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There were three minutes left until Qingjing Boba’s closing.
Shen Jiu glowered at the clock on the cash register. ‘10:57 PM’ blinked back, as if taunting him with the knowledge that they closed at 11:00 PM. Toddler-level math dictated there were three minutes left, though they seemed more like three hours to Shen Jiu.
Three. Goddamn. Minutes.
A hundred and eighty seconds until he could finally start mopping the floor, dumping the remaining tapioca, and scrubbing the teapots. Then— finally —he could catch the empty 12:00 AM bus and collapse into his bed by 12:58 AM. Because, of course, the only bus to his house took an hour-long scenic promenade before reaching his station.
A deep-boned tiredness washed over him. His fifth solo closing in a row made him feel ninety instead of nineteen. Nevertheless, he counted himself lucky — he asked for more shifts and his boss agreed.
If there was anyone to blame, it would be this country’s exuberant fee for Shen Yuan’s tiny vial of insulin.
Shen Jiu wished he could have enjoyed his adolescence instead of studying from sunrise to 3AM and scrubbing his hands raw by washing dishes in the back of steakhouses. He’d foolishly believed university would be different—yet, here he was: washing dishes in the back of a bubble tea shop.
If Shen Yuan didn’t have—
No, it wasn’t Shen Yuan’s fault. Shen Jiu would seriously consider killing people for his brother’s happiness—working an extra shift or two per week meant nothing.
It was just that… Sometimes, juggling two part-time jobs, a rigorous pre-law program, and receiving little monetary support from his shitty parents felt like a cruel prank played by the universe.
If the universe was a bitch. (Which, it was.)
At that moment, the boba shop’s glass door slammed open with a resounding bang, shattering Shen Jiu’s eardrums as well as any hopes for a quick closing. A gaggle of prepubescent children swarmed into the store, reeking of foul-smelling locker rooms and Shen Jiu’s worst nightmare. They were wearing tiny wushu uniforms, and he recognized the character ‘柳’ on their logo — liǔ.
“Still open?” The only adult, wearing a black tracksuit with the same logo and a tacky red dragon on the back, pushed through the mob. His hair, around Shen Jiu’s length, was tied in a man-bun at the back of his head instead of a ponytail. His pretty face, broad shoulders, and tapered waist did not make up for the fact that he was an asshole.
Shen Jiu forced a smile on, voice saccharine sweet. “Would the door be open if we weren’t?” He pointedly gestured at the digital clock on the counter. “It’s 10:58. We close at eleven.”
“Good,” The man, whose impressive physique probably compensated for his lack of intelligence, nodded. He turned to the flock of children, his tone loud and curt. “Go ahead and order.”
To Shen Jiu’s horror, the dozen or so students cheered and began crowding around the counter. Fuck me , he thought with dawning despondency, as the kids started clamoring their orders all at once. He’d learned at the tender age of four that life handed out different amounts of lemons to different people. For him, it gave enough to flood the Pacific Ocean with lemonade.
Shen Jiu quickly took their orders and, by the time they finally stopped blabbering, his entire body ached with exhaustion. It had taken thirty whole minutes for the brats to finish. His head throbbed and his already-Nobel-Prize-worthy patience worn thin.
“I’m getting—” Their teacher’s nonchalance, foolishly ignorant at the suffering he’s subjected upon Shen Jiu, is what broke the camel’s back.
“No.” Shen Jiu snapped, cutting him off. “No, you’re not. It’s 11:30, we’re closed. We were supposed to be closed thirty minutes ago. I’m on minimum wage, I’m going to miss my bus, and I need to fucking sleep. I have three essays and a presentation due this fucking Friday. And guess what day it is? Thursday. I can’t make your five milk teas, eight smoothies, and four bubble waffles.”
He heaved out a breath, momentarily relieved for being able to speak normally instead of his high-pitched customer-service voice. Then, he promptly noticed the absolute silence that settled over the room. A dozen pairs of eyes were staring at him, tiny mouths agape in shock.
