The campus café near the west gate had become Xiaoran's default study spot over the past week. It was called "Encore," presumably because it catered mainly to arts students who appreciated the pun, and it had the essential trifecta of good WiFi, decent coffee, and comfortable seating that didn't make his back ache after two hours of reading.
More importantly, it had become a social hub. Within five days of classes starting, Xiaoran had somehow accumulated a small circle of friends—Zhou Mei obviously, plus Chen Lili from Art History, a dancer named Fang Ling who had extraordinary flexibility and an addiction to milk tea, and occasionally Zhang Wei when he could tear himself away from the music production labs.
"I'm convinced Professor Qin is actually testing our endurance rather than our acting ability," Zhou Mei groaned, face-down on the table in a posture of academic defeat. "Three hundred pages of Stanislavski by Monday. Three hundred! That's psychological warfare."
"At least Stanislavski is interesting," Fang Ling countered, somehow sitting in a split while drinking bubble tea. "My ballet history professor assigned us a fifty-page essay on the evolution of pointe work. Fifty pages! About toe shoes!"
Xiaoran laughed, highlighting another passage in his own reading. "We're all suffering equally. That's comforting somehow."
It was Thursday afternoon, late September sunshine streaming through the café windows, and Xiaoran was working on his Art History essay while his friends complained about their respective workloads. He'd chosen to explore connections between Tang dynasty court music and landscape painting, fascinated by how both art forms emphasized space and silence as much as sound and image.
"How's your essay coming?" Chen Lili asked, peering over at his notes. "Oh, you're doing Tang dynasty? I almost picked that period but went with Song dynasty instead. Less material to wade through."
"I like the challenge," Xiaoran said. "Plus, I keep thinking about what Professor Huang said—that silence in art isn't absence, it's presence. The space between notes is as important as the notes themselves."
"Very philosophical," Zhou Mei mumbled into the table. "Now apply that philosophy to reading three hundred pages by Monday."
"The space between the pages is just more pages," Fang Ling said solemnly. "There's no escape."
Their laughter was interrupted by Xiaoran's phone buzzing. He glanced at it and smiled—a message from his second sister with a photo of their family's cat, Mr. Whiskers, asleep in a dramatically inconvenient location (the clean laundry, naturally).
He was typing back a response when the café door opened, bringing with it a gust of autumn air and a presence that made Xiaoran's shoulders tense instinctively.
Zhao Jintao.
Xiaoran's ex-boyfriend hadn't changed much in the four months since their breakup. Still tall, still handsome in that conventional way that had initially attracted Xiaoran, still moving with the confident swagger of an Alpha who'd never been told no. His family had money—evident in the designer clothes, the expensive watch, the air of casual entitlement that clung to him like cologne.
They'd dated for six months during their senior year of high school. It had ended badly. Very badly. Badly in a way that still made Xiaoran's hands shake when he thought about it too directly.
"Xiaoran!" Jintao's voice carried across the café, warm and familiar in a way that made Xiaoran's stomach clench. "I thought I'd find you here. Social media stalking pays off."
Zhou Mei's head snapped up, her earlier exhaustion vanishing. She'd heard stories about the ex-boyfriend. Her expression went from friendly to coldly assessing in seconds.
"Jintao," Xiaoran said neutrally, not standing up, not inviting him closer. "What are you doing here?"
"Can't an old friend visit?" Jintao approached their table with easy confidence, ignoring the obvious tension. "I heard you got into Beijing Central Arts. Congratulations! I always knew you'd make it."
"Thanks. How did you know I'd be here?"
"Your sister posted a photo last week—you were in the background with the café logo visible." Jintao smiled like this was charming rather than mildly stalker-ish. "I'm at Beijing Normal, just across the district. Thought I'd come see how you're settling in."
Zhou Mei's eyes narrowed. Chen Lili and Fang Ling exchanged glances, picking up on the atmosphere even without context. Xiaoran felt trapped, aware that making a scene would draw attention, but deeply uncomfortable with Jintao's proximity.
"I'm settling in fine," Xiaoran said, keeping his voice level. "But I'm actually in the middle of studying, so—"
"Of course, of course. Don't let me interrupt." Jintao pulled out the empty chair at their table and sat down anyway. "I'll just grab a coffee and catch up for a few minutes. It's been months since we talked."
"There's a reason for that," Zhou Mei said pointedly. Xiaoran shot her a grateful look.
Jintao's smile didn't waver, but something cold flickered in his eyes. "You must be one of Xiaoran's new friends. I'm Zhao Jintao, we dated back in high school. Ancient history now, obviously."
"Obviously," Zhou Mei echoed, her tone making it clear she didn't believe him.
