Chapter Text
The shriek of rubber and roar of exhaust cuts through the thick, still night. Out on the edge of the mountainous countryside, the dark road appears in flashes and spurts, illuminated by two cars sprinting around dizzying corners. The lanes are so narrow in some spots that it seems impossible for one to pass the other without risking collision.
Not that Hua Cheng would allow anyone to overtake him.
In his side mirror, a set of obnoxiously bright headlights peeks into view, then dips behind the shadow of trees. Not close enough to catch up easily; not far enough behind to totally lose them. Not yet.
They zip past a telltale gap in the forest, the dropoff revealing a blurred glimpse of city lights sparkling in the distance. Focus turning razor-sharp, Hua Cheng strokes a thumb over the smooth leather of his steering wheel. This particular set of corners and straights are ruthless; the steep cliffs here have claimed countless cars, the deep ravines a graveyard of twisted metal.
One wrong move, one split-second mistake, and it’s over.
Good thing Hua Cheng was raised driving these serpentine hills, learning to maneuver around every curve and bump and speck of dirt in the dead of night. He had long since memorized this route; could race it in his sleep.
With a measured exhale, Hua Cheng sinks into his element. The world narrows; his mind goes mercifully quiet. Every thunderous rev echoes through his body, every turn and sprint sending a familiar thrill surging through his veins as he moves as one with his car, as easy and natural as breathing.
The trees clear all at once, revealing a long stretch at the base of the mountain, framed by a ceiling of stars. The final straightaway. Adrenaline coats singing nerves as he shifts, feeds juice to the engine, and crushes the accelerator.
The Skyline darts into the night like a demon out of hell.
It only takes one breath, two— and then he’s there. Teeth bared into a vicious grin, Hua Cheng barrels over the finish line, his opponent’s headlights now no more than distant pinpricks in his rearview. When he’s clear, he eases off the gas, allowing himself to slow naturally.
Too fucking easy.
Dim, yellow-tinged streetlights bow him into the gritty lot they’d claimed for the meet. All around the edges, onlookers hoot and holler and stamp their feet, announcing his arrival with raucous noise.
The instant he shifts into park and cuts the engine, they swarm the Skyline like sharks scenting blood in water, clamoring for the drama they know will come. Some are clearly gleeful upon having won their share of the pot, eager to watch him claim his prize; others are grim and white-faced, mourning their losses.
It’s absolute chaos. Still, the crowd collectively holds its breath when Hua Cheng’s door swings open.
Wreathed in the sort of self-assured power that would make the average mortal tremble, Hua Cheng certainly does not disappoint. Silver jewelry drips from his ears and neck, extremely eye-catching against artfully mussed black hair; it chimes lightly against his signature red silk and leather as he steps out into the velvet night, movements fluid and feline.
A loud rumble and screech of brakes announces his opponent’s arrival. Tension ripples through the crowd, anticipation so thick alongside the humidity that some folks break into a profuse sweat, gazes darting between him and the newcomer.
A smirk curls Hua Cheng’s lips when the loser finally stumbles out of his own car— some pathetic lackey of the shitty racing gang that seems determined to exist as a thorn in his side, challenging him every chance they get. The numbskulls have never won against him, of course, even though they occasionally resort to dirty, underhanded tricks to try to win— try being the operative word.
More than a few times he’s caught them lying through their teeth about concealed mods they’d installed, or setting up traps along the route, or other such nonsense that would take out anyone less skilled. Honorless trash. Hua Cheng takes great pleasure in defeating them in their own territory as often as possible. It makes the victory taste that much sweeter.
The onlookers part like butter around a hot knife when Hua Cheng stalks, unhurried, toward his latest victim, twisting his keyring idly around one long finger. Oh, he’s been looking forward to this.
“All that big talk about ‘burying that shitty old Nissan six feet under’ with your prized R8, and you couldn’t follow through in the end, hm?” Hua Cheng hums in mock sympathy. “Pity. I was hoping for a bit more of an exciting race than that.”
The driver whose name he hadn’t bothered to remember sputters, blotchy face flashing rapidly between red and green. He looks ready to spit acid. Or throw up. Either way, Hua Cheng doesn’t want whatever comes out of his vile mouth to end up on his new shoes.
Cold metal rings glint under the streetlights as he extends an expectant hand, expression arranged into that of the utmost boredom. “Your pink slip, as we agreed.”
