Summary: A teasing moment spirals into something far deeper, forcing everyone—especially Sicheng—to confront the difference between playful and careless. As the team scrambles to correct their misstep, Yao finds herself overwhelmed, not by anger, but by the weight of what's changing around her. And in the quiet that follows, what matters most isn't the necklace, the teasing, or even the apology—it's who stays.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The sun filtered through the large front windows of the base, casting long golden streaks across the polished floorboards and the tangled mess of tangled blankets and discarded hoodies left behind from last night's impromptu movie marathon. The team was already stirring—Pang was in the kitchen complaining about how no one ever restocked the strawberry yogurt, Lao Mao was stretching like he had just finished a three-hour workout instead of ten hours of sleep, and Yue was flicking through his phone, swiping dramatically and muttering something about injustice because he'd lost to a twelve-year-old in a casual ranked match.
The usual chaos.
At least until they heard the soft patter of bare feet on the stairs.
Heads turned.
And there she was.
Yao stepped lightly down the last few steps, her platinum hair cascading over her shoulders in its usual soft waves, her hazel eyes clear, though faintly shadowed with sleep. She wore one of her oversized cream-colored sweatshirts that hit just above the knees, sleeves slightly covering her fingers, her expression unreadable except for the subtle tightness at the corners of her mouth—like she was steeling herself for something.
But it wasn't nervousness that made them pause.
It was what—or who—she was holding.
Curled gently in her arms, nestled against her chest with his tiny gray-striped head poking out from beneath her sleeve, was a kitten no bigger than a teacup. His ears twitched. His round, stormy gray eyes blinked once. Then he let out a small, unimpressed mrrp.
Yao stopped just before the kitchen entrance, her arms protective around the little ball of fluff who yawned without a care in the world. "This," she said simply, voice calm but firm, "is Xiao Cong."
Yue blinked, leaned forward, then squinted. "…That's a cat."
"A kitten," she corrected.
"A tiny kitten, a Main Coon one." Lao K added, brows lifting.
"You got another one?" Pang asked, already pouting like his feelings were personally hurt. "I've been Cheng's loyal support for nearly three years and he's never bought me a kitten!"
"This isn't for you," Yao said bluntly. "This is Da Bing's responsibility."
There was a beat of silence as everyone processed that.
Rui, emerging from his office with a mug in hand, adjusted his glasses and peered over the rim. "You're giving Da Bing a child?"
Yao didn't so much as blink. "Yes," she said, with all the matter-of-fact clarity of someone who had already made this decision and was not about to explain herself twice. "Da Bing needs someone to train."
As if summoned, the thud of a large body hitting the floor echoed from upstairs, followed by the unmistakable sound of claws against wood. Moments later, the massive white fluff that was Da Bing padded down the stairs, his striking blue eyes narrowing the moment he spotted the gathering of humans and the small, unfamiliar bundle in Yao's arms. He stopped halfway down the stairs. His eyes locked on the kitten.
The kitten blinked.
Then sneezed.
Yao turned slightly to give her first and most loyal protector a look—one that clearly said, Behave. And perhaps because Da Bing understood the gravity of her tone or simply because he was Da Bing, he gave a low, echoing huff, then descended the rest of the way with all the dignity of a retired general reluctantly meeting his new rookie.
Yao crouched, placing Xiao Cong gently onto the floor.
The kitten wobbled slightly.
Da Bing towered over him.
They stared at each other.
Then, with shocking boldness, Xiao Cong lifted one tiny paw and batted at Da Bing's chest fluff.
Yue made a choked noise.
Lao Mao started laughing.
Da Bing blinked. And then—without fuss, without dramatics—he sat down and pulled the kitten under his body with one massive paw, curling around him like a living fortress.
Yao stood, folding her arms as she gave the team one single, sharp look. "Any questions?"
"Nope." Ming muttered, already pulling out his phone for pictures.
"Da Bing has a son now." Pang whispered, emotionally overwhelmed.
"Just…" Yue swallowed. "Does this mean the cat gets a rank? Like—Junior Analyst?"
"No," Yao replied. "He's in training. Probation." And with that, she walked past them, heading toward the kitchen like nothing at all had just happened. As if bringing home a second cat and appointing Da Bing as his mentor was the most natural thing in the world. Which, for Yao? It probably was.
The late afternoon light had softened into something golden by the time the base settled into its familiar hum of quiet productivity. Most of the team was scattered, some reviewing past matches, others dozing or half-listening to replays but Yao, as always, was in her corner of the common area, curled up at her desk with her desk top and Da Bing draped across the back of her chair like a possessive white cloud. Xiao Cong, too small to do much damage, was nestled in a cat bed beside her keyboard, snoring softly with his face buried in an old blanket of Da Bing's. She was focused. At least, she thought she was.
