Yichen, encouraged by the tiny smile, doubled down on his mission to lighten the mood. He leaned back on the desk, swinging his leg.
"So, about that door-breaking plan. I've been thinking. We could charge admission. 'Watch the CEO Lose His Mind Live!' We'd make a fortune. Then you could buy a nicer door. A gold one, maybe."
"Yichen, I swear to God—" Zhiyuan growled, not looking up.
"Or! We could solve it with a dance-off. I challenge you. Winner gets the keys."
That was the final straw. With a frustrated grunt, Zhiyuan shoved his chair back and stood up, intending to physically remove the nuisance from his desk.
"Alright, that's it! Get out before I—"
In his haste and anger, he misjudged the distance. As he turned to grab Yichen, his hip slammed hard into the sharp, unforgiving corner of his solid teak desk.
A sharp, shocking pain exploded in his side. "Ah—fuck!" he gasped, his words cutting off as he instinctively doubled over, his hands flying to clutch the injured spot.
All the teasing vanished from Yichen's face in an instant, replaced by pure alarm. He was at Zhiyuan's side in a flash.
"Zhiyuan! Are you okay? Let me see!" His hands hovered, wanting to help but not daring to touch without permission.
Through gritted teeth, Zhiyuan glared up at him, tears of pain pricking his eyes. "I'm… going… to kill you," he managed to rasp.
Yichen's expression crumpled with genuine, deep guilt. He looked into Zhiyuan's pained face, his own eyes full of remorse. "Kill me," he said softly, earnestly. "I deserve it. It's my fault."
The absolute sincerity in his voice, the way he looked ready to accept any punishment, was so absurd it cut through Zhiyuan's pain. A pained, breathless chuckle escaped him. "Idiot," he muttered, giving Yichen a weak shove before hobbling over to the large leather couch against the wall.
He sank into it with a wince, pulling his cigarette case from his pocket. He was just about to light one when Yichen suddenly turned and bolted from the office without a word.
Zhiyuan stared at the empty doorway, confused and irritated. "Where the hell are you going now?" he muttered to the empty room.
Less than a minute later, Yichen rushed back in, carrying a small white plastic medical kit. He didn't hesitate. He walked straight to the couch and knelt on the floor right in front of Zhiyuan.
Zhiyuan was stunned into silence, the unlit cigarette forgotten in his hand.
Yichen looked up at him, his expression serious and focused. "Let me see it."
"I—I can do it myself," Zhiyuan protested, his voice less certain.
"Please," Yichen said, his tone leaving no room for argument, layered with that persistent guilt. "Let me do it. Or I'll be feeling guilty about this all day. Let me fix what I broke."
Zhiyuan looked at him the kneeling posture, the worried amber eyes, the medical kit held like an offering. A faint blush crept up his neck. He frowned, looking away towards the window. "Fine. Just… be quick."
With careful, deliberate movements, Yichen reached for the hem of Zhiyuan's crisp white dress shirt. His fingers brushed against the warm skin of Zhiyuan's stomach as he gently tugged the fabric up.
Zhiyuan sucked in a sharp breath, the touch sending an unexpected jolt through him that had nothing to do with pain. He stiffened.
Yichen saw the large, angry red welt already forming on the elegant curve of Zhiyuan's hip bone. It looked painful. His guilt intensified.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice hushed. He took out a tube of arnica ointment from the kit, squeezed some onto his fingers, and then, with a touch so gentle it was almost reverent, began to apply it to the bruise.
The cool ointment and the warm, circling pressure of Yichen's fingertips made Zhiyuan wince, then slowly relax into the touch. A soft, involuntary sigh escaped him.
The sound made Yichen flinch, thinking he'd hurt him. "Did that hurt? I'm sorry."
"No, it's… it's fine," Zhiyuan murmured, his voice strangely thick. He kept his face turned away, his blush deepening. The pain was fading, replaced by a confusing, warm sensation that spread from Yichen's touch through his entire body. He was hyper-aware of the man kneeling between his legs, of the focused expression on his face, of the careful, intimate contact.
Yichen, consumed by his guilt and his mission to help, was completely unaware of the storm of confused feelings his simple, caring act had ignited in the man on the couch. He just knew he had to make the pain he'd caused go away.
