Professor Zhan X Student Yibo
??The main theme of the story is ANGST, don't expect fluff or sweetness. Though there will be cozy scenario but later in the story.
"Stop this drama, Yibo!!!!. Don't act like everything is joke to you, even ME"...
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Zhan didn't speak a word as he reached their bedroom—his steps deliberate, his hold on Yibo unrelenting, arms locked tight around Yibo's waist and legs.
The boy had gone completely quiet after that scandalous swat on his peaches — only a faint whimper escaped when Zhan adjusted his grip, carrying him like a precious but unruly package.
As they neared the door, for the moment Yibo thought now Zhan would lowered him but to his surprise his husband must had switched his soul or possessed by something as the righteous professor kicked the door open with ease.
He carried Yibo straight to the bed, cradling him like he was something breakable. Yibo landed on the bed—with a soft thump and a stunned gasp.
Zhan lowered him with far more care than his earlier theatrics implied. But the moment Yibo's back hit the mattress, his palms flew up to his face, hiding everything — eyes, cheeks, expression. Only the tips of his ears peeked out, flushed pink like he was steaming from inside.
Zhan raised a brow, the corner of his lips curling into a smirk. For a second, he just stood there, watching Yibo try to vanish into the blanket through sheer embarrassment. He felt himself drown to his little husband's adorable action — beautiful, Zhan thought, then moved.
He climbed onto the bed in one smooth motion, one hand finding Yibo's wrists and gently prying them apart, guiding both of them above his head. Zhan pinned them there with ease, his fingers locking around Yibo's slender wrists like they belonged there.
He hovered above, close — close enough that Yibo could feel the warmth of his breath, could see the fire in his eyes, the sheer intensity.
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Yibo blinked, his heart skipping a beat—A strange déjà vu prickled through his senses.
This position... this exact moment... it mirrored the chaos of yesterday. Zhan's weight caging him, his harshness piercing through his body, the dark storm in his eyes, his rough breath fanning across his skin.
But it felt completely different now.
There was no fury now, no violent storm swirling behind Zhan's gaze this time. No resentment. No heat of jealousy. No bitterness. Only intensity—quiet, focused, consuming and impossibly protective.
Zhan's gaze roamed over Yibo's face, scanning, breathing him in like he still couldn't believe he was there, safe, beneath him.
Today, Zhan's grip was steady—not to restrain, but to cradle. His body hovered but never pressed. His expression stern, yet soft at the edges. Familiar. Comforting.