Shen Jiu’s eyes skittered across the group before locking on their teacher’s, whose face shifted through the five stages of grief before decidingly fixing on anger. His pupils dilated with what can only be described as the blazing fury of a fucking martial artist and Shen Jiu promptly realized how absolutely fucking doomed he was.
His cheeks flushed with rising mortification— he had only needed to withstand one more drink. Instead of a quiet closing, he now faced a jacked Olympic swimmer look-alike ready to beat the shitting daylights out of him.
The man’s grip alone could break his wrist. His biceps may be thicker than Shen Jiu’s thighs.
“They. Are. Kids ,” the man growled, like an actual animal, emphasizing each word with a pause in-between. Fists clenched and jaw tight, his glare was sharp enough to slice Shen Jiu in half.
Unfortunately for the man, Shen Jiu was stressed, sleep-deprived, and a shitty person in general. Even Shen Yuan quaked in fear when he was in one of his moods. Shen Jiu faced his fierce scowl with a matching glower, tilting his chin up to meet his eyes (the brute was taller, to Shen Jiu’s greatest chagrin, by an inch or two).
“Oh, really? Kids, you say?” Shen Jiu drawled, lips curling up in a derisive snarl. “I hadn’t noticed. Here I was, thinking they were some foreign royalty from the royal treatment you demanded.” He gave a mocking bow. “Thank you so much for enlightening me.”
“Can you simply— ” The other man stalked towards Shen Jiu , crowding into his personal space.
“I’m a minimum-wage worker,” Shen Jiu cut him off, jabbing a finger into the man’s chest to push him back. “These brats won’t pay me for overtime, will they? I survived without bubble-fucking-tea for nineteen years. They can too.”
“What the fuck is your problem—” He smacked Shen Jiu’s hand away.
“Qingge-gege?” One of the children cut him off, clinging to the man’s uniform sleeve. Her hands trembled as she looked up with big, innocent eyes. “Why are you mad at the boba guy?”
The man froze. He glanced down at his student, hostile countenance immediately shattered by her terror at his display of aggression. His eyebrows scrunched with disconcertion, broad frame awkwardly crouching down to her level. His hands, too big and ungainly, reached to pat the nine-to-ten year old’s back.
“I’m not mad,” he said, voice still rough but clearly softened. “I promise, Ning Yingying. We can go somewhere else, okay? To celebrate.”
Shen Jiu deflated, the intense indignation from moments ago seeping out. The child’s puppy eyes looked too much like Shen Yuan. As per usual, Shen Jiu inevitably caved in.
“I’ll make them,” he interrupted. The man’s head snapped towards him, eyes widened in surprise. “It’s on the house. Give me fifteen minutes,” Then, turning on his heel, he started to prepare all thirteen drinks.
Later that night, he crashed through his apartment door at the lovely time of 2:11 AM. After pondering his life decisions for a solid five minutes, he downed a can of Celcius and pulled out his five thousand pages of study notes. He’d wanted to catch at least an hour of sleep before studying, but the universe decided to be a bitch (as always) and his plans were foiled. Now, he had three units to skim through and three tests to fail.
He took a deep breath, unclenched his jaw, and glanced at Shen Yuan’s sleeping form in the corner of their shared room. His didi’s short hair fluffed in a tangled mess as he drooled in his sleep, snores echoing in their small apartment. Shen Jiu’s scowl softened.
His eyes burned from lack of sleep, but it was okay. This day was just another crappy one among the thousands he’d lived through. He would survive—if not for himself, then for Shen Yuan.
*
The next day felt like a lucid dream. He vomited the scant knowledge retained in the surviving parts of his muddled brain, and prayed for the best. Corporate law seemed more about networking and nepotism than genuine academics, and Shen Jiu counted on that to hopefully find his footing in the business world. A pretty smile, the ability to golf, and some blackmail should be enough to survive the first few years.
