Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jiang Xiaoshuai was halfway through microwaving dumplings when his apartment door slammed open.

Wu Suowei burst in, clutching his laptop like it was a ticking time bomb.

“I need wine,” he panted, chest heaving. “And advice.”

Xiaoshuai didn’t even flinch. This was barely in the top five most dramatic entrances Suowei had ever made. “If this is about one of Chi Cheng’s weird snake videos again, count me out.”

“It’s worse.” Suowei’s voice was low, urgent. He stormed to the couch and slammed the laptop down, the screen glowing ominously. “You’ll want to sit. And pour two glasses.”

That finally got Xiaoshuai’s full attention.

By the time he returned with the wine, Suowei had pulled up a grainy video file title, rather casually: cc_bar_dare_regret.mov.

Xiaoshuai arched a skeptical brow. “Is this something you stumbled upon, or did you acquire it via… questionable means?”

“Does it matter?” Suowei asked darkly. “Press play.”

The video flickered to life with a shaky handheld shot of a sleek private bar, Chi Cheng’s domain unmistakably. Expensive leather chairs, glossy marble counters.

Then came Wang Shuo’s voice, silky but dripping with passive aggression. “Chi Cheng, truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Chi Cheng replied with effortless arrogance.

Wang Shuo’s tone sharpened. “Kiss Guo Chengyu.”

Chi Cheng raised one perfect brow, an expression so smug it nearly radiated off the screen and then caught Guo Chengyu’s jaw gently in one hand and kissed him.

It was quick, clinical almost: no lingering passion, just a precise, confident peck.

Guo Chengyu blinked, then laughed. Not the nervous, awkward kind, but genuine amusement.

Behind the camera, Wang Shuo’s face tensed, his mouth a thin line of displeasure.

The video ended.

Suowei stared at the screen like he’d just witnessed a coup. “Thoughts?”

Xiaoshuai took a slow, deliberate sip of wine, letting the weight settle. “Wow.”

“Right?”

“Chi Cheng just locked lips with Guo Chengyu like it's no big deal.”

“And Chengyu laughed,” Suowei whispered. “Like it was endearing.”

“But Wang Shuo definitely wasn’t laughing.”

“Nope. He looked like he wanted to sue everyone in that room for emotional damages.”

Xiaoshuai rewound the clip, watching Guo Chengyu’s reaction again... the small, knowing grin, the warmth in his eyes. It wasn’t romantic, not exactly. But it wasn’t discomfort, either. If anything, it looked fond.

He set his glass down, voice quieter now. “Do you think Chengyu has feelings for Chi Cheng?”

Suowei blinked, caught off guard. “What? No! No, no. I mean… I don't think so?”

But Xiaoshuai’s mind was already spiraling. That laugh. That warm, easy laugh directed at Chi Cheng…

His stomach twisted into knots.

“I’m going to do something stupid,” Xiaoshuai muttered.

“God, finally.” Suowei leaned forward, grinning. “What is it? I’m here to support your idiocy.”

“We make our own kiss video,” Xiaoshuai said, eyes glinting with mischief.

Suowei blinked. “You mean like… revenge?”

“Exactly. You and me. Fake kiss. Perfect lighting. Maximum emotional whiplash.”

“I’m in,” Suowei said instantly, too eagerly. 

Twenty minutes later, the living room had transformed into the set of a painfully low-budget music video. The coffee table was shoved aside, lamps dragged into strategic, dramatic spots. Xiaoshuai’s phone balanced precariously on a tripod he hadn’t touched since his ill-fated clinic vlog days.

“Okay,” Suowei said, fluffing his hair and flexing. “How do we do this? Slow? Fast? Do I grab you?”

“You grab me. I pretend to resist. Then I lean in like I’m emotionally compromised.”

“Oh! Like a drama kiss!”

“Exactly, Dawei.”

They hit record.

Take one was a disaster. Suowei tripped over the rug; Xiaoshuai laughed mid-kiss, their foreheads collided with a loud clonk.

“Cut!” Xiaoshuai groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Not nearly emotionally devastating enough.”

“Again!” Suowei said, hands on hips. “I’m ready to ruin hearts.”

The second take was… shockingly good.

Xiaoshuai’s hand curled around the back of Suowei’s neck, pulling him closer.

