Saving Face

The van hit the nth pothole, making them jostle in the backseat despite their seatbelts. Yibo sat back up and threw a worried glance at Zhan. He looked just in time to see his senior right himself in his seat before clenching his hands between his thighs and hunching slightly forward, eyes closed. Despite the AC blasting cool air directly at them, sweat pearled on his forehead.

"Uncle," called Yibo.

The driver met his eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Could you please lower the temperature?"

"I'm sorry, sir. It's already at its lowest. Once we get out of this trail, we'll hit the highway soon, and you'll be home in no time."

Yibo thanked him and turned back to Zhan. The last three days of filming had been intense. They had flown in without even getting the chance to go to their assigned lodgings. According to the director, the remote location was very sought after and hard to book. Not to mention that they were already behind. What had followed were three days and two nights of almost constant filming in the biggest heatwave the region had experienced in years. The many changes of costumes and the heavy wire work had only added to their exhaustion. Although he hadn't said anything, it was clear that Zhan's stomach had been bothering him for a while. Yibo had seen the signs, the excessive green tea and ginger tea consumption, as well as the lack of appetite. He had had to force him to eat many times. His senior was good-natured and didn't like causing trouble for others, so the problem had gone unvoiced, and the shoot uninterrupted. However, by the third day, with the heat and fatigue taking their toll, Zhan had started to lose his cheery countenance and had even complained of the pain and discomfort to the staff. Some medicine had been found for him, but it hadn't seemed to bring him much relief. Yibo had tried to lighten up the mood with his usual antics, but this had only resulted in Zhan losing patience with him. Of course, this was not the first time that had happened. The junior made it his life's mission to be a pest to his senior, and they also enjoyed riling each other up for fun, but this time the reaction had been abrupt and uncompromising. Hurt, but also worried, Yibo had avoided Zhan between takes whenever possible — a difficult task— lest he angered him further.

The van hit another pothole before finally merging onto the paved road. The sudden smoothness brought a welcome feeling of peace. Yibo, hoping that he was seating himself back up correctly for the last time, turned to Zhan again. He was now hunched forward farther, knees squeezing his elbows, forehead resting on his upturned palms. His eyes were shut tight.

Yibo hesitated a moment, pinching his lips. The last thing he wanted was to upset Zhan, but at this point, he felt like he couldn't just watch him suffer and pretend like it was all fine. He leaned in.

"Zhan-Ge," he said softly, extending a hand.

As soon as the tip of his fingers touched his Ge's back, he recoiled.

"Don't…Touch me,"

Zhan's voice was hoarse and thick. 

"I'm sorry. I… I'm just worried. Do you want water? Or maybe a cold compress on your neck? I can…"

"Stop talking. Just stop talking."

Zhan clenched his fists and pushed against his eyes with a loud sigh.

"Let me be."

Yibo's lips parted slightly, and his brow furrowed. Unable to form a coherent response, he leaned back in his seat and turned away from Zhan. He fished his headphones out of his pocket and resumed the audiobook he had been listening to on the flight in. The words quickly stopped registering. This was a book Zhan had recommended, and so he couldn't but help think about him. The rational part of his brain told him that his Ge was probably acting this way because he was unwell, but Yibo was also exhausted, and so the emotional part of his brain was winning. He kept going over the last few days to try and figure out when he had fucked up. Where had he crossed the line? No matter how many times he tried, he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment. Zhan was in no way a fickle man, so it must have been something big. Why couldn't he figure it out? He felt the knot of anxiety in his chest tighten, and his eyes prickle. He took a deep breath. This wouldn't do. He needed to calm down. He stopped the book but left the headphones in. After a quick glance at Zhan, who was still curled on himself, he turned to the window and watched as the scenery passed by, wondering how he could get back in the man's good grace and, most importantly, what he could do to alleviate his pain.

