Lift by Halrloprillalar / prillalar
Prince of Tennis Chinese Drama, Zhen Zhi/Hai Tang, 200 words, G.
Hai Tang is special.
When Zhen Zhi helps Hai Tang with his backhand, Hai Tang gets it wrong on purpose once or twice. "Like this," Zhen Zhi says and takes Hai Tang's hand to guide him through the stroke.
When they go running, sometimes Hai Tang gets a cramp. "Right here," he says, and lets Zhen Zhi massage his leg.
Sometimes, Hai Tang feels guilty. "You help me too much," he says. "There's no benefit."
Zhen Zhi looks up from his notebook. "But you're special."
"Well, my tennis," Hai Tang says.
"Yes, tennis--" Zhen Zhi gives his glasses a push. "--but you're special to me."
The world hiccups on its axis and Hai Tang's heart skips a beat. "Zhen Zhi..."
"I shouldn't have said that," Zhen Zhi says. "It's a burden for you."
"No." Hai Tang steps closer. He puts his hands on Zhen Zhi's face, thumbs brushing Zhen Zhi's cheekbones. "I can lift anything."
Zhen Zhi drops his notebook. Hai Tang laughs and leans in and they kiss, soft and damp, and the sun comes out and flowers bloom and a fanfare of trumpets plays.
"Oh, that's just my phone," Zhen Zhi says and sends the call to voicemail.