Chapter 2: Part 2: Where You Belong
Still Morning — Somewhere Between Post-Marriage Bliss and Incoming Chaos
The phone vibrated loudly against the nightstand, a shrill little buzz that didn't quite match the warm silence wrapping around the couple still tucked beneath the sheets.
Tong Yao groaned softly, refusing to lift her head from Sicheng's chest. "Ignore it."
"Can't. That's the tenth time it's gone off."
He reached for it lazily, glancing at the screen. "It's Jinyang," he said, voice low and smug. "Again."
Yao sighed deeply, already hearing the high-pitched rage from her best friend in her mind before the call even connected. She snatched the phone from his hand and answered without lifting her head.
The voice that exploded through the speaker was immediate. "TONG YAO, YOU ABSOLUTE… DAMN MENACE!!!! YOU DIDN'T CALL ME, YOU DIDN'T WARN ME, YOU GOT MARRIED WITHOUT ME? I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE YOUR WITNESS, YOUR MAID OF HONOR, YOUR—YOUR EVERYTHING— "
Yao winced, holding the phone slightly away from her ear as Sicheng bit back a laugh beneath her.
"I told you she'd find out." he murmured, clearly entertained.
"Jinyang," Yao said wearily.
"NO. No 'Jinyang.' You don't get to say my name like we're fine. I fought off your ex for years, I threatened Kun Hyeok twice, and I defended your honor every time someone said Lu Sicheng was too arrogant for you—"
"He is arrogant—"
"SHUT UP, YOU'RE MARRIED TO HIM NOW—"
"Jin-er—"
"—AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN LET ME THROW RICE AT YOU—"
" Jin-er! " Yao snapped, finally loud enough to stop the spiral.
There was a pause on the other end.
A breath.
A seething inhale.
"What," Jinyang hissed.
Yao closed her eyes, let out a long, resigned sigh, then deadpanned into the receiver with absolutely zero hesitation, "I am currently in the nude." Another pause. Sicheng, beneath her, choked on his laugh and tightened his grip on her waist. Yao continued, unfazed. "Laying on my husband. Who is also nude. And smiling like a wolf because he knows you're imagining it right now."
The shriek that came through the phone was high-pitched enough to make Da Bing yowl from somewhere down the hall. "YAO! " Jinyang howled. "You're a monster! "
Sicheng grinned. "She said it, not me."
"AND YOU!" Jinyang shouted, voice rising, probably pointing at the phone like she could stab him through it. "I hope you're ready for this because that girl is going to make your life hell."
"Already does," he replied with pride, brushing his lips lazily along his wife's shoulder. "Best decision I ever made."
There was a strangled noise on the other end. And then, finally, a very dramatic sigh followed by, "Fine. Fine. Details. I want every detail. Later. All of them. I hate you. Congratulations. I'm still mad." And then the call ended with the angriest click in the history of cell phones.
Yao stared at the ceiling. "God, I love her."
"You're naked on top of your husband," Sicheng said, lips trailing up her collarbone. "There's nothing to be mad about."
She laughed, relaxed, and melted back into him, her smile curling against his skin. "No," she murmured. "There's not."
The soft chime of the call ending faded into the stillness of the bedroom, the air heavy again—not with laughter this time, but something older, deeper.
Yao was still draped across his chest, her hair a dark spill over his skin, her breath cooling against the edge of his throat. She hadn't even moved to set the phone down yet—just blinked slowly, lips curling in faint amusement as she murmured into his skin. "She's going to demand a full report."
"She can wait," came the low growl beside her ear.
Before she could process that shift in tone—before she could feel the tension rolling off him like smoke—Lu Sicheng moved. Fast. Fluid. Predatory. He rolled them, flipping her beneath him with one powerful shift of his hips, her back hitting the mattress as his hand caught the back of her thigh and lifted it, curling it high over his waist. And than without warning, without a word. He thrust into her, hard, rough, deep.
Yao cried out, her head snapping back against the pillow, her hands flying to his shoulders as her body jolted from the force of it, still so sensitive from earlier, still stretched and warm and wanting. "Sicheng."
"You say my name like that," he rasped, voice thick, wild, raw, "and you expect me to behave?" He didn't give her time to answer. His mouth was on her throat, open and biting, as his hips snapped into hers again, again, each thrust more unforgiving than the last—deep, claiming, the kind that dragged moans from her chest and left her limbs trembling beneath him. "Mine," he growled into her skin.
"Yes—yes—" she gasped, her nails raking down his back as she arched up into him.
His hand gripped her thigh tighter, keeping her open for him, braced wide across his hips as he drove into her, the slap of skin against skin echoing through the room like the rhythm of their bond—raw, ragged, real. She was a mess beneath him, every breath stuttering, her moans spiraling into sharp whimpers as her back bowed, her entire body taut with the edge of release. And he saw it—felt it—chased it. "You feel that?" he hissed, slamming into her deeper, pressing her down into the mattress with every inch of him. "That's what happens when you call yourself mine."
"Sicheng—Baobei—" her voice broke on the word, too much and not enough all at once.
He cursed, low and guttural, and then shifted—hooking her other leg around his waist until she was open, wrecked, his—and he thrust again, burying himself to the hilt with a force that made her scream his name. "That's it," he growled, dragging his mouth up her throat, over her jaw. "Come on me. Now." And she did. Shattering. Clutching at him like she'd drown without him, her entire body pulsing around him as her orgasm crashed through her, raw and violent and perfect. He followed her over the edge seconds later, burying himself deep, his voice a broken sound in her ear as he spilled into her, his body locked above hers in the kind of tension that only broke when nothing was left between them but breath.
The silence afterward was deafening. Sated. Sacred. His forehead dropped to hers. Her hands found his face. And for a long, long moment, they simply breathed. "You're insatiable," she whispered, voice cracked but laced with awe.
"I married you," he said, still buried inside her, still hard enough it made her legs tremble.
"And that means—what—bedridden for a week?"
"At least."
She groaned, but her smile was helpless, full, radiant. Because he was hers. And God help her—she wanted nothing else.
The chaos had settled.
Yao was fast asleep again, curled across his chest like she had every right to be there—which she did—her breathing slow and even, her cheek pillowed against his heart, her arm draped possessively across his ribs like if he so much as moved to leave the bed, she'd notice and bite him for it. The sheets were tangled at their waists, the warmth of their bodies still tangled even deeper. Her hair spilled across his skin, soft and faintly damp at the ends, and there were little faded marks across her neck and shoulder that he hadn't planned to leave—but hadn't had the restraint not to. Not after the way she'd whispered "Take me to bed, husband."
He could still hear it. Still feel it. Still see her, flushed and bare and reaching for him like he was the only solid thing in her world. And now, with her wrapped around him like gravity, he didn't have to think about the rest of the world. Not the fans. Not the press. Not even his team. But his phone vibrated once more against the nightstand—relentless. He reached for it with his free hand, careful not to disturb her. His fingers unlocked it quickly.
One New Message
The_Dragon: Is it true? No wedding ceremony? No banquet? Just registration? And you didn't even call your mother?
Sicheng stared at the screen for a long moment, lips twitching slightly. He didn't sigh. He didn't frown. He simply turned his head to look down at the woman sleeping soundly in his arms, her mouth parted slightly, her breath a soft brush against his bare chest. His wife. The smile that touched his lips was small. But real. And unshakable. He typed slowly.
Demonic_Stingy_Brat: She's my wife now.
He hit send. Set the phone down. And wrapped his arm tighter around Yao's back, pulling her in closer, pressing his mouth to her temple as if to seal every word he didn't need to say aloud. Because nothing else mattered now. Not tradition. Not expectation. Not a banquet, or a ring ceremony, or the hundreds of opinions that had once circled around him like smoke. She was his. In every way that mattered. And as she breathed against him, warm and safe and asleep, Lu Sicheng, once the coldest player in the league, the hardest to reach, the most untouchable man behind a monitor. Closed his eyes and finally rested.
Sicheng had just begun to drift. Not quite asleep, not quite awake. Yao was still breathing softly across his chest, her fingers twitching now and then like she was dreaming, her knee still hooked over his thigh. The room smelled like skin, sunlight, and too many hours of tangled devotion. His phone, thankfully silent now, rested forgotten beside the bed.
