Still recovering from an unexpected tragedy, single dad Wang Yibo isn't sure he's ready to move on - until he meets Xiao Zhan in a bar at Christmas. When what was meant to be a simple one-off encounter becomes more complicated, will Yibo have the st...
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He was shocked to find the BMW back on the driveway. Shocked and overwhelmingly, stomach-churningly terrified that something had happened to someone, Zhan had taken the call and had to rush home, Yibo was going to check his phone to a dozen missed calls and God knows what else. No. He forced himself to breathe.
"Why's Zhan back?"
Fan Xing asked, always paying attention.
"Is he coming with us?"
"I don't know, little buddy,"
Yibo admitted, a curl of anger creeping in at his edges. Did that asshole lie just to spend the day lounging around in his pajamas, eating chips and watching crappy TV?
"Just wait here, the both of you, I'm gonna go and grab Little Apple, okay?"
He stole into the house of soft soles, determined to catch Zhan in the act as he dragged the door closed behind him so quietly that it barely made a sound. The TV was switched off but there came the squeak of floorboards upstairs that had him creeping silently up the staircase, avoiding each creaking board as he did so. He could hear panting and soft cursing from their bedroom and for an awful, gut-clenching second, he imagined that Zhan was cheating on him. He shook his head, reminded himself that it was far more likely he'd catch Zhan jerking off and, with a deep breath, shoved open the bedroom door.
"What the fuck, Zhan?!"
"It's not what it looks like!"
Zhan yelped, collapsing to the mattress with a grunt.
"Just... get out!"
Yibo paused.
Yibo leaned against the door jamb in utter confusion as he took in the scene before him. Zhan - at least, he thought it was Zhan - with a pillow secured to his front with a couple of belts, red pants caught around his knees and cheeks painted crimson with embarrassment and... actual face paint by the looks of things.
"Zhan?"
He decided he didn't need to elaborate, he let the single word pose all of the more obvious questions.
"I - I can explain,"
Zhan stammered, trying to roll back to his feet but struggling thanks to the pillow. He looked a little like a rosy-cheeked turtle, tipped onto its back. Yibo thought about helping him. He decided against it.
"You're cheating?"
Yibo began slowly, taking in the red jacket trimmed with fur as white as freshly driven snow hung from the closet door, the gleaming beard hooked over the hanger, the shiny black boots on Zhan's feet.
"On my kids. With another grotto?"
"No!"
Zhan objected, trying to untangle himself from the pillows and pants and succeeding in escaping neither.
