Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Wang Yibo has never hit it off with anyone the way he has with Xiao Zhan. It is nearly immediate—by the first table read, he's grinning and relaxed and it's entirely because of Xiao Zhan. Yibo has never immediately liked someone as much as he likes Xiao Zhan. He never feels this comfortable around someone this fast, not ever.

Once they start filming, there are cameras on them constantly on set, nearly one hundred percent of the time. It's not entirely different from other things he's filmed, but also it is—something about the heat of Hengdian, about how the whole cast is crammed together all the time, about Director Chen and his approach, how he really wants them to understand their characters and their motivation.

Yibo's realization that his dialogue is next to nothing and he'll need to figure out how to emote all of Lan Wangji's feelings through minute facial shifts—it feels challenging, hard in a different way than memorizing pages of dialogue would be.

It's different because of all of that, sure, but it's also because of Xiao Zhan.

If Yibo is being completely honest with himself, it's mostly because of Xiao Zhan.

He'd thought getting used to the camaraderie on set would be a process. He's never as easy with people as everyone else seems to be. It's not a process this time—it's a whirlwind.

"Wang Yibo, so tall," Xiao Zhan says again, gazing at him and batting his eyelashes. "So lofty. So...statuesque."

"Extremely tall," Yibo says in agreement, leaning forward to tower over Xiao Zhan in the costume boots with the lifts in them, since Lan Wangji is supposed to be taller than Wei Ying. "I'm going to start wearing high heels all of the time."

"It's a good look for you." Xiao Zhan is grinning, sinking back to make himself seem shorter. He looks up at Yibo, clearly doing his level best to look starry-eyed and hopelessly enamored.

"You like this look, Zhan-ge?" Yibo asks, cocking an eyebrow. He's going for a cool guy look but he knows he doesn't quite get there, because he can't keep the grin from sliding across his face as Xiao Zhan lays the back of one hand across his forehead and makes like he's going to faint.

"Catch me, Yibo," he says dramatically, and they both dissolve into helpless giggles. Xiao Zhan lurches forward, almost actually falling over as he laughs, and Yibo does catch him. Xiao Zhan wraps his hands around Yibo's arm, getting tangled up in the long sleeves of his white robes.

"Sorry," Xiao Zhan gasps, trying to catch his breath, his face split in a smile that makes his eyes nearly disappear, still cracking up. "I'm ruining you."

"It's fine," Yibo says, reaching to steady him.

Xiao Zhan is very close to him, breathless and flushed, and he opens his mouth like he's going to say something, then shuts it and shakes his head.

"What?" Yibo asks.

Xiao Zhan straightens up, spinning away as two crew members come over to them to do the final touch-ups before the scene begins. "Nothing," he says over his shoulder, straightening his hair and tilting his chin up as the make-up tech starts fixing his face.

"What?" Yibo says again, raising the pitch of his voice. He's kidding, now, but—he really does want to know what Xiao Zhan had been going to say.

"Sweaty," the make-up tech scolds, pushing a portable fan into Xiao Zhan's hand and nudging him to aim it towards his face.

"I'm sorry." Xiao Zhan's eyes are shut, head tilted back. He is sweaty, and flushed. He sweats at the drop of a hat. He blinks his eyes open, shooting a look at Yibo over his shoulder. "Nothing," he says again, with a smile.

The director calls for places, and Yibo is left wondering.

There is always a camera pointed at them, regardless of if they're filming or not. The production company is collecting behind the scenes footage at what feels like—and may well be—all times. Even here, where they're just standing, tucked back a little in the trees and sweating quietly, the camera is capturing their every move.

Weird. But Yibo's done a lot of weird things in his life, and this is actually no weirder. At least the cameras don't follow them back to the hotel, the way they had done when he'd been a trainee. That was the time of absolutely no privacy. At least here, the privacy is stripped away only on set and isn't that something you should expect, anyway?

"Come here," Xiao Zhan says, tugging at Yibo's arm. "Come here, just for a second, I want to—"

Yibo isn't resisting, but Xiao Zhan is dragging at his arm like he's somehow holding back. The easy momentum sends them sliding through the forest set, stumbling as Xiao Zhan propels them both forward, his hand around Yibo's arm hot even through the layers of his robes. "Stop pulling," Yibo says, but he's not trying to tug away.

"I'm not pulling," Xiao Zhan says, pulling at him. The grin he shoots Yibo is electrifying and again, Yibo wonders at Xiao Zhan, at that easy grin, at how unbelievably good looking he is in real life. Yibo's been in the industry since forever, he works with attractive people all the time, and he's pretty damn good looking himself, but Xiao Zhan is next-level. He'd known this—their paths had crossed before—but he'd not been faced with it every hour of every day before now.

It's the costuming, Yibo decides. The long hair suits him, the red and black of his robes suit him.

"Where are you taking me?" Yibo means it to come out demanding, maybe a little bit cranky, but Xiao Zhan's dragging him at such a clip that it just comes out breathless. He's grinning, too, helpless not to.

"Here." Xiao Zhan drags him to a stop, just back under the trees. "Shade," he says, shaking his head back so the long strands of his wig fall back out of his face. "It's so hot. I'm so hot." He's sweating, because he's always sweating, but also because he's been dragging Yibo through the forest like it's his job.

Yibo smacks him lightly with the sleeves of his robe. "You're going to get in trouble," he says in warning, but he misses the tone again, can't stop grinning as he says it. "Where's your fan?"

"I have it, I have it," Xiao Zhan says grumpily, holding it up and pointing it directly at Yibo's face for a moment.

Yibo pushes his arm away, batting the fan out of his face. "You're much older than me," he says then, pleased with himself as Xiao Zhan makes an outraged face. "You need it more."

Xiao Zhan holds the insulted expression for a moment before letting it drop and turning his fan back towards himself. "You're not wrong," he says, sighing. He has drops of sweat running down his temples. He is definitely going to get in trouble with hair and make-up when they find the two of them. "Why don't you sweat, huh, didi?" He's leaning forward then, poking towards Yibo's face with one long finger without actually touching him—he's careful about Yibo's make-up, as careful as he honestly does try to be with his own. "How do you not sweat? That's not a youth thing. That's a—" He waves his hand up and down at Yibo.

"A what?" Yibo asks, curious.

"I'm so sweaty," Xiao Zhan says again instead of answering. He's got his eyes closed and his mouth open just a little. It's quiet back here under the trees—they're not that far away but the bustle of the set is dimmed just enough that it feels private. Which is completely untrue—even from here, Yibo can see the behind-the-scenes camera pointed at them. The shade Xiao Zhan has dragged them to does feel worlds better than the beating sun. And it's just the beginning of summer, Yibo reminds himself. It's going to get worse before it gets better.

"I do sweat," Yibo offers, dismissing the camera on them. It feels strangely like a confession and he wants to grin to offset it, even though Xiao Zhan isn't even looking at him.

"Not enough to get yelled at by Li Ming." Xiao Zhan sighs, turning his lips down again into a sad frown, before blinking his eyes open and looking at Yibo in faux-resentment. "So unfair, Yibo."

The look he's giving Yibo makes Yibo feel like he absolutely is sweating just as much as Xiao Zhan. He glances across at the camera on them.

"Places!" The crew member's voice is strident across the forest and Xiao Zhan straightens up, holding the fan close to his face as he steels himself to leave the shade.

"Come on, old man," Yibo says, just to make Xiao Zhan sputter, and he grabs his wrist as he does, dragging him doggedly back out into the sunshine.

Yibo is sprawled at the foot of Xiao Zhan's bed, watching as Xiao Zhan paces the room, script in his hand. They're running lines but Xiao Zhan has the vast majority. Yibo's role is mostly to just tease him about his inflections as he works through how he thinks the lines should go.

Yibo still thinks his role is harder, in a different way than Xiao Zhan's. He's not saying he wants to have to memorize Wei Wuxian's lines. He just thinks that having to portray every emotion through tiny facial expressions—the set of his jaw, the widening of his eyes, even just the minute softening of his mouth—it's hard, in a different way.

"What are you doing?" Xiao Zhan has paused in his pacing and is looking at Yibo, one corner of his mouth tugging up into a grin.

Yibo realizes he's been doing the facial expressions as he's thought about them, and he has to tamp down a grin himself. He pushes himself to sitting, and starts doing it intentionally, staring up at Xiao Zhan and trying for disappointed (set jaw, slightly soft eyes but trying to hide it, like, vulnerable), trying for surprised yet again by Wei Wuxian (tiny, tiny widening of his eyes, not letting his mouth drop open but conveying that he's working to not let his mouth drop open), trying for the ever-evolving look that Director Chen asks for, which is desperately wanting Wei Wuxian, but not wanting to be wanting Wei Wuxian.

Xiao Zhan is shaking his head at him, grinning wider. "Lan Zhan," he says in his Wei Wuxian voice.

Yibo gives him his no yelling in Cloud Recesses look.

Xiao Zhan giggles and flops down on the bed beside him. "Some of us have to actually learn words, Yibo." He tosses the script onto Yibo's stomach and Yibo scrambles to catch it.

Yibo flips through the script. The stark difference between Xiao Zhan's highlighted dialogue—swaths of it, sometimes whole pages, Wei Wuxian talks so much—compared with Yibo's lines, which largely seem to consist of Wei YING and Mn. He looks down at Xiao Zhan—Xiao Zhan, who has his eyes closed, his hands clasped over his chest, even as he's still mouthing the dialogue to himself.

Xiao Zhan, here at the hotel, no longer in costume, is no less compelling to look at. Yibo can't be the only one to notice it, but he is the one who has to deal with it the most often. It shouldn't be possible—Xiao Zhan had showered the sweat off when they'd returned, so when Yibo came over to his room to run lines, his hair had been damp, combed back off his face, though it's flopping forward now as it dries. It's a little strange to see him without the wig—it happens every day, this adjustment to the short hair. It makes Xiao Zhan look a little...exposed? Young? Something.

Something.

"What?" Xiao Zhan blinks his eyes open, narrowing them at Yibo. "Are you plotting something?"

"Never," Yibo responds, grinning and flipping the script back over to him. "Keep practicing."

This is part of the problem, this endless adjustment between filming time and hotel time. Xiao Zhan sitting up on the side of the bed now, his endlessly long legs in basketball shorts, with a loose, stretched-out t-shirt over them. No wig, no make-up, no costume, just Xiao Zhan looking stripped down and not anywhere twenty-six years old (not that Yibo would ever tell him that).

He is just as handsome out of costume. It's something Yibo learns over and over again, but forgets each time. He has to revise his theory about it being the costume that makes him so compelling. It's something about Xiao Zhan himself.

Which is dumb, it's just so dumb that it makes Yibo have to get up off the bed, snagging the script out of Xiao Zhan's hand, and dancing back out of his reach. "Practice, Zhan-ge," he says, flipping ahead and holding the script up above his head while Xiao Zhan reaches for it. Xiao Zhan may have long arms, but Yibo is bendy. He curves out from under Xiao Zhan's reach, sliding away. "Come on, let's pick a difficult scene for you, I want to see Xiao Zhan's skills."

Xiao Zhan groans and gives up the fight, flopping back to sit on the bed, leaning back against his hands. "So cruel, Yibo." He glances at the clock, then back up at Yibo. "It's late. When is call time in the morning?"

Yibo looks at the clock and refrains from pointing out that it's already morning. They hadn't gotten back from set until nearly eleven and it's pushing one AM right now. He feels both exhausted and antsy, all of it hitting him in a way it hadn't until this very moment.