Until it rang.
Not vibrated.
Rang.
He didn't move for a second, staring at the ceiling as if debating whether answering it would unleash a storm. Then he saw the name on the screen.
The Dragon
He swore softly under his breath and picked it up.
The second he answered, her voice—clipped, biting, and deeply unimpressed—cut straight through the speaker like a blade.
"Lu Sicheng, you stingy-ass, demonic, lethal brat of a son."
He blinked once. "Good afternoon to you too, Mother."
"I did not raise you to steal a girl, marry her in secret, and not even let her wear a proper dress," she snapped. "You didn't even let me throw a dinner, let alone a wedding. You're lucky I adore and like her."
"She's asleep," he said calmly, brushing his fingers through Yao's hair. "And very satisfied."
There was a pause on the other end. A sharp breath. A rustle of something—papers, perhaps pride. Then, stiffly, "I didn't need to know that."
"You asked," he said, with absolutely no remorse.
"I did not ask. What I am asking," she hissed, tone dropping into something far more dangerous, "is when the hell you're going to give me one—just one— decent photo of the two of you that doesn't involve a bed, a jersey, or a scandal."
Sicheng blinked. "You want wedding photos."
"Yes," she said through clenched teeth. "You've stolen that girl from the public, from her fans, from her best friend, from me—and now you're hoarding her like a damn dragon over gold and I don't even have a single framed photo of my son and daughter-in-law to display in the family gallery. Do you want your grandmother to faint?"
"Is this a guilt trip?"
"This is a summons."
He let out a long breath. "I'll talk to her when she wakes up."
"Good," she snapped. "And tell her to pick a dress. Or not. Hell, she could wear sweatpants and still look better than half the society girls your grandmother tried to throw at you."
He smirked. "She did marry me in nothing but a towel."
Silence.
Than….
"You're a menace," Lan snarled. "You get it from your father. Photos. At least one set. I'm not asking again."
Click.
Call ended.
Sicheng looked at his phone for a long moment. Then looked down at Yao, still peacefully asleep across his chest. He leaned down, kissed her temple, and muttered against her skin, "Wake up soon, Wǔ xiān. You've been summoned by the matriarch."
Yao stirred against his chest with a sleepy hum, her fingers flexing lightly across his ribs, one bare leg shifting to slide even more snugly between his. Her breath moved lazily over his skin, and Sicheng didn't even need to look to know she was waking up.
He brushed a knuckle down her spine, slow and deliberate. "You awake?"
"Mmm." Her voice was gravel-soft and thick with sleep. "Was."
He kissed her temple again, lips warm against her skin. "My mother called."
"Mmm?" Her fingers curled against him. "You in trouble?"
He paused.
"Less me, more us."
That made her head lift slightly, her lashes parting to reveal hazy eyes still heavy with contentment. "What'd we do now?"
"We got married without her knowledge, without a wedding, a banquet, or even one professional photo."
She blinked. Then blinked again. "She really said that?"
"She called me," he said dryly, "and I quote, "stingy-ass demonic lethal brat." Which, for her, is practically affectionate."
Yao's lips twitched. "And she wants photos?"
"She demands them. You've been summoned. She doesn't care what you wear. Her exact words were 'she could wear sweatpants and still look better than the daughters of every family that ever tried to throw someone at you.'"
At that, Yao gave a sleepy little laugh against his chest. Then, wickedness blooming slow in her voice, she murmured, "So… what you're saying is, I can wear anything I want?"
Sicheng narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Yes…"
She stretched languidly, arms up over her head, every inch of her bared and flush against him. Then she smirked, soft and dangerous, and said, "Good. I'll wear white."
His heart stilled.
"I'll have them hem it short," she added thoughtfully, as if imagining it. "Really short. Mid-thigh, maybe. Backless. Fitted like a second skin."
He sat up slightly, eyes locked onto her like a man trying to assess the level of threat. "Yao—"
"And heels," she said lightly, eyes wide with faux innocence. "Four inches. Thin straps. Red soles."
"Absolutely not."
"Maybe a slit—"
"Absolutely not."
She broke. Laughed. Fully, breathlessly, delight curling through her like a spark. "Relax, husband, I wouldn't actually wear that."
His eyes were already molten. "You said that just to drive me insane."
"I succeeded, didn't I?"
"You're not leaving the bed for the rest of the week."
She raised an eyebrow, smug. "Punishment or reward?"
He growled, already shifting to roll her under him again, the sheets tangled low enough that neither of them had a prayer of modesty left. "You'll find out," he muttered against her throat.
But as his mouth moved down her skin and she melted into him all over again, she whispered, "Don't worry. We'll take the photos."
And he smiled against her collarbone, his voice low and satisfied. "Damn right we will. And they'll know you're mine in every frame."
Two Days Later — Private Venue, Early Afternoon
The venue was a picturesque courtyard tucked into the hills outside Shenzhen—stone walkways, ivy-covered walls, a soft-spoken team of photographers and coordinators who'd all been briefed in excruciating detail by Lu Wang Lan herself. The natural lighting was perfect, the garden fragrant with early spring blooms, and the entire perimeter was closed off like it was housing state secrets. Which, to be fair, it was. Because at the heart of it all stood Yao, dressed in soft lavender that brushed just below her knees, the neckline modest, the sleeves short, her hair pinned up in delicate waves that framed her face like she belonged in a daydream. Her lips were painted the faintest rose gold, her jewelry minimal, her ring—his ring—catching the sun with every movement. She wore flats. Elegant, pale silver, with subtle floral embroidery across the toe.
They had been Lan's pick.
Yao had offered. A silent olive branch. And in return, the older woman hadn't said a word about the simplicity of the dress, nor the absence of lace, nor the fact that there was no aisle, no veil, no officiant. Just her son, his wife, and a photographer Lan had personally flown in from Hong Kong.
"I have no complaints," Lan had murmured earlier, hands folded and chin raised. "She doesn't need a white dress to glow. The lavender makes her eyes look softer." That was as close to emotional as she'd get. Yao hadn't stopped smiling since.
Across the courtyard, Lu Sicheng stood in a black button-down rolled at the sleeves, no tie, dark slacks, hair brushed neatly back from his forehead but still slightly mussed, because no matter how polished they tried to make him, there was always something untamed beneath the surface. Something that looked like power barely caged. He wasn't smiling. But his eyes? Locked on her. Starved. Possessive. Awed.
The photographer had already attempted to start five times.
But each time Sicheng looked at Yao, standing beneath the arch of pale flowers in lavender, the man forgot how to breathe.
"Please," the photographer said kindly but with visible panic, "can we maybe—just one candid before the lighting shifts?"
"I will," Sicheng muttered, "if everyone gets out of the goddamn way."
And then, like the world had been waiting for it. From outside the courtyard walls, a sudden voice echoed: "YAO?! YAO-YAO I SWEAR IF YOU TAKE PHOTOS WITHOUT ME—"
Security moved.
Lan stiffened.
Sicheng cursed under his breath.
"YUE?" Yao's head tilted, blinking like she wasn't sure she'd just heard her brother-in-law screaming over hedges.
And then, Yue appeared, scrambling over the far side stone wall like an urban ninja in designer joggers, phone in one hand, hair wild, eyes wide. "I KNEW YOU WERE HIDING IT FROM ME! YOU TOOK HER OUT HERE AND DIDN'T EVEN INVITE—"
"Security!" Lan snapped, and three suited guards immediately converged on Yue like he was a paparazzi armed with explosives.
"Yue—" Yao laughed so hard she nearly tripped over her lavender hem.
"I bought confetti!" he shouted as he was physically hauled off the grass. "I HAD A BALLOON BANNER! THIS IS A HUMAN RIGHTS VIOLATION—*"
Sicheng looked murderous.
Lan looked like she wanted to press charges.
But Yao?
Yao was glowing. She turned back toward her husband, her smile wide, her eyes impossibly soft, and held out her hand. "Come here," she said gently. "They can't get a good photo if you're glaring." He took her hand. Pulled her in. And didn't just pose for the photo. He reached down, cupped the side of her jaw, and kissed her. Deep. Slow. Lips brushing hers like a promise, like a declaration, like forever.
