Chapter Text
The sky over the driveway was a bruised purple, heavy with the promise of a first frost. A biting wind whipped through the open space, carrying the scent of dry leaves and the sharp, metallic tang of impending snow. Late autumn was losing its grip, and winter was already knocking, sending a biting wind through the driveway of Yueyue’s house. It was the kind of cold that settled into your bones if you stood still for too long, and currently, the three people standing in front of Chi Cheng’s car were frozen in a deadlock of mutual frustration.
Yueyue reached out, her gloved hands adjusting the wool scarf around her neck. She looked exhausted, her eyes darting between her boyfriend and her best friend like a referee who had already lost control of the match.
“Three days,” Yueyue said. She looked between the two men like a weary schoolteacher. “That’s all I’m asking for. You know this already, I booked a cabin atop the mountain, there are two bedrooms. It’s just seventy-two hours where I hope I don’t receive a single phone call, text, or carrier pigeon about who looked at whom the wrong way. I just want to live a peaceful life, and that starts with you two actually acting like adults.”
Chi Cheng grunted, his arms crossed over his leather jacket. His gaze was fixed on Wu Suowei, and it was anything but friendly. To Chi Cheng, the man standing three feet away was a puzzle with missing pieces. Suowei was wrapped in a cream-colored knit sweater that looked soft enough to sink into, his fingers disappearing into the oversized sleeves as he hugged himself against the chill.
In Chi Cheng’s head, the math simply didn't add up. He’d seen the movies; he knew the tropes. A 'gay best friend' was supposed to be flamboyant, or at the very least, uninterested in Yueyue’s romantic life. But Suowei was… different. He didn't look like the 'gay best friend' archetype Chi Cheng had known; he wore simple clothes and carried himself with a quiet, unassuming grace. He was small—frustratingly small—he looked pliable compared to Chi Cheng’s own broad frame and had a jawline that seemed too delicate for the sharp words that usually came out of his mouth.
Chi Cheng felt a strange, hot pulse in his throat as he watched Suowei shiver. It was a visceral reaction he quickly labeled as irritation. He looked like something a person could easily overpower, something that begged to be handled, or—as a darker part of his mind whispered—something to be devoured.
He cleared his throat roughly, shaking the thought away. Disgusting, he told himself. He’s a snake in the grass.
“I’m telling you, Yueyue,” Chi Cheng grunted, his voice a low rumble. “This is a waste of time. I don't need a bonding trip to know when a guy is playing the long game. He’s waiting for me to slip up so he can swoop in.”
Suowei let out a sound that was half-scoff, half-laugh, though there was no humor in it. He didn’t look at Chi Cheng; he looked at the sky as if praying for a lightning bolt to strike them both. “The long game? Chi Cheng, I’ve been Yueyue’s friend since before you even knew which gym you wanted to spend your entire personality at. If I wanted her, I would’ve had her.”
Chi Cheng’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Watch your mouth.”
“Stop it!” Yueyue stepped between them, her hands out. “Both of you. Cheng, look at me. Don’t be an asshole. For once in your life, put the jealousy in a box and lock it. You’re scaring me with how obsessed you are with him.”
Chi Cheng’s jaw tightened so hard a muscle in his cheek ticked. “I’m not obsessed with him. I’m protecting what’s mine.”
Yueyue ignored him and turned to Suowei. Her expression softened, her eyes pleading. She reached out and squeezed Suowei’s arm through the thick wool of his sweater. “And Suowei… please? For me? I just want to live a peaceful life. I can’t handle the constant fighting anymore. If you two can just find a way to coexist for three days, maybe he’ll finally see that there’s nothing to be worried about.”
Suowei looked down at Yueyue’s hand, then over at Chi Cheng. The taller man was staring at him with a gaze that felt like it was trying to peel back Suoweic’s skin. Suowei felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the wind. He hated the way Chi Cheng looked at him—like he was a problem to be solved or a threat to be neutralized.
Finally, Suowei let out a long, resigned sigh that puffed white in the freezing air. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice small. “For you. Only for you.”
“Good,” Yueyue breathed, looking relieved. “The cabin is fully stocked. Actually, I forgot to tell you… there’s no signal up there, so don’t even try to call me unless someone is literally dying. Go. Get out of here.”
The transition from the driveway to the interior of Chi Cheng’s car felt like stepping into a pressurized chamber. The heater was blasting, but the atmosphere remained sub-zero.
Chi Cheng gripped the steering wheel at ten and two, his knuckles white and prominent. He didn't look at the passenger seat. He didn't need to. He could feel Suowei’s presence like a low-frequency hum that set his teeth on edge.
Suowei, for his part, had curled himself into a ball as close to the passenger door as possible. He had his window slightly cracked despite the cold, staring out at the passing gray landscape of the highway.
Haaaah.