"Early," he says, tugging his phone out to check. "Six thirty. We should—"

"We should—" Xiao Zhan says it at the exact same time, and looks up at Yibo, giving him a tired smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He's got dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders are sagging a little. He has no right to look so luminous like this.

Yibo has no right to be thinking things like luminous right now. Where did that even come from? He tosses the script back onto the bed. "Yeah." His room feels like it's miles away, even though it's only across the hall—just a few short steps and he'll be in his own room, collapsing onto his own bed. "Okay," he says, and pivots, heading out. "Six thirty, old man! Don't be late."

"Shut up, child," Xiao Zhan calls back, just as Yibo lets the door slip shut.

The days build on each other and the summer feels endless in the best possible way. This happens during filming—Yibo's had the experience before—where you feel like it's a place out of time and that you live here now, that the filming is all there is and all there ever has been. Even with his traveling back and forth for Day Day Up filming, for endorsements, coming back to Hengdian feels like coming home.

"Hey." He bats at Xiao Zhan with the sleeve of his robe.

Xiao Zhan gazes into the middle distance and gives him absolutely no response.

"Hey." Yibo bats him again. "Hey." Another bat. "Hey."

The corner of Xiao Zhan's mouth tugs up the slightest bit.

The sheer pleasure Yibo feels at having gotten a rise out of him almost offsets how tired he is. "Zhan-ge." He bats at him again. "Zhan-ge, hey."

Xiao Zhan goes from stone-still to whirling on him, so suddenly that Yibo can't help but let out a high giggle before schooling his face into an expression of innocence.

"What?" he says, as Xiao Zhan looms over him. "What, what?"

"You need to behave," Xiao Zhan scolds, glaring at him but not really—it's not Xiao Zhan's angry glare by any means. "Why are you like this?"

Yibo grins wider and makes to bat at him with his sleeve again. Xiao Zhan grabs his wrist with one hand and holds it still. Yibo thinks about batting at him with the other sleeve but he's suddenly too tired to keep it up. He sags instead, leaning heavily against him, shoulder to shoulder.

"You got in late," Xiao Zhan says, studying him.

"I got in early," Yibo corrects. He had: his plane had landed a couple of hours before he had to be on set for hair and make-up and he had about enough time to drop his stuff at the hotel, take a quick shower, and guzzle too much coffee before heading off again. Half of his brain is still back in Changsha and he's looking forward to filming starting for the day so he can get completely back into the mindset of ancient China.

Xiao Zhan's still watching him. "You look beat," he says frankly. "You can't operate on no sleep, no matter how young you are."

"I slept on the plane," Yibo says. He had, sort of, or at least had zoned out enough that the flight took on an otherworldly quality and he'd had not-quite-dreams about sword-fighting but having to have a microphone in his other hand and provide ongoing commentary on how the fight was going. "And anyway, sleep is overrated."

Xiao Zhan tilts his head back, shaking the strands of wig out of his face. "You're going to crash hard," he says with a warning, knowing tone in his voice.

Xiao Zhan knows how this goes. It makes Yibo feel a little better, that Xiao Zhan has an idea of what it's like to be dragged all over. "Yeah, well." Yibo shrugs. It is what it is.

"How was it?" Xiao Zhan asks. The crew is bustling around them but filming doesn't seem to be any closer to starting than it was twenty minutes ago. "Who were the guests?"

Yibo grins, then yawns through the grin. "These guys who had an exercise machine," he says, "where you are supposed to, like, strap yourself in and let it vibrate around you while you do balancing techniques."

Xiao Zhan's eyes crinkle as he smiles. "I bet you were good at it," he says.

"I was." It had been funny, and he's gotten some good laughs, but he'd also really nailed it, not losing his balance even on the move that had him on one foot with the other one stretched high up, out behind him. "I'm always good at stuff like that."

"So conceited, Wang Yibo." Xiao Zhan's tone is teasing, not mean, but Yibo feels himself flush, just a little.

He shrugs again, shaking it off. "I am good at it, though." It's not conceited. It's just the truth.

"I do know this about you." Xiao Zhan grins. "They used to try to get me to do stuff like that when I was a trainee. I was terrible at the balancing stuff, but pretty okay at things that needed, like, brute strength."

Yibo laughs, and can't stop himself from yawning again at the end, even as he pokes at Xiao Zhan's arm. "Skinny," he says. "No muscles."

Xiao Zhan's eyes widen and he shoves Yibo's hand away and makes a power builder pose with his arm crooked up in the air. "Strong," he says. "I'm really strong, Yibo."

"I know, I know, Zhan-ge." Yibo pushes his arm down from the air and Xiao Zhan flexes against the pressure for a moment—he really is stronger than you'd think from how lanky he is—before he lets it drop. Yibo follows the movement down, leaning against Xiao Zhan's shoulder again. He really is so tired, but he's buzzing with so much caffeine and adrenaline that he doesn't think he could actually sleep even if that was an option. He'd vibrate off the bed.

"Glad to have you back, didi." Xiao Zhan says it quietly. He's not shrugging Yibo off; he's just letting him lean there against his shoulder. Yibo closes his eyes for a moment and thinks that maybe he's wrong—maybe he could fall asleep, right here, just like this, given the opportunity.

"Places!" he hears and blinks his eyes open to the mottled sunlight through the leaves of the trees. Xiao Zhan nudges him upright, reaching out like he's propping him up for a moment, both hands on his shoulders and giving him a stern, amused look. "Not going to topple over, right?" he says.

"I'm good," Yibo says but when Xiao Zhan releases his shoulders he does feel like he wavers, just for a second. "I'm good," he says again, straightening up, and follows Xiao Zhan to their marks.

Yibo has come out the other side by the time they get back to the hotel. He can't lie down to sleep—his body has decided that he's never slept, that he doesn't need sleep, that he's evolved into a new species of human where he can operate on momentum alone.

He'd bullied Xiao Zhan and Zhuocheng into ordering in food and made Xiao Zhan let them sprawl out in his room so they could eat and talk. He's had so much caffeine he feels like he's vibrating out of his skin but also a little bit like if he tries to move too much he might actually die.

Zhuocheng rolls out not that long after they finish eating because Zhuocheng is an intelligent human being who observes things like "bedtime" and "avoiding a sleep deficit."

Yibo should roll out too. Yibo should go to bed. Yibo is, all of a sudden, yearning for it: a soft pillow, warm covers, getting to sprawl out and let himself be supported by the bed and just sink into sleep.

"Yibo." Xiao Zhan's tone is amused and Yibo makes himself drag his gaze from where it's gotten caught on the sprinkler spigot on the ceiling, gazing at it without really seeing it, over to Xiao Zhan. Xiao Zhan has moved from the floor to the couch, next to where Yibo is sprawled. "You're falling asleep."

"I'm not." Yibo blinks and goes to sit up but his limbs don't cooperate so instead he lets his head sag further back into the corner of the couch. "I'm wide awake. My eyes are open. You can't sleep with your eyes open."

"I'm pretty sure you were." Xiao Zhan looks tired too—god, it had been such a hot day, so much sun, so much sweat. So many layers of robes and retakes and endless waiting around. "You were nowhere near here, even with your eyes open."

"You should go to bed," Yibo says. "You look tired." He feels far away and fuzzy-headed. He thinks he should let Xiao Zhan sleep.

Xiao Zhan laughs and reaches out to tug at Yibo's hand. Yibo watches it curiously, feeling like he's seeing it from a distance.

God, he's so fucking tired.

He manages to sit up through sheer strength of will—and also by letting Xiao Zhan tug him until he's upright. He sags forward almost immediately, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes (after hesitating for a second, so used to avoiding his face due to trying not to fuck up the make-up all day long—it feels good when he remembers he can just do it).

When he looks up, Xiao Zhan is as close to him as he's been all day. He's smiling at him, looking sympathetic. "You've got to catch up on sleep," he says. "You can't keep going like this."

"I can always keep going like this," Yibo says through a yawn.

When he looks at Xiao Zhan, Xiao Zhan is still watching him. He has a small smile on his face and he's letting the silence hold, just sitting right next to him. Yibo's too tired to tease him about it, too tired to figure out what he's supposed to do with that silence. Xiao Zhan's mouth looks soft and his eyes are dark and he's radiating heat, even here in the creaky air conditioning of the hotel. He looks good—sharp shoulders in a worn-out t-shirt, bony knees, one of them pressing against Yibo's leg on the couch. It's easy to get lost in looking at him.

"Okay," Xiao Zhan says softly and Yibo sort of snaps back into himself. "You are definitely falling asleep sitting up."

"I am." Yibo admits it, and pushes himself to his feet. "Okay. Right, Okay." He starts to head to the door.

Xiao Zhan follows him. "Set your alarm. Don't forget. Morning comes early." Yibo nods and Xiao Zhan says, suddenly, "Hey."

Yibo looks over his shoulder at him, one hand on the door handle.

Xiao Zhan just looks at him, then moves forward, bumping his shoulder with his own. "Get some sleep."

Yibo blinks at him. "Okay, Zhan-ge."

"Good night." Xiao Zhan takes a few steps back and is still standing there, watching, as Yibo slips out the door.

There's a rhythm to the days that makes time slip away. Yibo never knows what day of the week it is, what month it is. His manager keeps him on task for any travel and appearances but he'd forget every time if he was left to his own devices. It's easy to get caught up in the filming—the weaving together of the scenes as the show builds, the heat and sweat and intensity of it all bringing the cast together, closer and closer.

He knows that Xiao Zhan likes everybody, and everybody likes Xiao Zhan.

Yibo likes Xiao Zhan better than he likes anyone else.

He knows he's annoying him, but that's the point. "That's the point," he says, poking Xiao Zhan with Bichen—sheathed but still plenty annoying as he does his best to dig it into Xiao Zhan's side.

Xiao Zhan bats it away with the flat of his hand. He's been ignoring Yibo for a while, but now he turns his full gaze on him, eyes dark and flashing. "I will murder you in your bed," he says.

"You would never murder me." Yibo can't help the grin that slides across his face even as Xiao Zhan draws his eyebrows down. He does look faintly murderous. "I am very young and very handsome. It would be such a waste."

Xiao Zhan advances on him, hands in theatrical fists at his sides. "You are, in fact, very handsome. So handsome, I can't help looking at you."

Compliments shouldn't be quite so threatening, Yibo thinks. He's backing away, but slowly, still trying to poke Xiao Zhan with Bichen.

"So young, and so good looking," Xiao Zhan continues, taking step after step towards him. "It shouldn't even be allowed."

Yibo cackles, then stumbles as he takes another step back, his boots slipping on the forest floor.

Xiao Zhan catches his arm, keeping him from falling further, and then keeps his hand there, grasping his bicep. He's looking at Yibo, one eyebrow raised. The look is...a lot. It's super intense, and Yibo feels a shiver run down his spine—something that he'd thought didn't actually happen in real life but definitely does under the weight of Xiao Zhan's look.

"Zhan-ge is the handsome one," he shoots back, but his voice comes out a little raspy. He clears his throat. "Too handsome," he says. "Far too handsome. I don't even compare."

"You do," Xiao Zhan says.

Yibo has to swallow before he says, "I do...what?"

"You compare." Xiao Zhan says it simply, and Yibo feels a bead of sweat running down his back as he looks up at Xiao Zhan.

"I—" he says, but Xiao Zhan is already releasing his arm and turning away.

"I will murder you, though," he calls back over his shoulder. "No matter how pretty you are."

