Archive of Our Own

The ceiling is lined with wooden beams that look like they’ve been carved straight from the tree. There’s a breeze passing through the window, but he can’t really feel it right now. Dimly, he’s aware that it’s early morning and he should be going outside to chop some firewood, but he’s comfortable where he is and he doesn’t want to move.

There’s a body beside him, warm and comforting. He—for it’s always the same person—is resting with his head on his chest, his breathing even in sleep. Pale shoulders curl inwards, and he drags his fingers idly down the length of one lean arm, before turning to gaze out the window.

It’s a breezy winter day, and the birds are already chirruping in the haitang tree just outside the window. He smiles to himself, remembering when the tree went in, the look on his face. His Shizun, hard as jade and beautiful like a freshwater pearl, had gazed up at the tree with a wondrous look in his eyes, and had given him the softest smile that had set his heart alight for hours on end afterwards. It was a reminder of the tree they had met under, that they had fought under, that they had died under. Its flowers were a reminder of things that had once been lost that they now had within their grip.

“It’s beautiful,” he had said softly, and his phoenix eyes were warm like two dark pools. “Sit with me under it, Mo Ran.”

And they had, for hours. For days following, and weeks and months, they’d settled under that tree and just enjoyed one another’s company, needing to move for no one and wanting to move for nothing.

The tree has lost its leaves now for the winter months. Soon it will blossom again, and hating flowers will cascade around them like fragrant snowfalls and he will remind his Shizun again and again just how much he loves him as they sit beneath it and share each others company.

The form around him shifts, and he turns his head to press a gentle kiss to his forehead, caring none for the way his hair is a tangled mess. They’ll bathe together and then he will cook for his love, and they’ll spend their day in bliss like they have rightfully earned.

Phoenix eyes flutter, and he gazes at that face avidly—always so clear, always so vivid. He can see every single eyelash and every single hair of his straight brows. He drinks it up, wanting to commit it to memory.

A soft and beautiful face turns up to blink at him, sweetly bringing himself back to wakefulness, and pale cheeks tinge with colour when he realises he’s being watched.

“Mo Ran,” the voice is soft and smooth, like honey. He wants to listen to it all day long. “Good morning.”

He can feel himself smile on reflex, always so calm and warm under that gaze. “Shizun. Good morning.”

He leans in, pressing a kiss to that forehead, and then when the face is angled to meet his he leans down to steal warm lips—

Mo Ran jerks awake, startled by the sound of  a car backfiring in the street below his apartment. He groans, and then lies there staring at the ceiling for a few moments, feeling like he’s been robbed for the umpteenth time. The plain white of the flat roof stares back at him.

He rubs his eyes and tries to recall the details of the dream, wanting to cling to it for a few more minutes. This one is a familiar one; waking up with the unknown person in his arms, with love swelling his heart in such a way that he thinks he could burst with it. And it always ends the same way too—cut off abruptly, before he can really learn who the beautiful man is.

The dreams have been happening for months now, and they’re increasing in frequency. Every time it’s the same thing—a cottage in the mountains, a dog, a haitang tree, and a beautiful man by his side. Sometimes he’s cooking—and Mo Ran gets the feeling that his cooking is an absolute disaster—sometimes he’s playing with some trinkets that he is concentrating on heavily. Sometimes he’s playing a qin, one that looks old and powerful but has the comforting tune that lulls even his dream self to sleep. And sometimes—and Mo Ran’s face flushes and his body stirs whenever he thinks of it—sometimes, he’s sprawled out on the bed, back arched and head thrown back with his mouth slack in pleasure, his small gasps and sighs of Mo Ran’s name lingering in his mind for hours afterwards.

With a sigh, Mo Ran drags a hand down his face. He has no idea why he keeps dreaming about this same man. There’s no one in his life that he can attribute him to, and he has a vague feeling that the dreams are taking place in a world long since past. He certainly doesn’t own any black robes himself, that’s for sure.

He’s tried various measures of figuring it out over time. Checking his family history, asking his uncle or cousin, even asking his doctor once whether his dreams are something to be concerned about; but all of them dismiss it as nothing more than a recurring phenomenon. His best friend and workmate had suggestion that he consult someone who practices traditional arts, like numerology or a fortune teller, but he’s the one who brushed it off this time. While he knows some people find comfort in those sorts of things, Mo Ran isn’t really one of them.

He doesn’t really think numbers are going to help him figure it out.

So he does little more than lie with them these days, thinking about the scenes that play over in his mind, and tries to remember the details so that he can draw or paint them later.

Speaking of…

Mo Ran casts a bleary look at the clock at his bedside table. The faint red light from it casts an ambient glow in the room, reading 5:03am.

He huffs a sigh, and drags himself out of bed. He has to be up in an hour anyway for an appointment with his commissioner, and he’s not really going to be able to get any sleep after this, so he may as well get his shit together and go and freshen up.

At least being up earlier means he can doodle the latest image of his mystery dream-lover.

By the time he’s ready to leave his apartment and head to the train station, the latest sketch of that face from his dreams—the one his dream self calls Shizun—has taken shape in his journal. An image of angular, beautiful features, softened in sleep, gazes back at him from the page, and not for the first time Mo Ran looks at this mystery man and feels like there’s something missing.

Flipping through these private sketchbooks always bring with them a myriad of different feelings.

The pages are full of the man from every angle. His sharp and beautiful features gaze back at Mo Ran, sometimes smiling, sometimes scowling, and even once he seems to be crying silent tears, and Mo Ran is constantly caught feeling like he’s looking at someone he knows—or someone that he should know, but he can never figure out why. There’s a sensation of loss and longing that rises whenever he flips through his book, like he’s missing something and his mind is trying to tell him.

But it doesn’t make sense. How can he be missing a man that he’s never met? This person who exists only in his subconscious shouldn’t be keeping Mo Ran so fixated on him, and it’s probably unhealthy at this point, but Mo Ran really can’t bring himself to care anymore.

Maybe it’s a subconscious thing. The dreams are always so warm, pleasant and relaxed that Mo Ran is longing for the closeness as well. Maybe he’s longing for the deep love that his dream self seems to have for the mystery man, and the deep love that the mystery man seems to have for him.

Maybe he’s just insane.

Mo Ran slaps the sketchbook shut, and grabs his keys and phone. There’s a message from his cousin there, asking him to work a shift tomorrow because Shi Mei has an exam to study for, and by the time Mo Ran is answering and locking up his apartment to leave, that odd longing sensation has passed.

His meeting with the commissioner goes well enough. The man—a wealthy ‘patron of the arts’, or so he describes himself—is happy with the progress of the painting Mo Ran is doing for him, and easily handed over the next due payment, which means Mo Ran’s rent is secure for another two months. It’s a reasonably quick meeting too, which means by the time it’s done Mo Ran is free to take a break before returning to his studio to keep working on the piece.

Feeling the early morning wake up call pricking at his senses, Mo Ran elects to grab a coffee and go and sit in the park.

People watching is one of his favourite things to do in his down time. Humans are such interesting things, and the interactions people have with one another in their candid moments make for some of his favourite things to draw. Mo Ran likes to capture those little moments; a couple kissing under a myrtle tree, a young woman playing fetch with her dog, joggers getting their daily exercise in. The old man who likes to sit on the bench at the same time every day and feed the birds.

He routinely takes a sketchbook with him during his morning coffee breaks, so that he can sit and just draw the world around him, catching that scant moment in time on paper.

One day he’ll compile a book of all these prints to sell, but for now it’s his time to himself.

It’s a soothing hobby too, when he feels stressed. He had discovered it’s benefits when he’d been wound up like a spring when he’d just begun taking commissions, and had struggled to wind down after a day handling difficult clients, unstable income and too many projects all at once. The end result had been him exploding in a fit of anger and almost destroying his entire studio, until Shi Mei had intervened and managed to calm him down before he had.

Now, taking these little moments helps keep his sometimes volatile temper under control, and allows him a way to unwind when he needs it.

It’s a beautifully warm day. The trees are turning all shades of red and brown, hinting at the approaching winter, and people are out enjoying the last shreds of the lingering heat before Autumn approaches, bringing with it the chill.

Mo Ran, coffee in hand and collection of supplies in his satchel, makes his way across the park to settle in his usual spot—leaning against the enormous magnolia tree that lines the footpath.

He flips his sketchbook open to the first page, and casts his eyes over the drawing there with a fond look. If anyone were to look at this sketchbook, they’d honestly think he has an obsession. He’d probably be questioned about whether he’s stalking some poor guy, but the truth is there’s only one person that lingers constantly on Mo Ran’s mind. He’s drawn the man from his dreams countless times through his sketchbooks, in so much detail that anyone would think he were drawing a real person over and over again. Recently, he’s been keeping the dream drawings separate to everything else, but he still appears regularly through the general visual journals enough that it’s clear he’s a fixation in Mo Ran’s mind.

He can’t help himself, really.

With a huff, Mo Ran flips across to the next blank page in his sketchbook, and glances around the park.

There’s an old man sitting on one of the benches by the pond, smiling to himself in his old age. Ducks mile around him in a noisy flock, and Mo Ran watches as the old man tosses a small piece of food out into the throng. The ducks all holler and bellow as they fight for the treat, before turning back to the old man expecting more.

With a small smile on his mouth, Mo Ran begins to draw.

He doesn’t take too long on each drawing—most of them are a few minutes at most, with only a few taking longer than half an hour to form. This one is only a quick one, and once he’s satisfied that he’s caught the peaceful air of the old man on the bench, Mo Ran casts his attention to the council worker who is idly collecting the rubbish left behind in the park.

Within an hour, several more drawings of various people take shape on his page, and Mo Ran stretches his shoulders feeling satisfied. His coffee has long since gone, and he’s already feeling the itch of a second one before heading back to his studio to continue working on the painting for his commissioner.

Without really thinking about it, Mo Ran casts one last look around the park before he means to pack up and head back towards his studio.

His eye lands on a figure walking by himself along the foot path.

Mo Ran freezes.

The distance is a little too far, so he’s not quite sure, but there’s something in his body that just knows. Just knows.

The man is slender and graceful. His cropped hair is styled neatly and he’s well dressed in a grey suit that looks like it’s been fitted to him perfectly. He’s walking neither quickly nor slowly, with the kind of pace of someone who has somewhere to be but is enjoying nature while he’s out here, and he pauses under one of the haitang trees that lines the footpath while he’s engrossed in something on his phone.

As Mo Ran stares, frozen, the man gazes up at the brilliantly red and orange foliage. His expression is almost sombre, but he doesn’t make any move to reach into the tree. He’s just standing there, watching.

And then dark eyes turn to Mo Ran—directly to Mo Ran, standing there dumbstruck like an idiot—and something shoots Mo Ran straight through the heart.

It’s him.

It’s him.

Mo Ran would know those eyes anywhere. He feels like his breath is choked in his lungs and he can’t find the words to call out, but that doesn’t matter because the man is looking at him with an expression that is so complex it’s impossible that he hasn’t noticed Mo Ran’s attention.

Mo Ran snaps his book shut, and moves to stand. It’s that movement that seems to spook the beautiful stranger off; he glances to the side, and then abruptly turns on his heel, walking in the opposite direction with speed.

“Wait!” Mo Ran calls, and tries his best to follow. “Hang on a second!”

But the man doesn’t stop, and he moves too fast for Mo Ran—trying to keep his sketching tools together while he hastens after him—hasn’t got an ice cube’s chance in hell of keeping up.

The man slips away as soon as he’s made it into the market, leaving Mo Ran to stare into the throng of people with a slightly morose feeling.

He’s sure that’s the same man. Even from the distance, he looked so much like him that Mo Ran's body reacted immediately, like he’s been attuned to him and zeroes in on him like a homing beacon. But now he’s lost him amongst the crowd, and Mo Ran has no idea how to go about finding him again.

Shoulders slumping, Mo Ran gives up on the pursuit, and resigns himself to making his way back into the studio.

It has to be him. Or, at the very least, someone similar. And Mo Ran wants desperately to find out, because that face has been haunting him for years, getting worse over the last few months. Maybe he looked insane when he spotted the stranger, which is what scared him off. Honestly, Mo Ran would probably be spooked too if someone chased him across a park.

Well…at least he knows the man exists.

Maybe he’ll see him again. He just has to hope.

Mo Ran goes back to that park every single day for a period of a good two weeks, just hoping for a chance. The dreams continue every night now that he’s seen him, the man in white prominent in every single one. But no matter how many times he sketches his face, or tries to pick him out amongst the people in the park, he never has any luck.

He doesn’t see him again, and Mo Ran begins to wonder whether he really was there at all.

Mo Ran is not the best employee. He’ll be honest about that upfront. Sustaining himself mostly on his art and really only keeping this job in the pastry shop to help his uncle out means that he tends to laze around more than he is proactive, much to his cousin’s fury. But it means he gets to spend a bit of time with Shi Mei, and that works for him.

With Shi Mei putting himself through medical school, their shared shifts are really the only time that Mo Ran can see him now.

So it’s no surprise that when Mo Ran’s laying back killing time in his uncle’s pastry shop, he’s caught by his cousin slacking off.

Xue Meng spends a solid ten minutes mouthing off at him about being a waste of time and money, to which Mo Ran offers absolutely no objections, even ribbing his cousin a little until Xue Meng gives up entirely on him and tells him to get the hell back out to the counter. Grinning, Mo Ran wanders back out with every intention of returning exactly to his previous position, when the customer who has wandered into the store drags him up short.

It’s the man in white. The one from his dreams. The one he saw in the park a couple of weeks ago, who had promptly turned on his heel and fled when Mo Ran had tried to catch up to him.

Only, he’s not in white at the moment—he’s dressed in a beige coloured trench coat over a black turtleneck and he’s gazing down at the display with an expression of naked interest. He hasn’t seemed to notice Mo Ran behind the counter.

Mo Ran’s heart leaps into his throat and he feels like he can’t breathe.

Up close, and with a little bit of time since the first encounter under his belt, he can recognise that this person isn’t the same man from his dreams. That would be impossible, given that his dreams seem to be set in a time when topknots and hairpieces were the norm. But the features are so remarkably identical that Mo Ran’s heart immediately connects the two together, like he’s finally meeting someone he’s been searching (and longing) for for years.

He wants to say something. Wants to tell the man everything on the spot like a crazy person; wants to beg him not to leave this time and listen to every single thing he has to say for the rest of his life. Mo Ran wants desperately to know who this beautiful stranger is.

Instead, he decides to play it cool and act like a normal human being, rather than a fucking creep. The last thing he wants to do is spook him off again.

“Afternoon!” Mo Ran greets, planting his sunniest smile on his face and hoping he gives off an air of cool charm rather than thinly veiled panic.

Phoenix eyes glance up, and the man freezes for the swiftest of seconds. Mo Ran can only spot it by the minute widening of his eyes, before he carefully schools his face into a scowl that looks too severe for such fine features. Evidently, he’s recognised Mo Ran from his crazy stalker stunt a few weeks back in the park.

Not perturbed in the slightest, Mo Ran presses on. “Welcome to Sisheng Pastry Shop. What can I get for you?”

The lizard part him wants desperately to blurt what could a sugar like you possibly need to make you even sweeter? But his human brain has enough self awareness to know that that would be aggressively creepy for at least seven different reasons, so he reigns himself in and keeps his trap shut.

The man casts his eyes away from Mo Ran, and stares down at the display with a frown like he’s about to consider whether or not to turn the key on nuclear warheads. Mo Ran watches avidly.

