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It's too loud, but clubs are always too loud, and the energy more than makes up for it. Cheng Xiaoshi isn't usually in the habit of drinking, but he indulges tonight in something sweet and kind of fruity. Qiao Ling picked it for him. He's forgotten what it's called.

He can feel the beat in his chest. Qiao Ling is half shouting to Xu Shanshan barely two feet away from her, and they're both laughing. Dong Yi is talking to Lu Guang, who's as stoic as ever, but less tired, warmer.

Things have been easier lately. After all the mess, their dives have been safer, low risk. Things like retrieving the contents of an old recipe book and finding a lost engagement ring. It's been months since Cheng Xiaoshi has had to punch anyone. Months since both of their scars have healed. Here now, half a drink warming him from the inside out, the body heat of a hundred people in the room warming him from the outside in, Cheng Xiaoshi realizes that the both of them must feel far, far older than they actually are.

It's nice, whatever this is. It's like being young again, even though he's still only in his twenties. He wishes he brought his camera, if only to catch the way Qiao Ling's makeup is smudged, Dong Yi's hair is a mess, Lu Guang's patterned blue and red from the lighting. He wants their smiles captured in time. He want this memory as a thing he can keep and come back to if one day the world falls apart again.

His phone won't do them justice, but with too sweet alcohol on his tongue, it'll be enough.

Snapshot: Qiao Ling standing with her head thrown back in laughter. Her lipstick has made it to her chin, and she's cast in a dozen colors at once. In front of her, Xu Shanshan's back, her hair pulled into a high ponytail, the back of her waist in her crop top glittering from some shimmer cream Qiao Ling lent her. Lu Guang and Dong Yi sitting at the bar, Dong Yi with his hands out and mouth open as he says some thing or another. His eyes are closed; Cheng Xiaoshi had caught him blinking. Lu Guang's expression is smooth and impassive, his hand curled around a cup of near-neon liquid. His eyes are on the camera.

The song changes to something fast and electronic. Behind Cheng Xiaoshi, laughter erupts and a group of three girls pull each other along to the dance floor, where bodies blur with the beat and the ground is sticky and the flashing lights make it hard to make sense of anything.

Thump, thump, thump, the beat booms. Lu Guang is still looking at him. Cheng Xiaoshi pockets his phone and takes a sip of his drink.

"How is it?" he asks, raising his voice over the music. Lu Guang makes a confused face, not catching the words. Cheng Xiaoshi laughs and leans in, saying it again. "How is it?" He nods at Lu Guang's drink wrapped in one pale hand, a silver band on his middle finger, the cuff of his open button up caught on the watch around his wrist. "Your drink?"

Lu Guang shakes his head. Cheng Xiaoshi has to duck closer to him to hear half his reply. "—too strong."

There's this feeling still tight in Cheng Xiaoshi's chest. He laughs it off, wonders when he became so sentimental, wonders if he always has been. Maybe it's the drink. He turns to Dong Yi. "What about you?"

Dong Yi pushes his glasses up, glancing at his drink on the bar top. It looks like beer; he's never been one for anything stronger. He lifts it, holding it up for Cheng Xiaoshi to clink against his own. "Good!" he says, and holds it out toward Lu Guang too. Hesitant, Lu Guang lifts his glass, taps it to Dong Yi's. Cheers, he mouths, but his voice is too soft to hear. Cheng Xiaoshi holds out his glass too, gets a tired look in response.

"Come on," he says, feeling the way his smile pulls at his mouth, lifting his eyebrows. Lu Guang looks down at his glass, back up to his face. Their glasses clink. His gaze sticks a little too long, and then the three of them are taking sips, sharp and too flavorful on their tongues. Finally, Lu Guang looks away. He brings his sleeve to dab at his mouth, though he hasn't spilled a drop.

"You'd leave us out?" Xu Shanshan says, near shouting, planting a hand on Lu Guang's shoulder to lean into the circle of them, extending her drink for cheers too, a half dozen bracelets on her wrist. Qiao Ling leans over on Lu Guang's other side, and he sits, stiff and carefully still, a hand on either of his shoulders. Cheng Xiaoshi clinks his glasses with theirs, laughing. Dong Yi quickly follows suit, and Lu Guang, awkward as it is, bends his elbow to join. When it's done, both girls straighten up and he visibly relaxes.

"Cheers!" Qiao Ling says, earning a chorus from the rest of them in reply. They all drink. Cheng Xiaoshi's tongue tingles. Again, Lu Guang brings his sleeve to his mouth. He doesn't seem to like his cocktail at all, despite the fact that his alcohol tolerance can put them all to shame. Two sips and he's barely lowered the level of the liquid in the glass.

"Your lipstick—" Xu Shanshan tells Qiao Ling, pointing to where the smudge is on her face. Qiao Ling rubs at it with the back of her hand. Red and blue light flashes; it's hard to tell whether she gets it or not, but at least it isn't so obvious.

"Finish your drinks!" Qiao Ling addresses the group. She taps her nails on her glass, holding the dregs of hers. "Let's go dance!"

Dong Yi laughs and complies. Xu Shanshan cheers for him to chug, though he doesn't have much left. Lu Guang makes a helpless expression. Cheng Xiaoshi points at his drink, swallows down his own. With Dong Yi between them, he'd have to shout to speak, so instead he raises his eyebrows expectantly, pointedly glances between Lu Guang and his drink. He earns an eye roll.

Behind, Qiao Ling tosses her head back to finish the last sip of her drink, wiping her chin when it spills. She's already dancing a little, swaying with the beat, one hand lifting into the air as she reaches for Xu Shanshan, who reaches for Dong Yi, finished with his beer. He's a little stiffer than they are, not one to let loose quite like this, and not half as tipsy as they are, but he's always been a good sport, and he goes without protest.

"Hurry up!" Qiao Ling says to Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi, the only ones still not finished with their drinks. Lu Guang hasn't even drained his halfway.

"Don't wait up!" Cheng Xiaoshi tells her. "We'll meet you out there!"

She makes a face at him, some kind of taunt, and then Xu Shanshan is tugging her and Dong Yi along, stumbling to the dance floor, laughter drowned out by the music, unsteady on their feet. Cheng Xiaoshi slides into Dong Yi's old spot, sliding his glass along the bar top. He can feel the bass in his chest and through his fingers on the wood. Lu Guang taps his fingers on his drink when they're gone, gaze downcast.

"That bad, huh?" Cheng Xiaoshi asks, leaning toward him. Gray eyes lift.

"It's too loud," Lu Guang says. "And this drink tastes terrible."

Cheng Xiaoshi laughs, shaking his head and hooking one finger around the stem of Lu Guang's glass to pull it closer. It slips from Lu Guang's hand without protest. Cheng Xiaoshi replaces it with his own. "Not sure if you'll like mine better, but try it anyway."

Lu Guang looks at it like Cheng Xiaoshi has passed him something odd and inscrutable. Maybe it's the way there are barely three swallows left. Maybe it's the print of Cheng Xiaoshi's mouth on the rim.

Cheng Xiaoshi takes a sip of Lu Guang's neon concoction. It's sharp and artificial and strange, like cherry cough syrup. It sticks on his tongue and the back of his throat, and he makes a face. "What even is this?" he asks over the noise. His gaze sticks to Lu Guang's face. His hair that could be any color under these lights. He catches the way the corners of Lu Guang's lips turn up, just slightly.

"I don't know," he says, still soft enough that Cheng Xiaoshi has to get close to hear him. "The bartender recommended it."

"Interesting thing to recommend," Cheng Xiaoshi says like a curse. He takes another sip, cringes again.

"Cheng Xiaoshi," Lu Guang says. "Don't bother finishing it."

Cheng Xiaoshi nods at his old drink, Lu Guang's fingers wrapped around it. "Finish mine," he says, "and then I'll be done with yours."

Lu Guang might laugh. Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't hear it, just raises Lu Guang's glass at the same time as Lu Guang raises Cheng Xiaoshi's. They both drink. Cheng Xiaoshi works his mouth against the taste of the drink.

He sets the glass back down; neither of them rush. It's a little bit odd, the two of them in a place like this. Cheng Xiaoshi here as himself, not in the body of some client. Lu Guang as Lu Guang. His dark circles have been a little lighter lately. With this light, Cheng Xiaoshi can't see them at all.

"Do you want to dance?" he asks.

Lu Guang looks at him over the rim of his glass, Cheng Xiaoshi's lip print. His mouth is wet when he sets the glass down, now empty, and says, "I'd rather not."

"We're here to have fun, A-Guang," Cheng Xiaoshi reminds him.

"My idea of fun is staying at home and reading a good book," Lu Guang retorts.

And it's true. He'll go anywhere if dragged, but he's always been more inclined to curl up in the sunroom or frequent the bookstore or the library over anything else. Cheng Xiaoshi remembers a time when he used to go to conventions and travel and play basketball, and wonders if time has mellowed him out. Lately, he just likes his peace. He's been like that for a while; Cheng Xiaoshi can't pinpoint the start.

"You can just stand there and sway," Cheng Xiaoshi tells him. "I won't make you do anything embarrassing."

On reflex, he takes another sip of Lu Guang's drink and cringes. When he sets it back down, Lu Guang pushes it away so he won't do it again. His mouth forms shapes like the word idiot, and he shakes his head. "You can go by yourself."

Cheng Xiaoshi exaggerates a shocked expression, softly kicking one of the legs of Lu Guang's stool. "You'd disappoint Qiao Ling-jie like that?"

"Idiot," Lu Guang says, audible this time. "She doesn't care. Go dance and make a fool of yourself if that's what you want to do."

"You'd disappoint me like that?" Cheng Xiaoshi says, letting his eyebrows climb even higher. Lu Guang visibly sighs, dropping his forehead into one hand, blue light reflecting off his ring and his watch face. He'd dressed exactly the same as always for this; gray t-shirt and white button up, plain pants. The fabric is warm at his elbow when Cheng Xiaoshi grab his arm to pull him along. "Come on!"

"Cheng Xiaoshi." He's not budging; Cheng Xiaoshi pulls a little harder.

"You really think any of us would leave you to sit alone at a bar while we have fun? Yeah, not a chance," Cheng Xiaoshi says, tugging until Lu Guang begrudgingly gets up, shoulder colliding with Cheng Xiaoshi's chest before he tugs his arm free and moves away.

"Fine," he says, and grabs Cheng Xiaoshi's wrist to drag him along to the dance floor, loud and sticky with people packed too close. His fingers are lukewarm, cold from holding a drink, warm from the overwhelming heat of the bar. The lights make it hard to see, and the crowd is too dense to find their friends. Lu Guang turns back to him, though he isn't looking at Cheng Xiaoshi, too busy scanning around them. "Happy?"

He's shorter than Cheng Xiaoshi remembers. Strange. They've been the same heights for years, and they're both too old to still be growing. But he'd barely have to tip his head up for his mouth to be level with Lu Guang's forehead. "Very," he says, offering a smile despite that weird feeling in his chest. Lu Guang hasn't let go. He takes a half step closer to hear. "Now all that's left is for you to actually dance!"

A look. "You said you wouldn't make me do anything embarrassing."

