When Yuhan finished dressing, he stood before the mirror, confused by the rope detail on the suit jacket.
"How do I do this?" he muttered to himself.
"You've worn it wrong," Zixuan said, stepping back into the room.
"How do I—" Yuhan began, but stopped when Zixuan started undoing his clothes again.
"What are you doing?" Yuhan asked softly.
"Should I stop?" Zixuan asked, meeting his eyes. "We're almost late."
Yuhan hesitated, then said nothing.
Zixuan slipped the jacket off his shoulders, his movements deliberate.
"You wore the shirt wrong," he said, his tone shifting into that of a designer lecturing a model. "It's made to look like a normal shirt, but it's not — the cuffs are just an illusion."
Standing very close behind him, Zixuan lifted the shirt carefully over Yuhan's head, their hands brushing as he raised his arms.
"You're wearing a singlet," Zixuan said quietly. "It'll alter the line of the outfit. Let's remove it."
He stepped in front of Yuhan, fingers brushing against his skin as he grasped the hem of the singlet. His hands were cold, making Yuhan flinch.
Zixuan rolled the thin fabric upward, moving closer until their bodies almost touched. Yuhan's breath hitched as he raised his arms again, letting Zixuan pull it off.
"Let's start," Zixuan said, lifting the new shirt. "It has a V-backless design — it aligns with the outer suit to keep the structure clean.
His voice softened as he helped Yuhan into it, each motion deliberate — too deliberate.
"The front," Zixuan continued, "is a cowl drape — it falls low to soften the shape and draw attention to the shoulders. It's meant to contrast the sharp structure of the suit."
Yuhan looked at the mirror, his reflection dressed in something that felt both strange and beautiful. The fabric flowed over his chest in gentle folds, the neckline dipping just enough to feel vulnerable, yuhan placed a hand over his opened chest as he blushed.
He swallowed. "It's… different."
Zixuan's lips lifted faintly as he removed yuhan hands from his chest. . "It's perfect. It was made for your frame."
Yuhan turned slightly, adjusting the drape with uncertain fingers. "It looks like something you'd wear."
"Maybe," Zixuan said, stepping closer, his voice low. "But right now, it looks better on you."
Their eyes met in the mirror, Zixuan's calm and knowing, Yuhan's unsure but drawn in. For a second, neither spoke. The air between them was quiet, thick with something Yuhan couldn't name.
Zixuan handed him the suit, and Yuhan took it carefully.
"Should I put that on you too?" Zixuan teased.
Yuhan quickly turned toward the mirror, his cheeks flushing. He slipped into the suit, pretending to focus on the buttons, but he could feel Zixuan's gaze on him — steady, deliberate. When he glanced at the mirror again, he caught Zixuan staring directly at his back. Their eyes met through the reflection, and Yuhan froze.
Zixuan stepped closer and reached for the tie at the back of the suit, pulling it into a neat bow.
"I almost wish you didn't have to wear the jacket," Zixuan murmured, his fingertips tracing lightly down Yuhan's bare back before the fabric settled into place.
Yuhan jolted, heat rushing to his face. "You can go. I'll join you shortly," he said quickly, pushing Zixuan toward the door.
When the door closed, Yuhan exhaled shakily and turned to the small photo frame on his table. A picture of him and Ying Yue smiled back.
"Ying Yue," he whispered. "I haven't forgotten about you. I think about you every night, and I still can't get over you. You must be mad at me for working with a psycho like him… but I'm doing this for you."
He opened a drawer, rummaging through it in search of something. His movements grew frantic as papers and trinkets scattered across the table. He searched everywhere — until his eyes flicked toward the cloth still in Zixuan's hands earlier.
And then he froze.