True to the driver's word, they arrived at the apartment complex shortly after having merged onto the highway. It was a modern construction made of concrete and shaped like a cube, the kind often seen in glossy real estate magazines. According to the logistics and coordination staff, it had just been completed and was equipped with all the latest amenities. They would each have their own room and ensuite. Since the units had yet to be put on the market, they would be the only residents for the duration of their stay. The property also stood far from the quiet street, ensuring their privacy.

Yibo grabbed his bag, slid the door open, and hopped off. The heat hit him like a wall, and he had to lean against the vehicle to overcome dizziness. As soon as he felt steady on his feet, he rushed to the other side of the car to help Zhan get out, but the man, who was already halfway out, refused his offered hand and insisted on grabbing his bag himself. He stood as straight as he could next to Yibo and listened as the driver confirmed their next pickup time, two days later. The driver then said goodbye and drove away, leaving them with the deafening sound of cicadas in the late summer afternoon. 

Yibo turned to Zhan again and found him standing shakily with his hands on his knees, his bag, having slid off his shoulder, hanging like a pendulum from his neck. The junior suddenly felt very angry. 

"Give me your bag," he said.

Without waiting for permission, he grabbed the bag off Zhan, who staggered and half-sat on one of the many identical concrete light bollards that lined the path to the front door. Yibo hastily passed the strap over his head and across his chest and fished out the key to their new abode out of his pocket. This caused his headphones to fall out. He leaned forward to pick them up, making his and Zhan's bag slide forward and get in the way. He pinched his lips and exhaled through his nose as he picked up the offending electronics between the bags. He had reached the limits of his patience. He shoved the headphones in his pocket and hurried past Zhan to the door. He was confused to see the door didn't seem to have a lock. He looked to the right and the left of the frame and tried turning the doorknob, but it didn't budge. Sweat poured down the side of his face.

"On the bollard," came Zhan's voice.

Yibo turned around to see his Ge, pallid and glistening with sweat, pointing at the bollard next to the door. Upon closer inspection, Yibo found a small plastic flap on top. He opened it, and there was the lock.

"Who the fuck came up with this brilliant idea?" he muttered as he turned the key, and the door unlocked itself.

Yibo readjusted the strap of the bags and stepped inside the building. The cool air that rushed to meet him felt amazing, but the discovery of a steep set of stairs leading to the second floor disheartened him. He looked over at Zhan. He had gotten up and stood a few paces away, his discoloured and cracked lips parted slightly, eyes unfocused. Yibo unceremoniously dropped their bags at the entrance and walked up to him.

"I don't know who your show of strength was for, but it's just the two of us now, so cut it out and let me help."

The words came out angrier than he had intended, but it was too late now. He was losing patience and felt like he would be the one needing assistance soon if they stayed out in this heat. He threw his senior's arm over his shoulders and grabbed him by the waist.

"Don't touch me," protested Zhan weakly.

"If I don't touch you, you won't make it up the stairs. Come on."

They walked in, and Yibo closed the door behind them, plunging them into semi-darkness. The only light seemed to be coming from under a closed door at the top of the stairs. He looked for a light switch on the wall but, after finding it, couldn't figure out how to work it. He swore. He hated this place already.

"Let me go, Yibo," said Zhan, trying to free himself from the man's grip.

"Shut up," he shot back, unnerved. "Watch your step."

They took a step, then another, each one feeling slower than the other. Yibo could feel his Ge's body shivering against his. After the fifth step, Zhan started to grow more agitated.

"Let go of me, please," he said in a panicked voice. 

Zhan's attempts at freeing himself threw Yibo off balance for a split second, making his heart stop. He quickly steadied himself and tightened his grip on Zhan.

"Are you trying to kill us? You'll fall to your death! Only a few more. Come on! Then I'll leave you in peace if that's what you want," he said harshly.

Zhan weakly tried to free himself one last time but failed. Suddenly, Yibo felt his body tense against his own. He then heaved and vomited all over the stairs.

Silence followed as they both froze in place for a second.

"I told you to let me go," said Zhan in a teary voice.