An uncomfortable silence settled over the table. Xiaoran's other friends had gone quiet, sensing the tension but unsure how to navigate it. Jintao seemed completely at ease, or at least determined to project that image.
"So," Jintao continued, focusing entirely on Xiaoran as if the others didn't exist, "how's the theater program? As demanding as you expected?"
"It's great. Very challenging." Xiaoran kept his answers short, hoping Jintao would take the hint. He didn't.
"You always were talented. I remember watching you in that school production of Thunderstorm—you were incredible as Zhou Ping. So much raw emotion." Jintao's voice dropped lower, more intimate. "I always loved watching you perform. You become someone else entirely on stage."
The comment felt invasive, loaded with implications that made Xiaoran's skin crawl. He remembered now why they'd broken up, remembered the way Jintao had become increasingly possessive, the way compliments had started feeling like ownership, the way "I love watching you" had transformed into "you shouldn't let other people watch you like that."
"I need to use the restroom," Xiaoran said abruptly, standing up. "Excuse me."
He walked quickly toward the back of the café, feeling Jintao's eyes following him. The restroom was blessedly empty, and Xiaoran locked himself in a stall, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart.
This was fine. Jintao would get bored and leave. They'd broken up. It was over. The fact that Xiaoran had never told anyone the full story of how it ended—the real reason, the part that still gave him nightmares sometimes—was irrelevant. That was in the past. He was safe now.
After a few minutes of breathing exercises, Xiaoran emerged to find Zhou Mei waiting by the sinks, arms crossed, expression thunderous.
"He's still out there," she said without preamble. "Ordered a coffee, made himself comfortable. Xiaoran, what exactly happened between you two? Because that guy is giving me serious creep vibes."
Xiaoran washed his hands, buying time. "We dated. It didn't work out. He got too possessive and I broke up with him. End of story."
"That's not the end of the story," Zhou Mei said gently but firmly. "I've known you for a week and I can already tell when you're lying. Your left eye twitches slightly."
"It does not—"
"It does. What really happened?"
Xiaoran stared at his reflection in the mirror. The face looking back was young, open, still carrying traces of the fear he thought he'd moved past. He'd promised himself a fresh start at university, no drama, no baggage. But apparently, baggage had a way of following you.
"He tried to mark me without my consent," Xiaoran said quietly. "During what I thought was going to be regular... intimacy. I said no, he didn't listen. I managed to fight him off before the mark completed, but barely. Then I broke up with him the next day and blocked him on everything."
Zhou Mei's expression went from concerned to furious. "Xiaoran, that's assault. Did you report it?"
"To who? His family has money and connections. Mine doesn't. It would have been his word against mine, and who believes an Omega over an Alpha in those situations?" Xiaoran's voice came out more bitter than he intended. "I just wanted to move on. I thought coming to Beijing would mean I'd never have to see him again."
"But now he's tracked you down."
"Apparently."
Zhou Mei was quiet for a moment, thinking. "Okay. Here's what we're going to do. We go back out there, I fake an emergency that requires us to leave immediately, and we get you out of here. Then you block him on any social media he might have found you on, and if he shows up again, we report it to campus security."
"He's not technically doing anything wrong," Xiaoran pointed out. "He hasn't threatened me. He's just... here."
"Being here is threatening, given your history," Zhou Mei countered. "Come on. Trust me on this."
They returned to the main café area where Jintao was indeed still sitting at their table, chatting with a clearly uncomfortable Chen Lili and Fang Ling while Zhang Wei had positioned himself in a subtly protective stance between Jintao and the exit.
"Xiaoran!" Zhou Mei called out loudly, pulling her phone out and staring at it with exaggerated alarm. "We need to go. Now. There's an emergency with the costume department—they're saying if we don't get there in ten minutes, we lose our slots for the showcase measurements."
"What? But we don't have a showcase until—" Xiaoran caught on mid-sentence. "Oh! Right! The showcase! We have to go right now!"
It was terrible acting, objectively. But it served its purpose. Xiaoran grabbed his bag, Zhou Mei and the others doing the same with impressive coordination.
"Sorry, Jintao, I have to run," Xiaoran said, already moving toward the door. "Nice seeing you. Take care."
"Wait—" Jintao stood up, reaching out as if to grab Xiaoran's arm. Zhang Wei smoothly intercepted, stepping between them with the kind of casual positioning that looked accidental but clearly wasn't.
"Excuse me, sorry, coming through," Zhang Wei said cheerfully, his Beta scent intentionally bland but his body language protective. "Theater emergencies, you know how it is."
They were out of the café in seconds, speed-walking down the street until they were sure Jintao wasn't following. When they finally stopped near the campus gates, Xiaoran felt his hands shaking with residual adrenaline.