Their lips met...soft, sure, and surprisingly warm. Suowei’s thick lips pressed against Xiaoshuai’s with a slow confidence, full and unhurried, as if they knew exactly how to take up space without overwhelming it. The kiss deepened gently, Suowei’s tongue brushing lightly against Xiaoshuai’s, tentative at first, then more assured. It was meant to be ridiculous, spiteful even, but beneath that was an unexpected intimacy, a quiet warmth born of years of friendship folded into something more tender.

Xiaoshuai’s breath hitched as the kiss lingered, neither hurried nor hesitant. It was a steady, searching touch, offering comfort and familiarity and maybe a flicker of something neither of them wanted to name aloud.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together briefly. The silence between them was charged with a strange, unspoken understanding.

But it was… strangely comfortable.

There was chemistry, not romantic, no! but warm and lived in. The kind born of sharing meals, bad decisions, and covering for each other.

“Wow,” Suowei finally said, blinking. “We’re either brilliant actors or just really confused.”

“Let’s not overthink it,” Xiaoshuai said, already scrolling through filters. “Romantic black and white or cinematic blue?”

“Give me tragic. I want their souls to ache.”

They layered on soft piano music, dramatic, maybe over the top, and exported the final cut.

Xiaoshuai attached it in a message to Guo Chengyu:

Kiss videos are trending now. Here’s ours. Don’t say I never keep you updated.

Suowei sent his to Chi Cheng with a smug note:

Since you think kissing friends is no big deal, I figured I’d show you how it’s actually done :)

They clinked glasses and collapsed onto the couch, satisfied, a little buzzed, and dangerously pleased with themselves.

“If this causes a meltdown,” Suowei said, grinning wide, “we fake our deaths and move across the country.”

Their phones buzzed simultaneously from across the room.

They didn’t check.

Not yet.

Tonight, they had wine, petty triumph, and each other, two idiots in a dimly lit apartment, drunk on spite and just enough lip balm.

The fallout could wait until morning.

Chapter Text

Wu Suowei woke up feeling like he’d been personally cursed by the gods of bad decisions.

His mouth tasted like bad wine and guilt. His head throbbed in dull waves, each pulse whispering: you made choices. 

Across the room, Jiang Xiaoshuai was starfished on the couch, buried halfway in a blanket and existential shame. His phone buzzed lazily against his cheek, but he didn’t move.

They didn’t speak.

A rare silence stretched between them. Not the peaceful kind, but the mutually-assured-destruction kind. The kind that says, “Let’s not move. Let’s not speak. Let’s just hope yesterday was a shared hallucination.”

Eventually, Xiaoshuai made a sound. Somewhere between a groan and a dying animal.

“What did we do?” he rasped.

Suowei sat up slowly. Like he was negotiating with gravity. He reached for his phone and tapped the glowing, unmistakable thumbnail.

There it was.

The video.

Them. Kissing like it was some twisted competition and apparently, they were going for gold. Prolonged eye contact. Questionable hand placement and what could only be described as deeply unnecessary tongue work.

“Oh no.”

Xiaoshuai didn’t even bother looking. He just held up his own phone like it was infected. “I added music. A piano track. I made it worse.”

“I helped too,” Suowei admitted, voice small.

He scrolled up.

Chi Cheng’s reply sat there, like a verdict.

Interesting.

Just that. No emojis. No punctuation. No “lol.”

Just interesting … the kind of word you send when you're deciding between forgiveness and psychological warfare.

“That’s not a word,” Suowei muttered. “That’s premeditation.” 

“Guo Chengyu replied with a dot,” Xiaoshuai informed. “One single dot. Like he forgot how to speak.”

They locked eyes. The silence pulsed again.

“You think they’re mad?” Suowei asked.

Xiaoshuai gave him a withering look. “They kissed first, remember?”

“Yeah, but they didn’t film it, edit it, color grade it, and send it with a smug caption.”

“We were drunk. And I was feeling petty.” Xiaoshuai sniffed like it was a valid excuse.

“You always feel petty.”

“I was feeling cinematic-level petty.” 

Suowei rubbed his temples.

“What if Chi Cheng thinks I actually want to kiss you?”

Xiaoshuai grinned, a little too pleased. “Do you?”