The photographer nearly dropped the camera.
The shutter clicked once.
Twice.
And that image?
That one shot?
Would be the photo that landed in every frame, every hallway of every Lu family home. Not because it was formal. Not because it was perfect. But because it was them. His hand at her cheek. Her fingers curled in his shirt. His lips on his wife and her wearing lavender like it had been stitched from the first moment she fell for him.
Later That Afternoon — Lan Reviewing the Proofs
The photos were spread across a sleek coffee table in Lan's private parlor. Sunlight streamed in through the massive bay windows, illuminating the glossy prints that were neatly arranged in rows—each a snapshot of the quiet, aching intimacy that marked Lu Sicheng and Tong Yao's wedding shoot.
Lan sat with her chin perched delicately on the back of her hand, not speaking, not moving, just surveying the images like a commander inspecting her troops. Behind her, one assistant shifted nervously. Another tried not to breathe too loudly.
Yao sat politely beside her, legs crossed at the ankle, posture perfect, even though all she really wanted to do was lean over and steal a few more candied almonds from the dish beside the photo binder.
Sicheng stood near the windows with one hand in his pocket and his other resting on the small of his wife's back—entirely silent, entirely unreadable, but watching. Always watching.
Lan tapped a fingernail against one of the larger prints. "This one," she said.
The assistants flinched.
Yao glanced over. It was the one where she had lifted her hand, fingertips grazing Sicheng's cheek, his eyes closed as he leaned into the touch. The kiss wasn't visible, but the intention of it—the weight of it—saturated the frame.
Lan sniffed. "Print this one."
One assistant leaned forward. "Not the posed one where he's looking directly at the camera?"
Lan didn't even look up. "He looks like he's imagining murdering the photographer."
Yao choked on a laugh and tried to hide it behind her hand.
Sicheng didn't deny it.
Lan sat back, folding her arms. "That one, and the shot of her walking toward him. Print them both large. The rest can be archived." Then, without preamble, she waved a hand toward the door. "You're all dismissed."
Later — Hall Outside the Studio, On the Way Out
The team was packing up, carrying equipment back to the vans. Yao lingered in the hallway near the refreshment table, sipping a cool tea, her lavender dress now paired with a cardigan that Lan had insisted she bring "so she wouldn't catch a chill." Her flats tapped lightly against the tile as she checked her phone for missed messages.
That's when he appeared. A young assistant—probably in his early twenties, nerves still fresh, hands slightly clumsy, stepped up beside her, eyes wide with star-struck delight. "You're… you're Smiling, right?"
Yao blinked and turned, soft smile forming. "I am."
"I—Oh, wow, sorry, I'm not trying to be weird or anything, but I've watched you play since I was like, in high school, and your Zed play against TAT in last year's spring quarterfinals? That turn? That flash prediction?" He actually mimed it.
Yao laughed, warm and polite. "I remember that one."
"You're… so cool," he breathed, a little flushed now. "And you're even prettier in person. I didn't think that was possible."
She raised an eyebrow, amused. "Thank you."
"You know, if—if I'd known you weren't married until recently, I think I would've tried my luck," he added, bashful smile tipping onto his lips.
Yao tilted her head. "Would you have?"
"Yeah," he chuckled, trying for charming, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not that I'd have stood a chance."
The air shifted behind her. Sharp. Icy. Lethal. She didn't need to turn. She felt him.
Lu Sicheng stepped in behind her, presence falling over her like a dark shadow cast from the sun. One hand slid up her arm with possessive familiarity before settling around her waist, pulling her gently—firmly—back against his chest. His chin dropped to her shoulder. His voice came low. Silken. Deadly. "She doesn't take applications."
The assistant paled. "C-Captain Lu—I wasn't—I mean, I didn't mean any disrespect—"
Sicheng's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Mm."
"She's very… lucky."
Yao bit her lip to keep from laughing as the poor kid all but bowed and scrambled away down the hall, nearly tripping over a lighting case. Once the hallway was empty again, she turned her head slightly toward her husband. "Possessive much?"
"You're wearing lavender," he muttered into her neck, voice still simmering with heat. "You're glowing. I watched you take a thousand photos with your hand in mine and you still look like temptation incarnate."
She leaned into him, smirking now. "Jealous of a fanboy?"
"Jealous of air," he murmured. "Don't test me."
Yao turned in his arms slowly, arms wrapping around his waist as she looked up at him with wicked calm. "Good. Then let's go home, husband and maybe I'll reward you."
His eyes flared with heat, and he bent, kissed her hard—deep—right there in the hallway. By the time they left the studio, not a soul dared to look at her twice. Because everyone understood one thing, one truth, one immutable fact: Mrs. Lu belonged to no one else.
The Next Evening — Lu Family Estate, Private Study
The proofs arrived in a pristine envelope, hand-delivered.
Lan didn't open them at the grand dining table or under the chandelier in the formal parlor. She brought them to her private study—where the Lu family's long line of legacy portraits hung along one side of the wall, and her personal archive of strategic documents and company records were kept under lock and biometric key.
Only her eldest son's wedding photos were being added to the private collection.
She poured herself a cup of tea. Sat down. And began reviewing the images in silence.
The first few were exactly what she'd approved, Yao walking forward in lavender, Lu Sicheng waiting for her with that cool, unreadable gaze, their hands joined beneath a flower arch, her fingers grazing his cheek. Elegant. Timeless. Then came the next set. The ones taken when no one was directing. When the couple had stopped listening. And started looking at each other.
Lan paused.
One photo caught her attention, Yao pressed back against Sicheng's chest, his mouth at her temple, his arm looped around her waist like he was anchoring her to the earth. His eyes were half-lidded, full of something possessive and reverent, and her smile… Soft. Completely undone. Another frame, Yao's fingers curled in the front of his shirt, their bodies pressed together so tightly it looked as if they were the only two people alive, her lips just brushing his. The raw intimacy of it didn't come from exposure, it came from certainty. No hunger. No display. Just two people with nothing left to hide.
Lan set her cup down.
The silence in the room thickened.
Another photo.
Sicheng mid-kiss, hand tangled in his wife's hair, eyes already closed like the moment before the contact mattered just as much as the kiss itself. Yao's hand on his jaw, guiding him in, her thumb tracing his cheekbone like she couldn't help touching him.
Lan blinked slowly. Then smiled faintly. The kind of smile she rarely gave. The kind that didn't soften her, but made her sharp. She tapped the corner of that print and muttered to herself, "This," she said, "is why no one touches your fanbase." A pause. Then she snorted once, a breath of quiet pride. "No one stands a chance."
ZGDX Base — Late Afternoon, a Few Days Later
The base was unusually calm.
Yue was curled up on the beanbag with a bag of chips, scrolling through trending tags on his phone. Pang sat nearby organizing the snack cabinet, again. Lao Mao and Lao K were mid-match review on the big screen while Rui argued quietly with the delivery service about someone switching the team's bubble tea order to all taro, again.
Yao sat cross-legged on the floor, barefoot, leaning against the couch, Da Bing sprawled across her lap like he owned it. Her hair was in a loose braid and her focus was on the analytics open across her tablet screen. Lu Sicheng stood behind her, one hand braced against the couch, reading over her shoulder with the kind of casual proximity that had long since stopped surprising anyone. Their rings gleamed. Quiet. Simple. Unignorable.
"Hey," Yue suddenly said, frowning at his phone. "You guys are trending again."
Yao sighed without looking up. "What now?"
"There's a new thread on the OPL forums— 'Married Buff or Nepotism?' " Yue snorted. "Some guy from JY Gaming posted a comment under one of your couple photos. Real bold."
That got Sicheng's attention. "What'd he say?" his voice came, low, already dry with warning.
Yue grinned, reading aloud. "'Midlaner Smiling always plays better after sleeping next to her Captain. Coincidence? I think not.' Followed by a wink emoji. Wink. Emoji."
Everyone in the room went still.
Yao blinked once. "…Oh, he did not. "
Yue refreshed the thread. "Oh he did. From his verified account."
Sicheng didn't say anything. He didn't need to. He just reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, tapped once, twice—completely calm.
Yue's eyes lit up. "Wait… waitwaitwait—he replied."
The room shifted.
Even Rui stopped mid-complaint.