Until Yue, yawning into the sleeve of his hoodie, wandered past with a can of soda and caught a glint of light from the chain around her neck.
He stopped mid-step.
Frowned.
Then leaned just slightly to the side and squinted.
"…Is that new?"
Yao stiffened.
It was instant, subtle, but Yue knew her too well to miss it—the way her shoulders locked for half a second, the way her fingers paused mid-keystroke before she casually shifted to push her hair forward like she hadn't done anything at all.
"What?" she asked, far too calmly.
Yue blinked once, then set his soda down on the edge of her desk and leaned forward, expression slowly sharpening into something far more interested. "That necklace," he said, voice just shy of teasing. "Didn't see that yesterday."
Yao didn't look up. She was very intently studying her laptop screen now. "It's just… a necklace." she murmured, a little too quickly, tugging at the hem of her shirt to subtly shift the pendant back beneath the fabric.
But it was too late.
Yue's eyes caught the glint of white gold, the edge of the medallion just before it disappeared. And his gaze narrowed. "That's not just a necklace," he said, dropping into the seat beside her like he was settling in for drama. "That's the necklace. That's the family crest territory. That's Lu-level legacy." He grinned now. "Did my Ge give that to you? Hm? Did he put it on you himself?"
Yao's entire face went red.
Not pink.
Not soft blush.
Red.
The color flushed up her neck and across her cheeks, her eyes widening as she opened her mouth and then immediately shut it again, clearly trying to calculate how to deny everything without lying.
Yue made a soft, exaggerated gasp and leaned in even closer, eyes gleaming. "He did, didn't he?! He did the whole thing—slow and dramatic, and you turned around and lifted your hair and—"
"Lu Yue!" she hissed under her breath, finally looking at him, flustered and cornered.
"Oh my god, you did, didn't you?!"
"I didn't say anything," she muttered, glaring at her screen as if it would save her. Her fingers hovered over her keyboard, but her brain was clearly elsewhere, face still glowing like she'd been hit with a full blast of pink light.
Yue slouched dramatically in the chair beside her, clutching his chest. "This is betrayal. I thought we were besties. I thought I'd get, like, a hint. A secret heads up. A whisper of romance."
"It wasn't—" Yao bit down on her lower lip, cheeks still burning. "It wasn't like that."
Yue tilted his head. "So you didn't turn around and ask him to put it on you?"
Silence.
She reached up, slowly, gently touching the chain where it rested against her skin.
And Yue, ever the menace, grinned like he'd just won a prize. "Yao-er," he said, voice low and sing-song, "you're glowing. Like your entire aura is shouting, 'I have a boyfriend and he's obsessed with me.' "
"I'm working," she said tightly, eyes glued to the screen. "And Da Bing bites."
"I'd let Da Bing maul me if it meant I got to see our beautiful Tiny Boss Bunny flustered like this."
Across the room, Lu Sicheng walked in, paused, and stared at the scene—Yao flushed red and hunched at her desk, Yue leaning into her personal space with his usual delighted expression.
Sicheng's eyes narrowed.
Yue glanced over his shoulder.
Paused.
Then leaned back ever-so-slightly with the grace of someone who suddenly remembered self-preservation.
Yao, still red and embarrassed beyond recovery, just muttered, "You're the worst," under her breath.
But Yue only smiled, folding his arms behind his head. "Maybe," he said, "but I'm right."
It had taken nearly ten minutes for Yao's color to return to something less incriminating and for Yue to stop smirking long enough to stop actively tormenting her. She had returned to her keyboard, pretending she wasn't hyperaware of the way the necklace still sat warm against her skin, or the way Sicheng had taken up a position on the far couch with one arm draped lazily along the backrest, scrolling through something on his phone—but she knew he was listening.
He always listened.
And for a brief moment, there was peace.
Until Yue leaned back again, feet now resting on the side of Yao's footstool like he owned the place, and casually asked the question with all the nonchalance of someone ordering takeout. "So… does Mom know it's official now?"
Yao blinked once, confused.
Then he continued, completely unfazed by the silence that followed. "Official that she now has a daughter-in-law."
Choke.
Yao inhaled her sip of water with such force that she doubled forward, coughing violently into her sleeve as her eyes went wide and her face flushed a new shade of crimson that put her earlier blush to shame. Her hands fumbled with the cup, and she barely managed to slam it down onto her desk before completely falling apart.
Across from her, Da Bing's entire posture changed. The massive white fluff rose slowly, ears flattening as he fixed Yue with a narrow-eyed glare, his tail lashing once behind him like a warning shot. Even Xiao Cong, previously snuggled in his cat bed, blinked awake and let out a small, concerned chirp.
