Archive of Our Own

“I take it you understand just how important this is to me, to the city?” There is such gravity to that last word that it makes Pei Ming want to poke his own eyes out. Director Jun is a difficult man to deal with on normal days, and to Pei Ming’s chagrin, today is not a normal day. Today is ‘bring your kid to work day’. And while he doesn’t have any kids himself (that he knows of), Pei Ming has been forced to bring his much younger cousin, thrice removed. Not only does Director Jun despise anyone under the age of thirty, and looks like he feels Pei Ming is personally responsible for his own museum’s rules and regulatory shenanigans — bringing a ‘child’ of twenty-one years old into his museum — but there also happened to have been a robbery at the Xuli Military Museum the other day. Which caused the entire museum world to tread with wariness.

“Sir, Pei junior and I will make absolutely sure your Xianle Crown Jewels will befall no harm.”

Pei Ming wishes he could feel the confidence he projects to the rest of the world, grinning brightly and patting Director Jun Wu on the shoulder exactly twice, before a withering look from the man makes him change his mind. Pei Xu is one step behind him, offering a neutral but assuring smile that seems ancillary and friendly. But Pei Ming knows his own tells too well to not know what Pei Xu is thinking: ’What an asshole.’ 

“Good.” Jun Wu doesn’t even deem the both of them worthy of a look, it seems. Instead, fixing his hair and adjusting the thinly rimmed spectacles on his nose, he states, “You are head of security, after all. It is your job.”

Gnashing his teeth — not loud enough for anyone but him to hear — Pei Ming follows after Jun Wu when the man decides their impromptu meeting in the great hall is over. He hates that, despite his long legs, he can hardly keep up with Jun Wu’s mighty strides, almost forced to jog after his employer like some sort of gangly puppy. “Yes, sir,” he manages, before sidestepping to avoid a collision with a visitor. “Whoops, sorry.”

“Not a problem,” the visitor replies from under the hood of their oversized vest, before returning to inspect the three meter sculpture of the crown prince of Xianle.

Pei Ming notices Pei Xu casting the visitor a wary look, and he reminds himself to teach Pei Xu that the ones in hoodies and mouth masks are, despite popular opinion, usually just the introverts, not the criminals.

-

Said introvert waits for the two security officers to exit his field of vision, before he pulls his glasses down to touch the record button just past the frame’s joint. When he repositions the glasses higher up the bridge of his nose, he knows the one on the other side of the Wi-Fi connection can now exactly see what he sees.

Yin Yu doesn’t usually work together with other parties, but when Crimson Rain asks you for a favour, you do it. Even if it means breaking your preferred modus operandi. 

A low whistle sounds in the earpiece curved around the shell of his ear. “Wow. That bastard didn’t spare any expenses on the exhibition, huh?”

Yin Yu eyes the complicated set building, the high quality presentation materials, the way each and every glass display case is spotless. Hua Cheng is right: the Divine Heavenly Realm exhibition at the Xianle Anthropological Museum is nothing to sneeze at. Not only is the presentation top-notch, but so are the security measures: weight sensors, infrared motion detection, and diamond enforced glass. If anything, the security might be more expensive than the worth of the objects displayed at the exhibition.

“He’s just showing off,” Yin Yu mutters, which earns him a cackle on the other end.

“I think he’s fucking scared of the illusive Ghost Thief ‘Waning Moon’ that has been doing the rounds, if you ask me.”

Yin Yu hadn’t asked him, but it does feel pretty good to be praised by the likes of someone like Hua Cheng, who has his own reputation for destroying the rich and famous. And that guy doesn’t even do so anonymously. Then again, Hua Cheng has more than enough money to pay for excellent legal coverage. And he has an exceptional eye for finding the loopholes, walking off scot-free after publicly ruining thirty-three of social media’s worst incels after making fun of his asexual boyfriend online. To name an example.

Mentally mapping out every corner of the exhibition, Yin Yu glimpses senior security officer Pei Ming talking to someone by the entrance of the room. His blood runs cold and he ducks behind another marble statue of the crown prince. “Well, shit.”

“What’s up?” Hua Cheng wants to know. His voice sounds casual, but Yin Yu knows the guy well enough to detect a hint of concern for his well-being. To illustrate his problem, Yin Yu points his glasses back at the entrance.