Good news: he could answer over half of the questions on his exams. Fantastic. He likely hadn’t failed. His scholarship, which covered half of his tuition, wasn’t in jeopardy. His wallet, at the low cost of his kidney and mental sanity, had survived.
Bad news: after entering through the backdoors of Qingjing Boba, he was surprised by the sight of a fidgeting man in the corner of the shop. The same man from the previous night’s closing shift.
Shen Jiu forced his best customer service smile onto his face—a smile that, according to Shen Yuan, made him look wonderfully terrifying. Clearing his throat, he called out, “Welcome to Qingjing Boba. How may I help you?”
The man slid closer, step by hesitant step, like a frightened cat. Under daylight, Shen Jiu suddenly realized just how attractive the other man was. With his ridiculously toned shoulders and a jawline sharp enough to grate cheese, he resembled the protagonist of a xianxia novel. He wore a tight black compression shirt, faded jeans, and his usual delightful scowl. The shirt revealed a surprisingly well-defined set of abs. Shen Jiu lamented the man’s missed potential as an actor in another life. His looks were clearly a divine intervention to counterbalance his dreadful personality.
“I am Liu Qingge.” The man — Liu Qingge, apparently — announced. “Bai Zhan Wushu Academy’s head instructor.”
Did he memorize this spiel? Shen Jiu wondered, forcing his face to remain in a parody of a smile. Liu Qingge spoke as though every word he uttered was capitalized. “Great. I’m Shen Jiu. Your point?”
Liu Qingge gritted his teeth, and threw a downward glance at the floor (already dirty, damnit). “I… I owe you an apology.”
Oh.
…Oh?
Shen Jiu let out a surprised huff before he could hold it in. “Really?”
There was no one else in the shop at the time. Shen Jiu could afford to make the man pay for the previous night and for causing him to fail his exams. Later, he could justify his actions to Shen Yuan by claiming it was a way to alleviate stress.
“Yes,” Liu Qingge ground out. Shen Jiu lifted an eyebrow, a skill he’d perfected after hours in front of his bathroom mirror. He motioned for Liu Qingge to continue, earning a scowl in response.
“You were closing. Preparing thirteen drinks was— ”
“Ridiculous? Inconsiderate? Downright impossible?” Shen Jiu interjected.
“Yes. And although you were being a brat— ”
“I was not— ”
“Yes. Yes, you were.” Liu Qingge insisted, his eye-candy jawline tightening. “Stop. Interrupting. Do you want this apology or not?”
Shen Jiu snickered. “If you must. Sing my virtues.”
“Why are you like this?” Liu Qingge gritted his teeth.
“Like what?” Shen Jiu smiled, saccharine sweet yet showing a sliver of teeth.
“Like—!” Liu Qingge threw his hands up. His voice turned almost pleading. “I am trying to apologize. Why are you such an asshole?”
Shen Jiu snapped. “You made me make thirteen drinks when we had three minutes left.’ He poked Liu Qingge’s chest with his index finger. “We both know who the asshole is here.”
“Fuck you,” Liu Qingge snarled, in the thankfully empty shop. “If you fail to even be a goddamn decent human being, maybe you shouldn’t be working here.”
“Well, maybe if you weren’t illiterate, you’d know we close at eleven,” Shen Jiu retorted, gesturing at the flashing business hours sign.
“You could have mentioned it,” Liu Qingge growled, clenching his fists. “Instead, you decided to be a piece of shit — ”
“I made thirteen drinks and didn’t dump any over your head. Consider yourself lucky, you ungrateful son of a — ”
“Who are you calling ungrateful — ”
“Your ass must envy your mouth, considering all the shit that comes out of it — ”
“Come here and fight me, you motherfucker — ”
Needless to say, that did not end well.
*
Liu Qingge came back another time to apologize. He barged in as though the Earth spun around him (which it probably did, considering Shen Jiu’s luck), commanding the undivided attention of the room. The, fortunately, empty room. Qingjing Boba was a failing business, and tumbleweeds practically tumbled on Wednesday afternoons.
