The sun hadn't risen yet when Zhenyu woke to the taste of bitterness on his tongue and the soft, unsettling quiet of his own apartment. The blanket smelled faintly of fresh starch — Yu Bai's work, no doubt. He'd cleaned everything while Zhenyu slept like the dead. The kitchen gleamed, the windows were scrubbed, even the cheap floor tiles seemed to shine in the half-light.
For a moment, it almost felt like safety. Like he could pretend he hadn't ruined everything years ago. That the world hadn't spat him out and stepped on his throat.
But then he saw the neat bundle of papers on his battered coffee table: a plain envelope, his name written in Yu Bai's clean, looping characters.
He didn't open it. He didn't want to know what strings Yu Bai had pulled overnight — what favors he'd bought with blood and threats. He pushed it aside and stumbled into the bathroom, head spinning.
The cracked mirror showed him the same hollowed-out man he'd been trying to outrun for months: sunken eyes, bruised cheeks, skin pale and blotchy where stress had carved new lines. He stripped off his sweat-damp shirt, let it crumple to the floor. His ribs jutted out too much. The scar on his side from the old car crash glared at him like an accusation.
He turned on the tap. The rusty pipes groaned before water sputtered out, too cold, but he leaned over the sink anyway, splashing his face again and again until the chill cut through the fog in his skull.
He can't buy me. He can't fix this.
The words sounded brave in his head. They died on his lips.
---
He didn't hear the door open behind him. Didn't hear the soft click of expensive shoes on the warped bathroom tiles.
A voice, low and warm, slipped past the hiss of the water:
"Gege. You'll catch a cold."
Zhenyu jerked upright, water dripping from his chin. In the cracked mirror, Yu Bai stood behind him — suit jacket gone, sleeves rolled up again, tie loose around his throat. His eyes flicked down Zhenyu's bare back, lingering on the shadows of bone and old scars.
Zhenyu's face flushed. He grabbed for the ragged towel hanging on the rusted hook, pressing it to his chest. "Get out."
Yu Bai's lips curved, but his eyes stayed locked on the thin trail of water running down Zhenyu's spine. A muscle in his jaw twitched — a tiny betrayal of the calm mask he always wore.
"You used to be stronger than this," Yu Bai murmured, stepping closer. "You always took care of yourself."
Zhenyu gripped the towel tighter. "I don't need your pity."
Yu Bai's smile tilted. "It's not pity."
His hand came up, hovering just above Zhenyu's damp shoulder — not touching yet, but close enough that the heat of his skin made Zhenyu's stomach twist.
"Turn around," Yu Bai said, voice soft but sharp enough to slice.
Zhenyu bristled. "No."
Yu Bai's palm settled on his shoulder anyway — fingers brushing the sharp line of his collarbone. The contact sent a shiver down Zhenyu's back, goosebumps rising where Yu Bai's thumb traced the edge of his shoulder blade.
"You're shivering," Yu Bai said. "You don't even realize it."
"Stop," Zhenyu rasped. He hated how thin his voice sounded. Hated how Yu Bai's touch made the heat pool low in his belly — a pathetic, traitorous ache. "I said—"
Yu Bai's other hand came up, slipping the towel aside just enough to see the curve of Zhenyu's hip. His breath hitched — so quiet Zhenyu almost didn't catch it.
Zhenyu froze. He felt it — Yu Bai's pulse, the subtle shift of his weight forward, the faint catch of his breathing. He didn't have to look down to know what that meant.
"Don't—" Zhenyu hissed, but it came out more like a whimper.
Yu Bai's lips curved into something that looked almost embarrassed, but his grip never loosened. His fingers pressed harder against Zhenyu's skin, leaving pink marks that would fade too fast to matter.
"You're mine to take care of," Yu Bai murmured, so close his breath warmed Zhenyu's ear. "I won't apologize for wanting you."
Zhenyu's heart slammed in his chest. "You're sick."
Yu Bai's laugh was soft — genuine, in a way that made it worse. "If that makes me sick, so be it."
For one awful moment, Zhenyu wondered what would happen if he leaned back, let Yu Bai's arms close around him completely. If he let himself melt against that heat, that steady strength. If he begged him to fix everything.
But he didn't.
He shoved Yu Bai's hand off, yanking the towel back up. The sudden cold made him flinch.
"Get out."
Yu Bai's eyes glittered — not with anger, but something darker. The same look he used to wear when he sat on the neighbor's porch, watching stray dogs fight over scraps. A patient, inevitable hunger.
