Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The bar smelled of stale beer and wood polish, dim light glinting off rows of cheap bottles behind the counter. A jukebox in the corner wheezed out something half-forgotten from the nineties, just loud enough to blur the low murmur of voices. Men, women, singles, couples—it didn’t matter. Everyone came here for the same reason: to forget their miserable lives for a couple of hours.

Xiao Zhan dropped onto a stool, shoulders aching, the weight of the day dragging at him like lead. The bartender gave him a quick glance.
“What’ll it be?”

Zhan exhaled, rubbed at his temple, and said, “Virgin piña colada. Thanks.”

The man’s eyebrows shot up. He didn’t move for a beat, as if waiting for the punchline.
“You serious?”

Zhan just nodded, too tired to care.

A minute later, the glass landed in front of him—creamy white, a pink paper umbrella sticking out of the top. He didn’t even look up at the bartender’s face, just muttered a quick thanks, lifted the drink, and took a long sip. The sugar hit immediately, washing over him. His throat burned from thirst, and the sweetness was pure relief.

Exhausting day. Empty stomach. Too many close calls. He needed this more than he’d admit.

Yes, he was twenty-six years old—a grown man, six feet tall, dressed in leather. So what if he was drinking the kind of oversweet nonsense usually ordered by teenagers sneaking into beach bars? Right now, it was exactly what he wanted.

He’d just come from that tiring interrogation at a table near the window. Hours wasted, it felt like. All day chasing false clues, every lead turning to dust in his hands. That woman had been another dead end—he was almost sure. Or maybe he was simply too drained to know the difference anymore between a false trail and the real one.

At least he’d taken her number, so he could circle back tomorrow if it proved necessary. He still needed to call Lulu, check if there was any news about the case.

With a sigh, he lifted his glass again, letting the sugar coat the inside of his mouth, trying to push the fatigue back.

That was when a voice came from just behind him—low and unfamiliar.
“Hi. Mind if I sit?”

His instincts flared in a second. By the time he turned, his hand was already beneath his shirt, fingers brushing the hilt of the knife hidden there. Even half-dead with exhaustion, his reflexes still worked. They had to—he wouldn’t last long in this business otherwise.

But then he actually saw the person. His grip eased, and he forced his hand to relax, pulling it free like nothing had happened. No need to look like he was about to slit the throat of whoever had spoken.

And who was the person exactly?
Oh.
Oh, he was—

The guy was young. Dark hair falling into his eyes, grey hoodie with a well-known logo across the chest, torn jeans showing flashes of skin. Zhan had to lift his gaze to meet his eyes because, for a few seconds, he’d been shamelessly checking him out.

“Hi. Sure,” Zhan managed, his voice rougher than he’d meant it to be. He nodded toward the stool beside him, watching as the stranger sat down.

“Can I get you a drink?” the guy asked.

His eyes flicked to Zhan’s glass. His serious, striking face shifted in an instant—like he was about to burst out laughing. But instead, he reined it in, leaving only a small, smug curve tugging at his mouth.

Really handsome mouth.

“No, thanks. I’m fine,” Zhan answered.

The guy just nodded, easy and unbothered.

A moment later the bartender drifted over, eyeing him.
“What’ll it be?”

The stranger pointed at Zhan’s glass. “Same as him.”

The bartender’s brows shot up again. His gaze flicked from the kid’s face to Zhan’s, then back, as if trying to decide whether this was some kind of joke. Finally he shook his head and went off to make the order.

Zhan couldn’t help staring.
“Are you making fun of me?” he blurted.

“No,” the guy said, that smug little smile still tugging at his mouth. “I just figured—if Handsome gege likes the drink, it must be good for me too.”

It wasn’t the first time someone had tried hitting on Xiao Zhan in a bar. He was twenty-six, not naïve—he knew when someone was flirting, and this kid clearly was.

He wasn’t bad-looking, either.

Women hit on him often enough, and he always handled it the same way: polite smile, a bit of small talk, then an excuse to slip away. He hated the flicker of disappointment that always followed.

But with men… that was a different story. If the guy had enough charisma, enough spark to catch his attention, Zhan didn’t usually see the point in saying no to whatever proposition might come next.

When the bartender slid the drink in front of the stranger without a word, the guy took one sip and immediately made a face.
“You serious? That’s what you’re drinking? It’s way too sweet,” he blurted.

Zhan felt a bubble of amusement rise in his chest. This kid—he tried so hard to play it cool and flirty, but every so often his real self slipped through. Like the look he’d given Zhan’s piña colada earlier, and now this little outburst about how disgusting the drink was.

The guy set the glass back on the bar and, just for a moment, looked at Zhan almost shyly. Then the expression shifted again—like flipping a switch—and the confident young man was back.
“Are you here alone?” he asked.

“Yes, just by myself,” Zhan answered, then added—because his head had gone oddly blank—“You?” Normally conversation came easily to him, but apparently today was a special kind of day.

“I was. Not anymore.”

Zhan gave a soft laugh. “This your way of flirting with everyone?”

“No. You’re just special,” the stranger replied without missing a beat.

The line was straight out of a bad movie, obvious as hell. But somehow—coming from a guy with that face—it actually worked.

“You have a very handsome smile, you know that? Cute.”

“Thanks,” Zhan replied, a little self-satisfied. Of course he knew what his smile could do to people. And he knew how to use it—especially on handsome guys who were clearly interested.

“So… is this working?”

Zhan blinked. “Is what working?”

“My… bad flirting.”

“Maybe,” Zhan admitted with a faint smile, his heart stumbling in his chest. The stranger’s eyes were fixed on him, steady and unashamed, and for a second Zhan felt like the center of the universe. Then the man bit his own lower lip, and heat rushed through Zhan’s body at the sight.

“You just confirmed you think my flirting is bad. You hurt my feelings, gege.”

Oh, if he kept calling him that, Zhan might just jump on him.

But of course, the guy ruined the moment.
“You weren’t much better earlier, you know.”

Zhan stared at him, caught between amusement and disbelief. This kid had a serious problem with the filter between his brain and his mouth, huh…

“What do you mean?”

He honestly wasn’t sure what the guy was talking about. He wasn’t the one doing all the flirting here… was he?

“I mean… I saw you with that woman earlier,” the man said, jerking his chin toward the table by the window where Zhan had interrogated her not long ago.

Zhan let out a quiet sigh. Yeah… from the outside, it probably did look like bad flirting.

In truth, he hadn’t been at his best. The woman was attractive enough, and she’d clearly been into him, but he hadn’t felt a single spark. He’d just been trying to get the right answers, to figure out whether she was linked to the case. Not exactly something he could explain to stranger.

“Maybe she just wasn’t interesting enough?” the guy asked.

“Yeah, she probably wasn’t my type,” Zhan answered—and then looked straight at him, letting his eyes linger in a way that should’ve made it obvious who his type actually was.

The stranger must’ve picked up on it, because a smug smile tugged at his mouth.
“So what was your name again? Or should I just call you Handsome gege?”

“Yeah, you can call me that,” Zhan said lightly, though his heart kicked faster at the words. He hadn’t realized he had a weakness for endearments like that—maybe it was just the way they sounded coming from that perfect, sharp mouth. He caught himself staring at it… maybe a little too much over the last five minutes.

“You can call me Cool Guy then,” the stranger replied.

“Cool Guy, huh?”

“Yeah. Don’t I look like a cool guy to you?”

“Yes, sure. Cool,” Zhan answered, unable to stop a laugh from slipping out.

Then Cool Guy leaned in closer, and Zhan caught the mix of scents clinging to him—fresh fruit from shampoo, something clean and sharp from cologne, and underneath it, the warm masculine note of skin. Whatever he was wearing, it was probably expensive. It made Zhan curious about what he did for a living, that he could afford brand-name hoodies and perfume like that.

“So…” Cool Guy’s voice dropped to a whisper against his ear. “Where are you heading from here, gege?”

“I’m staying in a hotel here, actually.”

“Me too. Just across the street.”

Zhan’s eyes flicked to the window. There was only one hotel across the street—the same one he was staying in.

What a coincidence.

That “coincidence” sent a sharp current of alarm through him, tugging his instincts awake again. His pulse spiked, and he couldn’t tell if it was the pull of attraction—or a warning. What if this guy was tied to the case? What if he’d been following him? Luring him into a trap?

“How come you’re staying in the same hotel as me?” Zhan asked, his tone deceptively casual.

“Same hotel? Convenient… And I’m just… traveling for work.” The kid’s answer was smooth, but his slight nod felt rehearsed.

Zhan watched him carefully, noting the way his eyes slipped aside for a moment before meeting his again. Hiding something? A partner waiting back home? Or something worse?

He didn’t know. But he had to make sure it wasn’t worse than that.

The guy was really handsome—but handsome didn’t mean harmless. Not in Zhan’s world. Maybe he wasn’t even human.

Zhan’s smile stayed easy, but his mind had already shifted gears. If this “Cool Guy” was connected to his case, he needed to know what he was dealing with.

He pushed back from the bar with a casual sigh.
“Excuse me for a sec,” he said, tone light, as if he was heading for the restroom.

When he returned, he let his damp fingers brush casually against the guy’s wrist as he sat back down, like he hadn’t dried his hands properly.

Cool Guy glanced at the touch, then at Zhan’s face, a grin spreading slow and deliberate. “So, how many days are you staying at the hotel?”

“Day or two.”

„Me too.“

No reaction to holy water. No black eyes. Not a demon then. Good.

Zhan leaned closer, letting his silver bracelet shift until the tiny cross charm dragged lightly across the guy’s skin.
“So, Cool Guy,” Zhan murmured, “that really the best name you’ve come up with?”

“Worked on you, didn’t it?”

Zhan’s laugh slipped out, low and unguarded. He shook his head, letting his bracelet brush against him again. Still no reaction. Not a vampire. Not a werewolf.

Maybe he really was just a hot guy. God, he hoped he was just a hot guy.

He reached for his glass, twirling it idly.
“You know, for someone who said everything gege ordered was good for him too, you haven’t drunk much.”