Yue, in true form, only looked mildly entertained by the chaos. "What?" he asked, glancing innocently between Yao—still coughing—and his brother, who had stopped scrolling and now sat motionless on the couch, his gaze flicking sharply toward him with a look that very clearly said, You want to die today? "Too soon?" Yue added.
Da Bing gave a long, guttural huff that sounded dangerously close to a growl.
But Xiao Cong—
Tiny, sweet, wide-eyed Xiao Cong—
Lifted himself from his little nest, climbed to the edge of the desk with all the grace of a toddler in a onesie, and then, without hesitation, hissed. A tiny, high-pitched, ridiculously fierce hiss. Followed by a baby growl.
Yue's jaw dropped. "Did he just—did your kitten just growl at me?"
Yao, still catching her breath, finally managed to speak—though her voice was hoarse and her face still a picture of wide-eyed horror. "You said daughter-in-law!" she squeaked, voice breaking. "You—you said that to his mother! She'll start planning a wedding! She'll expect—ceremonies and matching jade bangles and probably a family estate visit and—"
"She already likes you," Yue said matter-of-factly. "You've been accepted. This is just confirmation."
"She'll pick out a wedding date!"
Across the room, Lu Sicheng's mouth curved—not into a smirk, but into something far more lethal. He finally spoke, his voice calm, dry, and deceptively quiet. "She already has."
Yao stared.
Yue blinked.
Xiao Cong hissed again.
And Da Bing, deeply offended on behalf of his human, jumped up onto the desk and sat down with a heavy, pointed thud between Yao and Yue, puffing his fur like a lion drawing a line in the sand.
Yue raised both hands in surrender. "Alright, alright," he muttered. "No more daughter-in-law jokes." But he was still grinning as he stood and backed away, muttering under his breath, "Doesn't make it less true…"
The second Yue's muttered comment slipped from his lips— "Doesn't make it less true…" —Da Bing decided diplomacy had officially expired. With a low, warning growl, the massive white Siberian launched from the desk with the kind of grace that defied his size, hitting the floor with a heavy thud and a flash of puffed fur, ears flat and eyes locked on his target like a predator zeroed in on the world's most aggravating prey.
"Oh no—" Yue barely got out before Da Bing charged. He yelped—an actual, unfiltered yelp—and bolted across the room, dodging a footstool and tripping over Pang's abandoned hoodie as the fluffy storm bore down on him like righteous fury in feline form. "He's chasing me?! He's actually—OH MY GOD, BING, I'M SORRY—"
Yao was on her feet in a flash, her face a vivid, blooming red as she scooped a very confused Xiao Cong into her arms. The kitten let out a questioning mrrrow? but obediently clung to her sweatshirt, his tiny claws catching the fabric as he blinked over her shoulder, wide-eyed at the spectacle. She turned to the source of the real problem.
Lu Sicheng hadn't moved. He sat there, sprawled across the couch with the kind of lazy elegance that made it impossible to tell whether he was amused or simply smug. His phone rested on the cushion beside him, forgotten, as he watched the chaos unfold with a slight lift to his brow.
"Really?" she snapped, stomping one socked foot against the floor with more impact than one would expect from a girl holding a kitten and turning the color of a fire alarm. "You teased me too."
His amber eyes blinked slowly. "I didn't say anything."
"You didn't defend me either!"
He didn't deny it. He didn't need to.
The faint curl at the corner of his mouth said it all.
And that—
That was it.
"You," Yao said, her tone somewhere between indignation and mortified fury, "are banned."
Sicheng's brow lifted. "From what?"
"My apartment!"
Yue, who was currently dodging behind a dining chair with Da Bing right on his heels, let out a strangled laugh that sounded suspiciously like a gasp for help. "Honestly, fair."
But Yao wasn't finished. "You're banned, Lu Sicheng! Until further notice. You don't get couch privileges. You don't get kitchen raids. You don't even get the window seat." She hugged Xiao Cong closer as the kitten nuzzled her chin with a soft, confused mewl, clearly trying to figure out what he'd just been drafted into. "I'm going to my apartment," she declared. "And I'm locking the door." And with that, cheeks still burning and expression set with the determined dignity of someone too flustered to stay in the room a second longer, she marched across the floor, her platinum hair swinging behind her, one arm wrapped protectively around her tiny kitten as she made her dramatic—and slightly chaotic—exit.
The door swung shut behind her with a firm click.
Sicheng stared at the door for a long moment.
Da Bing returned a second later, tail flicking proudly, then hopped up on the coffee table and sat, turning his head to level a long, slow glare at Sicheng.
Who finally sighed. "I didn't tease her." he muttered, staring at the spot where she'd stood. But the smug twitch at the corner of his mouth never really went away.
