ﾟ𐦍༘⋆ Moth ﾟ𐦍༘⋆

“I hope you don’t mind that,” the man says as he gestures at the dual camera with a blinking red light on the dashboard. The tiny monitor displayed a playback of them both in the car alongside a live feed of the road in front of them. “It’s just for my peace of mind. I have one installed in my car, but it’s in the shop.” 

He nods in understanding. “That’s helpful. Maybe I should install one of my own.” 

“You can have this one.” 

“I don’t want to be a bother. Thank you, though.” 

“You’re always so helpful, aren’t you? Eager to please.” 

Discomfort licks at the base of his spine as the man’s voice dips into something avaricious. He ignores it and smiles. 

This is a compliment. He takes it for the praise that it is and basks in it.

“That’s what friends are for, no?” 

That’s what they are. Friends. He feels proud for getting to this point—for reaching the level at which he can consider his mentor a friend. 

“Friends?” The man teases as he feigns hurt. “Surely, I thought we’d be beyond that after all these years.”  

“What else is there to be?” 

An impossibly warm hand on his knee. It’s hot, burning hot. Like still-smoldering coals on his skin. 

His hands constrict around the wheel in silent malaise. 

“Companions,” the other man puts simply. 

Fingers trace scalding circles through the fabric of his pants. The lingering heat leaves him feeling like an ant under a child’s magnifying lens.

He laughs as he takes the next exit. “I can’t joke right now. I’m driving.” The fingers withdraw. 

A moment of silence comes and goes like molasses. He thinks he’s going to drown in it.

“And your… venture. How is that going?” 

“Oh, same old, same old.” Another lie.

It took him ages to find the perfect place for a flower shop. Lots of room for shelving. Big windows for natural sunlight. He pushed back a meeting with the realtor to next week to be in this car. He hopes there are no other parties interested in the space he’s looking to buy. 

The man doesn’t need to know.

“Your mother would be proud of you,” the man observes. “How long has it been since…?”

A frown threatens to pull at the corners of his lips. “Ten years tomorrow.” 

“I’m sure you miss her.” 

The cloying smell of hospitals and sterile sheets still lines his lungs. The afterimage of harsh fluorescent lights is still burned into his retinas. If a room is too quiet, the beeping of a heart monitor rings in his ears as some twisted, faux tinnitus. 

“I guess so.” 

“Do you ever think that you could have done more for her? For them both?” 

“Ah…” The smile on his face feels taped on. His voice still has its light tone; it’s the same one that was trained and practiced to be used in business meetings and international affairs. His skin feels pulled taut. “There’s not much I can do now besides honor their memory.”

“What would you have done differently?” The man presses. 

“It’s been years,” he says, though it feels more like pleading. A lump finds its way to his throat. 

“Xie Lian, look at me.” 

“I need to keep my eyes on the road.” Chestnut-brown meets obsidian regardless. “I’d rather not talk about this. I’m sorry—”

“It’s been years, yes. I’m happy I was able to help you through them.” The man’s voice grows sharp with an austerity he has never heard from him before. He doesn’t like it. 

“After all, who would have been there to keep Xianle together while you spent your time ‘healing’?” The other man lets the word fall from his lips as if it’s something unpalatable. 

“Well—” 

“Don’t you think you could have done better?” 

He does. God, he wishes he did. 

“We’re going to reach your office soon.”

“It could be yours,” the other man casually drawls as if the words aren’t knives embedding themselves into his psyche. “But I suppose assuming responsibility for your parents’ legacy is too much compared to the life of a prince spoiled by luxury.”

He’s blinking away the moisture building up along his lashes. His knuckles are white. The painted lines on the road blip in and out of his vision. 

“Please stop…” 

“Xie Lian, I said look at me!” The other man’s voice thunders in his skull. The roar of it is as omnipresent and suffocating as the crashing of waves, indistinguishable from the blood rushing in his ears. 

“Jun Wu, stop!”

The steering wheel is yanked off course. Xie Lian sees the lamppost heading toward him before he feels the car swerving off the road. 

He slams on the brake. 

It doesn’t work. 

His fingers brush the leather of the hand brake. 

It’s too late to pull it.

He is fading in and out of consciousness. Eyes to the sky. 

The asphalt is somehow simultaneously digging into his skin with a piercing vengeance and rocking underneath him. He wills his arms to push back against solid ground. They buckle under his weight. He attempts to get his legs to abide by his command. 

A lance of molten pain shoots up from his right ankle. 

He registers the low keening of an animal nearby. Its breathing is labored and gurgling with something Xie Lian doesn’t want to think too hard about. He desperately hopes it isn't his fault. 

He tries to sit up again. His ribs ache with the effort. The animal’s cries grow louder, more plaintive. He finally manages to push himself into a poor imitation of a sitting position. 

Red stains his clothes. So, so much red. 

He looks down at his legs. His right foot is bent at an unnatural angle. 

Bile rises in his throat.

He hears the animal’s whimpering cries morph into an ear-splitting wail. God, it’s strident; he’s gritting his teeth to bear how it grates. He would look around to see where the awful noise is coming from, but his eyes are fixed on his foot.

Why won’t it stop? Xie Lian digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. He doesn’t care about the bits of asphalt lodging themselves in his skin. The pressure behind his eyes is immense. He struggles to think as his vision fades in and out.

Howls of pain ebb and flow into groans before they crescendo one more. The throbbing in his head doesn’t cease. 

The animal’s cries take on a weird cadence, like some caricature of human speech. Xie Lian doesn’t have the mind to try and parse words through the gurgling mess of incomprehensible utterances. He tries to bring his knees to his chest.

A pathetic yelp rings through the air just as the cloth of his pants tugs at raw flesh. It’s sticky with semi-dried blood. Bits of gravel and rock are embedded in his skin. Just a breeze of air passing by sets his tissue alight with stinging.

Every movement hurts. God, it hurts. Where is Ju Wu? 

He glances over at the car—that tiny movement sends him into another dizzy spell—and sees how the hood is crumpled at the point of impact with the streetlamp. He thinks the worst. 

Ever-present cries turn into desperate, wet gasps for air. The ringing grows louder in his ears. The skin around his throat is burning. He can hardly breathe.

Xie Lian isn’t detached enough from the situation to look for help. He unwittingly grips at something, anything to pull himself up. His fingers find nothing but unsympathetic asphalt and scratch themselves raw. 

He coughs up blood and gasps for air. Every expansion and contraction of his lungs gnaws away at his nerves and sends serrated signals of pain. 

Help me…

The words never fall from his lips. He can’t quite command them to form the necessary shapes. 

The animal moans. 

Someone help. Please. 

Help me, help me, help me, help, help, help, help.

The animal continues to let out disconcerting noises, wretched and drawn-out. 

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, IT HURTS, IT HURTS!!

“IT HURTS, IT HURTS, IT HURTS—”

Xie Lian woke up with a scream lodged in his throat and fingers frantically feeling for his scar. The blistering phantom pain was so sharp in his mind, he half-expected them to come away with scarlet.

Harsh antiseptic. A heart monitor. He’s on a gurney being wheeled to god knows where. 

He could do little more than cradle his head in his hands as a roiling deluge of images and sensations came to the surface of his mind. 

Someone is asking for his name. Any attempted words are cut short by a bitter, metallic taste. Warm wetness covers his chin.

Some absent, detached part of him registered the sound of hoarse panting invading the space of his bedroom. A clapped hand over his mouth did very little to muffle it. Every now and again a whimper escaped, leaving shame in its wake to fester deep in his belly. 

His eyes darted around the room, not quite adjusted to the dark. He could vaguely make out Ruoye’s silhouette atop his cat tree. The cat usually slept either at the foot of his bed or near his pillow. 

I must’ve startled him… he thought with no small amount of guilt.

“This laceration needs to be closed immediately!”

“But the fracture—”

“Disinfection first, then we’ll deal with his ankle. Somebody page Dr. Mei! ”

His face was damp with salty tears. The room spun around him. Why was it spinning?!

Blood. There’s too much blood. He gags on the metallic tang. His forearms burn something vicious as a medic cleans the road rash on his skin with saline and extracts asphalt from his flesh. 

Still hyperventilating, Xie Lian gathered his right hand into a fist and steadily pressed his knuckles into his sternum in an attempt to keep his heart from beating out of his chest. 

“You would have lost all vocal function if the cut on your neck had been a centimeter in any other direction. Maybe even your life.” The doctor’s voice is erudite. Detached, but warm. 

“You’re incredibly lucky.”

Lucky? Death would have been kinder.

The detective is not nearly as welcoming. “I’m here to ask questions about what happened in the incident between Mr. Jun and yourself. It’s in your best interest to  tell me everything you remember, Mr. Xie.” 

It went on for weeks. Xie Lian hadn’t wanted to press charges; he begged Feng Xin not to call the police.

It was question after question, with multiple detectives screening him to ensure he gave them the facts—this was a high-profile case, after all. If charges were to be pressed against such an influential man—CEO of Xianle, one of the biggest conglomerates in this part of the country—they needed an airtight case. 

Xie Lian wanted nothing more than to erase any details he could from his mind.

Harsh antiseptic. A heart monitor. He’s sitting on a chair facing a hospital bed. A hand feebly reaches for his own. The bouquet of pink tulips he’s holding in his other hand does nothing against the too-sharp, artificial fragrance that permeates the room to mask the scent of infection. 

Yet here he was, drowning in the memory of it. Tears burned tracks down his cheeks as he gasped for air. 

Her face is the moon—impossibly pale against a backdrop of greyed, brown hair. The smile she gives him is fatigued, but softhearted all the same. Her lips move.

A shuddering sob rattled his lungs. He knew what her final words were; he made sure to engrave them into his brain, after all. As years passed, the actual sound of her voice faded more and more from his recollection. He knew it soothed him. He knew it was soft. But try as he might, he couldn’t actually hear her. 

He dragged his hand down his face, smearing tears across his cheeks in hot, biting frustration. What kind of a son was he, forgetting the voice of his own mother?

She flatlines. It’s indistinguishable from the ringing in his ears. There’s a hand on his shoulder. 

“Time of death?” the doctor asks from behind him. A nearby nurse pokes their head up. 

“Three forty-six a.m., Dr. Mei.” 

The doctor nods and offers Xie Lian his condolences. 

The hinge of his jaw is wooden like a puppet with its strings cut. His voice comes out robotically. 

“Thank you for your time and effort.” 

He distantly noticed the hallway light shining through the seam where his door didn’t quite meet the floor and froze. Soft, slow footsteps sounded out. He mustered the courage to hope that Mu Qing was just grabbing some water from the kitchen. 

Xie Lian could already feel the guilt gnawing at him for being the reason his roommate was up at ungodly hours. 

Tak tak.

Xie Lian flinched. A shadow was visible from under his door. Ruoye silently leaped from the cat tree with a dull thump, taking time to stretch before he approached the door with a loosely raised tail.

“Xie Lian?” His roommate’s voice was still heavy with a sleepiness he hadn’t managed to shake off yet. “Everything okay?”

Some quietly hysterical part of him thought that if he stayed silent for long enough, he could trick him into thinking he was asleep. 

“Xie Lian?”

He stubbornly—childishly—kept his mouth shut even as he hiccuped with silent sobs. 

“I’m coming in.” 

The door swung open, leaving him little time to protest. He shrank away from the light spilling across his floor.

“...”

Mu Qing said nothing as the silence stretched out between them, save for the sound of the city traffic below them. Xie Lian didn’t dare move a muscle in hopes of blending in with the bedsheets. He stared vacantly at the wrinkles in his blanket, refusing to make eye contact. 

“Why are you just letting yourself rot away?! Do you think it’s noble to wallow in suffering?” The voice yelling at him is laced with equal parts rage and concern. Xie Lian can’t find it in himself to acknowledge the words being thrown at him. 

If he didn’t look at Mu Qing, he could pretend that he wasn’t being seen in this state—sniveling like a small child afraid of the monster under his bed. He could pretend that his raw embarrassment was just the aftershocks of his dream. He could pretend he wasn’t falling apart. 

He could hide for just a little longer.

There was a soft rustling to Xie Lian’s left. From the way he jerked away from the noise, one would think a gun had gone off. 

“‘S for you,” Mu Qing said. Dredges of sleep still clinging to the edges of his voice, he vaguely waved at the box of tissues he had set down next to Xie Lian. “Blow your nose.” 

The mattress slowly dipped with a creak as he sat on the edge of the bed. 

They both sat there for a moment. Xie Lian stared down the length of his bed with his arms around his knees while Mu Qing faced the door with his back to him—almost as if he was saving Xie Lian some face by giving him one last layer of privacy.

With all the confidence of a spooked horse, Xie Lian reached for a tissue and dried the wetness on his cheeks as quickly as he could. Any attempts at a thank you were stifled by the lump in his throat and came out more mangled than he thought it would. He recoiled at the sound of it cutting through the air and wished he could sink into the bed for eternity.

How inept was he? Unable to do the bare minimum of talking.

Mu Qing was the first to ease the wearisome silence into something quiet with a controlled breath. 

“I won’t ask,” he said, all of his usual snark nowhere to be found. 

In just three words, Mu Qing released him from the dread of having to flay himself open. The relief of it made a cry wrench itself from his lungs. A thousand words threatened to push at the seams of his lips and spill over in an acetic concoction of gratitude and guilt. 

He said nothing. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. But he didn’t. 

Useless.

“But I won’t let you sit with it by yourself. Even if that’s all you want to do.”

“I’m sorry…” The words dripped out before he could stop them, thick and doleful. 

Mu Qing paused for a long while before he spoke. “...Don’t say ‘sorry’ if there’s nothing to apologize for. It’s a waste of time and makes you out to be a liar.” 

Xie Lian willed himself not to cry harder. His tongue dumbly sat in his mouth like a piece of lead—impotent and ineffective. There was so much that he needed to apologize for. 

He squinted past his tears to read the time from across the room. 4 am. 

Mu Qing had work tomorrow—later today, rather—and here he was, staying up late to comfort Xie Lian because he couldn’t pull himself together. He had done something similar not too long ago, going so far as to take fewer shifts and ask for fewer hours so he could stay and watch over him.

God, the several weeks right after being discharged from the hospital were the most incapable he had ever felt in his life. 

His car—a used Toyota Yaris that had been beyond its last legs when he bought the thing—had been totaled in the accident, so going back and forth to the courthouse with a broken ankle without help was out of the question. As with almost everything else then, the task had fallen onto Mu Qing’s shoulders. 

Whenever he thought back to that time, it was never with a lack of shame. 

He had fallen into a deep depression—never leaving his room if he could help it and barely eating. With the stress of going to court and trying to clinch a deal for the place he wanted to open his flower shop, he had no bandwidth left to work up an appetite. 

Xie Lian closed his eyes and leaned against the bed frame. The tears had subsided, but his chest rose and fell with unsteady breaths as he remembered the long, arduous court proceedings. 

His stomach turned at the memory of seeing Jun Wu in an orange jumpsuit a week after the accident, standing behind the bench without so much as a scratch on him. 

There was no ugly twist of betrayal in the man’s eyes. He looked at him from across the room with the same forbearance a parent would for their wayward teenager—as if this was just a phase he would grow past. 

That smile didn’t waver even as evidence had been presented to the jury. 

Dashcam footage of their conversation right before the crash played on a screen for all to see. Xie Lian still remembered the shame, solid as tungsten, pooling in his gut as the tinny recording of his desperate voice rang throughout the courtroom. 

His lawyer, a calm, no-nonsense woman who had professionalism radiating off her in waves, argued that there were injuries unattributable to the crash. She had wanted to press charges of battery on top of vehicular assault, saying that video evidence of Jun Wu grabbing the steering wheel and intentionally driving them off-course made for an airtight case.

Medical reports and images were given to the judge and presented to the jury in a laundry list of reasons why they should pity the sorry sap before them. Fractured ankle. Throat laceration. Multiple contusions of the body concentrated around his ribs. 

Airtight case or not, Xie Lian had been the loudest to argue against taking Jun Wu to court in the first place. It had been the point of contention in many of the arguments between him and Mu Qing during that time (“You’re the victim in this case. Why are you still defending him?!”). 

And yet, disappointment gnawed at Xie Lian’s ribs still when the man was declared innocent on all counts—soon followed by an all-consuming guilt for hoping that his former mentor would face any punishment at all. 

Jun Wu merely smiles at him as he listens to Xie Lian apologize through the glass of the visitation booth. It’s his last day before they process the necessary paperwork to release him.

“I hardly blame you,” he says as if he’s calming a belligerent child.  “It’s natural for princes to have others shoulder the blame when faced with distress. You’re still learning; that’s what I’m here for.” 

“I think you should take a day to yourself,” Mu Qing’s voice cut through his thoughts. 

The florist blinked dumbly at his back and discreetly grabbed another tissue to dab away any tears that may have decided to make an appearance. 

Ruoye’s nose bumped at his other arm. When had he gotten on the bed? Xie Lian rested his hand on the cat's back and petted his fur out of habit. 

His roommate reiterated his point. “It’s nearly morning already, and you’re in no shape to work.” 

“There are people coming in to pick up their orders,” he managed to feebly reply. 

The bed dipped once again as Mu Qing readjusted himself to face Xie Lian. In the dim light from both the hallway and the city lights outside, one could just barely make out the silhouette of his hair. It was uncharacteristically messy with some flyaways catching a light—a very different image from his usual neat and meticulously tidied appearance.

Xie Lian felt another pang of guilt as he imagined Mu Qing waking up with a start before rushing over to his room without enough time to so much as run a comb through his hair. 

“They can wait a day.” 

The florist shook his head. “I can’t.”