“Because it’s disgusting,” Cool Guy shot back. “Sweet enough to rot your teeth. Is that why you’re so sweet, gege—because you drink things like this?”

Zhan laughed at that—maybe a little fake—and leaned closer, blocking the view of the bar. Not that it mattered. If Zhan could tell, those wide, excited eyes hadn’t left him once.

With practiced ease, Zhan palmed a pinch of dried herb from his pocket and dropped it into the man’s piña colada. He slid the glass toward him, casually putting it into his hand.
“Here. Drink. Maybe you’ll get sweeter yourself.”

Cool Guy smirked, lifted the glass, and downed the rest in one swallow. His face twisted into a grimace, but then he licked his lip and set the glass down with a thud with a satisfied smile.

Zhan’s gaze sharpened. No reaction.

So. Not a demon, not a vampire, not a werewolf, not a witch. Which meant…

“We’ve finished our drinks. Does Cool Guy want another round… or does he want to come to my room and continue this conversation somewhere a little more private?”

Chapter Text

His room was already dark when they walked through the door.

Zhan’s first thought wasn’t about the man behind him, but about the room itself. Did he leave anything out? Anything that could give away what he really was, the kind of life he lived? He scanned the space quickly—table, chair, bed. Nothing out of place. Good. He’d always been careful. Most of the time, he didn’t even unpack in hotel rooms—just kept everything zipped tight in the suitcase.

He flicked on the lights and let out a breath. Safe. No evidence.

Turning back to the stranger, he thought—not for the first time—that it might be better if he knew the guy’s name. But for one night, it probably didn’t matter.

“So. Want something to drink?” Zhan asked.

“Only if it’s not that sweet nonsense you were drinking in the bar,” Cool Guy said. His smile wasn’t as smug now, softer—maybe even a little shy.

Zhan blinked at the shift. And suddenly, he couldn’t stop wondering: how old was this boy, really?

He should probably ask.

“I’ve got a beer,” Zhan said slowly, then let his eyes flick over him—head to toe, then back up to his face. “Though I’m not sure I should even be offering you one.”

The words came out sharper than he meant. In the bar, with that confidence and the smug grin, the stranger had looked young but not that young. Now, with that shy smile on his face… Zhan wasn’t so sure.

Cool Guy burst out laughing.

Zhan didn’t join in. Honestly, the sound reminded him of a goose honking, but he kept his face straight, waited until the laughter petered out. When the boy finally noticed his silence, his grin faltered.

“You’re serious.”
“Very.”
“Oh, don’t worry, gege. I’m legal,” he said quickly.
“How many years legal, exactly?”
“Almost three.”
Zhan narrowed his eyes. “So… twenty?”
“Mm. Twenty-one soon. Give or take.”

Twenty wasn’t great, but it wasn’t bad either. He could work with twenty. He let a small, deliberately flirty smile curve his mouth.

“How old are you, anyway, gege? You don’t seem much older to me…”
“Ah… flatterer. Fine. So. Beer?”
“Yeah, sure. Why not?”

Zhan kept smiling—his best smile—and made sure the boy saw it before he turned toward the little hotel fridge. He reached to open it, catching the weight of the stranger’s gaze on his back.

Zhan bent just enough to grab the bottle, and when he straightened, he was almost certain those eyes had been fixed squarely on his ass a moment ago.

Well. Advantage of trying to seduce a twenty-year-old, he supposed. The boy was easy to impress.

Good. Because Zhan didn’t have the energy to put in much effort tonight. He was too tired for games—but not too tired for a little fun.

He pressed the bottle into his hand and watched him pop it open with one smooth motion.

“Thanks,” Cool Guy said. He didn’t look very cool in that moment, though—more cute than anything else.

But cool or cute... either worked.

There wasn’t much else to sit on, so they ended up side by side on the bed. The mattress dipped under their weight, shoulders brushing. The room was small, a little too small, really. For a second Zhan wondered if this guy could’ve sprung for something bigger. Would’ve been easier to go to his room instead.

But no. He pushed the thought away immediately. He’d tested him, sure, but it was still safer here—in his space, on his terms.

The boy tipped the bottle back, swallowing deep. Zhan found himself watching, fascinated by the way his Adam’s apple bobbed with each gulp.

He set the beer down on the nightstand, and the room felt quieter all at once.

Zhan leaned in, close enough that his lips nearly brushed the curve of his ear.

“So… where were we with that conversation we started at the bar?”

He let his breath ghost over warm skin, satisfaction curling in his chest as goosebumps rose along the boy’s neck.

Cool Guy exhaled, the sound almost shaky.
“You tell me, gege. You’re the older one here, right?”

Zhan’s lips curved into a smile he knew was dangerous.
“Okay. I’ll tell you. You also wanted to ask me to your room, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Fine. Our intentions were similar then. So… what exactly did Cool Guy want to do with Handsome gege in his room?”

The boy’s expression shifted. The shy smile disappeared, replaced by something sharper—his gaze turning predatory. The change sent a jolt through Zhan’s body.

Good. They were heading somewhere now.

“This…” Cool Guy whispered, leaning in to brush their mouths together—just a small kiss, fleeting, before pulling back slightly. His eyes flicked between Zhan’s gaze and his lips, as if he really needed to make sure he’d read this right.

Like there was any other way to read it.

“Just that?”

They leaned in again at the same moment. This time the kiss was deeper. Zhan parted his lips in response, and the boy’s tongue swept in, playing with his.

It was a good kiss. Better than good.

For twenty, Zhan thought, impressed—damn good.

The boy leaned back after a few moments, teeth worrying his lower lip. His gaze lingered on Zhan’s mouth—or maybe just below it.
“That mole is so sexy, gege,” he murmured.

Ah. So it was his mole again. He didn’t know why some people were so fascinated by it.

Before Zhan could say something on that, the guy leaned forward again, pressing a soft kiss to it.

Zhan hadn’t expected that kind of gentleness. The tenderness of it caught him off guard.

When Cool Guy pulled back again, Zhan forced the heat to tilt playful, tried to steer things onto the track he wanted.
“So… what else have you imagined doing with this handsome gege’s body? Would you put me in your bed?”

The boy swallowed, his throat working, then set both hands against Zhan’s chest. Big hands, Zhan noticed with sudden satisfaction. Bigger than he would’ve guessed.

And in that same instant, awareness jolted through him. The knife was still tucked beneath his shirt.

Reflex moved faster than thought. With a trained, practiced motion, Zhan slipped it free and shoved it under the bed, hidden from reach, while the boy was distracted kissing him again.

Those big hands felt so good on him, mapping his chest, sliding to his back, pausing at his waist before hesitantly dipping lower—then retreating, only to sweep up again.

God, where else would those hands feel this good?

He could think of a place or two.

Zhan’s own hands had gone on their own exploratory tour. The boy’s body felt… good. Really good. Even through the layers of fabric, he could trace the hard lines of muscle beneath.

But fabric wasn’t enough.

He tugged at the hem of the hoodie, then pulled it up and over his head. He dropped it neatly on the bed beside them. No way was he leaving clothes on the floor. Especially not expensive clothes.

Now there was nothing between his fingers and warm skin. Wow. The boy definitely worked out.

Cool Guy made small noises in response, each one curling low in Zhan’s stomach, sending waves of heat spiraling through him.

At some point his own T-shirt ended up discarded, and then his pants. The boy’s jeans went the same way. He’d tried to toss them toward the floor, but Zhan had intercepted, laying them carefully on the bed instead.

That earned him a look.
“What—are you a neat freak or something?”

Zhan chuckled.
“There’s no need to get messy, you know.”

“Oh, trust me—” Cool Guy’s grin flashed, that first-hit confidence sparking back to life, “—you’ll be messy in a second. Just wait.”

Then, with the kind of enthusiasm only someone that young (and well rested) could carry, he pushed Zhan down until his back hit the mattress.

Zhan let out a breath, heat pooling low and almost unbearable, and stretched his arms up over his head in invitation.
“So this is how you wanted me in your bed?”

The only answer he got was a low, throaty noise, followed by a hungry mouth crushing against his.

There was only one layer of fabric left between them—thin cotton clinging to overheated skin.

The boy’s kisses trailed from Zhan’s mouth down the line of his throat now and down and down...

Then the boy glanced up, that smile was back—cocky and devastating. His eyes flicked up, making sure Zhan was watching, before he leaned lower and caught the waistband of his underwear between his teeth, tugging it down.

That was… new. Zhan couldn’t remember anyone ever doing that to him before. And God, it was hot. Something he knew he’d remember for a long time.

With the last barrier gone, he reached down in return, fingers curling into Cool Guy’s waistband, tugging his underwear down as well.

When he finally got a look at him, Zhan’s eyes widened.

Big. Just like his hands.

Chapter Text

“So, what do you want, gege?” Cool Guy asked, hovering over him, completely bare.

Zhan had to take a moment, just to appreciate the sight of that young body above him. Perfect lines, lithe and strong. The boy noticed the look in his eyes and smiled.

“I think it’s your turn to be on your back,” Zhan said. He hadn’t felt this turned on in a long time, and he wanted to savor every second.

The boy’s smile softened, almost shy again, and he shifted off, lying down beside Zhan obediently.

Zhan chuckled. “Oh, so obedient. You like listening to instructions, huh?”

“Whatever gege wants.”

“Good.”

Zhan climbed over him, pressing close, skin to skin, pinning the boy to the mattress. His mouth and tongue moved in worship across bare skin. But after a moment, he felt the shift—the flicker of resistance.

Zhan stopped instantly, easing back to give him space.
“Did I make you uncomfortable?” he asked, no teasing in his voice now.

“No, it’s okay,” Cool Guy said quickly—but his eyes told a different story.

“What’s wrong then?”

The boy bit his lip.
“Sorry… I was more comfortable when you were the one on your back.”

“Okay. No problem.”

The boy let out a shaky breath and climbed back on top of him.

His mouth found Zhan’s again. Heat returned, rushing between them, and within moments they were touching each other with the same urgency as before.

