The rain came down in sheets, painting the city's glass towers in a haze of neon and cold tears. On the twenty-eighth floor of an old high-rise in the East District, Jiang Zhenyu sat alone in an empty apartment that smelled of stale coffee, old newspapers, and heartbreak.
It had been exactly twenty-six days since he signed the final divorce papers. Twenty-six days since the entertainment tabloids tore his name apart like wolves on carrion. Twenty-six days since he last slept a full night.
He was still wearing the same grey sweater his ex-wife had thrown at him before she slammed the door and vanished with her lawyer. It smelled faintly of her perfume — a smell he'd once found comforting, now just the rotting scent of a promise that had always been fake.
The heater rattled near his feet, blasting lukewarm air that did nothing to chase the chill from his bones. He was too thin now — collarbones stark, eyes ringed in purple shadows that no amount of water or cheap concealer could hide.
Outside the window, car horns and laughter mixed with the dull rumble of distant thunder. Somewhere out there, the world went on — bustling parties, fancy banquets, smiles that never cracked. And here he was, Jiang Zhenyu, once the glittering darling of the city's finance sector, now the man whose name was synonymous with scandal. Adulterer. Cheat. Coward. Beggar.
He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth to stop the rising nausea. He wanted to be sick but there was nothing in him left to throw up.
A single knock at the door jolted him upright. For a moment, his heart stuttered — stupidly hoping maybe it was an apology, maybe she'd come back, maybe the world would right itself.
He rose, legs stiff from hours curled in the chair, and crossed the room. He didn't check the peephole. He was too tired to care.
He opened the door — and the last face he expected to see waited for him on the other side.
"Gege."
That voice. Deeper than he remembered, low and smooth, the syllables polished but still edged in that faint chill that made people flinch without knowing why. The voice of someone who'd once lived next door, who'd grown up behind a broken fence, watching him through slats too wide to hide a boy's secrets.
"Yu Bai," Zhenyu croaked, fingers gripping the doorframe like a lifeline. "What… what are you doing here?"
Yu Bai stood under the flickering hallway light, an umbrella hooked over one arm, rain dripping off the black silk of his suit. His hair was slicked back, just slightly damp at the temples, like he'd walked straight through the storm without noticing. He looked… expensive. Polished. Not the scrawny neighborhood kid who'd once asked Zhenyu to teach him how to tie a tie. Not the boy who'd brought him stolen oranges when Zhenyu's mother fell sick and there was no money for fruit.
No — the man before him now was something else entirely. There was power in how still he stood. In the slight smile that never reached his eyes. In the way he didn't ask permission before stepping inside.
"Don't stand there," Yu Bai said, tone gentle but edged with something darker. He reached out and brushed a thumb across Zhenyu's cheekbone, wiping away a tear Zhenyu hadn't even realized had fallen. "You'll catch cold."
Zhenyu flinched at the touch but didn't move away. He let himself be guided back inside, the door shutting with a soft click that felt louder than any slam.
"How did you find me?" Zhenyu asked, voice cracking. He sank back into the battered armchair, pulling his knees up as if he could curl into himself and disappear.
Yu Bai looked around the apartment — bare walls, empty liquor bottles, the faint smell of mold near the window. His eyes flickered to the stack of unpaid bills on the table, the newspaper clippings with Zhenyu's face circled in red ink and vile headlines scribbled over them. He made a soft, almost pitying sound.
"I never lost you, gege." Yu Bai's smile curved, just a sliver of white teeth. "Did you really think I'd stop watching?"
Zhenyu swallowed. His throat hurt. "Why? You were… you were just a neighbor. You moved away. We haven't spoken in years."
Yu Bai's fingers trailed along the back of Zhenyu's neck, nails scratching lightly at his hairline — a touch that made Zhenyu shiver. Not with warmth, but with a fear so familiar it almost felt like home.
"You took care of me once," Yu Bai murmured. "When no one else did. You gave me your old textbooks when I couldn't afford mine. You fixed my tie for graduation. You gave me a coat when I was freezing."
"That was years ago," Zhenyu said, but his voice was so small it barely rose above the hiss of the heater.
Yu Bai crouched in front of him, dark eyes catching the flickering lamp's glow. They were too sharp. Too patient.
"Years don't matter. I've always paid my debts, gege. Always."
