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ryukoishida · 6 years

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QZGS Rarepair Week 2018 | Day 4: Cooking | In which HST and ZZK are popular food vloggers.

QZGS Rarepair Week 2018 | Day 4: cooking / thunderstorm / battlefield

@qzgsrarepairweek

Title: Of Dumplings and Secret Admirers Fandom: The King’s Avatar / Quan Zhi Gao Shou Character(s)/Pairing(s): Zhou Zekai/Huang Shaotian (featuring Jiang Botao) Summary: In which the two food vloggers bond over their love of dumplings. Rating: PG A/N: Just a quick note – because there are so many types of “dumplings” in China, I will be using the Chinese names/pinyin to differentiate them! I’m craving xiao long bao now, btw. Damn.

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“Speaking of dumplings, does anyone know the origin of this tasty, tasty food? No? Well, let me tell you this heart-warming story!” the young man in the video was talking with such enthusiasm that it was emanating from the brightness of his eyes and his excited hand gestures.

The video then shifted to a short animation of stilled drawings as he continued with the story.

“According to legend, during the end of Eastern Han dynasty, many people were sick and dying of epidemics, but there was a brilliant doctor named Zhang Zhongjing, who not only had excellent medical skills but also treated both the poor and the rich. So anyway, after he retired and returned to his hometown, he saw that many of the townsfolks were suffering from starvation and the cold, even their ears had become frozen and infected. That sounds absolutely nasty, doesn’t it? In order to treat them, he had his assistants cook a big pot of soup made with lamb meat, chili peppers, and medicinal herbs that helped deter cold. The cooked ingredients were then chopped up, wrapped with dough shaping them like ears, called “jiao er” — or “delicate ear”, and were cooked once more. After people ate them, their bodies quickly heated up, their blood circulation became more efficient, and their ears instantly felt warmer. And after eating these “jiao er” for a while, their infected ears were healed! Isn’t that amazing?”

The camera focused on the young man again, who now had a plate of what seemed to be boiled jiao zi in one of his hands. He carefully used a pair of chopsticks to pick up a dumpling, cooked to perfection with its delicate, ivory outer layer, and dipped it into red vinegar before taking a bite.

Some of the juices ran down the corner of his mouth, which he quickly wiped clean with the pad of his thumb while trying not to laugh.

“Mmn, that is a damn good dumpling,” he nodded appreciatively after eating the rest of that dumpling and continued with a sunny smile, “so for the next… hmm… few weeks, I’ll be making a series of videos completely focused on the best variations of dumplings that are popular in different parts of China, including several recipes and restaurant recommendations! I hope you’ll all be able to join me on this soulful dumpling-searching adventure! And remember: The Q&A live stream will take place tomorrow at 8 p.m., so have your questions all ready to go, and I’ll try to answer them as best as I can. Bye for now!”

Just as he did every time he finished watching Troubling Rain’s videos, Zhou Zekai clicked the ‘Like’ button at the bottom of the screen the moment the video ended and leaned back against his chair with a soft sigh.

“Xiao Zhou, you’re watching Troubling Rain’s channel again?” Jiang Botao asked from behind and leaned in a little to see the content of Zhou Zekai’s screen.

“Mn,” Zhou Zekai nodded once, probably not realizing that there was a hint of a smile hidden in the curved corner of his lips on his usually impassive face.

Though Jiang Botao saw the subtle expression, he knew better than to bring it up. After all, he and Zhou Zekai had been childhood friends since elementary school; now they attended the same university — though in different faculties — and rented an apartment complex together.

The smile, however, quickly disappeared as Zhou Zekai suddenly remembered something, and he turned his panic-stricken gaze towards his friend to speak with a soft but urgent tone, “Jiang, his Q&A tomorrow.”

“Ah, you said you have a group project tomorrow evening, right? Is the Q&A session happening around the same time?” Jiang Botao immediately comprehended Zhou Zekai’s concern despite the minimal number of words the dark-haired young man had spoken.

Ever since they were young, the adults had called Jiang Botao’s ability to understand Zhou Zekai’s intentions when others around him could barely grasp what the quiet-spoken boy meant “mindreading” when really, Jiang Botao just happened to be a person who paid special attention to other’s facial expressions and body language.

