Chapter Text
The announcement of Nice and Moon’s marriage had taken the world by storm. Thousands of people flooded social media with cheers and well-wishes. Even international figures had posted congratulations, some writing in languages Ling couldn't even read.
Headlines about the two heroes lit up every corner of the internet, and trust in the agency skyrocketed so fast that even the higher-ups were left blinking at the numbers.
“That’s... a lot,” Ling murmured, his voice soft as he scrolled through his feed.
Across from him, Xiao sat comfortably, legs crossed and tablet in hand, eyes flicking across the screen with practiced ease.
“Hm,” he hummed, distracted. “Looking for something.”
They were sitting in a minimalist, high-end café just a few blocks from the apartment Ling still called home—the same one with the mold problem and the creaky floorboards.
Over a month ago, Ling remembered how the production team had quietly pulled the plug on True Love Recipe after Xiao’s meltdown about Ling living in such squalor. He’d called it “unlivable”.
Ling had scold him after that meltdown.
Still, Ling hadn’t moved out. He couldn’t.
He took another forkful of cake—chocolate mousse, soft as air, drizzled with something fruity. It melted in his mouth.
Back then, just walking past this café had made Ling feel out of place. Now, Xiao waltzed in, bought everything like it was street food, and didn’t even blink at the price tags.
It was too much. Too fancy. Too quiet.
He kept glancing around, expecting someone else to walk in—but no one ever did.
Because the entire café had been rented out.
Of course it had.
Anxiety scratched at Ling’s chest, rising slowly like water in a tank. He didn’t know how to exist in places like this. This wasn’t his money.
It wasn’t his life. It was Xiao’s—and Xiao had always been so good at turning life into something golden.
“I’m not used to this,” he muttered, placing his fork down and staring at the untouched cheesecake beside his plate.
Xiao glanced up from his tablet. “Eat more,” he said casually, waving a hand. “I rented the whole place. Might as well get our money’s worth.”
Ling blinked. “Kai Kai… as much as I know you’re rich and everything—you really don’t have to overspend like this.”
“I’m still making more income than I can use. This is just… a tiny slice of it.”
“Damn,” Ling whispered under his breath, shaking his head. He wished he could say something like that, too. That it was just a small portion. That money was a tool, not a worry.
But instead, all he had were the holes in his socks and the mold under his sink.
Still, he didn’t waste the cheesecake. He devoured it with relish, because when else was he going to get this again?
Xiao was watching him, eyes soft.
“What kind of house do you want?” he asked.
“Huh?” Ling blinked, mouth still full.
“House,” Xiao repeated, gesturing with the tablet. “I was going through apartments, but they all kind of suck. I thought about putting you in a penthouse, but you’d probably hate that, so… I’m looking into houses instead. What do you want?”
Ling nearly dropped his fork. “Wait—what?!”
Xiao shrugged. “You hate your apartment. I hate your apartment. Ms. J hates your apartment. I figured this would be easier.”
“What are you scheming?” Ling narrowed his eyes.
“I just want to give you a decent place to live. You deserve it.”
Ling’s heart stuttered. For a moment, he couldn’t speak.
“A house? Xiao—Kai Kai, that’s not something you just buy for someone on a whim!” he protested. “I don’t even have a job right now! What would I do with a house?! How would I pay for it?!”
“You wouldn’t,” Xiao said simply. “I’m paying for it. It’s my gift to you.”
“That’s too much!”
“It’s not enough.”
They stared at each other. Xiao’s expression didn’t waver—calm, steady, the same face he’d worn when he walked into the Lin family declaring he's cutting bridges with them.
Ling looked away, guilt curling like smoke in his stomach. “I’m fine with my current apartment. I really am.”
“You’re not. You only say that because you’ve spent your whole life settling for less.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes it is.” Xiao leaned forward, voice low and honest. “You raised me, Ge. You skipped meals just so I could eat. You stayed up all night working while I got to dream. You told me bedtime stories when you were running on two hours of sleep. You sacrificed everything.”
Ling’s throat tightened.
“I’m not a kid anymore,” Xiao said. “I can give you something back now. Why won’t you let me?”
“Because…” Ling swallowed hard. “Because I don’t want to become the kind of person who takes advantage of you…Because it’s your money—your success. Not mine.”
“I want to spoil you. You never let me.”
“I’m your brother, not your dependent.”
“You’re my family. And I love you. Isn’t that enough of a reason?” Xiao whined like a dog
Ling looked down at the empty plate in front of him. The cheesecake was gone.
