Summary: When chaos returns to the base in the form of flying pillows and shouted threats, Chen Yao stands tall at Lu Sicheng's side, proving once again that sometimes the strongest families are the ones you choose and sometimes, they choose you right back.
Chapter Fourteen
They pulled up to the ZGDX base just as the last of the sun disappeared behind the skyline, the familiar gates sliding open with a soft hum.
Sicheng eased the car into the drive, his hand loose on the steering wheel, Yue silent beside him.
For a moment, they just sat there, the engine ticking softly as it cooled, neither in a rush to move.
A rare, quiet understanding settled between them.
But then—
The base doors slammed open with a crack so loud it shattered the peaceful atmosphere like glass.
Both Lu brothers instinctively froze, heads snapping toward the front entrance.
Out burst Ai Jia.
Dead sprint.
Flat-out running like the fires of hell were licking at his heels, his jacket flapping wildly behind him, sneakers pounding the pavement in panicked, desperate rhythm.
Behind him—less than two feet away, gaining with terrifying speed—
Came Chen Yao.
Small.
Furious.
Eyes flashing murder.
And unleashing a string of swear words so creative and vicious that even Sicheng, who had heard curses in multiple languages, arched an impressed eyebrow.
Yue let out a low whistle under his breath, slumping slightly in his seat. "Well," he said dryly, "looks like Ai Jia stepped on a landmine again."
Sicheng smirked, unbothered, shifting the car into park but making no move to get out yet. "His funeral." he said lazily, watching with faint amusement as Ai Jia tripped over his own feet in his frantic attempt to escape.
Yao didn't miss a beat. She adjusted her course, hurling another particularly colorful curse at his back as she sprinted after him, her smaller frame cutting through the distance with terrifying efficiency. "YOU IDIOTIC EXCUSE FOR A MIDLANER!" she roared, the volume impressive for her size.
"IT WAS A JOKE!" Ai Jia wheezed, looking back over his shoulder in sheer terror.
"DO I LOOK LIKE I'M LAUGHING?!" she bellowed, gaining on him fast.
From across the courtyard, the doors to YQCB's base opened just in time for Liang Sheng and a few other members to step out, only to freeze at the sight barreling toward them. Liang Sheng wisely moved out of the way without saying a word, watching the incoming storm with wide, vaguely horrified eyes.
Yue laughed under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief. "You think we should help him?" he asked, only half serious.
Sicheng reached for the door handle, shrugging casually. "Nope." And with that, he stepped out of the car, closing the door behind him with a soft, decisive click.
Yue followed, both brothers standing side by side in the cooling evening air, watching Ai Jia make the fatal mistake of looking back again, only to misjudge his footing and go sprawling face-first into the driveway with a loud, undignified thud.
Yao skidded to a halt beside him, looming over his crumpled form like the hand of divine retribution. "You," she hissed, voice low and lethal, "owe me three milk teas, two apology letters, and a public confession of your sins."
Ai Jia whimpered weakly, lifting one hand like he might ward her off.
Sicheng chuckled quietly under his breath, Yue snorting beside him.
"Welcome home." Yue muttered, a small grin tugging at his mouth.
Sicheng just shook his head once, fond exasperation flickering through his dark eyes as he started up the drive, Yue falling into step beside him. The chaos wasn't a disruption. It wasn't an accident. It was theirs. And it was perfect. Exactly the way it was meant to be.
Ai Jia scrambled weakly to his knees, but it was too late.
Yao seized him by the ear like a furious older sister, yanking him up with a strength that belied her size. "Move," she snapped, marching him firmly back toward YQCB's base, Ai Jia stumbling along with a string of high-pitched apologies tumbling from his mouth.
"Three milk teas," she reminded him sharply. "Full sincerity. Handwritten letters, Ai Jia."
"I'll order them right now!" he yelped, practically tripping over himself.
"With pearls!" she barked.
"Yes, yes! Extra pearls!"
"And don't you dare forget the apology post!" she added, her tone so deadly serious that Liang Sheng flinched just from being a bystander. They made it halfway up the drive when she spotted movement out of the corner of her eye. Her head snapped around just in time to see Sicheng and Yue approaching from the car, casual and unhurried, as if they hadn't just witnessed her chasing a grown man across the entire compound.
Sicheng's mouth curved lazily into that familiar, smug little smirk that made her blood heat in ways that were entirely unfair when she was trying to maintain her righteous fury. He let his eyes drift slowly from Ai Jia's sorry, slumped form to Yao's fierce, flushed face, then back again, before stopping directly in her path.
Yue lingered behind, pretending very hard to study something fascinating on his phone.
Yao stopped short, still gripping Ai Jia by the ear, glaring up at Sicheng like she was daring him to say something.