A slender finger extends towards the display, and the man speaks.

“I’ll have one of those,” he says, gesturing at the blueberry egg tart. Then points at a taro stuffed bun. “And one of those.” A lo mai chi “And those.”

Mo Ran collects the pastries without delay, grinning to himself while he boxes them up and presents them neatly on the counter for his mystery dream man to inspect. Dark eyes glance up at Mo Ran, and he feels for a second like he’s being shot through, before they move up towards the drink menu behind the counter.

“And I’ll have a double shot caramel iced latte,” he adds after a few moments. “Extra whip. Two sugars”

“Sure thing,” Mo Ran says cheerfully.

He spends the few moments behind the coffee machine that it takes to brew up the iced latte taking in the features of this man—the one who looks so much like the stranger in his dreams. The planes of his face are the same, his brows sharp and defined, and so familiar. His hair is short instead of flowing and long, but it doesn’t detract from the elegance of his face.

Despite the bulk of his trench coat, there’s a waifish kind of air about the man that makes Mo Ran think he’s just as slender beneath his clothes too.

“This might sound weird,” Mo Ran says, deciding to hell with being subtle, “but I feel like I’ve seen you before.”

He doesn’t miss the way the man starts. From the corner of his eye while he’s pouring the milk into the sugar/syrup/coffee monstrosity, he watches the way the man tugs at the cuffs of his sleeves.

“Have you?” And to his credit, he makes it sound perfectly nonchalant, like he isn’t surprised at all by this notion.

“Yeah,” Mo Ran says. He tops the drink off with a fat swirl of cream, and hands it over with a long spoon and straw buried in it. “But I can’t really figure out where. Are you local?”

“In a sense,” is all he gets. “How much do I owe you?”

Sensing the dropping of the subject, Mo Ran rings up the purchase and allows him to pay for his drink. He uses cash down to the single, which is odd in this day and age, but Mo Ran takes it without question and hands him his change with a warm smile.

“Come back soon,” he says, and the man slips out of the store like it’s been set on fire in his wake.

Mo Ran leans on the counter and watches him go, unable to hide the smile that wants to overtake his face.

“Are you coming on to customers again?” Xue Meng asks when he reappears from the kitchen, a new tray of thousand layer mooncakes ready to be put on display. They’ve been a hit in the lead up to the mid-autumn festival, and Xue Meng has been unexpectedly adept at making them.

Mo Ran just grins at him and takes the tray that’s handed to him, moving to the display so that he can start filling it up.

“I thought I told you not to chase away our business anymore.”

“I wasn’t, actually,” Mo Ran said with a sniff. “I was admiring the handsome stranger that decided to pop in and order the most disgusting sounding drink I’ve ever heard of.”

“What drink?” Xue Meng hits back. “Anything that isn’t plain black coffee with an extra shot is too sweet for you. What did he order, a latte?”

“Rude, excuse me, I do put sugar in my double macchiatos, thank you very much.” Mo Ran sniffs. “And he ordered some iced, sugary monstrosity with caramel flavouring in it.”

Something in Xue Meng’s face changes. All of a sudden he’s gone from being obnoxious to downright bristling. “Are you hitting on Chu Wanning?”

Chu Wanning?

Mo Ran blinks. “Is that his name?”

“No!” Xue Meng steps forward and slaps a hand down on the counter. “Stay away from him, he’s way too good for you!”

“I never said I was hitting on him,” Mo Ran replies indignantly, but internally he’s crowing over the fact that he now has a name to put to that beautiful face. Chu Wanning. Chu Wanning.

It sounds right. Something in his mind—some weird, fucking primal part of him that he really shouldn’t pay so much attention to—tells him that this is the right name. He doesn’t understand why.

“How do you know him?” Mo Ran asks, trying to keep himself innocent. “I’ve only seen him once before.”

“He comes in all the time,” Xue Meng says. He’s still scowling heavily, looking like he suspects Mo Ran for plotting murder. “Never changes his drink, but always tries the new pastries and things. He’s been coming here ever since dad opened the shop.”

Mo Ran gapes. That was years ago. How could he have been casually coming and going from this store for years, while Mo Ran has been tormented by dreams about him—or his ancestors, whatever—without Mo Ran ever knowing?

“All that time, and you never said?” He asks, wounded.

“As if I’d subject him to that,” Xue Meng sniffs. “Hurry up and clean the cabinet. I’ve got another tray of mooncakes to put out.”

Mo Ran spends the rest of the day complaining, wheedling and whingeing at his cousin, until Xue Meng finally relents and gives him a little bit more information bout Chu Wanning.

It turns out, Chu Wanning has been in this city for as long as Xue Meng can remember. He doesn’t talk much about himself, but when asked he just says that he’s a professor, though of what no one has really managed to figure out. He started coming to Sisheng Peak almost the day it started business, and has been a regular patron ever since.

The reason Mo Ran has never seen him there before is that he is a creature of habit, and tends to only come by on certain days of the week. Mo Ran, on those days, is usually holed up in his studio, which accounts for why they’ve never crossed paths. His appearance at the cafe today is out of the ordinary for him—enough so that even Xue Meng is curious about what’s happened in the mysterious mans life to make him muddle up his days.

“Maybe he just knew I’d be here,” Mo Ran bluffs, earning himself a dishcloth to the face.

In truth, Mo Ran doesn’t know whether to be beside himself with delight or to be concerned about the fact that he now has a face to put to his dreams. His rational brain tells him that this isn’t the same man, and it would be horribly unfair of him to treat him like he is, but the visceral part of Mo Ran—the instinct in him that rears its head like an aggravated dog every time he thinks about those dark eyes and that oversized trench coat—barks at him that he needs to claim him immediately; he needs to make Chu Wanning understand how much of him has been part of Mo Ran's life over the last few years.

But, Mo Ran is also not an idiot. Much.

At least, he knows that he can’t go pursuing Chu Wanning with guns blazing, hoping for some kind of positive outcome. The standoffish way Chu Wanning responded to him in the cafe is enough proof of that.

With some aggressive bribery and a promise that he would be in the cafe every single day for hours at a time if he doesn’t hand it over, Mo Ran eventually manages to get Chu Wanning’s usual visit times from Xue Meng. He leaves his shift that day feeling like he’s walking on air, and when he goes home he spends two hours painstakingly recreating the image in his mind of that beautiful silhouette  on the other side of the display, swathed in his trenchcoat and staring at the pastries.

His dreams that night are more fixated on the man than ever. With his face and voice now clearly etched in Mo Ran’s mind, it’s almost impossible for him not to be the main focus. Mo Ran wakes, short of breath and coated in sweat, a feeling of desperate longing deep in his chest that threatened to sink him into his oversized bed.

The next time Mo Ran sees him is in the cafe. He’s not working, but has been loitering around for a while like a bad smell while he waits to see whether or not his patience is paying off. It’s Shi Mei's shift this time, which is a double bonus for Mo Ran seeing as he hasn’t seen his best friend in weeks. he’s showing Shi Mei pictures of his latest commission’s progress and taking on the advice and thoughts being offered back to him, when the bell jangles and interrupts them.

Mo Ran isn’t on shift so he moves to retreat from behind the counter, when he catches sight of their customer.

“Chu-laoshi,” Shi Mei greets, and Mo Ran’s gremlin brain immediately latches on to the familiar way he addresses him.  “It’s good to see you today.”

“Thank you,” Chu Wanning says simply. he stands and gazes at the display for a few moments, then points at the thousand layer moon cakes that have been an absolute hit with customers in the lead up to the festival. “Two of those, please.”

“And your drink?” Shi Mei asks. Mo Ran is beside himself.

“Yes.”

He’s been coming here so regularly that even Shi Mei knows what his orders are. Why have none of them ever told me? Traitors. The lot of them.

Chu Wanning hasn’t seemed to notice him off to the side. This isn’t acceptable. Mo Ran tries not to puff himself up too much, and in an attempt to have Chu Wanning's attention on him, turns on the charm.

“I hope I made your drink well the other day,” he says, offering his warmest smile. Dark eyes flick to him briefly, and his heart leaps. “I hear you’re a regular here. I’d hate to be the one who ruined it for you after so long.”

Shi Mei gives him a look from behind the coffee machine—one that says I know exactly what you’re doing, you gremlin—and Mo Ran just beams at him.

Chu Wanning seems to stumble for a moment before he says coolly, “It was acceptable.”

Ah. Acceptable. Mo Ran's new favourite compliment.

“Oh? Not perfect though?” He says lightly. “Chu-laoshi should teach me how to make it perfectly then.”

He spots the slight twitch in Chu Wanning's brow when he speaks to him so familiarly, but it’s not like Mo Ran has anything else to call him by. He can’t exactly give away that he knows a lot more about the poor man than he should.

“I’m back here on shift on the weekend,” Mo Ran says. “You should stop by and give me a lesson or two if you’re in the area. The last thing I want to do is let everyone down.”

He can practically hear Shi Mei's internal sigh from all the way over there.

Chu Wanning stops by the shop on Sunday morning.

Mo Ran is the only one in today, and he’s only been half hoping that he’ll turn up. He doesn’t really think he will, mostly because Xue Meng had been so serious about how much of a habitual thing Chu Wanning is. But it’s the lull of the morning, just before lunch starts to pick up and people start dropping by to grab something quick and tasty, when the door jingles and the silence of the shop is broken.

Mo Ran is out the back rearranging some of the pastries, and he calls out for a moment while he quickly shoves them back in the cupboard.

“Sorry,” he says, dusting off his apron of flour and coconut, “I was just getting the afternoon stock sorted.”

He lifts his head with a bright smile, and his heart leaps when he sees Chu Wanning standing there looking like a deer caught in headlights.

“Chu-laoshi!” Mo Ran says brightly. “You came!”

“You told me to,” Chu Wanning replies.

Mo Ran laughs. “I know, but I didn’t think you really would! Xue Meng told me how you like to keep to your time.”

Chu Wanning doesn’t answer. He turns his eyes down to the display (honestly, the fact that he takes the time to check is fucking adorable, because the selection of stock honestly doesn’t change that much), and Mo Ran takes the time to admire his appearance.

He’s wearing an off-white knitted jumper today, with black jeans. His hair isn’t as neatly styled as it has been on the other occasions Mo Ran has seen him, but the thick mop falling over his forehead honestly makes him look unreasonably soft and boyish. It’s a sharp contrast to the way he had looked with it styled. Styled Chu Wanning is severe, cool and sophisticated, and looks like he could kill Mo Ran with nothing but words and his icy gaze. Casual Chu Wanning is all grace and gentleness, a little shyness where he hides his eyes under his hair, and probably has a big faux mink blanket that he likes to curl under while watching iQiyi dramas.

Until he speaks, that is.

“Three of the thousand layer cakes, and two sweet buns.” His tone is as sharp as ever, completely unmoved by the sunny smile Mo Ran has been giving him since he walked in.

“Coming right up,” Mo Ran replies cheerfully. “Your drink as well?”

“Obviously.”

Unperturbed by the chilly reception he’s getting, Mo Ran sets about making the caramel hell-drink, humming to himself while he does so. Chu Wanning stands opposite the counter, his hands shoved in his pockets while he scowls at the little chalkboard on the counter that mentions specials.

“Have you had bubble tea before?” Mo Ran asks as he finishes up the drink. At Chu Wanning’s glance, he nods his head in the direction of the chalkboard. “We’ll be serving it here soon. Uncle is just getting all of the equipment together.”

Chu Wanning reaches for his drink. “I haven’t.”

“I think you’d like it,” Mo Ran says. “It’s sweet.”

In lieu of answering, Chu Wanning takes a long sip from the straw, and Mo Ran’s eyes immediately zone in on his throat, watching it bob while he swallows. He can’t help the borderline intrusive memory of his more creative dreams when he sees that, and he casts his eyes upwards intentionally to stop himself from making any stupid moves.

“So how did I do this time?” He asks, in an effort to tear his mind away. “What do you think?”

“Hm. Needs more syrup.”

He gapes. “I put more in than I did last time!”

Chu Wanning just reaches for the boxes of pastries and turns to leave.

“I’m here again on Thursday,” Mo Ran blurts. Chu Wanning pauses in the doorway, but doesn’t look back. “Come back then and teach me some more.”

“I have class,” Chu Wanning says simply.

“Friday?”

This causes Chu Wanning to turn, giving him a chilly scowl. It’s amazing how someone can look so cold when they’re clutching fifteen thousand calories and standing in a beaded curtain. Mo Ran just smiles, leaning on the counter with a raised brow.

“I’ll make it on the house.”

“No need,” Chu Wanning replies stiffly. “Thank you.”

Without another word, and without confirming whether or not he’ll come to the shop on Friday, Chu Wanning turns on his heel and departs the shop, looking for all the world like a spooked cat.

Mo Ran stands behind the register for the next five minutes just grinning to himself.

It turns out, Mo Ran never does get to the shop on Friday.

His commissioner phones him on Monday, apologetic and stressed, stating that the due date for the piece has had to be brought forward due to some administrative bullshit on their end, and could he please have it completed by the following Monday. He offers Mo Ran a hefty tip on top of his asking price for the trouble, which Mo Ran can't in good conscience turn down if he wants to remain financially secure.

It means he's on the grind from then on, and has to cancel all of his shifts at Sisheng for the next week.

Xue Meng isn't very impressed, mostly because he now has to work the three shifts Mo Ran bailed on himself, but he understands.

"Just make sure you get a decent amount of sleep, you dumbass," he says begrudgingly when Mo Ran calls. “Last thing we all need is you in hospital again because you burnt yourself out."

Mo Ran laughs. “Dont worry, i’ll be fine. I’ll see you when this stupid thing is done.”

“Yeah. see you.”

Which is how Mo Ran finds himself locked up in his studio for upwards of fourteen hours at a time over the next week, covered head to foot in paint and sawdust and any other manner of material that he uses to get the giant artwork completed. He doesn’t allow himself time to go down to the park, and he only leaves to go home or to order takeout. Shi Mei drops by early in the week with some food from the pastry shop, and admires the artwork briefly before he has to take off for his classes with a promise of bringing more snacks when he can. Mo Ran thanks him for his kindness, but doesn’t wait with bated breath for it.

He and Shi Mei are on good terms now, but for a while there there was an awkward chapter in their teen years when Mo Ran had been convinced he loved Shi Mei, who had had to gently let him down. It had left them a little distant for a while, but in the past few years they’ve come good again, and Shi Mei has proven himself to be a valuable friend. His opinions on Mo Ran's artworks tend to be spot on too; offering suggestions that only ever enhance the pieces, to the point that Mo Ran has jokingly offered him to sign one of the canvases once.

Still, Shi Mei is as busy as ever these days with his studies, so while they both try to catch up as much as they can, it doesn’t really happen like it used to.

Mo Ran finds himself okay with that.

Thursday rolls around, and Mo Ran is already feeling the crunch. His shoulder and his feet are hurting from the angles he has to hold himself at while he’s painting, and his eyes feel dry thanks to the shitty ventilation in his studio—something he intends to fix as soon as feasible. He has to stop for an hour in the afternoon just to rest, before calling it a night early and heading home at nine.

He ‘s awake just enough for a shower before he passes out in bed and sleeps for a solid ten hours straight.

By Friday, the fatigue has settled into his bones like an old friend, and he’s able to push through with a second wind. He’s only got about two more days left on this, and he’ll be completely finished and ready to present it to the commissioner proudly. He’s been sending updates each day, which he finds more useful as if something needs to be changed he can do it then and there before progressing much further, but the finish line is now in sight and it’s giving him the motivation to keep going.

