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Chapter Text

It started with a letter. Xichen had been kneeling on his handwoven meditation mat with its complex blue and silver mandala design, eyes closed and mind comfortably at peace. There was a scant inch between himself and A-yao, as was custom since their relationship had cemented into something more stable and grounded in reality and less the blurry, intangible wish it had started as. A-yao was cradling a small, simple cup of green tea in both of his hands as if it was the most precious gilded China and humming lowly under his breath. It was such a breathy, quiet sound that Xichen was almost certain A-yao didn’t even realize he was doing it. Peeking an eye open, Xichen couldn’t help but smile when he saw A-yao was slowly swaying left to right beside him with his eyes closed and a pleasantly subtle smile on his face.

The peace of A-yao’s living room was shattered when the front door banged open, the doorknob bouncing off of the round, plastic wall protector that Xichen had installed on the wall a few weeks ago.

“Everyone shut up!” Mingjue bellowed as he burst through the doorway in his wrinkled, mildly stained work uniform. His hair was stringy where it escaped from the messy braided bun that sat at the back of his head and a new bandaid was wrapped around his thumb, but his eyes were practically sparkling. The energy of the room surged and crackled like lightening while Xichen weakly brushed off the sharp jolt of being ripped from his meditation.

Mingjue stormed through the room, tripping over A-yao’s knee and almost upsetting the poor man’s teacup. He earned himself A-yao’s custom dark glare, which went unnoticed. Mingjue settled on the ground hip-to-hip on Xichen’s other side, as usual, and thrust a handful of crumpled paper into face. Xichen took a steadying breath before allowing a small smile to grace his features. He did so enjoy when his loved ones were energized and hopeful like this. He really and truly did.

“What’s this?” Xichen asked, accepting the papers and scanning through the first one.

“A job offer?” A-yao asked over his shoulder while he snagged a tissue off of the low, wooden coffee table and began to sop up the bit of his tea that had spilled onto the floor.

“Dear Mr. Nie,” Xichen read aloud, “I am excited to offer you the esteemed position of Rotisseur—”

“French for roaster,” A-yao interjected helpfully.

“It means the meat chef,” Mingjue corrected.

“—at Le Petit Jardin—”

“French restaurant in—"A-yao began before Xichen saw for himself.

“New York?” he asked incredulously, looking up at Mingjue. All he saw there was pride and excitement.

"Two Michelin stars for the last five years, opened by a single father ten years ago when it was started as a butcher shop,” Mingjue rattled off.

“How did it become a French restaurant, then?” A-yao wondered aloud.

“Keep reading,” Mingjue urged, prodding Xichen in the arm. Xichen huffed fondly but did as he was told.

“Salary for this position starts at $65,000 annually,” Xichen continued, noting how A-yao stiffened at his side. “And working hours are 12:00 p.m. to 10:00 p.m. weekdays. Ten hours. . . that’s quite a long shift.”

“It’s a fine-dining restaurant with a pretty incredible reputation in the heat of one of the busiest cities in the world. No doubt rush hour runs all day long, for them,” Mingjue said with a shrug.

“I don’t understand, where did this offer come from?” A-yao asked, pulling the paper detailing the job description from the stack in Xichen’s hands. “How did Le Petit know about you?”

“Way to boost a guy’s confidence, A-yao,” Mingjue said dryly. His excitement was only dimmed a little bit.

“I just meant that you work for a chain restaurant,” A-yao explained, voice almost patronizing in how patient and gentle it sounded when compared to Mingjue’s terse tone. “It’s not common for recruiters from popular fine dining restaurants to seek out chain chefs, is it?”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Mingjue said with a sigh. “Apparently the mother-in-law of the executive chef’s youngest son eats at our restaurant when she knows I’ll be working because she specifically likes my cooking. I guess I impressed her enough for her to tell the executive chef who talked to the owner who just tried my cooking and gave me this letter today and I put in my two weeks notice maybe five minutes later.”

“That was. . . a lot. Wait, you put in your notice already?” Xichen asked, fingers going numb around the letter that floated out of his loose grip and onto his lap.

“What about u—er, Huaisang?” A-yao spluttered, teacup sloshing dangerously.

“He’s gonna be away at school by the time I start,” Mingjue said, eyes landing on the framed photo of Xichen and Wangji on the yellow bookshelf across the room.

“He won’t be staying with you?” Xichen asked, unable to the surprise out of his voice.

“This is an amazing opportunity for us,” Mingjue said, fist tightening at his side. “He’s going to be away at college most of the time and I’m sure your brother and Wei Ying and his brother will be fine housing him during the summer and between semesters. They’re all good friends and I’ll pay Huaisang’s share of rent and utilities.”

“Mingjue,” A-yao said softly, eyes wide as he reared back from the other two a bit. “Are—you’re leaving him?”

“No!” Mingjue was on his feet in a flash and Xichen blinked when he felt the sting of his boyfriend’s hair smacking his cheek in the process. “Come on, A-yao, why would you say that? How could you—wow, what a way to find put what someone really thinks of me, huh?”

“He didn’t mean anything by it, Mingjue, we’re just . . .” Xichen smoothed the papers in his lap. “Surprised.”

“Surprised?” Mingjue repeated, visibly deflating. His broke shoulders sagged and the stress lines around his eyes deepened.

“Pleasantly so!” Xichen agreed, interjecting over A-yao’s attempt to voice another one of his opinions. “I’m sure Huaisang will understand and be happy for you. You’ve raised him well.” At that Mingjue quirked a half smile, but his eyes were still tense.

“You think?” Mingjue asked quietly, hands stuffing into his pants pockets.

“Of course,” Xichen soothed. “Though I would suggest speaking about this with him sooner rather than later. It may be an adjustment. Do you really believe that he’ll be okay living with my Wangji and his A-ying and Wanyin?”

Mingjue waved a hand in the air as if he was brushing away the concerns of someone he was supposed to be bonded quite closely to. Someone who was still reeling from the news that he was—

“So, you’re leaving, then?” A-yao asked, voice chillingly calm. It was the same voice Xichen had seen him use against disrespectful customers, coworkers who pushed him too far, and, at times, Jin Zixuan. His question was met with ominous silence.

“What did Jin Zixuan say when you told him you were planning to leave?” Xichen piped up, skin beginning to crawl when the conversation paused.

“Well, he was irritated, of course. I’ve been working with him for close to eight years, I think, so it’ll be tough to replace me. Abut he was kind of proud, I think.”

“Really?” A-yao asked suspiciously. “Jin Zixuan was proud of someone other than himself?”

“Well, it was his restaurant that produced a chef worthy of Le Petit, isn’t it?” Mingjue bit right back. “Why are you being so weird about this, A-yao, why can’t you just be happy for someone else’s good luck for once?”

A-yao set his teacup on the low coffee table a bit louder than was necessary and climbed to his feet nimbly.

“I think I just heard the washer go off, excuse me,” he said, sweeping out of the room with his nose in the air and his chilly stage smile on his face.

“I don’t understand why he’s like this,” Mingjue muttered under his breath, leaning back against the coffee table and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You have to understand where he’s coming from,” Xichen said softly, carefully folding the papers of Mingjue’s job offer and neatly pressing the edges into tight lines.

“I just don’t get why he has to make everything about him. Why he can’t just be happy for me and say ‘congratulations’ or ‘you deserve this’ or ‘I’m proud of you’ or something,” Mingjue said, voice slipping into its usual post-fight gruff and gravel. “I thought he’d be glad.”

“Of course, he’s happy for you,” Xichen soothed, laying a hand on Mingjue’s arm. His heart sang when Mingjue’s shoulders lowered slightly and his expression slipped into something more like a kicked puppy’s pout. “It’s just hard for him.”

“I guess it’s easier to feel bad for himself than be happy for me,” Mingjue said, hauling himself off of the floor with an age and weight beyond his years.

“Mingjue, please, he didn’t mean—”

“Don’t make apologies for him,” Mingjue interjected, voice more a plea than a demand as he faced the door and away from Xichen. “I won’t hear them unless they’re coming from him.”

And with that, the whirling cyclone that was Nie Mingjue went once again storming out of the home.

Xichen collapsed back against the coffee table, dropping his heavy head into one hand as he listened to A-yao quietly muttering to himself and puttering around in the laundry room where the washer and dryer had sat empty all day.

Chapter Text

“I’m just saying,” A-yao said gently, voice a bit stilted as he heaved a huge rice pot onto the stainless-steel counter of the dish pit. The pot was too big for his arms to fully reach around it and he nearly dropped it. Mingjue spotted him out of the corner of his eye until the pot was on the counter and A -yao was a few safe steps away from it. “Housing prices are only rising in that area, so it might be better to commute from out of state, especially since King’s Town is right on the boarder and—”

“A-yao, do you really think my crappy minivan is going to survive long commutes every day for work?” Mingjue scoffed, gripping two cast iron skillets with one hand and using his free hand to baste back in forth between both.

“Mingjue, we should at least hear him out,” came Xichen’s voice through the shelving above the pass across from the cookline. Mingjue glanced over his shoulder to see his boyfriend folding his arms on top of the shelf and resting his chin on his hands, eyes wide. Mingjue sighed, willpower crumbling.

“I just think living closer to here is better than uprooting and moving into the middle of a big city fifty miles away from everything you know,” A-yao said, hands up in surrender. He accidentally flung batter up to the ceiling of the pit and Mingjue couldn’t explain to himself why he felt so tickled when Xichen looked up and made a face at the mess up there.

“There’s no way I’m gonna get around a full move,” Mingjue said, carefully controlling his tone. He shot a glare at A-bao, who had looked over with an incredulous expression like he couldn’t believe that Mingjue hadn’t erupted in shouting yet. The junior quickly looked away, ears turning red.

“What about Huaisang?” Xichen asked, perking up with alarm. Mingjue turned, tipping his two pans onto a pair of plates and spooning sauce from a pot on the hot shelf onto the plates in a neat half circle.

“I will figure out what to do with Huaisang,” Mingjue said, placing the plates on the shelf near Xichen’s elbow. “Order up, table twelve!”

“I still think you should have him stay with Xichen’s brother, if you leave,” A-yao said as one of the new waitresses danced by and was out the door into the dining room with the two dishes before A-yao was even done speaking.

“Your opinion has been noted,” Mingjue said through clenched teeth, shooting a glare it his boyfriend. He bent down, swiping a spoon one of the juniors had dropped off of the ground and tossing it underhand toward A-Yao, who deflected it with the back of his hand and sent it flying into the industrial sink.

“Stop throwing cutlery, I’m not having another staff meeting about this!” Jin Zixuan ordered as he burst into the kitchen through the revolving door near the dish pit. He scooped up three more dishes A-bao had just set on the pass and slipped out the door on the other side of the kitchen all without losing his moderately threatening grin. “A-bao, don’t forget to announce table orders when they’re ready to walk.”

“Gentleman, please,” Xichen said, easing around the pass to stand between the pit and the line. “We all care very much about Huaisang and we all want what’s best for him. We just disagree on what ‘the best’ looks like. So, let’s talk about it later and not fight, okay?”

Mingjue rolled his eyes when A-yao nodded with a sweet smile, earning him the “You’re a Good Boy” patented Xichen smile. Once Xichen’s eyes were back on Mingjue, his expression turned pleading. Mingjue’s shoulders dropped and his gaze went to the ground where one of the juniors had kicked a lemon wedge half under the stove.

“You’re right,” he muttered, grabbing another pan and smacking it onto the stove top with a metallic clang.

“While we’re on the subject of moving, though,” Xichen said slowly with a little timid smile as he clasped his hands behind his back. He rocked up onto the balls of his feet and back onto his heels. “I have an idea of what might solve our little problem of beginning a long-distance relationship.”

Mingjue stiffened. Waking up to an empty bed at approximately two in the morning that way to the sounds of sniffles and hushed whispers coming from A-yao’s kitchen was suddenly all he could think about.

“One of my cousins owns an apartment complex that’s very close to Le Petit Jardin and I asked if he had any vacant rooms,” Xichen continued, one of his hands clenching and releasing the back of his fancy little dress shirt. “It’s a spacious one-bedroom apartment and we’re being offered a reasonable price for the area.”

Xichen’s smile faltered when the kitchen went quiet. Even the juniors hushing their chatter. Distantly, Mingjue was aware of A-yao piping up with praise for their clever boyfriend and his generous family, but all he could think of was what would happen if three became two. Or one. And he remembered being evicted in the dead of winter with a toddler on his hip and a matching set of death certificates in his back pocket.

“No,” Mingjue said immediately, chest clenching at the way Xichen’s hopeful expression shuttered. “I don’t want to owe your family any favors.”

“I thought you guys were family,” A-lei piped up, leaning away from the stove he was working over so he could glance between Mingjue and Xichen with confusion and what looked sort of like heartbreak in his eyes.

“Lei-lei, that’s gross,” a very unimpressed A-bao said over the hissing of the fryer. He was holding the frying baskets wrong again and was either going to lose onion rings or splatter himself with hot peanut oil.

“I didn’t mean like blood related!” A-lei spluttered, whirling on A-bao and erupting into argument.

“You better hold that thing right if you don’t want third degree oil burns,” Mingjue warned over the squabbling.

“Why don’t you think about it for a while?” Xichen asked with a serene smile as he reached out to gently pat Mingjue’s arm. Mingjue felt his chest tighten and his face heat, jaw instinctively clenching to keep from saying anything he’d regret later.

“I—look, it’s kind of you to offer, but I can find a place,” Mingjue said, unable to hold back the frustrated sigh that burst out of him. He jerked free from Xichen’s hold and turned back to the stove, immediately grabbing a pair of tongs off the pass to flip the black pepper chicken that A-lei had been neglecting in his fight with A-bao.

“I just thought it might help—”

“I don’t need your help!” Mingjue snapped, flinging the metal tongs onto the pass. The clang of metal on metal echoed through the room, which had gone silent besides the sizzling of meat and veg in pans and the crackle of the fryer oil.

“Fuck,” Mingjue hissed, dropping his forehead into his hand. His stomach squeezed and his knees felt weak. “Xichen, I . . . Fuck.”

“I pushed too hard,” Xichen said, voice small and sad. Mingjue snapped his head up to see Xichen fixing his normally serene gaze on the ground, one arm going behind his back and the other in a loose fist at his side.

“No, no, I—Xichen I’m sorry,” Mingjue said, feeling the same way that yelling at Huaisang made him feel. Like a bully. Like a monster. “I just need some space. And time. I don’t need people trying to help.”

“Understood,” Xichen said, raising his head and giving Mingjue a lovely smile. “I love you.”

Mingjue felt the weight of a thousand mistakes fly off of his shoulders, leaving him light-headed and dizzy with relief.

“I love you, too,” he whispered, his smile feeling timid and shy even to himself. He felt a little cold tendril of disappointment when his boyfriend walked off toward another waiter who was struggling to balance two trays of dishes and beverages without offering a parting kiss on the cheek (which had become the Standard Xichen Goodbye).

But it was nothing compared to the brutal slam of self-loathing that the flat and borderline disgusted look from A-yao across the pit inspired. Once he realized that Mingjue had seen him, A-yao’s face immediately cleared and settled back into his usual neutral expression. Mingjue rarely caught A-yao in transition between his real face and the face he chose to show everyone, but it always paralyzed him on the spot. It was chilling, knowing he’d seen something so calculated, something he wasn’t supposed to see. And it was equally disturbing at times to know that someone so close to him could control his own reactions to that level.

When they locked eyes, A-yao didn’t give him the sneaky little smirk that told Mingjue they were sharing an inside secret about A-yao being caught wearing his real face. This time, A-yao just looked at him like he was a distant stranger and then turned back to the dish pit without a single word.

Chapter Text

Mingjue took yet another deep breath through his nose, exhaling long and loud. Even with his eyes closed, he could still see the image of his job offer letter stuck on the fridge with a little smiley face magnet. No matter how long he kept his eyes closed and his breath slow like Xichen had taught him, he couldn’t get his quicksilver thoughts to change direction. He tried daydreaming, he tried reviewing the plot of the last movie he’d watched, he tried making a list of things he had to do, but everything led back to the stupid job offer and how it was ruining everything.

And it wasn’t even A-yao’s sudden cold bitchiness or Xichen’s new array of constipated expressions that was bothering Mingjue this time. It was just how everyone was acting and there was nothing Mingjue could do about it. There was a lot about all of this that he couldn’t control. But what he could control were the things he’d have to sacrifice if he took the job. Starting with his apartment with Huaisang.

It wasn’t stylish or upscale or big, but it was home. It was Huaisang’s home. It had been their first permanent place, the first stable home he’d been able to provide his little brother with when they were freshly orphaned. They’d been so lucky to find it, and it was one of the first things that started going right in a world where everything was going wrong. With their parents dead, house foreclosed, and belongings repossessed, Mingjue had been desperate to keep CPS off his tail before the last and most important thing he had was stolen from him. The apartment saved him from a familial loss he knew he would never recover from. With all that it had given him, he couldn’t imagine it being empty and locked up to await the next family move-in.

But besides the loss of the apartment, there was also the greatest sense of relief Mingjue had felt since Huaisang’s CAT scan had come back clear after his first car accident. This was his ticket out. This job—this career—was the next rung of the ladder to where he needed to go to be executive chef of his own restaurant. It was a silly old dream he’d never been able to tell his parents. They were gone before he knew what he wanted to be.

And then there was the naked pride in Huaisang’s eyes when Mingjue had gruffly thrust the proof of his incredible new opportunity into small, ink-stained hands. There was the way that Huaisang looked up at him with the same heart-stopping awe he used to look to his big brother with when they were kids. It was an expression Mingjue hadn’t seen in years.

“Da-ge,” Huaisang had said, nearly breathless as he clutched the papers to his chest. “Da-ge, what does this mean? Are you taking the job? Of course, you’re taking the job! Are we moving to New York? When are we moving? Should I start packing now?”

“Huaisang, wait,” Mingjue had said, both hands settling on Huaisang’s shoulders to keep him from fluttering about like a little hummingbird. “You haven’t graduated yet. You can’t transfer in the middle of senior year while you’re still getting all your college shit together.”

“Are you kidding me? I could totally do that. I’m offended that you think I can’t do that.”

“Shut up. You can’t. But I can’t just ditch you here, either.”

“Are you trying to be some kind of martyr and put your future on hold for me again?”

Mingjue froze at the bite in his brother’s usually carefree, playful voice.

“Huaisang, I’m responsible for—”

“I’m not a minor, anymore,” Huaisang interjected, grasping at Mingjue’s elbows. “You don’t have to wait for me. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I don’t want to leave you behind,” Mingjue said, voice gruff. He searched his little brother’s face for disgust or humor or dismay or anything. But all he saw was big puppy dog eyes welling up and a trembling lip being pressed into a firm line. Stubborn as ever and even stronger.

“You won’t be. I’m always with you.”

Mingjue pressed their foreheads together, brow furrowing almost painfully as he used every ounce of his strength to remember this moment, to carve it into his bones like the age rings of a tree’s core.

“Sometimes I can’t tell which one of us is the older brother,” Mingjue said with a wet chuckle, feeling Huaisang shift close and tuck his face into Mingjue’s shoulder.

“Da-ge, you’re an idiot, sometimes,” Huaisang said, voice muffled by Mingjue’s ratty gray hoodie.

“Yeah,” Mingjue said, wrapping his arms around his little brother and swaying side to side. Moments like these made him miss when Huaisang was small enough to hold, to rock, to protect.

“Where will I go while you’re . . .”

“Xichen is talking to his brother to see how Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng would feel about a fourth roommate,” Mingjue explained, wincing. “Uh, I wanted to make sure they were okay with it before I told you.”

“Hell yeah!” Huaisang said, perking up and pulling away with a watery grin. “They’re way cooler than you, anyways.”

Mingjue didn’t even think before gently cuffing his brother on the back of his head.

“Da-ge!” Huaisang snapped, face pinched into a scowl as he reached up to adjust his pristine braids and little faux gold hair ornaments. Mingjue relaxed and laughed, pulling his brother back in for a gruff bear hug.

