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Zhou Zekai signalled for him to stay back with a tilt of his head, and Sun Xiang automatically slowed his steps to let the rest of the team leave the training room first. He didn’t know when, over the months he’d spent in Samsara, he’d learned to read Zhou Zekai so easily, but he was glad of it. After All-Stars, Sun Xiang had started hearing rumours about them being in the running for Best Partners this year, and it had sent a jolt through his heart.
Best Partners hadn’t ever been something Sun Xiang had aspired to, but now that he knew it might be possible, he wanted it.
Zhou Zekai came up beside him, nudged him with an elbow. Sun Xiang grinned at him and swayed, exaggerated, from the force. When he rocked back and knocked against Zhou Zekai himself, it sent them both into a fit of giggles.
Jiang Botao turned back to them, eyebrows raised.
Sun Xiang shrugged at him, uncertain what the question was but unworried about it, while Zhou Zekai smiled and nodded.
Jiang Botao laughed, and cheerfully ushered the team out.
In any other team, Sun Xiang thought with a suffusion of quiet pride, that exchange would’ve needed words.
When the door closed, he looked at Zhou Zekai.
Zhou Zekai met his eyes and smiled, very gently. They were of a height, when they both stood up straight, which Sun Xiang did in response to Zhou Zekai’s bright gaze. Sun Xiang opened his mouth to shape What? and then closed it again in response to the smallest shake of Zhou Zekai’s head.
Today wasn’t a day for words, then. Okay. Sun Xiang could do this. For Zhou Zekai, he could do a lot of things.
Sun Xiang tilted his head, and Zhou Zekai raised his hands. They landed, graceful and feather-light, on Sun Xiang’s shoulders. Zhou Zekai paused, eyes squinting a little and studying Sun Xiang’s reaction. Which. Sun Xiang wasn’t sure what his face was doing. Surprise, probably? He and Zhou Zekai touched each other casually a lot, but this was deliberate, and it was an escalation, and his heart was pounding.
It wasn’t bad, though. Sun Xiang swallowed, throat suddenly dry, and nodded.
Zhou Zekai smiled, and stepped forward.
Sun Xiang’s hands came up to grip Zhou Zekai’s waist, like they were dancing, and followed Zhou Zekai’s motion. He trusted that Zhou Zekai wasn’t going to make him trip, and he didn’t want to look away from Zhou Zekai’s face. There was an intensity there that Sun Xiang rarely saw outside of Glory, and it was mesmerising.
Slowly, Zhou Zekai pushed him backwards. The training room wasn’t large, and Sun Xiang could tell Zhou Zekai was angling to put him in a particular place, but he couldn’t figure out where. He knew the layout of the room intimately—they spent a lot of time here—but right now it all seemed like a blur. The only thing that was real was Zhou Zekai, fingers firm on Sun Xiang’s shoulders and body solid under Sun Xiang’s own hands.
Nothing else mattered, when Zhou Zekai was looking at him like this.
People thought that because Zhou Zekai didn’t talk much, and because his hair often fell into his eyes, that he wasn’t paying attention. That was a lie. Sun Xiang had known that even before he’d come to Samsara, but it had become even clearer once he was spending his days at Zhou Zekai’s side.
Zhou Zekai didn’t say much because he didn’t like talking. Zhou Zekai left his hair in his face because he liked having something screening him from the world. Zhou Zekai saw everything that happened around him, even things that Sun Xiang swore should’ve been out of his range of vision.
Right now, the whole of him was focused on Sun Xiang, storm-gray eyes flickering across Sun Xiang’s body to catalogue every reaction, every twitch of his muscles. Sun Xiang could feel his body heat up at the attention, knew that his eyes were wide and his lips were parted, and that he wasn’t consciously in control of anything he was doing. He was just reacting to Zhou Zekai, trusting that his captain wouldn’t lead him astray, and waiting to learn what the plan was.
(There was a plan. There had to be a plan. Zhou Zekai wouldn’t do this without a plan.)