"As you wish," Yu Bai said. He stepped back, adjusting his cuffs like he hadn't just watched Zhenyu tremble half-naked in front of him. "But cover up. You're too thin already."
---
When Zhenyu came out ten minutes later, Yu Bai was waiting at the kitchen table — sleeves still rolled up, the envelope still untouched beside his elbow. He stirred a steaming cup of tea, the faint scent of ginger curling through the cramped air.
Zhenyu scowled. "Enough with the ginger."
Yu Bai tilted his head. "Your stomach—"
"I don't care!" Zhenyu snapped. His voice cracked. "You think feeding me poison is love?"
Yu Bai's smile didn't falter. "It's not poison. But if you'd rather starve, that's your choice."
Zhenyu sank into the chair across from him, exhausted. He dragged a hand over his damp hair. "I'm looking for a job. A real one. Not charity."
Yu Bai set the tea down. "With what résumé? What references? They've buried you, gege. You're not crawling out of that grave without help."
Zhenyu bristled. "I'll manage."
Yu Bai reached across the table, fingertips brushing Zhenyu's wrist. Zhenyu flinched but didn't pull away. The contact felt like fire under his skin.
"I'm starting a new company," Yu Bai said, voice calm, too calm. "Investments, real estate. All legal. You'll be the face. The reputation will come back — piece by piece."
Zhenyu's throat tightened. "Why me?"
Yu Bai's smile curved. "Because you're mine."
The words hung between them — soft, final. Not a question. Not an invitation.
Zhenyu tore his wrist away. "I don't want your dirty money."
Yu Bai's eyes darkened, but his tone stayed gentle. "You don't know how dirty the world gets without me cleaning it up for you."
A knock at the door cut through the tension. Yu Bai didn't move — just lifted his chin slightly, and one of the men outside stepped in. He wore plain clothes but his posture screamed trained muscle. He held a folder out to Zhenyu.
"Your ex's new husband filed a motion," the man said. His voice was flat, eyes fixed somewhere above Zhenyu's head. "They want full custody. Citing your debt and instability."
Zhenyu felt the world tilt. He grabbed the folder, flipping it open with shaking hands. Legal print blurred. His son's name glared back at him like a wound that wouldn't close.
"No," he whispered. "They can't—"
Yu Bai rose, circling behind him. A palm settled on his shoulder, warm, heavy, possessive. "They won't."
Zhenyu's breath hitched. "How—"
Yu Bai leaned down, lips brushing the shell of his ear — too intimate, too familiar. "I said I'd handle it, didn't I?"
Zhenyu turned his head just enough to catch the faint smile on Yu Bai's lips. His pulse roared in his ears, a tangled mess of anger and a sick, desperate relief.
He wanted to push him away. He wanted to lean back into that grip.
---
By evening, the folder sat unopened on the coffee table. Zhenyu paced the apartment, phone in hand, thumb hovering over his ex-wife's number. He wanted to scream at her, beg her, promise her anything. But his voice dried up every time he pictured her smug, pretty new husband standing behind her.
He caught a glimpse of Yu Bai's men outside the window — dark shapes in the drizzle, motionless. A reminder that the world was smaller than he wanted to believe.
When he turned back, Yu Bai was sitting cross-legged on the couch, flipping through the old financial records Zhenyu had tried to hide under a stack of newspapers. The sight made Zhenyu's stomach twist.
"Those are mine."
Yu Bai didn't look up. "They're garbage."
Zhenyu crossed the room, grabbing for the papers. Yu Bai caught his wrist, tugging him down until he landed half-sprawled across Yu Bai's lap — his thigh pressed against something hard that made heat flood his face.
Yu Bai's breath caught — just enough to make Zhenyu feel it: the pulse, the restrained edge of hunger under the careful mask.
"You really shouldn't tempt me, gege," Yu Bai murmured, thumb brushing Zhenyu's hip where his shirt had ridden up. "I'm not that good of a man."
Zhenyu tried to push off him, but Yu Bai held him there, fingers splayed across his side, possessive, immovable.
"You're not staying here alone tonight," Yu Bai said, voice like velvet wrapped around a blade. "And you'll eat."
Zhenyu's laugh broke on a sob. "Or what?"
Yu Bai's lips brushed the corner of his ear. "Or I'll make you."
And this time, Zhenyu didn't pull away.
---