Chapter Text
“It’s supposed to snow in a few days.”
He Tian glances up from his phone. Zheng Xi, methodically folding the scraps of an old assignment into neat squares, raises a brow. “Already?”
Jian Yi shrugs. He’s sat on a chair he dragged from the back of the classroom and positioned next to the window adjacent to Guan Shan’s desk. Elbow on the windowsill and chin in hand, he gazes outside, dull with boredom.
“I heard someone talking about it earlier,” he says. “I mean, it’s cold but not that cold yet, right?”
He Tian looks outside. Dreary, sluggish clouds have been hanging in the gray sky for the past week, dampening the sunlight. The air had been crisp during his walk from the station to school this morning, uncomfortable enough to make him wonder about his long-sleeved uniform, but only for a moment. He’d been preoccupied with the anticipation of meeting Guan Shan outside the usual corner store so they could walk the last two blocks together, a habit that’s been establishing itself between them lately. It always brings an indistinct warmth to He Tian’s chest regardless of the weather.
Still, as he gauges the sky now, he doesn’t doubt the possibility of a flurry. Once the edges of the trees begin to pale and yellow, the turn of the seasons always sweeps in quickly.
He Tian nudges Guan Shan’s shoe under the desk they share, facing one another. Guan Shan is slumped back in his chair, arms folded and eyes closed, but he cracks them open upon the touch.
He looks awfully tired; sunken and sedated. Worse than the state He Tian found him in at the beginning of lunch. If it were just them two right now, He Tian suspects he’d be twenty minutes deep into a nap.
“You’ll have to start waiting inside the store in the mornings,” He Tian tells him. “The cold won’t be good for you.”
Guan Shan’s face, predictably, twists with annoyance. “Or you can wake up on time for once in your life. You get ten minutes before I leave without you once it’s winter.”
He Tian blinks. That’s surprisingly generous. “Ten minutes? How long are you normally waiting?”
Guan Shan looks at him for a moment. Then he pulls his feet back to his side of the desk and closes his eyes again.
Jian Yi sighs, which morphs into a yawn. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and have a snow day this year,” he proposes lazily.
“Yeah, right,” Zheng Xi replies. He flicks one of his paper squares to bounce off Jian Yi’s shoulder, then starts folding the next one. “We’ll be lucky if we even get a delayed start.”
“But last year we got a ton of snow. And, you know, with global warming and all…”
He Tian raises a brow. “Go on. What about global warming?”
“Well — it makes the weather all screwy, doesn’t it?”
“Spoken like a true academic.”
Scowling, Jian Yi picks up the paper square from the desk and flicks it at He Tian, who easily bats it away. It bounces off Zheng Xi.
Jian Yi scorns, “Whatever. When you eat shit after slipping on four feet of snow, I’ll be there to record it.”
He Tian ignores him and continues scrolling through Douyin, volume low. Bored beyond endurance, Jian Yi eventually drags Zheng Xi with him to the vending machines to indulge in his sugar cravings during the last half hour of the lunch break.
Guan Shan’s eyes slip open to watch them leave, heavy-lidded. He Tian catches his gaze before they can close again. They’re alone now, save for another student studying in the far corner of the classroom, muffled music leaking from their earbuds.
“You okay?”
Guan Shan shifts in his seat. “Had a late night,” he mutters. “It’s catching up to me now.”
He rubs between his eyes, and the languid gesture gives He Tian the impression that if he were to reach out and frame his face with a hand, he would lean into the touch. But he’d just as likely swat it away. He Tian doesn’t like his odds.
He asks, “Work?”
“Sort of. I got off later than usual, like eleven or something. And when I finally got home and in bed, I remembered I forgot to do the fucking math homework.”
“Why didn’t you text—”
“I didn’t want to.”
“Why? I could’ve helped.”
Guan Shan gives him a flat, slightly annoyed look. “You would’ve done more than just helped. You would’ve just given me all the answers.”
“What’s the harm in that? If I had, then you would’ve been able to sleep.”
“The harm is that I can’t just keep copying your shit if I want to pass the zhongkao, He Tian,” Guan Shan says, sharp. “I already have enough studying to make up for, I don’t need to keep piling on more.”
After a moment, He Tian puts down his phone.
