When Xu Cong arrived, it was a rainy day.
Just after Christmas, the weather suddenly turned bad, with snowflakes mixed with cold wind hitting his face. The sky was overcast, the roads became wet and slippery, and the pedestrians seemed to be having a rough time.
Xia Yan had tried to refuse Xu Cong’s visit.
He sent Xu Cong a message, saying he felt fine physically, that he didn’t think he needed a pheromone boost, and that when his scenes became fewer next month, he would just take two days off from the set.
But evidently, Xu Cong didn’t listen.
In some matters, Xu Cong wasn’t as obedient to him as usual; in fact, he was very overbearing.
Xu Cong sent him a discharge reminder from the doctor, stating that a strong intake of pheromones was best once a month, to help stabilize his body.
So, the day after Christmas, Xu Cong appeared on the set as planned.
He came under the pretense of a set visit, in a very straightforward manner.
He ordered coffee and afternoon tea for all the crew members, even preparing chocolates. The mobile food van was parked on-site, providing a full-service experience.
The crew immediately welcomed him warmly.
When Xu Cong arrived, Xia Yan was filming an indoor scene.
He hadn’t seen Xia Yan much this past month. Since they debuted at seventeen or eighteen, they rarely stayed apart for such a long time. Moreover, Xu Cong had marked Xia Yan, even if it was just temporary, the possessiveness of an alpha toward an omega only intensified.
So, during this past month without being able to touch Xia Yan, his mood had been awful. He had attended events with a blank expression, low energy, and his mood was entirely different from when Xia Yan was by his side. Luckily, he didn’t smile much in general, and only a few particularly sharp-eyed fans noticed something was off.
Now, standing at the set with many people around—both omegas and alphas—the air was chaotic, but as soon as he saw Xia Yan under the camera, he felt like all the restlessness and unease from the past month had been temporarily soothed, like it had been ironed out by a warm press.
That afternoon’s scene was a solo performance by Xia Yan.
Xia Yan’s character, Zhang Yu, was carefully trying to repair a broken lamp with his rough, cracked fingers. But even after fixing it, it was useless—the glass had already shattered and was no longer the same. The cracks were obvious, and in this day and age, such a lamp was no longer necessary.
But his movements were very focused.
This lamp was left behind by his murdered sister. It was broken at the crime scene and had been hidden in a cupboard for many years. “Zhang Yu” had never dared to take it out, as if avoiding that dark, rainy winter day.
But on the day he decided to chase down the killer across the country, he took the lamp out from the cupboard.
Xu Cong had rarely seen such a side of Xia Yan.
Before Xia Yan started acting, he had always been shining on stage. He wore specially customized stage costumes, with glittering eyeshadow on his eyelids, like crushed diamonds. The flashing light was as captivating as his smile. Every frown, every smile, could mesmerize everyone.
But now, Xia Yan was thin and pale, his eye sockets deep, wearing a black coat that looked very old. The once beautiful features, kissed by God, had been worn down by time.
He sat there, carefully using tweezers to pick up a broken piece of glass, applying it to the lamp. His hand was covered in cuts, and his lips were cracked.
He was just a forest ranger living in a remote town, having never done anything extraordinary in his life. Silent, like an ordinary stone by the roadside.
But as he stared at the broken lamp, his dark eyes were even darker than the night outside the window. A cigarette dangled from his lips, poor quality, causing him to cough after a long time. But the tiny spark from the cigarette butt reflected in his eyes, like a wildfire had started within him.
Xu Cong blinked, taking a sip of his coffee. The steam briefly blurred his vision.
He thought, since he was 18, he had been obsessed with Xia Yan. It wasn’t without reason.
Every time he thought he knew Xia Yan well enough, Xia Yan would surprise him with something even more unexpected.
Xia Yan, dressed in a worn-out black cotton coat, was not at all the mesmerizing figure from the stage.
Yet, Xu Cong couldn’t tear his eyes away.
He noticed Xia Yan’s cracked lips, his rough, chapped fingers, and the scabbed scar on his neck.
Xia Yan had become dull, unremarkable.