Chestnut Florals was the one thing Xie Lian could say he accomplished on his own. It gave him conflicted feelings to admit it, given the fact that he was pushing 30, but it was true. There was no way he could close the store on such short notice because of something as trivial as a bad dream. 

Seeing that his mind was set, Mu Qing rolled his eyes and sighed (now that he was more awake, some of his usual snark was beginning to make itself known) before standing up.

“It’s not like I’ll do anything to stop you, but I really don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said, not unkindly, before excusing himself to his room and gently shutting Xie Lian’s door behind him. 

Xie Lian’s hands hardly felt like his own as they fumbled for the right key to the shop. 

He had sat in his bed until his alarm went off instead of falling back asleep, thanks to his nervous system buzzing with the jumpy vibrations of a live wire. He had to give it to Mu Qing; maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to show up to work with only a few hours’ worth of sleep to his name. But it was fine.

Sleep deprivation wasn’t the end of the world.

Not long after he flipped the sign from ‘closed’ to ‘open,’ Banyue arrived for her shift, setting her bookbag in the workshop before going about her opening duties.

“Good morning, Mr. Hua,” she quietly supplied with a small upturn of her lips, her smile widening when Ruoye quickly found his place on her shoulder.

The smile Xie Lian returned felt like plastic molding taped onto his face rather than a genuine expression. A tendril of frustration squeezed at his lungs at his inability to collect himself in front of her. She deserved better than that.

“Good morning, Banyue.”

After exchanging the usual pleasantries and half-heartedly listening to a brief recap of how her weekend was, Xie Lian retreated to the workshop to fully throw himself into the work that needed to be done. He will be productive today. He will stay focused. He will end the day with the satisfaction of having done something worthwhile. 

He tried to, anyway.

Each time the door chime sounded up front, the florist's hands jerked with alarm. This would’ve been harmless if it weren’t for him being knee-deep in trimming flower stems and with quite a sharp pair of scissors in hand. 

One particularly loud clang sent the scissor’s blade glancing off the skin of his fingers. Xie Lian cursed loudly as crimson already began to well up from the cut, quickly setting the scissors down and rushing to the sink.

“Mr. Hua? Everything alright?” To his left, he saw Banyue stick her head through the door. Concern furrowed her brows when she saw the bleeding. 

He shut the faucet off and offered her the best smile he could muster, hurriedly grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser and pressing it against the cut. It was deceptively small—already bleeding profusely despite being only a few centimeters or so in length. 

Stupid, he berated himself. I’ll have to start buying bandages in bulk at this rate.

“I’m fine. Just a bit of a hiccup. See?” he raised his now-covered finger for emphasis. 

Banyue didn’t look convinced. “Alright…” She returned to her spot behind the register to attend to whoever walked in. 

To say that his day continued with ease was a lie. He worked in near-silence, only opening his mouth to speak when Banyue popped her head into the workshop. More than ever, he was grateful that she was here to pick up calls. He didn’t need to focus on trying to maintain the facade of friendly conversation and could instead devote his attention to not cutting his fingers off. 

The florist stepped back to appraise the arrangement he was currently working at. Pink anemone flowers were interspersed throughout a bundle of purple begonias, with some thistles thrown in for filler and contrast. 

He frowned, unsatisfied with the result. There was something off, but he couldn’t tell if it was the angle of the stems or the ratio of the flowers themselves. Cool dampness grazed his fingers as he readjusted the blooms, taking extra care  not to jostle the delicate plants. Both anemone flowers and begonias were particularly fragile; if the wind blew too hard or if the flowers didn’t get just the right amount of water, they were prone to wilting and losing their petals. 

Once he felt the flowers were situated properly, he analyzed the arrangement once more. His shoulders rose and fell with a huff before he removed the flowers from the vase entirely, setting them in a bucket next to the vase to start over. 

Xie Lian’s hands moved of their own accord. Maybe more anemones and fewer begonias would look better. He bit the inside of his cheek in thought, brows creasing in concentration as he lightly picked up stems and reinserted them into the vase. His smooth, practiced motions belied the mounting vexation brewing in his mind.

Harsh antiseptic. A heart monitor. 

The stem held between his fingers snapped. He scrambled to catch the flower with shaking hands as it fell, only for it to slip through his fingers. Not wanting to leave a mess on the floor—he had enough going on; he didn’t need another injury on top of everything else—he numbly knelt down to pick it up.

Blood. God, there’s so much blood. Won’t somebody help him?

He shot to his feet. 

Well, he would have if it weren’t for his head colliding with the underside of his work table. Hissing in pain, Xie Lian brought a hand to the crown of his head. It throbbed dully in time with his rapidly increasing heartbeat. 

He needed to get up. Water droplets from the fallen flower were seeping into the cloth of his pants. It would stain. 

Blinding pain shooting up from his ankle. A lance of molten metal.

Xie Lian gasped and, in a moment of delirium, glanced down at his legs. 

Bent at an unnatural angle—

His ankle was perfectly fine. He was fine. He was safe. No injuries. He repeated this mantra to himself even as the dark wooden walls and smooth cement flooring of the workshop bled away—replaced by asphalt, gravel, and the wailing of an injured animal. 

“Mr. Hua?” 

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, IT HURTS—

“Mr. Hua!” Banyue’s fretful voice snapped him back to the present day.  She moved to place a hand on his shoulder to jostle him, but Xie Lian shrank back before it could make contact. His head narrowly missed a second collision with the table. 

Round, dark eyes studied him with concern as he slowly came back to himself. 

It suddenly hit him that he was curled up under a table with his knees to his chest, hyperventilating like a madman. 

The embarrassment of being seen like this was more than enough to tether him to reality. Xie Lian forced his breathing to even out and swallowed any remaining agitation, along with the bile that had managed to sneak up his throat at some point or another. He slowly straightened out his legs and made to stand up, doing his best to steady his wayward limbs. 

“Is there something wrong, Mr. Hua?”

“I uh… I hit my head on the table,” Xie Lian dumbly explained, clearing his throat and giving his best attempt at a smile. A cursory glance at the girl’s expression told him that her worry ran deeper than a simple bump on the head. Just how long had he been sitting there? 

“It’s nothing, ahaha. Was there something you needed?” 

Banyue said nothing as she continued to study him. He surreptitiously wiped at any dampness that may have gathered at his waterline and turned away from her, picking up the fallen begonia and tossing it in the trash. 

He returned to the vase, halfheartedly working on the arrangement in silence. Banyue didn’t attempt to make any conversation as she observed. 

She periodically handed him a flower whenever she thought he needed it. Somehow, every stem that landed in the grasp of his fingers was the correct one—he had cut them to specific lengths depending on where they sat in the arrangement. Xie Lian didn’t even need to ask. 

“Could you pass me another anemone?” 

Banyue handed him a couple of blood-red carnations instead. “This will look better.” 

“Oh?” He gently inserted the flowers into the vase, making room for them by nudging the other stems aside and adding a couple of thistles. Taking a step back, he looked the arrangement over. 

“Would you like to borrow my coat?”

Xie Lian coughed into his elbow to hide the heat on his face. 

It seemed that she was right. They did look better. 

“Maybe you should take the day off?” she shyly suggested. “Crimson Elysium is closed today, so I have the day off from my apprenticeship.” 

He automatically waved the notion away. “You should spend that time resting or hanging out with your friends.”

“I didn’t make any plans for today,” was all she said as she handed him another flower. An anemone this time. 

The florist glanced over at his employee. She had been working here for well over a month at this point, but he was surprised to see that a mere month was enough time for her to acquire an intuitive grasp on everything from floral care to the act of arranging itself. Wasn’t he supposed to be the experienced one here?

It wasn’t that long ago that he opened Chestnut Florals—five months, to whoever was counting—but he had been making arrangements and taking care of flowers since he was 17. People were allowed to have off days, sure, but cutting up his hands and banging his head on tables wasn’t the mark of someone who had been doing this for a decade. 

He sighed, cowed by the fact that the 19-year-old found it necessary to pick up his slack at work, and nodded. His keys jangled against each other as he removed a spare key from the ring and handed it to her.

“Will you be alright closing the shop? Feel free to do so early if there are no customers coming in; everyone who had a pick-up scheduled for today came, anyway.”

“I’ll be fine.” 

“I’ll pay you overtime since this is past the hours we agreed on,” he added, already feeling guilty for saddling her with so much responsibility despite her having volunteered for it.  

“Okay.” She nodded and gave Ruoye a couple of scratches behind the ears. The cat butted his head against the palm of her hand, mewing softly as a low purr rumbled from his chest. “Take care of Mr. Hua for me, okay?” 

The florist’s heart squeezed in endearment as he saw Banyue and Ruoye interact with each other. He weakly thanked her as he grabbed a Hello Kitty-themed cat sweater (an extremely lucky find at the local thrift store. If he ever found the person who was giving up these pieces, he would have to thank them profusely) and harness, slipping them on the cat.

“It’s no problem at all.” 

With that, he wrapped his scarf securely around his neck and donned his coat before having Ruoye step into a set of cat boots (not thrifted, but he found them on sale, thank you very much). After waving Banyue a final goodbye and profuse apology, he left the store with Ruoye following closely behind. 

<<Beginning <Previous

If Ruoye drew any blood, he hoped that it wouldn't seep through his turtleneck and stain his sweater. He had just gotten it from a thrift store the other day, and the creamy white knitted material was of astoundingly high quality—who knows when he’d come across a find like it again?

He waved away any thoughts of bloodstained knitwear and took a moment to look at Banyue. As much as he could see of her, anyway. She wore a black hoodie so large that it nearly engulfed her and a pair of wide-legged cargo pants. They would probably drag on the floor, were it not for her boots giving her a good few inches of height. She couldn’t have been any older than 15 or so.   

Her demeanor itself was… odd, to say the least. She was clearly tense with apprehension, but not in the socially anxious way that was typical of those her age. He took it in stride. All kinds of eclectic patrons walked through the door on a given day. Who was he to judge?

“Welcome to Chestnut Florals! What’s the name for the order?”

“Banyue.”

“That’s a very pretty name,” he earnestly replied. “How can I help you?” 

The girl’s eyes—impossibly dark against the backdrop of skin pale enough to resemble a corpse—flicked to the window for a beat before they settled back on him. “I saw the listing you posted on the window. You’re hiring, right?”

Xie Lian smiled and made no effort to follow her line of sight even as she compulsively eyed the front door. 

“Mn, I am.” In all honesty, he was about to take it down. He had followed Feng Xin’s advice and taped a poster to the window saying ‘Help wanted!’ but after a few weeks of non-stop orders and a distinct lack of people interested in the job, he was ready to throw in the towel. 

He grabbed an application from a small pile of papers and handed it to her. “I have this for you if you’d like to fill it out—”

“I can start today! I have loads of experience with flowers! You have a workshop in the back, right? I can show you right now.” Banyue all but leaped down his throat as she reshouldered her bookbag. 

To her credit, her frantic behavior could almost have been mistaken for enthusiasm.

He took a moment to give it some serious thought. On the one hand, this girl was a complete stranger. If some random person bursting into one’s store just as one was about to close for the day wasn’t a red flag, then it was at least a reason to give pause. On the other, she was clearly trying to avoid whatever was pursuing her outside. 

And if he could be so bold as to bring up another point, he was in dire need of an additional pair of hands around the shop.

“Well, I don’t see the harm in having you help out for the day.” He could ask her questions later, preferably when she didn’t look like she was ready to bolt at any given moment. “Why don’t we do that and see how it goes? I’ll pay you, of course. I have a bunch of roses in the back that need to be dethorned—”

“On it!”

Before he could get a word in edgewise, Banyue’s boots thudded on the ground and her bookbag jostled as she scurried to the back room, application in hand. Xie Lian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but he did know that she wouldn’t be able to find the thorn strippers. He was just about to step into the back room himself to show her where he kept them when the front door nearly swung off its hinges. 

CLAK CLANG CLUNK! 

The florist allowed himself a weary sigh as he was about to face his door chime’s newest abuser. 

“You! Hua Ren [1]!” A guttural voice yelled for his attention before he could fully turn around. 

He did a double-take. Now, he has heard many names thrown his way—some endearing, some crass. Most were derogatory—but it was hard to tell whether this stranger was insulting him based on his appearance or his ethnicity. 

His hand unwittingly went to his hair. Sure, he spent some extra time each day to make sure he wouldn’t be balding by forty, but was that so excessive? His current routine was a far cry from all the perfumed oils and expensive skincare products he took for granted as a kid.

The man looked down at him, his chest heaving and nostrils flared as if he had just embarked on quite the run. There were a few moments of him sizing said ‘huaren’ up before he opened his mouth to speak. He was burly and rather tall—easily dwarfing Xie Lian in size—so he had to bend his neck quite a bit to make eye contact with the florist.

So this is what—or who, rather—Banyue had been running from.

“Have you seen a girl about this tall?” the man asked as he put his hand at around the same height as Xie Lian’s chest. 

“Black hair? Big hoodie?” He continued for him. The rustling he had been hearing from the back all this time paused abruptly, and he felt the air behind him become tense. He pretended to ponder the question for a second. 

“Yeah, that’s her,” the man replied with no small amount of animosity. “She acts all innocent, but I promise you. That bitch has been giving me and my boys problems left and—”

“I think she ran down that way not too long ago,” Xie Lian interrupted, nodding his head toward the front window. He was unsure what issue he had with Banyue, but a man of this size chasing after a little girl spelled out nothing but trouble. “You’d better leave quickly if you want to catch up.” 

The man let out a sound of frustration strangely akin to a growl before leaving the way he came, his poor door chime suffering all the more for it. Maybe he’d replace the ‘Help wanted!’ sign with something that would beseech customers to handle the facilities with care. 

He poked his head into the workshop to see Banyue sitting at the table with her back to him. Ruoye was perched on the far windowsill as he carefully watched the stranger that bumbled into his domain messing with his owner’s flowers. 

Not wanting to scare her, he cleared his throat before stepping into the room. “How are you doing with the roses?” 

As he came closer and closer to approaching her, he saw her frame tense up imperceptibly. So much for that.

“They’re going… well…?” Even from only a few feet away, her voice was nearly inaudible. “You said you wanted them dethorned, right?”

His mouth had hardly opened to respond with the affirmative when he saw the state of her hands. The thorns had scratched them up in a number of places. From the look of the red-spotted paper towel next to her, it seemed that she did little more than hastily wipe the blood before continuing. 

“Do they hurt?” he asked after a moment of pause.

“No,” she lied.

He gently took the scissors from her right hand and set them on the table. 

“I did want you to dethorn them, you’re right,” he agreed and grabbed a first-aid kit from the cabinet. “I was going to tell you that I keep the thorn strippers in that cabinet over there,” he nodded at the cabinet in question behind her, “but I wasn’t able to get to the back in time. They’re a convenient tool and help to prevent situations like this.

“Convenient isn’t always best, I’ll admit. Thorn strippers can damage the stem if it’s not perfectly straight, so it’s better to cut the thorns with a knife or a pair of scissors. A lot of people buy roses here though, so I prefer to use the strippers. Cutting thorns sounds like an easy task—if a little tedious—but you can hurt yourself if you don’t have the right experience.”

Banyue’s hands shook as he held one up to examine the extent of the damage.

“This will sting for a little bit, but I need to make sure these don’t get infected. Can you handle that?” Xie Lian waited for her to nod before he continued rambling, hoping that the white noise of his voice would calm her down while his hands worked.

“The roses I sell are all grown by me or other gardeners in the city. It’s a little bit pricier than just buying them in bulk from some company, but it comes with its advantages.” He gingerly wiped her cuts with rubbing alcohol and kept his tone light.

“Because they’re grown locally, I don’t need to worry about them surviving the weather here, or about all the chemicals they spray on them to keep the bugs off. Also,” he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper as he dabbed ointment on her skin to prevent scarring, “I just don’t like the hassle of working with those big companies. They like money too much.”  

He mentally cheered at the sight of her lip quirking up at the corner.

“But because we don’t use pesticides, there’s a higher chance of getting infected by bacteria or fungi if you prick yourself on one of the thorns.” 

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, her eyes not leaving the table. 

Xie Lian waved off her apology as he put bandages on the worst of the cuts. “No harm done. I’m sure you had your reasons for needing to avoid the… gentleman who was looking for you.”

“His name is Kemo. We used to be friends.”

“Used to?”

Aside from a nod, Banyue declined to volunteer any more information. So, he stood up and clapped his hands together. It was best not to press for any details that weren’t his business, anyway. 

“Well, I’m sure your day was eventful before you stumbled in here. Your friend Kemo is probably a few blocks away at this point, so you should go home before he decides to retrace his steps or your parents will be worried,” he admonished.

“I live by myself.” 

Despite himself, Xie Lian found his eyes widening. Had he jumped to conclusions? “How old are you if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Nineteen.”

So he did. 19 was still a child in his eyes, but if he had actually known her age he wouldn’t have been cajoling her the way he would a young child. He was about to start profusely apologizing when Banyue shrugged and examined her bandaged fingers.

“It’s okay, I get it a lot.” 

He coughed, suddenly self-conscious. “Either way, I can call a taxi for you. That way, you wouldn’t just be walking on the street alone.” 

Blessedly, Banyue gave him some face and agreed to this arrangement. As she exited the shop, Xie Lian spotted her folding the slip of paper he handed to her earlier and tucking it into her pocket.

“You don’t have to actually apply.”

“Actually, could I work here?” She looked up at him. “I know I caused you trouble, but I started an apprenticeship recently, and it got in the way of the hours of my last job.”