These days, the topic of Guan Shan’s studies requires his full attention because, for reasons he has yet to fully understand, it’s become a tripwire subject. The burden of graduation has been weighing heavily on Guan Shan in ways that He Tian can only assume he’s never experienced before. The only silver lining is that he’ll occasionally accept He Tian’s help on assignments, but only if he provides hints, not answers. Apparently, this rule still stands even at midnight after a five-hour shift.
“Okay,” He Tian says eventually. “I get it. But you should rest. If you don’t sleep now, you will in class. I’ll wake you if a teacher comes.”
Guan Shan hesitates for an indiscernible reason before his mouth presses and he nods stiffly. He slouches forward, arms crossed to cushion his head on the desk top, eyes ducked into the crease of his elbow. A minute later, he’s asleep.
He Tian is careful in sliding Guan Shan’s backpack closer with his shoe. He quietly unzips it and pulls out his binder, flipping through pages with doodles in the margins until he finds the latest assignment. He runs through each question with a pencil to mark incorrect answers, of which there are only a few. The handwriting is messy and rushed but Guan Shan clearly has a grasp on the material. He Tian will wake him with just enough time to fix the errors before lunch ends.
Until then, he gently tugs on Guan Shan’s short curls to watch them spring back. It’ll be their first winter together. He imagines what he’ll look like waiting at the corner store, breath billowing and snowflakes caught in his eyelashes.
Cheng tries calling twice, so He Tian silences notifications from his contact and then texts Guan Shan that he’s lonely.
He doesn’t get a response for an hour, which he spends unproductively in bed. He’s playing a mobile game Zheng Xi introduced to the group last week and is in the process of figuring out how Zheng Xi managed to level up his character twenty-four times in five days when Guan Shan replies:
sucks.
He Tian calls him.
“What?”
“Come save me, Mo-zai.”
“From what? Yourself?”
“I’ve got cabin fever. My mind is starting to go.”
The pause tells him Guan Shan is rolling his eyes.
“Can’t lose what you never had, idiot,” he says. “And it’s Saturday — you’ve only been home for half a day.”
“But you’ve been spoiling me with your company for months,” He Tian tells him. “I’m going through withdrawals — worse than the nicotine.”
A scoff. “Maybe it’s a sign that you need some self-control.”
“It’s a work in progress. Can’t you see how much I’ve already improved?”
“Yeah, sure. Maybe if I’m squinting.”
He Tian huffs a laugh. He taps his basketball with a foot to watch it roll across the open floor. They’re quiet for a bit and three months ago, Guan Shan would’ve promptly ended the call here — if he even answered the phone to begin with. Now, he stays. Even if it’s pointless, and even if they just saw each other yesterday — before, during, and after school — and all the days before that.
The development has only been apparent during quiet, inadvertent moments because if there are two things Guan Shan is not, it’s quiet and inadvertent. But every so often He Tian is allowed to witness his easing and it feels, in some ways, like the relief of a heavy exhale before falling asleep. It’s the closest thing to comfort he’s felt in a while. He’d like to think sometimes Guan Shan feels the same.
“They’ve already started to put up Christmas lights in Huacheng,” says He Tian. “I’ll treat you to lunch if you meet me there.”
Guan Shan grunts, unimpressed. “Have you gone outside today? It’s cold as fuck.”
He Tian glances out his windows. It’s hard to appraise the weather from forty stories up if it isn’t actively storming. The cloud cover, however, does look stagnant and full of promise.
Guan Shan continues, “I was only out for a few minutes to take out the trash this morning and my fingers were numb by the time I got back inside.”
He Tian hums and gets to his feet. “Well, what can I do to convince you to brave the elements again for me?” he asks, walking to the window. He hovers the back of his hand near the glass and feels the emanating chill prick his skin.
“'For you’?” Guan Shan drawls, skeptical.
“Why else would you agree to go, if not for the main attraction?”
“Free lunch.”
He Tian clicks his tongue. “Then I’ll just transfer you some money for delivery and spare you the trip. Lunch would still technically be on me, wouldn’t it?”
Guan Shan makes a low grumble of a noise that He Tian can’t discern. There’s muffled movement on the other end.
