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Chapter Text

The workplace was silent except for keyboard sounds and the quiet buzz of cooling systems.

Early sunlight came through the tall windows, making long dark shapes on the floor covering. The room had a light smell of cleaned wood and new coffee—clean, businesslike, the type of place that felt cold rather than welcoming.

Gao Tu sat very straight at his desk in the corner. Years of training had made this his normal way of sitting. His work area was very tidy, with everything put in its exact place: his pen lined up perfectly with his notepad edge, papers piled in perfect order, his computer screen positioned just right.

He had always been this careful—neat, exact, the type of assistant who never let even one small office item get out of place. To anyone walking past, he seemed calm and steady.

But his hands showed the truth.

They shook slightly as they moved over the letter sitting on his keyboard. The thick cream-coloured paper felt heavier than normal, like a weight against his hands. He had written the letter three times the evening before, each try a fight between telling the truth and holding back, between all he wanted to say and all he could never speak. What was left on the paper were just a few cold sentences—distant, businesslike, safe.

His throat felt tight as he looked across the room to the glass wall around the boss's office.

Inside, Shen Wen Lang was reading a paper, his glasses sliding down slightly, his forehead wrinkled as he focused. He held his pen like he always did, tilted a bit to the left, fingers firm, movements sure. That sense of being in charge—strong, unmoving—was what made him powerful, both frightening and respected. Even now, with only quiet between them, Gao Tu felt pulled towards him.

A pull he was about to leave behind.

He took a slow, calming breath. This was the final time.

The idea rang like a bell in his chest, empty and ending.
Gao Tu pushed back his chair and got up. The wheels made a soft noise on the carpet that seemed very loud. His footsteps sounded like drums in his ears as he walked to the office door. His heart was beating fast and hard.

He stopped at the glass wall and fixed his tie before knocking on the door. The knock was quiet and polite, but it broke the silence clearly.

"President Shen," he said softly.

Wen Lang did not look up straight away. He finished signing his paper neatly, put the cap back on his pen, and then looked up. His dark eyes looked at Gao Tu quickly, checking him over. They stayed on him for just a moment, as if looking for something, before becoming cold and blank like a boss looking at a worker.

"What do you want?" His voice was short and business-like, showing no feelings.

Gao Tu walked forward and put an envelope carefully on the desk, lining it up with the edge of the desk pad without thinking. His fingers touched the leather surface for just a bit longer than needed before pulling away. When he spoke, his voice sounded calm and practised, though inside it felt like broken glass was stuck in his throat.

"My resignation letter."

The words stayed in the air, harsh and final.

Wen Lang's pen lay forgotten on the desk. For a moment, he did not move at all, as if time had stopped. Then, slowly, he picked up the envelope. His long fingers opened it carefully and took out the paper inside. He read the short lines, and as each second passed, his jaw got tighter.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet and steady, but with a hard edge.

"Why?"

Gao Tu tried to smile a little, though his mouth shook. "Personal reasons. I just need something different."

"Personal things," Wen Lang said again, like he was thinking about what the words meant. He sat back in his chair, and the leather made a soft noise.

He crossed his arms and kept looking at Gao Tu with his dark, serious eyes. "That's it?"

"Yes." Gao Tu made tight fists with his hands by his sides, his nails digging into his skin. "I've been thinking about this for a while."

A small muscle moved near Wen Lang's eye, showing he was trying to stay calm. Something angry showed in his eyes for a moment, but he quickly hid it and went back to looking cold and uncaring.

"Alright," he finally said, his voice short and unfriendly. "If you don't like working here, then you don't have to stay."

His words hurt badly. They hurt more than they should have. Gao Tu felt his throat get tight, but he tried to keep his face looking normal.

"It's not that I don't like working here—"

"Then what's the problem?" Wen Lang's voice got louder and he wasn't staying calm anymore. His voice was loud in the room with glass walls. "Or do you just like to run away when things get hard?"

What he said felt like being hit. Gao Tu couldn't breathe properly for a moment. His chest hurt because of all the things he could never tell Wen Lang. Running away. Wen Lang didn't understand. He didn't know how hard it was to leave or how hard it was to stay.

But Gao Tu couldn't tell him. He wasn't allowed to.

"Thank you for everything you did for me," Gao Tu said quietly. He looked down and bent his head a little so Wen Lang couldn't see that his eyes were watery. "Thank you for giving me this job."

Wen Lang made a short laugh that wasn't happy at all. It sounded rough in the quiet room. "Saying thank you? Don't bother. People like you—" He stopped talking, leaving his angry words unfinished. His jaw moved like he was trying not to say what he really wanted to say.

For a long time, he just stared at Gao Tu, really looking at him. He noticed the small shake in Gao Tu's smile and how stiff his shoulders were.
The quiet was heavy with all the things he didn't say. Wen Lang felt something painful in his chest, but he pushed it away and put on a cold, stern face.

"Leave," he said without emotion. "You've already decided what you want to do."

Those final words felt like breaking ice.

Gao Tu bowed low, then turned away before his calm face could break. He gripped the door handle tightly but didn't stop. The door closed behind him with a quiet click.

The quiet after that was very loud.

Wen Lang didn't move for a long time. The letter saying Gao Tu was quitting was still open on his desk. His pen lay next to it, the ink slowly drying. He looked at the neat writing until it became blurry. His thoughts were mixed between being angry and feeling something else he didn't want to think about.

For the whole day after that, he never picked up his pen again.

Gao Tu didn't turn around when he left Shen Wen Lang's office.

If he had looked back, his calm face might have broken. If he had, Wen Lang might have seen his lips shaking slightly and how his breathing was unsteady, like a string pulled too tight.

But Gao Tu had taught himself to walk straight with his head up and a steady look on his face. So that's what he did. He left the company the same way he had come in every morning for years - with straight shoulders, his chin up, and a polite smile on his face.

But this time, the work card in his pocket felt very heavy. It was no longer something that showed he belonged there or a way into the only place where he had felt somewhat stable. Now it was just a useless piece of plastic that pressed against his leg with each step.

When he walked outside, the bright sunlight hurt his eyes.

The day was very clear with no clouds in the blue sky. The city was busy and noisy. Cars were honking, someone was laughing nearby, and he could smell chestnuts cooking from a street seller.

Everything felt too bright, too noisy, and too lively for how he was feeling. His life had fallen apart in just a few minutes, but the city kept going as if nothing had happened.

He stood on the pavement for a while, watching the cars go by, until the heavy feeling in his chest became too much.

When he got home, his flat was very quiet. It was small with not much furniture, clean but empty. The walls and floors made sounds echo too much. The silence was not peaceful but felt heavy and made it hard to breathe. It made him remember things he tried not to think about.

He needed to pay his rent soon. He had marked the date on his calendar with red ink, hoping that would help him stay organised. His saved money, which he had kept for emergencies, was running out fast. He had spent it on hospital bills for his younger sister's operation, food, and electricity bills. All the basic things needed to live.

His sister had left just a week ago with her bags, going to university in another city. She was still getting better from her operation but was determined to go. She had smiled at him with the kind of hope that only young people have. He hugged her, put a packed lunch in her bag, and told her not to worry.

He always said that. Don't worry.

But when the door shut behind her and he could no longer hear her laughing in the stairway, he almost fell down right there in the hallway. He pressed his hand hard against his stomach, trying to hold himself together.

Now, standing in the middle of his quiet living room, all the worry came back again. His lower back ached in a dull way that would not go away. His chest felt like it was burning, reminding him that his body was not working properly. His hormone problem made him feel sick in different ways. Sometimes he felt like being sick, sometimes he felt dizzy and had to hold onto walls, and sometimes he just wanted to hide until the feeling went away.

And then there was the baby.

His hand drifted to his stomach almost unconsciously, fingers trembling as they pressed lightly against the still-flat plane beneath his shirt. The doctor’s words echoed with relentless clarity: early, but viable. Rest was crucial. Avoid stress. Avoid stress.

A bitter laugh threatened to escape. Avoid stress? As if that were possible.

The door banged open without warning, the fragile stillness shattering. Gao Tu flinched, spinning on his heel.

His father stumbled in, shoulders slumped, the stench of cigarettes and cheap liquor clinging to his clothes like a second skin. His hair was unkempt, his shirt half-buttoned, eyes glassy and bloodshot.

“You got money?” the man slurred, his gaze sweeping over the apartment with disdain, as though it were a cage too small for him.

Gao Tu’s chest tightened, but his voice came out calm, even, controlled. “Dad, I told you. I don’t have extra right now.”

“You quit that job, didn’t you?” His father’s sneer twisted his face, pulling it into something sharp and ugly. “Stupid boy. How do you plan to feed yourself? You think the world cares?”

Gao Tu’s fingers curled against his palms until the nails dug crescents into his skin. His face betrayed nothing. “I’ll figure it out.”

“You’ll figure it out?” The man barked a laugh, bitter and broken. “You’re as useless as your mother was.”

The words cut deep, familiar in their cruelty, and yet Gao Tu didn’t flinch. He had learned long ago that silence was the only shield worth wielding. Words never defended, they only inflamed.

Eventually, his father swayed toward the hallway, muttering curses under his breath before slamming his bedroom door behind him. The apartment sank back into uneasy quiet.
Only then did Gao Tu let himself sink onto the couch, his body folding as though the strings holding him upright had been cut. He pressed a hand against his temple, the other against his abdomen, grounding himself against the ache. His chest burned with the effort of holding everything in.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted, just once, for someone to tell him it would be okay.
But there was no one. Only the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen. Only the faintest trace of sage in the air—his own pheromones, unstable, leaking despite the suppressants he took with clockwork precision.

He buried his face in his hands.

Tomorrow, he would need to find work. Something, anything to keep the lights on, to keep food on the table.

And somewhere across the city, Shen Wen Lang still sat in his office. The resignation letter remained unfolded on his desk, his pen abandoned beside it. His jaw was clenched tight, his gaze fixed on nothing at all, chest caught in a pressure he couldn’t name.

Chapter Text

The office felt too quiet.

Shen Wen Lang tried to tell himself this was good. He liked quiet places. Quiet meant he could work well with no one bothering him. He had paperwork to look at, numbers to check, and contracts to sign. Quiet was helpful.

But today, the quiet felt heavy and uncomfortable.

When he looked up, he always noticed the empty desk outside his office. He thought this was silly. There was nothing special about the desk - it was just ordinary office furniture. But he could see all the things that were no longer there.

The pen that used to be placed neatly next to the notepad. The mark left by a coffee cup that was gone. The tidy pile of papers that had disappeared.

The empty space bothered him.

The letter saying someone was quitting was still on his desk, folded in the corner. He had read it three times already, but the words stayed the same. It was polite but cold. It was written like it was for a stranger.

Two words made him especially angry because they explained nothing: personal reasons.

Wen Lang sat back in his chair, tapping his fingers. He hated it when people didn't explain things properly. He hated not knowing what was happening. Gao Tu always explained things clearly. Gao Tu was dependable and careful - the only person who understood what Wen Lang needed without being told. Gao Tu had always been there.

Now he is gone.

Wen Lang remembered his own angry words.

"Or do you just like running away when things get difficult?"

The words had been sharp and mean. He frowned. He hadn't meant to sound so nasty. That wasn't even what he really wanted to ask.

What he really wanted to ask was: Why are you leaving me?

The pen in his hand broke. Ink got on his hand. He threw the broken pieces in the bin, feeling annoyed.

Why should he care? Office workers came and left all the time. He could hire someone new. He didn't need Gao Tu. He didn't need anybody.

But when he left work late that night, he walked slowly. He looked towards the front desk area without meaning to. Before, Gao Tu would always be there at this time - waiting with organised files, emails all checked, and a cup of coffee ready. No talking needed. No instructions required. Just there. Always there.

Tonight, no one was there.

For some reason, that empty feeling stayed with him all the way home.

The next morning, Wen Lang came to work earlier than usual. He told himself it was because of important reports on his desk, but the real reason was harder to admit: he hoped that maybe Gao Tu would be there, like before.

But the desk was still empty.

At lunchtime, the human resources department sent a new secretary. He was a worried-looking man in his late twenties who kept cleaning his glasses when he looked at Wen Lang. He made mistakes with the filing system that Gao Tu had organised perfectly. He spilled coffee on a report, said sorry many times, and Wen Lang nearly broke another pen.

"Get out," he said coldly. "You're no good at this."

The man looked scared, nodded, and left quickly.

Wen Lang rubbed his forehead, feeling frustrated. He told himself he was annoyed because the man was bad at his job - not because every mistake reminded him of someone who never made such errors. Not because every small problem made him think about what he had lost.

After three days, he became angry very easily. A manager came to show him a presentation, and Wen Lang stopped him halfway through.

"Do this again. It's messy."
He was not paying attention. His eyes kept looking towards the door.

By the end of the week, he was staying at work long after everyone else had left. It was not because he had too much work to do - he had finished most of it very quickly - but because thinking about going home to his empty, silent flat made him feel bad inside.

Late at night, with the city lights shining through the big windows, he looked at the resignation letter again. It was still folded and still did not explain much.

He felt angry. If leaving was really as easy as the letter said, then why did it feel like Gao Tu had taken something important with him when he left?

Wen Lang put the letter at the bottom of his desk drawer and shut it hard. His chest hurt, but he did not want to think about why.

"This is silly," he said to the empty office.

But he still stayed until the building was dark, as if he was waiting for something that would never return.

The café did not look special from outside - it was just a small shop between a place that sold paper and pens and a chemist. The old sign made noise when the wind blew, and one of the lights in the window kept turning on and off. But when the door opened, the smell of coffee came out, warm and nice, making Gao Tu think of something he could not remember.

He stopped at the door. He touched the piece of paper in his pocket with the words that seemed to make fun of him. We need workers - Coffee makers and servers. Part-time jobs available.

It was not fancy work. It was not the kind of job that made people think you were important. But work meant money. And money meant food, rent, medicine - staying alive.

He opened the door. The small bell above it rang softly against the sound of people talking inside.

Behind the counter, a girl with short hair under a cloth looked up. "Hello! Do you want a table?"

"No," Gao Tu moved uncomfortably, knowing he must look strange in his old jacket. "I saw your sign. Do you still need workers?"

She looked happy. "Yes! Wait here - I will get my boss."

A few minutes later, Gao Tu was sitting at a table in the corner with a middle-aged man who had nice eyes and flour on his clothes. The man spoke kindly but seriously, like someone who had run a place like this for a long time. He asked normal questions - had Gao Tu worked in cafés before, could he work different times, could he serve customers and clean tables.

"I can," Gao Tu said, trying to sound calm even though he felt nervous.

The man looked at him for a moment, then smiled a little. "You seem like a good worker. Can you start tomorrow?"

That easily, Gao Tu got a job.

The next morning, the café was very busy compared to his quiet flat. The air smelled of coffee and hot milk, with the smell of bread baking in the back. Students worked on computers by the window, an old couple shared tea in the corner, and the coffee machine made hissing sounds along with people talking.
Gao Tu struggled when he started working. He got table numbers wrong, held trays the wrong way, and almost dropped a plate when someone shouted loudly. But nobody got mad at him.

"Tu-ge, calm down - this isn't a fancy dinner," joked Lin An, a young omega with a round, happy face that always had flour on it. He pushed Gao Tu towards the counter whilst carrying a tray easily with one hand. "The customers won't hurt you. Unless you take their cakes, then they might."

Later, when Gao Tu nearly spilled an iced coffee on a customer, Meiqi - who was quick and always watching - came to help him. "I'll handle this one. You try not to break the plates." She smiled and gave him an extra dumpling during his break. "Eat this. You look too thin."

After his first week, Gao Tu started to understand how the café worked. It wasn't just a job - it was like a small family. The people there weren't fancy or perfect. They were omegas like him: students trying to pay for school, artists drawing pictures on napkins between serving customers, people who had been through hard times but still found reasons to laugh.

They helped each other.

When his illness made him dizzy during work, Lin An quietly took over his tables without saying anything. When he came back, looking pale and shaky, Yiran - an older omega who laughed loudly and wore jingling bracelets - put her arm around him. "It's normal, love. Nobody saw anything. Come on, take deep breaths."