And perhaps there was something to be said for growing up together, but Jiang Botao never had any issues getting along with Zhou Zekai, who, to someone who’d never interacted with the boy, might appeared to be unfriendly, stuck-up, or even downright hostile just because of his placid nature and sparse explicit display of emotions.

When Zhou Zekai nodded in the affirmative, Jiang Botao basically knew what his friend wanted to ask of him, and so he continued with a knowing smile, “want me to record it for you?”

“Please,” Zhou Zekai’s gaze could only be described as grateful.

“As long as I get to keep the leftovers of whatever you’re making for your next video. It’s matcha green tea cookies, right?”

Zhou Zekai nodded again.

“Do you still need help with filming your next video, then? I have some time now, but I need to head out in two hours and won’t be back ‘til late tonight.” Other than best friend, schoolmate, and roommate, Jiang Botao was also Zhou Zekai’s voluntary cameraman for his vlogs.

Speaking of his vlogs and channel, one might think it strange that a quiet man like Zhou Zekai — though having been voted the handsomest male student in their university’s campus for three years straight — would want to be in front of the camera and be the focus of attention. It all started with Jiang Botao’s casual request that one time: one of his female friends wanted to learn how to make the strawberry cupcakes that Jiang Botao brought to school, so he asked his friend to make a video tutorial. What Zhou Zekai didn’t realize was that Jiang Botao had uploaded the tutorial onto the school’s online forum, and from there, the popularity of the “cute college boy baking cupcakes” video just spread like an uncontrollable wildfire.

There were tons of cooking videos on the Internet, but what made Zhou Zekai’s stood out, at least according to Jiang Botao, was the fact that he never spoke in his video — not even once; instead, he filled the silence with grainy, lighthearted jazz music in the background, which made the entire mood of the tutorial somewhat more… aesthetically-pleasing and intimate.

Zhou Zekai wasn’t sure what his best friend meant by that when he tried to explain to him the amazing reactions he was starting since the video was posted; he was just glad to help out. Baking and making sweets had always been Zhou Zekai’s favorite way to relax, and since he started learning by watching and helping his mother in the kitchen at a young age, his interest in the culinary arts had been carried on to his adulthood. Making professional-quality videos, however, was mostly Jiang Botao’s idea; Zhou Zekai just sort of followed along.

Besides, having Jiang Botao, one of the top students in their school’s multimedia design department, filming and editing his videos was the icing on the already very appetizing cake.

Zhou Zekai nodded again in response to Jiang Botao’s question, and the two men started to get to work. Soon, their shared apartment was filled with the gentle sweet scent of baked sweets.

It’d been about fifteen minutes into the Q&A live stream, and Huang Shaotian was having the time of his life answering his viewers’ questions, which ranged from actual queries about culinary skills and methods (“Best way to make the silkiest steamed egg custard? Oh man let me tell you how Mama Huang make hers. Usually you’d just mix water or broth with eggs and beat them and then pour the mixture directly into the utensil, right? Wrong! The most important step to achieving that silky smoothness of the custard is to use a fine mesh strainer while you’re pouring the mixture through — the smaller the holes are, the better! And then! Let it settle for a few minutes so any bubbles will rise to the surface, and then you can skim them off with a spoon. Voila — egg custard as smooth as a baby’s butt!”) to inquiries about his personal life and interests (“Do I have a girlfriend? Come on! I expect more creative questions from you guys! Anyway, I could have a boyfriend, couldn’t I? By asking that question, you have offended all the potential boys who could have been interested in me. Shame on you!” he said, and laughed at all the exclamation marks and colorful emoticons that followed his answer.).

One of the questions flashed by in the lively chat and Huang Shaotian caught it right away, his eyes flashing in excitement for a moment. “Oooh! Someone just asked whether or not I’d be interested in working with other vloggers again. Yes, I would as long as that person is not goddamn Lord Grim, who — if you missed the video that bastard had posted on his channel a while ago — almost murdered my taste buds. Just because I’m from Guangzhou doesn’t mean that he should take advantage of my intolerance of spice! So rude, so rude! Never again, nuh-uh!”