Zhan let the boy set the pace this time. He didn’t want to scare him again.

And then—after a few heated kisses—the boy’s hand slid lower, tracing the faint line of his happy trail before wrapping firmly around him.

A groan tore out of Zhan’s chest before he could stop it.

The boy swallowed the sound, answering with a noise of his own.

That big hand circled his cock and began to move, slow at first, stroking from base to tip and back again.

God, those big hands felt better than he’d imagined. Exactly where he’d been thinking they should be.

The boy’s other hand slid down, caught Zhan’s wandering one, and guided it firmly down. His eyes were dark.

Zhan’s hand slid lower, circling around the boy’s cock. His pulse stuttered when he wrapped his fingers fully around it.

Big. Bigger than anything he’d ever had in his hand before.

He stroked slowly, savoring the feel, and the boy’s response was immediate. Little sounds spilled from him, hot against Zhan’s ear, each one making his own arousal throb harder.

Their mouths parted for now, both too lost in the heat sparking through their bodies, too focused on the rhythm of hands and the flush of skin against skin.

Zhan glanced down, caught sight of that broad hand working over him, and let out a shaky laugh.
“You know… that hand of yours,” he breathed, voice rough, “you could… take us both with it.”

The boy froze for a beat, motion pausing. Then his eyes flicked to Zhan’s. Slowly he nodded.

So Zhan lifted both hands, resting them above his head on the pillow. His chest rose and fell hard as he enjoyed the view.

The boy shifted lower, his thigh pressing against Zhan’s as he lined them up. Their cocks slid against each other, skin on skin, heat against heat. Then that big hand closed around them both.

Zhan had been right—his hand really was large enough to hold them together, wrapping around with ease.

The first stroke was slow, and Zhan’s body arched instinctively into the touch. He felt the boy’s cock against his own, the friction multiplied by the heat of that palm. Every nerve seemed to spark at once.

God, and that view. That big hand stroked them both like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

The boy was focused and dedicated, utterly intent on the task. His grip shifted, changing angles, sometimes slow, sometimes quick and tight.

Zhan’s head fell back against the pillow.
“Fuck… you’re good at this.”

The boy’s mouth curved in a crooked grin.

His hand picked up speed, strokes quick and relentless now, his gaze flicking between their cocks and Zhan’s face.

“Are you close, gege?” he asked when Zhan’s moans grew rougher, spilling out unrestrained.

“Yeah—just keep that up.”

The boy nodded, jaw tight, and his tempo grew frantic.

A moment later the boy’s body tensed, head tipping back, neck arched as his orgasm ripped through him.

Zhan followed soon after, shuddering hard as his own release hit, their gasps overlapping, the boy’s slick hand stroking them both through the aftershocks.

When it was done, they collapsed back, both of them marked by the mess streaking Zhan’s stomach.

For a beat, only their ragged breathing filled the room. Then the boy lifted his hand, glistening.
“See? Mess,” he said with a grin, “I told you.”

“Yeah, you were right.”

They had barely caught their breath, bodies still slick and heavy against the sheets, when Zhan’s phone started to buzz insistently on the nightstand.

He groaned, reaching for it with a scowl. The name on the screen made him sigh even harder.
Lulu.

“Shh,” he murmured toward the boy, pressing a finger briefly to his lips before sliding off the bed. He grabbed the phone, trying not to drip anything onto the floor as he padded toward the window.

He thumbed the call open. “Hi. What’s up? Not a really good moment,” he muttered.

“Oh, Zhan-Zhan, you’re sleeping already?”

“Not exactly,” Zhan said dryly.

“Doesn’t matter. Listen—new clue. You need to haul that lazy ass of yours to the address I’m sending.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. Tomorrow’s too late. Messages travel fast—you know that. The suspect just got home, so if you want to catch him, this is your shot.”

Zhan pinched the bridge of his nose, irritation coiling in his chest. “Fine.”

He dropped the phone onto the table with a dull thud. Almost immediately, the notification buzzed again—Lulu’s text with the address.

Zhan stared at the message, shoulders heavy. He’d been exhausted before he met the boy in the bar tonight; after the boy… well, he was wrung out in more ways than one. What he wanted now was simple: kick this cute, hot, cool—or whatever he was—boy out of his bed (gently) and collapse for a few hours.

Instead, duty called. Again.

“Okay,” Zhan said with a sigh, turning back toward the bed. “You have to leave... sorry.”

The boy’s eyes flickered, surprise flashing across them before he tried to cover it with a crooked smile.
“What? I thought maybe we’d go another round. Or is gege too old and tired already?” His tone was teasing, but there was a challenge in it too.

“No. Something came up. I have to go. So—leave now, please.”

He wasn’t cruel, just matter-of-fact. He never let hookups stay the night anyway. There were no exceptions.

The boy pushed up from the bed, movements sharp now, annoyance clear in every line of him. He started gathering his clothes—most of them still neatly folded at the foot of the bed, thanks to Zhan.

“So. You could at least give me your number, gege,” he said as he tugged his hoodie back on.

“I don’t think so,” Zhan answered flatly.

“Why not?”

“I don’t give my number to strangers.”

“Ah, I see. So you’ll give them your body, just not your number?”

That one landed like a blade.

He forced his tone steady. “It was just a one-night thing. No offense. You were great.” He meant it, but the words didn’t seem to land the way he wanted.

The boy pulled his jeans on, snapping them shut.
“So then… at least your name?”

Zhan’s patience thinned. “Just leave, okay?” he repeated, irritation edging his voice. Then he added, feeling it was a little harsh, “It’s nothing personal, really.”

The boy’s eyes lingered on him for a moment—something unreadable flickering there before it vanished.
“Yeah, sure. I get it.” He turned to the door, hand closing around the knob. “So… have a nice life, Handsome but cruel gege.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Zhan stood in the sudden silence, certain he would never see him again.
Thank God. That would’ve been embarrassing.

Chapter Text

How wrong he’d been, thinking he’d never see “Cool Guy” again.
Very wrong.

It happened a month later. Another city. Another bar.

The day had been easier than most—almost laughably so compared to what he was used to. Just a restless ghost, clinging to a place where something had been left unfinished. Two hours, tops: find the person tethered to it, help them with the closure they didn’t know they needed, and the haunting dissolved on its own. Simple as that.

After the nightmare case last month, things had been quiet. Too quiet, maybe, but he wasn’t complaining. For once, he wasn’t dragging himself around like some half-dead shell of a man. He was rested. Smiling more easily.

This was the version of himself the other hunters usually knew—the one who lit up a room, grin bright, words polite and smooth. Not the cranky, sharp-edged bastard who surfaced after three nights without sleep, blood still drying on his boots. That one always showed up eventually. But not tonight.

He was nursing his drink at the bar, half-distracted with thoughts of whether he should try that Thai massage place in town again. He’d gone once before—pleasant, surprisingly so. For a rare moment, his body hadn’t ached. Tempting.

He was lost in the thought when a voice—unmistakable—cut in from behind.
“Huh, the Handsome cruel gege himself. What a pleasure.”

The tone was sharper than last time, words edged like a blade slipped between ribs.

Zhan froze for a second, hand brushing the blade beneath his shirt on instinct, and turned. Yeah. Him. Cool Guy.

No hesitation this time. No polite ask. He slid onto the stool beside him like he owned it. Didn’t even look at Zhan first.

The bartender wandered over. “What can I get you?”

“Something strong. Not that sugar pretending to be a fancy drink that he’s drinking.” Cool Guy’s chin jerked toward Zhan’s glass.

Zhan made a face, biting back a retort. He couldn’t help himself—he studied him instead. Same sharp features. Same handsome body. Same big hands—
God, he’d almost forgotten those hands.

He was in a good mood tonight. He didn’t want a scene. So he smiled at Cool Guy.
“I didn’t expect to see you again.”

“Oh, be sure I didn’t expect it either.” Cool Guy’s voice was flat, irritation still bleeding through. “What are you doing here?”

“Business trip.”

“Me too.”

The bartender set a glass down in front of him. He tossed the drink back in one gulp, then tapped the counter for another without blinking.

“So… how have you been?”

Yes. Zhan was trying for small talk, though he wasn’t sure it would work. He was still thinking about that night. How sleep-deprived he’d been. Bone-tired. Too tired to bother with charm, too blunt to soften the edges. Normally, he could usher someone out of his bed so smoothly they walked away believing it had been their idea. That time, though? He’d been too harsh.

Cool Guy glanced at him, eyes cold.
“Good.”

That was it. One word.

Zhan sighed inwardly. Yeah. Didn’t look like there was going to be much of a conversation tonight.

But Zhan tried again, this time reaching for the best weapons he had—his brightest smile and that easy, practiced flirtation.

“So, Cool Guy, looking for some Handsome geges here in the bar?”

For the first time that evening, Cool Guy’s eyes actually landed on his face. Zhan caught the flicker of hesitation there.

“Not tonight. I’m not in the mood.”

His gaze slid back to the counter. He tossed back the rest of his second drink and tapped for a third.

At this pace, he’d be drunk within the hour.

“What, hard day at work?”
“Yeah. Some jerk blew up my gig.”
“Ah. That sucks.”

The boy’s eyes lingered on his face again. He was already a little flushed from the alcohol, and when the bartender slid the third glass across, he didn’t knock it back in one go—he sipped, slower now.

“How about you?” he asked after a pause.

“Everything’s fine,” Zhan said truthfully. “I finished my job here, so I can get out of this town tomorrow.”

“Ah. So you’re here just for tonight?”
“Yeah. You too?”
“Yes.” Another sip.

Zhan tried to keep his expression neutral now that Cool Guy was finally talking to him again, but that bright smile of his—it always wanted to slip through when he was in a good mood. Judging by the way Cool Guy’s gaze lingered, he’d noticed.

“So,” Cool Guy murmured, voice dropping half a pitch, “what are you doing after this, gege?”

The weight in the words wasn’t subtle. Neither was the way his eyes lingered on Zhan’s mouth.