It’s mid morning when there’s a faint knock on his studio door.

“Coming!” Mo Ran calls, and drops his brush and palette knives into the turpentine and dusts off his hands.

He pulls the door open to the absolute last person he had expected to see.

“Chu-laoshi!”

Chu Wanning is standing there wide eyed, clutching a cardboard tray and a small bag of goodies from the pastry shop. He’s completely frozen in place, eyes fixed on Mo Ran looking like he’s suddenly having second thoughts about being here—only he’s not looking at Mo Ran's face at all.

He’s staring right at Mo Ran’s bare chest.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t—um. Let me just—” Mo Ran tries not to trip as he turns and makes to grab his shirt from where hes tossed it over the stool. He hastily pulls it on and allows himself a split second to take a breath and get over the surprise of Chu Wanning’s presence, before turning back to the man, is still standing frozen in the doorway.

“Sorry!” Mo Ran says again, and feels more at ease now that the surprise has worn off. “It gets warm in here. I wasn’t expecting you, come in.”

Chu Wanning steps inside, still without saying anything, looking for all the world like he’s seen a ghost. Mo Ran tries not to let it hit his ego. C’mon, he knows he’s got some things to be proud of, it’s not that bad!

He slides the door closed behind Chu Wanning and moves to step past him to clear a space on the cluttered bench, when the cardboard tray is thrust at him.

“I brought you coffee.”

Mo Ran blinks. “For me?”

“We were supposed to meet today.”

Oh, strike his heart, this man is too cute. Mo Ran takes the cup with a smile of thanks and takes a sip.

“Yeah, I had to cancel my shift because—” he makes a vague waving gesture at the canvas, which takes up a solid half of the wall of one side of the studio. “Had to get this done. How did you know I’d be here?”

“I went to the shop,” Chu Wanning replies, as if that doesn’t leave Mo Ran with about eleven more questions.

But he nods anyway, like Chu Wanning hasn’t left him wondering why he'd come to the studio after going to the shop, or who told him that Mo Ran was here and how to get here. Or what Mo Ran's favourite coffee is, because he’s brought that too, Mo Ran discovers when he takes a sip.

Chu Wanning is still standing awkwardly in one place, and Mo Ran takes it upon himself to try and help him feel a little more at ease.

“So this is my studio,” he says, holding his arms out wide. “This is where I’ve been living for the past week. Sorry about the mess.”

Chu Wanning shakes his head lightly and casts his eyes around. He glances over the painting, and then around the room to the various other half done projects milling about the place. One of them seems to grab his attention, and he moves over towards it without saying anything.

With a jolt, Mo Ran discovers that it’s the small watercolour piece he had made of the haiting tree that appears in his dreams sometimes.

He surreptitiously glances around, hoping that he hasn’t left anything else incriminating lying about. Like any drawings of the dream man who looks so remarkably like Chu Wanning. God forbid he comes across a genuine stalker, when it really is only happy coincidence.

“You painted this?” Chu Wanning asks. There’s something in his voice that's changed, but Mo Ran can’t quite place what it is. He’s not looking at Mo Ran when he asks; just gazing down at the little painting with something unreadable on his face, despite it really only being a simple little thing that Mo Ran had whipped up when he needed a break from the commission.

“Yeah,” Mo Ran says. And then decides to be a little daring. “I dream about it sometimes. Wanted to try and capture it.”

Chu Wanning whips his head around. His expression is still even, but his eyes are slightly wider, their gaze sharp. “You dream about it?”

Confused by the reaction, Mo Ran nods. “Yeah, a few times here and there. Always the same tree, too. I’ve never figured out why.”

Phoenix eyes lower, and Chu Wanning turns back to the painting. He’s quiet for a few more moments, enough so that Mo Ran is beginning to feel like he’s missing something.

“It’s a beautiful painting.”

“Do you want it?”

Is that a shake in Chu Wanning's shoulders?

“No,” Chu Wanning replies quietly. “You ought to keep it. It’s your dreams, after all.”

“I have others,” Mo Ran says with a smile. “I can always paint it again, too.”

Chu Wanning shakes his head minutely. “No, this is yours. I can’t take it from you.”

Mo Ran relents. There’s something different in the air now, a sombre mood that hadn’t been there when Chu Wanning first arrived. Mo Ran isn’t really sure what happened, but he tries to remain cheerful despite it, and shows Chu Wanning some of the other paintings and things he’s been working on, and eventually manages to get the man to cave into taking a tiny square watercolour of a haitang flower that Mo Ran made in oils..

“It reminds me of you,” Mo Ran says warmly. “Don’t ask me why.”

“Thank you,” Chu Wanning holds the slip of paper like it will fall apart in his hands if he handles it too roughly. “I really…appreciate it.”

“Let me take you out.”

The words fall out of Mo Ran's mouth before he can stop them, and he wants to slap himself in the mouth for it. hH manages to hide the cringe he wants to make, and keeps his expression neutral, even when Chu Wanning's eyes widen in surprise. His stupid filter has dropped now and left him looking like an oaf—may as well commit to it.

“Out?” Chu Wanning asks, visibly bewildered.

“For coffee, or lunch. Or even dinner, if you want to. I can take you to try bubble tea, even.” Mo Ran shrugs, giving Chu Wanning what he hopes is a calming smile and not a deranged one. “I’d like to get to know you a bit more.”

He doesn’t anticipate the way Chu Wanning’s expression closes off, like a shutter on an open window slamming shut. Or the way he takes a step back and shakes his head.

“No, that’s not a good idea.”

Oh. That stings a little more than Mo Ran had thought it would for a spur of the moment question.

“It doesn’t have to be a date,” he says quickly, hoping he doesn’t sound desperate (he probably does). “We can just go somewhere to hang out if you’re more comfortable with that. I just enjoy your company.”

Chu Wanning watches him silently for a few moments, and Mo Ran has the distinct feeling that he’s being sized up. He stays where he is, waiting patiently and hoping his encouraging smile doesn’t come off as constipated.

“It’s a bad idea,” Chu Wanning repeats.

“Why?” Mo Ran asks. “I swear I’m not an underground mob boss. No blood on these hands.”

For some reason, Chu Wanning winces. he still doesn’t answer though, but keeps his eyes down, a small crease on his brow. It’s hard for Mo Ran to understand why it’s such a complicated request.

“Just once,” he urges. “And if it sucks, or you decide that you hate me, I won’t ask again. I promise.”

“I’ve never hated you.”

It’s said quietly, so quickly that it must have been on instinct. But it surprises them both. Chu Wanning’s ears tinge pink when he straightens, and his scowl is heavy, but Mo Ran can’t help the warmth that blooms in his chest, despite the confusion that slides along with it at the odd choice of words. .

“I’m leaving,” Chu Wanning says abruptly. He turns on his heel and marches towards the door, leaving Mo Ran trailing behind him with a goofy grin on his face.

“I’ll see you on Tuesday,” Mo Ran calls. “I’m on close at the shop that day. We’ll go out for bubble tea and noodles after!”

Chu Wanning doesn’t answer him, but that’s alright. While Mo Ran watches him stomp down the hall towards the stairs, he can’t help but feel like he’s made a little progress, despite Chu Wanning's insistence that they shouldn't be going out together.

Feeling buoyant, he turns back to his commission and returns to work on it, munching his way through the osmanthus treats that Chu Wanning has left behind in his haste to leave.

He might be stupid for developing a crush so quickly. Xue Meng would certainly say so. But there is something about Chu Wanning that Mo Ran is instinctively drawn to; that his entire body is telling him is right, that this is good, and that he needs to stay close to Chu Wanning in order for the world to be in order. Maybe he’s being dramatic, but honestly, it’s not hard to like Chu Wanning either.

Sure, he’s a little awkward, a little abrupt, but he’s also sweet and considerate too. Mo Ran can’t think of any other guy (or girl) he’s been interested in in the past coming all the way to his studio when he’s been on the grind just to give him coffee and snacks.

Mo Ran refuses to let himself consider too deeply how much of this is because of his dreams, and his attachment to the man named Shizun in them, and how much of this is his own genuine interest in Chu Wanning. As far as he’s concerned, it doesn’t matter either way.

That night, his dreams take on a different tone.

He’s sitting by the window, the qin laid across his lap in a picture of grace an elegance. But he’s not playing it, and the expression on his face is far from serene. There is torment there, naked and cold, and when he moves his hands, the gleam of blood can be seen across the strings.

“Why have you have stopped playing.”

Mo Ran's voice is harsh, the anger there burning as though this is the most offensive discretion that has been cast on him in his life.

He doesn’t answer. Just lays his hands flat over the Qin, and draws in an unsteady breath.

From where Mo Ran is reclined on the divan, a woman combs her fingers through his hair. He doesn’t recognise her, but when he glances up she offers him a sweet smile, and then sneers at him.

“Husband,” she says, and her voice is sickly sweet, “this wife misses the sound of music. It’s making me feel sad that there is none.”

He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t look at them. Mo Ran slides off the divan and stalks over to his qin player, who only stiffens minutely with the proximity. When Mo Ran grabs his chin and forces his head upwards, those eyes pierce him through with their chill.

“Are you being wilfully disobedient again? Do you want this Venerable One to throw you back in the water prison? play.”

His brow pinches, but he still says nothing.

“Play!” Mo Ran screams in his face, and when he gets no answer again, he shoves him backwards, with such force that he looses his balance and both he and the qin tumble off the low dais. He thinks he hits his head, given by the slightly dazed way that he lays there for a moment. Mo Ran makes no move to help him up.

“I can’t.” Is all he says, when he collects himself and is sitting upright again. “My fingers are bleeding.”

“Do you have no fingers left? Have they fallen off? I don’t care if you have only bones left behind, you will play!”

Mo Ran watches as he straightens himself up, and turns his shaking hands over to look at the broken and painful skin. His fingers are torn and bleeding, and the nails on them look ruined—like this is not new for him.

He doesn’t play.

“Guards,” Mo Ran calls, fury overcoming him so much so that he thinks he might kill him on the spot. “Take him back to the water prison. He clearly needs a few more days there to learn obedience!”

There is no resistance as he is led away from them, and the silence of the room is broken by the unknown woman’s giggle.

“Serves him right,” she says. “Come back and lie with me, husband. I will massage your shoulders.”

“Get out.”

“But I—“

“I said get OUT.”

Mo Ran wakes slowly when the dream fades. He lies there staring at the roof, the uneasiness settling low in his belly.

Up till now, all of his dreams have been sweet and loving, or completely debauched on at least two occasions. This one is different—like a bunch of strangers wearing the same faces have taken over. whoever Mo Ran was in that dream was downright deranged, and his Chu-look-alike was…he looked resigned.

Defeated.

Mo Ran doesn’t like the way his skin itches with the memory of it, but he doesn’t think he’s going to be getting back to sleep any time soon afterwards, so—deciding not to take any notice of the time—he drags himself out of bed and goes to find his dream sketchbook.

If he’s going to draw him, he may as well draw him during times when things clearly weren’t so wonderful for him either.

The drawing takes shape quickly; an image of the qin player swathed his his black robes, his plain hair tied back simply in a half tail at the back of his head. No elaborate clothes, no white, no hairpiece that looks like it would cost more than Mo Ran's entire house. Just simple and nondescript. The expression in his face is melancholy while he gazes away, and by the time Mo Ran has finished there’s a sadness that lingers over the drawing, something so completely different to what he normally creates.

He brushes his fingers slowly over the drawing, tracing the shape of an ear and shoulder, while his heart twists. Why does he feel indescribable guilt? Why does he look back on this dream and feel nothing but sadness and pain, like he's looking back on a memory? Why does his heart break for this man after seeing this, when he still knows nothing about him?

Despite how it sits under his skin and makes him feel like he needs several long showers to wash away the memory of it, he’s burning with curiosity about this new dream. And he has absolutely no idea how to go about finding out.

For some reason, he longs desperately to talk to Chu Wanning.

Reaching for his phone, Mo Ran is almost absently scrolling through his contact list while he draws, before he remembers that he doesn’t have Chu Wanning's number.

Fuck.

He groans, and flops back onto the bed. This is something he’ll have tp remedy later. He’s feeling too wound up to go back to bed now too, and he’s kinda worried that if he does go back to sleep, He’ll be dreaming more about the qin player and the stranger who called himself this Venerable One.

Mo Ran decides to work the restlessness out by hitting the gym before going to the studio again.

He manages to complete the commission early on Sunday morning. Exhausted, achey and triumphant, Mo Ran messages his commissioner to let him know that it’s done, and to organise a time to pick it up, before he collapses onto the floorboards of his studio and lies there for a solid hour, staring vacantly up at the ceiling.

The painting is carted off into the back of a truck, and Mo Ran receives his final payment early Monday morning. His commissioner is grateful for the work he has put into it, and thanks him profusely for the efforts of getting it done so much sooner than anticipated. He claims he hadn’t expected the university to have their new city hub open so soon, but at this point Mo Ran doesn’t really care. He’s been paid, he’s finished the commission, and he has a bit of time to kill now before he has to think about taking on his next one.

The mid autumn festival is coming up in a couple of weeks, and he thinks he’d like to enjoy some time off in the lead up to it.

The rest of Monday is dedicated to lazing around, cleaning up the mess in his studio for a little while, and then power napping until he feels human again. He orders a giant, celebratory feast for dinner and invites Shi Mei and Xue Meng around, and they congratulate Mo Ran for a job well done.

Xue Meng takes a picture of the three of them together, which Mo Ran demands he sends to him, and they spend the rest of the evening laughing and drinking together over a meal of Chongqing hotpot.

By the time they head home, Mo Ran is tired enough that he showers and crawls straight into bed, and flicks open his phone to do the nightly rounds before he dozes.

Xue Meng has posted the picture on his Oasis account and tagged them in it. It’s a good one—all three of them look cheerful and content, cheeks flushed with spice and alcohol. Mo Ran is visibly tired though, and he criticises his own appearance for a few moments before hitting the like button and checking his notifications. 

The regulars are there; a few that he isn’t familiar with entirely liking his posts (his gym selfie seems to be doing alright in numbers, which is always good for his ego), but then one handle a little ways down catches Mo Ran's attention and he pauses.

WanyueYuheng followed you.

…Mo Ran immediately clicks through the page.

He’s surprised that Chu Wanning has an Oasis account, actually. And he’s surprised that there are a few posts on it; enough to show that he seems to be a reasonably regular user of the site at any rate. He doesn’t know why, but he hadn’t pictured the man as a social media guru. But there are around a dozen pictures on his profile, and absolutely none of them are of his face.

Sad.

Even his profile is simple.

Chu Wanning. Professor.

There’s very little else on there. But Mo Ran can’t help but smile when he sees the most recent post; a simple snapshot of the painting Mo Ran has given him, carefully mounted and sitting on a tiny display easel on his desk.

The caption is equally as adorable.

A little colour 🌸

There are three comments on it. One is just a few smiling emojis, another complimenting the art work, and the third one from Xue Meng himself, predictably lamenting the fact that Mo Ran’s art has made its way to Chu Wanning's desk.

Mo Ran leaves a snarky reply to Xue Me ng, before following Chu Wanning's account guilt free.

And then promptly slides into his DM’s. Slightly less guilt free.

Chu-laoshi seems to really like my painting! You’ve made it look so nice on your desk.