Their kindness surprised him. It wasn't big or fancy, but it was always there. It made the difficult parts of his life easier to handle.

His nights were still difficult. He still had lots of bills to pay, his father's gambling problems still caused trouble, and his body still hurt because of the baby he wasn't ready for. Some evenings, when his flat felt too small, he lay on the sofa and listened to the fridge humming to help him feel better.

But in the mornings - when Lin An said hello with a cheerful, "Tu-ge, let's get through another day together!" - his problems didn't feel quite so heavy.

For Gao Tu, this small, normal comfort felt like the beginning of hope.

Chapter Text

After two weeks, Gao Tu felt at home in the café. The sounds of the coffee machines, cups touching, and warm lights made him feel calm.

The people there were special too.

Lin An became his friend right away. He was always happy and smiling, even when the world seemed sad. He liked to add extra cream to drinks and said "life's too short."

He called Gao Tu "Tu-ge" like they were real brothers.

Meiqi was different. She was tough and got annoyed when people were slow. But she also gave Gao Tu food and told him to eat more because he looked too thin.

Yiran was loud and fun. He argued with customers about bubble tea and made everyone laugh. When Gao Tu felt dizzy, Yiran would put his arm around him to help.

There were others too. Ruihan was quiet and drew pictures on order papers. Xiaoyu brought hair ties for everyone like presents.

They were loud and messy, but they cared about each other.

One quiet afternoon, they sat together eating egg tarts. Yiran said they should bring food when someone was sad.

Meiqi said they could bring alcohol too, but Lin An said no because Gao Tu couldn't drink. He quickly said Gao Tu was allergic, but Gao Tu knew Lin An had guessed his secret. This made Gao Tu feel better because someone understood.

When Gao Tu's father called and upset him, Lin An took him for late night noodles. When Gao Tu felt sick, Meiqi made him sit down and did his work. When money was tight, Yiran put up a tip jar to help him.

Slowly, Gao Tu started to feel safe with his new friends.

That day, the café was busy. Sun came through the windows. Gao Tu worked at the till, helping customers with a smile.

He told one customer their coffee cost fourteen yuan and gave them change politely.

Someone said "Wow" when they saw him.
The comment didn't come from the customer. It came from the woman standing behind her in the queue. She was an attractive woman in her thirties wearing fashionable glasses and holding a clipboard. She looked at him carefully.

"Sorry to bother you," she said after the customer moved away. "Has anyone ever said you have a really good look?"

Gao Tu was surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Your face," she said quickly and in a business-like way. "Everything looks balanced. You have nice features. You would look great in photos. Have you ever thought about being a model?"

The till was beeping, but Gao Tu couldn't stop thinking about what she said. Modelling? Him? He tried to speak but couldn't find the right words.

Before he could answer, Lin An, who was cleaning a table nearby, almost dropped his cloth. "Tu-ge?! Are you joking? Of course he hasn't thought about it—he's too modest! But doesn't he look like he belongs in a magazine?"

Yiran looked over from the coffee machine and spoke loudly. "I've been saying this for ages! He's the only reason customers keep coming back. Well—him and my bubble tea."

Even Meiqi smiled. "He'd look good wearing anything."

The woman smiled knowingly and pushed a smart business card across the counter. "I work for a modelling agency. We're always looking for new people. Think about it. You don't have to decide now—but it would be silly to miss the chance to work with someone like you."

The shiny writing on the card looked blurry as Gao Tu looked at it. A modelling agency. The idea seemed crazy and funny. He was already struggling to manage his life—working different shifts, paying off debts, dealing with his health problems, and keeping his personal secrets. But still, the thought of earning extra money and maybe building a better future stayed in his mind.

He put the card safely in his pocket and bowed politely as he said quietly, "Thank you. I'll think about it."

As soon as the woman left, everyone in the café got excited.

"Tu-ge, this is meant to be!"

"Think about your face on big adverts—cars would crash everywhere!"

"You'll be famous! Just remember us when you're wealthy."

Their laughter filled the café, feeling warm and happy, surrounding Gao Tu like sunshine.

And for the first time in many weeks, his smile was genuine—not the fake one he showed to everyone else, but something small and honest.

Perhaps—just perhaps—things were going to get better.

Chapter Text

The business card troubled Gao Tu all evening like a secret he could not put away.

Each time he put his hand in his apron for a pen or receipt, he touched the smooth edge, and his chest felt tight as if the words were asking: Will you try this?

When the café closed, Lin An pushed him into the back room and shut the door. He put his hands on the table.

"Tu-ge, you must go! This is meant to be, I promise."

Meiqi folded her arms and leaned against the cupboards looking doubtful. "It might be a trick. These companies like to fool people with nice words. Most of the time, they are lying."

"They are looking for talent," Yiran said, throwing his apron down with a big gesture. "And our Tu-ge is the best they could find."

Lin An hit his arm. "Do not call him that, you fool!"

Yiran laughed. "You know what I mean!"

Ruihan looked up from drawing cats on an old piece of paper. "He would look nice on an advert. Like the ones on the underground."

The others agreed, but Gao Tu sat quietly on the seat with his hands together. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "I do not know. I have never done this before. It seems silly. I need work I can count on."

Lin An sat next to him and put his chin on his shoulder like a caring younger brother. "Safe work is good. But safe work will not pay big bills or debts. One photo job could pay for a whole month's rent, Tu-ge."

Meiqi's voice became kinder. "She did not seem like a liar. If it is real, you could try one job. You do not have to leave this place."

Yiran stretched and smiled widely. "Think about it: Tu-ge, famous model. Big fashion shows. Fancy drinks in pretty glasses. While we are here, making tea for small money."

They all laughed warmly, making Gao Tu feel better for a short time.

But later, when he opened his flat door, quiet surrounded him again. The flat smelled of old beer and there was an empty can on the side. An unopened electricity bill stared at him from the table. His hand moved to his stomach, keeping it safe.

Could he really say no to a chance to earn more money?

But could he risk going into a world of cameras and contracts when he had so much to keep secret?

He put the card on the table next to the bills. Under the weak kitchen light, the company's name shone back at him in clear letters.

Maybe tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow I will choose.

Tonight, he closed his eyes and let himself think about standing in front of a camera, not as someone's helper, not as someone's unwanted child, but as himself.

The café bell rang one last time as the last customer left. Chairs were put on tables, machines made their last tired sounds, and the air outside turned golden with the sunset.

Gao Tu walked out onto the street with Lin An. The day's tiredness was made better by a shared joke about spilled milk and Meiqi telling them off. Lin An put his arm over his shoulder and leaned close with a smile.

"You are really hopeless sometimes, Tu-ge."

"I am not," Gao Tu argued, though his lips smiled a little. "I just do not have your skills."

"You need us," Lin An joked, bumping him playfully.

Down the road, a smart black car waited with its engine running quietly.

Behind the dark glass, Shen Wen Lang stared at the two people under the street light.

He stopped moving.

That was Gao Tu.

Even in his simple apron, with his sleeves rolled up and his hair messy from work, there was no doubt it was him. The way he moved his head when he laughed, the gentle curve of his shoulders - so familiar it hurt. Even from far away, Wen Lang thought he could smell his scent in the evening air: soft, careful, but definitely Gao Tu's.

Then he noticed something else. The boy next to him. His arm across Gao Tu's shoulders, leaning too close, his scent bright and happy and caring.

Wen Lang's jaw became tight.
"So," he whispered quietly to himself. "That's his partner, then?"

He held the steering wheel very tightly. The thought didn't make sense - this wasn't his business. He didn't need to worry about who Gao Tu laughed with, or who touched him, or who he stayed close to.

But still, jealousy hurt his chest, hot and painful, before he could think clearly.

The smile that Gao Tu had now - gentle, open, honest - was one that Wen Lang had never seen meant for him.

His stomach felt tight. He looked away, making himself look at his phone, at other things, pretending to be calm when he wasn't.

But when he finally drove away, the picture stayed in his head: Gao Tu in the evening light, laughing, with the omega's arm around him. It hurt to think about long after the car had gone into the city streets.

Shen Wen Lang's flat was all metal and glass - tidy, shiny, cold. Usually, he liked it this way. The straight lines matched his ordered life. Everything belonged somewhere, and nothing stayed out of place for long. Even the quiet sound of the fridge and the city lights coming through the window were soft against the perfect stillness.

But tonight, the quiet felt heavy and hard to breathe in.

He made himself a drink - whisky, a small amount, one ice cube. He put it on the low table next to him, the golden liquid catching the light, but he never picked it up again. The glass sat there like a reminder, water drops making a ring on the shiny surface.

He sat in front of his laptop, the screen lighting up his face with pale light. He told himself it was just what he always did - being careful, nothing more. That it was normal to find out about people who got too close to him. That it was part of his work, part of who he was. That it wasn't about Gao Tu.

But it was.
His hands moved carefully and smoothly, like he had done this many times before. He broke into computer systems, got past passwords, and looked through private files easily. He no longer worried about whether this was right or wrong. Computer windows opened and closed, folders unlocked, and information appeared on his screen.

It was quick. Lin An's personal details showed up as simple text on the computer.

He was twenty-six years old and still studying. His parents had split up and his mother married someone else. He had never been in trouble with the police. He had worked some small jobs - in shops, teaching students, and delivering things. These were just ordinary, boring things that young people did.

There was nothing dangerous about him. Nothing special.

But then -

Wen Lang's eyes focused on one word on the screen.

Omega.

His face became tense when he saw this word. His expression showed the dislike he had always felt. He thought omegas were needy, too emotional, and tried to trick people. They always hung onto alphas like they were feeding off them. They always wanted things and made demands.

He knew what they were like. He had learned early in life not to trust them when they seemed soft and gentle. He pulled away when they tried to get close. Their weak appearance was just a trap. Behind their sad looks and gentle words was a constant need for attention that never ended.

But still -

That omega had made Gao Tu smile.

That omega had Gao Tu's arm around him like it was natural.

Wen Lang's drink sat on the table without being touched, the ice slowly melting. His chest felt tight and restless, like the words on the screen had opened up feelings he did not want to think about.

What does he like about someone like that?

Gao Tu was calm and steady. He was a beta who never got too excited about anything. He was someone you could count on, who thought things through, who was safe to be around.

He was not the type of person who would get involved with an omega.

So why had he stood under that streetlight, smiling warmly, as if Lin An was meant to be there with him?

The laptop closed with a loud snap that echoed through the flat. Wen Lang shut it harder than he needed to, and the screen went dark. He sat very still for a moment, with only a small muscle moving in his jaw.

Then he saw himself in the window - his reflection was faint against the city lights outside. His eyes looked sharp and cold like the metal and glass buildings around him. His mouth was tight and showed he was upset about something deeper.

"This is not my problem," he said to the empty room. His voice was quiet and controlled, like someone giving orders.

But the words did not sound true. They disappeared into the silence that seemed to laugh at him.

No matter how hard he tried to push the thoughts away, he could not forget the picture in his mind: Gao Tu under the streetlight, laughing softly, looking gentle, with someone else's smell on him.

Someone else's.

The whisky glass suddenly fell over with a soft sound, and the golden liquid spread in a thin line across the table. Wen Lang did not try to catch it. He just watched as the liquid spread out, making a mess of his tidy space, like a quiet sign that some things, once spilled, cannot be put back.

And for the first time in years, Shen Wen Lang's well-ordered world felt shaky.

Chapter Text

The clinic had a weak smell of cleaning products and metal that stuck in your throat. Gao Tu sat on the hard plastic chair with his shoulders bent forward and his hands gripped together so tight that his knuckles hurt.

His legs kept shaking even though he tried to stop them. He did not like hospitals because of the white walls, the buzzing lights, and how everything seemed too clean, like it was washing away not just illness but also people's pride.

What he hated most was how doctors always looked at his medical notes for too long. Their voices became softer and more careful when they read certain parts.

"Mr. Gao?"

He got up fast, maybe too fast, and the chair scraped on the floor. His heart beat quickly as he walked with the nurse down the hall. The room was pale and cold with a machine making quiet humming sounds.

The doctor was already waiting. They were middle-aged with tired eyes and grey hair. They read his file with tight lips before speaking.

"Your hormone problem has not got better," they said kindly but carefully. "Your levels keep dropping to dangerous amounts. That is why you feel dizzy and faint."

"I know," Gao Tu said quietly. His hand moved to cover his stomach to protect what could not be seen yet.

The doctor kept talking whilst tapping a pen. "You need to keep taking the artificial hormones. But they cost a lot of money. As your condition gets worse, you will need more. If you miss doses, it will be dangerous for you and the baby."

They stopped talking. They did not need to say more.

The room became very quiet.

Gao Tu's throat felt tight, but he looked down and whispered, "I will find a way."

On the bus home, the city looked blurry outside the window. Street lights spread across the glass like paint, mixing with his reflection. He looked pale and too thin with dark circles under his eyes. His reflection did not look like someone strong or capable. It looked like a man running out of time.

His hand touched the folded prescription in his pocket. The numbers on it still burned in his mind. Too expensive. Much too expensive. Each dose was like another heavy weight added to his pile of debts.

When he got to his small flat, he felt very tired. The space was cramped and the fridge made loud noises. Bills sat on the table in a neat pile but felt heavy. They were for rent, electricity, and his father's gambling debts that still caused problems. He stared at them until the numbers became blurry.

Then he noticed something else.

Near the fridge was a shiny business card. Its logo caught the kitchen light and seemed to mock him. It was from the modelling agency.

He had kept it without really thinking about it. He had told himself it was silly and unreliable, something for people with no responsibilities. It was not a future he could count on. He had ignored it many times.

But now, with the expensive prescription weighing on his mind, Gao Tu realised he could not afford to ignore it anymore. If he wanted to survive and if the baby was to survive, he had no other choice.

The next morning, the air was cold and sharp as he stood outside the agency building. The glass doors were very bright and showed a stranger in the reflection. He had changed from his old cafe apron to a clean shirt and combed his hair nicely, but his worried eyes gave him away. His hands were sweaty and clenched at his sides.

Inside, his footsteps echoed on the marble floor, making him feel exposed. The receptionist looked up with a bright, practised smile.

"I was told to come here," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "About modelling."

The receptionist kept smiling. "Of course. This way, Mr. Gao. We have been waiting for you."

Her words felt both comforting and worrying at the same time.

As he followed her into the building, Gao Tu's heart pounded loudly. Each step carried fear but also desperate hope. For the first time in weeks, there was something ahead that was not another bill or debt or impossible demand.

Maybe this was the only option left. And he could not afford to walk away.

Chapter Text

The studio wasn't what Gao Tu thought it would be. It wasn't clean and tidy like an office. Instead, it was dark, damp, and full of movement. The air was filled with the sound of fans humming and helpers rushing around, moving lights, getting cables, and setting up things for photos. The place smelled a bit like cloth dye and sweat from the hot lights.

"Your clothes are easy today," the photographer said, throwing a simple white vest at him. "We want it natural and basic. We want something rough, not fancy."

Gao Tu wasn't sure as he put it on. The material was thin and stuck to his skin straight away. Where he was already sweating, you could see through it. His shoulders felt too uncovered, and his collar bones looked sharp under the bright light.

Someone had sprayed water on his hair so wet bits stuck to his head, with drops running down the side of his face. He felt like everyone could see everything about him - like all his worries were showing.

When he stood under the lights, they felt heavy and hot against him.

"Don't think too much," the photographer shouted from behind his camera. "Don't try to look good. Just be yourself."

Be yourself.

Gao Tu held his breath. He turned a little and looked past the photo area into the dark space beyond. His chest felt tight, his body was tense, and his mind told him he didn't fit in here - that he was just a worried man wearing someone else's clothes.

Then the camera made a clicking sound.

The first bright flash caught him whilst he was breathing in, and something changed.

He remembered long nights by himself, bills stacked up like walls. He remembered the warm café, Lin An's laughter helping him feel less tired, and Meiqi telling him off but in a caring way. He remembered the baby inside him, delicate and waiting.

