Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Yes, yes, the director says he’ll push back the shoot thirty minutes—San Lang, please get in the car—yes, I know he’ll probably be late anyway, but I promise I’ll drag him there if I have to- no, don’t hang up yet, San Lang, the car door is open for a reason-!”

Xie Lian is one (1) disaster away from combusting. His phone is jammed between his ear and shoulder, he’s got a clipboard tucked under his arm, three folders balanced on one hand, and... oh, wonderful! The pen in his mouth is sliding dangerously close to choking him!

Meanwhile, the supposed VIP of the day (Hua Cheng, top-billed actor, national heartthrob, professional menace) leans against the car with that Arrgravating Alpha Confidence™. His sunglasses on. His hands in pockets. He has a mildly entertained expression that says yes, gege, continue your tragic little circus for my enjoyment.

Xie Lian flaps a folder open with his elbow, nearly drops everything, makes a sound like a dying tea kettle.
“No, I’m not arguing, I’m just saying I’ll manage, that’s literally my job, oh for heaven’s sake, SAN LANG—”

And that’s when the folders rebel. The paper flies through the air, and the clipboard follows right after. The pen shoots out of his mouth and clatters dramatically onto the pavement like Excalibur returning to the stone.

...

A hand reaches out, calm as a saint, and plucks the escaping script stack out of thin air.

“Gege. If you’re this busy, why don’t I drive?”

Xie Lian gasps at him.
“Absolutely not! You're the client. The star. The—” he waves his free hand wildly, “the reason I’m sprouting grey hairs!”

Hua Cheng smirks, clearly over the moon.

“I’m serious. You’ll sprain something if you keep flailing like that. Besides…”

He tips his shades down, broadcasting his deep, red eye. (Yes, it’s unfair. Yes, Xie Lian notices. Yes, he would like to resign.)

“If you get hurt, who’s going to take care of me?”

Xie Lian promptly inhales through his nostrils.
“N-no, not you! I wasn’t talking to you! Please ignore that! No, Director, not you either, please continue, I swear everything’s under control-!”

Everything is not under control. His pen is gone, his tie is still crooked, and Hua Cheng looks far too pleased with himself.

Xie Lian finally manages to herd Hua Cheng into the car, juggling his phone, his clipboard, and his dignity (which, quite frankly, has been on life support since sunrise).

He pats down his jacket pockets.
Left side: pen. Right side: wallet. Inner pocket: ah, yes. The emergency scent suppressant pills.

He slips one into his mouth and crunches it like his life depends on it. (It kinda does.)

From the passenger seat, Hua Cheng tilts his head.

“You know, gege, you take those an awful lot.”

Xie Lian swallows (way too audibly).
“Excuse me?”

“Every time we get in the car. Pop, crunch, swallow.” Hua Cheng rests his chin on his hand, “Should I be worried?”

Xie Lian grips the steering wheel tighter. “They’re just... stress pills. Because you are... extremely stressful.”

“Mhm.”

The hum is drawn-out, suspicious, and far too amused. Xie Lian can feel the tips of his ears heating. He resolutely focuses on the road, except... great. Fantastic. The traffic light is red. Which means he has to sit here. Trapped. With San Lang’s gaze crawling up his neck.

Yeah. Not a great situation.

Xie Lian clears his throat.
“...Seatbelt.”

“What about it?”

“Put it on. Safety first.”

“Are you worried about me, gege?”

“I’m worried about getting sued when you launch through the windshield.”

Well, that earns him a laugh. The sound makes something traitorous in Xie Lian’s chest flutter but-! He shoves it down. Hard.

And then (perfect timing, world, thank you so much) the suppressant in his system falters for half a second. Just enough for his scent to slip a little. He notices it. Hua Cheng notices it. He can tell because his head tilts. His gaze sharpens. For once, he looks less smug and more... alert. Hungry.

Xie Lian catches it and immediately goes into panic mode. He coughs and rolls down the window, then smacks the AC button twice for good measure.

“... Hot, isn’t it? Yes, very hot, sweltering even.”

Hua Cheng doesn’t call him out. Actually, he doesn't say anything at all. He just smiles.

Xie Lian's mind explodes, 'I am going to pass away. Right here, at this red light. Someone call the undertaker.'

After 20 minutes of sitting through a show called 'Xie Lian trying not to sink into the ground below, difficulty: impossible!', the car finally halted infront of the large studio entrance, the tall building towering over the smaller car, windows glinting, reflecting sunlight, and...

before the tires have even stopped smoking, the paparazzi descend.