Sicheng tilted his head slightly, his gaze heavy, appraising, a slow, dangerous smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "My girl," he said, voice low enough that it vibrated straight down her spine, "starts wars over milk tea." There was amusement in his voice, yes. But there was something else, too. Something sharp. Something possessive. Something that made Ai Jia shrink even further into himself instinctively, as if realizing that standing between Chen Yao and Lu Sicheng, no matter the circumstance, was a very bad idea.
Yao arched a brow, her chin tilting up defiantly, even as heat crept traitorously up the back of her neck. "Your girl," she said sweetly, "can start wars over a lot more than milk tea."
Sicheng chuckled low in his chest, the sound so full of dark pride it made her knees weak. He stepped closer, invading her space, reaching out with slow, deliberate care. Gently—without asking, without hesitation—he pried her hand off Ai Jia's ear, freeing the poor Midlaner, who instantly scampered backward without shame.
Yao didn't resist. Didn't pull away.
Sicheng laced his fingers through hers instead, drawing her hand to his chest, pressing it flat over his heart. His eyes burned into hers, dark and unwavering. "You," he said simply, his voice low and rough and full of something that made her breath catch, "can start whatever wars you want." The world seemed to fall away around them. The base. The teams. The sunset bleeding across the sky. There was only him. Only her. Only the quiet, steady truth burning between them.
Yue, still lingering nearby, cleared his throat loudly, breaking the moment just enough to keep Pang and Lao Mao—who had appeared behind him at some point, from dying of secondhand embarrassment.
Yao snorted under her breath, squeezing Sicheng's hand once before pulling back just enough to glare pointedly at the others. "Mind your business." she muttered.
Pang threw up his hands in surrender.
Lao Mao mimed zipping his mouth shut.
Sicheng smirked wider, utterly unbothered, and slipped his arm around her shoulders, steering her toward the base with slow, possessive ease. As they walked, he dipped his head low, his mouth brushing her temple. "Let them watch," he murmured. "They should know exactly who you belong to." And Yao, tucked securely against his side, her heart pounding and her pride soaring. Wouldn't have had it any other way.
The chaos of the evening settled eventually. The bases grew quieter as the teams scattered to their own routines, some going back to practice, others retreating to their rooms, the hum of keyboards and muted conversations filling the compound with a low, familiar rhythm.
But Sicheng wasn't done. Not yet. He waited until Yao had finished scolding Ai Jia one last time, until the others drifted away, laughter fading into the walls. And then—without a word—he caught her hand again. A simple touch. A slow, deliberate tug. Yao blinked up at him, caught off guard, but let him pull her easily down the side hall that led away from the lounge and common areas. He didn't stop until they were tucked into a quieter, darker corner of the base, near the side stairwell where the only sounds were the soft thrum of distant monitors and the muted hush of the world outside settling into night.
Sicheng turned, caging her lightly against the wall with his arms, his hands braced on either side of her head. Yao looked up at him, breath catching at the intensity in his gaze. He wasn't smiling now. There was no teasing smirk, no lazy sarcasm. Just a raw, focused heat that made her toes curl in her shoes. "You," he said lowly, his voice rough, frayed at the edges from holding back all evening, "drive me insane."
Yao's heart stuttered against her ribs, her fingers curling into the front of his hoodie. Before she could answer, before she could even breathe, he leaned down and kissed her. Properly. No rush. No chaos. Just the deep, steady claiming of a man who had fought for her, who would burn the world down before letting her slip away. His mouth was hot and sure against hers, coaxing and taking all at once, drawing out a soft, helpless sound from deep in her throat. Yao melted into him, her hands sliding up into his hair, clinging tightly, as if afraid the world would tilt and steal this from her.
Sicheng shifted, angling her head with one hand, deepening the kiss, his body pressing into hers just enough to remind her exactly how much he needed her. Exactly how much he chose her. Every day. Without hesitation. Without end. When he finally pulled back, he didn't go far. His forehead rested against hers, their breathing ragged, their bodies trembling with how much they felt. "You're mine," he whispered, so quietly it was barely a breath.
"Always," Yao whispered back, her voice shaking, fierce. His hands slid down to her waist, anchoring her there, grounding himself in the feel of her. She wasn't running. She wasn't breaking. She was his. Right here. Right now. And for every moment after this one.
Sicheng kissed her again, slower this time, savoring it, committing it to memory like a man starved finally allowed to taste the only thing he had ever craved.
And Yao kissed him back with every broken, beautiful piece of herself she had once thought she would have to hide forever. Because here, with him. She didn't have to hide anything anymore. She was wanted. She was loved. She was home. Exactly where she was always meant to be.
Much later, after the base had fallen into a thick, comfortable silence and the halls were dark and still, Sicheng caught her hand again. No words. Just a gentle tug. A quiet look.
Yao slipped off the couch without a sound, following him up the narrow back stairwell that led to the rooftop, their fingers twined between them, steady and sure.
