They agreed for Saturday evening, however, He Jun soon finds out that the bok choy he was planning on using for their noodles is no longer fresh. He has an Ayi that comes around once a week to help with chores around the apartment and a restock of groceries, but she will not be coming around until the day after. 

He is unhappy as he prepares the beef, and wild mushrooms but manages to convince himself that these will do. It is not the first time he is cooking for Zhihan anyway, and this event is meant to be simple and casual.

He is however yet to find a tenable reason for his impulsive request to see Zhihan. The morning after the extended and accepted invitation, he had woken up anxious and regretful, but it had been too late to cancel.

So here he is with a dark apron tied around his waist, and a knife chopping away at some spring onions.

He wonders when Zhihan will be arriving, as not much communication has passed between them since a few nights earlier.

All of this is why when he turns around to retrieve chicken oil from his cupboard, his heart nearly flies out of his chest.

“Fuck!” he curses as he sees Zhihan in the foyer, watching him.

It seems as though he has just arrived, or perhaps he has been there for a while?

He Jun takes the AirPods out of his ears, ready to knock the boy out.

“What the hell is wrong with you? How can you come in so silently?”

Zhihan smiles as though it is the all-encompassing solution to everything wrong in the world, deeming it enough for a hello. Without a word, he heads over to one of the stools before the island counter and takes his seat.

He Jun watches him, but what Zhihan will never know is that he is working on the ability to speak to him now without giving away his excitement at the boy’s presence.

He is really here. Again.

“The meal's almost ready,” He Jun checks the bottle of chicken oil but is disappointed to see that it is almost empty.

He turns around to face Zhihan, his expression forlorn.

“I need chicken oil,” he says. “And peanuts. And bok choy."

Then he shakes his head dejectedly, aware that these cannot be acquired unless he leaves the house. And that in itself is impossible.

“What do you need?” Zhihan suddenly rises. “I’ll get it for you.”

He Jun's brows lift at the offer. “No need,” he refuses. “It’s too dangerous.“

Zhihan ignores him and begins to head to the door. “Peanuts, chicken oil. What else?”

He Jun stops and stares at him. Zhihan is in an oversize plaid shirt today, unbuttoned to reveal the loose white T-shirt underneath. His hair is floppy and all over the place but he does seem rested, quite the contrast to the exhausted and fuming boy that had stopped by the last time.

“Nothing else,” He Jun replies and watches as Zhihan leaves.

"Be careful," he calls after him, and then with a sigh at his drained energy, resumes preparing their meal.

About forty-five minutes later, Zhihan returns and once again he just appears in the foyer.

He Jun puts his foot down. “You’re going to give me that key before you leave today."

"Why?" Zhihan asks as he approaches with the bag of purchases.

"It’s too unsettling for you to have instant access to my home at any time.”

“Why?” Zhihan asks again, but then stops when it becomes obvious that He Jun is automatically retreating at his approach.

He Jun doesn't even realize that he is doing this until Zhihan's eyebrow arches in question. Thankfully he doesn't push for a response and instead starts to retrieve the items from the bag to set on the counter. A bottle of wine is the last item retrieved and when lifted to He Jun, elicits a pleased smile.

“Thank you,” He Jun says, and is glad when Zhihan doesn't linger. Instead, he returns to his seat and He Jun admonishes himself as he releases a shuddering breath.

Get it together.

He returns his attention to the stove and they fall into light conversation about Zhihan’s endless stream of activities.

He Jun avoids bringing up the dance show, simply because he doesn't want to provoke any images to mind that will no doubt agitate him. The last thing he needs is to be aroused and embarrassed beyond redemption before Zhihan.

Soon, the bowls of steaming Xiao mian are ready, so he brings them over and takes his seat beside Zhihan.

“Mnnn," Zhihan moans at his first taste, and He Jun wonders how he is going to get through this meal with his sanity intact.

“Jun ge,” he calls, and He Jun turns to meet the raised thumb in salute. “Great,” Zhihan says in English, and He Jun is amused. It reminds him of Zhihan’s struggle in speaking to Boubou.

“Aren’t you going to take your apron off?” he asks, and it takes a repeat of the question for He Jun to hear it. This is because Zhihan's lips, stained with red sauce have currently closed around a piece of beef. Perhaps it is due to the heat from the soup, but they are slightly swollen and wet, and He Jun cannot think. He forgets the question altogether and gets down from the stool to retrieve some glasses from the cupboard.

He busies himself with opening the bottle from across the counter while Zhihan continues to enjoy his meal.

“I see why you insisted on the peanuts,” he says. “The sauce does taste better with it.”

He Jun nods in agreement and soon returns. 

He takes the chance to subtly shift his stool away from Zhihan, hoping that the boy doesn't notice.

However, when he lifts his head after settling in, he meets a hurt look in Zhihan’s eyes. He Jun is startled, but Zhihan turns away and He Jun recovers. Quitely, he lifts the bottle and begins to pour.

“Have you had this before?” he asks, looking at the aged french label.

“No. Bouboo recommended it,” Zhihan responds.

He Jun gives him a glance and it is just in time to see the pink tip of Zhihan’s tongue slip out yet again to lick his lips. He Jun almost wants to scream at him.

“I’ll get you napkins,” he says, but before he can get up, Zhihan’s hand closes around his wrist.

“You need to eat,” he says almost as a warning. “Your noodles are going to get bloated.”

With a smile, he nods in agreement so they carry on with their meal.

Halfway through, however, He Jun receives several messages from Ni Ni.

They come in so rapidly that he instantly tenses, reminiscent of the months earlier when his life had seemed to be crumbling to pieces by the minute.

At first, he ignores them, but as his worry grows he is unable to keep himself from picking up his phone. 

What he reads, makes the chopsticks fall from his hands and clatter onto the counter.

It is a picture of Zhihan, with a baseball hat, hung low on his head, and a mask. He should have been unrecognizable but He Jun can see how anyone even remotely familiar with him would be able to place him at a glance.

“This is climbing the ‘hot search list’ on Weibo,” she wrote. “Why is Zhihan shopping at a store in Shamian. That’s where you are right? Is he there to see you?”