The sweetness still lingered on his tongue, but now it was bittersweet.
He’d never asked for this life. But he’d worked hard to make sure Xiao could have a better one.
And now that Xiao had it—he wanted to share it.
"I'm going to be honest with you, Kai Kai," Ling said suddenly, his voice softer, more serious than before.
Xiao looked up from his tablet.
"Really... I don't want to leave the apartment," Ling admitted. "Especially when it's where we both grew up. It's filled with memories, you know?"
Xiao stilled.
Ling leaned back in his seat, eyes drifting toward the café window, but he wasn’t really looking at anything outside.
“Back when we were younger, I would've jumped at the chance to move out—anywhere would’ve been better than that cramped little place. But now? Even with the mold and the broken heater, that apartment…” He smiled faintly.
“It's where we drew those dumb cats and dogs with wings on the hallway walls. Remember that? And the doorframe where I used to mark your height every year? It's all still there.”
Ling looked genuinely happy for a moment, lost in the memory. His eyes sparkled just a bit.
Xiao watched him, silent, his expression unreadable. But his fingers had stilled over the screen.
Of course Ling would say that. Of course he’d remember every scratch on the floorboards like they were hand-painted memories.
He was always like this. Always the one who found value in the small, broken things. Always the one who could make even a falling-apart home feel safe.
“So yeah,” Ling said softly, voice barely above a whisper now. “I don’t really want to leave those behind.”
Xiao exhaled, sitting back slowly. “Yeah… yeah, that’s true.”
He could see it now too: little scribbles in faded ink near the light switch, an old bookshelf they built together, lopsided but still standing. The tiny kitchen that Ling used to somehow cook full meals in. The scent of instant noodles and old wood and a little plastic fan that never quite worked right.
“But…” Xiao hesitated, voice lowering, “it’s still dangerous. That building’s rotting, Ling. You're just lucky you haven't gotten sick or hurt yet. The place’s a fire hazard. The pipes are rusted, the windows are cracked, and screw the rent system—it's not even worth the price you're paying.”
Ling opened his mouth to argue but stopped. He knew it. He knew. He was just being stubborn.
“I get it,” he said after a long pause. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I just—ahh” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I feel stupid for being this sentimental over something so broken.”
Xiao frowned. “You’re not stupid. I’m just... worried.”
Ling gave him a gentle look, the kind of look that used to calm him down when he was five and afraid of thunder. “I know. And I’m grateful. Really.”
Xiao looked down, guilt pressing against his ribs like a vice. “I don’t want you to get hurt just because we made a home out of a crumbling building.”
Ling gave a small nod. Then Xiao added, “But hey—we still have the other stuff, right?”
“Hm?”
“The photos. The trophies. The ugly, uneven shelf we refused to throw away. We still have those.”
Ling blinked, then smiled. “Right… yeah, we do.” That warmed something in his chest. Maybe the walls wouldn’t come with them, but the memories would.
“Maybe moving... isn’t so bad after all,” he said softly.
Xiao lit up instantly, relief washing over his face. “Great! Then let’s talk features. What kind of stuff do you like? Wooden floors? Tile? Concrete? Marble? How about the size? Want multiple floors? A rooftop garden? Sunroom? Home gym? A koi pond—?”
“Kai Kai,” Ling laughed, cutting him off, “breathe.” He chuckled. “Wooden floors. And preferably something small. Cozy.”
Xiao paused, blinking. “…That’s it?”
Ling shrugged. “That’s all I need.”
They kept talking, Xiao tossing out options and Ling answering with quiet preferences. But the more Xiao listened, the more he noticed something that made his chest ache.
Ling wasn’t just picking things he liked.
He was recreating the apartment.
One bathroom. Narrow hallway. A small kitchen with windows that opened wide. Wooden floors that creaked a little when you walked on them. A low ceiling and a corner just big enough for that lopsided bookshelf.
He was trying to rebuild it.
And that broke Xiao a little.
His brother had given him everything growing up—shelter, warmth, comfort, love—and yet Ling still didn’t think he deserved more than what they'd barely scraped together.
Xiao leaned back, heart heavy with love and guilt and admiration all at once.
He would build him a home that felt familiar—but safe, warm, filled with light.
Something that carried every memory, but none of the dangers.
Something worthy of the person who’d raised him.
And maybe, just maybe… Ling would let himself feel at home in it.
Years ago..
The winter chill had crept in earlier than usual that year.