Pretty hits differently than handsome. Yibo stands there for a moment, gripping Bichen tightly in his hand, the carved decorations of the sheath digging into his palm. No one has paid them even a moment of attention throughout the whole exchange. No one has heard Xiao Zhan call him pretty, or if they had, they don't care.

Yibo doesn't care either. He just—it hit differently, that's all. He resolves to give Xiao Zhan a break from annoying him for at least the next half hour.

He doesn't—quite—make it a half hour. There's something wrong with the pulley they're supposed to be using for wire work in the next scene and a break has been called while they work on it. There are chairs set up back under the trees and they're close enough to the base of the mountain that there's wifi. They're taking the time to drink water and check the internet and just sit.

It's incredibly boring.

Yibo kicks at Xiao Zhan's ankle.

Xiao Zhan ignores him.

Yibo sighs heavily, looks down at his phone, scrolls a little. Takes a sip of water. Kicks Xiao Zhan's ankle again.

"My friend," Xiao Zhan says absently. "Do you remember? About the murder?"

"I do." Yibo says it cheerfully and is pleased when Xiao Zhan drops his phone into his lap and turns fully towards Yibo. "Do you remember how pretty I am, though?"

Xiao Zhan tilts his head at him. "How could I forget, Wang Yibo?"

Yibo feels his grin get bigger—he can't help it. What is it about Xiao Zhan using his full name like that that gets him going? He just likes it so much. He wants him to do it again. "This is boring," he says, for lack of anything better. "Entertain me."

"Run lines with me," Xiao Zhan says immediately, reaching for his highlighted script.

"Also boring," Yibo says, but roots around for his own script, because it's definitely better than just sitting here.

The scene Xiao Zhan launches into is one where Yibo actually has some lines too. A lot of it is them looking at each other, trying to convey the feelings behind the scripted words. They go back and forth for a while, trying different things.

"It means he has so much more to say to Lan Wangji," Yibo says, pointing at Xiao Zhan with his script. "That pause, right there, the look Wei Wuxian is giving me is supposed to be full of..." He waves his hand around. "He's clearly holding something back, not because he wants to, but because he needs to."

Xiao Zhan gives him a look again, but it's exaggerated, over the top, a mooning, dreamy stare.

Yibo laughs so hard he snorts with it.

"That's it, Wei Ying," he says, trying to sound serious. "You have convinced me. You have my heart."

Xiao Zhan holds the look for another moment before breaking, shaking his head and grinning. "Okay, okay, hang on."

He takes a breath, looks at the script for another moment even though this scene has no lines for him, then looks down at the ground. The silence holds for a moment and Yibo's watching Xiao Zhan—the way his eyes close softly as he thinks about it, the slight furrow on his brow, and then Xiao Zhan looks up and it's...heartrending. The emotions skate across his face: desire, want, rising to the surface along with the agony of not getting to have. Then he schools his features, tamping it down and bringing his lips into a smile, even though the lingering look in his eyes is full of such aching desire that it's hard to look at. Excruciating.

Yibo can't look away. He forgets to breathe for the handful of moments the look lasts.

Then Xiao Zhan blinks, shaking the long strands of the wig out of his face, and Wei Ying fades from his features. He's Xiao Zhan again.

Yibo takes a breath and nearly chokes on it, needs to swallow and cough a little bit before nodding his head. "Yeah," he says. "You...got it. That's it, you have it right there."

Xiao Zhan smiles. "Cool," he says in English.

"Cool," Yibo repeats blankly, before looking down at the script and saying his next line, which is, of course, "Wei Ying."

Xiao Zhan is the one who starts it. He whacks Yibo with his flute then dances away, singing the lyrics to some song in English that Yibo doesn't recognize and tilting his head, like he's daring Yibo to follow.

Xiao Zhan has longer arms but Yibo has a wider radius when he whirls around to smack Xiao Zhan with the sleeves of his robe. He does it with the right side, then whirls closer to do it with the left side, back and forth, feeling very pleased every time he manages a good, solid thwack. He feels even more pleased when Xiao Zhan yelps, "Hey. Hey! Hey!" every time Yibo lands a hit.

Xiao Zhan is giggling into his hand by the time he stumbles back against the wall of the street set they're filming on today. The sun is beating down on the streets of Hengdian and the crew is preparing for the coming scene. Everyone is milling around where he and Xiao Zhan had started sparring and no one is looking at them at all. Which maybe means they behave like this too often, and Yibo feels a slight pang at wondering if he should stop rough-housing with Xiao Zhan, if it's...unprofessional.

But. Xiao Zhan is his elder (as he reminds Xiao Zhan as frequently as possible), so Yibo feels like following his lead is the right way to go. Xiao Zhan will figure out when they're close to crossing a line.

Yibo thwacks him again and Xiao Zhan ducks his shoulders, drawing his head down, and giggling, loud and bright. "Please," he pants out, shaking with laughter. "Please, have some mercy on me, didi."

"You started it." Yibo feels breathless himself as he says it, raising his arm again threateningly, then waggling it so the sleeve of his robes shake back and forth in what is, even in Yibo's estimation, a completely unthreatening way. "You shouldn't start things you don't mean to finish." He advances on Xiao Zhan, not thwacking him again, but making like he could at any second.

Xiao Zhan's giggles die down and he straightens up, raising his chin and grinning even as Yibo advances. "I don't," he says then, sounding completely serious, though the grin belies that. Has to belie that. "I follow through. Everyone knows that about me, Wang Yibo."

Yibo gets the same shot of...something through his stomach that he gets every time Xiao Zhan says his full name in that tone. There's something overwhelmingly knowing about it, something fond, something that just makes Yibo feel warm. Like he and Xiao Zhan have known each other forever, instead of for just a month or so. Like when Xiao Zhan says it like that, he means I know you and I like you.

"Do you?" Xiao Zhan asks then.

Yibo can't remember what they were talking about. "Yes," he says anyway.

"Yeah, I thought so." Xiao Zhan still sounds a little breathless and he's studying Yibo with dark eyes. Yibo's brain scrambles to recall what he'd asked and "don't start things you don't mean to finish" filters back to him. It feels—important, suddenly, a weirdly serious conversation to be having in a set that's meant to look like ancient China, clad in layers of robes and wigs, crew bustling around and shouts from the street echoing around them.

They'd been talking about play-fighting. That's what Yibo had been talking about.

Xiao Zhan is still looking at him. Yibo looks back, his heart beating fast, waiting for Xiao Zhan to say something, to do...something.

"Hm," Xiao Zhan says then, just a low sound. He tilts his head, looking at Yibo, and for a second, Yibo thinks—he's nearly certain—he—

"Your fan," Xiao Zhan's assistant calls, as she walks up and hands it to him. "Your make-up is melting off."

"Thank you," Xiao Zhan says to her, taking the fan and clicking it on, raising it to point at his face, where he is just starting to sweat, damp at his hairline. He doesn't stop looking at Yibo.

The assistant walks away like this is normal, like there's nothing going on here, like Xiao Zhan looking at Yibo the way he is doesn't mean anything, doesn't even merit a second glance.

So maybe Yibo is the crazy one here. Maybe this doesn't mean anything. Maybe he's just too hot, too tired, too caught up in the filming. That's it. That's probably it.

He lifts his arm, thinking about whacking Xiao Zhan with his sleeve, to reset this to normal inside of his whirling brain. Xiao Zhan catches his arm with the hand that's not holding the fan, but he's not pushing him away, he's holding on. Still watching him, his eyes dark, caught in the sunlight arrowing in through the shadows of the building.

Yibo's breath feels caught in his chest and he's not sure how much time passes—it feels like more than a moment, more than a minute, longer than it should be—before Xiao Zhan squeezes his arm and lets it go.

Yibo lets it fall to his side—he doesn't feel like restarting the slap-fight right now. Xiao Zhan doesn't seem to be in the mood for that.

"We should—" Xiao Zhan says, and tilts his head back towards the street scene that looks to be nearly ready for them.

Yibo nods and then can't help the grin that spreads across his face. He might be off the mark with this, but something about Xiao Zhan's face, the way his eyes look, even the sweat on his temples and the way his mouth looks, soft and red—it all just makes him unable to stop the grin.

When Xiao Zhan huffs out a breath and smiles back, the same sort of shot of heat goes through his stomach as when Xiao Zhan says his name in that tone.

They'd filmed some tough scenes today. The physical stuff is something they're both okay with—Xiao Zhan calls Yibo an adrenaline junkie, but Xiao Zhan gets lit up by the physicality of the filming just as much as Yibo does. That's never a problem—those are always good days.

This wasn't a bad day, but the scenes were emotional, fraught—not as much for Yibo, but Xiao Zhan had to film Jiang Yanli dying. He doesn't seem to be able to shake it off after. He's quiet in the lead up, and focused during the filming, doing the same scene over and over again, raw, vulnerable intensity, until he feels like he got it right. Director Chen agrees, coming over afterwards to put a hand on Xiao Zhan's shoulder and speaking to him quietly, his expression satisfied and proud.

Xiao Zhan's looking at him, nodding a little. Yibo's watching as Director Chen turns away and Xiao Zhan turns abruptly, pressing the backs of his hands against his eyes for a long moment. He takes a breath, his shoulders hunched, and Yibo feels that breath in his own chest, like he's the one sucking in air unevenly and letting it out on a shudder. He watches as Xuan Lu puts her hand on Xiao Zhan's shoulder, and Zhuocheng steps in close, the three of them huddling together for a moment, a picture of quiet, pained intimacy in the too-harsh lighting of the studio.

"Zhan-ge," Yibo says quietly, when the three of them break away. He takes a few steps closer but not close enough to touch—he's seen Xiao Zhan get like this before. He needs the space to work through it and in the scene they just filmed, it was Wei Wuxian holding absolutely everyone at arm's length, pushing them away for his own self-preservation. Xiao Zhan needs to come back from that.

Xiao Zhan shakes his head, his hands dropping from his face, but still looking down at the ground. His jaw is set and his hands clench at his sides. "Let's just go," he says abruptly.

It's dark—Yibo isn't sure what time it is, but it's definitely late enough that it's probably early instead. He can't remember the filming schedule in any detail but he thinks they change over into late filming tomorrow, that there's some recovery time built in in the morning. He hopes so. He feels like his chest is ringing with everything they'd filmed today.

"Let's go," Xiao Zhan says again, same tone, no inflection. Yibo follows behind him as he starts to stride off set. They need to go to hair and make-up, get stripped out of the costumes, the characters, and from the set of Xiao Zhan's shoulders, that's going to be excruciating for him.

The room is mostly silent as they get their wigs taken off, their make-up removed, just a small buzz of quiet talk, so different from the loud, boisterous chatter that goes on when they're getting ready. Xiao Zhan doesn't even pull his phone out, just sits silently, not looking at anything as he goes through the process.

Yibo goes to get changed out of the costume, handing it over to be carefully cleaned, steamed, and hung. When he comes back, Xiao Zhan is standing in the doorway, in long shorts and hoodie, his hair pushed back off of his forehead, lank and messy from the wig. He's still not making eye contact with anyone. "Car's here," he says. "Let's go."

Still no inflection but Yibo is the only one he's spoken to in all this time. Yibo follows him to the car.

They're in the last car that's heading out. That's good—sometimes, the cast comes together to decompress and drink, play games—and sometimes they need that. But when Xiao Zhan is stripped raw by the day the way he is now—

Yibo just hopes they're far enough behind that the lobby will be empty and Xiao Zhan can get to the privacy of his room without having to put on a polite face for anyone or anything.

