Closer
The afternoon at St. Jude’s was a blur of torture. Liang sat through three lectures, but if anyone had asked him what the professors said, he would have probably just made a confused "Alpha noise." His silver-gold eyes kept drifting to the back of Shen’s head. Shen, of course, looked fucking perfectly composed—the "fucking jerk"—writing notes with a steady hand, as if he hadn't just been marking Liang’s neck in a locked bathroom an hour prior.
At one point, Shen leaned back to stretch, his fingers grazing the edge of Liang’s desk. The flutter in Liang’s gut didn't just return; it did a full-on fucking backflip. He had to bite his lip to keep from let out a groan in the middle of a lecture on trade deficits. He knows, Liang thought, glaring at the back of Shen’s dark hair. He knows I’m suffering over here and he’s enjoying every second of it.
When they finally returned to the penthouse, the atmosphere was thick with the "cooling off" mandate. Wenlang and Hua Yong were in the living room, ostensibly reading, but their eyes followed the boys like hawks.
"Study. Dinner. Doors open," Hua Yong reminded them, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Liang retreated to his room, propping his door wide open as instructed. He could see across the hallway into Shen's room, where Shen’s door was also pinned back against the wall. It was a shitty cruel kind of proximity. He could see Shen sitting at his desk, the lamp casting a sharp glow over his features.
Liang tried to focus on his playbook, but the diagrams of X’s and O’s kept turning into the shape of Shen’s lips. He lay on his bed, staring at the open doorway, feeling the weight of the night and the secrets they shared. The clueless idiot part of his brain was finally quiet, replaced by a loud, insistent yearning. I love him. And I’m pretty sure if he finds out, he’s never going to let me go.
•••
Midnight rolled around. The penthouse went dark. The hum of the city outside the floor-to-ceiling windows was the only sound. Liang lay in the dark, listening to the silence. Then, he heard it—the faint, rhythmic creak of a floorboard.
A shadow appeared in his open doorway.
Shen didn't say a word. He was wearing black silk pajama pants, his chest bare, his violet eyes glowing like embers in the dark. He stepped into Liang’s room, moving with the silent grace of a ghost. He didn't close the door—he couldn't risk the sound—but he moved until he was standing right beside Liang’s bed.
"You're awake," Shen whispered, his voice a ghost of a sound.
"How am I supposed to sleep?" Liang hissed back, sitting up. "My dads are literally ten feet away and I can still smell you from the hallway."
Shen smirked, leaning down until his face was inches from Liang’s. The scent of bitter chocolate and ozone flooded Liang’s senses, making his head swim. "The doors are open, Liang. That was the rule. They didn't say anything about me standing here."
Shen sat on the edge of the mattress, the bed dipping under his weight. He reached out, his cool fingers tracing the line of the patch on Liang’s neck before sliding upward to cup his jaw.
"Are you still sitting with you head, and feelings again?" Shn said, thumb grazing Liang's lower lip.
Liang let out a shaky breath, his hands coming up to grip Shen’s forearms. "It's a big feeling, Shen. It’s... it’s a fucking loud feeling."
"Good," Shen murmured.
He leaned in, his forehead resting against Liang’s. In the silence of the room, with the door wide open and the risk of their fathers walking in at any second, the tension was more electric than it had ever been. Shen didn't kiss him—not yet—but he stayed there, breathing the same air, his presence a heavy, grounding weight that Liang never wanted to fucking lift.
"Stay," Liang whispered, the word a total surrender.
"I’m not going anywhere, idiot,'" Shen replied.
They stayed like that in the shadows, two predators caught in a web of their own making, waiting for the morning to break the spell.
•••
Liang was practically vibrating. Shen was still sitting on the edge of his bed, his bare chest glowing pale in the moonlight. The Enigma’s hand was still cupping Liang's jaw, his thumb tracing Liang's bottom lip with a rhythm that made Liang’s heart feel like it was going to burst through his fucking ribs.
"Shen... the door," Liang whispered, his eyes darting toward the wide-open threshold. "If someone walks past..."