Yue refreshed. Read aloud. "Lu Sicheng. Verified. She's my wife."
The room exploded.
Pang dropped an entire box of instant ramen. Lao Mao cackled so loud he scared Da Bing off Yao's lap. Lao K just calmly pressed pause on the match replay and sat back to watch the chaos unfold.
Yue was howling. "HE REPLIED WITH A PERIOD, TOO. BRO THAT'S A DEATH SENTENCE."
Yao covered her face with one hand, blushing furiously beneath her palm. "You did not just reply to drama with that."
Sicheng didn't even flinch. "Should've thought twice before flirting with someone's wife in public."
Rui looked up from his phone. "He just deleted his comment."
Yue doubled over laughing.
Yao groaned. "You're unbelievable." But when she peeked through her fingers to look up at him, Sicheng's gaze met hers—calm, clear, utterly unrepentant.
"You're my wife."
She bit her lip. Smiled. Then murmured, low enough for only him to hear, "You really love saying that."
His answer?
A slow, smug bend down to kiss her. Right there in front of everyone. And no one, not the forum, not the league, not a single idiot from JY Gaming—dared to question it again.
ZGDX Base — Living Room, Post-Practice
The post-dinner calm had settled over the team like a blanket. The big screen played a muted match replay no one was really watching, the coffee table was cluttered with boba cups and leftover snacks, and Da Bing had claimed an entire cushion for himself with the kind of entitled stretch only a 25-pound Maine Coon could pull off.
Yao was curled up on one end of the couch, tablet in her lap, hair tied up in a messy twist, fingers lazily scrolling through bot lane metrics. Lu Sicheng sat beside her, one arm stretched along the back of the couch, two fingers lightly hooked around a lock of her hair like he couldn't stop touching her, even when he was doing absolutely nothing else.
Yue was sprawled on the floor near Da Bing, absently rubbing the cat's head, eyes fixed on Yao like he was working up to something.
Yao didn't even look up. "Spit it out."
Yue blinked, feigning innocence. "Spit what out?"
"The question you've been thinking about since dinner while looking like a kicked puppy."
Yue sighed. Dramatically. "Okay, fine. I'm just wondering—just wondering—why, exactly, Mrs. Lu is still sleeping in her room when she's, you know…" he gestured vaguely toward Sicheng, "…clearly claimed."
Yao blinked. "What."
"I'm just saying," Yue continued with theatrical concern, "as your devoted little brother-in-law, and the person who cares deeply about your health and your marriage, it's a little weird that you're married and yet haven't made the permanent move into his room. Don't you want a king-sized mattress and blackout curtains and a husband-shaped furnace?"
She blinked again. Suspiciously.
Yue batted his lashes. "Plus, you know, your old room has really nice lighting and great airflow and, wow, I just think someone should keep it warm now that it's—"
"You're trying to steal my room."
Yue pressed a hand to his chest. "I would never—"
"You're trying to steal my room."
"Okay, listen—Pang slurps noodles in his sleep."
Across the room, Pang looked up, completely unbothered. "They're dream noodles. You should be honored."
Yao sighed, dropped her tablet into her lap, and looked at Sicheng. "Are you hearing this?"
Sicheng, who had been silently watching the entire exchange with the bored patience of a man cataloging every word for future blackmail, finally spoke. "He's not wrong." Yao arched a brow. "You are still splitting your time."
Her eyes narrowed. "So now you're in on this?"
Sicheng's gaze darkened. "I've let you slip out of my bed every other night since we got home. I've been patient. But this?" He flicked a finger toward Yue. "This ends now."
Yue lit up. "So I can have it?!"
"No."
Yao sputtered. "Wait—what?!"
Sicheng leaned forward slowly, fingers curling around her wrist, voice dipping low and dangerous with promise. "She's going to move in, yes. But we're redoing the whole room first. Hers gets gutted, remodeled into something I choose. It's going to be ours."
Yue looked betrayed. "You're erasing my future bedroom?!"
"She's my wife, Yue."
"You've already won! Let me have one thing!"
Yao buried her face in her hands. "You people are insane."
Sicheng leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear, whispering just loud enough for her to feel the words rather than hear them. "Move in tonight." Her breath caught. He smiled.
Yue groaned and flopped onto the floor, sprawled like a man defeated.
Pang reached over him to steal a mochi and added, mouth full, "Just give him your pillow, Smiling. I think that's all he really wants."
"I do," Yue moaned. "It smells like lavender and impending freedom."
Yao sighed.
Da Bing meowed.
And Lu Sicheng?
He just sat there with one arm draped along the couch and the other wrapped around his wife's waist. Waiting. Because she would move in. He was done waiting. And soon? Even her pillow would be his.
That Night — ZGDX Base, Just Past Midnight
The hallway was dark, the lights dimmed to their usual soft glow. Everyone else had long since gone to bed—Yue dramatically flopping into his shared room after realizing no one was going to grant him clemency, Pang already snoring with a playlist of lo-fi beats on loop, and Lao Mao threatening bodily harm if anyone dared wake him before 9 a.m. But the softest footsteps moved quietly past the closed doors, almost hesitant, deliberate.
Yao's hair was loose around her shoulders, her expression unreadable as she walked barefoot down the corridor wearing one of Sicheng's oversized black tees, one that swallowed her down to the tops of her thighs. Her arms were full. A single pillow clutched tight to her chest. Lavender-scented. Her favorite. She paused at his—their—door. Her heart thumped once. Twice. And then, with barely a sound, she nudged the door open. He was awake. Of course he was.
Sicheng was sitting up in bed, back against the headboard, shirtless, reading something on his tablet but the moment she stepped inside, the glow of the screen dimmed as he set it aside, his eyes lifting slowly from under dark lashes. He didn't speak. Didn't tease. He just looked at her. Like that.
Yao shut the door behind her with a quiet click. And when the door latched?
He moved. He didn't ask. Didn't wait. He just stood, crossed the room in two slow steps, took the pillow from her arms without a word, and tossed it onto the bed—right next to his. Then he reached out. Slid one hand around her waist, the other to the back of her neck, and pulled her in. Not rough. Not greedy. Just his. His lips brushed the top of her head, and she felt him exhale like a man who had finally, finally exhaled after holding his breath for years. "You're staying," he said softly, voice low against her hair.
"I'm home," she answered.
That did something to him. His arms tightened, his fingers flexed on her skin, and he pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes dark and full of heat even in the dim light. Without saying a word, he reached behind her, turned the lock on the door with a soft snick, and then returned his hand to the small of her back, guiding her silently toward the bed. She climbed in first. He followed. And when he slid beneath the sheets, he didn't waste time—he pulled her into his chest, curled her body against his like she was made for this space, for this room, for him.
No words. No requests. Just breath and the steady rhythm of a man falling asleep with everything he'd ever wanted in his arms.
And just before she drifted off, eyes half-lidded, her head tucked beneath his chin, she murmured, "You're smug right now."
His answer was a kiss to her temple and a whisper so soft it sank beneath her skin. "I'm whole right now." And that was the only reply that mattered.
Next Morning — ZGDX Base, 6:32 A.M.
The base was quiet. For now. The halls were dim, the lights still on their early cycle. Most of the team was still blissfully asleep. Pang wrapped around his blanket burrito-style, Lao K dead to the world, Lao Mao muttering in his dreams about someone nerfing his lane matchup.
But Yue?
Yue was wide awake and grinning. He tiptoed down the hallway, hoodie thrown over his hair, mismatched socks nearly sliding off his feet, holding a folded blanket and a small bag of his essentials like he was sneaking into a hotel room he hadn't paid for. He reached her door. Or rather—her old door. Yao's room. The one she hadn't used since the night she'd taken her pillow and vanished into Lu Sicheng's space like a ghost in lavender and bare legs. He grinned wider. "Victory," he whispered to himself. One hand reached for the handle. "Goodbye, Pang's midnight noodle noises. Goodbye, the scent of hot sauce and regret. Goodbye...."
Click.