And Zhan… well. He couldn’t deny it. The thought had already crossed his mind the moment he’d noticed those big hands again.

“It depends…” Zhan said.

“On what?”

“It depends on whether Cool Guy’s generous enough to forgive this gege—and waste a little time in his room. Or not.”

“And once the time’s wasted? Someone forgives, someone comes along... and then?”

Zhan wasn’t the type to lie. Everyone deserved to know exactly what to expect from him—and what not to.

“Then they part ways. And never meet again.”

Cool Guy’s mouth curved, a smile edged with something a little bitter.
“Okay.”

Chapter Text

The room was even smaller than the last one—bare walls, one narrow bed, barely enough space to turn around.

The door clicked shut behind them, and Zhan didn’t waste time. He turned, guiding Cool Guy back against it, pinning him gently. Not too much pressure—he remembered last time, the way the boy had stiffened when pressed too hard into the mattress. This time he was careful.

Their mouths crashed together. The taste of alcohol lingered on boy’s lips, sharp against Zhan’s tongue, but he didn’t care. He hadn’t had anyone since that night, and every nerve hummed with the memory of those big hands. They were on him again now—gripping, sliding, roaming—and God, they felt just as good as he remembered.

Between kisses, a breathless laugh escaped against his mouth.
“Oh, I really wanted that second round before, gege.”
“This is your second round.”

Zhan pressed harder into the kiss, teeth catching his lower lip.

Cool Guy’s grin curved wild.
“You know, I was planning back then to just get on my knees and—”

“What? Beg?”

The boy laughed. “No. Get on my knees and blow that pretty cock of yours.”

The words dragged something dark and hot down Zhan’s spine. “Oh,” he breathed, lips brushing the boy’s jaw. “Is that so?”

The answer was another kiss—harder one. Urgency threaded through every movement now. Clothes were tugged at, peeled away in clumsy haste.

Still, Zhan couldn’t help himself. When Cool Guy’s hoodie hit the floor, he bent, scooped it up, and tossed it onto the lone chair in the corner before shrugging off his own jacket to join it.

Boy laughed.
“You really are a neat freak.” His hand shoved against Zhan’s chest, playful, sending him stumbling back toward the bed. “I like it.”

Zhan hit the mattress with a grin spreading across his face, pulling the boy down after him.

They tangled together on the bed, mouths clutching, sliding, biting. Hands roamed freely across the hot skin.

Zhan let himself sink into it this time. Last time, he’d been too exhausted, letting himself drift along. Now, rested and sharp, he seized the moment. He explored, tasting every curve, every hollow of the boy’s body, marking him with lips and tongue.

Each time he found the right spot, the boy above him answered with those soft, breathy noises, spilling out like music.

“Oh—gege’s more energetic tonight,” he gasped between uneven breaths.

“Yeah,” Zhan murmured, his mouth dragging lower, tongue tracing a slow path. “I was pretty tired last time.”

He swept his tongue into the dip of his belly button, then farther down. The angle was awkward with the boy straddling above him.

“I can see.”

But soon the boy wasn’t in any state to hold a conversation. Zhan relished the muffled moans, the breathless whispers of “Gege…” He hadn’t made these kinds of noises last time—it would’ve been a shame never to hear them. Maybe it was good they’d met again after all.

“Gege, please…” the boy moaned when Zhan’s tongue lingered, teasing just above his cock. Was he even bigger than last time? Or had Zhan just forgotten the way he looked?

He didn’t tease for long. His hand wrapped around him instead, mapping every sharp line, every curve, drawing out wilder noises than before.

“Can you… sit there?” Zhan asked, nodding toward the wall behind the bed.

The boy’s eyes were hazy, but he nodded and pushed himself back against the wall. Perfect. If lying flat had made him feel trapped before, this position might be better.

Zhan stroked him a few more times, then leaned in and blew a soft breath over the tip.

“Fuck…” the boy’s body jolted, his hand gripping the sheets. “Do it again.”

So Zhan did. He exhaled slowly, then dragged his tongue across him, then breathed again. The reaction was instant—the boy looked like he could come just from that.

Zhan glanced up, flashed his brightest smile, and then finally took him into his mouth.

The boy’s breath caught. His eyes went wild, drinking in the sight of Zhan’s lips stretched around him.

Zhan took his time, alternating—slick licks, then sliding down from the tip to the middle, his hand working the rest in steady rhythm.

Soon, the boy’s noises grew louder, broken into fragments of “Fuck” and “Gege” and “Yeah, just like that—” Each one a spark straight into Zhan’s blood, stoking the heat higher.

God, this boy was so hot.

The boy’s voice suddenly broke, a loud moan spilling out as his whole body shuddered. Zhan felt the rush of release on his tongue. He swallowed, satisfied.

When he looked up, the boy was slumped back against the wall, chest heaving, face flushed bright.

“Oh, gege… that was so good.” His voice was wrecked, breathless. “Just give me a second and I’ll repay the favor.”

Zhan laughed softly, leaning closer to kiss his parted lips. For a moment the boy only breathed against him, then he kissed back. A second later, he pushed Zhan down, firm hands guiding him onto his back, reaching for his cock. His grip was already stroking.

Then he shifted, sliding lower, dropping onto his knees just like he’d said he planned weeks ago. His wide eyes flicked up once—then he leaned forward and took him in.

“Fuck,” Zhan hissed, his head falling back. The boy’s mouth was hot, wet and greedy. And big—God, even his mouth was big. He swallowed him down almost to the base, no hesitation, lips stretched wide and slick around him.

Thoughts scattered, pressed into some distant corner of his mind. Everything narrowed down to sensation—the heat of that mouth, the slick slide of saliva, the pressure of his tongue working him with ruthless rhythm.

It didn’t take long. Barely a few minutes before release tore through him, sharp and overwhelming.

The boy swallowed him down, then crawled back up, pressing a kiss to his mouth. Their tongues tangled, the taste of each other shared between them.

For a while they just lay there on the bed. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable the way Zhan would have imagined.

Eventually, the boy shifted. He pressed one last kiss to Zhan’s mouth, then pulled back and pushed himself upright. Clothes were lifted from the chair, tugged back on with unhurried motions.

Zhan stayed where he was, watching through half-lidded eyes as he buttoned his jeans and pulled his hoodie over his head.

At the door, the boy paused. His hand lingered on the knob, his face turning toward Zhan again.

“Have a nice life, Handsome gege. Don’t forget to fold your clothes into nice piles.“

The faintest curve of a smile touched his lips before he opened the door and slipped out.

Zhan let out a breath.

Somehow, he still convinced himself this was the last time he’d see Cool Guy.

Chapter Text

The air inside the building was thick—dust and rot, the kind of smell that clung to the back of your throat.
Zhan moved silently, blade loose but ready in his grip, eyes scanning the shadows for movement. Every nerve was on edge.

The demon had run in here. He’d tracked it across half the city. Now, cornered, it was only a matter of time before he caught it.

He shifted his footing, boots crunching faintly on broken glass. The place looked like it had been abandoned for years—boards nailed over the windows, holes in the ceiling letting in thin slivers of moonlight. The dark pressed close.

A sound cracked deeper inside—a scrape, a step too heavy to be vermin. Zhan stilled.
Another sound. A breath. Someone—or something—was there.

He raised his knife higher and swung around the corner—then froze.

Cool Guy.

What the hell was he doing here?

And then Zhan saw it: the weapon in his hand, the faint shimmer along the edge. Demon-forged steel.

They stared at each other across the dark, blades raised, shock plain on both faces.

Cool Guy’s brow furrowed. “What the hell are you doing here, gege?”

Zhan’s grip tightened. His eyes stayed locked on the blade.
“You know, that’s not a toy for little boys.”

“Good thing I’m not a little boy, then.” He smirked—and even had the nerve to wink.

For a beat, silence stretched.

“You’re a hunter,” Zhan said finally.

Cool Guy tilted his head. “Well… obviously. Same as you.”

“The demon came this way.”

“I know. I was tracking it first.” His voice carried that smug edge. Then: “Wait… was that you who blew up my last gig? That’s why you were in the same town, wasn’t it?”

A sound rattled at the far end of the hall, cutting through the words—something shifting in the dark. Instinctively, both fell silent, blades angling toward the noise.

“We’ll deal with this later. I have work to do.”

“Fine. Just stay out of my way, old man. You owe me anyway.”

Before Zhan could answer, the floor groaned.

A figure lunged out of the shadows—too fast for an ordinary man.

The demon-ridden body slammed between them, swinging wildly. Zhan ducked the first blow, bringing his blade up. Sparks lit the dark as steel scraped against the jagged metal pipe clutched in the man’s hands.

Across from him, Yibo was already moving. He didn’t go for a killing strike either. Good. Not all hunters remembered there was still a human being inside. (Sometimes not alive anymore—but one couldn’t be sure until it was over, could they?) His blade flashed low, slicing across the man’s thigh.

The host roared, staggering, then came at Zhan again. No more clever words now like before, when he’d been chased through the streets. Good. Zhan caught his wrist, twisted hard, forcing the weapon wide. The effort rattled through his arms, the stink of sweat and rust thick in his lungs.

They moved through the ruined hallway like men in a street brawl, boots grinding glass, shoulders slamming against walls.

When the host lunged at Yibo, Zhan swept in low, driving the body sideways into the peeling plaster. Yibo was there instantly, blade angled at the throat, pressed just hard enough to make the thing hesitate.

“Well, well,” the demon finally found its voice—or rather, used the voice it had stolen. “The famous young hunter himself. You know, there’s nothing left to save here, so—”

Zhan shoved his blade harder into the ribs, cutting him off. The demon only laughed, ready to spit more poison, but Zhan’s voice cut sharper. Latin rolled rough and practiced from his mouth.

“Exorcizo te, omnis immundus spiritus…”

The laughter broke. The thing shuddered, its grin faltering under the syllables. Good. Demons could be dangerous with their words. Better to silence them fast.

