portrait of a son, held in soft hands

"You don’t have to hold it in."

Guanheng shook his head. “I’m not—” His voice cracked.

Fuck.

He turned away quickly, blinking up at the ceiling, fighting the burning behind his eyes. He gritted his teeth, shoulders tensing, if he could just hold still, just keep it down, it would pass—

A hand pressed lightly against his back, warm and steady. A solid presence he’d craved his entire life.

---

Huang Guanheng was raised to be the perfect son, the model student, the heir who never wavers. He's spent years building an unshakeable exterior, keeping everyone at a distance where it's safe.

Enter Dejun, who doesn't let him get away with it. Being the first person to see straight through his carefully curated exterior, Dejun unsettles him in a way no one else ever has. Terrified at the new presence in his life, Guanheng wants to run before Dejun gets any closer. And yet another, quiet, desperate part of him, aches to be seen.

And Dejun isn't the kind of person to look away.

Notes:

hello! this post’s description may be familiar to some of you, the reason being i’m rewriting this fic after five years LOL. i took down the original because it was genuinely too embarrassing and i wanted to have a better contribution to the wayv tag ^^ and i miss writing

for the sake of continuity, i used the mandarin spellings for their names here because more people are familiar with them, but you can imagine dejun and guanheng speaking in cantonese when they’re alone or with their families

made up family names bc it feels weird using their real ones lol

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

The murmur of the university hallway felt far away, muffled beneath the noise in Guanheng’s head. He sat rigidly in his seat, laptop open. Around him, students chatted, shuffled papers, typed away at their laptops, just another morning.

Guanheng could hear something else beneath it all. A whisper too quiet to be real, but impossible to ignore.

“Did you hear?”

“His family’s a mess.”

“His dad’s never home, his mom’s… well, you know.”

He swallowed thickly, tightening his fist under the desk until his knuckles turned white. Of course, no one actually said that. Not yet, but they could, any day now.

He wasn’t sure when the paranoia had started. Maybe it had always been there, just lurking beneath the surface, but now it was louder, more suffocating. Ever since his father stopped bothering to be discreet, ever since his mother’s jewelry no longer disguised the shaking in her hands, ever since his sisters stopped pretending they were anything but ghosts of themselves.

The weight of the Huang name was supposed to be a privilege, except it just felt like a noose.

The professor entered, calling the class to order. Guanheng sat up straighter, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles in his outfit. He forced himself into the performance, shoulders squared, expression neutral, an image of effortless perfection. The perfect student. The perfect son.

If I don’t give them a reason to look closer, they won’t see the cracks.

The lecture passed in a blur. He took notes even when he didn’t need to, occasionally answered questions with precision, maintained eye contact with the professor just long enough to seem engaged but never arrogant. It was all part of the routine.

When class ended, he packed his things carefully, moving with measured grace. Students filed out in groups, chatting, laughing. No one looked at him too long, no one whispered his name. He exhaled, just a little. Maybe today wasn’t the day the mask slipped.

Just as he stepped into the hallway, a voice behind him sent ice through his veins.

“Hey, Guanheng?”

A perfectly normal greeting.

He turned, smiling easily. “Yes?”

The classmate, someone he’s talked to briefly before, looked at him curiously. “I just–” They hesitated. “Are you okay?”

The words sent a chill down his spine. He had done nothing wrong. He had been composed, calculated. Had something slipped through? His mask was flawless, wasn’t it?

He laughed lightly, tilting his head just enough to make it look effortless and casual. “I’m fine, why do you ask?”

His classmate shrugged. “You just seem kind of… tense, lately.”

Guanheng’s nails pressed into his palms. That wasn’t the answer he wanted.

“Tense,” He echoed, feigning amusement. “Midterms will do that to you.”

The excuse landed. His classmate chuckled, nodding in agreement before bidding him goodbye. The second they turned away, Guanheng felt his heartbeat hammering against his ribs.

They’re watching me.

He inhaled sharply. It didn’t matter. He just had to be better. There could be no mistakes.

As he walked down the hall, he replayed the interaction over and over. Had he spoken too formally? Had his smile been too rehearsed? Had he hesitated for just a second too long?

He wouldn’t let it happen again. If people ever saw past the illusion, if they ever looked closer, then they could see what the Huang family really was.

That was something he could never allow.

“The Huang family and Choi Enterprises will host a grand dinner party next month to celebrate their successful collaboration launch.” Dejun read aloud from the school’s newspaper in his hands, perched on the counter with his legs crossed.

Sicheng, standing next to him at the library counter, didn’t bother to look up as he scanned overdue books with practiced ease. “Not much of a headline. The Huangs have never had an unsuccessful project, and the Chois are untouchable. Can’t be that surprising to anyone.”

The two friends both came from wealthy families and attended the most prestigious university in the area. For extra credits and work experience, they took up part-time jobs at the school library. The library itself was luxurious; crystal chandeliers, vast windows, endless book aisles, and an open view of the botanical gardens. The windows allowed for the current rays of the setting sun to enter the space, accompanying the quiet murmurs of the other students to create a peaceful atmosphere.

“They seem like… nice people. Given their perfect track record, it makes sense no one would reject an offer from the Huangs.” Dejun replied, flipping the page, lazily skimming over the articles. A small chuckle escaped him as he found a comically dramatic headline: Classroom Door Thief Strikes Again!

Sicheng finally glanced up, feigning an ominous level of seriousness. “Nice, sure. Too nice. They’re too perfect. I heard once that they came from a modest background, before the money started cranking in. Now… they’re like robots. Barely human. Have you ever spoken to them before?” He asked, he continued after receiving a head shake from Dejun. “It’s such an experience. They’re so nauseatingly polite that it feels like an act. The youngest son might be the only normal one, but if we’re being honest, he’s gotta have some quirks as well, having a family like that.”

“You mean Guanheng? You’ve talked to him before?”

Sicheng raised an eyebrow. “No, but you should’ve. Don’t you have a class with him?”

Dejun shrugged. He had never properly met Guanheng despite knowing the guy since highschool and even seeing him and his family at a few gatherings. He flipped back to the front page where the article was. There was a photograph of the Huang and Choi patriarchs shaking hands, but he focused on the young man standing on the far left.

Huang Guanheng, on surface level, was the epitome of perfection for a university student. Athletic, top of the class, friendly, and always maintained pristine outfit conditions that complemented his striking features and perfect black hair. Dejun considered him a nice enough person (from his current limited knowledge), whilst everyone who had actually met anyone in the Huang family, which basically meant the entire city, deemed them the perfect family and held high respects towards them. A power couple, four beautiful, talented children, and a thriving business empire. Can it get any better?

The voice of Dejun’s psychology professor cut through the chattering of the classroom. “One last thing before you leave today! I’m officially assigning your partners and topics for your final projects.” She announced. “I’ve got half of your names here, and the other half of the class will draw from a box. After that, please configure with your partners until class ends.”

She sauntered in between the rows of desks as she allowed students to draw names from the box in her hands. Dejun was lost in his thoughts as he tried to recall what the project criteria actually was. From what he remembered from the beginning of the semester, they were required to create a situational skit to explain a certain topic they studied in the course. With his theatre experience from highschool, this wasn’t an unfamiliar concept to him.

It can’t be that hard, he thought. I just hope my partner’s a good actor.

He came back to focus when he saw a box held patiently in front of him, blindly drawing a name with a topic underneath it:

Huang Guanheng

Social Cognitions and Perceptions

Okay… interesting.

Dejun glanced around the classroom, finding Guanheng a few rows ahead. He was busy typing on his laptop before looking up at the sight of someone sliding a piece of paper with his name on it on the table.

“Hey, Guanheng.” Dejun greeted, masking his nerves with humour. “We’re stuck together for a while.” He chuckled, resting his hands in his pockets.

“Not a problem with me, your presentations have always been great.” Guanheng smiled, pearly teeth on display. “Dejun, right? Please sit, the seat’s not taken.” Dejun took the offer, taking the chair next to Guanheng as he tried to ignore how jarring it was to hear both a compliment and his own name from the other boy’s mouth for the first time. He was just grateful to have a positive first interaction, especially after his offputting conversation with Sicheng the other day.

“What’s your go-to working method, Dejun? Anywhere you’d like to meet up?” Guanheng tilted his head slightly. Dejun shifted in his seat, not used to the eye contact. It was certainly not Guanheng’s fault that he’s so intimidating, but wow. It truly was an experience to talk to the son of the most influential family in the city.

Dejun smiled briefly out of nerves. “I’m not picky. Maybe we can work at the library, since I’m there all the time anyway.” Guanheng nodded, “Sounds good!” He smiled. Dejun’s nerves settled a bit at the friendly sight.

The two agreed to have their first work session the next day at noon, exchanging contact information before splitting ways. That night, Dejun couldn’t focus on his homework as a certain boy clouded his thoughts. He analyzed every bit of their interactions that day but genuinely couldn’t find anything out of place with Guanheng’s behaviour. Dazzling smile, well spoken, easy going, perfect posture. Actually, the last thing really struck Dejun. Guanheng never cracked, always sitting straight up in class. Dejun tried mimicking the posture in his own chair at the thought, immediately deeming it uncomfortable before slumping back to his usual position. He recalled what Sicheng said the other day.

“The youngest son might be the most normal, but if we’re being honest, he’s gotta have some quirks as well, having a family like that.”

Dejun absentmindedly spun his pen between his fingers. Damn it, Sicheng. He silently cursed. Now you’ve got me curious.

The library was quiet at this hour, the soft huming of the heater blending with the occasional rustle of pages and muffled whispers from other students. Dejun sat across from Guanheng at one of the smaller study tables, his laptop open but barely touched. Instead, his attention kept drifting (not obviously, just small glances here and there) to the person in front of him.

Guanheng was focused, his posture straight, his pen moving fluidly across his notebook as he jotted something down. Everything about him was composed, calculated. Even his handwriting was absurdly neat. Dejun had never been partnered with such a model student before. It was… intimidating, to say the least. He wasn’t really sure how to act.

“Okay,” Guanheng said suddenly, looking up. If he noticed Dejun was already looking but quickly averted his eyes, he didn’t point it out. His voice was even, polite. “We should start brainstorming. I’m comfortable with doing research, but I’ve never written a script before…”

Dejun straightened slightly. “I can cover that part. I took theatre classes in highschool.”

Guanheng raised his eyebrows, seemingly impressed. “That’s great! Did you have any ideas in mind that would make an interesting act?”

Dejun hummed in thought, shifting his gaze to the empty document on his screen. “Social cognitions and perceptions… that’s really broad.” He tapped his fingers lightly on the table. “We could narrow it down a bit. I think we should stray from focusing on stereotypes, it’s too surface level. Too easy.”

“How about the inaccuracy of first impressions?” Guanheng suggested. “A bit different from stereotypes, but it’s a start.”

Dejun was quiet as he pondered. “First impressions… perspectives…” he muttered, before nodding to himself. “Okay. I like the inaccuracy idea. Let’s… write about the discrepancies between other people’s perspectives of us versus our own.”

Guanheng thought for a second before nodding slowly. “Sounds good, but not an uncommon trope. How should we twist it?”

Dejun remained silent, eyebrows furrowing slightly. It was about twenty seconds until he perked up, leaning forward eagerly. Guanheng instinctively mirrored his movements, eyebrows raised in anticipation.

“Why don’t we do this…”

Another day, another afternoon spent in the library.

Dejun sat with his laptop open, fingers lazily tapping at the keyboard as he skimmed through their dialogue draft. Across from him, Guanheng was focused on his own screen, one earphone in, probably sifting through academic articles or video clips for their research. He was as put-together as always, sweater neat, posture straight, eyes unreadable as they scanned his screen. Dejun had gotten used to the sight by now.

They had fallen into a rhythm, not quite friends yet, not quite strangers. Their conversations had grown a little more fluid, the silence between them became a little less stiff.

Still, there was something about Guanheng that harboured curiosity in Dejun. Every action was measured, precise. Dejun had started to wonder if there was ever a moment where he let himself be… less polished.

“Found anything useful?” Dejun asked after a while, breaking the quiet.

Guanheng removed the earphone. “Some interviews on cognitive bias,” He said, eyes still on the screen as he scrolled. “A few studies on internal versus external perceptions. I’ll add my notes to the document. How’s it going on your end?”

Dejun hummed, turning back to their script. He deleted a line that felt awkward, reworded another. Their draft was coming together, but some parts felt too stiff, too deliberate.

“It’s… okay. It’s a bit weird turning our research into a realistic scene.” He said, thinking aloud. “Like, people don’t talk in perfectly structured sentences. There should be interruptions, hesitations. I might be rusty.”

Guanheng looked thoughtful. “You’re right. Real conversations aren’t clean. People say things they don’t mean, or leave their true thoughts unsaid.”

Something in his voice caught Dejun’s attention, but before he could place it, Guanheng leaned back slightly, stretching his fingers.

“Do you usually edit your writing this thoroughly?”

Dejun smirked. “Gotta make sure it’s not garbage before I put my name on it.” He adjusted his laptop screen. “I don’t fret too much about first drafts, though. I think expectations mess things up sometimes.”

Guanheng gave him a curious look. “How so?”

Dejun shrugged, his focus half on the script, half on the conversation. “Like, people say a book is amazing, but when you finally read it, it’s just… okay. Or vice versa, when a movie gets bad reviews, but you actually think it’s pretty decent.” He scratched his cheek, not thinking much of his words. “I try not to set expectations when I meet people either. Especially the renowned ones. I’d rather start on a blank slate, and then form my own judgement from there. It’s only fair, I think.”

When he glanced up, Guanheng was watching him with an expression Dejun couldn’t quite read. Something contemplative.

“That’s an interesting way to look at it.” Guanheng finally said.

Dejun huffed a quiet laugh. “You say that like it’s weird.”

“No, just unexpected.” Guanheng’s gaze dropped back to his laptop screen. “Especially in our part of the city, most people let reputations influence them, whether they realize it or not.”

Dejun chewed the inside of his cheek in consideration. “Maybe,” He admitted. “I just think it’s better to get to know people for who they are, not who they’re supposed to be.”

Another small pause. “Your perspective is refreshing, Dejun. Not everyone is as open minded as you. Most people rely on first impressions. On what they’re told.” Guanheng’s fingers stopped moving on the keyboard. “It’s easier that way.”

Dejun studied him, intrigued. “I try my best. Everyone deserves a chance.”

Guanheng didn’t reply right away.

“Not everyone gets to be seen that way. On a blank slate.” Guanheng finally said, voice light yet distant, like he wasn’t really talking about their project anymore.

Dejun’s curiosity piqued, he leaned forward slightly. “Sounds personal.”

Guanheng’s fingers stilled on the trackpad again. For a brief second, Dejun thought he wouldn’t answer. Maybe he crossed a line.

Then, without looking up, Guanheng said, “It’s just something I’ve noticed in others.”

That was all. No elaboration, no explanation. Just a sentence carefully curated to redirect.

Dejun waited, giving him space to continue if he wanted to, but Guanheng didn’t. He exhaled through his nose. “Yeah,” He agreed, not wanting to pry.

For a moment, something passed between them, quiet understanding, unspoken but present. Then, just as smoothly as before, Guanheng picked up the conversation again, his tone returning to its usual composure.

He was surely talking about something related to the project, but Dejun could only focus on the shift in the air, Guanheng’s gift for deflection. He was a puzzle, carefully put together, with pieces Dejun hadn’t yet seen, and that only made him more curious.

Three hours into their next work session, Dejun had officially felt his last brain cell die out. He sighed, letting his forehead make contact with the table with a soft thud. His posture was a defeated slouch, a comedic contrast to Guanheng’s poised demeanor across the table. Guanheng watched amusingly, silently relating to his partner’s distress.

“You’re funny.” He quipped.

Dejun gave a lifeless thumbs-up as thanks. “I don’t mean to be dramatic. Writing stresses me out.”

Guanheng laughed before clearing his throat. “I– sorry, I’m not making fun of you, I don’t particularly enjoy this project either. Public speaking is not my forte, I hate it.”

This caused Dejun to finally raise his head. “I sure hope you’ve got some acting experience.” He half-teased.

Guanheng blinked before laughing. Before he could answer, Dejun spotted Sicheng enter the library, signalling it was time for him to prepare for work. He glanced over at the clock, 5:45pm.

“It’s almost six already?” Dejun belatedly realized the golden hour of the sunset spilling through the library windows. He looked at Guanheng apologetically. “I have to get ready for my shift, but you’re welcome to stick around.”

Guanheng’s mouth was slightly agape as he stood up in surprise. “You work here? Why didn’t you say anything! We could’ve gotten something to eat. You’re gonna starve.” He fussed, hands on the table as he mildly panicked at the thought of Dejun skipping dinner because of him.

Dejun laughed as he packed his laptop and notes, heart warming at the thought of someone else looking out for him. “I’ll be fine. My friend and I take turns bringing dinner, today just happens to be his.” He nodded at Sicheng from behind the counter, holding up a food container in one hand and aggressively pointing at him with the other. Dejun gave a quick thumbs up before turning back to Guanheng.

“I appreciate the concern, though.” Dejun smiled softly.

Guanheng let out a breath, visibly relieved at Dejun’s friend coming in clutch.

After bidding eachother bye, Dejun hurried to Sicheng’s beckoning as Guanheng packed his laptop, watching Sicheng bonk his best friend on the head before giving him his food. The sight reminded him of his own growling stomach, he wondered if he should eat at his friend’s bakery to procrastinate having to go home for a bit longer.

On the other hand, Dejun’s stomach was satisfied by the time he had to start work, but he still felt dread at the looming pile of books that needed relabelling. He cracked his knuckles as he prepared himself for the writing of a lifetime. He sat alone as he tediously unpeeled old labels and sharpied new ones, already feeling the headache from the marker fumes accumulating, until Sicheng later dramatically made his presence known once he was done with his own tasks.

“Boo!” He grabbed Dejun’s shoulders from behind, startling the poor boy into getting sharpie all over his hand.

“Fucking hell, Sicheng! Why?!” Dejun cursed, inspecting the black streak on his skin. The perpetrator laughed with little to no apology as he shook Dejun by the biceps.

“Who was that guy you were with earlier?” Sicheng inquired, resting his chin on Dejun’s shoulder. His tone was teasing, making him internally sigh.

Dejun hadn’t realized that Sicheng couldn’t have seen Guanheng’s face from his angle earlier. He also didn’t know if he should be honest because he knew it would unlock a certain side of Sicheng, one that was hard to shut up. On the contrary, he found difficulty lying to his best friend. He took a breath.

“...Huang Guanheng.” He spoke softly. He felt the weight lift from his shoulder.

“No. Way.”

“Dude, wait–”

Dejun was grabbed by the shoulders again and spun around, wide eyed and unsure of how to act with Sicheng’s death grip on him as he spewed questions directly to his face. “What’s he like? Was I right? Is he like as the rumours say?” Dejun could barely register his words that flew by miles a minute.

“Whoa, whoa there!” He put the sharpie down to squish his friend’s face with his hands, successfully shutting him up in what was supposed to be a quiet library and workplace.

Dejun sighed. “He’s… just a guy, okay? A normal guy.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “I mean, he’s sharp, he’s quick-witted. Definitely has a sense of humour, he’s not the cold, untouchable ‘heir to an empire’ everyone makes him out to be.”