Scandalized gasps rip through the crowd— and yeah, yeah. He knows. No one races for pink slips anymore, and for good reason: it’s fucking risky. In most instances, he’d never even entertain the idea— especially when his beloved Skyline is in the mix.
But Hua Cheng has a reputation to uphold. He can’t be backing down from big bets from the fucking Night-Touring Lantern gang.
It’s funny, really, how they were flaunting their souped-up Audi, like it was the holy weapon that would finally strike him down. Talking about it like it’s unbeatable. But Hua Cheng knows better. It's lightning-quick, sure, but there’s no heart in that car, no grit.
Flashy, fast-production trash has nothing on his Skyline. And considering the other variables, like his driving ability and familiarity with the course? The fact that he is armed with his own mods, which are blessed by the hands of a certain local god? Wasn’t much of a gamble.
Besides, Hua Cheng would be the first to admit that he enjoys watching the Lantern gang squirm when they lose— similar to a kid observing slimy little worms struggling above ground when it rains.
Paper slaps into his hand; the crowd explodes with noise, hooting and jeering at the driver’s misfortune.
Glancing down at the form, Hua Cheng clicks his tongue. “Now, now. You should know how this works,” he chides, a hint of cruelty staining his lips like fine wine. “Sign your life away, first.”
“You—” the driver spits, then his jaw snaps shut, teeth grinding. Someone pushes a pen into his hands. Face ruddy with anger and humiliation, he snatches the certificate back to sign.
“Hand over the keys when you’re finished,” Hua Cheng drawls while the driver scribbles out a signature without much ceremony. “Don’t forget; you’re walking home tonight.”
A loud curse, drowned out by the hollering of onlookers. Hua Cheng catches the keys and title as they’re hurled at his head, unruffled.
“There. Happy?”
“Very,” Hua Cheng agrees, tucking his prize into his pocket. Then his eyes flash, one glinting black, the other red as blood, unconcealed by his usual contacts. “Now scram.”
The driver scrams.
The cackling crowd parts to let him by, then reforms into a tight pack, energy electric. Hua Cheng watches in thinly veiled amusement as the discord in the lot heightens once more, everyone eager to trade gossip.
“Holy shit, I can’t believe they bet on pink slips!”
“God, did you see his face? My heart nearly stopped!”
“Exactly what I’d expect from Crimson Rain Sought Flower!”
A thunderous roar drowns out the chatter, and the rabble shifts their attention all at once. “Oh, look! They’re setting up for the next one—”
Like a flock of birds spotting something shiny, the bulk drift over to the makeshift starting line where two new opponents are revving their engines aggressively. It’s clearly meant to hype up the crowd; one of the vehicles spits bright bursts of flame from its exhaust while white smoke billows from the other’s spinning tires.
A cheer rises anew as the flagger circles to the front, raising her arms.
Uninterested in the show, Hua Cheng takes the opportunity to slip over to his new prize, surveying the abandoned Audi with a critical eye. He walks an unhurried circle around it, pointedly ignoring a clump of tittering fans floating nearby who are clearly trying to work up the courage to speak to him.
The first thing that catches his attention is a series of superficial scrapes wrapped around the front bumper, marring the glossy lacquer; the second, a deep scratch along the passenger door, poorly hidden by tacky acid green vinyl. The spoiler is definitely a shitty knock-off, and the tires are nearly bald, too, Hua Cheng notes, measuring the depth with the tip of his new key.
Right as he’s unlatching the engine bay to take a look inside, a familiar dark, wretched aura manifests behind him, chilling the air. The lingering fans immediately scatter, some base instinct sending them skittering away from the owner of those crisp footsteps.
Ah, Hua Cheng was starting to wonder when his favorite coworker would show up.
“Another one?” comes He Xuan’s flat voice. “What use could you possibly have for this pile of garbage?”
Without bothering to turn around from his inspection, Hua Cheng kisses his teeth. “Not sure yet,” he replies, unhurriedly moving to lift the rear lid. Heat billows out; he leans back. “Probably sell it; Green Lantern has no taste, and his taint is all over this car.”
Draped head-to-toe in his usual drab black, He Xuan sidles up beside him, peering into the bay as well. Assessing. “Picky bastard.”
