Chapter Text
The engineering department reunion is exactly what Yibo expects: loud, smoky barbecue fumes clinging to everyone’s clothes, his former classmates already halfway drunk, and a rotating playlist of nostalgic songs that no one really likes but everyone insists on playing.
What he doesn’t expect is the stranger sitting at the far corner of the long table.
Yibo first notices him when he lifts his head to follow a burst of laughter, only to catch sight of a soft, warm smile that absolutely does not belong to any of the rowdy engineers he knows. The guy looks… out of place. Too put-together. Too calm.
Too pretty.
Definitely not engineering.
“Oh, him? No idea,” Minghao says, shrugging and raising his beer. “Some art graduate who came with Chen Ling, I think? Not from our department. Ignore him. Anyway, cheers!”
Yibo clinks his glass automatically, but his attention has already drifted back across the table.
The stranger (Xiaozhan, he overhears someone call him) sits politely with his hands wrapped around a cup of the free-refill green tea and smiling at something Bo Wen is saying. His smile is easy and unhurried, like he isn’t here to catch up on old academic trauma but simply because he’s been dragged along and has decided to make the best of it.
Suddenly Yibo wishes he is Bo Wen.
Every time someone tries to pour him alcohol, he waves them off with a laugh and a firm shake of his head.
Yibo finds himself watching that smile more times than he cares to admit.
He is supposed to be drinking with his old classmates, reminiscing about broken project deadlines and the hell known as thermodynamics. But his gaze keeps drifting again and again to that corner of the table.
To the way Xiaozhan’s eyes crinkle, to the gentle features of his face and to the contrast of someone so undeniably artistic sitting among grease-stained engineers.
At one point, Xiaozhan glances up. Their eyes meet briefly and instead of looking away, Yibo dares himself to hold the gaze just a little longer.
A reckless, quiet challenge to himself.
His classmates argue about who had the worst senior-year project disaster, voices loud and slurred but Yibo barely hears a thing. All his senses tunnel in on the man across the table.
Xiaozhan’s eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t look away either.
So Yibo lets himself stare.
The corner of Xiaozhan’s mouth lifts slightly, just enough to make that mole near his lips shift with the movement.
Yibo feels it like a punch to the chest.
How does a man’s lips look so red?
The night grows louder and messier. Bottles accumulate like fallen soldiers across the table and everyone talking over each other as memories dissolve into half-coherent rambling. Yibo isn’t drunk, yet, but the edges of the world have definitely softened.
Across from him, Xiaozhan settles into a quiet rhythm: listening politely, smiling when appropriate, and laughing when someone tells a decent joke. He looks a little overwhelmed, but he holds himself with the same gentle composure he had when he first arrived.
Which, apparently, makes him a target.
“Come on, Xiaozhan!” one of the guys slurs, sliding a newly poured glass his way. “You didn’t go to university with us, so you gotta drink at least one! It’s the rule!”
Several others whoop in agreement, banging on the table like this is some sacred engineering ritual.
Xiaozhan raises both hands quickly, as if fending off an oncoming wave. “No, no, really, I can’t. I have to take a long train ride home.” He adds a small, apologetic smile. “If I drink, I’ll fall asleep and wake up in the wrong city.”
“That’s the fun part!” someone yells, followed by bunch of loud laughter.
But before he can protest again a hand shoots out from the table in front of him.
Yibo doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at Xiaozhan as he picks up the glass and tips it back as if it’s nothing. One gulp. Two. Gone.
A chorus of exaggerated “Oooooooh!” rises immediately from the table, like a pack of drunken wolves smelling gossip. Someone whistles and another smacks the table dramatically.
But the teasing slowly fizzles into a knowing hush, the kind that spreads when a group collectively realizes they’re witnessing something rare.
The youngest among them, cold-faced, quiet, infamously uninterested in dating despite both girls and guys lining up for him, might finally be showing interest in someone.
No one dares say it aloud, but it hangs there in the air thick as the beer smell.
Across the table, Xiaozhan’s mouth parts in soft surprise, his eyes fixed on the now-empty glass that had been meant for him.
He blinks once, twice, slowly, like he can’t quite process what just happened.
Then he looks at Yibo.
“Thank you…” he murmurs, the words shy and small, barely audible over the chatter.
Yibo finally lifts his gaze to meet his, expression unreadable under the dim, hazy restaurant lights. Instead of brushing it off or teasing back, he simply raises the empty glass slightly toward Xiaozhan; an understated, casual gesture, but somehow more intimate than the moment deserves.
A silent you’re welcome.
----------------
“I’m alright, I’m alright,” Yibo insists, his voice muffled as Minghao keeps patting his back in concern.
He is not alright at all.
