Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Soundtrack: DEAD, BUT PREETY

It’s dark. Completely dark here. His eyes seemed to be open, and yet—absolute pitch black all around. And silent. What’s more—he couldn’t feel anything at all, not a single sensation. Blind, deaf, and now paralyzed? Fantastic. The last thing he remembered was the screech of brakes, echoed by Alex’s frantic scream. Sure, he’d wished this wedding would never happen, but not like this, for fuck’s sake! He wanted to swear out loud, and in that moment realized he couldn’t—his lungs held no air, there was nothing to exhale. With an effort, he inhaled deeply, hearing his own breath. Well, at least he could hear now—that was something.

“Goddammit…” he managed, though his voice sounded strange and muffled, as if he were in a coffin. As if. In a coffin. Panic shot through him. No, he was absolutely terrified, so much that he flung his hands up and started pounding his fists against the flimsy wood…

The lid flew off with a crash and clattered across the stone floor. Tian sat up, looking around. A church. A few candles barely cut through the gloom. His... for fuck’s sake, his coffin stood on a raised platform, surrounded by towering heaps of flowers; nearby was a large photograph of him, draped in mourning ribbons. No way... Getting out was difficult; his muscles responded as if reluctant, like his brain’s commands were reaching them with a delay. At last, he managed—and didn’t even fall—and now he was standing in the middle of the hall, with rows of benches fading into the darkness on either side. Checking his pockets turned up nothing—empty. No phone, no ID, no wallet. Fitting, since the dead have no need for money. The dead... He began frantically feeling himself for injuries. Beneath his hair at the back of his head, he found a rough seam; in some places, his skull gave under a little pressure, but he was afraid to press harder—no need for his brains to spill out. There was no pain. Limbs seemed to be intact—he was standing firmly enough, and his hands worked. He wasn’t eager to take off his expensive suit and the black shirt buttoned up all the way, so he settled for feeling around as best he could—for now, it would have to do.

As he considered what to do next, the obvious solution came to him: he needed to go to Cheng and hope his brother’s nerves would hold up in a crisis. It would be nice to catch a taxi, but he suspected that, looking as he did, no one would take him—he probably didn’t look too... presentable. They bury folks better dressed than this—ha, ha. Luckily, he knew where this church was in relation to Cheng’s house, so getting his bearings wasn’t hard, but on foot, the journey took a very long time. At least, even if the new shoes were chafing, he couldn’t feel it.

It was already starting to get light by the time he finally arrived, punched in the familiar code at the gate, and walked right in without any trouble. He rang the doorbell—and just managed to catch the maid as she fainted at the sight of him. To her credit, she collapsed very gracefully—without so much as a squeak. Now that’s dedication: she stood guard over her employer’s peace until the very end.

He carried the girl to a sofa in the hallway and went upstairs to his brother’s bedroom. To his surprise, Cheng was awake, sitting thoughtfully in an armchair with a glass of whiskey.

“Hey. Are you going to faint too, or will you wait a bit?”

Cheng looked him over, slowly took out his phone, and dialed a number. Once someone answered, he said firmly,

“Psychiatric emergency services?”

Tian deftly snatched the phone and tried to hit disconnect, but the touchscreen didn’t respond to him at all, and a woman’s voice could be heard from the receiver: Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?

“You’re fine. If anyone here isn’t fine, it’s me.”

“You’re dead.”

“Dead.” Tian nodded in agreement, though it took considerable effort to acknowledge this simple fact. “But, as you can see, something went wrong…”

The morning began with Cheng and his secretary calling all the guests to inform them that the funeral was cancelled. Whatever lies they told—Tian didn’t get into the details. The hardest part was convincing their father. They had to ask the family doctor to come first, and then bring him in. That turned out to be a good call; the doctor, who initially confirmed Tian’s death for a second time and then injected himself with a sedative, was a real lifesaver. He managed to prevent a heart attack in Mr. He, who nearly collapsed upon being faced with his supposedly deceased son.

