In Xingyu’s first imagining of this situation, he’d pictured Xiao-Xiao on the stage, all alone and frightened, but he hadn’t considered Weiran’s words carefully enough. If the interview was for both of them, that meant that he would be there as well, and Xingyu was very different in his ability to handle nosy reporters. He was the heir to his company, so he needed to be able to answer and dodge and redirect and lie in response to any kind of question, and to totally convince both host and audience that he was being totally candid. There was a reason that the entire city thought him charming, and that reason was Liu Baiyan—surely, if Xingyu was present during the interview, any question directed at Xiao-Xiao that he wouldn’t be able to handle himself would be pickled vegetables to an experienced liar like Liu Xingyu.

“So?” inquired Weiran after a moment. “What do you think?”

“It might be doable,” Xingyu answered. “I’ll discuss it with him in the morning.”

“Do you think he’d be willing?”

“He used to be an obedient little boy who did whatever I asked him to,” Xingyu said, a little mournfully. “I don’t know what’s in his head now. If I ask him, he might automatically say no. Maybe you should talk to him about it.”

“You’re the one who thinks he can save him if things go wrong.” Weiran had apparently already deduced the reasoning behind Xingyu’s answer. “I’m not going to be able to convince him of that. He knows I don’t know anything about you and would just mock me for making assumptions about what you’re capable of.”

“I’ll talk to him, then,” Xingyu said, and then: “We should eat dinner.”

“You realize you’re the obedient one now,” Weiran said, and Xingyu ignored him.

XIAOKAI WAS SHAMELESS, but he wasn’t so shameless that he didn’t know sleeping with Weiran under the same roof as Sun Yue and Liu Xingyu was probably a bad idea. Which was ultimately fine—it wasn’t as if Xiaokai was overly attached to him, and it also wasn’t as if Xiaokai hadn’t gone for most of his life without his presence, or even knowing about his existence. Presently, however, he was realizing it was probably more of a problem than he anticipated, because he hadn’t really slept since they’d last been together, which had been…he didn’t know how long now. Days, maybe. Weeks. Maybe as much as a month.

He couldn’t fucking sleep.