“You’re a good boy, A-sang,” he said warmly, smelling orange blossom and mint tea leaves from the fancy shampoo his little brother favored.

“Yeah, no thanks to you,” Huaisang muttered with a huff. “You just wanted to teach me how to break down a cow carcass and hotwire a car.”

Mingjue chuckled but didn’t argue. They were both useful life skills for anyone who didn’t want to go hungry or homeless.

“Wait, where are you going to be staying?” Huaisang asked, looking up and resting his chin on Mingjue’s chest.

“Oh. That.”

“Well, that’s a promising start,” Huaisang said, rolling his eyes.

“Shut up. I—well, Xichen said his cousin was going to offer us a place at his fancy apartment complex, but—”

“Hey! What do you mean ‘but’? A guy gives you a place to stay and you say ‘but’?” Huaisang scoffed, pulling away from his brother and hopping up on the kitchen counter.

“Besides the fact that we don’t accept housing from strangers—”

“He’s not a stranger! Well, he’s a stranger but we know he’s not a serial killer because you just said he’s Xichen’s cousin—”

“Yeah, which is why I said ‘besides the fact.’ Anyways, the point is I don’t need help—”

“Try again.”

“I don’t want help—”

“Keep trying.”

“Huaisang!”

“I’ve been able to tell when you’re lying since middle school; you’re not fooling anyone but yourself. And you’re not even doing a good job of that.”

“Look, I just don’t want to rely on someone else for housing when there’s a possibility it’ll fall through,” Mingjue explained, dropping his forehead into his palm. “Of course, it was really nice to offer. I just. . . If I get the place myself and I pay for it myself, there’s a lot less room for error. It’s a more stable and reliable solution.”

“Reading between the lines, here,” Huaisang said, both hands up to stop Mingjue from rambling even more. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re scared you’ll be evicted if you break up with your boyfriends? Or if you piss your boyfriends off they’ll skip town and leave you to deal with the rent?”

Mingjue hadn’t realized that was a concern until that moment.

“Oh my—da-ge, are you serious?” Huaisang demanded, voice pitching to levels Mingjue hadn’t heard since Huaisang was still in braces.

“I-I don’t know!”

“Mingjue, come on. Even if you guys started hating each other, Xichen would never make you be homeless.”

Mingjue laughed nervously. Obviously Xichen would never do that. Noble, self-sacrificing, and loyal Xichen would never make anyone live on the streets when he could help them. He would never make someone live without if he could find a way to support them. He would never abandon someone. He just wouldn’t.

“A-yao, on the other hand,” Huaisang continued, tilting his head to the side and tapping his cheek thoughtfully. “That guy will dropkick you off the face of the fucking planet if you so much as look at him wrong.”

“But he’ll do it subtly, privately, and without getting caught,” Mingjue agreed. Huaisang snickered, swinging his legs and letting his heels thud against the cabinets below the counter. Mingjue’s heart clenched when he saw the little dents that were higher up on the cabinet from years and years ago when little Huaisang’s legs were barely long enough to hang over the counter.

“We’re getting out, da-ge,” Huaisang said with an exhilarated giggle.

“Yeah,” Mingjue agreed, chest squeezing at that big smile. “We are.”

Chapter Text

No,” A-yao said, ignoring Mingjue’s hushed cursing. “Explain to me why living a block away from an elementary school would be a good idea?”

“Well, it can’t be so awful,” Xichen said with a cajoling croon, voice vibrating through A-yao’s sleep pants where his head rested on A-yao’s hip. “The roads would be safer, there would probably be a lot of community engagement, and it would be nice to see our future running around in their tiny little shoes.”

“What about the awful traffic from school buses, carpool lanes, and students walking to school? Or how the speed limit will probably be 25? And don’t get me started on how many times we’ll get solicitors guilting us into that community engagement you’re talking about.”

“Oh my fucking God, A-yao,” Mingjue groaned, pressing a pillow into his face where he lay on A-Yao’s other side.

“Okay, okay, so Jay Street is out,” Xichen said, scrolling past gray stucco, single story apartment building with white flowers boxes and a double-car garage on Zillow. “What about this one on Lilac Avenue?”

A-yao scrutinized the screen of the tablet before him. White stucco two-story condominium with red shutters, a terracotta tiled roof, and a gravel driveway lined with purple butterfly bushes. His fingers danced across his phone, pulling up the crime map of the area.

“Double murder last week, next.”

“Ah, okay. Front Street?”

“Fourth floor units are bad luck.”

“That’s not even—”

“Mingjue, we need to all be comfortable with our choice of where we live. That include A-yao.”

“But we’ve been at this for hours!”

“And we’ll keep looking for as long as it takes to find the perfect place. There’s a lot of other apartments to see, so let’s keep going. How about Cyan Lane, A-yao?”

“Is that a cement mixing facility down the street? Air quality will be terrible,” A-yao said over Mingjue’s muffled scream into his pillow.

“Oh. Um. Silva Street?”

“Not with a tenant history like that. Never live in a place where no one has lived longer than three months at a time. Something’s wrong with that apartment.”

“What about this?”

It was the apartment that Xichen’s cousin owned.

“What are you feeling?” Xichen asked, voice so quiet it was almost completely lost in the sounds of rustling sheets and blankets as he rolled to face A-Yao.

A-Yao carefully plastered a smile on his face as he looked down at his boyfriend and dragged gentle fingers through Xichen’s damp locks. Xichen looked up at A-Yao, chin no longer digging into A-Yao’s thigh.

“A-Yao, don’t do that,” Xichen said, eyes big and round. For as much as Xichen radiated the kind of quiet confidence that would be expected of the heir to a successful company, sometimes he was just soft and sweet.

“I’m certainly not against it,” A-Yao said carefully, mind racing to figure out what answer would make Xichen smile.

“But you don’t like it,” Mingjue sighed, tossing his pillow to the end of the bed.

“I . . .”

“It’s okay, A-Yao,” Xichen said, smile not reaching his eyes. “We’ll keep looking.”

“It’s just so . . . luxurious. Excessive,” A-Yao explained, turning back to look at the apartment being advertised on his computer screen. It was all stainless-steel appliances with electric screen facings, high windows overlooking a cityscape, plain gray walls with dark hardwood floors, leather seating, and splashy modern wall art.

“I know it looks expensive, but remember that we’re getting a generous discount because my cousin owns the complex. And, as a part-time partner with the Lan business, I’ll be able to—” Xichen said in a low, soothing voice.

“Xichen, you better not say something stupid about how you can pay for us,” Mingjue said without opening his eyes. “And I know it’s high-end for you, A-yao, but we’re all going to have to give up some things we want. Huaisang says compromising is the most important skill for people in a relationship.”

A-Yao swallowed hard. His gaze flitted around the room to the desk with the coffee rings on the surface and he tried to picture it sitting in a room that had a whole wall of windows. He imagined where his bed with the small stack of books holding up the left leg would sit on a glossy mahogany floor. He thought about his yellow bookcases and his secondhand, mildly pilly sofa that all fit in his cramped living room but most definitely wouldn’t fit in a living room with a leather couch and a shiny obsidian fireplace. He just couldn’t see it.

“It’s perfect,” he said. “Now that I think about it, it’s very spacious and has all the amenities we could ask for—really, what more could we want?”

“Oh, well,” Xichen said, sitting upright with a grin on his face. “Are you sure? You said you didn’t like it.”

“Don’t second guess it, Xichen, he said yes so let’s run with it before he changes his mind,” Mingjue said rolling over to push at Xichen’s shoulder playfully.

“I—okay, I’ll call my cousin,” Xichen said stumbling off of the bed with an elated grin and fishing his phone out of his pocket as he left the room. He glanced between his boyfriends, hands poised to dial on his phone, “You’re sure? We’re sure?”

"Xichen, call,” Mingjue said with a laugh, tossing one of A-yao’s pillows at Xichen, who caught it with one hand and placed it face up at the foot of the bed. “It’s close to where I work and where you will, once you nail that phone interview, and your cousin is cutting us a break on rent. A-Yao was right; what more could we ask for?”

Xichen stumbled out of the room, phone to his ear and giving an enthusiastic yet formal greeting to someone who must be this nameless cousin that A-Yao had never heard of. Typically, A-yao knew the names of the people with whom his fate lay. Typically.

“Thank you,” Mingjue said with a relieved half smile, the little lines around his eyes crinkling. A-yao stared, brain humming as it categorically stored every detail of that joy, affection, gratitude aimed his way. “He’s really excited about this place.”

“He just wants to feel helpful, I think,” A-yao said as he scooted down the bed so he lay flat on his back and closed his eyes to cut off his view of the popcorn ceiling above him. “You were given an amazing opportunity that you’re allowing us to accompany you on and he just wants to feel like he isn’t . . . dragging you down or passively following behind like a duckling or something.”

“Do you . . . think this is a bad idea?” Uncertainty. Resignation. Anxiety.

A-yao’s eyes flew open and he carefully kept his gaze on the ceiling, mind racing with predictions.

“I think this will be difficult because it’s uncharted territory,” he answered slowly.

“Why don’t you ever speak plainly?” Mingjue grumbled under his breath, easing off the bed and making his way toward the bedroom door. Frustration. Resentment. Hopelessness.

“There’s nothing wrong with how I speak,” A-yao said firmly, face heating and throat constricting as he tilted his head to see his boyfriend standing in the doorway.

“You’re never just. . .” Mingjue sighed. Guilt and anticipation welled in A-yao’s chest like the chilly wind and gray skies that come before a rainstorm. “You’re never just honest. Just answer a question every now and then, will you?”

Mingjue threw his hands up, face red as A-yao laced how fingers together on his lap and bowed his head.

“I-I think it’ll be difficult, but there’s nothing we can’t do if we—”

“Dammit, A-yao,” Mingjue sighed, dropping his forehead into one hand and resting the other on his hip. A-yao trailed off.

“I don’t know who you want me to say,” he admitted quietly, the failure carving a hollow place in his gut. The silence of the room roared back at him and the look he got wasn’t something he’d seen from Mingjue before. It was like A-yao had just let him down. “I’m not trying to. . .  I just don’t know what you want me to say.”

A-yao winced when his voice broke at his last word.

“I just want you to stop having so many goddamn ulterior motives and fucking trust me sometimes,” Mingjue snapped back, storming out of the room in a whirl of braids thwacking sharply like a slap against the door. “And maybe try being honest for once in your life.”

A-yao fought back the full feeling in his eyes and looked back up to the ceiling as Xichen’s gentle voice and Mingjue’s gruffer one filtered into his bedroom from the kitchen. Xichen called Mingjue “darling” and asked him what had happened, Mingjue brushed off the concern, and then they were discussing Xichen’s cousin’s offer, how they planned to split rent and utilities, whether they would be able to get out of the Lan clan housewarming party. He listened as Mingjue’s voice smooth from his bristly “dealing with A-yao” tone into his resting “quality time with Xichen” tone.

A-yao flopped back on his back, gaze once again falling on the ugly popcorn ceiling above him. He said the wrong thing. He closed his eyes and could still see smile lines and joy, affection, gratitude.

Chapter Text

“Still not finding anything?” Xichen asked, peeking over A-yao’s shoulder. His poor boyfriend’s shoulders tensed even more ever so slightly and he hunched over the computer in his lap as he scrolled through the fourth job hunting website that Xichen had seen him use.

“Sure am,” A-yao said, not turning around when Xichen pressed a greeting kiss to his cheek.

“You know, you could—”

“I’m not working for the Lan family,” A-yao interjected. Xichen went cold at the immediate rejection but instead of feeling hurt, he just felt sorry for A-yao when those tense shoulders lowered mechanically. “Thank you for the offer. I appreciate it.”

Xichen couldn’t help but bodily flinch away when he was faced with A-yao’s “customer service” smile. He quickly schooled his expression into something neutral to avoid suspicion. It wasn’t A-yao’s fault that Xichen got antsy around that fake smile.

“Is there any way I can help?” Xichen asked, slipping onto the couch but keeping an arm’s length between himself and his boyfriend.

“Xichen, I’m fine,” A-yao said, jaw grinding. “I just need time to find something. It’s not going to happen immediately.”

“But you’ve been applying for a few days now, I thought someone would’ve reached out to you for an interview by now.” Xichen could tell immediately that this wasn’t the right thing to say. A-yao’s expression shuttered and he turned back to the computer, scrolling past a few job postings without saying anything for a minute.

“Like I said, finding a job isn’t a quick process. I didn’t expect to get the first job I applied to. But don’t worry, I’ll find something and be able to pay my share of rent.”

“Wh—A-yao, that’s not my concern,” Xichen said, lightly placing a hand on A-yao’s quickly typing fingers. He leaned forward to catch A-yao’s gaze, but the poor thing looked away like he was scared of Xichen. "I just know you tend to worry when things don’t go—"

“Xichen,” A-yao said, turning back to face Xichen with soft eyes and an indulgent smile. Xichen felt a tingle race down his spine. There was that smile. “Thank you. But I’m okay. Really. It’s a stressful time for all of us and not everything is going to go perfectly, but I’ll have you through it. Right?”

“Yes,” Xichen blurted out immediately, sitting at attention with his heart clenching. The tingle in his spine was now a full body effect and it was very toasty and cozy and A-yao was still giving him those little dimples. “I’m here.”

A-yao ducked his head, turning his hand palm up to tangle their fingers together. Emboldened by the rare outward show of affection, Xichen leaned over to lightly press his forehead against A-yao’s temple. As he leaned in, he glanced down to see what jobs A-yao was looking at.

Cashier needed for weekday night shifts 6p-12a

Breakfast and lunch shift waiter, hiring urgently

Part-time barista with weekend availability, starting at $12-$15/hr

Delivery driver needed! Flexible hours! Competitive salary!

“A-yao, these are all entry-level positions,” he said with a frown. His frown deepened when A-yao tensed at his side. “I’m sure you have more experience than those jobs require, aren’t you selling yourself a bit short?”

“No.”

“I think you are,” Xichen pressed gently, reaching over to scroll down a bit and see more of the jobs A-yao was applying to. Babysitter, dog walker, librarian assistant, middle school janitor, and on they went.  “What’s the highest degree you earned?”

A-yao stared at him blankly.

“Ah, I see,” Xichen said in an almost whisper. He folded his hands on his lap and crossed one leg over the other. “May I ask, ah. . . May I ask?”

“Mom got sick,” A-yao said with a very uncharacteristic shrug, eyes on the screen where a pop-up ad for resume help flashed in deep blue.

“I’m so sorry, A-yao. You took a gap year to take care of her?”

“Something like that.”

“Why didn’t you try to continue your schooling after she got better?”

“She didn’t.”

Oh.

“Well. . . What school did you go to? I’m sure if you explain the circumstances, they’ll allow you to re-enroll. A friend of mine took a gap year when he was a sophomore and he was allowed to pause his schooling and pick right back up where he started, so I’m sure the same opportunity will be granted to you. Especially considering the circumstances. What year did you, well, stop attending?”

“Freshman.” The word was said through grit teeth and small hands formed tight fists on his knees.

“Oh, then you likely haven’t lost much of what you learned since you probably started with Gen Ed—”

“In high school.” And with that, A-yao stood up with the computer in hand and gave Xichen another flat smile. “I should really get back to applying, I’ll go to my room so you don’t have to worry about being quiet or anything, okay?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to—A-yao, please—”

“Today’s the day we make the deposit on the apartment your cousin is renting us, right? I’ll make sure to send you my portion tonight. Have a nice evening, Xichen.” And then A-yao was slipping into his room, shutting the door quietly behind him, and leaving Xichen on the couch alone.

“What’s with A-yao?” came Mingjue’s voice as the bathroom door clicked open. Mingjue padded into the living room in cozy faded sweatpants while roughly scrubbing his still dripping hair with a threadbare towel.

“He’s job-hunting again,” Xichen sighed leaning back against the couch and closing his eyes.

“Sounds like he was in a mood again. You okay? Did he say something to you?”

Xichen opened his eyes to see Mingjue standing a few steps away in a ring of little droplets from his enthusiastic towel-drying.

       “Let me,” Xichen requested, holding a hand out. He was surprised when Mingjue immediately surrendered the towel before he remembered that they shared the same background in their hair care experiences: little brothers.

While Xichen was used to gently combing long dark hair in the silence of his brother’s meditation hour each evening, he could only imagine the antics that Mingjue and Huaisang got up to. Huaisang would jokingly complain about Mingjue brushing too hard, Mingjue would lightly smack his brother on the head with the brush, Huaisang would retaliate by wringing his wet hair out on Mingjue’s knee, Mingjue would tackle his brother to the ground. And while Xichen would make the simple weave of blue ribbon into his brother’s hair, Mingjue must have sat for hours as he carefully braided the intricate patterns and designs that Huaisang requested, YouTube open on his phone for backup.

Xichen frowned. Lan Wangji would never request a hair style. He would never complain if Xichen brushed too hard and he most certainly wouldn’t get Xichen wet from his hair or allow himself to be tackled to the ground.

“Xichen?”

Xichen blinked, taking a deep breath through his nose as he looked down at Mingjue kneeling in front of him and looking backward over his shoulder to see why Xichen wasn’t brushing yet.

“Sorry, love,” Xichen said, straightening his back and carefully grasping a section of hair so it wouldn’t pull on Mingjue’s scalp when he began brushing the tangled ends. “Lost in thought.”

“Everything okay?”

“I guess I’m just. . . worried about A-yao,” Xichen said, frowning at a stubborn knot that had gotten caught on the brush.

“He’s just stressed, he’ll come around after we move and he settles in. He takes to change like a fish to land,” Mingjue said with a laugh.

Xichen couldn’t find himself disagreeing more.

“But he adapts so quickly,” Xichen said softly. “He loves to plan and organize. This should be exciting for him.”

“Look, Xichen,” Mingjue said, turning around and placing a hand on Xichen’s to stop his brushing. “I gave up on trying to understand A-yao a long time ago. Love him to death, but he’s unpredictable as hell. Nothing wrong with that, it’s just a fact.”

“Well, I guess people don’t come with an instruction manual,” Xichen said with a laugh.

“Wish they did,” Mingjue grumbled as he submitted to Xichen’s brushing again. “Maybe one could explain why my brother needs so many useless trinkets like hair combs and fans.”

“Your brother has very fine tastes.”

“Fine, my ass, if he wants more perfumes and natural oils, he can get a job and get them himself,” Mingjue huffed as Xichen laughed at him. He knew his boyfriend would be strolling down the health and beauty aisle of the fancy fair trade grocery store a few blocks away on the hunt for something nice for Huaisang by the end of the day.

Just then, a loud thud broke through the peace of the house and the door to A-yao’s room was bursting open to reveal a wide-eyed A-yao holding his laptop above his head in triumph.

“I got it,” he said with a restrained excitement and a big grin. “I only applied a few days ago but they just emailed me. I got a job.”

“Oh, honey, that’s wonderful!” Xichen dropped the brush onto the couch and stumbled over a squawking Mingjue to sweep his tiny boyfriend into his arms. The sweet giggle he was awarded with and the feeling of solid warmth in his arms were both highs he’d ride for the next couple of days.

“Congrats, A-yao, knew you could do it,” Mingjue said with a much calmer demeanor as he grinned up from his spot on the floor.

“Thanks,” A-yao said shyly, face half hidden where he pressed it against Xichen’s chest. “It’s just stocking shelves at a grocery store, nothing fancy.”

“Well, I wish they’d give you a higher position, but it doesn’t matter. I’m still proud of you,” Mingjue said, standing up and gathering his towel and brush. His hair hung half brushed, smooth on one side of his face and still knotted on the other. As he disappeared back into the bathroom, he called over his shoulder. “We should celebrate, you guys pick what we do while I finish up in here.”

The bathroom door closed with a quiet click and A-yao looked up at Xichen with a troubled expression.

“I think we’re all just tired,” Xichen soothed. “There’s still a lot to do and we haven’t even rented a moving truck yet.”

“A truck? I think we’ll be fine with just one of those storage trailers,” A-yao said, cocking his head to the side as he flit an unconscious nervous glance to the bathroom again.