Yibo didn't know what to do. His anger had left him, but it was as if his brain had encountered an error that prevented any further emotional processing. His nose, however, quickly told him that he would be sick himself if they didn't get out of the stairwell. He looked down at the next few steps ahead of them. His heart sank. They would definitely have to walk in it.

"Come on," he said, adjusting his grip to make it gentler. "Let me know if you…"

He couldn't finish the sentence. Saying the words would mean acknowledging that what had just happened might happen again, and his tired brain wasn't ready to deal with that possibility. He tried not to think about what he was stepping in and about the state his sneakers would be in, but his mind wanted to do nothing else right now. He scolded himself for thinking about such mundane things while Zhan was unwell but simply couldn't help it.

After what felt like an eternity, they finally reached the landing. After assessing that the area was "clear," Yibo helped Zhan sit at the top of the stairs. The man immediately leaned against the wall for support. For some reason, this slight movement caused the motion detector to turn the lights on. Yibo couldn't help but catch sight of the mess and how their bags at the bottom were in danger of soon becoming collateral damage. He winced and turned back to face Zhan. He would have to deal with this later. 

"I'm going to take off your shoes now," he said gently.

He didn't react. Yibo had never been more grateful for Zhan's bad habit of never untying his laces, turning every shoe into loafers. The ruined footwear slid right off without him having to dirty his hands. He set them on a clean stair and gave his Ge a quick once over. Miraculously, his clothes had gone through the ordeal unscathed. He inspected himself, too. Also clear.

"Let's get you inside."

Yibo cringed as he pulled a "Zhan" on his own sneakers and took them off without his hands. This would leave marks. Even if he could clean and salvage them, the creases alone… He pushed the thoughts out of his mind and helped Zhan to his feet. The man swayed, but he managed the last step with a little bit more aplomb than before.

As soon as he slid the door of the unit open, they were blinded by the light of the sun shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows and basking the living room in gold. Yibo blinked, trying to quickly adjust his vision. Zhan was getting heavier by the minute, and he didn't want to drop him. He finally managed to spot the couch and walked his senior over. As soon as he sat, Zhan let his bodyweight pull him sideways until he was lying on his right side, feet still on the floor. Yibo helped him put his legs up. He immediately curled into a ball, hands squeezed between his legs, shivering.

The junior spotted a throw on a fauteuil and, apologizing to the owners internally for what might happen to it, he covered him with it. Then he walked to the kitchen, grabbed the first towel he saw, and wet it with warm water. He opened a few well-stocked cabinets, grabbed a glass and filled it with water he found in the fridge. He walked back to the living room. 

Zhan had shut his eyes tight. His breath was short. Yibo set the glass on the coffee table and kneeled next to the couch.

"Zhan-Ge."

Zhan opened his eyes. The whites were marbled with angry red veins. Yibo showed him the towel.

"For your face."

Zhan slowly lifted his arm and grabbed the towel. He wiped his brow and his mouth, then just dropped it on the couch before returning his hands between his legs and curling even more on himself. Yibo picked it up and had to resist the urge to towel the rest of his senior's face.

"I've put a glass of water on the table for when you feel up to drinking something."

Zhan grunted weakly. Yibo got up. He looked around the stylishly-furnished living room and saw a plastic paper basket. He grabbed it and set it next to the couch, praying that it would go unused. He then sat in the small space between Zhan's head and his drawn knees. He scratched the back of his neck and looked straight ahead. He had to say something.

"Maybe I should call your manager?" he said, delaying

"No," replied Zhan in a sleepy voice.

Yibo sighed, shoulder slumping.

"Zhan-Ge, I…"

I what? He thought. What could he possibly say? He'd been rash and rude and had completely disregarded Zhan's repeated requests. As a result, he had embarrassed this man he looked up to, creating a situation that would make it hard for his senior to look him in the eyes in the future. At the same time, if Zhan hadn't been so obstinate and had just told him what was wrong, they wouldn't have ended up here. He felt the anger rise anew and pushed it down. This wouldn't solve anything. Deep down, he knew what he needed to say but wasn't quite ready to admit it to himself.

"I'm going to clean. Just call me if you need anything," he finally managed to say.