"Come on," Cheng Xiaoshi says. "We're here to have fun, remember? Nothing embarrassing about it." He pulls Lu Guang's hand onto his shoulder, hesitant fingertips landing on his waist. It's different than supporting him while he was injured, and he can't decide why. Still, he holds his other hand out for Lu Guang's, wiggling his fingers, ignoring this strange, growing awareness.

This close, Lu Guang smells like white tea and something else—a cologne Cheng Xiaoshi didn't even know he had. He smells good. He's warm, and Cheng Xiaoshi is sweating. His gaze is somewhere around Cheng Xiaoshi's shoulder, mouth a little bit parted, and his dark circles are softer, aren't they? Cheng Xiaoshi wakes to him climbing down the ladder to his bunk less and less frequently; he's been sleeping better, he's been taking better care of himself.

"This is stupid," Lu Guang says. Blue and red in his hair. His hand lands in Cheng Xiaoshi's. He stubbornly refuses eye contact.

"The stiffer you are, the less fun you'll have," Cheng Xiaoshi tells him, guiding them into something that isn't quite dancing, but matches the beat. For all his complaining, and the fact that he mutters something inaudible under his breath, Lu Guang follows along. A smile pulls at Cheng Xiaoshi's mouth. "There's Jie," he says, turning the so Lu Guang can see Qiao Ling with her hands in the air and enough energy to have the floor to herself. Xu Shanshan has Dong Yi by the hands, making him jump with her, making him twirl her, only one drink down but all her inhibitions gone. "See, they're having fun; I think this is a you problem."

A soft laugh. He feels the breath of it more than he hears it. Their hands untangle, and when Cheng Xiaoshi turns back to Lu Guang, he finds him with both his arms around Cheng Xiaoshi's shoulders. And oh. He's looking now. Smiling, even, if only a little. Cheng Xiaoshi's breath stills.

"They're acting like they're way drunker than they are," Lu Guang says. Fondly, "Idiots."

He's close. Cheng Xiaoshi is half certain he doesn't even realize how close he is. This Lu Guang, who'll sooner shove Cheng Xiaoshi away than allow him a bit of contact. This Lu Guang who grumbles and sighs and saves his smiles like he'll run out.

Cheng Xiaoshi's heart beats, beats, beats. His hands are thick and clumsy on Lu Guang's waist, both of them now, though his touch is light as a feather.

"You're having fun," he accuses, grinning wide enough to hide whatever this is, whatever it is that he's feeling. When did he start feeling this? There's something about Lu Guang smiling. Something about the way he's been sleeping more, eating better, pushing the others away less and less. He's the same person, but slowly and surely, he's becoming more and more like the way Cheng Xiaoshi used to know him. Before they started using their powers, before they gained their matching scars, before they had known no shortage of stress and danger. Is that it? The familiarity? Has he really just been missing this version of Lu Guang that finally found his peace?

"Nothing to do with you." Lu Guang's eyes on him, gray and the most rested they've been in a long time. He's so close Cheng Xiaoshi can smell him, can feel him, could tip his head up and kiss his forehead or tip his head down and kiss him straight on the mouth. And oh, he's happy now, or something close to it, something so close to it Cheng Xiaoshi is almost convinced he'd allow it, and that's—

Since when has Cheng Xiaoshi wanted any of these things? Why does the thought that Lu Guang might allow them not scare him even a little? Looking at him now, that feeling in him so much more sweet than bitter, he opens his mouth to speak, to say something, to change this years long dead end trajectory of theirs.

And then: "There you are!" Qiao Ling is shouting, the widest grin on her face as she wades through the crowd, and somehow they're pulled apart, Lu Guang's arms slipping from his shoulders, his heat peeling away, his scent lost to the stuffy club air.

But he's still smiling, is the thing. Cheng Xiaoshi's fingers itch, but Lu Guang is still smiling, and maybe he's a little bit drunk, but he can't find it in him to be the slightest bit upset.

Snapshot: That club lighting again, blue and red and purple where the colors mix. This one is a bit blurry; Cheng Xiaoshi's phone can't make sense of the input and all the motion. Dozens of dancing bodies, strangers moving in a dozen different styles, from innocent to awkward to dirty. Qiao Ling makes the forefront, one hand gesturing Cheng Xiaoshi to come along, her hair a mess, sweat on her upper lip, her mouth open as she yells something at him. She's passed Lu Guang to Xu Shanshan and Dong Yi, who each have one of his arms. He's awkward but laughing as Xu Shanshan tries to get him to dance, her hand pulling his arm into the air. A stranger bumps into Dong Yi; Cheng Xiaoshi has caught him with his eyes closed yet again.

He almost drops his phone as Qiao Ling grabs his arm. "Are you taking photos?" she shouts, eyebrows pulling together. She knows she won't look good in them now, so Cheng Xiaoshi clicks off his phone and slides it back into his pocket before she can get upset. On the screen before it blacks out: December 28, 10:26 PM. They're due for a snow before the night is over.

"No!" he lies, letting himself be pulled along. "I was just checking a text!"

△

Cheng Xiaoshi wakes up in the sunroom to the angry crackle of the automatic coffee maker. His mouth is dry and foul tasting. He's still in his clothes from last night, the seams of his pants branded into his legs, his shirt smelling like sweat and alcohol and—strangely—covered in glitter. He thinks that must've been Qiao Ling's fault. His head throbs, but he hadn't been drunk enough for the night be a forgotten blur.

He remembers the drinks, the dancing, the fun. He remembers when he started to get drunk, the stupid jokes he'd made and things he'd done in hopes of making everyone laugh. Now, there's a bit of embarrassment, but he still remembers the smiles at the time. Xu Shanshan's hysterics, Qiao Ling's snorting, the way Dong Yi put his head in his hands as he laughed. The small, tiny, microscopic little upward tilt to the corners of Lu Guang's mouth. The light in his eyes. The way he'd been happy—maybe just because he was tipsy, but happy. The way Cheng Xiaoshi couldn't stop thinking about that, over and over, again and again, all night long.

He's thinking about it even now as he sits up, putting both feet on the cushion and wrapping his arms around himself. His stomach lurches, his brain slams around inside his skull, and he ducks his head between his knees as fights the sensation.

And still. Lu Guang's smile. Cheng Xiaoshi has seen it hundreds of times, has made him laugh, has made him cry with it, but this. The persistence of it. The ease of it. The fact that usually Lu Guang keeps his smiles close like one day he'll run out of them if he gives out too many, but last night he'd been happy. He'd been so simply happy for the first real time in who knows how long.

Cheng Xiaoshi squeezes his eyes shut, and despite the pain, despite the innumerable uncomfortable sensations in every part of his body, he feels himself grin.

That's how Lu Guang finds him, curled into a ball on the couch, though that smile stays hidden where he can't see it.

"Cheng Xiaoshi," he says, and his voice is rough with sleep. "Are you okay?" Cheng Xiaoshi can imagine him. Disheveled, oily, covered in glitter the same as Cheng Xiaoshi is. Lu Guang will have changed into pajamas before he went to bed, though.

The coffee maker continues to crackle. Cheng Xiaoshi holds onto that smile just a little bit longer and tucks it away. "My head hurts," he moans.

Lu Guang exhales, something between a sigh and a laugh. "Idiot," he says, familiarly, fondly. "I told you to drink more water." There's the soft sound of his feet on the floor, the sound of clinking glass as he gets something from the cupboard, water running as he turns on the tap. And then he comes back, and Cheng Xiaoshi lifts his head, and there's a cup of water held out of him. Lu Guang's fingertips drip; he must've spilled or been splashed. Cheng Xiaoshi takes the cup, takes a sip, swishing the water around to fix his dry mouth.

"Thanks," he says.

"You're welcome," Lu Guang says back.

He looks like Cheng Xiaoshi imagined him. His hair is a mess, he hasn't washed his face yet, and his neck sparkles beneath the collar of his soft, threadbare pajama shirt. But there are details that never show up when a person is imagined rather than seen. His slightly chapped lips, the pimple on his chin, his faint dark circles. His soft, contented kind of fatigue. He'd had a good time last night, even if it drained him enough that he won't want to go out for a week.

"You didn't sleep well, did you?" Cheng Xiaoshi asks after he swallows. Lu Guang blinks, looks at him softly. Alcohol always makes it hard for him to sleep. Everything makes it hard for him to sleep. Lu Guang has always been excellent at napping when he's not supposed to and terrible at sleeping when he is.

"No," he says, and Cheng Xiaoshi looks at him, studies him, and finds him happy even now.

"Let's just rest today," Cheng Xiaoshi says. "No need to open."

A huff. Lu Guang wipes his still wet fingers on his pants. "It's Sunday, Cheng Xiaoshi," he reminds him. "The studio is closed anyway."

The crackle of the coffee maker. Lu Guang's gray eyes and cracked mouth and bare feet. "Right," Cheng Xiaoshi says, looking at his own wavering reflection on the surface of the water in the glass. There's a strange feeling in his chest. That same strange feeling forming a lump in his throat, a frog under his tongue. His hands itch for something, but there's only the cup of water and Lu Guang, turning away now, the tag of his shirt sticking up at the nape of his neck.

"Do you want coffee?" he asks, not bothering to turn, and it's just his back. His shoulders, his bedhead, the taper of his waist.

"Please," Cheng Xiaoshi says, and watches him head back to the kitchen. Watches him, all too aware of the heart in his chest. The warmth he feels. The feeling like want.

It's cold, actually. The blanket he'd been using fell off the couch at some point. And as they'd been promised, it snowed overnight. The sunroom is always cold in the morning, always cold when it snows. He pulls the blanket back into his lap and turns around to look outside, squinting against the way the sun reflects off of it, a fresh wave of pain pounding through his head.

But it snowed. Four or five inches of it covering yards and rooftops, hiding the sidewalks, churned up black in the road. It's done now, but the clouds stay until the sky and the earth are all the same shade of blinding white. It hurts to look at. They'll have to shovel, but right now he sits, bundled in warmth and waiting for coffee, and he wants his camera.

It's too far to his room. His phone isn't on the table or in the cushions with him. He sticks a hand between, and comes up with crumbs and a one yuan coin. Stomach protesting again, he bends to check the floor and finds it halfway under the couch, a dust bunny clinging to it. Perhaps they'll have to sweep too.

He ignores a couple of notifications to try taking a picture of the view. Maybe he'll post something cozy and aesthetic with a caption Lu Guang will cringe at him for, but the window is a bit dirty and the can't get the angle right from where he is but doesn't care to get up. He's too comfortable, and his head still hurts.

Lu Guang comes around with the coffee, setting Cheng Xiaoshi's in front of him on a coaster and taking a seat on the other side of the couch, a mug of his own between his hands, though he shifts it around because it must be too hot. He must notice the snow, because he sighs. "We'll have to shovel," he says.

Cheng Xiaoshi laughs and it sends a stab of pain through his head. "That's what I was thinking too."

Lu Guang sets his mug down and steals half the blanket, bringing his legs up onto the couch and covering his lap. "Later," is all he says, reaching for the coffee again and finally stilling once he's settled. He's far from his most beautiful. Cheng Xiaoshi's fingers itch anyway. He unlocks his phone and steals a picture.

Snapshot: Lu Guang with an arm on the back of the couch, body facing the camera, head turned to look outside. The lighting is bad, the window is just a blur of white because the phone can only focus on one thing at a time. There's a navy blue blanket in his lap, legs curled beneath it, a kitten patterned mug in his hand, chipped at the rim, the coffee inside dark and reflective.

