Yifan is a horrible gift receiver.

 

Even though he showers Zitao with all of the love and affection imaginable, the idea that Zitao, in turn, puts effort into their relationship, is somehow baffling to him.

 

Zitao remembers when he gave Yifan an expensive, nice bottle of perfume for their first anniversary and the anxious (but admittedly, endearing) expression on Yifan’s face as he says, oh my God baby, you shouldn’t have. Or worse, that one time he crocheted a sweater for Yifan because his sister found a new hobby that she just had to drag Zitao into - the sheer guilt all over Yifan’s face, induced by the knowledge that Zitao spent hours and hours of his life just to make that sweater for him. Babe, I can’t accept this. This is too nice.

 

Zitao doesn’t know if that’s just how Yifan is - if he really is too nice all the time, that the mere idea of his significant other giving him something fills him with guilt. Or if it’s something that really should be dealt with; most likely a self-esteem thing, maybe he doesn’t feel like he deserves the things that Zitao gives him which is undoubtedly a serious thing that needs to be addressed somewhere down the line.

 

But what’s clear right now is that it’s kind of frustrating because for once, Zitao wants to be the one showering him with all of the love and affection imaginable, but he can’t do that if his boyfriend doesn’t know how to receive love.

 

You see, after months of back-breaking hard work and up to his bosses, Yifan finally, finally got a promotion. Junior Partner. It’s a huge upgrade, especially considering he’s one of the youngest to attain that title at the firm. (Not to mention, a huge pay upgrade too).

 

And Zitao wants to show his appreciation for Yifan, wants to do something nice for him in return for all of his hard work, but for Yifan to actually receive it, he needs to get creative.

 

They’ve just finished eating a nice dinner, in celebration of Yifan’s promotion. Zitao’s sitting right next to Yifan, instead of face to face like a lot of couples do just because they crave that proximity. The food is nice and Zitao feels light and bubbly from the champagne he’s drunk, and Yifan’s ordered him a slice of strawberry cheesecake for dessert. It feels like they’re celebrating him.

 

But he really can’t complain, especially with Yifan’s arm wrapped protectively around his waist like this. Plus, Yifan’s usual reluctance to engage in public displays of affection is, for whatever reason, forgotten for tonight; what with him asking Zitao to feed him bites of said dessert.

 

(If the cheesecake isn’t indulgent enough, it’s babying Yifan that does it for Zitao.)

 

There are only a few bites left of the cheesecake, and Zitao happily gives the last bite to Yifan. While Yifan is chewing his food, Zitao takes the moment to procure a small, tin box from the pocket of his pants. He carefully covers it with both of his palms, before turning to Yifan.

“Yifan, I have something for you,” Zitao says, his eyes lighting up with giddiness. “But promise me you won’t laugh.”

 

Yifan wipes at his mouth with a napkin, then his hand sneaks back to its previous position; rubbing affectionately at Zitao’s back. “I promise I won’t,” he says, smiling kindly at Zitao. “What is it?”

 

Zitao uncovers his palm, revealing the tin can that he’s holding. It’s one of those things you would find at a gift shop or a stationery shop, with some decorative engraving on the cover. But what matters is what’s inside it.

 

Yifan looks at him questioningly, which prompts ZItao to open the can; revealing a small stack of printed paper cards. Five of them, to be exact. The younger hands it over to Yifan.

 

“This is my gift for you, to congratulate you on your promotion,” Zitao explains. “They’re coupons. Boyfriend coupons. Well, you get the idea.” He omits the part that this gift is designed specifically to accommodate Yifan’s gift-receiving dread.

 

Yifan carefully tips the can so the cards are scattered on the table and looks at them one by one.

 

Good for one...breakfast in bed

Good for one…striptease

Good for one....backrub

Good for one...bath together

 

“And what’s this one for?” Yifan asks, picking up one card that’s left blank except for the pre-printed coupon template on it.

 

“It’s a blank one. You can write whatever you want.”

 

“Whatever I want?” Yifan says, raising an eyebrow suggestively and grinning mischievously.