His brows raised, mouth forming a small ‘o’ in surprise. “Sure! I could use some help around the store. How about you come back tomorrow with the paperwork, and we can get started?” 

“Thank you, Mr. Hua!” For the first time since they met, Banyue gave him an earnest smile. 

A sound of confusion escaped him. “Hua?”

“That was what Kemo called you, right?”

“Oh. I guess so.”  

“Then thank you, Mr. Hua!”

He opened his mouth to correct her when the cabbie twisted around to face the two with a sour expression. “I don’t care what your name is. Are you two gonna take up any more of my time, or can I start driving?”

Thoroughly berated, the florist let Banyue go and went back inside. 

Without intruders bumbling around the store and causing such a hubbub, Ruoye was free to lounge about next to the register while the florist busied himself with closing, his tail occasionally flicking back and forth. He didn’t move from his spot in the short while that it took to ensure everything was sufficiently tidied up. 

Xie Lian was just reaching for Ruoye’s harness on the coat rack when his left shoulder twinged in protest. He frowned and rolled it in circles a couple of times. The pain felt superficial. As a matter of fact, it was hardly painful to begin with, only just enough to err on the side of annoying. Maybe his shirt was rubbing against where Ruoye scratched him? He headed to the back and stood in front of the mirror above the sink. It was impossible to pull the neck of his shirt aside to assess the damage, so he carefully peeled off both the turtleneck and sweater in one go. 

Soon enough, he was greeted by a series of short, angry lines crisscrossing the skin of his shoulder. They didn’t feel horribly deep, but the skin around the cuts was reddened and puffing up with irritation. 

He tsked and frowned at the mirror as if that would intimidate the scratches into healing faster. Through the course of his life, he never scarred easily, but his skin was sensitive nonetheless and prone to bruising and redness. Minor trips and bumps always looked worse than they actually were. Gods forbid Mu Qing saw the state of him now. 

“He’ll kick you out of the apartment at this rate, Ruoye…” With a helpless smile on his face, he grabbed the first-aid kit for the second time that day and made quick work of disinfecting the scratches and slapping a bandage (or three) over them.

Once he was sure the bandages weren’t going anywhere, he clothed himself again and headed to the front to call for Ruoye, harness in hand.

“Good boy,” he cooed at the cat once the straps were secure. “It’s a nice evening. What do you say we go for a walk before we head home?” 

Blue eyes blinked slowly at him before the mass of white fur before he butted his head against his hand. Xie Lian laughed and gave him a couple of scratches. 

“I’ll take that as a yes!”

The duo walked a few blocks down to the nearby park. With the days getting increasingly shorter, the streetlamps had already flickered on and the usual crowds had mostly filtered out, much to his delight. Ruoye now had free rein to explore the area and nose at the plants to his delight without having to worry about being accosted by overexcited dogs or children who hadn't yet learned how to handle cats properly. 

Leading the way, Ruoye made a beeline to the trail they frequented. Whether this had anything to do with the small bunches of catnip that grew along it or not, one couldn’t say. 

Regardless, he had promised his cat a walk, and a walk he was going to get. Ruoye happily swatted at the dead leaves covering the ground, crunching some under his paws and pouncing on others as they walked.

The scene was too endearing not to immortalize, so Xie Lian hurriedly pulled his phone out and started recording. He got a good several seconds of Ruoye thrashing about in a pile of leaves—there was probably a piece of catnip that managed to survive the drop in temperature—and sent it off to Mu Qing in his daily quest to get the man to the newest member of their shared living space. 

‘See? He can be cute! (*^^*)♡’ was the caption he sent right after to accompany the video. Almost immediately, a text bubble indicating that his roommate was typing popped up.

‘you better get those leaves off him before he tracks them into the apartment.’

No threats of making Ruoye sleep in the hallway! Success! 

Smile on his face, he was about to reply with an emoticon saluting. His fingers were starting to numb up from the cold—it was surprisingly windy out—when he dimly registered the sound of leaves crunching. His fingers paused over the screen as the sound of leaves being rapidly trampled underfoot came closer. Without thinking, he scooped Ruoye up into his arms. The last thing he needed was one of the cat’s few safe spaces to be tainted by a traumatic experience.

He was turning to face whatever was barreling toward him when something impossibly solid collided with his shins. Not wanting to drop Ruoye, Xie Lian stumbled a few steps forward and whipped his head around, ready to kick away whoever or whatever his assailant was, only to be faced with—

“E’ming?” His foot froze in the air. Sure enough, the pit bull in question was practically vibrating with excitement. She whined in reply and made a move to nose at his ankles. In the dim lighting of the park, it was hard to make out anything other than her eye and the blurred motion of her tail whipping to and fro. 

The florist let out an undignified “agh—!” and shuffled back to avoid being slobbered on. Amidst the excitement, Ruoye squirmed until he was free from the arms carefully cradling him and leapt to the ground at his feet. Before E’ming could get at Xie Lian’s ankles again, Ruoye swatted her muzzle, quick as a viper. 

“Ruoye!” Xie Lian scolded. It looked like his claws were retracted, but he didn’t want his cat making a habit of slapping other animals around. 

E’ming didn’t even notice Ruoye until this point, preoccupied as she was with Xie Lian, and dipped into a playful bow. After a few moments of pause, it was clear the cat was decidedly uninterested. He remained seated between her and his owner, tail flicking with irritation. 

When that didn’t work, E’ming switched tactics and flopped onto her back. Paws in the air, her tongue lolled out as she panted happily. 

Ruoye blinked, unmoved by the display. 

His owner, however, was not. He sidestepped Ruoye and bent down to scratch her belly. “You gave me a scare, little one,” he said. “Is your owner nearby?” 

She didn’t offer him much by way of a reply aside from twisting her torso this way and that as she tried to lick his hand. After a few moments of playing, he patted E’ming’s chest and produced his phone from his pocket.

“I’ll need to call him. You shouldn’t be wandering around on your own, especially at this hour,” he playfully admonished. “This is the second time! What if he thinks I’m sneaking you away? I doubt he’ll think I’m such a ‘nice man’ anymore.” 

Not one to be left out, Ruoye sidled up and flopped over on his side, meowing plaintively as if the burdens of this world were simply too much for him to bear. What a thankless job he was tasked with, being a fearless guardian tirelessly protecting Xie Lian from the evils of this city.

He didn’t so much as move a muscle when E’ming tried to sniff at him and opted to meow again. With the wind picking up and swirling dead leaves around him, he really did make for a tragic sight. Look! He was once again sacrificing himself for his owner’s well-being! Surely such a demonstration of bravery warranted a treat. 

He laughed at Ruoye’s dramatics as the phone rang. It was a few short moments before someone picked up.

“Hello?” A warm voice quietly answered.

Xie Lian straightened his back in spite of the fact that E’ming’s owner couldn’t see him. “Hello! I’m sorry for interrupting your evening, but E’ming found me again. You wouldn’t happen to be at the park tonight, would you?” 

“It seems I have to keep apologizing for her antics.” He wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination, but he swore he could almost hear the other man smiling as he spoke. “I let her run around when it’s not crowded to tire her out, but she normally stays by my side. She hasn't caused you any grief, has she?” 

“No grief at all!” Just like last time, the florist was quick to shoot down the notion of her being anything less than a joy to have around, no matter how excitable she was. “Where are you? I can bring her to you to make sure she doesn’t run off again.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to. I’d hate to inconvenience you.” 

“Really, it’s no trouble—”

Before he could say much else, E’ming’s ears pricked up and she abandoned her pursuit of trying to play with Ruoye, sprinting toward an unknown destination.

“E’ming, wait—!” 

Ruoye in tow, he followed the pit bull past several trees before he found her obediently sitting next to a bench a few paces away. 

Her owner, dressed in the same brilliant red coat from when they first met—unbuttoned, this time—was sitting with an ankle crossed over his knee and his arm lazily propped up on the backrest, nursing a can of what looked like an energy drink. Argent rings glinted on his fingers in the dim light of the park. The same necklaces from last time hung from his neck in elegant lines. In one hand, he held a silver dog whistle between two forefingers and E’ming’s leash. A picture of idle temerity, one would think that he was simply lounging about on a quiet afternoon despite the late hour. 

The man uncrossed his legs and bent down to clip leash to collar before standing up and approaching him, his dog following closely behind. 

“I thought that this lout,” his eye sharply flitted to E’ming and his tone turned sour as she gnawed on a stick, “could handle being off-leash without mauling any unsuspecting passerby, but I was mistaken. I’ll have to trouble you to forgive me for that misjudgment.” 

There was plenty of displeasure in the other man’s voice as he insulted her, but it was hard to pay it much mind when he was also bending down to indulge her with scratches behind the ears.

“There’s nothing to forgive. E’ming is a good girl. I’m sure she just has a love for people.”

“She has a love for you if anything,” the man grumbled as he brushed a stray leaf from her coat. “Plenty of troublesome rabble she could be bothering, but she has to go and make it a habit to harass the nice man minding his business.”

The thought, He still thinks I’m nice, came to his mind unbidden. He quickly shook it away and smiled. “I don’t think I ever caught your name?” 

“I go by a lot of names, but you can just call me San Lang.” 

“Ah…” Xie Lian hesitated. Was it not too soon to be on a nickname basis? He was unsure if it was truly okay to refer to someone so casually after only meeting him twice, and the last thing he wanted to do was be overfamiliar. “Would you like to walk together? Well—if I’m not keeping you from anything, that is! If you’d rather have time to yourself or if you have somewhere to be, that’s fine too.”

If San Lang noticed any awkwardness in the air, he didn’t make a show of it as he stood up and dusted invisible debris from his pants. As he came closer, Xie Lian couldn’t help but notice the smell of rain and a glint of silver on his left brow. That was new. Surely he would have noticed any piercings when he first stopped by the store? 

“I can’t imagine anything happening tonight that would be important enough to whisk me away at a moment’s notice.” 

He decided to take that as a yes and the two continued along the trail, both of their pets walking ahead of them on slack leashes. E’ming tried to reacquaint herself with Ruoye multiple times and was rebuffed by him with each and every attempt. 

San Lang clicked his tongue with a glower. “E’ming, heel.” 

Her gait instantly changed and she circled back to his right side to keep pace with him. Head tilted up and tongue lolling out, she trained her eye on him intently as they walked. 

He offered Xie Lian an apologetic smile, and for a moment the florist distantly wondered how the sun could possibly be out at this hour. “I’m afraid she’s taken a liking to you both. Thank you for your patience with her, Mr. Xie.” 

Choking on his spit, the florist coughed. “Do I really look that old? I’m only twenty-eight…” Realizing that he could be coming off as vain, he waved his hand and laughed it off. “‘Mr. Xie’ makes me feel like my father.” 

“Alright then,” the other man breezily replied. Xie Lian thought he saw the beginnings of a roguish smile on his face, but attributed it to a trick of the light. San Lang nodded his head at him in acknowledgement, keeping it lowered for a second longer than what was probably necessary. “Thank you for taking care of this one, gege.”

‘This one’ was obviously in reference to E’ming; Xie Lian knew that. Some delirious—delusional, even—part of his brain took it as San Lang thanking him for his attention. That, combined with him looking like he was bowing to Xie Lian? He prayed to whatever gods out there that the lampposts weren’t bright enough to reveal the heat spreading on his cheeks and mentally kicked himself for such a reaction.

“It’s nothing,” he managed to squeak out. “Just call me Xie Lian. We’re close enough in age, right?”

“Well, I hope you don’t mind that I’m a bit of a stickler for honorifics,” San Lang explained. His eye swept over to Xie Lian for a moment. “Gege, are you okay? You look flushed.” 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he lied. At this rate, his hand was going to fly off from all of the waving it was doing. “I’m just sensitive to the cold.” This was not a lie. In only two layers, it was clear that Xie Lian hadn’t accounted for the wind chill. 

“Would you like to borrow my coat? ” San Lang had already set down his drink—Monster Energy, the florist noted—and paused to shuck off his coat as he spoke, leaving him in a simple white buttoned shirt and black slacks. With his hair in a cursory braid, he gave off a more boyish air as opposed to the normally refined way in which he carried himself.  

Xie Lian balked. “You don’t have to! It’s my fault really, I should have dressed for the weather this morning.” 

“I insist.” 

“Won’t you get cold too?” 

“Gege, you’re shivering.”

Sure enough, he vaguely registered his teeth clacking together. Well. He hadn’t even noticed that. The florist forced his jaw to still and didn’t fight San Lang when he draped his coat around him. The shoulders were a little too wide, but the heavy warmth was more than welcome as it enveloped him. Xie Lian tried not to focus on how pleasant the scent of his cologne was as he inhaled. It smelled of petrichor and lilies with a subtle note of something metallic. 

“Thank you, San Lang.” 

The other man gazed at him with an unnamable expression before he cleared his throat. “It’s nothing. I’m just glad I can help.

“Besides, I think the color suits you.”

Xie Lian turned away to cough (it had nothing to do with the fact that his face was on fire, he swears). Insisting that they refer to each other by nickname and sharing his coat despite being near strangers, and now this? Maybe San Lan was a naturally playful person. Or maybe the concept of shame was just completely foreign to him.

“E’ming seems very well-trained,” Xie Lian said in what he hoped was a graceful attempt to change the subject.

San Lang hummed. “She was in school to be a guide dog on account of,” he paused and made a vague gesture at his eyepatch with no small amount of disdain as if he loathed to acknowledge it, “this.” 

So it wasn’t just a bold fashion statement. Xie Lian took a moment to get a closer look. 

Just like his other accessories, San Lang’s eyepatch was of exquisite craftsmanship. The leather looked freshly polished. It had beveled edges and was molded perfectly to fit the contours of his sharp features. There were two straps securing it to his head; one was of the same black leather, while the other was thinner and looked like silver thread—most likely decorative. 

Xie Lian wanted to ask what happened to his eye but restrained himself for the sake of maintaining propriety. “Was?”

“The trainer she was working with insisted that she couldn’t carry out a command to save her life and that a dog with one eye was a lost cause.” San Lang rolled his eye with a level of contempt that left the florist wondering if he was only talking about the dog. 

Xie Lian frowned in sympathy. “So the trainer kicked her out?” 

“No. I pulled her out of the program and trained her myself.” He paused to look down at E’ming, who was still gazing up at him, before he met eyes with Xie Lian sporting an impish—if not mildly vindictive—smile. “Not so bad for a ‘lost cause,’ I would say.” 

At that, they fell into a relatively comfortable silence. After a few minutes of walking, the pair came across a small clearing bordered by trees. San Lang bent down and unclipped E’ming’s leash, much to her delight. 

“E’ming, break.” The pit bull took off at the sound of her release word, her tail whipping up a storm as she was given free rein to run to her heart’s content and sniff at whatever she wanted to. 

Laughing at the sight, Xie Lian looked down at Ruoye. “Would you like to join her?” 

Two blue eyes slowly blinked up at him. 

“Hm, a no then.” He scratched the cat’s head. 

“Gege,” San Lang called from behind them. “There’s a couple of benches here if you’d like to rest your feet.” 

“Alright!” He made his way with Ruoye leading the charge.

“This is her favorite spot in the park,” San Lang explained as they both watched E’ming roll around in the grass. “I usually take her here to get all the energy out before bed. She’s impossible otherwise.” 

“I’m sure she’s not ‘impossible,’” Xie Lian differed. “Just very enthusiastic.” 

“You have no idea, gege.” San Lang groaned and leaned back into the bench. It was hard not to laugh at the sight of him acting like an affronted teenager. “I’m sure I’m growing grey hairs because of her by now. Parenthood is taking the best years of my life away from me,” he mourned. 

The florist made a show out of scrutinizing San Lang’s hair and leaned close. The light from a nearby lamppost reflected off of inky black strands, his bangs free to hang over his eyepatch. 

“Your hair is in perfect health, San Lang,” he observed, his voice adopting a medical quality as he played along. “Not a single split end or white hair in sight.” 

San Lang turned his head to face him, their noses only inches away from touching. Xie Lian blinked owlishly and tried not to think about that too much. “Are you sure? My hair might be thinning out from the stress.” Before the florist could say anything, he turned his head away again for scrutiny. “I think you should check again.” 

Xie Lian’s mouth opened in shock. Truly, this man really was shameless. “...You’re fishing for compliments.” 

“Is that so? What makes you think that, gege?” 

“Don’t play dumb!” Despite crossing his arms in indignation, he found that a smile had made its way onto his face.

San Lang turned his head to face Xie Lian, his eye playfully bright. “Would gege be mad if I was?” 

Xie Lian huffed. “Well, I don’t think you would need to go around fishing for them.”

“What makes you say that?” San Lang’s face brightened as he propped up a hand on the back of the bench and rested his head on it, legs crossed as he fully faced the florist. 

Well, where should Xie Lian start? The man was impeccably dressed and remarkably well-spoken. Between his flawless skin and kempt appearance, it was clear that he went to great lengths to care for himself. His features were severe and carefree in equal measure—if it was possible for someone to be objectively handsome, it would have been him. 

He was just about to reply and say all this before he snapped his mouth shut and pointed an accusing finger at the younger man, not unkindly. “You’re doing it again!”

“Guilty as charged,” San Lang grinned, looking quite the opposite.

Xie Lian was at a loss for words. “You…” 

“Me?” He raised his brows in question. 

“...Are shameless.” 

San Lang laughed for the first time that night, his low voice melodic as it rang throughout the clearing. Xie Lian looked at him as he leaned his head back, eye crescented with how hard he was laughing. Surely what he said wasn’t that funny?  

“Maybe,” he said once he was able to catch his breath, “but I’m the most honest man you’ll ever meet.” 