But when he simply sat there, staring at the vast night outside the window, it spoke volumes more than words could say. A burnt-out cigarette fell onto his hand, and he didn’t even feel the pain.
Everyone only looked at his back, and together they were transported back to that night 18 years ago, the moment he held his sister’s cold hand.
“Cut.”
The director called out, signaling his approval to Xia Yan.
Xia Yan suddenly “came to life” from the lens. His face and makeup were still the same, but as he stretched and sat up from the bed, his aura and appearance were completely different.
The dirt on his face became part of his makeup.
The old cotton coat, almost worn out, looked like the latest fashion from Paris Fashion Week.
He rubbed his neck and scanned the crowd. In a moment, he saw Xu Cong.
The set was crowded, everyone was running around preparing for the next scene. Some were rehearsing lines, others were chatting, creating a lot of noise.
But amidst the chaos, Xu Cong still stood out.
He was wearing a gray long coat, black high-top boots, tall and slim, his skin appeared paler than usual, likely due to the cold. His sharp face showed no emotion, his eyes down on his phone, ignoring the mess around him, making it seem like a background.
But the moment Xia Yan looked over, Xu Cong seemed to sense it and raised his head.
In the next second, all the countless clips Xia Yan had watched these days became tangible.
As their eyes met, Xu Cong slightly curled the corners of his lips, and in an instant, his expression changed from cold and distant to warm and gentle, just like the spring waters.
Amid the hustle and bustle, he raised his coffee cup at Xia Yan and lazily smiled.
It was like the most perfect frame in a movie.
Xia Yan unconsciously returned the smile.
But the moment he realized how much Xu Cong’s demeanor had changed, he felt like he had been struck by lightning and everything seemed to fall apart.
…
Reluctantly, due to his unwillingness to face the situation, Xia Yan lingered in the makeup room for a long time before finally coming out.
And as soon as he stepped out, he saw Xu Cong waiting outside. The coffee cup was already empty and thrown into the trash nearby.
Xu Cong looked him up and down, then raised his hand to touch his cheek, frowning, “How did you get this wound?”
Xia Yan had scratched himself during an action scene, but he hadn’t paid much attention to it.
Although male stars rely on their looks, it wasn’t the only thing they relied on, and a little healing would do.
Xu Cong’s action wasn’t unusual. They used to touch each other casually. Xu Cong always noticed every small detail about him.
But the moment Xu Cong’s finger touched his skin, Xia Yan instinctively took a couple of steps back.
Xu Cong’s finger touched empty air, frozen mid-air.
Xia Yan realized what he had done and froze. He bit his lip, awkwardly standing in place.
“It’s nothing, just from filming. It’ll be fine in a couple of days,” he explained softly to Xu Cong.
Xu Cong looked at him, lowered his arm, and didn’t ask any further. Instead, he asked, “It’s getting late. Let’s go eat. What do you want to eat?”
…
Fifteen minutes later, Xia Yan sat in the passenger seat of Xu Cong’s car, distractedly chatting with him.
When Xu Cong asked what he wanted to eat, his mind was a mess, and he had no appetite, so he randomly picked a nearby Cantonese restaurant.
Once he sat in Xu Cong’s car and the door closed, the space turned into a sealed environment, and Xia Yan felt like he had entered Xu Cong’s territory.
Every inch of air inside seemed to be filled with Xu Cong’s pheromones.
The humid sandalwood scent.
It clung to him like spring rain.
Making him uneasy.
Xu Cong drove while occasionally glancing at Xia Yan from the corner of his eye.
Xia Yan didn’t look at him at all, keeping his face turned toward the window, though he unconsciously bit his thumb’s nail.
This was one of the signs that Xia Yan was nervous, but he would usually restrain himself when on camera.
Something’s not right.
Xu Cong thought. Xia Yan could never hide things from him. The last time he avoided him like this was when he had a reaction to his pheromones, mistakenly thinking he had feelings for him that he shouldn’t have.
But that problem should have been resolved by now.
So why was it happening again?
In their distracted states, Xu Cong’s car reached the Cantonese restaurant. They had booked a private room to avoid prying eyes, but throughout the meal, Xia Yan showed little interest, always zoning out and staring at his phone.