Pei Ming is talking to a guy in a haphazard outfit: stained cargo pants, an un-ironed short-sleeved button down shirt with the suggestion of a necktie tied around the collar arbitrarily. And a bucket hat to try and tame a shock of curly hair. Yin Yu groans at the back of his throat. “It’s him again.”

“Who?” Hua Cheng asks, obviously not interested in someone who dresses even worse than Xie Lian (all that’s missing are the socks in Crocs. Fortunately this guy was wearing a pair of sensible sneakers). “Is that your copycat?”

Artwork by @ArtInAbyss

Scrunching up his nose, Yin Yu focuses his attention on the nearest exit — or, in this case, the exit farthest away from the source of all his headaches. “No, that’s Jian Yu. That’s a different guy.”

There’s a non-commital grunt from Hua Cheng’s side, which makes Yin Yu roll his eyes. “This is that kid I pickpocketed in Shanghai, years ago. The one that keeps following me around?”

“The one that got arrested for trying to catch you in the act?”

And not just once. Yin Yu’s pain-in-the-ass stalker had gotten arrested at least seven times, breaking and entering museums and private collections trying to thwart Yin Yu’s work, and ruining the very elegance he makes sure to put into his burglaries every single time.

“Your private business had better not influence your professional business,” Hua Cheng warns.

Yin Yu bristles, clipping his voice so he’s not barking at his employer in the middle of the exhibition hall. “Well, my private business would still be private, if you stopped putting your nose all up into it all the time!”

“Sheesh, sorry.” 

Rubbing his temples just above the arms of his glasses, Yin Yu gives up. He would have to come back to scope out the location another time this week. Preferably when that menace by the entrance was not around.

-

That aforementioned menace is beaming brightly as he makes his way back home by tram. It had taken some convincing, but Quan Yizhen had managed to convince Pei Ming to hire him as a security officer, starting next week. He did have to promise to wear his tie properly, and listen to whatever Senior Security Officer Pei had to say — which, admittedly, might be a challenge because nothing he said was particularly interesting.

Even so, Quan Yizhen makes it through his first official work meeting without falling asleep. The second one though, doesn’t go as well. A whack to the top of his head starts him awake and he  can’t help the automatic response his body gives by flailing wildly. 

“Hey!” Hands raised to shield himself from the onslaught of fists, Pei Ming takes a step back from Yizhen’s desk. “Careful there, rookie. Wouldn’t want an official warning for using violence towards a senior officer, right?”

Yizhen wipes a hand across the corner of his mouth to rid it of the wet spot of sleep drool that had gathered there and tries to look apologetic, even though he isn’t sure how to get his face to express that particular emotion. “Sorry,” he mumbles, wide awake now. The sun had set while he was asleep and it is almost time for their rounds.Yizhen is already groping around for his flashlight, standing up a little too eagerly.

The metal chair legs screech across the linoleum and the poor chair doesn’t stand a chance staying upright as Yizhen gets ready for his shift around the exhibition hall. The other security personnel in the room look at him in a way that doesn’t bother him exactly, but does register as quaint.

“I’ll be leaving first,” he announces, ears deaf to the mutterings of ‘tryhard’ and the various rumours on his weirdness. Quan Yizhen doesn’t pay any attention to any of that, immune to the kind of criticism. He doesn’t really get it, anyway.

Instead, he focuses on mapping out the entire exhibition hall. He doesn’t really need to know what the rest of the museum looks like, because he knows that those rooms and fixed exhibitions aren’t of any interest to the Ghost Thief. He has records of the types of objects the Ghost Thief would steal, and Wuyong arrow heads and ancient shards of pottery just aren’t it.

Yizhen knows all there is to know about the Ghost Thief, or at least as much as a regular person can hope to gather about a criminal mastermind. He could have chosen to go down a path of crime himself to find out more, but the thought of doing something bad makes him feel physically ill — so he has always stuck to scouring the internet and trying to talk to as many heads of security that would have him. He even considered becoming a police officer for a short while. But, after learning that there were a lot of things he didn’t agree with on the force, he opted out of that as well.

This job however, gives him a good feeling. He’s never been closer.

Smiling, Yizhen digs through his memories to find the exact one: a smoggy day on the streets of Shanghai. He wasn’t quite from that area, so he had lost his way — even if he knew exactly where he was. The Bund was touristy enough for him to remember it from social media, so that wasn’t the problem. He could just not remember the location of his hotel, and he hadn’t brought a calling card with the address from the reception.