Even in the photo it's obvious that he's tired, but he doesn't look sad, is the thing. Cheng Xiaoshi has grown so used to him being sad, always those two things by default. Sad and tired, tired and sad. They aren't the kind of friends that talk about these things. All he can do is tuck away the observations for himself and hope that they stay true. That Lu Guang stays smiling more often and easier than before, that his dark circles continue to fade, that he keeps living his well earned peace. 

Cheng Xiaoshi yawns and turns off his phone. Somehow, he hadn't been caught. He leans against the back of the couch and closes his eyes for a breath, two, still in pain and half asleep. A little longer. Lu Guang doesn't speak. Cheng Xiaoshi is usually the one to break their silences, but this one is comfortable. He reaches for his coffee, phone falling off his lap in the process. The screen lights up: December 29th, 11:57 AM. He'd slept in later than he thought, but it doesn't really matter. Not today.

△

Two days after the fact, December 30, 3:14 PM, Cheng Xiaoshi shovels away a second snowfall, and thinks about the way they'd danced. The too loud music, the colored lighting, Lu Guang's arms around his neck. It was only for a moment, but he'd been warm, and he'd smelled like that white tea cologne, and he'd smiled, had this soft look in his eyes.

Cheng Xiaoshi scoops up another shovelful of snow. His nose is cold, his fingers are cold. He should've grabbed gloves; his hands are red and his knuckles are chapped. Lu Guang should have grabbed a scarf. He sniffles as he starts on the steps to the door, wiping his nose on his sleeve, and he's wearing a hat and gloves, but his neck peeks out under his coat and he looks cold. They're both cold somewhere, they're both missing something for the weather.

Cheng Xiaoshi remembers his mouth, of all things. The smile, obviously, but more than that. The alcohol on his lips after he drank. The way it had been so loud Cheng Xiaoshi was forced to look, forced to watch him form words, forced to...

Who is he kidding?

Now, Lu Guang's mouth is red and pursed, his hands clenched around his snow shovel, and Cheng Xiaoshi remembers dancing, remembers looking at his mouth, remembers the way it felt to touch his waist and see him happy, and really, who is he kidding at all?

Idiot, he thinks in Lu Guang's voice. He feels a sweet kind of stupid, butterflies in his stomach as he drops his shovel into a pile of snow and unwinds his scarf with fingers frozen stiff.

"It's cold," he says, and makes a pact with himself as he comes up behind Lu Guang, who turns to face him. I'm going to make you happy, he thinks to himself. Whatever that means. However you'll let me do it.

"What are you doing?" Lu Guang asks, arching a brow as Cheng Xiaoshi comes closer, brandishing the scarf. He's a step higher, taller now; Cheng Xiaoshi has to look up at him, his hair squashed down by his beanie, his face flushed red with the chill. "I'm fine, Cheng Xiaoshi. I have a hat and gloves; I'm probably warmer than you are."

Still, Cheng Xiaoshi wraps the scarf around him, heart stubborn in his chest, fingers thick and numb and clumsy. "Nonsense," he says, cheesing, wrapping the soft knit fabric a second time. It covers Lu Guang's mouth. He isn't stopped or pushed away. Lu Guang doesn't retreat, just looks at him, almost as close as they'd been when they danced.

Such a short lived memory that is. Lu Guang's cologne, his smile, his waist, his forehead almost level with Cheng Xiaoshi's mouth.

"A hot guy like me runs warm," Cheng Xiaoshi says, if only to see the way it makes Lu Guang fake an expression of disgust. His mouth is still hidden. His eyes smile for him. He nudges Cheng Xiaoshi back with his shovel.

"Idiot," he says, fond as ever, and returns to clearing the snow. He keeps the scarf, and Cheng Xiaoshi can't find it in himself to regret it one bit.

△

"You've chosen the worst possible day to be sick, you know," Qiao Ling says, lifting her hand from his forehead just to flick it once she's done checking his temperature. "Worst. Day."

Cheng Xiaoshi bats her hand away, scowling. "It could be worse," he protests, drawing his blanket tighter around himself. "It could be my birthday."

She makes a face at him. He makes one back. "Say it," she says.

He sniffles and sighs. "I'm sorry I can't make it to your party, Landlady."

"Good," she says, standing up from where she'd been sitting beside him on the couch. "I'm going boil some water. Do you want lemon in it?"

"Yes, Jie," he says, and suffers through another wave of chills. He'd taken medicine, but it has yet to do anything. So he suffers, nose stuffed up, throat sore, body too hot and too cold at once.

"You did this to yourself, you know," Lu Guang says from across the room, looking up from his book. He's not on the couch because he doesn't want to get sick, and he doesn't outwardly react when Cheng Xiaoshi pouts at him.

"You did," Qiao Ling calls from the kitchen. Cheng Xiaoshi sighs and flops to lay on the couch instead of sitting up. And there he stays until she comes back with the hot lemon water, begrudgingly sitting up so he can drink it.

It sucks, being sick. It sucks enough that he doesn't really have the energy to whine about it, so he just cocoons himself and takes slow sips, burning the roof of his mouth and listening to Lu Guang and Qiao Ling talk, though he doesn't absorb most of what they say, since it isn't directly to him and he's free to retreat into his exhausted, fevered thoughts.

Murmuring. A soft laugh—Lu Guang's. Cheng Xiaoshi downs the rest of the mug, sets it aside, and falls back into the cushions, pulling a pillow beneath his head. He's comfortable and miserable at once. He might fall asleep, he might just doze. A shadow falls across him. Someone takes the empty mug from his hot water.

"Will you come?" A voice.

The answer: "For a while, at least. Maybe not the whole time."

"That's fair. Someone probably needs to make sure he doesn't wither away and die." Silence. Long, stretching. Cheng Xiaoshi shifts where his ear presses too hard into the pillow.

"Yes, well. I'm also not the partying type."

A laugh. "Maybe not." Another shadow falls over him. A hand presses to Cheng Xiaoshi's forehead, and he scrunches his face in protest. "Cheng Xiaoshi," Qiao Ling says, somewhat soft now, brushing away the hair sticking to his forehead. "Cheng Xiaoshi." He cracks his eyes open, mumbles something, though he doesn't know what.

Qiao Ling sighs and pulls the blanket higher over his shoulders. "At least sleep in your bed," she tuts.

"Idiot," says Lu Guang, fondly.

It could all be a dream. Cheng Xiaoshi falls back asleep, and when he wakes up, he's alone.

It's long since grown dark. One of his nostrils is clear while the other is stuffed up, and his fever might have gone down a little. He sits up and finds himself soaked in sweat. It cools immediately, cold as is but a few degrees colder so close to all the windows in the sunroom. He wraps the blanket back around himself and gets up for a glass of water and a fresh dose of medicine. The clock on the stove blinks at him. December 31, 11:06 PM. Almost the new year. He's glad he'd woken up for it, even if he couldn't make it to Qiao Ling's party, even if he's alone with nothing to do but waste away wrapped in a blanket.

He shivers as he tries to get the medicine out of the blister pack. It won't peel like it's supposed to, and his fingernails are too short to puncture it, the foil too thick for him to push the pill through from the other side. He struggles with it for a handful of moments, and then he's struck with a wave of dizziness that has him leaning heavily against the counter for a moment until he regains his senses.

A breath, two, a key jingles in the lock, and the front door opens with a soft creak. Lu Guang or Qiao Ling, forgetting something or here to check on him. The door swings shut, shoes are removed and left in the entryway. Cheng Xiaoshi listens to the footsteps coming down the hall and feels a little bit happy, maybe. He likes that he has people who stay, people to come home to, people who come home to him.

His stomach lurches. His mouth floods with saliva, and he's charging to the bathroom in the next moment, so urgently he doesn't get to see whoever it is that comes home. It could be a burglar for all he knows, but not much else matters as he finds himself losing his dinner into the toilet, not that there's much to lose. Fortunately, all it brings is relief, and he stays kneeling there, panting, for a moment or ten before he cleans up.

He swishes his mouth, washes his face and hands. Over the sound of the running tap, there's a soft knock on the door. A glance up. In the mirror, he meets his own tired eyes and finds himself pale from the nausea rather than flushed with fever. His hair is clean enough, but messy and sticking to his wet forehead. He looks far from his best, but it doesn't matter. It never matters, when whoever is out there, Qiao Ling or Lu Guang, his two favorite people in the world, love him regardless. A burglar isn't likely to knock.

He dries his face on a towel and pulls the door open. Lu Guang stands there, still in his coat, hair fluffed up like it had been windy in the dozen steps between here and Qiao Ling's place. His expression isn't quite pitying, but it's something close. "You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, peachy," Cheng Xiaoshi answers, to a faint smile. He's shivering, he realizes, like some half-drowned dog. He flicks off the light and steps out of the bathroom, and there they are, the two of them in the partial dark with the light from the next room over. Lu Guang is beautifully shadowed, or maybe he's just beautiful, having made somewhat of an effort to look nice for Qiao Ling's party.

Maybe he'd worn that white tea cologne again. Cheng Xiaoshi's nose is too stuffed up to smell it. He could say or do any number of embarrassing things, but his head is too fuzzy for him to sort out which ones might make Lu Guang smile, and which ones might chase him away.

"How's the party?" is what he settles for, pressing a hand into the wall. He doesn't need it for balance or to hold himself up, but he needs the way it feels real, because the way Lu Guang looks at him isn't.

"Good," Lu Guang says simply. "Loud. Tiring. Jie has too many friends."

"Ah." Silence. Cheng Xiaoshi's tongue feels thick, or he'd find a way to fill it as he always does. But his head just pounds, and his underarms sweat though he doesn't feel hot at all. He's still shaking like a leaf in the wind.

"Sit down, Cheng Xiaoshi," Lu Guang says, tiredly, fondly.

"Yeah, okay."

So he goes and he sits back on the couch, blanket wrapped tight around him. Lu Guang opens the blister pack, sets it and a glass of water on the table, and then he sits in the armchair beside the couch like he has no intention of getting back up.

Cheng Xiaoshi takes the medicine with a sip of water. He swishes a second around in hopes of clearing the sick taste from his mouth, but it only helps so much. He should have brushed his teeth, but he doesn't think he can bring himself to get up and do it now.

"I'm sure Qiao Ling-Jie is missing you," Cheng Xiaoshi says. He forces a grin, freeing a hand from his blanket cocoon to point at his chest. "I'm stronger than I look, you know," he says. "You guys don't need to worry that I'll up and die while you're away."

There is no laughter, no exasperated but indulgent smile like he'd hoped for. But Lu Guang has never found that sort of joke funny, not ever, but especially not since, well... The more that he thinks about it, the more he wonders why he expected a smile at all.

"You can go back to the party," he ends with. Simple, all he should have said in the first place, but his thoughts are slow and sticky and sluggish, and he's too distracted by his own discomfort to think about the things that he says.

Lu Guang, merciful as he'll never admit to being, just shakes his head. "I don't want to."

Cheng Xiaoshi laughs weakly, pulling his feet onto the couch and adjusting the pillow behind his back, settling in. He tips his head into the back cushion, curled upright on his side. "Too much?" he asks.

A nod. Lu Guang settles in as well. "Too many people I haven't met," he says. "There's a girl trying to get someone to kiss her at midnight."