Xiao Zhan is getting out of the car the moment it rolls to a stop, and Yibo follows him as he strides through the lobby, head down, eyes focused on the linoleum floor. They have security and aides around and beside them, but no one's really paying them any attention. The elevator comes and Xiao Zhan gets on, leaning back against the wall with his eyes down. Yibo's beside him and can see the set of his jaw—even though his face is stoic, calm, his jaw is tight and there's a muscle jumping right at the corner of it. Yibo thinks he's holding on by a thread.

When the elevator stops, Yibo thinks Xiao Zhan will be gone in a flash but instead he keeps leaning there while everyone trails out. Yibo lingers, too, and follows only when Xiao Zhan finally pushes himself off with a deep breath.

Yibo hesitates when he gets to the door of his room, looking over at Xiao Zhan digging in his pocket for his key card. "Come here," he says.

"Go to sleep," Xiao Zhan responds. "It's late. Just—go to sleep."

Xiao Zhan's got six years on Yibo but Yibo's been doing this for a hell of a lot longer. "Come here," he says, and opens his door, holding it open and staring at Xiao Zhan.

"I have to go to bed." Xiao Zhan's tone is wooden but he's looking over his shoulder at Yibo.

"You're going to be able to sleep?" Yibo asks. "Like this?"

The emotions that skate across Xiao Zhan's face are barely there, but Yibo knows. He knows. "Fuck," Xiao Zhan says, blowing out a breath. He hesitates for another second then crosses the hall into Yibo's room.

Yibo closes the door behind them. His room is—pretty messy, he guesses, but Xiao Zhan is cluttery just like he is. He's got opened suitcases spilling out their contents, and every surface is scattered with items, but the bed is made and when the door shuts, it feels like it shuts out the world, even with the thin walls of the hotel letting them hear every footstep that passes, every shout of laughter from three rooms down the hall.

Xiao Zhan is standing in the area just in front of the door. Yibo kicks off his shoes and slips by him, goes to turn the air conditioning on, the low rumble of it providing white noise that edges out the rest of the world just a little bit more. He flops down on the edge of the bed.

"Come here," he says—again, since it's worked so far.

Xiao Zhan looks at him tiredly, then toes his shoes off and plods the rest of the way into the room, sitting down on the end of the bed next to Yibo. Yibo looks at him. He's still got some streaks of make-up left over on his face. His hair is greasy. He probably needs a shower as bad as Yibo does. Yibo can't fathom the steps it would take to strip, to climb into the shower, to go through the whole thing of getting wet and having to clean himself, dry off, let his hair dry so it's not ridiculously crazy in the morning. There is no chance Xiao Zhan can handle that, right now.

Instead, Yibo gets up and grabs two bottles of water off of the desk. They're lukewarm but they're used to that from filming—he hands one to Xiao Zhan, who holds it, staring at it for longer than a moment before he manages to fumble the cap off. He looks at the open bottle like it holds the secrets of the universe.

Yibo nudges his arm a little and Xiao Zhan shoots him a look, then raises the bottle to his mouth, drinks half of it in several long gulps.

Yibo does the same with his own. He wonders if a beer would have taken the edge off more effectively but he's been where Xiao Zhan is—he thinks that being tipsy might actually make this worse. "Long day," he offers.

"Not longer than most." Xiao Zhan says it dismissively. Like it's fine.

Yibo nods, spreading his legs and resting his elbows on his knees as he screws the cap back on his bottle. "Director Chen says you nailed it."

Xiao Zhan moves his jaw a little. He puts the cap back on his own bottle, the plastic crinkling under the clutch of his hand, before he places it carefully on the floor.

"I think so too," Yibo says. He waits but Xiao Zhan remains silent. "It was a tough scene."

Xiao Zhan shrugs tightly, letting out a breath.

Yibo nudges him with his shoulder. "You did good, Zhan-ge."

Xiao Zhan laughs a tiny bit. "I can't let it go," he says. "It—does that happen to you?" He turns, suddenly, drawing one leg up onto the bed and facing Yibo. Good. Good. "Where you're so completely in character that you can't exactly shift back, after?"

Yibo nods even though the answer is...not really. Not exactly. He's always been good at dropping character when the camera is off. But he gets it. "Yeah," he says. "I know."

Xiao Zhan is just looking at him. He looks fucking exhausted. His shoulders are tense and he's got those circles under his eyes that only get that dark after really tough days, like this one. It makes him look wildly younger than he is. Sometimes Yibo looks at him and can't fathom that he's not Yibo's age.

"Come here," Yibo says—again, it's all he's got in his repertoire tonight, apparently. He flops back on the bed, his legs dangling off the end.

Xiao Zhan follows him down without argument.

They lie there, shoulder to shoulder, looking up at the hotel room ceiling. Yibo takes in a breath, holds it, and lets it out, shifting a little to relax his shoulders more.

Xiao Zhan clocks it, because of course he does, and does the same. A breath in. Holds it. Lets it out, just a little shuddery.

It's quiet in the room, the click-thrum of the air conditioner the only background noise. Yibo's overly aware of Xiao Zhan's breathing, starts matching it without making the conscious choice to. Long slow breaths, and he can feel it when Xiao Zhan shifts, letting the bed take his full weight, loosening the tension of his shoulders so he settles more fully.

Xiao Zhan could sleep here, Yibo thinks, his own thoughts drifting. He should sleep here. Yibo wouldn't have to have the television on then to keep him company in the dark. Xiao Zhan wouldn't have to be alone if he slept here, would maybe be able to ground himself enough to not get lost in the pull of the character, the overwhelming feelings of the scene.

He's more exhausted than he thought, he realizes, forcing his eyes open and letting go of the dreamy state he'd been drifting into. He feels Xiao Zhan's hand nudge against his, his knuckles brushing against the back of Yibo's hand. A thank you, maybe. Yibo wonders what would happen if he turned his hand over, tucked his fingers against Xiao Zhan's.

"Yibo," Xiao Zhan says, nudging at his hand again. "Falling asleep?"

Yibo shakes his head, rolls up onto his side, facing Xiao Zhan. It's a vantage point he hasn't seen before—Xiao Zhan on his back, face tilted towards Yibo, his jaw relaxed for maybe the first time all day. The circles under his eyes are no less dark, but looking less dire without the tension around his eyes. He's smiling at Yibo, a small smile but there nonetheless—again, maybe for the first time all day.

"I'm awake," Yibo says, when he realizes the silence has held for too long.

Xiao Zhan pushes up on both elbows, just a little, and Yibo doesn't sway forward but he thinks about it, just for a second. He's looking at Xiao Zhan's mouth and thinking that it looks soft, that here, with his messy hair and tired eyes, Xiao Zhan looks vulnerable in a way that Yibo can't really process. If he moves forward—just for a second—what would—

"I should go." Xiao Zhan glances over at the clock on the bedside table. He doesn't push himself up, though—he just keeps looking at Yibo, from where he's propped on his elbows.

Yibo keeps looking at him. "Okay," he says and it comes out normal, which he's pleasantly surprised by.

Xiao Zhan looks at him for another moment. "Thank you," he says, then yawns, right in Yibo's face. They both start giggling—it's funnier than it should be, and Yibo can't stop. He lets his face press against Xiao Zhan's shoulder and Xiao Zhan drops fully back down to the bed. They're both giggling hard and this feels exactly right, exactly them. Xiao Zhan's hoodie is soft and he smells like sweat and Yibo has a moment where he wonders what his neck would taste like if he shifted forward the inch it would take to press his lips against it.

He feels Xiao Zhan touch one hand against the back of his head for a brief second before pushing himself to sit, sending Yibo tumbling back against the bed next to him.

Yibo lies there, looking up at Xiao Zhan, who stands, and stretches, his arms reaching for the ceiling. He's so tall Yibo thinks he can actually brush against it with the tips of his fingers. His shirt rides up, exposing the pale line of his stomach, the line of hair dark against it, his knobby hip bones. He lets his arms drop and looks down at Yibo. He looks sleepy now, as well as tired, and Yibo feels a tiny shot of triumph at that.

"Thanks." Xiao Zhan's voice is soft and he's looking down at Yibo. "I just—thanks." He studies Yibo for another moment. "You've got to shower," he says. "You look like hell."

"Speak for yourself, Zhan-ge." Yibo lifts a hand and Xiao Zhan grasps it, hauling him to his feet. Yibo sways close to Xiao Zhan—he's not unbalanced, he just doesn't stop the momentum—and the smile Xiao Zhan gives him is brilliant. He's watching Yibo with soft eyes and for just a second, Yibo thinks—

"Good night," Xiao Zhan says, squeezing Yibo's hand for a second before dropping it and heading out.

Yibo stands there, watching as he slips out the door. He's so tired he's hazy with it, but he forces himself to the shower, letting the hot water stream over his sore muscles. After he washes his hair, he puts his face under the stream and keeps it there for a while, until he feels like he might fall asleep standing up.

He crawls into bed afterwards, flipping the TV on and putting the sound on low, then grabbing his phone to try to stay awake until his hair dries. There's a message from Xiao Zhan. Long weird day. Sorry if I made it weirder. Glad you were there. He's attached a picture of a cat asleep with its face crammed into the corner of a couch.

Yibo writes back You didn't make it weirder. He hesitates then leaves it at that, attaching a picture of a sloth yawning before sending it.

He stares at his phone for a while, blinking sleepily at it, but there's no response. Xiao Zhan is probably dead asleep, and more power to him. Yibo thinks about the smile he'd given Yibo at the end, thinks about how easily Xiao Zhan had pulled him up off the bed, thinks about Xiao Zhan's shoulder pressed against his as they'd lain next to each other.

He wakes up to early-morning sunlight streaming in around the curtains, as his alarm trills annoyingly from where it's lost somewhere in the covers.

"It's freezing. I'm freezing. I'm probably going to die here in this cave. Fighting a pretend giant turtle." Xiao Zhan is huddled with a jacket over his shoulders, over his robes, shivering, hands tucked under his armpits.

"And me," Yibo points out cheerfully. "You've got me."

"With you, and a pretend giant turtle," Xiao Zhan corrects himself. "Right. Great. Just how I wanted to go."

Yibo's cold too but Xiao Zhan's lips look like they're actually turning blue. "There are worse ways," he offers. He's in a tremendous mood. Despite the cold, and the damp, and how long the waits between takes are. He likes to pretend there's a giant turtle menacing them. He likes the sword work, and the wire work in this scene is actually super cool. They'd had him practice earlier, and maybe that's why he's not as cold as Xiao Zhan is. It had been hard work and he'd been sweaty and invigorated afterwards.

"Tell me about the worse ways." Xiao Zhan chatters his teeth ostentatiously, then gives a full-body shudder, and shivers again. "I don't believe you. Oh my god. Do you see my fingers?"

He holds out one hand towards Yibo, the other one still tucked tightly under his arm. Yibo solemnly studies how white and bloodless Xiao Zhan's fingers are. "Want me to warm them up, Zhan-ge?" he asks. "I'll warm them up for you. Let me see."

"Yes," Xiao Zhan says firmly, shifting closer towards Yibo and shoving both hands at him. "I'm going to die, I'm going to lose all my extremities, please help me."

The make-up artist touching up Xiao Zhan's face shifts with him, grinning a little at his dramatics. "Want me to see if they have a blanket?" she offers.

"No, let him do it," Xiao Zhan says, smiling at Yibo. "Make him earn his keep."

Yibo raises an eyebrow but takes Xiao Zhan's hands in his own. He rubs them briskly, then just holds them between his palms. "They really are frigid," he says. He's got Xiao Zhan's hands completely encompassed in his own—his hands are big enough that he can cover both of them easily.