Smiling to himself, Mo Ran just looks at the blank message window for a few moments, before turning his phone off and putting it aside. He’s found a way to contact him now, number or no number. He’s asleep before he hears the ping of a reply.

It's kind of wild that he seems to have only known Chu Wanning for a few weeks, but is now waiting with baited breath for the next time he sees him. Mo Ran can readily admit now that part of that is because of his dreams, and the way that Chu Wanning looks so much like the man in them, but thats only what drew him to Chu Wanning in the first place.

The rest of it is the simple grace that Chu Wanning carries himself with, and the awkward charm with which he makes his way through life. He's so sweet and so embarrassed about it that Mo Ran wants to tease him endlessly. And so he waits for the days that he might see Chu Wanning again, and refuses to let himself feel bad about it.

There's nothing wrong with a crush, after all. 

It’s early Tuesday the next time Mo Ran sees Chu Wanning.

Mo Ran is back in the pastry shop, doing the rounds in the dining area with a mop when the door jingles. Its the post lunch rush, so Xue Meng is there too, and Mo Ran let's him take the customer. He's content with continuing on his cleaning.

"Chu-laoshi, welcome back," Xie Meng says, prompting Mo Ran to straighten and immediately become discontent with his cleaning.

He's a little surprised to see Chu Wanning here after the awkward exchange in the studio last week. But here he is, standing at the counter looking angelic in his grey trenchcoat, hair styled perfectly and his black jeans showing off his long legs. Honestly, Mo Ran thinks he could wear a sack and still look otherworldly.

Chu Wanning is staring at him while Xue Meng goes about his order. Well, staring isn't quite right; more like he's glaring daggers like he's trying extremely hard to make Mo Ran's head explode.

Adorable, Mo Ran thinks.

Xue Meng interrupts Chu Wanning's attempt at telekinetic murder.  "Have you changed up your working hours?"

"No," Chu Wanning says tartly.

"Oh. I'm just not used to seeing you outside of your usual days, that's all. You've come in a few times on different occasions now."

Chu Wanning bristles, and Mo Ran can see the incoming temper bubbling to the surface from a mile away. He decides to intervene to spare Xue Meng from the punishment.

"It's because he wants to see me," Mo Ran drawls with a lazy grin. Chu Wanning's eyes resume trying to sign Mo Ran's death warrant when they land on him, and he leans on his mop with a cheeky smile. “Isn't that right Chu-laoshi?"

Xue Meng snorts. “Don't be ridiculous. What self respecting person would go out of their way to see a dumb dog like you? Don't insult him."

Chu Wanning says nothing, but his eyes do narrow just a little with Xue Meng’s insult. He takes his drink and turns silently, before slipping out of the shop without so much as a goodbye. Mo Ran watches him go feeling a little forlorn, hoping that he hasn’t ruined whatever tentative thing they’ve built with his spur of the moment forwardness.

“Oh, quit mooning,” Xue Meng sniffs after a period of silence. “He’s too good for you anyway.”

“Yeah,” Mo Ran agrees. “He is.”

With a sigh, he resumes his chores, swapping the mop out for a broom so that he can head out the front of the shop and sweep the front step. His mood has taken a slight hit now, but he’ll bounce back, so he’s not too preoccupied with it.

Maybe his crush is a little more than a crush.

Fuck, that’s something he’s going to have to sort through later.

He turns around to begin heading back into the shop once the front step has been swept clean, and jumps so high that he nearly topples right back over himself to faceplate the damn ground.

Chu Wanning is standing there watching him, with an odd look on his face and his iced latte clutched in both hands.

“God, Chu-laoshi, you scared the hell out of me,” Mo Ran says, placing his hand over his racing heart. “What are you, some kind of cat? Slinking up on me like that, I thought you’d left!”

Chu Wanning doesn’t answer right away. He makes some odd moves with his hands, and then seems to be trying to say something, before his ears tinge pink and he turns away. After a few moments, Mo Ran hears him mutter something under his breath, but its so low that he really cant catch what it is.

“What?”

“I said I want to try bubble tea!” It comes out in a rush, like Chu Wanning has blurted it out in one breath, and it takes Mo Ran a hot second to actually register what he’s saying.

He blinks. “Really?”

Scowling to the side, Chu Wanning nods once.

Happiness bursts in Mo Ran's chest like a balloon exploding into ribbons and confetti. Honestly, he can almost hear the distinct pop of it going off.

“Not a date!” Chu Wanning says quickly. “I don’t date. I just want to try bubble tea.”

“Not a date,” Mo Ran agrees easily. “Alright. When are you free?”

Chu Wanning inspects his fingers closely while he answers, his ears flaming red. God, he’s so cute that Mo Ran could honestly just squeeze him.

“I finish class tomorrow at six.”

“Alright, I’ll come pick you up and take you to my favourite tea shop.” Mo Ran grins, and then takes a chance to dig into his phone and hand it over. “Can I get your number? You never replied to my message on Oasis.”

Chu Wanning takes it, and swiftly keys his number in, before tossing it back to Mo Ran like it’s a hot potato. He’s clearly out of his depth here and it’s so beyond endearing, but Mo Ran resists teasing him about it at the risk of him losing his head and canceling the plans altogether.

“Where do you live?” Mo Ran asks, hopeful. “I’ll come by.”

“…maybe best to come by the university instead,” Chu Wanning mumbles. "Shanghai Normal University."

“Right. It’s settled. I’ll see you tomorrow at six. Not for a date though.”

Chu Wanning shoots him a chilly look, and then turns on his heel and marches away.

Mo Ran watches him go, grinning like an idiot.

(It’s a shame he’s wearing a trench coat. Those jeans are really thigh hugging).

He dreams again that night, this time a more typical, soft dream about the little cottage and the dog, only he seems to have changed from his normal demeanour. He’s colder, more obnoxious, and the beautiful stranger called Shizun seems exasperated with him as often as he is mad. Mo Ran doesn’t understand the change at all, but then, it’s not the first odd change in his demeanour to turn up in the dreams.

He thinks he prefers this over the ones where his Shizun looks right through him as though he’s not there, with his bleeding fingers and red eyes.

When Mo Ran arrives at the University to ask for directions for the building Chu Wanning teaches in, the woman at administration looks at him like he’s grown a second head. She asks him to repeat who he's looking for, and he tells her, and her bewilderment grows.

“You sure you’re here to see Professor Chu?”

“Yes,” Mo Ran says, grinning lightly. “Why, is he busy?”

There’s a titter from the other workers, and Mo Ran works to hide his frown.

“No,” the woman says. “He doesn’t usually take visitors is all.”

“Really? Why wouldn’t he?”

He gets another look like they’re questioning his sanity. “He’s not exactly someone with a gentle temperament,” she says. “He’s a brilliant teacher, but his conversational skills tend to leave a bit to be desired.”

“I find them perfectly reasonable,” Mo Ran replies. He’s feeling a little irritated, especially given that the administrative staff are staring and whispering like he’s some kind of anomaly. “I’ve never had an issue having a conversation with him, actually. Where might I find his office?”

She takes the hint and quickly tells him where to find Chu Wanning’s building, and gives him directions and a little map that she highlights, gesturing at a little area nearby the building where he can park his car if he so chooses. Mo Ran makes a mental note of the bus stop nearby instead, and smiles his thanks at her before heading out.

The campus is beautiful, but fucking huge. And typically, Mo Ran has to track across the entire grounds to get to the building where Chu Wanning's office is (he has to cross a fucking river!) tucked away in the School of Science building. There are still people wandering about at this time of the evening, but no one pays Mo Ran much mind. 

Good thing he listened to his instincts and turned up early. Otherwise he'd be knocking on Chu Wanning’s office door far, far later than hed said he would.

There’s only a few people lingering about the science building when he finally locates it, and Mo Ran pays them no mind as he weaves his way through the corridors. The door to Chu Wanning’s office is tightly shut, with a nondescript little sign on the front bearing his name and the collection of letters that come after it citing his qualifications (the PhD. D.Eng throws him for a second, and when he googles it he nearly has to lie on the floor and weep at how fucking dumb he feels) and Mo Ran knocks once, rocking on the balls of his feet as nerves suddenly threaten to overtake him.

Idiot. Why are you nervous?

“Come in.”

Mo Ran opens the door and pokes his head around with a beaming smile.

Don’t think about how impossibly smart this man is. You dumb dog.

The room is, quite frankly, a mess. It’s actually alarming. There’s stuff strewn everywhere—books, papers, tools and half built models of things that Mo Ran can’t even begin to speculate about, as well as a huge pile of stuff on the small desk that Chu Wanning is evidently concealed behind. Mo Ran stares at it all as he picks his way across the floor; of all things, he had thought that Chu Wanning would be painstakingly tidy.

It’s so fucking charming he could die.

“Hello!” He calls over the pile of papers. “I had an appointment with Chu-laoshi for bubble tea.”

Chu Wanning is halfway through grading something by the look of it. He looks up in surprise. “What time is it?”

“Ten minutes past six.”

“Oh.” Chu Wanning looks torn for a few moment, gazing down at the paper (thats riddled with red corrections—woe be that poor student who seems to have garnered his ire). “I thought I had more time.”

Mo Ran waves his hand lightly. “Finish that paper if you want, you look like you’re on a roll. I’ll just…uh. Find a spot to wait.”

Said spot turns out to be a small patch of the wooden bench by the door. There’s a sad looking pot plant on one side of it, and the other is a box full of various bits and pieces that Mo Ran doesn’t really have the smarts to figure out the purpose of. Mo Ran slouches in the chair and picks up his phone, flicking open Oasis to scroll idly. Chu Wanning never responded to his DMs, but that hasn't stopped Mo Ran from sending them. He hasn't been blocked yet, so he supposed that despite the stony silence he's receiving, Chu Wanning doesn't actually hate the messages.

Watching him from across the room, Mo Ran sends him another one just to tease him a little.

Chu-laoshi looks like he's working so hard, I almost feel bad having to interrupt 🥺 The flower painting looks especially cute on your desk, btw.

It takes about fifteen more minutes for Chu Wanning to wrap things up. In that time, he’s so engrossed in his work that he doesn’t even notice Mo Ran snapping a sneaky pic of him behind his desk, looking completely absorbed in his work. In his pale coat with a dark high necked shirt underneath, he’s the image of cool sophistication and beauty, and Mo Ran can’t help but share a picture of it.

It goes straight up on Oasis, without a caption and without any context whatsoever. Immediately, he’s getting comments on it.

GrandmasterXue: WHAT. You DOG. Why are you like this?? You’re going to RUIN him!

Shishimeimei: oh, he looks so busy! i hope you have a wonderful time 😊

NGS: yo that’s my engineering professor 😂

Mo Ran torments Xue Meng a little in the comments, and then fields a few more that seem to enjoy making assumptions about Chu Wanning from just this picture alone. After a short while longer, he hears a faint sigh and the rustling of papers over by the desk, and when he looks up Chu Wanning seems to be finished with his grading. He’s shuffling papers around, before he rubs at his temples and then picks up his phone.

The furrow in his brow is immediately severe, and he jerks up to glare at Mo Ran.

“When did you get that picture?”

“Just then,” Mo Ran replies easily.

Chu Wanning squares his shoulders. “Take it down.”

“Aw, but you look so nice!”

“Take it down!!”

“But Chu-laoshi—“

“Mo Weiyu!”

Mo Ran blinks, at the same time that Chu Wanning snaps his mouth shut, looking horrified. That name is completely unfamiliar to him, though evidently it means something to Chu Wanning from the way he’s flushing angrily. Why it slipped instead of Mo Ran’s own name is anyone’s guess.

“Who is Mo Weiyu?” He asks, confused.

“No one,” Chu Wanning snaps. “Hurry up and lets go. I’m finished.”

Never one to argue, Mo Ran easily complies, grinning cheerfully as he watches Chu Wanning grab his belongings and marches out of the room. He follows him a little smugly, ignoring the tiny, possessive part of himself that is loudly crowing about who the fuck Mo Weiyu is.

Well. At least the topic of the photo on Oasis has been averted.

The bubble tea shop is a quaint little thing tucked away from the bustle of the wide laneway dotted with cafes and stalls. It’s a bit like Sisheng Cakes; nothing overly special on its appearance, but the number of people milling about outside the takeaway window and a collection of people sitting outside with tea and snacks gives away it's popularity.

Mo Ran leads the way into the store proper, Chu Wanning trailing along behind him with his head down, as though he's nervous to be seen by someone he knows.

"You can choose whatever you want," Mo Ran says when Chu Wanning finally glances up at the menu. "There's sweet food served here as well."

Chu Wanning stands there, scanning the menu with a furrowed brow for a few moments. Mo Ran takes the time to appreciate his appearance while he does so, just looking at him without shame while he's not paying attention. His hair is swept up again in that stylishly dishevelled look he had sported the first time Mo Ran saw him, and his off-white, greyish coat coupled with the jeans and dark shirt combo makes him look like he’s walked straight out of a magazine.

He is so achingly beautiful. Mo Ran's heart swells.

A sudden flash of that same face crosses his vision, only swathed in white and with waist length hair, the same curious and open expression on his face. Mo Ran’s throat closes up and he nearly chokes, but as quick as the image appears, it fades again, and Shizun’s face melts back into Chu Wanning’s.

Mo Ran swallows, and shakes the image from his mind, feeling equal parts guilty and stupid.

I'm not falling for him just because he looks like Shizun. I'm not.

Chu Wanning is beautiful, and sweet and awkward and considerate. He's smart and easily embarrassed, and despite the fact that Mo Ran really hasn't known him for a great amount of time, it feels like he's known him for a lifetime. Falling for him is as easy as falling asleep, and Mo Ran is certain that even if he wasn’t having endless dreams about a man who looks identical, he’d be lost in Chu Wanning’s everything.

Phoenix eyes blink, and Chu Wanning turns to him with a furrowed brow.

Mo Ran smiles brilliantly. "I think you'd like the jelly honeydew with condensed milk. It’s not exactly like tea, but it’s sweet enough to rot your teeth.  Definitely your style."

Chu Wanning flushes. He says nothing, but nods at the suggestion, and glances away when Mo Ran beams at him. The colour on his ears is so damn cute that Mo Ran wishes he could kiss it away.

The server at the counter greets him cheerfully when Mo Ran steps forward.

"One lychee with tapioca pearls and one honeydew on condensed milk with jelly pearls," Mo Ran says. “And some custard tarts, please."

The server rings up his order with a cheery call to the staff by the machines, and they wait to the side with the others who have already ordered. Chu Wanning is watching them make the tea avidly from where they're standing—no doubt engrossed in the complex process that goes into making such a simple drink—and Mo Ran watches Chu Wanning.

When their drinks are made, they head back outside to sit on the benches set up under the thick ornamental pear trees. Mo Ran is still enamoured with Chu Wanning, who is eying his tea curiously.

He occupies himself with setting out the custard tarts that he brought for them both (giving Chu Wanning the slightly bigger one), but Chu Wanning sticks his tongue out to lightly lick at a drop from the tip of the straw (seriously, that should be illegal. In what world is there a drop of milk at the tip of a fucking straw. Sure, universe), and Mo Ran’s thoughts are entirely derailed. He can't help but feel the heat stirring fast in his belly when Chu Wanning takes the straw between his lips properly, because he’s a simple man and his mind is a simple thing, and he immediately imagines those lips around something else. He has to quickly take a sip of his own drink to stop himself from blurting something stupid, but he keeps his eyes on Chu Wanning without breaking away.