The feeling was overwhelming. The cool ointment, the slow, circling warmth of Yichen's fingers on the sensitive skin of his abdomen… it was a strange mix of soothing and electrifying. Zhiyuan, who was secretly extremely ticklish, felt a shiver run through him that had nothing to do with pain.
To stop himself from squirming or making an embarrassing sound, he brought his free hand to his mouth and bit down gently on the knuckle of his index finger, his eyes squeezed shut. He was holding himself perfectly still by sheer force of will.
Yichen, focused on treating the bruise with utmost care, didn't notice the subtle tension in Zhiyuan's body. "Does it still hurt a lot?" he asked softly, his thumb pressing a little more firmly to work the ointment in.
Zhiyuan just shook his head, unable to speak past the knuckle in his mouth.
Knock knock knock.
The office door swung open before either could react.
"Sir, I have the—oh!"
Miss Zhang, Zhiyuan's assistant, froze in the doorway, her professional composure shattered. Her eyes took in the scene: the CEO half-reclined on the couch, shirt pulled up, revealing his torso. His personal bodyguard kneeling on the floor between his legs, one hand on his bare waist, their faces close. Zhiyuan's hand was at his mouth in a gesture that could easily be misread…
Her brain short-circuited. Her cheeks flushed bright red. "I—I'm so sorry! I didn't—I'll come back later!" she stammered, already backing out and reaching for the door handle.
"WAIT!" Zhiyuan's voice was sharp, the word muffled as he pulled his hand away from his mouth. He sat up hurriedly, yanking his shirt down. Yichen quickly stood up and took a step back, looking as guilty as if they'd actually been caught doing something wrong.
"Miss Zhang, stop. This is not… it is not what you think," Zhiyuan said, his own ears burning. He sounded flustered, which was rare. "You have to listen. Basically, what happened is that I got hit by the desk and he was just… applying medicine and…"
He trailed off, hearing how ridiculous and overly defensive he sounded. Why am I even explaining myself to my assistant? He cleared his throat forcefully, trying to reclaim his CEO dignity. "Never mind. Why are you here?"
Miss Zhang, still bright pink, kept her eyes carefully on her tablet. "Y-Yes, sir. I came to remind you that your lunch meeting with the representatives from Singapore is in five minutes. After that, you have an appointment with Miss Li Xiao Xue at the jeweler's to select the engagement rings. And then this evening, you have the important charity banquet at the Grand Theatre that you are hosting."
The weight of the endless, performative day crashed back down on him. The intimate, confusing moment was over, buried under a mountain of obligations. Zhiyuan let out a long, heavy sigh, the frustration evident. "Fine. Okay. I'll be ready."
"Very good, sir." Miss Zhang gave a quick, awkward bow and practically fled the office, closing the door softly behind her.
The room was silent again, but the previous atmosphere was gone, replaced by awkwardness and the pressing march of the schedule. Zhiyuan stood up, avoiding Yichen's eyes as he straightened his now slightly crumpled and ointment-stained shirt. The phantom warmth of Yichen's touch still lingered on his skin, a stark, confusing contrast to the cold reality of his upcoming lunch, his wedding ring shopping, and another glittering, dangerous banquet.
The Lunch:
The lunch with the Singaporean delegates was a masterclass in corporate negotiation, but it felt like a siege to Yichen. He stood at a discreet distance, his eyes constantly scanning the private dining room. Every time a server approached Zhiyuan's side of the table, Yichen's posture stiffened. When the head delegate leaned in too close to make a point, Yichen took an involuntary half-step forward.
"The terms are acceptable," Zhiyuan was saying calmly, "but the liability clause on page seven needs to be amended. Our lawyers will send the revision this afternoon."
Yichen wasn't listening to the terms. He was watching the delegate's hands, the server's movements, the reflection in the polished silverware. He was being, as Miss Zhang noted with a raised eyebrow, overly protective.
The Jeweler's:
The atmosphere in the exclusive jewelry salon was hushed and romantic. Soft music played. Xiao Xue was radiant, holding up various platinum bands against Zhiyuan's finger.
"What do you think of this one, darling? It's simpler," she said, her voice sweet.
"It's fine," Zhiyuan replied, his tone polite but distant. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes. The lack of his usual medication, combined with the stress, was sapping his energy faster than usual.
