Chapter Text
Their apartment is so different from the cramped, drafty attic Xie Lian had lived in for years. Spacious and bathed in soft, ambient lighting, the space is a seamless blend of modern elegance and personal warmth. The sleek, open-concept design features dark wood floors, deep red and black accents—Hua Cheng’s unmistakable touch—complemented by small, thoughtful details that reflect their shared life. A few potted plants Xie Lian insisted on keep the room from feeling too severe, while books, trinkets, and a few framed photos give it a lived-in feel. Large windows let in the city lights, casting a warm glow over plush, luxurious furniture. The bedroom, which Xie Lian had shyly accepted as theirs, is a mix of silk sheets, warm candle scents, and the ever-present reminder of Hua Cheng’s devotion.
The building itself is high-end, with a quiet, private atmosphere that ensures peace away from the bustling world outside. So different from the rickety attic, where every gust of wind rattled the walls, here the air is always comfortable, and security ensures that only welcome visitors ever show up at their door.
That evening, as they should be getting ready, laughter fills the apartment instead.
Xie Lian is half-sprawled across the couch, breathless and flushed, the warmth of Hua Cheng’s body pressed close against his own. They should be dressing up, putting on shoes, doing anything that resembles preparing for their night out. But instead—
“San Laaaang—!” Xie Lian gasps, barely able to contain his giggles as he tries to shove at Hua Cheng’s chest. “Stop, I’m serious! We’re going to be late—”
Hua Cheng, predictably, does not stop.
Instead, he tightens his arms around Xie Lian’s waist, pinning him against the couch as he nuzzles into the crook of his neck, pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses against the flushed skin there. His long, loose hair spills over Xie Lian’s shoulders as he hums, the deep vibration of it sending a shiver down his spine.
“Gege,” Hua Cheng drawls, smiling against his skin, “why are you fighting me when I know you don’t actually want to get up?”
“I do want to get up—” Xie Lian protests, but the way he tilts his head to the side to give Hua Cheng better access completely betrays him.
Hua Cheng chuckles, smug.
Xie Lian scowls at the sound and tries to push him away again, but the man merely catches his wrists, effortlessly pinning them against the couch cushions.
“San Lang!” Xie Lian whines, wriggling.
“Yes, my love?” Hua Cheng smirks, kissing just beneath his ear.
“We need to get ready—”
“We are getting ready,” Hua Cheng murmurs, pressing another kiss to his jaw, then to his cheek.
“Liar!” Xie Lian huffs.
Hua Cheng only grins, his grip loosening just enough for Xie Lian to slip free—only for him to immediately retaliate by grabbing one of the couch pillows and smacking him in the face with it.
Hua Cheng lets out a surprised yelp, then pauses. Slowly, he lifts his head, peering at Xie Lian through a curtain of black hair. His expression is unreadable for all of two seconds before—
“Oh?” he says, voice dangerously sweet. “That’s how it is?”
Xie Lian realizes immediately that he’s made a mistake.
Before he can so much as breathe, Hua Cheng lunges.
“Wait—!” Xie Lian yelps, twisting to escape, but it’s too late—Hua Cheng tackles him back onto the couch, snatching a pillow of his own and whacking him in the stomach with it.
“You started this, gege!” Hua Cheng crows, merciless.
Xie Lian wheezes between laughter, flailing as they devolve into a ridiculous, undignified wrestling match. Limbs tangle, pillows fly, laughter rings through the apartment. Hua Cheng is stronger, but Xie Lian is determined—
“Yield!” Hua Cheng demands, hovering over him.
“Never!” Xie Lian declares dramatically, then tries to twist free—only for Hua Cheng to catch his face and kiss him square on the mouth.
Xie Lian immediately melts.
The fight is forgotten instantly, the tension in his limbs fading as he sighs into the kiss. Hua Cheng hums in satisfaction, deepening it, letting his lips linger. He tastes warm, familiar, safe.
For a moment, Xie Lian forgets everything. The night out, their friends waiting, the concept of time itself. There’s only the slow slide of Hua Cheng’s hands along his waist, the soft pressure of his lips, the way they fit together so perfectly.