"Oh? And you don't want it to be you?" Cheng Xiaoshi teases.

A sigh. "No, Cheng Xiaoshi."

And, because he's always had a poor filter, "You'd rather spend the rest of the night with me?"

Lu Guang just looks at him now. Tiredly, fondly. "Sure, Cheng Xiaoshi," he says, and a different version of him, the old one, the unhappy one, would've just told him to shut up instead.

It's a smile that pulls at Cheng Xiaoshi's lips now. It comes back again, that sweet, stupid kind of feeling, everything else kind of blurry with the fever. He shuts his eyes, turns his face into the cushion. "I knew it," he says, "you've liked me this whole time."

There it is, "Shut up."

Cheng Xiaoshi cracks an eye open, and there Lu Guang is. Shaking his head, not smiling so he won't give Cheng Xiaoshi the satisfaction. But he wants to. It's obvious that he wants to. This, whatever this is, midnight blue and yellow under artificial light, feels golden. Cheng Xiaoshi wants to fall asleep and dream of this, but instead he pulls his face out of the couch so he won't be tempted. "How long until next year?" he asks.

Lu Guang's gray eyes dip to his watch, familiar as anything. "Twenty-nine minutes," he says.

Next year, Cheng Xiaoshi thinks. Next year I want to make you happy. He's forgotten how long they've known each other. A long time, made a little longer. He hopes it feels just as warm to Lu Guang as it does to him.

"Are you sure you don't want to go back?" he asks. He wiggles his eyebrows as best he can, which is not well. "You're missing your chance to snag that kiss."

"Yes, Cheng Xiaoshi, I'm sure I don't want to kiss some stranger," Lu Guang says, and there it is, exasperated indulgence, their brand of friendship, of whatever this is.

"I know," Cheng Xiaoshi says, and his grin is more real this time around. He's too cold and too hot, sticky with sweat and stuffed up, but he wants to make his last mistake of the year, so he says, "I get it, you can admit you wanted to kiss me instead all along."

It earns him a sweet moment of Lu Guang's incredulity. His blush like a sunset. Cheng Xiaoshi wants the lights off, wants to feel it under his fingers, but he can't imagine a timeline where Lu Guang ever allows such a thing. But he feels that sweet kind of stupid, and he thinks he'd do anything for a smile, for a bit of happiness to pass along.

"Childish," Lu Guang says. "You have the humor of a grade schooler."

And all Cheng Xiaoshi can do is prove him right and laugh. He feels all too warm, head still pounding, wracked with another wave of shivers, just feverish enough to allow himself to wonder what a timeline might look like where Lu Guang allows this sort of thing. A kiss to mark New Year's Day. Why would I want that? he wonders briefly, and then he thinks to himself, who am I kidding?

Because really, he's known all along. And maybe, just maybe—

He hides a yawn in his sleeve. "Maybe next time then, when I'm not sick."

"Idiot," Lu Guang says, but maybe he's smiling just the tiniest bit—or maybe Cheng Xiaoshi is just falling asleep. Oh, if only he had his camera so he could look back some day and find out. "Not a chance."

△

He wants this. He's wanted this for a long time, but now he'll say it aloud. Now he'll actually do something about it.

On January 1, 1:13 PM, he wakes up in his own bed, not on the sofa in the sunroom, because Lu Guang had all but dragged him there after midnight hit and he no longer had an excuse to keep himself awake, sick and nauseous and exhausted. The fever has broken, at least. He'd dreamed of a hundred things, remembers exactly none of them, and he wants this. This, something, them.

Lu Guang is happy, and Cheng Xiaoshi has always wanted him, but has never wanted him sad. For the first real time, he thinks of them as an actual possibility.

The first thing he does is drag himself into the shower, soaked in sweat and gross as he is. He scrubs thoroughly, washes his hair, brushes his teeth. When he's done, he's still sick, throat sore and nose clogged and weak bodied, but he feels somewhat alive again. Lu Guang is out, and he hasn't left a note, so Cheng Xiaoshi is left to take another dose of medicine and scrounge up something for breakfast by himself.

The first day of a new year. Usually he sets resolutions he'll stick with for a week. Some years he deep cleans everything to start the year off fresh. This year, though, he sets a few simple goals for himself and considers that enough. Next time, he thinks. Next time, next time, next time. He blows his nose ferociously, and already feels like he needs a nap.

He finds Qiao Ling upstairs next door, scrubbing away in a kitchen that smells like cleaning supplies strongly enough for him to catch it through his stuffed nose. Every year she goes for the deep clean thing. The party likely didn't help.

"Back from the dead?" she greets him. Her hair is pulled back, bangs clipped out of her face, sleeves rolled up, a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead as she pauses attacking the sink with a sponge. On the counter beside her is a drying rack overflowing with freshly washed dishes.

"Somewhat," Cheng Xiaoshi agrees, and takes a seat at the dining table. She makes a face when he sniffles, which he promptly ignores. "How was the party?"

"Good," she says. "Super fun, awesome, and you totally missed out."

"Definitely makes me wish I'd have come and thrown up on everybody!"

"You're the worst," Qiao Ling laughs. She picks up her sponge again, wiping her nose on her arm and returning to scrubbing. "Help out, would you? Lu Guang is somewhere dusting; he's a much better tenant than you are."

"You're making him dust?" Cheng Xiaoshi asks, then pauses. "You'd make me dust? I'm still sick!"

She lifts her gaze to him and shrugs. "Well, you're no longer bedridden, and there's a lot to do."

"So cruel, Landlady," he says, standing up and finding a tissue to blow his nose again. She makes another face at the sound, so he makes one back and walks off.

He finds Lu Guang in the hallway between the bedrooms, standing on his toes to dust the tops of picture frames hung on the wall. He's dressed in dark pants and a heathered gray shirt layered beneath a button-up rolled to the elbows, and he makes Cheng Xiaoshi want to make his first mistake of the year. But he doesn't have the excuse of being fevered anymore, so all he does is come up behind him and say, "You really let Qiao Ling-Jie rope you into this?"

Lu Guang doesn't turn to look at him, so it's only his back that Cheng Xiaoshi sees when he replies, his shoulders, his mess of white hair. "It was a mess after the party. I felt bad."

"You volunteered?"

A pause. "...Not quite," Lu Guang admits.

Cheng Xiaoshi laughs harder than he should, enough that it ends in a coughing fit. "I'll do it," he says when he recovers, coming closer and plucking the duster out of Lu Guang's hand. Lu Guang looks at him now, dark circles as faint as they've ever been, soft eyed and scanning Cheng Xiaoshi's face.

"You're sick," he says, as if in protest, fingers folding over the handle of the duster alongside Cheng Xiaoshi's like he means to take it back.

He can't help the way he smiles. He never can. He has more than enough of those to last a lifetime or twenty, and he's always been happy to share. "Jie wants me to help anyway," he tells him. "You've probably been trapped here long enough; just sneak out while she isn't looking."

But Lu Guang only tightens his grip. "You should be resting," he says.

Their fingers touch. They touch all the time, for any number of reasons, but Cheng Xiaoshi is still stuck on it. Lu Guang's cool hand, his eyelashes, his mouth. The way they'd danced, so briefly, too briefly. He's still stuck on that too.

"I agree," Cheng Xiaoshi says, instead of something stupid. He wants to be careful about this. He needs it to be right, if he wants a chance at this. And he does. And he thinks he could have it. Maybe in time. "I would love to be resting, but I'm here." He presses his free hand against his chest, making his most sincere expression. "So let me ease your burden."

A scoff. Lu Guang rolls his eyes and lets go. "If you're well enough to joke, you're well enough to dust. I've already done the living room."

"Done trying to persuade me?" Cheng Xiaoshi calls as Lu Guang turns his back and starts making his way elsewhere. He looks down at the duster in hand, fluffed up and stained dirty gray, and sniffles. "Lu Guang?" There's no reply. He watches Lu Guang go, but not far, just to grab some other cleaning supplies from beneath the kitchen sink, politely brushing past Qiao Ling in the process. They share a bit of conversation, the two of them, Cheng Xiaoshi leaning against the wall and watching, unnoticed—

Or not. He meets Lu Guang's eyes briefly, watching him lift his brows slightly, a spray bottle in hand. Qiao Ling is talking now, and he returns his attention to her, leaving Cheng Xiaoshi's smile to smooth into something softer, feeling something weird and warm and too optimistic for how physically terrible he feels.

His two favorite people in the world. Her, the closest to family he has. Him, the first person to stay entirely of their own volition. He'll never tell either of them, not without risk of turning himself into some embarrassing puddle of emotions.

There's a tickle in the back of his throat; a cough he does his best to suppress. He should get to work, if he wants a bit of rest anytime soon. But first: shifting his grip on the duster, he draws his phone out of his pocket and once again laments his lack of a proper camera during the moments when he wants one the most. But there's little to do about it, so he takes the picture as quick as he can before he's noticed and scolded for immortalizing the state of Qiao Ling's hair.

But he needs moments like these. Over the past months he's been collecting them as best he can, holding them close, keeping them for a rainy day.

He won't go into them. He's told himself this over and over. He doesn't need to, doesn't want to, but it makes him feel good to have them there. Just to look at, just to remember. It's all too easy of a habit to fall into, after everything. Lu Guang would probably disapprove if he knew, but he doesn't, and he won't. So here it is.

Snapshot: This one is zoomed in a little, because Cheng Xiaoshi is an entire room away from them. It's a little grainy, taken through the gap above the half-wall separating the living room from the kitchen. Qiao Ling and Lu Guang are both in frame, neither facing the camera, both under a mix of artificial light and sun coming in from the window. Lu Guang has his spray bottle, a half-smile on his face, half seen. Qiao Ling is gesturing with rubber-gloved hands, mouth mid-word, and this might be one of the worst Cheng Xiaoshi has taken, but he's strangely fond of it.

His two people together, mundane and peaceful. It brings him comfort. He breaks out coughing hard enough to draw their attention, tears forming in his eyes as he struggles to insist that he's fine between breaths. It's terrible, but it's alright, really.

△

"You're still sick, Cheng Xiaoshi," Lu Guang says a day later, when Cheng Xiaoshi is mostly better but admittedly still sniffling and coughing his lungs up every now and then. They're in the sunroom yet again; Cheng Xiaoshi hasn't been off the block in three days and it's starting to drive him a little bit crazy. "Don't sit so close."

"You live with me," Cheng Xiaoshi says, frowning but putting some space between them on the couch. "You breathe my air, you sleep in the same room, you eat off my dishes; if you were going to get sick, don't you think you would have already?"

"I have no interest in tempting fate," is the reply, and Lu Guang cracks his book open to continue reading in the next moment, his way of signaling that the conversation is over.

Cheng Xiaoshi sighs a bit louder than he strictly must and collapses into the cushions until his head falls against the back of the couch. He turns his gaze to the ceiling, plain and nondescript as it is. The tall potted plants on either side of the window, probably in need of a watering. A tickle forms in the back of his throat, so he shifts to straighten out his neck, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth as he holds back a fresh coughing fit.

He turns to Lu Guang, still just sitting there, reading, eyes drifting over the page, fingers spread over the back of the book as he holds it in one hand, the other laying on his shin, crossed over the opposite knee. The light catches him quite nicely, giving him a faint halo, casting just the right shadow to sharpen his jaw, spilling over his skin and his clothes, reflecting off his watch face.

