The morning of Suo Wei’s birthday arrived with an unusual quietness in Jiang Xiaoshuai’s apartment. The sunlight streamed in through the curtains, highlighting the flour still clinging faintly to the edges of the counter, a silent reminder of the days of chaos leading up to this moment.

Xiaoshuai stood in the kitchen, staring at the ingredients laid out in front of him. Eggs, flour, vegetables, fresh noodles, and a slab of meat from the butcher’s. Everything was ready. Everything depended on him not screwing up.

“You can do this,” he muttered under his breath, rolling up his sleeves. “This time, no disasters, no flour storms, no explosions. Just… normal cooking.”

As if summoned by fate—or perhaps by some cruel trick of the universe—there was a knock at the door.

Xiaoshuai groaned. “Don’t tell me…”

When he opened the door, there stood Guo Cheng Yu, as if he owned the world. Dressed impeccably as always, he held a small bag of groceries in one hand and an amused glint in his eyes.

“You again?!” Xiaoshuai exclaimed.

Cheng Yu raised a brow. “What kind of greeting is that? Shouldn’t you be grateful your savior has arrived?”

“I don’t need saving today,” Xiaoshuai said firmly, blocking the doorway with his body. “I’ve got this under control. You can go do your… businessman things.”

“Business can wait,” Cheng Yu replied smoothly, stepping past him before he could protest. “Besides, I wanted to see if you could survive on your own.”

“I can!” Xiaoshuai insisted, though his voice cracked slightly. “I’ve been practicing! I don’t need you hovering over me.”

“Then I’ll sit and watch.” Cheng Yu set the bag down on the counter, leaning against it with infuriating elegance. “Don’t mind me.”

Xiaoshuai scowled but turned back to his ingredients. Fine. If Cheng Yu wanted to watch him fail, then he’d just prove him wrong.

He cracked the first egg confidently. Shell fragments immediately fell into the bowl.

Cheng Yu coughed lightly, clearly suppressing laughter.

“Not a word,” Xiaoshuai warned, fishing out the pieces with a spoon.

The second egg went better, though he accidentally dropped the entire shell in with the yolk. The third one slipped from his fingers entirely, splattering across the floor.

Cheng Yu finally chuckled. “At this rate, your kitchen will need hazard insurance.”

“Shut up!” Xiaoshuai snapped, grabbing a rag to clean the mess. “I said no commentary!”

“Very well,” Cheng Yu said, though the smirk on his lips betrayed him.

Despite the rocky start, Xiaoshuai managed to get the dough mixed, kneading with more determination than skill. His arms ached, flour dusting his cheeks, but he kept going. Cheng Yu observed quietly, occasionally tilting his head as if resisting the urge to step in.

Finally, Xiaoshuai looked up, panting. “Well? How’s it look?”

Cheng Yu stepped forward, pressing a finger lightly against the dough. He nodded. “Acceptable.”

“Ha! See? I told you I could do it!”

“Don’t celebrate too early,” Cheng Yu warned. “You still have to cook everything.”

Xiaoshuai groaned dramatically. “You’re impossible.”

But as the hours passed, something surprising happened. For once, Xiaoshuai didn’t burn the garlic. The vegetables came out evenly chopped. The soup simmered without overflowing. He stumbled here and there, yes, but somehow everything stayed intact.

When the final dish was plated, Xiaoshuai collapsed onto a chair, wiping sweat from his forehead. “I did it. I actually did it.”

Cheng Yu set down the last serving spoon, standing back to admire the spread. “Not bad,” he said softly.

Xiaoshuai glanced up, expecting the usual smirk—but Cheng Yu’s expression was different. Softer. Almost proud.

For a moment, warmth swelled in Xiaoshuai’s chest, stronger than any pride in the food itself. He quickly looked away, fiddling with his chopsticks. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Cheng Yu asked, genuinely curious.

“Like… like I’m some kid who finally learned how to ride a bike.”

Cheng Yu chuckled. “More like a stubborn man who refused to admit he needed help.”

“I didn’t need help,” Xiaoshuai muttered, cheeks burning.

“Of course not,” Cheng Yu said smoothly, though his eyes twinkled.

That evening, Suo Wei arrived, cheerful as always. “Wow, Xiaoshuai! You actually cooked?!”

Xiaoshuai puffed up with pride. “Yup! A whole feast. No takeout, no instant noodles. All homemade.”

Suo Wei looked genuinely touched as he sat down at the table. “Thank you, Xiaoshuai. This really means a lot.”

As they dug in, Cheng Yu stayed quiet, content to watch from the sidelines. Suo Wei praised every dish enthusiastically, and Xiaoshuai beamed brighter with every word.