“We’ll see,” Xichen said. “Now, how do you want to celebrate?”

“I should actually respond to the offer,” A-yao said, pulling away. “And I’ll have to fill out forms and such, which is better done sooner than later.”

“Oh, of course,” Xichen said, backing away from A-yao. He watched his boyfriend disappear back into the bedroom with an apologetic grin, closing the door behind himself.

Chapter Text

Of all the things that could have done it, Mingjue was surprised that a sock brought him to his knees. He was in the middle of his room packing clothes into the many half-filled cardboard boxes labeled “da-ge” in Huaisang’s loopy handwriting when he noticed something shoved in the back corner of his bottom drawer of his dresser. Closer inspection revealed it to be a tiny blue knit sock. One of Huaisang’s baby socks. And just like that, Mingjue’s entire resolve crumbled.

Mingjue squeezed the tiny sock in both hands as he felt the first hot tear rolling down his cheek. He got up and sank heavily onto his bed, head hanging low as he stared at the floorboards between his feet. He could count on one hand the number of days he and Huaisang had been apart for throughout their entire lives. And he could feel the familiar swell of grief and fear that usually accompanied their separation threatening to crash over his head and tug him under its rocky waves. His body flushed hot, his stomach churned.

Lost in his quickly crumbling world, Mingjue didn’t hear Huaisang creep into his room. But when he felt hands on his shoulders, he lurched to his feet, only to be pushed sharply back onto the edge of his bed. Mingjue kept his face toward the ground, hair hanging like thick curtains as his little brother—who had always leaned on big brother, who had always needed a stable rock and strong guidance from big brother—watched him.

“Da-ge,” Huaisang said, voice raw and cracking. Something clattered to the floor. “Da-ge, what happened?”

Mingjue took a shuddering breath, propping his elbows on his thighs and covering his face with his hands but feeling no less seen. He felt Huaisang shift to kneel before him, carefully prying Mingjue’s hands from his face one calloused finger at a time. When they were looking at each other eye to eye, Huaisang looked terrified. The kid’s round little face was creased with worry and his hands squeezed Mingjue’s in a death grip.

“I’m okay,” Mingjue lied hoarsely. Huaisang’s expression crumpled.

“Brother,” he whispered. “Tell your didi what’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing, I—”

”Brother.”

“I. . . When you were little,” Mingjue said, swallowing hard. “When you were little and we lost everything, I was all you had left. And people told me that I should give you away. That I should give you a better life and not selfishly keep you.”

“Why the fuck, did you never tell me that?” Huaisang said, his voice cracking as he lurched to his feet and glared down at Mingjue.

“I didn’t want them to be right.”

“They weren’t—”

“Huaisang, I was barely out of high school. I had nothing to give you.”

“You gave everything to me!” Huaisang shouted, his voice echoing in the cavernous space of the mostly empty room. His words were punctuated by twin grips on Mingjue’s knees. And then he surged forward and Mingjue had an armful of little brother. “We’ve been over this, you are everything to me.”

“You don’t understand. Huaisang, I was in no place to give you what you needed or to be what you needed,” Mingjue said into his brother’s shoulder as he wrapped his arms all the way around him. Like when he was still knee-high and needed his nightmares to be cuddled away. “But I promised to do it anyway. And I promised I would never leave you behind.”

“Da-ge, don’t be an idiot,” Huaisang said. “You made that promise as a scared kid to another scared kid. But we’re not kids anymore and I can’t rely on you forever. “

“But—”

“Mingjue,” Huaisang said again, pulling back. Mingjue kept his arms looped around his brother’s wait and Huaisang held on around his neck. “You have my blessing to this for yourself. To go work at your fancy restaurant and live with your handsome boyfriends while I stay here and live with my friends. You have my permission, or whatever."

“Huaisang, I can’t just—”

“Haven’t we already had this conversation? You’ve given me my life, so why won’t you let me give you your future?”

Mingjue looked up at his brother, surprised to see angry eyes and a firmly set jaw.

“Huaisang—”

“No. This isn’t your decision. You don’t get to decide if this is too much to ask of me. I do. It’s my call. And my call is that you need to do this for yourself. So shut up and deal with it.” The proud face of a little brother who just beat his big brother in an argument was just too cute and Mingjue couldn’t help but grin up at Huaisang.

“Are you sure? Do you mean it? Because you don’t have to mean it, you can take it back.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Huaisang said with a sigh, pulling back and dropping his forehead onto one palm. “I’m not taking it back. And if you don’t do this for yourself, I’ll call your boyfriends, lock you in the trunk of the car, and tell them to drive to your new place and not open the trunk until they get there.”

“Okay,” Mingjue said, rolling his eyes.

“Great. If we have to have one more emotional conversation this year, I might break out in hives,” Huaisang said, shuddering theatrically. “Seriously, your juniors wouldn’t be nearly as scared of you if they knew how often you cry. Just a big teddy bear, damn.”

Mingjue laughed, standing up to resume his packing. He glanced down when he stumbled over something on the ground. It was a wooden sword. The edges were worn smooth like they’d been hit against something over and over again and the hilt was wrapped in a smooth green material to keep little hands from getting splinters or blisters.

“You still have this?” Mingjue asked, scooping up the little toy sword and cradling it in both hands.

“Yeah, well, you’re not the only one marching down memory lane,” Huaisang said, rolling his eyes. He snatched the sword back. “You can’t keep this. I won it from you fair and square and we agreed no takesies-backsies.”

And with that, Huaisang flounced out of Mingjue’s room with his big brother’s prized childhood toy and Mingjue contemplated on which box to tuck a tiny sock into.

Chapter Text

Moving day was a nightmare. First, the rental truck came hours early:

“This is ridiculous,” A-yao grumbled as he grabbed another wrinkled page of newspaper to wrap around the hand-painted ceramic pitcher in his hands, which he’d already wrapped in a layer of brown paper saved from a previous move.

“It’ll be okay, love, we’ll get the work done,” Xichen soothed almost absently as he frowned down at a teacup that he struggled to wrap neatly in newspaper.

“Make sure to wrap that in paper or cloth before you wrap it in newspaper,” A-yao advised.

“Oh,” Xichen said, flushing a delicate pink and reaching for the stack of old packing paper.

“It just keeps the ink of the newspaper from getting on the dishes. I can get it off, in the event that it happens. Just takes a bit of elbow grease,” A-yao explained, fumbling with his snapdragon pitcher in his haste to backtrack. Xichen nodded mutely and did as he was bid, still fighting with the cup and the paper to wrap up neatly.

Their packing continued in silence with A-yao perched on the counter between one of the boxes he’d dug out from behind his washing machine and a stack of plates and bowls waiting to be wrapped, Xichen was cross-legged on the floor surrounded by miscellaneous teacups, and Mingjue was on watch for the moving truck to run interference between the early movers and the last-minute, two-man packing crew.

A-yao sighed as he placed the pitcher into his box and leaned back against the crooked cabinet behind him. He watched as Xichen pressed his lips into a thin line, brow furrowed in concentration as he carefully wrapped a teacup like it was an antique passed down from a royal family and not a secondhand piece without a matching saucer. His heart throbbed when Xichen lowered the cup into a box with both hands and smiled with satisfaction.

“A-yao?” Xichen asked, interrupting the heavy silence that had settled in the room. “Is everything okay?”

“Just a long shift is all,” A-yao said, plucking a small rice bowl with a white herringbone pattern from a stack at his hip.

“You’ve been working overtime this week, haven’t you? Or did you just leave your uniform on from last night?”

A-yao looked down at his black t-shirt, still streaked with grease, and looked back at his boyfriend with wide eyes.

“That’s what I thought,” Xichen said with a quiet chuckle.

“Movers are getting antsy!” came Mingjue’s booming voice as the front door of A-yao’s little house swung open.

“Stall for time!” A-yao ordered, scrambling off of the counter in a flurry of newspapers.

“On it, boss,” Mingjue said with a cocky salute before ducking back outside with a boisterous greeting for the movers.

And then there was the mishap with Mingjue’s shitty truck:

“Damn,” Mingjue grunted, nearly tearing the directional blinker lever off of his steering wheel as he signaled that he was pulling over on the busy highway he’d been barreling down. “Fuck.”

“What’d wrong?” Xichen asked, voice low and steady and his grip on Mingjue’s arm firm and grounding.

“We’re smoking,” Mingjue said, gesturing to the hood of his van, which was emitting white smoke that smelled vaguely like pancakes.

“Oh my,” Xichen muttered with wide eyes as he slipped out of the car and backed away from the vehicle with a hand to his chest.

“It’s just the coolant, darling,” Mingjue promised, pulling a gasoline can of lukewarm water out of the boot of the rear driver’s seat. He made quick work of popping the hood and, sure enough, the engine was as hot as asphalt baking in the summer sun.

“Are you sure?” Xichen asked, wringing his hands and taking a small step closer to the vehicle.

“This thing retains coolant like a colander retains water,” Mingjue said, easing the can of warm water over the lip of the engine compartment. “Don’t worry, honey, I’ve got this.”

“What are you doing? Are you pouring gas on the engine? Why would you do that?” Xichen babbled, nearly tripping in his haste to back away again.

“Just water, Xichen, it’s okay,” Mingjue said, quirking a brow as he slowly poured the water over the engine and grimaced when it hissed like an angry cat. “It’ll cool her down long enough for us to get there. Trust me”

And then A-yao got lost for almost an hour:

A-yao frowned down at the maps app on his phone. It displayed road signs he was definitely not seeing on the road he was driving through. But the road was displaying road signs he was definitely not seeing on the maps app on his phone.

“Shit.”

And Xichen politely pleaded for a stop at a fruit stand:

“They have fruit in New York, honey, we’ll buy fruit in New York,” Mingjue said through grit teeth. Neither he nor Xichen acknowledging that the car was slowing.

“But darling, they have those nice peach jams that A-yao likes! He’s been so stressed with all of this, wouldn’t it be nice to give him a nice little surprise?” Xichen gripped Mingjue’s bicep with one prettily manicured hand, eyes big and lower lip pouting just a bit.

“A-yao is banned from teaching you his puppy dog faces,” Mingjue muttered as he put on his hazard lights and pulled to the side of a legitimate highway to buy his boyfriend fruit preserves for his other boyfriend.

And Xichen politely pleaded for a stop at fudge stand:

“A-yao doesn’t even like fudge!” Mingjue complained, car once again slowing.

“But you do,” Xichen said with his soft and sweet voice.

The hazards came on and the car stopped again.

And there was the time that A-yao ended up in a field but there was no one around to prove it:

“It said left at Rocklin Lane! That was Rocklin Lane! I took the left!” A-yao dropped his forehead against the driver’s side door of his little yellow Beetle. “I’m doing this for love. It’ll all be worth it when we get there. This is for our future.”

With a heavy sigh, A-yao slipped back into the driver’s seat and pulled the door closed a little harder than necessary.

“I could go back to being single. That wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”

And Mingjue finally said “no,” but not for long:

“I’m not stopping for sunflowers.”

“I didn’t ask—”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Oh, darling, look! There’s a baby playing with the sunflowers—”

“A baby? Where?”

And, somehow, A-yao still made it:

“Did I get here first?” A-yao muttered, glancing down at the time on his phone after parking in the parking garage under the fancy new flat. “I’m an hour late, how did I get here before them?”

Chapter Text

The day after he moved into a swanky apartment in a bustling city with his two boyfriends, A-yao woke up alone to cold sheets. He smoothed a hand over the silky gray fabric surrounding him and pulled the thick duvet up to his chin, curling his knees to his chest. He’d lived alone for years. After his mother died, it had just been him. Eventually he had Mingjue, distantly and only in moments of barbed banter at work, but that was it.

And now there were two empty water glasses by his full one on the nightstand, two sets of sleepwear on the storage bench at the foot of the bed (one set silk and folded, the other just a crumpled pair of sweatpants), and two phones missing from the charging station on the headboard. And of course, a sea of boxes that had been unloaded into the room maybe ten hours ago.

“Looks like nothing’s changed,” A-yao muttered under his breath, slipping out of bed.

The apartment was so quiet that he could hear his own heartbeat. He kept whipping his head around to stare at the front door because of a clicking sound that was either the electronic lock on the front door or the water pipes. He brushed his teeth in silence, dressed for work in silence, skipped breakfast with eyes only for coffee in silence, and leaned against the huge glass window in the living room with a mug of sad black coffee in silence. He forgot to pick up cream and sugar last night when they finally got to their new home and no amount of pushing around Xichen’s weird oat milk or Mingjue’s gloopy green juice was revealing A-yao’s favorite coffee additives.

At least the view was nice. Nice and full of gray buildings comprised mostly of glass and all competing to touch the sky. But there was a lady jogging with a fluffy poodle on the sidewalk below, a guy pushing a monster of a baby stroller with four giggling kids strapped into it, and two teenagers riding bikes between the pedestrian traffic crossing the main street while whooping joyfully. And there was A-yao. Looking down on it all from a world away.

Right as he was settling comfortably into his pity party, cradling his bitter coffee between both hands, he saw them.

Xichen and Mingjue were walking down the sidewalk across the street from the apartment building, hand-in-hand and far far below. A-yao couldn’t see well from the distance and height he stood at, but he could see Xichen tossing his head back in laughter with his hair dancing like ribbons and Mingjue angling his body toward his boyfriend with his face obscured. A few paces later, they were completely out of sight.

A-yao arched forward, straining to see around the corner of the high-rise next to the apartment but gave up and leaned to the side with his shoulder pressing against the cold glass so he didn’t have to hold his heavy, achy body upright. He must’ve just missed them. It left him feeling colder than if he’d known they left for work hours ago. If he’d only woken up maybe ten minutes earlier, he could’ve seen them. Especially since he’d gone to bed without any goodnights because he’d had to trek down to the grocery store and sign his onboarding papers before his first day. Once he’d gotten home, all the lights except for the scary entryway chandelier were off and his boyfriends were conked out together in bed. Mingjue was shirtless on his back in a loose pair of sweats with a cuddly Xichen curled against his side in his blue sleepwear set. They left a mile of space for A-yao, who slept in a tight ball on a nest of extra blankets.

  A-yao huffed and turned his back to the window, making a face at the stretch of living room and kitchen he could see from his position across from the front door. The place looked like a hotel, all sharply masculine like Mingjue and expensively elegant like Xichen. Sleek black furniture, shiny stainless-steel appliances with bright blue digital faces, a flatscreen TV with surround sound speakers, faux(?) marble countertops.

When he closed his eyes, A-yao could see his home. It was full of yellow bookcases and a matching couch, a secondhand coffee table made of salvaged wood that he’d painted himself, a washing machine that banged to a jazzy rhythm when it was more than half full. And for the first time since moving, allowed himself to consider that he’d made a mistake. But with the choice of following his boyfriends to their new home or staying behind hundreds of miles away and drastically reducing the frequency of their interactions. . .

He hadn’t really had much of a choice.

Grumbling under his breath, A-yao turned his attention back to the boxes stacked like fortresses throughout the living room and kitchen, most piles reaching above his head. It wasn’t concerning until he placed his coffee on a coaster shaped like a slab of wood and tried to lift a box labeled “A-yao’s chinaware” from above his head. He stumbled back but quickly found his footing and drew his momentum downward, wincing when the box landed a little sharply on the floor. He let out a sigh of relief when there was no audible rattling from within the box.

“That could’ve gone better,” he said to himself, peeling the clear packing tape off of the box with neatly trimmed nails. He knelt by the box and emptied its contents one by one with careful hands, the corner of his mouth quirking upward as more and more of his mother’s eclectic collection surfaced.

A chipped teapot shaped like an elephant with the spout as its trunk, a few teacups with hand-painted autumn leaves swirling across their surfaces, a serving dish with a hairline fracture and a peachy cherry tree in full bloom cascading across it, a pitcher with figures of dancing girls (all missing their noses due to an unfortunate accident in A-yao’s youth) carved into its otherwise flat sides, and on and on.

He went box by box until his coffee was cold, delicately placing dishes into the awkwardly small cupboards above the fridge and stove where they wouldn’t be in his boyfriends’ way, peeling line after line of tape off of cardboard flaps and breaking down boxes that smelled like newspaper and musty moving truck. He ended the morning surrounded by a pile of empty, flattened boxes up to his knees and a cupboard full of what remained of his family.

Satisfied with his progress, A-yao dumped the remains of his black coffee into the sink, quickly threw together a sandwich for lunch, and dashed out the door for his first day at the cute little Mom & Pop grocer uptown. The drive was smooth enough, save for the few pedestrians that decided traffic laws didn’t apply to them, but he was still jittery with nerves from driving and his first day and it was all only worsening as he put the car in park behind the little brick store that had a deep green awning sheltering crates of fresh produce and barrels of flowers from the sun in front of the building.

“It’s just a job,” he told himself, squeezing the steering wheel of his car with both hands and closing his eyes. “It’ll be fine. And if it’s not, you’ll get another job. You’re great at finding jobs.”

A few moments of pep talking later, A-yao was speed walking toward the employee entrance of the story, which was a rusting metal door next to the truck dock. The door squealed angrily at him as he pushed it open and he found himself in an open space with gray concrete flooring, white cinderblock walls, and blinding fluorescent light illuminated the deceivingly large area. Pallets of product stacked eight feet high and wrapped in plastic for stability lined the room and a set of metal double doors to what must be a walk-in were wide open on one side of the room. Shuffling and thumping sounds came from the walk-in but those were the only signs of life.

“Hello?” he called. He received no response and continued listening to the thumping. His cheeks and the back of his neck flushed hot with the panic that maybe he had the day wrong or was in the wrong place.

“Newbie!” crowed a low voice as a black plastic door he hadn’t noticed swung open beside him.

“Shit!” A-yao shouted back, clutching his white employee t-shirt as a woman with thick black braids popped through the door.

“Woah, didn’t mean to scare ya,” she said with a dimpled grin. She had purple eyebrows and a cursive tattoo near her right temple that he couldn’t read.

“N-not a problem,” A-yao said, plastering a polite smile on his face. He ducked his head and introduced himself, learning that the woman was Astrid, his new trainer.

“Soooo glad you’re here,” Astrid said conversationally, blowing a bright pink bubble of gum between her lips as she pulled a long metal stocking cart with tall handles on either side behind her. A few big empty plastic tubs sat stacked on the cart and A-yao watched as she pulled it to one of the towering pallets. “I’ve been running this myself for months and I’ve just about had it up to here.”

“Running this?” A-yao repeated, taking a step back when the woman began to climb the overstacked pallet like a rock wall. He watched with mild horror as she pulled a bright green box cutter from the back pocket of her cargo pants, tossed it into the air to flip it open, and began hacking at the plastic that seemed to be the only thing holding the eight foot tall stack of products together.

“The health and specialty products department,” Astrid clarified, sticking the box cutter between her teeth and tugging at the plastic wrapping with a low grunt and a fierce look on her face. Her biceps ballooned impressively and A-yao immediately felt underprepared for the job. Astrid dug through the boxes and loose items stacked on the pallet like she was looking for something and then dropped her head back with a groan.

“What’s wrong?” A-yao asked, taking a step closer. “Can I help?”

“No, no,” Astrid said, waving him away. “I knew something smelled off. We’ve got a busted jar of mayo in here. Maybe two.”

A-yao’s face crinkled to a grimace without his permission, but Astrid just laughed.

“I know, right? Just a part of the job. Surprise breaks, bursts, and stains,” she said, finally taking the box cutter out of her mouth just to wave it around while rolling her eyes. “By the way, they’re gonna want you up front. They put everyone on the register for two weeks before training for the behind-the-scenes jobs.”

“To make sure there’s always extra hands to cover the register?” A-yao guessed when he really just wanted to cry. “Great. Thanks for the tip, I’ll go get started.”

“Good luck, kid!” Astrid called after him as he slipped through the swinging door that Astrid had just come from. “I hope you make it!”