Sicheng squirmed out of his grasp before grinning, leaning in with evil intent.

“You like him.”

Dejun rolled his eyes, regretting this conversation. “He’s interesting, that’s it. Stop imagining things.” He muttered, poking Sicheng’s forehead with the back of the marker.

Dejun had discovered Sicheng’s passion for gossip long ago, further proving the theory that the quiet ones were the nosiest.

Eventually, they needed to book private study rooms in the library for rehearsals. Their scripts laid open between them, marked with notes from past rehearsals, small scribbles in the margins.

Dejun adjusted in his seat, rolling his shoulders back as he skimmed over the next scene. “Alright. Let’s run through this part again.”

Guanheng gave a small nod, already composed, already ready. He always was. He took a breath, getting into character.

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Then stop shutting me out.”

The lines came out smooth, practiced, but not emotionless. There was something subtle under it, something that could be stronger.

Dejun raised a hand for Guanheng to pause, narrowing his eyes as he examined the script in his hands. It was good. The delivery was good, but it made him wonder, what if it could be better?

Dejun scribbled something on his paper before glancing up at Guanheng. “I wanna try something.”

Guanheng raised an eyebrow, waiting. Dejun leaned forward slightly. “We’ll say the same lines again, but I’m gonna change my delivery. I wanna see how it affects the scene, just try to stay in character. You down?”

Guanheng tilted his head briefly, then nodded. “Alright, let’s try it.”

They reset. When Guanheng spoke, his acting didn’t change.

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

This time, Dejun let the words settle. Let them sit in the air between them. Just long enough for the silence to become noticeable.

Finally, he answered, softer than before.

“...Then stop shutting me out.”

He heard it immediately, the difference in weight, the way the pause made the exchange felt heavier, more achingly.

Guanheng, to his credit, didn’t break character. In fact, he followed Dejun’s lead, automatically adjusting to the new atmosphere he created. They finished the scene without stopping. When it was over, Dejun leaned back, exhaling. “What do you think?”

Guanheng placed his script on the table, seemingly impressed by Dejun’s input on the scene. “That was cool, I got goosebumps. The tension changed immediately. We should stick with it.”

Dejun grinned. “Exactly. I knew you’d get what I meant.”

Guanheng returned the smile. “Next part?” He asked.

Dejun nodded, flipping the page.

After that, they had fallen into a rhythm without even realizing it. By now, Dejun didn’t have to overthink his delivery, Guanheng would just match it effortlessly. If Dejun shifted the tone of a line, adding a hint of sarcasm or hesitation, Guanheng adjusted without missing a beat. If Guanheng threw in a subtle change, a lingering pause, a sharper edge to his voice, Dejun caught it instantly and responded in kind.

They quickly understood how to create chemistry between their characters, in a way that transcended just the script on paper. Dejun had never worked with an acting partner like this before.

I didn’t expect us to work this well together.

Their study sessions continued for the next few weeks. The routine was as usual: a few hours of researching and compiling their notes to create the act dialogue, Dejun physically and mentally gives up by hour three, and Guanheng seems unfazed by the workload.

Dejun found that it was getting increasingly easier to talk to Guanheng, which lifted some weight off his shoulders. Their conversations during breaks gradually became more fulfilling as they discovered a shared fluency in Cantonese and interest in music: they both excelled in dancing and playing instruments (Dejun piano and guitar, Guanheng violin). Talking casually with Guanheng like this grew to be something Dejun looked forward to, unravelling the layers of the personality of the boy whose reputation preceded him.

Dejun had noticed that Guanheng was growing comfortable around him as well, slowly allowing himself to laugh harder, crack cruder jokes, be more expressive, everything he was hesitant to do before. It was almost as if he were testing the waters, gauging Dejun’s reactions. Dejun couldn’t tell exactly what was on Guanheng’s mind, but he made sure to create a space where he could be himself.

Guanheng had also utilized these breaks as opportunities to bring out snacks and pastries from his bag, always having duplicates and giving one to Dejun because “they gave me too many”. They both knew the excuse was obvious, Guanheng still worried about whether Dejun was eating enough, but it remained unspoken. Dejun held back the teasing, choosing instead to smile and express his thanks.

Today in particular was different. Due to it being a national holiday, the school was closed, as were most shops and cafés. This meant there was no usual library to work at.

“It seems everything’s closed, Guanheng. I’d open the library just for us but my supervisor would probably kill me.” Dejun spoke dejectedly, his phone on speaker as he scrolled through options for open study spaces on his computer. The silence on the other side told Dejun that Guanheng was thinking, likely just as stumped about where they could meet.

An idea crossed Dejun’s mind, but he wasn’t sure how Guanheng would respond.

“Want to come over?” He asked, immediately second guessing himself the moment the words left his mouth.

“Oh! Uh, I can do that, if it’s really okay with you and your family. I don’t want to intrude.” Guanheng was considerate, unwilling to cross a boundary.

Dejun knew his family wouldn’t mind – his parents were always welcoming, even with little notice. Still, he worried that Guanheng would get bombarded with attention, especially given his family’s high reputation in the city.

“It’s no problem, promise.” Dejun assured him. “Just be prepared, my mom might fuss over you a little. She’s always treated my friends like one of her own kids. It can be a bit overwhelming at first.”

> I’m outside :)

From: Guanheng, 1:40pm

okay !! gimme a sec <

From: You, 1:41pm

Dejun had been in a quiet panic for the past twenty minutes, frantically trying to make his room as presentable as possible. His family’s beautiful manor hardly needed any sprucing up to make a good impression on Guanheng, but his room was the only space he was responsible for. His room was big enough to accommodate an entire office space; his bed, closet and wardrobe, and washroom on one side, and his desk, a couch, and his guitar and piano occupied the other side. Dejun kept it generally clean, but he continued overthinking every detail and often opted to walk in from the door to see from a “visitor’s” perspective.

After sending a quick reply, he mentally collected himself before opening the front door to find Guanheng stepping out of a sleek black car. The chauffeur drove off as Guanheng walked up the stone-tiled path.

“Look at you,” Dejun teased, allowing Guanheng to step inside. “Rich boy has a chauffeur.”

Guanheng shook his head with a laugh. “I prefer driving myself, but my mother insists on it, saying I shouldn’t have to deal with ‘mundane tasks’.”

Before Dejun could respond, the telltale sound of footsteps approached from the hallway. “Here she comes. Prepare yourself,” He warned, “Mom doesn’t stop talking once she starts.”

“That has to be an exaggeration.” Guanheng doubted. It was barely a second later until Dejun’s mother appeared, her warm and welcoming demeanor instantly drawing him into conversation.

(“By the way, Mom, I have a friend coming over later. You haven’t met him yet, but please – don’t overwhelm him.” Dejun spoke, clasping his hands together as he pleaded.

Mrs. Xiao laughed and ruffled her son’s hair. “No promises, sweetie.”)

So much for that, Dejun thought, his face burning as he watched his mother gush over Guanheng. He then caught a glance at how he handled it effortlessly. Switching to fluent Cantonese, he charmed Mrs. Xiao with polite responses and an easy smile.

“You’re such a sweetheart! I’m so glad my son has a friend like you. I’ve seen your parents briefly at a few dinner parties, but I never knew you were so handsome. Isn’t he, Xiaojun-ah?” Mrs. Xiao cooed, squishing Guanheng’s face in her hands like she was the one who gave birth to him. Guanheng’s smile turned shy, a light pink dusting his cheeks.

Dejun flushed at the sudden spotlight. “I guess,” he muttered awkwardly before tugging Guanheng away from his mother. “But we have stuff to do, so…”

“Ah, okay, okay! Have fun!” His mother called after them with a fond smile. Guanheng waved back politely with a “It’s nice to meet you!” as Dejun all but dragged him up the stairs. It wasn’t until they reached Dejun’s room that he realized he had been holding Guanheng’s wrist the entire time. He froze, glancing down at their hands and then back up at Guanheng, whose raised eyebrows accompanied an amused expression.

“So… Xiaojun, huh?” He teased, his lips curving into a sly smile.

Dejun scoffed, whipping his hand away from Guanheng’s wrist and crossing his arms to hide his embarrassment. “Don’t even. It’s my family’s nickname for me, it’s impossible to get rid of.”

Guanheng hummed a suspicious hum, one that Dejun didn’t like. He followed Dejun through his room, letting out a low whistle as he observed and admired the space. His steps slowed as he approached Dejun’s bookshelf, drawn to the small array of family photos. One frame showed Dejun with his brother and their parents, another of an elderly couple he guessed were grandparents. The third one in particular caught Guanheng’s eye, it was of a younger couple. Really young. Couldn’t be more than thirty. Something about them tugged at his memory, a strange familiarity he couldn’t quite place. Before he could ask about it, Dejun’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“You can leave your coat there, though I don’t know why you would make me feel underdressed in my own home in the first place.” Dejun gestured to the couch as he dropped in his desk chair, eyebrows raised judgmentally.

He was joking, mostly. But seriously, look at him. He watched as Guanheng shrugged off his coat that fell elegantly to his knees, revealing a black crewneck underneath and slim pants that somehow made his legs look longer. He tried to not notice the way Guanheng’s shirt fit nicely to unveil the outline of his torso.

“I actually regret wearing this,” Guanheng said with a chuckle as he perched himself on the edge of the couch, facing Dejun. “You look so comfortable.”

Dejun glanced down at his own outfit – black joggers and a loose white hoodie, opting to use his glasses instead of his usual contacts today. Yeah, he was definitely comfortable.

When he looked back up, he caught Guanheng staring at him, head tilted slightly, as though he were studying him. Not in a prying way, but as if inspecting every detail, he watched Guanheng’s gaze travel across his face, then back up at his eyes.

“You look good with glasses.” He said softly.

Dejun wasn’t sure what to do with this type of attention, so he chose to deflect. “Oh, so you think I’m ugly without them? I see how it is–” He said dramatically, turning his head away and crossing his arms to feign offence.

Guanheng laughed, pulling Dejun closer by his chair. “No, I don’t mean it like that! You’re always handsome, I swear! The handsomest!” He protested between laughs.

Dejun resisted, refusing to acknowledge him, but Guanheng wasn’t giving up so easily. With a playful grin, he reached out and cupped Dejun’s chin, lightly tilting his face back toward him. Dejun was startled at the sudden proximity, his dramatics melting away in an instant. The eye contact was too much, his face was burning up by the second.

“You. Always. Look. Good.” Guanheng spoke slowly.

“Oh my god, okay, fine! I get it! Stop staring at me!” Dejun blurted out, his voice flustered. He batted Guanheng’s hand away and turned his chair quickly as he tried to ignore the blush creeping up his neck. Guanheng only laughed, clearly pleased with himself, and sat back with a triumphant grin. Folding his hands in his lap, he watched as Dejun fumbled to open their shared documents on his computer.

The day drew on, and they actually managed to get a decent amount of work done despite their playful antics being in full swing. Somewhere between study breaks and stolen laughter, Dejun stretched his arms over his head with a groan. “I need to move, or I’m going to start merging with this chair.”

Guanheng laughed, closing his laptop. “That would be unfortunate.”

“Come on,” Dejun stood up. “Stretch break.”

Guanheng didn’t argue, simply following as Dejun led the way out of the room. They had no particular destination in mind, just the need to step away for a moment. Dejun ended up briefly introducing Guanheng to his father and older brother as they passed by.

His brother, half-distracted by a video game, had only given a passing glance before nodding in approval. “You’re the only person Dejun’s brought home, other than Sicheng. He must like you a lot.”

Guanheng chuckled politely, glancing at Dejun, who pointedly ignored the comment.

Later, when they crossed paths with Mr. Xiao, the man had greeted Guanheng with a firm handshake and an appraising look. “A friend of Dejun’s is a friend of ours. I hope he’s not too much of a distraction.”

“He’s the one distracting me, actually.” Dejun shot back.

Guanheng only smiled wordlessly, knowing that despite it being true half the time, no one believed Dejun.

Dejun showed Guanheng the cozy living room filled with old family photos, the sunlit room where Mrs. Xiao kept far too many houseplants, all the little spots that make the Xiao residence a home. Dejun noticed a little something in Guanheng’s eyes, as if he were a little lost in it all. Just taking it in, like this was something foreign to him. Or maybe he imagined it.

Eventually it was time for Guanheng to leave, which was a silent disappointment for both of them. At the door, Mrs. Xiao wrapped Guanheng in one last warm, motherly hug. Dejun lingered nearby, watching as Guanheng made his way to the car. “Text me when you get home!”

As Dejun watched as the chauffeur drove away, he wondered if he also imagined Guanheng’s uncharacteristically quieter demeanor when they said bye.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and the kitchen smelled of fresh citrus and vanilla, the scent of his mother’s perfume mingling with the pastries cooling on the kitchen counter.

Guanheng sat cross-legged on the floor of the connecting living room, clutching his building blocks with the intense focus only a six year old could have. He was building a castle. A big one.

“That’s gonna fall over.” Jingyi remarked, peering over the top of her book. She was sprawled on the couch, flipping lazily through a magazine.

“It won’t,” Guanheng shot back, placing another block on top. He turned to the real expert in the room. “Yuhua, will it?”

His third eldest sister, Yuhua, was lying on her stomach nearby, doodling in her notebook. She glanced up at his masterpiece, tilting her head. “Hmm. Probably. But I’ll help you fix it if it does.”

Guanheng grinned, reassured.

Weilan walked in at that moment, hair still damp from her shower. “You shouldn’t coddle him, Yuhua. He needs to learn about gravity sooner or later.”

“Gravity is stupid.” Guanheng muttered, earning a quiet laugh from Yuhua.

In the background, the sound of his mother humming drifted in from the kitchen. She was plating the pastries, arranging them neatly even though it was just them today. His father was somewhere upstairs, finishing a phone call, but he had promised he’d be down soon.

It was a good day. A normal one.

Weilan took a seat on the arm of the couch, crossing her legs. “Mom, do you think we can go shopping tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” Mrs. Huang replied. “I’ll see if I have time.”

Jingyi stretched her arms over her head. “You always have time for shopping.”

Mrs. Huang smiled at that as she walked into the living room. She had changed out of her usual blouses into something softer, a loose cream sweater that made her look less like the strict businesswoman people knew her as and more like the mother Guanheng loved.

“But only for things worth buying.” She said, pinching Jingyi’s cheek affectionately before taking a seat beside her.

Just then, his father entered, the usual sharpness in his expression replaced with something relaxed. He walked over to Mrs. Huang, pressing a light kiss to her temple.

“Meeting’s done?” She asked, turning to look up at him.

He sighed, rubbing his temple. “Finally. They always talk in circles.”

Guanheng barely paid attention to them, too focused on placing the final block on his castle. His hands were steady. He was careful. He wanted it to last. Then, just as he pulled his hands away, the entire thing collapsed.

His heart dropped. “No!”

Jingyi gasped dramatically. “Tragic.”

Yuhua was already sitting up, ruffling his hair. “Told you. Want me to help rebuild it?”

Guanheng pursed his lips, staring at the fallen blocks. He wanted to be upset. Instead, when he looked up, his family was still there, Jingyi smirking, Yuhua waiting patiently, Weilan offering a reassuring smile. His mother sipping tea, his father already reaching for a pastry.

The castle had fallen, but everything else was still standing.

He exhaled, pushing the blocks into a pile. “Okay. Let’s build it better this time.”

The laughing, the teasing, the warmth, he thought it would always be like this.

Even when his father had to work late, he would always come home with something for them, a small trinket from his business trips, a box of sweets for his wife. His mother was strict sometimes, but she would always run her fingers through Guanheng’s hair before bed, whispering about how proud she was of him.

His sisters fought sometimes, but they would always make up before dinner. They were happy. Or at least, that’s how he remembered it.

Things began to change once the move happened. One day, they were still in their old home, the one filled with laughter and warm light, where the halls were just small enough that you always ran into someone. The next, they were being ushered into a mansion so big it didn’t feel real.

Guanheng had never seen a house like this before. The ceilings stretched high above him, the walls pristine and white. The floors gleamed, reflecting the chandelier’s golden light like the surface of a lake.

Everything was perfect. Too perfect.

The size of the building intimidated him, but he was still young enough to find excitement in exploring the unknown.

“It’s like a palace.” He whispered, gripping Yuhua’s sleeve as they stood in the grand foyer. His wide eyes traced the elegant staircase, the towering windows, the endless hallways that always led to somewhere new.

“More like a maze,” Jingyi muttered, arms crossed as she surveyed the space. “We’re gonna get lost in here.”

“That’s the fun part,” Yuhua grinned, nudging Guanheng’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s explore.”

For the first few days, they did. They raced through halls, testing how far their footsteps echoed. They discovered hidden corners, rooms with untouched furniture, balconies overlooking vast gardens that stretched farther than they ever thought possible.

At night, Guanheng would get lost trying to find his way back to his room, only for one of his sisters to grab his wrist and pull him in the right direction, laughing. “Stick with me, little prince, or the house might eat you up.”

He laughed too, because it was a joke, only to eventually come true.

After the excitement wore off, after the family settled in, things got weird. Very slowly.

He was too young to notice the details, but he could sense it in small, inexplicable ways.

The way his mother spent longer in front of the mirror, adjusting her jewelry. The way she started caring too much about appearances, making sure they were dressed just right whenever they left the house. The way his father missed dinners more often now, returning home with a distant look in his eyes. The way his sisters stopped laughing as much.

Weilan was the first to retreat, always holed up in her room or going out to “important events” their mother insisted on. Jingyi followed, slipping into a quiet, unreadable version of herself, no longer teasing, no longer indulging in pointless arguments. Even Yuhua, the one who always made things feel normal, stopped spending afternoons lounging in the living room with him.

Guanheng would walk through the halls, finding nothing but silence. He would build castles on his own, but no one was there to help him rebuild it when it would inevitably fall apart.

Dejun hadn’t imagined it.

Guanheng had barely spoken during their next study session, his words especially clipped and calculated, just like when they had first met. His smile had felt thinner than usual, practiced, but not quite reaching his eyes. He flipped his notebook without really looking at it.

Most people wouldn’t catch it, but Dejun wasn’t most people. Not at this point.

He waited, watching carefully as Guanheng tapped the end of his pen against the table in a steady, rhythmic pattern. If Dejun had to guess, he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

“You good?” Dejun asked, tilting his head slightly.

Guanheng glanced up, his expression shifting with practiced ease. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

There it was. The perfectly neutral tone.

Dejun sighed, leaning forward on his elbows. “I don’t know. You just seem… off.”

A fraction of a second, a slight stillness, before Guanheng offered an amused smile.

“Am I?” He mused, tilting his head. “Maybe I’m always like this.”

Dejun frowned slightly. “I don’t think so.”

Guanheng exhaled lightly through his nose. “You read too much into things.” He said, voice light, almost teasing.

Dejun narrowed his eyes. He knew what this was. A tactic. Guanheng wasn’t denying anything outright. He was redirecting, effortlessly steering the conversation away from himself, like he had done many times before. Back then, Dejun brushed it off. Back then, they were strangers. He thought they were somewhat comfortable with each other at this point.

