A Few Months Into Filming – Growing Closer
Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. The early awkward silences that once existed between them dissolved somewhere between shared lunchboxes and retakes under the hot lights of set.
They were practically inseparable now.
Wang Yibo no longer hesitated to shout across the studio, "Zhan-ge!", his voice filled with a bold, boyish confidence that only Xiao Zhan could bring out of him. And without fail, Xiao Zhan would turn, a teasing smile tugging at his lips, brows lifted in amused anticipation.
The crew had grown used to the dynamic between them—Yibo the clingy storm, Xiao Zhan the gentle sun.
Their banter became the atmosphere itself. Staff members would sometimes pause just to watch them—laughing, poking, teasing, as if the entire set were just a backdrop to their own private universe.
Yibo, with youth as his sword and mischief as his armor, made it his mission to keep Zhan-ge's attention—and he had developed an arsenal of strategies.
He'd swat Xiao Zhan's back with his long sleeves, pretending it was an accident. He'd drag his sword prop across the floor just to hear Xiao Zhan groan, "Aiya, Yibo, can't you walk properly?" He'd shout out phrases like "Zhan-ge didi ai ni!" so loudly that boom mics sometimes caught them mid-scene, forcing a retake.
But Xiao Zhan never really got mad.
He'd sigh, shake his head, and—more often than not—smile. That warm, unguarded smile that made Yibo's heart stutter every time.
He lived for that smile.
And in return, Xiao Zhan saw him. Not just as the stoic, quiet dancer-turned-actor the public thought he was, but as someone full of charm, intelligence, and a childlike desire to be loved.
Over time, Yibo's guarded expression began to shift. His usual blank mask melted into spontaneous grins, pouts, even laughter. The transformation didn't go unnoticed—especially by Xiao Zhan.
Sometimes, in the middle of a break, Yibo would talk so much that Zhan had to place a hand over his mouth.
"Aiya, can you stop talking for one second?", he'd complain with a laugh, his palm pressed gently against Yibo's lips.
What Xiao Zhan didn't know was that Yibo cherished every one of those moments—his lips twitching under the touch, resisting the urge to kiss the skin before him.
He did it once—a hidden kiss, barely a breath, just the softest pressure of his pout against Xiao Zhan's fingers. So subtle it could be excused as nothing. But to Yibo, it was everything.
💚❤️💚❤️💚❤️🐢🐢🦁🐰🦁🐰🦁🐰