Chapter Text

“Oh, shit, sorry!” Mingjue spluttered as he turned a corner with a large, shallow pan of jus.  The dark meat juices sloshed over the rim of the pan and splattered all over the front of his white uniform and Eloise, the poor saucier he nearly barreled over.

“Ach,” the pixie-like woman muttered, grimacing down at her soiled apron. “No worries! Messy apron, clean sleeves. The mark of a good chef, no?”

“Oh. Yeah, guess so,” Mingjue said, blinking rapidly. He glanced down at his stained apron and greasy sleeves, carefully balancing the pan of jus.

“Oh, no, no, I didn’t mean to—” Eloise smacked a palm to her head, then offered a sheepish smile and grasped the other end of the pan with both hands. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything. You’re new, so no one expects you to be perfect. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Mingjue said, relief sweeping through him like a cool breeze. The two awkwardly shuffled to a stainless-steel table in the center of the kitchen while carrying the pan between them. “Um, sorry for the mess, though. I’m still getting used to a fine dining kitchen, I guess. It’s a lot cleaner than my old place.”

“You come from ‘family dining,’ yes? Much more casual. But still good. Good food is good food, no need for a satin apron or golden frying pan.”

“You sound like my boyfriend,” Mingjue said, heart swelling at the thought of Xichen as they slowly lowered the pan onto the table. His mind filled with the image of a softly smiling face peeking over his shoulder to see what he was frying or whisking. “Xichen is always telling me that I don’t have to work at a five-star place to be good at what I do.”

“Your Xichen sounds like a good man. You know, my husband and I were dishboy and waitress before buying this place? Worked our way to peeling potatoes, to tossing the salad, and all the way to head of kitchen.”

“That’s. . . Wow, that’s amazing,” Mingjue breathed. Eloise ducked to grab a large stock pot from a shelf under the table and held it just under the rim of the table. Mingjue slowly began to pour the pan of jus into the huge pot, this time a bit more careful of splashing.

“You want your own restaurant some day?” Eloise asked, cocking her head.

“I have to admit that it’s crossed my mind,” Mingjue said. His chest tightened with the familiar feeling of lovelossjoygrief.  “My father—uh, he owned a butcher shop and my mother taught me to cook, so food has always been important to me.”

“It was the same for my Charlie. Dedicated his career to his mother’s cooking. He’s so sweet. And silly, too, I thought he was. . . How do you say. . . Wanting divorce? I thought he was wanting divorce six years ago but he was just trying to tell me he wanted to buy this restaurant. He thought I’d leave. Silly man, I married him and his dreams both. Very happily.”

“Xichen would be supportive. Immediately. So would Huaisang, my brother. I’m not sure A-yao would be too happy, though. He tends to worry and stress over every little thing. Not a fan of change, I guess,” Mingjue said as he righted the now empty pan.

“Who is this A-yao? Second brother?”

Mingjue froze, grateful that Eloise had turned her back to fuss with the full stockpot on the stove. A million paths plotted themselves out in his head before his brain bluescreened into blank panic. He was already pushing it by slyly revealing that he had a male partner and it was just now occurring to him that they’d never talked about how to explain their relationship to those who hadn’t witnessed the development of their trio from the sidelines. But Eloise already knew Xichen was his boyfriend so all he could do was what A-yao taught him years ago: damage control.

“A-yao is our very good friend, our roommate,” Mingjue said stiffly, making a face at his own words. He felt hot all over and his stomach churned. Minimizing his relationship with A-yao felt kind of dirty, somehow.

              “Ah, I understand. She’s a beautiful city, but not cheap without roommates,” Eloise said, lifting her apron over her head and tossing it into a hamper near the swinging door that lead to the dining area. “You know, you and your Xichen should come have dinner with me and my Charles. Like double-date!”

“O-oh,” Mingjue said, taking the now empty jus pan to the giant sink in the back of the kitchen. “That might be nice.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Eloise laughed, taking Mingjue’s lackluster response in stride and slipping on a clean apron from a peg near the sink. “We can make it fun!”

“How would we do that?” Mingjue slotted the dirty pan into the huge dishwasher and knelt to inspect the detergent and sanitizer fluids before closing the machine to start it. His mind was a flurry of warning bells and half-baked strategies for getting out of a dinner party that excluded one of his partners without insulting his new boss. The irony of how beneficial A-yao’s input would be was not lost on Mingjue.

“Hm. . .” Eloise took a wooden spoon from a rack of clean dishes near the sink. She crossed an arm over her stomach and rested her other elbow on her arm, swirling the wooden spoon in the air as she contemplated. “How about a competition? We each make a different dish and winner is whoever most impresses the other competitor’s man with their cooking.”

A competition with two judges would easily become a tie, the perfect way to insert A-yao into the dinner as another judge that could break ties—even if he would be appearing as a platonic friend. Perfect. Kind of.

“I think I can get behind that,” Mingjue said, crossing his arms over hist chest and tilting his chin up.

“Yeah, newbie?” Eloise asked, her accent thickening as she tried to conceal her laughter. “Let the best chef win.”

“I will,” Mingjue said, beaming when Eloise tossed her head and laughed. It was like old days with A-yao before everything changed and they got tense and awkward after the move.

“Now, leave me alone. It’s stock time,” Eloise said with a faux disapproving look on her face as she whirled to the stockpot of jus and a pile of colorful herbs and vegetables sitting on the counter beside the stove.

The kitchen was then filled only with the sounds of knives chopping, liquid bubbling, and Eloise’s French lullabies. Mingjue felt a tightness he hadn’t noticed before beginning to loosen between his shoulders, in his gut, at his temples. He flew through his work, mind filling with a young Huaisang’s scandalized shrieks as the muscle memory of breaking down chicken brought him back to days of teaching Huaisang to be self-sufficient, able to provide for himself to the point of butchering his own meat. The smell of mint as he seasoned a leg of lamb was Christmas and Easter with his parents, two people he held in the back of his mind at all times but never thought about these days. He used to see them in Huaisang at very glance but then Huaisang grew up from the conglomeration of his parents into his own whole person.

“Mingjue? There’s a handsome man to see you,” Eloise purred with shining eyes, interrupting the calm quiet of the kitchen. Mingjue snorted and shook his head, wiping his hands on his apron and washing up in the sink.

“Did he give a name?” Mingjue asked. His stomach was rolling with excitement to see a precious familiar face, even though he went to bed and woke up to those two faces every day.

“Don’t recall,” Eloise said, cocking her head to one side and looking off in the distance thoughtfully. “Does ‘lovely with a sunny smile’ sound familiar?”

The image of A-yao’s face dimpled with a genuine grin filled his mind and Mingjue threw his apron onto his station, dashing out of the kitchen with Eloise’s laughter chasing after him.

He was surprised to see Xichen standing in the middle of the dining room talking to a few shy waitresses, his back to Mingjue. Heart aflutter, Mingjue couldn’t keep the smile off of his face as he slunk on silent feet toward his oblivious boyfriend. He slowly reached out his arms and then quickly wrapped them around his boyfriend’s waist, snatching his love close.

“Mingjue!” Xichen all but squealed, laughter bright and carefree and beautiful in Mingjue’s ears. Cold hands pressed against his where they were clasped together around Xichen and Mingjue spun them around, face hidden in Xichen’s silky hair.

“What a welcome,” Xichen said, breathless with his hair mussed cutely. Xichen’s arms rested over Mingjue’s shoulders and Mingjue’s hands looked like giant bear paws on such a slim waist. They rocked side to side, subconsciously swaying to the cheery jazz music that the pianist warming up for the lunch shift played in the corner.

“Ready for lunch?” Xichen asked. Mingjue blinked, looking over his shoulder at the clock above the bar.

“Is it that time already?” he asked.

“Mm. Having so much fun you lost track of time?”

“Not without you,” Mingjue said, immediately blushing at the soft laugh he earned. He buried his face in Xichen’s comfy shoulder and ignored the tittering waitresses setting up the dining room for service.

“So sweet to me,” Xichen said, resting a gentle hand on the back of Mingjue’s head. “Come, you should eat before lunch rush.”

“Sure,” Mingjue agreed.

He grabbed his bagged lunch from the breakroom and they set up on one of the little metal tables for two that sat on the patio in front of the restaurant. Fairy lights that had no use yet during daylight were strung from the roof of the building to stakes in the ground that were hidden by neatly trimmed rosebushes and a backdrop of the exposed brick of the building all made the empty area a little romantic.

“How is work so far?” Xichen asked, pulling a thermos out of his cloud print lunch bag.

“Good, my coworkers are nice. I made a mess and Eloise helped me clean it up without scolding me,” Mingjue said, voice sounding stilted even to his own ears. Xichen didn’t seem to notice, thankfully too busy with pouring broth from his thermos for the both of them to realize that Mingjue was picking his words carefully.

“That’s wonderful, I’m so happy your dream job is working out well. You deserve it,” Xichen said, his smile so brilliant it nearly blinded Mingjue in the sunlight. “My coworkers are also kind, very supportive and tender people but hardworking at the same time.”

“They sound like you,” Mingjue said, portioning out noodles and chicken from his lunch bag for them while Xichen took care of their hardboiled eggs and mixed veggies.

“They actually remind me of you most. Callused hands but soft hearts.”

Mingjue knew he was glowing a bright red from how loudly his normally quiet Xichen was laughing. He couldn’t help but stare at the sight before him and wonder if heaven grieved losing their angel or if they sent him to Mingjue on purpose.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure?” Xichen asked, biting his lip as he adjusted his phone between his shoulder and ear while balancing A-yao’s potted orchid on his hip so he could dust under it.

“Think of it as a prospects meeting,” his uncle said from the other end of the call. “We have quite a few potential partners and clients who are curious about what we can offer them. All that’s required of you is that you share a few meals with us, make nice with everyone, and answer a few questions.”

“I . . . I’m not sure, Uncle. We’re stilling settling in from the move and I’m not certain I’m allowed time off from work at the bakery this early in my employment with them.”

“I don’t think I need to explain how important this is, Xichen,” his uncle said, voice soft but firm. “Our business survives on partnerships and acquiring clientele. I only want what’s best for the family, and Wangji can’t inherit a company that becomes obsolete from lack of growth and interest.”

Xichen sighed. It all came back to what they could offer Wangji. What they could do to ensure his financial security in the event that Uncle and Xichen became incapable of supporting him or managing the company. Essentially, the company was a living trust to protect future generations of the Lan family and Xichen owed his ancestors repayment for their sacrifices with his own efforts to facilitate the business.

“Alright,” Xichen said, jaw tight. “How long?”

“Meetings and dinners will run for a couple days, but I need you to fly out a bit earlier to assist in organizing meeting spaces, hotel rooms, dinner reservations, welcome gifts, pitches, and such. I’d estimate we’ll be away for a week, maybe a week and half.”

“That’s not an insignificant amount of time,” Xichen sighed, placing the orchid back onto the end table it had been sitting on and rubbing his eyes with one hand. “And sudden, too.”

“I’m aware. These are clients who have come from Wen Industries in the aftermath of its bankruptcy. To say the opportunity came as a surprise is an understatement.”

“I understand. How soon?”

“I’ll email your flight tickets tonight, they’ll be for either next Monday or Tuesday.”

“Understood,” Xichen said.

“Good. Please don’t sound so upset, I believe the partnerships formed during these meetings could result in decades of smooth running for business.”

“I . . . Do you mean that?” Xichen asked, heart clenching a little with hope. “Decades?”

“Yes. I know this isn’t your area of interest, but a young face with a competent mind can do wonders for our reputation.”

“I’ll be there,” Xichen said firmly. His stomach fluttered. “For Wangji.”

“Excellent,” Uncle said with a warm chuckle that reminded Xichen of playing chess in the garden long before his uncle had crow’s feet and frown lines. “I look forward to seeing you.”

After hanging up, Xichen pocketed his phone and frowned down at the orchid. He looked over to where Mingjue was making one of his bright green recovery shakes in the kitchen and his stomach rolled in time with the wailing guitars and banging drums emitting from the earbuds Mingjue was wearing.

“Mingjue,” Xichen said, sidling up to his boyfriend with his hands clasped behind his back and his chin tucked down a bit. He chewed his bottom lip when Mingjue glanced over, eyes lighting up as he removed his earbuds.

“Starlight,” he said almost reverently. Xichen blushed, face burning under the pure love shining from Mingjue’s face.

“Love,” Xichen said softly. “Looks like I’ll be taking a bit of a trip.”

“Oh?” Mingjue asked, biceps bulging as he vigorously shook his nutrition shake in its blender bottle.

“Lan family business,” Xichen said meekly, unable to keep from rocking back and forth on his heels when Mingjue’s pleasant expression soured. “There’s new clients and partnerships and they need me to be the face of operations and . . . well, it’s for Wangji, after all.”

Mingjue’s tense shoulders immediately relaxed.

“I can’t say I don’t understand why you have to go,” Mingjue said carefully. “I just don’t like thinking that they might be using you.”

“Of course they’re using me, darling, they’re my family,” Xichen said with a laugh. “But I’m using them, too. They need my face, my cooperation, my ability to woo a client and I need their decades of experience, their connections, and the wealth they funnel into the company.”

“Now you’re sounding like A-yao. All’s fair in business, I guess. Anyway, when are you leaving?”

“Next week. The meetings won’t be too long, but I’ll be gone for about a week for preparations.”

“Oh, well, that’s good timing,” Mingjue said, face warming again with a smile as he flipped the lid of his smoothie open and poked a metal straw into the bottle. “Huaisang and I are leaving sometime that week for college tours, but I’m not totally sure what day because I left the scheduling up to him. Hopefully it’ll be one last crash course in responsibility before he leaves for school. He’s been a bit lazy about it, so we might be leaving closer to the weekend.”

“That lines up well, I was a bit worried you’d be upset I’m leaving for so long so soon,” Xichen admitted sheepishly, watching Mingjue spin the straw in his smoothie.

“Of course I don’t want to be apart for a week,” Mingjue said in his sweet, low, rumbly voice as he reached backward to place his shake on the counter without losing eye contact with Xichen. Then his warm hands were resting, heavy and solid, on Xichen’s hips. “But this is important to you. Of course, I’m not gonna put up a fight or ask you to stay.”

Xichen ducked his head, resting his hands on Mingjue’s arms and trying to fight back a surprising swell of tears.

“Lan Xichen,” Mingjue said with a faux stern tone, tilting his head to peek at Xichen’s face through the long curtain of hair obscuring it. “Did you really think your boyfriend would tell you not to go?”

“No,” Xichen said with a pout, petulant in that way he could only be around Mingjue.

“My heart,” Mingjue said more seriously. “I’ll always tell you to go wherever you want and do whatever you want.”

“I know. I know, I guess I’m just used to. . . “

“Just used to the Lan family business always coming first? Your uncle controlling everything?” Mingjue asked knowingly.

“When did you get so insightful?” Xichen asked with a soft laugh, arms raising to drape over Mingjue’s shoulders.

“Little trick I picked up from A-yao,” Mingjue said with a shrug, looking a bit pleased with himself.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Mingjue said, squeezing Xichen’s hips before letting go and pulling away so he could drink his shake and finish his cooldown routine. “You still have to tell A-yao.”

Xichen’s grin dropped and Mingjue laughed warmly.

“You didn’t think I was going to tell A-yao for you, did you?” Mingjue asked as the front door swung open and revealed a weary looking A-yao in his work uniform.

“Hm? Tell me what?” A-yao asked around a yawn as he hip-checked the door closed and fumbled with the ties of his black work apron. He flinched when something fell out of his back pocket and bounced on the ground. “Oh, no, I brought the box cutter home again.”

“That’s my queue,” Mingjue said, pecking Xichen on the cheek and smoothing a hand over Xichen’s long hair before walking backward toward their shared bedroom with his shake in hand. “I’m taking a shower, you kids have fun.”

Xichen scrunched his nose in Mingjue’s direction and received a jaunty salute in return.

“So, how was work?” Xichen asked A-yao, carefully not looking him in the eye.

“Crazy busy, A-yao said with a sigh, hanging his apron on a dark wooden peg by the door. “I hate having to come in to stock on the weekends, but Barb was out for most of last week and we weren’t able to get all the product out on the floor without her yesterday.”

“Ah, that’s unfortunate,” Xichen said, busying himself with wiping up a smoothie spill on the counter that must’ve come from Mingjue.

“So, what did you have to tell me?” A-yao asked, eyeing Xichen closely with a piercing gaze, even through his obvious exhaustion. His green uniform t-shirt was rumpled and there were dusty stains on the knees of his frankly well-fit black slacks.

“Well. . . I have to go out of town for a few business meetings,” Xichen said, hating the way his boyfriend’s face went blank and whole body went rigid. He hated even more whoever made his boyfriend so afraid of goodbye’s.

“How long will these meetings last?” A-yao asked carefully.

“Only a few days,” Xichen assured, coming around the kitchen island and scuttling toward A-yao. “I know it’s not ideal since we only just moved in and there’s still a lot to organize, but it’s for Wangji.”

Just like Mingjue, A-yao’s defenses immediately lowered at the mention of Wangji.

“I wouldn’t tell you not to go, you know,” A-yao said lowly, voice tight. Xichen knew that was true. Even in situations where A-yao would be hurt, he’d never tell his boyfriends no. It wasn’t the badge of honor A-yao seemed to think it was.

“It’s okay to tell me if you don’t want me to go. I’ll always try to make you happy, but sometimes I won’t be able to avoid something that upsets you. Like this trip.”

“I’m not a child, Xichen, you don’t have to protect me from life’s tragedies of people having to leave for business trips,” A-yao said in that tired and annoyed voice he always seemed to be wearing lately.

“I’m not trying to do that,” Xichen said, eyes going to the floor. “I just meant that you can tell me if you don’t want me to do something and I’ll try not to do it unless have to.”

“Don’t worry about me, Xichen, I understand that these things can’t be helped. Besides, I think I’ll be okay without you for a few days,” A-yao said with his dimpled smile. It was all teeth. “I’m going to get ready for a shower after Mingjue gets out. Let me know when you know what day you’re leaving for your trip.”

“I—um, okay,” Xichen said, voice sounding high and thin to his own ears.

He watched A-yao disappear into the bedroom and it was only a few minutes later until he heard the shower turn off and soft voices whispering in the bedroom. A few minutes later, much longer than it took to say “hello, I’m going to take a shower,” Mingjue came out of the bedroom in loose sweatpants with a towel around the back of his neck.

“How’d it go?” Mingjue asked, looking over his shoulder back at the bedroom at the same time the bedroom door closed.

“I told him.”

“I can tell,” Mingjue said with a sympathetic smile. He wrapped his arms low around Xichen’s hips again, pulling him in close and resting his face in Xichen’s neck. His skin was warm and soft from his shower. “You know how he gets. He’s just dramatic. He’ll get over it. You’re allowed to go places without us and he knows that.”

“I don’t think that’s what’s bothering him,” Xichen said, forehead pressing against Mingjue’s clavicle. “I think it’s more than that.”

“Who knows what’s bothering him, then? Maybe he just had a bad day and he’s taking it out on you.”

“He wouldn’t do that, he’s just . . . Worried.”

“Well, he could at least be nice and worried,” Mingjue grumbled. Xichen laughed at how like a pouty child his big strong boyfriend sounded and gently scolded him. A creak from behind Mingjue drew Xichen’s eyes to the bedroom door again and he briefly saw a big brown eye behind the barely open door before the door was silently shut again.

Chapter Text

“Hey, girl,” Astrid said, smacking loudly on a piece of pink bubblegum as she reached her hands up. A-yao reciprocated her double high-five and participated in the rest of their “underpaid bad bitches club” handshake. Purely Astrid’s idea.

“How’s your cat doing?” A-yao asked, pulling a cart of Aisle 3 products they’d sorted the day before through the backroom. The wheels squeaked and the cart made metallic clanging sounds even though there were no loose parts on the cart.

“Still wearing the cone,” Astrid said with a sigh, flipping long braids over her shoulder. She grabbed a cart for herself and lined up behind A-yao’s, pushing his from behind to offer extra support with the heavy load. “I think it’s hilarious, but something tells me she’s not thrilled with it. How about your boys?”