Finally, once the initial chaos had more or less settled, a family meeting determined that everyone except the groom would attend his fiancée’s funeral—scheduled for that same day—and decide what to do next upon their return. Tian was left alone. He was absolutely forbidden to leave the room assigned to him, leaving him nothing to do but watch TV, pace from corner to corner, and try not to lose his mind.

He didn’t dare look in the mirror right away, but when he finally did, it really wasn’t so bad— the mortuary makeup artists had done an excellent job, and he’d been quite handsome while alive, so he still looked pretty good now, aside from the layers of foundation and the clumsily stitched-up wounds that became apparent when he got up the nerve to undress. Cheng assured him that there had been no autopsy, and all his organs were intact, which, for some reason, was oddly comforting—the thought of feeling hollow, like a taxidermied animal, would have been tough to handle psychologically.

When Cheng returned home, he handed him a laptop, and together they got to work searching for someone who could shed some light on why in the hell he hadn’t found peace. Tian was actually more effective at this, since unlike his brother, he no longer had a job, and he didn’t waste time eating, sleeping, or any of the things he now realized took up so much energy when he was alive—like breathing, blinking, and all sorts of apparently unnecessary functions. They gradually eliminated fortune-tellers, psychics, charlatans, and spiritual gurus of every variety. Cheng called a few neurobiology professors, even inviting one of them to their house with a promise of payment and a veiled threat to keep quiet. The family doctor’s services were needed yet again, and this time he arrived well-prepared—with sedatives for both himself and the professor. In any case, there wasn’t much chance word would get out—after all, who would believe something so absurd.

He himself gradually adapted to his new un-life. To be able to go out for a walk, he made use of the services of the same makeup artist, who would touch up his face, wait until evening when his appearance was less conspicuous, then throw on a long black coat, add dark sunglasses, and go out to not-breathe the fresh air as he paced around the city.

This went on for about a week before they finally found a specialist whose opinion inspired at least a modicum of trust. He wasn’t some hereditary shaman, druid, or a fifth-generation witch, but he was absolutely obsessed with everything related to death. A gray-haired, pleasant-looking old man carrying a plump notebook showed up in the evening and made himself comfortable in Cheng’s office, settling into the guest chair.

“Professor Peterson, Department of Anthropology,” he introduced himself, shaking the offered hand. “I heard from colleagues that you’ve been making inquiries, and I found it extremely intriguing. You’re interested in cases of the dead returning from the other side, correct?”

Cheng merely nodded vaguely, and the professor, opening his notebook, proceeded to recount all the facts, theories, legends, and rumors he knew. According to everything he’d gathered, in order for something like this to happen, the deceased must have unfinished business. If that business is completed with due diligence, the soul will find peace and leave the body.

“And what do you think that unfinished business might be?” Cheng asked.

“To answer that, it would help to know the circumstances surrounding the person’s death, and the person who came back might be able to give some clues,” Peterson replied with a shrug. At this, Tian, who until then had been sitting quietly in the corner, stood up and approached the table.

“I’ve racked my brain over this, Professor. I’ve read all the literature on the subject. And seeing as I died on my wedding day, it seems like I need to get married to find peace.”

Apparently, the years spent studying this phenomenon had not been in vain for Professor Peterson, and he didn’t require any sedatives—just a glass of water, which he drained in one go. For the next half hour, his eyes alight with excitement, he peppered Tian with questions and even asked if he could take part in helping resolve his “unfinished gestalt,” eager to see, as a researcher, what would happen—and to poke him with a stick afterward to make sure he’d actually found peace.

For obvious reasons, the former fiancée, Alex Nokes, could no longer participate in the wedding—which Tian was more than happy about. The entire scheme had been his father’s idea, and Tian himself had no feelings for her whatsoever; as they say, speak well of the dead or not at all, so he preferred to keep quiet. You’d think the solution had been found, but within just a couple of days it became clear that things were far from simple.