“Omnis satanica potestas…”

Yibo’s grip didn’t falter, his blade angled at the throat, sweat streaking his jaw. His eyes flicked toward Zhan.

“In nomine Domini nostri…”

The thing inside howled, black foam flecking his lips. The body convulsed once, then again.

Zhan let the final words fade. Black smoke curled from the man’s mouth, dissipating into the dark. He eased his blade back, scanning the man’s face. The black streak in his eyes was gone. Then the body gave out, crumpling to the ground.

“Jesus…” Yibo muttered, stepping back. “I think he’s dead.” He turned away, pulling a rag from his pocket to clean his blade.

Zhan lowered himself beside the body, pressing two fingers to the throat. Nothing. No pulse. Damn it.

Footsteps thundered down the hall. Both of them whipped their blades up again—but it was only another hunter. Weapon raised, scanning the place.

Zhan recognized him. Tao. They’d worked a few cases together.

Tao’s gaze darted from the body on the ground to the pair of them.
“Yibo! You okay?”

The boy’s head turned at once. “I’m fine.”

Zhan froze. The name hit him like a flare.
…Yibo?

Wait. Wang Yibo?

Chapter Text

Zhan knew the name. Everyone in hunter circles knew the name.

Wang Yibo.

He’d even met him before. Crossed paths a few times, actually—but one encounter burned itself into memory. Back when Zhan was still a teenager, sharpening his edges, and Yibo was just a kid. Seven years old, terrified of the dark, crouched under a hotel desk with a flashlight clutched like a lifeline.

Not much of a threat that night—just a restless ghost trailing him after he’d opened the wrong box. One of those boxes hunters used to stash cursed objects, sealed tight with wards scrawled across the lid. Zhan remembered thinking the kid was a little dumb. Hadn’t his father taught him rule number one? Never touch a box with seals on it.

But the damage had been done, and there hadn’t been anyone else around. Zhan had been staying in the next room over. He’d heard the scream and burst in.

Yibo was white as a sheet, eyes wide, shaking as the ghost hissed around him. Zhan shoved the picture—the source of all the trouble—back into the box, and the boy latched onto him, trembling so hard it rattled his teeth. He wouldn’t let go.

Zhan remembered crouching low, muttering, “It’s okay now. But you can’t open things like that again. Ever.” The boy’s big eyes had filled with tears, nodding so hard his head nearly fell off.

Zhan had stayed a little longer, waiting for the shaking to ease. Then he slipped back to his own room before anyone could notice. If their fathers found out, the kid would’ve been in trouble. Even so, Zhan could still hear those harsh little breaths echoing in his ears when he lay down that night.

Two years later, Yibo disappeared from the hunter world. Everyone knew why. His mother had taken him out of the hunter world, determined to carve out some normal life for her son. A noble effort. Futile, as it turned out. She died when he was seventeen. After that, Yibo went back to his father. Picked up a blade again. And by now—barely twenty-one—he’d already carved himself a reputation. One of the best hunters in the country for his age.

Zhan knew all of this. He just hadn’t connected that Wang Yibo with the boy he’d met in bar.

So. He’d slept with Wang Yibo.

Great. His father would be proud.
Except Zhan could never tell him. Not in this lifetime. Their fathers had been friends, of a sort. Worked cases together sometimes. Shared drinks. Respected each other. And if his old man ever learned Zhan had hooked up—twice—with his buddy’s kid? Yeah. No. Not happening.

The thought sat heavy in his head as Tao drove them back across the city. Rain tapped the roof, the city lights smeared across the windshield. Zhan stayed in the back seat, arms folded, gaze fixed on the blur outside.

Yibo sat up front, beside Tao. Which was good. Perfect, actually. Zhan didn’t want to talk to him yet.

Tao invited Zhan back to their hotel room, and Zhan, ever the polite one when he had the energy for it, didn’t say no.

The room had two beds, one on either side. Yibo went straight to the one under the window. It was a disaster—clothes piled in messy heaps, a knife half-hidden, rolling carelessly on the blanket. Zhan’s brows ticked up. Careless boy.

Tao cracked open the minibar, pulled out a few cans, and handed Zhan a beer. Out of the corner of his eye, Zhan caught the curl of Yibo’s lips when he glanced at the can, then at Zhan’s face—as if he was remembering those sweet, fancy drinks and wondering if Zhan could actually handle real beer.

Zhan took the can, gave a shallow shrug, and sipped. The bitterness spread across his tongue.

“You were working this case too, right?” Tao asked.
“Yeah. I thought no hunters were coming, so I started early.”
“Oh, they told us we might meet you here. See, Yibo? I told you he’s good.”

Yibo gave a noncommittal sound, a grunt more than a word.

“So you two know each other?” Tao pressed. “Your fathers are friends, right?”

The question hung heavy. Neither of them looked at the other. Finally, Zhan answered, clipped:
“Yes.”

”We met a few times… long ago,” Yibo added smoothly. So he remembered him as a kid—but he wasn’t about to admit to more recent… encounters. Fine. Let that be the official version, then.

“Oh yeah?” Tao leaned back, curious.

“I didn’t realize he’d be this old, though. But then again, he felt pretty old even when I was a kid, so…”

What? He was a teenager then!

“Yibo!” Tao warned, sharp.

“Sorry.” Too quick. Not sorry at all.

He bent, scooping up a shirt, folding it onto the chair beside his bed. Tao’s eyes moved away, and the moment they did, Yibo’s mouth tilted back up into that crooked smile—aimed squarely at Zhan—as he reached for another piece of clothing.

Tao’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. He glanced at it, then at them.
“Sorry, guys. I’ve gotta report in.”
He ducked out into the hall, already thumbing the screen, voice dropping as the door clicked shut behind him.

Yibo was still folding clothes. Shirt after shirt, stacked in neat piles on the chair. He even smoothed over nonexistent wrinkles, eyes locked boldly on Zhan—as if daring him to come over and do something about it.
Brat.

Zhan tried not to look at those big hands. Just in case.

After a while, he couldn’t hold back.
“What are you doing?”

“Just folding clothes. What’s it look like?”

Zhan knew exactly what the kid was doing. Teasing him. Mocking him.
He let him have it, said nothing, and took another sip of his beer.

When Yibo finished with his task, he sat on the bed and took his phone from his pocket. Phone lit in his hand. He thumbed through a few screens quietly, then looked up.
“You know—I actually already have your number.”

“…What?”

Yibo stood up and walked over, holding the phone out like evidence. The screen glowed with Zhan’s number, saved under the name Xiao Zhan.
“My father gave it to me a long time ago. Just in case. So I didn’t really need to ask for it after all.”

He tapped the screen once, quick, then glanced up with a spark in his eyes.
“I just have to change the contact name.”

That crooked, wicked smile curved back onto his mouth as he brought the phone closer, thumbs moving fast.

Zhan braced himself, half-expecting Handsome gege or maybe Old man to appear in big bold letters.

But when Yibo turned the screen toward him again, the new name blinked at him.

Neat Freak.

“Hey—!“

Zhan couldn’t help himself—his hand shot out and smacked Yibo’s lightly, knocking the phone away.

Yibo jumped back with a laugh. Zhan was not proud of how easily he lost his composure.

And of course, that was the exact moment Tao pushed the door open again. He froze for half a second, probably catching just enough of the motion to see Zhan’s hand swat Yibo’s.
“Hey, what—?”

“Nothing, nothing, Tao-ge,” Yibo cut in quickly, voice all innocence. “Everything’s fine.”

Tao’s sharp eyes flicked between the two of them. After a long second, he just shook his head and stepped inside.

“Anyway. Everything’s reported. All settled. Body was found ‘by accident’ by some old lady. Police are handling it now.” His tone was flat, matter-of-fact. “Safe for us. No one saw a thing.”

Fine. They could call it a night, move on from town first thing in the morning.
And then he would never—
…Okay. Who was he kidding? He wasn’t so naïve anymore. He was sure he’d run into Wang Yibo again.

Chapter Text

When Zhan thought about seeing Wang Yibo again, he figured it would be sometime. A week, maybe. A month if luck was on his side. Certainly not the very next morning. But of course, he should’ve known better by now. His luck with that boy was shit.

His phone buzzed against the nightstand, screen lighting up with one word: Dad.
Perfect. The one person who never called just to say hi.

Zhan dragged a hand over his face and answered, still half-buried in the pillow.

“Hi, Zhan,” his father’s voice came steady, no-nonsense.

“Hi, Dad.”

“You’re up?”

“Oh yes,” Zhan lied smoothly, though his eyes were barely open.

“Good. I talked with Tao. He said you worked together last night, right?”

“Yeah, we did.” A pause. Even if most of the work had been with Wang Yibo, Zhan thought. No need for his father to know that part.

“I heard Yibo was there too.”

Great. So his father had already heard. Information traveled faster than demons.

“You know,” his dad went on, “Yibo’s father asked me if you could supervise his kid a little. Yibo’s really good, but he tends to rush into fights. Doesn’t always think first. And he could use a lesson or two from you.”

Zhan pressed his palm over his eyes. Supervise? He could think of a few other verbs for what he’d done with Yibo before—and not one of them was supervise. Definitely nothing he’d ever confess to his father.

“Right…” he muttered.

“They’re heading out this morning,” his father continued. “Some town around hundred miles from you. Witch case. I told Tao you’re still the best damn witch expert we’ve got.”

Zhan exhaled through his nose. Of course. Drag the witch expert into it.

“Uh-huh.”

“So? Can you join them?”

There it was. Not a request. Not really. His father never asked.

Zhan rolled onto his back, staring up at the stained ceiling.
Yeah. He should’ve known better.

The drive to the next town was supposed to take just a couple of hours.
Zhan told himself he could handle that. Easy. Get behind the wheel, turn on the radio, let the hum of the highway do its work. And not think about the fact that he’d be working—supervising!—Yibo for at least a few days. Maybe even two weeks, depending on the case.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to handle it. Yibo was clearly a brat—he’d seen enough of that yesterday—and… well. His hands were too big. And it was wildly inappropriate to think about those hands under these new circumstances. He just had to keep his distance and everything would be fine.

