Falling Like Snow

FALLING LIKE SNOW G. KOI CONTENTS 1. I Know You, And You’re Not That Cool 2. A Place To Escape 3. Who Was This Man? 4. God, This Was A Disaster 5. No Sniffing Your Friends 6. They Were Alone 7. Impostor Syndrome Whispered 8. He Didn’t Want To Share Fang 9. His Sexy, Wet, Half-Naked, Hip-Thrusting Roommate 10. Quick Lesson: Don’t Piss Off Your Costar 11. Roommates Didn’t Hover 12. He Needed Kisses 13. Flirting? 14. A Trash Boyfriend 15. Oh God! He Wanted To Kiss Him 16. Hiding From Your Costar? 17. They Were Roommates! 18. The Best Fucking Kiss Of My Life 19. Could We…Try It Again? 20. Gēgē Will Save You 21. A Wicked, Evil, Delicious Idea 22. Are They…Dating? 23. Don’t Ever Fucking Stop 24. His Lap Was Full Of An Adorable Fang Fang 25. Hot, Talented, And Normal 26. No, This Couldn’t Be Love 27. You’re My Băobèi 28. This Ass Is Worth Waiting For 29. We Get To Have Cake? 30. I Don’t Even Know Who The Fuck Zhu Fang Is Anymore 31. Miss You 32. I Can Be Cupid If I Want To Be 33. I’m Motherfucking Cupid In This Bitch 34. Tell Me I’m Not Too Late 35. Kiss Guo Zi’s Ass, Fang 36. Please, Băobèi, Don’t Torture Your Gēgē! 37. Do You Love My Son? Epilogue: Falling Like Snow A Final Note Glossary Cultural References Cast List About the Author Also by G. Koi Notes This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used factiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. FALLING LIKE SNOW Copyright ©2023 G. Koi. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of G. Koi. Cover art by Natasha Snow. Edited and proofed by Flat Earth Editing. For the original bunny and lion. I KNOW YOU, AND YOU’RE NOT THAT COOL ZHU FANG I love my job. I love my job. I love my job. Zhu Fang mentally repeated that mantra in his mind while clenching his teeth through his dance steps for the hundredth time. Sweat soaked his T-shirt and more streaked down the sides of his face while muscles burned in every part of his body. He followed the movements of the choreographer as he silently prayed to not run into yet another backup dancer. Part of him wanted to moan to the world that he was a singer, not a dancer. Put him in the center of any stage, and he could belt out a ballad or rock anthem to stop the entire show. But they also expected him to dance. Why? Oh, he knew why—because of his age, appearance, and natural charm. His manager, bookers, and everyone else expected him to dance. It got the fans on their feet and screaming. Dancing resulted in endless social media clips that were liked and shared millions of times. In short, dancing sold albums and endless amounts of merch. The problem was, he wasn’t coordinated enough for dancing. He looked stiff and awkward because everything felt stiff and awkward. It didn’t help that he was all too aware of the other singers in his world who made this shit seem natural. Smooth and flawless, as if they didn’t have bones. He did love his job. He loved being a singer. It certainly wasn’t what he’d expected to do with his life, and he was incredibly grateful to be given this chance to live a dream. But he hated the dancing. “All right! Let’s take a twenty-minute break, and then we’ll do the ‘Break Through’ dance number again!” the choreographer shouted. Zhu inwardly cried with relief and moaned in despair. He desperately needed to catch his breath, but they’d be heading into the most intense dance number of the set. This choreographer was trying to fucking kill him. He shuffled over to the side of the stage, nearly tripping because he couldn’t lift his feet high enough to keep from falling over the smallest things. His assistant was waiting for him with an enormous bottle of water, a towel, and a sympathetic smile. Thank God for Qin Jai Li. She kept him watered, fed, on time, and from walking into walls. Except for that one time when he’d pissed her off. She’d totally let him walk into that wall on purpose. In front of the cameras. Sitting on the edge of the stage, he accepted the water and took a big drink. “You’re looking good,” she praised as she pressed the towel to his temple to wipe away the sweat. He lowered the bottle and stared at her. Sadly, after being his assistant for two years, she was immune to all his glares. Annoying. “I’m serious. That last one you’ve got down. You’re good,” she continued, using the opportunity to move the towel across his brow. “Thanks. It doesn’t feel easy, but I’m pretty sure I have that one memorized.” The only problem was that he had to now remember the dance and the words to his own song at the same time. The concert was in two days, and it would kick off a brief tour of large venues across Asia. His heart skipped at just the thought of it. His latest album had dropped less than a month ago and had already broken half a dozen sales records, effectively silencing the most vocal of his critics. To him, the concerts were a victory lap. Rushed footsteps pounded across the stage toward