Halfway through the meal, Suo Wei glanced at Cheng Yu. “Did you help with this?”

Xiaoshuai froze, chopsticks hovering midair. “N-no! I did this myself! Well—mostly…” He trailed off, glaring at Cheng Yu. “Don’t you dare say anything.”

Cheng Yu lifted his cup, hiding a smirk. “Of course. All credit goes to our chef here.”

Suo Wei laughed. “I’m impressed. Really.”

The meal passed with laughter and easy conversation, though Xiaoshuai found his eyes drifting to Cheng Yu more than once. The businessman was quieter than usual, his sharp edges softened by the warm light of the apartment. For the first time, Xiaoshuai wondered what Cheng Yu looked like when he wasn’t smirking.

After Suo Wei left, full and happy, Xiaoshuai slumped against the couch with a satisfied sigh. “Mission accomplished.”

Cheng Yu sat beside him, loosening his tie. “You did well.”

Xiaoshuai blinked. “Wait—did you just… compliment me?”

“I’m capable of it,” Cheng Yu said dryly.

“Barely!” Xiaoshuai shot back, but his grin was unstoppable.

Silence settled between them, softer than usual. The weight of the evening, the laughter, the shared effort—it all hung in the air.

Xiaoshuai glanced sideways, finding Cheng Yu already looking at him. Their eyes met, and for once, neither looked away.

“Why are you always here?” Xiaoshuai asked quietly. “Really.”

Cheng Yu’s lips curved, but not into a smirk. “Because I want to be.”

The simplicity of the answer made Xiaoshuai’s chest ache. He opened his mouth to reply, but words failed him.

Instead, Cheng Yu leaned back, closing his eyes as if to end the conversation. But Xiaoshuai couldn’t stop staring, his heart pounding too loudly in the silence.

The days after the birthday dinner should’ve gone back to normal. No more practice, no more flour fights. But normalcy never came.

Cheng Yu kept showing up. Sometimes with groceries, sometimes with takeout, sometimes with nothing but that infuriating calmness.

And Xiaoshuai let him.

One evening, they tried baking. Xiaoshuai managed to spill sugar everywhere, and Cheng Yu laughed so hard he nearly dropped the mixing bowl.

Another night, they cooked hotpot, ending in a playful argument over who stole more meat slices.

And slowly, somewhere between the laughter and the chaos, Xiaoshuai stopped asking why Cheng Yu was there.

It simply felt natural.

One rainy evening, the thunder rolling outside, they found themselves sitting on the couch after another failed attempt at cake. Xiaoshuai curled up with a blanket, pouting.

“I swear, the oven hates me.”

“Blaming the tools now?” Cheng Yu teased, handing him a mug of hot tea.

“I’m serious! It’s like the oven knows I’m the one using it and decides to betray me.”

Cheng Yu chuckled, sipping his own tea. “Or maybe you’re just cursed.”

“Wow. Thanks for the encouragement,” Xiaoshuai said, rolling his eyes.

For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, listening to the rain. The room felt warmer than usual, the storm outside making the small apartment seem like a haven.

“Xiaoshuai,” Cheng Yu said suddenly.

“Hm?”

“Do you regret it?”

Xiaoshuai turned to him, puzzled. “Regret what?”

“All of this.” Cheng Yu gestured vaguely at the messy kitchen, the flour-stained aprons, the chaos that had become routine. “Letting me invade your space.”

Xiaoshuai blinked, caught off guard. “Regret…? No. I mean, you’re annoying, sure, and bossy, and smug, and you act like you own everything—but…” He hesitated, fiddling with his mug. “It’s been… fun.”

The word felt too small for what he meant, but it was all he could manage.

Cheng Yu’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “Good.”

Their eyes met, and this time, Xiaoshuai didn’t look away.

Something shifted, subtle but undeniable. The storm outside thundered, but the only thing Xiaoshuai could hear was the steady beat of his own heart.

Slowly, as though giving him time to retreat, Cheng Yu leaned closer. His gaze flicked to Xiaoshuai’s lips, then back to his eyes, asking without words.

Xiaoshuai’s breath caught. His instincts screamed at him to shove Cheng Yu away, to make a sarcastic remark—but he didn’t. He stayed still, waiting.

And when their lips finally met, it was nothing like he’d expected. No fire, no battle—just warmth. Gentle, tentative, like testing a recipe for the first time and discovering it was better than anything imagined.

When they pulled apart, Xiaoshuai’s face was crimson. “You—you—what—”

Cheng Yu smirked, though softer than usual. “Consider it… my secret recipe.”

Xiaoshuai groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You’re impossible.”

“Perhaps,” Cheng Yu said, his voice warm. “But you don’t mind.”

And Xiaoshuai couldn’t deny it.