First of all, not a single church official would agree to marry a corpse, even one that could walk and think. And there was no question of getting married at city hall—on paper, He Tian had been dead for a couple of weeks already and wasn’t legally eligible to be married. The professor dismissed the idea of using fake documents as unworkable—the deceased himself had to be both physically and legally present to get married. On top of that, whenever potential brides were gently clued in about the true nature of things, they refused outright. Some cited religious beliefs; others just told them to go fuck themselves and offered no further explanation. And as for the women who actually agreed, Tian himself wanted nothing to do with them. He hadn’t scraped himself up from a dumpster just to marry an alcoholic or a drug addict, even if it was just for less than a day. If he was going to spend his last hours—even if it wasn’t really life—he wanted it to be with someone… suitable. Besides, the professor had subtly hinted that the ceremony on its own might not be enough; they might also need to consummate the marriage.

At that point, Tian grew pensive. What exactly was he supposed to do with his brand-new wife? As far as he’d been able to figure out, he didn’t have any circulation going on, and therefore, his sexual function was one hundred percent out of commission—which was disappointing but logical. Then again, to even worry about such things, he’d need to find a bride in the first place.

Time passed, and eventually they managed to find a cooperative pastor who was willing to look the other way—though exactly how many crisp yuan this had cost Cheng and Tian’s father (who was in the loop about their efforts and even helped out where he could), Tian preferred not to know.

That evening, as usual, he called the makeup artist to freshen up his face. He was thoroughly sick of the routine—how did women put up with this kind of ordeal every single day? But looking at his own deathly pale face and blue lips without any makeup was even worse. This time, he decided to go for a walk down to the riverfront. Normally, he might have stopped by a club or a bar, but trial and error had shown that alcohol had no effect on him in small doses, and he was afraid to try large doses—if the whiskey started seeping out through the stitches in his stomach, that would be awkward, to say the least.

At such a late hour, the stream of passersby had all but dried up, and Tian thought to himself that everything was playing out just like in the stories—night is the time for the undead Someone like him. As he walked along the pedestrian edge of the high railway bridge, he spotted a young man on the other side of the railing, barely holding on with his hands. There was almost no space behind the barrier, and the guy was staring down at the tangled railway tracks far below. If he were to fall now, in just a few seconds there’d be one more corpse in the world. Without hesitation, Tian quickened his pace and wrapped his arms tightly around the guy’s shoulders, gripping him with all his strength.

“Hey, suicide boy, don’t be in such a hurry to go down there. There’s nothing good waiting for you. Trust me—I’ve already been there,” he whispered right into the guy’s ear as the startled young man almost lost his balance, instinctively clutching Tian’s forearms. “See? I knew you wanted to live!”

A moment of confusion passed, and now it was obvious—the guy had red hair. He started to struggle, cursing through clenched teeth.

“Get the hell off me, you bastard! How do you know what I want or don’t want? Where the hell did you even come from?”

“From the other side!” Tian laughed, dragging the wiry body back over the railing. “And you know what? Since I died, I realized I never really valued this life at all.”

“Let me go, you lunatic!” the redhead kept fighting back “I just don’t have that kind of money! They’ll finish me off anyway, so I might as well do it myself. Maybe then they’ll at least leave my mom alone.”

Suddenly, he crumpled down, sitting right on the spit-stained asphalt, as if all his bravado had instantly drained away, and tears began streaming down his cheeks.

“So that’s why you saved me. Now maybe I won’t be able to try again.”

Tian looked skeptically over his own expensive brand-name clothes, then spat and sat down beside him.

“Well, since I saved you, maybe you’ll tell me what’s got you so down? Who knows, maybe I can help.”

“What, you’ll give me a suitcase full of yuan? Just like that?” the redhead cut off his crying and just sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. For some reason, Tian found it kind of endearing.

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. Let me ask you this: would you get married for a million?”

“In a heartbeat,” the failed suicide answered immediately. “Do I get the million up front or later?”

“Let’s say up front. You’re not even going to ask who to?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Even if it’s a gorilla from the zoo. As long as I don’t have to sleep with her, I’m out if that’s the case.

“And what if it’s a guy?”

This time, he took a bit longer to consider.

“That’s tougher. But still doable—under the same conditions,” the redhead finally answered. “Money up front. And I don’t own a suit, so you’ll need to throw that in too.”