His face became sharper - not soft or weak, but strong even though he felt exposed. His eyes stayed steady and fierce, like a quiet storm under the sweat. The light hit his jaw like it was made of stone, his lips slightly open as if he was keeping words inside that no one would hear.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The photographer moved closer, eyes wide behind his camera. "Yes - stay there. Don't move. This is perfect. He knows how to work with the camera."

But Gao Tu didn't really know. He only knew the heavy feeling in his chest and how to carry it quietly.

When the photo session finished, his vest was see-through from sweat, his collar bone shiny under the hot lights, every part of his body covered in sweat and shadows. He kept looking straight ahead, far away, as if the camera had taken something personal from him.

The workers whispered as they packed up, trying to be quiet but not quiet enough.

"He looks amazing."

"Real, not like normal models."

"Like he was made for photos."

Someone brave enough came closer, sounding curious. "Hey... Gao Tu, right? What type are you?"

For a moment, he couldn't move. The word got stuck - but then he looked at them, steady and brave.

"I'm an omega."

The room went quiet. A moment of silence, then everyone started whispering in surprise.

"An omega? Really?"

"No wonder he's so intense -"

"People will love this."

The photographer put his camera down slowly, smiling in amazement. "An omega who looks like that... That's unusual. That's special."

Gao Tu just bowed his head politely, his ears turning red, his heart beating so loud it covered all the noise. He went back to the changing room with the whispers following him.

He didn't know yet how good those photos would be. How fast they'd spread, talked about by people far from his café life. How they'd end up on screens belonging to people he never meant to meet.

When Gao Tu came back to the café after the photo shoot, he expected some teasing. He thought maybe Lin An would smirk and Meiqi might raise an eyebrow.

What he didn't expect was Lin An jumping over the counter the second he walked in.

"Tu-ge, TELL US EVERYTHING. Now." Lin An grabbed his shoulders, eyes wide and excited like he'd been waiting all day to ask.

Meiqi leaned against the coffee machine with her arms crossed, but she looked just as interested. "More importantly - did they pay you straight away? Companies can be tricky. Don't let them trick you without getting something real."

From behind the counter, Yiran pushed a hot mug into his hands. "Drink this first. You look like you've been through a war. Then you can tell us everything."

Embarrassed, Gao Tu tried to make it sound less important, holding the warm mug. "It was... okay. Weird. They made me stand under hot lights for hours. I don't think I did very well."

Lin An gasped dramatically, stepping back like Gao Tu had done something terrible. "Are you joking? You're perfect for this. Tu-ge, even if you sneezed it would look good in photos."

Even Meiqi almost smiled. "Don't act so shy. I bet the photos turned out better than you think."

By the end of work, the café was more excited because of him than because of the coffee.

Ruihan had drawn funny pictures of Gao Tu in a vest and stuck them on the staff notice board, writing in big letters: FUTURE SUPERMODEL. Xiaoyu stuck paper on the tip jar that said "Tu-ge Fan Club" and loudly said she'd charge people to join. Customers were laughing and pointing, clearly enjoying the fun atmosphere.

Gao Tu tried to ignore it, his cheeks warm, but deep down - under the worry and tiredness - something good started to grow. Something he hadn't felt for a long time.

When he got paid, Lin An clapped his hands like a leader getting his team ready. "We're celebrating. No arguments. Dinner's my treat - well, really it's from Tu-ge's fancy new job, but I'll pay first so I look kind."

The café workers went out into the evening streets together, laughing louder than the traffic. Bright signs lit up the pavement, food stall smoke went up into the night, and the sound of chopsticks mixed with the busy city noise.

Lin An ran ahead, pulling Gao Tu by the wrist towards meat cooking over fire. Meiqi told him off for nearly bumping into a delivery bike, Yiran was already trying to get cheaper prices from the seller, and Ruihan kept pretending to ask Gao Tu questions about his new modelling job like a pushy newspaper reporter.

For the first time in months, Gao Tu let himself have fun. He let the laughter make him feel better, his shoulders relaxed, and the tight feeling in his chest got looser.

Until Yiran stopped suddenly, nearly making everyone crash into her.

Her eyes went wide, pointing at something. "Wait. Wait wait wait - everyone LOOK!"

Across the busy road, above all the traffic lights and bright shops, there was a huge advertisement. Shiny. Bigger than life.

And on it - him.

Gao Tu.
His hair was wet, his shirt stuck to his body, and his collarbone caught the light. His eyes were partly in shadow but stared straight at the camera with a wild, fierce look he didn't know he had.

Everyone stopped moving.

"Oh my—" Lin An hit his arm hard. "TU-GE. THAT'S YOU. YOU'RE ON A BIG SIGN."

Even Meiqi's mouth fell open. "Wow. They were quick."

People walking by stopped too, looking up. They started whispering.

"Is that him?"

"The man from the noodle shop—look, that's him!"

"He's the model!"

Then someone came over with their phone ready. "Sorry—are you... him? Can I take a photo?"

Gao Tu couldn't move, his heart beating very fast and loud. Before he could say anything, Yiran made a loud noise and waved her hands at him. "Yes, this is THE Gao Tu, he's going to be a big star. Please make a line. No pushing!"

The café friends cheered and joined in, while Lin An put his arm around his shoulders like he was his manager. "Our Tu-ge! Don't be shy now—you're famous!" Meiqi smiled and said quietly so only he could hear, "Don't pass out, silly. You'll spoil your cool look."

More phones came up, faces turned, whispers spread like water.

Gao Tu wanted to hide. He wanted to step back into the dark and disappear before all the eyes hurt him. But he didn't.

Because with Lin An smiling next to him, Yiran shouting, Meiqi shaking her head but staying near, Ruihan and Xiaoyu laughing loudly—something nice grew in his chest.

For the first time, the world wasn't looking down at him. It wasn't feeling sorry for him, ignoring him, or acting like he wasn't there.

The world was just... looking.

And Gao Tu, for once, couldn't be ignored anymore.

Chapter Text

What started as innocent talk became something bigger at HS Group. Small giggles near the printers and quiet whispers by the lifts slowly grew into something much more.

Gossip spreads fast. Three days after Gao Tu's advert went up, everyone in the building was talking about him. His name was heard on every floor and in every office.

"Did you see that new sports advert in Xujiahui?"

"You mean him, don't you?"

"Yes! Gao Tu! The man who used to be our secretary!"

Everyone was shocked and excited. Their voices bubbled with surprise.

"Really? That quiet man who never spoke up?"

"I had no idea he looked like that under those formal shirts..."

A woman from the finance team waved a file like a fan and sighed. "I always thought he was good-looking. Some of you just weren't paying attention."

The group laughed knowingly. "We really missed our chance. HS Group had him here every day, making coffee, writing notes, staying in the background. None of us noticed until he appeared huge on a billboard."

One manager shook his head in wonder. "Even our boss couldn't keep him here."

Their laughter was too loud and echoed down the corridor.

In his glass office, Shen Wen Lang stopped writing. His hand, usually calm, gripped his pen so tightly it made a small creaking sound. He kept looking at his papers, but he heard every word outside. Every careless laugh and whisper that said Gao Tu's name as if they knew him well.

His jaw tightened once, then again.

Just ignore it, he told himself. Office noise. Harmless talk. Nothing important.

But the words kept coming, getting through the glass walls like smoke, making him feel uncomfortable until he could barely breathe.

Slowly and carefully, Wen Lang put down his pen and stood up. The door opened quietly.

The laughter stopped immediately. Silence fell, sharp and heavy. Workers froze where they stood, eyes wide as if they had been caught doing something wrong.

Wen Lang looked at them coldly. "What," he said, his voice calm but sharp like a knife, "is so funny?"

Nobody dared to speak. Someone dropped a paper, and the sound seemed very loud in the quiet.

Finally, a shaking voice said, "We were just talking about Gao Tu, President Shen. He's modelling now. Doing very well, it seems."

The name hit the air like a match lighting a fire.

"Gao Tu?" Wen Lang repeated, saying each part of the name slowly and flatly.

The woman from finance, too nervous to stop herself, said quickly, "He's on adverts all over the city, sir. Looking amazing." Her face went red and her voice got quieter, but she had already said it. "We just didn't realise when he worked here..."

A muscle in Wen Lang's jaw jumped once before his face became cold as ice. "Get back to work."

The order was like a crack of a whip.

Chairs scraped and papers rustled. Everyone scattered like frightened birds, running back to their offices. The laughter was gone. Only silence was left.

Wen Lang closed his office door.

But the quiet did not make him feel better. His heart pounded in his ears, hot and angry. He walked to his desk, sat down carefully, and turned on his computer. For a moment, his hand waited over the keyboard. Then, as if he could not help himself, he typed the name that burned in his mind: Gao Tu.

The search filled with pictures.

And there he was.

Not the quiet secretary he remembered - head down, voice soft, eyes looking down respectfully. No. This Gao Tu filled the screen with surprising strength. Sweat shone on his neck, clothes stuck to sharp muscle lines, his look heavy with something raw and alive. The photos showed him in a way Wen Lang had never seen before. Strong. Unreachable. Beautiful.

The same man who used to sit just outside his glass office.

Now huge on billboards for the whole city to see.

A sharp, strange pain spread in Wen Lang's chest. He closed the window with too much force, but the pictures stayed burned behind his closed eyes.

This was what Gao Tu had been hiding.

Not weakness. Not being fragile.

Something dangerous.

Something dazzling.

And for the first time in years, Shen Wen Lang felt the kind of anger that burned without direction - unreasonable, consuming, and impossible to shake off.

The office whisky bottle was crystal, expensive, and heavy. Shen Wen Lang gripped it tightly and poured until the golden liquid nearly reached the top of the glass. When he put it down hard, the whisky jumped over the edge, splashing across the polished wood.

Hua Yong, lying lazily across the leather sofa, raised one eyebrow.

"You're going to break the glass," he said with amusement in his voice. "Then next week I'll have to listen to you complain about how the edge isn't perfectly round anymore."

"This isn't funny." Wen Lang's voice was sharp and low. "Have you seen it? He's all over the city. My secretary. My—" His words stopped, his throat closing tight as if the words themselves were against him. "My secretary."

Hua did not look up from his phone. "Wrong - ex-secretary." His thumb moved across the screen slowly. "Don't forget the 'ex.'"

Wen Lang's frown got darker, shadows cutting across his face. His glass hit the table again, harder, making a sharp sound. "He was—" He tried to breathe, tried to find words, but they got tangled up. "He was supposed to—"

"Supposed to what?" Hua Yong's voice was smooth but cutting. "Sit at that little desk outside your office until his hair went grey? Bring your white tea made just right? Pretend he didn't notice when you got angry because you missed lunch?" He leaned forward, elbows on knees, smiling like he was daring him. "Face it, you messed up."

The words hit like a slap.

"I didn't mess up." Wen Lang's denial came quickly, sharply, defensively.

Hua laughed quietly, shaking his head. "You absolutely messed up. He's gorgeous now, he's famous, and he's so far away from you it's almost like poetry." A flash of teeth, without mercy. "And you? You're here drowning in expensive whisky, growling like a dog that lost its toy."

"Don't push me." Wen Lang's voice was cold, but it cracked at the edges.

Hua leaned back again, not bothered, stretching out like a man on holiday. "Then don't complain to me. I don't comfort men who dig their own holes and then cry about the dirt."

The angry look Wen Lang gave him could have cut stone. But Hua Yong only closed his eyes, dismissive, already finished with the conversation.

Silence fell, heavy as lead. The quiet hum of the city outside the windows only made it worse.

Wen Lang's hand ran through his hair, pulling hard enough to hurt. His chest ached with something sour, something he could not swallow.

But no matter how hard he tried to push it away, Gao Tu's face came back. Sweaty skin under studio lights. Fabric clinging to a lean, toned body. Those eyes - steady, strong, burning with something Wen Lang had never noticed when they had been only feet apart every day.

The image was burned into him now, cruel and impossible to escape.

And the worst part - what emptied him out with every sip of whisky - was knowing Hua Yong was right.

Chapter Text

At the same time, Gao Tu was busy adding up money that finally made sense to him.

His new flat's rent? Paid.

First three months of hormone medicine? Paid.

Money he had saved? Getting bigger, bit by bit.

He stood in his new home - a small but tidy place with one bedroom, light-coloured walls and straight edges, sunshine coming through big windows. No empty beer bottles, no loud shouting at night. Just room. His own room.

For the first time, breathing felt easy.

The medical centre smelled like it always did - like cleaning stuff and a bit like metal - but this time Gao Tu didn't feel like he was going into a fight. He walked more steadily, holding his papers under his arm not like something heavy but like proof that he was trying hard.

Dr Zhao fixed her glasses as he sat down. "Mr Gao, have you been taking your medicine properly?"

"Yes." Gao Tu nodded, feeling a bit worried. "I haven't missed any."

She looked at his test results, and her eyebrows went up - she looked pleased. "Your hormone levels are steady now. That's really good. It means the medicine is working, and..." Her look became kinder, almost like a mother. "It means you've been looking after yourself."

Gao Tu blinked, surprised. People didn't usually say nice things to him. "I'm just... doing what I need to do."

"Doing what you need to do is still doing something amazing," she said kindly. "You're making things safer for yourself and the baby. Don't think that's not important."

Walking out of the medical centre feeling lighter, Gao Tu knew she was right. For once, his body didn't feel like it was working against him.

Moving day came on a sunny afternoon. Lin An arrived first, carrying bags of food instead of boxes. "Things you need," he said, listing them out. "Rice, soy sauce, quick noodles. You'll go hungry without me."

Meiqi came in next, holding a lamp under one arm and a cooking pan under the other. "Your cooking things were awful," she said honestly. "Think of this as help."

Yiran and Ruihan brought in the heavy things, pretending to argue the whole time. "He doesn't need three sets of cups!" Ruihan moaned.

"Yes, he does," Yiran argued back. "One for coffee, one for tea, one for hot chocolate. Having choices matters."

When they finished, Gao Tu's flat was full of laughter and the smell of takeaway food. Boxes only half unpacked, curtains still wonky, but the place already felt full of life.

When Lin An threw himself onto the sofa dramatically, wiping his forehead, he said, "It's official. This place now has the Café Crew's blessing."

Meiqi lifted her drink can like making a toast. "To Tu-ge finally living like a proper person."

Yiran leaned against the kitchen counter, smiling. "To Tu-ge's new beginning."

Ruihan added with a cheeky smile, "And to us, his friends who get free food, who will definitely be staying over whenever we want."

Their laughter filled the flat, warm and free.

Later that night, when his last friend left, Gao Tu stood alone in the quiet room. He opened the fridge - neatly filled with food, the same ones Lin An had insisted on buying - and felt something strange grow in his chest.

For once, the future didn't look like a wall coming towards him. It looked wide, bright, and almost close enough to touch.

And this time, he wasn't scared to move towards it.

The photography lights shone bright against light walls, softer this time, spread through thin sheets to look elegant instead of rough. Gao Tu stood in the middle, feeling the heavy suit on his shoulders. The black jacket fitted perfectly, sharp lines making his body look better, very different from the sweaty vest from his first photo shoot.

"Make the tie a bit looser," the photographer told him, walking around him. "More undone, more natural. Not stiff - think about control almost slipping away."

So he pulled the knot down, collar slightly open, hair falling messily over his forehead. When the camera clicked, the picture it took was no longer young and vulnerable - it was something sharper, cooler. A man made from glass.

Helpers moved around, fixing lights, giving him water. The sound of voices mixed together in the background, just noise. But the moment he stepped away from the photo area, putting on his jacket, the noise changed - voices got quieter, with something else in them.

"President Shen," someone whispered.

And Gao Tu stopped moving.

He didn't need to turn around to know. The air itself changed - got tighter.

Shen Wen Lang stood by the studio doors, perfect in his dark suit and shiny shoes, his presence like a knife cutting through the room. Helpers went still, whispers rising like crackling sounds.

What is he doing here? Gao Tu's chest got tight, breathing became hard. He hadn't seen him in weeks - months, really - but of course Wen Lang would turn up now, when Gao Tu had finally started to feel steady.