“I want to un-kiss you.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It should be.”

“You’re panicking.”

Suowei ignored the accurate observation and dramatically flopped onto the couch.

“But seriously, what if Chi Cheng thinks I’m actually into you?”

“I’d be flattered,” Xiaoshuai said, smirking despite the hangover. “Maybe now he knows how it feels watching him and Guo Chengyu do... whatever they do with their eyes.”

Suowei blinked. “You're actually jealous?”

“You are not? I’ve always had my suspicions.”

Suowei groaned and staggered to his feet. “I need to go home.”

“You were supposed to make me hangover soup,” Xiaoshuai whined. “You promised last night!”

“I was drunk and emotionally manipulated. You cried about Guo Chengyu’s collarbone for twenty minutes.”

“You’re abandoning me in my hour of need.”

“I’m walking toward a much scarier crisis.” Suowei gathered his things and stretched. “I have to defuse a human bomb in silk pajamas.”

“You made your bed,” Xiaoshuai mumbled, sinking back into the cushions. “Unfortunately, it’s inside a condo with mood lighting and a man who loves you like he’s trying to preserve your DNA for future cloning.”

“Comforting,” Suowei muttered, and bolted.

Their home gleamed.

Not like it had been cleaned. Like someone scrubbed away all feelings and replaced them with pure menace.

Chi Cheng sat on the couch, silk shirt half unbuttoned, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a slender cigarette held between two fingers in the other. He tilted his head slightly, smoke curling lazily upward.

His expression was pure strategy: unreadable, coiled, calm.

“You looked like you enjoyed it,” Chi Cheng broke the silence, voice flat.

Suowei froze mid-step. “It was acting. Improvised art.”

“You kissed him.”

“You kissed Guo Chengyu! At your place. While dating Wang Shuo.”

Chi Cheng’s brow lifted as he exhaled a thin stream of smoke. “You saw that?”

“We had a watch party. Xiaoshuai provided wine.”

Chi Cheng set the glass down with the delicacy of someone hiding a warhead. He flicked ash into a crystal tray with practiced precision.

“It meant nothing.”

“Guo Chengyu laughed.”

“Because it was nothing.”

“Wang Shuo looked like he wanted to file charges.”

“He’s irrelevant. Weiwei, you know my past.”

“But not about you kissing Guo Chengyu! He’s still in your life, of course I was going to react.”

Chi Cheng stood. Slow. Controlled. Like a storm rolling in.

“So your reaction was to kiss Xiaoshuai?”

“It was theatrical,” Suowei admitted. “Also ill-advised. Kind of regrettable.”

Chi Cheng took a step forward. “Want to see my reaction?”

“That depends. Does it involve physical violence or physical affection?”

“I’ll let you guess.”

Suowei didn’t move. “Guessing isn’t my strength.”

Chi Cheng pulled him towards him aggressively.

“Then I’ll show you.”

The kiss was not sweet. It was not gentle. It was a correction. A reminder. A claim. 

Suowei let himself fall into it. Gripping Chi Cheng’s shirt like it might steady him.

When he finally pulled away, Suowei’s legs nearly gave out.

Chi Cheng studied him in silence.

No anger. No heat. Just quiet possession.

“You are mine,” he said, calm and certain, not threatening.

Suowei swallowed, breath catching.

“Understood,” he whispered, which was probably the most honest thing he’d said all week.

Chi Cheng stepped back, letting go like it pained him to do it.

“You’ll be punished properly,” he said, smoothing his collar with surgical precision. “After you’ve sobered up and stopped smelling like cheap wine.”

Suowei stood there, lips tingling, heart doing laps in his chest.

He already knew the punishment wouldn’t just be thorough. It would be the kind you remember in quiet moments and morally questionable dreams.

And his traitorous brain was already doodling hearts around the punishment like it was a date.

Across town, Guo Chengyu sat on a park bench, phone screen still lit.

He had already watched the video multiple times the night before. He’d replied with a single dot, the textual equivalent of a flatline.

He pulled a cigarette from a worn pack, lit it, and inhaled deep. The smoke twisted in the cool night air as he read the latest message from Jiang Xiaoshuai:

We were drunk. 

Guo Chengyu stared. Then he hit call.

Xiaoshuai answered with a small, “...Hi?”

