Chapter Text
“Worthless piece of trash,” Hua Cheng hisses.
The tell-tale pressure of a headache blooms behind his eyes as he twists the key in the ignition, mood blackening. The repetitive whirr and click of the starter failing fills the air. The engine is ominously silent.
Fucking again? He groans, barely resisting the urge to smash his skull against the steering wheel. Unconsciousness would be too kind, wouldn't it?
His precious Skyline is not cooperating. It’s his pride and joy, something that took ages to get his hands on—a limited edition model from the early 2000s boasting a sleek all-leather interior and custom modifications that cost him a stupid amount of money. It blows the other cars in his collection out of the water— modern and luxurious as they are, they’re not quite as rare or coveted as this one.
Or as annoying.
For god’s sake, he’s literally on the way to the mechanic right now. Or he would be, if his car would fucking start.
He’d made an appointment a few days ago at a far-flung shop on the outskirts of the city specializing in repairing and modifying older imported vehicles. The shops he usually frequents are booked out for several weeks, and some no longer carry the parts he needs— go figure, early-model Nissan parts aren’t exactly in circulation anymore—so he went out on a limb and asked his perpetually broody coworker for a recommendation.
Well. Demanded, really. He Xuan owes him. And he’s the only other car enthusiast Hua Cheng can tolerate for more than thirty seconds at a time.
“Don’t care,” He Xuan had muttered dourly, digging around in his desk drawer for snacks, “let that piece of shit stay dead.”
“Hm. That’s funny, I seem to remember running circles around you with that ‘piece of shit’ just last weekend,” Hua Cheng drawled over the obnoxious sound of He Xuan wrestling with an exceptionally stubborn bag of chips. “Too bad. I’ll just have to increase the interest on your debt to cover the cost of getting the parts shipped out, not to mention the fees for the races I've already signed up for…”
He Xuan froze mid-tear with his teeth still sunk into the edge of the bag, glancing up at Hua Cheng like a hunted animal.
He’d coughed up a shop after that. Hua Cheng was even able to pry out the name of his preferred mechanic with some pointed needling.
And Hua Cheng is going to be so late to this new place if he’s got to call a goddamn tow truck to pull his baby across town. He despises tow truck drivers— they’re never careful enough with their cargo and are notorious for leaving cars in worse condition than they found them. Fucking wreckers.
Hua Cheng doesn’t have time for this.
Right as he’s considering throwing in the towel and setting everything on fire— one ring-encrusted hand turning the key and the other reaching for his phone— the starter catches and the engine roars to life.
Relief washes over him. Hua Cheng slumps down in his seat, massaging his temples. It’s as though the stupid hunk of metal could sense his mounting frustration— and exactly how close he was to snapping— and decided to priotritize self-preservation. Lucky.
He somehow manages to make it to the shop without bloodshed.
-/-/-/-
Nestled on the corner of a narrow, tree-lined street, Maple Alley Motors is so incredibly unassuming Hua Cheng nearly misses it. Other than the single gray garage door, the modest brick and glass-windowed exterior doesn’t exactly scream high-end auto shop.
Hua Cheng peers at the garage door dubiously—is he meant to drive in there himself? The door is firmly shut, and there’s no one outside waiting to greet him.
He’s used to patronizing big warehouses, luxe dealerships— and, of course, the occasional underground spot where he gets his rarer modifications done. This place certainly doesn't fit any of those categories, but he’s not one to judge a book by its cover.
Eyes darting over to what must be the administrative office door, Hua Cheng pauses when he spots a bright, hand-painted sign set out by a quaint planter overflowing with flowers. On closer inspection, the cheery sign offers instructions directing customers awaiting check-in to leave their vehicles in the yellow loading zone along the curb. Ah. Maybe a mechanic will drive it in for him, then.
Shifting into park, Hua Cheng silently prays his Skyline will start again as he shuts it off and gingerly pulls the key from the ignition.
Gauzy pink petals stir around his boots as he swings his legs out of the car. Tilting his head up, Hua Cheng feels the tiniest bit of tension bleed from his shoulders at the sight of the magnificent blooming cherry tree arcing above him. He'd almost forgotten what it feels like to stand under a canopy of flowers at the height of springtime; the glass-lined industrial block of the city he usually haunts boasts a total of two sparse dogwoods that stand just a little taller than himself.