Chi Cheng gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. Every few minutes, Suowei would let out a long, theatrical sigh, shifting in the passenger seat as if the very air Chi Cheng breathed was offensive to him. It grated on Chi Cheng’s nerves like sandpaper, but he kept his jaw shut. He was doing this for Yueyue. He was going to prove that this best friend is actually straight and being gay was just a disguise.
Haaaah.
Another one. It was a tiny needle pricking at Chi Cheng’s patience. He could hear the rustle of the knit sweater, the sound of Suowei shifting his weight, the rhythmic tap of a finger against the armrest. It was maddening.
“Is there a problem?” Chi Cheng finally barked, the sound of his own voice startlingly loud in the quiet cabin.
Suowei didn’t turn his head. “Aside from being trapped in a moving vehicle with a man who thinks he’s a spy or something? No. No problem at all.”
“I’m doing this for Yueyue,” Chi Cheng said, his voice dropping into a warning growl. “Don’t think for a second that I want you in my car.”
“Oh, believe me, the feeling is mutual,” Suowei snapped back, finally turning to look at him. His eyes were bright with irritation, his cheeks flushed pink from either the heater or his own rising temper. “You think you’re so observant, don’t you? You think you’ve got me all figured out. You’re so busy looking for a motive that you’re missing the obvious truth.”
“And what’s that?” Chi Cheng glanced at him, his eyes lingering for a split second too long on the way Suowei’s sweater had slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing a hint of a pale collarbone.
“That I can’t stand the sight of you,” Suowei whispered, his voice sharp and cold. “You’re loud, you’re arrogant, and you treat Yueyue like a prize you won at a fair instead of a person. Why would I want to steal her from you? I’d be doing her a favor, but I’m not that selfless.”
Chi Cheng’s foot hit the gas a little harder, the engine roaring in response. “You’re a liar. You act all soft and innocent around her, but I see how you look at people. You’re manipulative.”
“I’m nice,” Suowei corrected, leaning back and closing his eyes. “It’s a concept you’re clearly unfamiliar with.”
They fell back into a silence that was even heavier than before. Chi Cheng tried to focus on the road, but his mind kept drifting back to Suowei’s hands. They were tucked into his sleeves again, but Chi Cheng remembered them from earlier—slim, pale, and looking entirely too delicate to be doing the 'work' Chi Cheng suspected him of.
He found himself wondering what those hands felt like. Were they as soft as they looked? Would they shake if Chi Cheng actually lost his temper and cornered him? The thought sent a jolt of something dark and electric through his spine.
What the hell is wrong with me? Chi Cheng thought, his grip tightening on the wheel until the leather groaned. It’s the cold. It’s the stress. I just need to get to the mountain.
Every time the car hit a bump, they swayed toward each other, stopping just short of their shoulders actually touching. But even that microscopic proximity stole the air right out of Chi Cheng’s lungs. He could smell Suowei now—something like vanilla and laundry detergent, a scent that felt entirely too domestic for a man he was supposed to despise. It was a scent that didn't belong in his car, yet it was filling up his lungs with every breath.
Suowei shifted again, letting out another one of those weary sighs. This time, he rested his head against the cool glass of the window, his breath fogging the pane. He looked small, tired, and vulnerable.
Chi Cheng reached over and turned the radio on, blasting a heavy rock station to drown out the sound of Suowei’s breathing. He didn't want to hear him. He didn't want to smell him. And he most certainly didn't want to notice the way the light from the dashboard cast long, sweeping shadows across Suowei's sleeping face as the sun began to rise above the horizon.
“Three days,” Chi Cheng whispered to himself, a mantra against the rising tide of a confusion he wasn't ready to name. “Just three days.”
When they finally reached the foot of the mountain, the pavement gave way to a treacherous, muddy trail that Chi Cheng’s sedan could never hope to conquer. As Chi Cheng killed the engine, the sudden silence woke the man sleeping beside him.
Waiting for them in the shadow of a massive, rusted transport truck was a man who looked entirely too cheerful for the biting altitude. He was leaning against the grill, wearing a thick flannel and a grin that stretched from ear to ear.
"Chi Cheng and Wu Suowei?" the man called out, pushing off the truck with easy athleticism. "I’m Wang Zhen. I own the mountain cabin. I’ll be your lifeline for the next few days."
Chi Cheng, his mood soured by the long drive, his boots hitting the dirt with a thud. He stretched his back, the leather of his jacket creaking, and gave the mountain a long, suspicious look. "The road ends here?"
“For that shiny thing? Definitely,” Wang Zhen laughed, gesturing to Chi Cheng's car. “You try taking a sedan up to the peak this time of year, and I’ll be hauling your scrap metal down by sunrise. Don’t worry, though. There’s a sheltered parking area right behind that shed. It’s private property, totally safe. Locked gate and everything. You leave the keys with me, and she’ll be exactly where you left her when I come back to collect you in three days.”