He had been wandering the streets for three hours that day, the sky darkening as the sun set. But with nightfall, the rest of the city came alive in colours and sounds, the smells of food from street vendors and night markets, as well as live music from street performers. By then, Yizhen had forgotten all about his hotel, and had just marvelled at the artistry of the coloured lights and the deliciousness of the skewered crab he’d gotten somewhere along the street.

The street sign had told him he was at Daxue Road. Since that didn’t mean anything to him, he just happily hunted for the next snack — something sweet, like glutinous rice cakes. Yet despite his stellar eyesight, Yizhen failed to notice the young man he ran into, too focused on finding a stand that sold those rice cakes. “Sorry,” he’d mumbled automatically, not a heartfelt feeling because the other man could also have paid a little more attention as well.

“It’s all good.”

Happy to keep the interaction as short and impersonal as possible, Yizhen had spotted the perfect stand and reached into his pocket, only to freeze when his fingers grasped nothing but air (and some lint at the bottom of his pants pocket). Alarmed, he had looked around, afraid he may have dropped his wallet.

But what his keen eyesight found, was his wallet in the hands of the man he’d just stumbled into, and the content grin of the cat that got the canary. It seemed the pick-pocketing thief hadn’t noticed he’d been caught yet.

“Stop!” Yizhen had yelled, not expecting the guy to listen to him, exactly. But he also hadn’t accounted for the guy vaulting over a small fence and into oncoming traffic either. Setting chase at breakneck speed, Yizhen had been equal parts annoyed and impressed. Annoyed that his stuff was taken, but impressed with the speed and agility of the guy in front of him, twisting and turning and stepping around motorcycles, cars and the crowd on the sidewalks as he tried to get away — all while dressed in an impeccable black suit. And keeping it impeccable.

It had been a wild chase of light and sound and Yizhen’s heart had been pounding in his chest when he skidded to a halt at a small walled-off building, watching the thief parkour up the wall in his expensive shoes. Up on the wall, the thief had stood silhouetted in moonlight, clouds drifting away to make the moon halo behind him.

“Cheh, so annoying,” he had said and Yizhen had been struck by how handsome the thief was, how skilled.

As he had stood there, jaw agape and eyes dark and large, the thief had tossed the wallet back. “You don’t even have anything worthwhile to steal.” Within the next heartbeat, the thief had jumped down the other side, and Yizhen had been left begging the difference from what the thief had pointed out.

He’d definitely stolen something other than Yizhen’s wallet.  

-

The movies always make it look so easy to rappel down from the roof to a storey below, but the amount of core strength it costs Yin Yu is nothing shy of gargantuan. It’s a good thing he has a rigorous daily training regime to be able to pull off stunts like these. Otherwise, he would have been caught ages ago. Rope wrapped around a leg like he’s a dancer curled in aerial silks, Yin Yu pauses for a moment to take in the situation. Even the slightest muscle twitch changes the direction of his sluggish twirl, so he makes sure to keep as still as possible. He’s not in range of any of the motion detectors, but he cannot discount the security officers with functional eyes.

Yin Yu had ‘forgotten’ to bring his earpiece for the jewel heist, and Hua Cheng would chew him out for it, but honestly? The peace and quiet that the absence of Hua Cheng’s husky voice in his ear brings him is priceless.

He is focused.

He is sharp.

He is turning the wrong way.

Tensing his thigh, Yin Yu manages to swivel around and finally catch sight of his grand prize. There, across from him and three floors down: the glass display case of the Xianle Crown Jewels, splayed out before him like a heavenly banquet.

It isn't even about the damned jewelry. The golds and jades are worthless to Yin Yu. Thievery is a form of art, and Yin Yu is no less an artist than a painter or a sculptor. But where those expressions would leave behind a physical object, the experience of the act is what matters to him: the fluttering at the pit of his stomach, the tenseness of every nerve and the sharpening of his skills — the rush of endorphins when he finally manages to feel his target between his fingers. And the absolute pandemonium that follows after he’s already long gone.

There’s nothing quite like it.

He remembers the first time he had felt it, back when he had been young and alone. Despite his best intentions, Yin Yu had never quite fit in when he was younger: either too polite or never polite enough. Sharp as a whip, yet never quite smart enough. Pleasant, but perhaps a little too rude and presumptuous. Social cues had been hard and his parents hadn’t been quite up to snuff with giving him the handles he needed to navigate the high society circles in which they sailed.

