ZHAN
I'm lying in the infirmary bed, chewing slowly through a protein bar that tastes like dust and artificial vanilla, watching the IV drip tick down drop by drop. My eyes are half-closed, but I'm not asleep.
I'm drifting.
My thoughts, as usual, go to Wang.
To his mouth. His laugh. His weight over me. The way he whispered "I've got you" like it was a promise, not a moment.
I imagine us in a room without locks. A place where he doesn't have to sneak in or sneak out. Where I can kiss him without flinching at every footstep outside the door. Where he's not divided between orders and desire, loyalty and shame.
I imagine his lips on my shoulder again. His fingers lacing through mine. Us lying in sunlight, not under buzzing fluorescents.
I don't fully understand what just happened.
One moment, I'm half-daydreaming in the infirmary bed, replaying Wang's fingers on my skin. The next, Wang's mother walks in like she owns the place—head high, eyes sharp, wrapped in a tailored coat like she's stepping off a runway of power.
"Let's go to the warden's office," she says, clipped and cold, like we've interrupted something beneath her.
Wang doesn't flinch. He reaches for my IV without hesitation, removes the drip clean, and helps me up.
We trail behind them like shadows—he steady, I stunned.
The smell hits me first—burnt coffee and fake lemon cleaner. Like it's trying to cover something rotten.
Wang's parents take their seats across from the warden, and I hang back with Wang, my back against the wall, trying to stay invisible.
But I can feel the shift in the room. It's not just confrontation. It's exposure.
Wang's mother speaks like a scalpel, slicing through the warden's small talk, his smirking lies, until the man's crumbling. Sweat at his collar, fingers twitching around his cup. It's brutal. Surgical.
When we stepped into the infirmary, it felt different.
The lights were low, but not in that sterile, humming way I'd grown used to. There was... warmth. Like someone had shifted the atmosphere just slightly.
And then I saw them.
Dre, perched on the edge of a cot, practically vibrating with fear, his boyfriend beside him, trying to look composed but failing miserably. Their faces lit up the second they saw me.
"You're back!" Dre practically shouted, then immediately hushed himself when a nurse walked past. He darted over anyway, grin wide.
What's happening, why are we here? He asks.
You won't believe what just happened." I say, still in shock.
He glanced at Wang, then back at me, wary. "What?"
My eyes flick to Wang, then to Dre and his boyfriend as he walks to stand beside him. "My man's mom just flipped the entire game board."
What are you talking about? Ezra asks.
I continue, my tone sharp, but tinged with excitement: "She walked out of the warden's office like she owned the place. Took files. Actual files. Names. Records. You don't just do that unless you're untouchable."
"Files of who?" Dre asks.
I lower my voice, my grin becoming something more dangerous. "Of everyone who was wrongfully locked up in here... and everyone who put us here. She's got leverage."
Wang crosses his arms, but there's the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "Sounds like my mom," he says dryly.
I blink at him. "You knew?"
He shrugs. "I didn't know she'd go straight for the warden, but let's just say she's not the type to sit back while her son babysits a political prison."
Wang leans forward. "She pointed at Zhan, and said 'this one and his friends are coming with me.' Like she was picking soldiers out of a lineup. The warden didn't even blink."
A thrill of disbelief surges through Dre. "You're saying we're getting out?"
Wang grins. "I'm saying the door's about to open, and your boy's mom has the keys."
I sink down onto the nearest bed, heart pounding. Seven years of waiting, planning, choking on hope so thin it hurt, and now it was real.
I look at Wang. He's watching me with that steady, unreadable gaze. Then, without a word, he steps closer, pressing a hand to my shoulder. Grounding me.
"You ready for this?" he murmurs.
I nod slowly. "More than ready."
But deep down, I can't shake it.
If Wang's mom has names of everyone wrongfully locked up here... she also has names of whoever put them here. Which means someone, somewhere, is about to burn.
And I'm ready to set the fire.