“For some reason, I find that hard to believe,” the florist drily replied as he turned his attention to Ruoye. The cat had leapt onto the bench and decided to use his lap as a resting spot.  

“I guess I’ll have to run into you more often, then,” San Lang mused. Xie Lian turned to see him leaning against the backrest of the bench, head still on his hand as he studied the older man’s expression. 

“For the sole purpose of proving myself, of course. Gege will give me a chance, right?” 

Xie Lian didn’t know what to make of that. He also didn’t know what to make of the way his heart jumped weirdly as San Lang’s words sank in. Rather than let the conversation drift off into awkward silence, he opted to point at the younger man again. 

“See? Shameless!”

Sang Lang raised both hands in acquiescence, a smile playing on his lips. “Okay, okay. You caught me.”

If asked how much longer their conversation continued to carry on, Xie Lian wouldn’t have been able to answer. What he did know is that, in addition to being well-spoken, San Lang was remarkably well-read in most areas of literature (“I find myself rereading I Live in the Slums by Can Xue a lot. She’s a remarkable writer.”), prolific in most areas of art (“I wouldn’t say that, gege, I just have a lot of time on my hands. I dabble.”), and had a penchant for collecting most kinds of antiques (“Paintings, weapons, furniture, whatever. They last longer than whatever trash is being mass-produced nowadays.”).

They probably would have sat there all night, if it weren’t for E’ming approaching the two—trotting this time, not sprinting or bounding wildly as she did before—and bumping her nose against Xie Lian’s knee. 

San Lang made a sound of disapproval. “You’ve been enough of a fuss. Down.” 

Disregarding her owner for the first time that night, E’ming huffed and tried to jump up, clambering onto Xie Lian and trying to plant her paws onto his lap. Ruoye narrowly avoided her paws and swatted at her in annoyance.

“Ruoye,” Xie Lian chided as he scooped the cat back and held E’ming back with an outstretched arm, “be nice!” 

He wrestled both animals for a short moment before a terse whistle beside the florist cut through the chaos, and the pit bull whipped her head toward the noise. San Lang narrowed his eye at E’ming, his expression one of irritation. 

“Sit.” 

She hesitated for a second before letting out an affronted whine and obeying. For good measure, she huffed and lowered herself until her nose was level with the toe of San Lang’s shoe. Without her there to badger him, Ruoye calmed down and reoccupied his spot on Xie Lian’s lap as a curled-up ball of fur. The florist absentmindedly ran his fingers through his fur. 

E’ming whined and flopped onto her back at her owner’s feet, looking almost as if she was throwing a tantrum. 

“Is someone cranky?” He laughed as he bent down from where he sat and patted her belly. “What a good girl you are. You listened so well today.” 

“Gege, you’ll spoil her,” her owner bemoaned. 

“Oh, but she deserves to be spoiled every now and again.” Xie Lian’s tone morphed into something playful. “And I’m sure you agree, don’t you? Don’t you~” 

His phone interrupted him with a ding! Upon checking it, he was greeted with a text from Mu Qing. 

‘where are you?? feng xin is here.’

‘I lost track of time ! ╥﹏╥ Be home in twenty ?’ 

Xie Lian dropped his phone back into his pocket and gently peeled Ruoye off of him before setting him on the bench. The cat gave a quiet meow in protest. 

“Is it time for gege to leave?” San Lang inquired as he observed the man standing up. 

“Mhm. I’m afraid I lost track of time,” he replied. He made to remove the coat from his shoulders with only a small amount of reluctance. “Ruoye looks ready to go home, anyway. Thank you for letting me borrow your coat.” 

“You can just hold onto it until next time.” 

Xie Lian blinked at him dumbly, temporarily frozen in surprise. Next time? 

“It’s cold out, anyway,” the younger man continued, his tone nonchalant and face hidden as he bent down and readjusted E’ming’s collar. 

Suddenly feeling too hot, the florist precipitously unshouldered the coat and took care in handing it back. “I couldn’t possibly take this home. I’ll be fine!” 

San Lang stood up and regarded Xie Lian for a moment, his movements slow as he took his time in accepting it. “Then would gege indulge me by letting me call a ride?” 

“Ah…” Xie Lian couldn’t help but feel as if he was taking advantage of his time to begin with. 

“It wouldn’t be any trouble at all. I’d feel better, actually.” 

Well, he couldn’t argue with that. It was as if he read his mind. Abashed, he agreed and San Lang made a call as the pair walked back. The walk took only a few minutes, but upon getting to the entrance of the park, there was a sleek black Lexus waiting for them. As they came closer, a smartly dressed man exited the driver’s side and opened the door. 

“Evening,” was all he said as he gave the two men a curt nod. A flicker of familiarity registered in Xie Lian’s brain, but he couldn’t place where he had seen the man before.

He had no mind to play “guess who,” anyway, busy as he was with gawking at the sight before him. The car looked understated enough—it wasn’t as if Xie Lian knew enough about cars to tell—but a chauffeur on top of everything else? In his simple work clothes, he had the irremediable feeling that his newly met friend’s trappings critically outclassed him. 

“Gege,” San Lang’s voice interrupted his thoughts. He was already seated in the middle, with E’ming in the farthest seat. “Are you coming in?” 

Xie Lian coughed and cleared his mind of the urge to backtrack and insist that his apartment really wasn’t that far of a walk before nodding and stepping in. He told the driver his address and, after a few seconds of readjusting in his seat, he managed to get Ruoye to sit in his lap again as they set off. As he relaxed in the admittedly roomy and plush leather seat, the work from today seemed to hit him all at once. 

“I hope you won’t be too offended that I’m not a great conversationalist right now, San Lang. I’m just—” he interrupted himself with a yawn and leaned his head against the door. “Feeling tired right now.” 

The other man looked up from meticulously picking leaves and bits of grass out of E’ming’s fur. His eye was soft with an emotion Xie Lian was too tired to interpret. “No worries, gege. You probably had a long day. Do whatever is comfortable for you.” 

The drive turned what would have been a twenty-minute walk into a pleasant ten minutes of quiet. Once they pulled up in front of his building, the driver stepped out and opened the door for Xie Lian. 

“Thank you for your help,” he earnestly acknowledged as he stepped out, the bell on Ruoye’s collar giving a delicate jingle as he trailed closely behind him. 

The driver nodded at him. 

Xie Lian bent down a bit. “And thank you, San Lang! It was good seeing you and E’ming.” 

“I got to spend what would’ve otherwise been a boring evening talking to gege,” came San Lang’s easy reply. “If anything, I should be the one doing the thanking.” He smiled back at the florist with a hand on E’ming’s collar to ensure she wouldn’t bolt after him. 

Goodbyes exchanged, Xie Lian headed up to his apartment (the elevator was working this time, bless) and came home to his expectant dinner companions. 

“I’m sorry I’m home so late,” he apologized again to Mu Qing while Feng Xin was setting up the table. 

“It’s fine.” His roommate waved him off, tone noncommittal. “Feng Xin wanted to wait for you, so I figured I’d ask to make sure you didn’t end up chasing after strays again and getting lost.” 

“Did I keep you both waiting long?” 

“No.” 

“His book club ran overtime, so if anything I was waiting on them to leave.” Feng Xin poked his head out from the kitchen with dishware in hand. He was dressed in joggers and a long-sleeve compression tee, the same kind he had gifted to Xie Lian and Mu Qing (“It’s thermal! You’ll thank me this winter”). “Where were you anyway?” 

“It’s not a book club,” Mu Qing insisted for the nth time before Xie Lian could respond, his eyes rolling to high heaven. 

“You meet up with people every week to talk about books and how reading them made you feel. What else would you call that? Church?” 

“I resent that comparison.”

As the other two bickered, the smell of rain and lilies came to mind unbidden. Xie Lian smiled and shucked off his shoes to begin helping out with dinner. 

Xie Lian opened up the shop the next day in high spirits. 

“Ah, let me see here,” he murmured absentmindedly as he rummaged through the desk drawers. No matter how many times he straightened them out, they always managed to be in some form of disarray or another when he needed them most. Ruoye very helpfully swatted at the various baubles rolling around amongst the mess. 

After a moment of searching, he found a small stack of yesterday’s invoices and plucked them from the yawning abyss.  The door chime sounded.

“Right on time, Banyue.” He looked up and smiled at the girl in front of him. True to her word, she had shown up this morning with all of the necessary paperwork in hand. She nodded and offered him a small smile. 

Xie Lian clasped his hands excitedly and went to the back room. “Great! Welcome to your first day on the job! I’ll walk you through your responsibilities.”

She offered him a small smile and made her way behind the register with little sound before setting her backpack on the counter behind them. Now that the drawer was shut, Ruoye blinked and meowed at the newcomer with mild interest.

“Oh, hello,” Banyue’s smile grew as Ruoye tentatively sniffed at the air in front of him. She raised her hand halfway before pausing and looking at Xie Lian with a question in her eyes. 

He waved his hand reassuringly. “You can pet Ruoye all you’d like. Just let him get familiar with you for a bit; He’s a rescue and he’s still rather shy.”

Given permission, she nodded and slowly offered her hand to let him nose at her fingertips. “What a handsome cat you are,” she praised when he started trying to give her licks.

As if he was responding to the praise, Ruoye took it upon himself to headbutt her palm with a purr, his tail languidly swishing back and forth behind him. Xie Lian stifled a chuckle and gave him a few pats. 

“He’s also incredibly vain. Flattery will get you everywhere with him.” 

“I think he’s the right amount of vain, Mr. Hua,” Banyue replied, clearly feeling more at ease now that she had a furry friend to lave with affection.

He coughed awkwardly and set the stack of invoices on the counter. “So anyways. We can take our time going through orders without so much pressure on you.

“Pricing is based on the size of the arrangement and if the flowers are harder to come by,” he said as he dove into the little spiel that he definitely did not rehearse to Mu Qing and Feng Xin the night before over dinner. From the bottom of the stack of invoices, he gave her a larger sheet of paper.

“I wrote up a list for you, so it’s easier to remember. It’ll come to you more quickly after a couple of weeks.” He paused and looked at her to make sure she wasn’t overwhelmed by the deluge of information.

“Mhm.” Banyue took the paper from him and gave it a quick once-over before looking at him again.

“I’ll have you mostly working the front until you’re more comfortable helping me take care of the flowers. Once we get into a rhythm or we have a system in place that works for both of us, it’ll be a lot more flexible and you’ll be able to do as you wish as long as it keeps the shop running smoothly. 

“I’ve never had someone working for me, so this will be a learning experience for the both of us,” he said with a sheepish smile. 

“Now, ringing people up is easy. This is an older register…” Older in this case meant that he fished it out of those run-down antique stores that usually sold junk. To find such a charming machine in a place like that was a real stroke of luck. “...so you just input the customer’s total, if they’re paying by cash or card, and then you hit ‘enter.’” 

Xie Lian’s hands moved to demonstrate as he explained the process. This invoice was for a simple, medium-sized rose bouquet, and he pressed the corresponding numbers out of muscle memory. When he pressed the ‘enter’ button, the register gave a small ding and the cash drawer popped out. 

“And because this order hasn’t actually been paid for yet, I’m going to cancel this transaction by pressing here,” he hit a button in the top corner, “and it won’t count for the total when I close the register tonight.” Xie Lian tucked the invoice into the bottom of the pile and handed Banyue a slip.

“Why don’t you try for yourself?”

He had her practice a couple times to make sure she was familiar with the system—work experience or not, he knew his register was a great deal older than the newer systems other stores used—and was pleasantly surprised at how well she handled the machine deciding to be temperamental and jam up the receipt printer.

With that out of the way, he showed her around the workshop. 

The floral refrigerators on the far wall stored arrangements ready for pickup. The large work table was used for preparing the flowers and doubled as a dining table during lunch breaks. The standing cabinet in the corner of the room housed coils of twine and other trinkets used to decorate the arrangements. Underneath the sinks were cleaning products and other supplemental plant care products. Propped against the stainless steel basin was a broom and a mop. 

Xie Lian took extra care to emphasize the importance of keeping the floor dry.

He peered down at Banyue, who was diligently taking mental note of all the various pieces of information he offered her, and smiled. He led her past the large work table to the other side of the room. 

“And this is the ‘Green Corner.” The name had been offhandedly coined by Mu Qing on a day when he was helping out, and it had stuck since. 

Sunlight streamed through one of the windows, landing on gunmetal shelves laden with indoor plants and flowers of all kinds. Ivy crawled out from its pot and wound around the metal supports, making for quite a lush sight. Larger pots sat on the ground around the shelves, home to monstera, snake, and bird of paradise plants. On one of the walls, a little calendar with a watering schedule was posted.

“Sometimes people come in looking for plants to buy for decoration, so I grow and sell them—or I’ll sell cuttings at a reduced price so they can propagate them themselves.” He gave the rest of the room a once-over. Surely he was forgetting something…? 

He opened his mouth to continue when his phone started ringing. 

“I’m sorry, Banyue. Just give me a moment,” Xie Lian said as he fished his phone out. “In the meantime, you can look around and familiarize yourself with the space. I have a couple of cabinets I didn’t get to, but those hold all the cellophane, pots, and buckets. You won’t need to worry about those for a bit.”

The girl nodded and stayed to look at the plants of the Green Corner while Xie Lian went to the front to fetch a pen.

“Chestnut Florals, how can I help you?” he greeted.

“Xie Lian, surely you have my number saved?” Jun Wu’s voice carried a hint of mirth over the line.

The pen he had in hand clattered to the floor as icy shock washed over him. 

Why is Jun Wu calling? 

He frantically searched for where the pen had rolled off to. He still needed it. Surely it didn’t roll away too far? It had a—oh, what did you call it—that bit of plastic you’d use to leave your pen hanging off a stack of papers or your breast pocket… A clip? 

And in the middle of the day, too? 

A clip. So there was no way it would’ve been able to get far. Maybe it bounced…? He should’ve kept an ear out as it fell. That way, he could at least hear the general direction it went in. Honestly, how clumsy was he? 

What does he want?!

“Xie Lian?” He snapped out of his stupor. 

“Ah…” His mouth opened and closed repeatedly, but he found that he was unable to coerce his lips into forming any words of substance. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“It’s nothing that’s any cause for worry. I just haven’t heard from you in a while and was wondering if you had given what we talked about any thought. I don’t mean to rush you, of course. I just know you to be a punctual person. As the end of the year is right around the corner, I’ve been drafting up changes to tenants’ leases, and thought of you.”

The florist’s throat clicked as he swallowed. The sound of it was foreign to his ears.

“If you’re too busy to be bothered with such things right now, I can always call back another day or stop by your unit to discuss in person.” 

“No!” Xie Lian winced at how forcefully his voice came out. He cleared his throat. “It’s no bother, I’m just training a new employee right now.” 

An oppressive pause left Xie Lian to stew with his thoughts once again. Jun Wu chuckled good-naturedly. It did little to soothe him. 

“I see. Well, far be it from me to get in the way of your matters of business,” he said magnanimously. “I won’t keep you.”

Xie Lian felt his shoulders sag as air released itself from his lungs. He quickly straightened his back again and hoped it wasn’t audible over the phone. “Thank you for understanding. I’ll get back to you when I can.” 

“I hope to hear from you soon.” 

The line went dead.

At that, he set the phone down and shook his head to clear any thoughts about the newest encounter with his landlord. He had no time to linger on the minute details; Banyue was waiting for him. What kind of a boss would he be if he spent her first day preoccupied with his personal life? It was better to talk about it with Mu Qing this evening, anyway. 

For good measure, he clapped his hands over his cheeks a couple of times. 

He poked his head through the door to see Banyue sitting cross-legged in front of one of the Green Corner’s larger pots, probably reading the little labels with the name of the plant, some information on its origins, and basic care instructions. 

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Banyue.” He smiled contritely when she turned toward him. 

“I wasn’t waiting long,” she replied, standing up. 

Xie Lian gingerly removed a large bundle of roses from the fridge and set them on the work table. “How about I show you how to properly dethorn these?”

An hour later, Banyue managed to nick her fingers even with assistance from the thorn strippers. Xie Lian had wanted to move on to something else after the first few times, but she had insisted that she wanted to keep going. He was only able to force her to stop when they both agreed that the bandages on her fingers were no longer effective in keeping her from bleeding on the flowers. 

The florist called for a 15-minute break so he could readdress the scratches on her hands. 

“What hours can you work?” Xie Lian asked, trying to make conversation. He tried to keep the subject away from anything associated with roses as he cleaned her cuts. The poor girl was most likely mentally kicking herself for a rough start to her first day at the shop, and he didn’t feel that it was necessary to rub salt into the wound. Disinfectant was enough. 

Banyue’s feet gently swung from the stool, her expression thoughtful. “I can be here from opening to afternoon every day except for Saturdays. My classes are in the afternoons, and I have my apprenticeship every evening and all day on Saturday.” 

“Sounds like you have awfully long days,” he commiserated, frowning in sympathy and thinking back to his college days. He had it easy, all things considered, but it was four years of late nights and long lectures powered by energy drinks that were probably the reason why he had high blood pressure today. Six years, if he counted his time in his graduate program.

“What’s your apprenticeship for?” 

“You know Crimson Elysium?” 

Xie Lian perked up and nodded in recognition. “I have a customer who works for the owner—He Xuan’s a regular, you’ll see him at some point. Downtown, right? In Ghost Tower? ” 

“Mhm.” She nodded. If he paid close enough attention, he could see an elusive flash of excitement pass her features. “I started my tattoo apprenticeship there not too long ago.” 