Xiao Zhan shudders again, his eyes falling shut for a moment as he says, "Oh my god, you're so warm. Your hands are so warm. That feels so good."

"You're leeching all the heat from me," Yibo points out, but he doesn't let go. He keeps his hands cupped around Xiao Zhan's, feeling the warmth build in between them.

Xiao Zhan blinks his eyes open. "It feels so much better," he says. "Keep holding them."

"Okay." Yibo does, rubbing them again a little.

The make-up tech steps away, and Yibo nudges at Xiao Zhan's hands with a finger until Xiao Zhan looks at him. "I can make them warmer." He grins widely and tugs at Xiao Zhan's hands, making like he's going to tuck them between his thighs.

Xiao Zhan's eyes widen and for just a second, Yibo almost thinks he's going to actually let him. Then Xiao Zhan shakes his head a little, his lips tilting up in a small smile. "You're shameless," he says.

"That's my line, Wei Ying," Yibo shoots back.

"Still true, though." Xiao Zhan tugs his hands away from Yibo's with a sigh. He does it slowly, not yanking them away, just sliding them out from in between Yibo's hands. He tucks his jacket closer around his shoulders and shivers again. "Time to go fight the giant turtle yet?"

"Probably soon." Yibo's own hands feel cold now, like the heat has been taken entirely by Xiao Zhan. A shiver runs down his back and Xiao Zhan clocks it, of course.

"Ha, now you're cold too," he says, smiling widely and getting up as the crew bustles towards them. He's shrugging his jacket off his shoulders and shaking his hair back into place carefully. "Let's go, let's go, I'm ready. Bring it on."

Yibo gets up, as well, letting his robes settle back into place. "Time to fight the big turtle," he says.

"Time to fight the big turtle," Xiao Zhan agrees.

The scene in the Tortoise of Slaughter set takes days to film. It's so many takes, so many angles. The wire work, the sword work, the sheer number of cast members that need to be on set at any given time. One day runs into the next. Yibo knows they break to go back to the hotel, but even that doesn't have any rhythm to it—they're on set until nearly dawn one day, with only a few hours break before they're picked up to get shuttled back to set. That day runs until...he honestly doesn't even know what time. The endless circle of filming, not enough sleeping, and hours in hair and make-up, only to get soaked again and again—in the pond, in the fight scenes, just constant water work—it all blends until it feels like they live here, in this freezing set of a cave, and will continue to live here, on and on.

"I've never been warm," Xiao Zhan says conversationally. "I've never been warm, and I've never been dry, and I've been wearing these robes for my entire adult life." He's staring thoughtfully into the distance as they wait for the next scene to be set up.

"Your life is so hard, Xiao Zhan," Yibo responds. "No one suffers like you suffer."

"Correct," Xiao Zhan says. "Accurate." He slants a look over at Yibo. "Thank you for recognizing my problems."

"They're ready for you," a crew member calls, and Xiao Zhan nudges Yibo with his shoulder as he heads over.

"Oh," Yibo hears, as Xiao Zhan ducks into the smaller cave set ahead of him. "Oh, there's a real fire, oh." He sounds delighted, and he's hurrying ahead of Yibo to where there is, in fact, an actual campfire lit and burning. Xiao Zhan is holding his hands close to it and beaming, sagging into a posture of pure relaxation as the heat hits him.

Yibo's close enough now that he can feel it too and it honestly does feel amazing to feel the actual heat coming off of the flames. He crowds up close to Xiao Zhan, grinning at the quiet, contented noises Xiao Zhan is making. "Watch your wig," he says, nudging Xiao Zhan back a little. "Don't want to actually go up in flames."

"Maybe it would be worth it," Xiao Zhan says dreamily, but he does take half a step backwards, and pushes the long strands back behind his shoulders.

They're filming the scene where Lan Wangji is hurt and Wei Wuxian takes his clothes off in order to startle him into spitting up blood. They rehearse it a few times and then they're ready to go.

Yibo gets himself firmly in character. He gets the look of startled outrage and panic down no problem, but the expression Xiao Zhan makes as he bounces to his feet and yanks up his robes, his hands going to the front of his trousers, is so ridiculously funny that Yibo breaks character immediately by giggling. He can't help it—Xiao Zhan's face is so goofy and proud of himself in that moment as Wei Wuxian that Yibo can't stop laughing around the blood capsule in his mouth.

They reset, and try again, and again, something about the way Xiao Zhan bounces up, about the grin he gives Yibo-as-Lan-Wangji, is so fucking hilarious that the giggles bubble up again.

"Stop," he says breathlessly to Xiao Zhan, as Xiao Zhan makes wide, disappointed eyes at the camera that's on them, shaking his head over Yibo's inability to nail the scene. "Stop, this is all you, you have to just—"

Xiao Zhan's eyes go wide again, and innocent. "Yibo," he says with mock sincerity. "I am only an actor doing my best. What are you?"

"How dare you?" Yibo says, but ruins it by breaking into giggles again. "Stop," he demands again. "I've got to—" He takes a breath, closes his eyes, and when he opens them, he's Lan Wangji. "I've got it," he says firmly. The crew gives him another capsule of fake blood to spit out.

"Action," Director Chen calls.

Xiao Zhan bounces to his feet again—robes hauled up, hands on his trousers, and Yibo turns and chokes out the mouthful of blood, before turning back to gaze at Xiao Zhan, who's dropped to his knees and has his hand pressed against Yibo's chest.

"Cut," Director Chen calls.

Xiao Zhan's face splits into an even wider grin, and Yibo loses it at the same time as Xiao Zhan does, both of them sagging against each other giggling, even as Yibo still has fake blood trickling out of his mouth. He laughs so hard he can't catch his breath and Xiao Zhan presses his face against Yibo's shoulder, giggling so much it's shaking his entire body.

"Good," Director Chen says, studying the footage. "We've got it, good."

"They've got it," Xiao Zhan says, lifting his head and looking at Yibo. He's so close to him, Yibo can see the light from the fire reflecting in his eyes. "We did good." Someone from the crew hustles over with a bottle of water and a cloth and hands the water to Yibo so he can rinse the fake blood out of his mouth. He does and she wipes his mouth off carefully with the cloth afterwards, then studies him. "You need a touch-up," she says, raising her chin towards the outer chamber where hair and make-up is set up off to the side.

Xiao Zhan breathes out another giggle and stands up, reaching down to grab Yibo's hand and haul him to his feet as well. "You got the giggles so bad," he says as he turns. Yibo expects him to head towards the outer chamber where Yibo has to go get fixed up, but instead he's headed away from the crew, all of whom are bustling around getting ready for the next scene.

"You made me," Yibo shoots back in mock outrage, following along behind Xiao Zhan. "Your face was too—"

"Too what?" Xiao Zhan says, looking at him over his shoulder. His hand is still tucked against Yibo's, tugging him along behind him. His hand is actually warm, for maybe the first time in days, Yibo thinks. "Tell me, Wang Yibo, my face is too what?"

"Too much," Yibo says, because, well, it is. He's so much; he's too much. Yibo feels sometimes like he shouldn't be looking at him head-on, even while he can't drag his eyes away.

They're not part of the next scene. Yibo's not sure what it is, but he knows he and Xiao Zhan get a break after the blood-spitting scene. No one's watching them, or looking for them, and he thinks that it's the first time in...however many days that there may actually not be one single camera pointed at them.

There's a curve in the cave that leads to nowhere, a dead-end far enough back that the bustle of set disappears. Yibo stumbles to a stop behind Xiao Zhan, who drops his hands and spins around, still with a small grin on his face. "You're too much, Yibo," he says, and then he stills, tilting his head to the side, studying Yibo. "You really are," he says then, and Yibo's about to say something funny, some funny thing he's going to come up with any moment, but Xiao Zhan is moving forward and he's just enough taller than Yibo that he has to look up at him, because he's close, he's very close, he's—

Xiao Zhan's mouth, when it lands on Yibo's, is hot. He's kissing him, here in the cave, here on set, and it's not a joke, and it's not letting up. Yibo's heart is beating double-time and he gets a surge of absolute relief as it happens. It's this feeling that rushes through him, a mix of both bliss and sheer, utter vindication. God. God. He'd known but he hadn't—he hadn't known, he hadn't—he doesn't think he ever would have—

"Come here," Xiao Zhan says against his lips and takes a step back, tucking them into the shadows of the cave wall, pushing Yibo up against it and—oh fuck, this is happening—pressing his tongue into Yibo's mouth.

Yibo sinks into it. His heart is pounding, his breath caught somewhere high up in his chest, and he realizes he has his hands clenched in Xiao Zhan's robes, so tight his knuckles hurt. He tugs against them as soon as he realizes it, hauling Xiao Zhan in closer, closer, until they're pressed together in the deep shadows, until Xiao Zhan is touching him from shoulder to hip. Yibo tilts his head and the sound Xiao Zhan makes into his mouth as he deepens the kiss sends a shudder through his whole body.

He doesn't know how long they kiss like that—not long, he doesn't think, but long enough that he's getting hard from it, embarrassingly so, and somewhere in his brain he knows he shouldn't be pressing up against Xiao Zhan but he can't bring himself to stop.

"Fuck," Xiao Zhan says thickly, when he finally pulls away, just the slightest bit. "I think this is the first time I've been warm all day."

He's right—his fingers, where they're pressed up against Yibo's back, are hot points of warmth that Yibo can feel even though the layers of his robes. The air between them feels hot, humid, and Yibo feels a trickle of sweat going down his back, even in the chill air of the cave.

Yibo's still got his hands clenched in Xiao Zhan's robes. It's an effort to make himself let go. "Zhan-ge," he says, trying to see the expression on Xiao Zhan's face, hard to make out in the dim light of the alcove they're tucked into.

Xiao Zhan's lips quirk in a smile and he brushes his thumb against the corner of Yibo's mouth. "You definitely need a touch-up now."

"I need more than a touch-up." Yibo sags back against the wall as Xiao Zhan slowly extracts himself, stepping back and smoothing down his robes.

Xiao Zhan gives a quick bark of laughter, loud and echoey, and tugs on Yibo's arm. "We have to go," he says, heading back out to the main set, like he doesn't care who sees them emerging, like it doesn't matter.

And maybe it doesn't, Yibo thinks—looking around, he realizes again that no one is looking at them, that no one is slanting a knowing glance their way, that everyone is busy with their own tasks.

"Hair and make-up," Xiao Zhan calls out, pointing his thumb back over his shoulder at Yibo. "He choked on blood. He messed up his make-up. This young, handsome man needs some help."

And besides, Yibo thinks as literally no one blinks an eye at Xiao Zhan's yell, maybe they've been so chaotic throughout filming so far that this is just chalked up to being more of the same: Xiao Zhan and Yibo just being themselves, nothing to see here.

Xiao Zhan drags him to make up, pushes him down in front of the artist who immediately starts patting at Yibo's mouth with a make-up sponge, completely disinterested in Xiao Zhan's rolling commentary of how many times Yibo had had to spit blood before he got it right.

Yibo is sent immediately to wire work when he's up next and that's a lot of fun, and makes for an exhausting day. By the time they're heading back to the hotel, he's the sort of tired where he feels like he's floating slightly outside his body. He doesn't know what time it is—he'd thought it was the middle of the night but when they emerge from the set, the sun has only just begun to set, the sky lit up orange and red, hazy from the heat that never made its way into the set.