They’re still tangled on the couch, still wrapped up in each other, still definitely not getting ready—
Until the knock at the door startles them both.
Xie Lian freezes. Hua Cheng groans.
“Who dares?” he mutters dramatically against Xie Lian’s lips, refusing to pull away.
Xie Lian laughs breathlessly, trying to push him off. “Get off, we really have to go now—”
Hua Cheng sighs, clearly reluctant, but finally relents, letting Xie Lian slip free. He straightens, still breathless, cheeks burning, and pads over to the door with a lingering smile.
He’s warm. Happy. Content.
He has no idea what’s waiting for him on the other side.
Hua Cheng, slipping off th couch, smirks. “I’ll go get ready.”
The knock at the door is an afterthought, a small interruption in the warmth of the evening. Xie Lian, still grinning from their earlier teasing, barely spares it a second thought as he pads over, the oversized sleeves of Hua Cheng’s burgundy sweater slipping past his fingers. His bare feet make no sound against the polished wooden floor as he unlocks the door, his expression easy, relaxed.
He opens it with a bright, welcoming smile, expecting perhaps a neighbor, a delivery, or even one of Hua Cheng’s acquaintances. Instead, he is met with two unknown figures standing in the dim hallway.
His smile lingers for a fraction of a second too long, frozen in place before it falters.
The man in the front—taller, broad-shouldered, with a familiar intensity to his gaze—holds a box of cakes with both hands, as if it’s a peace offering he’s not entirely sure will be accepted. His dark hair is slightly tousled, his casual clothes—jeans and a fitted jacket—doing little to soften the weight of his presence. His brows are drawn together, his lips slightly parted as though he was about to speak, yet the words seem to catch in his throat the moment he sees Xie Lian.
Beside him, the other man stands with arms crossed. His posture is taut, controlled, as though keeping himself from stepping back or reacting outright. His dark eyes flick over Xie Lian, unreadable but piercing, taking in every detail in an instant—the short shorts, the oversized sweater draped over his frame, the way his breath has hitched in his throat. His hair, still neat and slightly pushed back as always, frames a face that is as severe as Xie Lian remembers.
Xie Lian’s heartbeat stumbles. The warmth in his chest from mere seconds ago cools into something else—something uneasy, something that twists uncomfortably in his ribs.
His hands tighten around the fabric of the sweater’s sleeves, his grip instinctive, like something to hold onto.
Feng Xin. Mu Qing.
The names crash into him, sharp and jarring, bringing with them the weight of the past. The years stretch between them like a chasm—eight long years since he last saw them. Since they turned their backs on him. Since they left.
For a fleeting moment, the thought crosses his mind: Did they know I was here? Did they come because of me?
But no—he sees it in their faces. The widening of Feng Xin’s eyes, the slight shift in Mu Qing’s stance, the breath that neither of them seems to take.
They hadn’t known.
They hadn’t expected him.
Neither moves. Neither speaks. The box of cakes in Feng Xin’s hands feels like a strange, misplaced thing, an object from an entirely different world than the one Xie Lian is standing in now.
The silence presses against his skin, heavy and suffocating.
“…Xie Lian?” Feng Xin’s voice finally breaks through, hesitant, almost disbelieving.
It’s been eight years.
Xie Lian swallows, but the knot in his throat doesn’t ease. He should say something. He should ask why? Why are you here? Why now?
But the words don’t come.
The past is standing at his doorstep, and Xie Lian doesn’t know whether to invite it in or close the door before it can take anything else from him.
He blinks, the sound of his name still ringing in his ears. He feels like he’s been caught in some strange, frozen moment, stuck between past and present. The weight in his chest is suffocating, a tangled mess of emotions that he hasn’t even begun to process.
But then, almost mechanically, he straightens. His fingers are still curled in the fabric of Hua Cheng’s sweater, but he forces his shoulders not to stiffen. His lips part, and after a brief hesitation, he manages to say, “…Yes.”
It’s barely above a breath, uncertain and small, but it’s enough to break the silence.
Feng Xin’s expression shifts, something unreadable flickering in his eyes, but before he can speak, Mu Qing beats him to it.
“Well,” Mu Qing exhales, arms still crossed, his tone sharp, unimpressed. “That answers one question.”
