Work Text:
Even when they barely knew each other, Yuan Hong quickly discovered that Zhao Shaoshang had a very particular way of expressing his displeasure.
The young master did not shout.
At least, not immediately.
First came the fan.
It was the first warning sign, one that any sensible person should learn to recognize. Yuan Hong could proudly claim that he had understood its meaning rather quickly.
Zhao Shaoshang would begin moving the fan in his hands faster and faster.
Once. Twice. Three times.
More and more forcefully, as if that small piece of silk and wood could somehow help him regain the patience that some exceptionally foolish person had just deprived him of, as if a gentle breeze could cool the fire burning in his head.
Yuan Hong noticed it after only a few meetings with Young Master Zhao. He did not know whether he owed that realization to his own sharp observation skills or to Zhao Shaoshang’s notoriously bad temper.
At first, he found it irritating and wondered whether he should intervene. After all, Zhao Shaoshang was the young master of a respected family. If he got into a public dispute with someone, it could easily cause problems.
However, Yuan Hong quickly realized that if Zhao Shaoshang was irritated, it usually meant that someone had said something stupid, acted irresponsibly, or made a mistake that could complicate their investigation.
Yuan Hong should therefore focus on the case.
He should listen to Zhao Shaoshang’s arguments.
He should help him solve the problem.
He should not waste time staring.
And yet Yuan Hong stared. He could not stop himself.
Because whenever Zhao Shaoshang pulled out his fan when he was angry and began fanning himself with sharp, nervous movements, he became an entirely different person. His cheeks would flush faintly, his eyes would shine and widen, and his mouth would produce the most ridiculous tangles of words imaginable, all of which filled Yuan Hong with genuine amusement.
When Zhao Shaoshang was angry, he was adorable.
Most of the time, he was elegant, self-assured, and always had a clever answer waiting on the tip of his tongue. He liked to present himself as a man who had grown up surrounded by refined treasures and absorbed some of their elegance himself.
But all it took was for someone to say something particularly absurd, and that calm facade would begin to crack like paint on a poorly forged vase.
His eyebrows would lift slightly.
His eyes would become endearingly wide.
His lips would press into a thin line, as though he were making a sincere effort not to say something he might later regret.
But that state never lasted long.
His mouth was never capable of staying closed for very long.
And then Zhao Shaoshang would start shouting.
And Yuan Hong could not take his eyes off him, even if he tried. Shaoshang was too captivating, like a light in the darkness calling moths toward it. Yuan Hong was no stronger than an ordinary moth; he was tempted and summoned by that light.
Yuan Hong did not even mind when Shaoshang shouted at his subordinates. Although he noticed the panicked glances they sent his way, he had no intention of rescuing them once they had found themselves beneath Zhao Shaoshang’s fiery gaze.
“Are you seriously trying to tell me that you spent three days watching the suspect’s house and never once noticed that he kept leaving through the back entrance?” Shaoshang demanded, while the fan in his hand moved rapidly, like the fluttering heart of a small bird.
The officer standing before him opened his mouth.
Then shut it again with a quiet click.
He had no answer. No excuse he could possibly use against Zhao Shaoshang.
And Shaoshang fanned himself faster and faster.
The only thing Yuan Hong felt remotely concerned about was his wrist. He did not want Shaoshang to injure himself because of his subordinates’ stupidity.
Still, he said nothing.
Instead, he looked away, pretending to read the documents on his desk. He certainly was not peeking over the papers at Shaoshang’s profile while he berated his officers. He certainly was not soaking up his light or following every sharp movement of his figure with his eyes.
Yuan Hong would definitely never do something like that.
He was a professional.
He looked away.
The problem with Yuan Hong was that a moment later, he looked back.
And this time, Zhao Shaoshang was looking in his direction as well.
Yuan Hong had been caught red-handed.
“What?” Shaoshang asked.
His voice was still raised with irritation, full of suspicious annoyance, almost as if he were searching for another victim on whom he could vent his anger.
Yuan Hong could feel the corners of his lips twitch upward slightly. Shaoshang was far too adorable for even him to maintain a perfectly stone-faced expression.
The moment he noticed Shaoshang's eyes narrowing, however, the policeman immediately returned to a serious expression.
“Nothing,” he replied quickly.
“You were looking at me,” Shaoshang said, taking a step toward Yuan Hong’s desk.
“No,” Yuan Hong denied, feeling warmth creep up the back of his neck. He could lie straight to his superiors' faces without hesitation, but this simple lie directed at Shaoshang was enough to make his palms damp.