The viewers on the chat who knew what Huang Shaotian was referring to expressed their amusement of the hilarious aforementioned video, in which Lord Grim — real name Ye Xiu –who was a good friend of Huang Shaotian’s in real life, challenged the popular (both for the variety of his content and the cheerful chattiness of the vlogger himself) foodie to the notorious Fire Noodle Challenge.

Huang Shaotian had initially ignored him because he knew his stomach was sensitive to spicy foods in general, but him being him, he could never backdown from a challenge, especially when Ye Xiu was practically verbally rousing him up in all the right ways. In the end, Huang Shaotian realized belatedly that this — eating this insanely hot and spicy Korean ramen that had numbed his entire mouth and lips, the spiciness having exploded exponentially after Ye Xiu “helpfully” gave him a glass of water — was a mistake. Needless to say, he’d completely embarrassed himself in front of his audience in that video. At least most of them found it hysterical, and the rating and number of viewings had only increased.

“Other than that asshole friend of mine, who else would you like to see me collaborate with?”

The chat flooded with usernames; some he didn’t recognized while others he knew and were mutual followers of each other’s’ channels. One name did stand out amongst others: Cloud Piercer. Unbeknownst to his followers, Huang Shaotian was a bit of a fanboy of Cloud Piercer and his calming cooking videos and had started following his channel with his personal account some time ago. The vlogger rarely showed his face on his videos, and even when he did, it was mostly blurry so all that could be seen was his dark hair and the vague shape of his face, but just watching those elegant hands meticulously measuring ingredients and kneading dough was enough to make Huang Shaotian’s imagination wander at times.

“You guys want me to collaborate with Cloud Piercer?”

Lots of ‘!!!’s and variations of ‘yes’s’ flurried past the chat, which made Huang Shaotian grin because he’d finally found the perfect opportunity to approach the vlogger he’d been admiring from afar for far too long.

“I’ll try to contact them and go from there!”

And this was how two weeks later, Huang Shaotian travelled over 1,100 miles on the high-speed train and ended up in the city of Shanghai.

Their first meeting, which took place at the busy Hongqiao Railway Station, was an awkward one. Through the exchange of their emails in order to arrange this meet-up, Huang Shaotian would have never guessed that Cloud Piercer — or Zhou Zekai, as he soon found out the vlogger’s real name — was such a reserved individual. After a quick introduction, which involved a brief greeting and exchanging their real names, Zhou Zekai decidedly started walking in the front to let Jiang Botao do all the necessary talking. What Huang Shaotian missed — and Jiang Botao definitely caught from the corner of his eye — was the hint of blush that tainted Zhou Zekai’s cheeks right after they’d shaken hands.

Still, after that initial greeting, Zhou Zekai didn’t say anything more as they winded and dodged their way in between locals and tourists. Not that he was rude or cold or anything like that, Huang Shaotian observed while he allowed Zhou Zekai and Jiang Botao to lead him out of the station to get on the public transit, but when he tried to initiate a conversation, all he received from the dark-haired man was prolonged “……”, nodding, or shaking of his head, with the occasional nervous smiles that vanished whenever Huang Shaotian looked at him with genuine curiosity.

He glanced over to Jiang Botao, who was comparatively easier to communicate with and seemed like an amiable person overall, with silent plead in his eyes, as if he was asking, “what am I doing wrong? Why is your friend ignoring me? Why is this happening??? How do I talk to him???”

To that, Jiang Botao only chuckled in response and patted Huang Shaotian’s shoulder in consolation, “Xiao Zhou takes a longer time to get used to people he’s not familiar with. Don’t take it too personally. In fact…”

He paused and quickly checked to see if Zhou Zekai was looking at their direction before he leaned closer to Huang Shaotian and whispered covertly, “…he’s a huge fan of yours, actually.”

“No way! He is?” Huang Shaotian frowned in confusion, once more fixing his attention onto the man walking a few steps ahead of them. His frame was lean and tapered from the well-fitting jeans and black leather jacket he was donning, and at his full height, he was at least a few centimeters taller than him, which made the man slightly intimidating, even if he had the most dazzling ash-grey eyes and cheekbones sharp enough to shred paper-thin slices of prosciutto, but that had never stopped Huang Shaotian before.