"Well," Fang Ling said, breaking the tension, "that was the most excitement I've had all week, and I say that as someone who does aerials training."
"Are you okay?" Chen Lili asked Xiaoran, her voice gentle.
"I'm fine. Just... wasn't expecting to see him." Xiaoran ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm down. "Thank you all for the rescue operation. Especially you, Zhang Wei. That was smooth."
"I have three younger sisters," Zhang Wei said with a shrug. "I've been running interference on creepy guys since I was twelve. It's basically a reflex at this point."
Zhou Mei pulled out her phone. "Okay, security measures. Give me all your social media accounts. We're going to privacy-lock everything and remove any location tags from your recent posts. Also, you're going to block this asshole on every platform."
"He'll just make new accounts," Xiaoran said wearily.
"Then we block those too. We make it annoying enough that hopefully he gives up." Zhou Mei's fingers were already flying across her phone screen. "Chen Lili, you're good with tech stuff, right? Can you help?"
"On it," Chen Lili confirmed, pulling out her own phone. "I'll show you how to set up two-factor authentication on everything too, make it harder for him to hack into your accounts."
Xiaoran felt overwhelmed by their immediate, unconditional support. He'd known these people for a week—barely more than strangers—yet they'd instantly mobilized to protect him. His throat tightened with emotion he didn't trust himself to express without crying.
"Thank you," he managed. "Really. I don't know what I did to deserve friends like you."
"You bought me coffee on Tuesday," Fang Ling said. "I'm easily won over by caffeine and kindness. Also, that guy was objectively terrible and needed to be escaped from."
They spent the next thirty minutes sitting on a bench near the campus gates, Zhou Mei and Chen Lili walking Xiaoran through various privacy and security settings while Fang Ling and Zhang Wei stood casual guard, keeping watch in case Jintao had somehow followed them.
By the time they finished, Xiaoran's social media was locked down tighter than a military installation, his location services were disabled, and he'd blocked Jintao on every platform he could think of plus a few he'd forgotten he even had accounts on.
"There," Zhou Mei said with satisfaction. "Now let's talk about what happens if he shows up again."
"You mean when," Xiaoran corrected grimly. "He was always persistent."
"Okay, when he shows up again, you don't engage. You don't try to be polite or explain yourself. You say 'leave me alone' clearly and loudly, and if he doesn't, you call campus security immediately." Zhou Mei pulled up a contact on her phone. "I'm sending you the campus security number. Save it. Also, send a message to our group chat if you even see him from a distance. We'll come wherever you are."
"I can't ask you all to drop everything whenever—"
"You're not asking. We're telling you." Chen Lili's voice was firm despite her usually soft demeanor. "That's what friends do. Nobody should have to deal with an ex who doesn't understand boundaries alone."
Zhang Wei nodded. "Plus, I'm over six feet and have resting aggressive face. I'm literally built for intimidation purposes. Use me."
Despite everything, Xiaoran laughed. "Resting aggressive face?"
"My mother's words, not mine. Apparently, I look like I'm planning murder even when I'm thinking about dumplings." Zhang Wei demonstrated, his expression shifting to something genuinely intimidating. "See? Useful."
The tension finally broke completely, and they all dissolved into slightly hysterical laughter—the kind that comes after anxiety peaks and starts to recede. When they finally calmed down, the sun was setting, painting the campus in shades of orange and purple.
"I should head back to the dorm," Xiaoran said, checking the time. "I need to actually finish that Art History reading before tomorrow."
"Want company?" Zhou Mei offered. "I can work on my Stanislavski reading in your room. Misery loves company."
"That would be great, actually."
They said goodbye to the others and headed toward the dorms, falling into comfortable silence. Halfway there, Zhou Mei spoke up again.
"You know you didn't do anything wrong, right? With your ex? Whatever happened, however it ended—that wasn't your fault."
Xiaoran swallowed hard. "Logically, I know that. Emotionally... it's more complicated."
"That's valid. Trauma is complicated." Zhou Mei bumped her shoulder against his. "But you survived it. You got away. You're here now, building a new life. That takes strength."
"Or stubbornness."
"Strength and stubbornness are basically the same thing, just with different PR."
They reached Xiaoran's dorm building just as his phone buzzed with messages from his family group chat. His eldest sister: *Mom saw your social media went private. She's worried. Everything okay?*
Xiaoran typed back: *Everything's fine. Just being more careful about online privacy. University safety training recommended it.*
It wasn't entirely a lie. He just omitted the part about why he suddenly needed enhanced privacy. His family would worry, might even try to intervene, and Xiaoran wanted to handle this himself. He was an adult now, at university, building his independence. He could deal with one persistent ex-boyfriend without running home to his parents.
