“Shen Yuan… Shen Yuan— captain ” Luo Binghe mumbled, looking, searching for something, anything. His lips quivered, overcome with everything, and then his lips curved upwards, blossoming into a perfect smile. He said, “I really want to fuck you right now.”

In the next moment, there was the soft press of lips against lips.

The kiss was immature, childish, lacking experience, but what it lacked, Luo Binghe made up for with passion and energy.

Shen Yuan didn’t move. He was confused, startled, blinking rapidly while staring at Luo Binghe’s closed eyelids, frozen against the lips moving on his. He promptly tried to think about how they had gotten here, in this position, sifting through his brain like a filing cabinet, but he was distracted, thoughts jumbled, the alphabetic filing in his head was disordered, all over the place.

A tongue licked at the seam of his lips, pushing past as soon as Shen Yuan showed a trace of weakness. Teeth nipped at his lower lip, pulling and tugging, cajoling him to open up wider and participate. Their mouths were joined in a way that Shen Yuan had never considered, and butterflies fluttered inside him.

A pair of unskilled hands slipped under the back of Shen Yuan’s shirt, fingers and palms gliding up and over his spine, sending electric sparks dancing over every inch of skin they touched.

He gasped, surprised, overwhelmed, losing himself.

But, at the same time, he wasn’t surprised at all.

Their lips, their bodies melded together as if they were always meant to fit like this. The taste of Luo Binghe’s imperfect kiss lingered even as Luo Binghe’s mouth moved to his jaw, to his neck, and Shen Yuan found himself arching into it; found his hands clinging to the younger captain; found his breaths staggered, laboured, and wanting; and…

Oh , Shen Yuan thought.

Well, they are on a date after all…

~☆~

High in the sky, the sun hung happily. The sweet, delightful sound of birdsong greeted the morning. Dew gleamed on blades of grass, fresh and crisp. At TPC’s base, the players and staff huddled in the lounge like little chicks in the nest, waiting for their mother to fly home.

It was a rare occasion for the team to be awake early enough to see and hear these sights, and perhaps they could have enjoyed the natural, relaxing peace. But the sound of their mother bird clamouring and cawing disrupted the serenity.

Its favourite chick had disappeared.

“He didn’t return home last night. Where is he?”

A tall, slender, cold-looking man stood in the middle of the lounge. His arms were folded against his chest, and one finger tapped impatiently on his arm. Icy and frigid, a blizzard stormed inside TPC’s base, contrary to the warm, blinding sun outside.

The players were silent, unresponsive, though for different reasons, as the man locked his gaze on them.

The first player's eyelashes trembled, his legs turning to jelly. He swiftly looked at the person next to him, passing the baton. Unfortunately, it was Liu Qingge next to him, and the apathetic, almost annoyed-looking man wouldn't say a word—whether through fear or disinterest was anyone’s guess. So the baton landed in Gongyi Xiao’s flustered hands, and he gaped like a goldfish, ultimately looking towards their coach, pleading for amnesty.

Yue Qingyuan was standing next to the glacial beauty with an unreadable smile. He had already predicted this situation, but no amount of foresight could prepare any of them for the incoming storm.

It didn’t help that Shen Yuan had acted outside their expectations and actually hadn’t returned to the base last night.

If he had, they could have avoided this altercation altogether.

“Ah-Jiu,” Yue Qinguan placed a hand on Shen Jiu’s shoulder and explained, “Ah-Yuan met up with a friend last night. He should be back later today.”

He tried to appease Shen Jiu, but the latter sneered at him, speaking a truth none of them could deny.

“What friend? He doesn’t have any.”

Yue Qingyuan swallowed his sigh. He had plenty of experience coaxing the short-tempered Shen brother, but there were some situations where it would be impossible to appease him. This was one of them, and he could see Shen Jiu becoming more irate thanks to the nervous silence of Shen Yuan’s teammates and the gossip-loving expression of the team's assistant, Shang Qinghua.

As the team's manager, Shen Jiu knew the players and staff well. As Yue Qingyuan’s long-term partner, he also knew the coach well.

Oh, and Shen Jiu also knew his younger brother well. Too well.

“It’s that little beast, isn’t it?”

In an instant, all eyes looked away from Shen Jiu. Shen Jiu found that the players and staff were suddenly very interested in random inanimate objects scattered around the room, and he smiled sardonically.

Of course it would be that little beast, that grating presence, the bane of Shen Jiu’s existence. There was no one else who could wrap Shen Yuan around their little finger and play with him like that annoying, buzzing fly.

Now, seething with anger, Shen Jiu needed to get to the bottom of it.

However, before Shen Jiu could begin his intense interrogation, the door to the lounge swung open with a loud bang.

Shen Yuan stormed into the room with an unfamiliar scowl. 

He froze upon greeting the scene before him. Why was everyone awake at this time? Why were they gathered in the lounge? Why was his older brother here?

Shen Yuan flushed with shame, his cheeks and ears catching fire. It would be impossible to sneak by unseen—everyone was already staring at him with varied expressions—so Shen Yuan chose to feign ignorance and continue his whirlwind escape to his room as fast as his sore waist and limping legs would carry him.

A subtle atmosphere settled in the lounge, and Shen Jiu’s veins bulged. He stepped forward, ready to chase after his younger brother, catch the nuisance by the scruff of his neck, and demand an explanation.

“A-Yua–”

“Captain! Wait! I said I was sorry!”

It seemed an explanation was unnecessary.

The storm swept through the lounge, leaving destruction behind it. One ran up the stairs with the other chasing behind, with the judging eyes of everyone present following them with ardour.

Before they reached the second floor, Shang Qinghua, the ever-competent assistant, diligently asked, “Should we start preparing his contract?”

“No!”

Two voices indignantly shouted in unison. It was one of the rare times that the Shen brothers actually agreed with each other.

Then the storm vanished.

In the lounge, the air crackled. 

Shen Jiu simmered furiously, his hands balling into fists. The other players and staff quietly slipped away in any direction that wasn’t within Shen Jiu’s line of sight. Yue Qingyuan pressed his fingers against his temples and sighed mournfully. He grabbed Shang Qinghua before he could leave, and, much to Shen Jiu’s offended chagrin, he advised, “Luo Binghe’s contract is in the top drawer of my desk.”

~☆~

Meanwhile, upstairs, Shen Yuan escaped Luo Binghe’s clutches by slipping into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him, and locking it for good measure. He left the pitifully apologising Luo Binghe on the other side.

“I’m sorry, Captain! I couldn’t control myself; I’m sorry!”

Leaning against his bedroom door, Shen Yuan listened to Luo Binghe’s pathetic, desperate sobs outside. 

How ridiculous! If anyone should be crying, it should be Shen Yuan! The difference between their vitality was clear, and Shen Yuan was obviously the one who suffered. What right did Luo Binghe have to whine like a kicked puppy?!

Yet, despite cursing Luo Binghe’s enthusiasm and vigour, Shen Yuan’s calculating gaze swept over his room.

It was a decent-sized space. A wardrobe, a desk, an en-suite bathroom, and a single-person bed.

Shen Yuan sighed. He thought of the man outside, knocking on his door, and it reminded him of the younger boy who would also stand outside, knocking and crying until Shen Yuan would let him in, allowing the pure and innocent boy into his bed.

It seemed that he had been foolish.

Resigned to his fate, Shen Yuan made the easiest decision of his life.

“I guess I’ll need to buy a bigger bed.”