Sicheng hadn't even reached for his phone again when the sound of soft footsteps padded across the hardwood floor, and from the kitchen doorway emerged Lao K, mug in hand, expression as unreadable as ever, though the tilt of his head and the sharp arch of his brow gave away everything his even voice was about to lay down.
"You kind of did, Cheng." Lao K said plainly, pausing long enough to blow on the surface of his coffee before lifting it to his lips.
Sicheng turned his head, jaw ticking slightly.
Lao K didn't stop. "Come on, Captain. You know you did."
Yue, crouched beside the counter watching Da Bing return to his perch like a judgmental king, nodded solemnly. "He's not wrong."
Lao K sighed and crossed the room with the slow, deliberate steps of someone who had clearly chosen a side and wasn't moving from it. He sat down in the armchair across from Sicheng, rested the mug on the arm, and fixed the man with a look that was neither accusing nor amused—just… disappointed. Quietly. "She's still processing." he said simply.
Sicheng didn't respond.
Lao K continued. "She's still figuring out what it means—being your Intended. That necklace?" He tilted his head. "You gave it to her last night. You know what it means. We know what it means. But she's trying to feel it. Piece by piece. Because this is her first relationship. Not just the first time she's been given something that important, but the first time anyone's ever held her that close and said, You're mine." The air between them tightened, not harshly, but with a shift of clarity. Lao K didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. "And now?" he added, a soft but pointed note in his tone, "you and Yue are over here teasing her about weddings and dates and mother-in-law plans, like it's a joke. Like it doesn't matter that it's all happening fast. You're not giving her time to breathe."
Yue, who had retreated behind the couch with a can of soda and the wide, innocent eyes of someone who definitely knew he'd crossed a line, piped up weakly, "I didn't mean—"
Lao K cut him a look sharp enough to silence Yue mid-sip. "Da Bing was right to chase you," he muttered. "And honestly? I hope he hacks a hairball in your slippers."
Yue looked personally wounded.
Lao K turned back to Sicheng, his voice softening just slightly—but only just. "You're her first, Cheng. Not just first boyfriend, first partner, first person she let this close—but first safe place. Don't make her feel stupid for needing a minute to understand what that means."
Sicheng sat back slowly, his expression unreadable now, but his gaze darkened—not with anger, but with the slow weight of realization pressing in. And for once, he didn't argue. Because Lao K was right and he knew it. The door hadn't been shut for more than five minutes when it opened again—this time with far less drama and a great deal more precision.
Rui stepped inside. He didn't storm, didn't raise his voice, didn't even look particularly angry. But the second the front door clicked shut behind him, the temperature in the room dropped by several degrees. He held his tablet in one hand, stylus in the other, glasses perched with clinical sharpness on the bridge of his nose, and a look on his face that spoke of swift judgment and zero tolerance for excuses. "Yao has the day off," he said evenly, no preamble.
Every head turned.
"She messaged me a few minutes ago," he continued, tapping something on his tablet without looking up. "Request was approved. Effective immediately."
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
"She what?" Pang blinked.
"Day off," Rui repeated calmly, sliding the tablet beneath his arm and pinning a look—the look—on Yue first. The kind that could strip paint from a wall or reduce sponsorship managers to tears. "And before either of you open your mouths to explain, let me save you the trouble." His eyes turned to Sicheng, and the chill in the air sharpened. "She took the day off because she was embarrassed. Because she was overwhelmed. Because some people decided teasing a girl who just accepted a family legacy necklace from her first relationship was somehow a good idea."
"I—" Yue raised a hand weakly.
"You," Rui said flatly, "are on thin ice. I've already adjusted your schedule. Enjoy your three hours of extra note-review tomorrow."
Yue deflated on the spot, groaning as he slumped back into the couch.
Sicheng, however, remained silent.
But Rui wasn't finished. "Oh," he said mildly, "and Da Bing?"
A low, ominous thud echoed from the hallway.
The massive white Maine Coon reappeared.
He didn't trot.
He marched.
Tail puffed like a war banner, his glare laser-focused, Da Bing stomped into the room with the righteous fury of a betrayed general whose empress had been driven from the court by mockery and dishonor.
He stopped in front of Lu Sicheng.
Stared up at him.
And hissed.
Loud.
Yue flinched.
"Yes. I think that's fair." Rui nodded approvingly, arms folding as he observed the unfolding feline retribution.
Then Da Bing turned.
Walked to Sicheng's shoes at the base of the stairs.
Sat beside them.
Lifted one large paw.
And began scratching furiously at the sneaker.
"Da Bing—" Pang hissed, wide-eyed.
Rui held up a hand. "No," he said firmly. "Let him."
Sicheng exhaled slowly, leaning back into the couch as he stared at the cat now engaged in psychological warfare against his footwear. There was no point arguing. No point in issuing commands. This was Da Bing's war now.