Instead, he drummed his fingers against the table. “Right. So if I’m wrong, and you’re totally fine, you wouldn’t mind humouring me for a second?”

Guanheng met his gaze, head tilting slightly in quiet intrigue. “Go on.”

Dejun leaned in. “Let’s say, hypothetically, you weren’t fine. What would be the thing bothering you?”

This was supposed to be the moment most people cracked. Dejun watched for a blink, a flinch, a moment of hesitation.

Guanheng did none of those things. Instead, he smiled, shaking his head in amusement. “That’s a loaded question.” He remarked. “You’d make a great journalist.”

Another deflection. Accompanied by a compliment, no less. Dejun watched him for another moment, trying to find a crack, a misstep. Nothing. Flawless as always.

“Fine.” Dejun relented, exhaling as he leaned back into his chair. “Keep your secrets.”

Guanheng gave a small chuckle. “I will.”

The conversation flowed on, seamlessly shifting back to their work, as if nothing had happened at all. Yet, as Guanheng glanced down at his notebook, his fingers tapped against the table again. A steady, rhythmic pattern.

Dejun, ever the observant one, noticed.

Dejun wasn’t frustrated.

…maybe just a little.

Not at Guanheng, exactly. Just at the fact that he knew something had happened, but Guanheng was pretending like it hadn’t. It wasn’t even a guess, it was obvious. The day Guanheng had come over, they’d studied, talked, laughed, but when it was time to leave, Guanheng had been the quietest he’d been all day.

He had smiled, said his goodbyes, and walked out the door like everything was fine. Dejun wasn’t stupid. Now, sitting across from him in the cafe near campus, he was tired of pretending.

“You’re seriously not gonna tell me what happened?” Dejun asked, resting his chin on his hand as he stirred his drink lazily. Across the table, Guanheng didn’t even blink. Flawless as ever.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He replied smoothly, sipping his tea with the kind of grace that made it infuriatingly hard to read him.

Dejun huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Right. Because I totally imagined you barely saying a word, much less looking me in the eye when you left my house the other day.”

This time, a flicker, the briefest tightening of Guanheng’s jaw before it went away.

“If something happened,” Dejun continued, voice a little softer now, “You can just say so. You don’t have to tell me everything, but you’ve been so weird lately. I just…” He exhaled. “I hate being lied to.”

That was when Guanheng finally looked at him. Really looked at him. Not with amusement, or polite indifference, or a half-curious tilt of his head when he was humouring Dejun’s persistence. This was different, like he was evaluating, calculating. For a split second, Dejun thought he was actually going to answer. Then, just as quickly, the moment passed.

“It’s not your fault, Dejun. But I’m not lying,” Guanheng said lightly, setting his cup down. “I just don’t think it’s important.”

Dejun watched Guanheng’s carefully neutral expression. He had briefly seen a side of Guanheng that was comfortable, loved to tease, cracked dumb jokes, complained about mundane things with him. However, ever since that day, he could see the small hesitations, the way Guanheng’s fingers tapped anxiously when he thought no one was paying attention. Even now, as his index tapped a rhythm on the table. Was Dejun supposed to push? Was that even his place?

It was obvious Guanheng never wanted to be seen struggling, but it was hard to ignore.

Dejun pursed his lips. “Is it really unimportant when I can visually tell it’s bothering you?

“I know we haven’t known each other long, and I’m not trying to overstep or anything. I consider you a friend at this point, and I care about you. I’ll be here, okay? If you ever need someone.”

Guanheng blinked. Not a big reaction, but for once, he didn’t have a response ready. Dejun saw it in the way his lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but didn’t quite know how.

It was only a second before he recovered, before his expression shifted into something light, amused. Dejun still saw it, anyway.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Dejun walked home after work the next shift, choosing to enjoy the evening weather instead of driving home like usual. The cool, crisp, late-winter breeze was refreshing after being stuck indoors all day. He opted to take a shortcut, cutting through a quiet street by the river. It was a rather hidden gem, lined with parks and small convenience stores that often attracted an abundance of tourists, but tonight it was unusually serene.

Stopping to grab tea from a nearby store, Dejun stepped outside to enjoy the stillness. That’s when he noticed a lean figure sitting on the stairs by the river. Although he couldn’t see their face, Dejun could recognize that hairstyle and perfect posture anywhere.

Should’ve been home by now, he thought, sighing quietly.

Dejun ducked back into the store and bought another drink, this time for Guanheng. It was a small way to repay him for the countless snacks he’d brought during their study sessions. Silently approaching the stairs, Dejun sat down beside Guanheng, propping his head on his hand as he studied him.

“Thought you went home?” Dejun asked, his voice soft yet audible over the gentle rush of the river. He held out the extra drink, which Guanheng accepted hesitantly, taking a small sip before saying a quiet “Thanks.”

Guanheng let out a deep sigh as he thought about Dejun’s inquiry. “I was going to, initially,” he admitted, his voice rougher than usual, “but I decided I just… didn’t wanna be there.” He paused, before adding, almost hesitantly, “Actually… I’m glad you’re here.”

Dejun blinked at the sudden honesty but he didn’t interrupt.

“I’m sorry, by the way.” Guanheng’s voice was quieter now, more measured. He still wasn’t looking at Dejun, gaze fixed on the rippling water. “For brushing off your efforts. It’s just that…”

Dejun tilted his head, patient.

“I honestly didn’t expect you to notice. You see right through me, Dejun. It scares the hell out of me.

“I’ve spent so long trying to keep people at arms length, to control how they see me. Then you came into the picture, offering a crazy sense of trust that I’ve never experienced before. All that stuff you said about getting to know people without expectations, I didn’t realize you actually meant it.”

“I mean, it’s really easy to be a nice person. But I’m glad you feel that way about me.” Dejun grinned, in the hopes of cheering Guanheng up. Guanheng offered a brief smile in acknowledgement before it quickly disappeared.

“This is really scary for me. You have no idea.” Guanheng spoke.

Dejun hummed. “I bet.”

There was a long silence from Guanheng. Dejun remained patient through it all, giving him an opening to talk if he wanted to, giving him space if he wanted to get up and walk away instead.

“Your family is really nice, Dejun.”

Dejun tilted his head, caught off guard. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“That day I met your parents, and your brother, you showed me around your house, and it was so… normal. Welcoming. Safe.” Guanheng bit the inside of his cheek, his voice quieter as he added, “I haven’t felt at home in my own house in so long.”

For the first time, Dejun had finally seen Guanheng in his true nature; confident on the outside, yet so damaged underneath it all. Dejun inched closer, their shoulders brushing. He tried to ignore the way it burned where they touched.

“What’s your family like?” Dejun asked gently, his voice barely above a whisper.

Guanheng’s voice was quiet, careful. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Nah, Dejun wasn’t having it, he refused to leave Guanheng at this point after he had made himself so vulnerable. He deserved to be seen, someone to hear him out.

“Try me.” Dejun challenged, unwavering.

Guanheng looked at him with an eyebrow raised. “Huh?”

Dejun’s gaze didn’t falter. “Let me meet your family. I’ll judge them for myself.”

He paused. “Dejun, my family isn’t like yours. They’re… it’s complicated.”

“Complicated doesn’t scare me.”

Guanheng stayed quiet, thinking. Yes, Dejun meeting his family in private is terrifying, but he’s already in an incredibly daunting situation. As long as Guanheng was there, it should be fine, right?

He closed his eyes for a second before nodding hesitantly. “Okay, I’ll take you to mine one day.”

“Friday. I’ve got the day off.” Dejun replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Good,” Guanheng said, his voice quiet as he looked back at the river. “Good…” He exhaled deeply, more to himself than Dejun. He shut his eyes and dropped his head, then focused again on Dejun with an entirely different demeanor. Bright eyes and perfect composure, the polite, polished version of Guanheng returned. The transformation left Dejun feeling strangely disappointed.

“I’ll see you then,” Guanheng said, his usual calm smile masking any lingering vulnerability. “Thanks for talking with me.”

And with that, they parted ways, the night air heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Dejun laid in bed once he got home, his mind swirling with thoughts about how Friday could potentially go. Part of him was nervous about making a good first impression on Guanheng’s family. Another part of him was excited at the opportunity to get to know Guanheng better. Their friendship had grown naturally, spending at least four hours together almost everyday for the past few weeks. Yet, this would be their first time hanging out with the excuse of school work, there was plenty of room for things to go awkwardly.

The moment class ended on Friday, Dejun’s heart felt like it had shifted into overdrive. He trusted Guanheng (mostly), but a dark corner of his mind carried doubts. What if he’s a serial killer? The thought was a reach, of course, this whole meeting was Dejun’s idea, but still, it never hurt to be cautious. Dejun took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on the excitement he’d felt the night before. He could do this, for Guanheng. His nerves ebbed slightly as they walked out of the building together, but he was back at square one once he saw a familiar black car of the Huang family.

The car ride felt endless, at least to Dejun. As the mansion (mansion?!) came into view, Dejun sat up straighter in his seat. The hitch in his breath was caused by two things: the first of them being how breathtaking the house was; tall windows, pillars, fountains, the koi pond, gardens, and the marble flooring at the grand entrance. To describe it as luxurious was an understatement.

The second thing was the sudden warmth on his hand. Dejun glanced down to see Guanheng’s hand resting over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. It was grounding, though it felt like Guanheng was reassuring himself too.

They exited the car, Dejun with wobbly legs at first. Dejun stared down at the marble tiles as he followed Guanheng toward the entrance, satisfied with the way his shoes clicked against the polished floor. He almost bumped into Guanheng when he stopped to open the enormous door, revealing a massive foyer with twin staircases on either side.

Guanheng led them up one of the staircases, Dejun marveling at the extravagance of the house’s interior. Before they turned the corner, Guanheng paused in his steps to face Dejun with an atypical uneasiness in his eyes. “You’re sure you want to meet them, right?”

Dejun nodded, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Guanheng looked away, bit his lip, and continued walking.

They stopped at a spacious office, wide and lined with bookshelves and a large desk in the center. A woman sat behind it, writing away at paperwork. She looked up and smiled politely, her glasses shifting slightly down her nose bridge. She wore a lot of accessories, decked in rings, bracelets, crystal earrings, and necklaces that jingled softly with each movement.

“Hello, Mother. I’ve brought a friend over,” Guanheng said, his tone polite but measured. “This is Dejun, my classmate.”

Dejun offered a warm smile, stepping forward to extend a hand to her. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Huang.”

“Hello,” she greeted, standing up and returning the handshake. “Nice to meet you too, Dejun. You look familiar, who are your parents?” She inquired.

“My family name is Xiao,” Dejun answered smoothly. “My parents are Liwei and Yumeng.”

Liwei? Yumeng? Guanheng thought, Where have I seen those names before?

“Ah, the establishers of Seraphim Interiors. How pleasant.” She retaliated. If it weren’t for her tone, she wouldn’t sound so condescending. Dejun’s smile was hard to maintain at this point, he had no idea if there was a problem with what he said. Was he rude? Did he sound sarcastic? Maybe she didn’t like his family’s business status? He couldn’t tell. One thing was clear, though: Sicheng’s assessment was spot on. She really did seem like a robot.

Sensing Dejun’s unease, Guanheng quickly stepped in, tugging him back to the hallway. “We’ll leave you alone now, Mom. Sorry for interrupting.”

“By the way, is Father home?” He asked her. She nodded slightly, her expression unchanged. “He’s in his office.”

Guanheng blinked. “Right.” He muttered, his tone laced with doubt. Dejun noticed the flicker of disbelief in his expression but didn’t have time to dwell on it before Guanheng quickly recovered his usual polite demeanor. The shift was so seamless that it sent a shiver down Dejun’s spine. Now that he had seen a more personal side of Guanheng, this one was starting to become rather unsettling.

As they approached Mr. Huang’s office, low murmurs bled through the cracks. Guanheng knocked twice, waiting a few seconds before pushing it open.

The office was dimly lit. At the grand mahogany desk sat Mr. Huang, a man whose presence was as heavy as the silence that followed. Seated beside him on the couch, legs crossed, was a woman Dejun assumed to be his secretary. He noticed her blouse was slightly askew, buttons a little loose, he lightly assumed she was just tired seeing it was nearing the end of the work day.

Mr. Huang finally looked up, his gaze landing on Guanheng. “Hello, Guanheng. You’ve brought a guest?”

Guanheng’s lips pressed into a thin line as he bowed slightly. “Good evening, Father. This is Dejun.”

Dejun gave a polite nod. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Huang.”

Mr. Huang leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable as he looked at Dejun. “Xiao?” He asked.

“Yes, sir.”

A pause, then a dismissive nod. “Nice meeting you, Dejun. Send my regards to your parents.”

Dejun blinked before nodding wordlessly, worried of somehow irritating the man. As they left the office, Dejun glanced at Guanheng, whose face was carefully blank.

As they walked through the house, passing room after room, Dejun struggled to wrap his head around it all. How can a place be this beautiful?

The parlor was as extravagant as the rest of the house, yet there was something stiff about the way it was arranged, like a display rather than a space meant for actual living. A lone figure curled up in one of the armchairs, a book in her hands.

“Weilan,” Guanheng called.

His eldest sister glanced up, eyes rounded in curiosity “You’re home. Who’s this?”

Guanheng’s lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “This is Dejun, a school friend.”

Dejun nodded politely, trying to keep his eyes bright. “Nice to meet you.”

She hummed in acknowledgement. “Likewise.” She smiled briefly.

The next stop was the studio. The scent of turpentine and oil paint filled the air as they stepped inside. At the far end of the room, Jingyi sat at an easel, a half-finished painting in front of her. She barely acknowledged them as they entered, only lifting a brush to add a stroke to the canvas. “Hey, Guanheng. What’s up?”

“Just introducing Dejun.”

Jingyi finally turned, raising a perfectly arched brow. “Oh? Finally bringing home a boyfriend?”

Dejun choked. “We’re-”

“Not dating.” Guanheng finished smoothly. “I know, shocking.”

Jingyi smirked. “Pity.”

Guanheng ignored that. “We’ll leave you to it.”

She merely hummed in response, already turning back to her work.

The last stop was the gallery. The lights were dimmed, the space eerily quiet. Yuhua stood before one of the framed pieces, arms crossed as she studied it.

She didn’t turn when they entered, though her voice cut through the silence. “Welcome home.”

“Thanks.” Guanheng replied dryly. “Dejun, this is Yuhua. Yuhua, this is Dejun, a school friend.”

At the mention of Dejun, Yuhua finally turned to face them. Dejun offered a polite greeting, to which she returned with a little reluctance. “You must be special, it’s rare for Guanheng to bring people here.”

Something flickered across Guanheng’s face before he carefully schooled his features. “I wonder why.”

Without another word, he turned on his heel, motioning for Dejun to follow. There was something peculiar about that last interaction, like Guanheng was more eager than ever to leave the conversation, which said a lot considering how awkward the entire situation already was. Dejun wondered if those two had a specific tension, something more solemn than the others.

The night was stormy, wind howling through the trees outside the mansion. Raindrops hammered against the windows and distant thunder rumbled through the walls. Little Guanheng lay curled up under his blankets, clutching his pillow. He wasn’t scared, obviously not. He was too old to be scared of storms.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on something else, trying to ignore the way his chest tightened every time the sky flashed white. Another roll of thunder cracked across the sky, and his body moved before his brain could stop it.

Slipping out of bed, he padded down the dim hallway in his socks, his steps silent against the polished floors. He didn’t need to think about where he was going, he wouldn’t get lost anymore thanks to his sisters.

Yuhua’s door was slightly open, just enough to let the soft light of her desk lamp spill into the hall. It had been that way ever since they moved here, ever since their new house felt too big and too empty. Guanheng didn’t hesitate before nudging the door open a little more.

Yuhua was sitting cross-legged on her bed, sketchbook balanced on her lap, her earbuds in as she absentmindedly twirled a pen between her fingers. She glanced up at the shuffling at her door, and without needing to ask, she scooted over, patting the empty space beside her. Wordlessly, Guanheng climbed onto the bed, settling against the pillows as she unplugged one earbud and handed it to him.

“Couldn’t sleep?” She asked softly.

He shrugged, pretending to be more interested in her sketchbook than answering. “Bored.”

She hummed, amused but not calling him out on the obvious lie. “Bored, huh? You sure it’s not the rain?”

He made a face. “It’s just water.”

“Water that sounds like it’s trying to break in through the windows.”

“You’re trying to make it sound scary!” He nudged her arm.

She smirked, but instead of teasing him further, she flipped a few pages in her sketchbook and handed it to him. “Help me pick one.”

He glanced down, eyes scanning over half-finished drawings, some of landscapes, others of their family members. Some pages were covered in random doodles.

“This one,” He said, pointing to a half-finished drawing of a koi pond.

Yuhua snorted. “I knew you would say that.”

“Because it’s the best.”

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the smile tugging at her lips. She reached for her coloured pencils, setting them on the blanket. “Wanna help me finish it?”

Guanheng hesitated. “You don’t care if I mess it up?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I cared,” She said simply, handing him a blue pencil. “Here. You do the water, I’ll do the fish.”

He took it, biting his lip in concentration as he carefully shaded in the ripples of the pond. The storm outside faded into the background, the howling wind replaced by the soft scratch of pencil on paper, the quiet hum of Yuhua’s music.

At some point, she stretched her arm around his shoulders, a quiet, absentminded gesture, the kind that had always been second nature to her. He barely noticed at first, too focused on staying inside the lines. After a while, he leaned into her touch, just a little. Neither of them said anything about it.

They sat like that for a long time. By the time the rain had softened into a drizzle, Guanheng’s eyelids grew heavy, his body sinking into the warmth of the blanket, of Yuhua’s presence. When he woke up the next morning, his hands were still lightly curled around the coloured pencil, and the koi pond was complete.

They finally reached Guanheng’s room, which was essentially a suite, before Guanheng hurriedly shut the door behind them and leaned against it and sighed, a mix of relief and slight distress.

Dejun, who had been speaking minimally until now (a fear of potentially offending someone had developed after his interaction with Mrs. Huang), raised an eyebrow as he dropped his bag onto a chair next to the bed. “You okay?”

Guanheng didn’t respond. Instead, he roughly pushed himself off the door, walking past Dejun with heavy steps, glaring straight ahead at nothing in particular.

“What a bunch of fucking assholes.” He muttered, throwing the curtains open and letting the sunlight flood the room. He slid the window open just enough to allow the fresh air to cut through the room’s stuffiness without inviting the winter chill. He inhaled, deep and shaky, as if he had been suffocated until now.

Dejun paused, taken aback by the sudden outburst and what may have been his first time hearing Guanheng curse this way. “Your family? They’re the nicest people I’ve ever met.” He deadpanned, shoving a hand in his pocket and trying to downplay his discomfort.

Guanheng looked at him with an eyebrow raised. “Oh, please. The only reason they even talked to me was because they wanted to look good in front of you, a guest. I bet you didn’t know my dad and that woman were probably making out behind those doors before we got there.”

Dejun scoffed, half-laughing. “No way, dude.”

Guanheng huffed and crossed his arms. “Yes way. At the same time he started cheating, mom developed this ridiculous obsession with money, power, and appearances. Ironically, it all stressed her out so badly she started drinking.”