Chi Cheng grunted, reaching into the backseat to grab his duffel bag. The weight was a relief; he needed to move, needed to burn off the restless, aggressive energy that had been simmering in his gut since they left the driveway. He ignored Suowei entirely, focusing on the rhythmic thud of throwing his gear into the high bed of the transport truck.
He finished heaving the last of his heavy bags, wiped a smudge of dirt from his palm, and turned around ready to bark at Suowei. He had a lecture prepared—something about Suowei being a pampered prince who expected everyone to carry his weight.
The words died in his throat, replaced by a sudden, sharp intake of breath.
Suowei wasn't sitting in the car looking miserable. He was standing near the hood of the sedan, bathed in the pale, fading mountain light. And he was... glowing.
“Oh, it's so much higher than I thought!” Suowei was saying, his voice bright and animated. He was looking up at Wang Zhen with wide, sparkling eyes, his previous irritability vanished like mist. “Is it always this cold? Oh my…I think I brought the wrong shoes!”
Wang Zhen chuckled, his eyes lingering on Suowei’s face. “The cold just means the air is cleaner. And don't worry about the shoes—I’ll drive you up the mountain. There’s a bit of a hike to get to the cabin, but if you want me to carry you, I will. I’ll take care of you.”
He was practically beaming, his eyes crinkled into crescents as he talked to Wang Zhen. He was laughing—a bright, melodic sound that Chi Cheng hadn’t heard once in the three hours during their drive—and he even reached out to playfully slap Wang Zhen’s arm. It was cartoonish. It was friendly. It was infuriating.
Something hot and ugly flared in Chi Cheng’s chest. He saw the way Wang Zhen tilted his head toward Suowei, and he saw the way Suowei leaned back, his throat exposed as he laughed.
Without a conscious thought, Chi Cheng pivoted. He reached into the open driver’s side door and slammed his fist onto the horn.
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK.
The sound was deafening, it blared for a solid ten seconds, echoing off the rock faces. Both Suowei and Wang Zhen jumped nearly a foot in the air. Suowei let out a sharp yelp, his shoulders hunching up to his ears as he clamped his hands over them, his face twisting in genuine shock. Even the mountain guide looked startled, his easy grin replaced by a confused frown.
Chi Cheng finally let go of the horn and stepped out of the car, his face a mask of bored indifference, though his eyes were burning. He pulled a jacket from the seat—one he didn't even need—and faked a look of mild surprise.
“Oops,” he said, his voice flat and mocking. “Leaned on the steering wheel while I was grabbing my jacket. My bad.”
Suowei’s face went from startled to livid in a heartbeat. His hands dropped from his ears, and for a second, he looked like he might actually burst into flames. “You... you—you’re such a child! You did that on purpose! My ears are ringing!”
Chi Cheng stepped toward him, his larger frame casting a long shadow over Suowei. He didn't blink. "I said it was an accident. Maybe if you weren't so busy chatting, you would have noticed me finished with the bags." His voice dropped an octave, turning cold and commanding. “Get your things, Suowei. We aren’t paying this guy to watch you flirt. We’re here to work on 'bonding,' remember? Let’s go.”
Suowei rolled his eyes so hard he practically staggered. "You're a child. A jealous, oversized manchild."
"Move," Chi Cheng growled.
The tension only escalated as they approached the truck. Wang Zhen, sensing the shift in weather was nothing compared to the storm between these two, cleared his throat. "Alright, let's get loaded up. One of you can sit up front with me, the other will have to take the back bench. It's a tight fit, but it's only a thirty-minute crawl to the top."
Suowei moved with the speed of a cat, his hand darting for the front passenger handle, clearly intending to sit up front with Wang Zhen and leave Chi Cheng to the cramped back bench.
"I'm sitting up here," he declared, his chin tilted at a defiant angle. "I get motion sickness. I need to see the road."
Chi Cheng stepped in front of him, blocking the door with his body. “Like hell you do. You were fine for three hours in the sedan. You’re sitting in the back. I need the legroom; I’m not cramping up in the back because you want to play co-pilot.”
“Then sit in the bed of the truck with the luggage!” Suowei shot back, his voice rising. "I'm not sitting next to you! Your ego takes up all the oxygen in the car anyway!”
He was being a total brat, his chest heaving under the cream sweater, his eyes sparking with a fire that made Chi Cheng’s blood sing. It was a challenge, a provocation.
Chi Cheng didn't argue further. He didn't need words. In one swift, fluid motion, he stepped into Suowei’s personal space. Before the smaller man could even gasp, Chi Cheng reached down and hooked his arms around Suowei’s waist—noticing, with a jolt, how easily his hands met around the smaller man’s middle—and hoisted him into the air.
