First Day of Shooting – The Untamed
The set buzzed with quiet chaos. Crew members rushed to and fro, adjusting lights, testing cameras, brushing snow-like dust off costumes. The cold hung in the early morning air, sharp against skin and nerves alike. Breath rose in visible puffs.
Wang Yibo stood to the side, arms crossed loosely, but his fingers fidgeted slightly at the seams of his sleeves. Beneath the calm surface he always wore, a storm stirred. His chest was tight, mind running faster than the wind biting at his coat.
First shoot. First scene. First moment.
And standing just a few feet away was Xiao Zhan, already dressed in his Wei Wuxian costume. The robes flowed gently with each movement, catching light even in the grey of dawn. He looked serene, at ease, every inch the mischievous but kind-hearted protagonist.
Yibo cast a sideways glance, catching glimpses of him between crew bodies and stage props.
How do I talk to him? Should I say good luck? Ask about the script? Just… nod?
He wasn't usually like this—tightly wound, unsure of his footing. But something about Xiao Zhan tilted his inner compass. He had felt it the first time they met. And now, here they were, on the edge of something he couldn't yet name.
Before he could gather the nerve to say anything, Xiao Zhan turned toward him.
Their eyes met.
And then—a smile.
Not just polite or camera-ready. It was warm, bright, effortless—the kind of smile that melted winter from the inside out.
Xiao Zhan (softly, with warmth):
"Your ears are red... are you cold?"
His voice was gentle and light, tinged with genuine concern. The kind of voice that makes even the air feel softer. His eyes carried that unmistakable Wei Wuxian mischief, but it was laced with sincerity.
Yibo blinked, stunned for a half-second longer than he meant to. He wasn't expecting kindness. He wasn't expecting him to speak first. And he certainly wasn't prepared for how his chest squeezed at the attention.
His ears, indeed, burned hotter. He was grateful for the cold now—it gave him a reasonable excuse for the color rising to his cheeks.
Wang Yibo (controlled, but a small curl at his lips):
"I'm fine. Thank you… for your concern."
His voice was low, steady. His face barely changed, save for a subtle upward twitch at the corner of his mouth. But Xiao Zhan noticed it—the almost invisible smile.
And just like that, something delicate began to form between them.
A moment. A warmth. A thread.
What started as a casual comment wrapped them in a softness neither expected.
Behind the camera, the director shouted for places. The crew scrambled to take position.
But for just a second longer, they stood in that shared space—a moment of fragile quiet between two souls on the edge of becoming something more.
They walked to the set side by side, and though nothing more was said between them in that moment, something had already begun to shift.
A small snowball, rolling slowly down the slope.
Tiny, harmless, almost laughable.
But given time, weight, and motion—it would become an avalanche.
💚❤️💚❤️💚❤️🐢🐢🦁🐰🦁🐰🦁🐰