Hua Cheng appraises him from the corner of his eye. “Why? If you’re thinking about taking it off my hands, I suppose I can be convinced to lower the interest on this one—”
“Shut up,” He Xuan grits, “I don’t need your handouts.”
Eyebrows lifting skeptically as though to say, uh huh, sure you don’t, Hua Cheng shrugs. “In any case, the offer stands. It’s a solid model, and all the major bits are in decent shape.” Then he huffs, derisive. “Imagine running with all this goddamn horsepower and still getting smoked like that. It’s a shame.”
“You’re talking like you’re not the one who fucking buried him.”
“Mm. And it was way too easy. Bunch of amateurs.”
An unlit cigarette materializes in He Xuan’s mouth. “I see you haven’t lost your flair for drama,” he mutters, rummaging in his pockets for a light.
“Says the guy who shifted into neutral in the middle of his race,” Hua Cheng drawls without missing a beat. “While I respect operating out of pure spite, that is an awfully ballsy move to pull when you can’t afford to lose.”
A noise of derision, then the rasp of a lighter. “As if I would have lost to that lowlife,” He Xuan mutters on an exhale, angling the stream of smoke away from Hua Cheng out of pure habit. “I had plenty of time.”
“Show off.”
“You’re one to talk.”
“It was amazing, though!” A cheery voice calls from behind them, and— wait, Hua Cheng recognizes that airy lilt. He turns, masking his surprise, because, well— He Xuan never invites guests to watch his races, let alone the object of his—
At Shi Qingxuan's flank stands Xie Lian, a soft smile gracing his lips and a lively flush coloring his cheeks.
The shock is so great that it takes everything in Hua Cheng’s power not to choke and keel over right then and there. In the space of a millisecond, the world crumbles into ash and reforms in full, saturated color, somehow brighter and more vibrant than before, with Xie Lian at its core once again.
Xie Lian, his crush; Xie Lian, the gorgeous mechanic who he'd spent months finding every excuse to visit (usually by way of self-sabotage); Xie Lian, who he’d finally scheduled a date with for literally tomorrow—
“We could hear the throttle all the way from the here,” Shi Qingxuan continues, oblivious to Hua Cheng’s plight, “you should have heard the crowd— people were going crazy, I guess it’s like throwing the bird, a big fuck you, since you’re sacrificing acceleration by shifting just to show you can, isn’t that right, A-Xuan?”
To his left, He Xuan grunts an affirmative; Hua Cheng is so dumbfounded that he almost manages to tear his gaze away from Xie Lian to gape, because A-Xuan?? Since when???
“Also, congrats on your win, Hua Cheng! I can’t believe how fast you were moving— I could barely keep track of you—”
Considering the work-crush crossover, Hua Cheng should have predicted something like this was in the realm of possibility, but he just… hadn’t.
”—and what is all this about betting pink slips? I thought that was just for movies! Isn’t it risky?? With the GT-R, too! I can’t believe it!”
It's a good thing Shi Qingxuan doesn't actually seem to be waiting for his response because at this point Hua Cheng has completely tuned them out in favor of not fainting like a Victorian maiden stuffed into a too-tight corset. As it is, he’s distantly aware that he has stopped breathing for longer than is medically advisable, so he focuses on forcing his lungs to inflate in a rhythm that would be appropriate for most living beings.
Shi Qingxuan turns to He Xuan. “Have you ever raced with such high stakes? Oh, don’t tell me you have—”
Expression placid, He Xuan takes a long drag from his cigarette and just lets it happen, seemingly content to let their endless commentary wash over him like high tide.
Hua Cheng’s heart nearly beats out of his ribcage when Xie Lian takes the opportunity to slip closer to where he has collapsed against the Audi like it alone can keep him tethered to the earthly realm. Fuck, he’s so— gorgeous under this lighting, so beautiful bathed in gold, dark lashes painting long shadows down the curve of his cheek—
“Hi, San Lang,” Xie Lian greets, and holy fuck Hua Cheng really wasn’t prepared to hear that gentle voice tonight, “nice race.”
Knees jelly, Hua Cheng swallows so hard that his throat clicks. “Hi, gege,” he rasps. “You saw?” Smooth. Real smooth.
“En,” Xie Lian nods, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. He’s wearing it mostly loose; the inky length tumbles well past broad shoulders, contrasting gorgeously with the warm white of his flowing street clothes. “I did.”