Suowei was light as a feather, and his waist was so narrow that Chi Cheng’s large hands nearly met around his middle. The contact was electric, a jolt of heat that traveled from Chi Cheng’s palms straight to his gut.
“Hey! Put me down! You brute! What are you doing?!” Suowei’s legs kicked out, one boot catching Chi Cheng in the shin, but Chi Cheng didn't even flinch. Chi Cheng ignored the flailing limbs and the near-miss of a fist to his ear. He hoisted Suowei up as if he weighed nothing, carrying him like a sack of grain to the rear door of the cab.
“You're sitting in the back,” Chi Cheng muttered into the crook of Suowei's neck, catching a scent of vanilla and something sweet, like milk.
He shoved Suowei into the backseat of the cab and slammed the door shut before the other man could scramble out. He didn't wait for the inevitable screaming from inside; he walked around to the front, climbed into the passenger seat, and stared straight ahead.
Wang Zhen climbed into the driver's side, his eyebrows hovering somewhere near his hairline. He looked at Chi Cheng, then at the furious, pouting face visible in the rearview mirror, and then back at the road.
“Everyone... settled?” Wang Zhen asked cautiously.
“Drive,” Chi Cheng muttered.
As the truck began its jolting ascent up the mountain, Chi Cheng found himself constantly checking the rearview mirror. Suowei was huddled in the corner of the back seat, his arms wrapped tightly around himself. He was glaring at the back of Chi Cheng’s head with enough intensity to melt lead, but he was also pouting. His lower lip was shoved out, wet and pink, and his cheeks were puffed with indignation. He looked small, angry, and—
Cute, Chi Cheng’s mind unhelpfully supplied.
The word popped into Chi Cheng’s head unbidden, a traitorous thought that made him break into a cold sweat. He immediately looked away, staring out at the blurred silhouettes of pine trees.
Again. What the fuck was that? he cursed himself. He's a fraud. He's a manipulator. He's the guy trying to take your girlfriend.
But as the truck jolted, throwing Chi Cheng’s shoulder against the door, he couldn't stop thinking about the feeling of Suowei’s waist in his hands. He could still feel the heat of it through the knit wool. It was a physical ghost, a lingering sensation that whispered that the next three days might make him lose his mind.
By the time the truck ground to a halt at a small clearing where the trail finally became too narrow for wheels, the sun had fully crested over the mountain peaks. It was a cruel beauty; the light was blindingly bright against the patches of old snow, but it offered no warmth. At this altitude, the air was thin and bitingly cold, a sharp contrast to the stuffy, heater-warmed cab of the truck.
Above them, the summit loomed like a silent giant. While the valley they had left behind was merely experiencing the crisp bite of late autumn, the mountain operated on a different calendar. At this elevation, winter hadn't just knocked; it had already broken down the door. The air temperature dropped precipitously with every hundred meters of gain, a physical weight that neither man had fully anticipated when they packed their bags in the humid lowlands.
Wang Zhen hopped out of the driver’s side, his heavy boots crunching on a thin crust of permafrost. “End of the line for the wheels, boys! If we go any further, the truck’s going to slide right back down to the foot of the mountain.” He gestured toward a narrow, winding path that disappeared into a thicket of snow-dusted pines. "Fifteen minutes on foot from here. It’s steep, be careful.”
Chi Cheng stepped out, his boots crunching on the frozen earth. He felt the cold immediately, but his heavy leather jacket and his own naturally high body heat kept the worst of it at bay. He walked to the back, heaving his bags down with a grunt. He was ready to start the trek, ready to move and put some distance between himself and the suffocating silence of the drive.
Then, he turned to check on his guest.
Suowei was struggling to even climb out of the truck. His movements were stiff, his face a pale, sickly shade of porcelain. That cream-colored knit sweater, which had looked so soft and stylish back at Yueyue’s, was a joke against the mountain wind. Suowei was shivering so violently that his shoulders were hunched nearly to his ears, and the sound of his teeth chattering was audible even over the whistling breeze.
“Suowei, move it,” Chi Cheng called out, though the edge in his voice faltered as he watched Suowei reach for a heavy duffel bag. Suowei’s fingers were already turning a ghostly, translucent shade of blue, his fine motor skills failing him in the sudden chill. He’s fumbling uselessly at the strap. He couldn't even get a grip.
“I-I'm... m-moving,” Suowei managed, his voice small and trembling. He tried to hoist the bag, but his knees buckled slightly under the weight. He looked fragile, like a piece of fine glass that the mountain was preparing to shatter.
Chi Cheng’s first instinct was to scold him—to tell him he was a fool for not dressing properly, that he was a burden. “What did you think we were doing? Going to a mall? You look like you're dressed for a coffee date, not a mountain.”
Suowei didn't even have the energy to snap back. He looked up at the peak, where the first snow of the season had already laid a thick, white blanket, his eyes glassy. “I didn't k-know... it would be like this.”