Dejun frowned, uneasy. “She looked so well put together.”

Guanheng pursed his lips. “All that jewelry’s keeping her in one piece. She keeps buying more in the hopes it’ll fill the void in her life.”

Dejun stepped closer, concern lacing his features. “Do your sisters know?” He asked softly.

“They don’t care.” Guanheng scowled, his voice heavy with anger. “They’ve got their own problems to deal with. In public, Weilan’s the cheery one, Jingyi’s the playful one, Yuhua’s the introvert. Perfectly curated roles.”

He exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. “Behind closed doors, Weilan long fell into drugs, and Jingyi’s an alcoholic, just like my mom.”

He stopped suddenly, and Dejun realized he hadn’t explained Yuhua’s, the youngest of the three sisters, situation. He stayed silent, letting Guanheng take his time.

“Yuhua…” He said quietly, “she was my best friend when we were kids. We were inseparable. As everyone else became distant, she decided to do the same.” His voice dropped into a whisper, trembling ever so slightly. “I don’t know her anymore, no one does. She does the bare minimum, she’ll sit with us at events but won’t talk to us, she’ll show up for pictures, and then leave without a word.”

Guanheng sighed and dropped onto the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped as he stared at his hands. “I’m the only one who sees any of this. For more than half my life, I’ve watched this happy, loving family rot from the inside out. I’ve tried mending things, I really did, but no one ever took me seriously because I was still a kid. Dad was absent half the time, barely spoke to me when he wasn’t. Mom only talked to me to yell at me for not being up to her standards. My sisters didn’t do jack shit.”

He took a breath, Dejun still listening patiently. “Since I couldn’t help them, I focused on myself instead, at least in the hopes it’ll get my mom off my back. I studied hard, played sports, learned music, trained myself to act like this ‘flawless’ person because I don’t know what else to do. If I fuck up, people have evidence to antagonize my family, and we could lose everything overnight. I don’t know how the others hide it so well.”

Guanheng gestured to the room. “Not that I actually give a shit about all this. Still, it could ruin the careers of all the employees here, and everyone associated with us. As for my family... I know what I said about them, but… I don’t know. Maybe some part of me still subconsciously hopes it’ll all go back to normal one day.

“I won’t lie, I don’t even know what kind of person I currently am. I don’t remember who I was before all of this, nor do I recognize anyone in this family anymore.”

Dejun didn’t move, his heart heavy at his words. When Guanheng finally glanced up, there was a sense of regret in his eyes, something unfamiliar for someone of his caliber. “Um, thanks for listening. Sorry, I know it’s a lot.” He spoke softly, uncharacteristically awkward.

Dejun swallowed, fingers curling slightly into his sleeves. So that’s what this was all about.

Why Guanheng’s been so distant lately, why he behaves the way he does, why he never told Dejun anything about his personal life until now. Dejun came here fully expecting a brief, polite introduction to the Huang family, nothing more. That was what they agreed on the other night. Instead, Guanheng opened up about everything. Dejun mentally put all the puzzle pieces together, his chest getting heavier as he realized the weight of Guanheng’s trust.

To an extent, Dejun understood. His family held a status of their own, and he knew the pressure that came with maintaining a public image. Still, he never had to carry the burden of so many secrets, to watch everything you know change for the worse and be able to do nothing, to lose your family when it was all you ever wanted.

(Well, he might know about the last few parts, but he was too young to remember it all.)

Dejun’s hands were shaking as he processed what it meant for Guanheng to actually confide in someone, and what it meant for that someone to be Dejun. He forced a steady breath, willing himself to stay composed. Now wasn’t the time for shock. He moved to sit next to Guanheng with no hesitation, wrapping his arms around him in a gentle hug. Guanheng tensed at first but eventually allowed himself to relax, resting his head on Dejun’s shoulder.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Dejun said quietly. “I wanted to be here. I want to be here.”

Guanheng let out a small, breathy laugh, one that sounded more tired than amused. “Didn’t really plan on telling you everything.”

Dejun swallowed, his grip on Guanheng tightening slightly. “Yeah,” he whispered, his throat tight. “But I’m really fucking glad you did.”

A beat of silence. “You make it hard not to trust you. After years of being surrounded by facades, and having one myself, you’re the only person I can see right through. No offence.”

Dejun snorted. “None taken. I could say that about you as well.”

Guanheng let out a slow, unsteady breath, something caught between a laugh and disbelief. “Still terrifying to hear.”

Dejun held him tighter, silently vowing to be a source of stability in Guanheng’s chaotic life.

The next few moments of comforting silence was interrupted by a soft “meow?”, followed by the sound of tiny paws padding against the door. Startled, Dejun sat up slightly. “Uh… you have a cat?”

Guanheng hummed. “You can let him in.”

Dejun broke from the hug (pretending he didn’t miss the warmth) to open the door, timidly peeking through the crack before he felt something soft and fluffy run past his feet. “A– hello?” He said to no one, dumbfounded. He closed the door quietly, watching the tiny white and brown intruder trotting its way to Guanheng. The kitten meowed again tilting its head up at him.

Guanheng patted his lap and smiled softly. “C’mere, baby.”

The kitten happily obliged, jumping onto Guanheng’s lap and purring, snuggling against the hand that scratched its head affectionately. Dejun returned to his spot next to Guanheng. “I didn’t know you had a cat.”

Guanheng chuckled. “This is Louis. He belongs to a friend, but I petsit him so often it feels like he’s mine.”

Dejun watched as Guanheng looked down at the ball of fluff in his arms, a look of genuine peace crossing his features. It struck Dejun how different he seemed, like all the burdens of his life were momentarily lifted.

Guanheng leaned back to lie down with Louis curled up on his chest, purring contently. Dejun copied him without much thought, propping himself on his side to face the two. Guanheng took Dejun’s hand and guided it to pet Louis, who welcomed the touch.

Dejun hesitated slightly, a twinge of guilt settling in his stomach. God, I’m so allergic to cats… But I can’t ruin this moment. He stifled a sneeze, ignoring the tingling in his nose and the itch developing in his throat. He was sure he had allergy meds in his bag somewhere.

Despite the mild discomfort, Dejun found himself getting drowsy. His eyes grew heavier as he listened to the rhythmic sound of Louis’ purring and Guanheng’s (who was already asleep) steady breathing.

Despite Guanheng’s efforts to convince himself otherwise, he eventually fully realized that his family was beyond fixing.

Before that, he had tried.

He had spent years watching, listening, waiting for the right moment to piece them back together. He had knocked on his sisters’ doors even when they barely looked at him anymore. He had tried to distract his mother when her drinking started before noon, filling the silence with attempts at conversation. He had done his best to make his father proud, to be someone worth noticing, worth staying home for.

Nothing changed.

One night, he heard yelling from his mother’s office, her voice sharp, his father’s quiet but cold, a dangerous contrast. He didn’t know what they were fighting about this time. This was normal at this point.

He sat outside his room, knees pulled to his chest, staring at the marble floor beneath him. His chest ached, but there was no point in crying, not anymore. He wanted to hope that one good conversation, one well-placed effort, would make them care again. Realistically, he knew it wouldn’t.

So, for the first time, he stopped trying. He couldn’t fix them, but he could fix himself.

If he became everything his mother wanted, polished, disciplined, brilliant, then maybe she would stop looking for things to criticize. Maybe he could make himself into the son his father would brag about. If he was perfect, then maybe no one would ever have a reason to look too closely.

So he studied harder. He dedicated his time to memorizing textbooks long before the exams came. He ensured every answer he gave in class was precise, every assignment flawless.

He trained his body, taking up tennis, then soccer, swimming, martial arts. He mastered the violin. Anything that would push him. Each new skill was another layer of armour.

Most of all, he learned how to perform.

He started observing people. Beyond just their words, also the way they spoke and behaved. How a smile faltered at the edges when someone was forcing it. How laughter rang differently when it was real versus when it was polite. How the eyes betrayed every lie before the mouth could even utter the words. He learned the rhythm of conversation, how to match it, how to shift it in his favour. He quickly figured out what people liked and meticulously catered to them, to blend in, to control their distance from him.

It worked.

His mother still drank, but she no longer criticized him as much. His father still left without a word, his sisters still drifted further and further away. At least now, he could act as a shield. No one else had to know about his broken family behind closed doors. No one had a reason to look closer.

That was enough to survive.

Dejun later woke to the persistent buzzing of his phone in his pocket. He also felt the intense need to stretch. In the dim light, he noticed that Guanheng had shifted in his sleep, now lying on his side facing Dejun. He sat up and looked around for Louis, who was curled on a pillow. The sight reminded him of the burning of his throat. He quietly reached into his bag to pop an allergy medication before stepping onto the balcony for fresh air. He finally unlocked his phone, squinting at the newfound light from the screen. For a moment, he thought he was receiving a call, but no – it was just Sicheng bombarding him with a string of messages.

> DEJUN!!

> DEJUN D:

> JUNNIE!!

> XIAOJUNNIE

> MY DEJUN

> MY LOVE

> WHERE

> ART

> THOU

From: Sicheng, 9:30pm

> oh my god

> are you dead

> HELLO??

> im gonna start crying

> WHERE ARE YOU D:

> DEJUN PLEASE

> IDK WHAT I’LL DO WITHOUT YOU

> THIS IS SO NOT FUNNY

> GOD PLEASE DONT TAKE HIM HES TOO YOUNG

From: Sicheng, 9:31pm

> DEJUN

> S O B

> WHY WONT YOU

> ANSWER ME

From: Sicheng, 9:32pm

dude <

im fine <

im at guanhengs <

From: You, 9:33pm

> you are so fucking mean

> YOUVE BEEN GONE FOR HOURS

> JUST BECAUSE YOURE AT GUANHENGS DOESNT MEAN YOU CAN IGNORE ME

> unless

> youve replaced me.

From: Sicheng, 9:33pm

I WOULD NEVER!!! <

HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE ME OF SUCH A THING <

From: You, 9:33pm

> UMM MAYBE ITS CUZ YOUVE BEEN IGNORING ME WHILE AT ANOTHER BOY’S HOUSE??

> YOU NORMALLY TEXT ME RIGHT AFTER CLASS

> i was too busy at work to check my phone but i got off expecting a notif from you

> NOTHING!!

From: Sicheng, 9:34pm

oh right <

yeah <

i fell asleep lol <

just a nap <

… that was 4 hours long <

yeah thats my bad <

im sorry sicheng dont kill me <

From: You, 9:34pm

> i just might

> or maybe guanheng would beat me to it WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING AT HIS HOUSE

> did you get kidnapped. you can be honest

From: Sicheng, 9:35pm

youre funny <

he didnt kidnap me, i asked to come here <

i wanted to meet his family <

From, You, 9:35pm

> oh word?

> first impressions, then?

From: Sicheng, 9:35pm

you were so right <

it truly is an experience talking to them <

i felt like i was in a robot factory <

From: You, 9:36pm

> of course i was right

> but you told me guanheng’s actually like. normal

From: Sicheng, 9:36pm

he has his own stuff <

but yeah. hes no different than us <

i think you two would get along actually <

you have the same devious intentions of teasing me relentlessly <

wait i take it back <

you two must never meet <

From: You, 9:37pm

> we’ll see about that.

From: Sicheng, 9:37pm

Dejun shuddered at the horrible concept of Sicheng and Guanheng in one room, pocketing his phone before he heard shuffling behind him. He turned to see Guanheng poking his head through the crack of the door.

From Dejun’s perspective, Guanheng’s hair was tousled from sleep, his eyes slightly squinted as they adjusted to the light, and his lips curved in a faint, curious pout as he silently questioned why Dejun was on the balcony. It was rather endearing compared to his usual confident demeanor.

From Guanheng’s perspective, Dejun stood framed by the gentle glow of the moonlight behind him, softly tracing his features as he smiled at Guanheng. The night breeze gently played with his hair, elegantly accompanying the way his eyes seemed to shine in the darkness. For a moment, Dejun was the only thing Guanheng could see.

“You’re pretty.” Guanheng spoke, fixing his hair.

Dejun’s smile grew shy as he walked to Guanheng, leaning casually against the door frame. “Where’d that come from?” He asked with a quiet laugh.

Guanheng smiled briefly before stepping back, giving Dejun space to enter the room again. “It’s nothing. Do you wanna go somewhere else? I’m bored here.” Guanheng spoke, holding his hand out to Dejun with an inviting grin.

Dejun hesitated before taking it, his fingers lightly grasping Guanheng’s warm, soft hand as he led them out of the room. For a brief moment, the only sound was their echoed footsteps in the hallway. The moonlight accompanied them yet again through the wide windows, as if leading their way.

“Where are we going?” Dejun inquired.

“To the dungeon.” Guanheng deadpanned, admiring the paintings on the wall. He pretended not to notice the horrified look on Dejun’s face before he whacked him on the shoulder.

“I’m serious!” Dejun exclaimed, feigning indignation, yet his hand still remained holding Guanheng’s.

Guanheng turned to him and smirked, “Just exploring. Almost everyone’s sleeping, or holed up in their rooms. The staff are off-duty as well, it’s rare to get this opportunity to be alone.”

They wandered through the expansive hallways, passing the main kitchen, the great hall, even a home theater. Dejun had briefly seen most of these spaces earlier when Guanheng introduced him to the family, yet he took the time to silently admire them a second time. Eventually, Dejun slowed in front of a particular doorway, his interest caught. Guanheng noticed, entering the music hall with Dejun close behind.

Dejun stood frozen as he properly absorbed the room: marble flooring, vast windows with the curtains drawn back, a variety of beautiful, shiny instruments scattered throughout the space. He hadn’t even realized Guanheng had let go of his hand until he noticed him take a seat at the edge of the piano bench. “Wanna play something?”

Dejun quietly followed suit, letting his fingers graze the smooth keys. “Won’t it wake everyone?”

“Nope.” Guanheng replied casually. “My dad’s probably not home, mom’s passed out, everyone else is on the other side of the building. Play to your heart’s content.” He played a chord, allowing it to reverberate in the room.

Encouraged, Dejun rested his hands across the keys, immediately noticing how different and so much more expensive it felt compared to his own, which was already pricey as is. He started with a simple arpeggio to get a feel of the piano, then transitioned into one of his favourite pieces. A melody filled the room, gradually building volume as Dejun got more comfortable. After the first few notes, Dejun heard Guanheng’s excited gasp. He glanced back to see him grab a white violin from its stand, positioning himself beside the piano.

Guanheng nodded for Dejun to continue. This time, Dejun switched to playing the accompaniment, grateful that he had taken the time to learn it. Guanheng took over the melody, the bow gliding gracefully across the strings. It sounded better this way, harmonizing perfectly as their notes intertwined. Dejun occasionally glanced at Guanheng, marveling at how effortlessly he played, his fingers precise and his movements fluid. His posture was elegant and relaxed as his hair fell softly over his eyes.

Meanwhile, Guanheng couldn’t help but watch Dejun as well. The way his hand moved over the keys was almost second nature, his every motion intentional and exuding grace as he played the song he knew from heart. Guanheng had never seen Dejun so passionate before, and it left him awestruck.

As the final notes echoed through the room, Dejun let his hands rest in his lap, looking over at Guanheng. “Crazy coincidence.”

Guanheng lowered the violin with a gentle smile.

This was the second time that night he’d seen Guanheng so tranquil and happy, the first time being with Louis earlier. “It’s a nice change, you know.” He said softly.

Guanheng tilted his head, his bangs shifting to partially obscure his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Seeing you like this.” Dejun explained. “I already thought you were good company before, but knowing what you told me earlier, it makes me appreciate this side of you more. You’re happier.”

Guanheng chuckled and placed the violin back on its stand. “I don’t deserve you, Dejun.”

“What makes you say that?” Dejun raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the piano.

“Well, six hours ago I spilled some very dark truths about my upbringing,” he said with a humourless laugh. “I thought it would scare you off. My problematic family, my personality crisis, my emotional burdening.” His voice turned soft, almost shy. “But you’re still here.”

Dejun stood, stepping closer to Guanheng until they were face to face. “I stayed because we’re friends, and I appreciate you for who you are. Nothing will change that.” His voice was steady and warm.

Guanheng blinked, momentarily stunned. “I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me.”

Dejun rolled his eyes with a small smile. “Get used to it.” He spoke before reaching out and pulling Guanheng into a tight hug. Guanheng grinned and reciprocated the embrace, allowing Dejun to be a pillar amongst all the uncertainty.

They stayed like that for a moment, neither in a rush to pull away. The warmth between them lingered even as they stepped apart, an unspoken understanding settling in the space they left behind.

It was late by the time Dejun left, the quiet whir of the engine filling the silence between them as Guanheng drove through the dimly lit streets. The city lights flickered past, casting fleeting shadows across the car’s interior. Dejun found himself watching the glow of red tail lights ahead, something about the way they lit up in the night stirring a heaviness in his chest. He exhaled slowly, shifting his gaze to the windows, trying to shake the feeling.

It was probably just exhaustion.

The sound came first. A screech, sharp and deafening. The crash came soon after, louder than anything Dejun had ever heard, enough to drown out his scream before it even left his throat.

Everything else happened at once. The seatbelt dug into his chest, pulling him tight, and his head whipped forward. He blinked, but the world wouldn’t focus.

“Mom?” His voice was small, barely audible over the ringing in his ears. He tried again, louder this time. “Dad?”

No response.

Dejun’s hands fumbled against the seat belt buckle, as best he could with the uncontrollable tremble in his fingers. His head throbbed, but soon enough he could finally get his vision to focus again.

That’s when he saw them.

The front seats were crumpled in. His dad’s hand hung limp, his mom’s head was slumped unnaturally to one side, red smearing down her neck.

“Mom!” Dejun cried, his voice cracking. “Dad!”

Tears blurred his vision as he reached out, the seatbelt holding him back. His legs ached, pinned beneath the weight of the mangled car frame. Panic surged, but he didn’t know what to do. What could he do?

He kept calling out, but his voice sounded smaller and smaller each time. The world around him began to fade.

The last thing he remembered was a stranger’s voice, soft and urgent, telling him to stay awake. A warm hand rested on his shoulder, before his vision went dark.

Dejun awoke with a start, sitting upright in his bed and drenched in cold sweat. His chest heaved as he clutched the blanket, taking a second to come back to reality. He was safe. He was home. Relief washed over him, but it wasn’t enough to stop the tears from spilling down his face. He covered his face, body shaking with quiet sobs. Even though it had only been a dream, a flashback, the memory lingered in his mind like a shadow.

“S-shit…”

Eventually, his breathing steadied, and he reached for his phone to check the time. The screen lit up, revealing a string of notifications from one person in particular.

> hey!!

> i wanted to tell you something

> pardon the upcoming spam, im very hyper rn

From: Guanheng, 1:48am

> you might just be sleeping rn

> a blessing for university students i guess

> but today was… a lot

> i wont lie, im still processing it

> nothing on you, its just very new to me

> despite that, i had a lot of fun hanging out with you

From: Guanheng, 1:49am

> anyway! thank you for letting me have that today

> im really glad i met you, and that we’re friends

> especially after all that stuff i told you about

> its nice to have someone to confide in

> thank you for being understanding

> i’ll see you at school!