He doesn't know what day it is, and he doesn't know how much time they might have to shower and sleep, and he doesn't know for sure if he'd actually made out with Xiao Zhan or if maybe that was some sort of a reverse fever dream, like the cave had gotten too cold and frozen his brain cells until he was hallucinating Xiao Zhan's tongue in his mouth.

Xiao Zhan had gone back to the hotel in an earlier car, while Yibo was still trussed up in wires, reshooting a few of the more complicated moves. Now, as he exits the car and walks swiftly into the hotel, the kiss feels like something that maybe happened to someone else. He finds himself pressing his fingers to his mouth in the elevator, foolish and weird, and he makes himself reach up to pull his cap down lower over his eyes instead and just rocks back on his heels until he gets to his floor.

He hesitates when he gets to his room, flipping his key card around and around in his hand. He doesn't look over his shoulder at Xiao Zhan's room. He just stands there for an extra handful of moments before finally putting his key card in and shoving his door open.

He goes to shower immediately, stripping out of his clothes while he waits for the water to get hot. He'd been either freezing or sweaty all day, or sometimes a weird combination of freezing and sweaty when he was doing wire work, where he'd be a mass of sweat under the robes, but his hands would be so cold he could barely hold his sword. Even now, going from the humid air outside to the rattling chill of the air conditioned hotel room feels like more of the same.

He climbs into the shower, sticking his head under the spray and letting the hot water envelop him. He feels like he has layer after layer of sweat on his body. His hands are tingling as the warmth sinks in. He scrubs them through his hair, tilting his face into the stream, groaning at how good it feels.

He's not thinking about Xiao Zhan.

He scrubs himself down and then does it again, just because it feels so good to get clean. He doesn't bother washing his hair—it's just going to get fucked up under the wig again tomorrow—but he stays under the spray after he's completely clean and rinsed. He tries to keep his mind blank—something he's usually good at, he can shut things off and push them aside and just space out pretty easily—but he keeps thinking of Xiao Zhan slipping his hand into Yibo's and tugging him to—

He's not thinking about Xiao Zhan.

He shuts off the water firmly and steps out of the shower. He gets himself dried off, scrubs the towel over his hair, and decides he doesn't care if his hair dries stupid—he's committed to wearing a baseball cap until he gets to hair and make-up tomorrow.

He flips the TV on, volume low, and climbs into bed. Sliding under the sheets naked feels amazing and he tugs the blankets over himself against the chill of the air conditioner, sinking down against the mattress. He grabs his phone from the bedside table, ignores all of his notifications, and sets his alarm for the morning, plugging the phone in after. He doesn't want to see what he's missed today, doesn't want to catch up. The dimness of the room, the quiet murmur of the TV, and the softness of the bed beneath him—he feels like he could fall asleep in a hot second.

No one had even shot them a glance as they'd headed off together. No one had said a thing when they'd come back. Xiao Zhan had held his hand the whole time and no one had even noticed. The make-up lady hadn't seemed to figure out that his make-up was fucked up from making out with Xiao Zhan, not just from spitting out fake blood.

He turns over onto his stomach, tugging the covers up over shoulders. He's so tired. He's so tired he could sleep for twelve hours and that still wouldn't be enough.

Xiao Zhan had said it had been the first time he'd been warm all day. He had felt warm, up against Yibo—he had felt scorching. He had kissed Yibo. He had kissed Yibo. It had been—

Yibo moves a little under the covers, shifting so he can press his fingers against his lips. Had it been...just another dumb game? Had he expected Yibo to shove him back, to call foul, to giggle and smack him with his sleeve, make fun of him for it?

Yibo had gotten it all wrong if that had been the case. He blinks his eyes open for a moment, staring at the dim greyness of the room. He doesn't think—it hadn't seemed like— Yibo had never been kissed like that before in his life. It hadn't felt like a game. It hadn't felt like a trick. Xiao Zhan was a lot of things, but he wasn't mean. Yibo doesn't think he would have—

He shifts again, tracing over what it had felt like. Xiao Zhan had pressed him back, held him there. He'd been completely up against him, and Yibo wonders if he had felt it, if he had known that Yibo had been getting hard.

Fuck. He's not thinking about Xiao Zhan. He's not.

He moves again, shifting over onto his back. He's so tired. He needs to go to sleep. He needs to ignore his dick, half-hard and getting harder. He can ignore it. He doesn't need to—he can just—

He slides his hand down, wraps it around himself. He's not half-hard—he's fully there, really fucking hard, primed for it, like his dick has just been waiting for the moment since this afternoon in the cave, pressed up against Xiao Zhan, hard against his hip, Xiao Zhan's tongue in his mouth.

He groans, and moves his hand, stroking himself. He starts slow, but the heat is unfurling inside him, and he can't. His feet are shifting against the mattress, and he digs his heels in, lets himself fuck up into his fist. It feels good. A little dry, but he swipes his thumb over the wetness at the tip, draws it down, and that feels so good that he has to groan again, thrusting up into his fist. The slide makes it so much better and with the next flick of his wrist, there's even more pre-come and he uses it to make things slicker, wetter, smoother.

He digs his teeth into his lip, pressing his head back against the pillows, and moves his hips, thrusting up into the circle of his hand, going faster, and faster, just how he wants it, just how he needs it, how he—

Fuck. Fuck, he's going to— That's so fast, and he digs his teeth in harder, tries to ride that edge for another moment, it feels so good, he wants to stay here, holding back, holding on, fuck, he's—

He comes, the feel of it rushing through him in a blaze of heat. He's spilling over his fist as he strokes himself through it, wave after wave of it, long, slow pulses of come making a mess of his stomach, of the sheets.

He doesn't care. He doesn't care. He's lost in the feel of it, shudders through the last pulse of it, his whole body tingling. He lies there, panting, his head still thrown back, his dick softening in his hand. He hadn't come like that in a long time. He has to make an effort to take his hand away from his dick. He runs his fingers through the mess on his stomach. There's so much. Apparently his quick, mechanical jerking off as he tries not to fall asleep before he comes isn't quite enough.

He reaches for the tissues on the bedside table and does his best to wipe away the worst of it, then shifts to the other side of the bed, where the sheets are clean. He rolls back onto his stomach, presses his face against the pillow, and oh, he's going to fall asleep in moments. He rides that edge, as well, that slide into sleep close, so close. He slips into it, thinking about Xiao Zhan's fingers clasping his own.

In the morning, he stumbles through washing his face and throwing on clothes, grabbing his phone and his bag, and focusing on getting to someplace that will provide him with caffeine without even thinking about it. He has his face buried in a cup of coffee at the craft services table when Xiao Zhan appears beside him, brushing against him as he reaches past him to snag a bun. "Good morning," he says cheerfully.

"Coffee," Yibo mumbles back, finishing his cup and immediately refilling it.

Xiao Zhan's eyes crinkle and he leans his hip against the table, munching on his bun, his eyes on Yibo. "Not enough sleep last night?"

"Is there ever enough sleep?" Yibo grumbles, but it's mostly for show. The first cup of coffee has helped start to wake him up, finally. Xiao Zhan's amused face has helped even more. It's on his first sip of his second cup of coffee that his brain wakes up enough to remember Xiao Zhan kissing him yesterday. Was that only yesterday?

"You got back later than me." Xiao Zhan reaches past Yibo again, to grab his own cup and pour himself some coffee. "How long did they keep you on the wires?"

"Long enough to leave bruises," Yibo says, and Xiao Zhan cackles and starts pressing his fingers into his waist, searching for them as Yibo backs away, batting at him.

"Stop," he says sternly. "Stop, if you spill my coffee, I'll never forgive you."

Xiao Zhan makes an exaggerated sad face. "Never?" he asks, even as his fingers snake out to try to poke at Yibo's waist again.

Yibo pushes him away at the same time as he takes another swig of coffee. Maybe to hide the grin he can't help spreading across his face. Maybe he should have knocked on Xiao Zhan's door last night. Maybe he should have—

"Bruises," Xiao Zhan calls out. "He has bruises and he won't show me."

No one even glances at them.

Yibo's still thinking about it during the long process of getting his wig on. He does, in fact, have bruises from the wire work, but they're not predictable. The harness is padded and they take care to be sure he doesn't end up hurt from it, so it's not his waist, but he has deep bruises on his hips from he's not even sure what—just being banged around, he guesses. His thighs, too—yes, a few from where the harness holds him, but also down his inner thigh, there's a dark splotch, he doesn't know from what. His knees, too, are constantly bruised, and he's gotten so used to being sore he barely notices it anymore.

Xiao Zhan is done with hair and make-up before he is and he's sprawled in the low chair across the room, dog-eared script in his hand, focused on it. He's completely in costume and he's got one leg crossed up high over the other one, his foot slowly bobbing up and down as he studies the script.

"Zhan-ge," Yibo calls out.

Yibo can see him in the mirror. Xiao Zhan doesn't look up at him, but he licks one finger, turning the page of his script. Oh, he's deliberately ignoring him—as Yibo watches, he can see his mouth twitch just the tiniest amount.

"Zhan-ge." Yibo says it again in the same tone, gets the same lack of response, and grins into the mirror. "So rude," he murmurs and oh, that gets a smile out of Xiao Zhan, though he's still refusing to look up. That's okay. Yibo can play this game. Yibo is, in fact, very good at this game.

When he's released from his stylist, he's on his feet immediately, but when he turns around, Xiao Zhan is gone. He'd been there just a few moments ago, and Yibo spins, studying the room, but no Xiao Zhan.

He looks at the clock. They have a while before the shooting starts. They're filming on the town set today—no forest, no trees, no bugs, thank god—and it's early enough that the heat hasn't reached its full potential yet, though the streets are already getting hazy, even in the early-morning sun. The crew is already setting up and the street set is bustling, getting loud already with shouting between crew members and extras already milling around.

Xiao Zhan is easy to spot, so tall he looms over most of the cast and crew. He's just hanging out near the next building over, watching the crew get ready. Yibo advances on him, calling out, "Zhan-ge."

Xiao Zhan raises one hand to shade his eyes, grinning at Yibo.

"Oh, now you hear me?" Yibo demands.

"It was very loud in there," Xiao Zhan says solemnly, when Yibo gets close enough. His grin is wide and he looks—Yibo shakes his head. Even with all of the sunscreen he's been using, his skin has taken on this sort of a glow. It looks good on him.

"Lies," Yibo intones, tilting his head.

"Truth," Xiao Zhan says, but he's clearly tamping down giggles.

"Rude," Yibo shoots back and keeps advancing on Xiao Zhan until he stumbles backwards, actually giggling now. Yibo keeps moving forward—there's the dim doorway of the set next door, and he's pretty sure it's unoccupied. When they get close, he pushes Xiao Zhan through the door, pleased when he's proven right. The sounds fall away from outside, and inside is a set of—Yibo's not sure, some sort of shop, maybe, but it's dusty and disused and no less private than the alcove in the cave had been.

"Rude?" Xiao Zhan clasps one hand over his heart, his mouth falling open into an expression of disbelief. "Me? Never."

"Rude," Yibo says, moving closer. "Someone so much my senior should know better."

"I know better," Xiao Zhan assures him. "I very much know better, I—"

Yibo kisses him. Yibo kisses the words right out of his mouth, shuts him up with his lips, lets his hands slide down to Xiao Zhan's hips and pulls him close as he kisses him. It shoots through Yibo in a rush and he's been so determined to not be thinking about this that he only now realizes that it is all he has been thinking about.