Liu Qingge eyed him up and down, like a wary guard dog. If puppies saw him, they'd probably mistake him for one of their own and he'd be right there, sniffing their butts in return. “Why will you not accept my apology?”
“Busy!” Shen Jiu didn’t even glance at him, his voice sing-song-like.
“There’s. No. One.” Liu Qingge made a face, spreading his arms to demonstrate that the shop was as empty as his understanding of personal space. Shen Jiu rolled his eyes, sneaking an appreciative glance at the flexed biceps on display.
Snap out of it! He scolded himself internally. No matter the package, the man was three monkeys stacked on top of each other. Three obnoxiously attractive monkeys. Sharing three non-existent brain cells.
Shen Jiu’s internal pondering might have stretched beyond a conventionally appropriate length of time, considering Liu Qingge’s face slowly turned from pale beauty to tomato red. He took pity on the man.
“Buy a drink,” he said, wiping one of the yellowed shakers that looked to be on its last leg. Noticing Liu Qingge’s confused look, he added. “You can’t expect my delightful company after kicking down the door like a madman.”
“I didn’t kick down the door!” Liu Qingge protested.
Shen Jiu snickered. He kicked Liu Qingge out after he bought a drink.
Like the liar he was, Liu Qingge did in fact kick down the door the next time.
“Shen Jiu!” Liu Qingge announced, like a knight in shining armor just about to confront a fiery dragon. The shattered glass and broken wood lessened the impact of the image.
“What?!” Shen Jiu squawked.
“Accept my apologies!”
“Fuck you,” A pause. “And you’re fixing that!”
They bickered until Shen Jiu’s closing.
“Shen Jiu — ”
“No, I don’t forgive you! And why do you always do that?”
A slight pause. Liu Qingge tilted his head. Like a puppy. “Do… What?”
“Show up unannounced. You don’t own this place.”
“You make bubble tea! I don’t see the need to book an appointment — ”
“You’re right, how about a restraining order instead — ”
The next day, Liu Qingge stomped in. “Shen —”
“Again?!” Shen Jiu whined.
“Accept my sincerest apologies.”
“Pay me! My time is precious. I should charge you double.”
“If you would simply forgive me—”
“You can’t make me forgive you, that’s not how forgiveness works!”
"But I've been trying," Liu Qingge said, running a frustrated hand through his dark hair, tousling it even more. Shen Jiu would be lying if he said he didn't find it a tiny bit adorable.
“Trying to annoy me?” He shot back, hands on hips as he leaned forward.
Liu Qingge objected, an affronted look crossing his face. “No! I’ve been trying to make up to you.”
“Make up to me?” Shen Jiu lifted an eyebrow. “By breaking down the front door? Not exactly helping.”
“Your door frame was far too weak,” Liu Qingge protested feebly. “What will it take to earn your forgiveness?”
Shen Jiu pretended to think, tapping an index finger against his chin. "How about you start with not breaking anything for a week?" He smirked. "Might be tough. Think you can manage?"
“Of course I can!” Liu Qingge grouched, indignant. Less than two minutes later, he broke his bubble tea cup by gripping it too tightly.
Shen Jiu started looking forward to his shifts, though he would never, ever, admit it to anyone.
*
After a couple more shifts, Liu Qingge developed the habit of sitting in the back corner, textbook open, when Shen Jiu worked. Even a mindless brute could understand that bothering a barista during rush hour was hardly the way to win brownie points.
"What are you studying?" Shen Jiu asked on a quiet evening. He had been watching Liu Qingge aggressively bite his pencil for half an hour, taking in his slightly chapped lips, pure-white teeth, and sharp, sculpted jawline. Under the pretense of sweeping the floor, Shen Jiu wandered by Liu Qingge's table. He picked up one of Liu Qingge's books, ignoring the half-hearted protest, and read the title out loud: "Principles of Microeconomics, Volume I."
Liu Qingge groaned, slumped over the table. “I… I just don’t get it.”