Yue blinked. The door hadn't been locked. That was all the permission he needed. He shoved it open with the triumph of a man ascending a throne—only to pause mid-step, smirk fading slightly. "Wait… why are the sheets still on the bed?" And then a sound behind him. The sound of a lock turning. A different door opening. Their door. Her door. Yue turned, expecting his brother. Expecting a glare. Maybe a slipper. What he got? Was hell. The door to Lu Sicheng's room yanked open with a force that rattled the hinges, and standing there, framed in the early golden light, hair a snarled halo around her face, oversized tee twisted around her waist, expression twisted in lethal irritation. Stood Lu Yao. The fury of a woman freshly awakened from the first hour of real sleep she'd had in days, only to find her cramps had arrived like a war declaration. And now? Someone had opened her old bedroom door. Without knocking. Without permission. And with a blanket.
Yue took one look at her face. Then another. Then very slowly began to backpedal. "Uh… I… thought… maybe I could…"
Her eyes narrowed, voice hoarse, cold, deadly. "You thought what, Lu Yue?"
"I—"
"You thought you'd move in?"
Yue raised his hands. "I didn't move in, I was—"
"You thought I wouldn't wake up, is that it?"
"I didn't mean—"
"You thought I wasn't going to notice you trying to steal my room when I'm running on forty-five minutes of sleep, a uterus actively trying to kill me, and the fact that my husband just used the last of the peppermint tea I specifically bought for this?"
Yue paled.
"You opened my door."
"I was gonna knock!"
"You opened my door."
Behind her, still in bed, Sicheng rubbed his face and muttered into the pillow, "Should've let him touch the handle. That would've been enough."
"Get out," Yao growled.
Yue didn't need to be told twice. He bolted. Straight down the hall. Straight past the kitchen. Straight into the safety of the gaming lounge where Pang raised a brow, looked at his terrified expression, and took a slow sip of his morning protein shake.
"She wake up?"
Yue gasped, still winded. "She descended."
Lao Mao peeked out of his room, voice flat. "You really thought she'd sleep through a door opening when she's on her period?"
"She wasn't due for another week!"
"You tried to steal her territory, bro."
Rui passed by holding a bottle of pain reliever and a heating pad. "You opened her room," he said without even slowing down. "Idiot."
And in the hallway behind them, the door to Lu Sicheng's room shut quietly again, followed by a muffled voice. "I'm getting the tea. Stay in bed."
"You better," came the muffled growl.
Yue collapsed onto the couch, covering his face with both hands. "I don't fear my brother," he muttered. "I fear his wife."
Da Bing hopped up beside him and yowled in agreement.
Mid-Morning — ZGDX Base, Back in Their Room
The door was closed again. Locked this time. The soft murmur of running water from the bathroom faded as Lu Sicheng returned to the bedroom, one hand gripping a mug of peppermint tea, the other holding a heating pad he'd finally wrestled from Rui. He was shirtless, still in sweats, hair damp from a quick rinse, but none of that mattered.
Because Yao lay curled in their bed, her usually luminous eyes dulled by pain, her brow furrowed even in rest. One arm clutched around her stomach, her legs drawn in slightly beneath the blankets. The oversized shirt she wore was bunched up around her hips, one of his older ones, worn and frayed but comfort-wrapped around her like armor. She opened her eyes the moment she felt the bed dip.
He didn't say anything. Just slid in behind her, careful, slow, the mug resting on the nightstand and the warm press of the heating pad slipping between his hand and her lower abdomen. A breath escaped her lips. Not quite relief, but something close.
"You get it?"
He nodded. His hand smoothed along her thigh, slow, soothing, as he curled his body around hers, pulling her gently back into his chest. "Rui's got backup pads and ibuprofen stocked now," he murmured against her temple.
"Good," she breathed. "Tell him he can live."
His chuckle rumbled against her spine. Silence settled again. The kind of silence that came not from awkwardness, but understanding. After a long moment, his voice came low, curious, quiet, not pressing. "Why don't you try the shot?"
She stiffened just slightly. Not from the question but from what it brought with it. "I did," she said softly. He stilled. Her hand slid down to rest lightly over his, her fingers weaving between his against the edge of the heating pad. "About two years before I joined ZGDX. Doctor suggested it. Said it'd stop my cycle altogether after a few months. Thought it'd fix everything." He waited. Didn't interrupt. "It messed with me," she continued, voice faint, lips barely moving. "Like… badly. I felt like I didn't recognize myself. My moods were all over the place. One second I'd be sobbing over nothing and the next I'd want to bite someone's head off. I couldn't focus. Couldn't sleep. I'd go from numb to rage in five minutes. I felt like I was bipolar and no one could explain why." She paused, swallowing hard. "I stopped eating right. Stopped practicing. I hated myself. I didn't even feel real."
Sicheng didn't say anything at first. Didn't breathe too hard. Didn't shift. Just kept his arms tight around her, one hand still over her lower abdomen, warm and grounding, the other sliding slowly up to her ribs, holding her as if he could anchor her with just that.
"Never again," she whispered. "I'd rather deal with this every month than go through that again."
He nodded once behind her, voice low but laced with iron. "Then you won't. Ever again."
"I know it's bad," she said, closing her eyes. "I know I'm a lot when it gets like this—"
"You're you. " His voice sharpened slightly. "You're not 'a lot.' You're hurting. And I'm here. That's it."
She opened her eyes again, breathing shakily.
He pressed a kiss to the side of her face, just beneath her eye. "Tell me what you need."
"Exactly this," she whispered, voice cracking a little. "This is enough."
He didn't say another word. He just held her tighter. Tucked the blankets around her more securely. And when her breath started to even out again, her body relaxing slightly beneath his touch, Lu Sicheng lay there with his wife wrapped in his arms, her pain layered into the space between them and not for a second did he flinch away from it. Because if she carried this? Then he would carry her. Every single time.
ZGDX Base — Early Evening
The atmosphere inside the base was… tense. Not match-day tense. Not practice-review tense. But walking-on-glass-because-someone-woke-up-the-Lady-of-Hell-on-Her-Period tense.
The lights were dimmed, the volume on the common room TV was so low it might as well have been playing mime theater, and Yue—who normally had two volume levels: loud and possessed—was currently whispering every word like he was being hunted by a sniper.
Pang held his chopsticks mid-air, afraid even the sound of chewing might draw attention.
Lao Mao and Lao K were practically tiptoeing across the kitchen, trying not to clink mugs, nudge drawers, or breathe too heavily.
And Rui?
Rui had his shoes in his hands, walking in socks, phone on silent, actively avoiding any sounds as he crossed toward his office.
No one spoke. Until the hallway door creaked open.
And out stepped Lu Sicheng. Tall. Barefoot. Wearing a black hoodie and sweatpants, his expression unreadable, voice cool as ever but sharp enough to slice through steel. "She's asleep," he said, tone even. "Don't wake her."
No one moved. No one dared. But before anyone could even think about breaking that order, Ming appeared behind him, arms crossed, standing just beneath the hallway light like a war general stepping onto the field. He looked at the team. All of them. Smiled. Calm. Deadly. "If anyone does," he said with the softest, warmest voice imaginable, "I will personally introduce you to an entire day of one-on-one hell."
Yue blinked. "Like... more scrims?"
Ming's smile widened. "No breaks. No water. No mercy. Just me. And you. Until your hands cramp."
Silence.
The team simultaneously inhaled and sat straighter than they had for any official sponsor shoot.
Pang set his food down with the reverence of a priest handling ancient relics.
Lao Mao nodded like he'd just survived a war. "Understood, Coach."
Yue pointed to the couch. "I'm gonna sit here and think about my life."
Rui whispered something that sounded suspiciously like bless her soul, and immediately started setting up a food tray of soup and crackers like a nervous flight attendant.
Sicheng gave Ming a slow nod of approval. Then turned, pulled the door gently closed behind him, and disappeared back down the hall without a single sound. Behind that door, Yao slept soundly—finally at ease, pain dulled, cradled in a warmth she'd come to trust beyond anything else.
And outside?
The team sat frozen in sacred silence. Because in ZGDX? There was no rule more absolute than this:
Don't wake Mrs. Lu.
Not if you value your fingers.