Xiao Zhan surges up against him, making a sound in his throat that goes directly to Yibo's dick. He smells good—he smells like his make-up, familiar and powdery, like sweat, like—Yibo's not sure. He just knows he likes it, likes the way he smells, likes how hot and soft his lips are. Likes the way doesn't act surprised, how he pushes into the kiss immediately.

When Yibo opens his mouth and presses his tongue in a little, Xiao Zhan makes another soft sound, nearly a groan, and fuck, that's good. That's so fucking good.

"Yeah?" he says, lifting his mouth to gasp a breath. He can't help it. He wants to hear Xiao Zhan say it, say something, say anything.

"Yeah." Xiao Zhan's breathless, too, and he's winding his arms around Yibo, tugging him closer. Yibo wants to lower his head, wants to kiss his neck, but he doesn't think he'd be able to stop himself from biting.

Instead, he backs Xiao Zhan up, keeping his hands on him, pushing at him until his back hits the wall. Xiao Zhan makes a rough noise in his throat, his hips hitching forward, and then he's surging in to kiss Yibo again. Fuck. Fuck, it feels like nothing else Yibo's ever experienced. He tilts his head a little and thinks again how he's never kissed anyone taller than he is—not that he's kissed that many people, but kissing Xiao Zhan is just really, really different.

Yibo's got his hands clenched around Xiao Zhan's hips, holding him firmly against the wall. His fingers are digging in so hard they hurt and holding onto him like this feels almost as good as sliding his tongue in Xiao Zhan's mouth. His heart is beating wildly and he's starting to get hard—fuck, not starting to get hard, is getting hard, he can't help it, can't do anything to stop it. He's never been kissed like this before, not ever. Xiao Zhan's got six years on him, he's got more experience than him—what else is he good at?

Not even yesterday had been like this. Xiao Zhan's making small sounds that are absolutely killing Yibo and he's pressing up against him hard. Yibo can't stop thinking about how if he had about-faced last night, if he had gone to Xiao Zhan's room. What would have happened? What would they have done? Would Xiao Zhan have let him suck his dick? He wants to. He wants to suck his dick so much.

Xiao Zhan pulls back a little, panting and, Yibo can see in the dim light of the room, grinning even as he breathlessly says, "Fuck, Yibo." He kisses him again, and again—small, soft kisses that linger and don't do a single thing to slow things down.

Yibo groans when Xiao Zhan finally really does pull away after one last soft, lingering, dirty kiss. "What?" he says, and it comes out whinier than he'd planned.

Xiao Zhan giggles a little and even that goes directly to Yibo's dick. "They're going to come looking for us," he says. "I don't want to get called on set with, you know." He gestures down at himself.

Yibo drops his gaze and, oh, there is a difference between knowing Xiao Zhan is getting hard and seeing it, seeing how hard he is, how turned on he is—so hard it's visible through his layers of robes.

"I want—" Yibo starts to say it, how much he wants to get his mouth on Xiao Zhan's dick, but Xiao Zhan's hand is closing over the front of Yibo's robes and instead he chokes as Xiao Zhan's fingers trace the outline of his dick.

"Fuck," Xiao Zhan says softly. "Fuck, you're—it's big, you're so big." He looks up at Yibo, his fingers still moving against his dick. All Yibo can do is swallow, his throat clicking as he does so, and tilt his head. He knows.

Xiao Zhan laughs a little breathlessly and pulls his hand away. Yibo sways forward for a second—he wants to grab Xiao Zhan's hand and press it up against his dick again, show him how much bigger it gets the more turned on he is. Hold Xiao Zhan's hand there and press him up against the wall and come against his fingers.

Xiao Zhan's watching him when Yibo's eyes blink back into focus, his breath coming rapidly as he looks at Xiao Zhan. "Wow," he says, then shakes his head, gently pushing Yibo back. "We really have to—" He huffs out a laugh. "I have to—" He gestures at the door. "Fresh air. Or, like, air conditioning." He grins. "Maybe a bucket of ice water. Something."

Yibo can't help but giggle, picturing Xiao Zhan with his head in a tub of ice water, trying like hell to cool down from their kissing. He takes a breath, shaking out his robes, touching his fingers to his lips to figure out if he looks like he's been—doing what he's been doing.

"You're good, Yibo." Xiao Zhan's waiting in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder.

Yibo takes another breath, thinking deeply about sticking his dick in a bucket of ice water in hopes that even the mental image will help calm it down.

Xiao Zhan lets out a long, high giggle as heads out the door, like he knows exactly what Yibo is going through, and finds it nothing but funny.

Yibo follows him, with a grin, and a hard-on.

Yibo hasn't done this with many people but it's something he's doing with Xiao Zhan. It's something they're doing with each other, now, it seems.

Yibo hasn't done this with very many people at all, and the ones he has done this with have all been men. His contract doesn't allow him to date women and, while that's not the exact reason, it's an easy one to point to. He hasn't kissed girls, because he's not allowed to—contractually—and it's a relief, because girls are nothing but confusing to him, in every iteration.

He takes it back, actually. Not the fact that girls are confusing—they are—but he has kissed girls. He has kissed girls, contractually. On camera, for dramas—he's kissed some girls many, many times. Not like this, though. Never like this.

He thinks, absentmindedly touching his mouth with his fingers, that he's never really done anything close to this before. This thing that they're doing now.

It's easy to hook up with guys, guys who are also part of the idol scene. Like Xiao Zhan is, but—that's different.

He looks up over his script, as he reaches for his tea, watching Xiao Zhan get interviewed across from him in the green room. Xiao Zhan is an idol but not exactly like Yibo is. Xiao Zhan, Yibo thinks, grinning just a little, maybe doesn't exactly know what he's in for after the show airs. Yibo knows it's going to be successful and he knows, still watching Xiao Zhan across the room now, that Xiao Zhan is so ridiculously attractive, in general, but especially as Wei Wuxian, that he's going to skyrocket to fame after this.

He definitely doesn't know what's coming.

Xiao Zhan catches his gaze from across the room. He doesn't break off his chattering answer to the interviewer, but raises his eyebrows high, tilting his head to Yibo in a question.

Yibo grins wider and sucks iced tea in through his straw. Nothing, he shakes his head at him, liking how Xiao Zhan's eyes narrow and how he shakes his head back at him.

The interviewer glances over his shoulder to see what has Xiao Zhan's attention. Yibo keeps his eyes on Xiao Zhan, grinning even bigger. He can hear Xiao Zhan's giggle from across the room when he does so. "Wang Yibo," Xiao Zhan calls out.

"Wei Ying," Yibo calls back in response, looking down at his script like he's not listening for the shout of Xiao Zhan's laugh after he does so.

Later, as they're wrapping up, there's a whoop from across the set. They've wrapped up on the early side today—the heat has been so bad all day that nearly everyone is wilted, damp, worn out from it. Director Chen has been reworking the schedule off and on to get them inside in air conditioning for some scenes, or pushing some with extensive stunt work back, but he's apparently called for a down day tomorrow due to dangerous heat levels.

Pushing filming back a day is causing a deep line to appear in Director Chen's forehead as he flips through his filming schedule, but the whole cast is sagging in relief.

"It's good," Yu Bin says, as he comes over. "A whole day tomorrow means a whole party tonight. You're coming."

Xiao Zhan has already undone his robes, struggling to get the belt unwrapped so he can wrench them off his shoulders, the grey tank top he's wearing underneath completely soaked through with sweat, clinging to his skin. He grins at Yu Bin, his face tired but his eyes bright. "Yes," he says. "Yes, absolutely yes."

"Yibo?" Yu Bin calls, after releasing Xiao Zhan, laughing at how sweaty he is.

"In," Yibo says distractedly, not looking up from his phone. He's texting back and forth with his manager as she works on what the film delay is going to do to his schedule. They build in time for a day here and there but he one hundred percent has to fly out to film Day Day Up the day after tomorrow, he can't rearrange that, and they're figuring out when to squeeze the extra day in next week. Going to have to push back the perfume shoot, she says.

"Everything okay?" Xiao Zhan is up against him, peering over his shoulder at his phone without compunction. "Is the delay going to fuck you up?"

"Probably." Yibo types more quickly, trying to wrap this up. This close, Xiao Zhan smells sharply of sweat—not bad, just sweaty and damp and Yibo thinks his mouth would taste like it too, taste like salt and sweat.

Let me talk to them, I'll call you later. Li Mei says, and Yibo sends back three thumbs-up emojis in a row.

"Li Mei will figure it out," Xiao Zhan says cheerfully. "It's what you pay her for, right?"

He's tugging at Yibo even as he speaks, hustling them over to hair and make-up.

"She will," Yibo says, handing Bichen off to a crew member, who exchanges a bottle of water for it—blissfully, startlingly cold in Yibo's hand. He takes three fast gulps of it, before handing it off to Xiao Zhan, who finishes the bottle just as his own assistant comes up and pushes a new one into his hand.

Xiao Zhan drinks that one, as well, as he keeps walking, batting away Yibo's grasping hand as he reaches for the bottle, grinning around the lip of it even as he drinks.

"No fair." Yibo reaches for it again, Xiao Zhan ducking away from his grasp. "I shared with you!" Xiao Zhan's arms are so long, Yibo can't get close as he holds him at arm's length, even as he grabs onto the back of his robes so he can't get fully away.

"I sweat more than you," Xiao Zhan says breathlessly, finally pressing the bottle into Yibo's hand as they stumble into hair and make-up.

"You sure do," Yibo says. "Look at you, you're—" He gestures at Xiao Zhan with the bottle, to where he's nearly stripped to the waist, the soaked tank top somehow more obscene than bare skin would be. It clings to him and Yibo's eyes are caught on it as he finishes the half of the bottle Xiao Zhan had left him.

Xiao Zhan is watching him with one eyebrow up and Yibo doesn't choke on his last swallow, but it's a close thing.

"I wish this was a beer," Yibo says, instead of grabbing Xiao Zhan and pushing him up against the wall.

"That can be arranged," Ji Li calls from across the room. "If you hurry up."

"We're hurrying, we're hurrying," Xiao Zhan says, slinging an arm around Yibo's shoulder.

It's fucked up how, for a second, Yibo thinks about what it would be like to have Xiao Zhan like this, soaked with sweat, half-stripped—messy and dirty and so caught up in it, it wouldn't matter.

"Let's go, Yibo," Xiao Zhan says, close to his ear. Like he knows. Like he knows.

Yibo sits down in his make-up chair, grinning at his tech with pleading eyes. "I work as fast as I can," she says sternly.

"Of course, of course," he says, but when he catches Xiao Zhan's eyes in the mirror where he's also getting stripped out of his wig, he shoots her another pleading look. She rolls her eyes, but she definitely gets him out of the wig faster than she has on other days.

He bows to her when he gets up, a long, formal bow, even as he's swiping make-up wipes out of the container on the counter. "Thank you," he says. "You're the best."

She just looks at him. "Missed a spot," she says, gesturing at his face, and when he looks at the mirror, he's succeeded at smearing the dregs of his make up in streaks all over. He laughs at his own reflection and grabs another wipe. It feels like a holiday. It feels like a party.

"Let's go," Yu Bin shouts as he opens the door with a bang. He'd wrapped up earlier than them, and he's been stripped out of his corpse make-up, looking fresh and ready. "My room first," he crows, heading out. "You know what to do!"

Xiao Zhan appears behind Yibo in the mirror, his eyes crinkling as he grins at him. "We do," he says. "Come on, Yibo. Let's go."

They make a pitstop to pick up beer, and snacks. ("Salty ones," Xiao Zhan says with glee. "No filming in the morning means I don't give a fuck about how much my face bloats." He rounds out his cheeks as he studies the snacks, snagging several bags of salty goodness. "I don't care," he says, singing it lightly. "I don't care, I don't caaaare.")