Upon closer inspection, Shen Jiu noticed Liu Qingge's bloodshot, glassy eyes, surrounded by dark circles. His man-bun, usually neat, now resembled a bird’s nest, wisps of hair sticking out in every direction. Shen Jiu resisted the urge to run his hand through the dark, messy strands.
Instead, he raised an eyebrow. "Why econ? You don't seem like the studious type. More like a mindless halfwit who spends all his time training."
“I am not studious,” It must show how troubled Liu Qingge was because he didn’t even put up a fight. He shot Shen Jiu a scathing look. “I despise it. But I am inheriting Liu Corp, my grandparents’ business.”
“Your Wushu Academy?”
“No, not Bai Zhan. It’s a real estate and builder company,” he stretched. Shen Jiu sneaked a glance at the muscles pulled taught underneath his white v-neck. “If it’s Bai Zhan, I’d give a damn.”
With growing suspicion, Shen Jiu asked, “...A builder company?” At Liu Qingge’s subtle nod, he added. “ The Liu Corp?”
“The?” Liu Qingge questioned through a yawn.
Goddamnit, Liu Qingge was a fuerdai. No wonder he could afford basically a boba a day.
*
Their slow back-and-forth evolved into banter over the course of several weeks. Shen Jiu would have been slightly worried about Liu Qingge’s wallet if he weren’t so disgustingly rich. Liu Corp was one of the country’s largest real estate developers, responsible for building over half of the properties, if not more. The sheer scale of Liu Corp’s operations meant that Liu Qingge had enough wealth to never lift a finger and still earn more than Shen Jiu would in his entire lifetime. If he claimed that knowledge didn’t leave a bitter taste in his mouth, he’d be lying.
Now that Shen Jiu noticed, he couldn’t help but scorn his past self. It was ridiculously obvious. Liu Qingge’s wealth was subtly reflected in his clothing, prestigious in its simplicity. Shen Jiu had caught the name tag of one of his trench coats—Saint Laurent. That single article of clothing could cover his rent, bills, and food for two months straight.
His vocabulary and intonations were clear indications as well. His English had a slight lilt, hinting at studies abroad. When prompted, Liu Qingge grudgingly revealed that he had attended a summer martial arts program in the UK. Shen Jiu’s frustration grew as he realized how normal Liu Qingge’s abundant wealth seemed to him.
However, despite everything, Liu Qingge never let his affluence affect their rivalry. He maintained a down-to-earth attitude that belied his privileged upbringing.
A wealthy acquaintance was always beneficial.
Furthermore, to Shen Jiu’s greatest pleasure, Liu Qingge had a fatal flaw: sitting down and studying. His attention would drift at the slightest sound or conversation, his foot tapping and subconsciously fidgeting in his seat. Instead of skimming his notes, Liu Qingge would sneak glances at Shen Jiu from the corner of his eye, convinced he wasn’t being noticed. His gaze would track Shen Jiu’s every movement, lingering on his neck, lips, legs, and wrists.
Liu Qingge, single-minded as he was, was likely trying to find the quickest way to beat him up.
The idiot. Breaking Shen Jiu’s wrists will only incapacitate him from work and result in no lethal injury. He might even be subjected to compensatory damages.
Since the store was usually empty except for Liu Qingge, Shen Jiu developed a habit of quizzing him out of sheer boredom. In return, Liu Qingge would tip twice the cost of his drink (Shen Jiu had been taken aback by the first $20 tip).
This arrangement was tactical: Shen Jiu not only learned more about economics and earned extra money but also got to tease Liu Qingge. Watching the man turn as red as a tomato became the highlight of his day.
He learned that Liu Qingge lacked a brain-to-mouth filter and rarely spoke outside of what he truly thought. He would bluntly refuse others, directly point out their flaws, and generally acted like an imbecile with no social grace. Shen Jiu watched him interact with his Wushu class every Thursday, as arriving an hour early became a habit for them. Liu Qingge would pay for all of their drinks, walk them back to their academy, then jog back and wait until Shen Jiu’s closing.