The sight stirred something uncomfortable in Chi Cheng's chest. He told himself it was just the thought of Yueyue’s wrath if her best friend came back with frostbite, but as he watched Suowei stumble, he knew it was more than that. He wasn't a cruel man, and seeing Suowei—usually so sharp-tongued and defiant—reduced to this shivering, helpless state made his ‘beef’ feel suddenly petty.
“Tsk. Give me those,” Chi Cheng muttered, though his hands were already moving. He grabbed Suowei's bags with one hand and tossed them toward Wang Zhen. “Hey, guide. Carry these. I’ll pay you extra.”
Wang Zhen looked at the bags, then at the miserable-looking Suowei, and nodded kindly. “No problem, boss. I’ll lead the way.”
Chi Cheng then turned back to Suowei. Without a word, he reached for the zipper of his own leather jacket—the one he’d worn specifically because it was his favorite— and shucked it off in one fluid motion. The wind sliced through his shirt-clad chest like a slap, but he didn't even shiver. He stepped close to Suowei—close enough to feel the frantic heat of the smaller man’s labored breathing—and draped the heavy, warm leather over Suowei’s shoulders.
Suowei looked up, startled, his eyes wide. “What are you—”
“Shut up and put it on,” Chi Cheng muttered, his tone rough but his hands steady as he helped Suowei’s numb arms into the sleeves. The jacket was massive on him, the hem reaching mid-thigh and the sleeves swallowing his hands. It smelled of Chi Cheng—of something warm and woody, and that stubborn, overwhelming musk that he naturally produces. “I don't need you fainting on the trail. I'm not carrying you the whole way.”
It was a lie; he was already carrying Suowei's weight in every other way. Suowei pulled the lapels tight around his face, burying his nose in the collar. He looked like a child playing dress-up in his father’s clothes, but the shivering began to slow.
“Walk,” Chi Cheng ordered, placing a large hand on the small of Suowei’s back to nudge him toward the trail. “And stay in front of me.”
The fifteen-minute hike was a struggle that felt like an hour. As they climbed higher, the air grew thinner and the temperature plummeted further. The path was slick with black ice—patches of frozen runoff that were invisible against the dark stone.
Suowei stumbled frequently, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. Every step seemed to drain him. Twice, his foot slipped on a hidden root, and both times, Chi Cheng was there—not touching him, but hovering like a dark, protective shadow. He watched the way Suowei’s heels moved, the way his weight shifted. He made sure Suowei stayed on the inner side of the trail, away from the steep drop-offs.
Chi Cheng’s eyes never left him. It was a strange kind of vigilance. He told himself he was just making sure the man didn't disappear, but his heart hammered against his ribs for a different reason. Seeing Suowei wrapped in his clothes, struggling but refusing to give up, created a crack in the wall Chi Cheng had built around himself.
“Almost there!” Wang Zhen called out from ahead.
They rounded a final bend, and the mountain seemed to open up. The view was immaculate—a vast, shimmering expanse of snow-capped peaks and deep, evergreen valleys that looked like they belonged in a painting. The mountain range rolled away in waves of white and deep blue, the clouds so close it felt like they could reach out and stir them. It was breathtaking, quite literally, as the thin air made their lungs ache.
And there, nestled against the rugged face of the mountain, was the cabin.
It was exactly what Yueyue had promised: a sanctuary of dark, weathered wood and heavy stone. A sturdy log bridge crossed a crystal-clear stream that rattled over smooth stones, its water dark and freezing. The cabin itself was a masterpiece of rustic solitude, with a massive stone chimney already puffing out a welcoming curl of white smoke. Tall, snow-dusted pines stood like sentinels around it, their branches heavy and silent. It looked solid, warm, and entirely isolated from the rest of the world.
Suowei stopped in his tracks, his breath hitching as he looked at the sight. For a moment, the cold and the exhaustion seemed to fade, replaced by genuine wonder. “It’s... it's beautiful.”
Chi Cheng stepped up behind him, his presence a solid heat at Suowei’s back. He looked at the cabin, then down at the top of Suowei’s head—at the way the wind ruffled his dark hair.
“Yeah,” Chi Cheng’s voice is unusually soft. “Beautiful.”
He wasn't looking at the cabin.
“Welcome to your fortress of solitude,” Wang Zhen announced, swinging his arm wide as they stepped onto the expansive wrap-around patio.
The wood beneath their boots was dark and weathered, smelling of pine resin and old rain. To the left, a massive professional-grade grill sat like a silent iron beast, and next to it stood a long, heavy wooden dining table flanked by benches thick enough to withstand a century of winters.
“Great for outdoor dining,” Wang Zhen joked, gesturing to the frost-covered benches. “Though maybe wait until the sun is at its peak unless you want your noodles to turn into icicles.”