And Lu Sicheng?
He accepted his punishment in silence. Because somewhere upstairs, tucked away behind a locked door with a kitten in her lap and flushed cheeks still cooling, was a girl with a necklace pressed against her skin and a heart that had been rattled by the people who should have protected it first. And for that? Sicheng knew better than to defend himself. This time, he had earned the cat's wrath.
Sicheng hadn't gone up.
Not once.
Not after Rui's pointed words.
Not after Da Bing's declaration of feline warfare that ended with one of his favorite limited-edition sneakers being dragged halfway down the hall like a fallen soldier.
Sicheng leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his phone heavy in his hand despite the weight being entirely in his chest. The hours of silence had stretched long and punishing, and though he hadn't knocked on her door, hadn't paced the halls like some tragic romantic fool, he hadn't done much else either. Just sat. And thought. And felt. When he finally opened their message thread, her name stared back at him from the top of the screen.
ZGDX_TinyBossBunny
He paused, then typed:
ZGDX_Chessman: Are you awake?
The response came after a moment—short, simple, precise.
ZGDX_TinyBossBunny: Yes.
He let out a slow breath.
Then he typed again, fingers slower this time, the words stripped down and unadorned.
ZGDX_Chessman:Can I come up? I need to apologize. Not just for the teasing. For not protecting you when I should've.
The dots appeared. Disappeared. Returned.
ZGDX_TinyBossBunny: You may come up. But Da Bing is watching.
He stared at the screen for a second, then exhaled through a quiet, crooked smile.
Fair. Very fair.
He stood.
The soft click of his footsteps barely made a sound as Lu Sicheng climbed the stairs, the weight of the conversation he'd sent still sitting in his chest like something alive. He didn't expect her to meet him at the door. He didn't expect her to speak first. But when he reached the top landing and turned toward her apartment, what he hadn't expected was the door to be slightly ajar—just enough to say you may come in, without demanding anything more. He hesitated only for a moment. Then he pushed the door open quietly and stepped inside. The lights were dim, casting the space in a soft, warm glow. There was a faint smell of lavender—her lotion, maybe, or one of those barely-burning candles she kept near the window. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the air purifier and the rhythmic little purring sounds coming from the couch.
There she was.
Curled up in the corner like something soft and folded in on itself, Yao had her knees pulled up, her oversized hoodie half-swallowed by a blanket, and nestled in the crook of her arms was Xiao Cong, blinking sleepily with one paw pressed against her chest. The kitten's ears twitched once, then again, before giving a tiny chirp of disapproval as Sicheng gently closed the door behind him.
Yao looked up. Her hazel eyes met his—shy, tired, but steady.
He crossed the room slowly, dropping onto the other end of her couch without pushing into her space, just close enough that she could feel him beside her. He didn't speak at first. Just watched her, and let her watch him back. Then, softly, he said, "I'm sorry." No charm. No smirk. Just those two words, shaped by regret and something deeper.
She looked down, brushing her fingers along Xiao Cong's back, her voice so quiet he almost missed it. "I'm not truly upset," she murmured, cheeks tinged faintly pink as she avoided his eyes. "I just… got overwhelmed."
He stayed quiet. Let her speak.
Her fingers stilled against the kitten's fur, her voice even softer now, raw around the edges but calm in the way only she could be when admitting a truth that had been sitting inside her too long. "I never saw myself getting to this point," she said. "I didn't think I'd ever have someone. Not like this. Not like you." A pause. "And the thought of marriage… even just joking about it…" Her breath hitched slightly, not from pain, but from the weight of the truth curling inside her chest. "It's just… overwhelming right now," she admitted, finally lifting her eyes to his. "Even though I know that's what you want. And I can even—"
She hesitated.
But only for a moment.
"I can even picture it," she whispered.
His heart clenched, not from the admission, but from how gently she said it—how she gave him that fragile piece of herself without fanfare or fear, even while her cheeks burned with it.
She gave a small, helpless shrug. "It's just a lot."
Sicheng didn't say anything right away. He reached over instead, slid his arm gently behind her, and pulled her close—not forcefully, not possessively, but like someone who wanted to shield her from the very weight she was trying to carry.
Yao leaned into him almost immediately, her face pressing softly into his chest, and Xiao Cong, sandwiched between them, let out a quiet mrrp of protest before deciding the warmth was acceptable.
Sicheng's lips brushed her hair, his voice low and steady in the quiet of her apartment. "I don't need you to have the answers now," he murmured. "I just need you to stay with me while we find them." And for a while, they just sat like that—quiet, warm, together. No more teasing. No more pressure. Only space. And the slow, steady promise that there was no race to the finish. Just the journey they would take, side by side.