“Ready to wrap them both in this cling wrap and drop them off a damn bridge,” A-yao said with a pleasant smile, gesturing to the green plastic wrap that was keeping his overstacked cart from dropping product. Fireworks went off in his stomach when Astrid snorted so hard her long earrings clanged off the back of his cart.

“What is it this time? Mingjue still hasn’t unpacked his leaning tower of boxes? Xichen still trying to make everyone do his ‘silent meditation’ things?”

“Mingjue wants to kill us both over reality television.” A-yao pushed the double swinging doors open and the two puttered out onto the main floor.

“Huh. I guess I know more girls who like trash TV than guys, but then again guys don’t usually care what the hell their girlfriend is watching as long as she looks cute doing it. Maybe it’s different for the gays,” Astrid said as they pulled into Aisle 3.

“And it’s not as if I force him to watch it with me,” A-yao muttered, throwing the box of tomato sauce cans into the overstock bin. “He comes to the living room, realizes what I’m watching, and throws a tantrum.”

 “Another box of sauce?” Astrid complained down at a box she’d grabbed from the cart. “Christ on a goddamn brick.”

“I hate to say it, but—” A-yao began, leaning against the tall handle of the cart and scratching absently at a chipped spot in its blue paint.

“Inventory is on the fritz, I’m aware,” Astrid sneered.

 “Yeah. Anyways, it’s a lot of ‘are you watching that again’ and ‘I don’t like when this is on TV’ and on, and on . . .” A-yao said as Astrid tossed a few sauce cans at him in rapid succession, all of which were quickly caught and dropped into the overstock bin with loud thuds.

“Never met Mingjue,” Astrid admitted, waving a bag of spiral noodles at A-yao before placing them on a shelf.  “Never even seen the guy. But for some reason, that’s kinda hard to believe.”

“He even gets twitchy when Xichen watches talk shows.”

“What, like Oprah? That’s gotta be some kind of condition.” Astrid frowned in thought. She stepped up on the cart to put a package of long spaghetti noodles on a shelf above the spiral noodles. “Dang. Did you guys talk about, like, anything before moving in together?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, what’s his face—Xichen— he’s got this whole thing about pretending not to have emotions and never keeping sappy shit out at home—like your mom’s pottery or whatever it was—and Mingjue’s a bit of a slob and hates everything you like, and you’re a control freak who doesn’t communicate worth shit. I don’t know. Just seems like a bad combo.”

“Well, thanks for that. I guess I just didn’t think to ask my boyfriends if they’d mind putting my mother’s China out in our home or asking if either of them know how to clean. But Xichen’s family has housekeepers and Mingjue never owned enough things to make a mess with, so I really should’ve known. I don’t know, I just feel so stupid,” A-yao sagged, kneeling and cradling a 20-ounce can of crushed tomatoes in his hands.

“Look, kid, you’re—”

“Older than you by six years, but please continue.”

“—age is a vibe, not a number. As I was saying, you’re not stupid.”

A-yao scoffed, shoulders jerking stiffly. He kept staring down at the faded label of a lady holding a basket of tomatoes on his can. Unreading and unseeing.

“You’re really not. I’ve moved in with partners way too early multiple times. Like. Fucking three times. It’s a hard lesson because when you love someone, you’re so sure you can get through anything,” Astrid hopped off of the cart and plopped down onto it. She rested her pointed chin in her hand, looking down the aisle of pasta. “You have to have patience, and communication, and complimentary goals and values . . . It’s not falling in love and wanting to be together all the time that keeps you together.”

A-yao looked down the aisle too, taking in the blue and white square tiles on the ground and the bright white lighting that made five in the morning look like midday.

“I think I just got wrapped up in it. Just like my mother.”

“What do you mean?”

“She fell in the love with the wrong person,” was not what A-yao meant to say.

He meant to say she was in high school when she met a man ten years her senior who was as suave and handsome as he was spoiled rotten by a wealthy family who coddled him after the death of his parents. He meant to say she planned marriage and children and growing old together, but he planned on the next pretty thing, and the one after that, and the one after that. He meant to say this affluent, charming, conniving man was used to a cycle of using and disposing of women, but he made a mistake.

“My mother was saddled with the consequence and left alone in her struggle to survive,” was all he said next.

“By consequence, you mean . . . “ Astrid trailed off, leaning back.

“I was the consequence.” A-yao smiled tightly, pressure building behind his eyes. He kept his gaze firmly on the meat counter he could see across the store. “And here I am. Swept away by the charm and beauty of men much more powerful than I. One much wealthier, the other much stronger. Neither willing to. . . Well, anyways.”

“Oh, kid,” Astrid’s whispering voice was heavy with pity. A-yao still couldn’t make himself look up at her so he turned toward her and stared down at the woman holding a basket of tomatoes on the label of his tomato can.

“I heard once that history doesn’t repeat itself. That it just rhymes. But I disagree,” A-yao sighed, placing his can into the overstock bin and closing the lid of the full bin gently.

“Well, that’s a bit fucking dramatic don’t you think?” Astrid said, gentleness gone from her voice.

When he finally looked up, A-yao found a dark pair of gold rimmed eyes staring him down and a studded eyebrow lifted as high as it could go.

“I suppose,” he relented.

“You ever thought about talking to these strapping young ‘gents? Ya know, instead of whining about it to your local part-time college kid, part-time coworker?” A-yao couldn’t hold back a fond grin when Astrid struck a diva pose.

“Absolutely not,” A-yao said firmly, lining boxes of elbow pasta in a neat row on a low shelf where he was kneeling.  “I’m hoping to avoid homelessness. Permanently. That’s the main, overarching life goal.”

“Sweetheart, that’s the bare minimum. And I think you should talk to them.”

“Every time I talk to them, we fight. Every time I try to say something, Mingjue gets testy and Xichen wants to keep the peace and . . . And I don’t end up saying anything but everyone still ends up so angry.”

“Get a mediator, get a couple’s therapist, find a religious counselor, if that’s your thing. There’s other options, you quitter.”

A-yao grinned and Astrid hopped up from her seat on the cart. Then she stuck a hand in his face, beckoning with wiggling fingers. He accepted, her hand callused but warm in his grip, and was pulled upright and into a dip in Astrid’s arms. She cackled as he laughed, surprised at the happy sound bubbling out of him.

“So when did you become a love doctor?” A-yao asked, allowing himself to be spun and lead down the pasta aisle. His apron twirled like a skirt.

“I leaned how to read with Cosmo magazine,” Astrid said cheekily, bumping her boney hip against him. With her long legs, her target missed his hip by a few inches and met the softness between his hip and his ribs, but he didn’t complain the lingering ache in his side.

A sad, clingy little part of himself warmed at the soreness and the shea butter-cinnamon musk that stuck to his shirt like an invisible hug. It was almost like stealing a sweater from Mingjue or a sleepshirt from Xichen and feeling closer to them when wrapped up in the simple garments. His soft, stolen things worn like armor.

Chapter Text

When Mingjue woke up on one of the few days that both he and his boyfriends didn’t have to work, he was disappointed when he spread his limbs across the never-ending mattress and found no warmth beside him. He was still for a moment before realizing that, with the heaviness of his limbs and the fuzziness in his head, it was going to be hard to get up. And harder the longer he waited. But he had to get up if he wanted those pesky boyfriends who abandoned him in a cold and lonely bed.

Mingjue grunted and pitched himself out of bed in a rolling motion, forcing himself onto his feet with his own momentum. Once vertical, he stumbled a few steps across the icy floor and shook his head to free the daze and fog of an early Sunday morning.

The sky was a sleepy gray and gentle rain pattered down softly against the windows. And it looked like someone had cracked the window open, letting the fresh scent of rain and the quiet hush of its fall slip in. Mingjue’s chest ached. Xichen didn’t like open windows overnight for the mess that rain or intruding pests made and A-yao didn’t like them for the security risk. That meant that, upon waking, his wonderful beautiful boyfriends noticed the rain, opened a window, and left Mingjue sleeping so that he could wake up naturally and to his favorite sound and smell.

Now fueled with the urge to find his boyfriends and wrap them up as snug and safe as he could, Mingjue jetted out of the room with a new energy. At the end of the hall, he heard hushed giggles and whispering voices coming from the living room and he was almost jittery with anticipation. Turning the corner into the living room had him stumbling onto something precious.

Xichen was stretched out along the couch and A-yao was pressed against his side, curled nearly into a fetal position and half resting on Xichen’s chest. They were in the pajamas—a blue formal sleep set for Xichen and a stolen oversized sweater for A-yao—and A-yao was whispering something into Xichen’s ear with a hand cupped around his mouth. Xichen’s face was nearly split with a broad grin and he had an arm tucked around A-yao’s back.

“There he is,” Xichen said in a stage whisper that rose goosebumps on Mingjue’s skin. A-yao’s lazy grin and sleepy eyes turning his way had him almost breathless.

“What are you troublemakers gossiping about?” Mingjue asked with faux sternness, hands planted on his hips.

The affect was ruined with how quickly he sped toward the couch when A-yao outstretched a grabby hand. The offer, or plea, was rescinded when A-yao curled that arm back into his chest but Mingjue knew the difference between an A-yao who had changed his mind and an A-yao who was embarrassed about asking for something.

Mingjue flopped onto his housemates, dropping an arm over each one and pressing his face where Xichen’s and A-yao’s shoulders met. They were so much more comfy than their nice fancy adjustable bed.

“We’re just talking about silly dreams,” Xichen said, threading soft fingers through Mingjue’s hair. Mingjue melted further into his boyfriends’ bodies when nails scratched lightly over his head and gentle tugs pulled at knots in his hair, making his scalp tingle. Warmth trickled down his spine when A-yao tentatively began to draw his nails up and down Mingjue’s bare back, so barely there that Mingjue couldn’t help but shiver.

“Xichen believes in ghosts,” A-yao piped up. “He was surprised that I do, too.”

“You’ve always been superstitious,” Mingjue slurred, caught up in the magic hands of his boyfriends, the sleepy weather, and the strange feeling he got in his heart whenever he crushed his boyfriends by lying on them, hiding them from the unforgiving world with a shield made of his body.

“Don’t you fear silly things, Da-ge? Things that you know aren’t real or probably won’t happen, but that you fear nonetheless?” A-yao asked innocently, his lip curling cleverly and his eyes dancing with fondness when Mingjue looked up, a bit startled to hear the old honorific.

“No,” Mingjue grunts, thinking of those eyes and how they looked like dark chocolate with bits of caramel and gold in the sun. And how they’d be haunting like empty obsidian without A-yao’s beautiful life shining through them. “No,” he lies.

“Brave, brave, Mingjue,” A-yao crooned, still petting Mingjue’s back and pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder.

Mingjue shivered again, this time with the realization that A-yao was seeing right through him. He was the only person Mingjue had ever met that could do that. Who could understand what Mingjue was trying to say when he couldn’t find the words, who always seemed to be a step ahead, who always seemed to know a little too much about everyone he shouldn’t know at all. Who always knew when Mingjue was lying but was unable to stop lying himself. Mingjue just didn’t know if A-yao was perceptive enough to discern what the truth was, what the other side of that lie looked like if dug up and flipped over to reveal its vulnerable, ugly underbelly. If able, then A-yao knew exactly what childish fear Mingjue’s weak heart held fast.

“What else do you fear?” Mingjue asked, desperate to get the attention off of himself before Xichen picked up on what A-yao had already realized.

“Hm. Home invasion,” A-yao said as lightly as one would when requesting that eggs and butter be added to the grocery list.

“Wangji being taken from us,” Xichen said, voice low and flat. “I had a nightmare that he’d been kidnapped when I was a child, and I’ve worried about it ever since.”

“Why would someone take Wangji?” A-yao asked, raising his head to look at a blushing Xichen.

“I know it’s silly, I think it’s just part of being an older sibling. Right, Mingjue? Ladden with the responsibility of protecting someone younger, and being afraid to fail?”

“Yes,” Mingjue said, nodding against his boyfriend’s knobby shoulders and thinking of overturned strollers, empty child-sized beds, a borrowed car still gone in the morning, missing posters with Huaisang’s smile on them.

“Guess that’s another thing I’ll never understand,” A-yao said simply, patting Mingjue on the head and sitting up.

“Sure, you can,” Mingjue muttered, trying to pull his stubborn boyfriend back onto the couch. He was met with resistance.

“You have siblings, don’t you, love?” Xichen asked.

“They don’t know me, and I don’t know them.” A-yao reached above his head and arched his back in a graceful stretch as he released a big yawn.

“But you could,” Mingjue said, voice slow and soft with hesitation.

“We’ve talked about this, Mingjue,” A-yao huffed, teeth gritting as he sagged forward and then pulled himself off of the couch.

“I know,” Mingjue said, letting his outreached arm drop. “But you don’t know what you’re missing.”

“You don’t know my siblings,” A-yao retorted, arms crossed. He faced the big living room windows, back to the couch. He probably didn’t realize that Mingjue and Xichen could see his reflection in the windows. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have bitten his lip and looked down with an anguished expression.

Mingjue didn’t know what to say when Xichen gave him a concerned look, but he could sympathize with the shock on Xichen’s face when A-yao’s mirror expression melted into a neutral smile just as he turned to face his boyfriends again. Every now and then, Mingjue wasn’t able to fully convince himself that A-yao was all organic and not in any way part robot.

“I know your family isn’t, well, traditional,” Mingjue allowed, wanting to smooth things over but not able to find fault in his own opinion. Family wasn’t forever. A-yao, out of everyone, should know that. He should know that there wasn’t time to hold grudges or grasp onto pride in a world where people can be ripped from life in the blink of an eye.

“We aren’t a family,” A-yao said with that cold, polite laugh of his. You’re so silly, that laugh said. You’re offering an opinion, how quaint. “We’re just a bunch of people who share in the same misfortune.”

“Is that misfortune that you’re related to your father?” Xichen asked, eyes flitting between Mingjue and A-yao the way they always did when he could sense old history between his two boyfriends.

“Yes.”

“A-yao, being related is literally what makes people family,” Mingjue said with a sigh, lamenting at how dramatic his brother and his boyfriend both were.

“No, it is not,” A-yao bit out, a pinched hand jerking once in front of Mingjue’s face for emphasis.

“A-yao, please—” Xichen began, ever the peacekeeper.

“Isn’t Xichen my family?” A-yao demanded, voice fierce and strong. His chin raised. “Isn’t A-xian and Jiang Cheng and A-li?”

Mingjue felt his breath catch in his lungs when A-yao stared him dead in the eye.

“Isn’t Huaisang?” he asked, voice cracking and shoulders dropping.

And that wasn’t fair. Because he remembered teaching A-yao how to hold chubby toddler Huaisang on his hip. And he remembered A-yao insisting on hiding veggies in the pasta sauce because Huaisang was six and thought green things were gross, but kids needed greens in order to grow (the magazine A-yao read in the waiting room at his dentist appointment said so). And he remembered being on the brink of death with the common cold or stuck on the phone with the plumbing guy or picking up an extra shift at work and begging A-yao to take Huaisang to his parent-teacher meeting, his soccer practice, his driver’s test.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mingjue said in a thick voice as he dragged a hand down his weary face. “I’m so s—”

“Oh, I almost forgot, I need to gather the sheets for the wash!” A-yao said with that dull-eyed, impersonal smile on his face as he rushed out of the room like his feet were on fire.

Mingjue huffed and dropped all his weight onto Xichen, who grunted in a very inelegant and un-Xichen-like way. It was very cute.

“He never lets me apologize,” Mingjue complained.

“Love, it’s because he doesn’t want to admit you have something to apologize for.”

“What?” Mingjue asked, raising his head only to find Xichen staring heartbrokenly after A-yao.

“Think about it: why do we apologize?” Xichen asked, pulling Mingjue’s head against his chest and pressing a kiss to his hairline.

“Because we fuck up?”

“Essentially,” Xichen said with a sad laugh. “It’s because we hurt someone. And we know A-yao doesn’t like admitting when he’s hurt.”

“He can still hold a grudge forever, though,” Mingjue huffed.

“Does he hold grudges, or does he just never forget when people prove they’re capable of hurting him? Our A-yao is an enigma. He won’t admit when someone hurts him because he thinks that gives them the power to cause hurt, but he never forgets when someone hurts him.”

Mingjue hid his face in Xichen’s neck as Xichen stroked his hair. He never wanted to be someone who could hurt A-yao.

Chapter Text

“Wait, did Lulu inform the other ladies she that she’s dating Guy?” A-yao asked around the rim of his mossy green mug of tea. He snuggled down into the sinfully fluffy, cozy throw his boyfriend had wrapped him in when they first sat down together.

“No, they acted as if they barely knew each other,” Xichen said, shaking his head with disbelief without taking his eyes off the TV. “To deny one’s love is. . . It’s just such a shame.”

“Can she really blame her friends for flirting with him, then? They thought he was single, and it’s not as if he denied it.”

“My sentiments exactly!” Xichen exclaimed, gesturing at the TV as if it were a person he was trying to talk sense into. This drew a surprised laugh from A-yao. Clearly pleased with this reaction, Xichen beamed and then stretched out across the couch like an elegant cat, resting his head on A-yao’s lap when he was beckoned closer.

“Politics,” A-yao said, gently carding the fingers of one hand through his boyfriend’s long, glossy hair and gently scratching at his scalp. “If they were any other people, they could’ve been open about their relationship.”

“And maybe she wouldn’t have defaced Cinda’s lovely vintage Volkswagen for flirting with Guy,” Xichen agreed, pushing his head against A-yao’s hand and humming when he was rewarded with a soft stroking at his cheek from the back of A-yao’s pointer finger.

“Well, we can’t know that,” A-yao said. “Not if her conflict resolution skills are so poor that she believes extreme property damage to luxury goods is a fair response to cheating.”

“What the hell are you guys watching?” Mingjue asked, voice like distant thunder. Not quite bellowing, but still a threatening sort of growl.

“Oh my—" A-yao yelped, startling hard enough to dislodge Xichen from his lap and to upset his mug of tea.

“Mingjue, love, how was your run?” Xichen asked smoothly, rising from his seat and floating around the couch. He kissed Mingjue on the cheek while A-yao mopped up the tea on his shirt and fumbled to find the remote.

“It was good,” Mingjue said, unmoving. His navy muscle shirt was soaked in sweat, but his breathing was steady and the bottle of green juice in his hand was mostly empty. He had probably been standing there for a while taking in the mostly eaten bags of snacks and refreshed cups of tea on the coffee table. “Why are you watching this?”

“There it is,” A-yao said under his breath, turning his head back to the screen where four wealthy women were talking shit about their neighbors over poolside brunch, champagne flutes in their manicured hands and cucumber slices over their eyes. A-yao had a distant longing to be a wealthy woman talking shit by a pool with friends. Even if they were vapid airheads who showed occasional cunning only when they needed to lie, steal, cheat, or betray. A-yao thought he could get behind most of that, anyway.

 “We’re just watching some TV,” Xichen said, an arm looping around Mingjue’s waist. A-yao could practically hear how fast Xichen’s long lashes were fluttering in a desperate attempt at damage control.

“I just—this stuff is literally called trash TV, love. It’s called that for a reason.” Mingjue sounded resigned and exhausted. Like he was a concerned parent trying to teach his wayward teenage children the dangers of drugs for the nth time.

“It’s fine if you feel that way, but we feel otherwise,” A-yao said, braver when his back was to the disapproving glare he could feel burning through his bones. Also braver knowing that Xichen was in the room and would unknowingly prevent Mingjue from unleashing his full arsenal of douche canoe.

He snorted when a very tipsy Tina pushed bottle-blonde Lulu into the pool and then stole the woman’s mostly untouched drink without missing a beat. He had a soft spot for Tina, which Xichen ascribed to his “auntie-level interfering” and “military grade pre-planning.” Wei Ying’s words, which Xichen sometimes borrowed because he thought Wei Ying was unendingly charming and hilarious. If Lan Qiren hadn’t hated Wei Ying so much, A-yao would wonder if Wei Ying was predisposed to be beloved by Lans. Something to look into, once A-yao met more Lans.