He knows Cheng Xiaoshi is looking, but he pretends not to notice in favor of pretending that he's still reading.

There's a delightful simplicity to these kinds of things. Coexisting, sharing a space, being familiar with each other. And lately, their world has been a calm, kind one. Cheng Xiaoshi's tongue feels thick in his mouth. He wants to test waters that maybe shouldn't be tested.

But that smile. It haunts him. It's all he sees when he closes his eyes, and he feels like some kind of pervert, because he can't stop thinking about his hands on Lu Guang's waist.

He knows Lu Guang is fond of him. He just wishes he knew what that really looks like. What that means to him, how he might feel about Cheng Xiaoshi sitting here, watching him pretend to read and thinking about his smile, his waist, wanting to...

What is that he wants?

"Can I take your picture?" he asks, pulling his camera into his lap from its spot on the table.

Now, Lu Guang pauses. His eyes stop on the words, though he doesn't turn to Cheng Xiaoshi. "Why?"

And here it is. A ripple, maybe. "Because you look good," Cheng Xiaoshi says, as casually as he can manage it, though his heartbeat thunders and that tickle in his throat comes back when he swallows dry. "Maybe I need more practice photographing beautiful boys like you."

Lu Guang looks at him now, eyes narrowing. He's always been weird about having his photo taken. it makes sense, considering their powers, the powers that other people might have as well. It's why Cheng Xiaoshi has given up on making him the face of the studio's social media, despite the fact that he very well could bring more customers in with a face like that. But a photo like this would be for Cheng Xiaoshi and Cheng Xiaoshi only. Though maybe Lu Guang would find that weird too.

"Ask Dong Yi," is what Lu Guang ends up saying, coolly, smoothly, and then he returns to his book.

"You—" Cheng Xiaoshi laughs. Too hard, perhaps. And he doesn't mean any insult to Dong Yi, but, "That's your definition of a beautiful boy?" Cheng Xiaoshi asks, incredulous. "Dong Yi? Couldn't you have told me to go take photos of myself?"

Gaze firmly on the page, Lu Guang faintly smiles. "Your ego, Cheng Xiaoshi," he says, and oh, he's enjoying this, isn't he? He's never been as overt about it as Cheng Xiaoshi is, but he's always been a fan of teasing. His brand is a little bit subtler, layered beneath constant scolding and pretending not to be amused when he really, actually is. It shows a lot more lately.

That slight nervous feeling is ever-present in Cheng Xiaoshi's chest, but now it morphs into something a little bit different. Something eager, something curious. He peels his back from the couch and leans into Lu Guang's space. "Lu Guang," he says, drawn out and whiny, frowning for show, pushing the book down with one hand so Lu Guang has no choice but to look at him. "Come on, aren't I pretty?"

Lu Guang's eyes widen, up close as they are, and then he relaxes, unimpressed and all too used to Cheng Xiaoshi after all these years together. He pushes him away by the forehead. "Childish," he breathes like some fond kind of curse. "Comb your hair if you're so worried about your appearance."

"So cruel," Cheng Xiaoshi sighs, watching Lu Guang settle again, switching which leg he has crossed over the other, picking his book up again. He's moved a little, so the light doesn't hit him the same, but he's still beautiful.

The shell of his ear is red. He's biting the inside of his cheek. Cheng Xiaoshi raises the camera and takes the photo, quickly before Lu Guang can notice and react—he never looks like himself in photos he knows about, he's always stiff, uncomfortable, unhappy, but he really is beautifully photogenic so long as he isn't trying to come up with a pose or force his face into a smile. The sound of the shutter breaks the brief silence, and Lu Guang turns, lowering his book and already frowning. "Delete it," he says.

"Wait—"

"Cheng Xiaoshi." He reaches for the camera. Cheng Xiaoshi surrenders it, the strap slipping over his fingers, the image frozen on the screen. Lu Guang turns the camera around to look at it, frown freezing, then softening, thumb hesitating over the button to delete it.

Snapshot: Lu Guang's still looking for his place in his book, one index finger skimming the pages in search for it. His head is tilted down; three quarters of his face are visible. The light coming in from the window behind him—blurred and unfocused—catches his eyelashes, turning them long and silver, a patch of light glowing at the top of the cheek. A shadow for his nose, another for the small bit of fat by his mouth, for his cheekbone, for beneath his jaw, the bowl of his throat. He still has a halo, though it's fainter in this spot. He's a mosaic, light and dark, flushed faintly and perhaps trying to hide away a smile, and he looks—as Cheng Xiaoshi had said, half in jest and half awed, embarrassed truth—beautiful.

Lu Guang doesn't delete the photo, strangely enough. He just shuts the camera off, snapping the forgotten lens cap on the table back onto it and setting it aside. "Idiot," he murmurs, and there isn't a hint of a curse in the word.

△

What will spell it out? Cheng Xiaoshi's been wondering this for a while. What will hint, softly and subtly, that he's interested, perhaps, only if Lu Guang is too, in... What? A relationship? Calling Lu Guang is boyfriend instead of just his friend? His... partner, rather than just his partner? Oh, isn't that a thought.

He's been trying to flirt, but he isn't sure if it's working. Lu Guang has long since grown used to his charms and his antics. The flirting, unfortunately, is nothing new, and has lost its impact.

He'll have to be more obvious, but being obvious puts him at risk of looking like a fool more than he already does. Being obvious risks the chance that maybe, just maybe, Lu Guang isn't actually interested and will have to let him down somehow.

But... He has to be interested, doesn't he? Cheng Xiaoshi catches him staring, catches him smiling, catches him lingering a little before he pulls away, catches him doing all these little things that coming from anyone else would point to the obvious answer. But that's the problem, isn't it? Lu Guang isn't anyone else. He's so much more than that. Too important for Cheng Xiaoshi to just shoot his shot and be done with it.

That night, he turns his face into his pillow and curls his fist tight into the sheets so he won't do something dumb like punch the mattress and alert Lu Guang to his idiocy.

Heat in his face. Strange, childish, embarrassing fluttering in his chest. He's too old for this now, but Cheng Xiaoshi can't help but feel like a kid with a crush.

Lu Guang's smile, his laugh, his picture that he allowed Cheng Xiaoshi to keep. His waist in Cheng Xiaoshi's hands, those few seconds they got to dance.

He's hopeless, absolutely hopeless as he rolls onto his back and stares at the bars above him holding up Lu Guang's mattress. It's perfectly silent. Cheng Xiaoshi throws his blanket off to the waist and covers his face in his hands. I'll do it, he thinks to himself, I'll dance like a monkey and make a total fool of myself if it'll make you happy.

Above, Lu Guang rolls over. He exhales the softest sigh, and Cheng Xiaoshi tries desperately, futilely, to sleep.

△

"It seems you're mostly better," Lu Guang says in the morning over breakfast. He's soft and rumpled and a little bit oily from sleep. Cheng Xiaoshi takes the seat next to him.

"Yes," he says, making eye contact. "It seems I am."

One slow blink. Lu Guang returns his attention to his food, spoon clinking softly against his chipped ceramic bowl. "Then you'll be able to open the studio today," he says. "I was going to run some errands."

"I'll come with you," Cheng Xiaoshi says quickly. "We can go after closing."

Gray eyes lift somewhat hesitantly. Lu Guang stands his spoon upright with one finger balanced on the end. "You're acting strangely," he says, gaze flicking to Cheng Xiaoshi's elbow—propped on the counter so he can rest his chin in his hand—and back to his face, lips curled slightly in a smile.

"I'm not," Cheng Xiaoshi says, smiling a little wider, holding eye contact. Lu Guang, of course, is the one to break it. Cheng Xiaoshi straightens up in his seat, dropping both hands to the edge of the counter, where he traces patterns with his fingers. "I just want to spend some time with my partner, is that so strange?"

Lu Guang's mouth twitches, but he doesn't comment on this particular phrasing. "Fine, then," he says, "if you're really so excited about grocery shopping."

Cheng Xiaoshi couldn't care less about grocery shopping, but later, when they go, he's perfectly content. He walks close enough to brush their arms together when it isn't strictly necessary. He touches Lu Guang's hand more than once, passing something over for him to bag. It isn't accidental, and only half close enough to pass for it, but he doesn't get scolded. Lu Guang notices, that much is clear, but he lets all of it slide.

Cheng Xiaoshi, perhaps prematurely, perhaps unjustly, perhaps inappropriately, feels his confidence start to grow with each little thing he's permitted, because it's Lu Guang allowing these things. Lu Guang, who has no mercy when it comes to shrugging off advances he doesn't appreciate. Lu Guang, who has no qualms scolding Cheng Xiaoshi for idiotic behaviors. Lu Guang, who's already used to pushing Cheng Xiaoshi away.

Lu Guang, who Cheng Xiaoshi has gone through hell with dozens of times by now. Lu Guang, who looks good in winter light. Always given a halo by the sun, flushed from the cold, with chapped lips and frozen fingers and tissues shoved into the pockets of his coat for when his nose inevitably runs.

Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, he catches Cheng Xiaoshi staring.

"You'll fall," he says, because there's still some ice on the ground from the last time it snowed, though the sidewalks as well salted and safe. "Look where you're walking, not at me, idiot."

"I'd fall for you," Cheng Xiaoshi says before he can think too hard on it, and watches in real time as the red on Lu Guang's face darkens a shade.

"What."

"Nothing," Cheng Xiaoshi says, the shame finally catching up to him even as he finds himself grinning. He curses himself for speaking and feels an odd twinge of pleasure at once. He clears his throat conspicuously, playing it off. "Nothing at all. It must've been the wind."

△

"I'll cook something for you," Cheng Xiaoshi says a day later, when it's long since grown dark after closing. He's been holed up in the darkroom, smelling like developer solutions and sensitive to the brightness of the lights in the rest of the studio. Lu Guang looks up from where he's poking through the fridge, a little disheveled this late in the day. "Anything you want."

"Don't bother," Lu Guang tells him, pulling out a carton of juice.

"Ah, but I want to," Cheng Xiaoshi says, coming to the sink to wash his hands of any leftover chemicals. "Come on, what do you want? Noodles? Stir fry? Something with rice? I'll make it."

Lu Guang sets a glass on the counter with a soft clink, fills it halfway with juice. He narrows his eyes at Cheng Xiaoshi, suspicious or worse. "Maybe I'd rather get take out," he says.

Cheng Xiaoshi stops the water, towel dries his hands. "Great," he says. "Where from? I'll order it."

Lu Guang looks at him for a long while, scrutinizing, studying, testing, perhaps. Cheng Xiaoshi can see it behind his eyes, can practically hear the thought in the silence, what's with you? But he knows Lu Guang isn't dense, and he doesn't try to say anything else, just waits, and tries to ignore the heat slowly rising to his face.

"Maybe I'm not hungry," Lu Guang says, and his tone is strange and careful and absolutely a test.

"Then let me know when you are," Cheng Xiaoshi says, wondering what kind of foolish picture he makes, faintly embarrassed and still stubbornly devoted to whatever this is. "Maybe we can even get dessert tonight. My treat."

△

It snows again, several inches of it, enough that they spend the better part of the morning clearing the sidewalk and the steps up to the studio, hands and lips chapped and bitten by the cold. It reaches a third of the way up Cheng Xiaoshi's shin when he attempts to walk through it, careful steps so he won't slip, both of them appropriately bundled up this time.