After the case, he’d find an excuse to run to the opposite side of the country and hope he wouldn’t see Yibo again until he’d replaced the memory of those hands (and other parts of his body) with someone else’s. Yeah. First chance he got, he should get laid.

He tossed his bag into the trunk, got into his car, and waited. He had navigation, but he wanted Tao to lead.

Then the passenger door clicked open. He looked up, expecting Tao with some last-minute instructions—but—
“Good morning, ge. Nice car. Can I ride with you?”

Of course. Wang Yibo.

He leaned in, grin wide, scanning Zhan’s face.
“Ge, did you have your beauty sleep?”

Zhan didn’t answer. He still hoped a glare might scare Yibo out of his car. But this was Wang Yibo—the fearless young hunter of the decade.

“…Wait—” Yibo leaned closer. “I think I see some new wrinkles. Definitely woke up too early. You should rest more.”

Before Zhan could say something—probably very rude—or smack him again like yesterday, Yibo had already slid in, dropped his bag on the back seat, and buckled in like he owned the place.

Zhan’s jaw flexed.
“Why don’t you go with Tao?”

“You’re more interesting,” Yibo answered, eyes bright with mischief.

Zhan sighed. He didn’t have much of a choice here, did he? Maybe he’d underestimated just how bad his luck with this boy really was.

“Fine. But if you don’t behave, I will stop and drop you in Tao’s car myself.”

Yibo flashed his brightest smile, then lifted his hand to his mouth and pretended to zip it shut.

Still, the first stretch of the drive wasn’t as awful as he’d braced for. Tao’s car kept a steady pace in front of him, the radio filled the silence with easy melodies, and Yibo—miraculously—actually stayed quiet. He leaned against the window, watching the blur of fields and road signs slide past. For a while, Zhan could almost believe he’d lucked out.

But thirty minutes in, Yibo started to shift in his seat. He looked like he wanted to say something—Zhan even felt his gaze on him for a moment—before he turned back to the window. Fine. Maybe he had scared him a little with that threat. But… obviously not enough. Because after a few more false starts, he finally broke the silence.

“So. Witch expert, huh? I could see it coming.”

Zhan kept his eyes on the road. Smart boy—playing it safe, talking about work.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean… you know, back when we were kids,” Yibo said. “That case down south? Witch case? We were supposed to be building a Lego set in the corner, but you—ge—you weren’t paying attention to the pieces at all. You were too busy listening to the grown-ups talk.”

“Oh. That. Yeah.” Zhan exhaled. “Guess that was the first time I heard about witches outside theory.”

Yibo let out an amused smile, but Zhan didn’t notice.

The memory came back sharp. A nameless hotel room, their fathers crowded around a table with old books and coffee cups. He didn’t remember Yibo in that moment, not clearly, but he could imagine it. It was always the same: hunters’ kids old enough to start learning left in the corner to play while the adults talked about killing, slicing, and every other thing that would’ve terrified their mothers if they knew the details.

Zhan’s father regularly worked with other hunters, and at least ten of them had sons. Most of those boys were grown now, hunters themselves. Some Zhan even counted as friends—or close enough to meet and work a case together sometimes, but not so close that you’d mourn too deeply if something happened to them. That was hunter life. No wonder so many mothers wanted to grab their kids and run.

“Yeah, you were more the theory kind of kid, I remember,” Yibo said. “All glasses and books… boring. No fun with you back then. If I’d only known—”

The smack landed before Zhan could stop himself, cutting the rest of that sentence short. Yibo only laughed, and then—for once—let him be for the rest of the ride. Thank God for small mercies.

But Zhan’s newly regained, more-or-less good mood didn’t last long.

At the hotel reception, a pleasant woman gave them a practiced smile.

“So sorry, gentlemen—we only have two rooms left. But three beds, don’t worry. It’s peak season, lots of tourists…”

Zhan barely heard the rest. All he wanted was to drop his bag, close a door, and get to a shower.

“Yes, sure. We’ll take the two rooms.”

Except, of course, it immediately became a problem.

As they headed down the hall, he caught Yibo’s voice behind him.

“No, that’s okay, Tao-ge. You get the single. I’ll bunk with Xiao Zhan—he’s supposed to be supervising me, right?”

Zhan turned, speechless for a moment. Which meant what happened next was entirely the fault of his useless mouth.

“Yeah, that’s a great idea, Yibo,” Tao said warmly. “You can help him with research and learn something. You know your father wants you to focus more on that part. You fight great, but you’ve got gaps in the research. Xiao Zhan can teach you about witches, and how this kind of work gets done…”

“Tao—” He finally found his voice. But too late. Tao was already smiling at him.

“It’s not a problem for you, right?”

And Zhan—always polite when it came to work (or when he was in a good mood, which he very much wasn’t)—forced the words out:
“Yes. No problem at all.”

Damn mouth.

Chapter Text

Xiao Zhan had always been known as someone who liked things clean.
Not during a hunt—he wasn’t afraid to get blood on his hands or dirt under his nails if the job demanded it. But the moment he came back to a room, he headed straight for the shower. Clean as soon as possible.

Order mattered to him, too. Clothes folded into neat piles (exactly as Yibo had teased him about—and annoyingly, the brat hadn’t even been wrong). Skincare lined up in the order he used it before bed. Even his toothbrush sat in a straight line with the toothpaste. It wasn’t that he’d die if things were out of place… he just preferred them right. And he hated when other people disturbed his space.

That was why he usually avoided sharing rooms. Sometimes it was unavoidable—with his father, or with another hunter—but whenever he had the choice, he chose solitude.

So when Wang Yibo shoved his way into Zhan’s room, into his space, and started unpacking like he belonged there…
Well. The next few days were going to be hell in more ways than one.

Zhan usually didn’t even bother unpacking if a job was only going to take a night or two. But this one already looked like it might stretch longer—ten days, maybe more. So he made an exception. He unpacked methodically. Shirts, pants, underlayers. Neat, orderly, folded just so. Right side of the wardrobe.

That left the left side empty. Which Yibo promptly claimed.

He dumped his bag onto the bed, dragged it open, and started pulling things out. T-shirts, jeans, socks—the bed looked exactly like the disaster Zhan had seen yesterday. Then he began shoving them into the wardrobe. Folded straight across the middle.

What kind of monster folded clothes in the middle?

And it wasn’t like he didn’t know how to do it properly. He’d shown that yesterday, all smug with his neat little piles. So this—this was deliberate. The brat was provoking him again, only this time in the opposite direction.

Zhan froze mid-motion, unable to stop staring.

“Don’t look at me like that, ge. It’s just clothes,” Yibo said, flashing a grin over his shoulder as he kept going.

Zhan sat down hard on his own bed (which, unfortunately, wasn’t nearly far enough to block the view) before he did something stupid.

He thought he’d finally won a moment of peace when Yibo headed for the bathroom. But a minute later, the sound of things clattering against porcelain had him grinding his teeth. He knew that sound. That was the sound of his things.

He hurried after him before there was more damage. But… it was already too late. Yibo had one of his skincare jars in his (big) hand.

“Ge, I knew it! I knew you were using a bunch of this stuff. That’s why your skin looks so perfect up close. Not fair—you’re so old, but your face is smoother than mine. Maybe I’ll try it, what do you think?”

Zhan snatched the jar out of his hand and set it back in its exact spot. “Don’t touch that.”

“Okay, okay, don’t worry!”

But then he leaned in closer again, eyes skimming the labels of the other bottles—pretending to read them, maybe, who knew—and of course, his fingers touched everything. Toner swapped with moisturizer, serum shoved to the far side, cleanser—Zhan didn’t have a chance to catch it—knocked onto the floor and spun under the drawer.

“Oops?”

Zhan’s jaw tightened. His hands twitched. He bent—Yibo’s eyes definitely dropped to his ass, didn’t they?—and retrieved the cleanser, setting it back exactly where it belonged.

“Sorry, ge.” Yibo’s voice sounded sincere, but Zhan didn’t believe a word.

And then—the final straw—he pulled out his own toothbrush and set it neatly right beside Zhan’s. Completely ignoring the other, totally empty cup.

“Okay, ge, I’m going to shower now, if you don’t mind. So are you stepping out of the bathroom, or you don’t mind sharing while—”

He didn’t even finish before Zhan turned on his heel, storming out with quick steps. The door shut loudly behind him, Yibo’s goose-laugh chasing him into the room.

It took Zhan only an hour of sharing a hotel room with Yibo to realize the only way he was going to survive this whole… situation… was to focus on the case and finish it as fast as possible.

That one hour had included unpacking, Yibo’s shower, and then his very naked body strolling casually back into the room with a breezy, “Oops—forgot to bring my clothes. But you already saw all this, right? You don’t mind?”

So yeah. Only way…

His personal record on a difficult witch case was eight days. This time he’d push it down to six, even if it killed him. Because if not—he wasn’t sure what would happen.

So. The case.

It had started with a string of strange murders over the last three weeks. Three victims, each seemingly unconnected—different ages, different professions, different neighborhoods. No forced entry. No clear motive. But every single one had been found dead in their own home, with no evident cause of death, bodies untouched.

Police and doctors (and hunters with contacts in the precinct and hospital) were baffled. But then, two days ago, near one of the bodies with the same “symptoms,” someone had found a little handmade package wrapped in dark thread. Inside: hair, bone fragments, scraps of paper scrawled with symbols. Witchcraft.

There had probably been more packages near the other victims too—only the witch had been quick enough to snatch them back before anyone noticed. Last time, they weren’t fast enough. Clear as daylight to any hunter with half a brain.

That was why the case had landed in their laps.

Now they needed to trace the pattern, find what linked the victims, and follow the thread until it led them straight to whoever was killing people. Preferably before someone else ended up dead.
And before Zhan lost his mind.

He pulled his laptop from his bag and set it on the desk.

Yibo was sprawled across the bed, phone in hand, but his eyes kept sliding toward him—first at the bag, then at the screen. Curious. Probably expecting Zhan to drag out some giant, dusty old tome like the older hunters always did.