“I’m glad you find this funny.” Said with a flat affect, A-yao couldn’t help but feel condescended to.

“I’m clearly laughing at the show, not you,” A-yao said evenly.

“Mingjue, we understand that you don’t like these kinds of shows and that’s why we don’t watch them when you’re here. We just didn’t realize you were back,” Xichen soothed. “We would’ve turned it off if we knew you were home to avoid upsetting you.”

“So you’ve been secretly watching this?”

“You only asked us not to watch when you’re nearby and could overhear,” Xichen said, voice mellow and soft.

“I was hoping you guys just wouldn’t watch at all,” Mingjue said gruffly.

“Mingjue,” A-yao began, setting his tea on the coffee table and turning to face his boyfriends. The ultimate argument sat on the tip of his tongue: he and his mother had watched these silly, plot-less shows when she was too ill to follow a storyline but could still understand and laugh at the ridiculous behavior of unscripted shows. While not one to use his mother to get his way, he was also not one to lose the things that he shared with her. And the later always outweighed the former.

A-yao threw his hands up in defeat when he was interrupted.

“It’s just so exploitative! And it glorifies toxic behaviour and unhealthy relationships and—it’s just not good!” Mingjue argued, gesticulating wildly enough to spill a few drops of green juice on the floor. A-yao made a face at the tiny droplets marring the otherwise shining floor.

“It’s just a show, darling, don’t take it so seriously,” Xichen said softly, tucking a stray piece of hair behind Mingjue’s ear.

“He’s right,” A-yao agreed, feeling his face heat with frustration. It was so pointless arguing with this man, sometimes. Especially with how low an opinion he clearly had of his own boyfriends if he thought they approved of the behavior they watched. “Don’t you think we know that acting the way these people do is horrible? Because, in case you thought we were awful people who didn’t know that—we know that. That doesn’t mean there’s any harm in watching it, just like there’s nothing wrong with enjoying junk food.”

“You’ve valuing your entertainment over peoples’ lives,” Mingjue snapped, free arm moving to rest on Xichen’s back.

A-yao bristled. Way to not deny thinking your boyfriends are terrible people who accepted reality TV behavior as okay, Mingjue. Very nice.

“What are you talking about?”

“These kinds of shows hurt people! They teach people that being selfish is okay, that verbal abuse is funny, and that manipulating people to get what you want is normal. And people like you,” Mingjue said, stabbing a finger at a flinching A-yao, “continuing to watch are the reason these shows keep getting made!”

Before A-yao could respond, well past “keeping the peace” with his militant boyfriend and far into “tell him to go kick rocks, respectfully,” Xichen slipped between him and Mingjue. A-yao could only see Mingjue’s shoulders and the top of his head around Xichen, whose form blocked more from view than usual because of his long, satiny bathrobe. A-yao’s stomach cramped when he noticed the slightest release of tension in Mingjue's shoulders the moment Xichen was between them.

“We didn’t know,” Xichen said, all gentle sweetness and understanding, something A-yao thought he might’ve been, too, once. Xichen placed his hands on Mingjue’s heaving chest and whispered something too low for A-yao to hear before he spoke at a normal volume again. “We didn’t know this meant so much to you, that this was so harmful. We’ll stop watching.”

“Thank you,” Mingjue said, deflating and dropping his forehead onto Xichen’s shoulder at the same time A-yao said, “we will?” to an unhearing room of boyfriends. “Thanks. It’s just. . . Huaisang had a boyfriend who was, um, like people on these kinds of shows. I didn’t like him very much. He put Huaisang in bad situations. And he told Huaisang he was bad at art.”

“A-yao, the TV, please.” At Xichen’s expectant, kicked-puppy look with wide eyes and a downturned mouth, A-yao turned the TV off.

Chapter Text

“I think I hate boys,” A-yao said as he burst through the plastic double doors and into the backroom of the grocery store.

“Me too, you go first,” Astrid said, pulling her canned coffee barely an inch away from her mouth, just long enough to address A-yao. She quickly went back to chugging its contents.

“They won’t talk to me,” A-yao said, throwing his arms up. He jerked an apron off of a peg by the door and yanked it over his head.

“Elaborate,” Astrid requested, crushing the now empty can between her large palms and tossing it overhand into a recycling bin halfway across the room. A-yao paused to appreciate his coworker’s show of athleticism before remembering her extracurriculars.

“They’re hiding things from me. And I understand that they’re going to talk to each other when I’m away, so they’ll have inside jokes and memories that I don’t share, but they should still communicate with me at least when important things are happening,” A-yao said. He huffed, smoothing a hand down his apron and closing his eyes. “And they should stop whispering to each other around me.”

“Why do I have the feeling there’s a real-life example behind this early morning rant?”

“We don’t have water at the apartment!” A-yao exclaimed, throwing a hand in the air. “Mingjue scheduled repair on the water heater and didn’t tell me, so I didn’t get to take a shower this morning because I didn’t know that I needed to take one earlier than usual to be done before the plumber arrived. He told Xichen. But he did not tell me.”

“Seriously?” Astrid said, brow raising. “I guess he could’ve just forgotten but I’m gonna go out on a crazy limb here and say this kind of thing has probably happened before.”

“Incredible deductive skills you’ve got there,” A-yao said flatly. He sighed and then finally took in his surroundings. A long line of metal carts stretched across the room with empty blue tubs sitting on them, all ready to be filled with products he and Astrid needed to sort by aisle for stocking.  “You got set up without me?”

“Yeah,” Astrid said, one hand going up to fuss with the braided buns on top of her head. “Seems like you’ve had a lot of shit going on, and I guess I just thought that getting set up for you would help somehow. Not sure why I thought that, but that’s what I thought.”

“No, that’s. . . That’s very sweet of you. Hunting for carts and arguing with other departments when we don’t have enough is my least favorite part of this job. Ah, second least favorite. Exploded jars of wet product take first place.”

“Ha, yeah.” Astrid strolled over to the wide and towering stack of boxes full of products waiting to be sorted and pulled her trusty orange box cutter out of the pocket of her bedazzled jeans. “Ready to tear and share?”

A-yao pulled his box cutter out of his pocket and they smacked their matching tools together like a celebratory champagne toast.

“Of course. Still my turn?”

“Yeah, tell me more about these communication issues,” Astrid ordered, beginning to scale the side of the boxes that were stacked roughly eight feet high. For once, A-yao was grateful for ugly bulky non-slip shoes. “I might be able to help. You know my major in school, right?”

“Right,” A-yao confirmed, accepting a box that Astrid passed down from the top of the stack. “Well, Mingjue—oof, this must be the hominy. Why it only comes in 40-ounce cans is beyond me. Anyway, Mingjue has this little problem of constantly interrupting, probably because he’s an older brother and usually the most experienced chef in the kitchen. Literally. And I swear to God, he’s doing it way more often to me than Xichen.”

“Aw, I hate that shit. You’re just left feeling stupid and frustrated because everyone says you’re being too sensitive or whatever.” Astrid viciously ripped into a box, losing one of its top flaps to the power of her box cutter. “Aisle 8, cereal.”

“Thank—don’t throw it! Thank you, just hand it to me. Thanks.” A-yao slid the big box of cereal boxes across the concrete floor toward the Aisle 8 cart. “Yeah, that’s just about how I feel, if I’m being honest.”

“What cute little solutions have y’all tried and failed?”

“Texting. It’s the only way I can get a full thought out, but Mingjue doesn’t like it because he can’t hear the tone with which things are said. He has difficulty recognizing when something is or isn’t sarcasm or a joke, even if I say that I’m being serious.”

“To be fair, you do have this sort of. . .” Astrid gestured vaguely at him with the blade of her open box cutter. “Bitter, sarcastic vibe. What’s Xichen got to say about this? He’s usually got all kinds of ways to make people get along, right?”

“I do not,” A-yao snapped, “have a bitter vibe. And I think Xichen is tired of keeping the peace. I think he’s decided that it’s better to be on Mingjue’s good side than mine, likely because they spend more time together than I do with either of them combined.”

“Shit. Yeah, we do have weird shifts. So, you think they’re freezing you out?”

“It’s just a matter of strategic alliance,” A-yao corrected, narrowly missing a hit to the head when Astrid threw a plastic jar of peanut butter toward the Aisle 7 cart. The jar hit the ground and rolled under the cart.

“Fly ball! My bad,” Astrid called a moment after impact. A-yao glared at her for a second before chuckling when she just laughed at him. “Sorry, sugar.”

“It’s fine, just stop throwing things. Please. I’ve got a family to feed.”

“Hey, why did you move in with these guys anyway, if they’re such dicks to you?” Astrid asked, tone purely curious.

“That’s the thing,” A-yao said, pushing an empty tub off of the Aisle 1 cart and easing down onto the cart. “They were great, at first. We spent most of our time at my place because I was renting a house by myself and there were no little brothers that could snoop on us there. And we worked at the same restaurant, but I worked closer with Mingjue because we were in the kitchen all day maybe ten feet away from each other. And Xichen was coming and going between waiting tables.”

“You feel like you’re competing with Xichen?”

“No, no. I feel like. . .” A-yao sighed, resting his forehead on one hand. “Like I’m the plus one to a pair of soulmates. I’m with them, but I’m not a part of them and their legendary, fated love. They’re one functioning unit and I’m the spare piece.”

“Like, in case something breaks down and they need a replacement?”

“Exactly.” A-yao sighed, elbows planting on his knees and face dropping into his hands. He heard Astrid tripping her way down the stack of boxes they had yet to process and he flinched when she kicked the empty bin next to him so she could plop down beside him.

“A-yao, I know we joke a lot about boys and stuff and I’ve never told you a serious thing about myself in the whole, like, five months we’ve known each other, but this is real. Like, actually real. You need to talk to them.” Astrid’s voice was more serious than A-yao had ever heard, and it made her pleasantly gravelly tone deeper and smoother. “This isn’t the kind of thing that fixes itself. It’s the kind of thing that festers by itself.”

“I know,” A-yao said with a sigh. “I know. And I don’t want to have some blow-up argument or break up or anything like that. I just want things to be happy again. They were happy before, why can’t they be happy again?”

“That’s what I’m saying, you can be happy again,” Astrid said, turning to face him dead on. A-yao looked up at her without raising his head, just peeking through his fingers. “But you have to do something. Letting whatever happens happen isn’t going to fix it.”

“It just feels so silly to be this upset over my boyfriends interrupting me or spending more time together than with me,” A-yao said with a laugh that sounded hollow even to himself.

“It builds over time,” Astrid said. She tapped a chewed fingernail against her chin, looking off into the distance. “Um. . . Okay, imagine holding one of these empty bins.” She held up the bin she had just kicked out of her way. “They can hold, like, twenty gallons of liquid. A single drop of water in that bin isn’t gonna be that heavy. But even if you only add one drop every day, you’ll eventually be carrying enough water that it’s too heavy to hold. Especially if you’ve had no break from holding it. Each drop wasn’t a big deal, but they sure are when you put them together and hold them without rest.”

“I don’t deserve you,” A-yao stressed after a moment of comfortable silence wherein the cheerful music trickling to the back room from the front and the sound of the evac system were the only noises to be heard.

“Shut up, yes you do!” Astrid said with a laugh so joyful that it had A-yao tiredly grinning along, even when she playfully pushed him and made his shoulder bang against the tall handle of the cart they were sitting on. “Oh shit, sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’ve had worse from my baby nephew,” A-yao teased, shrieking and jumping up from the cart when Astrid launched herself at him.

“This is how you treat someone who’s trying to help you out of the goodness of her heart?”

“I’m so sorry, my generous and selfless friend, pleases forgive this ungrateful one,” A-yao said flatly, taking a seat on the cart again.

“That’s more like it!” Astrid grinned, plopping back down next to him. “So. You gonna say anything to them?”

“I think this will all just. . . blow over. Eventually. If it gets worse or doesn’t improve after a while, I’ll consider doing something.”

Astrid gave him an unimpressed look.

“Something?”

“Something,” A-yao confirmed with a confident nod.

“Why do I get the feeling that this will not blow over or improve with time?” she asked.

Chapter Text

A-yao was doing the dishes with Xichen’s fancy hypoallergenic lavender soap, the radio faintly playing a sweet love song from the living room, when it hit him again. It had been a quiet night, so far. Just himself and a list of ever-growing chores for company. Outside the huge windows of the living room, the sky stretched inky black between towering buildings dotted with squares of yellow light from apartment homes and busy offices.

Easing another perfectly white, round plate into the drying rack by the sink, A-yao was struck by that all too familiar shiver of outofplace. He stood in the middle of this shiny kitchen in a stolen olive t-shirt that reached down to his thighs, thick socks that had once been sunflower yellow, but turned dim goldenrod with wear and wash, and a baby blue spa headband holding back his greasy hair. Surely, he wasn’t exactly the tenant that the building designers were thinking of when they were picking out black stainless-steel appliances and marble countertops. He himself had been avoiding windows and mirrors and the oddly reflective surfaces of the tables and counters for a few days, hence the unwashed state of his hair.

Quiet nights were actually not as peaceful as they sounded. Because A-yao could look out the windows of his dark and cavernous apartment into the units across the street to see a woman pacing back and forth in her kitchen with a book in hand, someone one apartment down and two to the left had been bouncing a crying baby on their shoulder for the past thirty minutes, and one down and to the right of that person was a child having hard time putting up a poster on their bedroom wall—ah, someone a bit older, possibly a big sibling, just came in with a bigger roll of tape. The poster went up quickly after that. But anyways, A-yao watched from an apartment lit with the sterile white light of a hospital where the only sounds were the radio he’d turned on in desperation and the soft rush of running water from the kitchen tap.

So, when the front door swung open, the silver handle hitting the wall with a bang, A-yao barely felt frustration at the loud and sudden entrance and the added damage to that poor wall (goodbye, security deposit). His heart swelled at first when Mingjue, sporting frizzy hair in a loose bun, and Xichen, with an unusual number of creases in his work uniform, shuffled in. The pair tended to look a little worse for wear after a shift, but A-yao was very well-versed on the difference between “weary from work” and “suffering from complete devastation.” His heart dropped.

“Is everything alright?” A-yao asked, foregoing a greeting and grabbing a gray tea towel from the counter to dry his hands as he puttered over to his boyfriends. It was one of those thin, diamond-patterned towels that did fuck all to actually do its job of absorbing water, but Xichen thought they were pretty.

“Of course, everything’s fine,” Mingjue said, his smile tight. A-yao hesitated.

When lips disappear, the lying is clear.

“Oh, good,” A-yao said stiffly, standing on his tip-toes and pecking each boyfriend on the cheek while he studied them.

Mingjue smelled like roasted meats and Xichen smelled like sugary frosting and freshly baked sweet breads. Mingjue’s black work pants were streaked with grease, as was the t-shirt that hugged his handsome shoulders snuggly, and Xichen’s white uniform was spotless. No signs of injury, they weren’t early or late from work, there were no makeup stains or scents of unfamiliar perfumes or colognes on them, and he certainly hadn’t missed a call or a text. He was sure of it. Everything seemed normal besides their pained expressions. Although the silence paired with those wary faces was very predictable.

“There’s just something we have to talk about,” Xichen said, as unhelpful as he was gentle. A-yao watched suspiciously as Xichen’s hand wrapped around Mingjue’s waist. Moral support. So it was something bad. But it wasn’t cheating, a break-up, getting fired, getting evicted, or a loved one in hospital or dead.

“What is it?” A-yao prompted impatiently, stepping back and twisting the tea towel between his hands.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious,” Mingjue said, gesturing way too much to be honest. A-yao noted that Mingjue had three braids on the left side of his head leading to his bun and only two on the right side.

“Mingjue, just tell me,” A-yao said through grit teeth, throwing up his hands and flicking water at his unflinching boyfriends.

“My boss wants to meet my boyfriend!” Mingjue blurted out. Out of the corner of his eye, A-yao caught the strange look Xichen gave Mingjue, but he wasn’t sure how to interpret it. It was somewhere between surprised and dismayed.

“Is that. . . A bad thing?” A-yao’s ever whirring mind conjured scenes of Mingjue suffering blatantly homophobic language, a passive aggressive “freezing out,” and even violence at the hands of his employer and coworkers once the news that Mingjue had two boyfriends had gotten out.

“Um, no, I’ve talked about you guys a lot and she likes you. Well, as much as she can without meeting you firsthand.”

“Oh. Oh! Then that’s wonderful,” A-yao said, shoulders dropping as relief flooded him and his stomach swam with butterflies. “You had me worried that something bad happened. How does she want to meet?”

“Well, we talked about dinner? We kind of made a bet about whose man could cook better,” Mingjue said, looking down with a real smile and rubbing the back of his head. A-yao couldn’t help but laugh, delighted in that rare shy smile.

This was exactly what they needed. To calm Xichen’s anxiety, to soothe Mingjue’s irritability – just an easy, comfortable outing with friends to remind them why they were together and what was so incredibly magical about the three of them, with the added bonus of being able to show off their partners to new friends.

The most contact and attention they’d shared as three had been quick greetings and farewells traded between shifts and a few quiet movie nights and tense dinners on the weekends. This would be refreshing, and fun, and – if A-yao didn’t fuck it up – could become a regular event. Group date night every month. Group date to the theater. Group date holiday party. A-yao was kind of already falling in love with the idea.

But he had missed something. Suddenly, those great big windows—so many, and yet not a single swatch of curtain in sight—seemed to open up into a great dark void, too many lights in neighboring windows having been extinguished. The side effect was an eerie mirror of A-yao and his boyfriends in uncanny sharpness.

“Um, the issue is. . .” Mingjue trailed off, hands only seconds from shredding his shirt as he cast a panicked look to Xichen, who effortlessly stepped in for support.

“Mingjue’s boss is not expecting both of us,” Xichen said in the kind of soft voice one uses with a crying child. A-yao watched Xichen’s hand slip over Mingjue’s, marveling at how Mingjue’s frantic movements immediately stilled under the delicate touch.

“My boss is only expecting Xichen,” Mingjue confirmed, gaze flitting through the room. Everywhere but at A-yao.

A-yao immediately flushed hot with the embarrassment and shame of having overstepped and assumed an invitation or level of worth that was never there. It was like showing up for a party, gift in hand, only to be told you weren’t wanted or you were underdressed and couldn’t be admitted in.

“I see. I would’ve been happy to adjust my work schedule if the date fell on one of my workdays,” A-yao said, throat tight. He forced a winning smile, dimples aching like they had been carved into his flesh as he desperately hoped that the situation was different than the scenario his horribly creative mind was spinning.

“That’s the thing, though, um. . .” Mingjue sent another silent plea for a lifeline, but Xichen seemed a bit dazed. Under Mingjue’s desperate gaze, however, Xichen stood straighter and angled himself toward A-yao liked a student who had been caught daydreaming in class.

“Darling, Mingjue isn’t sure his boss is as understanding and open minded as we’re used to seeing,” Xichen said slowly as if his words were picked with the utmost caution, the connotations balanced, his tone carefully managed all in an effort to get a specific reaction out of A-yao. What reaction they were looking for, A-yao wasn’t yet sure.

For a minute, A-yao let himself believe that Xichen was being kind and gentle and sweet because he loved A-yao. Not because he was staving off whatever outburst he and Mingjue were expecting from A-yao when they finally confessed. He let himself imagine that he wasn’t being managed with kid gloves and false kindness. It was nice to believe.

“Of course,” A-yao said pleasantly, smile cutting and aching so uniquely in a way that only this very specific feeling could. He couldn’t keep back the swell of disappointment that cooled the embers of his roaring shame, frigid ocean waves on hot sand.

“I-I didn’t want it to be this way,” Mingjue said, voice almost desperate and his grab for Xichen’s hand definitely desperate. “There’s just not really any other options right now.”

“We’re sorry, A-yao,” Xichen said, voice tinged with remorse. A-yao wasn’t sure which part he was sorry for or which of his two boyfriends were sorry for it. “One day we’ll come out altogether. It’s just. . . Too soon, right now.”