He watches as Chu Wanning's eyes widen slightly and feels a little smug when he finally gets a taste of the sweet milk tea and a flush of delight crosses his face.

"Good?" Mo Ran asks with a grin (his head is still fixating on those lips).

Chu Wanning just nods, his eyes bright, and he takes another long sip.

He looks so cute like that, plastic cup held in both hands while he leans over and devours his drink that Mo Ran doesn't even bother resisting the urge. He takes a snap of Chu Wanning on his phone, and laughs off the protests that come his way (though he promises not to post any more of them to Oasis), before he glances at his satchel where his sketchbook is tucked away.

"Can I draw you?" Mo Ran asks.

Chu Wanning starts, and his expression twists slightly. “Me? Don’t be ridiculous. You don't want to draw me."

"Yes I do," Mo Ran says simply.

"There are plenty of other nicer looking people around to draw."

"Nah," Mo Ran's disagreement is easy and comes as naturally as breathing. “You're easily the nicest looking one here."

"Have you seen yourself?"

Chu Wanning blurts it out as soon as Mo Ran has finished speaking, and then immediately goes so red that he looks like he's about to combust. His embarrassment is palpable, and despite the way Mo Ran's ego is swelling to astronomical heights, he recognises an imminent disaster and just laughs, reaching forward to pat Chu Wanning's arm. 

"I haven't for a while, no. But I still want to draw you. I won't show anyone if you don't like it."

Chu Wanning is bristling like a cat, clearly ready to flee. But he relaxes with Mo Ran's easy response to his accidental slip of the tongue and sits there poking at his tea with a scowl. He doesn't say anything else, so Mo Ran takes it as permission and pulls out his sketchbook.

It's the one he carries when he's drawing in the park, full of candid portraits of people going about their day. Flipping to a blank page, Mo Ran sits himself up in a comfortable position and looks up.

Chu Wanning is watching him, cheeks still dusted with colour, his frown prominent but his eyes are bright. His curiosity is practically palpable while his eyes flick between Mo Ran and the sketchbook. In the early evening light dotted with fairy lights around the square, he looks otherworldly.

Feeling his heart swell, Mo Ran begins to draw.

It doesn’t take him very long, but the light has gotten significantly dimmer by the time he’s done, and Chu Wanning has finished his tea. He’s playing with the jelly balls at the bottom of his cup when Mo Ran dusts off his paper and shows him the picture.

It’s a sketchy, candid shot of Chu Wanning with his head resting on one fist, the other playing with the straw in his cup. Mo Ran had made sure to pay attention to his eyes and his mouth, and the end result is a Chu Wanning looking a little wistful, a little weary, and a little content. When Chu Wanning looks at the painting, he blinks in surprise.

“That’s not me. Is it?”

Mo Ran just laughs. “I’ve been told I’m very good at drawing. Yes, Chu-laoshi, it’s you. Do you like it?”

Chu Wanning gently takes the drawing and inspects it, running his fingers over it with an expression of wonder. When he looks back up at Mo Ran, his eyes are bright.

“I really look like this to you?”

“You look like that to everyone, Chu-laoshi. You could be an idol.”

Chu Wanning brushes the compliment off, but the pleased flush in his ears is still visible, even in the growing darkness.

When it's time for them to move along, Mo Ran manages to convince Chu Wanning to snap a photo with him. They're under one of the trees decorated with fairy lights that cast a soft light over them, and even in this light Chu Wanning's eyes sparkle like obsidian. With some perfectly timed clownery for Mo Ran, he even manages to get a smile out of him—and Mo Ran vows that no one but he will ever see the picture he caught of it, because that smile is devastating.

He picks one of the photos to post to his Oasis (stopping himself short of boasting in the caption), and then shows Chu Wanning, who reprimands him a few times before he gazes at the picture with a tiny smile. He doesn’t ask Mo Ran to take it down.

After they finish their bubble tea, they go for a walk. It's dark, and there are a few others milling about the streets, and the atmosphere is calm and peaceful. And as they walk, they talk.

Mo Ran learns that Chu Wanning is actually a professor of engineering at the University, specialising in mechanical and some civil subjects (“So that’s what all those letters are for! I really feel like an oaf next to you, Laoshi!”). He learns that Chu Wanning has a particular interest in inventions and contraptions that will be helpful for the general populace. His latest subject of study, Mo Ran discovers with a certain amount of awe, is a transportable cot for premature or critically unwell babies, that is designed to have any and every possible device built into it so that they are able to be transported quickly to major facilities. Chu Wanning is looking at advancements for the cot, so that no child is left without necessary aid no matter where in the world they might be. 

“Because if we can’t get those babies to the hospital, why shouldn’t be bring the hospital to them?” Chu Wanning says with bright eyes.

(Mo Ran thinks this might be the point that he realises he's falling hard.)

Mo Ran tells Chu Wanning about his art, and how he's slowly managing to build up a clientele between his social media and his publicity from major commissioners, like the university who had just purchased the last piece he was working on when Chu Wanning had visited him in his studio. In turn, he learns that Chu Wanning is also quite interested in music and art, and their conversation flows naturally into contemporary artists and the evolution of art into a commodity rather than a statement or a tool for change.

As they walk, they move closer. The atmosphere becomes much easier between them, and Chu Wanning becomes less stilted and awkward, less prone to fits of embarrassment or anger. Eventually it becomes late enough that they start talking about dinner, and Mo Ran is able to convince Chu Wanning to join him for noodles, like he'd said days ago in the studio.

The night draws out, both of them repeatedly making excuses not to part when it’s idly brought up, until they find themselves in a midnight cafe sharing tea again, and then on a steady walk back to Chu Wanning's apartment through the still bustling streets around the Old City.

It seems appropriate that Chu Wanning lives around this area. Mo Ran isn't exactly sure why, but something about him melts in and belongs with the traditional architecture and hubs of the Old City, and he really cant imagine him living anywhere else. They traverse the busy streets at a leisurely pace, Mo Ran admiring the old hip and gable roofs and pagodas dotting the streets, and somewhere along the way he slips his hand into Chu Wanning's. Chu Wanning doesn't pull away despite the way he seems to stiffen a little, and Mo Ran dares to lace their fingers lightly together.

By the time they reach Chu Wanning's apartment (in one of the few, non traditional buildings in this area), it's past midnight. Mo Ran stops and glances up at it, and then back down at Chu Wanning with a smile.

"Thanks for letting me take you to bubble tea," Mo Ran says. He turns, and then gently takes hold of Chu Wanning's other hand, squeezing his fingers lightly. "I hope you liked it. And the noodles.”

"I...did." Chu Wanning ducks his eyes, inspecting their fingers for a few moments. "I did."

Mo Ran smiles warmly. “Do you want to go inside and have tea?"

He can see Chu Wanning glance up at the apartment block and then back down at their joined hands. Then draws in a short breath and let's it go, the conflict evident on his face.

Mo Ran waits patiently. While he had meant it perfectly innocently, it’s not hard to envision where the night might go if he’s invited upstairs to Chu Wanning’s apartment.

"Maybe next time," Chu Wanning days eventually, and Mo Ran's heart sings. “I haven't had a chance to tidy."

"You said next time," Mo Ran says with a grin, immediately latching onto it.

Chu Wanning bristles and tries to pull his hands back. "I did not."

"Yes you did. Just then. ‘Maybe next time'. Does this mean you had a good time with me?"

Slender hands are wrenched from his as Chu Wanning's hackles go up from the teasing. When he spins to march away, Mo Ran laughs and grabs hold of his shoulders, pulling him into an embrace from behind.

"Mo Ran!"

And while Chu Wanning is still as stiff as a board against him, he doesn't actually make any attempt to throw his arms off. Mo Ran is encouraged by the lack of emphasis on Chu Wanning’s part, and leans in with a jubilant smile.

"It's alright," he murmurs against one flaming ear. “Whether you do or don't want to see me again. As long as you had fun tonight."

He can hear a shaky breath be drawn in front of him. Feel the minuscule trembling of slender shoulders, and then the gentle clench of fingers where they have hold of his forearms looped across Chu Wanning's chest. He can almost feel Chu Wanning's desire like a palpable thing—but he has to be sure that acting on it won't make him flee like a terrified cat.

Mo Ran stands there silently for a few moments more, not forcing anything either way until he's sure Chu Wanning has relaxed back against him. And then with a soft hum, ha turns his head and presses the faintest, most daring kiss, to Chu Wanning's ear.

"I had fun tonight," Mo Ran murmurs softly. He makes no other move, content to just hold Chu Wanning as he is. "Even if it wasn't a date. I really like spending time with you, Chu-laoshi."

There's a beat of silence, when the heaviness surround them seems to intensify. And then—

"Wanning."

It's soft as a whisper, barely audible, and Mo Ran tightens his arms infinitesimally. “What did you say?”

Chu Wanning turns in his hold then, not pulling back in any regard and his face set. He gazes up at Mo Ran with a stubborn little frown, and takes in a breath.

“Call me Chu Wanning.”

"Chu Wanning,” Mo Ran breathes. And then he kisses him.

It's an impulsive action; he doesn't recall making a conscious decision to lean down and snare Chu Wanning in his embrace, but he doesn't have any speck of regret when his brain catches up with his body.

Chu Wanning goes stiff as a board, and Mo Ran can almost hear the hitch of his breath. Mo Ran reaches up to cup at the back of his neck with one hand, while the other takes hold of one of the hands balled into tight fists at Chu Wanning’s side. He makes a conscious effort to keep it light. Gentle. He explores Chu Wanning's lips softly with his own, and only draws back when Chu Wanning doesn't respond at all.

His eyes are wide in shock, and he's standing rigidly, while Mo Ran retreats just enough to press their foreheads together.

"Sorry," he says softly. "I couldn't help myself. Chu Wanning, you’re too irresistible."

Chu Wanning says nothing. He doesn’t move, he barely breathes, and after a few moments of that, Mo Ran begins to feel like he’s overstepped some boundary. He pulls back, brows furrowed, and intends to apologise properly before the front of his shirt is snagged.

“Don’t.” Chu Wanning whispers. “Don’t go.”

“Oh.”

He brings his hands up to gently wrap around Chu Wanning’s, still fisted in the front of his shirt. They're shaking slightly, and Mo Ran gives them a gentle squeeze.

"Laoshi," Mo Ran repeats, because he really doesn't have anything else he can say.

He's so beyond ecstatic. He feels like his entire body is floating away on a cloud, and that if he was forced to fight god he could do so easily and win. Chu Wanning is still rigid where he stands, but he's slowly beginning to relax as Mo Ran laughs lightly.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Mo Ran says. "I'm just happy."

Chu Wanning's expression pinches a little, and because Mo Ran can, he leans in and kisses it away.

This time, Chu Wanning responds. He kisses like someone who has done this before, sure and firm despite his nerves, and Mo Ran allows himself to easily drown in the heat of Chu Wanning’s lips where they slide across his bottom lip. He tilts his head slightly and the kiss deepens, a tiny noise escaping Chu Wanning when his mouth parts and he allows Mo Ran to delve forward and slide their tongues together.

Hunger curls in Mo Ran’s belly. It’s a desire that has been simmering away all evening with every move Chu Wanning makes, whether deliberate or otherwise, and every kiss he gives him, every small sound Chu Wanning makes when Mo Ran teases at his lip with his teeth, that desire grows. He wants to take Chu Wanning apart.

Wants to drag him inside and spend the night devouring every inch of him until there is no part left of Chu Wanning that he doesn't know, isn't well acquainted with. Wants to hear the sounds he makes when Mo Ran's mouth is on him, and feel the sting of nails pricking into his skin.

This is right. It’s right. It’s where he belongs, in Chu Wanning’s embrace, where he’s always meant to be and what he’s been waiting to find for all of these years. He kisses Chu Wanning until he feels dizzy, the overwhelming heat becoming too much for him even in this tepid air.

"Laoshi," Mo Ran breathes against Chu Wanning's mouth. “Let's go inside."

That snaps some kind of reality back into place. Chu Wanning pulls back with a shuddery breath, ignoring the low whine Mo Ran gives when he tries to give chase, and puts a small amount of distance between them while he tries to catch his breath.

"Not tonight,” he whispers, but his voice is brittle enough that Mo Ran knows he would win if he pressed just a little harder.

Part of Mo Ran's heart sinks at the rejection, but he decides not push. Instead, he just nods, and leans in for another kiss, this one soft and light. Chu Wanning doesn’t step back again. 

"Alright," Mo Ran murmurs.

They stand there together for a few more minutes, under the dim light of the shitty lamp by the apartment block. Chu Wanning finally relaxes completely, and melts into his embrace with a sigh that sends little horns of victory blaring in Mo Ran's head.

He hasn’t realised how badly he wants this until he has it in his grasp.

“I need to go,” Chu Wanning finally says against his chest, and Mo Ran lets him pull without a fight. “It’s getting late.”

Mo Ran just smiles at him, and brushes a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

“Come to the mid autumn festival with me,” he says. “Next week. There’s going to be a twilight fair down town, with markets and everything. Shi Mei and Xue Meng are coming, and Xue Meng’s blondie. It’ll be fun.”

He can see the way Chu Wanning draws in on himself as he talks, as though the mere thought of being seen by others is mortifying, and he realises that maybe outings with friends is a little too soon with whatever this new thing is they’re cultivating between them.

“You don’t have to,” Mo Ran says quickly. “If you don’t want to, it’s okay.”

“I don’t think they’ll want someone like me ruining the party.” Chu Wanning rubs his arm with the opposite hand, his gaze averted. “It’ll be alright.”

Mo Ran wants to refute. His immediate response is to completely deny that Chu Wanning's presence won’t be unwelcome. He wants to say that there’s no way the others will find it awkward that he’s there, and that Chu Wanning will meld in seamlessly. But he doesn’t think that will help right now, and instead he decides to let it go and just give Chu Wanning the way out.

“Well, there’ll be plenty of other things for us to do anyway,” Mo Ran says with a warm grin. “Maybe next time.”

Chu Wanning seems relieved that Mo Ran doesn’t push him to do anything. But there’s an odd kind of sadness in his eyes too, that Mo Ran attempts to kiss away until Chu Wanning steps back entirely. His eyes are downcast, and there’s a smile on his face that speaks of a million secrets.

One day Mo Ran hopes to know every single one of those secrets.

“Go to bed, Laoshi,” he says, tucking a wayward strand behind Chu Wanning’s ear. “I will see you again soon, okay?”

They bid each other farewell with another lingering kiss, and Mo Ran waits on the footpath outside the building until Chu Wanning texts him that he’s safe inside his apartment.

Mo Ran feels like he’s walking six feet in the air the entire way back to the train station.

He’s lying in Mo Ran's arms, blood trickling from his nose and his mouth, shaking and pale while Mo Ran leans over him. One slender hand takes hold of Mo Ran's wrist, and then moves to gently touch his jaw like he’s trying to memorise the feeling under his fingers.

“I’m sorry, Mo Ran,” he says, and his voice is brittle and weak. “It’s this master’s fault I wasn’t able to save you. Forgive me.”

“Save me?” Mo Ran says. The rage and despair fold over one another in his voice, and he grips his shoulder tightly while he spits through clenched teeth; “Forgive you!? This Venerable One doesn’t need saving, and you will never be forgiven! You think you can get away from me so easily? Do you think this Venerable One doesn’t have ways to bring you back from the dead? Not even death will set you free!”

Shizun just smiles, and it’s so despairingly sad that the grief rolls itself into the mold of Mo Ran’s emotions, leaving him distraught where he holds him.