“You kiss Wu Suowei like that often?” Guo Chengyu asked, trying to sound casual.

“Only when I’m drunk and emotionally unhinged.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You kissed Chi Cheng!”

Guo Chengyu paused, exhaling smoke thoughtfully. Then remembered some brief, chaotic moments from their younger days.

“So you kissed Wu Suowei to get back at me?”

“It was only fair.”

Guo Chengyu sighed. “You’re a disaster.”

“You’re not exactly a picture of maturity.”

“You kissed Wu Suowei with tongue.”

“It was platonic tongue!”

“There is no such thing.” Guo Chengyu scoffed, flicking ash off the bench.

Silence. Then, a shift in his voice.

“I want to kiss you too,” Guo Chengyu said, softly. “With tongue. Not platonically.”

Xiaoshuai’s breath caught. “Right now?”

“I’m ten minutes away. If you’re okay with that.”

“I am,” Xiaoshuai said. “But bring soup. I’m emotionally fragile and mildly hungover.”

“I’ll bring extra."

Chapter Text

This time Wu Suowei woke with a headache that could’ve crushed a lesser man, if his aching bones were any indication. He felt like someone had disassembled him at the atomic level, run a quality check on each piece, then reassembled him with reverent, terrifying care. His muscles ached, but not in protest. More like they’d signed a contract overnight without consulting him.

He groaned, blinking against the pale morning light. When he turned over, Chi Cheng was already upright, sitting with the stillness of a well-fed jungle cat. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Chi Cheng said, voice low and dry, threaded with a hint of amusement and something quietly territorial.

“I feel like I slept with one,” Suowei sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Except the ghost has a gym membership with an abnormally high sex drive.”

Chi Cheng arched a brow, expression somewhere between smug and predatory. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it, Wei Wei.” he said, smooth as velvet.

“I was distracted by the psychological warfare.”

“You were moaning,” Chi Cheng said, far too pleased.

“I was in shock.”

Chi Cheng’s smirk sharpened. “Trauma or pleasure, I’m not picky.”

Suowei rolled his eyes and sat up with a groan, the sheet slipping down like it had given up on preserving dignity. “I’m still sore. Pretty sure I was punished for at least three separate offenses.’”

“It was disciplinary.”

“It was Olympic-level cardio,” Suowei said. “Are you planning to be this intense every time I piss you off?”

“Make sure not to piss me off then.” Chi Cheng stood, stretching languidly. Then, almost too casually: “By the way, I’ve made dinner plans. You. Me. Xiaoshuai. Guo Chengyu. Tonight.”

Suowei blinked, genuinely stunned. “Dinner? With all of us? Are you out of your mind?”

Chi Cheng looked unbothered. “Possibly. But I find madness and clarity often attend the same parties.”

“We just emotionally carpet-bombed each other via video,” Suowei hissed. “This isn’t a dinner party. It’s a hostage situation waiting to happen.”

“All the more reason to get everyone in one room,” Chi Cheng said, reaching for his watch like this was a perfectly normal Tuesday. “Control the narrative. Apply pressure. Observe reactions.”

“What do you want really?” 

“I want peace,” Chi Cheng said smoothly. “On my terms.”

Suowei stared. “You know Xiaoshuai might actually bring a fork to this as a weapon, right?”

“Then it’ll be a lively meal.”

Suowei fell back onto the pillows, covering his face with both hands.

“I need more time. And maybe a concussion excuse.”

Chi Cheng leaned down and kissed his temple, maddeningly gentle. “You have until seven.”

Jiang Xiaoshuai woke to the sound of sizzling and the distinct smell of competence. Which was alarming, because he lived alone and hadn’t voluntarily operated a stove since college.

He emerged from the bedroom like a suspicious cat, barefoot, disheveled, mildly offended by the aroma of actual effort. There was humming. There was sizzling. There was Guo Chengyu, inexplicably domestic, making breakfast like they’d been married for ten years instead of emotionally combusting just yesterday.

Guo Chengyu stood at the stove in the same colorful shirt and sleek black pants he wore yesterday, flipping eggs with serene efficiency. The table was already set. There was even fruit, lovingly chopped. And a flower in a vase that absolutely was not there yesterday.

“You’re doing it again,” Xiaoshuai said, blinking.