The photographer, not noticing the tension in the air, hurried forward. "President Shen! What an honour. If you're here to watch, please, sit down. We're just finishing an important set with our new model-"

"I know who he is," Wen Lang interrupted, voice sharp. His eyes never left Gao Tu. "I don't need you to tell me."

The room went very quiet.

For a long moment, neither moved. Then, walking slowly on purpose, Wen Lang crossed the space, stopping very close. His eyes - dark, sharp, burning - looked over Gao Tu in his fitted suit, the loose tie, the confident way he held his shoulders.

"This," Wen Lang said quietly, almost mockingly, "is what you've become?"

Gao Tu swallowed hard. "It's work."

Wen Lang's mouth twisted. "Work. That's what you call it? Standing for strangers, letting the whole city look at you?" His voice got quieter, dangerous. "Or is this just about proving something - to me?"

The words hit like a slap, heat rushing to Gao Tu's skin. He made fists with his hands at his sides. "This has nothing to do with you."

Wen Lang stepped closer, making his voice quiet so only Gao Tu could hear. "Doesn't it? You think I don't see? You with Lin An. Letting him hang onto you like he has the right to be there." His eyes got narrower, sharp as glass. "Tell me, Gao Tu - what is he to you?"

Something in Gao Tu broke.

His chest burned, breathing became rough. He had put up with Wen Lang's coldness for years - his sharp orders, his harsh dislike, his silence heavy like chains. But now, standing in a suit he'd bought with his own money, under lights that belonged to his new life, something inside refused to give in anymore.

"He's my friend," Gao Tu shot back, voice shaking but strong. "He's someone who actually cares. He's not you."

Wen Lang's eyes got darker. "Watch how you speak to me."

"No." Gao Tu's voice got louder, louder than he meant, echoing through the studio. Helpers jumped, staring with wide eyes. "I won't watch how I speak. Not anymore. You think you can demand answers? Question me like I still belong to you?" His chest moved up and down, anger spilling out in a rush. "You gave me nothing but orders, Wen Lang. Nothing but silence and hate. And now that I've found something - someone - you want to destroy it?"

The air crackled. Wen Lang's jaw clenched, his fists tight at his sides. For once, he had no quick words, no sharp reply.

Gao Tu's voice cracked, rough but strong. "You don't get to do this anymore. You don't get to look at me and think you can take, and take, and take. I'm finished being your shadow."

The studio was completely still. Only the quiet hum of the lights filled the silence.

For the first time in ages, Gao Tu stood tall in front of him - not a quiet secretary, not a man bent under someone else's power. But himself.

Chapter Text

The interview was supposed to be small. Just a story for a website fashion magazine about new people in the business. Gao Tu thought there would be one camera in a basic room, a few questions, and then he could go back to being unknown after the article got lost on the internet.

But the studio was brighter than he thought it would be, with shiny cameras and busy workers. The interviewer was a well-dressed woman with friendly eyes who welcomed him warmly. "Mr Gao, thank you for coming. Well done on becoming successful so quickly."

Gao Tu bowed politely. "Thank you. I still think it was just good luck."

The interviewer smiled. "Our readers want to learn about you. You came from nowhere. Can you tell us about yourself? Where are you from?"

He paused. The lights were hot and the cameras kept filming. But then he thought about the baby growing inside him, his new flat, and all the difficult nights when he was so tired but kept going to survive another day. If he could tell the truth anywhere, maybe it could be here.

"I was born in Jianghu," he said slowly. "My family had problems. My father owed money. My mother worked very hard to keep us alive. When I was little, I knew the only way to escape was through school. So I studied very hard. I got money to help pay for university. That was the only way I could go."

The interviewer nodded to encourage him.

"After I finished university, I got an office job," Gao Tu went on. His hands were folded in his lap and he sat up straight, like he was still at a desk instead of under bright lights. "I worked as a secretary. It wasn't exciting, but it paid for things I needed. I thought that was all I would ever do. Quiet work that never changed."

"But now you're here," the interviewer said kindly. "On big signs around the city. With thousands of fans watching you. How did this happen?"

Gao Tu gave a small, shy smile. "I had to. Life made me do it. I didn't plan this. I just wanted to survive. But sometimes you don't know what you can do until you have to try."

The interviewer leaned closer and spoke more softly. "Mr Gao, I hope you don't mind me asking this. People have been guessing about your secondary gender. Would you tell the public what it is?"

Everyone in the room seemed to stop breathing.

Gao Tu waited, his heart beating fast. But he had hidden for too long. He was tired of making himself small. When he spoke, his voice was calm.

"I'm an omega."

Quiet. Then everyone in the room reacted. Even the camera operator's hands shook for a moment before becoming steady again.

The interviewer blinked, then smiled. "Thank you for trusting us with that. There aren't many omegas who work as models. Has this been difficult for you?"

"Yes," Gao Tu said. He looked down, then back up, staying calm. "People think omegas are weak. That we need help from others, that we trick people, that we can't do things properly. I've lived with people thinking that about me for years. But I think we're more than what others expect. If I can be here today, it's not because I'm less than other people. It's because I worked hard, like everyone else."

His quiet confidence made everyone in the room feel warmer. The interviewer's smile looked almost proud.

The interview finished after more questions about his daily life, his friends at the café, and the simple food he liked to cook in his new flat. When the cameras stopped, everyone clapped. Not because they had to, but because Gao Tu's honesty had touched them.

The article went online that night. Within hours, it became huge.

It was the top trending topic on Weibo. Videos of his soft, steady voice saying "I'm an omega" got millions of views. Pictures of him bowing politely at the end spread everywhere.

And the comments kept coming:

@softsakura: "He said it so calmly... 'I'm an omega'... I nearly cried. It's important to see people like us."
@businessnerd: "Wait - so he worked in an office before?? A secretary??? Imagine making coffee for your boss and then a year later being on huge adverts. That's like a film."
@fandomfairy: "He's so modest. Talking about scholarships and surviving whilst looking amazing in a suit? Unbelievable."
@omegalover123: "Omegas aren't weak. He's proving it. He's working, surviving, succeeding. This man inspires me."
@randomHSintern: "I used to see this man at HS Group every day carrying papers. We all thought he was just some quiet beta... WHAT??"

At HS Group, people gathered around phones in break rooms, watching the video again and again.

"An omega?!"
"All this time, we thought he was a beta."
"Never mind that - did you hear about his scholarship? He was clever even then."
"And President Shen let someone like that leave?"

The last comment made everyone laugh nervously. Nobody said it too loudly, but everyone thought the same thing: for once, the boss didn't seem like the most powerful man in the building.

In his office, Shen Wen Lang sat stiffly in front of his computer screen. He had told himself he wouldn't watch. That it was beneath him. That Gao Tu's words, his life, his gender had nothing to do with him.

But he had clicked the link anyway.

And now, Gao Tu's voice repeated in his head. "I'm an omega."

He gripped the mouse so tightly his knuckles hurt. He had been so sure. So certain that Gao Tu was a beta. Reliable. Safe. The one steady thing he had allowed himself in his chaotic life.

But he wasn't safe. He was never safe. He was an omega - and the world loved him because of it.

Wen Lang's chest burned. Anger, disbelief, something else he couldn't understand. He closed the video, but Gao Tu's soft voice stayed in his head.

@callmeash: "His workmates at the café are literally shouting in the background of his livestream right now. Amazing."
@modelwatcher: "This guy doesn't even try to act fancy. He just is. That's what makes him special."
@honeyteaomega: "I've been waiting for a famous omega to stand up like this. Thank you, Gao Tu."
@citybillboard: "Every time I walk past Xujiahui, the giant picture of him looks down at me and now I know he's an omega and I have feelings."

For Gao Tu, it was just being honest. For everyone else, it was shocking news.

And for Shen Wen Lang, it felt like betrayal he couldn't explain - because the man he thought he knew had been a stranger all along.

Chapter Text

Hua Yong sat back in his chair, moving the ice around in his drink. He looked bored and annoyed as Wen Lang complained again.

"You're losing control," Hua said in a flat voice. "All this worry about an omega who clearly doesn't want you back."

Wen Lang's face got tight. "You don't get it."

"I understand more than you think." Hua's eyes got narrow and playful. "What I don't get is why you've forgotten about the omega from that party."

The room became quiet.

"What?"

"That night." Hua Yong smiled in a mean way that only old friends can. "You left, came back looking terrible, and the next day you wouldn't talk about it. Don't say you don't remember."

Wen Lang's chest felt tight. He did remember - the light smell of sage that stayed with him for weeks, the warmth he couldn't forget.

"I want to see him," Wen Lang said.

Hua Yong lifted his eyebrow. "That's interesting. He's already on big signs all over the city. I think your mystery omega is Gao Tu."

The words hit him like lightning.

Wen Lang didn't remember leaving his office. One moment he was looking at his computer screen, the shock hitting his head, and then he was in his car, telling his driver to go to the studio.

When he got there, the interview was finished. The lights were dim, workers were laughing as they packed up.

And there was Gao Tu.

Standing by the door, coat over his arm, talking quietly with Lin An and Meiqi. He looked tired but happy. He was smiling in a way Wen Lang had never seen when he worked at HS Group.

Something inside Wen Lang broke.

"Gao Tu."

His voice was sharp. The room went quiet.

Gao Tu stopped, then turned around, his face polite and formal. "President Shen."

Cold. Far away. Like a wall between them.

Wen Lang walked forward, staring at him. "Why?"

"Why what?" Gao Tu's voice was calm, but his body was tense.

"Don't play games." Wen Lang's voice shook. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That you're an omega." He said the word through his teeth. "All this time - you let me think you were a beta. You lied."

Gao Tu's eyes flashed with anger.

"I lied?" His voice cracked. "Do you know what it's like to be an omega at work? To have people ignore your good work because of what's on your medical papers?" His breathing got heavy. "I hid who I was to survive there. Because you made it clear that you hated omegas."

Wen Lang flinched.

"That night at the party..." Wen Lang's voice got quiet and desperate. "It was you."

Gao Tu's lips shook, but he kept looking at him. "Yes. And you still hated omegas the next morning. You didn't know it was me then, and I never told you. Because to stay near you, I had to pretend. Pretend I was something you could accept."

The silence was heavy.

"But not now," Gao Tu said, his voice quiet but strong. "I don't care what you think of me anymore. I won't hide, and I won't beg for your respect. It doesn't matter to me now."

Wen Lang's throat felt tight. His world felt like it was breaking under truths he had buried for too long.

Then Gao Tu put his hand on his stomach. His voice got softer, but the words hurt more.

"Because I'm pregnant, Wen Lang."

It felt like the ground disappeared under them both.

Wen Lang couldn't breathe properly. His chest felt crushed.

Pregnant.

With his baby.

The bright lights outside shone into the hallway. Inside, the quiet was louder than a gunshot.

For the first time ever, Shen Wen Lang had nothing to say.

And for the first time between them, Gao Tu had all the control.

The quiet went on until it hurt.

Wen Lang just stood there, stiff, jaw tight, eyes wide like someone had pulled the ground away from him.

Gao Tu had seen that look before. The shock, the way alphas acted when omegas stopped being obedient. When they chose themselves instead of giving in.

And for once, he didn't care.

He put his hand on his stomach, feeling calm from the quiet life growing inside. My baby.

"I'm pregnant," he said again, his voice stronger this time. "And before you ask - yes. It's yours."

Wen Lang breathed in sharply, like the words hurt him. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. No denial, no claim, not even anger. Just quiet.

Good.

"I don't need anything from you." Gao Tu's voice got softer, but only to keep from shaking. "Not your money, not your name, not your pity. I'll look after this baby myself. Just like I've always looked after myself."

The words made him feel strangely light, like a heavy weight he'd carried for years was finally gone.

Behind him, Lin An moved like he wanted to help, but Gao Tu kept looking at Wen Lang. He wanted him to hear it. To feel it.

"I'm not your secretary anymore. I'm not your shadow. I'm not someone you can ignore when it suits you. I have work. I have friends. I have a future. And you -" Gao Tu's mouth curved, but it wasn't a real smile. "You're not part of it."

The shock in Wen Lang's face changed - anger, pain, jealousy - but Gao Tu didn't stay to figure it out.

He turned, coat over his arm, and walked past him. Each step felt stronger than the last. Out into the cool night air where bright lights glowed and the streets were full of life.

Lin An caught up quickly, walking beside him without saying anything. The others followed, quiet but close, protecting him.

Gao Tu breathed out, a shaky laugh coming out. "I did it," he whispered, mostly to himself. "I actually said it."

Lin An gently bumped his shoulder. "You didn't just say it, Tu-ge. You owned it."

And for the first time in ages, Gao Tu believed it.

He was tired, he was scared, the future wasn't certain. But he wasn't small anymore. He wasn't hiding.

He was Gao Tu - omega, model, friend, soon-to-be father.

And he would raise this baby with love, with safety, with everything he never had.

With or without Shen Wen Lang.

Chapter Text

The company's social media person had been bothering him for many weeks.

"You should talk to your fans. Just write something simple or share one photo. People really like you."

Gao Tu did not want to do this at first. He had always kept his personal life secret. But after his recent doctor visit, when he saw how much his special medicine would cost, he knew he could not hide anymore.

That night, he sat at his small kitchen table. His new flat was empty but tidy, with evening sunlight coming through the windows onto white walls. He held his phone.

He typed slowly. He deleted what he wrote. He tried again. At last, the words seemed right.

"Thank you for supporting me these past months. I never thought my life would change like this. I want to tell the truth to everyone who follows me - I am an omega with a pheromone problem, and I am going to have a baby. Because of this, I will stop modelling to look after my health and my baby. Thank you for understanding."

He looked at the message for a long time before adding one more line:

"For the first time ever, I feel free to be who I really am. That is all I have ever wanted."

No special tags. No fancy words. Just the truth.

He added one photo - himself by the window, wearing a loose jumper, with one hand on his belly. He looked calm and gentle but strong.

Then he posted it.

Very quickly, lots of people started responding.

@cherrymisu: WAIT WHAT 😭😭😭 you look amazing Tu-ge!!!
@latte_dreamer: oh my... my heart?? he looks so gentle here... I am crying.
@daimpregnator: PREGNANT??? WHO IS THE FATHER?? show yourself 💥
@newsteinyaoi123: Imagine being the father of GAO TU'S baby??? not me (unless 👀👀👀)
@thirsty_for_tu: I volunteer. Please. Just let it be me.
@shadyomega: a bit jealous of that baby already being carried by an angel 😭
@fujocentral: I am actually the father. Thank you for the good wishes. Heh.

He turned off his phone notifications, put it face down, and took a deep breath. For the first time, his secret was out.

Hua Yong was the one who showed him the phone first.

"Mate, you need to look at this."

"I am busy."

"No, you are not. You are sitting sadly in your office at 3 in the afternoon drinking expensive whisky like someone whose marriage ended. Look."

Even though he did not want to, Wen Lang looked down. And he could not move.

It was Gao Tu. His Gao Tu. Standing in sunlight, looking gentler than Wen Lang had ever seen him, with one hand on his belly.

And the words. The words that hurt him deeply. Omega. Problem. Going to have a baby.

Something inside Wen Lang broke.

The office, the whisky, Hua Yong's sigh - everything disappeared. His mind filled with memories: Gao Tu looking unwell at his desk years ago, Gao Tu jumping at loud sounds, Gao Tu quietly putting up with things. All the signs he had missed, because he thought Gao Tu was a beta, because he had never bothered to look more carefully.

Hua Yong spoke again, sounding tired. "You want to see the omega you slept with at that party? There he is. It turns out you have been blind this whole time."

Wen Lang felt like he could not breathe. He wanted to say it was not true, wanted to be angry. But all he could do was hold the phone tighter until his hands went white.

That night, while everyone else was writing comments on Gao Tu's post - some loving, some gossipy - Wen Lang sat alone in his car outside Gao Tu's flat.

Through the curtains, he saw a light turn on, saw shapes moving, saw Gao Tu sitting down with a cup of tea.

He did not go inside. He could not. Pride and fear kept him in the car.

But inside himself, he knew something important:

Gao Tu needed help. An omega with pheromone problems who was pregnant - medicine could only help so much. What he really needed was an alpha's pheromones to balance his own.