Still, his nose runs. Still, his gloved hands go numb. Still, his breath turns to fog in the air and he flushes bright red from the chill. Miserable as he is, he has a mission, and he sends Lu Guang in when they're done and handles salting the steps so they won't form ice and kill their potential customers himself.

The fact that it's so cold outside means the sunroom, with far more glass than insulation, is also freezing, despite the space heaters they dragged up from Qiao Ling's parents' basement. It's frigid on cold days, and there's little they can do about it. What normally is Lu Guang's favorite place in the building becomes his least favorite, and when Cheng Xiaoshi comes back in, he finds him reading at the counter instead of on the sofa like he normally does.

He's left his hat and scarf on, though he's shed his gloves and jacket. He still looks cold, even though he's been inside for a while. His hands, one resting idly on the counter, are still tinged red and probably frozen. 

Cheng Xiaoshi takes a seat across from him, and it seems pointed, the way he doesn't react, doesn't move. His gaze, though, stills on the page, even if he doesn't look up. It resumes after a moment, tracing lines over words he's probably struggling to focus on. 

This is something else Cheng Xiaoshi has noticed lately, alongside the better mood and the lighter dark circles and the smiles. Lu Guang seems very aware of him now, of his attention. And yet he still hasn't been pushing Cheng Xiaoshi away or shrugging him off the way he used to. No, instead, he's... coy, almost. Cheng Xiaoshi is certain Lu Guang would not approve if he used the word aloud, but...

He pulls off his gloves and his hat and props his cheek in hand, watching Lu Guang continue to pretend to read and finding himself smiling a little. Coy, he thinks to himself a Lu Guang finally glances up, meeting his gaze for a fraction of a second before returning to his book. He has to get it by now, doesn't he? The old version of Lu Guang wouldn't have hesitated to shut this down if he was really uncomfortable or hated it. It's the only reason why Cheng Xiaoshi is confident enough to walk the fingers of his free hand to Lu Guang's, lightly tapping his index finger over Lu Guang's knuckles.

"Tough read?" he asks. "You haven't turned a page in a while."

It's manga, and they both know it. Lu Guang snaps it face down over Cheng Xiaoshi's hand. "You're acting strangely," he says.

"Am I?" Cheng Xiaoshi asks, raising his eyebrows. "I didn't realize."

Lu Guang looks away first, pulling his hand away and lifting his book. The cover can't hide the way his mouth twitches. "...Idiot."

△

In spirit of being as obvious as he can get, he buys flowers next. He decides on a bouquet of six pink tulips arranged with a bit of yellow wax flower, wrapped neatly in tissue paper with a ribbon tying the stems together. It's pretty, and as he walks home with it, he plays out the scene of him giving it to Lu Guang over and over.

Here, he imagines himself saying, I got these for you.

Lu Guang, looking from the flowers to him, saying flatly, what.

Premature embarrassment floods him, and he finds himself walking faster like he can run from it. The hand holding the flowers grows cold, exposed to the winter air, so he swaps hands and shoves the first into his coat pocket.

Again, he imagines the scene, stepping over a bit of snow someone did a poor job of shoveling.

I thought you would like these, he might say, but as he thinks of himself standing rigidly, arm extended, shoving these flowers in Lu Guang's direction, the embarrassment doubles. The only outcome he can realistically see is Lu Guang looking at him like he's some kind of idiot, and not the cute, endearing kind.

But he already bought the flowers and he's already committed to whatever this is, this strange courting ritual. He's in too deep to stop now, and he's already embarrassed himself plenty. Lu Guang hasn't put a stop to it, he reminds himself. He's been so painfully obvious, and Lu Guang has been fine with it. Presumably, hopefully, he'll be alright with this too, and he'll try to hide another smile that Cheng Xiaoshi will catch anyway, and maybe he'll feel a bit of these butterflies too, and...

It'll be okay. Whatever happens, it's them, it's them, Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang, and it'll be okay.

Promptly, Cheng Xiaoshi slips on a patch of ice and falls flat on his face.

Once the pain subsides and he's done cursing, he hauls himself up, dusts himself off, notices that the flowers are crushed and the paper ruined, and curses some more. He tries to fix them to no success, rumpled as they are, the paper creased, petals broken. He'll have to do something before he gives then to Lu Guang, but what, he isn't quite sure.

As he approaches the studio, he hides the flowers behind his back and heads not inside where he knows Lu Guang will be, but into Qiao Ling's parents' restaurant instead. He gets a few looks from customers, but after a quick hello to Qiao Ling's mother working up front—still hiding the flowers—he heads upstairs to the living space.

Qiao Ling is not impressed when he finds her cross-legged on the couch, typing away on her laptop, a pile of work on the cushion beside her.

"I need help," Cheng Xiaoshi says, and shows her the crumpled flowers. Her typing pauses as she looks from him to the flowers and back, eyebrows climbing her forehead. He smiles, embarrassed. "Please?"

"You have flowers," she says. He nods. "I guess what I'm trying to figure out is whether someone gave them to you, or if you're going to give them to someone else."

"I'd rather not make a big deal out of this."

"And yet everything is always a big deal with you." Qiao Ling laughs now, closing the lid of her laptop and setting it aside. "Alright. Let's see them. What did you do to make them look like this?"

"I fell," Cheng Xiaoshi answers as she plucks the flowers out of his hands, inspecting them.

"I'll ask again, because it is important to figure out what we're doing with these, you know. Are you gifting them, or were they gifted to you?"

A pause, in which Cheng Xiaoshi frowns and feels a flush rise to his face. He clears his throat. "...I'm gifting them."

She laughs in his face. "And who do you have to give flowers to? Lu Guang?"

His silence must be telling, because her mouth parts and and she says, "oh." But she doesn't continue teasing, which is the strange part. She just looks down at the bouquet again, pink tulips and yellow wax flowers, and hands them back. "Pluck off any of the really damaged petals. I'll see if I can find some more tissue paper."

It's ridiculous, but he's kind of touched that she'd take this seriously and help without making a fuss. He heads into the kitchen, pulling the trash can to a bit of empty counter space, and follows Qiao Ling's directions, plucking petals as some stupid part of him whispers in the back of his head, he loves me, he loves me not.

All the embarrassment, so present today, despite his efforts to remain shameless as ever, floods right back.

Stupid, he thinks to himself. And then it plays back in Lu Guang's voice, warm as it's ever been, fond as he is lately, idiot. And then he thinks of that smile, the one from when they danced, the feeling of Lu Guang's waist in his hands, and he—

He squats down and presses his head into the counter, a handful of broken petals in his fist, face hot, chest full of butterflies.

I hope you're happy, he thinks, spitefully. And then, I hope you're happy, he thinks, sincerely. He wants that, he needs it. He hasn't seen Lu Guang genuinely happy since college, since who knows when. He smacks his head against the counter, crushing the petals in his hand. He can smell them. Sweet, soft, floral, and that's what the other note of Lu Guang's cologne had been. White tea and something else, something so faintly floral he hadn't been able to pinpoint it. He'd never thought about Lu Guang and flowers before, and now—

The sound of a shutter. "Beautiful," says Qiao Ling, and when he looks up and turns, flustered and disheveled and still on the floor, she's lowering his camera. His camera that he'd forgotten here the other day after spending the evening editing photos and listening to Qiao Ling swear over her work. "I might not be an expert at taking photos like you and Lu Guang, but this might just be a masterpiece."

"You—" Cheng Xiaoshi bolts upright, dropping the petals in the trash and awkwardly wiping his hand on his pants. He snatches the camera from her. "Give me that." He presses the button to show the picture she took, and—

Snapshot: Cheng Xiaoshi in the kitchen lit by mismatched ceiling lights, some yellow, some white. He's squatting down, dressed in a button-up beneath a brown cabled sweater vest, the collar crumpled. On his feet are black socks and the pink slippers reserved for him at Qiao Ling's place. His hair is more of a mess than usual, and though his face is hidden against the counter, there's a visible flush up the back of his neck, floral carnage surrounding him, fist white knuckled beside his head, the edge of a petal peeking out. The angle has managed to make him look both small and terribly out of place, body language tight and embarrassed even though the camera.

He looks, in short, pathetic. "You're the absolute worst," he tells Qiao Ling.

"But hey, it's on your camera and not my phone for future blackmail material," she points out, laughing. He only glowers. She continues laughing and shoves a package of white tissue paper in his direction. "I found this, so say thank you."

He glowers some more and shuts off the camera, setting it aside where he hopes he'll remember it this time. "Help me," he says, pulling a sheet free and finding it far bigger than he knows what to do with.

"Yeah, yeah." Qiao Ling pushes him out of the way, sweeping the rest of the mess and the old tissue paper into the trash. She takes the flowers and picks over them, taking another petal or leaf here or there and arranging them into a more pleasing composition. "Fold that and lay it out."

He fumbles a bit with it, the paper loud as it crinkles, but he manages to fold it in half somewhat neatly and lay it out for the flowers. Qiao Ling sets about wrapping them, retying the old ribbon to secure everything in place. When it's done, she lifts the bouquet up and surveys it from a few angles.

"There," she says, and holds it out. Cheng Xiaoshi takes it, and while it's slightly sparser than it had been before, and the new tissue paper has creases in it where it was folded in the package, it no longer looks like it had been crushed under a grown man's body weight.

"It looks good," he says.

Qiao Ling crosses her arms, leaning back against the counter, smiling slightly. "Of course it does. Are you giving it to him now?"

"Yeah," Cheng Xiaoshi says, and takes a breath.

"Good luck, then. I'm sure he'll like it." There's something knowing in her expression. Cheng Xiaoshi finds heat coming back to his face. He clears his throat and tries to act normal.

"Yeah," he says, and realizes he's avoiding eye contact. "I hope so. And Jie?"

She's half smiling. "Yes?"

"Thank you. I mean it."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm amazing, I know. Now go on before those flowers wilt from not being in water for so long. And don't forget your camera!"

So he goes, wrestling back into all his winter gear, camera around his neck, flowers in hand. Outside the door to a studio, he takes a breath. Long, slow, deep. The exhale fogs up in the air. He tucks the flowers behind his back, and before he can psych himself out of it, pushes the door open.

There's Lu Guang at the counter, looking up and reaching for his bookmark before he realizes that it's just Cheng Xiaoshi and not a customer. He hesitates then, notices something, maybe, because he still marks his place in his book and sets it down gently enough that it doesn't make a sound.

"Cheng Xiaoshi," he says.

"Lu Guang," Cheng Xiaoshi says back, and finds himself out of breath. His grip on the flowers tightens behind his back. Paper crinkles. His throat is dry.

Lu Guang's expression is impassive. He's dressed warm in a thick cream sweater, and his gaze floats from Cheng Xiaoshi's face to his shoulders and back up. "...Welcome back," he says after an odd moment. 

Cheng Xiaoshi remembers all the scripts he'd tried and failed to make. He never did figure out what to say, how to do this. In the end, he steps forward and lays the flowers carefully on the counter. "These are for you."

Lu Guang looks at them for a long moment, maybe noticing the shoddy wrapping or the missing petals. Cheng Xiaoshi can't figure out what else to say, and then Lu Guang's eyes are on him again, cool gray and searching. "For me?" Lu Guang asks, voice low and smooth and soft, and Cheng Xiaoshi is. In love with him, maybe.