Tattoo? Xie Lian blinked and thought back to the time when he delivered flowers to He Xuan a few weeks ago. He had never been inside a tattoo parlor before (did tattoo parlors have reception rooms?), but whatever mental image that came to his mind’s eye didn’t match the reception room he had seen, what with its expansive ceiling and meticulously curated decor. To be fair, Ghost Tower didn’t correlate with his idea of an art studio either.

Maybe he really did need to reexamine his personal biases. 

“I didn’t know they were taking apprentices! How are you liking it so far?” He also didn’t know that Crimson Elysium was a tattoo parlor, to begin with, but Banyue didn’t need to know that.

She bit the inside of her cheek in thought. “I thought it was kind of hoity-toity at first. The artists are nice enough, but I think that’s only because my mentor is their boss. I can’t tell if they’re scared of him, or if they all want to make a good impression on him. They all call him ‘Hua Chengzhu,’ even though that’s not his name.” She wrinkled her nose. Clearly, the idea of such flagrant adulation was distasteful to her. 

Xie Lian laughed at her frank assessment. “And what’s this ‘Hua Chengzhu’ like? I’ve only ever heard of him in passing from He Xuan.” 

“Well, his name is actually Hua Cheng, but I call him Mr. Hua.” Banyue looked like she was going to continue, but stopped short and looked up at him, aphotic eyes questioning. “Are you two related by any chance?” 

Surprise launched him into a coughing fit. “Beg your pardon?”

“I was just asking since ‘Hua’ isn’t a common last name around here.”

The florist didn’t have the heart to correct her. She had been calling him “Mr. Hua” all day, and he didn’t want her to face embarrassment on top of the literal wounds she amassed while working. 

“Maybe it’s a lucky coincidence?” Was all he could offer.

“Ohh. The other Mr. Hua doesn’t really talk much. He has me shadow the other artists whenever he’s on business or in his office. It’s not too different from studying under him; they all say he taught them how to tattoo so the technique is all the same, even if they specialize in different styles.

“I heard some clients talking before their appointments and saying all sorts of crazy things about him, but I think Mr. Hua is a lot nicer than he wants people to think,” Banyue contemplated.

“And what makes you say that?” 

“His wording can be…” She trailed off. “Unpleasant when he talks to people, but he always makes time to stop by the studio and check up on everyone.” A circumspect smile spread across her face as she reminisced. “A few days ago, someone was giving Jian Lian—she’s one of the artists—trouble and he called the guy a ‘sad, thimble-headed excuse of a human whose sole purpose in life is to serve as a warning to others’ before kicking him out.” 

Xie Lian stifled a laugh at the biting insult and tried his best to school his expression. “He sounds very creative.” 

The phone rang before Banyue could continue detailing the exploits of her mentor. Xie Lian had her pick up and coached her through the process of taking an order.

Fortunately, the rest of the day went smoothly. By the end of it, Banyue was taking calls with no problem (Xie Lian would need to look into getting a proper phone for the shop). By the end of the week, she was sedulous in maintaining the plants of the Green Corner and keeping to the watering schedule. By the time the autumn chill became biting winter winds, she was able to brave the roses again and come away with minimal damage.

Xie Lian underestimated just how helpful having Banyue manage the storefront while he worked in the back was. Without being interrupted by a customer walking in every now and again, he was free to focus on keeping the backroom tidy and be more meticulous with his arrangements. The volume of orders grew, and with it, Chestnut Florals became increasingly hectic, but he never felt the strain of it now that she was here to take calls and greet customers. 

On one such busy day, the florist was putting the finishing touches on an arrangement when he heard his name being called. 

“Mr. Hua? There’s someone here to see you.” 

He turned to see Banyue standing at the door, Ruoye on her shoulder. The cat had taken a liking to her, always running up and rubbing against her legs whenever she clocked in. Xie Lian gave his tickseed flowers one last adjustment before heading to the front. 

“XIE LIANNNNN~” Two wiry, strong arms pulled him close and smothered him in a hug before he could so much as open his mouth to say hello. 

“It’s good to see you too, Qingxuan,” the florist laughed and hugged them back. The light scent of ginger and something citrusy filled his nose. “How was the wedding? What kind of day is it today?”

“It’s a girl day,” Shi Qingxuan casually acknowledged before continuing. “The wedding was beautiful, Xie Lian.” She pulled back, still holding him by the shoulders with a wide smile on her face. Perpetually wearing flowy, white clothing with teal or baby blue accents, she always looked ethereal—as if she could float along with a gust of wind and bathe in the sunlight, should she so choose to. 

“Everyone cried. I cried, the guests cried, He-Xiong cried.” She counted people off on her fingers. “I even saw my brother getting misty-eyed! The bouquets you made for the bridal party were exquisite, by the way. People were complimenting them left and right. They were also complimenting us left and right. I don’t blame them though, have you seen my husband?! Wait, I don’t think you have…” 

While Shi Qingxuan rummaged around in her tote bag to look for her phone, the phone rang. Xie Lian made a move to answer it, but Banyue swooped in and gently set Ruoye on the counter before waving the florist away. 

“I got it!”

The florist thanked her and turned to his bubbly guest. 

“I didn’t know you hired an assistant!” 

“Banyue’s been working here for about a month now. She’s been a huge help around the shop.” Xie Lian paused before nodding his head toward the workshop. 

“I feel bad just standing around and talking while Banyue is manning the phone,” he began, “Do you wanna head to the back with me? That way we can talk while I work.” 

Shi Qingxun enthusiastically followed Xie Lian and showed him countless photos of wedding decor (featuring Chestnut Floral arrangements, of course) and unfamiliar smiling faces before she swiped to a picture of the couple at the altar. Shi Qingxuan was all smiles in a stunning gown that looked like something straight out of a fairy tale, delicate golden adornments draped across her shoulders as she gazed lovingly at the groom. 

The florist did a double-take. The set of the groom’s jaw and the sharp line of his nose was familiar. Was that…?!

All black with golden accents and trimming, the tastefully tailored suit didn’t deviate too far from his usual attire, but without his signature slicked-back ponytail, He Xuan wasn’t immediately recognizable. His hair flowed freely down his back, with gold adornments similar to Shi Qingxuan’s laid around the crown of his head and woven into his hair. Furthermore, he was smiling. A man of few words and even fewer expressions, such a blatant display of emotion (and a positive one, no less) from him felt illegal for Xie Lian to witness.

Huh. Small world.

“And I’m just so proud of him,” Shi Qingxuan gushed. “He always complains about how business law is soul-sucking work, but he’s out here brokering deals for small businesses and making sure they don’t get screwed over by those nasty mega-corporations.” 

“A lawyer?” With every new piece of information Xie Lian received today, he found that his preconceived notions were more and more incorrect. “I thought he worked for Hua Cheng…”

“He does!” Shi Qingxuan chirped. “He’s his lawyer.” 

“Oh…” 

Her lips quirked up in a smile at his befuddled expression. “He came in here talking about being a servant or something or other, didn’t he?” 

“Personal assistant, actually.” But Xie Lian figured the two weren’t all that far off from each other. 

Shi Qingxuan laughed; the sound was musical in quality and carefree. “They were buddies back in college, and He-Xiong lost a bet to Hua Cheng. He won’t tell me what the bet was or how much he owes him, no matter how much I ask him,” she pouted, “but he’s been in debt to Hua Cheng ever since then. I think it’s just a running bit to him though; that guy only ever cashes in favors.” 

Echoing chimes reminiscent of the bells one would hear at a Daoist temple sounded from her phone before she could entail what those favors exactly were (with how often Xie Lian saw He Xuan around, he could probably field a guess). 

Shi Qingxuan leaned her head back in a disappointed sigh and muted the alert. “That’s my alarm. I need to go on some other errands. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer!”  

“That’s fine.” The florist smiled as she pulled him into a hug. “Congratulations on a successful wedding. I’m happy I could be a part of the process.” 

“Of course, are you kidding? I was looking at a bunch of different florists in the area and none of them even close! Oh, and before I forget!” She reached into her tote bag again and produced a small box with a brush-style illustration of an open fan depicted on the lid. 

“I’m opening a bakery soon and wanted to bring these to you as a show of thanks for the wonderful flowers. You said you like mantou, right?” 

Sure enough, when Xie Lian wiped his hands on his apron and opened the box, it was full to bursting with pillowy, snow-white buns. He took a deep breath as steam wafted up from them, carrying the nostalgic smell of herbs and spices. 

Shi Qingxuan was right; he had mentioned his affinity for the pastry the last time she was here, but only in passing. Her coming all the way here just to drop off food to show her gratitude left him feeling touched.

“Thank you for these, Qingxuan,” he thanked her earnestly. “These look amazing.” 

“Sure thing. It was good seeing you, Xie Lian!” 

The florist smiled warmly. “Come again soon!”

The door chime jingled cheerily as the whirlwind of energy named Shi Qingxuan left. Xie Lian let out a sound of contentment and let himself think back to their conversation, chuckling to himself at how she managed to jump from one topic to the next, her attention flitting between subjects like an errant breeze. 

“Thank you again for getting the phone,” he said, turning to Banyue to see her jotting something down on an invoice sheet in neat print. “I really do appreciate your help.” 

“Of course.” She finished up whatever she was doing and looked up. “Was that your friend?” 

Xie Lian gave his answer some thought. “I actually only met her one other time, and that was when she came here to order flowers for her wedding.” 

Banyue’s lips formed an ‘o’ shape as she nodded in understanding. “She’s really friendly,” was what she settled on after a short moment of contemplation. The florist laughed. 

“Yeah, you could say that.” He set the box of mantou on the counter. “Qingxuan brought these, but there’s no way I’ll be able to finish them alone. Do you like steamed buns? Why don’t you take an early lunch? I can watch the shop.” 

<<Beginning <Previous Next>

[1] 華人/huá rén refers to those who are ethnically Chinese. Kemo mispronounces this and says 花人/huā rén, which would mean “flower man.” It’s a play on the Korean concept of flower boys—originally referring to an elite group of male warriors in in ancient Korea, but nowadays it just means a pretty boy with softer characteristics (화랑/hwarang in Korean, or 花郎/huā láng in Chinese)

“No, that’s not—” the florist fumbled for a rebuttal before sighing. “Please? I’ll feel bad. You already work so hard.”

Mu Qing remained unmoved.

“You don’t ordain what I do with my time,” he said as he grabbed a book off the coffee table and flipped to whichever page he left off on. “If you’re going to use that as an excuse, then I suggest you find another one.” 

“Ah well…” Xie Lian’s mouth hung open as he tried to find another retort before he resigned himself to picking at a stray thread of the couch’s seams.

“Nothing to say?” Mu Qing looked over the pages of his book at him with an expression that would be described as haughty by anyone who didn’t know him. “Then it looks like you’re burdened with the unbearable millstone that is accepting help.” 

Xie Lian wasn’t sure if the look he extended to Mu Qing was a smile or a grimace. How lucky he was to encounter people who were so aggressive in offering a kindness he couldn’t possibly repay them for. 

“Well, thank you all the same. I really do appreciate it.”

His roommate waved his hand dismissively and turned a page. “If you end up injuring yourself again, I won’t have anyone that can keep up their portion of the bills.” 

Contrary to his flippant tone, Mu Qing was steadfast in ensuring that Xie Lian stayed off of his feet. He needed to run errands? Mu Qing acquired what he needed on his way home from work (he paid him back, of course). It was time for Ruoye’s walk? Mu Qing obliged with only a grumbled complaint or two about how combative the cat was when he tried to slip on his harness. 

Orders at the shop showed no signs of stopping? Mu Qing came in on his day off to help run it, with Feng Xin doing the same a couple of days later. The latter even went so far as to send Xie Lian a regimen of gentle stretches to ensure that his ankle was healing the way it should.

 “Oh this looks lovely, Feng Xin,” Xie Lian praised as he practically leaned across the table from his seat to admire his friend’s work. 

“Looks pretty bad compared to the ones you have out front,” the personal trainer replied as he withdrew from the table to assess it. He crossed his arms over the black florist’s apron Xie Lian lent him for the day (he had an extra in a bin hidden in one of the corners of the workshop) as his brows furrowed in thought, absentmindedly petting Ruoye’s ears from where he sat on the windowsill. 

A bouquet of Oxford blue salvias blended with violet-hued sweet peas and some white lilies. It was a rather bittersweet and somber piece if Xie Lian stopped to think about it for too long, even more so when he recalled the customer who ordered it. 

He was a man with an aged voice that carried uncertainty that was easy to hear over the phone. After a short conversation and exchange of pleasantries, he shared that the first anniversary of the passing of his late wife—“my gem,” he called her—was approaching. He wanted to bring her flowers during the visit to her grave. So, they talked a few minutes more while the florist made note of what blooms would work best for the occasion. 

“That’s not a fair comparison. I do this every day,” Xie Lian argued. “But you do wonderful work, I’m happy you’re here helping today.” 

“Was Mu Qing that bad?” 

“Well…” He sputtered. The number of times his roommate had nearly cut his fingers open a couple of days before while trying to trim stems was… Significantly higher than zero. 

For all his experience plating beautiful dishes at the hotel restaurant, it seemed that he had met his match in the form of plants. Xie Lian chose to omit that fact.

“He was really helpful on the phone! And the floor is spotless thanks to him.”

Feng Xin cackled and set the finished bouquet aside after nimbly securing a ribbon around the stems. “We’ve always known that he makes for a great custodian. Tell me something I don’t know—ack!”

The florist reached up from his seat to swat Feng Xin in the back of the head. 

“Be nice,” he admonished, not unkindly. “You’re a lot ruder to customers than he is on the phone.”

“I’m not rude—”

“You both have your strengths and you both have weaknesses. So be nice.”

Feng Xin mumbled something unintelligible in response to the reprimand, his tone disgruntled.

“Besides, you’ve done this before,” Xie Lian laughed. “He hasn’t.”

Xie Lian always had an interest in trades that his parents considered “unstable.” After all, in a progressing world where technology is increasingly used for daily life, things like bookbinding, literature, or calligraphy become more and more outmoded. Floral arrangement was a hobby that came along later in his adolescence amidst a time full of… Unpleasant memories. But he adored it all the same. 

As friends since practically birth, he hauled Feng Xin along with him on each new endeavor. He never saw the appeal in reading old books, but he was always keen to lend another set of hands when it came to binding copies of said old books or arranging flowers, much to Xie Lian’s delight. It had been a while since the personal trainer had last done something that requires fine motor skills instead of brute strength. 

Still, it was easy to tell that his hands operated on muscle memory alone from the speed with which he trimmed stems, dethorned roses, and carefully gathered blooms to sit in a vase. 

“Yeah, and I’m not even that good. I can’t even imagine how much of a disaster—”

“Nonsense, it’s been a while. This one only needs to be adjusted a tiny bit…” Xie Lian was halfway out of his seat to fix the angle of a stray stem (or three) when two strong hands firmly pushed him back into his seat. 

“You’re staying right there. Mu Qing will skin me alive and use it for his next dish if he catches wind of me letting you be on your feet.” 

“I’m a fully grown man, not a baby,” he reminded him. “And my ankle is pretty much all better! Look.” He flexed his ankle a few times, his foot drawing circles in the air as he did so. Only a jolt of pain or two shot up his leg as opposed to the constant dull throbbing from over the weekend. “You know as well as me that the human body has to be exercised during the healing process. Aren’t you a professional?”

“You’re right.” 

“Thank you, so that means I can start walking—”

“You’re not a baby. Babies have a better sense of self-preservation,” the personal trainer snorted before bringing the bouquet closer to Xie Lian’s side of the table so he could fuss over it to his heart’s content. 

Blue salvias in particular mean, “I think of you,” while sweet peas are a sign of thanks for a lovely time. Salvias grow in spires of tubular, hooded petals with a striking resemblance to lavender flowers. The oddity of their shape flowed nicely with the fanned-out form of dusty violet sweet peas. The white lilies—a flower for mourning—placed strategically throughout the bouquet were a pleasant and much-needed contrast to its cool tones. 

He carefully untied the ribbon Feng Xin had labored over and replaced it with brown florist’s twine to give the piece an earthy feel. This was to be left in front of a gravestone, after all. 

Once it was secured, he opened a nearby drawer that contained a number of stones and rummaged about until he was able to produce a small, oblong stone that was mostly rust-orange in color. Its splotches of orange and dark green-yellow resembled the very flower it was named after—poppies. Seeing as they were a flower closely associated with peace and death, he thought it was fitting.

Feng Xin’s fingers may be unexpectedly deft given his occupation, but it was Xie Lian who had an eye for these kinds of things. 

As the florist busied himself with making sure the stone was properly secured to the stems of the flower with twine, Feng Xin looked at one of the other invoice tickets. 

“I don’t get why you don’t go electronic with these,” he waved the paper slip around with one hand as he turned toward the buckets of flowers mounted on a nearby rack to find the necessary blooms for the next arrangement. “It would save you the trouble of having to buy brand new ones every time you’re running low.” 

“It’s too much work to program,” Xie Lian murmured in reply, his concentration devoted to finishing up the bouquet and wrapping it in brown paper. “And I don’t have a computer. What if it glitches and then I lose all the data? I’d rather have a hard copy to avoid that headache.” 

“But it would make your life so much easier! If you lose the ticket, you’ll have it digitized.” Feng Xin gathered the appropriate amount and kinds of flowers and set them in a  bucket with water in it close to Xie Lian before taking the newly finished bouquet to put it in its own water-filled vessel.

“Do me a favor, could you put that in the fridge over there?” He took a look at the flowers as well as the invoice, gesturing vaguely at the unit specifically used to store the flowers before sale. 

“Sure.” 

They worked like this in relative quiet aside from the phone calls and orders Feng Xin received. For all his protests about having his friends come in to help him, Xie Lian couldn’t deny that having an extra set of hands or two helped streamline the process. 