Yichen stood by the door, arms crossed. He watched as Xiao Xue looped her arm through Zhiyuan's, leaning her head on his shoulder as they looked at another display. A strange, uncomfortable knot tightened in Yichen's stomach. He told himself it was just professional concern. He's tired. He's vulnerable. She's distracting him.
"You seem quiet, Zhiyuan. Are you feeling alright?" Xiao Xue asked, concerned.
"Just a long day," he said, offering her a tired smile.
That smile, directed at her, made the knot in Yichen's stomach twist. He looked away, clenching his jaw. He didn't understand why the sight bothered him so much.
Before the Banquet:
Back at his mansion, there was no time to rest. Meilin fussed as Zhiyuan changed into a fresh, even more expensive tuxedo for the charity banquet.
"Young Master, you look pale. You should cancel," she fretted.
"Can't. I'm the host," Zhiyuan said, his voice tight. As he fastened his cufflinks, he felt a strange, dull tightness in his chest, like a band slowly squeezing. He ignored it. It was just stress. Just fatigue.
The Charity Banquet:
The Grand Theatre was a blaze of light and opulence. As the host and chief donor, Zhiyuan was at the center of everything. Yichen stuck to him like a second shadow, closer than protocol usually allowed, his eyes sharp and restless in the crowd.
"Liang Zhiyuan! A toast to your generosity!" a portly businessman boomed, thrusting a glass of champagne into his hand.
"Thank you," Zhiyuan said, forcing a smile and draining the glass. It was the first of many.
"To the future of the Liang Group!" Another toast. Another glass. The alcohol, on his empty, stressed stomach and chemically altered system, went straight to his head.
The tightness in his chest didn't go away. It grew, accompanied by a light-headed dizziness. The glittering lights of the chandeliers began to swim. The loud laughter and chatter felt muffled, like he was underwater.
He saw Yichen's concerned face swim into focus beside him. "Boss? You okay? You've gone very white."
"I'm fine," Zhiyuan slurred slightly, waving him off. "Just… need some air." But he didn't move. Another well-wisher approached, glass raised.
Yichen watched, his protective instincts screaming. The tiredness, the pallor, the uncharacteristic slur… this wasn't just alcohol or fatigue. Something was very wrong. He stayed rooted to Zhiyuan's side, ready to catch him if the world he was desperately trying to hold upright finally slipped from his grasp.
The grand banquet hall began to tilt and swirl around Zhiyuan. The crystal glasses, the laughing faces, the music all melted into a nauseating, buzzing blur. His legs felt like water. He stumbled, and a strong, steady arm immediately wrapped around his waist, holding him upright.
"I've got you," Yichen's voice was low and urgent in his ear, cutting through the fog.
Zhiyuan was gasping, clawing at the constricting fabric around his neck. "Tie… too tight…" he rasped, fumbling with the silk knot.
"Let me," Yichen said, deftly loosening the tie and unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, allowing him a precious gasp of cooler air.
Yichen looked around. Miss Zhang was nearby, talking to a donor. He caught her eye and signaled sharply. She excused herself and hurried over.
"He's unwell. I'm taking him home. You handle the rest of the evening. Make his apologies to the board," Yichen instructed, his tone leaving no room for debate.
"Of course. Is he—?"
"He will be.Go."
Supporting almost all of Zhiyuan's weight,Yichen half-carried him out of a side exit, avoiding the main crowd. The cool night air did little to help. Zhiyuan was trembling, his breathing shallow and rapid.
In the back seat of the car, the crisis deepened. The enclosed space seemed to amplify his distress. He was hot, confused, and in pain.
"Yichen… the buttons… I can't…" Zhiyuan whimpered, his elegant fingers slipping uselessly on his own shirt buttons. He was fumbling, distressed. "Touch me… please, help me…"
Yichen hesitated, his own heart hammering. This was beyond protection; it was intensely intimate. "Zhiyuan, try to calm down. Breathe. We're almost home."
But Zhiyuan wasn't listening. The chemical imbalance, the alcohol, the sheer physical and emotional crash overwhelmed him. He turned towards Yichen, his eyes wide and pleading, glassy with unshed tears and panic.