When he had started acting out as a young teenager, Yin Yu’s heart had thrummed high up in his throat. He’d had to make a decision back then: go through with it, or throw up. So he had stuck his hand in the loose fold of a passing boy’s red clothes and extracted his smartphone in a fluid move, setting down the street hurriedly.

The realisation of having nicked something so skillfully, so flawlessly, had made his heart jump with delight, every vein pumped full of a warm golden light now he had found something he was good at — something just for him.

“Not bad,” the older boy had called after him, just when Yin Yu had thought he was safe. When he whirled around, the other teenager had Yin Yu’s wallet between his fingers, and a grin so vulpine it could hardly be categorised as human. “But not quite good enough either.”

Those words had hurt.

Yin Yu had wanted to cuss. Had wanted to smack the haughty teenager square on the nose (or give him a black eye so he’d have to wear an eyepatch on the other side as well). But he was still Young Master Yin and he could get his parents in a lot of trouble if it came out that their son was pickpocketing and fighting random people in the street. And not even for money, but for the thrill of it all.

“What do you want?” Yin Yu spoke clearly, unafraid — a stark contrast to the squeak that followed when he scrambled to catch the wallet chucked his way.

“Keep the phone,” the shaggy-haired teenager had told him. “I’ll call you later.” And then he was gone.

Yin Yu had been chasing that high ever since. His heists had grown bigger, from small sleight-of-hand crimes to breaking-and-entering, all the way to the heights of art theft. Thirteen paintings, three statues and enough bracelets, brooches, earrings and necklaces to start his own jewelry store. 

The Xianle Crown Jewels could have just been another notch on his guitar, if it weren’t for two special circumstances: the fact Hua Cheng had personally requested the theft, and the fact security was insane on this one.

So maybe not ‘another notch’.

Yin Yu counts the seconds between his breaths as he continues hanging upside down, and deems his heartbeat even enough to go ahead with the operation. Wrapping the end of his rope around his back and securing it under his armpits, his abdominal muscles ripple with effort when he slowly brings his legs down and balances himself in a right-side-up position, needing some time to accommodate all the blood rushing back down the length of his body.

When the vertigo passes, he locks in. It’s go-time.

-

Quan Yizhen had a tendency for noticing small details that other people didn’t: the way most of his fellow security officers are playing cards in the backroom (and one of them is cheating!), the way the cleaning crew have made sure the museum was spotless but the back hallways still have dead cockroaches in them, and how most of the items in the giftshop have not been placed back accordingly — their haphazard nature irking him.

There is something particularly elegant about tonight’s date: a round and sweeping grandeur to the numbers that had caught Yizhen’s attention. The way the moon outside is in its waning phase: that’s when the Ghost Thief usually strikes. His chances for meeting with the Ghost Thief are higher than average tonight, so Yizhen excuses himself from the break room and isn’t surprised to find that no one particularly cares for his presence.

Once the door clicks shut behind him, the sound of his coworkers falls away, and the museum is echoingly quiet. It is such a stark relief from the hopes and dreams bouncing around his skull, propelling him forward.

He’s of half a mind to just wait next to the display case of the Xianle Crown Jewels until the Ghost Thief shows up. But Yizhen’s presence might actually scare him off. It’s how he managed to ruin his last opportunity at the Yushi Agricultural Institute, where the Ghost Thief had been rumoured to plan and steal the giant bronze ox statue. Yizhen had been excited for two reasons: to see the Ghost Thief again, and to see how he would lift the bronze statue out of the Institute, because that thing weighed a ton!

In the end, Yizhen had waited outside the Institute for hours, walking up and down the stairs to the entrance until his thighs were tired. But the Ghost Thief had not shown himself. Instead, he’d been let off with an official warning by law enforcement not to act so suspicious on private grounds. 

So staking out by the Crown Jewels is out of the question. He is better off patrolling the neighbouring halls and peeking into the main exhibition hall every now and then to see if anything has changed. He’d have to be very, very quiet about it too, as not to give away his own position too much. Of course, the Ghost Thief would be expecting some form of security, so Yizhen’s presence wouldn’t be out of the ordinary, but he doesn't want him to bolt before getting a chance to talk to him.

Unclipping his flashlight from his belt for show, Yizhen feels around for the switch to turn it on and flips it, following the beam of light with his eyes.

…only to find another set of eyes, staring right back at him with mild surprise.