 

“Shut up,” Zitao playfully shoves him lightly. “But that’s right. Just don’t write anything you’d think I won’t be comfortable doing.”

 

Yifan laughs, and it sounds so light and honest that Zitao feels his stomach flutter. “Of course, of course,” he replies, then he takes a moment to look at the cards. His expression shifts then, into something more serious, and Zitao anticipates him saying, again, things like this is nice of you baby, but I can’t accept it, or babe, are you sure? You don’t have to do this for me.

 

But instead, Yifan looks back at him, his hand on Zitao’s back coming up to the younger’s nape to at the spot. “Thank you so much, baby. You’re always so thoughtful,” he says sweetly, leaning in to briefly plant a kiss on Zitao’s forehead.

 

Showered by Yifan’s affection like this, Zitao can only blush and stare when Yifan flashes him that warm, kind smile.

 

The smile on Yifan’s face stretches into a grin. “I’ll use them wisely,” Yifan adds teasingly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Zitao can’t remember where he discovered the concept the first time, but it’s genius for his purposes. Love coupons. He can choose what gifts Yifan can redeem, meaning he’s thought about them and consented to them, and Yifan can choose when he wants to receive them. No guilt involved from either side, problem solved.

 

…Right?

 

Well, not really.

 

It's been a couple of days since Zitao gave Yifan the coupons, and the elder is yet to redeem any of them. Zitao doesn’t push it, or at least not yet, because it’s still a little too soon and he wants Yifan to come by naturally.

 

They’re both getting ready for bed, the lights in the bedroom already out, with Zitao lying on his side on the edge of the bed, his back facing Yifan who’s just slipping into his pajamas and climbing onto the bed.

 

Zitao is just drifting into sleep when the mattress shifts underneath him, and he feels the weight of Yifan’s arm snaking around his waist, Yifan’s chest pressing against his back. “Babe,” Yifan whispers.

 

“Mmmh?” Zitao mumbles blearily.

 

“Are you tired?” Yifan asks him, his deep voice right against Zitao’s ear.

 

It’s a Friday, and Zitao’s job normally isn’t demanding at the end of the week like this. “No, not particularly… Why?” he answers. He opens his eyes sluggishly and turns his body to face Yifan.

 

Yifan’s hand comes up to the back of his neck, beginning to his hair gently. “So you don’t mind waking up early tomorrow?”

 

Zitao squints at the question, confused. 

 

...Then, he realizes.

 

Tomorrow’s the weekend, and he does usually sleep in a little late. Yifan never bothers him about it, and there’s only one reason why he asks about it now.

 

“Fan,” Zitao sighs exaggeratedly. He works up an exasperated smile at Yifan. His palm roams down to tug at Yifan’s shirt, bunching up the fabric. “I told you, you can redeem those coupons anytime you want. Even if I’m tired, I’d still happily make breakfast for you.”

 

Yifan chuckles at himself, grinning sheepishly, that Zitao can just slightly make out his expression in the darkness of their room. “I know… I just don’t want to burden you.”

 

“You’re not. I made and chose the tasks on the coupons. That’s the point, silly,” Zitao pokes Yifan’s cheek before sitting up and setting the alarm on his phone. He makes sure it’s set on vibrate only so it won’t also wake Yifan up the next morning. He sets the phone on the nightstand before turning back to his boyfriend. “Anything in particular you want to eat?”

 

Yifan takes a moment to respond, staring blankly at Zitao while he visibly thinks.

 

Zitao quirks an eyebrow in question only to realize, belatedly, that he shouldn’t have asked.

 

He almost laughs because it’s funny - he remembers that Yifan’s favorite breakfast food is eggs benedict because that’s what he always orders when they go out for brunch at a nearby restaurant. But it’s a difficult dish to make at home, which is why Yifan doesn’t say it.

 

It’s not impossible though, and the fact that Yifan is reluctant to ask Zitao to make that for him exactly makes him want to make Yifan all the eggs benedict in the world.

 

Zitao purses his lips, biting back his laugh. He lies back down on the bed and snuggles close to Yifan, pulling Yifan close to him so his head lies on his chest.