“If we’re gonna go, let’s wait until tonight,” Guan Shan mutters eventually and He Tian smiles, complacent. “Maybe they’ll turn on the lights by then, ‘cause they definitely won’t in the middle of the day.”
“What time are you thinking?”
“I don’t know. Seven?”
“Ah," He Tian says when he checks the time. It's only a quarter past noon. "I agree with your reasoning but unfortunately, I want to see you sooner than that.”
“You—“ Guan Shan falters, balked. “Am I supposed to drop everything the moment you want something?”
“Only if you can get away with it.”
“Then you’re shit out of luck. I’m helping my mom with errands. She has a late shift tonight.”
“How long until you’re done?”
“As long as it takes. I’m not gonna half-ass things just ‘cause you’re impatient.”
He Tian doesn’t respond because he knows the effect it’ll have. If they were together, he’d go quiet and look elsewhere and let his shoulders curve, frowning and feigning fixation on anything but Guan Shan’s dismissal, letting the awkwardness fester until it caves in and Guan Shan has to dig them out. Jian Yi says it’s manipulative on He Tian’s part. He Tian can’t say he disagrees. But at the end of the day, if Guan Shan didn’t want to give in—
“Fuck’s sake, He Tian. The earliest I can do is four, okay?”
—then he wouldn’t.
Wandering back to bed, He Tian lies back, knees hooked over the mattress edge. “Alright,” he sighs, crestfallen. “I’ll allow four o’clock, but only if you spend the night afterward.”
"‘Allow’ my ass,” Guan Shan hisses with proper annoyance. “I swear, your fucking ego is going to blow up in your face one day and you’ll never see it coming. I’m gettin’ real sick of you.”
“So… that’s a yes?”
Guan Shan hangs up.
“What’re you doing?”
He Tian raises a brow. They’re standing at the door of his apartment arranging themselves to leave and he’s just finished pulling on his shoes. He looks down at them, finds nothing out of the ordinary, then looks back up at Guan Shan.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“Where’s your jacket?”
He Tian pulls the edge of his fleece quarter-zip. “I’m wearing it.”
Guan Shan’s expression morphs into a grimace, dissatisfied. “What part of ‘cold as fuck’ don’t you understand?” he says. “You’ll freeze your ass off in that.”
“I’ll be fine.”
He Tian makes an ushering motion, urging Guan Shan out the door so they can start their evening, but he doesn’t move. Instead, Guan Shan suddenly pulls off his orange beanie and starts to unzip his jacket. He Tian pauses.
“What’re you doing?”
Shrugging out of it, Guan Shan answers flatly, “Well if you’re gonna be fine, then I should be fine too, right? No jackets for either of us. Survival of the fittest.”
He doesn’t get much further than slipping one arm out of the sleeve. Exasperated, He Tian pulls the jacket back onto him. Guan Shan gives him a trenchant look while He Tian zips it back up and tugs the collar flat, then walks back to his closet.
“You know, my brother says I’m the most stubborn pain in the ass he’s ever met,” he says on the way.
“Yeah? And what’s suddenly reminded you of that?”
“Nothing in particular,” He Tian says, pulling his flannel-lined coat from its hanger. “But I should probably remind him that he’s met you.”
“Fuck off.”
They leave soon after that, even though Guan Shan obviously debates whether or not it’s worth arguing over He Tian wearing a hat, too. He ends up not mentioning it and He Tian feels a sense of loss for the opportunity because Guan Shan’s irritable fussing always falls somewhere between amusing and endearing. He must have picked it up from his mother — and adjusted it to match the tune of He Tian’s obstinacy.
As it turns out, it’s remarkably frigid as they walk to the metro and it leaves He Tian grieving the last two hours they’d spent in the apartment’s warmth, stretched on the couch and doing much of nothing together. But there’s an allure to the way the lampposts’ light scatters differently in the early winter, creating softer and more obscure halos along the edges of Guan Shan’s hair and the fog of his breath, and he occasionally rubs the reddened tip of his nose as he complains about the gloves his mother took to the hospital last winter and must’ve forgotten to bring home because he hasn’t been able to find them for months.
“I’ll get you another pair,” He Tian responds when they’ve situated themselves in the far corner of the train car. For a Saturday night it’s as crowded as they were anticipating, but they both manage to wrap a hand around the same stanchion as the sliding doors give a warning chime before closing. The trains rolls into motion.