He has eaten too many chips and drunk too much liquor, and now his stomach churns unpleasantly. He’d kept snacking on the chips as the only snack on their table mostly to give his hands something to do than looking too closely at Xiaozhan.
Across from him, Xiaozhan was animatedly telling the group about his university studies in visual design and how he became friends with Chen Ling.
“I’m the new designer at his office,” Xiaozhan explained brightly and the whole table responded in a low, impressed “Ooooh”.
Yibo closes his eyes. His head throbs from the alcohol and the overwhelming salt lingering on his tongue. His head feels heavy and the noise around the people in the restaurant parking lot presses in on him.
One might think they would leave Xiaozhan alone after Yibo chugged an entire glass someone pushed toward him earlier. But of course, it had to be his own friend and co-worker.
Chen Ling grinned and set another small glass in front of them. It landed between Yibo and Xiaozhan like a challenge.
“You sure you don’t want to drink at all before we leave?” Chen Ling said. His voice was light towards Xiaozhan but his eyes were clearly on Yibo.
Yibo stared back unblinkingly, wondering if the man is named “Ling” because there are zero brain cells rattling around in his head. Before Xiaozhan could politely refuse, Yibo’s hand shoot out for the second time that night and he emptied the glass in one sharp, burning swallow.
When he looked up, Xiaozhan looked at him with apology in his eyes and something quieter beneath it that made Yibo look away. Chen Ling giggled beside him and Minghao gave Yibo’s shoulder a sympathetic squeeze.
“Bo, ge!".
Speak of the devil…
“Hmm?” Yibo turns around.
Chen Ling is swaying on his feet with his face flushed and eyes unfocused. Xiaozhan stands close beside him, one hand hovering as if ready to catch him and worry written plainly on his face.
“I don’t think I can drive,” Chen Ling slurs. “I’m gonna order a designated driver. But can you show Xiaozhan the way to the train station? He’s not familiar with this area.” He nudges Xiaozhan forward for emphasis.
Xiaozhan blinks in surprise, clearly caught off guard by Chen Ling’s words as if he had not expected his friend to add that last part at all. He opens his mouth to correct him, the instinctive need to clarify rising before he can stop it.
“No, I didn’t-- “,
“It’s fine. Let me walk you,” Yibo says, cutting in too soon.
The offer hangs between them, heavier than Yibo expects it to be.
Xiaozhan does not answer right away. He stands there with his bag strap still clutched in his hand, hesitation written clearly across his face. Yibo can almost see the polite refusal forming. He tells himself that if Xiaozhan says no, he will accept it.
He should accept it.
But Xiaozhan looks at him. Something in his expression finally softens like a quiet internal argument being lost. The guarded politeness eases, replaced by something warmer and more uncertain. Yibo feels his chest tighten at the sight. He realizes, with a flicker of surprise, how much he wants Xiaozhan to say yes.
Up close, Xiaozhan looks even gentler. The way his lashes lower, the faint flush on his cheeks, and the hesitation that lingers before he finally speaks make it hard to look away. God, Yibo has to stop himself from staring.
“If you don’t mind, Yibo,” Xiaozhan says softly, his eyes finally lifting to meet his.
Yibo.
Something warm blooms in his chest at the sound of his name on Xiaozhan’s lips. A heartbeat later, it hits him that he never even introduced himself. The realization makes his breath hitch and the thought that Xiaozhan must have asked someone else for his name sends a quiet burst of fireworks through his head.
He adjusts the brim of his hat, a subtle confidence blooming despite himself and he silently hopes his breath does not reek too much of alcohol.
“Yeah,” he says, already turning toward the street. He gives Xiaozhan a small nod. “Let’s go.”
Perhaps there is at least one functioning brain cell in Chen Ling’s head after all.
----------------
“How long is your ride going to be?” Yibo asks as he walks down the steps into the train station. Xiaozhan follows just behind him as Yibo lengthens his stride without looking back, wary of the alcohol lingering on his breath.
“Um, forty five minutes,” Xiaozhan answers.
“Okay,” Yibo says. “That’s a long ride.”
They slow near the ticket gates. Xiaozhan hesitates, then looks at him with a small, earnest smile.
“Yibo, you can leave me here. I’m fine,” he says softly. “You’ve done a lot for me tonight.”
Yibo swallows. His stomach feels tight and bloated, heat pressing outward while acid curls unpleasantly up his throat. Every instinct tells him he should not push it any further. But he cannot bring himself to walk away now.
“All the more reason for me to ride with you until you get home,” he says instead. “Don’t you think? To make sure you’re safe until the end.”
He taps his phone against the fare gate and turns back toward Xiaozhan, a teasing glint in his eyes that costs him more effort than he lets on.