“You’re unbelievably petty, aren’t you!” Tian sounded half-impressed, half-annoyed. “Alright, you’ll get your suit. From Armani. You can keep it afterward. Though, to be honest, it’s probably as useless to you as an umbrella is to a fish.”

“Why do you say that? Maybe I love fancy clothes,” the redhead unexpectedly grinned, stretching out a hand that he’d carefully wiped off on jeans that were far from the world’s cleanest. Not that Tian was the type to worry about germs anyway. “Mo Guanshan. You’re funny—you actually made me feel a little better” What’s your name, anyway?

“He Tian. Nice to meet you,” the handshake was unexpectedly firm. The guy stood up, brushing himself off.

“Well, see you around. Your sense of humor is something else, though…”

“I wasn’t joking,” said He Tian, and it was hard to tell who was more surprised. The idea of marrying a guy had honestly never crossed He Tian’s mind before—although it’s not like he’d never been attracted to men. Take Jian Yi, for example… Meanwhile, his new acquaintance seemed to freeze completely.

“Wait, so you really just offered me—a stranger you just met—a suitcase full of cash if I marry a guy?” Guanshan shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t figure out where the hidden camera is. And your scriptwriters are terrible, nobody would ever watch this.”

“There’s no camera,” Tian threw open his coat, and Mo flinched slightly, only to relax a bit when he saw nothing underneath but black jeans and a turtleneck. “I’ve been searching for weeks for someone who’d agree. So far, you’re the first who didn’t immediately tell me to get lost.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah,” the redhead ran a thoughtful hand over his short, spiky hair “So, what’s the catch? And… who’s the groom? Quasimodo?”

“Well… I’m the groom. And there actually is a catch. See, when I told you I was from the other side, that was true too. I’m a zombie.”

“You’re fucking hilarious! You should be doing standup!” The redhead laughed so hard and so sincerely that Tian couldn’t help but snort in amusement himself. He’d already gotten used to forcing himself to inhale so his speech wouldn’t sound too unnatural, and these days he almost passed for normal. Right now, though, he just enjoyed watching Mo wipe away tears of laughter. “Listen, I’ve been depressed for months, and you are literally bringing me back to life! Oh man, I can’t…”

When Mo finally stopped laughing, Tian slowly pulled up his turtleneck, revealing stitches held together with thick black thread poking out in every direction. Then he turned around, tossing his hair aside so another stitched seam was visible.

“Need more proof? I don’t breathe. I don’t blink. I only inhale so I can talk. I really am dead. But don’t worry, I’m not interested in your brains or anything else. Just your ring finger, so I can put a ring on it—he couldn’t help adding in a sepulchral voice—And also… your virginity!

This time, he watched as the guy first turned pale, then flushed red, and finally let out a long breath.

“Well, unbelievable…”

Chapter Text

They had spent this whole time on the bridge, and the end of his sentence was drowned out by the whistle of a train rumbling beneath them.

“So, I’m not rushing you,” Tian said, carefully tucking his turtleneck into his jeans and fishing a business card out of his pocket. “If you change your mind, give me a call. Here’s how it is: the ceremony will be in the evening, then you spend one night with me, and by morning you’ll be a widower. I’ll head to the cemetery, and you can go your way with the money. I have living relatives who will handle the marriage contract, so there won’t be any unexpected surprises.”

He waved his hand, leaving the redhead still standing on the bridge, and headed home, only half believing in the success of his own marriage proposal. The guy had no reason to trust him—Tian wouldn’t have trusted himself, either.

The call didn’t come until two days later, and to say Tian was glad would be an understatement. He was starting to get tired of his own condition. The upside was that his body didn’t decompose, but it also refused to regenerate—every little injury, the ones most people don’t even notice, stayed with him. A cut on his finger, for example, didn’t bleed but never healed, and He figured that if he ever took a bad fall, his problems would just keep piling up until he turned into a nightmare in a wheelchair—unable to die, yet barely able to live. Thanks to Cheng, all the preparations had been completed in record time. Of course, the pastor wasn’t thrilled to learn he’d be marrying two men, but compared to the first shock, the second hurdle was apparently easier to overcome. They only talked Father into it by arguing it would be inhumane to put a fragile woman through such an ordeal; men’s nerves were sturdier, and besides, the marriage would only last a few hours, just a formality. At least Tian’s soul would finally find peace, and he could be buried quietly, if not as grandly as before, then at least in the circle of his family.