“O-oh.” Hua Cheng can’t stop staring; he’s never seen the mechanic wear it down before, since it’s always swept up into a practical topknot at the shop. The urge to bury his fingers in that hair and find out if it is really as silken as it looks is so strong that it makes him dizzy.
The sincerity in Xie Lian's voice when he adds, “You were incredible,” nearly ends him.
An embarrassing fizzing noise escapes his throat. A strangled “thanks” is all he can manage before something bony collides with his side, painful enough to draw his attention.
“We’ll be right back,” the owner of the pointiest elbow ever mutters, shooting Hua Cheng a meaningful look that says ‘we are not coming back’ and ‘you fucking owe me’.
Without waiting for any form of acknowledgement, He Xuan flees toward the starting line, dragging a still-chattering Shi Qingxuan along by the edge of their sleeve.
And then, before he’s even had a chance to collect the tattered remains of his brain cells, Hua Cheng is alone with the man who occupies his every waking thought, desperately casting around for something interesting or clever or cool to say that will not make Xie Lian instantly regret ever knowing him.
“How come gege didn’t tell me he would be coming?” Is what tumbles out of his stupid mouth instead, petulant and cringe-worthy enough to make him wish the earth would open up under his feet and swallow him whole.
A sheepish expression flits over Xie Lian’s face and he scratches his cheek— and why is that so cute?? “Ah— well, it was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing,” he says, and then his eyes go big and earnest in a way that makes Hua Cheng’s pulse stutter, “and I didn’t know you would be participating, otherwise I swear I would have!”
“Oh,” Hua Cheng says again, his usual conversational skills fleeing the stratosphere. Off in the distance, the crowd roars, but he can barely hear it over the rushing in his ears.
“It was a coincidence, really,” Xie Lian explains, “I guess Shi Qingxuan has been bugging He Xuan about going to a race for ages, but he always refused to share the meet details— until today. We were finishing up at the shop when he stopped by and invited us.”
Which is… a disturbingly out-of-character move for his dead-eyed coworker. The distinct, unsettling feeling that He Xuan is buttering him up for a favor creeps up in his periphery.
The worst part is that Hua Cheng can’t even bring himself to be annoyed— mostly because it had never occurred to him to extend the invitation himself. Despite Xie Lian’s enthusiasm about old racing cars, he had simply assumed the mechanic wouldn’t be interested in underground, unsanctioned, very illegal street racing.
Apparently he assumed wrong.
“After He Xuan’s race, he convinced us to stick around for the rest,” Xie Lian continues, the corners of his lips curving upwards, “so imagine my surprise when a very familiar car pulled around to the starting line.”
Okay but there’s no fucking way He Xuan is doing any of this out of pure goodwill. Hua Cheng would bet money that the cunning bastard is gunning to shave off some debt.
He clears his throat. “A good surprise, I hope?”
“En.” A dimple appears in that flawless cheek, eyes shining brighter than the stars, and oh god Hua Cheng's heart can't take how sweetly Xie Lian looks into his eyes— like he’s seen something very interesting, or compelling, or beautiful, or—
Ice bolts down his spine. Only the fact that Hua Cheng can’t quite seem to control his limbs right now prevents him from slapping a palm over his face to hide— but it’s far too late. Xie Lian has seen.
Frozen in place, Hua Cheng stares right back at the love of his life with his ugly, wretched, blood-red eye, and curses himself for forgoing his usual colored contacts just to play up the stupid Crimson Rain lore at this idiotic fucking race. This reveal— he’d planned on showing Xie Lian much later, if ever, after he’d been properly wooed and warned. Not like this.
Shoulders tight, he waits with bated breath for the other shoe to drop; waits for the mechanic to recoil, to draw away, something.
But he doesn’t. If anything, Xie Lian’s gaze warms. Gentles. Hua Cheng’s head spins at the unwavering affection written across that perfect face, how there’s not a trace of disgust or revulsion or fear to be found.
Then the mechanic takes a casual step forward, then another, right into Hua Cheng’s space. At the sudden proximity, Hua Cheng’s spine turns to liquid and he melts against the Audi, relying on it to support his weight and uncaring if he dents the damn thing in the process.
“A very good surprise,” Xie Lian says, expression so open and soft and fond that it cuts straight through Hua Cheng’s ribs and embeds itself into his heart.