 

“No, I’ll have whatever you feel like cooking,” Yifan finally answers quietly.

 

Zitao can't help but giggle at the superficially neutral answer as he cards his fingers through Yifan’s hair. “Sure you do.”

 

When the alarm goes off in the morning, vibrating softly on his side of the bed, Zitao wakes to Yifan; the elder’s hair all messy and his mouth parted adorably as he sleeps, looking all cuddly and soft like his own personal angel.

 

It takes everything in Zitao to not just lie back down and snuggle the life out of Yifan. He finally pulls himself out of the bed so he can whip up a difficult dish for breakfast. And really, the only reason he would be voluntarily doing this on a freaking weekend is the promise of seeing Yifan get the affection he deserves.

 

A number of failed poached eggs and way-too-much homemade hollandaise sauce for two people to eat later, Zitao plates the finished dish enthusiastically, not forgetting to garnish it with a single parsley leaf on top of the poached egg. He places it on a small tray, alongside a small glass of apple juice, and comes back to their bedroom.

 

The door is open, but Zitao is feeling cheeky and playful, so he carefully balances the tray on one hand, and with the other, he knocks on the door anyway to make some noise and wake Yifan up. 

 

“Knock, knock. Room service,” he says, grinning as he walks up to the bed, watching Yifan who’s now stirring in his half-conscious state.

 

Yifan is lying down, the white comforters on their bed gathering on his legs and he’s barely awake. But he’s smiling blissfully, his eyes still half-lidded and droopy. He flexes his arms above his head and stretches his back, groaning satisfactorily.

 

“Come in,” he says, fully opening his eyes now, sitting up and dangling his legs off the edge of the bed.

 

Zitao is already sitting on the bed beside him, gingerly placing the tray of food on Yifan’s lap. 

 

It’s then that Yifan realizes what Zitao had made for him. He looks at Zitao, then back at the food, then back at Zitao again; like a child who can’t decide what to focus his attention on. He smiles that incredibly bright smile that reveals his gums that Zitao swears make everything better. Then Yifan leans in and kisses Zitao on the cheek. “Thanks baby, you’re the best boyfriend ever.”

 

Zitao beams, can’t help the mixture of feelings that blooms in his chest. Contentedness, in this small bubble of happiness they’ve made for themselves. And a hint of pride, for finally being able to make Yifan so happy. It involved some negotiation still; but really, that’s a given with Yifan. What matters is he’s succeeded at making Yifan smile.

 

He watches as Yifan munches on his food happily, the elder occasionally feeding bits and pieces to him. The hollandaise sauce smears on Yifan’s t-shirt and some even get on their comforters, but no matter because those things can be cleaned up later.

 

And Zitao honestly wonders why Yifan would feel so guilty at the notion of receiving gifts. Because seeing Yifan, in all of his morning vulnerability, be so happy and radiate so much joy just from something as simple as breakfast in bed, is better than any gift that Zitao himself has ever received.

 

(Well… Maybe it still doesn’t top that one-time Yifan treated him to an expensive luxury watch. Just maybe.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

They’re both perched on the couch after having dinner; normally they would be watching a movie together, and ideally, Yifan should be cuddling Zitao in his arms. Instead of that though, Yifan is hunched over his laptop that’s balanced on his thighs, his poor back straining from the poor posture, and his eyes squinting as he reads through a memo from work. 

 

This has been occurring more often lately, Yifan bringing home work, because moving up the chain of command at the firm means that he’s got more on his plate that he needs to take care of even late into the night. (Especially that most of his clients’ needs are time-sensitive. No wonder Yifan is so high-strung and nervous lately).

 

Zitao doesn’t have the heart to comment though, because if this is what Yifan wants, he’ll gladly support him. So on nights like this, all Zitao can do is to sit next to Yifan and offer company, maybe read a book of his own or watch the television at a low volume (and sometimes allow himself the pleasure of distracting Yifan by playing with the elder’s hair or holding his hand.) 