He chanced a glance at Zhan. He was already fast asleep.

The fact that Zhan had barely eaten anything except for what Yibo had forced him to that day turned out to be a blessing in disguise and made cleaning up much easier. Yibo soon found the cleaning supplies and was able to erase all traces of their misadventure quite quickly. He was pleased to see that, despite his fears, their bags were safe and sound. He managed to clean his shoes, and although they didn't look much worse for wear to the untrained eye, he would always know what had happened to them and was crushed. He threw Zhan's shoes outside without even bothering to clean them. They had looked like trash from the beginning, anyway.

Once back in the living room, he checked on Zhan. He hadn't moved and didn't look like he was about to. He inspected the bedrooms, chose the smaller of the two for himself, and dropped Zhan's bag in his. As he was crossing the living room again, he considered carrying his Ge to his bed but decided against it. Cleaning the stairs had used up the last sliver of energy he had had left. The sun was setting, plunging the room in pinks and oranges. He lost himself for a moment in the beauty of it. He wished they could have spent their first evening in this place, drinking and enjoying the view together. His eyes prickled again. He shook his head. He needed to rest. He was getting overly sensitive. Zhan moaned in his sleep. Yibo readjusted his blanket and pulled the coffee table closer so he would be able to reach the glass of water without getting up. He looked at the kitchen and hesitated a moment, wondering if he should make something like instant ramen but decided against it. He didn't want the smell to possibly inconvenience Zhan. He made his way to his room and was about to close his door but then thought better of it. He sat on his bed and quickly pulled out an old t-shirt and joggers. He was glad to be out of his sweaty clothes. Thinking he would snack and maybe watch a few things on his phone, he sat, propping himself up with pillows. His body clearly had other plans. Cradled by the softness of the bed, he fell asleep within seconds.

***

Yibo woke up with a start. Disoriented, he looked around the room, trying to find his bearings. He suddenly remembered where he was and relaxed. He looked at his phone. 3:14. Why had he woken up? He was a heavy sleeper, especially after long shoots, and could easily sleep for twenty-hour straight. He shifted and sat on the side of the bed. He hadn't closed the blinds, but the moon was hidden behind clouds; aside from the small control light of the television, the room was in pitch darkness.

His tired brain finally got in gear, and he suddenly remembered Zhan sleeping on the couch. He listened for a moment, hoping to catch the man's breath in the silence, but the hum of the AC was all he could hear. Using his phone's screen as a light, he walked to the living room. The blanket had been thrown at quite a distance across the floor and, Yibo noticed, had caught the glass on the coffee table, causing it to shatter. He surmised that this was what had woken him up. Maybe Zhan had gotten up and gone to bed, thinking he would deal with the mess the following day. 

Yibo was starting to feel sleepy again and made to go back to his room, but he couldn't shake the feeling that his senior might actually be unwell and in need of help. He decided to go check on him.

"He can yell at me if he wants," he muttered.

His hand was on the door of Zhan's room when he heard a hoarse groan coming from inside. He stopped. What if he walked in on him while he was… Yibo shook his head. What the fuck was his problem? He slid the door open and stepped in. The bed was empty and hadn't been slept in. There was light seeping from under the bathroom door. He took a step forward and stopped, having stepped into something wet. There was another clearer and louder groan from the bathroom, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone being violently sick. Yibo shuddered and resisted the urge to look at what he had stepped in. He knew. He didn't need confirmation or visuals.

He shuddered, stepped sideways, and wiped his foot as best he could on the hardwood floor. The retching coming from the bathroom stopped and was followed by the sound of flushing. He waited and then knocked on the door.

"Zhan-Ge? Are you alright?"

He could have slapped himself. Does he sound alright to you?!

He waited a moment, then knocked again.

"Zhan-Ge? I'm coming in."

As he slid the door open, he heard a panicked plea from inside.

"Yibo, no!"