He unsuccessfully tries to suppress a shiver. Are they… still talking about racing? Or about his mismatched eyes? He’s not sure anymore. With Xie Lian so close that Hua Cheng has to tilt his chin down to keep from breaking the mechanic’s gaze, it’s impossible to focus, let alone unravel his increasingly tangled thoughts.
“I’m… glad,” he chokes, mind suddenly occupied with fantasies of taking that strong hand in his own and tugging him closer until he’s crowding Hua Cheng up against the car, their hips pressed flush; of brushing the inky hair away from that elegant neck and replacing it with his—
“I told you before,” the subject of his dreams says, and Hua Cheng drags himself back to the surface like a man desperate for air, “it’s always a treat to see you.” A beat, then he adds, “And your Skyline.”
For a moment, Hua Cheng is back in that sun-baked lot, shirt sticking to his back from both the heat and the mechanic’s flirtatious words. It knocks him further off-kilter. “Gege, don’t tease,” he pleads weakly.
Dark strands dance around Xie Lian’s cheeks as he shakes his head, dimples flashing. “Oh, I wouldn’t dare,” he says with the playful-solemness of someone who would very much dare, “I mean it.”
“Gege…”
“San Lang,” Xie Lian counters, and oh god, the coy curve of his mouth is going to put Hua Cheng into an early grave. Then the mechanic laughs, the sound light and easy. “Alright, alright. I know I probably surprised you just as much by showing up to your race unannounced.”
A gross understatement. The shock will be recorded in Hua Cheng’s mind palace as a near-death experience. His soul nearly left the mortal plane entirely.
“Just a little,” Hua Cheng breathes, still dazed by the fact that Xie Lian doesn’t seem put off by his red eye— the opposite, really, judging by how he just seems to keep getting closer.
This closeness… it’s now solidly out of the realm that could be considered appropriate for friends. He’s vaguely aware that they have attracted the poorly-disguised attention of several nosy onlookers, but can’t bring himself to care.
The mechanic’s smile turns knowing, but he grants Hua Cheng a bit of mercy. “Well, I’m just glad I got to see you race. You’re an extremely talented driver.”
The compliment registers slowly, moving through his brain like molasses. “It’s… kind of gege to say so,” he replies a beat too late.
“Ah, it’s just the truth. I’ve never seen anyone drive the way you do; I almost couldn’t believe how fast you were moving, and some of those turns are pretty dangerous…”
“They’re not as bad as they look,” Hua Cheng says automatically, downplaying the absolute death trap that the mountain really is in face of the slight unease on the mechanic’s features. As if on cue, the crowd gasps and whoops, undoubtedly watching headlights weave in and out of view on steep cliffs.
Xie Lian quirks a brow, looking unconvinced. “San Lang is just being humble.”
“Me, humble? Never.”
That earns a chuckle. “Uh huh. Well, risky or not, I am glad I got to see the GT-R in action.” He casts a fond glance back to where said car sits, sleek and mean and so black under the ochre street lights that it threatens to swallow up the stars above. “It looked better out there than I could have ever imagined.”
“All thanks to gege for keeping it in top shape.”
Mesmerized by the long line of Xie Lian’s throat and the way his Adam’s apple moves when he speaks, Hua Cheng sways forward unconsciously, then jumps a little when the mechanic turns his attention back to him.
“Ah, the speed and control was all San Lang, though. I certainly wouldn’t have been able to maneuver it like you did— that’s some serious skill.”
“Just a lot of practice, gege.”
“Mm. You won quite the prize, too.”
Dark lashes dip as the mechanic surveys the newly-won Audi that Hua Cheng is currently using to support his wobbly legs, looking especially interested in the engine bay, still exposed to the balmy night air. Then his brows crease.
“I had no idea the stakes were so high in these races, though.” The serious expression that settles over Xie Lian’s face when his gaze flicks back to Hua Cheng makes a sudden wave of nervous sweat prickle at his neckline. “You really bet on pink slips?”
Resisting the urge to throttle himself for his recklessness, Hua Cheng trips over his tongue in his haste to soothe. “Yes, but gege, I didn’t— it was pretty much a guaranteed win for me, really, I— otherwise I never would have agreed to the bet in the first place.”