Zhenyu let out a short, strangled laugh that dissolved into a sob. He covered his mouth again, shoulders shaking. "What debt? I'm not worth anything anymore. Look at me. There's nothing left."
Yu Bai's expression softened — only a fraction, but it was enough to make something deep in Zhenyu's chest twist painfully. He hated it. Hated that warmth. Hated how his heart still knew it after all this time.
"You're worth more than this filth says," Yu Bai said. His hand slipped under Zhenyu's chin, tipping his head up until their eyes met. "You just forgot."
Zhenyu wanted to turn away, but he didn't. He was so tired. Too tired to fight the thumb brushing away his tears, the gentle scrape of a nail along his jawline. The way Yu Bai's gaze never drifted — like a hawk locked on prey that didn't even know it was caught.
"Why now?" Zhenyu whispered. "Why come here?"
Yu Bai's smile didn't change, but his eyes darkened — just a flicker of shadow, gone in an instant.
"Because you need someone to remind you," he said softly. "Because I can't stand seeing you crawl for scraps when you deserve gold. Because…" He paused, his voice dipping low, velvet over steel. "Because if I leave you alone, you'll destroy yourself. And I can't have that."
Zhenyu barked out another hoarse laugh, hiccupping on a sob. "So what — you came to drag me back from the edge? I don't need your pity."
"Not pity." Yu Bai's hand slipped behind his neck, pulling him closer until their foreheads touched. The storm outside rattled the window, but all Zhenyu could hear was the soft hum of Yu Bai's breathing, the heat of his skin so close it hurt. "Protection."
Zhenyu stiffened, eyes fluttering shut. He wanted to push him away. To spit the words out — I'm not your responsibility, I'm not your toy, I'm not your pity project. But when Yu Bai's fingers traced his pulse, pressing gently over the frantic beat, Zhenyu's voice failed him.
"You don't get it," Zhenyu whispered. "My reputation's ruined. The company won't hire me back. The media won't let me breathe. My ex — she took everything."
Yu Bai tilted his head, breath ghosting Zhenyu's lips. "Then let me take what's left."
A shudder wracked Zhenyu's frame. He opened his eyes — and saw it there, buried under the soft calm of Yu Bai's expression. The hunger. The promise. The threat.
"Don't look at me like that," Zhenyu rasped.
"Like what?" Yu Bai's smile widened, but it was so gentle it made Zhenyu's stomach twist. "Like you're mine?"
Zhenyu jerked back, but Yu Bai didn't stop him. He rose smoothly, dusted off his sleeve, and walked to the window. He drew the curtains shut with a single tug, blotting out the city's neon smear.
"Where's your child?" Yu Bai asked, tone casual, as if they were discussing the weather.
Zhenyu's chest constricted. He drew his knees tighter to his chest. "With my sister. I can't — I can't bring him here, it's not safe. The press — they keep following me, digging up everything."
Yu Bai hummed, rolling up his sleeves. Pale wrists, fine veins, a glint of an expensive watch. "I'll handle that."
Zhenyu's head shot up. "You'll what?"
Yu Bai turned to him, that same calm smile in place. "The reporters. The company. The lawyers. Anyone who tries to touch you — or your child. I'll handle all of it."
Something like hope sparked in Zhenyu's chest — small, foolish, shameful. He hated it. Hated that he wanted to believe him. Hated that this broken version of himself even needed someone to say those words.
"Yu Bai," he whispered. "Why are you doing this? Really."
Yu Bai's eyes glowed in the dim room, black as an ocean trench. He stepped forward until he stood over Zhenyu again, fingers tilting Zhenyu's chin up, forcing him to hold his gaze.
"Because you're the only warmth I ever had, gege," Yu Bai murmured. "And I'd rather burn the world to ash than lose you to it."
Zhenyu felt the floor slip out from under him. The heater rattled on, the storm kept tapping at the window, but in here — in this suffocating silence — all he could hear was Yu Bai's promise curling around his ribs like a brand.
"I don't want this," Zhenyu croaked, though his body betrayed him, leaning into the touch.
Yu Bai bent down, brushing his lips feather-light over Zhenyu's brow — not a kiss, not yet, just a ghost of it. "Yes, you do," he breathed. "Or you will. Soon."
Zhenyu's tears slipped free, landing on the back of Yu Bai's hand. Yu Bai didn't flinch. He just smiled, thumb brushing each drop away like they were precious gems.
Outside, the storm began to break, but in here, the storm was just beginning.
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