“Forgive me,” Shizun whispers around a mouthful of blood.

As much as Mo Ran talks about keeping him from death, not even he is able to stay its hand, and the grip on his arms eventually falls lax. Slender, ruined hands slip out of his hold, and no matter how tightly he could grip them again, they don’t return the squeeze. They never will again.

Phoenix eyes are closed, and he looks like he could be asleep if not for the blood that covers his face.

Mo Ran draws in a breath, waiting for Shizun to take one of his own, but it never comes. And when Mo Ran leans over and rests his head on a still chest, the breath leaves him in an earth shattering howl.

Mo Ran wakes up in a cold sweat.

He doesn’t wait to check the time, or get his bearings, or stare at the ceiling. He drags himself out of bed and bolts into the bathroom, shaking and shivering, and leans over the toilet where he wants to heave his guts up.

He doesn’t though. No matter how it churns in his stomach and his body demands he expel it, he retches nothing, and he ends up sitting there with his head in his hands, sucking in rattling breaths while he tries to collect himself.

What had happened to the two in the dream? Why had their relationship gone so sour? What the fuck had even been happening in that dream? How did Shizun die, and  why is he dreaming about this in the first place?

Again, unexplainably, Mo Ran yearns for Chu Wanning immediately after regaining awareness after one of these dreams. It’s been a few days since their not-date, but they’ve been keeping in regular contact, so Mo Ran scrabbles for his phone in the bedroom after a few minutes of (barely) fighting with himself, and finds Chu Wanning's number with shaking hands. He’s dialling it before he can even think about what he’s doing or what time it is.

Chu Wanning picks up on the third ring. “Mo Ran?”

He sounds sleepy, but not like he’s just been woken up. Mo Ran hesitates for a second, and questions whether this is a smart idea. But his heart immediately aches at the thought of hanging up, so he manages to let out a shaky laugh when Chu Wanning asks after him again.

“Sorry, I’m being stupid.” Damn, his voice doesn’t sound as steady as he’d hoped.

Chu Wanning picks up on it immediately. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Mo Ran laughs again, and he knows he is clearly sounding less than fine. “I’m being stupid. Aah. Just wanted to hear you.”

“…Do you need me to come over there?”

Yes. Please. “It’s alright. I’m just happy you answered the phone.” He laughs weakly. “I didn’t think you’d be awake.”

“Mm. It’s not late.”

Mo Ran exhales, and it’s a shaky one, that he doesn’t have the time to hide before its out and Chu Wanning is asking questions again. He feels stupid being so rattled after a dream; it’s just a dream, after all. But there’s something in him that is deeply unsettled; shaken to the core at what his mind had conjured up, and he doesn’t even have it in him to pretend that he didn’t need to hear Chu Wanning’s voice just to make sure his dream isn’t insane.

“I’ll come over.”

It’s said so abruptly that Mo Ran his honestly surprised, and he doesn’t have time to protest before Chu Wanning has ended the call.

It doesn’t cross his mind to call him back and tell him not to worry. Or ask how he knows where Mo Ran lives.

Mo Ran stands after a few minutes, and checks himself over in the mirror to make sure he doesn’t look too much like a hot mess. His eyes are red, but there isn’t much he can do about that—at least the rest of him looks reasonably alright.

Its on heading back into his room to put on a pair of sweats that he catches a glimpse of the clock on his bedside, blinking endlessly away at 00:27.

What the hell counts as late to you, Laoshi?

He’s on his phone, scrolling idly when there’s a gentle knock on the door of his apartment. The speed at which he shoots up to bolt across the room would be embarrassing if anyone was there to witness it, and he’ll deny it to the day he dies—but he does exactly that. Bolts across the apartment to get the door, opening it to reveal a Chu Wanning dressed more casually than Mo Ran has ever seen him.

He’s wearing a simple white knitted jumper and sweatpants, and his hair has been washed back into it’s loose mop. It’s so thick that his eyes are almost hidden under it.

A tightly balled up bundle of something in Mo Ran's chest releases the second that he lays eyes on him, and the relief is so swift that he feels like passing out. It’s stupid; it makes no sense. But he can’t help it, and he steps forward wordlessly to pull Chu Wanning into a fierce hug before he can even say hello.

“You didn’t have to come,” Mo Ran mumbles into his shoulder. “It’s so late.”

“It’s fine,” Chu Wanning says. He’s gone rigid again, but Mo Ran isn’t discouraged, and keeps his hold on him until Chu Wanning awkwardly pats his arm.

“Thank you,” Mo Ran whispers into his shoulder.

“You were in distress.”

Mo Ran sighs, and thinks to himself how lucky he is that Chu Wanning walked into his life. It's late in the night, when any normal person would be in bed and despite that—and Mo Ran's protests—Chu Wanning took it upon himself to come over just to make sure he's alright when it seemed like he wasn’t

Such selflessness is hard to come by these days.

After a time, Mo Ran pulls back and steps aside so that Chu Wanning can enter the apartment properly. He feels lighter now that he's here, like a part of him that was missing is whole again. Like now that he's made sure Chu Wanning is perfectly okay after the dream in which his doppelgänger dies that he can breathe again, and his panic is slowly subsiding.

It's such a weird feeling, and he doesn't understand it in the slightest. But Mo Ran is a simple man, and he doesn't feel the need to question it too much, content with the fact that Chu Wanning is here.

Mo Ran invites Chu Wanning in and begins making him tea, and ferrets around in the fridge for something sweet. Chu Wanning sits at the table, a little stiff, a little out of his depth. He glances around the apartment while Mo Ran hunts for food, clearly curious but unwilling to ask. It’s not like there’s too much to ask about. Mo Ran’s apartment isn’t anything special, but it does have little pieces of his own art scattered about here and there; a portrait on a wall by the bedroom door, a decorative painting on the blank wall by the couch, a little sculpture in one corner.

It’s small and cluttered, but it’s home. Mo Ran loves the way he looks amongst it all.

They sit together on the couch when the tea is done, and Mo Ran takes the opportunity to draw Chu Wanning again. Chu Wanning is still supremely awkward, but he doesn’t protest this time, and so Mo Ran manages to capture a candid image of him in his sketchbook, to go alongside all the ones of the beautiful stranger in his dreams.

When Mo Ran shows him the drawing, Chu Wanning blushes so much that he can’t help but kiss it away.

That night, with both of them feeling emotionally strung out and vulnerable, Chu Wanning lets Mo Ran take him to bed.

It starts slow, and gentle, Mo Ran guiding a nervous and jittery Chu Wanning until he’s melting into his touch and begging him for more, until they’re both a desperate and incoherent mess in each others hold. Mo Ran spends time taking Chu Wanning apart piece by piece, leaving him clawing at his back and his arms, until Chu Wanning can hardly talk from the overwhelming pleasure. When Mo Ran finally enters him, he finds that last missing piece of himself in Chu Wanning, and he whispers his love and adoration as he finds his completion in the warmth of Chu Wanning’s body.

The sun is almost rising by the time they’re done.

Both naked, both raw and completely wrecked, they lie together tangled in the sheets, with Chu Wanning’s head on Mo Ran’s chest. Mo Ran lightly cards his fingers through the dishevelled mess that is Chu Wanning’s hair, feeling sleepy and content.

“Mo Ran.”

“Mm?”

Chu Wanning’s fingers tap idly on Mo Ran’s chest.

“Earlier tonight you said you had a bad dream.”

“Yeah, it’s nothing though.”

“What about?”

He swallows. Is it a good idea to be sharing this with the very man who looks so much like the one who died? Mo Ran has no idea. But the thought of making something up and lying to Chu Wanning sits like acid in his stomach. Especially when he was evidently upset enough for Chu Wanning to drop everything in the middle of the night and come over.

So he gives in, and he tells him, and as he speaks he finds it easier to talk around the giant lump in his chest. Chu Wanning is quiet while Mo Ran recounts the dream, but there’s an audible hitch in his breath when Mo Ran talks about his dream self dying.

“I said its stupid,” He says with a weak laugh. “I don’t even know why I needed to call you so bad. Maybe your voice is just soothing to me when I’m upset.”

“It’s not real.”

“I know,” Mo Ran says. He rubs his forehead with his free hand, wanting to will away the image of how that face—a face so alike Chu Wanning’s—looked lifeless and covered in blood. “I didn’t think magic and monsters were a facet of every day life. It was just—“

“No.” Chu Wanning cuts him off, and the timbre of his voice is surprising. “It’s not real, Mo Ran. It’s a dream. Fiction.”

“…yeah, I know,” Mo Ran repeats, confused by the emphasis Chu Wanning is putting on this.

Chu Wanning pauses. “It’s just a dream. Don’t think anything of it.”

“I…yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

The silence that falls is almost awkward. But Mo Ran waylays that by kissing Chu Wanning’s forehead and making him sputter again, lightening the atmosphere. They roll around in the sheets for another round, and when they’re done they both quickly fall into a dreamless sleep that—for Mo Ran at least—is restful for the first time in a few days.

When he wakes, it’s late morning. Chu Wanning is curled up beside him in a tight little ball, marks littering his neck and back even from this angle, and Mo Ran smiles to himself as he admires his handiwork.

Things are still new between them, and there’s a lot about Chu Wanning that he doesn’t know, but watching him sleep like this, Mo Ran thinks he has found everything his soul has been missing for some time. Like that odd yearning that had always followed his dreams has been filled, and he doesn’t have to search anymore. Whether that’s coincidence or not, he doesn’t care to know.

Leaning over, Mo Ran lightly kisses the back of his neck.

“Wanning, it’s eleven AM.”

Chu Wanning just sighs. He doesn’t move, and Mo Ran kisses along his spine until he begins to stir, and then he leans over him and kisses his temple.

“I’m having a shower, then I’ll make you breakfast. Wait here, baobei.”

Chu Wanning is blinking awake when Mo Ran slides out of bed, and when he slips into the bathroom and closes the door, he’s treated to a fine view of Chu Wanning stretching out, the sheet draped over his slender waist.

He doesn’t notice the sketchbook he’s left on his bedside table.

Mo Ran spends a solid five minutes just staring into the mirror, letting himself be shocked and completely beside himself about the fact that Chu Wanning is in his bed. He hadn’t expected that to happen at all when Chu Wanning turned up last night, but he is never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

Chu Wanning is here. In his bed. Looking so beautiful and ethereal that it's heart breaking. 

Mo Ran truly hadn't intended for things to go in this direction. Chu Wanning had  only turned up to make sure he was alright after a bad dream, after all. But it just kinda happened, and now Mo Ran is standing there fangirling in the mirror like an excitable teenager who has just met their idol. On top of that, is appetite is now completely off the charts.

He doesn’t think he will ever get enough of Chu Wanning.

He freshens himself up with a quick rinse off, and when he steps back into the bedroom Chu Wanning has rolled over onto his back, stretched out like a contented cat. He blinks up at Mo Ran from where he's sprawled and gives him a sleepy smile, which Mo Ran can't help but kiss away. 

“I’ve got sweet rice porridge and pancakes," Mo Ran murmurs against Chu Wanning’s mouth. "I'll make them up and bring them to you."

"I can get up."

"Mm." Mo Ran sprawls out on top of Chu Wanning and buries his face in his chest. "My laoshi deserves his breakfast in bed today. Being so good to me."

Eventually, he disentangles himself with more kisses for Chu Wanning, and then makes his way out to the kitchen. 

Breakfast is relatively simple. Most of it he has half made anyway because he likes a quick and easy meal first thing in the mornings, so it doesn’t take him very long to get it all tied up together and presented on a tray. Humming to himself, he makes a pot of tea to go with it, and then takes the whole thing into the bedroom with a bounce in his step.

“I don’t know whether you like—.”

His sentence dies in his throat when he realises what he’s walked into.

Chu Wanning is sitting up on the bed, half dressed without a shirt on, Mo Ran’s sketchbook open across his lap. The one that is full of drawings and doodles from his dreams, of the man who is only ever called Shizun, from every dream Mo Ran remembers to draw. Pictures of him looking content, of him looking cold and harsh, even those of him looking completely lost and despairing from the less pleasant dreams Mo Ran has been having of late.

There are hundreds of them, and Chu Wanning is looking at them with a face that is as pale as a ghost.

“I…can explain,” Mo Ran says, immediately anxious at the expression on Chu Wanning’s face.

“How do you know this person?” Chu Wanning asks. His voice is thin, and his jaw is set in a way that tells Mo Ran that this spells Disaster.

“They’re just from my dreams,” Mo Ran says. He places the tray down and presses forward, wanting to take the sketchbook away, but Chu Wanning wrenches it out of his grip. “Like the one I had last night. It’s just the face of the person I dream about, that’s all. I know it looks bad, but I swear they’re only—“

“Shut up,” Chu Wanning snaps. His voice is cold and hard, and Mo Ran immediately complies. Chu Wanning glares at him for a few moments, but when he looks back down at the drawings—pages and pages of them—his expression melts into something else. It’s almost like it’s twisted in pain, and Mo Ran’s heart cracks in his chest.

“Wanning,” he says, “It’s really nothing, I promise, I—“

“I have to go.”

No. No.

“Let me explain—“

Chu Wanning doesn’t wait for him though. He pulls himself out of bed and moves right around him while Mo Ran feels like his world is falling out from beneath his feet, grabbing his belongings and pulling his clothes on with such haste that its clear he just needs to flee. Mo Ran tries to follow, pleading desperately, wanting Chu Wanning to understand, but his efforts are in vain.

Chu Wanning is making his way to the door when he stops abruptly. His hair and clothes are in disarray, but when he turns it’s the look in his eyes that brings Mo Ran up short. He’s seen that look before—he has. In his dreams, when the qin player looked at his dream self, full of nothing but anguish. Its that look that breaks Mo Ran completely.

“I can’t do this,” Chu Wanning says.

“Wanning,” Mo Ran says desperately, reaching for him. “Please don’t go, let me—“

“No. This is wrong. I shouldn’t be—“ Chu Wanning shakes his head hard, and backs out of Mo Ran’s hold. “Not just because of those. There are other things too. I can’t do this, Mo Ran. Not again.”

“Again?” Mo Ran's voice is stuck in his throat and he can barely get the words out around it, but he doesn’t understand the direction this is going in. “What do you mean again? Please, just let me explain it to you, I promise I—“

“Shut up,” Chu Wanning barks. His had makes a strange gesture then, jerking out to the side as though he had expected to catch something in his grip, but it quickly falls away when nothing happens. “I can’t do this, Mo Weiyu.”

That name again.

“Who is Mo Weiyu?” Mo Ran asks, but that only makes Chu Wanning’s expression twist more. “Please Wanning, don’t go. Don’t leave me. Laoshi. Laoshi.”

His desperate pleas are in vain though, as Chu Wanning turns and flees the apartment, leaving a confused and distraught Mo Ran on his doorstep, clutching at his chest while his heart threatens to shatter into pieces.

Wanning. Don’t leave me again.

He doesn’t hear from Chu Wanning after that. And Chu Wanning doesn’t answer his calls, or return his messages. When Mo Ran checks social media, he sees that Chu Wanning has blocked him, and that leaves him curled up in grief on his couch for the entirety of the day.

Xue Meng appears and offers awkward condolences when he hears about it a couple of days later, but he doesn’t really get why Mo Ran is so upset since they ‘were only seeing each other for like a week’. As far as Xue Meng knows, it’s only been one date, so Mo Ran can’t really blame him, even if he does throw him out on his ass for making insensitive comments.