Actually, now that he's looking, the entire street is interspersed with either old maple trees studded with tender new growth, or blushing cherries dropping their blossoms to coat the road in a thick carpet.
The shop is aptly named, then. The block probably burns fiery red in the autumn.
Long fingers fiddling with his keyring, Hua Cheng halfheartedly reels in his lingering murderous aura and ducks into the tiny office. A feeble bell chimes as the door swings closed behind him. Wide windows frame a small seating area packed tight with three well-worn vintage metal chairs that look like they were pulled straight out of an old diner, and an overfilled, faded brown leather couch that has certainly seen better days. The office is absolutely stuffed with plants from floor to ceiling.
Sliding past a massive pair of parlor palms, Hua Cheng makes a beeline for the front desk where a bored-looking man lounges, leafing listlessly through a glossy magazine. He glances up from his page to level Hua Cheng with a disinterested stare.
There's a long pause before the receptionist clicks his tongue and snaps his magazine shut, heaving a sigh.
“Can I help you?” he says flatly, sounding like he’d rather throw himself off the nearest bridge.
Already resisting the urge to strangle this man, Hua Cheng plasters on his most convincing fake smile.
“I called for an appointment a few days ago,” Hua Cheng says pleasantly, “I’m here to get the starter replaced for my old Nissan. It’s been acting up.”
The guy checks a clipboard. Twists to type something into the ancient computer system.
“Hua Cheng, right? And you requested Shi Qingxuan?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Correct.”
His answer is met with a very judgmental eye roll.
“Your appointment was for thirty minutes ago.” He gestures pointedly at the old-fashioned clock ticking away on the wall.
Maybe today will be the day Hua Cheng is finally pushed to commit homicide. The pale line of this person’s throat is looking exceptionally crushable. His smile turns icy.
“Ah, I deeply apologize. I was having trouble getting my car to start.”
The asshole huffs, rolling his eyes again. Hua Cheng is surprised they’re not permanently stuck like that.
“Whatever, you’re here now.”
He shuffles a few forms onto a weathered clipboard and unceremoniously slaps it onto the counter in front of Hua Cheng, who feels the vein in his temple throb again with irritation.
“We were able to get the part you need, but Shi Qingxuan had to go home early today, so I’ll grab one of our other guys to help you. Sorry about that,” he adds, sounding absolutely zero percent sorry.
Jaw sliding, Hua Cheng bites back the venomous response bubbling in his throat in favor of leveling the man an insincere, tight-lipped smile. He wordlessly snatches a pen from its container and tugs the paperwork closer in an obvious dismissal. If he keeps talking to this petty devil incarnate, he's going to tear the guy's head clean off his neck and then they definitely won't help him fix his starter.
With one final long-suffering sigh, the receptionist turns on his heel and disappears into the garage.
Hua Cheng seethes silently as he scribbles in his information, struggling not to break the flimsy pen in half in his fury. He is going to murder He Xuan. Of course that salty bitch would send him to the shop with the most infuriating fucking staff in the entire city. And recommend a flaky goddamn mechanic. Piece of shit. Actually… maybe death would be too kind a fate for the likes of He Xuan. Too simple. That gloomy bastard would probably love to be put out of his misery.
Doodling furiously on the corner of the already battered clipboard, Hua Cheng nods to himself. Hmm. He should slide nails into the tires of that old Jag He Xuan loves so much right before their next street race; with his luck, they'll fall out mid-race he'll go flat on the track. Maybe even spin out and total his car. Regardless, if he doesn't die then, at the very least he'd certainly lose terribly and owe Hua Cheng even more.
That’d be incredibly satisfying. Glorious, even.
He's shaken out of his increasingly elaborate revenge fantasies when the door leading to the garage creaks open. Pen twirling between deft fingers, Hua Cheng glances up and promptly freezes.
Oh. Oh, fuck.
A literal angel stands before him, wiping grease from his palms with a worn rag.
No, scratch that, this person is a fucking god, he must be, he’s entirely too gorgeous to counted in the same realm as mortals. He’s glowing, transcendent, ethereal, and he’s looking right at Hua Cheng with huge warm eyes bracketed by gentle laugh lines in their corners.
Hua Cheng is doomed.