The mechanic draws his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying it unconsciously; Hua Cheng struggles not to stare at the shape it makes, or the way it reappears bitten pink. Restlessness fills his limbs as the crowd claps and cheers again in the background.
“Well, I’m just glad you came out on top,” Xie Lian says after a long moment that stretches and snaps like taffy. “It would have been upsetting to see you lose the GT-R.”
The Audi rocks as Hua Cheng straightens abruptly, knees clacking together but miraculously supporting his weight. “There was no chance of them winning, gege, I swear. I’d never risk all your hard work like that.” He tries to keep the whine out of his tone and fails miserably. “Gege, never.”
“So San Lang doesn’t always take such risks?” Xie Lian raises his brows.
“Of course not,” he exclaims, recovering enough mobility to lay an earnest hand over his heart, “this is a rare occasion, I promise. Gege caught me on an unusual day.”
Which is mostly true, for the record. This is maybe only his third time betting the Skyline; it’s his most prized possession, after all. All other races are dealt in straight cash.
“I imagine San Lang’s collection is quite impressive, then.”
I could show you, Hua Cheng thinks, then freezes when Xie Lian laughs and nods. Shit, did he say that out loud??
“I would like that,” Xie Lian says with a bright, rosy-cheeked smile that instantly liquefies his legs again. “Maybe tomorrow, after dinner?”
An extremely undignified noise escapes Hua Cheng’s chest. “S-sure,” he chokes.
That smile turns pointed. “Unless San Lang would prefer another time? You haven’t forgotten our date, have you?”
How could he possibly forget?? It’s been the only thing he’s been thinking about for a whole week, save for the few moments he spent racing or asleep, and even then, he’d been dreaming about it! In fact, if Xie Lian wanted to start the date early, like right now for example, Hua Cheng wouldn’t be opposed!
Throwing caution to the wind, he opens his idiot mouth to say exactly that. “Gege, I—” he starts, and then is interrupted by a chorus of high-pitched giggles and hushed voices, too close to go unnoticed. Hua Cheng blinks, a half-formed word frozen on his lips.
“Wait, who is that?” comes a loud whisper, followed by a hissed, “shh!”
Then, muffled, “Crimson Rain has a gege?”
And, “Did you hear? A date? Do you think—”
In a flash, Hua Cheng’s cold glare slices over to the group of eavesdroppers, that single look promising a slow and painful death. They practically throw themselves out of its path, biting back shrieks, and take shelter towards the far side of the lot where they boldly resume their gossip behind cupped hands.
Unsatisfied by this result, Hua Cheng intensifies his murderous aura, but to no avail. They seem immune to intimidation from this distance, so he gives up, turning back to Xie Lian with his expression rearranged into one of contrition.
“Ignore them, gege,” he murmurs.
Xie Lian only looks amused, a grin dancing at the edges of his lips. “San Lang sure is popular,” he observes.
“Hardly.” He waves a dismissive hand. “That group in particular is always hanging around these races, hoping to catch some gossip— or score a ride in one of the flashier cars. The GT-R always gets a lot of attention— and now there’s this thing.” He gives the Audi a light rap of knuckles.
The corners of Xie Lian’s eyes crinkle. “Ah, I think they seem more interested in you than anything,” he hums, shifting his foot until the tips of their shoes touch; Hua Cheng nearly jumps out of his skin at the contact. “Not that I can blame them, though. San Lang really is too handsome.”
The bold compliment obliterates whatever bit of self-restraint Hua Cheng had been desperately holding onto up until that moment, blasting it right off the face of the earth along with whatever brain cells he had left.
“Gege,” he blurts, mouth moving without his permission, “wanna get out of here?”
As soon as the question leaves his lips, Hua Cheng wants to scream, or— or pass out, or throw up, or die, whatever is fastest, honestly, because what the actual fuck is he thinking?? But before he can smash his skull into the concrete and succumb to either temporary or permanent unconsciousness, delight sparks across Xie Lian’s gentle features, bright and beautiful as sunlight breaking across open water, and Hua Cheng’s heart stutters at the sight of it.
“Absolutely I do,” Xie Lian breathes, dimples coming out full-force.
It takes a moment for Hua Cheng to register his answer, but when he does his entire body flushes with adrenaline, face flashing so hot he worries it may catch fire. And— oh fuck, is he— is Hua Cheng imagining the heat in those honey eyes??