It’s more than that. Its so much more.

Shi Mei is more sympathetic. He brings Mo Ran some food a couple of times, and sits with him to do nothing but offer his company, and Mo Ran appreciates that more than Xue Meng’s awkward and counterproductive attempts at comfort. Despite his more tactful nature though, Shi Mei still probably thinks Mo Ran is being overdramatic as well.

None of them really get it.

Because Mo Ran feels like part of him is gone now. Like his soul has ripped a part of itself away and has gone with Chu Wanning, leaving this raw, aching wound behind. They don’t understand that the very second he laid eyes on Chu Wanning that day in the park, under the haitang tree, Mo Ran felt complete in a way he hasn’t ever really had before.

His uncle says that it’s because he’s lost his soulmate. In a way, part of himself has left, even if they were only together a short amount of time. He’s grieving, Xue Zhengyong says, and it’ll suck for a while, but maybe in a week or so he can reach out to Chu Wanning again and see if they can talk it over.

Mo Ran throws himself into his work to keep himself busy. Not at the pastry shop, because he doesn’t want to risk running into Chu Wanning there (despite the fact that Xue Meng says he hasn’t been in), but in his studio, scribbling and painting and just getting it all out of his system through his art. It’s cathartic, and he jokingly describes it to Xue Meng as his very own blue period (he earns a punch in the arm for that), but it helps.

It keeps his mind off Chu Wanning’s expression when he’d been going through the sketchbook, at least.

So while Mo Ran feels like an integral part of him is just gone, he keeps pressing on, pretending that he’s alright and that his dreams aren’t getting worse and his sleep isn’t broken and restless. Because what else is he supposed to do?

He keeps going, because that’s what he’s always done in the face of adversity and despair.

He kept going when his Mother passed. He kept going when he found himself on the streets hungry and tired, and he’ll keep going now.

That’s just what Mo Ran is built to do.

The mid autumn festival dawns with another unseasonably warm day, and Mo Ran spends it in his studio painting again. Instead of his usual decorative, abstract pieces that are designed for display and don’t convey much meaning, this time, he’s painting something completely different.

This time, it’s a portrait.

Chu Wanning, phoenix eyes sleepy, a tiny smile on his face while he’s swathed in sheets, gazes up at Mo Ran from the canvas. It’s only a small painting, but it’s a snapshot of him in a moment of time that Mo Ran holds in his heart, and a snapshot of the moment before everything went to shit.

Painting this is probably counter productive to his healing. But he doesn’t particularly care—if this is all he has left of the man he’s pretty sure he fell desperately in love with, then this is what he will do. And if looking at it every day will bring him pain and sadness while he remembers those blissful, carefree nights they spent together, then so be it.

He’d rather the pain and sadness than forgetting him. Any day.

So he spends the day with his oils and his music, and Chu Wanning’s portrait comes together; only the third one Mo Ran has ever made of him, and the first one that he’s put as much effort and care into as he has any of his paid pieces. And despite his misery that Chu Wanning is avoiding him, he still has hope that it won’t be the last portrait he ever makes—he hopes that this is only the third of thousands more.

He might be an idiot for it, but he’s decided that hope is better than nothing.

His dream last night was especially brutal. They’ve been more cruel and nightmarish of late, especially since Chu Wanning left, which only adds to his edginess and moodiness by the day. And of all things in the world, he’d rather get no sleep at all then have to spend another night trying to edge off the sight of the man called Shizun being tortured at Mo Ran’s hands.

He supposes he’s going to have to go seek help about that some time soon. Especially if they don’t start getting better. hes not entirely sure how long he'll be able to sustain the whole "minimal sleep, maximum effort" scenario. 

But despite how he'd really like to curl up and withdraw from the world until he can figure out the mess that's his emotions, Mo Ran knows that doing that is the absolute worst idea possible. So he pulls up his bootstraps and dusts himself off, and promises his friends that he will be there at the festival like he'd promised. 

The evening is comfortably warm. Given that Mo Ran's studio is closer to where the events are, the others promise to meet him there. It also serves the dual purpose of forcing him into going as well as being a convenient meeting place, seeing as he can't back out from it with some kind of lame duck excuse.

And when the others arrive, he makes a point of being as cheery as he can. 

Shi Mei seems to see right through it. But he doesn't say anything, instead making a point of admiring Mo Ran's latest portrait with a soft smile. Xue Meng looks at it and then at Mo Ran with pity—which he pointedly ignores—and the blonde guy tagging along seems like he doesn't really care about anything.  

At least the walk to the festival is distracting enough for Mo Ran to perk up a bit. 

Lanterns are strung up everywhere, a burst of brilliant light and colour as they make their way down the street. Many of them bought, but some visibly handmade too, and lights dance around them in a vibrant and colourful display. There are people everywhere too, many of them dressed traditionally, and as they head further towards the area where the evening markets and festival is being held proper, stalls and buskers begin to line the streets. 

There is everything from colourful, handmade spinners to streamers to food being sold in the stalls. The scents of cooking meat and spices permeate the air, and for the first time in days Mo Ran's mind begins to be overtaken by something that isn't Chu Wanning. 

He stops to watch a pair of musicians playing a xiao and a pipa, and tosses them a couple of coins once they've finished their music. There's a man nearby dressed all in white, busking with an intricate looking sword, and another a little further away dancing exuberantly. 

It's all music, noise and happiness. It's a lift to Mo Ran's sombre mood. 

He and Shi Mei grab some noodles from a vendor, and he lets Shi Mei take a photo while Xue Meng stands in the background pulling a face at them. And as the night goes on, Mo Ran feels more and more like everything will be alright, no matter how gloomy he is. 

It's hard not to feel that way, when surrounded by cheer. 

They're lining up to see a collection of dragon dancers making their way down the street to loud, exuberant drumming when he spots the fortune tellers stall. 

He ignores it at first. hes never really put much stock in them after all, despite how much his mother used to believe in them. 

But the more he lingers there, the more he feels the stalls presence, almost like there's a palpable string pulling him towards it and begging him to step inside. 

To add to the weariness, there's barely anyone around it either, and for a split second Mo Ran almost questions whether or not he's hallucinating the whole thing. 

Just ignore it. 

He tries. He fixes his attention on the drums and the dancers making their way down the street, and on the cheers and hollers of the crowd around him. But eventually, it becomes too strong, and he turns back to the stall to look at it properly. 

The fortune teller is gazing at him with such intensity that Mo Ran almost feels intimidated by it. The others aren’t paying attention, caught up on watching the dragon dancers making their way down the road to really be caught by a nearby stall, but there’s an inexplicable draw that Mo Ran feels to her. The urge to go and sit down is strong.

With one flick of a finger from the fortune teller, Mo Ran gives in.

Neither Shi Mei nor Xue Meng pay much attention to him when he tells them he’s going to sit with her. They’re watching the parade, which is fine by him, and he makes his way over to her, deciding to hold her gaze the whole time until he sits down behind the curtain.

“Mo-zongshi has finally decided to join me,” she says. The timbre of her voice is strange, but it’s the old fashioned turn of phrase that she uses that throws him. He blinks, and says nothing in response, to which she smiles. “Don’t be alarmed. It’s my humble honour to be in your presence.”

“I think you’re mistaking me for someone else,” he says with a frown.

The fortune teller shakes her head. “No. I haven’t. Your face tells me your fate, and your elements tell me your history. I know who I am talking to.”

Mo Ran laughs awkwardly. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me my future?”

“There are many things that I can determine, young man. You have not been sleeping well.”

Alright. Now he’s listening. The fortune teller smiles, and holds out her hand.

“Let me see your palm.”

Mo Ran holds his had out, saying nothing. He’s still not sure whether he believes any of this or not (it probably isn’t hard to determine that he’s been sleeping poorly, judging from the circles under his eyes after all), but he’s willing to give her the benefit of the doubt and comply with her requests for now. The fortune teller takes his hand in both of hers, and bends his wrist so that she can peer closely at his palm.

She says nothing for some time. Mo Ran just watches her silently, deciding not to give anything away. He’s always been a bit of a skeptic about fortune tellers, because he really just doesn’t understand how someone can look at his face and decide what his life will hold, but there’s something about this woman that makes the entire experience completely different to the fortune tellers he remembers his mother taking him to as a child. Those ones asked about his birthday and had measured his limbs for a few minutes, before they decided his entire life from those arbitrary traits—usually in a way that would make his mother cry.

This woman just sits. quietly.

The minutes stretch out, and Mo Ran begins to feel a little edgy, not sure what he’s supposed to be waiting for, and wondering whether it’ll be rude to interrupt.

In the end, he doesn’t need to.

She speaks for him.

“Your Shizun has been waiting for you for such a long time.”

Mo Ran blinks. “Shizun?”

He doesn’t have a Shizun. That word hasn’t been used in modern language for generations. How could he possibly have someone called Shizun waiting for him? The only Shizun Mo Ran can recall is the one who lives exclusively in his dreams.

“Ah, it must break his heart that his beloved doesn’t remember him,” the fortune teller continues, and that answers absolutely none of Mo Ran’s questions. “And he keeps himself hidden from you, even though he is right there in plain sight. What would happen if you did remember, I wonder…?”

“What are you talking about?” Mo Ran asks. “I don’t have a Shizun. There’s no one waiting for me. And I haven’t forgotten anything, so I don’t really understand what you’re trying to do. For a fortune teller, you’re not really—“

“Chu Wanning.”

Mo Ran stops short, completely taken aback. She’s looking at him with a gleam in her eye, and a smile on her red painted lips that promises ruin.

Mo Ran snatches his hand back. “Alright, so you know the name of the man I’m seeing, big deal. You probably—“

“Still as recalcitrant as ever. Taxian Jun.”

This time, Mo Ran stops. The ground falls out from under him. Because there’s no way, there’s no way that she can possibly know the name of the terrible man in his dreams; the one who subjects his Wanning-doppelgänger to so many dehumanising and unspeakable actions. There is just no way. He hasn’t breathed a word to anyone, except Chu Wanning, and unless this is some terrible, god awful prank that they’re playing between them—

But no. Chu Wanning is not the sort to pull pranks. Especially not like this.

He can’t breathe.

“How do you know?” Mo Ran whispers.

The fortune teller smiles. It’s clear she knows she has won.

“The Emperor of the cultivation world. The tyrant who slaughtered entire sects, and subjugated all under his iron fist. Who married the last known member of the Butterfly Bone clan at the time, and who had only one concubine—his Shizun, whom he hated and loved in equal measure.”

Mo Ran feels sick.

“And then he died, and was reborn, and he lived his life a chaste and honourable zhongshi. Who endured hardship after hardship, until he suffered and died at the hands of one who only wished revenge. Who took a poison in place of the one he loved dearly, because he could not bear to see him suffer again.”

“Stop,” Mo Ran says. He wants to get up and leave, and cut off this woman’s monologue so that she can’t continue spitting his dreams back at him with whatever terrible power she has. He has to get away from her, because he doesn’t want to hear this—he can’t deal with her being in his own head like this. He needs to get away.

But it’s like he can’t move. His limbs are rooted to the spot, fists clenched in front of him and his legs numb beneath him. The fortune teller is piercing him with her gaze until he can’t breathe, her eyes boring into him with the kind of intensity that gives children nightmares.

He needs her to stop.

“Do you wish to know how it ends, Mo-zhongshi?” The fortune teller smiles at him. “Do you wish to see what happened?”

“No,” Mo Ran says through clenched teeth. “I don’t need to.”

“Unfortunate. You ought to know. I will show you.” And she reaches towards him, and he can’t pull away no matter how much he wants to.

Her index and middle fingers touch his forehead, and like a thunderclap going off behind his eyes, Mo Ran sees.

“Ah. My old bones are starting to get a little tired.”

He’s shuffling slowly. It’s cold outside, and the first snow of the season is due to fall. Everything feels stiff and sore, and he tries to straighten up properly, but finds his back too stiff to do so. As he walks, he hunches over, and he realises it’s because his back is bent forward, keeping him in a perpetual bow.

“A-Ran, you should rest.”

“Mm. I think I will. Will you help me?”

Young, strong hands grip his. Mo Ran can see nothing but age spots and wrinkles on his own, the knuckles knobbled and clawed.

He’s an old man.

Those hands—he knows them anywhere. Strong and graceful, and perfectly cared for even with a life of solitude in the mountains. His husband takes hold of him and helps him across the room, until he’s settling into bed with a weary sigh.

His husband. Chu Wanning. He hasn’t aged a day.

But Mo Ran has.

He can feel time catching up with him.

Chu Wanning sits next to the bed, his eyes bright, and a faint redness around them. Has he been crying?

“Baobei,” Mo Ran murmurs, and places a hand on his cheek. “Don’t cry.”

This Chu Wanning is more open. He wears his emotions freely, after a lifetime of living with a man who loves every part of him, no matter how beautiful or ugly it may be. His hair is down, and he’s wearing simple white clothes made of hemp— a far cry from the man who was once the envy and the wonder of the cultivation world. He takes hold of Mo Ran’s weathered hand and presses a kiss to the palm, his phoenix eyes closing.

“I lost you once,” he says softly. “How am I meant to do it again?”

“Ah, my Wanning. It’s my own fault I never reached immortality. But I haven’t left the wheel of reincarnation yet. All you have to do is find me again.”

“How? Where? How long do I wait? I don’t want to find you again. I want to stay with you. I don’t want you to—to…”

“My Wanning. My baobei. You’ll know where to find me, when the time comes. I promise I won’t keep you waiting for long. Will you wait for me?”

Chu Wanning’s breath hitches, and the wetness in his eyes overflows. Mo Ran sweeps a thumb under one eye, brushing the tears away, but they keep coming, until he leans forward with his head on Mo Ran’s chest, and lets himself cry. Mo Ran combs his fingers through his hair and doesn’t try to stop his tears, just whispering softly; quiet, soothing words that remind Chu Wanning how much he is loved.

“Wait for me, wanning,” Mo Ran says. “I love you. Wait for me.”

Mo Ran hurls himself backwards so hard that his foot catches on the ground beneath him and he ends up going sprawling in the dirt, nearly tripping up a group of people who have been making their way past. Unable to breathe, he stares at the fortune teller in three parts horror and one part fear, while she gazes back at him impassively like she hasn’t just completely upended his entire existence.

“Your Wanning as been waiting for you for such a long time,” she says again. “Mo-zhongshi. How much longer will you keep him waiting?”

The terror bites at him, and without a single backwards glance, Mo Ran flees.

He fights his way through the crowds, panic swelling in his chest as he tries desperately to find his cousin. It feels like everything is closing in on him, and all he can see and hear is the image of Chu Wanning—Chu Wanning. not an ancestor, not a stranger who looks like him, but Chu Wanning—flashing through his mind with every single dream Mo Ran has ever had.

All this time. All this time.

Mo Ran runs, barely able to breathe, while the knowledge weighs him down and threatens to consume him. He feels like he's being chased now, like the years he's spent unknowing and oblivious are threatening to catch up with him and devour him whole before he can find the one who has been waiting eternity for him.

Eventually, he finds Xue Meng and the others by a lantern stall. Be doesn't pay any mind to propriety as he barrels towards them, out of breath and trying to keep himself from sobbing like a fool.

"Mo Ran? What the fuck?"

"Xue Meng," Mo Ran wheezes, clutching onto Xue Meng's sleeves, bent double as he tries to catch his breath. "Chu Wanning…I need to…”

"What about him? Are you alright? Did something happen?"