 

But tonight is the third consecutive night of this happening, and Zitao is starting to worry a little. For Yifan’s mental health, of course, because not having enough time away from work and actually resting can be detrimental.

 

(And maybe… Zitao would like to come home to a not-so-distracted boyfriend that can cuddle and kiss him all night. But that’s beside the point.)

 

As if right on cue with Zitao’s thoughts, while Zitao stares at Yifan intently without the elder noticing up till this point, Yifan groans and rolls his shoulders, moving his head from side to side to stretch his neck. “Feels so sore,” he complains, more to himself, while rubbing at his neck with his palm. “I think I slept wrong last night.”

 

Zitao, though worried, almost breaks into a laugh at how clueless Yifan is. “Are you sure it’s not because you’ve been working like this for the third night now?”

 

Yifan chuckles and shifts to face Zitao by his side. He reaches out his arm and rests it on Zitao’s thigh. “Well, I guess it’s time to invest in that home office, don’t you think?”

 

Zitao rolls his eyes at the reference of renovating their apartment which Yifan had hinted at numerous times. He laughs outwardly this time. “No, Fan. The solution is to not bring work home.” He clicks his tongue, eyes Yifan for a moment, which is when a thought crosses his mind.

 

“But...” Zitao starts again, his tone playfully suggestive as his hand roams up Yifan’s elbows and squeezes at his shoulder. “I can think of another solution to your back problems.”

 

Zitao inches closer then, and Yifan gets the hint and he swiftly removes the laptop from his lap so Zitao can position himself on top of him. There’s a mischievous glint in Zitao’s eyes and Yifan’s hand slips underneath his shirt. “Yeah? And what’s that?” Yifan humors him.

 

Zitao throws his arms over Yifan’s shoulders. “It involves oil and you going shirtless,” Zitao says, a simper on his face; their faces so close that their noses touch. “But you have to redeem one of the coupons to get it.”

 

Yifan ducks his head and mouths at Zitao’s exposed neck. “I don’t think I can back away now.”

 

Admittedly, the only thing that guides Zitao as he massages Yifan is instinct. Yifan’s discarded his shirt; in fact, he’s only in his briefs now as he lays face down on their bed, with Zitao straddling his back. Though most of the time it’s Yifan that teases him and engages in the for him when they have , Zitao knows Yifan’s body just as equally. So even though he’s only relying on instinct, his instinct proves to be reliable.

 

He splays his oil-slicked palms over the familiar plane of Yifan’s broad back, working his thumb into the ridges of the elder’s lower spine, and up until his hands reach Yifan’s shoulders, all the while applying pressure to relieve the knots in Yifan’s tense muscles. Yifan’s skin feels so warm and nice under his touch. Instantly, he feels Yifan relax underneath him; the elder’s shoulders loosen as Zitao hears him release a sigh.

 

That gives Zitao the confidence that he’s doing this right, so he continues the motions, working diligently at every part of Yifan’s back. He has to resist the childish urge to tickle Yifan, that’s so vulnerably exposed underneath him, into a fit of laughter. (Maybe some other time.)

 

They don’t bother to talk, relishing in this moment of physical, but not ual, intimacy. Then, it seems that Zitao’s done, because he’s even finished massaging Yifan’s arms and knuckles even though it wasn’t part of the promise. So the younger climbs off Yifan’s form and sits next to Yifan. “How was it?” he asks sincerely, wanting to know how he’s performed.

 

“I feel like I’m in heaven,” Yifan sighs exaggeratedly out of bliss, but his dazed smile tells the truth. Zitao beams proudly at him but just when Zitao is about to climb off the bed, Yifan’s hand latches onto his wrist.

 

“Babe, can I redeem another coupon right now, too?” Yifan asks imploringly.

 

“Well, there are no rules against that,” Zitao answers. “What do you have in mind?”

 

Yifan’s hand travels lower, clenching at Zitao’s inner thigh. “Want you to strip and dance for me.” 

 

Zitao grins like a cat, knowing that the request leads to . “Mmm, good choice,” he purrs, rubbing his slick-oiled palm down Yifan’s back. “But you have to wait a moment.” Then he climbs off the bed and walks over to their shared closet.