But it was too late. Because his eyes needed time to adjust, it was the smell that hit him first. It was a sickening mix of vomit, sweat, and other things he didn't care to identify. He covered his mouth and nose with his hand but couldn't hide the fact that he gagged. The spectacle that greeted his eyes wasn't any more pleasant. Zhan sat on the tiled floor in his boxers, his white t-shirt, drenched in sweat, stuck to his back, looking almost transparent. His pants were in a crumpled pile in the corner of the shower as if they'd been thrown in a haste. His hair was wet and stuck in clumps on his pale forehead. His head was barely lifted above the rim of the toilet. His face was pale, his lips paler. His eyes looked sunken. Yibo looked around. Towels had been scattered. Water ran down the sink. He reached out, turn the tap off and kept his eyes on the water slowly emptying. This was a fancy sink. Shale? He wasn't sure. Was shale too brittle to make sinks? His brain stalled. Delayed. Prevaricated. He couldn't bear to look at Zhan in that state without feeling second-hand embarrassment, so sinks and their materials were suddenly a very hot topic. In the back of his mind, a voice was screaming that he also couldn't leave his senior in such a sorry state.

"I told you to leave me alone," yelled Zhan, using anger to deflect his shame.

Yibo shook his head, uncovered his face and finally risked looking at Zhan. He looked miserable, and the sight created mixed feelings in Yibo.

"Do you really expect me just to leave you like this?" he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Just leave me alone," repeated Zhan before dry heaving.

Yibo's anger flared up. He felt tears come up. He didn't have the energy to fight them, so he let them spill out along with his words.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He yelled.

This shocked Zhan. Yibo swore, sure, but he had never sworn at him. He lifted his head and looked up at his junior.

"I don't know what's wrong with me!! I've been feeling like shit for days," he screamed back. "Why are you crying anyway?" he asked, on the offensive.

Yibo let out a sharp breath.

"I'm not crying! I'm angry!"

He hastily wiped the tears off his cheeks, opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, then finally spoke.

"You know that's not what I meant! Don't change the subject! Why so secretive?! Just tell someone if you're sick! If you don't want to tell me, fine! Whatever! But what are you gaining from this? Are you trying to be all stoic?"

Now that the words were tumbling out, he couldn't stop them. Tears spilled on his cheeks again.

"I've been watching you suffer for days. I didn't say anything because I respect you, but this is beyond the pale. Had I not woken up, would you have kept this from me, too? What if you needed to go to the hospital?"

Do you not trust me? He almost said, but the question died in his throat. He wasn't ready to ask this question. He feared the answer too much. He shook his head as if to reorder his thoughts.

He wiped his face again and sniffled

"Can you stand?"

"Yibo…" pleaded Zhan.

"Can you stand?" he repeated firmly.

Zhan bit his lower lip and looked down. He shook his head.

"Alright."

Without hesitating, Yibo helped Zhan get on his feet and then swept him up in a princess carry. As he focused on avoiding the puddle of god-knew-what on the bedroom floor, he made an effort not to look down at the man's face to save him some embarrassment. However, his Ge was ahead of him and had already hidden his face in his chest. This was an unfortunate choice as, while they were halfway across the living room, Zhan was sick on him. Yibo stopped for a moment and pinched his lips. He took a deep breath and shifted Zhan in his arms before walking on. To prevent himself from losing it, he yelled the lyrics of DDU-DU DDU-DU by BLACKPINK in his mind.

Yibo gently sat Zhan on the closed toilet seat. He felt so small and light. How had this man who towered over him managed to shrink so much? Once he was sure he wouldn't slide off to the floor, he tried to turn on the light. Again, the damned contraptions eluded him, and he swore.

"Who taught you to swear like that," said Zhan in a failed attempt at mirth.

Yibo ignored the taunt and continued to push and prod the seemingly flat switch.

"Use two fingers and slide them up the panel," explained the senior.

The lights turned on, momentarily blinding them. Yibo quickly lowered the intensity by sliding his fingers back down. He suddenly caught sight of himself in the mirror. He immediately pulled off his soiled t-shirt and threw it in the bin. He grabbed a towel and quickly washed his chest as Zhan watched on, bleary-eyed.