“Qinge-gege,” one of his students squealed, her head barely poking out from the counter. “I want the mango green tea!”
“No,” Liu Qingge replied, his tone so final it was as if he were dealing with an annoying business associate instead of a child. Shen Jiu nearly choked with laughter, struggling to suppress his amusement.
"Qinge-gege, why not?" The 'not' was drawn out impressively long—she had a future in opera singing. She stomped her tiny feet with all the drama of a cartoon character and declared, "I want it! Mama drinks it all the time."
Liu Qingge looked exasperated. “You won’t be able to sleep.”
“But I wanna—!” she sobbed, and even Shen Jiu was amazed by her crocodile tears. Maybe soap opera where her future lay instead. Liu Qingge, however, remained unmoved, his expression as stoic as ever.
“No.”
“Qinge-gege—!”
“No,” Liu Qingge said, hunching over the child. His tall frame and broad shoulders, which usually made him look unapproachable, now made him seem clumsily out of place. Liu Qingge threw Shen Jiu a glance, his eyes silently crying for help. Shen Jiu was fairly certain his long lashes blinked out an SOS in Morse code. As their eyes met, Shen Jiu mouthed ‘good luck’ and muffled his chortle with the back of his hand. Liu Qingge responded by giving him the middle finger.
Although Shen Jiu wanted to savor every second of Liu Qingge’s ignominious defeat, the man was starting to sweat bullets. He shifted from foot to foot, helplessly gazing down at the wailing child. A man who could likely knock out any ordinary person, vanquished by a six-year-old. Even Shen Jiu’s usually unflappable cynicism felt a twinge of pity.
“I’ll make it, I’ll make it.” Shen Jiu conceited. At Liu Qingge’s affronted look, he mouthed ‘trust me.’
“You will?” The girl sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.
“If you promise,” Shen Jiu bent down, rubbing her hair, “to be extra hard on your Qinge-gege next session, okay? Train hard and beat him for me.”
Liu Qingge rolled his eyes. “Beat me yourself, coward.”
Was that… fondness? In the Great Liu Qingge’s voice? His shoulders seemed less tense too, no longer attempting the impossible and trying to reach his ears.
“I’d rather this tiny little gremlin do it,” Shen Jiu cackled, pouring water instead of green tea into her cup. At her age, she’d probably never notice the difference. Liu Qingge flashed him a small, grateful smile, and Shen Jiu smirked back, all the while ignoring his pulse’s abrupt decision to quicken.
*
After a month of similar interactions, Shen Jiu finally disclosed his schedule: closing on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and full day Saturday.
Upon learning this, Liu Qingge gaped, “When do you even study?”
“After work.”
“At 12 AM?”
“At 1 AM.”
Liu Qingge furrowed his brows. (Which started to look kind of… cute? Shen Jiu mentally recoiled at the thought, his self-esteem gagging in a corner of his mind.) “It shouldn’t take you so long, unless you live in the rural areas.”
“No, I live twenty minutes away,” Shen Jiu sighed. “Our wonderful bus system takes the longest goddamn detour.”
“Drive instead?”
“Not everyone has a Bugatti,” Shen Jiu scoffed, then admitted. “No car.”
“Bike?”
“Tiring. And I don’t wanna get hit by a truck in the dark and transmigrate.”
“Walk?”
“Weak constitution.” At the other man’s raised eyebrow, Shen Jiu acquiesced. “Fine, too lazy. Also, who the fuck wants to stroll around at midnight?”
The conversation drew to a halt as a few late customers trickled in, and Shen Jiu began wiping down the counter, humming along to a top 100 hit. While he took the a-yi’s orders, he noticed Liu Qingge scowling (as usual) from the corner of his eye. Liu Qingge seemed lost in thought, likely pondering the existential question of why anyone would choose to walk—or run—an hour at midnight. Shen Jiu felt a twinge of sympathy. Maybe he should have broken the news with a bit more tact.