Suowei huddled deeper into the leather jacket, his nose buried in the collar. He didn't say anything, but his eyes wandered over the view. From this height, the world looked like a sprawling map of white and charcoal. Chi Cheng stood a foot behind him, his own chest bare to the elements save for a thin t-shirt, yet he felt a strange, internal friction that kept him burning hot. He watched Suowei’s fingers—still pale—trace the edge of the leather lapel. My jacket looks ridiculous on him, Chi Cheng thought, and yet, I don't want it back.
“Let’s get you inside before we all turn into a popsicle,” Wang Zhen said, unlocking the heavy oak door.
As they crossed the threshold, the change in atmosphere was instantaneous. The air inside was thick with the scent of cedar and the crackle of a pre-lit fire. The heat rolled over them thawing the ache in their bones, causing Suowei to let out a soft, audible whimper of relief.
The interior was a masterclass in rustic luxury. The cabin opened into a massive sunken living room, the floorboards polished to a mirror shine and covered in thick, plush rugs that invited you to sink in. There was no television in sight—a detail that made Chi Cheng’s brow furrow—not even a wire for one. Instead, floor-to-ceiling shelves were packed with leather-bound books and a chaotic stack of board games ranging from chess to more modern ones.
“This place was actually built for people who needed to 'connect' or whatever,” Wang Zhen said, leading them toward the kitchen. “So, no digital distractions. Just you, the fire, and and a ton of board games.”
The kitchen was a stark contrast to the cozy living area: sleek, industrial, and filled with brushed steel and slate. It looked like the kind of place where a professional chef would feel at home, yet it felt lonely in the middle of all that mountain wood.
Wang Zhen stopped by the kitchen island, his expression shifting into something slightly sheepish. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing between Chi Cheng’s stony face and Suowei’s wide-eyed curiosity.
“So, uh, one minor detail,” Wang Zhen began. "The other bedroom? Yeah, it’s currently a no-go zone. A pipe burst during that first frost last week—turned the whole floor into a skating rink. The wood warped so bad we had to rip it all out. It’s a construction zone back there right now."
The silence that followed was absolute. Chi Cheng felt the air in the room thicken, the tension spiking so sharply it felt like a static shock.
Wang Zhen, oblivious or perhaps just trying to break the ice, chuckled. "But hey, the master suite is fully functional. It’s got a king-sized bed, huge space to roll around, plenty of room for two guys to... you know, not touch each other." He laughed, a short, nervous sound that died quickly when neither of his guests joined in.
Chi Cheng’s jaw tightened. He could feel Suowei’s gaze snapping toward him, a mixture of panic and indignation. One bed. One room. Seventy-two hours. The math was getting more dangerous by the second.
Wang Zhen cleared his throat, sensing he was standing on an emotional landmine. “Anyway! Just a few last reminders before I head back down. It’s almost winter, so the sun drops fast. Don’t go out past 8:00 PM. The bears are settling in for their winter sleep, but that just means the mountain lions and wolves are getting bolder. They won’t bother the cabin, but don't go wandering off the trail. We haven't had an 'accident' in years, but let's not break that streak.”
He looked at them, waiting for a response. Suowei was staring at the floor; Chi Cheng was staring at a point just above Wang Zhen’s head.
He looked at his phone, then shook it. “And like I said, no signal. You won't get a bar unless you hike down about three miles. I’m assuming you’re both here to go off the grid intentionally, so that shouldn't be an issue?”
Silence.
"Right. Well... okay then. I'll see you in three days."
Wang Zhen turned to leave, but as he reached the door, he paused and looked back. "Ah—Suowei? Could I talk to you for a second? Just a quick question about… something."
Suowei didn't hesitate. He practically scrambled toward the door, following Wang Zhen out onto the patio. The speed with which he moved irritated Chi Cheng instantly. He can't wait to get away from me for five seconds?
Chi Cheng stood in the kitchen, his hands gripping the edge of the industrial counter. He told himself to let it go. He told himself he didn't care. But the sight of Suowei leaning toward the guide on the porch made his blood simmer.
He moved silently toward the heavy oak door, leaning his shoulder against the interior wall just out of sight. He wouldn’t call it eavesdropping; he was just curious.
“I really appreciate you helping with the bags earlier,” he heard Suowei say, his voice lacking the stutter and the frost it usually held for Chi Cheng.
“No problem at all,” Wang Zhen replied, his tone dropping into something more intimate, something smoother. "Look, Suowei, I know you're up here with... well, with that guy... but I know he’s not your boyfriend, I'd love to keep in touch. But if you ever find yourself back on this mountain without your bodyguard, I’d love to show you some of the spots the tourists never see.”
Chi Cheng’s teeth ground together. Bodyguard?