Xiaozhan blinks, clearly caught off guard, then exhales in defeat.
“Fine,” he says at last, hurrying after Yibo as he passes through the gate. “But let me order you a taxi for your way back. I insist.”
Yibo does not argue. He just nods, pretending the warmth in his chest has nothing to do with the word insist.
----------------
Yibo does not expect the train to still be crowded despite the late hour. The image he had half-formed of sitting beside Xiaozhan for the entire ride shatters the moment he steps inside.
There is only one empty seat left.
“You sit.”
“No, you sit.”
Fortunately, the doors slide shut before either of them can argue further, and Xiaozhan wobbles slightly as the train lurches forward. He quickly drops into the empty seat with one hand bracing against the edge.
“You sit on the next empty one, okay?” he says, looking up at Yibo, who stands in front of him with one hand gripping the overhead strap.
Yibo smiles and nods. “Okay.”
As the train begins to move, the dark window catches Yibo’s reflection. He studies his own face for a second longer than necessary and exhales softly. He looks like that after a whole night of drinking and still has the nerve to flirt with the cutest guy he has seen in years. Ballsy, Wang Yibo.
He lifts a hand and adjusts his hat, smoothing his hair and making sure no stray strands fall into his forehead. When he lowers his arm and glances down, he realizes Xiaozhan is already looking at him with his arms folded loosely.
Their eyes meet.
Xiaozhan drops his gaze first, a shy smile tugging at his lips as he turns his face away.
----------------
The train thins out a little at the next stop and Xiaozhan looks up at him with sudden resolve.
“Sit,” he says, voice firmer than before.
Yibo does not object. He takes the empty seat across from Xiaozhan and the moment his back meets the plastic, relief spreads through him. His shoulders ease and his stomach finally settle. The worst of the nausea receding into something manageable. He exhales slowly; the tension he has been holding all night loosening at last.
More passengers file in as the train moves again and filling the space between them. But Yibo keeps his eyes on Xiaozhan through the shifting crowd. He tilts his head slightly and mouths the words instead of saying them aloud.
“Wake me up when we arrive?”
Xiaozhan’s lips curve into a fond smile. He nods once in answer, eyes warm as they linger on Yibo.
----------------
Yibo does not sleep for long. Each time the train slows and comes to a stop, his eyes flutter open on instinct. The lights change, doors slide open and shut, and the rhythm repeats until it all begins to blur together.
He loses count of how many stops pass.
It is only when Xiaozhan shifts in his seat and reaches for his bag that Yibo fully wakes. The movement cuts through his haze clearly.
“Come”, Xiaozhan said.
Yibo straightens and rises when Xiaozhan does.
They step off the train and make their way toward the station gates together. Outside, the night air is cool and sharp, cutting through the haze in Yibo’s head just enough to keep him steady.
He draws in a slow breath and exhales. The city is quieter here; the noise softened to a distant hum.
“So, your commute to work must be pretty long, then?” Yibo asks, glancing over at Xiaozhan.
Xiaozhan slows his steps and nods. “Yeah. But I live only five minutes from here, so it makes more sense than paying expensive rent in the city.” He hesitates, then adds lightly, “I was an intern until last month.”
Yibo nods in understanding. He remembers his own first days in the city with the same calculations and compromises.
They climb the narrow stairs beside the road and pass through the gate into the apartment complex. With each step, the ground seems to tilt slightly beneath Yibo’s feet and the warmth in his gut swells without warning. The nausea he thought he had pushed down rises again.
He slows, then stops. His eyes slide shut as he concentrates on his breathing, drawing air in through his nose and letting it out slowly through parted lips. The taste of alcohol lingers at the back of his throat, sour and persistent, and he swallows hard.
“All right, we’re here,” Xiaozhan says as he turns around. Then he stops short. “Oh my god, are you okay?”
Yibo takes a slow breath in before he manages to speak. “May I use a restroom?”
“Yeah. There’s one in the apartment lobby,” Xiaozhan says immediately, ushering him inside without hesitation.
They rush through the lobby together with Yibo half a step behind Xiaozhan as he fights the rising panic in his chest. The lights feel too bright and the floor too far away, every sound stretched and hollow in his ears. His stomach twists hard, a sharp warning that leaves no room for denial.
The restroom sign comes into view just in time.
Yibo barely makes it inside before he lurches forward, one hand slamming against the cold porcelain of the sink as he bends over the toilet. The nausea surges violently. His body convulses as he vomits, harsh and burning, the taste of alcohol and bile flooding his mouth. His throat aches with the force of it, eyes stinging as his stomach empties in miserable waves.