Mo Guanshan arrived early to get ready. He’d already stopped by Cheng’s office previously, spent a long time reading, and practically sniffed the marriage contract, despite the corporate lawyer’s assurances that there were no hidden clauses or fine print. Of course, the He Group would never stoop to petty fraud in such a delicate matter.

Now, in a specially designated room, the promised Armani suit awaited him, along with the long-suffering makeup artist who had practically taken up residence in Chen’s house. When the artist accidentally tugged Mo’s hair while styling it, Mo grimaced, and the guy shrugged apologetically:
“Sorry, I’ve gotten used to working with Mr. He these past few days—he never complains.”

Though, according to He Tian, the wedding was supposed to be simple, without any fuss, a long black limousine pulled up to the entrance, and for some reason, it reminded Mo of a hearse. A burly, close-cropped man with unusually pale, almost white hair opened the door for them, waited for them to settle into the back seat, adjusted his black leather gloves, and then got behind the wheel.

“Meet brother Qiu, my brother’s bodyguard,” Tian introduced them. “No idea why you’d need to know, but just in case. You’re about to become part of our family…”

Tian gazed dreamily, as if the whole event held some profound meaning for him. And, little by little, Guanshan began to feel not just the persistent anxiety that had gripped him since morning, but also a strange excitement. As bizarre as it all was, damn it—today was his wedding day! And he, for the record, had never been married in his twenty-two years—not even really dated anyone. Besides, he wasn’t just agreeing to a fake marriage for the money (though that was certainly part of it). He was literally helping a restless soul find peace!

Although, right now, that restless soul was beaming beside him, grinning ear to ear, and didn’t look at all like some tormented wraith clanking chains in the corridors of a medieval castle. It was practically a fairy tale: the grand vaulted ceilings of the cathedral, a priest waiting for them at the end of the red carpet—except there were only three guests: a silver-haired, grief-stricken father, Tian’s brother, and the already-mentioned Hua Bi. No one threw rice at them, but soft ceremonial music played as they, awkwardly joined by the hand, walked to the altar. Guanshan felt so nervous that he thought he’d forgotten not only the carefully memorized vows, but even his own name, and worried he wouldn’t even manage to say “I do” at the right moment But everything went well—he didn’t stumble over his words, and they exchanged rings.

At the words, “You may now kiss... the groom,” the pastor faltered, but it was understandable—this was probably the first, and likely the last, ceremony of its kind in his life. He Tian leaned in, brushing his lips barely against Mo’s—Mo barely had time to feel embarrassed, but protocol had been observed. And they were pronounced husband and husband.

The family members, all dressed in black and standing off to the side, offered their restrained congratulations. The father wiped away a single tear and handed them a bouquet of white lilies, while Cheng, casually as ever, showed off a briefcase, telling Guanshan he would leave it in the car so he could pick it up in the morning right from the apartment—the same apartment they’d be driven to by the ever-silent, blond-haired giant.

Mo had never been to this luxurious high-rise before. Tian practically dragged him out of the car, shook Hua Bi’s hand, shoved the briefcase into Guanshan’s arms, and suddenly swept him up, carrying him briskly toward the building’s lobby doors, which slid open automatically…

“Hey, put me down! Are you out of your mind?”

“Oh, come on, darling—let’s allow ourselves this little joy. When else will you be carried in someone’s arms?”

“I’m not a girl, you know.”

“I noticed,” Tian replied, as the wide-eyed concierges stared after them, and in this fashion they made it all the way to the elevator.
Mo protested, but didn’t actually try to break free. After all, did it really matter? He had to be set down once they reached the apartment anyway, but He’s arm stayed draped around his waist while he opened the door. Beyond it was a massive two-level studio. Sure, Mo had read everything he could about He Tian and his family and had seen the lavish office, but only now did he fully realize what he’d gotten himself into—or perhaps, what he’d gotten himself stuck in.