“Sure is. So, imagine how surprised he was when he saw your email,” Jiang Botao continued, returning to walk beside his new acquaintance, “he could barely talk — he was that excited.”

“Huh,” Huang Shaotian made a non-committal sound and stared at the back of Zhou Zekai’s head. He wanted to say something like “you mean the guy’s capable of talking even less than this?” but he didn’t because that would be incredibly rude and he wanted to be on his best behavior during this short trip in Shanghai. It wasn’t as if he was trying to impress a certain someone… Oh, who the fuck was he trying to fool?

“Anyway, we were thinking that we’d let you rest during the afternoon, get something to eat together, and then start filming the first section tonight. We already have all the ingredients that you’ve requested prepared at our place. What do you think?”

“Sounds good!” Huang Shaotian’s grin returned, vibrant and infectious, and Jiang Botao could understand a bit what his best friend saw in Huang Shaotian despite his chattiness and almost too-cheerful persona that he presented in front of his audience in his vlogs.

“Hello everyone, this is Troubling Rain of the Blue Rain Eatery channel! Guess where I’m currently at? This is Cloud Piercer’s apartment! Can you believe it? Yeah, me neither. But as promised, the two of us are collaborating for the next two videos. This first one will be posted on my channel, where, with the assistance of the wonderful and beautiful Cloud Piercer, I’ll be making a Cantonese style-fried dumpling — gok jai. In the second video, Cloud Piercer, who’s born and raised in Shanghai, will take me to his favourite restaurant to try one of the city’s most well-known delicacies: xiao long bao. So, without further ado, let’s welcome our special guest: Cloud Piercer!”

Huang Shaotian clapped with as much enthusiasm as a child being told that he could run free within a candy store.

The camera panned out to reveal Zhou Zekai, wearing a simple black long-sleeved t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a light grey, yellow-trimmed apron, standing adjacent to Huang Shaotian. He gave a slight wave and a small but sweet smile, and introduced himself with a soft voice, “Hello, I’m Cloud Piercer.”

“You Cloud Piercer fans should thank me,” Huang Shaotian faced the camera and said with mock seriousness, “apparently this is the first time the man is willing to show his face properly in front of the camera. Oh my, I think I could hear your fangirls and fanboys screaming in the distance, Cloud Piercer.” He grinned slyly, aiming the teasing expression at the dark-haired man who only scratched his cheek bashfully, grey eyes darting to the side with a helpless but adorable smile.

“That’s…not nice,” Zhou Zekai managed three words — an actual complete sentence, even if it was a rather short one — but it was more than Huang Shaotian could ever hope for.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! It was meant to be a compliment, I swear!” Huang Shaotian burst out laughing when he saw Zhou Zekai’s expression.

“All right! Let’s get started! Since Cloud Piercer here is too shy to speak, he’ll be doing all the hard work while I do the talking. First, let me just say that we’ll be making the sweet version of this tasty dumpling, which, granted, is usually only served during the New Year, but what the heck, I heard this man likes his desserts so that’s what we’ll be making. Also, the original recipe calls for deep-frying, but I know all you ladies out there are probably weeping about the oil and cholesterol. Don’t worry! We’ll be baking ours instead! So, have as many of these as you want!”

“But too much…” Zhou Zekai, to Huang Shaotian’s pleasant surprise, spoke up again, and if he weren’t wearing a lapel microphone on his apron, his voice would definitely have been lost, “…unhealthy.”

“True,” Huang Shaotian nodded in agreement, and began to list out the ingredients and the required amounts of each. While he talked about each step with a flurry of hand gestures and animated, rising and falling tenor, Zhou Zekai followed along silently in graceful and efficient movements beside him, adding dry and wet ingredients into a glass mixing bowl, combining them thoroughly with a wooden spoon, and then kneading the dough — already a nice, golden shade from the egg yolks — until it transformed into a smooth, glistening sphere.