"Please… hug me," he begged, his voice cracking. "Hold me tightly. I'm feeling so bad… I think I'll die. Please, hold me like you did last night. Don't let go."
Before Yichen could react, Zhiyuan clumsily climbed into his lap, burying his feverish face in the crook of Yichen's neck. His body was wracked with fine tremors. "Yichen, please… help me. I'll go crazy. My every muscle is aching…" He fisted his hands in Yichen's shirt, holding on as if he were the only solid thing in a dissolving world.
"Shhh, I've got you. I'm here," Yichen murmured, his own resolve crumbling. He wrapped his arms tightly around the shuddering man in his lap, holding him close, rocking him gently as the car sped through the night. All professional distance vanished. This was pure, raw human comfort.
When they reached the mansion, Yichen didn't wait for Lao Chen. He scooped Zhiyuan up again and carried him straight upstairs to the bedroom, laying him down on the bed.
But as Yichen tried to straighten up to get water or a cold cloth, Zhiyuan's hands shot out. Weak but desperate, he grabbed fistfuls of Yichen's jacket.
"Don't go," he slurred, his eyes barely open. "Don't leave me alone." With a surprising pull, he tugged Yichen off-balance, causing him to fall onto the bed beside him.
Now they were lying side-by-side on the large bed, Zhiyuan clinging to him, his breath still ragged against Yichen's collarbone. Yichen was trapped, not by force, but by a plea he had no power to refuse. The bodyguard was now the lifeline, and the drowning man would not let go.
The world narrowed to the dimly lit bedroom, to the feel of Zhiyuan's feverish body shifting desperately against his own. Every rub, every trembling sigh, was a match struck against Yichen's self-control. His own body screamed in response, aching to pull the man closer, to map the lines of his back, to finally taste the lips that were so close, breathing ragged pleas against his skin.
He held himself rigid, a statue of restraint, repeating a silent mantra. He's sick. He's confused. He doesn't know what he's doing.
But Yichen was lost. Drowning in the scent of him, in the sound of his distress.
Then, Zhiyuan's lips brushed his ear, his whisper a hot, broken confession. "I need the medicine, Yichen… please, tonight… give it to me. I can't stop my mind… I'm going crazy…"
The plea for the poison, the very thing Yichen was fighting to free him from, was a knife to the heart. It broke Yichen's last thread of professional distance. He crushed Zhiyuan to his chest, holding him so tightly he hoped the pressure would push the demons out. "No medicine. Never again. I'm here. I'm your medicine now. Just feel me here."
But Zhiyuan was beyond reason. The craving, the withdrawal, the emotional tsunami was too much. A sharp, sudden pain bloomed at the crook of Yichen's neck Zhiyuan had bitten down, a helpless, frustrated act of a creature in agony. He squirmed under Yichen's hold, a frantic, trapped energy seeking release.
"Shhh, bao bei, stop, you'll hurt yourself," Yichen begged, his voice rough, hugging him even tighter, trying to still the storm with the force of his own body.
Driven by a need to soothe, to connect, to pull him back from the edge, Yichen finally pulled back just enough to see his face. What he saw shattered his last remnant of control.
Zhiyuan's eyes were wide, dark pools of pure, unadulterated desperation and pain. Tears streaked his flushed cheeks. He looked utterly shattered, beautiful and broken, and he was looking at him, as if Yichen held the answer to the universe in his hands.
The dam broke.
With a low, ragged sound that was half groan, half surrender, Yichen cupped Zhiyuan's face. He didn't think. He didn't plan. He simply closed the infinitesimal distance between them and captured his lips in a deep, consuming kiss.
It wasn't gentle. It was fierce, a claiming, a promise, an anchor thrown into the storm. It was everything he'd held back since the moment he first saw him.
And Zhiyuan… kissed him back.
There was no hesitation. A raw, hungry sound vibrated from Zhiyuan's throat into Yichen's mouth. His hands, which had been pushing weakly, now fisted in Yichen's hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. It was messy, desperate, fueled by pain and confusion and a latent need that finally found its direction.
In that instant, the withdrawal, the fear, the outside world it all fell away. There was only this the searing heat of the kiss, the taste of salt tears and desperation, the solid, real weight of each other, a chaotic, perfect collision that felt less like a choice and more like a destiny finally crashing into place.