Xu Cong watched him from across the table, narrowing his eyes, full of suspicion but not showing it.
When they were leaving the restaurant, Xu Cong casually tapped Xia Yan’s chin.
Xia Yan reacted strongly, pulling away.
But Xu Cong had already withdrawn his hand.
“There was a sesame seed on you,” he said innocently, showing it to Xia Yan.
After the meal, they were supposed to head back to the hotel.
But when they reached the door to Xia Yan’s room, Xia Yan refused to go inside.
He knew exactly what would happen inside, Xu Cong would bite his nape again.
Before, he hadn’t minded it at all, but now, holding the room card, he hesitated, unwilling to swipe it. He gripped the black card tightly and, after a pause, looked at Xu Cong.
“Why don’t you go back to your room first,” he said sincerely, “I’m a little tired today, I’ll skip the marking, we can do it in a couple of days.”
Xu Cong raised an eyebrow and coldly pointed out his lie. “It won’t take long for me to mark you, just a few minutes.”
Xia Yan lost the argument.
He knew his excuse was weak, but that thin room card in his hand felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.
Only when Xu Cong’s gaze turned skeptical did he finally open the door.
The room was at a constant, warm temperature. Xia Yan immediately took off his black coat, revealing his long, pale neck, but he stood there, arms crossed against the wall, unwilling to speak, as if resisting.
Xu Cong stood in front of him, slightly taller, casting a shadow over him.
The two locked eyes for a moment, with Xia Yan clearly showing resistance, but Xu Cong’s fingers touched his nape.
The cold, long fingers gently rubbed his neck.
Xia Yan couldn’t help but shiver.
Before he could say anything, Xu Cong lowered his head. The distance between them became so close that Xia Yan could count Xu Cong’s eyelashes.
“What’s the matter with you, Xia Yan? Don’t you want to be marked?”
Xu Cong asked in a low voice.
That question hit the mark.
Xia Yan felt uncomfortable. The thought that his best friend might have a secret crush on him made him uneasy. What had been a simple, temporary marking now seemed more complicated.
He couldn’t bear to think about what Xu Cong’s true feelings were.
That time, when Xu Cong kissed his nape, what had it really meant?
But now, with Xu Cong holding him, his fingers massaging his nape, and the scent of Xu Cong’s pheromones lingering around him, Xia Yan could no longer speak.
He looked up and met Xu Cong’s gaze, but couldn’t say a word.
Could it be that he misunderstood?
Xia Yan struggled to think.
He and Xu Cong had been friends for years, and now, just from watching a bunch of edited videos and analysis posts, he was doubting everything. This wasn’t just distrust toward Xu Cong, it also felt like he was tarnishing their friendship.
But when he looked at Xu Cong’s face, his voice felt drier than ever.
He could have laughed it off and shared his thoughts with Xu Cong.
He could’ve joked about how Zong Yi was shipping their CP and how, after watching a bunch of fan-made edits, he was starting to doubt it.
He could’ve easily punched Xu Cong playfully and asked, “You don’t actually like me, do you?”
He could have done that.
And Xu Cong might deny it, then laugh at him for overthinking.
But now, as he was embraced by Xu Cong, breathing in his sandalwood scent, he didn’t dare ask.
He vaguely felt that the distance between him and Xu Cong had become too small.
Zhao Ye and Zong Yi would probably never get this close.
Once someone becomes enlightened, the questions that were once overlooked suddenly rise to the surface.
Wasn’t this just a temporary marking? Did it need to be so intimate?
Xia Yan stayed silent for a while. He didn’t voice his inner doubts, nor did he push Xu Cong away.
He had never realized how cowardly he was.
He was afraid. He was avoiding it.
He feared Xu Cong would give an answer he didn’t want to hear.
His eyelashes trembled.
In a moment of hesitation, he made the most cowardly decision of his life.
He pushed his hair back, exposing his neck, and half-turned, making it easier for Xu Cong to mark him.
“Forget it. Just bite me,” he whispered, with a hint of resignation in his voice.