"I'm sorry about your t-shirt," he quietly apologized.

Yibo shook his head.

"It's old. Don't worry about it."

Suddenly, the air had turned heavy with the weight of both their embarrassment. Yibo grabbed another clean towel, wet it and crouched in front of Zhan. This time, he cleaned his Ge's face himself. As he did, he focused on his own hands, doing his best to avoid his senior's eyes. As he wiped his mouth, his eyes lingered on the small mole below his lips.

The task done, keeping his eyes trained on the floor, he finally gathered his courage and spoke.

"I'm sorry I got angry."

Zhan shook his head.

"It's alright. I know you did it because you care."

Yibo looked up. Their eyes met. They both looked away.

"Let's clean you up," said Yibo changing the topic.

"I can do it myself."

"I don't think that's wise."

Without further ado, he pulled at the hem of his shirt Zhan's t-shirt. The man obediently complied and raised his arms. He shivered as the clothes came off. Goosebumps appeared on his skin. Yibo stood up.

"You have to uh…take those off, too," said Yibo pointing at Zhan's underwear without looking at them.

Zhan stood up shakily and started lowering his boxer, but he lost balance and grabbed onto his junior's arm.

"Sorry," he murmured before finishing the task. Yibo's face burned. He looked away but caught their reflection in the mirror. Unable to find somewhere safe to look, he simply closed his eyes.

 This was so ridiculous. They'd been naked together before in the showers of the movie studio and at the gym. Why did this feel so different? So intimate?

"Done," said Zhan.

Yibo opened his eyes and caught Zhan's in the mirror. He looked away first.

"Right, ok. Let's do this then."

The shower was a fancy one with a glass door that opened all the way and a telephonic showerhead. Yibo turned the water on and adjusted the temperature. When everything was ready, Zhan walked in. He closed his eyes as soon as the warm water hit him and swayed dangerously. He caught himself on the wall.

"Better sit down," he admitted.

Yibo helped him sit in the corner. Zhan leaned his head against the wall and drew his knees to his chest. Yibo grabbed the showerhead and crouched next to his Ge, spraying him and trying to find a way to look at what he was doing while avoiding looking at Zhan's naked body. An impossible task. Suddenly, he sighed, which alarmed Yibo.

"Are you ok? Are you going to be sick?"

Zhan shook his head, eyes still closed.

"This feels so good."

His voice cracked on the last word.

"Zhan-Ge?"

Zhan opened his eyes. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Yibo. I'm sorry."

Yibo panicked. Sure, he'd seen Zhan cry before. On set and off, but this was different; it was... real. And it hit him to his core. It hurt. He cleared his throat as he tried to recover.

"It's ok. Don't apologize. Let me find some soap."

Yibo made to step away, but Zhan grabbed him by the wrist, stopping him. More tears spilled from his eyes. Yibo couldn't bear to witness his pain. But he also couldn't look away. 

"I didn't mean to be cold and distant. I'm just…"

He looked down for a moment, searching for his words, chin trembling. He looked up again.

"I've just been in so much pain, and my eye is being all weird, and there is so much pressure to be on schedule, and the heat, and.."

Tears now flowed freely on his cheeks, and his eyes were rimmed with red.

"I'm so tired," he finally said before hiding his face in his hands to cry quietly.

The showerhead dropped on the tiled floor with a resounding crack as Yibo closed the distance between them. The water sprayed them as he hugged Zhan tightly against his chest. He didn't resist but leaned in, crying harder. Yibo didn't care about his clothes getting wet. He didn't care that they would probably feel embarrassed about this later. All he cared about was holding on to his Ge for as long as it took for him to feel better.

"I'm so tired. I'm so fucking tired," Zhan repeated over and over.

Yibo rocked him back and forth gently.

"It's ok," he replied each time. "It's ok"

Whether it was tears on his face or just water, he couldn't tell.