"Yeah," he says. "I thought they might brighten the place up a little. I thought you might..." He pauses as he notes Lu Guang raising a hand to his mouth and turning away, busying himself with putting a couple of loose pens back into the mug they keep them in on the counter. He's hiding a smile. "...Like them."

Lu Guang turns back, lowering his hand, expression schooled now, and clears his throat. "I should put them in water," he says.

"You should," Cheng Xiaoshi agrees, and watches as Lu Guang lifts the flowers—careful with them, he's careful with them the way he's careful with cats and books and other things he might break if he's too rough—and moves out from behind the counter. "Hey, Lu Guang?"

A low hum. He follows Lu Guang all the way into the kitchen, where there isn't a vase but there is an empty bottle of rice wine vinegar waiting to be rinsed out and brought to the glass recycling.

"Do you like them?" Cheng Xiaoshi asks.

Lu Guang works at the corner of the label with his fingernail until it peels up and he can take it off, luckily with minimal residue. "They'll brighten the place up, as you said," he replies, and sets about washing the bottle out. "The customers will like them."

"Sure," Cheng Xiaoshi agrees again, and comes closer, leaning against the counter closest to Lu Guang and reaching for his sleeve. "And what about you?"

Lu Guang's gaze dips to his hand, then back to his face. His inhale is audible. He tugs his sleeve out of Cheng Xiaoshi's grasp and returns to washing the bottle. "I like them," he says, awkward.

Cheng Xiaoshi's hands are sweating. "Good." He nods, once, twice, three times, and then stops himself. "I hoped you might."

△

"Xu Shanshan is inviting everyone out again."

The end of January. Snow sticks to everything, roofs and sidewalks and churned up mush in the gutters. The sunroom is freezing again, and Lu Guang's fingers are cold where he has permitted Cheng Xiaoshi to lay with his head in his lap and absentmindedly set a hand in his hair. He takes it back as he looks down. "Where to?"

"Clubbing," is the answer. "She says, and I quote, 'it's a good night to get drunk.'"

"No," Lu Guang says, and returns to whatever he'd been doing on his phone. Cheng Xiaoshi reaches up, curls a hand over his on the device, and draws his attention again.

"You had fun last time."

"No."

"Liar," Cheng Xiaoshi accuses.

"She's going to want to dance. I don't like dancing."

"Liar," Cheng Xiaoshi says again, sitting upright and stealing Lu Guang's phone altogether. He leaves it on the other end of the couch and stands, extending a hand and raising his eyebrows expectantly.

A sigh. Lu Guang looks up at him, down at his hand. "What are you doing?"

Cheng Xiaoshi wiggles his fingers. "You like dancing," he says. "You pretend not to, but you do, and I intend to prove it."

"Prove it how, exactly?" Lu Guang asks, stubbornly staying put.

Cheng Xiaoshi bends at the waist to catch Lu Guang's hand, and only has to pull a little to coax him up, more proof that it's all for show, that Lu Guang is soft and easy to persuade no matter how he tries to pretend he isn't.

"I saw you smile last time," Cheng Xiaoshi says as he tugs Lu Guang out from between the couch and the table. He lowers his voice like he's telling a secret. "I heard you laugh."

"I was drunk," says Lu Guang, eyeing him skeptically, though he doesn't resist as his hand is pulled to Cheng Xiaoshi's shoulder.

"You could get drunk again, if that's what it takes for you to have fun."

"Don't encourage bad habits, Cheng Xiaoshi."

Careful, feeling a flutter of nervousness now that they're so close and he's struck with the awareness of what exactly he's doing, Cheng Xiaoshi sets a hand on Lu Guang's waist, warm through fabric. He laughs, stuck on Lu Guang's eyes up close, the gray of them, the life in them after months of him sleeping well and eating better and being happier. "It's not like I'm telling you to drink so much you puke."

"Idiot," Lu Guang says, so warmly. He glances at their hands, their position. "And what is this now?"

"Dancing," Cheng Xiaoshi answers. "Because you love it and you're having so much fun."

"Without music?" He's beautiful up close. His hand in Cheng Xiaoshi's is cold, and he smells like the laundry detergent they share.

"We don't need music," Cheng Xiaoshi says, guiding him around the sunroom. His rhythm is off, but Lu Guang has always been careful and intuitive. It makes sense that he's a careful and intuitive dancer too. "Unless you'd rather I sang something."

"Please don't," Lu Guang says, shaking his head, but his mouth quirks at the corners. "And why are you always the one leading?"

"I'm taller," Cheng Xiaoshi says.

"So what?"

So he's just the right height to press his mouth to Lu Guang's forehead. He keeps thinking of that, stuck on it, how he would barely have to lift his chin. "So the taller one usually leads, am I wrong? Besides, you always lead when we dive; can't it be my turn?"

Lu Guang watches their feet, looks up. "I didn't realize that bothered you."

"It doesn't," Cheng Xiaoshi tells him. He smiles, putting them just a little bit closer to each other, tightening the bend in his arm to keep Lu Guang there, looking at him, his eyes the flick left and right as he looks at each of Cheng Xiaoshi's in turn.

"I like being led by you." This comes out soft, low. "You're the best partner I could've asked for."

Lu Guang purses his lips, breaks eye contact first. "So let me lead," he says.

Cheng Xiaoshi laughs. "Alright, my bad. We can switch," he says, and pauses so they can trade positions. Lu Guang is gentler with him, more tentative, gaze lowered and away as he places his hand so lightly on Cheng Xiaoshi's waist. They dance. Slowly, silently.

"Is that better?" Cheng Xiaoshi asks. "Order restored to the world now that you're back in control?"

"Shut up," Lu Guang says. He's flushed slightly. He touches Cheng Xiaoshi like he's still learning how. And maybe he is; Lu Guang has never been the touchy one between them. Again, he says, softly, "idiot."

"I fear the day you find a new insult for me," Cheng Xiaoshi says, slipping his hand around the nape of Lu Guang's neck. His hair is soft under Cheng Xiaoshi's fingers. "That one has lost all bite."

Lu Guang doesn't bother to reply, just scoffs. They longer they dance, the more comfortable he grows, hand settling, though he's still reluctant to meet Cheng Xiaoshi's eyes, only a breath away.

"You're smiling," Cheng Xiaoshi tells him. "Look at you, you're having fun. Again!"

Lu Guang even laughs a little, not bothering to hide it now that he's been caught. "Shut up," he says again, soft as anything, soft as the way he says idiot. Cheng Xiaoshi warms from the inside, pleasantly nervous, happy seeing Lu Guang happy, brave enough to bring his hand to Lu Guang's jaw. They look at each other, the small smile stilling but staying on Lu Guang's face.

"I like your smile," Cheng Xiaoshi tells him. "I like it when you laugh."

A breath. "You're flirting, Cheng Xiaoshi."

"I know," Cheng Xiaoshi admits. "I am. I have been."

Lu Guang stops leading. They come to a standstill, all but close enough to share breath.

"I haven't said anything I don't mean," Cheng Xiaoshi adds, because the silence between them is a palpable thing. Lu Guang looks at him, searching, studying, scrutinizing. "Just. You know. In case you were worried."

Lu Guang's exhale is almost shaky. "I wondered," he says.

Cheng Xiaoshi's heart beats hard enough that he can hear it. "I can stop, if you want."

Quiet. Lu Guang's hand twitches on Cheng Xiaoshi's waist. "No," he says.

"No?"

"You don't have to," Lu Guang tells him. He swallows thickly, then, "I don't want you to."

"You— oh."

Lu Guang clears his throat. "Yes. 'Oh,'" he echoes.

△

It's loud again, hot with body heat, the floors sticky, the lighting aggressively colored. It's a different club, but the atmosphere is the same. Crowded and lively, with bass loud enough to thrum through their chests and a sea of dancers.

Xu Shanshan saves them a table, a curved booth in the back, once they make it through the throng and find her. She jumps up and waves them over when they're close enough that she sees them, and one of her hands is tangled with Dong Yi's. Cheng Xiaoshi notes this, finds himself staring at Lu Guang's back, and doesn't say a thing.

"You made it!" says Xu Shanshan, all but shouting. She lets go of Dong Yi for Qiao Ling, who says something Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't catch through the noise and doesn't try to read off her lips. They all gather around, and he extends greetings to Dong Yi, who smiles and lifts a hand, then Xu Shanshan when she finally turns to him.

Lu Guang sits next to him after offering greetings of his own, close enough for their shoulders to brush, warm through the fabric of his thick woven coat which he leaves on despite the heat inside. Cheng Xiaoshi can smell the cologne on him, white tea and something floral, and he gets the temptation to press his nose into Lu Guang's neck and breathe him in, to whisper something sweet to him, to hold him tight.

Cheng Xiaoshi does none of those things. Instead, he smooths his hands over his thighs, offers a smile when he notices Lu Guang looking at him. Rather than smile back, Lu Guang swiftly looks away.

"Who wants drinks?" asks Xu Shanshan, so they go get drinks, sweet, sharp, sugary cocktails for Cheng Xiaoshi and the girls, beer for Dong Yi and Lu Guang. They chat about work and family drama and shows they've been watching, things they've been doing.

Lu Guang's hand rests on the table. Cheng Xiaoshi takes a sip of his drink, nodding and laughing and listening to Qiao Ling's story. When he sets his glass down, it's an excuse to bump his hand into Lu Guang's, to cross his pinky over Lu Guang's for a moment before he pulls his hand away.

On the other end of the booth, everyone is laughing at an old, reminiscent bit from college. When the mirth dies down, Qiao Ling lets out a nostalgic sigh. She taps painted nails on her glass half empty. "You know, it's not super often that we all get together like this," she says. "We should get a group photo!"

So they're all squishing together as Qiao Ling turns her phone camera on selfie mode, holding it up as they shuffle around to make sure everyone is in frame. "Say cheese!" she says, and they do. She takes the photo, and they're all settling back into their own spaces. "I'll send it to everyone."

Cheng Xiaoshi fishes his phone out of his pocket to see; she's sent three versions of the same photo. Xu Shanshan complains about one where her eyes are closed. The music continues to thump in Cheng Xiaoshi's chest like a second heartbeat. His tongue tastes bitter and artificially sweet from his drink, and of the three photos, one is perfectly inoffensive, with their eyes all open and smiles on all their faces, but it's another he likes the most.

Snapshot: The five of them trying to fit in frame; Qiao Ling closest, then Xu Shanshan beside her, Dong Yi at the start of the booth's curve, Cheng Xiaoshi at the center of it, and Lu Guang the last in line. They're all lit in blue, Lu Guang's hair dyed with it, glare on Dong Yi's glasses from it. Xu Shanshan holds up a peace sign, head tipped to one side, ponytail waterfalling over her shoulder. This is the one where her eyes are closed. Dong Yi, halfway behind her, is shadowed and smiling softly, fingers loose around his drink on the table. The glare makes it hard to see where he's looking, but his attention might be on Xu Shanshan and the body glitter on her shoulder. Qiao Ling has managed a flattering angle for herself, hair styled just right, the light complimenting her makeup, smile beautifully genuine. Cheng Xiaoshi himself is not ready for this photo. He's mid laugh, mouth open a little too wide, eyes closed a little too much, and his hair is a mess as always. But Lu Guang is why he likes this photo. Lu Guang, with a small, closed-mouthed smile and a softness to his expression. Lu Guang, cast in so much blue and looking, decidedly, not at the camera, but at Cheng Xiaoshi.