Back at the hotel, the cast and crew are spilling in almost all at the same time, so the lobby is a raucous place, full of shouts and laughter, and long waits for the elevators, buzzing with the sheer joy of an unexpected day off for all. There's too many people filling it for anyone to stand out and Yibo loves the unexpected feeling of going unrecognized—there had been a few muted shouts from the fans outside as they'd hustled in, but inside feels golden and safe, lost in the milling crowd.

They separate when they get to their rooms, Xiao Zhan digging his key card out as he calls down the hall to Zhuocheng, "Give me a second, I need a shower. Real quick, real quick, I promise. It's better for all." He shoots Yibo a grin over his shoulder as he opens his door. "Meet back here in ten," he says, pointing to the floor of the hallway between them. "Here," he says warningly, his eyes dancing. "Don't go without me. I paid for half those snacks."

Yibo's clutching all of the bags of contraband booze and snacks and he nods solemnly, his face calm and composed, going for a Lan Wangji expression. "On my honor," he says.

The cackle of Xiao Zhan's laughter as his hotel door bangs shut behind him goes through Yibo like a shot of heat.

Yibo drops the snacks and drinks on the dresser as he toes off his shoes. He strips out of his clothes quickly, kicking them into the closet when he's done, then looking around and scooping up his discarded clothes of the last several days, shoving those into the closet too, just in case. The roaming room party could end up here, maybe.

He grabs a beer from one of the packs—it's still cold, sweating a little in the room. He heads to the bathroom, turning the shower up hot, and twisting the bottle cap off. The shower he takes is nearly as glorious as the upcoming day off, the beer as he drinks it a cold line in his throat while he lets the spray pound against him.

He feels revitalized when he gets out—the combination of being clean and being the tiniest bit buzzed from the beer on an empty stomach is exactly what he needs. He throws on sweatpants and a t-shirt, and he's opening his door, the plastic of the bags of beer and snacks cutting into his fingers, just as Xiao Zhan's door bangs open as well.

"Good timing!" Xiao Zhan crows. His hair is pushed back off his forehead, still damp. He's in a red hoodie and cotton shorts that...are not basketball shorts. They hit him mid-thigh, and listen, Yibo has spent time staring at Xiao Zhan's bony knees on set, he has, but the amount of thigh he's showing is—

"Let's go," Xiao Zhan says, reaching to grab one of the bags out of Yibo's hand and heading down the hall. Yu Bin's room is one floor down and Xiao Zhan is peering into the bags as the elevator arrives. "You started without me," he says accusingly.

"Shower beer," Yibo says, grinning as they get on.

"Damn," Xiao Zhan says. "Good idea." He's smiling at Yibo and he looks clean and fresh and happy, and Yibo wants to just—

"Ha!" Zhuocheng shoulders his way onto the elevator just as the doors are about to fully close. "Let's go!"

Xiao Zhan grins at him and lifts up the bag he's holding. "I'm ready!" He leans against Yibo as the elevator takes them down, pressing his shoulder against Yibo's as he chats with Zhuocheng. When the doors open, Xiao Zhan pushes off of him to head out. It's incredibly dumb to feel cold after just a few seconds of being leaned against. Yibo follows him.

They start in Yu Bin's room, cast and crew sprawled on the floor, the bed, the small couch, any surface there is. The room is loud, everyone is both hyped up and exhausted all at the same time, and absolutely everyone is drinking.

Yibo finishes his first beer and snags another from the bag resting by Xiao Zhan's hip. Xiao Zhan is sitting cross-legged, listening to some story Yu Bin is telling him, but he's also singing, it looks like, though Yibo can't quite hear it over the loud conversation in the room. When he shifts closer, the beer sweating in his hand, it's that Stephanie Sun song "Magical" that Xiao Zhan is singing, lightly and almost like he doesn't know he's doing it.

Yibo doesn't catch the end of Yu Bin's story, distracted by Xiao Zhan's quiet singing, and the way the shorts show off the pale skin of his thighs. Xiao Zhan breaks off his song to giggle brightly, before rolling to his feet. "Let's go," he says, nodding at the door. "I swear I heard that Xuan Lu was bringing back steamed buns from downstairs."

It turns out to be true and after partaking of the buns in Xuan Lu's room, they take her with them when they head off to someone else's, Yibo honestly isn't even sure whose. The whole evening is a roaming room party, lit up and loud and necessary. Yibo's opened at least four beers, but he keeps putting down his bottles and forgetting them when they head out to another room. He thinks he's maybe managed to finish two, total.

Xiao Zhan is tipsy, his cheeks flushed red, though he's had even less beer than Yibo. He's happy, grinning, flopping over Xuan Lu's shoulder to look at a video she's showing him on her phone. He presses his giggle against her shoulder and she grins, pointing at the screen and explaining something to him intently.

"Come on," Yibo says, pushing himself to his feet. "I heard that..." He doesn't have an end to it, but that's been the line all night, as they rolled from room to room, and Xiao Zhan hauls himself to his feet right away. He pats Xuan Lu's head and she smiles distractedly, scrolling to another video on her phone.

Yibo grabs a fresh beer—he swears he opened one when they got here, but he can't find it—and Xiao Zhan's arm, and tugs him out the door.

The corridor is shockingly quiet, the noise of the room muffled behind the door. "Where did everyone go?" Xiao Zhan asks, reaching out to snag the beer out of Yibo's hand.

"It's late." Yibo watches as Xiao Zhan twists the cap off, tucking it in his pocket and then taking a sip. His throat works as he swallows, and it's just a little shiny with sweat—the hotel air conditioning has nothing on the number of people they've been cramming into each room. He'd unzipped the red hoodie but kept it on and the color looks good on him, suits him, even here in the hotel lighting. "People have started to go to bed."

"Well, I'm not ready for that." Xiao Zhan grins at him as Yibo takes the beer back, takes a long swallow himself. "Where are we going, Wang Yibo?"

Yibo feels heat uncurl in his stomach and he wraps his hand around Xiao Zhan's arm, tugging him down the hall. He's not sure what floor they're on, he's not sure what time it is, and he's not sure he can wait much longer. He pulls at Xiao Zhan, who moves along happily behind him, until they get to the stairwell door at the end of the hall. He pushes it open, pulls Xiao Zhan through, and oh, here they are. There's a wide landing and the door behind them has no window.

"Hi," Xiao Zhan says, tugging the beer out of his hand again. He doesn't take a sip, though, he just moves to put it down on the stairs behind them. "Hi," he says again, when he turns back to Yibo, and the heat in Yibo's stomach is spreading throughout his entire body at the look in Xiao Zhan's eyes.

"Hi," he says back, because he has nothing else. Xiao Zhan is moving closer, and Yibo leans his shoulders back against the wall, looking up at Xiao Zhan. He wants Xiao Zhan to feel just how much he—

"Fuck," Xiao Zhan says softly, gazing at him as he moves closer, but still not touching him. "You're—"

Yibo waits.

Xiao Zhan shakes his head and then they're kissing. Yibo thinks maybe he was the one to lean in for it; he's not sure. He'd meant to wait, he'd meant to make Xiao Zhan come and get it, but he thinks he had leaned in. It doesn't matter, because now he has Xiao Zhan pressing him up against the wall in this overly bright hotel stairwell and it's not the stupidest thing he's ever done, but it's close.

It doesn't matter. Xiao Zhan's lips are soft, and warm, and then his tongue is in Yibo's mouth and Yibo groans, his knees literally feeling weak as Xiao Zhan kisses the breath out of him. "Fuck," Xiao Zhan's mumbling against his lips, and Yibo realizes he's shoved his hands under Xiao Zhan's hoodie, rucking up his t-shirt in the back, letting his hands press against the warm skin at the small of his back. "Fuck," Xiao Zhan says again, breathing it against Yibo's neck just before he digs his teeth in.

Yibo thinks he's moaning, he can vaguely hear it echoing in the stairwell. He tries to stop, but Xiao Zhan's teeth are digging into his neck as Xiao Zhan presses his mouth against him, and Yibo's sliding his hands along the waist of Xiao Zhan's shorts, pushing in until he's palming the skin of Xiao Zhan's hips. His thumbs are slotted against Xiao Zhan's hipbones and fuck, fuck, he wants more, he wants to shove the shorts down, wants to get his hands on Xiao Zhan's cock, wants to get his mouth on it.

Xiao Zhan lifts his head, his eyes hazy and hot, looking at Yibo as he presses forward against him, fully pinning Yibo to the wall, the bannister digging into Yibo's back, and kissing him again.

Yibo groans into Xiao Zhan's mouth at the press of his hips, the feeling of Xiao Zhan's cock hard up against Yibo's own, fuck, he's so hard, they're both so hard. Yibo could come from this, he thinks suddenly, frantically. He could, he feels like he—

There's a bang from up above them and it takes Yibo more than a second to realize it's the stairwell door on the next floor. Xiao Zhan pulls back quickly, Yibo's hands slipping out of his shorts as he does so. He tugs the shorts back into place and swiftly zips his hoodie, just as Ji Li's grinning face appears around the corner of the stairs above them. They're just standing next to each other now, awkwardly, hanging out in a hotel stairwell, and Yibo is hard in his sweatpants and desperately wishing he had put underwear on underneath them.

He tugs his t-shirt down but he's pretty sure it does nothing to hide it.

"Are all the parties over?" Ji Li asks, slumping to sit on the stairwell above them. "Did everyone go to bed? People shouldn't go to bed. We have a day off. That's not—" He waves one hand around. "That's not—" he says again, and then looks a little confused. "Wait, what were we talking about?"

He's drunk, Yibo realizes with hot relief. Like, decently drunk, drunk enough to not wonder why Xiao Zhan and Yibo are standing weirdly in a stairwell, somehow drunk enough not to notice Yibo's boner, not to notice how Xiao Zhan's flushed face and red lips look like he's been doing exactly what he has, in fact, been doing: making out hot and heavy, for long enough that he's still having trouble catching his breath.

"About how it's bedtime," Xiao Zhan says then, shooting a look at Yibo and moving forward to grasp Ji Li's arm, hauling him to his feet. "And how we're going to go back to our rooms."

"Right, right," Ji Li says, letting Xiao Zhan guide him. "That's it, that's it exactly."

Yibo opens the door to the corridor and Xiao Zhan moves past him with Ji Li chatting away beside him. The look he gives Yibo over his shoulder is amused, and intimate, as he lets his gaze skate down for a moment. Yibo glances down himself, and winces at how obvious his dick is in his sweatpants.

Xiao Zhan giggles a little, and Ji Li laughs, too, like he's in on the joke, even as he says, "What's funny, tell me, tell me."

"Nothing," Xiao Zhan says, as they all head down the hall to the elevator. "You're just sleepy, we all have to go to sleep."

"But a day off," Ji Li says, yawning.

"I know," Xiao Zhan says. "We get to sleep in."

"Right." Ji Li's looking up at him blearily. "Right." He yawns again. "Where did you guys disappear to? I went looking for you. What were you—"

"Oh, here's the elevator," Xiao Zhan interrupts, steering Ji Li onto it, Yibo following behind them. "What good timing." He grins at Yibo over Ji Li's head and presses the button for their floor. "Let's get you back to your room, my friend."

"Right," Ji Li says again.

"Right," Yibo echoes, thinking about the feel of the groove of Xiao Zhan's hips under his fingers.

"Right," Xiao Zhan says.