“Feng Xin?” His tone was absent as he adjusted the flowers to be just right. It was a horizontal arrangement, and it required floral foam. He would usually try to avoid using it, as it made changing the water difficult for customers, and the flowers never lasted as long, but this was meant to be used in a banquet setting of sorts. The flowers needed to be at the perfect angle and they needed to stay. 

“Mn.” 

A glance across the table left Xie Lian with the comical sight of his friend hunched over a small pile of roses as he worked on dethorning them. A furrow had found itself between his brows. 

“How much do I owe you today for your time?” 

“Fuck I look like, letting you pay me when I’m just helping?” He waved one of the roses around as if to prove his point. “What am I, a prostitute?” 

Xie Lian choked and turned to the side, trying to disguise it as a cough while Feng Xin continued working at the roses, seemingly unaware that his childhood friend was fighting for breath. 

“It’s your day off, though?”

Feng Xin glared at him, his expression asking, “are you fuckin’ serious??” 

“Don’t be dumb. I’m not losing any money, and I didn’t have any plans today. Don’t worry about it,” he replied with an emphatic pull of the thorn stripper. 

“Well—”

“You wanna pay someone so bad to help you run the shop?” He set down a rose and got started on another. They were in high demand no matter the season, so Xie Lian always had an excess of them that needed trimming for walk-in clients—mostly new customers who were unaware of the other options available. “Hire someone. I’m sure there are people around the city who are interested. There’s always someone who needs a job.” 

Xie Lian’s hands paused in their work as he gave the idea some serious thought. 

“Actually, you have a point—”

brrIIING!

Feng Xin hurriedly wiped wet hands on his apron and grabbed Xie Lian’s phone beside him to answer it, only to pause in confusion.

“Ah.” 

“Hm?”

“It’s your alarm.” He spun the phone to face Xie Lian. Against the backdrop of his screensaver—an endearing photo of Ruoye in what the florist affectionately called “attack mode” with pupils dilated enough to reduce his irises to thin rings of blue—were bold letters that read “LEAVE FOR DELIVERY!!!” 

“I didn’t know you delivered. Did you hire a driver or something?” 

Xie Lian sprang to his feet, making Feng Xin jump, and hastily wiped his hands on his apron while scrambling to untie it. “I completely forgot!” 

“What, did you leave the oven on?”

The florist paused and turned in confusion. “Wha- No. I told a customer I’d get these to him today.” 

He was already halfway across the room and yanking the refrigerator door open. On the middlemost shelf sat five arrangements sporting moody tones of burgundy, cool browns, and dark greens. The space was quite crowded. If the volume of orders being placed didn’t thin out soon, he’d have to invest in a bigger fridge; preferably one with more shelf space.

“Could you help me out and watch the shop for a bit?” He carefully transferred the flowers to a medium-sized bucket with a few inches or so of cold water—just enough to keep the flowers hydrated on the way there. Each arrangement was secured with a few rubber bands, so there was no need to reorganize them upon arrival. 

“The walk isn’t that far. It won't be much longer than 30 minutes, I promise.”

“And I promised Mu Qing that I’d make sure you weren’t overexerting yourself like you always do.” Feng Xin trailed after Xie Lian as he made his way over to the front of the shop and set the bucket on the counter. 

Xie Lian’s hands were a flurry of movement as he looked for the invoice he had written. 

He really should have clipped it to one of the buckets the flowers were in before he put them away to store. Then he wouldn’t have to rifle through the various pieces of stationery and discarded tickets. The counter wasn’t normally this messy; where could he have possibly put it—ah, there it was. 

Between a sizable pile of pens and sticky notes in one of the drawers. 

He grabbed the ticket and put it in his wallet before removing his coat—a lovely gift to him from his mother before he left home—and scarf from a nearby rack. 

Hopefully, the biting temperature outside wouldn’t cause issues with the flowers like premature wilting. They would only be exposed for a little bit, but the flowers in this set of arrangements weren’t exactly the hardiest. If only flowers could wear sweaters… He disregarded the thought and wrapped his scarf around his neck.

“What’s there to overexert? The swelling is practically gone, and I can walk just fine.” 

“Yeah, until you roll your ankle and injure it even more on the way there. You need another week of minimal activity at least,” Feng Xin griped as he grabbed the bucket. “I’ll call a cab for you. Just don’t go anywhere.”

“Ah, but…”

“Mu Qing will actually kill me if you end up walking the whole way. Letting you go in the first place is bad enough,” he said as both men exited the store to stand on the sidewalk. Xie Lian was immediately hit by a gust of chilly wind accompanied by the sound of leaves skittering along the pavement. Perhaps he should offer to take the bucket, if only to have something to shield him from the draft.

“You want me to die at the hands of the chef with a stick constantly up his ass?” Feng Xin continued. “I’d have to hide my face in shame in the afterlife.” 

“I said be nice!” Xie Lian laughed despite himself. “I won’t tell him if you don’t.”

Not long after, a cab was successfully hailed. 

Feng Xin carefully put the bucket on the seat farthest from the open door and moved so Xie Lian could take a seat himself. With a quick and earnest thanks to Feng Xin, he shut the door and gave the address to the driver.

Luckily, the cabbie brought him to his destination with no issues aside from the stop-and-go midday traffic. As it turned out, it wasn’t too far from his shop. The drive didn’t take more than 15 minutes into the city center, where low-rise buildings gave way to the mid and high-rise structures more archetypal of a bustling metropolis.  

Once he paid the fare, Xie Lian clambered out of the taxi and onto the sidewalk with his bucket of arrangements in hand. The sidewalk was inundated with people brusquely walking to wherever it was that they needed to go. In the sea of navy blue, black, and grey business attire, he couldn’t help but feel underdressed.

Had he misremembered the address? He didn’t know art studios were located in the business district. He wasn’t well-versed in the world of art to begin with, but this location wasn’t what he had in mind.

 He quickly scanned the buildings that lined the street, looking for the studio. Most of them were smooth, with blue-green glass windows spanning their entirety. Some were so tall he needed to crane his neck to even see the top. 

Two minutes of walking and reading the storefront signs of major banking corporations and realtor groups alike passed before he came across a building made of black brick with tall, expansive windows that were tinted dark enough to prevent passersby from peering in. Despite not sharing the near-skyscraper heights of its neighbors, it was still a substantial structure with 30 stories or so. Silver-painted mouldings lined the windows in an ornamental fashion along each tier of the building as it became narrower and narrower toward the top. 

It was the very picture of tasteful opulence. 

If it weren’t for the fact that the building number was an exact match to the address He Xuan gave him, he could’ve mistaken it for a hotel. What an interesting exterior for an art studio. 

Xie Lian readjusted his hold on the bucket and walked under an awning with “Ghost Tower” printed on it in an elegant white font. Two glass doors reinforced with silver metal that seamlessly connected to a large circular window automatically parted to let him in. It brought the image of a moon gate to mind.

He was immediately struck by the sheer size of the reception area. It was empty, making the space seem that much bigger. 

The flooring consisted of black marble tiles that led to smooth, dark brown walls stretching up to a high ceiling. From it hung an installation of delicate silver pieces. Scattered amidst clusters of large lanterns hung at various heights, they gently swayed from the strings tethering them and twinkled as they caught both the orange-red light of the lanterns and the natural light streaming in.

Past the lobby, there were three wide, arching entryways that led to the rest of the building, the one in the center much wider than the other two. Silver letters that read “Crimson Elysium” followed the arc of dark brown wooden framing, with slats and beams of the same material coming together to form geometric shapes and gridlines. 

Beyond that were rows of room dividers reminiscent of the rice paper screens in Xie Lian’s childhood home, except they were gunmetal and frosted glass instead of the traditional wood and paper. Rectangular floor lanterns were stationed at each divider, emitting a soft red glow.

The low din of conversation and a rhythmic buzzing he couldn’t quite place echoed throughout.

Where could he possibly find He Xuan in all of this? Xie Lian debated the merits of wandering the premises until he happened to cross paths with him. No. An establishment like this had security, and it was beyond obvious that he didn’t belong here. He didn’t want to be accused of trespassing and kicked out before he even had a chance to deliver the flowers. 

A black reception desk with a silver trim—he was beginning to sense a pattern in the overall theme of the space—sat to the left of the entrance. On it sat one of the arrangements from the last order he had fulfilled, and behind it sat a receptionist wearing a black face mask. Black hair fell neatly past his shoulders, almost blending in with the nondescript, long-sleeve shirt he wore. 

If it weren’t for the fact that he was talking, Xie Lian would have missed him entirely and mistaken him as an extension of the desk. 

He made his way over in hopes that the young man would know where he could find He Xuan and let him know there was a delivery for him. As he approached, however, he saw that he was on the phone. He couldn’t fully make out what was being said, but the furrow in his brow and the urgency in his tone probably meant the call he was taking was important. 

Xie Lian gingerly set the bucket down on a nearby coffee table and took a seat, resigning himself to sitting in the waiting room until the receptionist was available. It was best not to interrupt. He still had time. 

Instead of the standard set of magazines lobbies typically had, there was a small stack of booklets with black covers and silver spines next to where he put the bucket. Xie Lian opened one of them. 

The cover page held nothing but a scrawled signature spanning most of it and the letters H.C. printed at the bottom. The strokes were brush-like, but hardly legible with its jagged lines and unintelligible loops. It was chaotic and aggressive, leading Xie Lian to surmise that the signer had either never held a brush in their life before, or they detested the idea of calligraphy as a whole and decided to desecrate the paper by way of retribution. 

He gently leafed through the pages, revealing designs that were much more pleasant than the introductory page. They were geometric, fine line drawings with no shortage of floral motifs, all done in black and red ink. The flowers drawn were strikingly accurate, drawn with great care and attention to detail while still retaining a painterly quality. Some drawings were hyperreal, while others emphasized clean, graphic linework. 

Whoever was behind this portfolio of work clearly had a wide range of subjects, as well as the skill to back it up. 

As he perused the booklet’s contents, the straight lines and perfect angles eventually gave way to thicker lines, grayscale washes with red interspersed throughout, and depictions of demonic figures. One such illustration was composed of a river of yuan coins artfully streaming down the page and slowly morphing into a scene of tormented souls burning in fire. 

As he set the booklet down, footsteps echoed throughout the room.

“Xie Lian, thank you for coming all this way,” He Xuan said as he entered. He was clad in his usual jet-black attire: a vest worn over a turtleneck, smartly tucked into a pair of slacks that fell right above a pair of dress shoes. As always, the ensemble was accentuated by a belt and a simple gold chain around his neck. 

The only differences of note were that his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing two twin tattoos crawling down his arms, and a gold wedding band. 

Xie Lian would be hard-pressed to discern any specific details from where he was sitting, but he could vaguely make out elegant black lines flowing around the man’s forearms like ink dispersing through water.

“I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

“Take your time,” Xie Lian insisted, “I’m in no hurry.”

He Xuan nodded at him in thanks before making his way behind the desk.  

“I’m still deciding if I should fire you for calling me down here or thank you for giving me an excuse to start my lunch break early,” he murmured as he looked down at the receptionist. His lowered tone bounced off the walls and reverberated around the room. 

“I’m already up to my neck in the paperwork he doesn’t want to deal with. It’s not my job to receive petty grievances over the phone, Yin Yu. That's what I hired you for.” 

Suddenly, Xie Lian was fascinated with his bucket of flowers. Who knew that eucalyptus leaves could be so… Leafy? He took care to pay attention to anything but the two individuals behind the desk. Yes, that’s what good guests do when they’re waiting for their client to finish with their business. He would not be nosy.

There was a dull click as the receptionist—Yin Yu, as Xie Lian has now learned—pressed the mute button. “I know,” he said with a hand raised in surrender to placate He Xuan. “But I’ve been on the phone with them for the better part of an hour, and they’re not budging until they talk to either you or one of the people higher up.”

“I’m a business partner. The only other ‘higher up’ is—” He Xuan took a moment to center himself and huffed. He stuck his hand out. “Just give me the phone.” 

“But—”

He Xuan stared at him with an expression bordering on bellicose. 

Yin Yu unmuted the phone and handed him the receiver.

“This is He Xuan of Crimson Elysium,” he said. His voice was nothing short of professional as he braced a hand on the desk and leaned on it. “What seems to be the issue?” 

“...

“Mn. I see. Actually, I’m glad I have the opportunity to speak with you regarding your shipping policies. ” 

Now, Xie Lian knew He Xuan to be a generally standoffish person, but the tone of his voice at the moment was enough to reduce the temperature of the room by several degrees. 

“Is there any particular reason why we have yet to receive the order we placed for needle cartridges?” 

There was a pregnant pause as he waited for the poor soul on the other side of the line to speak.

“I understand you don’t offer express shipping, but that’s not what I’m asking. What I’m asking is why it still hasn’t arrived three weeks after the supposed delivery date you gave us. Is this how you’re to run a business? Because the way you operate is certainly not helping us run ours.

“...

“Excuse me for interrupting.” Xie Lian chanced a glance across the room to see him smiling—or perhaps it was more accurate to say that he was gritting his teeth. 

“How does the reputation of our establishment impact your ability to make sure your clients receive your goods in a timely manner? This is a team of dozens of artists. There’s no way they can…” 

Xie Lian quickly reimmersed himself in the details of one of his arrangements as displeasure made itself known in He Xuan’s voice. The petals of the chocolate cosmos he had chosen for this arrangement were so velvety. They reflected the light coming in from the window, giving the illusion of blue streaks contrasting with the deep, rich red. What a wonder nature is! 

“...if we can’t rely on you to supply what we paid for due to something as fragile and petty as reputation, then I have no business to conduct with you.” 

Xie Lian felt a chill sweep through the room. He Xuan’s disposition had definitely reached sub-zero. 

“I trust that you can reimburse us for the items we never received within the next five business days. We will be reaching out to other providers in the meantime.” With that, he hung up with a resounding click! and rubbed at his temples. 

He shot Yin Yu a look that said, “now was that so hard?”

If Yin Yu was a braver soul, he would’ve responded, “yes, very much so.”

He Xuan turned to Xie Lian. “My apologies for having you wait through that.” He was back to his vaguely detached, polite mannerisms as he approached the florist to look at the newest order. 

Xie Lian stood to shake his hand. “Again there’s no need to worry. I have the flowers,” he cheerfully supplied, as if it wasn’t obvious.

“Thank you.” 

“I didn’t think to bring a card machine or anything with me, so I can just start a tab for you and you can pay it off the next time you stop by. I know you’re good for the money.” 

“It’s no problem. We can pay in cash.” He Xuan was already making his way to the reception desk with Xie Lian in tow. “Timely transactions are important for both parties,” he said as he opened the register and shot a pointed look at Yin Yu. 

Xie Lian produced the invoice from his wallet detailing the cost for each of the arrangements. Taking it and reading it over, He Xuan raised a brow. 

“There’s no delivery fee listed.” 

“Ah, well I don’t normally do deliveries, so I don’t have a standard fee. It wouldn’t be fair of me to charge you for something I haven’t even decided the price of. Consider it a favor from your local florist.” 

“You aren’t charging me. This isn’t coming out of my wallet.” 

“Ah, well…”

“This is to compensate you for your time and the inconvenience,” He Xuan said as he handed Xie Lian an envelope stuffed with cash. It was enough to cover the cost of the arrangements, a generous tip, and then some. “Please, take it. He set this aside in advance.” 

The florist balked at the amount and opened his mouth to protest but quickly thought better of it. It wouldn’t do to negotiate and argue with someone who wasn’t even here, especially not in front of his subordinates. With a heartfelt thanks, he put the envelope in the inner pocket of his coat.

“So, this is where you and your boss work?” 

“Boss?” Both men’s heads turned toward Yin Yu as he asked the question. 

He Xuan shot him a look that could freeze hell before replying to Xie Lian. “Yes, he founded the studio on this floor. The building belongs to him.”

The florist tried to keep his eyes from popping out of his head. “The whole building? When you said ‘studio,’ I thought you meant an artist’s loft,” he laughed awkwardly. He would have to reexamine his personal biases.

“Ghost Tower is a multi-use building,” the taller man explained. “Higher floors are leased off as office spaces for some financial groups, and the topmost floors are apartments and condos.”

“What a busy life it must be, to be an artist and a successful businessman,” Xie Lian mused, mostly to himself. “I don’t suppose you have the vases from last time on hand? I can switch the flowers out for you.” 

“I’d greatly appreciate that.” He Xuan removed the arrangement from the desk and disappeared into the restroom before emerging with a vase with newly replaced water in one hand and flowers with still-dripping stems in the other. “Yin Yu, bring the other ones here.” 

The receptionist scurried past the entryway to the rest of the studio to retrieve the other four arrangements.

Once all five previous vessels were on the table with a fresh water change, Xie Lian removed the rubber bands securing each bouquet in turn and went about making sure they were situated properly in their vases. As he worked, he stole a glance at the old flowers and was pleased to see that there was only slight wilting at the edges of the petals, even after two weeks.

“They still look great. Whoever is in charge of upkeep does a fine job. It’s really rewarding to see my work being well-taken care of after it leaves the shop,” he said as he dried his hands and turned to He Xuan. 

“That would be my boss. He sees to them himself.” 

“Well, I guess that makes sense. Presentation is important when your business is art.”

He Xuan regarded him for a moment before shrugging. “He’s extremely particular with them. He uses your arrangements for reference, so no one is allowed to handle them unless he’s away. Then, the responsibility falls to me.”

“I see… Well, since they’re wilting a little bit, I can take them back with me. They’re good for compost.” 