Convinced he must be hallucinating, Hua Cheng stammers, “So, that’s a— yes?”
“Yes,” Xie Lian says simply. Then he steps up to Hua Cheng’s side and threads a perfect hand into the crook of his elbow, the way close friends or couples do.
The move nearly murders Hua Cheng. Gooseflesh erupts along his skin, and he suppresses a shiver, holding perfectly still like he might accidentally spook the mechanic if he so much as twitches a finger.
Xie Lian looks up at him, beautiful as a dewy flower drinking in the sun. “Lead the way, Crimson Rain Sought Flower.”
The sound of his namesake falling from those lips sends a fission of heat through his core, effectively thawing his limbs. Eyes going half-lidded, Hua Cheng leans in close as he dares and murmurs, “I think I prefer when gege calls me San Lang.”
-/-/-/-
First, Hua Cheng needs a favor.
It only takes a few moments to locate the dark stain of his coworker’s aura among the crowd. It’s easy; the majority of the rabble instinctively gives He Xuan and his chattering companion a wide berth, like a school of minnows avoiding a slow-moving shark, so all Hua Cheng has to do is find the void.
“Blackwater,” he calls, with the airs of a lord hailing their subordinate.
He Xuan’s silhouette stiffens automatically, and he turns away from Shi Qingxuan just enough to glare out of the corner of his eye. When he spots Xie Lian hovering close to Hua Cheng, his thin lips twist like he’s just bitten into something sour.
“No. Whatever it is, no,” he says flatly, turning his cheek as though his coworker will simply cease to exist if he ignores him hard enough.
A small object flies through the air in a precise arc, aimed right for that pallid face; He Xuan catches it on reflex before it can collide with his nose. When he opens his fingers, his jaw slides.
“Absolutely not,” he grits, though he makes no move to throw it back just yet.
Having fallen silent at their exchange, Shi Qingxuan peers curiously over his shoulder. Their eyebrows shoot into their hairline when they recognize the black Audi key fob, mouth dropping open into a soundless oh.
“You haven’t even heard my request,” Hua Cheng drawls.
A scoff. “I don’t need to. I’m not driving your shitty prize home for you; I have my own ride. You can fuck right off.”
Shi Qingxuan tugs at his sleeve. “Be nice, A-Xuan!” they scold.
He Xuan remains unmoved. “Do it yourself,” he spits, but the venom falls oddly flat. The challenge in his gaze tells Hua Cheng that he is waiting for the offer he really wants.
Ah, Hua Cheng had known it would come to this. He sighs and crosses his arms, deciding to throw his coworker a bone. “I’ll reduce your debt by three percent if you—”
“Fifteen.”
That earns a dry, humorless laugh. “Nice try, but no. Five.”
Fish-oil eyes narrow. “Ten.”
Hua Cheng doesn’t have time for this. “Seven. Final offer. Leave the key in the dropbox when you go. We’re leaving.”
“Fine.” Without another word, He Xuan spins on his heel, grabs Shi Qingxuan by the wrist, and drags them away.
“Aiyoh, A-Xuan, be gentle—” Shi Qingxuan yelps, stumbling along.
Expression severe, He Xuan tugs them close enough to mutter into their ear, and their confusion melts into excitement as he explains his game plan. Before they’re swallowed up by the crowd again, Shi Qingxuan shoots them a thumbs-up, then waves an enthusiastic goodbye.
Hua Cheng doesn’t bother to return the gesture; just turns his full attention back to Xie Lian (who is waving, bless his heart), helpless to his pull like a moth to flame. He still can’t believe that this is actually happening— that the mechanic is going along with his suggestion, that he agreed— that he wants to.
“That’s settled, then,” he says, resisting the urge to scoop the mechanic up into his arms and sprint to the car. His fingers curl and uncurl at his sides, tingling.
Xie Lian blinks up at him, then ventures, “He Xuan… seems like a good friend.”
Hua Cheng makes a noncommittal noise. “Of sorts,” he says vaguely. “He’s reliable, at least. The Audi should make it back in one piece.”
“That’s good. Though… I could have driven it back for you, you know.” Amusement dances around the corners of his mouth. “It wouldn’t have been a problem at all.”
“I know.” Hua Cheng gives in and slides an unworthy hand into Xie Lian’s warm one, gently tugging him in the direction of the Skyline. “But then gege wouldn’t get to ride with me.”