“It’s okay,” A-yao said when he meant “why would you hurt me this way.”

“It can’t be helped,” A-yao said with a shrug when he meant “why won’t you fight for me.”

“I understand completely,” A-yao said with a smile when he meant “why do you always choose Xichen.”

Though the reason he didn’t ask was probably because he already knew the answer.

Chapter Text

It had been another one of those nights. When A-yao went to bed by himself on a king-sized mattress, drowned in grey sheets and a fluffy duvet that was too light to feel real. No texture, just smooth nothingness. And it had been cold, even with his borrowed sleep pants and oversized sweater.  The stupid sheets were made from cooling fabric because Mingjue overheated easily and Xichen preferred to sleep cool, but A-yao was the opposite. He needed a heated blanket. Or a space heater. Or maybe a small fire.

A-yao had laid awake in bed for hours, helplessly praying for sleep as he watched a pattern of stars glowing on the ceiling from his constellation nightlight. It had been a while since he used it, claiming to only have it for sentimental reasons, but he had to pull out all the stops when both of his boyfriends were away. Still, things were just. . . not right. So, he got up and made tea.

He poured himself a mug of chai while carefully avoiding his reflection in the floor to ceiling windows that took up an entire wall of the living room. Reflections were bad after dark. Bad luck, maybe? Welcoming possession by a haunting thing through the mirror? Something. Maybe nothing. A-yao was tired. And when A-yao was tired, everything was dangerous and nothing made sense.

The white mug felt cold and dreadfully mass produced in his hand, but it held the fancy chai that Xichen bought for him when he had “bad dreams” or “couldn’t fall asleep.” A-yao’s sleep disturbances ran much deeper than that, but A-yao was never able to dwell on the everything else of it when his boyfriends were home. He would lay between them in bed for hours, usually comforted by weight and warmth and presence and scent. Sometimes smothered and claustrophobic because skin and bodies and breathing were too much at times. But usually, he was comforted.

However, when the boys were away, A-yao would play. And by play, he meant drink tea on the sofa while watching true crime at four in the morning when he would much rather be passed the fuck out on that giant bed. A-yao crammed himself into the corner of the couch between the back and the armrest, dragging a grey throw over his shoulders as he watched a man being interviewed about the murder he witnessed.

The man’s face was blank, his eyes landing somewhere off to the side of the camera and away from the officer in front of him. His head was tilted at an angle like it took too much effort to hold it upright, and he slouched a bit in his chair. The man was shellshocked. A-yao wasn’t shellshocked but he could still relate to that boneless slump. His head was just so heavy on his aching neck, his eyes burned with exhaustion, his stomach churned, and his body flushed hot.

This was so fucking stupid.

His hand was digging his phone out of the pocket of Mingjue’s borrowed sweats before he even realized he was doing it. He didn’t even know what he wanted. He wanted his boyfriends, but they would ask questions and demand answers, or they would just sigh with sympathy and tell him to try a thousand things that never helped.

It wasn’t bad dreams that kept him up, though they sometimes woke him. And if he did have a bad one, no amount of tea, white noise, or weighted blankets were going to help. But his thumb was pressing on Xichen’s number anyways. It rang for a while and A-yao almost hung up because Xichen was probably busy on the other side of the world attending business meetings with important people as a representative of the Lan Family Business.

“A-yao?” came Xichen’s soft voice, floating over the waves and wrapping A-yao in blue-grey swaths of warmth. There was chattering and scraping, like furniture was being moved, in the background of Xichen’s end of the call.

“Xichen,” A-yao said, unable to explain further. He heard a sharp laugh and flinched at the sound of something shattering.

“Is everything alright? It’s pretty late at home, isn’t it?”

“I—” A-yao’s words caught in his throat.

What was he supposed to say? “Can’t sleep” would get him a gentle lecture on sleep hygiene. “Bad dream” would earn concerned coos and mild pressure to talk about it. So he settled for what he knew would elicit a good reaction.

“I miss you,” tripped off his tongue.

He missed both of his boys. When the only sounds in a big house were his own breath and the TV, when the only movement was the reflection of himself in the big windows of the living room, when the only smell remaining was his own shampoo and the dinner he microwaved–

“Oh, darling,” Xichen said, voice smiling. A-yao’s chest warmed in spite of his poor mood. He must’ve done good. “I miss you, too.”

“You’re not glad to be away from the drama?” A-yao asked with a forced laugh, half desperate for Xichen to not take the question as a joke.

“You two drive me crazy,” Xichen admitted. “But I wouldn’t trade either of you for anything.”

A-yao’s mind offered him the image of Xichen’s tortured face and wringing hands during their last fight. Mingjue was quick to anger, the cords in his neck sticking out, his face turning red, his hands forming fists at his side. A-yao was a bit different. He kept his voice and face carefully controlled, but that never kept Xichen’s expression from twisting with worry on the sidelines.

“A-yao?” Xichen said again. Then his voice was muffled as he said something foreign and a shuffling noise came through the phone. Then Xichen’s voice was clear again. “Sorry about that.”

“Is everything okay?” A-yao asked, setting his tea on the glass coffee table and curling up in a tighter ball. “You sound busy.”

“We’re just trying to seat fifteen people at one table,” Xichen said, voice grinning again. “We found this wonderful place—it’s very fresh and airy, it has an open wall so you can see the city and feel the night breeze. You’d like it, it’s spacious even though it’s busy, right now. Oh, and the servers are unendingly cheerful and kind! They remind me of you.”

A-yao felt a soft smile lifting his face as he listened to Xichen go into excited detail about the incredible menu, the live plants decorating the space, and the stray cats that would wander in. It painted a sunny picture.

“I apologize,” Xichen said suddenly, sounding bashful. “I didn’t mean to ramble on. What was it you wanted to talk about?”

“Oh, nothing,” A-yao lied through his teeth. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You’re so sweet,” Xichen said after a pause, voice a whisper. “Please rest soon, though. I don’t want you staying up so late just to talk to me.”

A-yao felt something tighten in his chest, face flushing.

“Of course,” A-yao said, voice carefully even. “I’m sorry for interrupting, I should be heading to bed now.”

“A-yao—”

“We should talk later, though,” A-yao said, a practiced smile on his face. Mama always said people can hear a smile. “I’m very tired all of the sudden; I think your gentle voice is putting me to sleep.”

“Oh, I—okay,” Xichen said, sounding flustered. “Rest well.”

“Thank you,” A-yao said. “Enjoy your meal.”

A-yao ended the call and turned off the TV, chest even tighter and eyes stinging. Xichen was so kind. He was so strong and good. He deserved a break. A-yao couldn’t bring himself to be upset with Xichen, what with his tentative excitement at helping his family and seeing his cousins again, his guilt in leaving, his concern that his boyfriends would need him, his hope that his efforts with the business could be an investment in Wangji’s already bright future.

But even Mingjue teared up at the airport as Xichen boarded his flight and disappeared from their line of sight. A-yao had moved to comfort him but was easily brushed off and thus began one of the tensest living arrangements A-yao had lived in to date.

The house was run with stiff greetings and only the strictly necessary conversations about things like grocery shopping and bills. It wasn’t that being unwelcome was new to A-yao, it had just been a while since he’d felt that way in a place that was supposed to be safe.

And then, a couple days later, he’d found himself sitting on the floor of an empty apartment, sending texts full of typos to a missing Mingjue asking where the hell he was and setting a timer for 24 hours so he could fill out a missing persons report at the soonest he was allowed. After receiving the brilliant suggesting to “ask Mingjue’s boyfriend” from Eloise, A-yao stopped sending texts. Then he got a simple “college trip, left early” from Mingjue that filled him with a kind of relief he’d never known before and hated to his core.

Before he’d thought to text Mingjue, A-yao had gone hunting through the apartment for evidence that his boyfriend hadn’t simply packed and ditched. Sure enough, his family sword was on the wall, the first picture Huaisang had ever drawn was in the drawer of the nightstand, the fancy coffee maker was in the kitchen. Every now and then, A-yao found himself running his fingers over the sword’s hilt, the picture’s frame, the coffee maker’s digital screen.

Sighing, A-yao wandered back to the bedroom and slouched against the wall, staring at the bed. Sleep was the enemy. Bed was the enemy. Blankets were nice, though, when they weren’t cold and thin. A-yao padded across the room to the walk-in closet and stared down the racks of clothes, rows of shoes, and drawers of accessories that greeted him, but he only had true eyes for a grey storage cube sitting under a low shelf. He pulled it out and smiled down at a fleecy yellow blanket, a furry peach one, and a rice filled bunny that could be warmed in a microwave. Surprisingly thoughtful housewarming gifts from Huaisang, Wangji, and the Jiang siblings. It was clear why they’d chosen the gifts. Wangji had said “so you might rest well,” (which was just about the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to A-yao) when offering the little blue bunny with both hands.

He couldn’t help but remember the last time he’d seen them. Those four familiar faces laughing and chattering as Wei Wuxian threw popcorn at the TV in protest of heteronormative relationships boasted in romcoms that Jiang Cheng, who fiercely defended his favorite films, had picked while Huaisang egged on the chaos and Wangji looked on with quiet fondness in his eyes. The floor lamp let off a warm glow that chased away the chill of the nighttime drizzle outside, blankets over laps and rugs under foot kept them bubbled in softness, and shoulders brushing, elbows hitting ribs, holding hands made it all seem so . . . safe.

Shaking himself, A-yao wrapped the blankets around his shoulders and hugged the bunny to his chest as he made his way back to bed. He was leaving a bit of a mess—the mug on the coffee table, the spilled tea on the counter, the storage bin in the middle of the closet—but he couldn’t bring himself to care. There was no one here. There was no reason to care.

With a huff, A-yao plopped onto the bed and squirmed until he was roughly in its center, curling up in a soft ball of pinks and yellows in a sea of grey. Soft blankets, his boyfriends’ voices, warm tea, all of that helped him feel better but none of it could give him true rest.

He was reminded of this when he woke in a blind panic.

Chapter Text

A-yao jerked upright in bed from his third sleep disturbance that night and, seconds later, he realized that there was someone in his room. The issue was that he’d gone to sleep in an empty apartment and now there was a tall figure standing in the shadows staring at him. Not moving, not even seeming to breathe. Just staring.

A-yao could imagine all kinds of awful things to happen. The man could pounce on him with a blade in hand, he could raise a gun, there could be another man standing behind A-yao waiting for a signal to attack. His thoughts screeched to a halt when the man started moving closer. Running on a frantic spike of adrenaline, A-yao threw his body into action and rose from the bed in a flailing of limbs that sent the covers flying.

Only, that’s not what happened.

Because A-yao didn’t move. His limbs locked, completely stiff and frozen. The man was advancing and there was no telling what was going to happen and A-yao needed to move. Remembering that he had neighbors, he opened his mouth and let out a glass-shattering scream that ripped through his vocal cords, shredding them raw.

Except he didn’t.

His jaw was clenched shut and he made a desperate little whine in the back of his throat instead. This was how he died. His death was going to be plastered over the front of local newspapers: Local Man Stabbed to Death in His Own Bed While His Partners Were Away. How tragic. Xichen would be beside himself, but it wasn’t like A-yao made the world spin. Humanity would neither grieve nor suffer his loss because the sun rose and set with Mingjue’s smile, and the moon with Xichen’s. Because flowers grew at the sound of Huaisang’s laughter and Wangji’s voice chased clouds from the sky. All that would happen is a throuple would become a couple and a distant man would have one less bastard child.

Maybe this was planned by his father. Maybe his father worried that A-yao and his half siblings would rise up against him, tell their story to the tabloids, ruin his name and reputation, take over his powerful empire, demand his dirty money. But there was no way to warn those siblings whom he loved so deeply and of whom he knew so little. He didn’t even have contact information for most of them.

A-yao’s ears buzzed, his heart battered his ribs, his body was unresponsive but straining nonetheless to move as the man stepped up to the side of the bed, craning downward at A-yao like an eldritch horror with a twisting spine and a stretching neck. He looked generic. He wasn’t anyone A-yao recognized or would be able to describe to law enforcement, should he survive this encounter.

A finger twitched.

Triumph and frustration battled as A-yao forced that finger to keep twitching. The man towering above was still unmoving as two fingers joined in the twitching. Maybe he could politely ask the man to bend down so A-yao could poke him to death. He couldn’t even move his eyes away from the man’s coal black.

And then the man was gone.

A-yao blinked, scanning the room without turning his head. There was no man. Unless the man was behind him. But he didn’t want to check.

And then, with tight joints and heavy limbs, A-yao moved.

He curled into himself like a spasm, chest heaving as he squeezed the stuffed bunny in his arms. He strained his ears for evidence of the intruder’s presence but could only hear his own shuddering breaths.

He had to call Mingjue. He didn’t know what Mingjue could possibly do for him a few hundred miles away, but he had to call Mingjue. Even though movement would shatter the false peace, the faux sense of safety that silence and closed eyes brought. Being blind to horror would surely protect him, right? But still. He had to call Mingjue.

A-yao’s hands shook when he pulled the pink blanket over his head and reached under his pillow for his phone, quickly pulling it into the safety of his blanket and dialing with trembling fingers. He didn’t want Mingjue to pick up because then he’d have to explain and it was just so childish, and he’d be bothering Mingjue. But also, he needed Mingjue to pick up. Needed it like he needed air because this apartment wasn’t safe anymore, security had been breached, there was someone in the house and Mingjue was strong and could fight and would know what to do.

“Hello?” came a grumbly, sleep-heavy voice. A-yao startled, dropping he phone. Then he panicked and quickly picked it up again before Mingjue hung up.

“H-hi,” he said uselessly. The words sounded more like a desperate little sob.

“A-yao?” Mingjue asked, recognition bringing some sharpness to his voice. “What’s wrong?” A-yao’s heart melted, throbbed, and then started racing.

“I don’t—I don’t know,” he admitted, voice cracking. The air under the blanket felt hot and stale but there was no way he was lifting the corner of it for even a sip of cool, fresh air.

“What do you mean? Did something happen?” there was a rustling and A-yao imagined his boyfriend springing upright in bed. A-yao curled into a smaller ball, desperately wishing he had a dog or a third boyfriend.

“I was, um, I saw. . .”

“Did something happen?” Mingjue asked again, voice sharper. It was his “tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it” voice. It sounded a lot like his “I’m angry and I don’t know how to explain why” voice, but A-yao was learning the difference.

“There’s someone in the house,” A-yao whispered, voice high and cracking.

“What?” Mingjue demanded. A-yao could hear him rummaging around, probably getting dressed to take the next flight home, but A-yao would be dead by then.

“I think he had a weapon,” A-yao babbled.

“You saw him?”

“He was in our room, he was—he was leaning right over me and I . . . I couldn’t move.”

“Where is he now? Did you get away?” Mingjue asked, pausing his rummaging and shuffling.

“N-no, he sort of just disappeared?” A-yao flushed, wincing at his own words.

“Did you scare him away or something?”

“No, I froze, I couldn’t do anything, and he was just staring down at me, and I couldn’t even scream and I—”

“Breathe, baby,” Mingjue said in a low voice, as if he was soothing a scared animal. A-yao certainly felt like one. “If you think someone’s in the house, you need to call 911.”

“What do you mean ‘if I think,’ of course I—” A-yao cut himself off.

  A-yao was an idiot. An absolute idiot. Because every time this happened, he got so wrapped up in his fear and panic and in how real it was that he forgot. Sleep paralysis. The thing that made it so he could never trust his senses at night.

“A-yao, are you okay?”

“I think I was just dreaming,” A-yao finished lamely, flushing hot. Just dreaming. Because how else was he supposed to explain that he sometimes woke up seeing and hearing things that weren’t there?

“You had a bad dream?” Mingjue asked softly. There was none of that good old flaming Mingjue Irritation that A-yao had come to expect.

“I’m sorry,” A-yao blurted out, hand grasping at the chest of his shirt. “I—it was just very real, and I woke up scared and not thinking straight and I—”

 “A-yao, it’s okay,” Mingjue said. His voice was warm.

“But I disturbed your sleep and it wasn’t even real—”

“It was real to you,” Mingjue said. “I’m glad you called, I—I miss you.” A-yao’s heart swelled, something inside him settling.

“I miss you, too.” The words tumbled out, but he was mostly sure he wouldn’t regret a moment of vulnerability over a phone and hundreds of miles away from the target of those feelings.

“I’m sorry I can’t be there,” Mingjue said with a sigh. “I hate that I had to leave. Sorry if I left a mess behind, by the way. I sort of packed in a rush. I’ve just been . . . Huaisang deserves the best school, and scholarships are the only way we’ll be able to afford it so we’ve got to sweet talk every financial aid counselor and . . . anyway, I mixed up the day of our meeting at the LA school and then Huaisang was texting me that there was an hour until we were supposed to board the plane and . . . yeah.”

“Is that why you didn’t say goodbye?” A-yao asked, grimacing once again at his own words.

“Oh, A-yao,” Mingjue said with a weary sigh. “I forgot to say goodbye, didn’t I?”

A-yao hummed in agreement, not completely sure why tears were spilling down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” Mingjue whispered. “I was running late and I just. . . I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”

A-yao shook his head, hand still clamped tightly over his mouth as tears trickled over his fingers.

“A-yao, please say something,” Mingjue pleaded. “Are you angry? Are you mad at me? It’s okay if you are.”

A-yao shuddered, choking back a sob.

“Are you crying?” came Mingjue’s heartbroken voice over the phone.

“I’m sorry,” A-yao gasped raggedly.

“Don’t apologize for crying,” Mingjue said, voice a bit sharper this time. “Never apologize for crying. Especially if it’s to me. Especially if you’re crying because you’re hurt.”

A-yao wasn’t sure what had happened to Mingjue to make him talk like this. He spoke in this gentle, understanding way with Xichen and Huaisang, but that was it. If A-yao was seriously hurt, he’d break out the comfort voice, but never with something as trivial as this. Mingjue usually had a “buck up, you’re a tough guy, you can handle it” mentality. A-yao briefly reflected that they should have all of their conversations in the middle of the night when they were both half asleep and a million miles apart.

“Do you want me to stay on the phone until you fall asleep?” Mingjue offered, sounded absolutely shot through with exhaustion.

“No,” A-yao said immediately. “No, that’s okay. I’ll go . . . have some tea. Find the weighted blanket and Xichen’s noise machine.”

“Okay, but please let me know if. . .” Mingjue said, sounding unsure.

“It’s the middle of the night, I’m not going to call you for a second time just because. . .” A-yao wanted him to reject that. He waited for the “no, if something happens, you call me” or “I’m worried about you because I love you, please let me help.” But Mingjue didn’t take the bait.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, you can call Xichen. It should be sometime during the day for him, right?”

A-yao’s mouth went dry and he felt something sharp in his chest. He swallowed.

“That’s a good idea, I think it’s late afternoon for him,” A-yao said, forcing his voice steady.

 “Ah, that’s good then,” Mingjue said. Then there was a pause. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“Oh,” A-yao said, shaking himself. Mingjue was politely asking to get off the phone. “No, no. Thank you for talking to me. And for explaining.”

“No problem,” Mingjue said, clearing his throat. “Well, try to get some sleep, okay?”

“Okay. You, too.”

“Will do. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

And then there was the click of the connection being cut on Mingjue’s end. A-yao didn’t come out from under his blanket until he saw the sun peeking through it. He didn’t close his eyes again, either.

Chapter Text

Mingjue was watching Huaisang babble about some Renaissance painter with the RA leading their tour of the fancy art school campus. The kid was in his element. Skipping down mossy brick walking paths that carved a route between aged buildings decorated with tall pillars and surrounded by students with the most eclectic senses of style, Huaisang had never looked happier. Literally.