And Wen Lang wanted - no, needed - to be the one to help him.

Chapter Text

The hallway outside Gao Tu's flat had a light smell of rain and cooking from the nearby homes.

Lin An had gone inside to get an extra blanket. The others waited by the stairs, keeping their distance to be polite. Gao Tu stood on the small landing with his coat over his arm. He looked calm but felt nervous inside.

When Wen Lang's car arrived, it felt like something from a different world - shiny leather and glass that changed the feeling in the air. Wen Lang got out looking like he always did at work meetings - neat, controlled, and perfectly dressed. But when Gao Tu saw his face, it wasn't the cold businessman he remembered. Instead, he saw raw feelings - fear and shame mixed together.

For a moment, everything else disappeared except the space between them. Gao Tu's breathing slowed down. He got ready. He had practised what to say - sharp, final words that would end things. In the weeks since the social media post, he had promised himself to stay strong.

Wen Lang walked forward quickly, which showed he wasn't as calm as he tried to appear. He stopped a few feet away and just looked at him. The boss who had once fired him without caring now looked like a man about to fall.

"Gao Tu," Wen Lang said. His voice sounded rougher than Gao Tu had ever heard.

"President Shen." The formal title came out before Gao Tu could think about it. It sounded like both an old hurt and a safe way to keep distance.

Wen Lang put up both hands with palms facing out. "I—" He paused. "I don't have the right words that I should have said before. I know I broke things. I know I made it easier for you to hide than to ask me to understand. I am sorry."

Gao Tu gave a small, bitter laugh. "Sorry doesn't pay for medicine." He wasn't accusing Wen Lang, just stating a fact.

Wen Lang's face dropped. He stepped forward and shocked everyone watching by dropping to his knees on the wet concrete of the landing. It was embarrassing but completely genuine. He didn't try to grab Gao Tu's hand. He just bowed his head.

"I can't undo how I treated you," he said quietly. "I can't pretend it didn't hurt you. But I will be everything I can be now. I will get you what you need - the medicine to help with pheromones, medical care, therapy. I will do it without telling you what you owe me, and without trying to control you. I will try to be better. If you want nothing to do with me, I will accept that. I only ask - let me help the child."

The words hit hard. Gao Tu had seen men on their knees before - drunk men begging for money or favours. But he had never seen anyone kneel like this - not just from shame or pride, but from a raw, honest need to take responsibility.

Someone coughed behind them - Lin An, with an unreadable expression. The others moved uncomfortably and some looked down. But Wen Lang stayed where he was, with city noise humming in the background.

Gao Tu's first thought was to walk away. To shut the door on a man who had made him hide, who had given him small kindnesses and big insults. He could hold his head up high and manage on his own. He had a job, friends, followers online, and a treatment plan he could barely afford. He had survived this long.

But then he felt the baby move - such a small flutter it might have been his imagination, except he was certain when he put his hand on his stomach. The child didn't know about the politics, the history, or the anger. The baby would only know what Gao Tu could provide.

He looked down at Wen Lang on the concrete, at the honest anger in the man's posture, at hands that had once only signed papers but now shook slightly.

"No drama," Gao Tu said finally. His voice was still sharp but softer than before. "If you help, you help. No public announcements. No demands. No trying to buy my gratitude. I am not your project. I won't let you make me the charity case you show off."

Wen Lang's head shot up, eyes intense. "I don't want you to be my project. I want to be responsible. I want to be—" He stopped and swallowed. "I want to be better for my child. For you, if you ever allow it."

Gao Tu looked at him for a long time. The silence between them was full of important decisions. Then, slowly like giving in but steady like making a deal, he took a breath.

"Fine," he said. "You help on my terms. Start from the beginning. Get the medicine sorted. Book the appointments. And there's one more thing."

Wen Lang blinked. "What's that?"

"Therapy," Gao Tu said. "For you. For me. For us, if it ever comes to that. If you want me to believe anything's changed, you have to prove it. I need you to come with me to at least one session. Show me you can listen."

Relief and something like fear crossed Wen Lang's face. "I will."

They didn't hug. There were no movie-like happy endings. There were just two adults on a damp landing, agreeing to practical rules that might keep a child safe. That, and the strange, fragile humanity of a man who had finally said he would try.

Wen Lang kept his promise.

He didn't overwhelm Gao Tu with expensive gifts or demand attention. Instead, he showed up.

Quietly, without making announcements, always a few minutes early, always dressed more casually than his usual business suits - jumpers, rolled-up sleeves, sometimes a baseball cap pulled down low. He carried Gao Tu's medical file in his hands, a leather folder full of prescriptions and appointment notes, like it was the most important business deal of his career.

At first, Gao Tu ignored him. He treated him like an annoying shadow, answering the nurses' questions without even looking at him.

But Wen Lang didn't complain. He sat quietly, waiting for his chance to be helpful. When the chemist asked about medicine doses, it was Wen Lang who had memorised the schedule.

When the doctor suggested blood tests for pheromone treatments, Wen Lang rolled up his sleeve before anyone else could finish explaining.

Chapter Text

The clinic was bright and antiseptic, the hum of fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. Gao Tu sat on the cot, one hand resting protectively on his stomach. He hated needles, but he held still as the nurse tied off his arm.

Across from him, Wen Lang didn’t flinch. His gaze was steady, almost fierce, as the syringe filled with his blood.

The results came a week later. The doctor smiled as she slid the chart across the desk.

“Remarkable compatibility,” she said. “Ninety percent. That’s extremely rare. Your alpha pheromones are an ideal stabilizer for him.”

For a long moment, Gao Tu didn’t speak. Ninety percent. A number that sounded like fate, like inevitability. He hated how his chest tightened at the thought.

Wen Lang didn’t gloat. Didn’t say see? we’re meant to be. He only nodded once, quietly. “Then I’ll be here. However, often he needs it.”
And he was.

The first time Gao Tu took the pheromone treatment with Wen Lang present, the effect was immediate. The restless tremor in his hands eased. The constant ache at the back of his skull dulled. For the first time in months, he slept through the night without waking drenched in sweat.

Day by day, the stabilizers worked. His appetite returned. The circles under his eyes faded. The agency staff, usually careful not to intrude, commented softly about how he seemed brighter, stronger.

Every time Gao Tu tried to brush it off, Wen Lang would quietly slide another bowl of soup across the table, or press an extra appointment card into his hand.
It was infuriating how reliable he’d become. Infuriating, and—comforting.

Weeks stretched into months.

They fell into a rhythm: checkups on Thursdays, therapy every other Monday, grocery runs on weekends where Wen Lang inevitably insisted on carrying all the bags.

Sometimes, they bickered. Gao Tu snapped when Wen Lang tried to take over decisions; Wen Lang bristled when Gao Tu iced him out with silence. But even then, they returned the next day, sitting side by side in waiting rooms like two people too stubborn to quit.

For the first time in years, Gao Tu allowed himself to lean—not much, but enough to feel the weight of someone else’s presence holding him upright.

One evening, after another long day at the clinic, Gao Tu found himself staring at Wen Lang across the table. The man looked tired — hair mussed, tie loosened, sleeves rolled. Not the untouchable CEO, but a man, flawed and real.

“Why do you keep doing this?” Gao Tu asked softly, unable to stop himself. “You could just write checks. You don’t have to be here.”

Wen Lang’s gaze lifted, unflinching. “Because I don’t want to be the man who lets you suffer in silence again. Because this child deserves more. And because…” His voice faltered, low and raw. “…because I don’t want to miss another chance with you.”

The words settled between them like an open wound. Gao Tu didn’t answer right away. He only pressed a hand to his stomach, where the baby shifted restlessly, and allowed the silence to linger.

For now, it was enough that Wen Lang showed up.

For now, it was enough that he kept trying.

And maybe—just maybe—it would one day be enough for more.

The doctor’s office smelled faintly of disinfectant and lavender—the clinic’s attempt to soften the clinical edge. Gao Tu sat on the padded examination chair, his hand smoothing over the swell of his stomach. Six months. It still startled him sometimes, how visible it was now, how undeniable.

Beside him, Wen Lang sat upright, hands clasped too tightly on his knees. His usual corporate poise was nowhere to be seen; he looked more like a schoolboy waiting to be scolded.

The ultrasound machine whirred to life, the monitor flickering with grainy shadows. Gao Tu tilted his head, watching as the technician guided the probe gently across his stomach.

“There,” she said softly, pointing at the screen. “There’s the baby.”

The outline appeared—tiny, but clear: a rounded head, a little spine curled in, legs tucked. Gao Tu’s breath caught. Every time, it was like seeing a miracle.

“And… the gender,” the doctor said, eyes crinkling kindly. “Would you like to know?”

Gao Tu hesitated, then nodded.

“It’s a boy.”

The words settled warm and heavy in his chest. A boy. He couldn’t stop the small, helpless smile that tugged at his lips.
Beside him, Wen Lang exhaled shakily, as though he had been holding his breath for months. His hand twitched, like he wanted to reach for Gao Tu but held himself back at the last second.

Later, in the car, the silence stretched between them. Finally, Wen Lang cleared his throat. “So. A name.”

Gao Tu looked out the window at the passing city lights. “His surname will be Gao.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a decision.

For a moment, Wen Lang didn’t speak. His fingers flexed on the steering wheel. Then, quietly, he said, “Alright.” No argument. No fight. Just quiet acceptance.
That alone softened something small but important in Gao Tu.

He tapped his stomach lightly. “Gao Lele. Lele, because… he deserves happiness. More than anything.”

The name hung in the air, tender and fragile. Wen Lang repeated it under his breath—Lele—as though tasting the syllables for the first time. His voice caught on it.

“He’ll be happy,” Wen Lang said firmly, almost to himself. “I’ll make sure of it.”

A few days later, during one of their evening walks back from the clinic, Wen Lang spoke again, his tone cautious. “Hua Yong told me… his partner is also pregnant.”

Gao Tu blinked, startled. “Partner?” He frowned. “Wait. Isn’t Hua Yong an omega?”

The corners of Wen Lang’s lips twitched. “No. He’s an Enigma.”

Gao Tu stopped mid-step. “An… Enigma?”

“It’s rare,” Wen Lang explained. “They carry both alpha and omega traits. Less common than pure alphas or omegas. ”

Gao Tu stared, dumbfounded. All this time, he had assumed—“Then all those times you were at his place, all the rumors…”

Wen Lang turned, meeting his eyes directly. His voice was low but steady. “There has never been anyone else. Not Hua Yong. Not anyone.”

He stepped closer, close enough that Gao Tu could feel the heat of his body even in the cool evening air. “You. You are mine.”

The words landed like a blow and a balm all at once. Gao Tu’s chest tightened; his hand instinctively pressed against the swell of his stomach, against the quiet flutter of Lele’s kicks.

He wanted to laugh, to scoff, to tell Wen Lang he had no right to claim anything after all the pain he had caused. And yet, something in the man’s eyes—steady, unyielding, almost desperate—made the words die in his throat.

Instead, Gao Tu turned away first, his voice softer than he intended. “Focus on being a good father. That’s enough.”

But that night, lying awake, Gao Tu whispered the name again—Lele—and for the first time, he let himself picture him with both of them in the frame.

Chapter Text

By the seventh month, Gao Tu's tummy had become big and round, making him move more slowly but in a steadier way. His health had got better with medical help. He no longer had sudden dizzy moments or scary drops in his body's natural chemicals. The medicine worked well, and Wen Lang had changed from being annoying to being quietly helpful.

Every week, Wen Lang came to the medical appointments without missing any. Sometimes he came straight from work meetings, with his tie loose and looking tired but still paying attention. He sat next to Gao Tu during blood tests, quietly writing notes and giving him water. Once, Gao Tu saw him looking cross at the nurse for being too rough with the needle, and Gao Tu had to stop himself from laughing.

"I'm not made of china," Gao Tu said quietly.

"You are to me," Wen Lang said back, feeling a bit embarrassed that he had said it.

They had already picked the baby's name, Gao Lele. Gao Tu had been firm that his child would have his family name. Wen Lang didn't argue. Instead, he said the name quietly to himself like he was praying, until saying it felt normal.

But as the eighth month came closer, things felt more real and harder. Gao Tu sometimes woke up at night in pain, holding his stomach and breathing hard. Wen Lang was always there, rubbing his back and taking him to the hospital for emergency checks when needed.

"These are practice contractions," the doctor told them once.

But the worried look on Wen Lang's face that night stayed with Gao Tu for a long time.

When the ninth month started, the flat was full of small things for the baby. There were tiny clothes folded on the sofa, bottles lined up on the kitchen counter, and a baby's bed in the corner of Gao Tu's bedroom. Lin An and the others had wanted to help decorate, and their laughter made the place feel warm and happy.

Even Wen Lang had bought something - an expensive pram that arrived without any note. It cost too much money, but it was useful. Gao Tu rolled his eyes but didn't send it back.

Still, even with all the preparations, Gao Tu felt worried. Could he really look after this child? Could he really let Wen Lang stay close after everything that had happened?

The night the baby came, it was raining very hard.

The rain hit the city and drummed against the flat's windows. Gao Tu sat on the sofa folding tiny shirts when a sharp pain grabbed him. This wasn't like the practice pains. This one made him unable to breathe, and his nails dug into the fabric.

"Wen Lang!" His voice sounded scared.

The man came straight away from the kitchen, dropping his cup of tea on the counter. He looked at Gao Tu's face and was beside him immediately, putting steady hands on his shaking shoulders.

"It's time," Gao Tu said, breathing hard.

Within minutes, Wen Lang was helping him down the stairs, putting a coat over his shoulders and not caring that the rain was soaking through his own suit. The driver rushed them to the hospital whilst city lights blurred through the wet glass.

Having the baby took a long time.

Hours went by, filled only with Gao Tu's painful cries and the medical staff giving quick orders. Wen Lang wouldn't leave his side, holding his hand even when Gao Tu swore at him and even when Gao Tu cried.

"I can't do this," Gao Tu said, choking.

"Yes, you can." Wen Lang's voice sounded rough and broken in a way Gao Tu had never heard. "I'm here. I won't leave. You're not by yourself."

Somewhere between the terrible pain and being very tired, Gao Tu realised these were the words Wen Lang should have said years ago.

At sunrise, the baby's cry filled the air.

A boy. Small and red-faced, but crying loudly and strongly.

Gao Tu cried with relief, holding the baby wrapped in blankets. "Lele," he whispered.

Wen Lang leaned over, his hand shaking as he touched the baby's cheek. His chest filled with something strong and overwhelming. For once, his eyes weren't guarded. They only showed wonder.

"He's perfect," Wen Lang said softly.

Tired, Gao Tu looked up at him. "Of course he is. He's mine."

Wen Lang smiled. It was small and broken, but real. "Ours."

And for the first time, Gao Tu didn't disagree.

Later, in the quiet hospital room.

Lele slept peacefully in the baby bed, tiny fists curled up, breathing softly. Gao Tu dozed lightly, pale but peaceful, with damp hair against the pillow.

Wen Lang sat nearby, still wearing the same rain-soaked suit, not wanting to leave. He leaned forward, whispering into the quiet air.

"I'll spend the rest of my life showing you that you were right to give me another chance. You and Lele are my whole world now."

He didn't know that Gao Tu was awake, listening with his eyes nearly closed.

And for the first time, Gao Tu let himself believe that those words might one day be true.

Chapter Text

The evenings all mixed together.

Sometimes Lele cried very loudly, as if something terrible had happened. His little hands moved wildly and his voice became hoarse. Other times he was strangely quiet, and Gao Tu would wake up worried and check that he was still breathing. Sleep was broken up - half-sleeping was interrupted by crying, the strong smell of milk, and the sound of blankets moving.

But Wen Lang never said it was too hard.

He got through the nights like a fighter in battle, with messy hair, creased clothes, and his phone alarm going off to remind him of things he already remembered. He changed nappies with awkward hands, heated bottles more carefully than he ever did anything in business meetings, and sang quiet songs in a voice that was too deep and rough, but never stopped.

"Go back to sleep," he would whisper when Gao Tu woke up. "I will look after him."