All this time, Huang Shaotian made sure that he wasn’t talking too fast, as he sometimes had the tendency to do when he got too excited, but he realized that he’d been worrying over nothing because as little as Zhou Zekai seemed to speak in words, the man carried himself in the kitchen as if he owned the place, and the ingredients and pieces of equipment were under his perfect control and manipulation.

It wasn’t the first time Huang Shaotian watch Zhou Zekai cook (let’s face it, he’d watched some of the videos more than once… fine, more than five times) but seeing him on screen and being there with him were two entirely different experiences. While Zhou Zekai’s videos were mostly peaceful, calming, and almost therapeutic, standing beside him while he was preparing the ingredients and gradually assembling them was strangely intense and entrancing; in fact, Jiang Botao had to wave at him vigorously to get Huang Shaotian’s attention because the blond had been staring at Zhou Zekai rolling a small piece of dough into an almost-perfect circle without the use of a cookie-cutter, quickly placing a spoonful of peanut and coconut filling in the middle, and folding the edges together into an elegant border of flourished twists.

Zhou Zekai’s fingers, slender and pale with nails trimmed neatly, were precise in measuring out ingredients and kneading the dough for only as long as necessary, like a gunner flawlessly hitting his intended targets, yet laced within that precision was a kind of grace found only in an artist’s bones.

“Uh, yes, um, so keep repeating these steps,” Huang Shaotian blinked and forced himself to turn away from those attractive hands before continuing in a more steady tone, “don’t worry too much if your first few don’t look as perfect as the ones Cloud Piercer’s making right now because hell, I don’t think I can make them that pretty myself, and put them in the oven, preheated to 180 degrees Celsius, for 18 to 20 minutes or until the surface looks golden-yellow.”

By the time the baked gok jai had been cooled down enough, Huang Shaotian picked up one of the golden dumplings, baked to a crisp and warm to the touch, with his thumb and index finger, and offered it to Zhou Zekai.

“Taste test time! Go on then, Cloud Piercer, take a bite!”

Zhou Zekai’s gaze strayed from the dumpling dangled between Huang Shaotian’s fingers to Huang Shaotian himself, who was giving him an encouraging smile almost too bright for Zhou Zekai to handle; his gaze landed back onto the dumpling, which was held only an inch away from his mouth that had sudden gone very, very dry.

“……”

“Come on, man, don’t be shy now,” Huang Shaotian misinterpreted Zhou Zekai’s hesitation, though he wasn’t really that far off.

“…you first,” Zhou Zekai finally spoke, his voice so small even his microphone was having a hard time capturing what he’d said.

“Oh nonono, I insist you should take the first bite,” Huang Shaotian shook his head vigorously, his fluffy blond hair flying every which way so that it reminded Zhou Zekai of a golden retriever shaking himself dry. The image almost pulled a smile from his lips, but he somehow managed to control himself. “You did all the hard work, so you deserve to have the first one. Now be a good boy and open your mouth — say ‘ah’.”

His face remained impeccably neutral, as if he wasn’t about to be hand-fed by someone whom he might consider to be his online crush, but the red tinted at the tip of his ears, thankfully concealed by his dark hair, betrayed his troubled thoughts. All too aware of the camera’s lens focusing on him, Zhou Zekai just wanted to get this over with as soon as possible; he swiftly lowered his head and bit a small mouthful before pulling himself straight, one hand politely covering his mouth while he chewed.

The crispy texture was utterly mesmerizing, but when combined with the chewiness of the wrapping and the crunchy sweetness of the filling, Zhou Zekai’s taste buds were very blissful indeed.

“How is it? How is it?”

Since Zhou Zekai was still chewing, and he honestly didn’t trust his voice at this point, the best he could do was to give a thumbs-up at the camera to show how much he enjoyed the taste.

Without even thinking about it, Huang Shaotian popped the remaining of the gok jai into his own mouth, and Zhou Zekai could only stare at him as the blond mumbled with his mouth full of the dumpling. Meanwhile, Zhou Zekai’s brain was running wild with the colourful comments from the viewers, especially those very zealous fangirls, this video was about to be consumed by.