“Don’t,” Guan Shan tells him, eyes firm as he looks up at him.
“Why not?”
“Because they’ll be made of the most overpriced leather you can find and they’ll be shit for comfort.”
He Tian says, amused, “I think you’ve got it backward. Quality leather is known for its comfort.”
Guan Shan shakes his head. “I still don’t want it.”
“There are other types of glove material.”
“Yeah, but you’d still get leather. You’re that kind of person.”
“What kind of person?”
“The kind that doesn’t have anything better to do with their money, so they default to gaudy fucking leather.”
He Tian’s lips quirk. The pinkness of Guan Shan’s nose is fading in the close proximity of bodies in the car, including their own. There’s white fuzz clinging to the cuff of his beanie and He Tian plucks it off.
“That’s an unfair conclusion,” he says, flicking it away. “Plus, I don’t think you’ve ever even seen me in leather to begin with.”
Guan Shan’s gaze slides to the side. After a moment, He Tian grins.
Asks, “Are you imagining it, sweetheart?”
Guan Shan’s face sours. “No,” he tells him, “and don’t call me that.”
“It’s okay if you were. Do I look good in it? How can I fulfill your fantasies?”
The retribution is swift. He hisses through his teeth as Guan Shan’s fingers pinch the skin on the back of his hand. He Tian catches his wrist on instinct, fingers wrapping around the sharp protruding bone there. Guan Shan tries to pull away but He Tian clings to him, pulls him forward. Leans in.
A flush trickles down from the concealed tips of Guan Shan’s ears, spreading across his face like spilled loose powder.
He Tian strategically positions his fingers against the flat of his wrist. The train brakes screech as the speaker announces the next stop and, as the crowd shuffles to accommodate deboarders, He Tian tilts his head close to Guan Shan’s ear.
“Your pulse is getting quicker,” he whispers.
Guan Shan snatches his hand back, turns around, and doesn’t speak to him for the rest of the ride. The visible strip of his nape, however, stays red.
Just under ten minutes later, it becomes apparent that they aren’t the only ones on their way to Huacheng Square. The train all but clears out at the stop and Guan Shan doesn’t wait for him as they exit the station. When He Tian catches up, he loops an arm around his shoulders and resists Guan Shan’s attempts to shrug him off.
“Don’t be angry, ah-Shan,” he says, warm. “I was only teasing.”
“You’re always fucking 'teasing’,” Guan Shan growls.
“I can’t help myself. Not with you.”
“Bullshit.”
“You wouldn’t be able to either if you were me.”
Guan Shan shoots him a look. “I’m not sadistic like you.”
He Tian hums, contemplative. “I’m only sadistic if you’re suffering,” he points out.
Ahead of the crowd, there’s a blend of red, green, and yellow lights hanging from the bare trees of Huacheng Square like suspended crystalline drops, twining around the fences and bushes along the brick-red sidewalk like glitter. Pedestrians wander aimlessly, easygoing, talking amongst small groups, corralling children who weave through the open patches of yellowed grass and cradle paper coffee cups in their hands to keep warm. It smells of hot chocolate and cinnamon; there’s a flock of people formed just before the entrance to the park, lining up at a stall playing holiday music from a standalone speaker.
Rich & creamy hot chocolate, a chalk sign says next to the stand, written in neat calligraphy with stylized ornaments hanging from the serifs. A young woman leans out the window to hand a cup to the next patron. Warm your hearts and your hands!~
“Or humiliated,” Guan Shan mutters.
They don’t stop walking, pushed along by the flow of the crowd, but something in He Tian pauses. Guan Shan isn’t shoving away his touch but he isn’t looking at him anymore, hands buried in his pockets, posture stiff. The reflection of the lights in his eyes looks twinkling and endless, but He Tian can’t quite find the words to say something about it. Can’t, really, find any words that don’t immediately wither on his tongue, frost creeping along the glass and rendering his good humor bitter and chilled.
They pass by the hot chocolate stand; by the children on the dying grass; by the volunteer groups ringing bells and collecting spare change for charity.
Eventually, Guan Shan looks up.
“Huh,” he mumbles, breath frosty, gaze tracking something tiny and white and fluttering against the pitch sky. “It’s snowing.”