“That won’t be necessary. He dries them for a personal project he’s been working on.” 

“Oh!” The florist couldn’t help but preen. 

Flowers—as with most other aspects of nature—are fleeting and temporary compared to something like a sculpture or a painting. To know that someone liked his work enough to care for it during and after its prime made his heart smile. 

“That would explain why the flowers are so precise,” Xie Lian said as he opened one of the booklets he didn’t touch and thumbed through the pages. “His drawings are really beautiful.” 

On one of them, abstract brushstrokes swept down the page in winding, convoluted arcs. Ghostly faces—vague impressions of two eyes, a mouth, and sometimes a nose—were tugged into the maelstrom of ink with varied looks of abject terror and fear. Sometimes they were incorporated into the larger brush strokes in pustule-like clusters, while others made up the ink splotches.

It was a beguiling, greyscale mix of horror and elegance.

“Is he in today?” Xie Lian looked up at He Xuan again with a hopeful smile. “If he’s using my flowers in his work, I could have a chat with him to see what arrangements I can supply that would make for interesting subjects.” 

Middlemist Red Camellias would be in season in the coming months. Maybe he could put in an early order for them. 

“Unfortunately, he’s occupied with another business that needs his attention today, otherwise I would call him down for you.” 

“That’s fine. Just be sure to tell him I’ve stopped by and that I’d be more than happy to meet with him.” Xie Lian beamed at He Xuan as he hoisted his bucket—now empty of water, courtesy of Yin Yu—and headed toward the exit. 

“I’ll see you next time, He Xuan, he called over his shoulder. “Thank you for your help, Yin Yu!”

Xie Lian left the building, the double doors sliding shut behind him.

“So…” Yin Yu quietly inquired. “He’s your boss, now?” 

He Xuan turned on him. “I don’t remember listing ‘ask questions’ as part of your job description.” Though his voice had plenty of bite to it, there was little to no underlying threat. Maybe.

The receptionist raised his hands in surrender and suppressed a smile. “Whatever you say.” 

He Xuan opened his mouth to berate him again when the glass doors slid open once more. Sharp clicks echoed against marble in time with the lilting sound of tinkling metal.

“Yin Yu.” 

Shit. 

The receptionist stiffly turned toward the newcomer and pasted a smile on his face. “Hua Cheng,” he carefully acknowledged. “Welcome back from your trip.” 

<<Beginning <Previous Next>

As these requests continued to pile up, the turnaround times grew from a half hour to three weeks. In short, it was simply not possible for one man to fulfill such a high demand. 

While the poor florist had been running around his shop like a headless chicken, Ruoye watched with calm eyes, dutifully moving from his cat bed on the windowsill to follow the sun as it followed its usual course across the sky.

It wasn’t until it came time to close up shop that the calls finally petered out. The floor was covered in stems and loose leaves thanks to the whirlwind of orders, and Xie Lian wasn’t sure if the sight of such a mess was something to celebrate or lament. Regardless, he had a lot of cleaning to do. 

He had just grabbed the mop to start on the puddles in the back room when the world slipped out from under him. 

Thud! 

One moment he was standing upright. The next, he found himself winded and at eye level with the now-fallen mop handle and a smooshed pile of flower cuttings. 

Luckily—well, the stinging pain in his arms led him to doubt the actual luck of his circumstances—his elbows had taken most of the impact from colliding with the unforgiving floor. Using the table as support, he went about hauling himself up with a pained groan and tried to not focus too hard on the bruises already forming. At least it wasn’t his head that hit the floor; he’d take some unsightly marks for a week or two over a concussion. 

Still leaning on the table, Xie Lian gave himself a once-over. Damp flower cuttings littered his clothes. He rolled up the now-soaked sleeves of his cardigan to examine the damage. The floor of his workroom was smooth cement, so aside from angry red blotches marring his otherwise pale skin, he saw no scrapes or open wounds and let out a relieved sigh. Good.

As regained his bearings, he felt soft fur gently butting against the part of his arm that wasn’t pulsating in pain. Ruoye had sidled up to him to ask for more pets. Xie Lian happily obliged with a light laugh. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that, little one,” he said. “How embarrassing.” Ruoye slowly blinked at him and leaned into his hand. They remained this way for another minute or so before the florist pulled away, much to the cat’s protest. 

“I need to keep cleaning, or else we’ll be here all night!” 

He dusted off whatever he could off of his clothes and took a step to fetch the fallen mop only to be stopped by a sharp, shooting pain in his right ankle. He hissed in pain and immediately shifted his weight to his left side. A pull of his pant leg revealed that it was already slightly swollen; it probably twisted when he fell. His first instinct was to brush it off of course, but Mu Qing would kill him if he caught wind of Xie Lian neglecting his injuries, however small they were.

Xie Lian scanned the room for the ice pack he used to always have on hand, but his phone started buzzing in his pocket yet again. A helpless sigh wrenched itself from his lungs, making Ruoye prick up his ears in response as he stole a glance at the clock. Two minutes until closing. Maybe they could call back tomorrow? The invoice sheets he used to document orders were piling up just from today. Surely it would be okay to let this one go… 

He shook his head and shoved a hand in his pocket to grab his phone. No. Up until today, the business had been almost agonizingly slow; he needed to take all the orders he could to keep up with the rent for both the shop and the apartment. Who knows when it will be this busy again? 

He accepted the call and gently laid a hand on Ruoye’s back for emotional support.

“This is Royal Florals. You’re currently speaking to Xie Lian, how can I help you?” He tried his best to conceal the tiredness in his voice. 

“I apologize for the late call. I understand you’re almost closing,” a familiar cold voice sounded from the speaker. “This is He Xuan.” 

“It’s no trouble at all!” Pinning the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he indulged Ruoye in a few more pets before he pulled away. The poor cat meowed in protest as Xie Lian hobbled to the mop and continued cleaning up. “Today was more hectic than usual, but I always have time for loyal customers.” 

“Hectic you say?” 

“Mn! The shop’s been getting nonstop calls since about—” he paused to do some mental math. “Five-ish hours ago?” 

“I see.” 

“But that’s neither here nor there! Is there something wrong with the arrangements?” He wrung out the mop before continuing. “You were only here a few days ago, so they should be good for about another week.” 

“It’s nothing like that.” A long-suffering sigh sounded from the other end of the line. “My boss has me doing some inane task that’ll keep me at my desk for that entire week and I can’t avoid it.” 

“It sounds like your boss has no shortage of work for you,” the florist said with an easy laugh. 

He Xuan grumbled something under his breath to the tune of, “You have no fuckin’ idea,” Xie Lian was sure the prim and proper man wouldn’t use such vulgar language; he must’ve misheard him. Regardless of what was actually said, the slip in his usually dispassionate demeanor was still audible. “I’m calling ahead of time to ask if you offered delivery services.”

“Ah, well…” the florist found himself eyeing the formidable stack of invoices with apprehension as he swept. Unless  Mu Qing or Feng Xin stopped by to help during the busy season, it was only him running the shop, so there was no staff to spare for deliveries. “You need this next order by next week, correct?”

“Correct.” 

Well, those two owed him a few favors anyway. 

“It’ll get to you by then,” he beamed. His mouth opened to exchange the usual pleasantries of “thank you for calling,” and “have a good day,” when it occurred to him that, despite the numerous times He Xuan had stopped by to pick up arrangements, Xie Lian had no idea where he worked. “Before I let you go, where is this order going to?” 

“Crimson Elysium Studio.” The name sounded vaguely familiar. Perhaps he had passed by it on a walk around the city? “Do you need the address?”

“Please, if you don’t mind.” 

Once He Xuan had given him the address and additional details of how to get there (“It’s a little out of the way, but if you make a left here you’ll end up right at the front door.”), both men bid their goodbyes and ended the call, leaving Xie Lian to limp through the rest of his closing duties before his working day could officially draw to an end. 

“Ruoye, come!” 

“Mrrp!” With a soft trill—or was it a chirp?—Ruoye jumped down from his windowsill and came to the florist before rubbing against his pant leg. Once the harness was slipped on and his messenger bag was slung over his shoulder, he wrapped a white scarf around his neck—the temperature was dropping, after all. Both man and cat made their way out of the shop to go home. 

Thanks to Xie Lian’s ankle, the walk was slow but uneventful. Ruoye had taken to sniffing at the ground from time to time, much to his dismay (“Don’t stick your nose there, it’s dirty!”), but there were no other delays in getting home. 

Upon entering the apartment building, Xie Lian gave the man at the front desk a wave as he always did. He didn’t look up from his computer and waved him up with a noncommittal grunt—as he always did. It was a rather quiet complex, given that the only sounds on the first floor were the clacking of a keyboard and Ruoye purring as they walked to the elevator. That wasn’t to say the stillness was bothersome; it was a welcome deviation from the cacophony of the city outside. 

He reached out to press the button to go up only to be stopped short by the receptionist calling out.

“Elevator’s out of service.” Xie Lian’s heart sank. Almost as if on cue, he was hit by the soreness that came with running around all day. Fatigue washed over him in a dull wave, sharpened only by the pain in his ankle. 

“Ah, that’s a shame,” he said as he turned and did his best to muster a smile at the receptionist. “Third time this month, no?” He laughed lightly. “Is there a way I could file a work order with maintenance?”

Clack clack clack.

With no answer, he bit the inside of his cheek and began the five-story trek up the stairs—Ruoye followed close by his side. This was nothing. Going from the first floor to the second is just one flight of stairs. He only needed to do that thrice, along with a bonus floor. No big deal. He repeated this mantra to himself with every step he climbed to drown out his body’s screaming complaints. 

By the time he reached the door of his and Mu Qing’s shared apartment, Ruoye was a solid five paces ahead of him. It looked as if Ruoye was leading Xie Lian up the stairs rather than the other way around. After five flights, his pained limp was reduced to little more than a pitiful stagger as he fumbled for the right key. 

As they clinked against each other, he heard lowered voices coming from the other side of the door. One sounded as if it was two seconds from simmering over with cold rage—Mu Qing, probably—while the other was calm and unperturbed. He couldn’t place who the second speaker was. Maybe his roommate had a guest over. One of his friends from the hotel he worked at?

After some fumbling with the lock, Xie Lian finally eased the door open. 

“Mu Qing, I’m back!” he declared as he shrugged off his dirtied cardigan and gingerly kicked off his shoes. “I’m sorry I’m so late, I got caught up with work for a bit there.” Adopting a self-deprecating smile, he turned to close the door and unwrapped his scarf. 

“Who’s our guest? Feng Xin said he wouldn’t be here for another,” he checked his phone for the time, “thirty minutes or so?” The florist busied himself, slipping Ruoye’s harness off as he waited for a reply. 

As Ruoye made a beeline to his room to lounge on the cat tree (one of the few purchases Xie Lian didn’t thrift, but it was money well-spent), he finally let himself relax. He congratulated himself on a long, but fruitful, day of work. It was the weekend. The shop was closed tomorrow, so tonight he was free to do as he wished before embarking on a day full of errands. He could practically taste the dinner he, Mu Qing, and Feng Xin were going to share tonight. 

Xie Lian gingerly followed Ruoye to his room to change out of his clothes and give him his dinner. There were still a few damp spots on his back. Gross.

“Have a seat, Xie Lian.” He stopped short. Oh, he did know that voice. The familiarity of it made his blood run cold. Xie Lian’s smile solidified into stiff stone rather than a contraction of muscle, legs feeling wooden as he froze in place. Back ramrod-straight, he turned to make his way toward the living room. 

It wasn’t an extravagant space by any means. There was enough room for a three-seater sofa, an entertainment system, an upholstered chair Xie Lian had thrifted, and a coffee table in the center of it all. He saw the back of Mu Qing’s head in the middle of the three-seater. 

Jun Wu sat in the chair. 

Xie Lian’s teeth gritted with the effort of trying not to wince as he walked, favoring his right leg all the while. 

“Good evening, Jun Wu,” he supplied. His tongue gracelessly fumbled around the words as he took a seat next to his roommate on the end of the couch farthest from Jun Wu. “To what do we owe the visit?” 

“He decided to surprise us,” Mu Qing said. Thinly veiled disdain dripped from his voice. “Usually, it’s required of landlords to give a 24-hour notice, but we’re blessed with someone who operates outside of tradition.” Xie Lian elbowed him in the side. 

“This isn’t an inspection,” Jun Wu smoothly replied. If he took offense to Mu Qing’s gripe or noticed Xie Lian trying to quiet his roommate, nothing on his face gave it away. “I was just discussing some policy changes in the building over a drink. As your landlord, it’s important to take the opinions of my tenants into account.” 

Xie Lian looked over at the coffee table and sure enough, there were two cups of tea with the steam long gone. The one on Mu Qing’s side was untouched, while the one on Jun Wu’s was nearly empty. There was a third cup, flipped over and most likely reserved for Xie Lian upon coming home. “Care to join us? It’s been quite a while since we last talked.” 

“Here, let me.” Xie Lian lifted the teapot and filled Jun Wu’s cup a little over halfway. The pot was still full; its weight and the faint aroma of camellia and red dates helped ground him, but neither offered anything beyond mild comfort. 

Mu Qing bristled. “You shouldn’t have to—”

“Thank you. You’re a wonderful host as always.” Jun Wu offered him an upturn of the lips and poured Xie Lian’s tea in turn. After a beat, the older man took his cup with one hand and finished half of it in one go.

“Of course,” the florist replied as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He felt like an intruder despite being the one that lived here. 

As he lifted his cup with both hands and sipped at his tea, the skin around his throat suddenly felt too tight, but he tried to swallow around the discomfort before setting his cup back down. “What new policy changes were being discussed?” he asked, feeling Mu Qing tense beside him. 

The tension in the room wasn’t something that hung in the air, thick enough to cut. No, it held a solid undercurrent of disquiet beneath their feet. Xie Lian dared not breathe too hard or make sudden movements, in case it became the tipping point to make this mindfield of a conversation erupt into little more than violence and ugly words slung at each other.

“Well,” Jun Wu started as he uncrossed and recrossed his legs. The only creases in his cream-colored, tailored slacks were the sharply ironed lines that ran down each leg. It was easy to tell that his pants were tailored because of how the hems fell right above smartly shined Oxford shoes. Hardly a strand of hair was out of place and his hands were folded neatly in his lap, which only added to the meticulously crafted image of perfection he always embodied. 

Xie Lian felt almost offensively under-dressed in his ratty crewneck and thrifted jeans. It didn’t seem like Jun Wu minded. His features were serene, friendly even. 

“Given the recent developments in the area, I found it prudent to present the idea of raising rent. I’m planning on renovating the building and other complexes, and that requires all members of our community to contribute accordingly.” He leaned closer to reach for his cup, and Xie Lian resisted the urge to veer away. 

“What do you think, Xie Lian?” Jun Wu asked before finishing off the last of his tea. Obsidian-black eyes never once left the florist’s face as he drained the cup of its contents. Feng Xin had described them once as shark eyes with a distasteful expression on his face the first time he had the displeasure of meeting him (“They’re devoid of life and suck up all the goddamn light in a room, and that’s before he even opens his mouth. I don’t understand how you two can even stand being near that asshole”). 

As he opened his mouth to speak, he found his mouth had dried up. 

“Ah, well…” He cleared his throat and swiftly took a sip of tea to wet it. “I think that if changes are made to increase a property’s quality of living, then a proportional raise in its monetary value would be reasonable.” 

Xie Lian kept a pleasant smile on his face and schooled his expression into one of gentle passivity and calm, but he was desperately scrambling for words that matched the professional airs his landlord adopted. Anything that would compensate for how bedraggled he looked in comparison to him. 

“Emphasis on ‘proportional,’” Mu Qing said to Jun Wu before turning to his roommate. “Prettying up the first floor and throwing up some facades on the building doesn’t justify—” 

“Feng Xin is going to be here in a bit,” Xie Lian cut in. He tried to keep his voice as light as possible despite the feeling of his stomach being weighed down by rocks. “Why don’t you get started on dinner, Mu Qing?” 

The look on his roommate’s face was incredulous. “I’m not leaving you alone with—”

“Please?” 

After a brief moment of hesitation, Mu Qing excused himself to begin cooking. Xie Lian could faintly hear the rustling of his apron being removed from its hook, soon followed by grumbled curses and complaints from the kitchen. He prayed to whatever gods were out there that his landlord couldn’t discern what was being said over the clanging of pots and pans being fetched from their cupboards. 

Jun Wu nodded his head and continued as if their exchange didn’t happen. “The property value of the area as a whole is rising, and I need to match market rates. I wouldn’t normally discuss these matters with tenants, but your parents understood business, and I’m sure you do as well.” 

“Of course.” Xie Lian tried to ignore the rush of ice-cold water running down his spine at the mention of his parents. 

“How is it, by the way?” 

“Pardon?”

Jun Wu nodded at Xie Lian while gesturing at his own throat. “You seem to be healing up well.” He leaned closer to examine Xie Lian’s neck. “The color hasn’t fully gone back to normal yet. A shame.” 

“Ah, thank you.” He leaned back with a good-natured laugh and scratched the back of his head before subconsciously tracing over the raised line that marred otherwise smooth skin. 

“Terribly sorry.” 

“It’s nothing.”

“And your flower shop? How is it?” Jun Wu uncrossed his legs and leaned back in the chair. It seemed he took on a more casual air now that Mu Qing wasn’t in the room.

Xie Lian knew he didn’t owe the man information. He knew it was better not to divulge any details of his affairs, professional or otherwise. But he had known him since the beginning of his adult life and depended on him heavily after the death of his parents. They had been close. As a matter of fact, it was only recently that the mention of him poured dread into the base of his spine. So, he poured another cup of tea and indulged Jun Wu in small talk until the conversation eventually wound back to what he was here to discuss in the first place.