“That sounds really lovely,” Suowei said. There was a brief pause, followed by the sound of a coat pocket ruffling. “Actually, I can give you my number. Just in case I need to... ask about the trails later... or anything else.”
Inside the cabin, Chi Cheng felt as if smoke were literally about to curl out of his ears. Whatever calm Chi Cheng had felt earlier—whatever protective instinct had softened his edges—was incinerated. It was replaced by an emotion he refused to name. This brat was flirting with the guide. He was giving his number to a man he’d known for less than an hour? After acting like he was a delicate flower who couldn't even walk ten feet?
The audacity was staggering. He didn't care who Suowei talked to. He didn't care if Suowei flirted with every mountain guide from here to the border. So Chi Cheng didn't know why it bothered him so much—Suowei wasn't his, and he didn't even want him—but the sight of Suowei leaning toward Wang Zhen with a playful smile made him want to punch a hole through the walls.
He didn't know why he was this angry, but as he looked at the massive king-sized bed waiting for them, he knew one thing for certain: these three days were going to be a long, miserable war. And he was going to make sure he won.
The master bedroom was beautiful, a sanctuary of polished wood and soft lighting, but to Wu Suowei, it felt like a trap. In the center sat the king-sized bed, its white linens crisp and mocking, a vast territory that neither man was willing to share.
“I am not sleeping in that bed with you,” Suowei snapped, his voice trembling—not from the cold this time, but from a burgeoning, defensive fury. He was still wrapped in Chi Cheng’s leather jacket, the sleeves dangling past his shaking hands, making him look smaller than he actually was.
Chi Cheng stood by the window, his large frame silhouetted against the encroaching gray of the mountain sky. He didn't even turn around. “You think I’m thrilled about the prospect? You think I want to wake up next to you? I’m just trying to survive the weekend without catching whatever it is you have.”
“Whatever I have?” Suowei stepped forward, his boots thudding weakly on the rug. The exhaustion felt like it’s dragging him down, but his pride was screaming louder. “And what is that, Chi Cheng? A personality? A sense of decency? An actual soul?”
Chi Cheng turned then, and the look in his eyes was cold enough to rival the frost on the windowpane. The irritation of seeing Suowei flirt with the guide, the sheer inconvenience of the proximity, and his own brewing, confusing feelings he refused to acknowledge finally curdled into something ugly.
"You're gay, right?" Chi Cheng’s voice was mocking a rumble that filled the room. He took a slow, intimidating step toward Suowei. "You were practically throwing yourself at the guide five minutes ago. Don't you have any taste at all? Or are you just that desperate for attention that any warm body with a heartbeat will do?"
Suowei flinched as if he’d been slapped. "I wasn't—"
“Don't lie,” Chi Cheng sneered, his lip curling in a way that made Suowei’s stomach drop. “I saw you. I saw the way you were looking at him—all smiles and 'oh, I'm so cold.' It’s pathetic. And you think I’m going to lay down next to that? As you said: you're gay. Deal with it. I'm not interested in being your next conquest, so stay the hell away from this bed. I don't want you near me.”
The silence that followed was suffocatingbroken only by the crackle of the fire in the other room. Suowei stared at him, his eyes glazing over with a mixture of shock and a profound, bone-deep exhaustion. The insults were a weight he didn't have the strength to carry anymore. His head throbbed, his throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper. The physical toll of the hike, the cold, and now this—it was too much.
"Fine," Suowei whispered, his voice cracking. "Keep the bed. Keep the whole damn room. I wouldn't sleep near you if you were the last person on this mountain."
In a final, trembling act of defiance, Suowei shucked off the leather jacket. He dropped it on the floor—a silent rejection of the only warmth Chi Cheng had offered—and walked out. He dragged his tired limbs to the living room and collapsed onto the stiff, cold leather of the couch. He didn't even reach for a pillow. He just closed his eyes and let the darkness take him.
Hours passed in a tense, divided silence. Chi Cheng lay on the king-sized bed, staring at the ceiling. He could hear the wind howling outside, a lonely sound that made the room feel even larger. His mind kept drifting to the heap of leather on the floor. He felt like an absolute asshole, the echo of his own words sounding hollow and ugly in the quiet of the night. But he was Chi Cheng; he didn't apologize, and he didn't back down. He eventually fell into a light, fitful sleep, his dreams filled with the scent of vanilla and the sound of chattering teeth.
In the living room, Suowei woke to the sharp, savory smell of garlic and searing meat. The sun had long since disappeared, leaving the cabin in a shroud of deep blue shadows. His stomach let out a painful, hollow growl that made his vision swim. He felt weak, his limbs heavy as if they were made of lead.
He pushed himself up, his head spinning, and followed the light into the kitchen. He saw Chi Cheng standing at the industrial stove, expertly flipping a steak. A bowl of steamed vegetables sat on the counter. Suowei’s mouth watered; he was so hungry he felt he could swallow his pride whole just for a bite.