“It’s too bad Xiao Jiang can’t join us for dinner,” Huang Shaotian commented as he placed his phone down on the table after watching the video they’d filmed and edited two days ago. He grabbed the menu to inspect it even though they’d already placed their order about fifteen minutes ago, but he couldn’t let Zhou Zekai see the blush spreading on his cheeks.

What the hell had he been thinking? Huang Shaotian’s mind was running a marathon — a marathon of a never-ending circle. Hand-feeding Zhou Zekai like that as if… as if they were anything more than acquaintances! He hadn’t been thinking — that was the problem. He’d been so distracted by Zhou Zekai’s presence that he thought nothing of the gesture until after Jiang Botao shouted “cut!” to end their filming session and the man sent him an amused but knowing grin.

He tried to redirect his attention to elsewhere: the reaction had been even better than both vloggers had expected, and that gave them the motivation to film the next video as soon as possible, which was how they ended up in a hole-in-the-wall diner in one of the back alleys in the city near Zhou Zekai’s apartment.

“God I haven’t had xiao long bao in ages. You have no idea how long it’s been! Like, you’d think Guangzhou would have some good restaurants that serve half-way decent xiao long bao, but they’re either way too expensive or way too overrated,” Huang Shaotian rambled on until he felt like he was about to be suffocated by the way Zhou Zekai was staring at him with those ash-grey eyes and slight curve of his lips. “So, anyway, uh, I just wanted to thank you again for accepting my invitation to do this collaboration! It’s been really fun, and I can’t wait to try the food here. Here’s to another successful video from us both!”

Huang Shaotian raised his tall glass filled with beer and clinked it against Zhou Zekai’s, the foam overflowing the rim and sliding down the glass in rivulets of white.

“Mn.”

Zhou Zekai sipped his liquor in a slow and steady pace but Huang Shaotian seemed either very thirsty or very nervous, for he gulped down three-quarters of his beer in one breath.

Since they’d settled into their seats, Zhou Zekai hadn’t really spoken other than placing their orders. It wasn’t like he was ignoring Huang Shaotian though, because the blond could tell that the other man was listening to him attentively and gave the appropriate responses like nodding in agreement, or tilting his head to the side in puzzlement, or even occasionally giving one-syllable replies.

Before he allowed the silence to get any more insufferable, however, Huang Shaotian began to fiddle with his camera and tripod. Since their voluntary cameraman was not available today, Huang Shaotian had taken on the responsibility to record their session tonight.

When the dishes they ordered finally arrived, Huang Shaotian released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. With another one of his signature sunny smiles, he turned to Zhou Zekai and asked him if he was ready to start.

Sitting inside the bamboo steaming basket was the star of the video, the piping hot xiao long bao — the soup dumplings with their pale-yellow skin, glistening with moisture, the crown cascading with spiraled ripples, and their bodies plump with meat and stock inside just waiting to be bitten into. Huang Shaotian positioned the basket between himself and Zhou Zekai while moving the other dishes out of the way; they’d have to enjoy those a bit later, unfortunately.

“Welcome to the second installment of Cloud Piercer and myself Troubling Rain’s collaborative video about one of China’s most delectable and versatile food — dumplings! Today, Shanghai local Cloud Piercer takes me to his favourite restaurant in town that serves excellent xiao long bao, ta-dah!” Huang Shaotian tilted the basket to display the jewels towards the camera and continued, “And of course, when we’re eating these delicious little things, there are some courtesies that must be followed so that you can enjoy the dumplings with maximum level of scrumptiousness and minimum level of danger, i.e. accidentally letting that hot soup burn your tongue!”

As they’d discussed beforehand, Zhou Zekai took the cue and carefully picked up a xiao long bao with his chopsticks, placing the dainty dumpling into his soup spoon, which had already been filled with a dash of black vinegar.

“First, if you don’t dip your xiao long bao in some black vinegar, that should be a food crime and you should be put into food jail! Shame on you! The sourness of the vinegar and — yeah, don’t skip out on those ginger either!” Huang Shaotian added as Zhou Zekai delicately topped the dumpling with some finely-chopped ginger slivers, “the sourness of the vinegar and the mildness of the ginger will balance the slight saltiness and oiliness of the pork filling, so remember—”

What they hadn’t discussed, but what Zhou Zekai was currently doing, was the dark-haired man holding the dumpling a few inches away from Huang Shaotian’s lips, his eyes expectant and the corner of his lips slightly tilted upwards in what seemed to be a teasing smile. Maybe.