Sun Xiang’s back hit the wall.
He blinked, and realised that Zhou Zekai had pushed him up against one of the few stretches of wall that wasn’t covered with computer equipment, whiteboards, or someone’s idea of an inspirational poster. There was only the wall, and his body leaning against it, and the question in Zhou Zekai’s eyes and the gentleness of his hands.
Sun Xiang breathed. He’d had to learn how to do that, when he came to Samsara. To breathe, to assess, to take stock of himself and the people around him and think before he lashed out.
He didn’t want to lash out, right now. Zhou Zekai wasn’t going to hurt him. Zhou Zekai would never think to hurt any of his teammates. Zhou Zekai liked him, sought him out, fell asleep on Sun Xiang’s shoulder during airplane rides. Sun Xiang’s heart was beating fast, and his breathing was quick, but the excitement wasn’t fear.
Sun Xiang licked his lips, feeling like his whole body was lit up with lightning, and met Zhou Zekai’s eyes again. Very deliberately, he relaxed his grip on Zhou Zekai’s waist, and nodded.
Zhou Zekai stepped forward again, coming close enough that their chests touched, that their faces were nearly touching. One of his hands slipped across Sun Xiang’s shoulder, up to the nape of his neck, and curled into the hair there. Sun Xiang shivered, and his arms wrapped around Zhou Zekai. It wasn’t a hug—the intention and intensity was wrong for that—but he didn’t know how else to describe the way he was touching his captain.
A tiny crease appeared in Zhou Zekai’s brow as he studied Sun Xiang, and Sun Xiang badly wanted to smooth it away. He couldn’t figure out how to move, though, couldn’t figure out anything but looking at Zhou Zekai and feeling the way their breath had synchronized, the way Zhou Zekai’s thumb was absently rubbing at the skin right below his ear.
Sun Xiang tightened his arms around Zhou Zekai, and that must’ve been enough of an answer to the question Zhou Zekai was asking.
Zhou Zekai leaned in, that last infinitesimal amount, and his lips touched Sun Xiang’s.
Sun Xiang had kissed people before, but not like this. Not so softly that for a moment it seemed like imagination, like a dream he’d just woken from. Not with such care and sweetness that the brief seconds it lasted lingered like minutes. Sun Xiang’s body burned, but his muscles softened and if he hadn’t been leaning against the wall he didn’t know if he’d be able to stay upright.
When Zhou Zekai pulled back, Sun Xiang heard a sound that must’ve come from his own mouth. A whimper, probably, and Sun Xiang didn’t know he could whimper, let alone that he’d do so because someone had stopped kissing him.
Zhou Zekai’s face lit up like the sun, the beautiful blinding smile the media always wished it could capture (but never did) radiating and turning his already handsome face into something from a fantasy.
Sun Xiang looked at him, overwhelmed, and found his own face stretched into a grin.
He tilted himself forward, off the wall, and fell into Zhou Zekai’s arms and his kiss once more.
This time, it was longer.
Zhou Zekai was unhurried as he explored Sun Xiang, seeking out reactions with gentle patience. Sun Xiang tried to respond, tried to return the favor, but Zhou Zekai kept taking the lead back from him, holding him against the wall and searching with attention and grace, until Sun Xiang relaxed and surrendered into his hold.
Sun Xiang didn’t know how long they stayed there. The kisses ebbed and flowed, but Zhou Zekai’s hands stayed steady on him, and Sun Xiang didn’t need to worry about anything else. He was here, and Zhou Zekai was with him, and the rest of the world could wait.
By the time Zhou Zekai finished, and stepped back, Sun Xiang understood the question that had been asked, and the answer he had given.
Partners, he thought, overwhelmed, as Zhou Zekai took his hand. In the game, and outside it.
He wanted this. Sun Xiang drew a deep breath, and nodded, and promised himself he’d be the very best partner he could be.
Zhou Zekai smiled, and Sun Xiang reflected the expression back to him, knowing that his partner would understand the joy filling him to overflowing.
(He always did.)