 

Yifan decides to sit up on the bed so he can see what Zitao’s doing, but his vision is blocked by the door of their closet. It seems that Zitao purposefully stood behind it.

 

A moment and some rustling later, Zitao closes the door, revealing that he’s changed into one of Yifan’s white Oxford dress shirts and tight pants.

 

“You changed? Just so you can strip?” Yifan chuckles and asks teasingly as he moves to sit on the edge of the bed.

 

Zitao shoots him a look. “This is part of the plan, alright? I can’t put on a show if I’m only wearing a t-shirt.” Then he straightens his face and puts on a coy smile as his gaze cards down at Yifan, shirtless and ready for a show.

 

He squats down in front of Yifan, positioning himself between his legs. He rubs his palms up Yifan’s thigh, making Yifan’s breath hitch, then up, up to his chest as Zitao also rises to his feet, his body rolling sensually as he goes through the motion. His warm palms roam all over Yifan’s chest as he kisses and nips at a spot on Yifan’s neck.

 

Yifan’s breathing is heavy by the time Zitao pulls away. Zitao grins approvingly at a purple spot he’s made on Yifan’s body; not quite on his neck, but lower near his clavicle - for professional reasons, of course. Then Zitao turns around, spreading his legs wide, his backside in full view for Yifan to see. From the front, he s his pants and slowly slides them down his thighs and ankles to reveal his . He feels Yifan’s arm coming up to touch, but he immediately steps out of his pants and walks several steps away from the bed, swaying his hips.

 

He turns again to face Yifan, seeing Yifan card his gaze all over his body like he’s not sure where to look or like he’s trying to burn this image into his brain. It eggs Zitao on, knowing his partner’s aroused. He continues to tease Yifan, letting his hand slip underneath the fabric of the oversized shirt (Yifan’s) that he’s wearing; letting it bunch up his stomach to reveal his torso and his half-hard to Yifan’s eyes.

 

Then, he carefully undoes the first couple of buttons of his shirt. He lets it hang off his shoulders, the fabric drooping off his elbows. He undoes the remaining buttons while caressing his torso with his other hand. Finally, he lets the shirt drop to the ground.

 

He walks up to Yifan again, agonizingly slowly, and sits on top of the elder, letting his and Yifan’s clothed rub together. Yifan moans from the mild friction.

 

“So…” Zitao starts, biting at Yifan's bottom lip.  “What do you think?”

 

“I think…” Yifan flips him over to his back. Zitao yelps and giggles, with Yifan caging him in between his elbows. “That I definitely should get promoted more often.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The last thing Zitao wants to see when he walks into their apartment after climbing down three flights of stairs, then up again to return to their home (because of course, the elevator had to be out of order the day he’s scheduled to take out the trash), is the pile of dirty dishes left intact in the sink.

 

And Yifan nowhere to be found.

 

They have a system in place for the two chores that both of them hate the most: they take turns between taking out the trash and doing the dishes, when one does the former, the other does the latter.

 

And the system has worked for the longest time, but recently Zitao has been finding himself needing to remind Yifan of his chores, what with him taking on more work and responsibility at the office. But Yifan isn’t the only one with a job in this household, and the chores still need to be done.

 

“Yifan,” Zitao calls for him, not quite shouting but loud enough for Yifan to hear him down the hallway because that’s presumably where he is given he’s not in the living room nor the kitchen.

 

Sure enough, loud thumping can be heard as Yifan rushes to the kitchen. “Coming,” he answers.

 

When Yifan is in the kitchen with him, Zitao bores his gaze onto Yifan and frowns. “Fan, I told you to wash the dishes while I took the trash out,” he tells Yifan, doing fair little to mask his irritation. Yes, it’s a menial mistake, but it needs to be addressed lest it snowballs into something bigger.

 

“I know baby, I’m sorry,” Yifan answers quickly, pecking Zitao’s cheek while he rushes to the kitchen. “I had an email I had to answer immediately.”