“How much would the rent be raised by?” Xie Lian asked as he took a small sip of his tea. It had gone cold.

“20 percent.” 

He choked. There was no way he could afford that.

“Ah…”  

“But if that’s disagreeable with you, I’d be more than happy to grant a credit for the first six months of your lease upon renewal. It would cover the rent increase for the first half of next year; I just need a favor.” 

Ju Wu leaned closer as if to confide in a secret. 

“I’m ashamed to say it, but I’m inundated with odds and ends that need to be wrapped up by the end of the year. My office also needs renovations to remain up to date with the changes to be put in place, which just means more paperwork. If I had someone around to assist me, it would be immensely helpful.” 

Xie Lian was unsure where he was going with this but nodded to let him continue. He vaguely registered that the kitchen was dead silent.

“You would bring a… A youthful energy to the atmosphere that I think is desperately needed. What do you think?” 

“Ah, well—”

Tak! Tak! Tak!  Xie Lian dared to breathe out a sigh of relief. Feng Xin had arrived, thank god. 

“Well, I see you’re expecting a guest,” Jun Wu said as he stood up. Even after who-knows-how-long of sitting, there was still nary a wrinkle in the fabric of his clothing. “I won’t trouble you any further.”

“It’s no trouble at all. I’ll walk you out,” the florist said as he followed him to the door and pointedly disregarded the protesting pangs of his ankle. He silently thanked whatever deities were out there for Feng Xin’s impeccable timing and opened the door to see his friend scrolling through his phone. 

He looked fresh from a post-work shower. His hair wasn’t up as it usually was, and the damp strands left some water droplets on his shirt. 

“You would not believe the fuckin’ day I had at work, Xie Lian,” he groused with a smile that was too sharp to be considered jovial as he put his phone away. “It’s gonna be one hell of a newsletter tonight, I’ll tell you that,” he snorted and looked up, catching sight of who he was escorting out the door. The sardonic smile on his face morphed into a look of shock. 

“Hey, why the hell is he—” 

“I’m just walking Jun Wu out, you can go in ahead of me.” Xie Lian’s voice jumped up a semitone or five as he rushed Feng Xin inside. “I’ll be right there!”

Once he had been unceremoniously shoved inside and the door was shut, Xie Lian turned toward Jun Wu with his mouth open to bid him farewell (and maybe apologize for Feng Xin’s crass behavior). 

“Thank you for stopping by—” he was stopped short by Jun Wu seizing his hands. They were warm, too warm; it felt like burning hot coals on his skin—though that was surely due to Xie Lian’s surprise. He wanted to jerk back but found that, despite Jun Wu’s calm demeanor, his hold was anything but gentle.

“Do think about my offer.” His mild tone contrasted with the ironclad grip he had on Xie Lian’s hands. “I understand you run a business, so this would be after hours,  naturally.”

Unable to meet Jun Wu’s eyes in such close proximity, he kept his gaze trained on where their hands met and hoped that the marks from fingers digging into his skin would fade within the next hour or so. He felt rather than saw the older man’s eyes burning a hole in his skull as the seconds passed. 

“Haha… Jun Wu, it kinda hurts,” Xie Lian said, trying to laugh it off. He still didn’t raise his head to meet his gaze.

“...”

One minute stretched into an eternity before he was released.

“You know where to contact me.” 

Jun Wu turned on his heel and walked down the hall before Xie Lian could so much as get a word in. Soon, the only indication that he was even there in the first place was the sharp clicks of his shoes hitting vinyl-lined stairs and the white imprints on his hands that quickly faded and turned red as blood rushed back. 

Xie Lian limped—honestly, it was kind to even call it that—back into the apartment and shut the door behind him before slumping against it with a shaky breath. He gritted his teeth and massaged his temples. With nowhere for the built-up tension in his body to go, his entire being felt like a live wire. God, why were his knees unsteady? It wasn’t like he was hurt. 

Jun Wu wasn’t incorrect in saying that it had been a while since they last spoke; the florist had been actively avoiding him for a little over seven months at this point. Here he was, thinking that get away with it until the end of the year. 

Silly him. 

His ankle pulsed with pain once more, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the memory of when it was first broken, or if he had pushed himself past his limit today. Either way, it really did need to be iced, and probably wrapped. Where did Mu Qing keep the bandages again…? Maybe he could try and pilfer through their cabinets without him noticing. 

“What the fuck was that?” 

His eyes snapped open to see Feng Xin staring him down with his brows furrowed in confusion. Well, Xie Lian knew it to be confusion. To anyone else, the personal trainer had three different facial expressions: mildly pissed, thoroughly pissed, and furious. The one he currently had on his face fell somewhere between the last two. 

“Ahaha… which part?” He mentally lined up several excuses to explain Jun Wu’s presence in their apartment but was grabbed by the shoulders as his friend shook him back and forth. 

“Don’t ‘ahaha’ me, I’m talking about the part where your shit-ass landlord decided to drop by and grabbed at you before he left!”

Xie Lian shushed him and did his best to hold up a hand in a show of surrender. “The walls are thin, Feng Xin!” The last thing they needed right now was a noise complaint from their neighbors.

“What’s our resident mendicant so upset about?” Mu Qing called from the kitchen, not bothering to poke his head into the living room. 

The sounds of food sizzling on the pan made Xie Lian’s stomach growl. Feng Xin released him and headed to the kitchen to assist with dinner. Now that attention was diverted away from him, Xie Lian took the opportunity to hobble toward the kitchen island.  

“The landlord was holding hands with Xie Lian!” Feng Xin exclaimed as he handed Mu Qing various seasonings to throw into the pan. 

“You’re making it sound a lot weirder than it actually was.” Xie Lian laughed and took a seat. 

“It’s not just ‘weird.’” Feng Xin turned and pointed an accusing finger in his direction. “I saw you two through the peephole. It was weird as hell and you were uncomfortable.” 

“I’m starving, and it’s been a long day. We could talk about it after dinner. Do you two need any help?” 

“No.” Mu Qing immediately shut down the idea. Xie Lian deflated and leaned on one hand with an elbow propped up against the counter, much to Feng Xin’s amusement. 

He nudged at Mu Qing with his hip. “The reason why he’s so bad at cooking is ‘cus you never let him try.” 

“No, it’s because all the dexterity he has is reserved for tending to plants,” he replied, his eyes never leaving the cutting board as he prepared vegetables for another dish. “His cooking tastes like…” he paused in his actions to think. “A bad omen.”

Feng Xing whistled lowly. “Okay, harsh. Let him chop some veggies to help you out then.” he looked over Mu Qing’s shoulder as he worked. “Maybe he can learn through observation. You’re a professional chef, aren’t you? I thought experts were supposed to be good teachers.”

“He’s past saving.” His eyes flicked over to where Xie Lian was sitting. “No offense.”

“None taken.” There was a time when Xie Lian was an earnest student and begged Mu Qing to teach him some basic skills in the kitchen (“You always do the cooking and I feel awful making you take work home! Please, I want to feel like I’m pulling my own weight around here”), but he had managed to simultaneously burn and undercook the vegetables Mu Qing had laid out for him to stir-fry. 

In the most cordial way he could manage, he told him that he was a “culinary calamity” and should never be allowed within three feet of a stove that day.  

Dinner—a hearty hot pot to combat the chill outside—passed by quickly with Feng Xin delivering his work “newsletter” as promised (“I don’t know what the hell he was on when he said the program I made for him was full of shit, but that’s someone else’s problem now, thank god”). While his increasingly animated gestures and irreverent asides managed to coax a snort out of Mu Qing from time to time, Xie Lian found paying attention difficult.

He nodded at all the right parts and made noises of affirmation to show that he was indeed listening to Feng Xin’s story of how a belligerent client of his was angry enough to throw weights around and almost crush his toes, but his mind was still stuck on Jun Wu’s earlier visit. 

By the time his story concluded, the pot was empty. 

“I can take the dishes.” Xie Lian made to grab at the dirty bowls. “Thank you for the food, Mu Qing.” 

“Of course. I don’t mind cooking if it means we can avoid food poisoning and boiled chicken,” he replied, glancing pointedly at Feng Xin.

“Why does it feel like I’m also being targeted?”

Mu Qing turned to the target in question with a peevish smile. “Because I’m not sure if you’re aware that food doesn’t have to taste like drywall for it to be healthy. I’ve seen those sad excuses of a meal you post online, you meathead.”

“Those ‘sad excuses’ happen to be helpful to my clients!” Feng Xin’s tone was indignant, making Xie Lian huff out a laugh as he gathered up the remnants of their meal.

“Oh, that’s what you call it? I pray for their taste buds,” Mu Qing snarkily replied and rolled his eyes before he caught sight of the state of Xie Lian’s hands right as he was about to pick up the small pile of dishware. “What happened?”  

Xie Lian froze and set the bowls down. “Hm? Oh, these. I fell at work today. I’ve got two more on my elbows if you wanna see.” 

He had barely begun folding up his sleeves when Mu Qing grasped one of his wrists and rotated it so that the back of his hand was visible. The florist winced upon seeing that the red oblong marks still hadn’t gone away; there were sure to be bruises by tomorrow. His fingers grazed the marks to check for swelling before he lined them up with the red splotches in an imitation of how Jun Wu squeezed them. 

“Christ…” Feng Xin breathed as he realized the extent of the injury.

“He did this?” Mu Qing spoke quietly and his face gave no sign of emotion, but there was no mistaking the undercurrent of rage roiling beneath the surface. It was clear who “he” was.

“Ah,” Xie Lian began as he yanked his hands back and splayed out all ten fingers, palms facing his friends to show that, really, there was no harm done. “I didn’t even notice them,” he lied. “You know I tend to bruise easily.” He shoved them into his pockets.

“He wouldn’t let you pull away,” Feng Xin argued. “I saw you try.”

“Staring at people through the peephole is creepy, you know,” he laughed hollowly as he tried to change the subject, only to be met with two unamused faces. “He probably meant nothing by it.” 

“Right…” Feng Xin drawled out before getting up. “I’ll get the dishes, then. You sit down.” 

“But—”

“Siddown.” 

Defeated, Xie Lian slumped back down in his chair while Feng Xin washed the dishes and Mu Qing grabbed the first aid kit from one of the cabinets. It was kept in the kitchen because—as Mu Qing has mentioned on more than one occasion—the chances of the florist wandering into the kitchen against his better judgment and finding a way to set fire to himself were nonzero, so protective measures were necessary.

“Bring it here.” White box in hand, he gestured vaguely at the stool. As Xie Lian obediently raised his leg, Mu Qing sat down and carefully propped it up on his lap to examine it. 

“I fell and twisted it at work,” Xie Lian gave a rueful chuckle that quickly turned into a hiss of pain when Mu Qing gently prodded at the swollen area, receiving a glare as he flinched away. 

“Why is it like this from just a fall?” His tone was skeptical.

“The elevator was out of order,” he uselessly supplied. “This one is actually on me, I promise.”

“Tell me you took a taxi home.” 

“Ah well…” his eyes flicked over to Feng Xin's back as if it could offer any assistance (it did not). 

“Christ, Xie Lian. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Mu Qing pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation and grabbed a roll of bandages as well as a vial of medicated oil from the first aid kit. He didn’t wait for a response as he started carefully wrapping the injury after dabbing some oil on it. His fingers were deft and gentle as he started at the ball of his foot, winding the bandage in figure eights until it passed and reached his ankle.  

“You were busy cooking.” 

“I wasn’t,” Fenx Xin called over his shoulder as he placed a freshly washed bowl on the drying rack and got started on the next. “I just like playing sous chef and getting in his way when he’s trying to work.”

“I’m slipping arsenic in your food next time,” Mu Qing murmured, his brows furrowed in concentration as he snipped the bandage and smoothed it down. 

“And this is probably just a flare-up from an old injury. It’s not like it needed immediate attention.”

“A broken ankle from less than a year ago is not an old injury by any stretch of the imagination. You need to actually pay attention to your health so I don’t need to keep worrying about it.” His words lacked any bite to them as he focused on making sure the bandage was properly secure. He set Xie Lian’s foot down and held out his hand expectantly. 

“Oh, I can do it myself. You don’t need to—”

“Give me your hands.” 

Properly chagrined, Xie Lian complied and let him apply oil on the forming bruises in small, circular motions. “Thank you, Mu Qing.”

“For what.”

“Caring for me. You don’t have to.” 

He rolled his eyes and tossed the vial of oil back into the first aid kit, turning his back to put it away. “You can thank me by trying it out for yourself.” Xie Lian could faintly make out the tips of his ears turning red.

The image of his roommate tending to his injuries so attentively sparked memories of when his ankle was broken earlier that year—along with a litany of injuries that needed aftercare after his stay at the hospital. They had a conversation almost identical to this one, and he had promised that he’d take better care of himself. The nostalgia of it all made him smile in spite of the scolding.

“So what was that he was saying before he left, by the way?” Feng Xin asked as he patted his hands dry. 

“Ah, well…” Xie Lian bit the inside of his cheek in thought before explaining his and Mu Qing’s current circumstances—with the latter jumping in to mention how ridiculous the exorbitant increase in rent was—and took care to omit the other details that would make Feng Xin worry.  

“You’ve forgotten the part where he wanted a glorified secretary without the hassle of paying for one as if you actually have time for that,” Mu Qing snarked as he returned to his seat. 

“You heard that…?”

“Heard what?” Feng Xin looked between the two of them.

“Well, he said I could help him out after hours whenever I had time.” As he filled him in, he noticed Mu Qing go rigid next to him. His face had become unreadable. “He was nice enough to take my schedule into account, and—” 

“That motherfucker!” Feng Xin sprang to his feet.

“...?!”

“He wants favors from you after business hours as an alternative to fully paying the rent he decided to raise.”

“Right, but it’s only because he knows I’m busy with other things during the day,” Xie Lian said, already knowing where he was going with this. “I already said that.”

“For fuck’s sake, he grabbed you on his way out. That’s not normal behavior!” Feng Xin jabbed the countertop repeatedly with a finger to drive his point home.

“He’s trying to extort you,” Mu Qing followed. “Because clearly, dodging charges of vehicular assault at the beginning of the year wasn’t enough for him.” 

“Wha—No. Okay, listen. My ankle—even from back then—was my own fault. It’s nothing.” Xie Lian quickly waved off the idea and any accompanying memories that came with it. “You both are jumping to conclusions; letting me and Mu Qing rent here in the first place was already a big help on his part. There’s no way he would do something like… like that.” He turned to Mu Qing, expecting that he would agree with him. 

“Sure. You’re avoiding him because of nothing then,” Feng Xin sassed as his roommate eyed him critically. “Forget about your ankle and,” his eyes flitted to Xie Lian’s neck, “whatever the fuck happened seven months ago. Are the bruises on your hands also ‘nothing’?”

“Ah…” Xie Lian’s mouth dried up. 

“You’re not seriously considering it, are you?” Mu Qing’s tone was flat. 

“It will be really hard to keep the apartment if I don’t…”

Feng Xin slammed his hand on the counter. “Forget that, find a new place! You don’t need some jackass constantly harassing you just because he can.”

“He did us a favor by letting us stay here. I don’t want him to feel that we’re spitting in his face when he’s been kind enough to help us.”

“I wouldn’t call giving us a lease and taking our money a favor, Xie Lian,” Mu Qing cut in. 

He opened his mouth in protest. “But—”

“Fuck his feelings, and fuck his ‘help.’ I’d spit in his face and piss in his breakfast too if he tried to pull that on me. Who the hell does he think he is?!” Feng Xin demanded, throwing his arms up in disbelief.

“A god, probably,” Mu Qing scoffed.

“He’d be a shit one.”

“You almost sound like my cousin,” Xie Lian said as he balked at Feng Xin’s vulgarity. It was rare to see him this incensed, and it seemed that crass words had a tendency to boil over whenever it got to this point.

“Ouch.” The offense of being compared to Qi Rong was enough to interrupt his tirade. 

“I’m sorry.” Xie Lian massaged his temples and shut his eyes. “I don’t want to fight. It’s been a long week, and I’d rather we actually spend time for ourselves instead of spending time worrying about things like rent and work.”

“We’re not fighting,” Mu Qing said, meaningfully glancing over at Feng Xin. 

Feng Xin crossed his arms. “Of course not. I’m worried about your piece-of-shit landlord trying to—”

“But you’re right. It’s been a long week,” he continued as got up to go to the living room. “It’s going to be an even longer night for our leech over here while he gets destroyed in Smash.” 

“Your what?!” Feng Xin called out as he leaped up and ran after Mu Qing. “You’re not getting away with that, you bastard.”

“Last I checked, winning 3-0 last time means I already did.”

While the two bickered, Xie Lian stepped down from his chair and gingerly put weight on his right foot. His ankle still ached, but the pain wasn’t nearly as bad as it was an hour prior. Mu Qing did an incredible job taking care of him, as always. How much longer was he going to have to clean up Xie Lian like this before he got sick of it? Surely he must have reached that point by now—

“Xie Lian!” He whipped his head to see Feng Xin looking at him expectantly from the couch with a third controller in hand. “You ready to lose, or what?” 

He banished all thoughts of injuries and landlords from his mind and smiled as he walked over and took the controller. “I got some practice in with Mu Qing earlier this week. Maybe today’s my lucky day.” 

“As the one he was quote-unquote ‘practicing’ with, I can assure you that it’s not,” Mu Qing said as he took a seat next to Feng Xin. 

“I improved a little bit!” he protested. 

“You jumped off the platform three times.” 

<<Beginning <Previous Next>