Sun Fang stumbled back inside. The door slammed shut behind him and he rested his weight on it, leaning his head back and staring up at the beige ceiling. His eyes slowly fell shut as he sighed, pushing his hair out of his face and grumbling quietly to himself. He didn’t react to the sound of footsteps approaching.

”A’Fang?” Mianmian asked, stopping in front of him. Sun Fang could picture him; the twist to his eyebrows, the many piercings moving with his worried expression. The other omega continued, ”Are you okay?”

Sun Fang snorted. ”I’m fine,” he said, still not opening his eyes. He breathed in rhythm with the melody in his head, trying to remember the words that Ivy had so often sung for him as a child. It had gotten rarer, as he grew up, for Ivy to sing for him and he found that he missed it. It was even a little unfair, now that he thought about it, for his father to forbid something because it was childish.

(So what if it was childish? What did it matter, if it brought him joy?)

Mianmian didn’t say anything; simply leaned against the door next to Sun Fang and bumped their shoulders together. Sun Fang pressed closer to that warmth, breathing steadily. After a while, he said, ”Ho doesn’t want any contact with me.”

”Right now or forever?”

”Right now.”

Mianmian hummed. ”And what about you? Do you want to be in contact with him?”

”I—” Sun Fang swallowed the rest. He cleared his throat and opened his eyes, blinking his vision to life. Turning his head to face Mianmian, he stared at that familiar face. ”I don’t know,” he finally said. Licking his lips, he frowned to himself and continued, ”I thought so, but… I don’t really know, I think.”

Mianmian smiled at him and and knocked his head against Sun Fang’s. ”It’s okay to not know,” he said, his voice soft and his eyes gentle. He brushed Sun Fang’s hair back behind his ears—his fingers lingering on Sun Fang’s skin—and said, ”Take your time to think about it. Don’t worry about anybody else. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

Sun Fang’s gaze broke contact with Mianmian’s and he stared down at the floor. At the shoes haphazardly lying on the welcome carpet. At their feet, angled toward each other. He breathed again, forcing down the lump in his throat, and pushed off the door.

”Thank you,” he said, already missing Mianmian’s warmth. It was fine, he thought. It was more than fine. Mianmian was just an incredibly nice person, and he didn’t mean anything by it. Sun Fang was just reading into things. 

It was fine.

Mianmian was still smiling at him. ”Of course,” he said, ”I hate to see you upset.”

Sun Fang’s eyes flickered. ”I’m gonna go to my room,” he said and turned away. His hand landed on his heart and he frowned, dissatisfied. He’d thought he was over this. Thought that his heart understood the rules. Sighing, he began to walk.

”I’m sorry, A’Fang,” Mianmian said after him, his voice almost hoarse. ”I won’t do it again.”

Sun Fang didn’t answer.

He threw open the door to his bedroom, flicking the switch to turn the lights on. He didn’t like those lights that were operated by motion sensors. Sometimes he didn’t want the lights on, and those lamps nearly seemed like they took the choice away from him. But this time, he flicked them on, watching with half-an-eye as the lights flickered and began to steadily. He closed the door softly, walking into the room.

He undressed as he walked, dropping his clothes carelessly on the floor. Reaching his bed, he grabbed the nightgown from under the covers and pulled it quickly over his head. Once it was somewhat on, he climbed onto the bed and below the cover. He scooted up until his head reached the pillow and laid down, pulling the cover up to his chin.

Then he stared at the ceiling. It was beige here, too. Not a crack in it, not a hint of the material used to make it visible. The coat of pain was so thick that it almost looked like plastic. He frowned. 

”I think I want to go bowling,” he said into the silence, alone as he was. Nothing responded, not like he’d actually expected it too, and his facial expression slowly smoothed out. ”Yes,” he said to himself, his voice thoughtful, ”I want to knock down those pin thingies.”

He turned to his side, curling up with his knees at his chest. The door opened, Sun Fang glancing over surreptitiously. It was only Ivy, only his butler. With his realization so close at hand, he instantly said, ”I want to go bowling, Ivy.”

”Okay,” Ivy said, sitting down on the mattress next to him. ”When?”

”Tomorrow.”

”I’ll make the arrangements. Do you want to take Mianmian with you?” Ivy’s voice gave nothing away, just like it was designed to, and Sun Fang furrowed his eyebrows.

”Yes,” he decided. Sun Fang knew himself well, and he knew reality, too. It was merely a temporary weakness, merely the breakup with Mo Cheng and the subsequent emotional fragility, that made him react to Mianmian like this. It wasn’t something that was going to be fixed by distance, or by taking consideration, or by removing himself emotionally from Mianmian. He’d spent decades apart from him—if it was going to work, it would have by now. 

”You’re coming, too,” Sun Fang added. He threw Ivy a mean glare and looked at it until it nodded in confirmation. Only then did Sun Fang exhale and close his eyes, sinking into softness of the pillows and mattress. He hugged a pillow to his chest and snuggled deeper beneath the covers, drawing them up to his nose. The scent of lavender, the laundry detergent Ivy was so fond of, met him.

And Ivy stayed beside him, sitting noiselessly on the bed while Sun Fang fell asleep, one easy breath after another.