From: Guanheng, 1:50am

Dejun reread the messages over and over again, letting them fully take over the initial panic he felt when he had woken up. There was something else, too, something small and new. It sat right there in his chest. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew what it could potentially be, but that was something for his future self to figure out.

He’ll text Guanheng back in the morning.

Within the next week, Guanheng and Dejun had wrapped up their project, finishing with four days to spare. Their dialogue was ready and memorized, and they were confident in the depth of their research. A few days before their presentation, Dejun was discussing the project with Sicheng during their shift, this time taking the task of shelving returned books.

“So, what’s the plot again?” Sicheng asked from the other side, talking to Dejun through the gaps of the bookshelves between them.

Dejun cleared his throat before speaking.

“It’s about these two best friends who discover a mirror that is seemingly normal, but they slowly realize that it doesn’t reflect how people actually look, but how they perceive their own identities. They take turns looking into the mirror, only to see their insecurities and inner struggles staring straight back at them. Their perceptions of each other and themselves shift as they’re forced to confront the gap between how they see themselves and how others see them. By the end of it, their friendship strengthens as they realize how much the other person appreciates them for who they are, ultimately gaining a more positive view of themselves.” Dejun explained, seeming quite proud of himself. It sounded rather rehearsed, as if he’d been waiting for someone to ask this question.

From the other side of the shelf, Sicheng appeared in one of the gaps between the books, raising an eyebrow. “Sounds ambitious. You’re gonna pull it off with just you two?”

Dejun scoffed. “Oh, please. You’re talking to a former theatre kid here. I planned props, lighting, I’ve made Guanheng memorize his lines.”

“I feel bad for him.” Sicheng deadpanned. Dejun flipped him off wordlessly. The two silently continued their work until Sicheng spoke up again.

“By the way,” he began, continuing after receiving a “Hm?” from Dejun, “Does he know?”

Dejun glanced up. “Know what?”

Sicheng met his gaze. “About your past.”

“Oh,” Dejun froze for a moment before straightening up. “No, I haven’t told him. I never really thought about it.”

Sicheng was silent for a moment as he thought. “You mentioned he opened up to you. It might not hurt to do the same. It can be your way of telling him you guys have a mutual trust in each other.”

Dejun slowly nodded, agreeing as he processed Sicheng’s words.

He has a point, he thought, I just have to find the right timing.

“Are you nervous?” Dejun whispered to the boy sitting next to him.

Guanheng, ever composed, nodded subtly, then raised an eyebrow as he side-eyed Dejun as if asking “Are you?”

Dejun whispered “Nope.” before holding his wrist out to Guanheng to feel his pulse. Glancing down at Dejun’s outstretched wrist, Guanheng casually reached over to check his pulse: abnormally steady right before a presentation worth a quarter of their grade. His eyes widened slightly before he grabbed a scrap of paper and scribbled something down.

how?? how is this possible? ur so calm?

Dejun read the note and quickly scrawled back: im built different.

Guanheng smirked faintly as he read the response, folding the paper and tucking it into his pocket to avoid the professor’s gaze. The last thing either of them needed was a lecture on professionalism, especially Guanheng, the school’s resident model student.

After that, Dejun zoned out until the current group’s presentation was over, and it was their turn. They were given a few minutes to set up, Dejun positioning the empty mirror frame so it was in the center of the stage, whilst Guanheng had dimmed the lighting to mimic a dark attic setting.

With everything ready, Dejun waited for the go ahead from his professor.

The two friends stood in front of a full length mirror.

Guanheng touched the golden frame delicately. “It’s just a mirror, what’s the big deal?”

Dejun hadn’t moved for a while, seemingly caught in his own reflection. “It’s different. Look into it.”

Guanheng stared at the mirror with an eyebrow raised. “I don’t get it. What do you see?”

Dejun paused, voice quieter. “I see… me, but it’s not really me. It’s like all the worst parts of me are amplified on my face.”

Guanheng frowned. “That sounds scary.”

Dejun stepped aside, gesturing to Guanheng to try again.

Guanheng centered himself in front of the mirror, visibly growing uncomfortable as he studied his reflection. “This isn’t right. I don’t look like this.”

“What do you see?”

Guanheng hesitated, crossing his arms. “I look… weak. Like someone on the verge of falling apart. And my face, it’s… disgusting. I don’t look like this. I know I don’t look like this.” He repeated.

Dejun glanced at Guanheng, his voice gentler. “Maybe you don’t. But… is that how you feel?”

Guanheng’s jaw tightened and he pulled back from the mirror, shaking his head. “I don’t- I don’t like this. This thing, it’s wrong. It’s not real.”

“Maybe it’s showing the parts of us we try to hide, what we’re afraid to see?”

Later…

“How does it know?” Guanheng’s voice cracked as he fell to his knees, his hands grabbing at his hair. “How does it know every fucking insecurity I have?! Why did it show me that- that pathetic person? Is that all I am? Is that how everyone sees me?”

A gentle hand guided his hands away from his hair, intertwining their fingers with love and care. Guanheng looked up at Dejun who kneeled in front of him, warm and sympathetic eyes staring into his own.

“Listen,” Dejun said softly, his voice calm and grounding, “I know it feels like it’s all anyone can see, but it’s not. It’s not even close to who you are.”

Guanheng shook his head, his throat tight. “You don’t know what it showed me, how weak I looked–”

Dejun squeezed his hands firmly. “I don’t need to know. Because I see you.”

His words hung in the air for a moment.

“I see my best friend, who’s incredible in every way. You’re kind, brilliant, talented, gorgeous, and all that’s good in the world. If perfection exists, it’s everything I see in you.”

“Every version of you is my favourite. You are enough.”

Guanheng mentally paused. He didn’t remember that last part being in the script.

Eventually, Dejun finished his last line, earning an immediate round of applause. The presentation they’d worked on for a month was over in the blink of an eye. He sighed quietly, glancing at Guanheng, who seemed to exhale at the tension as well. Together, they answered their classmates’ questions until their time was up. They made their way to Guanheng’s family car – Guanheng promising a small surprise after class. Only once they were inside did they allow themselves to fully unwind.

“We did it! It’s finally over!” Dejun exclaimed, grabbing Guanheng’s hands and interlacing their fingers, his excitement bubbling over. His smile was wide and bright, a contrast to Guanheng’s softer, more affectionate one.

Leaning toward the driver, Guanheng spoke up. “Excuse me, can you drop us off in front of Min’s later? We’ll walk the rest of the way, it’s not far.” The driver nodded, and Dejun turned to Guanheng with his curiosity piqued. “Where are we going?”

Guanheng side-eyed him with a knowing smile before the car eventually slowed to a stop. They got out, and Dejun found himself standing in front of a bakery. He recognized the logo immediately, it was the same place Guanheng always bought from when they met up.

“Come on,” Guanheng said, opening the door for Dejun. They stepped inside, greeted by the warm, comforting scent of freshly baked goods and coffee. Dejun followed him to the display case, his eyes landing on the familiar pastries.

Dejun, feeling adventurous, picked up something different. He barely had a second with it before Guanheng snatched it out of his hands despite his protests and handed both their selections to the girl at the counter.

“Hi, Guanheng! Just these today?” She asked, entering the item codes.

He smiled warmly, nodding. “Are you guys catering on Saturday?”

She nodded as she let Guanheng pay with his card, laughing at how he elbowed Dejun out of the way. “It’s a big order, huh? You guys are inviting a lot of people!”

Guanheng hummed in response, taking the packets from the counter. “Big order for a big celebration, I guess. Let me know if you need an extra hand.” He leaned over the counter to wrap her in a friendly hug. She beamed, returning the gesture.

“Of course! But your family and the Choi’s have paid us generously, maybe too generously, honestly, so we’ve got plenty to cover help if we need it.”

After a few more words, they said their goodbyes and left the shop. They walked back to Guanheng’s together, the early stage of the sunset filling the sky.

“Is she a friend?” Dejun inquired, slightly confused by the encounter but held back from asking more in the moment.

“Yeah, I’ve known her for years. That bakery caters most of our events.” Guanheng nodded.

Dejun grinned, leaning a little closer. “Oh, yeah? You must be pretty close, huh?” His teasing tone was unmistakable.

Guanheng shot him a side glance, raising an eyebrow. “She has a girlfriend, Dejun.” He deadpanned, gently pushing Dejun’s face away. “I’ve never had an interest in women, anyway.”

Dejun blinked. “Hey, another thing we have in common!”

“Whoa,” Guanheng muttered through a mouthful of a cookie he’d stolen a bite from straight out of Dejun’s hand. He stared intently at his computer while Dejun was sprawled lazily on the sofa chair. Louis was perched on Guanheng’s desk, tail wagging with the annoyance of being denied bakery goods (“It’s chocolate, Louis, you’d die.”)

“Hm?” Dejun responded absentmindedly.

“I just got the invitation list for Saturday,” Guanheng said, his eyes still glued to the screen. “Your family’s on it!” He pointed at the list.

Dejun propped himself up on his elbow and leaned over to get a better look. “Oh my god,” he groaned at the thought of having to go to another event. “I hate these things.”

“You know,” Guanheng mused, tapping his chin as his gaze stayed fixed on the screen. “Sometimes I meet a really amazing family at an event and secretly wish I were with them instead. Once in a while I’ll meet a couple that immediately treats me as their own, it’s the same type of… warmth that I used to get from my parents.”

Dejun paused, his attention shifting from the email to Guanheng. Now’s as good a time as any, he thought.

“Me too,” Dejun replied slowly, his voice quieter. “Sometimes, I come across a nice couple and I wonder if my parents were like them.”

Guanheng blinked, clearly surprised. He turned to Dejun, his brows furrowing. “What do you mean? Your parents are so sweet.”

Dejun shook his head, chuckling. “Mom and Dad are great, yes, but I’m talking about my birth parents. I’m adopted.”

Guanheng shifted closer to Dejun on his desk chair, a soft, questioning look on his face. “Really?”

Dejun nodded. “They died in a car accident when I was little. The Xiao’s took me in, they were close friends with my family. For legal reasons, I ended up taking their last name.”

Guanheng’s face shifted to one of sympathy as he put a gentle hand on Dejun’s lap. “That’s terrible, that must’ve been so scary.” He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully, then added, “I can’t imagine what that was like for you, but… I’m really glad you had the Xiao family to take you in. They raised you well.”

Dejun, not expecting this level of sympathy, put his hand on top of Guanheng’s and squeezed lightly. “Thanks. Honestly, I was really young when it happened, my kid brain didn’t fully process it. I was… five? So it happened in 2004, I think. Long time ago.”

Guanheng tilted his head, a thought clearly brewing in his mind. “2004… wait.” He stood up abruptly, pulling a very confused Dejun along with him as his pace quickened.

“Your story sounds familiar, I think there’s an article about it in my mom’s office.” He muttered.

Dejun, caught off guard, tried to keep up as Guanheng dragged him down the hallway. “Wait, your mom’s office?” Before Dejun could ask more, Guanheng made a very sharp turn around the corner, nearly throwing him off balance as they entered the office.

“Hold on,” Dejun glanced around the room warily, “Are we supposed to be in here?”

“She’s at work, it doesn’t matter.” Guanheng replied, already scanning the walls for something in particular. Dejun was distracted by the numerous framed articles showing the Huang family’s successful business ventures until he was suddenly pulled toward a spot next to the bookcase.

“This one!” Guanheng exclaimed, pointing at an article on the wall. Dejun’s attention was initially caught by the main headline in bold words until he realized Guanheng was pointing to a smaller article on the same page underneath.

“October 17th, 2004: CEO Wang Qiaoyen and her husband Wang Baolei killed in car accident…”

Dejun leaned in closer to read the rest. “...the lone survivor is their only son, who will soon be adopted by business partners and close family friends Xiao Liwei and Yumeng. The funeral is scheduled for next week.”

“Whoa. How did you know about this article?” He asked. Guanheng shrugged. “I used to sneak in here whenever I was bored as a kid, I’ve memorized the majority of these news articles. That must be you, though, right? Liwei and Yumeng, I knew those names were familiar. And the picture! I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner.”

Dejun studied the photo that accompanied the article, a picture of a smiling young man and woman. He recognized it immediately, it was the same one framed on his bookshelf.

“Your mother’s pretty.” Guanheng said as his gaze lingered on the photo. “I can see where you get it from.”

Dejun froze. He turned to Guanheng, dumbfounded. “Did you just call me pretty? Again?”

Guanheng looked at him with innocent sincerity. “Yeah. You are, and you deserve to hear it. Though you must hear it all the time already.”

He blinked, caught off guard. He quickly looked away to hide the burning in his face. “Not really,” he muttered. “Thanks, though.”

That unnamed feeling he had before fluttered in his chest, stronger this time, and it made him painfully aware whenever he was close to Guanheng or made eye contact with him. Deep down, he knew what it was, it had been manifesting in the back of his mind for a while now. He was an adult, for god’s sake! He should know how to process feelings!

But not without his best friend.

“Dejun, he wants you.”

Dejun froze mid-sip of his iced tea, nearly choking. “What? No, he doesn’t!”

Sicheng raised an eyebrow, completely unimpressed. “Dude, even I can tell, and I haven’t even met him yet. I know purely based on what you just told me.”

Dejun’s face turned bright red. “He’s just being nice! Guanheng’s nice to everyone.”

“Uh huh. Uh huh. Nice to everyone. Right.” Sicheng repeated with a scoff. He placed his takeout food down, this time being Dejun’s turn in charge of dinner. “He bought you snacks almost everyday for a month without you asking, calls you pretty to your face, holds your hand on a regular basis, you two played a duet together, you’ve caught him staring at you multiple times, he trusts you enough to confide in you, what else am I missing?” He listed, ignoring the way Dejun folded in himself with every word.

“It-it’s not like that, Sicheng!”

Sicheng sighed. “Sure, you keep telling yourself that. Even if he didn’t feel that way before, he definitely likes you back by now.”

Dejun paused. “Likes me back? When did I ever say I liked him?” He didn’t remember telling Sicheng about that part yet.

Sicheng looked at him with a “are you fucking serious?” face. “Dude, it’s so obvious. I’ve known you for years, I know exactly how to interpret your chronic emotional constipation. You’ve probably told yourself ‘Eh, that’s a problem for future me’ already, right?”

The silence from Dejun gave Sicheng his answer. “I knew it. You know, for someone who’s so weirdly perceptive, you’re terribly oblivious when it matters.”

Sicheng sighed. “If it makes you feel better, at least pay attention the next time you’re with him. Don’t get so stuck in your head. Watch how he treats you, I guarantee you’ll see it. Lingering gazes, touches that last a second too long, those types of things.”

Dejun stared at himself in the mirror, his third outfit attempt hanging neatly on his frame. The suits were all frustratingly similar, yet somehow so different. One made his shoulders look broader, another gave the illusion of longer legs (something he lowkey desperately needed), and the one he had on now had a tailored cut instead of the regular straight cut, better highlighting the outline of his torso.

He sighed, knowing he couldn’t decide on his own. He grabbed his phone and texted for backup.

pick a number <

1, 2, or 3 <

From: You, 5:48pm

> THREE

From: Sicheng, 5:48pm

pick a number <

1, 2, or 3 <

From: You, 5:48pm

> three!!

From: Guanheng, 5:49pm

Dejun breathed, quietly thankful he didn’t have to change his outfit again. He quickly fixed his hair, reapplied his cologne, and waited until it was time to leave.

The car pulled up to a lively venue with sleek expensive cars lining the driveway. The entrance glimmered under chandeliers with fountains nearby. Dejun’s family checked in and drifted into the crowd with Dejun close behind. He recognized many of the families here, but he was scanning the room, looking for one person in particular.

Until he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you.” Guanheng said, slipping an arm around Dejun’s shoulders and guiding him through the crowd like it was the most natural thing in the world. Dejun quietly recalled Sicheng’s words from their last conversation.

Dejun, caught off guard, tried to focus on anything other than the warmth and familiarity of Guanheng’s arm. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Guanheng led them to a quieter corner, casually swiping two glasses of something from a passing waiter. He handed one to Dejun before taking a sip of his own, his eyes scanning the room. Then, he turned, locking eyes with a very confused Dejun.

He looked like he was about to say something, but Dejun’s breath was caught. The way the black suit hugged Guanheng’s taller frame, the subtle details on his blazer, the way his hair looked soft and perfectly styled, it was unfair. Guanheng looked perfect.

Meanwhile, Guanheng faltered for a moment as he took in the sight of Dejun up close. The tailored suit highlighted his slim figure perfectly. His hairstyle framed his delicate face just right, drawing attention to the curve of his jaw and his normally narrowed eyes wide and bright with curiosity.

Then he remembered what he dragged Dejun here to tell him in the first place.

“Dejun, there’s going to be something… different at this party, and I need you to not be confused. I’m telling you because I trust you and your presence might be the only thing keeping me sane tonight.” Guanheng spoke lowly.

“Hey, don’t worry, I’m here for you. But I still have no idea what you’re talking about.” Dejun blinked.

“Earlier today, my mother found out that my father invited his new mistress to the dinner–something she explicitly made him agree never to do, despite hating each other. I think it sent her spiraling, she hates losing control,” Guanheng said, occasionally throwing a polite smile and nodding at passersby. “She hit the whiskey hard before we got here. She’s trying not to show it, but it’s a disaster waiting to happen. My father’s unfazed, but he’s definitely moodier than usual.”

Dejun, finally beginning to understand the situation, leaned closer as his curiosity piqued. “What about your sisters?”

“Weilan and Jingyi are doing damage control. They’re trying to sober her up without making a scene. Yuhua is doing her usual thing, pretending she’s not part of the family.” Guanheng’s voice was calm, but there was a particular edge to it. Dejun glanced around until he spotted a young woman in a deep purple dress chatting with an older couple. He thought back to the time he met her, remembering the curt and apathetic way she spoke to him.

“It’s never been this bad before,” Guanheng muttered, drawing Dejun’s attention back to him. “At this point, I just wanna get through this night without shit going down. I don’t know what to do, I’ve just been talking to people so they don’t interact with my mother long enough to realize how wasted she is.”

Dejun rested a hand on his shoulder. “There’s not much you can do. Whatever happens, I’ll do my best to help.”

Guanheng paused before smiling warmly, yet again placing his hand over Dejun’s. “Just being here is enough, Dejun. You’re all I need.”

What. What does he mean by that. Dejun thought.

“Ah,” Guanheng muttered, his attention switching to the front of the room. “There she is.”

Dejun followed his line of sight to Mrs. Huang, who stood poised at the microphone. To anyone else, she looked flawless, elegant and composed. Yet, Dejun definitely noticed something was off based on his first interaction with her.

A hair out of place, the slight wobble in her stance, the rosy flush on her cheeks, the faint glassiness in her eyes. She was not okay. Mr. Huang was standing next to her with his hand on her back, pretending to be the loving husband everyone thought he was.

“Hello, everyone,” She began, her voice smooth but slightly strained. “Thank you all for joining us tonight to celebrate this incredible partnership with the Choi family…”

Dejun tuned her out, his attention drifting to Mr. Huang’s distant gaze, following it to a much younger woman a few tables away. He felt a pang of secondhand embarrassment for Guanheng and his sisters, who were scattered around the room and somehow holding it together remarkably better than their parents.