Well, sorry to disappoint. It was the twenty-first century. No need to lug around a library when he had everything scanned or online.

“How do we start, ge?” Yibo asked, setting his phone aside and dragging the other chair right up next to Zhan’s.

Zhan resisted the urge to shift away. Every instinct told him to put more distance between himself and that freshly showered, fruit-scented body radiating heat just inches away.

“Will you behave now?” he asked, giving him a sharp look.

“When didn’t I?” Yibo countered, wounded innocence all over his face.

“Okay… we need to find out everything we can about the victims first. Try to spot the connection.”

Yibo’s brows drew together, thinking hard.
“Like what exactly?”

“Like mutual friends, or the same hobby, same book club, vacation in the same place around the same time… anything.”

“That’s hard. You do this kind of work often?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re so smart, gege. I’m usually not patient enough.” His eyes brightened with admiration as he said it.

Zhan deliberately ignored the praise—and the endearment—and just kept going.
“After we find the connection, we can work from there.”

He pulled up the local online papers and started reading aloud.

“So. First victim. Male, forty-six. Lived alone. Unemployed, took odd jobs when he could. Found dead by his neighbor when he didn’t show up—he was supposed to help her cut the grass. No wounds on the body. No sign of a package either.”

Yibo leaned in closer, shoulder brushing Zhan’s. “So it could’ve been natural? And the hunters just overreacted?”

“Pretty sure it wasn’t,” Zhan said. “Doctors and police found nothing. Perfectly healthy. Nothing in his blood. Nothing that could explain death.”

“Okay… second victim?”

“Male, twenty-eight. Language teacher. Lived on the opposite side of town from the first. No acquaintances in common, no mutual friends. Different circles entirely. Found at home. Same deal—no cause of death.”

“Also alone?”

“Also alone,” Zhan confirmed.

“So… that’s the only pattern, right? Both men, both living alone?”

Zhan scrolled further. “Yeah. The third as well. Male, sixty-three. Retired, used to play in a military band. Found dead in his bed. Again, no injuries. But this time…” He tapped the line on the screen. “There was a package. On the bed, right beside him.”

“So the witch messed up. Didn’t have time to take it back.”

“Exactly. Which means we’ve got proof now. And it means we need to find the link before another body turns up.”

Chapter Text

Zhan spent another hour digging into the third victim’s file, cross-checking names, looking for patterns. Finally, he had enough to justify a visit.

Neighbors were always good for gossip; sometimes they knew more about a person’s habits than the victim’s family did.

Which was how Zhan found himself standing outside a small, well-kept apartment building, trying very hard not to look at the boy beside him.

Yibo had borrowed Tao’s tux. Tao was broader in the shoulders, longer in the legs, so the fit wasn’t perfect—just a little loose here, a little too long there. Yibo tugged at the sleeves, then smoothed the lapel like he wasn’t quite sure how to stand in it. For once, there was the smallest edge of nervousness in him.

“So…” he asked, “how do I look?”

Zhan didn’t answer right away. Not because he hadn’t looked—he had, earlier, and that had been the mistake. Damn it, the boy looked too good.

Zhan kept his eyes forward. “You look fine. Let’s go.”

“You didn’t even look at me, ge,” Yibo pressed.

“I looked,” he muttered. “You look good. Satisfied?”

That grin spread fast across Yibo’s face. “Mm. Could be better, but I’ll take all compliments from gege.”

Zhan turned back toward the street before the satisfaction in that voice could sink too deep. He needed to keep his focus.

“Come on,” he said gruffly. “We’ve got work to do.”

The neighbor was an old woman, neat gray curls framing her face, a faded cardigan pulled over her shoulders. She stood in the doorway, cautious at first, but softened when Zhan gave her his most professional (and blinding) smile and introduced them as investigators.

“Oh, Mr. Cheng?” she said. “Good man. Served in the army when he was younger, you know. Always stood straight. Sometimes I’d hear him playing his horn—” she mimed a brass instrument with her hands, “—one of those army band things. Not often, though. And never loud enough to be a nuisance.”

She leaned against the doorframe, sighing. “Mostly he kept to himself. Stayed home. His son visited now and then, with his wife and children. Nice family. The little ones always so polite.”

“And his wife?” Zhan asked.

The woman shook her head. “Divorced. Years ago. His wife moved to the big city. They don’t have contact anymore, far as I know.”

Zhan nodded, gestured for Yibo to take notes. The boy scribbled quickly—Zhan just hoped it would be legible later.

“And… other visitors?”

The woman’s brows lifted. “Sometimes he’d bring a lady home. Not always the same one, I think. They’d come late, leave early. You know how men are. Even at his age…”

Yibo’s mouth twitched like he was about to say something—definitely something inappropriate—but Zhan shut it down with a quick glance. So Yibo ducked back into his notebook instead.

“And the night he died?” Zhan asked.

The old woman shook her head. “Police already asked me. I didn’t notice anyone that night. Nothing strange. I went to bed early. By morning… well.” Her lips pursed. “It was already too late.”

Zhan thanked her politely, Yibo closed his notebook, and they stepped back as she shut the door.

“So, ge…” Yibo said once they were back on the street, “a respectable old army man, divorced, mostly quiet—but sneaking people in at night. Tsk, tsk.”

Zhan shot him a look.

“Nothing bad about that.” It came out sharper than he meant—too defensive. Yibo caught it.

“What? You don’t think it’s inappropriate? Not to mention dangerous. One of them must’ve been our witch. He probably ended up dead just because he wanted to get laid…” Yibo lifted his brows pointedly. “You should be more careful yourself, you know.”

He lengthened his stride, heading for the car before Zhan could answer.

Zhan followed, a little surprised. Was Yibo judging him? Wasn’t that exactly the sort of thing Yibo did too?

Besides, Zhan was careful. Always. He made sure the people he brought back were—well, people. Not monsters. And even if someone dangerous somehow slipped past his tests, he wasn’t some oblivious teacher or aging ex-soldier with no clue the supernatural was real.

Still, he kept his mouth shut. Yibo didn’t need those details, did he?

By the time they reached the car, Yibo’s sharpness had already melted and he looked normal again.

“So… what next, ge?” he asked as Zhan started the engine and steered toward the center of town.

“I think we should check the other two victims,” Zhan said, grateful to be focusing on work again. “Hopefully the neighbors will have something useful.”

“You think they were sneaking people in too?”

“It’s possible. All three were alone. Maybe they picked someone up at the same club…”

“…and took the same witch home with them.” Yibo finished.

“Yeah. Let’s start with the teacher. He’s closer. If we’re lucky, we’ll get a lead tonight.”

And then Zhan could finish the case in record time and run as far away as possible—to someplace without a handsome, provocative young hunter in his hotel room. And without anyone judging his so-called sleeping habits, thank you very much.

With that thought, he tightened his grip on the wheel and turned the radio low.

Two hours later, they finally had a solid clue—just as Zhan had expected.

The teacher’s younger sister was the one they found in his house, packing up his things. She didn’t look particularly broken up about the loss. And she certainly didn’t hold back.

“Yes, I told the police already,” she said sharply. “He never stuck to one person. Women, men—one on each hand, always. I told him someday it would be a betrayed husband, or a betrayed wife, doesn’t matter which, and he’d end up badly. But he never listened. He never listened to his younger sister. Why would he?”

Zhan took careful notes, watching her with a critical eye. She didn’t seem like she’d lost someone, not really. That made him wonder. He’d have to check her background properly, make sure she didn’t have her own motive—or that she wasn’t somehow tied to the other victims.

She gave them the names of a few clubs and bars he’d visited. It was a start. They just needed to see if the others had gone to the same places too.

By the time they tried their luck at the first victim’s street, the house was dark. Only one neighbor answered—a middle-aged man with a flat stare and arms crossed.

“Busy,” he said curtly. “Didn’t know him well. Don’t know anything.” And the door shut.

So that was the end of the night, Zhan figured. Close to evening anyway. His stomach was already reminding him it had been a long day.

Chapter Text

The night had settled heavy over the town, streetlamps spilling pale pools of light onto the pavement. They’d left the car near the hotel earlier—traffic had been bad enough, and hunting for parking was pointless. Better to walk. After a quick dinner, they headed back the same way.

Zhan walked with his hands in his pockets, mind still circling the case. Beside him, Yibo practically vibrated with restless energy. Out of the corner of his eye, Zhan caught the familiar fidget, the way the boy kept sneaking glances at him—just like this morning in the car, when he’d tried to stay quiet and failed miserably.

It was happening again.

Sure enough, after a beat, Yibo turned toward him, a grin tugging at his mouth.

“So, ge… want a fancy drink?”

Zhan stopped mid-step.

“What? Why?”

Yibo blinked at him, all false innocence.

“Isn’t this what you do after work? Go to some bar and order your cocktail?” His grin edged wider. “I can buy you one this time.”

Zhan was about to shut Yibo down immediately, sharp and final—but then he stopped.

What the hell? What were his options, really?

If they went back to the hotel now, it was too early to sleep. Which meant sitting in the same room together, with nowhere to escape, while Tao was off on his own errands. Not much possibility there except for Yibo finding new and inventive ways to drive him insane.

At least in a bar, surrounded by people, the brat might be forced to keep the teasing dialed down. Probably safer for Zhan’s sanity.

“Fine,” he said at last.

Yibo blinked, surprised. “Really?”

“You didn’t mean it seriously?”

“No, no, I did! I’ll buy you a cocktail. Or maybe even something stronger. If you want.”

That little satisfied grin stayed put as he fell into step beside him, throwing the occasional sidelong glance at Zhan’s face, then down his back, then up again.

The nearest bar wasn’t hard to find—a corner place with warm yellow lights glowing over the entrance, a low hum of voices spilling into the street. Yibo pushed the door open.

Inside, it smelled exactly the way bars always did—alcohol with something sweet clinging under it.

“Where do you want to sit, ge?” Yibo asked.