Xiao was maybe 11bundled up in three layers of mismatched sweaters and still shivering. The apartment had always been cold during this season, but this year, it felt worse. Their tiny space heater—rusty, buzzing, and practically held together by tape—had finally given out.
Xiao sat on the couch, knees to his chest, watching his breath fog in front of him. “It’s broken,” he said quietly, tugging the sleeves of his sweater over his hands.
Ling, fourteen and already stretched thin from working late nights and studying during the day, crouched in front of the heater, prying it open with a bent spoon. “It’s not broken,” he muttered, eyebrows furrowed. “It’s just… asleep.”
Xiao made a face. “Appliances don’t sleep.”
Ling huffed a laugh, tired but amused. “You’ve never seen a sleepy heater before?”
“No.”
“Then clearly, you’ve never met this one.”
Xiao didn’t smile, not yet. He looked small, almost fragile, the cold having settled deep into his bones.
Ling sighed quietly to himself. He knew they didn’t have money for a new one. Not even a cheap one from the junkyard. His fingers were already going numb, but he kept working—removing busted wires, rewrapping bits with electrical tape from the emergency drawer, blowing into the old fan motor like it would give it life.
He was too old to believe in miracles, but he was young enough to still hope for one.
Xiao watched him with wide eyes. “Will it work?”
“I’ll make it work,” Ling said.
He always said that. And somehow… he usually did.
After nearly an hour of fumbling and quiet curses under his breath, Ling flipped the switch again.
Nothing.
Then, a faint whir.
Then… a low buzz and a flickering orange glow.
Xiao's eyes lit up.
Ling grinned, exhaustion pulling at the edges of his smile. “Told you. Just sleepy.”
Xiao slid off the couch and crawled toward the heater, feeling the faint warmth pulse against his fingers. “You fixed it.”
“Well,” Ling said, rubbing the back of his neck, “not exactly safe-fix. More like ‘hold your breath and pray it doesn’t explode’ fix.”
Xiao laughed for real that time. “Still works.”
Ling ruffled his hair. “That’s what matters.”
They curled up on the couch after that, both wrapped in the same blanket, toes pointed toward the barely-functioning heater. Ling’s head lolled back and he dozed off mid-sentence, the kind of sleep that only comes after you’ve pushed yourself too far.
Xiao stayed awake a little longer.
He looked at the taped heater. At the mismatched blankets. At his older brother, already snoring.
One day, I’ll fix things for him too. Xiao thought.
They were in the middle of packing the last of the living room: books, old DVDs, threadbare pillows, and the lopsided coffee table that once held everything from homework to hot soup on sick days. The infamous makeshift sofa—two mismatched cushions and a sunken frame—was finally collapsed into a flat pile, taped tightly and ready to be discarded. Somehow, even that felt like a loss.
They haven't found a house yet but the building was about to be demolished by some investor or rich guy who wanted to turn it into another condo or high rise.
Ling wiped his forehead with the edge of his sleeve. “Hey. Remember that one time you found a dove near the stairs and thought it was covered in ketchup?”
Xiao froze, mid-roll of tape. “...Yeah?”
Ling didn’t even need to finish the story. He was already laughing.
Xiao stared blankly at the floor for a moment—then slowly, like peeling back an old, dusty memory, it hit him.
His expression changed. “Wait—oh my god.”
Ling wheezed, barely holding it in.
Xiao looked up at him, horrified. “It was dead! I thought it needed help—I carried it home in a towel!”
“You did,” Ling howled, nearly doubled over. “You put it in a shoebox and gave it rice crackers! You made it a whole bed!”
“Oh my god—I even tried to name it!” Xiao’s ears turned red. “I thought the blood was ketchup!”
Ling was full-on cackling now. “You cried when it ‘fell asleep!’”
Xiao groaned into his hands, laughter breaking through his embarrassment. “That’s traumatic! Why didn’t you tell me?!”
“I tried! You were convinced it was going to wake up and ‘fly in circles to thank you!’” Ling quoted him with a choked laugh.
“I was eight!”
“And very passionate!”
They both laughed until their stomachs hurt. The kind of laughter that only siblings who’ve survived too much together can share—laughter pulled from a place of exhaustion and warmth, wrapped in years of shared silliness and silent sacrifices.
As the laughter faded, the silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was calm, familiar.
They taped up the last box and looked around.
The room felt smaller without their memories spilling across the floor.
“You really kept that dove story locked and loaded, huh?” Xiao muttered.
Ling grinned. “Some things are too precious to forget.”
After the last bit of laughter faded, they caught their breath and exchanged a knowing smile—one that said, we’ve really been through it, huh?