Of course, it would’ve been better to think this all through before vowing “in sickness and in health, till death do us part”—or better yet, before signing the contract. Or before calling the number on that business card... Suddenly, he wished he could rewind a couple of years of his life, before it had led him to this studio. With a dead man. Whom he was, for fuck’s sake, married to, and with whom—unbelievably—he was about to share a bed.

Meanwhile, that very dead man wandered off toward the kitchen, separated from the rest of the space by a long bookcase, moving with a spring in his step. There was the sound of the refrigerator door opening and slamming shut, then something else clattered and jingled. The panicked urge to run for it, while he still could, battled with his sense of pride. He, Mo Guanshan, had made a promise just one hour ago. And he wasn’t one to go back on his word. Just one night… He glanced at the clock. The hands pointed to eleven. If fairy tales were to be believed, all miracles happened at midnight. Maybe this walking corpse would finally find peace exactly at twelve, and he could leave the apartment with a clear conscience and the case in tow, letting Cheng know he could come collect the body.

The “body” poked its head out and offered him a glass of ice-cold champagne, showing off the whole bottle.

“Drink, my dear.”

“And… you?” Guanshan asked hesitantly, as his husband carelessly pulled off his suit jacket and unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt—revealing, to Mo’s relief, a snug T-shirt underneath, which concealed the gruesome injuries. Despite the odd skin tone—without a trace of makeup, and Mo already knew his spouse always wore more makeup than most fashion models—it was hard not to notice his physique. Broad shoulders, well-defined muscles—apparently... ...when he was alive (it was still hard to say that, even to himself) he had been in excellent shape, and nothing had changed since then. Mo found himself watching Tian’s confident, fluid movements without meaning to.

Mo took a hearty gulp of champagne, and the fizz tickled his nose. It tasted good.

“I can’t anymore. You have no idea how much I used to love this stuff, but now I can’t taste a damn thing. And it just... seeps out through the holes,” Tian said, sounding almost embarrassed as he flopped onto what looked like a very soft bed, still fully dressed in pants and a T-shirt.

“Aren’t you going to shower? Although...”

“...the dead don’t sweat!” Tian finished his unfinished thought, grinning broadly. “But you go ahead. Those suits are pure torture. Even though you look amazing in it, by the way.”

Whether it was the honest compliment or the champagne, Mo could feel himself blushing. Just what he needed! He set down the empty glass and hurried off to the bathroom. Only after he got in the shower did he realize he hadn’t brought any clean clothes. He had to wrap himself in the apartment owner’s bathrobe. It was clearly washed, yet still carried a lingering hint of a very pleasant citrus-woody fragrance.

As soon as he stepped out of the bathroom, he could immediately feel someone’s attentive gaze. Staring at his feet, Mo hesitantly walked toward the bed and stopped, forcing himself to finally look up. Tian was watching him with a crooked smile and patted the other side—the bed was big enough to fit three people.

“Don’t worry. I told you, I definitely won’t eat you. Get some sleep, you must be tired after such a long day.”

He turned down the lamp to a nightlight and pulled back the blanket on the other side.

“What will you do?” Mo asked.

“I don’t sleep anyway. I’ll just stay next to you for a while. It won’t be long—you’re thinking I’ll disappear at midnight too, right? There’s forty minutes left.”

The way he said it—so simply and calmly—made Mo feel unexpectedly sad, and his worries faded away. He wanted to do something for the one who had once saved his life and, over time, had become incredibly close to him. So Mo moved closer and hugged Tian, feeling skin that was smooth, but not cold as he’d expected—just cool to the touch.

“You’re not cold,” he said in surprise.

“Why would I be?” “I’m room temperature,” Tian said quietly, shrugging so as not to startle Mo out of his sudden hug. “Sorry if you have to wake up next to a corpse... They say it can cause psychological trauma.”

“I’m not a kid,” Guanshan muttered. “I’ve had enough trauma for ten lifetimes already. One more, one less, what’s the difference.

