Qingxue's apartment is not what I expected.
She'd mentioned it before — a personal space she retreats to when deadlines are closing in, somewhere she keeps her inspiration close. I'd pictured something bookish. Quiet. Maybe a little chaotic in a writerly way, papers everywhere, half-empty mugs on every surface.
I was not prepared for this.
The living area alone is enough to make me stop in the doorway. But it's the smaller room beside her bedroom that catches her attention first, and therefore mine.
"I'll show you," she says, already reaching for my hand.
She opens the door with the particular energy of someone unveiling something they're proud of.
I stare.
Floor to ceiling, the walls are lined with shelves. And on the shelves — things. Objects of various shapes and sizes and materials, arranged with a care that suggests genuine affection.
They remind me of something. I can't quite place what.
"You've never seen these before?" Qingxue asks. She sounds genuinely surprised.
"I don't think so. What are they?"
She looks at me for a long moment. Then she looks at the shelves. Then back at me.
"Zhirui," she says slowly, "I thought Lexin was the only sheltered one." She gestures at the room with one hand. "These are my personal collection of sex toys."
I slap both hands over my mouth.
"Why," I say, through my fingers, "would you keep those here?"
"Inspiration." She grins. "Do you want some?"
"Qingxue."
"I'm being practical." She leans against the doorframe, entirely at ease. "The doctor said your heat is coming and you can't suppress it this time. You don't have a partner. It's going to be uncomfortable." A pause. "These help."
I cover her mouth with both hands before she can continue.
She reaches up and pulls them away, and then she sees my face — specifically, the color of it — and pauses. Something delighted moves through her expression.
She tugs gently on my sleeve. I let my hands drop.
"So," she says. "Do you want some? They're completely unused. Wenlan confiscated my privileges the moment he found out I had them." She adds, as an afterthought: "Not before making thorough use of the room himself, but still."
"Okay," I say. The word comes out barely above a whisper. I stare at the floor. I pray she didn't hear it.
"Yes." She claps her hands together. "I'll pack some before dinner. The manuals too — you'll need those."
"The manuals—"
"You clearly don't know how to use any of them, Zhirui."
She's not wrong, which is the worst part. I turn and walk back to the living room before my face catches fire.
Left alone for a moment, I make the mistake of thinking about it.
Will that even fit— No. Absolutely not. I am going to take whatever she gives me, put it in a drawer, and never think about it again. That is a perfectly reasonable plan.
Qingxue reappears holding a bag. A bag that reads, in cheerful lettering: Happy Birthday.
I stare at it.
"Qingxue."
"Hmm?" She sets it down on the table and begins tucking things inside with the brisk efficiency of someone packing a lunch.
"The bag says Happy Birthday."
"I know. I thought it was funny." She drops something in. Then something else. "I put lube in too, so you don't have to buy it separately." She zips it closed and looks up. "You're welcome."
I sit with that for a moment.
"Can we please eat dinner now."
"Yes, I'm absolutely starving." She's already halfway to the kitchen. "Is there soda in the fridge?"
I go to check. I open the fridge. I stop.
"Qingxue?"
"Mm?"
"Why do you have a bag of lemons? I thought you hated them."
She appears in the doorway, mouth already full of something she found on the counter, and looks at the lemons with an expression that is almost fond.
"I do hate them," she says. "But my nephew loves them. Runs in the family." She waves a hand. "You want one?"
"Sure."
I take one, slice it into thin rounds, peel the rind, and eat a piece. It's good — clean and sharp and bright. I reach for another.
"Why are you smiling?" Qingxue asks.
I look up. She's staring at me with her mouth open.
"You're not pregnant, are you."
"I'm a virgin, Qingxue."
"Thank god." She exhales. "Ruofei found out he was pregnant by eating lemon cake. He thought it tasted sweet."
I blink. Process this. "...Ah. That tracks, actually."
She stares at me like I've just walked through a wall. Then she bursts out laughing — proper laughing, the kind that makes her lean against the counter.
"Are you sure you're not part of this family? Because you fit better than you think."
"I'm not," I say, smiling, "but it feels that way. Thanks to you."
"You're welcome." She wipes her eyes. "Always."
We eat dinner at her small table by the window, the city going dark outside, the conversation wandering from easy to serious and back again the way it only does with people you've stopped performing for. I find myself thinking, not for the first time, that I am lucky — quietly, persistently lucky — in the people who ended up beside me.
"Oh — the chargers." Qingxue pushes back her chair. "Wait here."
She returns from the collection room holding what appears to be an alarming number of cables.
"Why are there so many?"
"Because you're my friend, so I upgraded your order." She counts them loosely. "I think I packed ten. Plus some chains and handcuffs, since I wasn't sure what you're into—"
"Qingxue."
"Joking." She holds up her hands. "Just the toys. I promise."
I press my face into my palms. The heat in my cheeks is going to be permanent. I can feel it becoming structural.
"I need to go home."
"I'll drive you."
She drops me outside my building, passes the Happy Birthday bag through the window with a wink, and drives off before I can think of anything to say.
I take the stairs. I unlock my door. I take off my shoes.
I set the bag on the bed and sit beside it.
In the quiet of my apartment, with the city humming softly outside, I look at it for a long moment.
I'm just going to put them in a drawer, I think. And never touch them.
I turn off the lamp and lie back and stare at the ceiling, the bag a cheerful, terrible presence in my peripheral vision.
Happy Birthday, it says.
"Yeah," I tell it quietly. "Sure."