“Good morning Kris,” Zitao sing-songed as he heard the elder begin to stir. His cheery greeting was not returned. Instead, Kris managed to hobble over to the kitchen’s island bench and sit himself on a stool, closing his eyes as the scents of fresh breakfast washed over him.

Zitao continued on, undeterred by his guest’s silence. “I wasn’t sure how you’d be feeling so I just thought I’d make something light.” He set down a large platter of fresh fruit, two bowls of yoghurt, and two glasses of orange juice before pulling up a stool for himself.

“Is this okay?” Zitao worried, mistaking Wufan’s narrow-eyed expression for one of distaste. (Privately, he was in fact impressed.)

“What?” Wufan replied blankly, voice thick with congestion. “No, it’s fine, thank you.”

Pride blossomed in Zitao’s chest and the pair ate quietly until Wufan asked curiously, “Do you always prepare your own food like this?”

Zitao shrugged, “When I have enough time, yeah.” He tossed Wufan a box of tablets. “These are for your cold. I think we’re supposed to change the dressings on your wounds today as well.”

Wufan replied only with a frown, which was received with a laugh and a shrug. “It can’t possibly go too badly,” Zitao said somewhat unreassuringly.

And so it was throughout that day and those that followed Wufan slowly learned more and more about his host, from trivial things (like the fact that Zitao lived in constant terror despite being 22 years old) to secrets and talents and dreams (like the fact that Zitao just happened to be a trained martial artist and had been practicing Wushu since the age of 5.)

Wufan also knew that Zitao was hopeless at replacing dressings and injuries made him slightly woozy, which was a story in itself. He knew that Zitao was a good cook and worked for a software startup, earning a fair amount of money for someone his age. He knew Zitao was shy and courteous to strangers but charming to his friend and a good-hearted, kind person to all he met, despite being kind of a loser and a chicken at heart. At some point along the track he’d even met Zitao’s good friend Lu Han, and learned that the pair had gone to high school along with Yixing, where they’d instead been Lu, Tao, and Lay.

Yes, there was often little else to do in the tiny apartment than sit and exchange words over food or bad reality television. But more often than not Zitao opened up without asking, leaving Wufan content to listen and nurse his own wounded secrets. But eventually, on his ninth day in Zitao’s home (not that either of them had been counting) his new friend and honorary brother-in-arms decided to bite the bullet and ask the question that had festered in the back of his mind for over a week.

But, Zitao being Zitao, he chickened out at the last moment and instead asked a simpler, more watered-down question:

“Kris, what happened to you the night we met?”

a/n: I'm back, es :D Hopefully I'll be able to resume posting a chapter a week but my track record is pretty shocking so don't get your hopes up where consistency is concerned. Chapter 7B is mostly pointless to plot obvs and I'm just trying to kick sand over any continuity errors in advance bc I haven't written this for a while so I fully expect to make mistakes. Anyway, on with the show, thanks for being patient and I love all of you to bits xx