 

“I’m not doing them,” Zitao says pointedly, his lips unconsciously pursing into a pout.

 

“Of course. I’ll do them,” Yifan says, already bunching the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows as he turns on the sink and does as he’s asked.

 

A couple of hours pass after their mini-fight, both of them having showered and slipping into comfortable clothing to relax for the night, but Zitao persists on giving Yifan the cold shoulder. His annoyance has mostly dissipated, but he’s primarily making a point to Yifan that he’s taking a violation of their chores system seriously and that it should not be repeated.

 

Zitao decides to sit down and settle his laptop on the kitchen island for the night while he reads through some articles for work. He’s reading and scrolling through websites silently, when Yifan sits across from him, plopping himself right in Zitao’s line of sight.

 

Zitao knows what Yifan’s trying to do; it’s obvious with the elder making goofy, smiley faces at him. But he purposefully ignores Yifan’s presence, instead focusing his attention on the screen of his laptop.

 

Before long, Yifan stands up and exits from the kitchen and outside of Zitao’s line of sight. Soon enough though, he returns with something in his hands.

 

He walks up and hovers beside where Zitao’s sitting, extending his hand and showing whatever it is he’s holding right in front of Zitao’s face.

Zitao flinches slightly.

 

It’s the coupon.

 

The blank one, specifically.

 

Good for one… the pre-printed font says, then in Yifan’s messy handwriting: Kiss on the cheek.

 

Zito feels a grin tug the edge of his mouth but he restrains himself. He purses his lips and looks up at Yifan. “Seriously? That’s what you’re using the coupon for?”

 

Yifan shrugs, wearing a blank expression that’s so obviously fabricated to hide his amusement. “You told me I can write whatever I want,” he states matter of factly.

 

“Yeah, but this…” is silly, Zitao thinks, biting back a laugh. Yifan doesn’t respond, just looks at him blankly. Finally, Zitao sighs in defeat, “Fine, whatever.”

 

Zitao stands up from where he’s sitting, and Yifan’s arm instantly wraps around his middle. The younger closes his eyes shut, tiptoes, and quickly presses his mouth against Yifan’s cheek.

 

When he pulls back, Yifan immediately says, “That’s not a kiss. That’s a peck.”

 

Zitao’s eyebrows furrow in annoyance. Genuine annoyance this time, at Yifan’s antics. “A peck is a kiss.”

 

“No, they’re different,” Yifan continues to speak, not letting the point go. “A kiss is wet, and it should last for at least six seconds,” he explains like it’s not the most absurd thing he’s ever said.

 

Zitao’s annoyance dissipates and this time, he can’t hold back his laugh at the things Yifan’s spewing. His eyes light up in delight as his arms instinctively hug Yifan back. “Who told you that?”

“A psychologist on the internet,” Yifan answers, not a hint of sarcasm in his voice. His hand is curled on Zitao’s hip, his thumb at the dip of his waist. “Now come on, you need to honor the coupon in good faith.”

 

Zitao rolls his eyes playfully, but he relents. “Alright. You win, Mister Junior Partner.”

 

He leans in once more and presses his lips on Yifan’s cheek. He prolongs it, counting to six inside of his head just to humor Yifan. Then when he pulls away, he makes an exaggerated mwah sound; sure enough, leaving a damp spot on Yifan’s cheek.

 

Yifan nonchalantly wipes the spot with his palm, like a child wiping food off their cheek just to smear it all over their face. He sheds the blank expression he was wearing and his face brightens instantly. “So does this mean you’re not angry at me anymore?” he says, practically beaming in delight.

 

Zitao wants to back and continue being snarky just to have more fun, but his heart feels so full right now. He realizes that Yifan could have chosen to use that coupon for anything; he could have even used it opportunistically to get out of doing the chores in the first place if he wanted to.

 

But instead, he used it to put a smile on Zitao’s face.

 

So rather than shoving Yifan away or making a playful comment, Zitao lunges at Yifan and wraps his arms around Yifan’s neck, nuzzling into Yifan’s shoulder. “I could never be truly angry at you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Out of all the activities Zitao chose for the coupons, bathing together is actually the one that he’s the most reluctant to do.