ZGDX Base — Late Evening
The room was dim. Warm. Yao stirred slowly in the bed, tangled in the sheets still carrying his scent. Her stomach still ached, dull and coiled, but it was softer now, no longer clawing, no longer the center of her world. But her arms? Empty. And that was worse. Her hand stretched across the mattress instinctively, searching for the familiar press of his chest, the steady weight of his arm, the grounding calm of his voice murmuring in her ear. Nothing. She blinked blearily, hair sticking to her cheek, Sicheng's black hoodie slouching down one shoulder as she pushed herself upright. The sleeves swallowed her hands. It smelled like him. Still warm.
But he wasn't there. She didn't panic. She didn't pout. She just stood, bare legs silent against the cold floor, moving quietly through the hall, her steps slower than usual. Still groggy. Still heavy. But searching. She passed the kitchen. The lounge. Nothing. Then…. Laughter. Muted voices. The practice room.
She pushed the door open without a sound. Inside, the boys were clustered near the row of training setups. The screens were dimming from a quick playback, a brief practice scrim between support duos. Sicheng sat at his station, focused but relaxed, his headset half-on, his back to the door. He didn't see her. But they did.
Yue turned first. His eyes widened. His soul left his body. He raised both hands like he was being mugged. "She's up—I didn't touch anything I swear! I haven't even sneezed! Please don't tell Ming."
Pang ducked his head behind a monitor. Lao K shifted awkwardly in his chair.
And Sicheng—sensing the sudden stillness behind him—turned. He saw her. Hair mussed. Eyes glassy with sleep. His hoodie drowning her frame. Her lips slightly parted, one hand clutching the hem of the sleeve, expression soft—wounded, even—like she wasn't angry, not really. Just... hurt. Just tired. Just looking for him. Her eyes met his. Wide. Raw. And the quietest version of the expression he could never resist: Wounded Bambi.
He was out of his chair in seconds. The headset hit the desk. The chair rolled back with a clatter. And he crossed the space between them, hands finding her waist with surety, fingers curling around her as he pulled her forward. She didn't say anything. Just let him guide her back. Down. Into his lap. He sat. She curled. Her face pressed into his neck, hoodie sleeves wrapping around his sides as if trying to pull him closer still. His hands framed her thighs, holding her as she folded neatly into his arms, her entire body sinking against him like she'd finally found solid ground again. "I didn't mean to wake you," he murmured against her temple.
"You weren't there," she whispered back, voice still thick with sleep. "I couldn't sleep."
"Should've texted me."
She shook her head against him. "I wanted you."
He stilled for a moment. Then held her tighter.
Behind them, the team watched with wide eyes and slow, reverent silence.
Yue whispered, "It's like watching a wolf cuddle a cloud."
Pang sniffled. "I think I'm gonna cry."
Lao Mao grunted, "Don't. She'll hear you. And then Ming will hear you."
But Yao?
She only curled tighter into her husband's chest.
And Sicheng?
He reached forward, pulled the hoodie further down over her legs, cradled her like she was sacred. Then looked over her head and glared. Everyone disappeared. Immediately. Without a word. Because Mrs. Lu was tired. And he? He had her now. And no one—not even the gods of ranked queue—was pulling her away again.
ZGDX Practice Room — Later That Night
The glow from the monitors had dimmed to their idle state, casting a gentle blue hue across the room. The hum of the PCs was soft background noise now, no clicks, no chatter, no clatter of keys. The others had long since vanished—Pang had dragged Yue away under protest, Lao K had muttered something about boundaries as Lao Mao moved actually tossing the smaller male over his shoulder and ignored his squawking, and even Rui had left a bottle of water and painkillers on the shelf and quietly closed the door behind him.
Sicheng stayed exactly where he was. Chair slightly reclined, feet braced, one hand resting on the mouse. The other? Buried in Yao's hair. Her body was curled into him, her face pressed against the curve of his shoulder, her breaths even, soft, slow. Every now and then she shifted slightly in her sleep, a small sigh slipping from her lips, but she didn't wake—not yet. He moved carefully. Soft strokes. His fingers threaded through the strands of her hair with the same quiet precision he used in-game—except here, there was no rush. No pressure. Just her warmth against his chest, and the gentle rise and fall of her breath syncing with his. Every so often, he'd glance at the screen. Reply to a team message. Tap a single key. Then return his focus to her. Like she was the only real thing in the room.
The light from the screen cast soft shadows across her features, and when she finally stirred, eyelashes fluttering, a faint sound catching in her throat, his hand didn't stop. Her eyes opened slowly. Not all the way. Just enough to find him. "You're still here." she whispered, voice low and hoarse with sleep.
He didn't even blink. "Where else would I be?"
She blinked again, then let her eyes drift closed once more, her hand sliding up beneath his hoodie to press over his heart. He was warm. Steady. Her world. "Thought I'd wake up alone again," she murmured.
"You won't," he said, brushing her hair back from her cheek. "Not when I can help it."
She gave a soft hum, burrowing in again, limbs tangled with his, face hidden in the crook of his neck. "Still feel awful." she whispered.
"I know."
"You're comfortable."
He smiled faintly, leaned down, and kissed the top of her head. "You're more important than comfort."
She smiled—barely. But it was real. And in that low-lit room, wrapped in warmth and silence and the quiet hum of machines left running, Yao fell asleep again in the arms of her husband. And Lu Sicheng? Typed one-handed. Never shifted her weight. Not once. Because everything else? Could wait.
ZGDX Base — Morning After, 6:11 A.M.
The base was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of sacred, early-morning silence where even the kettle's whistle came softer, like the walls themselves knew someone would die if noise came too soon.
Rui was in the kitchen, mug in hand, sipping coffee with the care of a man who'd barely survived yesterday's siege. He nodded once at Pang, who entered behind him and reached silently for the cereal like a man on a military ration schedule.
No one spoke. And down the hallway, the practice room door was still shut.
Yue, of course, was already awake. Because Yue was always awake at the wrong time for the wrong reason, and he had a sixth sense for trouble—and this morning, he followed it with all the subtlety of a cartoon fox following a pie smell. He cracked the practice room door. Just an inch. Just enough. And what he saw made him stop breathing.
Sicheng, still in his desk chair, reclined ever so slightly, head tilted to the side and resting against the top of Yao's head, his arm locked securely around her shoulders. She was curled in his lap, wrapped in the black hoodie like a cocoon, her face nestled against his chest, legs tucked up under her, breathing slow and steady. Their bodies didn't move. Not even in sleep. His face, normally all sharp lines and unreadable stillness, had softened. Brows smooth. Mouth slack. The barest, most reluctant peace on his features.
He looked like a man undone by quiet love.
Yue stared. Mouth open. Then slowly, slowly, reached for his phone.
Click.
The shutter was silent.
The effect was lethal.
He slipped back into the hallway with all the grace of a spy in socks.
Pang raised an eyebrow as Yue padded into the kitchen, smug and glowing with accomplishment. "You did something stupid," Pang said, pouring milk like a man preparing to mourn.
Yue grinned. "Wanna see something better than any rom-com ever made?"
Rui didn't even glance up. "If you sent it to the team chat, I'm deleting it."
Yue waved his phone once, then leaned against the counter. "Didn't send it there."
"Where?" Pang asked suspiciously.
Yue smirked and hit send. To: Madam Lu
Image attached.
Caption: Your son is secretly soft. You're welcome.
There was silence.
Then—
Ping.
Lan: Send me the high resolution. I'm printing this for my hallway.
Another ping.
Lan: Also, tell him if he deletes that photo, I'm disowning him.
Another.
Lan: No wonder she married him.
Yue collapsed onto the barstool, face smug, triumphant, unrepentant. "Worth it," he said, biting into a cold dumpling.
But Rui?
Rui was pale. "You just sent a sleep photo of Lu Sicheng to his mother. You're going to die."
Pang said a small prayer under his breath.
But Yue?
Yue only grinned wider. "Not if I stay out of range and give her more updates."
ZGDX Base — Practice Room, 11:37 A.M.
The sunlight had shifted higher through the blinds now, spilling in soft stripes across the floor of the practice room. The team had long since taken their breakfast elsewhere. The halls were clear, the common room subdued. Even Da Bing had gone back to Yao's—no, their—room to curl up in the window and sunbathe like a regal guardian who'd earned a nap.