Silken dark hair is swept up into a messy bun atop his head, rebellious pieces escaping to frame a flawless face. Hua Cheng dazedly takes in the sweet curve of his brows and the barely-there smattering of freckles decorating the slope of his elegant nose and the alluring shape of his petal-pink mouth as it curls into a soft smile and oh fuck is that a dimple—
The god tucks the rag into the back pocket of his blue uniform jumpsuit, tied off neatly at his trim waist to combat the unusually warm spring afternoon, and raises his hand in greeting. Attention entirely occupied with the obscene way the scuffed fabric of his blessedly white shirt pulls and strains around the muscles in his arms at the action, Hua Cheng is so far gone he almost misses it when those perfect lips part.
“Ah, hello! I heard you need to get your starter replaced— I’m happy to help you with that!”
Even the gentle timbre of his voice is otherworldly. Hua Cheng tries in vain to collect the pitiful scraps of his brain currently melting out of his ears.
“Uh, hi,” he says like an absolute idiot, with none of his usual charismatic charm.
But it’s the closest thing to human speech he can manage right now, and honestly, Hua Cheng is proud that he hasn’t fainted considering that he feels like he’s been struck by fucking lightning. He’s gripping the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles flash white.
Holy fucking shit. He’s never been religious in his life but now he’s seriously reconsidering.
“I’m Xie Lian,” the god smiles, clasping his unfairly distracting hands together.
Turning the name over and over in his mind like a mantra, Hua Cheng barely registers as the asshole from earlier slinks into the office behind him, arms crossed.
“I’ll be your mechanic today. I know you requested Shi Qingxuan, but they’re not feeling well, and I promise you’re in good hands with me! Mu Qing told me your name is, ah, Hua—?"
“San Lang,” he blurts. “You can call me San Lang.”
God. Why is he like this? Hua Cheng never asks people to call him that. It’s a childhood nickname he literally hasn’t thought about in years. At this point, no one who knew him as a kid would dare to use such a familiar name for him. He curses himself internally. Get it together, Hua Cheng!
Xie Lian blinks. The corners of his lips twitch.
The asshole— Mu Qing—shoots him a look. One that clearly screams are you fucking serious, buddy?
Xie Lian recovers quickly. “O-Okay! It’s nice to meet you, San Lang. Let’s make sure all your paperwork is in order and then we can get started.”
Butterflies erupt in Hua Cheng’s stomach as he watches Xie Lian’s lips curve around his name. With numb fingers, he passes the clipboard over, desperately trying not to think about how close their hands are to brushing as he does so.
He’s dead. He’s died and this is the afterlife. How is he still standing? Is he floating? It's a miracle his knees haven’t buckled under him.
Xie Lian takes one glance at the forms Hua Cheng filled out and pauses, clearing his throat politely.
“Ah… San Lang… while I bring in your car, would you mind just, um, pulling out your license and insurance so Mu Qing here can finish plugging everything into the system?” he pushes the paperwork firmly into Mu Qing’s grip.
They exchange a flurry of meaningful glances, a conversation consisting of raised brows and narrowed eyes, before Mu Qing heaves a heavy sigh and rounds the corner of the front desk, muttering mutinously under his breath about demonic handwriting and outdated systems and how he’ll be dead in the ground before the shop gets around to switching to electronic forms.
Graciously accepting the keys to Hua Cheng’s car, Xie Lian heads outside to coax the old Skyline to start. Meanwhile, Hua Cheng lingers at the front desk, re-learning how to breathe and taking great pleasure in staring down an increasingly frazzled Mu Qing as he drafts up new paperwork.
By the time Xie Lian finishes backing the surprisingly cooperative car into the garage, Hua Cheng manages to reboot his brain enough to handle regular speech again. So when Xie Lian steps through the door a second time, Hua Cheng thinks he is ready.
“Alright, I’m going to get started— feel free to hang out in the office or take a walk if you’d like. There’s a lovely coffee shop around the corner that’s one of my favorites; their pastries are to die for. I should be done in about an hour or so.”
Xie Lian tilts his head and offers Hua Cheng a sweet smile.
Oh, Hua Cheng was wrong. He is so not ready.
He bobs his head in acknowledgement and clears his suddenly parched throat. “I’ll…do that. Thank you.”
“Sure thing!”