 

Yifan likes bathing together, often asking him to bathe with him after they have , not to go for another round, but because Yifan relishes the intimacy of it. There’s just something special about it, to be completely unguarded in front of another person. And it’s not ual; so there’s a certain innocence to it.

 

Zitao, however, usually refuses. Not because he doesn’t trust Yifan - he knows he can trust Yifan with anything, but to him, it’s just a strange thing to do together. He’s always bathed alone in his life so it’s truly just unusual. But Yifan’s right, there is an intimacy to bathing together that isn’t replicable in other activities and he likes the idea of sharing that with Yifan, so he brings himself out of his comfort zone when he decides to put it onto one of the coupons.

 

It’s just a normal, random night, with nothing particularly special happening when Yifan redeems it. Yifan just got home from work, two hours later than his normal time, and Zitao accompanies him as he eats dinner in the kitchen even though the younger’s already eaten. Yifan is silent for most of the meal, it’s clear he doesn’t have any appetite for small talk. He looks tired, creases all over his usually crisp dress shirt.

 

Luckily it’s not his turn to wash the dishes (if it was, Yifan would insist on doing it even though he’s exhausted). But Yifan lingers in the kitchen while Zitao does the chore, he hugs Zitao from behind while the younger’s drying the plates.

 

“Let’s take a bath together,” Yifan mumbles, his voice muffled as his mouth’s pressed against Zitao’s nape.

 

Zitao turns around after he sets the plates on the rack next to the sink. Normally he would bicker with Yifan after hearing such a suggestive comment from the elder, but all he sees now is a tired and solemn Yifan, and he wants nothing more but to make Yifan’s day better. So Zitao smiles encouragingly at him. “You redeeming that last coupon?” he asks gently.

 

Yifan nods, leaning the weight of his body against Zitao’s. “Yeah,” he breathes against Zitao’s shoulder. “Could really use a warm bath right now.”

 

“I can tell,” Zitao giggles lightly, wrapping his arms around Yifan’s back to pull him into a much-needed hug. “Go ahead and get undressed, I’ll prepare everything.”

 

In the tub, Zitao sits behind Yifan so he can help the elder wash his hair and his back. The water is hot, and everything feels warm and steamy and hazy, it positively feels like a dream.

 

Zitao applies shampoo on Yifan’s dark brown hair, massaging his scalp lightly before drenching it off with the shower head attached to the tub. Zitao remembers how Yifan let his hair grow long one summer during college. He looked so carefree and boyish. Then he rubs soap on Yifan’s back using a shower puff and splashes the water to rinse it off.

 

Zitao’s chest overpours with warmth. It’s nice, being able to take care of Yifan in the most basic sense. And Yifan’s sentiment about bathing together has never rung truer; Zitao can only regret not having agreed to do this earlier, savoring this special kind of intimacy between them that he didn’t know he needed, and yearned for.

 

Once he’s finished, Yifan leans back against Zitao’s chest, his broad shoulders pressing against him. Zitao wraps his arms around Yifan’s stomach, locking his hands together there. And Yifan rests his head on Zitao’s shoulder. Skin skin skin. Warm, warm skin.

 

They stay like that for a while, breathing calmly, chests rising and falling steadily and they almost fall in sync.

 

Then Yifan cranes his neck to kiss Zitao on the cheek. “I wish we could stay like this forever,” he murmurs absentmindedly.

 

The comment, almost like a Freudian slip, tugs a smile onto Zitao’s cheek. Yifan, so successful and strong and amazing; when in actuality, all he wants is to be in this moment with Zitao forever.

 

How adorable is that?

 

Zitao can’t help but tease. “We have to go to bed eventually,” he replies.

 

“I know,” Yifan sighs, sensing Zitao’s playfulness. “I haven’t even done my skincare yet.”

 

That’s true. Yifan has always kept up an elaborate skincare regimen that he goes through every night. It’s painstaking, to say the least, but he likes to take care of his skin. 