Guo Chengyu didn’t turn. “Good morning to you too.”

Xiaoshuai shuffled to the table, staring at the neatly plated toast. “You cut it into hearts.”

“They just came out that way.”

“No toast ‘just comes out’ looking like that.”

Guo Chengyu turned, coffee mug in hand, expression maddeningly soft. “You’re very cute when you act like you don’t love to be pampered.”

Xiaoshuai accepted the coffee with blushing cheeks. 

They sat at the tiny kitchen table, knees brushing occasionally, the morning light washing everything in that unfair, golden warmth that makes people reconsider life choices. The air between them was soft and lived-in, like this wasn’t new at all, just something they’d finally stopped resisting.

Halfway through his eggs, Xiaoshuai mumbled, “You’re going to ruin me.”

“Already in progress,” Chengyu replied, effortlessly.

They were quiet for a beat, comfortable, but aware of the quiet stretching.

Then Chengyu cleared his throat. “By the way. We have dinner plans.”

Xiaoshuai looked up, fork paused halfway to his mouth. “What kind of dinner plans?”

“Chi Cheng invited us. Group dinner. Tonight. You, me, him, Wu Suowei.”

Xiaoshuai blinked. Then set his fork down slowly. “That sounds like a trap.”

“It probably is,” Guo Chengyu laughed. “But a polite one. With courses.”

Xiaoshuai stared at him, horrified. “You agreed?”

“He asked nicely.”

“Chi Cheng doesn’t ask . He summons.”

“It’s just dinner.”

Xiaoshuai groaned and slumped forward onto the table. “This is going to be a disaster. There will be passive aggression. Someone’s going to bring up the video. Probably me . I have no impulse control.”

“Don’t worry,” Guo Chengyu said gently, pushing a heart-shaped piece of toast toward him. “I’ll be there.”

The dinner party was doomed from the moment the private chef introduced the amuse-bouche using the phrase “to awaken the senses.”

Because nothing good ever comes after your senses are awakened in a room filled with romantic entanglements.

Chi Cheng and Wu Suowei’s shared apartment was sleek, spotless, and more showroom than sanctuary. The kind of place where nothing had crumbs and everything had angles.

The chef moved about the pristine open kitchen with quiet precision, placing each dish with the reverence of a man preparing offerings for ancient gods. He was calm, professional, and deeply committed to ignoring the slow emotional car crash unfolding a few feet away.

Chi Cheng sat at the head of the table, regal and unreadable. Wu Suowei sat beside him, smiling tightly, every muscle in his jaw clenched like he was physically holding back commentary.

Across from them, Jiang Xiaoshuai was visibly trying to act normal, while Guo Chengyu was behaving like someone who found tension not only tolerable but recreational.

The meal began with polite conversation: compliments to the chef, surface-level jokes, and a few quiet moments where everyone stared at their plates to avoid eye contact.

Then Chi Cheng raised his glass.

“To all of us. For surviving our recent... theatrical escapade with what might generously be called maturity.”

Guo Chengyu raised his own glass, his smile maddeningly subtle. “To the past being irrelevant.”

Suowei’s brow twitched. Xiaoshuai shot Guo Chengyu a look.

“And,” Guo Chengyu added smoothly, eyes gleaming with mischief, “to cinematic excellence. That filter on your kiss video really brought out the hormonal chaos. Very auteur.”

Suowei nearly choked on his wine. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on,” Guo Chengyu said, waving a hand. “You both worked hard on that. A compliment won’t kill you.”

“It might kill the mood,” Xiaoshuai said, cheeks pink. “We don’t need to relive that.”

Chi Cheng took a sip of his drink. “It’s in the past.”

“Much like your kiss with Guo Chengyu,” Suowei said, fixing Chi Cheng with a pointed stare.

The chef, in the kitchen, quietly set down a bowl with a slight pause. His eyes flicked up. Just a beat. Then back to the plate like nothing had happened.

“Oh,” Guo Chengyu said, far too casually, “I wouldn’t call it just a kiss. There were a few.”

Suowei’s head snapped around. “A few? You said it was one. One drunken dare. ”

“It started as one,” Guo Chengyu said, as if that were comforting. “But it sort of became a running gag. You know. Back in the day.”