“Ah, that’s true,” Xie Lian says, sounding a bit breathless as they cut a swath back through the teeming crowd.
“En. Plus, it’s late, and I wouldn’t want gege to drive all the way out to the city at this time of night. It’s much too far.”
“Oh?” Xie Lian’s fingers twitch in his. “Are we not headed to the city?”
Tongue darting out to wet his lips, Hua Cheng chances a glance down at Xie Lian, drinking in the sight of him like a man dying of thirst in the desert.
“Gege’s place is closer, is it not?” he murmurs. Then he falters, suddenly registering how forward he is being, and hurries to add, “But— if gege would prefer, we could—”
“You’re right,” Xie Lian interrupts, elegant cheekbones flushing an alluring shade of pink. “It is closer.”
Then he tightens his grip, quickening his pace. Even though Hua Cheng’s legs are longer, he still stumbles like a newborn deer trying to keep up.
The crowd thins closer to where the Skyline is parked, and they have no trouble slipping away mostly unnoticed.
Lights flash as Hua Cheng thumbs the key, and in the blink of an eye he’s guided Xie Lian into the passenger seat and is circling around the front to open the driver’s side, heart beating staccato in his ears. The reality of his situation hasn’t quite sunk in yet; he feels like he’s moving through a dream.
The door closes with a thud, instantly muting the cacophony outside. The interior is dark, heavily tinted windows filtering the yellow street lights into something softer, more shadowy. The sudden change is disorienting— but not more disorienting than the warm hand that finds his thigh, settling just above his knee.
The shock is so great that Hua Cheng nearly bites through his tongue. He freezes in his seat, the solid weight of that hand keeping him pinned to the leather like a butterfly on a board, and manages a strangled, “Gege—?” before he gets a glimpse of Xie Lian’s determined expression and the sound dies in his throat.
Sooty lashes dip, that intent gaze dropping to his mouth. Hua Cheng’s lungs may or may not stop working— and it’s honestly fine, because otherwise he would be hyperventilating, and who needs air anyway? Not daring to move a muscle, he watches, captivated, as as those rosy lips part and—
“San Lang,” Xie Lian breathes, pupils so wide and black they swallow all light, “I want to— ah, can I kiss you?”
And— Hua Cheng isn’t sure exactly what he says, but it must be something close enough to “yes” or “please, god” to work, because in the next moment Xie Lian is kissing him, slotting their lips together like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Fingertips digging into the leather seat, Hua Cheng trembles, trying desperately to ground himself, because holy fuck, Xie Lian is kissing him.
This must be what it feels like to be struck by lightning, he thinks dazedly. This must be what ascension feels like. No— better. It’s all he can do to keep his soul tethered to his body.
A hand finds his jaw, tender thumb stroking along his cheek. Their lips slide together slowly, dry and chaste and sweet, and still he can’t stop the embarrassing, shaky noise from shivering out of his throat. The mechanic hums against his mouth— and fuck, and Hua Cheng can feel those lips curve into a smile.
The air in the car changes, growing hotter, heavier. Then Xie Lian opens his mouth and the tip of his tongue slides shyly against the seam of Hua Cheng’s lips, and suddenly the kiss isn’t chaste anymore.
Something snaps, and then Hua Cheng is groaning and licking into that velvet mouth like a man starved. Their tongues tangle, pressing hot and slick against each other, and it’s good, so good he’s never going to be able to think about anything else ever again in his entire life. The delicious little noises spilling out of Xie Lian— he swallows them all down greedily, wanting more, more.
Arousal settles over him in a thick haze, desire thrumming through his veins. The hand on his thigh tightens, and Hua Cheng squirms, wanting to—
Much too soon, Xie Lian pulls away from the kiss, breathing hard. In the dim lighting, he looks like sin: pretty lips red and slick and kiss-swollen, cheeks flushed and eyes heavy-lidded— just the sight of him is enough to set Hua Cheng’s blood on fire.
Before he has even caught his breath, Xie Lian ducks back in— this time to press a hot kiss to the curve of his jaw, then the shell of his ear, then the line of his throat. Toes curling in his shoes, Hua Cheng tips back his head and shivers, praying to be devoured.
“Drive,” Xie Lian murmurs against his thundering pulse.
Hua Cheng bites back a moan and fumbles blindly for his keys.