The room erupted into applause, snapping Dejun back to reality. He clapped along half-heartedly, tapping his right hand that was holding his drink. Once they were no longer the center of attention, Mrs. Huang stepped down, lightly stumbling off to god knows where, and Mr. Huang took the vacant seat next to the other woman.

“That was awful.” Guanheng muttered. Dejun nodded in agreement, unsure of what to say.

Guanheng cleared his throat and downed the rest of his drink in one swift motion. “Let’s find something to eat before this night gets worse.”

Dejun followed him, unsure what was more overwhelming: the potential turn of chaos of the party or the fluttering feeling that refused to leave whenever Guanheng was near.

Dejun sat alone at the table, enjoying the brief peace as Guanheng mingled with his parents’ associates. The room had shifted over time, the chandeliers dimming to a softer gleam, the buzz of conversations blending with the sound of clinking glasses. Some guests were indulging in desserts while others were socializing with strangers. Dejun had his fair share of introductions earlier, politely exchanging words with his parents’ friends, occasionally meeting some of their daughters they not-so-subtly suggested as potential matches. Thankfully, Mr. and Mrs. Xiao skillfully steered the topic away, fully aware and supportive of their son’s sexuality. He even encountered Guanheng’s friend from the bakery, sharing a fleeting conversation during her break before she had to disappear back to the party bustle.

Now left to his own devices, Dejun let his eyes wander, taking in the intricate decorations of the venue and silently letting himself relax at the soothing tunes of the string ensemble. Maybe he relaxed too hard, he didn’t even realize when the music had shifted and was replaced by a DJ. The dance floor came alive, couples and friends flooding the space. Even the usually reserved company officials had abandoned conformity for a rare moment of fun, and it was oddly amusing to witness.

A familiar presence plopped into the seat next to him with a quiet huff. “I’m done talking to people, like, I’m actually done. I can’t do it anymore.” Guanheng spoke, maintaining his perfect poise despite the exhaustion in his voice.

Dejun turned to him, sympathy evident on his face. “It’s okay. The night’s almost over.”

Without a word, Guanheng reached under the table, taking one of Dejun’s hands that were neatly folded in his lap. He intertwined their fingers, searching for some sort of familiarity and grounding in a night of uncertainty and talking to new faces. Their hands rested discreetly out of view. Guanheng’s thumb brushed lightly over Dejun’s knuckles as he gave him a small, tired smile.

Dejun blinked, utterly caught off guard, although realistically, he shouldn’t be at this point. It was a habit of Guanheng’s, these spontaneous moments of holding his hands, acting as if it were no big deal. It wasn’t a big deal to Dejun either, until Sicheng offered his ever-so-helpful “advice” that caused a revelation in Dejun, making him fully realize that no matter how many times it happened, it always felt new, electrifying, and terrifying all at once. He’s so screwed.

Eventually, the music shifted again, a slow, melodic tune filling the room. People divided from the crowd, pairing up with their significant others for a slow dance. Dejun didn’t think much of it until he felt a gentle tug at his hand.

“Wanna dance?” Guanheng’s voice was soft, his expression earnest.

Dejun hesitated. He could already feel the heat rising in his cheeks at the thought of dancing in front of everyone. He knew his family would see and, without question, would tease him for weeks. After seeing the sincerity in Guanheng’s eyes, he nodded anyway.

(And if he was being honest, he wanted to make Guanheng happy. Not that he’d admit it.)

Hand in hand, he allowed Guanheng to lead them to the dance floor. Dejun tried not to fidget as he placed one hand on the taller boy’s shoulder, while Guanheng’s free hand gently settled on his waist. Their joined hands stayed between them, and Guanheng pulled him close.

Dejun’s nerves had never been this bad before, genuinely. For someone who was used to the stage, this was comically uncharacteristic of him. Everything about Guanheng made his chest tighten: his steady presence, the faint scent of his cologne, the way his gaze never wavered. The eye contact became too much and he shyly buried his face in Guanheng’s shoulder for a few moments, earning a soft chuckle. His gaze flickered across the room, spotting his parents dancing together and his brother seated at the bar, smirking in pure amusement. Dejun knew he’d be teased mercilessly later, but he tried to push the thought aside. Despite the number of people on the floor, it felt like the whole world had their eyes on them.

“Dejun,” Guanheng said, his voice quieter, as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear. Dejun looked up, the intensity of Guanheng’s dark eyes sent a shiver down his spine. He felt pinned in place.

“What?” Dejun asked softly, his voice slightly catching in his throat.

Guanheng’s hand shifted slightly on his waist, a subtle move yet Dejun could feel every millimeter of it. “You know this feels different, right? It always does with you.”

Dejun swallowed hard. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, you’re more perceptive than this. You know exactly what I mean,” He whispered, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles, “And if I’m wrong, you can laugh at me later.”

Before Dejun could process the words, Guanheng leaned in, slowly, achingly slow, his hand drifting up to cup Dejun’s jaw. The taller boy’s thumb brushed lightly along his cheek, causing Dejun’s breath to hitch audibly. He should say something, anything, but no words came.

Guanheng paused, his lips hovering so close that Dejun could feel the faint warmth of his breath. “If this isn’t okay, tell me now.”

Dejun’s lips parted, but no protest came. His heart was pounding in his ears, but he didn’t pull back.

Guanheng closed the distance.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like a question waiting for an answer. For a second, Dejun froze, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions: the fear, the elation, the sheer disbelief. Then, as if his body moved on its own, he tilted his head and kissed back. The touch deepened slightly, Guanheng’s hand slipping from Dejun’s jaw to his neck, his thumb resting just beneath his ear. Dejun’s hand found its way to Guanheng’s lapel, gripping it tightly as if to steady himself.

A soft gasp escaped Dejun as they pulled apart, foreheads barely touching. There were scattered whispers, a few quiet cheers, and even some clapping. Dejun realized, belatedly, that people had noticed. And, even more belatedly, that that moment had potentially tampered with Guanheng’s reputation, something he worked so hard to maintain.

His eyes snapped back to Guanheng, wide and alarmed. “Guanheng-”

“Let them talk. Out of all the skeletons in my family’s closet, this is the one I don’t mind being exposed.” Guanheng said simply, his voice steady and sure. His hand shifted to the small of Dejun’s back, holding him protectively. “And even if it weren’t, you’d still be worth it. Everytime. I’m done caring what these people think of me.”

Dejun blinked, silently letting Guanheng’s words sink in. “You mean that?” Dejun asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Every word.” He replied without hesitation.

Dejun’s heart swelled, a mix of relief, gratitude, and something deeper he hadn’t quite dared to name before. A soft, disbelieving laugh escaped him as he wordlessly reached to grasp Guanheng’s hand where it rested on his back.

“I don’t know what I did to earn your trust.” He whispered.

Guanheng intertwined their fingers. “You listened when no one else would, you stayed when I thought everyone would leave. You held my truths close like they were your own. That’s more than I ever dared to hope for.”

Against all odds, the rest of the party passed without further incident, thanks to Guanheng’s sisters managing to sober up their mother just enough for her to gracefully see off the guests and co-hosts at the end of the night.

Dejun and his family had been one of the last ones to leave. Guanheng stood at the entrance, a faint smile on his face as he shared a warm hug with Dejun’s mother, shook hands with her husband and her eldest son, and leaned down to press a soft kiss on Dejun’s temple.

“Goodnight,” Dejun murmured, a hint of reluctance in his voice.

“Goodnight,” Guanheng replied, his eyes lingering on Dejun as he stepped into the car. He stayed rooted at the door, watching until the car disappeared around the corner. Only then did he release a slow, shaky exhale and turn back toward the now empty venue. His hands slipped into his pockets, his footsteps the only sound in the quiet room as he moved back inside.

“Guanheng.”

The sharp tone froze him in his tracks. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Yes, mother?”

She approached him, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. She crossed her arms, her posture rigid with barely restrained anger.

“What were you thinking?” Her voice was cold, cutting. “Do you realize what you’ve done tonight? Kissing that boy, here, in front of everyone? Do you have any idea what this will do to our family’s reputation?”

Guanheng tilted his head slightly, his hands still in his pockets. “Reputation,” He repeated, his voice flat. “Is this what this is about?”

“We’ve spent years building this family’s image. One night, one impulsive, thoughtless decision, and you may have jeopardized everything. Do you know how much damage control I’ll have to do?”

“Damage control?” Guanheng echoed, his voice rising slightly as he finally turned to face her. His hands slipped from his pockets in the emphasis of his words. “Do you even fucking hear yourself? You’re more worried about what strangers think than your own son?”

Mrs. Huang’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t turn this around on me. I’ve done everything for you–”

“No, you’ve done everything for yourself,” Guanheng cut her off, his voice slightly trembling with years of pent-up anger. “You don’t even care the way this household’s fallen to complete shit as long as we can still put up this perfect little family facade. It’s time we finally acknowledged that.”

He took a breath, glancing around the room. It was just him and his mother in the conversation, but the rest of the family members were quietly listening from the sidelines. His father nursing a drink at the bar, two of his sisters slouched in their seats, his third one leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, no one bothering to mask their personas now that all the guests were gone. Now that Guanheng thought about it, this was the first time in a long time that all of them were together in a room.

“You don’t care that Dad’s screwing his secretary while everyone pretends not to notice,” Guanheng spat, his voice gaining strength. “You don’t care that two of your daughters developed substance addictions or that the third barely acknowledges us anymore. But me being with another man in public, that’s the moment you finally decide to say something?”

Mrs. Huang opened her mouth to respond, but Guanheng wasn’t finished.

“You do not deserve to say that everything you do is for this family. You haven’t cared about this family in years. Ever since we moved, all you cared about was money and appearances, because you couldn’t stand the idea of people seeing you for what you really are: a bitter, self-absorbed hypocrite who would rather let her family fall apart than face reality.”

He turned to his father, his anger spilling over to the man seated quietly at the bar. “And you,” He said, pointing a finger. “You’ve really got the audacity to sit there, silent, like none of this has anything to do with you. Do you even realize what you’ve done? You’ve humiliated Mom, shattered what little respect any of us had for you, and for what? A fling? God knows how many at this point. You don’t even bother to hide it anymore.”

Guanheng stepped closer, his glare unwavering. “Even back then, I knew. We all knew. We all noticed when you started missing dinner more often, or when you’d lie about having your female staff members in your office for ‘business meetings’. You’re a pathetic excuse of a father.”

His father looked away, not saying a word. It only caused Guanheng to press on further. “You broke this family as much as Mom did, if not more. So don’t you dare sit there pretending like you’re better than her.”

“You two,” Guanheng said, turning his gaze to his sisters at the table. “How long are you going to keep pretending you’re fine? How long are you going to keep drowning yourselves in whatever you can find to avoid dealing with this shit? You think no one sees it? No one’s coming to save us. Not Mom, not Dad, and certainly not each other if we keep going like this.”

He finally turned to his sister leaning against the wall, her expression blank, detached. He let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t even know what I could say to you,” He said, his voice softening but still filled with hurt. “I don’t know if you’d care enough to listen, anyway. You didn’t care then, none of you did, so why would you start caring now? Why would you listen now, when you didn’t listen to me before?” If he noticed the way her expression softened by a fraction, he was too angry to acknowledge it.

He took a breath, glancing at the ceiling to steady himself. “I’m not saying I’m the only one who’s hurting. But why was I the only one who tried?”

The room was silent now, the weight of his words settling over them like a thick fog.

“I’m done.” Guanheng finally spoke again, his voice breaking. “I’m done pretending this is normal. I’m done carrying this family’s bullshit while everyone else looks the other way, and I’m done with you–” he glared at his mother, “acting like I’m the problem because I refuse to play along anymore and am finally comfortable to be myself, when in reality I was the only one who ever made an effort to fix things.”

He let out a shaky breath, his anger and frustration replaced by exhaustion. “You all can keep playing this game if you want. Keep pretending like everything’s fine while you continue living miserably. But don’t expect me to be a part of it. I’m fucking done.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked toward the door, his footsteps echoing in the heavy silence as he ignored his mother’s angry calls for him.

The cool night air hit Guanheng’s face as he stepped outside, his chest heaving as he properly breathed for what felt like the first time in years. Years of bottled-up emotions had finally come to light, leaving him hollow and drained. He started toward the driveway, needing space, needing air, needing anything that wasn’t that house or those people.

“Guanheng, wait!”

A different voice stopped him in his tracks. He turned to see his older sister, Yuhua, the one who hadn’t willingly interacted with him in years. She was jogging after him, wrapping her leather jacket around herself tightly in the chilly night air.

Despite the surprise at her sudden acknowledgement of him, he didn’t feel she deserved much of his leftover energy. “What?” He asked, his voice flat.

She stopped a few feet away, catching her breath. “I… I wanted to talk to you,” she said, her voice unsteady but determined. “About what you said in there.”

“What about it?” He said, his tone sharper now. “You want to tell me I was out of line? Go ahead. Say it.”

“No, that’s not–” She cut herself off, visibly frustrated. “That’s not what I’m trying to say. I just… I’m sorry, okay?”

Guanheng blinked, his anger momentarily giving way to confusion. “You’re sorry?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice trembling. “For everything. For not being there. For walking away. For–” She hesitated, as if the words physically pained her. “For abandoning you when you needed me most.”

He stared at her, the words sinking in, but they weren’t enough. They felt too late, too thin to mend the wounds.

“You think an apology fixes it?” He said, his voice low but laced with venom. “Do you think it’s that easy to repair what you’ve done?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he didn’t give her the chance. He thought he had gotten all of it out earlier, but he could feel the words and frustration rising up in him again.

“You were my best friend, the one I trusted the most.” He said. “You were my safe space. And then, one day, you just… disappeared. Yet, for some reason, I still kept trying to talk to you. You were the one I ran to when I saw Dad with another woman in our own house. You were the one I turned to for help when I saw Weilan and Jingyi barely conscious in their rooms. You were the only one I trusted enough to cry to when Mom tore me down for not living up to her stupid fucking expectations. You turned your back on me, you pretended I didn’t exist. Like any of us existed.”

Her expression crumpled, but he pressed on.

“Do you know what it’s like to be a kid, thinking you have someone who’ll always have your back, only to realize they’re gone? To realize they’ve decided you’re not worth the effort anymore? Do you know how many nights I stayed up wondering what I did wrong? Why I wasn’t enough for you to care?”

Tears welled in her eyes, but Guanheng didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

“You were supposed to be my big sister,” he said, his voice cracking. “You were supposed to protect me. Instead, you left me alone in that house, with all their bullshit, with no one to turn to. You betrayed me, Yuhua.”

She took a step closer, her own voice shaking now. “I know. I know I did, and I’m sorry. I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t handle everything that was happening, so I hid away in the house, but I was wrong. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve fought for you. I should’ve been there. Guanheng, I’m so sorry.”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of the anger just yet.

“You don’t get to come back now. Not after all those years I waited, secretly hoping you’d show up. Just like you had given up on me, I gave up on you. You don’t get to say sorry and expect everything to be okay. You left me when I needed you most, and I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for that.”

Her shoulders sagged, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just… I wanted you to know that I’m sorry, that I see now how much I hurt you. I fucked up bad, Guanheng, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you, if you’ll let me.

“I miss you,” she said, her voice cracking. She took a hesitant step forward, her hands trembling as she reached out. “I miss my baby brother.”

Guanheng stiffened when her arms gently wrapped around him, the gesture foreign yet so familiar, and almost unwelcome after years of estrangement. His hands stayed at his sides, clenched into fists, as though holding himself together would stop the flood of emotions threatening to break him. He felt her warmth, smelled the faint trace of her perfume that hadn’t changed since they were younger.

Then the tears came. Involuntary, hot streaks down his face, carrying years of anger, hurt, and longing he thought he had buried. His breath hitched, and he fought the overwhelming urge to sink into the embrace. To forgive, to forget, to let her pretend the cracks in their relationship could be mended so easily.

He couldn’t, not yet.

Guanheng pulled away, stepping out of her arms and out of reach. He wiped at his tears hastily, refusing to let himself look at her fully. His voice, though thick with emotion, was resolute.

“I don’t know if we can ever fix this, Yuhua.” He said quietly, his words heavy with finality. He glanced at her then, just for a moment, and the heartbreak in her eyes almost made him falter. “You’ve caused irreparable damage with your cowardice. I don’t even know where we’d start. Not after everything.”

Yuhua’s tears kept falling, but she nodded, stepping back to give him space.

“I understand. I’m sorry.” She whispered, her voice barely audible.

He lingered for a beat longer, his chest tightening with conflicting emotions. Without another word, he turned and walked away. Although the confrontation with his mother earlier left him feeling somewhat liberated, this one somehow brought all the pain and anger back again.

Whether there was hope for them in the future, he didn’t know. Maybe he’d think about it later, when the emotions weren’t so raw. For now, he couldn’t give her the closure she sought.

He continued walking, not really caring where he was going, too busy mentally unpacking tonight’s events. His eyes still stung from crying but the wind had dried most of his tears. It wasn’t until he found himself on a familiar street that he realized he was near Dejun’s house. How long had he been wandering for?

For a moment, he stood frozen, staring down the quiet road. Would it be selfish to show up now, after everything? He had just seen Dejun earlier tonight, he wasn’t sure if it was fair to burden him again so soon. Yet, despite his uncertainty, he pulled out his phone. His fingers hovered over the screen, hesitant, before he started typing out a message.

dejun? <

are you home? <

From: You, 12:32am

> yup!

> whats up?

> are you okay?

From: Dejun, 12:32am

uhhh not quite sure <

i just had a big time argument with my family <

not really an argument tbh, i did most of the yelling <

went out for a walk to get fresh air <

ended up in your neighbourhood by accident <

either you live really close to the venue or i just walked for a super long time lol <

From: You, 12:33am

sorry i know this is weird, we just saw eachother earlier <

if youre about to sleep, dont let me bother you <

i can call for a ride <

From: You, 12:34am

> WAIT WAIT

> ITS NOT WEIRD ITS NOT WEIRD

> I WAS GONNA STAY UP ANYWAY

> if youre nearby pls come over

> spend the night

> you can talk to me if you need

> definitely wanna hear about that verbal smackdown on your family

> or we can bask in silence, im down for either

From: Dejun, 12:34am

> i initially had plans to play a heinous amount of video games but this is way more important

> its no inconvenience guanheng i promise

> everyone went to their rooms already so i can sneak you in hehe

From: Dejun, 12:35am

okay, if youre sure <

i’ll lyk when im outside <

thanks again <

youre saving me once again tonight <

From: You, 12:36am

> YESSS

> no need to thank me, im here for you always ^^

From: Dejun, 12:36am

Guanheng pocketed his phone and sighed, his mind settling ever so slightly. As he walked towards Dejun’s house, his confrontation with his family replayed in his head, every word echoing louder than the last. For so long, he had kept those emotions buried, realizing at a young age that no one was willing to listen or put in the effort.

He kicked at a stray pebble on the sidewalk, watching it skitter across the ground before losing sight of it on the grass. How did it get to this point? He wondered. Were we bound to fall apart from the start?