Xie Lian takes an aborted step toward the garage, then hesitates. Squares his shoulders a little. So cute, Hua Cheng thinks, dazed. Though he would have to be blind to miss the way the man’s lithe form ripples with hidden strength. He stares at that strong back, already wistfully imagining how their interaction will go when he returns in—
“Ah, actually," the mechanic blurts, pivoting back around to face Hua Cheng, who nearly leaps out of his skin at the sudden return of the full force of Xie Lian's attention, "I… I know you came in just to get that specific part replaced, but I have a little bit of experience working with this kind of model—"
Xie Lian’s big doe eyes pin Hua Cheng in place as he speaks, nimble hands fluttering earnestly in the air. Under the weight of that gaze, breathing is really, really hard.
"—and if it’s alright with San Lang, I’d like to do a couple more checks to make sure that everything else looks okay. Not— not that anything else is wrong with it, it’s obviously been kept in great condition—”
Hua Cheng screams internally at his useless lungs, which have chosen this moment to stop funtioning. Breathe normally, you fucking idiot, now is not the time to shed the mortal coil and ascend!
“—I just wanna peek at some connections and maybe your alternator and— oh! Ah, of course I won’t charge you any extra. It’s just, it would be a shame to install a new starter motor and still have issues starting your car down the line. And I don’t get to see this kind of car often, especially not a limited edition, so…” he trails off, flushing lightly.
Even the tips of his ears glow sunset-pink.
With no small amount of difficulty, Hua Cheng unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Tamps down on the insane urge to offer to gift the car to the devastatingly hot mechanic altogether. God, Hua Cheng already knows he'd give him anything he asked. Would do anything.
“Feel free, gege," he rasps, sounding totally cool and not out of breath, "whatever you think is best.” Shit. The endearment slipped out before he—
Dimples appear in Xie Lian’s cheeks and Hua Cheng nearly throws himself out the window.
-/-/-/-
Forty-five minutes later, Hua Cheng returns with an iced coffee that's steadily melting in one hand and a paper bag heavy with pastries in the other. He’d spent most of his time pacing around the petal-soaked neighborhood, sunk deep in a very gay existential crisis before finally remembering Xie Lian’s recommendation.
Mu Qing glares daggers at him when he sweeps into the office, nonchalantly dumping his goods onto the haphazard stack of magazines littering a small side table and plopping down onto the suprisingly comfortable couch.
Unconcerned, Hua Cheng ignores the shop’s resident asshole in favor of mindlessly swiping through his phone, stealing inconspicuous glances into the garage through the glass of the door. A couple of uniform-clad mechanics are working under lifted vehicles, but none of them are Xie Lian. He shifts on the couch minutely, inching over until he spots the glossy black paint of his Skyline.
And Xie Lian—
Xie Lian has the hood propped open and is bent over it, pert ass on full display, the broad sweep of his back taut with tension as he reaches for something deep within the guts of the car. There’s a line of sweat soaking the spine of his shirt, which is steadily coming untucked from the knotted jumpsuit as he works, and holy shit Hua Cheng can see a sliver of the creamy skin covering his rippling abdomen as he—
Hua Cheng chokes on his own spit. Fights to keep his expression neutral.
Maybe he’ll have to decrease He Xuan’s debt for recommending this place. Just a little.
With great difficulty, Hua Cheng tears his eyes away. If he keeps staring, he’s going to have bigger problems than a faulty starter or a new crush or the worst front-desk receptionist in history. Mu Qing is still shooting him poorly concealed dirty looks, and besides, he doesn’t want to fuck up Xie Lian’s awkward first impression of him any more than he already has by pitching a tent in the man's workplace. Nor does he want to be banned from this shop for life.
Casually crossing his legs, he tries desperately to focus on unsexy thoughts in an effort to calm himself down and ultimately decides to text He Xuan.
bitch, he sends, and nothing else. He waits, foot bouncing impatiently. Two excruciating minutes pass before the typing dots appear in the chat window.
fuck off, He Xuan responds from under the loving banner of "broke bitch", why did I ever give you my number.
Hua Cheng bares his teeth a little. you’ve been keeping secrets from me, asshole!
He can practically hear He Xuan's eyes rolling. the hell are you talking about?
why the fuck did u not tell me an actual god works here, Hua Cheng fires back.
what. There is pause where the typing dots start and stop three times. Then: wait. you better not be talking about shi qingxuan. keep your filthy paws off them, dickhead
Fingers clenching, Hua Cheng narrows his eyes. ha. your precious mechanic didn’t even show
He jumps and narrowly resists crushing his phone to pieces as his texting is interrupted by the sound of the door to the garage opening. Thumb sliding over the lock button, he stands to face Xie Lian, trying and failing to look cool and unruffled. His phone buzzes insistently in his pocket.