Mild surprise that turns into horrified shock, as a handful of glittering jewels is stashed into a black duffel bag and slung over a shoulder.

Artwork by @Bored-Knight

“Ghost Thief?” Yizhen’s voice echoes in the quiet hall, and the criminal takes off without acknowledging or denying the question on his identity, feet slapping loudly against the polished marble of the floors as he beelines towards the maze of the Ancient Textiles Hall. “Wait!” Yizhen gives chase. And he is very, very mindful of not calling in for back-up.

The thing with the Textiles Hall is that the interior designer of the museum had put in a request for plush carpet, to have the decor match the many mannequins showcasing traditional garb of the peoples of the former Wuyong area. Which is coincidentally also why the carpet is so excellent at absorbing sounds such as hasty footfalls against the ground. Yizhen would be impressed, if he didn't already know that the Ghost Thief is an actual genius — so it doesn't come as a surprise he is outsmarted.

What does come as a surprise however, is the whoop of the alarm when Yizhen uses a display case to steady himself, realising he doesn't know the way the displays outside of the exhibition hall have been secured. He makes a sound at the back of his throat, realising it won't take long for his fellow security officers to start meddling in trying to catch the thief.

The Ghost Thief’s stamina is good, but Yizhen’s is better, clearing a low display case with a casual jump and gaining two paces on the other. Then again, the Ghost Thief is much more maneuverable than him, ducking out of the reach of Yizhen’s grabbing hands and turning a sharp ninety degrees down a staff stairway, hopping over the thick velvet rope ineffectively trying to keep unauthorised people out.

Yizhen has to rein in his speed as he lumbers after the Ghost Thief, taking the stairs two steps at a time to gain some ground, hearing the other move in front of him, but not seeing him. “Wait!” he calls again, and his voice cracks, knowing that he is so close while still miles away from what he wants. “Please!”

“Leave me alone!”

It’s been years and years since Yizhen has heard that voice, and while puberty and a life of crime have deepened it, it is still the same strong and melodious voice that he remembered from those Shanghai streets, more than ten years ago.

“I just want to ask you something!” It’s getting harder to breathe, and not just because of the strain of a lap around the museum at full speed. His heart is beating like mad, his face flushed, his hopes higher than they’ve ever been. “Please listen to what I have to say?”

Finally reaching his limit, Yizhen has to come to a slow jog in the middle of what seems to be the museum’s basement preservation room, where a single spinning beacon light sets the chrome room alight in occasional orange flashes, in concert with the slow whoop of the upstairs alarm.

“Will you leave me alone if I do?”

Startled, Yizhen whirls around on his old sneakers, coming face to face with the masked Ghost Thief. He’s smaller than Yizhen can remember, or maybe Yizhen has just grown a lot more. Seeing the way he has always given his all at martial arts training and he has a gym membership, the latter may be a pretty sizable factor in that equasion. He wants to reach up to take off the cap that is part of his uniform out of respect, but he’s apparently already lost it somewhere along the way. Not too surprising with the amount of hair it had to keep together. No wonder it hadn’t been up to the task.

So with nothing to occupy his hands with, Yizhen curls them in the rim of his pressed shirt. “I’ve-- I’ve been looking for you,” he says, lamely.

“Well.” The response is stand-offish and wary. “You found me.”

It gives Yizhen nothing to work with, and he mentally kicks himself for not having practised this part back home. It’s not like he hasn't had the time to do so in great detail.

“You found me multiple times,” the Ghost Thief continues, as if sensing his predicament and taking pity on him. “I’d say, about seven times?” 

“Nine,” Yizhen corrects him, quick like a whiplash. He doesn’t want the Ghost Thief to think he has been doing a half-assed job about keeping an eye on him. “You just didn’t see me the other two times.” The conversation isn't going at all like he’d imagined. Not that he’d imagined what it would be like to actually have a proper conversation with the Ghost Thief. But it wasn’t this — this awkward thing.

“So?”

Yizhen blinks. “So what?”

“What did you want to ask me?” Every muscle in the Ghost Thief’s body is coiled tight, Yizhen can see. “Can you hurry it up a little? I don’t want to get caught by the police.”

Oh! Of course not. Yizhen also doesn’t want that. He steps forward, clearing his throat, to which the Ghost Thief leaps back a step, putting a metal cart stacked with boxes between them. The stroboscopic effect of the orange light makes his eyes look eerie and dark. Like a real ghost. Yizhen is enthralled. “Right. Yeah. Okay.” Gathering the guts he hadn’t realised he needed for this endeavour, he nods. “Here goes.”