Xie Lian barely has time to register the first prick of irritation before Mu Qing continues, giving a casual tilt of his head toward the corridor.
“We moved in,” he says flatly. “End of the hall.”
Xie Lian blinks, thrown off. What?
“Feng Xin,” Mu Qing goes on, his voice edged with exasperation, “insisted we introduce ourselves to every single neighbor like we’re some picture-perfect, friendly duo, and I was dragged into it. That’s why we’re here.”
His tone is clipped, dismissive, like he’s already annoyed by the entire situation. And just like that, Xie Lian’s heart stutters into something tight and painful.
They didn’t come for him.
Of course, they didn’t. He had known that already—what reason would they have? It’s fine. He’s fine .
(He’s not.)
Feng Xin, predictably, reacts immediately. He turns on Mu Qing with a glare. “ Dragged into it ? Seriously? I was being polite! It’s called basic social etiquette!”
“Oh, please. ” Mu Qing scoffs. “Don’t act like you weren’t using this as an excuse to snoop around the place.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Xie Lian watches them bicker, caught between a dazed sort of disbelief and the slow, creeping realization that this is real. That it’s happening. That they are here, living down the hall, after eight years of silence.
A strange numbness settles over him, like his body is trying to protect itself from feeling too much at once.
Still, despite their arguing, Feng Xin glances back at him—hesitant, careful, like he’s waiting for something. Then, after a beat, he asks, “…Do you live here?”
The question is simple, but the weight behind it makes Xie Lian’s throat tighten.
He nods.
There’s a beat of silence. Feng Xin looks… wary. And Mu Qing—
Mu Qing raises a brow, and Xie Lian knows that look too well.
It says last I saw you, you were too goddamn poor to live in a place like this.
Xie Lian clenches his jaw.
His fingers curl tighter into the sweater’s sleeve, frustration slowly, steadily rising to the surface.
“Gege?”
Hua Cheng’s voice, smooth and lazy, calls from the bedroom.
Xie Lian relaxes, the sound snapping him back into his body. He had been trapped in a haze, barely processing the moment, but now reality slams into him all at once.
He forces himself to turn slightly, raising his voice toward the inside of their home. “It’s—” He swallows. “It’s our new neighbors.”
A pause. No immediate response from Hua Cheng. But then, soft footsteps.
Xie Lian barely has time to brace himself before Hua Cheng appears beside him, stepping into view.
The contrast between them is striking—Xie Lian, standing stiff and small in an oversized sweater, his skin still faintly flushed from earlier, and Hua Cheng, looking every inch like someone who owns the very ground he walks on.
His long, damp hair clings to his shoulders, a towel draped over one hand as he finishes drying it. He’s only half-dressed—black dress pants, fitted and sharp, paired with a red silk shirt left entirely unbuttoned, exposing the smooth planes of his chest. There’s an air of effortless confidence to him, but his casual grace vanishes the second he sees Xie Lian’s face.
The tension must be written all over him because Hua Cheng’s expression cools immediately. His easy humming stops, replaced by sharp, assessing silence. His single crimson eye flicks toward the two men at the door, and whatever he sees there makes his jaw set.
The warmth that had lingered in his presence vanishes, replaced by something cold.
“What do you want?” Hua Cheng asks, voice smooth but carrying an unmistakable edge. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries, doesn’t pretend to be welcoming. “If you have nothing to say, then fuck off.”
Feng Xin and Mu Qing freeze.
They don’t speak, don’t react right away. They only stare —because Hua Cheng, standing there in all his sharp, commanding presence, looking at them like they are nothing more than an inconvenience, is something neither of them was expecting.
Feng Xin’s gaze darts between Hua Cheng and Xie Lian, his confusion evident. Finally, he hesitates, then asks, “Xie Lian… who is this?”
Hua Cheng tilts his head, eye narrowing slightly at the way this man—this stranger—is saying his gege’s name so familiarly. He shifts his attention back to Xie Lian, curiosity lacing his voice.
“Gege knows them? Are they friends?”
The way he says it is casual, but Xie Lian knows him too well—he can feel the sharpness under the words, the way Hua Cheng is already assessing, already deciding whether these people are a threat.