Sicheng's fingers moved gently, tracing along her arm as she rested quietly against him, her breath soft and steady, Xiao Cong dozing like a miniature emperor sprawled across her legs. The warmth of the room, the weight of her curled into his side, it should have eased the knot in his chest. But it didn't. Not completely. Because even now, he couldn't ignore the subtle scratch to her voice, the slight rasp hidden beneath the softness, the faint congestion that had crept in when she'd spoken earlier. It was subtle but Sicheng didn't miss subtle. Not when it came to her. His brows drew together in a small frown, barely noticeable if not for the shift in the air around him. "You sound off." he said lowly, his thumb brushing the curve of her shoulder.
Yao shifted slightly, not pulling away but burying her face deeper into his chest. "I'm fine." she murmured, but the hesitation in her voice told a different story.
"Your voice is rough," he added, tone quiet but firm now, the same voice he used when she was downplaying something serious.
"I'm just tired…"
He hummed, unconvinced. "From what? You didn't stay up late. And we haven't had a match."
Yao let out a soft sigh. "It's probably from getting caught in the rain."
Sicheng stilled. "The rain," he repeated. "You mean Sunday afternoon."
She hesitated.
"When you brought home that little menace."
"I don't—he's not—" she started to protest, but even that sounded more hoarse than usual.
"You were out with him for over an hour in wet clothes," Sicheng muttered, voice dropping into something heavier as the pieces fell into place. "You didn't come back until late in the afternoon, and I know you didn't change right away."
"I had to get him settled—introduce him to Da Bing—he needed a bath, and a towel, and he was scared—"
"And you walked in soaking wet and insisted you were fine," he added flatly. "You were sniffling that evening."
Yao lifted her head from his chest, trying for a look of innocent confusion. "I wasn't—"
"Tong Yao."
She blinked, lips twitching. "…Maybe a little."
Sicheng exhaled sharply and shifted, turning more toward her as he gently brushed her platinum hair away from her forehead and pressed the back of his hand there. Warm. Too warm. His jaw tightened. "You're getting sick."
"I'm—"
"Don't say 'fine.'"
She shut her mouth, cheeks puffing out slightly in protest.
He pulled her closer, Xiao Cong adjusting sleepily between them with a soft trill, and Sicheng kissed the top of her head with a low rumble of quiet frustration. "You're not allowed to get sick over a kitten," he muttered against her hair. "Especially this kitten."
"He's perfect." she replied, muffled into his chest.
"You're delirious already."
"Shut up."
He didn't smile. Not exactly. But he held her tighter. And this time, he didn't let go.
It was nearly midnight when the base had finally gone quiet.
Most of the team had retreated to their rooms, lights dimmed and voices low, the soft clack of keys and the hum of replay footage giving way to stillness. Only the hallway light remained on, casting a warm glow across the living room where Yao sat bundled on the far end of the couch, her knees drawn up beneath a thick blanket, Xiao Cong curled into her lap, and Da Bing stretched protectively along the backrest like a white lion standing guard. She'd come down for tea…never mind she had tea in her apartment and perfectly good kitchen. But now, she sat with the untouched mug cooling on the table, her hazel eyes slightly glassy, breath catching every few moments as if her body were preparing for something it hadn't quite decided how to handle.
And then—
"—hhtchh!"
She jerked forward with a sudden, violent sneeze, barely catching it in the crook of her arm. Xiao Cong squeaked in sleepy offense, his tiny paws flailing for balance.
"hht'CHHhh! … Hh-hhKTCHh!"
She sniffled hard, tried to blink through the sting in her eyes—and failed.
Da Bing's ears flicked back.
Yao coughed next, sharp and dry, one hand pressing weakly to her chest as she cleared her throat, trying to breathe through the onslaught. The tea remained untouched. Her blanket slid slightly down her shoulder. "Okay," she rasped to herself between sneezes, voice hoarse now, "I take it back. I'm sick."
From the hallway came the soft creak of footsteps—slow, measured, unmistakably familiar.
She didn't have to look up to know who it was. But she did anyway.
Sicheng stepped into view, barefoot, wearing one of his old black training shirts and a pair of gray lounge pants, his hair slightly mussed like he'd been dozing or at least trying to, though the sharp gleam in his amber eyes said sleep had taken a backseat. He didn't say anything. He just looked at her. At the blanket half-falling off her shoulder. The full mug of tea gone cold. The bright flush on her cheeks. The mess of tissues beside her. The fact that Xiao Cong, despite his best efforts to stay brave, had retreated into the crook of her arm with wide, alarmed kitten eyes. Then his gaze narrowed. "You are sick."
Yao tried to argue. It came out as a wheeze. "…Maybe."