And then nothing actually goes. Another few seconds stretch out with nothing but a far-off alarm wailing for accompaniment. 

“I’m leaving,” the Ghost Thief announces.

But before he can turn around, Yizhen blurts out: “Will you go on a date with me?!”

That’s when the alarm is cut and the preservation room is completely dark, save for the slight moonlight coming in through the windows at ceiling height. Yizhen doesn’t dare move, he doesn’t dare breathe. He’s afraid the Ghost Thief will get spooked like a deer in the forest and take off, never to return. Yizhen would have taken his shot and missed miserably.

Instead, The Ghost Thief reaches for his mask and pulls it off his head, revealing a plain face, with plain hair and perhaps a small hint of eyeliner. “You’re telling me that you’ve been stalking me for over twelve years just so you could ask me out on a date? You idiot.” 

But the Ghost Thief’s face isn’t saying the same thing his lips are, which makes Yizhen think that maybe, just maybe, he hasn’t blown it yet. “Uhm… yes? I guess so?” 

“Unbelievable.” Pacing up and down the length of room between one supply cabinet and the next, the Ghost Thief doesn’t look angry, or glad. He just seems confused. 

Yizhen watches him pace, trying to recall how long it would take the authorities to arrive on location after the alarm had been turned off. He concludes they only have two or three minutes left. This leaves him with a sense of urgency that emboldens him for the next question: “...what does that mean? Is that a yes, or a no? I’m not very good with nuances.”

The Ghost Thief freezes, and then laughs. “Yeah no. I figured you weren’t a nuanced person. Like a bull in a china shop.”

“I’m not that big.”

Rubbing at his face — his pretty face, Yizhen corrects himself, now that the moonlight is falling on it, nothing plain about it — the Ghost Thief breathes in deeply.

“You want to know if I would go on a date with you?”

Yizhen’s heart jumps, glad he has managed to get his question across well. “Yes!” he nods excitedly, feeling like perhaps the gods of luck were finally smiling down on him — even if he was most definitely going to lose his job and get a scolding from Senior Security Officer Pei. He had put his neck out for him after all. The tension is almost too much to bear, his skin feeling like it’s crawling with ants as the Ghost Thief seems to think long and deep about it. 

“I have expensive tastes, you know,” the Ghost Thief points out.

Yizhen is quick to reply, “That’s okay, I have money!”

“I won't accept anything less than a five star restaurant.”

“Of course!”

“And I want you to wear a nice suit.”

“Whichever colour you want.”

The Ghost Thief snorts in what Yizhen assumes is amusement. “You’re really something, aren’t you. What’s your name?”

Gosh, he hadn’t even realised that he doesn't know the Ghost Thief’s name either. He just knows what he looked like and sounds like and that he really really wants to get to know him better. Yizhen points at the name tag on his shirt, spelling out ‘Security Officer Quan’.

“Bold of you to assume I can read in the dark.”

“Quan Yizhen!” he provides. “My name is Quan Yizhen. Please don’t forget it.”

“Oh, I don’t think I ever will.” The words are mocking but the tone isn’t and Yizhen doesn’t really know what to make of it. But he decides to trust in the Ghost Thief and in his own abilities as a Perfect Future Boyfriend. “So… are we okay?”

The Ghost Thief lets out another sound that’s somewhere between a laugh, a sigh, and a snort. It’s not a negative sound, Yizhen thinks. 

“Yes, we’re okay.” 

There’s the whine of police sirens in the distance, and that breaks whatever spell has fallen over them. The Ghost Thief turns to him sharply. “Where are your cuffs?”

Yizhen doesn’t understand, needing some time to process the request. “Excuse me?” 

“Your cuffs, Quan Yizhen. We’re okay, but you won’t be if the cops find you.” It seems the Ghost Thief takes the initiative by stepping so close into Yizhen’s space that his body decides on a full-out flush throughout all of his limbs. There’s a sharp yank at the belt loop of his uniform pants and the sound of handcuffs being fastened. It takes Yizhen a full three heart-pounding seconds to also feel those handcuffs around his wrist, now chained to the handle of the preservation room’s anoxia treatment chamber. “Wait, what--?”