“Back in the day?” Xiaoshuai leaned forward now. “You two had a thing ?”

“No!” Chi Cheng and Guo Chengyu said in perfect unison, deeply offended by the mere suggestion.

“Well,” Guo Chengyu amended, “not a thing thing. More like... a recurring bit.”

“Was there tongue in this recurring bit?” Suowei’s voice had gone dangerously flat.

Chi Cheng stiffened. “Define ‘tongue.’”

Suowei stood up so fast his chair scraped back with a screech. “Oh, I will define it for you, I’ll draw a diagram on a napkin if you want. Label the tongue paths and everything!”

“Wei Wei-” Chi Cheng began.

“No. No-no-no.” Suowei pointed a hand at Chi Cheng. “You said it was once. A joke. A single, forgettable moment of drunken stupidity.”

Guo Chengyu winced. “Technically-”

“Do not start a sentence with 'technically' right now!” Xiaoshuai hissed, almost knocking over a bowl.

The private chef, still by the stove, visibly sighed. He turned off the flame under the passionfruit reduction with the finality of a man who had just retired from caring.

“You both hid this,” Xiaoshuai snapped, rounding on Guo Chengyu. “You made me feel guilty for being jealous over nothing, and now you’re telling me I was right all along?”

“Xiaoshuai, there’s really nothing to be jealous of,” Guo Chengyu said, now looking like a kicked puppy. “It was seven years ago.”

“Do you think numbers help right now?” Suowei shot back. “You two still had intimate experiences.”

Chi Cheng tried to cut in, his voice firm. “It wasn’t intimate. It was idiotic.”

“That’s your defense?” Suowei laughed. “Guess idiocy comes with tongue now. Good to know.”

Chi Cheng opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Guo Chengyu looked at the chef, silently asking if maybe the mousse could double as a sedative.

“I need air,” Xiaoshuai muttered.

“I need bleach for my brain,” Suowei added.

Without another word, the two of them stormed toward the door, nearly tripping over each other in their synchronized outrage. Suowei threw his coat over his shoulder with more flourish than necessary. Xiaoshuai laced up his shoes without bothering to look up.

“We’re going to master’s,” Suowei announced without looking back. 

“Maybe we’ll make another kiss video,” Xiaoshuai snapped. “With our shirts off!”

The door slammed behind them like a curtain falling on a chaotic scene.

Chi Cheng stared at the empty doorway for a long moment. “That went well.”

Guo Chengyu sank slowly into his chair. “It was too early for my joke. I see that now.”

The chef walked over, placing the dessert in front of them with surgical precision. “Passionfruit mousse,” he said, with the tone of someone officiating a funeral. “Pairs well with regret and miscommunication.”

Chi Cheng waved him off with an eye roll and pinched the bridge of his nose. “They’re being ridiculous.”

“Are they?” Guo Chengyu asked. “Because if I found out my boyfriend had a secret smooch montage with the guy across from me, I’d have thrown the mousse.”

“We were young. It meant nothing.”

“And yet, now it somehow means everything,” Guo Chengyu sighed. “Great. Now I’m nostalgic and single.”

“We’re not single,” Chi Cheng said automatically. “They’re just... processing.”

“Loudly. With door slams and vows of producing softcore revenge content.”

Chi Cheng pushed back from the table. “We should go after them.”

Guo Chengyu raised an eyebrow. “And say what? ‘Don’t worry, we both find each other about as sexy as drywall’?”

Chi Cheng considered it. “Honestly, that might work.”

Guo Chengyu pointed at the mousse. “Let’s bring this. Apologies go down better with sugar.”

The chef began packing the mousse into neat to-go containers, looking ten years older than when the meal began.

“No digestif, sir?” he asked.

Chi Cheng shook his head. “No time for that.” He shrugged on his coat and headed for the door.

Guo Chengyu followed, hands full of dessert. “Do you think if we act mildly wounded, they’ll feel guilty and let us stay over?”

“No,” Chi Cheng said flatly.

“But is it worth a try?”

Chi Cheng didn’t answer. He was already at the door.

The chef stood in the now-silent dining room, staring at the two empty seats like they might offer closure.

Then he pulled out his phone, opened his notes app, and typed:

"New business idea: Dinner Therapy – Meals served alongside licensed couples counseling."