Looking at it, he thinks to himself, oh. He thinks to himself, you really do like me just as much as I like you.

Lu Guang doesn't care to check his phone to see the picture. He just settles back into his spot at one end of the booth, close enough for Cheng Xiaoshi to feel his body heat, taking a sip of his drink and laying his hand back out on the table.

Cheng Xiaoshi looks at him, forgetting to listen to the rest of them bicker and laugh, just looking, looking, looking at the way Lu Guang pretends not to notice him now as he smiles slightly and nods at whatever Dong Yi is saying. Cheng Xiaoshi brushes their hands together again, watches Lu Guang glance at him, watches him pull his hand into his lap.

"Lu Guang," he says, and doesn't get a response. Again, this strange need to be looked at filling him with that revelation. You like me, you like me, you like me. "Lu Guang."

Something prods his thigh under the table. A glance down, it's Lu Guang's hand, turned palm up and waiting. Still, there's no reply. Lu Guang doesn't even look at him. It's hard to tell in lighting like this, colored and shifting, but he might turn faintly red, at least the shell of his ear. There's a dent in his cheek where he must be biting the inside.

"Finish your drinks and we'll dance!" Xu Shanshan proclaims, knocking back a generous sip.

"Drink water," Lu Guang tells her, and she makes a face and reaches for her other glass, filled with water, which might actually be Dong Yi's, based on the way he opens his mouth, about to say something, before deciding against it as she takes a long drink.

Qiao Ling seems to notice, raising her voice to be heard, "Shanshan, that's—"

Cheng Xiaoshi laughs and laughs and takes Lu Guang's hand under the table, finding it cold and clammy with condensation from his beer. Something warm stirs and settles and glow in his chest. You like me, you like me, you like me. He squeezes Lu Guang's hand. Softly, Lu Guang squeezes back.

△

February first, it's warm enough to melt some of the snow, sunny and blindingly bright. They go for boba, because they always do, regardless of the season. The condensation dampens Cheng Xiaoshi's gloves, and the ice in the cup freezes his fingers. His breath still fogs up in the air, and while the sun does wonders to keep him warmer than he's been outside in weeks, he still keeps his scarf wrapped high enough to cover his mouth with it.

They walk around the park, past the skeletons of dormant trees and the snow that persists in their shade, down a dry, salted sidewalk, framed on either side by soggy brown lawns. The air is crisp and the sky is clear blue, and Cheng Xiaoshi's hand holding his cup is starting to go numb as he sips it. The other, hidden away in Lu Guang's jacket pocket, is warm.

They look for a place to sit, but most of the benches are wet with freshly melted snow, or shaded and still heaping with it, until they find one dry enough right in the sun, though the metal is freezing when they sit. Their hands, still tangled, slip from Lu Guang's pocket to rest on his thigh instead. Cheng Xiaoshi looks at them for a long while. Their mismatched gloves; his blue, Lu Guang's heathered gray. The way that Lu Guang's hands are a little bit smaller.

"You know," Cheng Xiaoshi says, fighting the way he wants to grin wide, something dumb and fluttery and glowing in his chest. Lu Guang looks at him, hair squashed beneath a hat, eye bags faint, lips chapped, a pimple he keeps picking at standing out on his cheek. "This is kind of like a date."

It earns him an eye roll. Part of him misses when Lu Guang was easier to fluster. Part of him likes their familiarity, likes that he can get away with things like this, likes that—used to Cheng Xiaoshi's antics as he is—Lu Guang likes this. The flirting. The dancing, the flowers, the physical contact he's mostly stopped shrugging off, all of the dumb little things Cheng Xiaoshi has been doing for him, with him, to him, in his direction.

He's felt foolish, but it's a warm kind of foolish, a giddy kind of foolish. He's done all sorts of ridiculous things, put himself out in a dozen ridiculous ways, and now here they are, here he is, holding Lu Guang's hand, being allowed to share his pocket, sitting so close their knees brush.

"Shut up," Lu Guang tells him, low and soft and fond as always, looking away so it won't be so obvious how he smiles this microscopic smile, more of a twitch of his mouth than anything, and Cheng Xiaoshi has been brave. He isn't quite brave enough to say aloud that he loves Lu Guang, not yet, but he's brave enough to admit it to himself.

"Hey," he says, instead of shutting up, because that has never been a request of Lu Guang's that he'll heed. He leans closer, pulling his knee onto the bench and angling his body toward Lu Guang. They're pressing in a handful of places, hands, legs, shoulders, and when Lu Guang looks at him again, he seems all too conscious of how close they are. His gaze can't pick a spot to stay, flicking over Cheng Xiaoshi's eyes, his shoulder, his mouth, somewhere behind him.

"What do you want?" Lu Guang asks.

"Can it be?"

"What?"

"This," Cheng Xiaoshi says. Slowly, carefully, "Can this be a date?" He thinks Lu Guang skips a breath. They hold eye contact just long enough that it becomes weird. "I can't afford a fancy restaurant, if that's what you were hoping for."

And then Lu Guang takes this giant inhale, pulling his hand out of Cheng Xiaoshi's and moving just far enough away on the bench that they look like a pair of normal friends as he rubs his palms over his thighs and ducks his head like he might hide his expression.

"Lu Guang?"

"Shut up," is the reply, weird and shaky. Lu Guang clears his throat, still won't look at him. Cheng Xiaoshi waits, kind of scared and kind of speechless, as Lu Guang lets out a long breath. "Yes," he says after a moment.

"...Yes?"

"Yes," Lu Guang repeats, and looks up now. He isn't flustered or embarrassed the way Cheng Xiaoshi expects. His expression is steely. He's frowning. "Yes, if you really want that. This can be... a date."

"I think," Cheng Xiaoshi starts carefully, "I've made it pretty clear that I do the last little while."

"Even after everything, even after..." Lu Guang runs a gloved hand over his face. "Can you really forgive me, after all of that?"

"Oh," Cheng Xiaoshi says. He sets his drink down and bridges their gap, folding his arms around Lu Guang's shoulders and drawing him closer until he goes, easy as anything, as breathing, as nothing ever is for this chronic overthinker. "Lu Guang." Arms fold around him in turn, tight, a face pressing into his shoulder. "Everything worked out in the end, didn't it?"

He's squeezed tighter. There is no reply, so Cheng Xiaoshi just hugs and holds and presses his mouth to Lu Guang's forehead over his beanie. "I forgive you," he says. "I forgave you. It's okay."

"If you're sure," Lu Guang says. Again, "If you're sure."

"I don't think I've ever been surer of anything."

△

Back home, behind a shut door, he steps close to help take off Lu Guang's scarf. "So?" he asks, meeting an unimpressed gaze.

"So?" Lu Guang repeats.

"How was that, for a first date?"

"Mediocre."

Cheng Xiaoshi laughs. "Come on," he says, wheedling. He pulls the scarf off, tosses it aside, presses in a half step closer, setting his hands on Lu Guang's waist. "Don't you like me?"

He's denied eye contact, but Lu Guang's hands lift to Cheng Xiaoshi's collar, undoing the first of his coat buttons. "That isn't what you were asking."

"It is now." He's looking at Lu Guang's mouth. "A-Guang," he says. Another button comes undone, unhurried. "Do you like me?"

A low hum, but no answer. Another button.

Cheng Xiaoshi's hands tighten on Lu Guang's waist. "I like you," he tries, and realizes he hasn't said it outright before. "Lu Guang, I like you."

This has some effect. Lu Guang pauses, swallows, before his gaze finally lifts. "It could have been better," he says, and hesitates for a breath. "You could've paid for my drink. You could have kissed me at the door." The zipper is next, once all the buttons are open. Lu Guang undoes it painfully slowly as Cheng Xiaoshi tries to get him to meet his eyes.

"Lu Guang," he says, and it comes out embarrassingly breathless. "Do you like me?"

He watches as Lu Guang swallows again, throat bobbing, gaze flighty. "Do I really need to say it?" he asks. "I think... It's pretty obvious how I feel, isn't it?"

"I've been throwing myself at you for a month," Cheng Xiaoshi reminds him. "I told you, just now, that I like you. My feelings are obvious; what have you done?"

He's startled by how instantly Lu Guang looks up, how intent his gaze is, and his unspoken words are clear enough, just through that look. I put myself through hell for you, over and over again, is what that looks says. Cheng Xiaoshi's mouth goes dry as he realizes. Lu Guang's love is a different kind, a quieter, more reserved kind, but it's always been there. Still, he can't exactly blame himself for taking so long to see it.

"Well, alright," he says, finding himself suddenly flustered. His hands feel clumsy, he realizes they are very close, but as he tries to take a step back, Lu Guang's hands fist in the front of his coat and keep him in place.

"I suppose you've done a few things," he continues, heat rising to his face. Lu Guang isn't smiling, isn't frowning, isn't making any kind of expression at all. Just looking, looking. Cheng Xiaoshi flexes his hands awkwardly on Lu Guang's waist and tries to bring back confidence, shamelessness, whatever kind of courage it was that let him do all the forward, embarrassing things he's already done. "But I'd still like to hear you say it."

He watches as Lu Guang deflates, sighing, hands on Cheng Xiaoshi's coat going loose. It's warm inside, too warm for it; Cheng Xiaoshi is starting to sweat. "So?" he tries again, softer now. He can hear his own heartbeat in his ears, even as he walks them step by careful step back to the entryway. "Would it help if I kissed you at the door?"

Now, he earns an amused huff. "You're an idiot," Lu Guang says, and he's still looking, eyes gray as doves and his hair a mess from being squashed beneath his hat. Cheng Xiaoshi finds himself holding his breath, Lu Guang's hands still holding his coat, climbing to grip it by the lapels like he's going to cuss Cheng Xiaoshi out or kiss him hard. "I like you," he says, cracking on it so slightly. "There, happy?"

And Cheng Xiaoshi makes this odd hiccup-like sound. He can't help the way he grins, something in his chest set alight. "Yeah, actually," he says. "Yes. I'm happy. This might be the happiest I've been in a while. Listen, Lu Guang, I—"

"Just... stop talking," Lu Guang says, and waits until Cheng Xiaoshi does for once in his life, just staring instead, mouth parted, to arch up and kiss him sweet and clumsy and slow. They both hold their breath. It takes a second try for Cheng Xiaoshi to relax, a third try for Lu Guang, but they figure it out. They always do. Between the two of them, they always figure it out, partners in everything.

And after it all, there's this: The two of them on the sofa, the chill of the sunroom combated by body heat, a photo that Lu Guang, surprisingly, is the one who takes.

Snapshot: Their faces aren't visible, just their hands, fingered laced, pulled into Lu Guang's lap. The sun is starting to set, so the light is gold. They're obviously pressed tight together, knees touching, arms overlapping. It isn't visible in the photo, but Lu Guang's head rests on Cheng Xiaoshi's shoulder.

"That's cute," Cheng Xiaoshi says when Lu Guang is caught.

The photo is quickly swiped away, Lu Guang's phone tucked away beneath his leg. "...Shut up."