Probably.
His second sister responded: *If you say so. But if anything is actually wrong, you tell us immediately. We will descend upon Beijing like a plague of concerned locusts.*
*Noted. I'm fine. Really.*
His third sister: *We have connections in Beijing. Just say the word and we'll make someone's life difficult.*
Xiaoran smiled despite himself. His sisters were excessive and overprotective, but their love was fierce and absolute. If they knew the full truth about Jintao, they probably would descend like locusts. Or worse.
He and Zhou Mei settled into his dorm room—thankfully his roommate was out at an evening class—and spread their materials across both desks. For the next few hours, they worked in companionable silence, occasionally reading interesting passages aloud or complaining about difficult concepts.
Xiaoran tried to focus on his Tang dynasty essay, on the connections between visual art and music, on the space between notes that Professor Huang had talked about. But his mind kept drifting to the café, to Jintao's smile that didn't reach his eyes, to the way he'd said "ancient history" while clearly believing nothing of the sort.
The attempted marking had been four months ago. Four months since Xiaoran had felt Jintao's canines against his neck, had realized too late what was happening, had fought with desperate strength fueled by pure terror. He'd gotten away with only a surface scratch, nothing deep enough to complete the bond. But the psychological scar had cut deeper than any physical mark could have.
He hadn't told anyone the full story—not his parents, not his sisters, not even the friends he'd made back home. It felt too shameful somehow, like admitting weakness. Omegas were supposed to be careful, supposed to protect themselves, supposed to know better than to get into situations where Alphas might take advantage.
Except Xiaoran had thought he knew Jintao. Had trusted him. Had believed their relationship was built on mutual respect and affection. Learning that trust was misplaced had shaken something fundamental in how he viewed the world.
"You're staring at the same paragraph," Zhou Mei observed. "Want to take a break? I brought emergency chocolate."
"Emergency chocolate?"
"For academic emergencies. Which this qualifies as." She produced a bar of expensive dark chocolate from her bag. "My sister sends care packages. She's convinced I'll die of malnutrition otherwise."
They split the chocolate and took a break, Zhou Mei telling funny stories about her siblings while Xiaoran gradually relaxed. By the time they returned to studying, the earlier tension had mostly dissipated, replaced by exhaustion and the comfortable familiarity of shared academic suffering.
Around midnight, Zhou Mei finally packed up her materials. "I should head back before my roommate thinks I've been kidnapped. You good?"
"I'm good. Thanks for staying." Xiaoran walked her to the door. "And thanks for earlier. The rescue, the security help, everything."
"That's what friends do," Zhou Mei repeated. She paused in the doorway. "If you need to talk about the ex thing more, or if he shows up again, you call me immediately. Day or night. Understood?"
"Understood."
After she left, Xiaoran got ready for bed, going through his nightly routine on autopilot. Shower, skincare, setting out clothes for tomorrow, checking his suppressant medication supply. He took his evening dose—a small pill that regulated his heat cycles and reduced his scent to something barely noticeable. Most Omegas at university took them; it made navigating campus life significantly easier.
Before bed, he pulled out the suppressant bottle and stared at the label. *Take one pill daily. Reduces heat frequency and intensity. Minimizes scent production. Side effects may include mood changes, fatigue, and decreased libido.*
Small price to pay for safety and control over his own biology. Xiaoran had started taking them right after the incident with Jintao, unwilling to risk another heat cycle making him vulnerable. His doctor had approved the prescription, noting that while suppressants weren't meant for long-term continuous use, short-term protection was sometimes necessary for psychological wellbeing.
He swallowed the pill with water and climbed into bed, setting his alarm for 7 AM. Tomorrow was Friday—one more day of classes before the weekend. He could make it through one more day.
His phone buzzed with a final message from his mother: *Sweet dreams, xiaobao. We love you.*
*Love you too, Mom*, he typed back.
The lights off, the room dark and quiet, Xiaoran lay awake staring at the ceiling. Somewhere across the district, Jintao was probably sleeping peacefully, untroubled by guilt or awareness of harm caused. The injustice of it burned in Xiaoran's chest.
But he was safe here. He had friends now, people who would look out for him. He had campus security on speed dial. He had his suppressants keeping his biology under control. He had a locked door and a life he was building brick by brick.
Jintao couldn't take that away from him. Wouldn't take that away from him.
Xiaoran repeated it like a mantra until sleep finally came, bringing dreams of coffee shops and locked doors and the sound of piano music drifting through empty hallways—beautiful and sad and somehow comforting in its melancholy distance.
Morning would come. Classes would continue. Life would move forward.
And if shadows from the past tried to follow, well. Xiaoran had survived worse than shadows.
He would survive this too.