The door creaked softly as he pushed it open, the cool night air rushing in to greet them. Above, the stars were scattered across the dark velvet sky, brighter here at the edge of the city, the faint hum of Shanghai distant and low, like a heartbeat just beyond reach.
Sicheng led her across the rooftop, past the old benches and rusted vents, to the far edge where the low brick wall overlooked the compound drive. He sat first, pulling her down between his legs, wrapping his arms around her easily, tucking her against his chest with a slow, protective pull.
Yao leaned back into him without hesitation, her head resting against his shoulder, her hands covering his where they splayed across her stomach. They stayed like that for a long time. Breathing. Existing. The stars spinning quietly above them.
Finally, Sicheng shifted slightly, resting his chin lightly against the top of her head. "After the Championship," he said, his voice low and steady, "after you graduate..." He paused. Not because he was unsure. But because he wanted her to hear every word. "We're going to take a break."
Yao smiled faintly, her fingers brushing lightly over his knuckles. "A real break?" she asked softly.
"No scrims," he confirmed, his tone threaded with rare, teasing warmth. "No meetings. No base drama."
She laughed quietly under her breath. "No Pang stealing my bubble tea?"
Sicheng smirked against her hair. "Especially no Pang."
She giggled softly, the sound slipping into the cool air between them, light and real. "And after that?" she whispered, closing her eyes against the steady, slow thrum of his heartbeat against her back.
Sicheng was silent for a beat, his arms tightening around her, his hands spreading protectively across her belly, his mouth brushing lightly against her temple. "After that," he said, voice softer now, "whatever you want." She tilted her head back to look up at him, her heart in her throat. He met her gaze steadily, without hesitation. "You want law school? I'll drive you to class every morning. You want to travel? I'll book the flights. You want to start something new? I'll build it with you." Every word was quiet. Certain. Final.
A promise he wasn't just offering—he was already building into their future. And it wrecked her, in the best, most breathtaking way.
Yao swallowed hard, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes—not from sadness, but from the sheer, overwhelming fullness of it all. She twisted slightly in his arms, turning to face him properly, her knees tucked against his hips, her hands resting lightly on his chest. "You," she said, her voice shaking with how much she meant it, "are everything I didn't know I was allowed to hope for."
Sicheng's mouth twitched into a small, rare smile—one that was meant only for her. "You," he murmured, pulling her closer, pressing his forehead to hers, "are the only thing I ever wanted."
The stars spun silently above them, the city breathing softly below. And in the middle of it all, wrapped in each other, Yao and Sicheng sat. Building their forever, piece by piece. Exactly the way they were always meant to.
Later that night, the base was so quiet it felt like the entire world had fallen away.
Yao curled against Sicheng in his bed, tucked securely against his chest, the heavy blankets tangled around them but neither caring about the mess. She was pressed so closely to him that he could feel every breath she took, the slow rise and fall of her chest against his ribs, her smaller hand resting lightly over his heart. He lay there still, not moving, one arm draped across her waist, the other stroking slow, absentminded patterns into her hair.
Yao shifted slightly in her sleep, a soft, barely-there sigh escaping her lips as she burrowed closer into the warmth of him. And then—slowly, steadily—she drifted off completely, her body relaxing fully against him, trusting him without fear, without walls, without hesitation.
Sicheng stayed awake, watching her. The faint light from the window spilled across the bed, catching in the loose strands of her hair, painting her in silver and gold.
And he though:
How did I ever get this lucky?
How had fate, for once, not played cruel tricks on him—but instead handed him her?
He smiled faintly, the expression rare and unguarded in the dim quiet of the room. He still remembered that day so clearly, standing in the front hall of the base, blinking in half-stunned confusion as Ai Jia came sprinting into their base like a man running from death itself, crying out for sanctuary.
And then, right on his heels.... Chen Yao. Small, fierce, absolutely furious, a pillow clutched like a weapon in her hands, swearing like a sailor and chasing Ai Jia down with a speed that would have made any coach weep with pride.
Sicheng hadn't known then that she would change everything. Hadn't known that this tiny, furious whirlwind with her flashing eyes and relentless loyalty would crash into his life, break it open, and rebuild it into something better, stronger, more real than he had ever dared hope for. And yet here she was. In his bed. In his arms. His.
Sicheng tightened his grip around her slightly, pressing a lingering kiss into the crown of her hair, breathing her in, anchoring himself to her without needing to speak it aloud. He had no words for what she meant to him. Words would never be enough. So he stayed there, holding her close, listening to her soft, steady breathing, the slow thrum of her heart against his chest. And for the first time in his life. He wasn't thinking about the next move. The next match. The next battle. He wasn't planning ten steps ahead, wasn't calculating the risks, wasn't guarding his heart behind stone walls. He was here. With her. Exactly where he wanted to be. Exactly where he would stay. Always.