He saw Liu Xingyu first, leaning up against a deceptively modest SUV. He straightened as Xiaokai came toward him, smiled a smile that Xiaokai could have mistaken for genuine if he didn’t know the man any better. He was wearing a suit, but nothing extravagant, and he’d cut his hair into something neater and more professional. Then he saw Zhang Weiran—Weiran, who he’d told to leave as soon as he could so long ago now—neat suit like Xingyu’s, hair cut neat around his ears like Xingyu’s but considerably more tousled. He beamed at Xiaokai and bounded toward him, and Xiaokai found himself wrapped up in a hug before he could stop it.

“You lied,” Weiran murmured into his ear.

Xiaokai pushed him away. “What kind of greeting is that? Didn’t I tell you to leave the city?”

Weiran just took Xiaokai’s face in his hands and kept smiling, gentler now. “You said my feelings for you would fade with time.”

Xiaokai felt something turn over in his stomach. The places where Weiran’s hands had made contact with his arms and where they rested on his cheeks now suddenly felt unbearably hot. He turned his face away, unable to meet Weiran’s eyes, but Weiran’s grip held strong.

“You said my feelings for you would fade with time, and they didn’t.”

“Zhang Weiran—”

“I’m still in love with you, Liu Xiaokai.” Weiran’s voice had dropped to a whisper, and Xiaokai could feel the breath of it against his skin. “What do you say to that?”

“I—” He couldn’t form words in his mind, much less get them out of his mouth. “Liu Xingyu is looking at us, is what I have to say to that.”

“I spent weeks pretending that you were him while we were getting each other off. You really think that bothers me? And after all this time of being in love with you—you think that bothers me?”