An idea pops into Zitao’s head. “I could do it for you,” he says, nudging Yifan slightly to make the elder look at him. “Let me do it for you,” Zitao trips over his words, letting his excitement get to him. He’s always loved watching Yifan apply his skincare. It’s meticulous and he loves seeing Yifan’s expression of concentration (it’s so endearing). He thinks it would be fun to try it out for himself.

 

“Really?” Yifan shifts his weight forward again, then turns his head to look at Zitao. “Well, alright. You know where they are, right?”

 

“‘Course I do,” Zitao answers as he climbs out of the tub and puts on a bathrobe. He fetches the small, nondescript black bag of Yifan’s skincare products that are stored in one of the cupboards in the bathroom. Then he perches himself on the edge of the tub, balancing the bag in between his thighs.

 

Before starting, he uses a towel to gently dry Yifan’s face, to prevent any water from getting in between his skin and the products. Then he rummages through the bag. There are around ten separate products that Yifan uses every night, each one neatly labeled with numbers to signify the order of use. Even though Yifan himself has memorized the steps, he likes having those; that’s just the kind of perfectionist that he is.

 

Zitao pulls out the tube that has the number one on it and squeezes a decent amount on his fingers.

 

“That’s eye cream,” Yifan supplies helpfully, looking up at him from where he’s still sitting inside the warm water in the tub. “Don’t use too much.”

 

“I know, Yifan,” Zitao leans forward and begins to apply the white cream underneath Yifan’s eyes, rubbing it in circles with his fingers.

 

“You need to use the pads of your fingers babe,” Yifan adds again.

 

Zitao pulls back his hands and laughs. So meticulous, Yifan, as always. “Are you letting me do this or not?”

 

Yifan smiles sheepishly at him. “Yeah, yeah. Go ahead.”

 

Zitao grins from ear to ear and continues the task at hand. A silent moment passes between them, swollen with love and care and affection that Zitao’s chest feels tight with emotion. He’s sure Yifan feels it too.

 

“Tao?” Yifan calls for him then, breaking the silence while the younger is closing up the bottle and rummages through the bag to obtain the next product.

 

“Hmm?” Zitao hums in answer as he warms up the cream that makes up the second step of Yifan’s nightly skincare routine. He proceeds to rub it onto Yifan’s forehead using his palms.

 

Like this, Yifan can’t look away and hide his bashfulness. “I love you,” he says, and his face turns red, previously already flush from the temperature of the water surrounding him.

 

Zitao finishes applying the cream onto Yifan’s skin. He looks into Yifan’s eyes and smiles. It’s understated, the smile, there aren’t any of his signature mischievousnesses in it. But it’s filled with a fondness for Yifan. “I love you, too.”

 

Yifan gulps, looking back at him. “Do you feel loved?” he asks Zitao. It’s a question that he asks sometimes; in whispers, as they hold each other in the night before they go to sleep, like a lullaby or a bedtime story, a sweet question to end the day with, because he knows Zitao will answer in the affirmative, validating his love.

 

But, for some reason, this time the question feels loaded with complexity. It’s more serious this time.

 

Zitao sets down the tube of moisturizer he’s holding and moves the small bag from his lap onto the edge of the tub.

 

That’s Yifan, always worrying whether he’s showing his love enough, whether he’s giving enough. And it seems like it’s heightened now that he has less time to spend with Zitao, to give Zitao the love and attention that Yifan knows he deserves. He feels guilty, Zitao can sense, for not being able to give the way he wants; can only receive from Zitao for now, and that makes him feel selfish.

 

It’s not though. It’s not selfish, to receive. Because being able to receive love is as much a part of loving as giving. They go hand in hand. Zitao wants Yifan to realize this, wants him to know that he, too, deserves the love that Zitao affords him. That giving to Yifan and having Yifan receive what he gives also makes him feel loved.

 

So he circles his arms around Yifan’s shoulders. Their foreheads touch, their faces so close that they breathe against each other’s lips.

 

“So, so loved Zitao answers before closing the distance between them. 

 

A/N