Across from them, a clock hung on the wall, its steady ticking reminding them their time was running out. The city lights spilled into the studio through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but neither of them cared about the view right now. It felt strange to be holding someone who might stop moving and breathing at any moment. The minutes ticked by in silence, the tension between them growing. Finally, the hour, minute, and second hands aligned, paused, and then one of them shifted—a new day had begun.

Mo suddenly felt uneasy. Just a moment ago, He Tian had been right there beside him. He didn’t want to look up and meet that empty stare, realizing he was now alone. Desperate to break the awful silence, he said:

“Hey, are you still alive over there, or is it over?”

“I’m here, and apparently still dead,” came the muffled reply. “Shit.”

“Shit,” Mo echoed. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. Professor Peterson said everything had to feel as real as possible. Every detail, just as I imagined it when I was alive. The wedding, the first night. I liked the wedding. It was beautiful. What about you?”

“It was alright—felt like the real thing,” Guanshan nodded, shifting away to sit up so he could see his companion better. “So, how did you picture your first night?”

“To be honest, I thought I’d be having sex.”

“Makes sense, actually.”

“But the thing is, I can’t.”

“Oh,” Mo looked at him sympathetically, “how long’s that been the case?”

“You won’t believe it—ever since I died!” Tian snapped back. “Before that, everything worked fine.”

“Sorry,” Guanshan mumbled awkwardly, turning away before glancing back. “So, you mean, not at all?”

Tian looked him up and down, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you making me an offer right now?”

“I’m just considering options,” Mo said, spreading his hands.

“So how long have you been into necrophilia?”

“Do you want to move on or not, I can’t tell?” Guanshan’s cheeks had been burning for a while now, but he wasn’t about to back down. He’d promised to help send his husband to the afterlife, and he meant to try. “If yours isn’t working, you can be on the bottom. Honestly, I’ve never tried it…”

“Keep talking and I’ll screw you without a dick.”

“Alright,” Mo raised his hands in mock surrender, “let’s at least try to start and see how it goes.”

Kissing without any taste, without that hormone-fueled sensitivity, turned out to be extremely strange—maybe even stranger than not needing to breathe while doing it. He’d expected it to be like kissing rice paper or cardboard, though even cardboard has some kind of flavor. Instead, Tian felt as if he were submerged in some kind of emotional silence, hearing his own feelings with no hint of desire, while every one of his partner’s reactions stood out in startling clarity. And Guanshan’s reactions were surprising, given how prickly his exterior usually was.

The worst would’ve been if Mo felt disgusted at this moment—if you even think about that for a second... But apparently, on some subconscious level, he still saw Tian as a living person, just with some weird quirks that didn’t seem to put him off.

So now, with his eyes closed, he gently and carefully captured his lips, brushing his tongue against Tian’s teeth in a suggestion that they could deepen the kiss. Tian still brushed his teeth every morning and night out of habit, though there wasn’t much left to get dirty—except maybe cigarette smoke building up. He couldn’t taste it anymore either, but that familiar act brought a fleeting sense of being alive, so he kept smoking now and then.

Finally, the redhead pulled away from his lips and started kissing his neck, working his way down to his shoulder Tian thought about stopping him, but didn’t—he actually liked seeing how much Mo enjoyed this simple act. Instead, He tugged the robe’s collar down, exposing those milk-white shoulders speckled with freckles. Guanshan slipped his arms out of the sleeves and tugged at the sash, undressing completely. Now, nothing stopped Tian from taking in his lean, wiry body: all bone and muscle, not an ounce of excess anywhere, like a track athlete. Bruises of varying freshness marked his skin, and scars too, as if he got into fights constantly and didn’t bother treating the wounds, just letting them heal however they would.

It made you want to gently trace each mark with your fingers, to at least try to soothe the pain they held. Tian remembered how Mo had just recently joked: “Injuries? I have tons...” Now, it didn’t seem funny at all. He pulled the naked, fully exposed and trusting young man on top of himself, laying him down on his back.