"Let them," Shen murmured, though his eyes were sharp, scanning the hallway. He leaned in, his lips hovering a hair’s breadth from Liang’s. "Let them see that I don't follow rules when it comes to what's mine."
Just as Shen tilted his head to finally close the gap, a heavy, rhythmic thud echoed from the living room. It was the sound of a refrigerator door closing, followed by the distinct clack-clack of Hua Yong’s tactical boots on the hardwood.
Liang’s blood turned to fucking ice. "Shit! Your dad!"
Shen didn't panic, but his violet eyes flashed. In one fluid, silent motion, he didn't run for the door—that would have been a death sentence. Instead, he dropped to the floor, sliding under the high frame of Liang’s designer bed just as a shadow fell across the open doorway.
Hua Yong appeared, looking like a giant in the dim light. He was wearing a simple black t-shirt and sweats, holding a bottle of water. He stopped at the threshold, his golden eyes narrowing as he scanned the room.
"Liang?" Hua Yong’s voice was a low rumble. "Why are you sitting up like you’ve seen a ghost?"
Liang fucking froze, his hands gripping the duvet so hard his knuckles turned fucking white. He could feel the heat radiating from Shen right beneath his mattress. "I... I couldn't sleep, Uncle Hua. Just... thinking about the playbook."
Hua Yong stepped a few inches into the room, his nose wrinkling. The air was thick with the scent of both boys—bitter chocolate and golden Alpha heat—and there was no way a man like Hua Yong wouldn't fucking notice.
"The air in here is heavy," Hua Yong noted, his gaze drifting toward the space under the bed. Liang felt his heart fucking stop. "Make sure you keep that window cracked. And get some sleep. You look like a fucking mess."
"Yes, Uncle Hua. Sorry," Liang croaked.
Hua Yong stayed there for a long, agonizing five seconds—the longest fucking five seconds of Liang’s life—before he finally turned and walked back toward the master wing.
The second the sound of his footsteps faded, Shen slid out from under the bed, looking completely unbothered, though his hair was slightly mussed. He sat back on the mattress, a dark smirk on his face.
"That," Shen whispered, "was a close one."
"You're going to get me fucking killed!" Liang hissed, shoving Shen toward the door. "Go! Before he comes back for a snack!"
Shen chuckled, a low, rich sound, and stole a quick, firm kiss on Liang's forehead before vanishing across the hall into his own room.
•••
The next morning, the sun was far too bright for Liang’s liking. He stumbled into the kitchen, his eyes sporting dark circles that even his tan couldn't fucking hide. He looked like he’d gone ten rounds with a heavy bag and lost.
Shen was already there, looking—infuriatingly—completely refreshed. He was sipping his coffee and reading a digital newspaper, his St. Jude’s tie perfectly knotted.
The four dads were already halfway through breakfast, and the silence was fucking deafening.
Wenlang set his fork down with a deliberate clink. He looked at Liang, then at Shen, his golden eyes filled with a terrifying amount of parental intuition.
"You both look like you haven't slept a wink," Wenlang said. "Liang, your eyes are bloodshot. And Shen... you’re unusually quiet."
"Late night studying, Papa," Shen lied smoothly, not looking up from his screen.
"Is that right?" Gao Tu chimed in, leaning forward. "Because Hua Yong mentioned he went for water at 3:00 AM and the scent in the hallway was... let’s say, concentrated."
Liang choked on his orange juice, coughing violently. Shayou reached over and patted his back, though it felt more like a warning than a comfort.
"We set the 'open door' rule for a reason," Hua Yong said, his voice dropping into that "Boss" register that made everyone fucking sit up straighter. "If we find out that 'open door' just means easier access, the next rule will be separate rooms. Do I make myself clear?"
Liang looked at his plate, his face burning. "Yes, Uncle Hua Yong."
"Clear," Shen muttered.
"Good," Shayou said, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Because you two have a busy day. And Liang? Try not to fall asleep during practice. Coach Sterling called—he’s letting you back on the field today, but only if you prove you’ve got your focus back."