He crossed the room in three strides. And the look on his face? Made it very, very clear, she wasn't winning this one. Before she could even summon the strength to mutter a protest or pretend, through the congestion, that she was perfectly fine, Lu Sicheng was already moving. No warnings. No dramatic sighs. Just the quiet shift of authority slipping into action. He crouched in front of her, one brow raised with that infuriating calm of his, and simply asked, "Blanket or no?"
She blinked. "What—"
But her question was cut off when he adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, braced one arm behind her back and the other under her knees, and lifted her with practiced ease. Xiao Cong scrambled a little, meowed indignantly, then jumped onto the back of the couch to watch his humans with sleepy curiosity.
"You have tea in your apartment and a bed. And a humidifier. And Da Bing prefers your pillows." Sicheng said matter-of-factly, ignoring her startled look as he shifted her weight easily in his arms, turning toward the stairs.
"You don't get to speak for Da Bing." she murmured, voice hoarse, sniffling as she half-heartedly tried to hide her face in the blanket.
He gave her a long, unimpressed look. "He glared at me for twenty straight minutes this afternoon. I think that counts."
She coughed, then sniffled again, and didn't argue further as he carried her up the stairs, arms secure around her as if she were made of something softer than even her kitten.
By the time he pushed open her apartment door and stepped inside, her weight had slumped more completely into him, her forehead resting lightly against his shoulder as her hands clutched the blanket like armor. "You're staying in bed," he said without room for debate, kicking the door closed with his foot as he walked her straight through her living space and into her bedroom. "No working. No couch detours. No sneaking back downstairs."
"I wasn't—"
"Don't lie to me when you're too congested to breathe."
She grumbled something unintelligible as he set her gently down on her bed, then tucked the blanket fully around her before leaning in and brushing the backs of his fingers across her heated cheek. Satisfied she wasn't going to immediately leap out of bed and defy him, he straightened.
"I'll be right back," he murmured, "Don't move." And then he was gone again, moving through her apartment with the quiet ease of someone who knew the space well enough to do this in the dark. Which, if he was being honest, he had done once before—when she'd fallen asleep editing match footage and he'd turned off her monitor and tucked her in without waking her.
From the bathroom came the sound of cabinets opening. A moment later, the familiar clatter of tea tins, a mug pulled from her personal shelf, the faint hiss of her electric kettle warming up. By the time she blinked and sniffled again, Sicheng returned—tea in one hand, and a small dose of cold medicine in the other, already pre-measured. He didn't say anything as he sat on the edge of the bed. Just held the mug out in one hand. And the medicine in the other. His expression unreadable. His care unmistakable. Because she was sick and he was hers.
The faintest glow of dawn had barely begun to seep through the curtains when Lu Sicheng stirred.
The apartment was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt padded and heavy, like the air itself was still asleep. He blinked slowly, adjusting to the softness of the morning light, and exhaled a breath as he sat up on Yao's couch, the blanket she'd thrown over him sometime during the night slipping halfway off his chest. For a moment, he simply sat there, grounded in the stillness—until he heard it.
A sharp, dry cough.
Then another.
Muffled.
Coming from the bathroom.
He stood immediately.
And then—
"Ah—!"
A soft, pained whine followed, barely audible, but it made every muscle in his body snap taut as his feet moved without hesitation, crossing the room in long strides before he stopped just outside the bathroom door.
He knocked once, sharp but restrained. "Yao?"
A beat.
"I'm fine." came her voice from inside. Hoarse. Too hoarse. And something off in the tone.
His hand hovered near the handle. "What happened?"
"I'm okay, just… give me a sec," she called again, but her words were strained. The door cracked open a moment later, and she emerged wrapped in her robe, cheeks flushed from steam or maybe the fever still clinging to her and her expression just a little too tight. She avoided his eyes, brushing past him slightly as she stepped out.
Sicheng frowned instantly, watching the way she moved—gingerly, careful with her stride, like something ached beneath her skin. Her hand pressed lightly to her lower abdomen, her shoulders slightly hunched. "What did you hurt?" he asked, voice low but sharp with worry.
She ducked her head, mumbled, "Nothing."
"Tong Yao." he said again, firmer now.
A pause.
Then, barely audible: "I… it's my period."
His frown deepened, but not in irritation—confusion furrowed his brow now as he stared down at her. "Your what?"
She shifted her weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other, not looking at him. "I'm on my period again."
He blinked. "But…" He glanced toward the window as if the sky might confirm what he already knew. "It hasn't even been a full month since the last one."
"No," she murmured, rubbing at her temple with the edge of her sleeve, "but that doesn't mean anything."
"That doesn't sound normal." he said, not harshly, just genuinely trying to understand.
She sighed, voice still low, but a little more patient now as she finally looked up at him, her hazel eyes tired but steady. "It's not always exact," she explained. "Even for someone who's usually regular, like me… your cycle can shift. It can come early or late depending on your body, or stress, or getting sick, or even things like travel, sudden weight changes, or emotional spikes."