“You were,” Shaoshang insisted. “Do you not like the way I discipline your men?”
“No. I was only... analyzing the situation,” Yuan Hong finally admitted.
Zhao Shaoshang narrowed his eyes.
“Analyzing... the situation...” he repeated slowly in a deceptively calm voice, carefully articulating every syllable, almost as if he were singing in an opera. Yuan Hong swallowed, feeling the sound of his voice settle somewhere deep within his soul.
“Yes,” he agreed quickly, sensing that the younger man was waiting for his reaction.
“The situation in which I was irritated and disciplining your subordinate?” Shaoshang prompted.
Yuan Hong resorted to his final defensive strategy: silence.
But that was answer enough for Zhao Shaoshang.
He knew perfectly well that it was the same thing his father did whenever he did not want to lie to his mother but knew that telling the truth would amount to a confession of guilt—something the Minister of Education stubbornly refused to do.
Zhao Shaoshang studied him carefully for a moment before snorting softly.
“Yuan Hong.”
He spoke his name calmly, and Yuan Hong found himself unable to ignore it. He had to look up from the documents he was not actually reading and meet Zhao Shaoshang’s gaze.
“Yes?”
“Do you think my anger is amusing?”
The policeman knew that this was a question that required a very careful answer.
At the moment, he was merely a suspect. If Shaoshang found him guilty, anything he said could and would be used against him. The matter would not even need to make it to court. He would be finished.
Yuan Hong was a good policeman.
He knew how to recognize danger.
He knew how to lie when circumstances demanded it.
But he had never been particularly good at lying to Zhao Shaoshang.
Especially when Zhao Shaoshang was looking at him like that.
“No,” Yuan Hong attempted to deny.
Shaoshang raised an eyebrow.
Yuan Hong barely managed to suppress a quiet, utterly undignified sound of admiration.
At that moment, Shaoshang looked so adorable that Yuan Hong sincerely regretted that Shaoshang’s servant was not secretly following them around with a camera. He would have sold his soul for a photograph that captured that particular expression.
“Really?” Shaoshang pressed.
Yuan Hong let out a quiet sigh.
“It’s... interesting,” he admitted after a moment.
For several seconds, complete silence reigned in Yuan Hong’s office—and perhaps throughout the entire police station.
It felt as though even the birds outside had frozen in midair, afraid to flap their wings lest they become the ones to break the silence stretching between the two men.
Then Zhao Shaoshang closed his fan with a sharp snap against his open palm.
Yuan Hong flinched slightly at the sudden sound.
“Interesting?” Shaoshang repeated.
“Yes,” Yuan Hong agreed, deciding to follow this path. It was far safer than admitting that he found Zhao Shaoshang’s anger adorable.
“My anger is interesting.”
Shaoshang repeated the words as though he were trying to decipher a sentence spoken in an unfamiliar language.
“Yes,” Yuan Hong confirmed once again.
“And what if I were angry at you?”
The question was delivered lightly, almost teasingly.
But Yuan Hong caught the brief shift in Shaoshang’s eyes.
He noticed that Zhao Shaoshang genuinely wanted to know the answer.
So he answered honestly.
“I would rather you weren't.”
Zhao Shaoshang blinked rapidly.
He had not expected that answer, and it showed clearly on his honest face—a face that almost never managed to hide what he was truly feeling.
Shaoshang was so sincere, so open.
In this world, that seemed almost impossible to Yuan Hong.
To preserve that sincerity and innocence all the way into adulthood felt like a miracle.
And yet Shaoshang stood before him, sincere and open, looking at him with bright eyes full of curiosity.
Yuan Hong looked away, unable to withstand that gaze.
“Your anger is amusing when it's directed at other people,” he said. Then he drew a breath, pausing briefly.
Shaoshang’s full attention was focused on him.
It was an electrifying feeling.
“But I wouldn't want to be the reason for it.”
For a moment, Zhao Shaoshang said nothing.
Then he turned his head away, hiding a smile.
He opened his fan and began moving it slowly in that hypnotic manner of his.
Yuan Hong noticed.
Of course he noticed.
He noticed everything that had anything to do with Zhao Shaoshang.
That was becoming a bit of a problem.
But this time, he had the opportunity to witness a new reason for why Shaoshang reached for his fan and tried to cool himself down with it.
Shaoshang was adorable when he was angry.
But when he was embarrassed...
Well, Yuan Hong would have to expand his vocabulary.
Because he simply did not possess the words necessary to describe just how sweet and adorable Zhao Shaoshang looked at that moment.