After the old ladies left, Liu Qingge broke the silence, “Do you have anyone who can drive you?”
Shen Jiu shook his head. “No. Why?”
“I can,” Liu Qingge blurted out, his face turning a shade of red that could only be described as ‘lobster.’ He stammered, “Training’s from five to nine. I can come here and study until you close.”
Shen Jiu blinked, momentarily stunned. “What?”
“To repay you,” The other man croaked, fumbling with his paper straw. His tall, lean frame looked awkward as he hunched over his drink. He added, voice rough with embarrassment, “I… did not realize you’d be getting home so late.
Ah, so this is all a misplaced sense of guilt. But getting a ride in an incredibly expensive Bugatti seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity so Shen Jiu was quick to acquiesce. After all, Liu Qingge owed him , not the other way around.
*
At first, their conversations mostly consisted of banter and insults thrown at each other. They quizzed each other, Shen Jiu made fun of Liu Qingge for his abysmal grades, and they slandered each other’s families, ancestors, and cows. Their car rides started off with Shen Jiu laughing at Liu Qingge’s driving, turning too sharp and not abiding road signs.
“Did you even pass your road test?” Shen Jiu yelled as the imbecile in the driver’s seat sped ten kilometers above the limit. Liu Qingge gripped the steering wheel with one hand, his forearm taut beneath sun-tanned skin, clear evidence of hours spent outdoors. In stark contrast, Shen Jiu was as pale as a ghost from being cooped up indoors studying or working. He looked like a stick next to Liu Qingge.
“Barely,” Liu Qingge shrugged.
Shen Jiu squawked, clutching his seatbelt as if it were a lifeline. He shot Liu Qingge a glare sharp enough to cut glass, hoping the man could feel every piercing stab of his dismay. “Explain.”
“It was my fourth try,” Liu Qingge grinned. It was the brightest smile he had ever given Shen Jiu. Suddenly, as cliché as it sounded, time seemed to slow down. The cacophony of his own heartbeat drowned out everything else. He felt his face flush—clearly from fear and frustration, because that was an absolutely reasonable reaction to the driver of the car he was stuck in failing four times. Obviously.
But, like a dam bursting open, their conversations started to flow more naturally. Shen Jiu, who was unaccustomed to silence after a lifetime of Shen Yuan’s constant chatter, filled it with his most scathing thoughts. He always had something to complain about—his professors, classmates, landlord, and Shen Yuan’s ridiculous obsession with stallion novels. Liu Qingge listened with rapt attention, chiming in occasionally with his trademark brutal honesty. There was something oddly comforting in knowing that whatever came out of Liu Qingge’s mouth was guaranteed to be the absolute truth and nothing less.
Despite the man’s inherent social ineptitude and desire to bruteforce everything in his way, Shen Jiu discovered the depth of Liu Qingge’s adoration for Wushu. Liu Qingge had grown up in a traditional Chinese household in mainland China before attending an international high school. His family moved after Liu Qingge’s successful acceptance into a top ten university. He had a national competition coming up in a few months, and every mention made his face light up as if he were about to receive a lifetime supply of his favorite protein powder.
In return, Shen Jiu shared tidbits of information. He told Liu Qingge about his pre-law program, Shen Yuan, how he worked to afford the sky-high cost of basic necessities. He knew with absolute certainty that Liu Qingge was too honest, too magnanimous to use any of his secrets as a weapon against him. Yet, he was still terrified—terrified of Liu Qingge and his rare smiles, which felt more valuable than a year worth of rent. Terrified by how one person could make him giddy with excitement, like one of the swooning maidens in Shen Yuan’s obnoxious stallion novels.
*
One evening, after a quick closing had put him in a good mood, Shen Jiu yelled, “First one to the car drives it!” and sprinted toward Liu Qingge’s car.
“No!” Liu Qingge shouted in horror, chasing him with the fervor of a man about to lose his favorite car. “You can’t even drive!”