This was not true - he could not really control anything - but he kept trying. He tried with the same determination he once used to build his business, but now he just wanted to learn how to keep one baby happy.

In the morning, Gao Tu had dark circles under his eyes. Wen Lang did too.

"You need to go to work," Gao Tu said quietly one morning, with Lele resting on his chest, the baby's gentle breathing making his shirt damp.

Wen Lang was putting on a clean shirt with one hand whilst holding his phone between his shoulder and ear, delaying another meeting. He stopped moving. "I do not want to go."

"You will lose your business."

"I will start a new one."

"Wen Lang." Gao Tu's voice became stern, and Wen Lang looked uncomfortable.

He picked up his tie reluctantly. "I will go. But only because you are telling me to."

He still looked back three times before he left, his hands moving as if he wanted to take Lele with him in his work bag.

At work, he only lasted one hour before he rang home.

"Did Lele eat?"
"Yes."
"Did you sleep?"
"No."
"Tu—"

Gao Tu hung up the phone.

After the third call, Gao Tu said he would block his number. Wen Lang was upset but sent food deliveries instead - healthy soups, porridge, and even soft egg tarts from the café.

Then one busy afternoon, help came.

The doorbell rang and Lin An, Yiran, and Meiqi came in, carrying many bags of food and supplies.

"Tu-ge!" Lin An rushed past Wen Lang and picked up Lele as if he had been waiting for this moment forever. "My nephew! He is wonderful!"

"Be careful," Wen Lang said firmly, but Yiran's loud laughter covered his words.

"Look at this baby! We are going to spoil him so much. Look at his chubby cheeks! They look like little bread rolls!"

Meiqi shook her head and started tidying up the baby things in the corner. "You both look terrible. Sit down. I will cook something."

Wen Lang did not like people coming into his space, but when he saw Gao Tu relaxing on the sofa with a small smile as he watched his friends fuss over Lele, Wen Lang stopped feeling annoyed.

For the first time in a while, Gao Tu looked happy and relaxed.

The flat became warm and cheerful - full of laughter, the smell of cooking, and the gentle sounds of people taking turns to hold the baby. Wen Lang stood apart at first, feeling awkward, until Yiran gave him a bowl of food.

"Eat, boss. You look worse than Tu-ge."

And Wen Lang did as he was told.

That evening, after everyone had gone home, Gao Tu sat on the sofa with Lele sleeping against him. He looked at Wen Lang, who was cleaning baby bottles very seriously, like he was doing important business work.

"You do not have to do all of this," Gao Tu said quietly.

Wen Lang looked up with tired but bright eyes. "I do have to. He is my son. And you..." He paused, then said, "You are not on your own anymore. I will make sure of that."

This time, Gao Tu did not disagree.

The quiet that came next was not uncomfortable, but gentle. It was a delicate peace that came from nights without sleep and the small wonder sleeping between them.

Chapter Text

Initially, Wen Lang believed he could keep things separate.

His job was his job. His home life was about Gao Tu and Lele. Easy.

But this plan fell apart within a few days.

The first problem happened during a work meeting. He was in the middle of giving a presentation when his phone made a gurgling sound from his pocket. Everyone stopped and stared. Wen Lang looked embarrassed as he took out his phone. Lele's face appeared on the screen with chubby cheeks and big eyes.

Behind the baby, Gao Tu sounded irritated: "You forgot the bottle warmer again, Shen Wenlang. He keeps crying. Do you think I can heat water in a teacup every time?"

Wen Lang's face turned red. All the board members watched in shock until he coughed, ended the video call, and said quietly, "Just a temporary problem. Let's carry on."

The following week, he started leaving meetings early with weak reasons like important phone calls, health issues, or papers he needed to check himself. The other directors looked at each other knowingly, but nobody said anything. They weren't used to seeing their tough boss rush out the door with his tie loose and his briefcase left behind, just to get home in time to help bath the baby.

And helping with bath time was very important to him.

Gao Tu had laughed the first evening when Wen Lang knelt beside the bathtub with his sleeves rolled up, trying to handle soap, a towel, and one moving baby all at once. "You look like you're doing business with an important person," he joked, standing in the doorway.

"I am," Wen Lang said seriously, catching Lele before he could splash water on the floor. "This one's harder to deal with."

Sometimes he came to work with baby sick dried on his shoulder, only noticing when a secretary quietly gave him a tissue. Sometimes his tie didn't match his shirt and his hair was messy from not sleeping well. But the strangest thing was that he didn't mind.

The man who used to worry about looking perfect now wore his tiredness and role as a father proudly.

People noticed this change.

Stories spread around HS Group that the boss had changed. Some people whispered that he had become too gentle, others said he wasn't focused enough. But when the company made more money than expected because of bold decisions Wen Lang said came from having a new outlook, the board members stopped complaining.

At home, Gao Tu saw the changes too.

One evening, whilst Lele slept in his cot, Gao Tu sat on the sofa looking at his phone. "You know people think you've become too soft," he said casually.

Wen Lang, who was tying up rubbish bags, looked up. "Do I seem soft to you?"

Gao Tu looked at the wet towel on Wen Lang's shoulder, the small dummy still attached to his pocket, and smelled the baby shampoo on him. He smiled genuinely.

"Perhaps a bit."

For once, Wen Lang didn't disagree. He walked over, kissed Gao Tu's forehead gently, which surprised both of them, and whispered, "That's fine."

Because being gentle, he was discovering, wasn't being weak. It had become the most important part of his life.

Chapter Text

The banquet was Lele’s stage before it was anyone else’s.

The baby had been fussing over since dawn — Meiqi had insisted on the tiny silk outfit, Lin An spent twenty minutes trying to style a tuft of hair before Gao Tu swatted him away, and Yiran arrived with a toy dragon rattle “for future prosperity.”

When the guests finally gathered, Lele was paraded around like a little emperor. Hua Yong bowed exaggeratedly, whispering, “President Gao Lele, will you approve this banquet?” and Gao Tu almost dropped his chopsticks from laughing.

At each table, Lele was adored. His cheeks pinched, his tiny hands held out to grasp at chopstick ends and silk sleeves.
The friends placed bets on whether he’d crawl early or talk first; even the gruff old photographer from Gao Tu’s agency softened visibly when Lele blinked up at him and drooled on his sleeve.

And through it all, Wen Lang hovered like a silent guardian. When Lele whimpered at the noise, Wen Lang scooped him up without hesitation, rocking gently until the baby calmed. When someone tried to feed him something inappropriate, Wen Lang’s sharp glare shut it down.

“He looks like you when you’re angry,” Lin An whispered to Gao Tu, stifling a laugh as Wen Lang scowled at another guest holding Lele too long.

“It’s the eyebrows,” Gao Tu admitted, smiling despite himself.

Later, the lights dimmed slightly and a small cake was brought out — soft cream, little sugar flowers, and three candles arranged in the shape of “100.” Gao Tu held Lele on his lap as everyone sang, guiding his tiny hands to pat at the cake in place of blowing candles. The baby squealed, smearing cream on his nose, and the room erupted in laughter.

“That’s his wish,” Meiqi declared, snapping photos. “May Lele always get cake first.”

It was in the afterglow of that laughter, with Lele still sticky-fingered and wide-eyed, that Wen Lang rose. He didn’t interrupt the baby’s moment — he stepped forward after, kneeling down so that both Gao Tu and Lele could see him.

“Lele,” Wen Lang said softly, addressing the baby first. “Your Baba and I—we’re both learning how to be better for you. And I want to promise you, in front of everyone, that I’ll be here. Always.”

He looked up at Gao Tu then, box in hand. “And that promise includes your father.”

The rest unfolded the same — the box, the speech, the ring, Gao Tu’s teasing acceptance. But when Gao Tu posted later, it wasn’t just his hand with the ring. It was his hand holding Lele’s, the baby’s palm pressed clumsily against his.

Caption: “Our Lele, 100 days today. Our family, forever.”

The comments this time were even more chaotic:
@moonsberri: STOPPPP HE’S THE CUTESTTTTT
@chher: Lele upstaged the proposal and I respect him for it.

But for Gao Tu, it felt right. The night wasn’t stolen by romance or spectacle. It was Lele’s milestone, celebrated with warmth and laughter. The proposal was just another thread in the weave — their family, growing tighter, brighter, real.

Chapter Text

Lele grew like the weeks were racing. One day he was a bundle who slept curled against Gao Tu’s chest, and the next he was reaching for chopsticks and drooling on contracts.

The first time it happened, they weren’t even paying attention. Gao Tu was sitting on the floor stacking colorful blocks, while Wen Lang had just returned from a morning meeting, tie loosened, watching them from the doorway with that soft, unguarded gaze he’d never admit to in public. Lele babbled nonsense, fists waving in the air, until suddenly he pointed at Gao Tu and said, very clearly, “Baba.”

The world seemed to stop.

Gao Tu froze, then laughed so hard the tower of blocks collapsed around him. “Did you hear that? He—he said, "Baba!” His voice cracked with delight.

Wen Lang dropped his briefcase and crouched instantly, eyes wide. “Say it again. Lele, say Baba again.” His voice was sharp with urgency, the same tone he used in negotiations, except now he was bargaining with a baby who only giggled and smacked the blocks apart.

From that moment, Wen Lang made it his personal mission to secure his own title. Every night he tried, pointing to himself with patient desperation. “Lele, Daddy. Say Daddy.” But Lele only clapped his hands and shouted “Baba” again, smug as if he knew exactly who his favorite was.

Even their friends joined the mockery. Lin An teased, “Tu-ge, you’ve won forever.” Meiqi smirked, “Imagine being jealous of a baby.” And Wen Lang, teeth gritted, muttered, “Just wait. He’ll say it. He has to.”

The milestones didn’t stop there.

One afternoon, Gao Tu’s phone buzzed across the playmat, lit up with the stream of cartoon stickers Lin An had spammed in their group chat. Lele’s eyes locked on the glowing prize. Before anyone could coax him, he lunged forward, arms wobbly, legs kicking, until he managed a clumsy crawl that ended with his cheek planted triumphantly against the phone.

“He did it!” Gao Tu cried, clapping his hands, laughter bubbling over. Wen Lang immediately scrambled for his phone.

“Record it! My son’s a genius!” From then on, the apartment became an obstacle course of foam mats and carefully arranged furniture. Lele crawled after slippers, food, and anything that belonged to Gao Tu.

It was Hua Yong who saw the next miracle. They had all gone to the park one bright afternoon. Lele was holding onto the edge of a bench, wobbling dangerously as though the world itself tilted beneath him. Before anyone could catch him, he let go—and tottered three shaky steps straight into Wen Lang’s waiting arms.

Wen Lang spun him in the air like he’d just scored the winning goal of his life. “Three steps! Did you see that? THREE!” His grin was so wide it made him look boyish, almost unrecognizable from the calculating CEO everyone else knew.

“Relax,” Meiqi muttered, rolling her eyes. But Gao Tu only smiled, heart swelling so much it ached.

By the time Lele’s first birthday neared, their home was already filled with treasures: the first laugh that rang out so loud neighbors peeked over their balcony, the first tooth that had them both frantically calling the pediatrician, the first tantrum that left both parents flustered and red-eared.

Gao Tu recorded everything—photos, little notes in his planner, videos saved carefully in cloud folders. Sometimes, late at night, he caught Wen Lang scrolling through those clips in the dark, expression softened and almost fragile.

When Gao Tu teased him, Wen Lang would clear his throat, mumble something about “monitoring progress,” and turn the screen away.

But Gao Tu knew. Every milestone wasn’t just Lele’s—it was theirs. Proof of the family they were building, one unsteady, miraculous step at a time.

When Lin An offered to babysit, Gao Tu’s first instinct was a hard no.

Lele was barely a year old. He still cried when Gao Tu left the room for more than five minutes, still clung to his shirt like it was a lifeline. Handing him over, even to someone he trusted as much as Lin An, felt impossible.

“Tu-ge,” Lin An groaned, bouncing Lele easily on his hip. “He’s my nephew in all but blood. You think I can’t handle one baby for a few hours? Go! Have a night with President Shen before you forget how to have fun.”

“I don’t—” Gao Tu started, but Wen Lang’s hand closed over his shoulder, steady and warm.

“He’s right,” Wen Lang said firmly. “Lele will be fine. You and I need this.”

Gao Tu hesitated, torn between anxiety and the stubborn spark in Wen Lang’s eyes. Lele gurgled happily, tugging on Lin An’s ear. He didn’t look like a baby in distress at all.
“See?” Lin An smirked. “He already prefers me.”

Gao Tu shot him a glare but, against his will, let himself be pulled toward the door. “If he cries—”

“I’ll send a video,” Lin An promised, already settling onto the playmat with toys scattered around him.

The door clicked shut behind them, and for the first time in months, Gao Tu realized: it was just the two of them. No diaper bag, no pacifier hunt, no sudden baby wails breaking the silence. Just… space.

Wen Lang drove without saying much, one hand steady on the wheel, the other reaching occasionally to cover Gao Tu’s where it rested on the console. The city lights blurred past the windows until they stopped at a quiet rooftop restaurant, candlelit tables overlooking the skyline.
“Wen Lang,” Gao Tu muttered as they were shown to a table. “This is too much.”

“Nothing is too much for you,” Wen Lang replied simply.

The meal was slow, filled with small conversations that felt both unfamiliar and achingly natural.

After dinner, they wandered down the quiet streets, hands brushing until Wen Lang finally caught Gao Tu’s fingers and held them firmly. Gao Tu didn’t pull away. The night smelled of rain on pavement, the neon signs reflecting in Wen Lang’s eyes as he leaned close.

“You know,” Wen Lang murmured, “before Lele, before everything—I thought I knew what I wanted. Control. Order. Success. But none of it ever felt enough until you.”

Gao Tu’s throat tightened. He wanted to protest, to say Wen Lang was exaggerating, but the sincerity in his voice made it impossible.

They stopped under the soft glow of a streetlamp. Wen Lang turned to him, close enough that Gao Tu could feel the warmth of his breath. His thumb brushed against the back of Gao Tu’s hand, gentle, reverent.

“Let me give you more nights like this,” Wen Lang whispered.

Gao Tu’s heart stumbled. For once, he didn’t think about bills, or medicine, or responsibilities waiting at home. He thought only of the man in front of him, stripped of his arrogance, offering himself in quiet, careful pieces.

And when Wen Lang finally leaned in, Gao Tu let him.

The world, for that moment, was only theirs.

Chapter Text

The kiss was gentle at first, almost tentative. Wen Lang tilted his head just enough to coax, not demand, and Gao Tu found himself leaning in despite every nervous instinct that said he should pull away.

When they broke apart, Gao Tu’s lips tingled, and his pulse raced in his throat. “Wen Lang…”

“Just say if you want me to stop,” Wen Lang murmured, eyes searching his face.

The sincerity there—open, unguarded—made Gao Tu’s chest ache. He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he tugged lightly at Wen Lang’s sleeve.

Back at Wen Lang’s apartment, the city noise was muted, the rooms dim and warm. For the first time, Gao Tu noticed how the place had changed: a basket of Lele’s toys near the sofa, a folded blanket he recognized from his own apartment draped over the armrest. Little signs that their lives were no longer separate.

“You’ve been making space,” Gao Tu said quietly, running his fingers along the blanket.

“I told you,” Wen Lang replied, stepping close. “Nothing is too much for you. For both of you.”

The air between them tightened. Wen Lang’s hand brushed Gao Tu’s cheek, thumb tracing the soft curve of his skin before sliding lower, to the edge of his jaw, then to the nape of his neck. The touch was firm enough to steady, gentle enough to wait.

Gao Tu’s breath shivered. “I don’t… I’m not sure—”

“You don’t have to be sure,” Wen Lang cut in softly. “You only have to trust me tonight.”

And against his better judgment, Gao Tu did.

The hours that followed unfolded slowly, carefully. Wen Lang’s kisses trailed like promises across his skin, never rushing, never taking more than Gao Tu gave. The world narrowed to warmth, breath, the press of bodies finding a rhythm they hadn’t known they could share.