The scene was all too familiar.

“Uh, hmm? Cloud Piercer, what’s up?” Huang Shaotian didn’t dare back away but he was raising one of his brows in bewilderment.

“…”

The spoon with the plump xiao long bao sitting snugly in it was moving a degree closer, Zhou Zekai’s intention clear as day.

“F-for me?” Huang Shaotian wanted to be sure anyway, because what if he misinterpreted the whole thing and made a fool of himself in front of this gorgeous man? …Again?

Zhou Zekai nodded with a faint smile, and Huang Shaotian gulped noisily.

And since, as previously mentioned and demonstrated, Huang Shaotian was an infatuated fool who was too easily distracted, all his attention was focused on how pretty Zhou Zekai looked with a smile on his face, how sincere he seemed in offering him the first dumpling, and how insanely long his eyelashes were, a perfect frame for his ash-grey eyes that were also smiling warmly at him. His attention was so askew that he forgot about the one taboo any experienced xiao long bao-consumer would never commit: he took the entire freshly-steamed dumpling into his mouth and sank his teeth into it.

He regretted it instantly.

“Huang Shao!” Zhou Zekai yelped in forewarning, the loudest Huang Shaotian had ever heard from him. His eyes were widened almost comically, but it was too late.

Scalding, fragrant soup filled Huang Shaotian’s mouth, the heat of the stock burning its way around the tender flesh of his oral cavity and the back of his throat as he tried to swallow as quickly as he could without choking himself in the process. He coughed in the most unbecoming manner, soup dripping down his chin messily, his eyes turning red and watering from the heat, “Fuaaaah! Shit, shit, owwwww…”

Armed with several napkins, Zhou Zekai leaned in to dab Huang Shaotian’s chin and cheeks dry, his movements nothing but gentle, all the while his brows frowning with obvious worry, “…hurt? Need ice water?”

His face was only a few centimeters away from Huang Shaotian’s, and he was too preoccupied by his task of cleaning the blond up to realize that said blond was staring unabashedly at him.

‘Too close,’ Huang Shaotian thought to himself, blinking slowly and appreciating the flawless cheekbones and rosy pink of the other man’s lips in such close proximity. ‘Oh god.’ He had a feeling he was about to do something he was going to regret again.

“Water would be nice, but…” Huang Shaotian finally located his voice, slightly raw and hoarse from hot soup sliding down his throat just minutes before, and he glanced up to maintain steady eye contact with Zhou Zekai, his topaz irises blazing with a sudden burst of daring, before the words rolled out of his mouth, “a kiss from you might be better though.”

“…….”

At Zhou Zekai’s pause, though his hand remained on Huang Shaotian’s chin with a clean napkin, Huang Shaotian’s cheeks began to grow warm and he wished the ground would swallow him up already because hadn’t he embarrass himself enough in front of this guy today?!

“I-I mean— mmf?!”

His lips were warm, was Zhou Zekai’s first thought as his eyes fluttered close when their lips touched tenderly for the first time, warmer than expected, and so, so soft, like the fluffy chiffon cakes he liked to bake. On the other end, Huang Shaotian’s lips felt oversensitive due to the burning soup from the xiao long bao, but the slight tingling verging on numbing sensation was addictive, and he found himself leaning in closer, his arms hanging loosely on Zhou Zekai’s shoulders to keep him in place, their breaths gradually becoming more and more unsteady until Zhou Zekai pulled himself away and opened his eyes.

They were dark but glimmering with the kind of desire not unlike wanting to swallow his favourite dessert whole.

Huang Shaotian’s breath stuttered at the sight, but he still managed to grumble convincingly with an accusative tone, “Zhou Zekai, you realize we’ll have to film this from the beginning again, right?”

“Worth it.”

#qzgs #quan zhi gao shou #tka #the king's avatar #huang shaotian #zhou zekai #bowie's crappy writing #I think this is my fave so far #and I'd totally write this ship again because omg the cuteness potential is so there

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