Wang's phone buzzes. He doesn't say a word. Instead, he pulls off his lab coat, drops it on the bed, and grabs my hand firmly. Dre does the same, pulling Ezra close.
Wang pushes the door open, his steps steady, and none of us dares look back until we're standing outside, where his mother is waiting like a statue carved from stone.
"Y'all can wait in the car," Mrs. Wang says coolly, her voice cutting through the night air. Her gaze shifts to me, sharp enough to slice skin. "I'd like a word with Zhan."
My stomach knots. For a second, my legs feel glued to the ground.
Wang doesn't even hesitate. He walks to the car, opens the door, and slides in, trusting me to follow his lead or survive whatever's coming next.
Mrs. Wang steps closer, her eyes locking on mine. I swear I feel stripped bare.
"I still don't like the idea of you and my son being together," she hisses.
Her words land heavy, curling like smoke in my chest. I swallow hard, pulse hammering.
"Thank you... for getting us out," I say quietly, because it's all I can think of. Anything else might be wrong. Dangerous.
Her stare doesn't break. Then, finally, a shift, barely a flicker of something softer. "But... I suppose he can make his own decisions."
Relief hits like air after drowning, but before I can respond, she turns sharply, slides into the car, and slams the door.
The engine growls to life. Leaving me standing there, shaken, but free.
The car disappears down the road, its engine a fading growl. I exhale slowly, realizing I'd been holding my breath the entire time. My hands are trembling.
Behind me, the car door opens.
"Zhan," Wang calls softly.
I turn. He's leaning against the car, one hand on the door, his eyes steady on me. Without a word, I walk toward him and slide into the back seat beside him. Dre and Ezra are already there, quiet for once.
The door shuts. The silence feels heavy.
Wang reaches for my hand. His warm and steady fingers lace through mine, grounding me.
"She can be terrifying, huh?" he says lightly, almost a joke, but his thumb brushes against my knuckles like he knows exactly how shaken I am.
"I thought she was going to—" I stop myself. I don't even know what I was afraid of.
"She won't hurt you," he says. Then, softer: "Not while I'm here."
The words settle deep, easing some of the tightness in my chest. I glance at him. His face is calm, but his grip is unrelenting, like he's daring anyone to try and take me away again.
Dre clears his throat from the front. "Okay, lovers, save it for later. Can we get out of here before someone changes their mind?"
Ezra snorts. Wang smirks faintly, but his hand doesn't leave mine as his parents' car disappears completely, and we drive off together, finally free.
The drive is quiet but charged, like everyone's holding in a breath they're too afraid to release. When we pull up to the safe house, the night feels heavier, the air cool and damp.
Dre hops out first, stretching his arms. "Finally," he groans. "If I have to smell that prison disinfectant one more time—"
Ezra nudges him. "You smell worse."
I step out last, still holding Wang's hand. His grip hasn't loosened once. He glances at me, searching my face like he's making sure I'm still really here, not some ghost that could vanish if he blinks.
Inside, the safe house is warm and dimly lit. It smells faintly of coffee and wood polish, normal things. Safe things.
Dre flops dramatically onto the couch. "Alright, lovebirds. You're free, you're alive, nobody's bleeding. Can we celebrate with food before y'all start making out and ruin my appetite?"
Ezra rolls his eyes, dragging him toward the kitchen. "Ignore him," he mutters.
As soon as they're gone, the silence shifts. Softer. Private.
I turn to Wang. He's closer than I realize, his hand still in mine, his thumb drawing slow circles over my skin.
"You okay?" he asks, voice low.
I nod, though my chest still feels tight. "I thought your mom hated me."
"She does," he says flatly, then smirks faintly. "But she hates me more, so you're safe."
I laugh, but it's weak, and his expression softens. He steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him.
"You don't have to be afraid anymore," he murmurs, tilting his forehead to mine. "You're here. With me. That's all that matters."
His words melt the last of my tension. I exhale shakily, leaning into him.