Xie Lian exhales slowly, his heart drumming a strange rhythm.
“They’re not friends,” he says, and it’s not meant to wound, but it seems it does.
Feng Xin stiffens. Mu Qing’s lips part slightly, as if to argue, but he says nothing.
Xie Lian presses forward before he can think too hard about it. “I knew them a long time ago. That’s all.”
Hua Cheng studies his face for a second, then nods. That’s all he needs. If Xie Lian says they don’t matter, then they don’t.
And just like that, it’s decided.
Xie Lian finally turns back to the two men who had once been his closest friends. His voice is calm, carefully controlled, as he lifts his chin ever so slightly and says,
“This is Hua Cheng. My fiancé.”
Xie Lian doesn’t know what to say.
The words sit heavy on his tongue, tangled up with emotions he hasn’t untangled in years. He can feel the weight of Feng Xin and Mu Qing’s gazes on him—one tense, the other unreadable—but there’s nothing left to say. Not now. Not after all this time.
Silence stretches between them, thick and uncomfortable. He should end this conversation, turn back inside, close the door and let the past remain where it belongs. But before he can decide how to do that, a familiar sound reaches his ears—
The soft chime of the elevator at the end of the hall.
Then, a bright, unmistakable voice:
“ A-Lian! ”
Shi Qingxuan.
Xie Lian barely has time to react before his friend strides into view, a whirlwind of energy as always, his long robes flowing behind him. He Xuan follows at a more measured pace, his usual composed self, but even his sharp eyes soften slightly at the sight of Xie Lian.
“There you are!” Shi Qingxuan beams, making his way straight toward him. “We’ve been waiting downstairs forever! You know, I almost thought you two were—” He stops short, suddenly grinning. “ Wait a minute. You were, weren’t you? ”
Xie Lian startles. “ Qingxuan! ”
Shi Qingxuan laughs, clearly pleased with himself, then claps Xie Lian on the shoulders with both hands, shaking him slightly. “I’m so happy for you, Xie Lian! Seriously, a wedding in a month?! We need to celebrate properly tonight!”
Xie Lian winces. “Qingxuan, not so loud—”
It’s only then that Shi Qingxuan seems to register the tension in the air, and more importantly, the two unfamiliar figures standing just a step away. His eyebrows lift, curiosity flashing across his face as he glances between them and Xie Lian.
“Oh? Who are these guys?”
Feng Xin and Mu Qing haven’t spoken since the newcomers arrived, but Xie Lian doesn’t miss the way their postures have shifted—Feng Xin’s lips pressing into a thin line, Mu Qing’s brow furrowing ever so slightly. They don’t seem sure if they should introduce themselves.
Shi Qingxuan, being himself, takes the initiative. “I’m Shi Qingxuan! Xie Lian’s best friend and the witness for his marriage next month.” He gestures to He Xuan beside him. “This is my husband.”
He Xuan dips his head in greeting, his gaze sharp as it briefly flicks over the two strangers before landing back on Xie Lian. “We came to pick you up.”
Shi Qingxuan grins, then turns back to the two men. “And you two? Xie Lian’s friends?”
Xie Lian doesn’t let the silence drag. Before Feng Xin or Mu Qing can even think of answering, he quickly interjects.
“No,” he says, firm and final.
The words slip out before he can fully think them through, but the second they do, he knows he means them.
Shi Qingxuan blinks, taken aback. “Oh—”
“They’re just new neighbors,” Xie Lian corrects smoothly, ignoring the way his chest tightens as he says it. He doesn’t let himself waver, doesn’t let himself dwell on the sting in Feng Xin’s expression or the sharp glint in Mu Qing’s eyes.
Turning to Shi Qingxuan, he offers a quick smile—thin, but enough to get his point across. “Actually, I could use your help getting ready.”
Shi Qingxuan catches on fast. He brightens instantly. “Of course! Leave it to me!”
Xie Lian wastes no time ushering him inside, stepping away from the door and away from the past standing just outside of it.
Hua Cheng stays where he is, lingering in the doorway, his sharp, unblinking gaze still locked onto the two men outside. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak—but the message is clear.
The door closes behind Xie Lian, shutting them out.