Liang nodded, but as he caught Shayou's gaze across the table, he knew focus was the last thing he was going to have. The memory of Shen under his bed—the secret proximity, the shared heartbeats—was now a permanent part of him.
He was a fucking idiot, but he was an idiot who was starting to realize that some rules were meant to be fucking broken.
•••
The afternoon sun hit the St. Jude’s turf with a shitty vengeance. Liang was back in his pads, the weight of his helmet providing a small sense of normalcy, but his body was still running on two hours of sleep and a dangerous amount of lingering adrenaline.
Coach Sterling stood at the center of the field, his whistle between his teeth, looking at Liang like he was a bug under a fucking microscope.
"Nice of you to join us, Liang," Sterling barked, his voice carrying across the silent team. "I heard you were 'under the weather.' Or was it just a little case of the shakes?"
The team stayed silent. Liang gripped his face mask, his knuckles white. He could feel a specific pair of eyes on him. He didn't have to look at the stands to know Shen was there, sitting in the exact same spot as the other day, looking like a fucking beautiful dark prince watching a gladiator.
"I’m fine, Coach," Liang growled. "Let’s play."
"We’ll see," Sterling sneered. "Line up for the gauntlet. If you miss a single tackle, you’re back on the bench for the rest of the season. I don't care who your dads are."
The gauntlet was brutal. One by one, the biggest Alphas on the team tried to burst past Liang. But Liang wasn't just playing for the team anymore. He was playing for the boy in the stands. Every hit he delivered was explosive, the sound of pads clashing echoing like gunshots. He was a force of nature, his silver-gold eyes burning with a focused intensity that even Sterling couldn't criticize.
By the end of practice, Liang was dripping with sweat, his chest fucking heaving, but he hadn't missed a single hit. He looked up at the stands. Shen stood up, giving a single, elegant nod before disappearing into the shadows of the exit.
•••
Liang didn't even shower with the team. He grabbed his bag and sprinted for the parking lot, his heart racing for a different reason now. He found Shen leaning against the sleek black SUV, his arms crossed over his chest.
"You were loud today," Shen murmured as Liang approached. "I could smell the frustration from the top row."
"Shut up, Shen," Liang panted, leaning his forehead against the cool glass of the car window. "That was... that was too close this morning. Your dad isn't stupid. He knows something is up."
Shen moved closer, his scent—that intoxicating bitter chocolate—wrapping around Liang like a blanket. He reached out, his hand sliding into the damp hair at the nape of Liang’s neck, carefully avoiding the scent patch.
"He knows," Shen agreed, his voice dropping to a low, secret register. "But he also knows he can't stop it. Not really."
"We're going to get caught," Liang whispered, finally looking up into those iridescent violet eyes. "If they see you in my room again, or if I moan too loud... they’ll separate us for real."
Shen leaned in, his face inches from Liang’s. The fucking idiot part of Liang’s brain was screaming about the risks, but the part that loved Shen was leaning forward, desperate for the contact.
"Let them try," Shen whispered. "Last night... when I was under your bed, listening to your heart beat... I realized something, Alpha."
"What?" Liang rasped.
"That even if they put an ocean between us, I’d still find a way to pin you to a wall," Shen smirked, his thumb grazing Liang's jawline. "You're not just my best friend anymore, Liang. And you're not just a project. You're the only thing that makes this world fucking interesting."
Liang felt that deep, abdominal flutter turn into a fucking violent roar of affection. He reached out, gripping Shen’s waist, pulling him just a fraction closer in the semi-privacy of the parking lot.
"I'm a fucking idiot," Liang breathed, a lopsided, genuine smile breaking across his face. "But I think I'm your fucking idiot."
Shen chuckled, a rich, satisfied sound. "Always."
They stayed like that for a moment, two heirs to a complicated legacy, finding a second of peace in the middle of the storm. They knew the "cooling off" period was going to be a battle, and they knew their dads were watching, but for the first time, the "clueless" haze was gone, buried, fucking dead.