Work Text:
the first time ma boquan met zhang kangle, the most noticeable thing about him was his hands.
those slender hands unconsciously touched the brim of his hat in a fluster as everyone on the film crew began to greet each other. those hands, with their beautifully sculpted knuckles, gently twirled the highlighter pen used to mark important lines. while counting the steady rotations of the blue pen nestled neatly between zhang kangle’s fingers - one turn, two turns, three turns, four turns, five turns... - ma boquan seemed to forget how to breathe.
in ma boquan's eyes, zhang kangle's hands shimmered like a god-sent creation. they - from an invisible distance - gently nudged ma boquan's heart and left behind indescribable tremors.
the second, third, and fourth times they met, ma boquan had to constantly remind himself not to stare at zhang kangle's hands for too long. as a temporary plan, he tried to shift twenty percent of his gaze to his hair, twenty percent to his deep like an autumn night lake with countless gentle hues eyes, twenty percent to the smile that didn't always grace his lips, twenty percent to his sturdy shoulders that could bear the weight of the world, and twenty percent to that low, soft voice. but no matter what he did, ma boquan ultimately had to accept that he could only sink deeper and deeper into zhang kangle and everything about him. his chest would always feel as though it were being squeezed by a thousand moments of fluttering when he looked at zhang kangle, almost to the point of breathlessness.
it started with his hands, but now ma boquan's whole world seemed to revolve around zhang kangle like life depends on it.
the first time ma boquan held zhang kangle's hand was during the smoke trick he performed in-between scenes.
frankly speaking, ma boquan didn't quite remember the surroundings at that moment; he only knew that when he looked through the hazy gray smoke, his reflection in zhang kangle's eyes was full of utter joy and happiness. after a few short seconds, ma boquan mustered the courage to move: he pulled zhang kangle's hands closer and pretended to sniff - letting the tingling sensation from his fingers as they touched the cool skin and slender knuckles on zhang kangle’s hands run through the cells and blood vessels in his body. his ear was filled with zhang kangle's hesitant laughter as the "magic" was discovered way too quickly, and his nose was almost (pleasantly) blinded by the strange scent of smoke powder mixed with the smell of fresh sunlight.
perhaps all the most beautiful rays of sunlight in the world were concentrated on zhang kangle. and ma boquan was fortunate enough to touch a small corner of that gentle warmth. his heart, like countless other times when facing zhang kangle, wanted to burst.
the first time zhang kangle held ma boquan's hand was when he pulled him up from a huddled sitting position. the orange-yellow streetlights reflected zhang kangle's slightly hunched shadow and his flustered hand. ma boquan had intended to push himself up, feign a silly smile, and say, "i was just a little lost thinking about jiahao's mood in the scene this afternoon," but a touch on his disheveled hair made the world around him seem to freeze.
when he truly realized and convinced himself that this wasn't a dream, ma boquan - for the first time in his life letting his heart lead the way (or maybe the second or third, because sometimes the desire to be as close to zhang kangle as possible would overwhelm his mind) - closed his eyes and tilted his head into his gentle strokes.
"i'll take you out for a late-night snack." ma boquan heard the familiar voice in his left ear, and then the hand that had been caressing his head spread out in front of him. "get up, little one."
(perhaps because the left ear is close to the heart, that short, one-sided dialogue from zhang kangle that day has always been one of the clearest and most beautiful memories in the chambers of his heart.)
ma boquan took that hand and let the warmth that his heart has been yearning for spread through his mind. he thought to himself, "if i could, i'd want to live in this moment a little longer."
just as ma boquan was about to regretfully let go of his hand - as a normal and expected gesture when using someone's help to stand up, he felt a light scratch in the middle of the palm. zhang kangle loosened his fingers and slipped them into the gaps between ma boquan's fingers, quietly intertwining their hands.
ma boquan couldn't find any words to say, or perhaps, more accurately, there were no words that could fully express his feelings anymore. his heart, which had been restless with an emotion he thought would never be reciprocated, a love he thought would never be returned, was completely soothed.
"zhang kangle..." ma boquan tapped his thumb lightly on the back of his hand once.
"i'm listening."
"uhm, zhang kangle..." ma boquan repeated the tapping. four times. then three times.
"uhm, i'm always listening."