***

Zhan lay in Yibo's bed wearing his junior's underwear and t-shirt. He'd worried at first that it might soil the clothes, let alone the bed, but Yibo had replied that it was a risk worth taking. In truth, he didn't have the energy to go back to Zhan's room just yet, but most importantly, he wanted to be near him. They had destroyed many things in this unit; what was one thing more? Yibo wondered if the production company might end up having to buy the place. But this was a worry for another day. 

The sky had started to lighten outside, suffusing the room with a soft gray light. Yibo sat on the edge of the bed, gently petting Zhan's damp and clean hair. He still looked pale, but some colour was back in his cheeks. He prayed that the worse was over.

"Zhan-Ge?"

Zhan, who had started to slip away to sleep, opened his eyes.

"Uhn?"

"Why didn't you want me to help or touch you?" Yibo asked, fearful of the answer but needing to know.

"Ah. That."

Zhan looked away for a moment. He sighed and faced Yibo again.

"I was nauseous. All day. I've been having stomach problems since the beginning of this shoot, but this was different. I felt so horrible. The heat made things worse. And I had to focus so hard not to vomit. I knew that if I was sick, that would interrupt the shoot. I didn't want to bother everyone."

Yibo felt the tension leave his body. It hadn't been about him after all.

"And in the car, too?" 

He knew the answer, but he still wanted to hear it. Zhan propped himself with his elbow to better see his junior's face.

"The car was the worst. All that jostling… And going from hot to cold… I didn't want to be sick in front of you."

Yibo smiled softly.

"I've seen you drunk. You've been sick in front of me before."

Zhan shook his head.

"It's not the same thing."

Yibo shrugged.

"If you say so."

They looked at each other for a moment. Yibo felt his ears become hot.

"I'm sorry I said those things to you. I was in damage control mode," said Zhan, breaking the silence.

Yibo, embarrassed, turned to look outside. Some pink had started to show on the horizon.

"Do you think I can leave you alone for now?" he asked, turning back.

"You're not gonna sleep?" asked Zhan, puzzled.

"I'm gonna clean your…" He began.

Zhan's face flushed, and he turned to his side, facing away from his junior.

"I can do that later. You… You don't have to…"

Yibo climbed over Zhan to lay next to him on the bed.

"I don't have to what?"

The senior tried to turn away again, but Yibo grabbed his wrists. Zhan turned his head the other way.

"Zhan-Ge, look at me."

Zhan shook his head. 

"Gege…"

"Don't "Gege" me. How can I face you after this? And you cleaning my mess. It's the wrong order of things! I'm supposed to take care of you. I didn't want you to see me like this."

Yibo shook his head.

"Look at me."

Zhan finally relented and slowly turned his head. Yibo looked him in the eyes with affection.

"I'm in a boy band. I've lived with my bandmates. I've cleaned more sick than you can or even want to imagine. You're in no condition to be cleaning. You need to rest."

"You need to rest, too, Yibo."

Yibo squeezed Zhan's hands, his chest filling up with warmth.

"I slept more than you. Let me do this for you."

Zhan pouted, then sighed.

"Fine. But I will owe you," he said, closing his eyes.

"Sure. Whatever."

Without thinking, Yibo leaned in and kissed Zhan's forehead. Panic rose in his chest when he realized what he had just done. He looked down at his Ge. He was already asleep, a soft smile on his lips. One part of him hoped that he was truly sleeping. The other hoped that he was just pretending.

In the end, Yibo was sick once while cleaning Zhan's mess and ended up collapsing in his bed as it was closer. Zhan felt much better the next day, and so they burned the soiled clothes, towels, and shoes, vowing never to mention what they would in the future call "the incident". Yibo would always wonder if that term included his stolen kiss. In any case, they now both knew something embarrassing about the other. A few weeks later, a new pair of sneakers arrived in the mail for Yibo.

Despite Yibo's best efforts, the production company ended up having to pay a large sum for damages to the property's developers. This was never brought up in front of Zhan and Yibo, or anyone else for that matter, as half the staff had suffered from food poisoning that night. The next time everyone showed up on set, a new catering company had been hired.