Then came Dejun. It hadn’t been immediate, his feelings for Dejun had crept in, gentle but inevitable. When they first properly met, Guanheng had been polite, distant, keeping a wall up like he had trained himself to do under the overbearing gaze of his mother. He had quickly realized that Dejun wasn’t flashy or overly demanding of attention, which was a rare sight for a university full of rich kids. He just existed, a steady, calming presence.

He recalled what Dejun had said to him when they had just met, “I’d rather start on a blank slate, and then form my own judgement from there.”.

It was said absentmindedly, but it had stuck. That same day, when they sat across from each other in the library, discussing first impressions and expectations, Guanheng found himself wondering: What would it be like to be seen the way Dejun sees people?

Guanheng had never met someone who looked at him like that before, like he wasn’t just another cog in his family’s machine. Dejun didn’t care about his status, and he treated him like another human being.

That night at Guanheng’s house when he told Dejun the truth about his family, Dejun never ran away or looked at him differently. He listened, and stayed, being the first person in Guanheng’s life to do that for a very long time. After well over a decade of seeing through his family’s masks, he knew Dejun never wore one, he didn’t need it. Even when he saw Dejun’s flawless acting for their project, Guanheng could still see the truth in his eyes.

At first, Guanheng had been wary of Dejun–not because he was necessarily untrustworthy, but because he saw too much. Most people accepted the “perfect model student” version of him without question, but Dejun read between the lines, catching the cracks no one else, not even Guanheng himself, noticed. No one had ever done that before, no one was supposed to. Guanheng spent many nights staying up, head ringing with alarm bells, every instinct screaming at him to put more distance between them before Dejun could unravel him completely. At the same time, that terrifying clarity was exactly what made Guanheng want to stay, to let Dejun keep looking, just to see if, for once, he would have someone to trust again.

By the time he caught himself watching Dejun smile a little too long, or constantly reaching out to hold his hand, it was too late. His feelings had already settled, quiet and certain. Dejun had become the one thing in his life that felt real, untainted by the hollowness of his family or the expectations that weighed him down. Guanheng hadn’t planned on falling for him, he never even entertained the thought of letting someone in that much, but he didn’t regret it, not one bit.

These thoughts kept him deep in his head until he finally saw Dejun’s house amongst all the expensive houses in the neighbourhood. When he reached the front door, his heart pounded, unsure if he would control his emotions once he saw Dejun. He quickly sent a text that he was outside, feeling a sense of déjà vu.

It was another minute until Dejun opened the door, a comforting smile growing on his face.

“Hey,” Dejun said softly, stepping aside to let Guanheng in.

“Hey,” Guanheng replied, his voice slightly hoarse. He slipped inside, the warmth of the house instantly wrapping around him as Dejun shut the door.

Dejun led Guanheng upstairs to his room, quietly closing the door behind them. The familiar scent of his space and the warm light gently illuminating the room in a soft glow took some weight off Guanheng’s chest. Dejun eyed Guanheng up and down before speaking. “I guess you didn’t go home after the party, huh?” He smirked.

Guanheng blinked before looking down at himself, realizing he was still in a suit. “Oh, yeah. Right. I didn’t get the chance. I totally forgot I was wearing this.”

Dejun chuckled before walking towards the closet. Guanheng watched as he opened it and rifled through hangers and shelves, quietly taking in his appearance. His hair was still damp from a shower, some strands adorably sticking out in different directions. He was wearing his glasses again, something Guanheng didn’t get to see often, and his oversized hoodie and sweats made him look effortlessly cozy. It was quite an endearing sight.

After a moment, Dejun pulled out a pair of black sweatpants and a dark green sweater. “Change into this, you’ll be more comfortable.”

Guanheng accepted the clothes with a quiet “Thanks,” before Dejun silently replied with a small smile and subtly tilting his head. “Washroom’s in there,” he nodded to the other side of the room, “If you wanted to shower and wash up as well, there’s extra towels in the cabinet. Take your time, I’ll be here.” He said. Guanheng nodded before quickly pressing a kiss on Dejun’s cheek (an action that was already becoming a habit) before retreating to the washroom, pretending like he didn’t see the way his face turned red.

After a hot shower, Guanheng stepped out of the washroom now wearing the soft, well-worn clothes Dejun had given him. They were a little loose and smelled exactly like Dejun, an incredibly comforting sensation. He found him lying on the bed, watching something on his phone. Guanheng didn’t say a word as he dropped onto the bed beside him, face first, letting his body sink into the softness of the mattress. He ended up nearly sprawled across the bed, his head resting on Dejun’s chest, his arms flung out, tired and lazily.

Dejun put his phone aside before wrapping his arms around Guanheng in a protective, comforting embrace. “Feeling better?” He asked softly.

Guanheng let out a deep sigh. “Yeah. Thanks again, for all of this.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” Dejun said softly. “I’m glad you came here.”

For a moment, silence settled between them, quiet and comfortable. Dejun didn’t push, simply waiting, his presence a steady anchor.

Finally, Guanheng let out a tired, hollow laugh. “I came here ready to tell you everything, but now I can’t even find the right words. It’s all tangled.”

Dejun adjusted his chin where it rested against Guanheng’s head, his fingers lightly tracing over his shoulder. “That’s okay. You don’t have to force it. If you never want to talk about it, that’s fine too.” He paused, then smirked. “You went all out, didn’t you?”

Guanheng exhaled sharply through his nose, nodding wordlessly.

“Nice.”

That actually got a quiet chuckle out of him, the corners of his lips twitching upward.

“Are you okay with sitting in silence?” Dejun asked. “Or I can ramble for a bit as a distraction.”

“Please talk,” Guanheng mumbled. “I like hearing your voice.”

Dejun stilled for half a second, heat rising up his face at the unexpected compliment. “Oh. Well, uh, what do you wanna hear about?”

Guanheng hummed. “Tell me about your day. Before the party.”

Dejun’s fingers idly made their way to Guanheng’s hair, gently combing through it as he thought. “Hm. You know my friend, Ten, right? This morning, I was stuck for hours helping him write his literature paper. He’s so dramatic. He keeps abusing the ‘I’m a foreigner’ excuse as if he doesn’t already speak, read, and write Chinese like it’s his native language.”

He received a tiny smile from Guanheng.

“Then I got home, took a shower, may or may not have spent way too much time overthinking my outfit. Went to the party, left, came home, and weirdly enough, showered again–which I never do. It felt like the day happened twice. I thought about the really hot guy who kissed me at the party, then played games with Sicheng until you texted. Pretty sure that’s everything.”

Guanheng snorted. “Who’s the guy that kissed you?”

Dejun huffed. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Guanheng lifted his head slightly, propping his chin against Dejun’s chest as he squinted at him in mock suspicion. “I would like to know, actually.”

Dejun hummed. “Mhm. Too bad, though. Some mysteries are better left unsolved.”

Guanheng was unimpressed. “You’re a terrible storyteller.” His voice was lighter now, the weight of the earlier conversations momentarily forgotten.

“I just told you my entire day in chronological order,” Dejun shot back. “Not my fault you can’t handle suspense.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why are you so curious? Jealous?”

Guanheng clicked his tongue. “Should I be?”

“Maybe. It was a pretty damn good kiss.”

Guanheng shifted, his weight slightly lifting off Dejun’s chest as he supported himself on his arms, caging Dejun against the bed as their legs slotted together. His hair fell over his face, partially covering his dark eyes. “You think I can beat it?” He challenged.

Dejun’s hand had fallen from Guanheng’s hair, moving to grasp his waist. “Why don’t you try? It’s pretty tough competition.”

“Well. Guess I’d have to give it my all, then.”

Before Dejun could process those words, Guanheng was closing the space between them, pressing their lips together again, warm, unhurried, deliberate.

Neither of them had forgotten the way their first kiss ended, the way it lingered like something unfinished, something unresolved. Except this time, they weren’t surrounded by a crowd. There were no prying eyes, no interruptions. They were alone in the quiet of Dejun’s room, the air thick with the energy of something dangerously inevitable.

Dejun’s grip on Guanheng’s waist tightened when he felt his fingers graze up his jaw, resting just behind his ear. A shiver went down his spine as he kissed back with the same fervor.

Guanheng tilted his head, hungry, pressing in further, pushing Dejun against the mattress. Dejun barely managed a sharp inhale before Guanheng took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue brushing against Dejun’s bottom lip before briefly biting it gently, tasting, testing, teasing. His hand trailed from Dejun’s jaw slowly, making its way down until sliding into Dejun’s hoodie, placing itself flat against his toned stomach.

Dejun’s head spun as he made a quiet sound against his lips, something caught between surprise and surrender. His free hand instinctively reached up to grasp Guanheng’s hair, tangling in the dark strands, this time a less innocent touch. He tugged lightly, receiving a hum of approval.

If their first kiss was a spark, this was a wildfire, something that had been building all night, maybe even longer, and now there was nothing stopping it from consuming them both.

Guanheng kissed Dejun like he was chasing a memory, like he was determined to replace the remnants of their earlier moment with something more tangible, more real. There was a quiet desperation, like he craved him, which he was, and Dejun could feel himself unravelling beneath it, beneath him.

They finally parted, just enough for their lips to hover, both of them lingering in the space between what just happened and what might come next.

“Better?” Guanheng said, his voice low, slightly breathless.

Dejun exhaled a shaky laugh as he caught his breath, dazed, his fingers still curled in Guanheng’s hair. “Definitely. Please do it again.”

A grin tugged at Guanheng’s lips before he dived down once more, the space between them disappearing once again.

The first thing Guanheng registered was warmth.

It was unfamiliar, unlike the cold mornings he was used to. It took him a moment to remember where he was, why his face was pressed into the fabric of someone’s hoodie, why there was a steady heartbeat beneath his ear.

Dejun.

Guanheng cracked his eyes open, his vision still hazy with sleep. Sunlight filtered in through the window, manifesting as golden rays across Dejun’s room. At some point in the night, their legs had tangled together.

For a moment, he just laid there, unwilling to move, unwilling to acknowledge anything beyond this quiet bubble of comfort.

Unfortunately, as a creature of habit, he reached for his phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up, too bright for his tired eyes. He squinted at the flood of notifications. His stomach twisted.

> Where are you?

> Come home immediately.

> Were you seen sneaking around?

From: Mother, 1:40am

> Guanheng. Call me back.

From: Father, 2:01am

> I’ve no idea where you went after we talked, but I meant what I said earlier. I hope you’re okay.

> Mom had a breakdown when we got home. Screaming, crying, throwing things. It was bad. I think you leaving made her realize she’s losing control.

> Dad locked himself in his office. Weilan and Jingyi, I don’t know what they’re thinking. They were just trying to calm Mom down before she did something she would end up regretting.

From: Yuhua, 3:23am

> Once this blows over I’m moving out and starting anew, I’m guessing you’ve already decided to do the same.

> I should’ve done it sooner.

> I’m keeping the door open for you, but if you decide to shut it, I understand.

> I know I don’t have the right to say this, but just… let me know if you’re safe.

From: Yuhua, 3:24am

Guanheng stared at the last message, his fingers hovering over the screen. He locked his phone, not having the mental energy to process it at the moment.

The weight in his chest felt eerily familiar, the same tight, suffocating feeling he used to wake up with as a kid. The same feeling that never truly left him.

It brought back a wave of memories.

A dinner table, perfectly set, eerily silent.

The clinking of silverware was the only sound between them. No conversation, no laughter, just the artificial, distant routine of a family who barely functioned as one.

His mother broke the silence.

“Sit up straight, Guanheng.”

He obeyed without thinking, back going rigid. Across from him, Yuhua gave him a quick glance, then went back to picking at her plate. His other sisters didn’t do anything, his father didn’t even look up.

The moment passed. The silence resumed.

He was curled up in a corner of the living room, knees pulled to his chest. He didn’t remember why he was crying, only that the tears wouldn’t stop, and that no one had come to find him.

The house was so big.

And he was so small.

He was standing in front of a mirror, fingers gripping the edges of the washroom sink. His reflection stared back at him, tired, drained.

He had just come back from a school event. He had won an award.

His mother smiled for the pictures, had kissed him on the cheek in front of everyone. She told him she was proud of him. When they got in the car, she didn’t say a word to him the whole ride home.

He wasn’t sure why he expected anything different.

The most prominent memories were the ones with Yuhua.

Guanheng had always been a wanderer, endlessly curious about the world around him. As a child, their new home felt vast and full of secrets, each hallway and hidden corner an adventure waiting to be explored. Artworks, books, tools, and instruments fascinated him, each an invitation to investigate. He loved sneaking out after bedtime, slipping through the night like a ghost. Despite this routine being a favourite of his, it would eventually lead him to seeing things he shouldn’t have seen.

He was standing frozen in the hallway just outside his father’s office. The door was slightly ajar, enough for him to see his father sitting on the edge of his desk, his hand resting on the thigh of a woman who was most definitely not his mother. They were laughing softly, their voices low and intimate.

Guanheng’s heart pounded, his hands shaking as he backed away. He ran to Yuhua’s room, where he knocked on her door until she opened it.

“What is it?” She asked, indifference laced in her tone.

“I- I saw Dad,” Guanheng stammered, voice quivering. “With someone else. A woman.”

Yuhua’s expression froze, eyes hardening, and for a moment he thought she’d do something, help him, comfort him, confront their dad. She only sighed, rubbing her temple.

“It’s none of our business,” She muttered. “Stay out of it, Guanheng. Go back to sleep, forget what you saw.”

He was wandering through the empty hallways. It was late, too late for anyone to be awake. He couldn’t sleep.

The sharp scent of alcohol and soft, muffled crying led him to Jingyi’s room. He found her there, slumped against the desk with a bottle in her hand and tears streaming down her face.

“Jingyi?” He whispered, stepping closer. “Are you okay?”

She glanced up at him, her eyes glassy and unfocused. “Go back to bed, Guanheng. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Wait, I can help–”

“Go!” She snapped, her voice cracking.

He startled, the shock causing his breath to hitch. He ran out of the room, heart heavy, confusion and fear pressing down on him.

He remembered the apathy he received from Yuhua the last time they talked, so he opted to keep the incident to himself that night.

Until a couple nights later when he found Weilan in her room, an empty pill bottle on the floor as her hands gripped at her hair. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, bloodshot, guilty.

“Get out,” She whispered, voice shaking. “You shouldn’t see this.”

Guanheng didn’t move. “Weilan, what happened? You’re scaring me.”

“Leave, Guanheng.” She said again, voice hardening. “Forget you saw anything.”

The stacking haunting images of his sisters drove him to find Yuhua again in the hopes of finally convincing her to help.

“They’re just coping in their own ways. Leave them be.”

It felt like an instruction, an order to ignore, to pretend.

How could he ignore his sisters slowly drowning in their own pain?

He was choking on sobs on the floor of Yuhua’s room.

“Mom said I embarrassed her,” He cried, the words stumbling out between gasps. “She said I’m a failure, that I’ll never be good enough, that I’ll ruin everything she’s built–”

Yuhua sighed, leaning back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest. “You know how she is. Just try harder next time. Do what she wants. You’re making this harder than it needs to be. Just stop crying and listen to her.”

Guanheng didn’t know why he kept going back to Yuhua, subconsciously he had already realized that she wasn’t the same person she used to be. Yet, running to her for help was practically muscle memory for him. He’d done it all his life. It was all he knew. She was all he knew.

Guanheng was twenty-one.

The hallways used to feel endless. He remembered wandering them like they were new places to explore every time. Now, they only led him to the same places, the same silence, the same weight pressing on his chest.

He walked slowly, barely making a sound against the cold marble floors. His father’s office door was shut. He used to catch glimpses inside when he was younger, hushed voices, acts that were too intimate than they should’ve been. Now, he didn’t bother looking. Whatever went on in there didn’t matter anymore.

His mother’s room was next, a faint glow from the bedside lamp seeped through the crack beneath the door. At this point, he didn’t need to go in to know what he’d find. Maybe she’s blacked out, maybe she’s caught in her own reflection at the vanity. Either way, he passed by without slowing.

Weilan and Jingyi’s doors were open just a sliver. Music played softly from inside one room, the other one had a drama on at a low volume. He could smell the alcohol, hear the distant click of a lighter. Years ago, he would’ve knocked, maybe slipped inside to check in, to pry, to worry, to scold. Now, he just kept walking.

Then came Yuhua’s room.

Her door had always been cracked open for him, just enough to let him know she was there, an invitation for him to push it open and walk in whenever he wanted to. A quiet, familiar comfort. Now, it was closed. It was dead silent inside. He didn’t even know if she was there.

Guanheng stopped, just for a second. He didn’t know what he was waiting for. A sound? A sign? Something to tell him that things hadn’t really changed as much as they had?

There was nothing. It’s been nothing for awhile. He knew that.

He swallowed, forced himself to keep walking.

By the time he reached his own door, everything felt heavier. The past, the present, the things he used to care about but couldn’t anymore. He stepped inside, shut the door behind him, and let the house continue existing without him.

A hand intertwined its fingers with his, warm, gentle, and achingly real.

He was so lost in his memories, not even realizing when Dejun had woken up or that he himself had been staring at the wall for awhile, or the way his fingers had curled into the fabric of Dejun’s hoodie, gripping it like a lifeline.

Dejun’s voice fully brought him back. “You okay?”

Guanheng didn’t answer right away. The memories still lingered, fading at the edges. He focused on the warmth beneath him, the steady rhythm of Dejun’s breathing. His mind settled a bit.

“Yeah,” He muttered, voice still thick with sleep. “I will be, at least.”

Dejun didn’t press further, his other hand idly fidgeting with Guanheng’s sweater.

It was silent for a moment as they just existed in each other’s company. Until Guanheng spoke. “I think I need to see a therapist, dude.”

Dejun didn’t speak as he processed Guanheng’s words before startling into a laugh. “I agree.”

A smile tugged at Guanheng’s lips at the comforting sound of Dejun laughing. “Did you have any plans today? Before I infiltrated your house.” Guanheng asked.

Dejun hummed. “Yeah, actually. I had planned on visiting some people, but since you’re here, I’d love for you to come with me.” He glanced down at Guanheng. “It’d be nice if you met them.”

“Oh?” Guanheng inquired. “Sounds exciting.”

They washed up after very begrudgingly leaving the comfort of the bed. Dejun had lent Guanheng an outfit appropriate for outside before they left the house unnoticed.

“We can walk, it’s not too far.” Dejun spoke after locking the door.

Once they stepped out, the crisp morning air greeted them, cool but mellowed by the golden warmth of the sun. It wasn’t too early, there were signs of the city waking for the day, the whoosh of a passing car, the rhythmic padding of joggers passing by, the occasional chirp of birds. Their footsteps fell in sync, neither of them rushing.

Dejun eventually broke the silence. “Let’s make a quick stop first.”

Guanheng looked at him questioningly as Dejun led him into a small florist tucked between two buildings. A bell chimed softly as they stepped inside, catching the scent of fresh, floral air. Sunlight filtered through the windows, capturing floating dust motes, painting the wooden shelves in gold.

Guanheng took in the space, admiring the neat rows of flowers and arrangements. He watched as Dejun browsed the selection.

“What’s the occasion?” Guanheng asked.

Dejun glanced at him, a small, knowing smile on his lips. “You’ll see.”