When it was over, Gao Tu lay against Wen Lang’s chest, their breaths syncing in the quiet dark. Wen Lang’s fingers stroked his hair absently, like he was memorizing the texture.
“You’re dangerous,” Gao Tu muttered, half-asleep.

“Why?”

“Because you make it too easy to want this.”

Wen Lang’s hand stilled, then pulled him closer. “Then don’t fight it.”

For once, Gao Tu didn’t.

He hesitated for only a moment before climbing into Wen Lang’s lap.

The kiss started shy, soft, the way it always did with him. Gao Tu wasn’t experienced, never had been, but his lips moved with a tentative instinct that made Wen Lang’s chest ache.

He licked nervously at the corner of Wen Lang’s mouth, like testing the waters, and Wen Lang’s self-control snapped. He slid his tongue past Gao Tu’s lips, swallowed the startled whimper he got in return, and deepened the kiss until it was messy and wet and dizzying.

Gao Tu clutched at his shirt with trembling fists, whining as the kiss turned sloppier, wetter, their tongues tangling. His thighs shifted restlessly where he straddled Wen Lang’s hips, and Wen Lang could feel the telltale slick gathering in the air, sweet and sharp, filling his lungs until he was lightheaded.

“Lang…” Gao Tu pulled back just enough to pant, lips swollen and damp, eyes heavy. His voice was breathless, needy. “Stop teasing me…”

Wen Lang smirked, kissed the pout right off his face again, and let his palm slide down between their bodies until it pressed firmly against the bulge in Gao Tu’s shorts. He gasped, almost biting Wen Lang’s tongue, and buried his face against his shoulder with a trembling moan.

“You got this hard just from kissing me?” Wen Lang murmured against his ear, his voice low and rough. He gave him a slow squeeze through the fabric and Gao Tu whined helplessly, hips twitching into the touch.

His scent spiked sweet and heady, flooding the room. Wen Lang’s pupils blew wide. His rut was scratching at the back of his mind, begging to take over, but he forced his pace to stay slow, careful. He wouldn’t rush this. Not when it was Gao Tu’s first time since Lele.

Still—he couldn’t resist whispering, “You flatter me, Tu. Do I make you feel that good?”

The way Gao Tu’s cock twitched against his palm was all the answer he needed.

They stripped clumsily after that, Gao Tu’s shy hands fumbling at Wen Lang’s sweatpants, Wen Lang helping him tug off his shorts. Gao Tu’s cock bounced free, flushed pink and leaking already, and Wen Lang groaned at the sight. But when he pushed his own pants down, Gao Tu’s eyes went wide, his breath catching in his throat.

“…fuck,” he whispered, staring at the sheer size of him.

Wen Lang flushed faintly, insecurity flickering across his face. “Is it okay? I know it’s… a lot.”

But Gao Tu’s only answer was to climb back into his lap and press their cocks together, smaller against larger, his trembling hand trying to wrap around both. The size difference made him shiver.

“Shut up,” he breathed, cheeks red as fire. “Just… look.”

Wen Lang did. And then he kissed him again, swallowing the little whimpers that spilled out as he began stroking them together, slow and slick with their combined precum. Gao Tu’s thighs trembled on either side of him, his hole fluttering involuntarily with every drag, his scent blooming thicker and thicker until Wen Lang thought he’d go mad.

It wasn’t long before Wen Lang had him on the bed, knees spread wide, fingers working him open with patient care. Gao Tu was panting into the pillow, crying out when a thick finger brushed his prostate, clinging to the sheets as his body betrayed him. Slick dripped freely down his thighs, soaking the bedding beneath him, his hole greedily sucking in each new stretch.

“Wen Lang—slow, please—”

“I am,” Wen Lang murmured, kissing between his shoulder blades, his free hand rubbing soothing circles into his thigh. “You’re just so damn tight, baby. Relax for me.”

By the time three of those long fingers were pumping into him, Gao Tu was trembling, drooling on the sheets, begging in broken whines. His cock had already spilled once, spurting weakly against the blanket, but his body showed no signs of stopping, still clenching down around Wen Lang’s fingers like it wanted more.

And Wen Lang… Wen Lang was shaking with the effort of restraint, rut clawing at his chest, knot already heavy at the base of his cock.

When he finally pushed inside, Gao Tu sobbed, clawing at the sheets, at Wen Lang’s arms, at anything he could reach. It hurt, the stretch almost unbearable, but Wen Lang’s hand in his soothed him through it, his voice rough and desperate in his ear.

“Breathe. That’s it. You’re taking me so well… you were made for me, Tu, fuck—”

And then he was in, all the way, cock pressing so deep Gao Tu swore he could feel it in his stomach. His body clamped down like a vice, overstimulated, milking him, and Wen Lang groaned raggedly against his neck.

They moved together slowly at first, careful, but every drag over Gao Tu’s swollen prostate had him gasping, moaning, begging for more. His body was slick and needy, his scent dizzyingly sweet, and soon Wen Lang couldn’t hold back any longer. He set a harder pace, hips slapping wetly against Gao Tu’s ass, the head of his cock bulging visibly against Gao Tu’s stomach with every thrust.

Gao Tu saw it through hazy eyes and nearly came again. “Lang—it’s—inside me—”

“Yeah, baby,” Wen Lang groaned, pressing a large hand to his lower belly, feeling the bulge move under his skin. “ I can see myself in you. You’re perfect.”

Tears slid down Gao Tu’s cheeks as another orgasm hit him, body shaking apart, hole fluttering wildly around Wen Lang’s length. Wen Lang bit down on his own lip, fighting the urge to sink his teeth into Gao Tu’s throat, to leave the permanent mark his rut demanded.

He lasted only a few more thrusts before spilling deep inside him, knot swelling, locking them together. Gao Tu wailed at the sudden fullness, clawing at Wen Lang’s back as hot seed filled him to the brim, leaking out around the thick knot that sealed him shut.

When it was finally over, when Wen Lang collapsed against him, trembling, still buried deep, Gao Tu could only whimper softly and curl into his chest. Wen Lang stroked his damp hair, kissed his swollen lips, whispered hoarsely, “I love you. I’ll never stop.”

Gao Tu’s reply was a breathless little, “Don’t… let go,” before his eyes slid shut, exhaustion dragging him under.

Wen Lang smiled faintly, pressing his nose to the crook of his mate’s neck, breathing in the rich, sweet scent that was only his. His knot pulsed deep inside, their bodies locked together, and he thought: finally.

Finally, Gao Tu was his again.

Wen Lang didn’t move right away. He couldn’t—not with his knot swollen deep inside Gao Tu, not with him curled against his chest, panting faintly, body trembling from overstimulation. His instincts purred with satisfaction at the thought of keeping him plugged, filled, locked together until morning. But then he looked down and saw Gao Tu’s damp lashes clinging to his cheeks, his lips parted as he tried to catch his breath, and the swell of tenderness nearly crushed him.

Carefully, he shifted to press gentle kisses across Gao Tu’s temple, his cheeks, the corner of his swollen mouth. Each press was soft, reverent, like an apology for the sheer intensity of what they’d just done.

“Lang…” Gao Tu’s voice was barely a whisper, raw from crying out, but Wen Lang heard it clear as day.

“I’m here,” Wen Lang murmured, brushing a thumb over his damp skin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

When his knot finally eased and slipped free, Gao Tu gasped at the sudden emptiness, squirming faintly as their combined slick and seed began to seep out. Wen Lang frowned at the sight, scooping him up effortlessly in his arms.

“Don’t—” Gao Tu squawked weakly, smacking his chest. “I can walk.”

“You can barely keep your eyes open, Tu,” Wen Lang teased softly, kissing the tip of his nose. “Let me take care of you.”

He carried him to the bathroom, set him gently on the counter, and rummaged for warm towels. Gao Tu flushed deep pink, thighs clamped together instinctively as Wen Lang knelt in front of him and began to wipe him clean with patient hands.

Every stroke was careful, slow, almost too intimate. Wen Lang’s big palms smoothed across his thighs, his stomach, around the sore swell of his rim. Gao Tu bit his lip hard, cheeks burning as his body twitched at the overstimulated touches.

“You don’t have to…” he mumbled, looking anywhere but Wen Lang’s face.

“I want to,” Wen Lang replied simply, voice low, focused. He pressed a soft kiss to Gao Tu’s inner thigh before tossing the soiled towel aside. “You did so well for me tonight. I need you to feel good afterward, too.”

That made Gao Tu’s chest ache. He’d expected Wen Lang’s rut to make him rough, demanding, but instead he was being treated like he was made of glass. A precious thing. It left him more undone than the sex itself.

Back in bed, Wen Lang helped him into one of his oversized shirts, tugging the fabric gently over his head. He even tucked the blankets around him like he was wrapping up Lele for a nap. Gao Tu wanted to tease him for it, but his throat closed up instead, too full of quiet emotion to speak.

“Water,” Wen Lang said firmly, holding a glass to his lips. Gao Tu whined but drank anyway, pouting when Wen Lang wiped a stray drop from his chin with his thumb.

Then Wen Lang slid under the covers beside him, pulling him close, tucking Gao Tu’s smaller body against his chest. His hand immediately found Gao Tu’s stomach, massaging in slow, soothing circles.

“Lang…” Gao Tu whispered again, this time softer, almost shy.

“Hm?”

“You’re… good at this.”

Wen Lang laughed under his breath, kissing the crown of his head. “At sex, or at taking care of you?”

“Both,” Gao Tu admitted, cheeks warming, and buried his face into Wen Lang’s chest to hide.

The younger’s arms tightened around him, protective and warm. “Then let me keep proving it. Every time. As long as you’ll let me.”

Gao Tu closed his eyes, letting the steady thump of Wen Lang’s heartbeat lull him. For once, he didn’t fight it, didn’t argue. He just hummed in quiet agreement, curled into the safety of his mate’s hold, and let himself be taken care of.

When sleep finally claimed him, Wen Lang stayed awake just a little longer, brushing his fingers through Gao Tu’s hair, memorizing every line of his face in the dim light. He’d never loved anyone this much before, never felt this certain about anything.

And as Gao Tu’s breathing evened out, Wen Lang pressed one last kiss to his forehead and whispered into the night, “Mine.”

Chapter Text

The morning light slipped in through the half-drawn curtains, pale and gentle, painting the sheets in muted gold. For the first time in what felt like forever, Gao Tu woke not to the sound of a baby’s cry, nor to the ache in his bones, but to warmth — steady and unyielding, wrapped around him like a vow.

Wen Lang’s arm was draped across his waist, heavy but protective, fingers splayed against his stomach as if even in sleep he couldn’t let go. His breath brushed against the curve of Gao Tu’s neck, warm and steady, tickling in a way that made Gao Tu shift.

He froze. The movement reminded him of the night before — the heat, the way Wen Lang had whispered his name like it was salvation, the way Gao Tu had given in, piece by trembling piece, until all that was left was a body that remembered how to want. His cheeks heated at the memory, a rare flush that spread down to his chest.

Carefully, he tried to wriggle free, but the grip around his waist tightened instantly, pulling him back against a broad chest. Wen Lang’s voice, rough with sleep, hummed low in his ear.

“Where are you going?”

Gao Tu scowled, though the effect was lost with his ears still red. “Bathroom.”

A pause, then a chuckle that vibrated against his back. “Mm. Reasonable. But stay a little longer.”

Gao Tu almost snapped at him, but the hold was warm, the sheets were soft, and for once he wasn’t exhausted to the marrow. Against his better judgment, he let himself relax, sinking back into the pillow.

Wen Lang pressed a lazy kiss to the back of his shoulder. “You slept,” he murmured, as if it were a miracle. “Properly, without waking once. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen that?”

“Don’t exaggerate.” But Gao Tu’s voice was softer than his words, the corners of his lips betraying him with the faintest curve.

They lay in silence for a while, the kind of silence that wasn’t heavy but whole. Eventually, Wen Lang shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look at him properly. His hair was a mess, his shirt half-hanging off his shoulder from last night, but his gaze was clear, sharp as always and yet unbearably tender.

“Tu Tu.”

“Don’t call me that in the morning,” Gao Tu muttered, turning his face into the pillow.

But Wen Lang didn’t stop. His hand cupped Gao Tu’s cheek, coaxing him to turn back. “I meant it,” he said quietly. “Last night. Every word. I want this — not just one night, not just when it’s easy. You, me, Lele. Our family. I’ll fight for it every day, if you’ll let me.”

The sincerity in his voice was almost too much. Gao Tu’s throat tightened. He hated that he believed him — hated that somewhere between the exhaustion and the tenderness, his walls had started to crack.

“You sound like you’re saying your vows,” he said dryly, trying to mask the tremor in his chest.

Wen Lang’s mouth curved into a smile, slow and deliberate. “Not yet. In our wedding, you won’t mistake it for anything else.”

The arrogance in his tone was infuriating, but it was softened by the hand still stroking his hair, the man who had been there through the sleepless nights, the doctor visits, the fears Gao Tu had never voiced aloud.

Gao Tu huffed, pushing him lightly. “Go shower. You reek of sleep.”

Wen Lang laughed, finally rolling away, but not before stealing a quick kiss against Gao Tu’s temple. He stood, stretching, the lines of his body lean and strong in the morning light, and Gao Tu caught himself staring longer than he meant to.

When Wen Lang disappeared into the bathroom, Gao Tu lay back against the pillows, pressing a hand against his lips where the warmth still lingered. For the first time in years, the morning didn’t feel like something to survive.

It felt like the beginning of something terrifyingly, dangerously good.

The hiss of running water signaled Wen Lang in the shower, and Gao Tu finally sat up, tugging the sheet around his shoulders. His body still ached, a reminder of how long it had been, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It was grounding — proof that he was alive, that he hadn’t just dreamt the way Wen Lang had held him like he was something irreplaceable.

By the time he made his way to the living room, Wen Lang was already there, damp hair plastered to his forehead, sleeves rolled up, staring down at the frying pan like it was a business rival. The smell of slightly overcooked eggs filled the air.

“What… are you doing?” Gao Tu asked carefully, leaning against the doorway.

“Breakfast.” Wen Lang didn’t even flinch, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “You need protein. And something light. I read about recovery diets last night.”

“You read—” Gao Tu pinched the bridge of his nose. “Those are scrambled eggs, not a quarterly report. You don’t have to study them.”

Wen Lang glanced up, expression annoyingly serious. “If I can negotiate with international partners, I can make breakfast.”

As if on cue, the pan hissed ominously, smoke curling upward. Gao Tu crossed the room in three strides, plucked the spatula from his hand, and rescued what was left. “You’re going to poison me and call it love.”

Wen Lang had the gall to look unbothered, folding his arms across his chest. “Then teach me.”

The stubborn tilt of his chin was the same one Gao Tu had once hated across boardroom tables. But here, in their tiny kitchen, it was almost… endearing. Gao Tu sighed, shoulders loosening despite himself.

“Fine. Watch closely. Cooking isn’t about force, it’s about timing. You don’t bully the eggs, you coax them.”

Wen Lang smirked. “Like you, then. Hard to coax.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

But the corners of Gao Tu’s mouth twitched as he moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, Wen Lang trailing after him like an oversized shadow. It was domestic in a way that felt surreal — the kind of morning he never let himself imagine back when he was alone, struggling, hiding his scent with expensive patches.

They sat down a few minutes later with plates of eggs that were actually edible, a pot of congee warming between them. Wen Lang didn’t stop watching him eat, the intensity almost ridiculous.

“You don’t have to hover,” Gao Tu muttered, blowing on his spoon.

“I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’ve survived this long without you monitoring every bite.”

“That was before,” Wen Lang said simply, and Gao Tu’s spoon paused halfway to his lips. There was no arrogance in his tone, just quiet certainty. “Now it’s my turn to take care of you.”

Before Gao Tu could come up with a retort, the sound of the front door unlocking echoed. Lin An’s cheerful voice filled the apartment.

“We’re back! And someone missed you very, very much!”

A small wail followed, and Gao Tu was on his feet instantly. Lin An stepped in, cradling Lele against his chest, while Meiqi and Yiran trailed behind with bags of fruit and toys.