The Ghost Thief is already pulling his mask back over his face, tucking his dark hair back in. Despite the bad light, it doesn’t escape Yizhen’s attention that a lock of the thief’s hair is dyed purple and that he has simple silver studs in his earlobes. He has feelings about that that he’ll have to unpack later, because right now Yizhen is still trying to make sense of the situation. Hadn’t the Ghost Thief said they were okay? Then why--?

“Do you want to be arrested for being guilty by association?"

Oh. That’s why.

Yizhen settles down. “No,” he pouts. “It would kind of ruin the date.” This time, he’s sure he does hear a laugh from under the mask. 

Starting to leave, the Ghost Thief secures his duffle bag and turns. Already having forgotten that his hands, and thus arms, have been restrained, Yizhen yanks the door of the machine open, trying to stop the thief. “Wait, I don’t know your name!” It wouldn’t do to call his crush ‘Ghost Thief’ in his mind as he replays the situation over and over in his brain all night, now would it.

Taking one quick moment under the pressing increase of sirens outside, the Ghost Thief returns to Yizhen’s side. Again, his body does the thing where goosebumps race over his skin and he shudders with delight when the Ghost Thief pulls his mask away enough to reveal his lips. 

Artwork by @ArtInAbyss

“I’ll tell you on our date,” he whispers and the way he says it does things to Yizhen that he doesn’t think are appropriate in public. A quick press of lips against his hot cheek makes him whine, high in his throat like a small dog. “No fair…”

But the Ghost Thief doesn’t stick around to contest that, scrambling up towards one of the low windows and hoisting himself up and out of the museum. It takes the other security officers twenty minutes to find Yizhen cuffed up in the basement, and when they finally do, he has already replayed that quick kiss five times in his mind.

-

Yin Yu wonders if the bow is too much. It feels like it’s too much. He’s used to hiding, used to burying himself into oversized hoodies and behind face masks and glasses, so that no one in the world is able to perceive him. He likes to operate from the shadows, which is why he never claims his thefts, or announces them. He doesn’t have an overblown ego. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have confidence, either. And the bow makes his throat look good, so he decides that it can stay in the end.

Buttoning the cuffs on his lantern-sleeved shirt, he’s chuffed with the slight sheerness of the material — perfectly proper for public appearances, but if one was to look very hard, the suggestion of a dusky nipple and the hint of ink on the abdomen could be spotted. One of his many moles there, decorated with four tiny stripes to turn it into a star, and a small crescent moon to accompany it. A souvenir for trusting He Xuan with a tattoo gun and one too many cups of osmanthus wine in his system.

He has never regretted it, though.

Art by @ArtInAbyss 

“Are you listening?” There’s a familiar voice in his ear, one that has indeed been pretty annoyed with Yin Yu’s gung-ho solo mission. Yin Yu hums, trying to find a pair of sensible black shoes. “I’m listening.”

“No, you’re not.”

Hua Cheng is right; he isn’t. Yin Yu is trying to decide if the non-sensible shoes are worth it. They have a slight heel to them that’ll make his ass look amazing, but will make the balls of his feet pay the price later. Then again, Quan Yizhen seems to have more than enough muscle on him to be able to princess carry him home in case of achy feet. Yin Yu chuckles in amusement.

“Well, whatever. The livestream is on, that’s all I called to tell you.”

Dumping himself into the rolling chair behind his desk, Yin Yu unlocks his laptop and tunes in to one of the bigger news websites, only to be welcomed by Director Jun Wu’s carefully neutral face. His salt-and-pepper hair is combed back handsomely, but there’s something about the tenseness of his jaw that betrays some sort of ancient rage hiding deep beneath the surface of the benevolent museum director.

The livestream is muted, but Yin Yu doesn’t have to turn the volume up to know what all the hullabaloo is about. The words ‘GHOST THIEF STRIKES AGAIN’ is plastered all over the screen, all sorts of comments streaming by ranging from outraged high-society bigwigs claiming the city was going to the dogs to the Xianle descendant minority groups glad to not see their cultural heritage in the hands of a museum anymore.

“Is that all you called to say?” Yin Yu asks, using the chapstick haphazardly discarded next to his keyboard to plump his lips a tiny bit, “You’re not calling me to ask which bank account to wire my payment to?”

Yin Yu doesn’t usually care about the money all that much — he has enough of it to make himself comfortable. But it is nice to annoy Hua Cheng right back if the man made him break his usual modus operandi.

