A servant fixed Wenhao's hair.
It took an hour and a half and a lot of whispered apologies, but eventually his hair looked almost normal again. Not perfect. But acceptable. Good enough that he didn't want to cry when he looked in the mirror.
He walked into the cinema room that night feeling lighter than he had in days. The lights were dim and the snacks were already arranged and Zhenlong was already sitting on the couch with his feet up and his hair still slightly damp from a shower.
Wenhao limped over and sat down beside him. Close. Closer than he needed to. But the couch was big and somehow he still ended up near the middle.
Zhenlong looked at him. "Better?"
"Better. Your servant has more talent than you."
"I never claimed to have talent."
"Your haircut was a hate crime."
Zhenlong chuckled and picked up the remote. "Horror movie tonight. I picked."
Wenhao's eyes went wide. "Horror? No. I don't like horror. Horror is scary. I have enough fear in my life without adding fictional monsters."
"Scared?"
"Of course not. I just don't see the point. Why would anyone want to be scared for fun?"
"Because it's fun."
"It's not fun. It's stressful."
Zhenlong pressed play anyway.
The movie started slow. A family moving into an old house. Strange noises. Shadows moving in the dark.
Wenhao watched with his arms crossed and his jaw tight.
Then the first jump scare happened.
Wenhao screamed.
A high pitched embarrassing scream that made Zhenlong jump too.
"It's just a movie," Zhenlong said.
"I know it's a movie. It's a very scary movie. A very well made scary movie. I'm not scared. I'm just... surprised."
"Surprised."
"Yes. Surprised."
The movie continued. More shadows. More strange noises. The tension built slowly like a coil being wound too tight.
Wenhao's breathing got faster. His hands gripped the couch cushions.
Then the woman in the movie turned around and there was something in her face that shouldn't have been there and Wenhao grabbed the nearest thing.
Which happened to be Zhenlong's arm.
He held on tight. His fingers digging into Zhenlong's sleeve. His whole body pressed against Zhenlong's side.
Zhenlong went still.
Wenhao didn't notice. His eyes were fixed on the screen and his heart was pounding and his face was buried half in Zhenlong's shoulder.
"You're squeezing my arm," Zhenlong said quietly.
"Shut up. I'm scared."
"You said you weren't scared."
"I lied. Shut up."
Zhenlong didn't say anything else. He just sat there with Wenhao clinging to him and his heart doing something strange in his chest.
Another jump scare. Wenhao's grip tightened.
Zhenlong didn't pull away.
The movie kept playing. The tension kept building. Wenhao kept holding on.
And then something shifted.
Wenhao looked up at Zhenlong's face. And Zhenlong looked down at him.
They were close. Too close. Their faces were inches apart. Wenhao could see the individual lashes around Zhenlong's dark eyes. Could see the small scar near his eyebrow. Could see the way his lips parted slightly.
Zhenlong could feel Wenhao's breath on his chin. Could smell the faint scent of his shampoo. Could see the way his eyes were wide and soft and unguarded.
Neither of them moved.
The movie played on. A scream echoed from the speakers.
Neither of them heard it.
Wenhao's heart was pounding so hard he was sure Zhenlong could feel it. His fingers were still wrapped around Zhenlong's arm and he couldn't remember how to let go.
Zhenlong's hand came up slowly. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from Wenhao's forehead.
Wenhao's breath caught.
And then Zhenlong pulled away. Just slightly. Just enough to break the spell.
"The movie," Zhenlong said. His voice was rough. "It's still playing."
Wenhao blinked and looked at the screen. Something terrifying was happening but he had no idea what. He had stopped paying attention.
"Oh," he said. "Right. The movie."
He let go of Zhenlong's arm. His fingers felt cold without the warmth.
He moved back slightly. Just an inch. Just enough to create space.
But the space felt wrong.
Zhenlong's hand was still raised, frozen where it had touched Wenhao's forehead. He slowly lowered it.
Neither of them said anything.
Wenhao stared at the screen but he didn't see anything. His mind was a storm. A hurricane. A disaster.
What was that? What was that?
Why did his heart feel like it was about to explode?
Why did he want Zhenlong's fingers back in his hair?
He looked at Zhenlong from the corner of his eye. Zhenlong's face was calm. Unreadable. But there was something in his eyes that Wenhao had never seen before.
Something soft. Something scared. Something hungry.
Wenhao looked away first.
The movie ended. Neither of them knew what happened.
Zhenlong stood up and his movements were stiff and careful. "I'll walk you to your room."
"I can walk."
"Your ankle."
"It's fine."
Wenhao stood up and limped toward the door. Zhenlong fell into step beside him. Their shoulders almost touched.
They didn't speak.
At Wenhao's door, Zhenlong stopped. He opened his mouth and closed it. Then he opened it again.
"Goodnight," he said finally.
Wenhao nodded. "Goodnight."
He went into his room and closed the door and leaned against it and took a deep breath.
His heart was still pounding.
He touched his forehead where Zhenlong's fingers had been.
And he didn't know what to do with the feeling that bloomed in his chest.
Zhenlong walked back to his room and closed the door and stood in the dark.
He ran his hand through his hair and let out a long slow breath.
He had been close to Wenhao. So close. Close enough to kiss. Close enough to do something he had never done with anyone.
And he had wanted to.
He had wanted to so badly it scared him.
He sat down on the edge of his bed and stared at the wall.
This wasn't supposed to happen. Wenhao was a hostage. A pawn. A means to an end.
But he was also bright and loud and impossible and beautiful.
And Zhenlong didn't know what to do with that.
So he just sat there in the dark and listened to his own heartbeat.
And tried to convince himself that it meant nothing.