Then came the bedroom.
It was quieter here. One mattress lay on the floor, covered with thin, well-worn sheets. A nightstand sat to the side, and the closet loomed open, half-emptied already.
Ling crouched beside a box, folding a hoodie with sleeves worn thin at the cuffs. Xiao walked around slowly, taking in the room that had once held them both during typhoons, blackouts, and long nights whispering about dreams.
They cleared the closet first—pulling out old shirts, half a magician’s costume from a school play, a plastic crown from a long-ago birthday.
Xiao pulled out his high school graduation gown and the three honor sashes still clipped to it.
“Wow,” he said, turning them over in his hands. “I was really an overachiever, huh?”
Ling glanced over. “You were batshit about it. Thought your entire future depended on getting all the cords.”
“I was like sixteen!!”
“You acted like a forty-year-old accountant.”
Xiao grinned and set the gown aside. As Ling taped another box, he wandered to the nightstand, opened the creaky drawer—and stopped.
Inside were several small boxes and wrapped parcels there, his name written. meticulously labeled with marker.
He blinked, reaching in with gentle fingers as if touching them too hard would make them vanish.
“...Kai Kai—oh.” Ling turned around and paused when he saw what Xiao was holding. “Those are for you.”
Xiao didn’t respond at first. He stared at the handwriting, at how careful and deliberate it was. His chest tightened.
“Really?” he asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer.
Ling nodded with a soft smile. “Yeah. You…should open them.”
Xiao sat on the floor, the boxes gathered around him like offerings from a time he hadn’t realized was still alive. His fingers trembled slightly as he opened the first one: a sleek silver watch, elegant and formal, something he could wear to meetings or special dinners. It sparkled even under the dim light.
He moved on to the next. An art book from a series he used to obsess over, each page filled with gorgeous landscapes from countries they used to talk about visiting. “Remember when we thought we’d go to Venice?” Xiao said, flipping through.
“You wanted to ride a gondola while eating ice cream.”
“You said that was cliché.”
“I was trying to be realistic,” Ling shrugged, still smiling.
Box after box revealed Xiao’s past dreams in gift form: a build-it-yourself airplane model, a train set he always wanted but never asked for, a thick novel he once read three times from the library, a handmade scarf woven with uneven but clearly careful stitching.
“These are…” Xiao whispered, tears pricking at the edges of his eyes. “You kept all of this?”
Ling sat beside him, watching as Xiao lifted each item with reverence.
“Of course I did…I was supposed to give it to you on time but…” he stopped but smiled
Xiao’s shoulders trembled. He flipped open the art book again, eyes scanning places he still wanted to go. A tear slipped down his cheek, and then another, quick and quiet.
He tried to laugh it off, brushing his face. “This is so dumb.”
Xiao looked at all the gifts—each one so personal, so thoughtful, so perfectly tailored to him. It felt like his chest was splitting open.
Every item was something he had once loved, obsessed over, mentioned in passing years ago when he still lived here—when he still spoke to Ling.
He wanted to sob. Really sob. Like a child who just realized they broke something they could never fix.
“What the hell…” he whispered under his breath, voice barely holding itself together.
Since he was 18, he’d stopped talking to Ling. His family had made sure of it. Told him to grow up, to forget that broken apartment and the brother who raised him. Told him he was better off without the boy who once patched up his bruised knees and shared instant noodles with him during storms.
And the worst part?
Ling had kept buying gifts.
He cried harder.
Not pretty tears. Ugly ones. The kind that shook his whole body as he clutched the boxes like lifelines. His breath came out ragged and wet as the realization dug in deep—Ling never gave up on him. Not even when Xiao had walked away.
“Just… what the hell did I do to you?” he trembled, clutching the watch like it might slip through his fingers.
His shoulders shook violently, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, but still the tears didn’t stop. He hated himself—hated that he had believed for so long he didn’t need this, didn’t need Ling.
And yet here was proof. Solid, undeniable proof that someone had loved him through everything. Quietly. Without ever asking for anything back.
He brought the scarf to his face, inhaling the faint scent of old fabric and something warm—something that reminded him of safety. He broke then, curling inward as if trying to fold into himself, the sound of his sobs muffled into the woven fabric.
Ling watched from the doorway, eyes soft and sad. But he didn’t interrupt. Because he knew this pain. Knew Xiao needed to feel it, needed to sit in it before he could move forward.
And in that tiny bedroom, filled with dust and memories and unopened years of love, Xiao brok