“At the bar is fine.”

That was his habit. Tables were for work—for interviews, contacts, exchanging information. The bar was for everything else. For being off-duty.

He could feel Yibo’s eyes on him, like he was measuring something. Almost… nervous? Damn it. Did the brat actually think this was a date?

Zhan really hoped not. Because it wasn’t.

Sure, they’d ended up in bars together before. Twice. And yes, both times had ended in Zhan’s bed in the end. But that hadn’t meant anything. Just two paths crossing for the evening—not even for the whole night—and then splitting again.

This was different. They were colleagues now. And Zhan didn’t sleep with colleagues. Not anymore.

Except—when he finally glanced at Yibo, the boy looked like he might be hoping it could end the way it had before.

They sat down, and Yibo leaned toward the bartender. They ordered—cocktail for Zhan, beer for Yibo.

Then Zhan turned to him slowly.
“You know,” he said, “we just came here for a drink. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Sure, sure.”

Zhan wasn’t convinced for a second. Because truthfully, sitting here—same kind of bar, same drinks, same atmosphere—it reminded him of those nights too. The ones that had ended with heat and tangled sheets, with Yibo’s hands on him and his—

Stop. Stop before this turned into a problem with his trousers.

Goddamn it, Xiao Zhan. You’re a grown man. Behave like one.

He pressed his lips together, forced the thoughts away.
“You know it’s not gonna happen again,” he said firmly.

Yibo looked at him curiously as he lifted his beer halfway to his lips. “What’s not gonna happen again?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t know what you mean, ge. Tell me.”

Zhan sighed. He knew exactly what Yibo was doing—playing dumb.
“You know I mean… sex,” he whispered the last word.

“Sex?” Yibo repeated loudly. Several heads turned.

“Jesus, Yibo,” Zhan hissed, leaning closer. “We’re in public.”

Yibo glanced around at the curious eyes, then back at him, completely unbothered.
“So what? I’m not the one who brought that word up, ge.”

This boy was going to be the death of him.

“Okay, but you do know what I mean.”

“I really don’t,” Yibo said again. Then that mischievous little smile curved his mouth. Zhan didn’t know him well yet, but he could already tell the brat was up to no good.

“I know you said the thing-that-shall-not-be-named-in-public wasn’t gonna happen again. You told me that in a bar just like this one. That we weren’t gonna meet again, blah blah… Well, here we are. But okay. And I’m not old enough to have memory problems, ge, don’t worry.”

Zhan’s skin prickled; awkward heat crawled up his neck. Damn boy. As if he hadn’t been looking at him just moments ago with those eyes—full of hidden meaning. Now he had to twist it, make Zhan feel like he was the one clinging to their (very brief) past.

He signaled to the bartender for something stronger.
“Whiskey,” he muttered.

Yibo watched him drink, eyes amused as he sipped his beer. Zhan tossed the whiskey back in one gulp, grimacing at the burn, then chased it with his cocktail.

That was when a voice cut in behind him.
“Hey. It’s you!”

Zhan turned on his barstool, every instinct snapping sharp in a second. His hand slid under his jacket, fingers brushing the hilt of his knife—but he didn’t draw it yet. The man looming over him looked angry, but not armed. Not visibly.

In the same heartbeat, Yibo shifted off his stool into a fight-ready stance. Out of the corner of his eye, Zhan caught the movement and had to admit—grudgingly impressed—one second the kid had been sipping his beer, the next he was a coiled spring, his hand hovering near his belt where Zhan knew he kept some fancy weapon. No wonder they called him the best young hunter in China.

“She told me it was you who brought my wife home with you,” the man spat.

“I don’t know your wife, mister.” Zhan kept his voice even, mind already working at full capacity. Something was off.

The man’s arm lashed out before he could react—a quick, hard strike to Zhan’s cheek. His fingers were still curled on his knife hilt, and he wasn’t fast enough to block. Pain flared hot.

Yibo stepped between them so fast Zhan barely registered it.
“Hey!” Yibo barked, shoving the stranger back.

Zhan touched his cheek, feeling the ache that would blossom into a bruise later. “I didn’t do anything with your wife, mister,” he repeated, trying to keep the situation from boiling over. “I’m here with him.” He gestured at Yibo. “I’m not interested in women of any kind. You’ve got the wrong guy.”

The man blinked, confused. “But she told me it was you. She said she saw you with my wife—”

“Who told you?” Yibo cut in sharply, his palm still pressed to the man’s chest in case he tried to swing again.

The man glanced around the bar, scanning for someone, then shook his head.

“She’s gone. Not here anymore.”

Zhan’s stomach dropped. Across from him, Yibo’s eyes found his. He shaped the words silently: The witch?

Yeah. No doubt. She’d been here—close enough to watch them, close enough to bait them. She knew hunters were on her trail now.

Which meant one thing: they needed to be careful. Very careful.

Chapter Text

After the man gave his description of the woman—long black hair, European type, red lips, pale skin—he muttered an apology to Zhan, gesturing awkwardly at his cheek. Zhan only waved it off, as if being hit in the face by a stranger was nothing, and the man left.

When Zhan turned back, the bartender was watching him.
“You okay?”
“Yeah… all good.”

The bartender nodded and went back to pouring drinks, probably relieved it hadn’t turned into the mess it could’ve been. Bar fights were ugly—Zhan knew a thing or two about that.

Okay. Time to leave.

Zhan caught Yibo’s eye, tipped his head toward the door, then stood. He slid all three glasses across the counter.
“Hey! I wanted to drink that!” Yibo protested, annoyed.
“We’ll pay—and go. Now,” Zhan said flatly, not looking at him.

For a moment, Yibo looked like he might argue—or just grab the beer and down it out of spite.
“If you’ve got a death wish, go ahead,” Zhan said quietly, nodding at the glass before Yibo could move.

“What do you mean? You think they—”
“Yes. It’s possible. We were distracted for minutes. Did you watch your drink every second? No. They could’ve spiked it. It’s not safe. And your father—and mine—would murder me if you died stupidly on my watch. Over a beer.”

Yibo sighed, pulled out his wallet, and paid the tab like he’d promised.
“Okay. Let’s go.”

The walk from the bar to the hotel should have taken ten minutes. Instead, it stretched into nearly half an hour. Night had settled fully now, shadows pooling thick at every corner, and Zhan kept his eyes sharp on each one. The witch could be waiting. Could be following. If she found out where they were staying, it would be no good.

Yibo seemed to sense the shift in mood. For once, he didn’t talk. Zhan noticed him scanning their surroundings too, his easy grin tucked away. They didn’t even have to discuss it when they veered off the direct path, circling the streets instead. The detour gave them a better chance to spot anyone trailing them—or to lose them entirely.

They even ducked into the biggest hotel in the area, slipping through the bright lobby like they belonged, only to exit quickly out a side door. A misdirection, in case anyone had eyes on them. Only then did they head toward their real hotel.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Yibo let his shoulders drop and made a beeline for the bed. Zhan caught him with a sharp look.
“What now?” Yibo asked, more surprised than annoyed.
“We check the room. Our things. Beds. Bathroom. Everything.”
“Why?”
“In case they already know where we’re staying.”

Yibo blinked, then grinned crookedly.
“So we’re looking for hex-bags?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool. I’ll take the hall, fridge, and bathroom. You check our stuff. Some of mine’s still in my bag—you can look, I don’t mind.” He rattled it off quickly, already heading toward the bathroom.

“Be careful,” Zhan called after him. Splitting up still didn’t sit right.
“Sure, I always am.” Yibo’s voice floated back, followed by bathroom doors opening. A beat later: “Ah—sorry, ge. You put everything in order again, right? I messed it up. But hey, it’s for the investigation.”

Zhan pressed his lips together. He didn’t even bother answering. Honestly, he hadn’t expected anything different.

He sighed and started carefully. Clothes out of the wardrobe, every cabinet checked, under the beds, behind the wardrobe, even the ventilation grates. By the time he was done, half an hour had passed, and the room was clean. That left just Yibo’s bag.

“You sure I can open your bag? It has a lock,” Zhan called, setting it on the bed.
“Yeah. Code’s 3388. And don’t tell anyone,” Yibo shouted back from the bathroom.
“You should change that after,” Zhan shouted back, rolling his eyes.
“Why?”
“You’re shouting it loud enough for the whole floor to hear.”
“Oh. Right. Don’t worry—I’ll switch it to 8833 later.”
“This boy,” Zhan shook his head as he spun the numbers and unzipped the bag.

The main compartment was empty. He moved on to the side pockets. One held a knife—green-handled, sleek, well-balanced. Zhan gave it an appreciative look before tucking it back.

The other…
His breath caught.
Condoms. Lube. And—cuffs. Fluffy cuffs. Definitely not for monsters.

Zhan swallowed hard as his fingers brushed the last item, lifting it out before he could stop himself.

“Find something interesting, ge?”

The voice came from right behind him. Zhan jolted, realizing too late how it must look. Yibo leaned lazily against the wall, grinning wide. He even laughed—bright and unbothered—a faint pink on his cheeks but no real shame at all.

“Not witchcraft, huh?” Yibo teased, fingers grazing Zhan’s as he took the shiny red toy from his hand and tucked it back into the bag.

Zhan snapped his mouth shut and cleared his throat.
“All safe,” he muttered, forcing his focus anywhere else.

“All safe in the bathroom and hall too,” Yibo reported cheerfully. He tugged the fridge door open. “Just this left, then I’ll hit the shower, okay? You can be second. I feel like all that bar stink is still clinging to me—it’s uncomfortable.”

“Just don’t forget your clothes again...”

Yibo flashed him a wicked grin as he bent to check the fridge.
“Why not? I’m sure ge would be willing enough to bring them if I called.”

“Sure,” Zhan answered automatically, not even registering the words. His brain was still stuck on that red toy and fluffy cuffs. God. It looked… very interesting. His mind was already drifting in an entirely inappropriate direction.

He was in trouble, wasn’t he?
He should be the one heading to the bathroom right now.
For a long, cold shower.