He carefully picked out a bouquet, lilies, white roses, baby’s breath. Simple and elegant. He handled it carefully, as if it held a weight beyond its fragile appearance. Guanheng didn’t ask more, sensing that the reason behind the flowers would reveal itself in time. Dejun paid quickly, and soon, they were walking again. The bouquet rested gently in one hand, the other tucked into his pocket.

The buzz of the city faded as they moved away from the main streets, buildings giving way to quieter roads. The air smelled cleaner here, untouched by the hurried energy of the city.

Guanheng didn’t realize where they were going until they passed through the open gates, the quiet vastness of the cemetery stretching before them. His steps slowed at the realization.

Dejun walked with familiarity, his pace steady as he led the way past rows of gravestones. Guanheng followed, his gaze tracing the carefully tended stones, the faded bouquets left by others who had come before them.

They stopped in front of a shared headstone.

Wang Qiaoyen

1970 - 2004

Wang Baolei

1968 - 2004

Dejun knelt down, placing the bouquet gently against the base of the stone. His fingers lingered on the petals for a moment before he stood up again.

“Hey Mom, hey Dad,” He said softly. “It’s been a while. Sorry I haven’t visited as much.”

His voice was steady, but there was something in it, something small, something tender. After a pause, he glanced at Guanheng, his gaze somewhat warm and unreadable.

“These are my birth parents.” He said, his voice quieter now. Then, with the smallest tilt of his lips, he gestured slightly toward Guanheng. “Mom, Dad, this is Guanheng. We haven’t known each other long but he's already become very important to me. You guys would like him.”

Guanheng blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Dejun was including him in this personal, private moment. Trusting him with it.

Warmth spread through his chest, solemn but not heavy. He stepped forward slightly, bowing his head in respect.

“I’m honoured to meet you.” He spoke softly.

The wind stirred gently, rustling the leaves above them. Dejun didn’t say anything for a moment, his expression unreadable. Guanheng stayed beside him, offering a quiet, solid presence.

Dejun didn’t look away from the names in front of him. “I don’t remember much of them. Most of what I know is from hearing stories about them.”

Guanheng stayed quiet, waiting.

Dejun sighed softly, thoughtful. “I remember warmth. Being held. My dad’s laugh was loud, my mom’s hands were soft. That’s about it.” A pause. “And the night they died. It was late, and we were driving home from visiting my grandparents. A second later…” He paused again, before inhaling deeply, as if trying to hold in the emotions.

“I remember waking up in the hospital. I remember the bright lights, the smell of antiseptic. I remember crying because I didn’t know where I was, because my mom wasn’t there.” He let out a quiet, humourless huff. “Apparently, I kept asking for them for days before someone finally explained it to me in a way I could understand.”

He didn’t elaborate on how that conversation had gone.

“The Xiao’s had immediately stepped up to take me in, they were my parents’ closest friends. I was in a foster home for a few days while they settled the adoption processes and legal shit. After that, I had a new home.”

Guanheng hummed, recalling the first time Dejun told him he was adopted. “What was it like growing up there?”

“Good. Really good. I was lucky. They took care of me, never tried to act like they were replacing my family, but they still treated me like I was always one of their own. They told me stories about my parents, always making sure I had something to know and remember them by.”

Dejun let the moment settle before speaking again, quieter this time. “Kid me didn’t fully process the grief, the mourning, the loss. That led to me rarely pondering it growing up, but now that I’m an adult, I see and understand what I have. I’m grateful for it, of course, but I just wonder… what could’ve been. Seeing my parents and noticing the traits and habits I inherited from them. Not having a chunk of my childhood gone from my memory out of trauma. It’s weird.”

Guanheng reached out, his hands finding Dejun’s at his side, letting their fingers lace together. A small gesture, nothing grand. Just presence, understanding. “They’d be proud of you, Dejun.”

Dejun closed his eyes briefly, swallowing. “Thank you.”

They stood there for a while, hand in hand, letting the quiet settle around them. The wind rustled softly through the trees, carrying the scent of fallen leaves. Guanheng’s thumb brushed absently against Dejun’s knuckles, grounding, steady.

After a long moment, Dejun exhaled, glancing down at their joined hands before looking back at the headstone. “We talked about this a couple days ago. About what would’ve been different if my parents were still alive, or if yours were normal.”

Guanheng’s grip tightened just slightly, recalling the conversation. “Do you think you’d be different?”

Dejun let out a breathy chuckle, but there wasn’t much humour in it. “Maybe. I probably would’ve pursued performing arts. Maybe I’d be stuck as an only child, or maybe they would’ve had more kids later. I would’ve been an heir for the business, maybe that would’ve happened instead.” He shrugged. “What about you?”

Guanheng huffed a quiet laugh. “Probably less of a control freak.” He glanced at the headstone again, gaze unfocused. “I wouldn’t have forced myself to pick up so many extracurriculars just to avoid being at home. I probably would’ve actually enjoyed my teen years instead of spending every weekend studying.”

Dejun watched him carefully before tilting his head toward the path behind them. “Come on,” he said softly. “There’s a bench over there.”

They walked in step, fingers still loosely linked, until they reached the old wooden bench shaded by a massive oak tree.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Guanheng exhaled, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “I yelled at them yesterday.” His voice was steady, but there was something beneath it. “I told them everything. Years of repressed thoughts and emotions came spilling out at once.”

Dejun glanced at him, his gaze soft yet searching. “Yeah? How’d it go?”

Guanheng stared down at his hands, like the answer was written somewhere in his palms. “To be honest, it felt like a blur. I don’t fully remember their faces. I called Mom out for her toxicity, reprimanded my useless father for his infidelity, and shamed my sisters for their cowardice. It was a confrontation I’ve anticipated for years. I always imagined I’d finally feel relieved once it happened, but by the time I walked out, I just felt painfully empty. Exhausted.”

Dejun placed a hand on Guanheng’s lap. “Guess that wasn’t all of it, huh?”

Guanheng shook his head, a dry chuckle escaping him. “No. Turns out I was only halfway done.”

Dejun tilted his head, waiting.

Guanheng sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yuhua followed me outside. Said she was sorry.” He let the words sit between them for a moment before scoffing. “For some reason, she chose now of all times.”

“I thought I was done being angry,” Guanheng admitted. “But with her, it was different. There was also frustration, grief, resentment. A bit of PTSD from my teen years.”

He leaned back against the bench, staring up at the branches overhead. “She hugged me for the first time in… I don’t know how long. A decade, probably.”

Dejun hummed, thoughtful. “And now you’re wondering what to do with her apology.”

Guanheng nodded. “Part of me wants to forgive her, because all I wanted for so long was to be close with her again. For everything to be the way it was.” His fingers twitched. “But the rest of me couldn’t give her that satisfaction so easily. She texted me after I left, I haven’t responded yet.”

Dejun’s voice was quiet, ever the steady one. “You don’t have to do anything, ever, if that’s what you want.”

Guanheng blinked, tilting his head toward him.

“You don’t have to forgive her, and you don’t have to shut her out completely, either.” Dejun said simply. “You can just exist with it for a while. Let it settle, or maybe it’ll eventually fade away. Maybe get a little revenge on her for making you wait for so long.” He joked lightly.

Guanheng smiled briefly before going quiet, his gaze distant. He let out a slow breath. “That sounds exhausting.”

Dejun smiled faintly. “Yeah, but so is carrying all of it alone.”

Guanheng met Dejun’s eyes, finding nothing but quiet understanding He shifted slightly, letting his knee knock against Dejun’s in something unspoken but deliberate.

Guanheng pursed his lips. “I’ll have to go back eventually.”

Dejun glanced down, nodding in thought. “Yeah.”

“I hate the idea of walking back into that house.” Guanheng spoke, fingers curling slightly against his knee. “But I still have things there.”

“You know what’s stupid?” Guanheng exhaled sharply, almost like a laugh, but there was no humour in it. “I could’ve left years ago. I could’ve found a way. I have enough saved up to move out now, if I wanted. I was originally going to wait until graduation, but…” He shook his head, gaze distant. “I don’t think I can anymore.”

“I keep wondering why I didn’t leave earlier,” he admitted. “Why I spent so many years suffocating in that house, knowing exactly what it was doing to me.” His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful than bitter. “Maybe some part of me was scared of how my mother would react, losing a pawn. Or maybe another part of me was still waiting, maybe I wanted to see if things would ever get better.”

“And now?” Dejun asked.

“Now… I don’t know.” Guanheng let out a breath. “After saying all those things to them yesterday, maybe I want to see if anything’s changed. If I’ve changed. Is that naive of me? To still hold hope?”

Dejun shook his head. “You’re not naive. Just trying to restore what used to be. It’s not your fault.”

“Whatever happens, Guanheng, you won’t have to go through it alone.” Dejun spoke softly, reaching to intertwine their fingers.

Guanheng blinked, turning to him. He opened his mouth, but no words came. There was too much to say. Nothing felt right, nothing felt enough.

So instead, he moved. His free hand reached over and cupped Dejun’s jaw before leaning in. Their lips met softly at first, before Dejun tilted his head deepening it slightly, melting into him. Dejun squeezed his hand, grounding him, holding him steady.

By the time Guanheng pulled away, his breath was uneven, his forehead hovering just inches from Dejun’s. It was far from their first kiss, but the way Guanheng’s heart pounded against his ribs always made it feel like the first time. He smiled at Dejun, pearly whites on full display, to which Dejun returned with his own bright grin.

The house loomed before him, just as pristine, just as hollow as he remembered. The lights were on, but they didn’t feel warm. Guanheng stepped inside, the faint echo of his footsteps bouncing off the marble floors. He moved quickly, taking the stairs two at a time, heading straight for his room. The plan was simple: grab his things and leave. No lingering, avoid unnecessary conversations. He had nothing left to say.

Dejun was sitting in the passenger seat of the car outside, engine running, headlights dimmed. He had offered to come in, but Guanheng had shaken his head. It won’t take long.

As he reached his bedroom door, he saw the light was already on. Someone was inside.

He pushed the door open without hesitation. Yuhua was sitting on the edge of his bed, back straight, hands folded neatly in her lap. Just as their mother taught them. She looked up as he entered, her expression unreadable, if not for a hint of relief.

“How long were you gonna sit and wait there?” He asked with little emotion.

“I thought you might come back.” She said, not answering his question.

Guanheng let out a slow exhale, stepping past her and tossing a bag on the bed. “Of course I did. Unlike some people, I don’t leave things behind and pretend they don’t exist.”

A flicker of something crossed her face, but she didn’t react otherwise. “I figured you wouldn’t want to talk.”

“Then why are you here?”

She hesitated, just for a second, before answering. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. And… I wanted to see if you were really going to do it.”

Guanheng let out a short, humourless laugh as he grabbed a handful of clothes from the closet. He was only packing his favourites, the essential items, stuff that mattered. Everything else can stay, he didn’t want too many things that were associated with this place. He has more than enough savings to buy new furniture, a new computer, new clothes. “What, leave? Walk out like I should’ve done years ago?” He shook his head. “You don’t need to wait around for confirmation, Yuhua. I meant what I said.”

She was quiet as he packed. He expected her to say something, to argue, to criticize, to tell him he was being dramatic. Instead, she simply asked, “Where are you gonna go?

“I found an apartment in the city. I’ve been staying with someone in the meantime.”

“Is it Dejun?” She asked.

He paused for a moment. “Keep his name out of your mouth.” He warned, voice low.

She shrugged. “I’m just curious about what makes him so special. I’m surprised you let someone in that much.”

“I’m surprised too,” he muttered, tone dry. “Especially after a certain someone gave me a lifetime’s worth of trust and abandonment issues.”

Yuhua remained silent.

Guanheng zipped up his bag and turned to face her, crossing his arms. “If you must know, I told him about everything, and he still stuck with me. That’s already more than you ever did.”

For the briefest moment, their eyes met. Guanheng looked away, slinging his bag over his shoulder and heading for the door. He was just a step away when Yuhua finally spoke again.

“I’m proud of you, Guanheng. You’ve grown up so much.”

He froze.

“You’re stronger than any of us could ever be.”

His grip tightened around the strap of his bag. He wasn’t sure why it hit so hard, why the words that should’ve meant nothing felt like they weighed everything. He told himself they didn’t matter, he told himself that those weren’t the exact words he’d been waiting to hear from her for years.

“I know.” He said.

He didn’t wait for a response, didn’t bother turning back for one last look at his room, at who used to be his closest friend.

He stepped out, leaving everything behind.

The evening air was crisp against his skin as he walked down the driveway, the weight of his bag digging into his shoulder. The car was still waiting near the gate. Through the window, he could see Dejun looking at his phone, patiently waiting. Guanheng climbed into the driver’s seat, shutting the door with a quiet click.

Dejun studied him carefully. “Everything good?”

Guanheng exhaled slowly, gripping the steering wheel. “I’m okay.”

The drive was quiet at first, the city lights passing by in blurry streaks of gold and white. The roads were mostly empty this late at night, the occasional sound of passing cars filling the silence between them.

Dejun leaned his head back against the seat. “Can’t wait to see this new place of yours.”

Guanheng glanced at him before pursing his lips. “Guess we’ll see if money can buy peace of mind.” His voice was light, but Dejun caught the weight beneath it. He always did.

The apartment was huge. High ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, sleek, modern finishes, it had all the trademarks of wealth and elegance.

The view was the main reason Guanheng had picked this apartment, the open sky, the feeling of space, the way the city stretched endlessly. He had thought it would make him feel free. Now, standing here, it made him feel small.

Dejun stood beside him, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the skyline. “You really went all out.”

Guanheng let out a quiet breath. “Yeah, well. Might as well use my trust fund for something other than therapy.”

Dejun huffed a laugh. “How do you feel?”

“I’m fine.” Guanheng replied, a bit too quick.

Dejun gave him a side-eye. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend.”

Guanheng sighed quietly, momentarily forgetting that he can’t hide around Dejun anymore.

“I… thought I’d feel better. I should be happy that I’ve finally let them go, but also… I’ve let them go.” He whispered.

Dejun watched him carefully, waiting if Guanheng wanted to say more. He was too patient, too understanding, too much. Something tightened in his chest. He wasn’t sure what it was, anger? Grief? Exhaustion?

Why wasn’t it gone yet? He had left. He had finally done it. So why did it still feel like he was dragging something heavy behind him?

He clenched his fists, his breath coming in uneven.

Dejun stepped closer, voice steady. “You don’t have to hold it in.”

Guanheng shook his head. “I’m not–” His voice cracked.

Fuck.

He turned his head away quickly, blinking up at the ceiling, fighting the burning behind his eyes. He briefly remembered the last time he cried like this, when Yuhua apologized to him. He gritted his teeth, shoulders tensing, if he could just hold still, just keep it down, it would pass–

A hand pressed lightly against his back, warm and steady. A solid presence he’d craved his entire life.

Dejun’s voice was quiet. “You’re not alone, Guanheng.”

Guanheng exhaled sharply, trembling with the effort of holding himself together. He’d been doing it for years, why was he failing now?

His breath hitched as a tear finally fell down, then another, and another.

Dejun moved closer, shifting his hand from Guanheng’s back to his shoulder, squeezing lightly. Quickly enough, the dam broke.

Guanheng let out a shaky, broken sob, pressing a hand over his mouth, as if that would somehow stop it. His shoulder shook, his whole body curling inward as the weight of everything crashed down on him all at once. Dejun caught him as he fell to his knees. Without hesitation, Dejun reached out, sliding an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in. Just a firm, solid, grounding embrace.

Guanheng let himself sink into it. His hands clenched at Dejun’s sweater, sobs ripping out of his chest. He wasn’t used to this, being held, being seen, being allowed to fall apart.

Dejun, who had been ever supportive since the beginning, held him tight.

The library was quiet at this hour, but it was a scene that both of them were incredibly familiar with at this point. Dejun glanced at his laptop, cursor blinking over a half-written sentence. He wasn’t stuck, just incredibly uninterested. He spun his pen between his fingers, stretching his legs under the table before leaning back slightly in his chair.

Across from him, Guanheng was skimming through a thick textbook, palm rested against his forehead in a way that meant he was either deep in thought or very, very bored. His elbow rested lazily on the table, fingers idly tracing the corner of the page as he read.

At some point, he let out a quiet sigh and leaned back slightly, pressing his index finger against his temple. “I don’t know why I thought I could finish this in one sitting.”

Dejun smirked, still twirling his pen. “Because you’re a masochist.”

Guanheng didn’t even look up. “That’s dramatic.”

“You spent days on a single research paper last week, and you didn’t even need to.”

“That’s just called being thorough.” He said evenly, flipping a page before sliding an untouched pastry towards Dejun’s side of the table.

Dejun blinked. “What’s this?”

“They gave me an extra one by accident.” Guanheng said simply, flipping a page in his book. A lame excuse. “And you eat like a bird.”

Dejun rolled his eyes but took it anyway, responding with a “Thanks” before unwrapping it and taking a bite. He turned back to his own work, but his mind stayed focused on Guanheng. He didn’t look uptight, or too composed, like he used to be. He wasn’t slouched or careless, either. He was normal, relaxed. Casually sitting across from Dejun at their usual library table, reading at his own pace, fully at ease with doing nothing remarkable at all.

For some reason, Dejun found it oddly satisfying.

They sat in silence for a while, just the quiet scratch of pen on paper, the soft clacking of laptop keys. Eventually, Guanheng let out another sigh, closing his book with a soft thud. He reached for the coffee beside him, swirling the drink in his hand before taking a slow sip.

“You’re not gonna finish that, are you?” Dejun asked without looking up.

“Maybe,” Guanheng replied, noncommittal.

Dejun snorted. So that’s how it is now.

Dejun leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head before lazily glancing at the time. “Think we can call it a night?”

Guanheng hummed, closing his textbook. “Yeah.”

He reached for his bag, slinging it over one shoulder as they made their way toward the exit. The campus was nearly empty now, the only sounds were their footsteps. Just before they stepped outside, Dejun reached over and tugged lightly at the strap of Guanheng’s bag, pulling him back just enough.

Guanheng blinked, turning toward him. “What’s up?”

Dejun didn’t say anything before leaning in, pressing a slow, fleeting kiss to the corner of Guanheng’s lips. An easy, natural gesture.

For a second, Guanheng didn’t move. Before Dejun could pull away completely, Guanheng grabbed the front of his hoodie and tugged him back in, tilting his head slightly as he kissed him properly this time, deeper, more certain.

Dejun made a surprised noise, but melted against him nonetheless.

By the time Guanheng finally let go, Dejun blinked at him, dazed.

“Alright.” His voice was softer than usual.

Guanheng tilted his head slightly. “Alright?”

Dejun exhaled, shaking his head with a faint, amused laugh. “Yeah. Just–yeah. Feel free to do that whenever.”

Guanheng grinned, reaching to intertwine their fingers. “Duly noted.” He said simply, leading them toward the door.

Dejun fell into step beside him without another word.

Notes:

thank you for taking the time to read ^^ i slaved over this thing for like. two months. i swear i looked over it a hundred times but pls pardon any mistakes. im a bit rusty. if anyone wants a reference for the duet scene, they played this: https://youtu.be/655CBltpj9A self-indulgent moment i love this movie so bad

OR if you want something angstier: https://youtu.be/8ya9EhvcNsA

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