He stilled, taking that in.
She added after a pause, "Sometimes just being around other women changes the timing. Or if I'm sick, like now… it throws everything off."
His expression remained thoughtful, and a bit grim. "Does it hurt?" he asked after a beat, quietly.
Yao gave a slow nod, her hand pressing gently against her side again. "Yeah. Not as bad as last time. Not yet." That was all it took for Lu Sicheng to move. He didn't respond with dramatics or questions. He just brushed past her gently, heading toward her kitchen with the calm, steady purpose that had always defined him in the middle of pressure. She blinked as she turned, confused. "What are you doing?"
"Getting your heating pad. And stronger tea."
She hesitated.
"Do you want me to stay out?"
She blinked again—this time slower—and her voice came small but sure. "…No. Stay."
He nodded once. Didn't smile. Didn't speak. He just moved. Because she was hurting. And if he could carry her pain, he would. But since he couldn't, he'd do everything else.
Lu Sicheng moved slowly as he returned from the kitchen, the rinsed mug now resting beside the sink, and the air still holding the faint trace of herbal tea. He walked back to her room with measured steps, pausing in the doorway for just a moment. She looked so small. Tucked into the blankets, her platinum hair tangled across her pillow, the heating pad carefully resting lower stomach. Her lashes were heavy over her hazel eyes, but not fully closed, her face still flushed with the telltale remnants of fever, the weight of cramps, and fatigue laced with the soreness of being sick before her body had time to recover.
He stepped forward.
Quietly.
Reaching to pull the comforter just a little higher over her shoulder, fingers moving slow and gentle. But before he could move away. Her hand reached out, small fingers closing softly around his wrist. He stilled. Her touch wasn't urgent. It was hesitant.
Deliberate.
And when she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, it was so raw and unguarded it stopped the air between them. "Please…" she breathed, her eyes blinking open just enough to find his, "don't go." He didn't speak. Her fingers tightened the faintest bit. "I know it's early," she murmured, cheeks tinged with the faintest trace of heat that had nothing to do with the fever, "but… can you stay? Just for a little while?" There was a pause. Then, even softer—more vulnerable than she had ever dared to sound, "To cuddle. Just for a bit. I… don't want to be alone."
Sicheng's breath caught for a moment not because of surprise, but because of how much weight those simple words carried coming from her. He moved without hesitation now, circling to the other side of the bed and easing under the comforter. His arm came around her naturally, guiding her closer, anchoring her against him without crowding. She tucked herself in, cheek resting against his chest, her body relaxing immediately into the solid warmth of him. She didn't say anything more. She didn't need to. Because as the light crept further into the room and the morning continued to rise, she finally allowed herself to close her eyes again—and this time, surrounded by warmth and the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear, she let herself drift.
With Yao still tucked into his side, her breathing soft and even, Lu Sicheng shifted just enough to reach his phone from the nightstand. His movements were slow, careful—protective of the calm she had finally settled into. The morning light filtered through the curtains now, painting her platinum hair in shades of silver and gold, her fingers still curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt. Unlocking his phone, he opened the team's main group chat. The stream had seen everything from match schedules to food complaints to Yue's outlandish gifs, but today, there would be none of that.
He typed with deliberate clarity.
ZGDX_Chessman: No training today. You all have the day off. Yao is sick and needs rest. That means the base stays quiet. No shouting, no chaos, and absolutely no drama.
The responses came almost immediately.
ZGDX_K:Understood. I'll order some medicine and have it delivered in the next few hours so that we have a stock pyle of it.
ZGDX_Mao: Got it. Hope she feels better. Need me to run out and get anything?
ZGDX_Ming:Noted.Make sure she gets plenty of rest and drinks plenty of water.
ZGDX_Pang:Already making a list for soup. I'll handle congee and prep something light for her meals today.
ZGDX_Lv: Okay okay okay. No jokes, no chaos, no volume. Tell Yao I'm sending quiet cat memes. Also—Da Bing still has my left slipper hostage.
ZGDX_Rui: Acknowledged. Let me know if she needs anything picked up. I'll clear her schedule for the next two days.
Then finally, a beat later:
ZGX_Kwon: Understood. Will forward updated match strategy prep to team chat tonight. Yao's health comes first.
Sicheng let out a slow breath through his nose and dropped the phone back onto the nightstand. No resistance. No arguments. Just immediate response. As it should be. Beside him, Yao shifted slightly, her hand still resting lightly against his chest. Her brow was no longer tight with discomfort, and her lips, just faintly parted, held the peace of someone finally sleeping deeply. He tightened his arm around her, lowered his head, and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her hair. They had the day off. But more importantly. She had him.