Oh, shit, he thinks, when Xie Lian stops a polite distance away and Hua Cheng suddenly notices that he’s about a whole head taller than the other man. Xie Lian is not short by any means, but the fact that he’s smaller and still looks like he could pick Hua Cheng up and throw him without breaking a sweat… yeah, Hua Cheng is fucked.
“Everything looks great! You should be all set. I installed the new starter into your GT-R and it’s running like a dream," Xie Lian says, sparkling eyes curving into crescents as he snaps off a pair of black rubber gloves and tucks them away. "You shouldn’t have any more problems with it— but if you do, please don’t hesitate to give us a call and I’ll be happy to look at it.”
He offers Hua Cheng yet another blinding smile that immediately reminds him of sunrises and warm summer evenings and dewy white azaleas.
Hua Cheng bows his head in thanks, wiping sweaty palms surreptitiously on his jeans. “I can’t express how grateful I am to gege for his help."
Xie Lian blushes a little, pleased, and waves his now bare hands. Cute. “Of course, it was really my pleasure! Honestly—I love older racing cars and yours is in great condition. It’s a classic!" he exclaims, sincerity and enthusiasm rolling off of him in waves. "It really was a treat to work on, and it made my day, so, I should be the one thanking San Lang for deciding to come here to get it fixed.”
Hua Cheng finds himself smiling, softening easily to Xie Lian's sweet disposition. How is it possible for such a perfect human to walk this earth, to breathe the same air as someone as unworthy as himself?
He manages to wrap Xie Lian up in a bit of small talk about his Skyline and basks in the radiant way Xie Lian beams at him, any lingering vestiges of shyness melting away.
Xie Lian rubs absently at his neck as they chat. Accidentally leaves little smears of grease along sunkissed skin that swirl and blend like ink on parchment. Hua Cheng laments to himself how anyone could be so fucking adorable and questions why his first instinct is to reach out and clean it off with his tongue.
Well, surely engine grease swiped directly off the neck of a veritable god wouldn’t be the worst thing he’s ever tasted.
Just as Hua Cheng’s thoughts are starting to veer back to the danger zone, the bell to the front door announces the arrival of more customers. Xie Lian glances at the clock and starts as a couple of graying men shoulder through the jungle of plants.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, San Lang, I wasn’t paying attention to the time— it looks like my next appointment is here.” He bites his lip, crestfallen.
Hua Cheng cheers internally at his expression despite his own disappointment. Xie Lian is pouting.
“Ah— before I forget, San Lang, here are your keys. Your car is parked back outside in the loading zone—and like I said, feel free to let me know if there’s anything else you need.”
Oho. Hua Cheng savors the change from ‘us’ to ‘me’ as he pockets his keys. An undeniable victory. His face is going to crack if he keeps on smiling like this.
"And, oh— San Lang, you've got, um—" Xie Lian's hand darts out.
Hua Cheng’s heart kicks into overdrive at the sudden proximity, suppressing a shiver as the mechanic's warm fingers graze the space by his right ear, knuckles ghosting by the piercings lining his cartilage—
Blush rising to his cheeks as though mortified by his own audacity, a mute Xie Lian holds up the offending pink petal he'd plucked from Hua Cheng's eternally tousled hair in explanation.
Ah. Hua Cheng holds out his hand wordlessly and Xie Lian drops the petal in his palm, wide-eyed, looking ready to bolt at any moment. The mechanic huffs a sheepish laugh, clearly flustered.
“Ah— I should probably be going—”
Before Xie Lian can disappear, Hua Cheng tucks the petal in his pocket and hastily leans over to grab the little bag of pastries from their perch on the tower of magazines, gently pressing the entire thing into Xie Lian’s hands. Eyebrows shooting into his hairline, Xie Lian stares up at him, lips parting in a perfect 'o' as he cradles the offering.
“For you, gege. As thanks. Please don’t work too hard.”
With one last (hopefully) charming grin, Hua Cheng bids him goodbye and takes his leave.
When Hua Cheng has one foot out the door, Xie Lian suddenly finds his voice and calls out, “Oh! These buns are my favorite! Thank you, San Lang!”
Hua Cheng drives home in a daze and wonders exactly how soon would be too soon to wreck his car and go back.