Shen Jiu threw his head back, laughter uncontrolled. He hadn’t laughed like this in years. Even when Liu Qingge caught up to him, pulling him back by the waist, spinning him in his embrace, and blocking the car door, Shen Jiu didn’t stop. Both of them panted, out of breath, as Shen Jiu finally threw himself into the passenger seat.
They settled into the quiet, the crescent moon hanging in a pitch-black sky. Streetlights flickered in tandem with Shen Jiu’s racing heartbeat. The world around them seemed to hold its breath, replaced by the tranquil silence of the night. The moon's glow reflected off Liu Qingge’s face, softening his sharper features. Liu Qingge met Shen Jiu’s gaze, his brows relaxed and eyes glinting with fond amusement.
Something shifted between them, tender and contemplative. Shen Jiu adjusted in his seat to face Liu Qingge. Hesitantly, Liu Qingge reached out and brushed a stray strand of Shen Jiu’s hair behind his ear. The touch was so gentle, reverent, and his fingers grazed the tip of Shen Jiu’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine. Shen Jiu’s breath hitched as he leaned closer, his gaze drawn to the flush across Liu Qingge’s cheeks, which matched the color of his lips.
Liu Qingge’s thumb traced the back of Shen Jiu’s hand, his rough calluses brushing against soft skin as he followed the shape of slender fingers and bony knuckles. Liu Qingge’s finger moved in slow, languid circles, while Shen Jiu watched with rapt attention.
Slowly, they leaned toward each other. Liu Qingge gazed down at Shen Jiu’s lips, as though nothing else in the world existed. Shen Jiu darted a lick across them, making sure they weren’t chapped. The other man’s eyes, in turn, tracked the movement of his tongue with hawk-like precision. With the hand not holding Shen Jiu’s, Liu Qingge gently stroked Shen Jiu’s jaw with the tip of his fingers before curling it around the back of his neck. Their foreheads pressed together, eyes locked. Shen Jiu wasn’t sure he could break away, even if he wanted to.
“May I?” Liu Qingge whispered, breaking the quiet lull of the night. His voice sounded like a plea, as though he were a dying man stranded in a desert and Shen Jiu was enough to quench his thirst. His breath flickered across Shen Jiu’s lips, so close that their noses were almost touching.
Suddenly, Shen Jiu’s ringtone screeched, Chappell Roan’s voice screaming at the top of her lungs. Startled, the two jumped back as Shen Jiu lunged for his phone, his face flushing as he fumbled to ignore the call. They took a simultaneous breath of relief. Unfortunately, it was extremely short-lived as the phone rang again with another round of the chorus. Shen Jiu snatched his phone and answered.
“What?!” He snapped, flustered and out of breath.
“Gege,” Shen Yuan’s voice whined in his ear. “We ran out of yogurt. All the rest are expired. Can you grab some?”
What. The. Fuck.
Shen Jiu wanted to chuck the phone out of the car and smash it against the nearest surface. He wanted to (gently) grab Shen Yuan’s throat and (gently) choke him. Liu Qingge, who was red from head to toe two moments ago, now watched with overt amusement.
“Go get it yourself!” Shen Jiu scolded and hung up.
The moment of intimacy was utterly decimated, leaving Shen Jiu awkwardly sitting there, avoiding Liu Qingge’s gaze. Curse you, Shen Yuan, and your horrible timing! The stifling silence between them was palpable, each second stretching into what felt like an eternity. They sat stiffly beside each other, the space between them as vast and deep as the hole Shen Jiu wished he could crawl into and hide for the rest of his life.
“I—” They both started simultaneously, aiming to break the silence.
There was a brief pause as they met each other’s gaze.
“Can—” Liu Qingge asked at the same time as Shen Jiu uttered. “I’m—”
Then, as Shen Jiu met Liu Qingge’s eyes, he burst into incredulous laughter. Liu Qingge followed suit.
Once their laughter subsided, Liu Qingge blurted out. “Do you want to go out sometimes?”
“Yes,” Shen Jiu whispered. He turned to face him. “Of course, you moron.”