“Fuck you, ‘Ghost Thief’.” There’s a chuckle to that voice that tells him he would receive his payment within the hour and Yin Yu rubs his lips together to evenly distribute the chapstick over his lips. He wants them to be lush and kissable. Just in case, of course. He did all of his missions fully prepared. “I need to go, ‘Crimson Rain’.”

“Sure. Have fun.”

Snorting, Yin Yu cuts the connection before he grins. “Oh, I will.”

-

Perhaps Quan Yizhen had been a little too eager, promising to wear a suit. After all, his body’s proportions are pretty unconventional when it comes to fashion, which he often tends to forget whenever he goes online shopping. His shoulders are too broad, his thighs too muscular. His waist is too slim and his height too short to fit into anything the shops carry. It’s high time he had a suit tailor made for him, but he doesn't even know where to start on that (or how to afford it now that he is, as expected, jobless).

Which is why he finds himself almost pulling his hair out on the evening of his date with the Ghost Thief, having managed to wrestle himself into a pair of suit trousers (they fit, if he wears a belt and rolls up the pantlegs so he doesn't trip over the excess fabric). But the linen shirt he had ordered won't close over his chest. And he isn't even going to give the jacket a trying chance.

A knock on his window makes him yelp. Mostly because he lives on the fifth floor of his apartment building and birds don't usually knock. Especially not at night.

Alarmed, Yizhen peeks through the drapes, his mouth falling open when a very familiar silhouette stands on his tiny balcony with the dead plants, waving at him as if he hasn't just scaled 15 meters of building from the ground up.

Yizhen throws open the window. “Ghost Thief?!”

“Good evening, Quan Yizhen,” he replies, and Yizhen’s heart does a little somersault of happiness that the Ghost Thief has remembered his name. But he also feels the need to point out one crucial detail in this particular predicament: “I have a door, you know.”

“I know,” the Ghost Thief replies, “But there are security cameras there and I really don’t have a face for cameras.”

Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. “Well, uhm. Come in?” Yizhen steps back from the window and wants to walk around to open up the balcony door, but the Ghost Thief is already climbing inside like he’s some sort of human liquid and Yizhen can only observe him, mesmerised. 

“You’re not done yet?”

“Huh?” Yizhen looks at his own state of dress and reality catches up with him far slower than he would have liked. “...my suit doesn’t fit.”

There’s a moment of laden silence, the Ghost Thief looking him up and down, and Yizhen is starting to feel embarrassed. But then the Ghost Thief throws his head back, and laughs. For a moment, Yizhen is reminded of that one night in Shanghai where he’d first laid eyes on the Ghost Thief and he feels himself falling in love even deeper than before, the pit of his stomach churning into mush.

“You sure are something, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Yizhen replies with a pout, unhappy to find his appearance lacking. The Ghost Thief tosses a baby blue t-shirt at him, and he catches it before it can hit him in the face. There is a dinosaur holding a balloon on it — incidentally one of Yizhen’s favourite shirts.

“It’s fine,” the Ghost Thief promises him, kicking off his high-heeled shoes and preceding him into the living room part of the small studio apartment. After a quick inspection of the dinner table and the couch, the Ghost Thief pulls a phone out of a pocket of his far too tight jeans. “We’ll just order in. Do you like lobster?”

Frowning, because he distinctly remembers the Ghost Thief asking to be taken out, Yizhen wants to protest. But before he can manage even a peep, an elegant finger on his lips steals all of his words away. All of his common sense as well. He’d do anything for the Ghost Thief, even change his plans.

“I have some candles in the drawer,” he whispers eventually.

“Perfect,” the Ghost Thief responds, and he dials some number.

Shooting into the t-shirt and setting the table for two, Yizhen lights the two small candles he had lying around for emergencies and sits down at the table, diligently waiting for the Ghost Thief to join him. He listens intently to the conversation, which consists mostly of the Ghost Thief ordering luxurious, expensive dishes that he’s never heard of before. He’s excited. Nothing is going as planned, but he found himself strangely okay with that. Because the Ghost Thief is in his house and the man doesn't hate him and they are going to have dinner together. All he needs is one more thing.

Just then, the Ghost Thief sits down at the table with him, softly smiling as he finishes up his order. Eyeing Yizhen specifically, the Ghost Thief concludes: “Yes, you can put it on my tab. Yin Yu’s tab.”

Yizhen smiles as well.

Perfect.