Panic threatens to consume Mo Ran for every second that he isn't spending heading towards Chu Wanning, and he shakes his head furiously, desperate to get his thoughts in order.

“I need to go find him! I gotta go!” He manages after a few moments.

He must look a fright. He's sure his face is red and there is sweat on his brow, and theres a warmth on his cheeks that he's pretty sure has nothing to do with the warm evening. It’s no wonder that Xue Meng is looking at him kind of like he’s a deranged animal threatening to devour his leg.

“Why do you need to find him?” Xue Meng says. "Mo Ran, the hell is going on? Why are you—“

“I don’t have time to explain,” Mo Ran wheezes. “Tell the others I had to go!”

Mo Ran's hand is wrenched free from Xue Meng's bicep, and  piece of paper is shoved into it. He looks up, and sees the blonde guy that Xue Meng has been seeing (?), gazing down at him with a stony expression.

“Train fare. Just go.”

“Dude, what the hell is going on?” Xue Meng asks him with a frown.

“Chu Wanning is a friend of my fathers. Kind of. If something happened to him, he’ll want to know.”

Mo Ran doesn't stop to question that any further. Doesn't even stop to thank the guy, instead turning on his heel and bolting out of the street as fast as his legs can possibly carry him.

The train ride is a blur. If anyone asks him later on what he remembers of it, all he'll be able to say is that he remembers it being shoulder to shoulder, but otherwise he has very little recollection, so lost in his own head is he. There's a constant feeling of danger hanging over his head and he finds himself weaving his way through the other passengers, as though being in constant motion will stop it from catching up with him.

It makes sense. It all makes sense.

Chu Wanning's reaction to seeing him—no...Chu Wanning's reaction to being seen by Mo Ran for the first time, all the way back in the park under the haitang tree. The fact that he sought out Sisheng Cakes in the first place when it opened. Paying for everything in small change instead of on his phone. The way he tried so vehemently to make Mo Ran believe his dreams were just that...and the way he reacted when he discovered that Mo Ran was drawing him again and again, when he found his sketchbook on the nightstand after their first night together.

The slip of the tongue when he called him Mo Weiyu when scolding him.

The way Mo Ran’s body—his heart and soul—recognised Chu Wanning the second he saw him, and that strange longing sensation that had plagued him for months had disappeared inexplicably after they met in the pastry shop.

It all makes perfect fucking sense. And Mo Ran feels like his entire world has down a complete one-eighty, and everything he thought he knew is a lie and everything he thought was false is the truth.

By the time he is racing down Chu Wanning's neighbourhood, he's gasping for breath and nearly sobbing with desperation, the panic reaching a fever pitch until he's taking the stairs to the plain little apartment block three at a time, nearly tripping up them twice in his haste.

The racket he makes on the plain black door of unit number 179 would be enough to wake the dead.

"Wanning!" Mo Ran shouts, pounding on it with an open palm, his throat beginning to close up with his increasing terror. “Wanning! Open the door, please!"

"Mo Ran!? What the hell are you doing!?"

The door is wrenched open, and Mo Ran tumbles inside, sucking in breaths in desperate sobs while relief nearly floors him that Chu Wanning is home. He steadies himself by gripping Chu Wanning's arms, where they reach for him in obvious alarm.

"Is it true? Is she telling the truth?" Mo Ran rasps. He straightens and grabs the front of Chu Wanning's shirt in both hands, his voice rising in pitch as he talks, desperate to get the words out, desperate to know, to hear it first hand. Desperate to see the truth in Chu Wanning's eyes.

"Is who?" Chu Wanning asks. He sounds equal parts alarmed and pissed, no doubt at the rude interruption to his evening.

"The fortune teller," Mo Ran manages, his voice rising in pitch. “The fortune teller, she told me. My dreams, all of it. Everything. Wanning, please, I need to know. Please tell me the truth, I—how long? How long??"

"How long what? You're speaking nonsense!”

Mo Ran shakes him. "How long have you been waiting for me?? How long!?"

This makes Chu Wanning freeze.

The only sound in the room is Mo Ran's rasping breath, and the look on Chu Wanning's face brings him to his knees, still clinging tightly to his forearms, while Chu Wanning stands rigidly in front of him. He says nothing, barely even draws a breath. Probably doesn’t draw breath because he doesn’t need to. Because death is not something that can touch him from something as simple as not breathing.

Because Chu Wanning is an immortal, who has lived for centuries. Because the stranger that lived in Mo Ran’s dreams every single night is not a stranger at all.

"Wanning," Mo Ran sobs. He's vaguely aware that Chu Wanning is shaking, and he presses his face into the slender waist in front of him with a gasp. “Wanning, why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you…?”

He can feel hands on his shoulders, but he only clings tighter as his world shifts entirely on his axis to make Chu Wanning it’s centre, like he always has been, from the very first time a young Mo Ran saw him, and every single first time since, however many that may be.

It’s right there, in the doorway of Chu Wanning’s messy but strangely familiar apartment that Mo Ran allows himself to fall apart, under the weight of so much knew knowledge and so many years missing from the one he loves.

There are so many questions. He has so much he wants to know—so much he needs to know, but doesn’t know where to start and doesn’t know how to ask. Chu Wanning eventually drops down to his knees as well, and they just sit there clinging to each other.

“I’m sorry,” Mo Ran whispers. He’s not sure whether the shaking he’s feeling is from him or Chu Wanning. “I’m sorry I made you wait, Wanning. I didn’t mean to…I didn’t mean to…”

Chu Wanning doesn’t answer him, but he doesn’t need to. Despite the way he shakes in Mo Ran’s arms, the relief at this no longer being a secret is palpable, no matter how much anguish and despair the revelation is bringing them. It’s like some locked chest that has long since rusted shut has finally been broken free, and everything inside is now visible to the daylight to be inspected and perused over until it all makes sense again.

“I’m sorry I ran,” Chu Wanning finally whispers against Mo Ran. His voice is broken, and Mo Ran wants to kiss away the pain he hears there. “I didn’t know what else to do when I found those drawings. I knew you’d been dreaming, but I…they were so real…I didn’t know what to do…”

“It’s alright now.” Mo Ran rocks them both, neither caring how stupid they must look bent and twisted around each other in the doorway like this. “It’s alright. We found each other. It’s alright…”

It’s alright.

It has to be.

Eventually, he calms. The only way he’s really able to do that is to go completely numb to everything, so that he can feel nothing while he processes this. He’s sitting on the floor in the hallway, and Chu Wanning is beside him, both of their eyes red and their faces swollen. They’re both leaning against the wall, neither really willing to break the silence, but both knowing at a bone deep level that they have to if they ever want this entire ordeal to be resolved. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Mo Ran asks eventually, his voice devoid of anything except total exhaustion. He stares up at the ceiling, his vision hazy while the images of his dreams pass across his eyes like ghosts.

Beside him, Chu Wanning draws a shaky breath. “It wasn’t right. You deserved to live your own life without me forcing my way into it.”

“You were already in my life,” Mo Ran replies. “Every night, by that stage. Every single night I saw you.”

“I…”

Mo Ran shakes his head and closes his eyes. “I suppose they grew in intensity the closer we became. Trying to tell me this whole time. And getting worse and worse…”

“Mo Ran…”

“Those thing’s I did…” there’s a lump in his throat again, and when Chu Wanning takes his hand, he clings. “Those things I did to you back then…”

“It was never your fault. You were being controlled, and you sacrificed yourself for me. Don’t take that to heart. It’s all in the past now.”

Mo Ran trembles. “You waited for so long…”

“I promised you I would.”

Overwhelmed, Mo Ran turns and buries his head in Chu Wanning’s shoulder, pulling him into a tight embrace. He’s twisted up like a pretzel in this position, but he doesn’t care—he just needs to hold him and remind himself that this is real; that it’s not some kind of ridiculous dream that he’ll wake up from in a few moments and then spend another half hour drawing.

“You knew it was me the whole time,” he whispers against Chu Wanning’s neck. He can hear the faint breath Chu Wanning draws, and feel the stiff nod of his head. “You knew it was Xue Meng. And Shi Mei. You came to the pastry shop because you knew…”

“I was being a creep,” Chu Wanning says abruptly, and it sounds so funny on his tongue that Mo Ran can’t help but bark a slightly hysterical laugh. “I knew who owned it, and I knew you’d be there. I arrived hoping you’d remember who I was, but when Xue Meng was oblivious, I realised you would be too. I wanted to see you but…for a long time, I couldn’t stomach the thought of seeing you without…without you…So I decided to go on the days I knew you weren’t working. That way at least I got to see the others, but didn’t risk running into you and ruining my careful plans of staying away and letting you live your life without me.”

“Fuck.” Mo Ran drags the heels of his palm across his eyes again, and pulls back. “And that day, when you saw me in the park and I spotted you…?”

“I panicked,” Chu Wanning admits. “I knew you liked to sit there, so when I finally came to terms with your lost memory, I would make my way through the park and watch you draw. You never saw me up until that time, and you looked like you recognised me and I wasn’t…ready for that.”

“I did recognise you,” Mo Ran says quietly. “I recognised you from my dreams. Even if my memory wasn’t quite there.”

Chu Wanning lets go of a shaky breath. “After that I saw you at the cafe and I just…decided to go with it. I knew you were interested—you never change, after all. And I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t stay away from you, even though you didn’t know who I was. Even though it wasn’t fair. Forgive me.”

“Forgive you? What for?”

Chu Wanning clams up, and says nothing more.

They sit there in the hallway, and they talk. Until the early hours of the morning when everything else around them has gone to sleep for the night, they talk and talk, and they finally start to get to know one another again—properly this time, without the barriers of dreams or memories. They get to know each other as Mo Ran, an old soul in a new home, and Chu Wanning, the one who has been waiting for him for so many years.

And Mo Ran, forever carrying his satchel around, pulls out the sketchbook full of what he now knows to be drawings of Chu Wanning, and hands it to him so that he can look through it properly.

For Chu Wanning, it must be an album full of memories; little snapshots of his past that have long since faded into oblivion, but for Mo Ran, they are windows into his previous life, and the life of the one he loves. They sit there together in the hallway and go through every single picture in this book, and Chu Wanning tells him all about the circumstances surrounding them.

He reaches the haitang tree that Mo Ran doodled idly on one of the pages, and his eyes are soft.

“You planted this for me in our cottage,” he says softly. “Not long after we went into seclusion together, after everything that happened.”

“The painting,” Mo Ran says, suddenly remembering the watercolour that Chu Wanning had been admiring that day in his studio. “I painted this tree. I tried to give it to you. Why didn’t you take it?”

“I was already spending too much time with you,” Chu Wanning says. “I couldn’t start taking things from you as well. The little painting  you gave me instead was more than enough.”

Mo Ran sighs, and drops his head on Chu Wanning’s shoulder. “My heart knew who you were from the moment I laid eyes on you, you know.”

Chu Wanning doesn’t answer, but his hands twitch a little where they rest on the sketchbook. Mo Ran reaches for one of them, and twines their fingers together.

“When I saw you in the park, I felt like something I’d been missing my whole life had been found. That’s why I chased you down like a creep. I didn’t understand why at the time, but it must have been because even in this life, I belong to you.”

“You belong to no one,” Chu Wanning murmurs.

Mo Ran shakes his head. “No. In this life, and in every life, I belong to you. I know that like I know the back of my own hand. Even if I don’t remember you, or even if you don’t remember me, I’m yours. I’m always yours.”

Chu Wanning lets out a shaky breath, and when Mo Ran pulls him close again, he gently kisses away the wetness beneath his eyes.

When the sun begins to rise, they move away from the hallway, retiring to Chu Wanning's room. The apartment is as much of a mess as his office is, and Mo Ran gazes at it all with soft fondness. But he says nothing, simply follows Chu Wanning into his bedroom, where they curl up together in his oversized bed (after clearing off a space), wrapped around each other like they’ll never let go.

The silence is comforting, but full of so much unspoken words.

“I love you,” Mo Ran says after a time. “Is it stupid of me to say? Part of me has only known you for like, three months. But the other part has known you for centuries. Maybe the love from my past life never died. But I know it. It’s always been you, wanning. ”

Chu Wanning turns his face into Mo Ran’s chest. His fingers are trembling, and Mo Ran takes hold of them lightly, kissing them until Chu Wanning lifts his head and Mo Ran can kiss his lips instead.

It’s crunch time again.

This time, Mo Ran is grinding out hours in front of a collection of canvases, creating a body of work for a new building going up in the financial district. The commissioner had wanted something colourful but meaningful, and for Mo Ran, the subject matter was easy.

He’s named this project Rebirth, and each canvas carries with it a common theme through every painting to connect them all together.

He sells it to the commissioner as a red thread of fate connecting clients to their investors, but that’s just a bullshit excuse Mo Ran uses to cover up the true meaning of the paintings. For Mo Ran, it’s a red thread that carried him through centuries, while his love waited for him all that time, until they could meet again in a park in modern day Shanghai.

Rebirth is Mo Ran coming back into Chu Wanning’s life, and Chu Wanning waiting for him year after year, until they find each other under a haitang tree, like they did the very first time they met when Mo Ran was a young disciple and Chu Wanning was his Shizun.

There’s a knock on the door, and Mo Ran drops his brush to stretch, before meandering over to open it.

“Chu-laoshi,” he says with a beaming smile. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Chu Wanning’s eyes dart to Mo Ran’s bare chest, and then pointedly averts his eyes as he steps around him and places the fresh coffee from Sisheng Cakes wordlessly down on the table where he usually drops it. As Mo Ran closes the door behind him, Chu Wanning meanders over to the body of work Mo Ran has half completed and appraises it with a critical eye.

“My class was cancelled,” he says simply. “The professor was feeling ill today.”

Mo Ran laughs. He stalks up behind Chu Wanning and kisses the back of his neck, and then his ear, winding his arms around his narrow waist with a smile.

“The professor is a liar,” he says. “It’s not like you to tell a falsehood.”

“Normally I wouldn’t,” Chu Wanning says. He turns in Mo Ran’s arms and loops his hands around his hips, gazing up at him with an intense look. “But today is a special day.”

“Oh?”

“Mm. It’s the day that you confessed to me the very first time when you were twenty-two. I never work on this day. I never have.”

“Oh.” Mo Ran repeats stupidly. He can feel his heart swell, and then a little pang when he doesn’t remember it. “Will you tell me about it?”

They grab their coffees and sit, leaning against a wall that doesn’t have any grub on it that might rub off on their shirts, and Mo Ran listens to a tale of an oversized sword, a cocky and self confident but nervous Mo Ran, and a Chu Wanning who was so much more awkward and unsure than he is today. Mo Ran laments that he can’t remember, but it’s okay, because he can listen to Chu Wanning talk about it all day long.

There’s so much more he’s yet to hear.

He remembers thinking about how Chu Wanning’s smile is full of secrets. He decides he’s going to honour that vow he made to himself to learn every single one of them.

His dreams have stopped plaguing him at night now. But those ghosts don’t really worry him, and he doesn’t miss drawing endless pictures of the mystery dream man who he now knows sits beside him. Instead of portraits and sketches of a severe and beautiful man dressed in robes with elaborate crowns, his sketchbook is now filled with drawings of a severe and beautiful man with his hair artfully styled, eating noodles by the waterfront and smiling softly at something goofy Mo Ran has said.

There’s so much more he’s yet to learn, and he hasn’t got the dreams to help him anymore, but it’s okay.

They have all the time in the world.