Then he kisses me slowly, deliberately, like he's grounding me piece by piece.
Somewhere in the kitchen, Dre yells, "I knew it! Pay up, Ezra!"
We break apart, laughing quietly, and for the first time in what feels like forever, it's not out of fear but relief.
Dinner is loud, chaotic, and strangely comforting. Dre making bad jokes, Ezra swatting him with a spoon, Wang quietly leaning against my shoulder like he's reclaiming every second we lost.
Eventually, Dre yawns. "Alright, I'm done. I need sleep before I start crying from exhaustion."
Ezra smirks. "You mean from watching them eye each other all night?"
"Shut up," Dre grumbles, grabbing Ezra's hand. "We're leaving these two to their... whatever."
A few minutes later, the house falls quiet. Just me and Wang.
He doesn't say anything at first, just takes my empty plate, sets it in the sink, and turns to face me. His eyes are darker in the low light, unreadable but intense.
"Come here," he says softly.
I step closer. He slips his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against him. The silence hums between us, thick with everything unspoken.
"You scared me," he murmurs against my hair. "When they took you away, I—"
"I'm here now," I whisper, my fingers gripping his shirt.
He leans back just enough to look at me, his hands framing my face like I might disappear if he lets go. His mouth meets mine gently at first, then deeper, hungrier, like he's been holding this in for too long.
I melt into him, my back pressing against the kitchen counter as his kiss grows urgent. His hands slide down, anchoring me closer, grounding me in the heat of him.
"Wang," I breathe, dizzy from the way he says my name like it's something sacred.
He pulls back only a fraction, his forehead resting against mine, breath ragged. "I almost lost you," he says, voice rough. "I don't plan on letting that happen again."
His words send a shiver down my spine. I kiss him again, harder this time, and he responds instantly, lifting me onto the counter, his fingers digging into my hips like he's terrified I might slip away again.
The rest of the world fades. It's just him, warm and solid and alive, kissing me like he's staking a claim he'll never give up.
His hands are everywhere, gentle, reassuring, like he's memorizing me all over again. I can feel his heartbeat against mine, fast and fierce.
"I need you," he whispers against my neck.
"You have me," I breathe back.
The lights stay low, the night quiet except for the sound of us, soft gasps, whispered names, and the desperate need to be close. His lips trail down my skin, and I let go of every fear, every trace of prison walls and cold floors.
Here, in his arms, it's safe. It's home.
The world fades until there's nothing but heat, breath, and the quiet certainty that I'm his, and he's mine.
Wang doesn't stop kissing me as he lifts me onto the counter, his hands sliding under my shirt, fingertips hot against my skin. I gasp against his mouth, and he swallows it, deepening the kiss until I'm dizzy.
He pulls back just enough to murmur, voice low and rough, "Bedroom."
I nod, breathless.
He carries me down the hall, kicking the door shut behind us. I barely have time to think before he presses me against it, kissing me like he's starving. His hands roam my back, my waist, the curve of my hip possessive and desperate.
I tug at his shirt, and he strips it off in one fluid motion. His body is warm, solid, and mine to touch. I trace over muscle, grounding myself in every inch of him.
He lays me back on the bed slowly, like I'm something precious, then crawls over me, lips trailing fire down my throat. I arch into him, fingers tangled in his hair.
"Tell me if I go too far," he says against my skin.
"You won't," I whisper, pulling him closer.
The rest comes in waves, clothes discarded, mouths searching, hands mapping out familiar territory with new urgency. His lips, his breath, his voice in my ear, it's all-consuming.
When he finally sits on my cock, it's slow, deliberate, and intimate. His forehead presses to mine, and he kisses me through every shiver, every gasp, every whispered "I love you."
And when it's over, we lie tangled together, skin slick and hearts pounding. His fingers brush through my hair, grounding me back to earth.
"You're safe," he murmurs. "You're mine."
And for the first time in years, I believe him.