When it finally subsides, Yibo stays there for a moment, forehead resting against his arm as he listens to his own ragged breathing slowly even out. Of all nights, it really has to be tonight.
Ugh.
He wonders dimly if he has just ruined his chances of getting a boyfriend this year.
He eventually pushes himself upright and steps back outside after rinsing his mouth in the sink, his legs still unsteady beneath him. Xiaozhan is waiting just beyond the door with a bottle of water held in his hand.
His thick eyebrows are drawn together, worry etched clearly across his face.
“Are you okay?” Xiaozhan asks softly. “Do you want to go outside and get some air?”
Yibo nods, too tired to answer properly, and takes the bottle when it is offered. His fingers brush against the cool plastic, grounding him as he twists the cap open and follows Xiaozhan toward the night air.
They stop at the small park just beyond the apartment gate, the quietness of the night broken only by distant traffic and the rustle of leaves overhead.
“Is there anything else you need to feel better?” Xiaozhan asks while Yibo takes another sip of water.
He really does feel better. Steadier, at least.
Yibo straightens his back and looks at Xiaozhan, gathering what little confidence he has left and deciding to spend it all at once.
“The water helps, thank you so much” he says, then took a deep breath before continuing. “But maybe your WeChat ID would help even more?”
Xiaozhan does not answer right away. Instead, he tilts his head and studies Yibo, eyes slow and thoughtful. For the first time that night, Yibo feels like he is being properly assessed. His throat tightens and he swallows the water still lingering there.
“Is it a bad thing to be too straightforward?” Yibo adds hesitantly in the silence.
Xiaozhan’s gaze softens. Finally, the corner of his mouth lifts as he replies with his calm and teasing voice.
“If it were any guy less attractive than you,” he says, “then yes.”
Here is that shy smile again. Oh, God.
Yibo feels it like a spark in his chest. Lighting something he had not quite dared to hope for. His ears grow warm and he is suddenly very aware of the way he is standing, of the loose set of his shoulders, and the fact that he must still look a mess. And yet, attractive.
Xiaozhan reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out his phone. The movement is simple but Yibo reacts immediately and mirror him without thinking. He unlocks his own phone with fingers that feel steadier than before and tilts the screen forward. Xiaozhan leans in just slightly, close enough that Yibo can feel the warmth of him again and scans the code.
A notification pops up almost at once.
Yibo glances down before he can stop himself. Xiaozhan’s profile picture fills the screen: a small bunny hunched over a tiny laptop with both ears flopped to the side.
Cute.
Xiaozhan steps back and taps at his phone, already opening a ride-hailing app.
Yibo notices a second too late.
“Hey--” he starts, but Xiaozhan is faster.
“Ordered. Driver on the way,” Xiaozhan says gently, not leaving much room for argument.
Embarrassment creeps up on Yibo. He had spent the whole night insisting on looking after Xiaozhan by positioning himself as the steady one. Now he is the one being fussed over. The role reversal leaves him oddly flustered.
As if he can read his mind, Xiaozhan looks up from his phone to meet his eyes. “Yibo, you did enough for me tonight. I won’t forget that.”
The sincerity in his voice makes it hard to joke it away.
Yibo hesitates before asking “Then how could I repay you?”
Xiaozhan’s lips curve into a small smile as he pockets his phone again “There’s no need to repay anything,” he says. Then, after a brief pause his gaze lingers on him “But if you really care, there can be a lot of next times.”
Next times.
----------------
“Yes?”
Xiaozhan turns at the knock on the meeting room door. A second later, Chen Ling’s head pokes in through the opening with a teasing grin already in place.
“Your meal is here,” he says, punctuating it with an exaggerated wink.
Xiaozhan frowns slightly and reaches for his phone to check the time and his notifications. He definitely did not order lunch. Not yet. Still, curiosity gets the better of him and he steps out of the room, leaving his laptop open on the long table.
From the open ceiling of the second floor, he catches sight of a familiar figure downstairs.
“Yibo?” he calls.
The man turns at the sound of his name and looks up.
His hair looks soft and slightly tousled, falling in loose waves that frame his face just right. The long curls rest softly around his eyes.
When he smiles and takes a few steps forward, Xiaozhan’s cannot help but to drop his attention lower.
Even beneath the stretched fabric of his green shirt, Yibo’s shoulders look broad and well set. He lifts one arm to show the large plastic bag he is carrying effortlessly, and the motion draws attention to the solid line of his chest beneath the thin knit.
His other arm hangs easily at his side, long-fingered and steady with prominent veins visible along the skin exposed by the pushed-up sleeve.
Xiaozhan bites his lip, letting the sight of Yibo spark thoughts he really should not be having in the middle of the workday.
Meal is here indeed.