“There are a lot of downsides to my condition, but there are some perks too. And I plan to test one of them right now,” he said, bending down to run his tongue along Mo’s lower abs.

He barely had any saliva of his own—only what his partner gave him—but he hoped it would be enough, opening his mouth wide and taking in Guanshan’s rather large cock right down to his throat, hearing a ragged gasp above him. Perfect; if you don’t need to breathe and you’re missing your gag reflex, it really isn’t hard at all. Mo started to reach out for his hair—then stopped himself, digging his fingers into the sheets instead. He still remembered, even now. He’s afraid to hurt me, Tian thought as he slid his lips all the way down to the base and then back up, almost letting go. By now, everything was slick enough from the precum that kept leaking out, making it clear Mo wouldn’t last much longer. A drawn-out, broken moan, and his breathing became fast and heavy as he came. Tian barely managed to pull off and wrap his hand around him, squeezing out every last drop.

“Oh—oh, you’re really something special,” Guanshan commented, and something twisted uncomfortably inside Tian And how much experience does he even have to compare with? Never mind, he’ll find out later. Although, what “later” could there possibly be? All they really had was this one night. And Tian decided he would make the most of it. Who cares that he could hardly feel anything physically—what he couldn’t sense himself. Even if it was only for a few hours, they truly belonged to each other now.

***

His ass hurt. He hadn't even moved yet when he realized—he was totally screwed. On top of that, his throat hurt too, creating a harmonious duet of pain, with a quieter but still noticeable chorus from other parts of his body. If there was anything in this world that could reconcile him with reality, it was the pleasant warmth of the body nestled comfortably beside him, breathing sleepily against his collarbone. What the hell had he done last night…? Well, it seemed pretty clear. Last night, he’d had sex with his husband… His husband! He Tian opened his eyes wide, breathing in the air scented with laundry conditioner, sweat, and that comforting aroma coming from the hair of the person beside him—because his nose was pressed right against the crown of the still-sleeping Guanshan. At his fidgeting, Guanshan grumbled sleepily:

"Man, zombie, you nearly rode me to death last night. If you’re still not satisfied, can we at least take breaks or something…”

“Shan…” Tian called out in confusion, running his palm over his completely intact stomach and chest, with no trace of those terrible stitches. “I think I’m alive.”

“Well, I can tell you one thing for sure—you’re definitely not dead,” Mo replied.

“No, you don’t get it. I mean I’m actually alive.”

“So what’s that supposed to mean?” Mo cracked one eye open.

“It means your contract is still in effect, and I’m still your husband. You don’t mind, do you?”

The redhead mulled this over before answering firmly, “I’m filing for divorce.”

“Divorce isn’t allowed without mutual consent! Section 6.129!”

Guanshan was so outraged, his mouth dropped open, and he raised a pillow to throw. “You damn vampires! I knew there had to be a trick somewhere! Did you know about this? You mangy dog!”

“You’re the mangy dog. I didn’t know a thing.” I honestly wanted to go to heaven, to God!

“It’s not God who’s waiting for you. The fires of hell are calling your name!”

“My dear! Why are you so cruel? Oh, I get it. It’s just that last night I couldn’t give you all the tenderness you deserved, and you’re not fully satisfied with your wedding night. But now I’ll make it up to you. Come here…”

“I knew it—you’re after my virginity,” Guanshan said, clutching the pillow to his chest and pretending to be a shy maiden.

“Well, you took mine! Marriage should be fair—everything split down the middle,” Tian lectured, moving closer.

“You’d better call your family; they’re probably getting ready for a second funeral.”

“Doctor first. He should bring something to calm everyone down.”

“Including you. I can already tell you’re getting worked up.”

“That’s only because you’re far too sexy, my husband.”

“Says you! Off to the shower—and then to the store for groceries. I’ll bet your kitchen’s a wasteland.” Then you’ll help me sort out my debts.

“So that’s what domestic tyranny looks like! I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Get used to it—it’s in clause 6.129.”

He Tian got up, groaning and rubbing his lower back, and headed for the shower. Then for groceries. He was ravenous. It seemed he was truly alive. And happy.