“Lele,” Gao Tu whispered, reaching out. The baby’s little fists flailed until he was tucked safely against his father’s chest, the crying subsiding into hiccups as Gao Tu pressed his lips to the downy hair.

Wen Lang hovered a step behind, expression softened in a way none of his employees would ever believe. He reached out, brushing one careful hand over Lele’s back. The baby turned instinctively toward his touch, and Wen Lang’s breath caught.

“See?” Lin An grinned, waggling his eyebrows. “He already likes you.”

Gao Tu shot him a warning glare, but it lacked real heat. He sank into the couch with Lele on his lap, the baby cooing now, chubby hands gripping at his shirt. Wen Lang sat close, his arm brushing against Gao Tu's gaze fixed on their son like nothing else in the world mattered.

The chatter of friends filled the space — Yiran teasing Wen Lang about his tragic attempt at eggs, Meiqi fussing over Gao Tu with maternal precision — but at the center of it all, there was just this: Gao Tu, cradling Lele, Wen Lang beside him, their small world fragile and messy and utterly theirs.

And for the first time, Gao Tu let himself think: maybe this wasn’t temporary. Maybe this was the beginning of something that could last.

Chapter Text

The morning had been deceptively ordinary.

Wen Lang lingered by the nursery door longer than he should have, the faint scent of powdered milk and warm blankets wrapping around him.

His son stirred but didn’t wake, one tiny fist curled against the soft sheets. Wen Lang’s hand moved almost on its own, smoothing over the fabric, careful not to wake the baby. Then he bent down and pressed a kiss to the round, soft cheek, breathing in the clean, powdery scent that settled some deep ache inside him.

When he straightened, Gao Tu was already leaning against the frame of the door, robe loose at the waist, eyes heavy from sleep. Wen Lang didn’t usually allow himself such luxuries, but this morning, he leaned down and brushed his lips against Gao Tu’s temple.

“Don’t overdo it today,” he murmured. “Rest.”

Gao Tu hummed, smiling faintly, but said nothing.

By the time Wen Lang’s car pulled away from the apartment complex, he thought his day was set: contracts, negotiations, numbers to crush. His world was always sharp lines, no deviations. He didn’t know that half an hour later, Gao Tu’s phone would buzz with his manager’s desperate voice

“Tu-ge, you have to come. Last-minute slot opened for Men’s Uno—today only. It’s big. Please.”

Gao Tu had almost laughed, staring down at himself. He still carried a tenderness in his body, scars of sleepless nights and aches that flared without warning. But when he caught his reflection in the mirror lately, he almost didn’t recognize himself: the sharp line of his jaw back in place, lean definition returning to his frame, his shoulders holding a quiet strength.

Maybe… maybe he could do this.

So he went.

The studio lights hit like old memories—bright, merciless, the kind that stripped you bare. But instead of shrinking, Gao Tu straightened, spine a steel rod. The harness they strapped across his chest clung to him like it belonged there, every buckle and strap emphasizing edges he hadn’t realized had sharpened again.

The camera clicked furiously.

“Beautiful—hold that angle, yes, chin up—”

“Give me sharper. Deadlier. Perfect.”

He sank into the chair, tilted his head, narrowed his eyes. Every angle alive, every shot a reminder: he wasn’t fragile, not anymore.

“Woah,” one assistant whispered, not even subtle. “Didn’t he just—like, a few months ago? How is he in shape so fast?”

Another fanned themselves with a clipboard. “He’s unreal. Family man and model. God isn’t fair.”

Gao Tu’s lips twitched, but his eyes stayed locked on the lens.

During breaks, the questions came fast

“How’s your son?”
“Do you balance fatherhood with work well?”
“Will we ever see a family pictorial?”

He answered simply, honestly. “He’s healthy. He’s happy. That’s all that matters. Work is work, home is home.” Then, softer, “I have help. I’m lucky.”
The only unlucky one in the room was the poor makeup artist tasked with his collarbones.

When Gao Tu slipped off the robe earlier, her brush clattered against the table. She leaned in, eyes wide, muttering under her breath as she dabbed foundation over faint bruises.
“God bless whoever did this to you,” she hissed, tugging at the brush like it could erase everything.

“Why so many? What am I supposed to do with this?”

Gao Tu only rolled his eyes, though his cheeks warmed. He knew exactly who was responsible.

And sure enough, across the city, in a boardroom of glass and chrome, Shen Wen Lang was being ambushed.

“President Shen,” one brave secretary started, half-hiding their phone, “isn’t this… Gao Tu?”

The device was slid discreetly forward. Wen Lang’s pen halted mid-signature.

On the glowing screen, Gao Tu stared back at him. Draped in leather, eyes molten, jaw sharp enough to cut glass. Defiant, alive, devastating.

The world tilted. For a fraction of a second, Wen Lang forgot how to breathe. Something primal, territorial, flared low in his chest.

He snapped his gaze up, expression unreadable. “Meeting’s over,” he said flatly. His staff scrambled, clutching papers and tablets, leaving him in silence.
Only then did he let himself look again.

Every click of the camera was another blade, another reminder of Gao Tu’s body on display for everyone to consume. Everyone except him.
His phone buzzed.

A message. From Gao Tu.

The screen lit up with a mirror selfie from the dressing room: harness still strapped tight, skin glowing under the heavy lights. His jaw sharp, gaze narrowed with venom. And just barely visible under the expertly dabbed foundation—faint shadows of marks on his collarbone.

The caption was short.

“You’re insane. Look at what I have to cover up because of you.”

For a long moment, Wen Lang only stared. Shame tangled with hunger, guilt with a dark, twisting satisfaction. His pulse hammered. His breath burned.
Slowly—inevitably—the corner of his mouth curved.

For a moment, Wen Lang simply stared at the mirror selfie, the burn of jealousy and desire coiling low in his stomach. His Gao Tu—half untouchable star, half sharp-tongued
parent scolding him through a phone screen.

The faint mark beneath the makeup made his throat tighten. Proof. Proof that even if the cameras caught Gao Tu in all his glory, there were still things only he knew, only he had left behind.

His thumb hovered over the screen. The words forming in his mind were sharp, possessive, almost desperate.

“Cover them up all you like. You and I both know they’re there. Mine.”

He hesitated. Each tap of the keys felt deliberate, slow. Then he added, softer, heavier.

“Do your shoot, shine for the world. But when you come home tonight, remember—home is where I am. Where those marks belong.”

He hit send before he could think better of it, setting his phone down on the polished boardroom table. The city hummed through the glass walls, indifferent to the storm in his chest.

Across the city, in the studio dressing room, Gao Tu’s phone buzzed. He plucked it from the counter, read the words, and immediately cursed under his breath. Cheeks heating, pulse quickening. The stylist glanced up, curious, but Gao Tu waved him off.

“Nothing,” he muttered, tucking the phone into his pocket.

But nothing about his body betrayed him; the pulse of warmth, the flutter of something unfamiliar and teasing, betrayed everything.

The cameras loved him today. The staff had whispered in awe. The world would see him sharper, stronger, fiercer than ever. And yet, beneath the paint, under the lenses, he still carried Wen Lang on his skin.

And Wen Lang knew it.

It got worse for Wen Lang when he scrolled through the live reactions online—netizens were already buzzing, comparing, drooling, theorizing.

“OMG his jawline is insane. Men’s Uno just hit the jackpot ”
“Wait… is that the same guy from that viral parenting feature? He’s glowing.”
“Daddy AND model??? Who even is this man??”
“I WANT HIM SOOOO BADDDDD IDC HE IS A FATHER.”

Wen Lang’s fingers twitched. Every comment pricked like a needle. Every mention of another admirer, another fan, another person marveling at Gao Tu’s form, made something flare inside him.

He hated it. He hated that he hated it.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, jaw tight. Everyone can see him, everyone but me. And yet… he’s still mine.

He imagined Gao Tu leaning into another’s hands, laughing, the cameras catching only his perfection, while Wen Lang’s memory of that mark—those marks—kept him tethered. Jealousy, fierce and unrelenting, coiled through him, thick and sharp.

And yet beneath the jealousy was something he refused to name. Pride. Desire. Possessiveness. Love.

All tangled together in one dangerous knot that refused to untangle, no matter how many polished meetings he attended, how many spreadsheets he signed, or how much he told himself he didn’t care.

Because no matter how fierce the world’s gaze, Gao Tu’s skin, his body, his defiance—all of it—belonged only to Wen Lang.

Chapter Text

The apartment was dim when Gao Tu returned, the quiet broken only by the soft hum of the air purifier and the faint baby monitor light glowing from the corner of the living room.

His body ached pleasantly from the day’s shoot, makeup scrubbed away except for the faint red that even the best concealer hadn’t quite managed to cover. He’d planned on slipping in, showering, maybe collapsing into bed beside his son without disturbing anyone.

But Wen Lang was waiting.

He was still in his suit, tie loosened, jacket tossed over the arm of the couch. His phone was on the table, screen dark, but the sharp tension in his posture made it clear he hadn’t touched it for a long while. He was sitting there in the half-light, elbows on his knees, gaze steady on the door the second Gao Tu closed it behind him.

“You didn’t tell me.” Wen Lang’s voice was low, rough from being held in his chest too long.

Gao Tu blinked, dropped his bag by the wall. “Tell you what?” He was tired, and part of him wanted to goad, to poke at the storm brewing in those dark eyes.

“The shoot.” Wen Lang stood, deliberate, every line of his body taut. “That you’d be… all over the internet again. That you’d—” His jaw worked. “That everyone would see you.”

A spark of heat flickered in Gao Tu’s chest. “You’re jealous.” He didn’t make it a question.

“Of course I’m jealous,” Wen Lang bit out, stepping closer, until the faint scent of his pheromones, held on too tight a leash, slipped past his guard.

“Do you have any idea what it was like? Sitting there, in the middle of a meeting, while my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing with people talking about you? While the staff whispered in the halls? They’ve never looked at me like that. But you—” His eyes burned, flicking down and then back up, “—you walk in, and the world stares.”

Gao Tu tilted his head, lips curving. “That’s my job. Modeling. Didn’t you tell me before to make money for the treatment? I did. Don’t pout about the results now.”
It should have been sharp. It came out soft, teasing.

Wen Lang’s breath shuddered. He closed the distance, crowding Gao Tu gently against the wall, not touching, not yet. His voice dropped lower. “You sent me that picture knowing exactly what it would do to me.”

“I sent it to curse you for leaving me with all those marks.” Gao Tu’s mouth curved, dangerous. “Makeup artists can only do so much.”

“And still,” Wen Lang said, leaning closer, lips hovering just beside Gao Tu’s ear, “you wore them. Mine. Underneath all of it. Only I know where they are. Only I can put them there.”

The rush of heat that went through Gao Tu’s body was immediate, embarrassing in its sharpness. He pressed his palms against Wen Lang’s chest, meaning to push him back, but instead his fingers curled into the thin cotton of his shirt.

“You’re insufferable,” Gao Tu whispered, though the faint tremor in his voice betrayed him.

“Say that again.” Wen Lang’s hands finally touched him, one braced against the wall beside his head, the other slipping down to cup his hip. “Say it while I make sure you remember who you belong to.”

“Lele’s asleep,” Gao Tu hissed, cheeks burning.

“Then be quiet,” Wen Lang murmured, lips brushing his temple. “Or you’ll wake him.”

The challenge struck something low and molten inside him.

The kiss, when it came, was not gentle. Wen Lang swallowed the little sound Gao Tu tried to stifle, mouth insistent, tongue sweeping past his lips with a hunger sharpened by restraint.

His hands, large and hot, gripped Gao Tu’s waist, lifting him easily, pressing him harder against the wall. Gao Tu clung to him instinctively, a muffled protest swallowed by the deep pull of the kiss.

Every nerve lit up. Every mark from last night seemed to flare, ghost-pain replaced by remembered pleasure. His legs tightened around Wen Lang’s waist, and that was all the permission Wen Lang needed.

The living room fell away; there was only the rough drag of breath, the sharp bite of teeth at his throat, the way Wen Lang’s voice broke when he whispered his name. Gao Tu tried to stay quiet, biting back every moan, every gasp, but his body betrayed him, arching, trembling, wanting.

And Wen Lang was relentless—touches everywhere, lips branding new heat over old marks, low voice coaxing and teasing until Gao Tu could barely think.

“Still mine,” Wen Lang murmured against his skin. “No matter how many cameras point at you. No matter who stares. Still mine.”

The heat built, unstoppable, cresting until Gao Tu muffled his cry against Wen Lang’s shoulder, body shuddering, giving in entirely. Wen Lang followed, a groan torn from his chest as he pressed tight against him, every line of his body shaking with release.

For a long moment, neither moved, the only sound the thrum of their breathing, harsh and uneven, with the faint baby monitor light blinking steady in the background.
Then Wen Lang eased him down, careful, as though Gao Tu were something fragile. He brushed damp hair from his forehead, eyes softer now, reverent.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Gao Tu muttered, face flushed, voice still shaky.

“Like what?” Wen Lang asked, thumb stroking his jaw.

“Like I hung the moon.”

“You did,” Wen Lang said simply.

Gao Tu’s chest twisted. He dropped his gaze, pressing his forehead against Wen Lang’s collarbone. For once, he didn’t argue.

And down the hall, Lele slept on, unaware of the storm his parents had just weathered in the dark.

Morning crept in quietly, pale light seeping through the curtains and settling across the floor in gentle lines. The apartment was hushed, broken only by the faint gurgle of Lele on the baby monitor and the soft shuffle of Wen Lang moving around the kitchen.

Gao Tu stirred awake slowly, body heavy with the kind of soreness that made his cheeks heat even before he opened his eyes. His throat was dry, his lips tender. He blinked, realizing the space beside him in bed was empty.

“Of course,” he muttered, dragging the blanket up to his chin. Shen Wen Lang, CEO of HS Group, up at dawn like a soldier.

The smell of porridge drifted in. A minute later, the bedroom door cracked open and Wen Lang peeked inside, still in his shirtsleeves, hair damp from a quick shower. He froze when he saw Gao Tu watching him.

“You should sleep more,” Wen Lang said immediately, voice soft, coaxing. “You were… tired last night.”

Gao Tu’s ears burned. “Whose fault was that?”

Wen Lang had the gall to look smug. “Mine,” he admitted shamelessly, stepping inside with a tray balanced in one hand. “Which is why breakfast in bed is also mine to handle.”
He set the tray down carefully—porridge, tea, and a few slices of fruit arranged far too neatly for someone who was supposed to be a busy CEO.

“You’re ridiculous,” Gao Tu muttered, but his stomach growled at the sight.

Wen Lang leaned down, brushed a kiss over his forehead. “Eat first. Scold me after.”

Before Gao Tu could reply, the baby monitor crackled, and a soft wail filled the room. Gao Tu immediately started to sit up, but Wen Lang pressed him back with a firm hand.

“I’ll get him.”

“You have work.”

“Work can wait. He can’t.”

A few minutes later, Wen Lang returned, Lele nestled in his arms, the baby’s cheeks rosy and fists curled against his father’s chest. Lele blinked sleepily, then lit up when he saw Gao Tu, cooing happily.

Gao Tu’s heart softened instantly. He reached out, and Wen Lang transferred the baby to him with surprising gentleness for someone so large. Gao Tu cradled Lele, pressing a kiss to his downy head, before glaring at Wen Lang.

“You need to go. You’ll be late.”

Wen Lang crouched at the side of the bed, resting his chin on the mattress, eyes intent on both of them. “Let them wait. This is better.”

“Shen Wen Lang,” Gao Tu warned, though his tone lacked its usual sharpness.

Wen Lang only smiled, reaching up to stroke Lele’s tiny hand. “You’re both my priority. The board can live without me for a few more hours.”

Gao Tu sighed, long and exasperated, but the warmth blooming in his chest betrayed him. He hated how easily Wen Lang got under his skin now—not just with heat and hunger, but with these small, stubborn acts of devotion.

As Lele gurgled between them, Gao Tu glanced at Wen Lang and thought, not for the first time, that maybe—just maybe—this man really was trying to be better.

And against his better judgment, Gao Tu found himself wanting to believe it.