But Lu Sicheng hadn't moved. He hadn't wanted to. Yao was still asleep in his lap, her breaths soft against his chest, fingers curled into the front of his hoodie like she'd known exactly how to latch onto his heartbeat and not let go. His legs were dead. His back ached. He hadn't blinked in ten minutes. And he wouldn't trade a second of it. His phone vibrated once on the desk beside him. Then again. He reached for it with the caution of a man disarming a bomb.
Caller ID: The Dragon
His jaw flexed. He considered silencing it. Almost. Then exhaled and answered quietly. "Ma."
Her voice came sharp, clipped, and too awake. "You should sleep like that more often."
Sicheng blinked. "What?"
"It softens your face. Makes you look less like a war criminal. Or a corporate assassin. Or an emotionally constipated vampire. Also," she added with satisfaction, "you have good hair when it's mussed."
He groaned, head tipping back slightly. "Yue . "
"Yes," Lan said. "Very useful boy. I'll send him something."
"Don't."
"I'm printing that photo," she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "It's going in the family gallery between your father's military commendation and your wedding portrait."
"Ma."
"You looked soft, " she snapped. "Like a man who finally realized there are better things to hold than grudges and trophies. Keep that girl."
"She's my wife, " he muttered, voice low, eyes dropping back down to where Yao was still fast asleep in his lap, cheek against his chest.
Lan sighed, pleased. "Then good. Stay exactly where you are."
The line went dead.
He stared at the screen for a moment. Set the phone down. And when Yao shifted lightly against him, mumbling something incoherent, her fingers tightening in his hoodie. He smiled. Slow. Quiet. Unshakable. And didn't move an inch. Because for once, even his mother was right.
ZGDX Base — Practice Room, Just Before Noon
The room was still dim. The sun had begun to shift again, warm light tracing across the floor, inching toward where Lu Sicheng sat reclined in the chair, one hand resting around his wife's hips, the other brushing idle patterns into her back beneath the oversized hoodie she'd claimed for the day.
Yao stirred slowly. Not all at once, not sharply, but in slow, delicate movements—the shift of her fingers against his chest, the faint press of her cheek as she nuzzled in before realizing she was no longer dreaming. Her lashes fluttered. Then lifted. Warm light. Familiar weight. The steady, rhythmic sound of his heart beneath her ear. She tilted her head up, her voice rough with sleep, barely audible. "You're still here?"
He didn't look away from the monitor in front of him—still dim, still untouched—but his hand paused at her back, then moved again. Slower. "Didn't plan on going anywhere."
She blinked. "Your legs must be numb."
"They are."
"You've been awake how long?"
He shifted only to glance down at her, the barest ghost of a smile brushing his lips. "Doesn't matter."
Yao's eyes searched his face. Not suspicious. Just quietly overwhelmed. "You're an idiot," she murmured, but the way she said it came with more warmth than criticism, her fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt.
He leaned forward slightly, brushing his lips to her forehead. And then, with his voice low and firm, final in the way only Lu Sicheng's tone could be, "We're not moving today." Her brows furrowed faintly. He continued before she could protest. "I don't care what Ming says. I don't care what practice is scheduled. I don't care if the league commissioner shows up at the door. You're staying in my arms today."
She stared at him. For a long, steady moment. Then closed her eyes and laid her head back down against his chest, her entire body melting into him with the full, heavy trust that only came after months of slow-burning intimacy—of comfort earned, not demanded. "Okay," she whispered.
And Lu Sicheng—husband, captain, champion—wrapped his arms tighter around her, leaned back, and let the rest of the world fade. Because she was in his lap. His arms. His life. And for today? That was all he needed.
ZGDX Base — Early Evening, Just After 6:00 P.M.
The base had been running on hushed protocol all day. Screens dimmed. Chairs pushed in quietly.
Even Yue had been silenced under the combined threat of Rui's warning glare and Lao Mao's looming presence.
Practice drills continued—flawlessly timed, tightly executed—but the tension was still there. Not fear, exactly. More like reverence. Because she was asleep. And he was with her. And no one—not even the most daring of the juniors—was willing to trigger that chain reaction again.
Except now, practice had ended. Dinner delivery had come and gone. And the one person who hadn't been seen since breakfast was their captain. And their midlaner.
Ming stood at the hallway junction, arms crossed, gaze leveled at the practice room door like it had personally offended him. He knew they were in there. Had known all day. But he hadn't seen the two of them. Not once. Not since the morning chaos had given way to silence. And now? He needed to check. Not because he didn't trust them. But because he did. And that was somehow worse. He approached the door. Slow. Quiet. And with the kind of hesitance reserved for the truly dangerous things in life—like opening a cursed artifact or waking a sleeping dragon.
He knocked once. No answer. So he opened it. Just a sliver. The warm light from the hallway spilled across the floor—and what he saw made even him pause.
The room was still, golden with the last rays of sunlight streaming through the blinds. Lu Sicheng sat in the same chair he had claimed earlier that morning, reclined slightly now, his arms wrapped securely around the figure curled into his chest. Yao. Still asleep. Still wearing his hoodie. Still tangled in him like gravity had made a decision and she'd simply obeyed. One of her hands was loosely curled in the collar of his shirt. His chin rested atop her head, his breath steady and even, his entire body molded to hers with the quiet protectiveness of someone who wasn't just resting. He was keeping .
Ming didn't move for a moment. Just watched. And then, with a low sigh, he closed the door again without a sound. Turning, he passed the rest of the team as they waited—not-so-casually loitering in the hallway with drinks in hand and wide, questioning eyes.
"Well?" Yue whispered.
Ming stared at him and in the most tired voice imaginable, muttered, "Fine. One day off."
Pang gasped. "Did hell freeze over?"
"But only," Ming continued, raising a finger with quiet menace, "because even monsters need rest." And with that, he walked away.
The hallway remained silent.
Until Yue whispered, like a prayer. "She's the monster, right?"
Rui: "Lu Yue."
Yue: "Okay, we're all the monsters. I accept that."
And in the practice room? Lu Yao shifted just slightly in her sleep, exhaling slowly as she nestled further into the chest of the man who hadn't let her go all day. And Lu Sicheng? Didn't wake. He just held her. Because no one, not even Ming, was going to separate him from his wife. Not tonight. Not ever.
ZGDX Base — Late Morning, Lounge Area
The soft murmur of voices filled the base as morning eased into its second cup of coffee. Rui was hunched over his laptop, Pang was already on his second bao, Lao K was quietly watching VODs, and Lu Sicheng—having finally let her go after twenty straight hours of proximity—had vanished somewhere to shower, eat, and possibly send a memo to the league office about Yao's mandatory rest days.
Yao sat curled on the couch in the lounge, knees pulled up under her, wearing one of Sicheng's old sweatshirts and a pair of sleep shorts, looking only marginally more alive than the day before. Her phone was buzzing like it owed someone money.
BZZZZZ.
BZZZZZ.
BZZZZZ.
She groaned, tilted her head back against the cushions, and held the phone over her face with a flat expression.
On-screen:
Ai Jia (YQCB Mid):
10 Messages
3 Voice Notes
2 Missed Calls
Yao squinted. "I swear to God, if one more 'what do I say to her this time' comes through, I'm driving to YQCB with a bat."
The group turned, brows raising slightly, but no one said a word.
Yue, sitting near the kitchen bar like a discarded plush toy, looked up from his third sulking scroll through the team's group chat.
Yao looked at her phone again. Then looked at him. And a very specific, devious spark glinted in her tired, but no longer cramping, eyes. "Yue."
The tone made everyone's heads snap toward her in sync.
Yue blinked. "Yeah?"
She stretched a leg off the couch, still holding her phone. "Do you still want my old room?"
Yue straightened instantly. "Yes. I mean—yes. Desperately. I've already measured it and made a Pinterest board."
Yao raised an eyebrow. "You what— never mind. Great." He stared, hopeful, suspicious. And then she held up her phone like a contract she was about to sign in blood. "You go next door to YQCB. Find Ai Jia. Drag his overgrown emotionally constipated ass into a corner and terrorize him into acting right so Jinyang takes him off her blacklist. You get him to stop blowing up my phone like I'm a damn couples therapist," She pointed to the hallway. "and once I've packed up the last of my things? You can have my room."
The room went silent.