(Someone screams “San Lang, over here!” as though yelling louder will make them matter.)

Xie Lian inhales, squares his shoulders, and mentally prepares himself for the battlefield that is crazy fangirls and cameras.
Right. Showtime. Professional. Polished. Untouchable.

He opens Hua Cheng’s door first (because if left unattended, San Lang will probably burst out anyway, which they cannot afford). “Stay behind me. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t wink at anyone. Don’t-”

"What about you, gege?"

"...Huh?"

“What if I wink at you?”

Xie Lian freezes and turns slowly. But immediately when he sees Hua Cheng's smug smile, he turns right back.
“Don’t... don’t be ridiculous.”

He herds Hua Cheng out, plastering on his Secretary Face™. Clipboard in hand. Suit immaculate. Except... ah! Problem.

Tiny problem.

The suppressant is wearing thin.

Again!

Which means that as he shoves through the crowd (“Excuse us, step aside, thank you”) the air itself is betraying him. It's nothing but a hint of sweetness, a drop of the familiar Omega scent.
But it’s enough.

Because the alphas in the crowd; bodyguards, reporters, even some of Hua Cheng’s co-stars lurking by the entrance, all instinctively look up.

Oh no.

He grips his clipboard harder. His instincts (the ones he’s been burying under caffeine and denial) start whispering: Danger. Eyes on you. Protect. Hide.

Worse: Hua Cheng notices. Of course he notices. His arm brushes Xie Lian’s as they walk, and instead of stepping aside (like a normal person), he stays close. A little bit... too close. Their shoulders touch. Then their arms. And then his hand hovers at the small of Xie Lian’s back.

“Relax, gege. I’ve got you.”

The voice is soft, private, and too close to his ear.

And Xie Lian’s brain (a traitor, a betrayer, a defector), short-circuits.
Oh. Oh no he’s... he’s-!

He stumbles on the step. Almost trips. Clipboard wobbles.
And of course, Hua Cheng catches him, pulling him upright before anyone else even notices.

“Careful. Are you alright?”

That smirk. That eye contact. That very obvious alpha energy radiating off him. Means Xie Lian is seconds away from either combusting or biting off his own tongue.

Maybe both. At the same time.

“I’m fine, thank you. Perfectly fine. Never been finer.”
His voice cracks like he's a teenager again. And yeah, that's great. Just what he needed for the cameras.

Click. Click. Click.

The paparazzi eat it up, because that's what always happens. The internet will explode in three hours with “San Lang’s Mysterious Secretary Caught in Intimate Moment???” headlines.

Screw them.

The moment the studio doors close behind them, the noise from outside cuts off like someone hit mute.

Perfect. Peaceful.

Which means Xie Lian’s brain can finally start screaming at full volume.

Suppressants. Suppressants failing. You absolute clown, you forgot to take the noon dose. Idiot. Disaster. Wait, no. Stop. This is fine. This is-

He clears his throat. “We’ll head straight to the dressing room, San Lang. Your schedule is tight today, no room for—”

“Gege.”

“—any delays, so it’s vital that we—”

“Gege.”

The sound of it is warm honey poured over broken nerves. He doesn’t have to look to know Hua Cheng’s smirking. Doesn’t have to look to feel the heat of him close, too close.

And then. Then it happens.

Hua Cheng inhales.

“...oh.”

Xie Lian nearly slams into a potted plant.
No no no no no, he knows. He knows. Abort mission, eject eject eject...

“Don’t, don’t ‘oh’ me! There’s nothing to ‘oh’ about!” His voice goes high, ridiculous. “I’m perfectly normal, everything’s fine, it’s just the cheap cologne in this hallway, don’t you smell it? It’s very... uh... cheap.”

“Gege, if you wanted me close, you could’ve just asked.”

“Close? Close? I don’t... no! That’s absurd!” He waves his clipboard like an exorcism talisman. “I, I have boundaries! I don't... not with clients!”

“Good thing I’m not just a client.”

And there it is. The full alpha weight, the warmth rolling off Hua Cheng, pressing into the hallway until it feels too small. He leans in, not touching (never touching) but close enough that Xie Lian can feel it, that electric prickle along his skin.

“Funny. You smell different today.”

Xie Lian’s soul leaves his body. He suspects, he suspects, oh gods above-!

“Different? Different how?” He waves his clipboard like a priest with a holy relic. “I, I changed laundry detergents, that’s all! Very strong brand, you wouldn’t understand. It’s very... uh... normal.”

“Mm. Must be that.”