"What did you make?" Suowei asked, his voice hoarse. He leaned against the doorframe, trying to look casual despite the way his vision swam.
Chi Cheng didn't look up. He moved the steak to a plate and grabbed a fork. "I made dinner."
Suowei waited, his heart thumping hopefully. “Is there... more?”
Chi Cheng finally looked at him, his expression impassive and cold. “I didn't cook for you. If you're hungry, cook for yourself. The fridge is full. You’re not a baby”
The words echoed in the hollow of Suowei’s chest. He looked at the sleek, complicated stove, then at the vast, unfamiliar cupboards. He didn't know how to cook. He didn't have the energy to search for a pan, and his body was trembling so hard he doubted he could hold a knife, let alone stand long enough to use one. The effort of arguing, or even of asking again, felt like trying to climb the mountain all over again.
"Right," Suowei said, his voice barely a whisper. "Of course."
He turned around and walked back to the couch. He lay down, curling into a tight ball, his knit sweater offering no protection against the draft from the floor. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine he wasn't hungry, tried to imagine he wasn't alone. Sleep took him again, but this time, it was heavy and feverish.
It was late when Chi Cheng finally emerged from the master suite. He had spent the evening on the patio, nursing a cup of coffee and a book by the light of a lantern, trying to wash away the sour taste of his own behavior. The mountain was silent now, wrapped in a blanket of snow and moonlight.
"Stubborn brat," Chi Cheng muttered as he entered the living room. He saw the lump on the sofa and felt that familiar, irritating spark of friction.
He walked to the center table and set his empty ceramic mug down with a deliberate, loud clack. He waited for a sharp retort, a glare, or at least a groan.
Nothing.
Chi Cheng frowned. He dropped the heavy book he was holding onto the table next. The sound echoed through the high-ceilinged room.
Still nothing.
A flicker of unease stirred in Chi Cheng’s chest. He walked closer, his boots silent on the rug. Suowei was shivering—not the light tremors from earlier, but deep, violent quakes that shook his entire frame. He had abandoned the leather jacket, huddled only in his thin cream sweater. His face was a terrifying shade of ivory, and his lips, which had been so pink and pouty on the trail, were now dry, cracked, and colorless.
"Suowei?" Chi Cheng reached out, his hand hovering before finally pressing against Suowei’s forehead.
He recoiled instantly. Suowei was burning. He wasn't just tired; he was radiating a dry, terrifying heat that seemed to singe Chi Cheng’s palm.
"Hey, Suowei, wake up." Chi Cheng grabbed his shoulders, shaking him lightly. "Wu Suowei."
Suowei’s eyes fluttered open, but they were vacant, unfocused. He looked at Chi Cheng as if he were a stranger, or perhaps a ghost. There was no anger left in his gaze, the fire and defiance that usually defined him completely extinguished. There was no emotion left, just a hollow, frightening emptiness. There was nothing at all.
Slowly, Suowei pushed himself up. He stood on shaky legs, swaying like a reed in the wind. Without a word, he turned to walk away—heading toward the dark hallway, though it was clear he didn't know where he was going.
"Where do you think you're going?" Chi Cheng asked, reaching out and catching Suowei by the wrist. The skin felt like parchment paper over fire. "You're sick. You're burning up."
Suowei looked at the hand on his wrist, then up at Chi Cheng, his voice a ghost of a sound. "Why do you care? Just go back to your room... your bed. You don't want me there. You made that... very clear."
"I'm not letting you sleep on a couch when you're like this," Chi Cheng growled, his voice thick with a sudden, sharp guilt. "Stop being so stubborn and go to the bedroom. Now."
"No," Suowei whispered, trying to wrench his arm away. "You'll just... you'll just insult me again. I'm gay, remember? I'm pathetic. Let go, just leave me alone."
"Suowei, stop it," Chi Cheng commanded, his grip tightening. "I was an asshole, okay? Just move."
"NO!" Suowei shouted, a final burst of feverish adrenaline fueling his movements. He wrenched his arm back with everything he had.
His wrist slipped through Chi Cheng’s grasp, slick with cold sweat. The sudden loss of resistance sent Suowei staggering backward. His heel caught the edge of the sunken living room step, and his ankle turned with a sickening, audible pop.
He hit the floor hard, letting out a strangled cry of agony that cut through the silence of the mountain night.
Chi Cheng was at his side in a second, his heart leaping into his throat. “Suowei! I’m so—"
Suowei was clutching his ankle, his face contorted and tears finally spilling over his cheeks. "It hurts... Chi Cheng, it hurts..."
Chi Cheng looked at the rapidly swelling ankle, then at the dark, silent woods outside, and finally at his phone, which still showed zero bars. They were miles from help and trapped by the snow in the middle of nowhere.