Yue stood there for two full seconds, wide-eyed. Then he saluted. "Say no more. Operation: Kick Ai Jia's Ass Into Emotional Competence is underway."
Rui looked up. "Please do not start a team war."
Yue was already grabbing his hoodie and heading for the door.
Lao Mao shouted after him, "Don't let Student catch you trespassing again!"
"I'M GOING IN AS A DIPLOMAT!"
The door slammed.
Yao dropped her head back against the couch and exhaled deeply.
Pang blinked. "You just unleashed Yue on another pro team."
She took a long sip of her tea. "Good. Ai Jia deserves it."
There was a pause.
Then Lao K muttered, "Think Jinyang will forgive him?"
Yao snorted. "Not if Yue breaks his legs."
From down the hall, Lu Sicheng reappeared in clean clothes, hair still damp, eyebrow raised at the now-silent room and the sound of the front door swinging shut. "What did I miss?"
Yao didn't look up. "I just deployed your brother as an emotional hitman."
He blinked. Considered it. Then shrugged. "Fair." And no one said a word as he walked across the room, dropped beside her on the couch, pulled her into his lap like she was never meant to sit anywhere else, and kissed the side of her head like this was all just normal. Because for them? It was.
YQCB Base — Late Morning, 10:49 A.M.
The lobby was still and spotless—morning drills just finished, the coaching staff tucked away in offices, and most of the players already retreated to their team rooms for review. Calm. Professional. Quiet.
Until the front door flew open.
Yue stepped inside like he owned the place, hoodie slung up over his hair, black joggers, wireless earbuds around his neck, and a very specific kind of energy in his stride—the kind that said someone was about to learn a very direct lesson.
A YQCB junior looked up from the reception desk. "Uh—"
"Here to see Ai Jia," Yue said, already striding forward. "Tell him it's about his love life and his pending death."
The junior blinked. "His—what?"
Yue didn't slow down. He didn't need to. He already knew where Ai Jia would be. And sure enough, as he rounded the corner into the lounge-style team common area, there sat Ai Jia—sweatpants, messy hair, eyes puffy from what Yue immediately assumed was either sleep deprivation or stupid romantic regret.
Probably both.
"Yue?" Ai Jia looked up, blinking. "What are you—"
"Shut up," Yue said brightly. "You've lost speaking privileges."
Ai Jia blinked harder. "What?"
Before Yue could answer, another door creaked open—and from inside YQCB's strategy room emerged Kun Hyeok, sipping a protein shake like he'd been waiting for this. "Well," Kun Hyeok said mildly, glancing between them. "This should be fun to watch." Then—casually, deliberately —he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, scrolled for a second… …and hit video call.
Sicheng answered after two rings. "Kun?"
"You're going to want to see this," Kun Hyeok said, already turning the camera toward the lounge.
On screen, Lu Sicheng blinked once, face expressionless. "Yue, what the hell did you do now?"
In the background, Yao could be heard very softly muttering, "If he's holding a foam bat I'm going to scream."
Yue, now standing in front of Ai Jia with his arms folded like a judgmental older sister and an executioner rolled into one, looked toward the phone and gave the camera his best grin. "Just fulfilling a very noble, wifely request," he chirped. "Also? Your Midlaner won't stop texting mine, and her period says that ends today."
Ai Jia paled. "Wait—this is about Jinyang?"
Yue leaned in. "Yes. You emotionally vacant dumpster fire."
"What did I do this time?!"
Kun Hyeok took a seat, turned the phone so Sicheng had the best view, and sipped his shake. "This is the best content I've seen all week."
From the phone: "Tell him I said if he doesn't fix it, I will. " Yao's voice. Deadly from behind Sicheng.
Sicheng smirked faintly. "She's still on the couch. Still wearing my hoodie. Still ready to fight a man."
Ai Jia sank lower into the beanbag chair, despair starting to bloom in his eyes. "I didn't mean to mess up. I just said she overreacted about the lamp."
Yue's voice went flat. "You told a woman who paid for your streaming ring light herself, then drove it to your team house, in heels, that she overreacted when you didn't plug it in."
Ai Jia winced. "Okay, but in my defense—"
"There is no defense," Yue snapped.
"Wait—this is about the lamp?" Kun Hyeok asked, amused. "Again?"
Yue turned to the phone. "Your Mid is on emotional probation. Yao gave me full clearance. I am here with the weight of moral authority and a pillow contract."
Ai Jia groaned. "Please don't tell her I said that."
Yue looked gleeful. "Too late. Also she wants the texting to stop unless you're prepared to beg or deliver flowers."
Kun Hyeok, still casually holding the camera for Sicheng, grinned. "Do you want me to call Student? I think he'd enjoy this too."
Sicheng's voice cut in, dry and amused. "Let him fix it. I don't want her phone going off during movie night."
Ai Jia groaned again.
Yue turned, tossed a throw pillow at him, and smiled. "Repeat after me," he said. "My girlfriend is always right, and my dumbass self is lucky she even speaks to me."
Ai Jia muttered it.
Kun Hyeok clapped once. "Beautiful. Five stars. Send him back with a note of apology and maybe a fruit basket."
Sicheng smirked faintly. "Make it lavender-scented."
The call ended.
Ai Jia sighed into the pillow.
Kun Hyeok leaned over him. "Next time, plug in the damn lamp."
ZGDX Base — Early Afternoon, Lounge Area
The base door swung open with a triumphant gust of cold air.
Yue marched inside, hoodie slung dramatically over one shoulder like a conquering hero returning from battle, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his face, and a folded piece of paper clutched between two fingers like it was a scroll of surrender terms.
Yao, still curled on the couch in her fortress of blankets and stolen sweatshirts, raised an eyebrow as she took a slow sip of her tea.
Lu Sicheng, lounging beside her with his laptop balanced against one knee, barely spared a glance but one corner of his mouth ticked upward in faint amusement.
The rest of the team peered cautiously over their screens and snack piles, sensing chaos had returned.
Yue stopped dramatically in front of Tong Yao, cleared his throat, and with a flourishing bow, presented the folded note to her. "Room secured," he declared solemnly. "Moron humbled. Your wrath? Delivered."
Yao set down her tea, unfolded the letter carefully. Inside, scrawled in the kind of handwriting that suggested Ai Jia had been both desperate and half-hysterical, were the words:
I'm sorry, I'm an idiot, I plugged in the lamp, I worship the lamp, I worship Jinyang, I will never doubt her or unplug anything ever again. Please don't send Yue back. I value my life.
She blinked. Once. Twice. Then burst into laughter so hard she had to cover her mouth with both hands, shoulders shaking.
Yue preened, rocking back on his heels. "You're welcome."
Sicheng lifted an eyebrow, still not looking up from his laptop. "You scare toddlers, not professional players."
Yue beamed. "Today? I scared both."
Yao was still laughing when her phone buzzed again.
She lifted it.
Jinyang: I just unblocked Ai Jia.He won't stop crying and apologizing.And begging me not to leave him alone with Yue again.WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM??
Yao turned the screen toward the boys with an evil little grin. "He's traumatized."
Pang burst out laughing.
Lao Mao shook his head. "He's gonna need therapy."
Yue shrugged, absolutely unrepentant. "Character development."
Yao leaned back against Sicheng, nestling into his side with a satisfied sigh, phone still in hand, the warmth of him soaking into her like gravity finding its true center. "I'm sending Jinyang a fruit basket," she mused aloud.
"Add aspirin," Sicheng muttered, wrapping an arm lazily around her waist, "for when Ai Jia starts sleep-crying."
Yue flopped down onto the armrest of the couch, draping himself across it like a cat. "So," he said, grinning mischievously, "when do I get the key to my new room?"
Yao tilted her head back to glance up at him. "After I triple-check you didn't stuff a recording of Ai Jia sobbing inside my pillowcases."
Yue gasped in mock offense. "How dare you, Mrs. Lu."
Sicheng didn't even look up this time—he just reached out, smacked Yue on the back of the head lightly, and muttered: "Don't give her ideas."
And the base echoed with laughter again—warm, rich, full of the kind of closeness that no match win, no sponsorship, no league ranking could ever replace.
Because this?
This was family. A slightly feral, chaos-driven, lovesick disaster of a family. But family all the same.