Mingjue slowed down, easing to the back of the crowd of eager prospective students and curious parents as he looked down at the burgundy pamphlet in his hand. The Livette School of Arts, apparently founded by a very talented painter who had an axe to grind with whatever “traditional” art schools were, was Huaisang’s dream school. They had all kinds of hands-on classes taught by famous guest artists, internship opportunities with galleries and studios all over the globe, and a surprisingly high ratio of students hired within a month of graduating, considering that it was an art school.  The campus was beautiful, complete with an actual tea garden and several ponds and courtyards, and Huaisang was already making friends with enrolled students and prospective students alike. The only issue was that the school was 530 miles away from home.

“Isn’t this great?” Huaisang said breathlessly as he plopped down onto a bench near Mingjue when the tour group stopped at another building for a short lecture on its history.

“Hm?” Mingjue flipped through the pamphlet distractedly until his brother tugged on his elbow. He looked down at wide, hopeful puppy eyes and frowned. “What’s wrong with your face?”

“I said ‘isn’t this place great,’ da-ge?” Huaisang said again, much slower.

“You can’t pick the first school we tour,” Mingjue said with a raised brow, pretending to be very interested on the back panel of his pamphlet, which contained a detailed map of campus. He still couldn’t figure out where the hell they were, though. None of the damn buildings had signs indicating the name of the building, so how was he supposed to match any of these places with the names on the map?

“I can, and I will.”

“No.”

“Even if I know it’s the one?” Huaisang said with a pout, hands clasped together under his chin.

“No.”

“But—”

“You just want to pick something fast so you can get home because you hate car rides,” Mingjue said knowingly. Turning another page of the pamphlet to see raving reviews from students, parents, professors, and employers.

“Fine, fine,” Huaisang huffed, slumping and watching the RA give her presentation. The girl was gesticulating wildly, her pearly white smile unwavering as she detailed the seemingly unending history of the oldest academic building on campus, which had apparently survived both a flood and a fire. Two to zero against nature for the fancy art school, go figure. “Burgundy isn’t really my color anyway. And I can’t be an RA here if they make us wear khakis to everything.”

Mingjue stared down at the top of his little brother’s head.

“A-sang, if you pick this school, that’s fine. I just want you to see all your options first.”

“But you don’t like this place. I don’t want to go somewhere you don’t like,” Huaisang said mournfully, picking at a string on his flowery sweater. There he goes. Breaking Mingjue’s heart. Again.

“Kid,” Mingjue sighed, sitting next to Huaisang and using a finger to pull his chin up to meet his gaze. “Whatever school you pick, I’m gonna like it.”

“You’re lying,” Huaisang said, eyes narrowing. He looked so much like a special someone in that moment that Mingjue couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“You’re just like A-yao, sometimes, you know that?”

“He is my aunt, after all.”

“Cheeky,” Mingjue said, pinching his brother’s cheek before allowing himself to be pushed off. “And I’m serious. I’m not the one who’s going to major in art stuff. You are. So pick what you want, and I’ll get the stupid ‘my kid goes to Fancy Art School’ sticker for the car.”

“If you come to my school with a fucking proud parent bumper sticker, I swear to God I will never talk to you again,” Huaisang whispered, gaze fierce.

“Promise?” Mingjue asked, playing his part. Huaisang laughed, pushing at his shoulder.

Huaisang opened his mouth to say something before he was pulled out of his seat by some of the new friends he’d made. Mingjue watched as his brother was dragged through the tour group, the kid’s head practically spinning as he carried on a conversation with a few excitable eighteen-year-olds.

This was something Mingjue never thought he’d be able to give Huaisang. Which was awful, because he always knew Huaisang would thrive at a college where he would be graded on the thing he loved most and was most talented at. And of course, Huaisang would thrive socially, as well. Surrounded by kids his age asking for his opinion, trying to make him laugh, wanting to see his art, demanding to make time to hang out. He could see the kid camming onto a couch with a boatload of kids in front of a TV, pizza and sodas scattered on a coffee table. Or singing at the top of his lungs, jumping in time to loud music in a packed room and covered in glitter. Or sprawled on the floor with a mountain of textbooks and getting distracted from studying with all his friends.

So he watched Huaisang walk off, one arm linked with a girl who had many piercings and the arm of a tall boy with purple hair draped over his shoulders. And he remembered his plans. Culinary school and all that. He remembered when it was his time and how that time had been cut short by a double funeral. He didn’t get his time. But he was going to make damn sure Huaisang got his, even if he had to take on school debts twenty times his salary and never retire from work to do it.

Huaisang glanced over his shoulder, gaze scanning the crowd of parents that had hung back behind the prospective students. Mingjue immediately raised his hand, waving to let his brother know “I’m still here, I’m right behind you, even when you aren’t looking.” Huaisang’s brightening grin made something in Mingjue’s chest ache, but he kept his face carefully schooled until Huaisang turned back to his new friends.

~ ~ ~

Xichen knew gossip when he heard it. He was raised in an incredibly strict household with many rules and expectations, one of which being that one should never gossip or spread rumors about others. However, as is common, the firmest rules were the ones that were most often violated. And with a family history rooted in drama that the Lans were desperate to keep quiet, Xichen knew exactly what gossip sounded like.

But when hushed voices filtered through the cracked back door of the Lan office building, he froze in listening range instead of breezing past as if he’d heard nothing at all. Xichen found it easy to push on when he had the misfortune of stumbling across people spinning stories about the family for whom they worked when his brother was at his side. But alone, he felt himself drowning in shame that burned his face and stung his eyes as he listened to the harsh opinions of the underinformed.

  “I know they’re well off, but I still just feel so bad for those kids,” came a low, feminine voice.

“I have to agree. Who abandons two kids under ten like that? I don’t know what the parents were going through, but you’d think they’d want to at least support their own children.”

“I guess, but it seems like they turned out okay in the end.”

Xichen peeked his head past the doorframe of the back entrance and found a few long-term Lan employees enjoying their lunch break outside. The woman, who was leaning back against the wall of the building, had a short cut of glossy black hair and wore a sleek navy pantsuit. Two of her friends, dressed in blue-gray custodial and engineering jumpers respectfully, sat at a picnic table in front of her and Xichen’s own assistant, a man holding a leather briefcase in one hand and a cell phone on which he typed rapidly in the other, stood stiffly next to the woman.

“The little one is pretty much incapable of inheriting the company, and the elder became both mother and father to his own brother when he himself was a child and wants nothing less than to pass his duties as heir onto the younger. What do you mean ‘they turned out okay’?” the custodial worker said without looking up from where he was tying bags of garbage that were likely destined for the big dumpster only a few yards away.

“Please,” Xichen’s assistant drawled without looking up from his phone. “They’ve never worked for any of the many nice things they have, and they get to claim they own this entire business without lifting a finger. Tell me again why I should feel bad for them?”

“Wow, tell me you hate your job without telling me you hate your job,” the engineer snickered behind a large hoagie.

“I don’t hate the job, I’m just not fond of entitled kids.”

 Xichen had heard enough. He stepped back into the building and eased the door closed so it only made a soft click when it latched shut.

He stared down the hall unseeing. Rumors of his family’s secrets wove through the grapevine long before his parents had even met and were as much a part of his history as the stories of how the Lan company came to exist and rise in power. His parents’ tragic union and the subsequent fallout were just two more juicy little tales for an already complex rumor mill to incorporate into its sickening web of drama. But that didn’t mean it was easy hearing it two decades after the worst tragedy in his entire life. How one day could hold so much power, enough to destroy dozens of lives and affect the livelihood of thousands more, Xichen couldn’t understand. And an immature, petulant, deeply concealed part of him shouted at how unfair it all was.

He’d lost just about everything and had to practically raise his brother on his own as his uncle scrambled to manage a company he never expected to inherit as second heir. Xichen had faced every trial, every hardship, and every loss since with all the grace and patience he could muster and not a single complaint. And that led to his own employees talking about him and his family behind their backs while happily grasping every opportunity and pocketing every competitive wage the Lan family had to offer. And it was going to end.

Xichen hadn’t even realized he’d been walking to his uncle’s office until he was staring through glass double doors at Uncle and his two closest assistants. Uncle leaned back against his handsome mahogany desk talking to his assistants, who sat at attention in the navy upholstered armchairs on one side of the desk. Uncle rarely used his own chair, a luxurious gray wingback on the opposite side of the desk.

About to turn around, convincing himself he wasn’t that upset about what he’d overheard, the image of Wangji’s stoney face and watery eyes popped into his mind. His little brother had suffered so much at such a young age when Xichen was helpless to do anything but hold his hand through it. But Xichen wasn’t helpless, now. He was lining things up for his brother to inherit a stable and successful company with a positive reputation, a loyal and hardworking staff, and a clear path forward. Any bit of grumbling and hurtful chatter could harm not only the reputation of the company or the morale of the staff, but most importantly, Wangji.

 Steeling himself for what was no doubt going to be a very difficult conversation, Xichen knocked sharply on the door and entered.

“Uncle, I need to speak with you,” Xichen said lowly, delivering a warm smile to his uncle’s two assistants.

“Is it urgent?” Uncle asked without looking up from a clipboard of paperwork he was scribbling on.

“I believe so.”

“Clear the room, please,” Uncle said without looking up from his work. The assistants breezed out of the room without a word, closing the door behind them. “What happened?”

“I was just heading outside and I overheard—”

“The righteous one does not gossip,” Uncle said, finally looking up. He met Xichen’s eye with that old razor-sharp stare for a moment before flipping through the stack of paperwork in his hands.

“I understand,” Xichen said, swallowing hard and tugging on his suit jacket, even though he knew it was flawlessly pressed and tailored.

“The meeting with the Ciao investors is in a few hours, you should be preparing or reviewing your presentation on our five-year outlook. I felt that you relied more on your hope for the company’s future than a realistic prediction calculated from past trends. You can ask my second assistant for help.”

 Xichen blinked.

“I can do that, but we must find time to discuss what I heard in—”

“Xichen,” Uncle all but snapped. His cold gaze was now almost a glare. Xichen stepped back. “It does not do to dwell on the opinions of others. Fashion yourself into a just man of integrity and good character, and any harsh critiques will become nothing more than the malicious complaints of the jealous.”

And with that, Uncle swept out of the room, stack of paperwork in hand and no doubt going to hunt down his assistants. Xichen stared at the open doors of the office and then turned his gaze to the room. Jade figurines dotted dark shelving that ran along the soft gray walls, ethereal and so expertly hand crafted that they seemed to be alive, and a seating area with fresh white roses on the coffee table sat before fireplace. It was a beautiful space, but none of it was worth anything compared to the sun-bleached photo of himself and Wangji in his father’s arms, Uncle right next to them caught in mid laugh, that stood proud and centered on the desk.

Chapter Text

“This is truly agonizing,” Astrid groaned, elbows digging into her knees and face in her hands. “I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

“How do you think I feel?” A-yao demanded, arms thrown wide. His voice echoed in his cavernous living room.

“It’s your shit, girl, you don’t get paid to manage your own mess,” Astrid said, delicately plucking something off of her candy stripped sweater.

“You’re a paragon of support, Astrid.”

“Please just call the big one—”

“His name is Mingjue, you know that.”

  “—and see if he knows anything. It’s probably just a flight delay and he turned off his phone to save battery.”

“But what if it’s worse than that?” A-yao fretted, pacing back and forth behind the couch and dragging a hand through his unbrushed hair. Astrid turned to sit sideways on the couch so she could watch him, pulling her knees up onto the couch with her feet dangling off the edge so her pink heels didn’t touch the fancy leather. “Like a car accident, or a plane crash, or—”

“So call the big one,” Astrid said, palms pressed together is if praying. “Please. For me. Your beloved sister of choice.”

“I shouldn’t—”

“Why?”

“He’s busy, he doesn’t want to hear from me right now,” A-yao said, chewing on his thumb nail.

“That’s not how boyfriends work, they’re supposed to wanna hear from you,” Astrid said, gesturing as if to say duh.

“He’s trying to help his brother find a university and they have private meetings with admissions lined up. There’s no way he has time.”

“Dude, it’s lunch time-ish, they gotta stop the meetings and eat eventually, right? Worst case he says that now is a bad time and asks to call later. Which he won’t do when you tell him your boyfriend is MIA.”

“I called him in the middle of the night the other day, I have to give him a . . . A cool down period.”

“Why are you talking like a PI who got caught?”

“Anyway, I’m not going to—”

“Little man, I will pin you to the floor and call this boy myself if I have to. Make the damn call!”

It was a testament to the strength of their friendship that A-yao only rolled his eyes and started dialing.

“It’s not going to work. He either won’t pick up or he’ll say he’s too busy to talk,” A-yao muttered under his breath just loud enough for Astrid to hear as he swiped through his lock screen. It used to be an image of his boyfriends, but he’d had to change it to keep up the lie about Mingjue and Xichen being in a monogamous relationship.

“I heard that.”

“You were meant to,” A-yao said sweetly with a dimpled grin as he held the phone to his ear. He yelped and ducked under a flying throw pillow. After just a second of ringing, he nearly hung up, but Astrid’s cool and unblinking gaze convinced him to stay on the line.

“A-yao,” came Mingjue’s deep voice, soft like he was smiling. A-yao felt a rush of warmth spill over him like walking into a stream of sunlight.

“Hi,” he said shyly in response, cradling the phone to his ear with two hands. “Are you busy right now?”

“No, we’ve got a meeting in two hours, so we’re just getting some lunch.”

Before A-yao could respond or feel embarrassed that Astrid had been right, he heard muffled shouting from the Mingjue’s end of the call and then Mingjue was laughing.

“Huaisang says ‘hi,’ he has a lot to tell you about these schools. Apparently, I lack the kind of vision you two have.”

“Hi to Huaisang,” A-yao said, chest tight and warm. “Tell him I look forward to hearing all about it.”

“If I do that, you’ll be all he talks about for the rest of our trip and it’ll make me miss you.”

“Can’t have that, can we?” A-yao grinned.

“I’m glad you understand,” Mingjue said with a chuckle. “Is everything okay, or did you just want to chat?”

“I actually wanted to, um, talk to you about Xichen,” A-yao said, eyes flitting to Astrid. She gave him a thumbs up with a wide smile and an enthusiastic nod that made her dangly butterfly earrings sway. He rolled his eyes at her but couldn’t help but smile, too. “His flight was supposed to arrive a few hours ago but he’s not here yet. I tried messaging him but I haven’t heard back and I just wondered if maybe he said something to you about missing his flight.”

“He doesn’t come in until this Friday, though,” Mingjue said, pitch rising a bit with confusion. “Did you forget?”

“That can’t be right, he told me he’d get back today. Sunday morning.” A-yao put his phone on speaker and began thumbing through his apps for the calendar he updated religiously with color coded events. “I put it in my phone the moment he told me. . . Yeah, it’s right here. I’m looking right at it. Maybe you misheard?”

“Can’t be, I remember telling him that Friday was the same day I was getting back and he was pretty excited about it,” Mingjue trailed off. “Unless he told me wrong, or you put it in your phone wrong. Did you call him?”

“I just got his voicemail when I called, but I didn’t want to try too many times just in case he had his phone on ‘do not disturb’ for a meeting. I didn’t want to disable that feature by calling too many times and make his phone go off at an important moment.”

“I guess that makes sense. Honey, I don’t know what to tell you, but I know what Xichen said the day he left—”

“Wait, he told you when he’d be back the day he left?” A-yao traded apprehensive looks with Astrid.

“Well, earlier that week, he told me he wasn’t sure when he’d back, just that it would be this weekend. I assumed Saturday or Sunday, and then he told me for certain that it would be the Friday after this weekend.”

A-yao felt something cold and heavy sink in his gut and he saw the hopeful and nervous expression on Astrid’s face melt away.

“He told you this weekend,” A-yao repeated. “Which would be the weekend happening right now. The one that he also told me he was coming back on.”

“Yes, I—oh. Oh,” Mingjue said quietly. “Sweetheart, he probably just forgot to tell you when the dates changed, it was a pretty hectic time for him.”

“He forgot to tell me he was going to be away for a week and a half, instead of just for a few days,” A-yao said lightly.

“I’m sorry, A-yao, but you know he’d never do that on purpose. He’d never leave you in the dark like that. It was just a mistake.”

“Mhm,” A-yao said, throat feeling tight. “It’s not a big deal.”

“But you’re upset.” Mingjue’s voice sounded hurt, but A-yao couldn’t help but feel that it was because Mingjue thought A-yao was mad at Xichen, not because A-yao had been hurt by Xichen.

“Don’t worry about it,” A-yao said, gliding past the awkward moment. “Anyways, thanks for letting me know when he’ll be home. And sorry if I interrupted anything.”

“Not at all. Like I said, we’re just getting something to eat. Trust me, you’re not interrupting,” Mingjue said firmly.

“Okay,” A-yao said, unbelieving.

“You don’t believe me,” Mingjue said with a sigh, as if it were he who was being hurt.

“Of course, I do,” A-yao said, forcing himself to smile so his tone would sound lighter and more sincere. “I’ll let you go, eat well.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Okay, bye. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

A-yao hung his head when the line cut off with a click.

“Hey, I’m sure—”

“Sorry, Astrid, but can you leave? I want to be alone right now,” A-yao said lowly, almost at a whisper.

“Yeah, okay,” Astrid said with a sigh, getting up. A-yao listened to the sound of her heels clicking across the floor as she went to grab her heart-shaped purse, and was surprised when he turned to find her standing right behind him. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t,” A-yao said with a sad smile over his shoulder. “I just don’t have the energy to be around people right now. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Astrid said with a laugh as she headed for the door. “You’re finally communicating your boundaries, it’s very sexy.”

“You’re the worst,” A-yao said, unable to keep himself from smiling.

“You know it. Hang in there, hun. I’ll call you later,” Astrid said before pulling the door closed behind her.

As horrible as the revelation had been, it at least accomplished one thing. A-yao wasn’t that weepy sort of sad, anymore. He was fucking pissed.

Chapter Text

Mingjue stared down at the scholarship offer. Huaisang was practically vibrating out of his seat as he babbled on with the admissions counselor who had picked Huaisang out of the group of hopeful prospectives and shuffled them into her cozy office, which was all dark, rich wood and plump sofas in earthen tones.

A half-ride scholarship was really good. Really, really good. Especially for an artsy private school that relied on a strong network of loyal alumni for financial support. Perks of early application.

“Of course, our offer does not disqualify you from applying for other scholarships or enrolling in our payment plan services,” the bubbly admissions lady, Rose, said. Her big curly hair flounced with her every move and her colorfully painted fingernails flashed as she typed at a near frantic pace on her keyboard while maintaining eye contact with Huaisang. “We encourage students to take advantage of all financial assistance that they can.”

“Can we have a moment to discuss this? Privately?” Mingjue asked suddenly, gripping the offer tightly enough to wrinkle the paper.

“Of course!”  Rose said, typing with one hand as she used the other to move a pair of red framed glasses from her head to her face. “You can use the meeting room next door. I don’t expect an answer today, and we really don’t need an answer until the end of this month. There’s a lot of students that would benefit from this scholarship, and we like to give them out during early admissions, so if you turn our offer down, we still want to have time to give it to someone else.”

“I understand,” Mingjue said, rising from his seat, only able to really take a breath when he was in the hall and far from the cinnamon scented candle on Rose’s desk.

“What’s wrong?” Huaisang asked, wringing his hands together before reaching up and patting Mingjue’s face, then his chest. “Are you okay? Is it your heart? Your lungs?”

“Kiddo, kiddo, wait,” Mingjue said, chest aching enough to crack open. He grabbed both of Huaisang’s arms and looked him in the eye. “I’ve been taking care of myself. You know that. You don’t have to worry about me, okay?”

“Well, I’m going to,” Huaisang huffed, pulling back and crossing his arms.

“Come on, kid,” Mingjue said, ruffling his little brother’s hair and then resting a callused hand on the back of the kid’s neck and guiding him to the meeting space they’d been offered.

The meeting room was sterile compared to Rose’s comfy office. There was a big oval table surrounded by rolling chairs in the middle of the room and a podium with a microphone by a pulldown screen at the back, and not much else.

Sitting down next to Huaisang and literally holding the kid’s future in his hands was awful. Awful because there was no way he was going to be able to come up with an extra thirty-thousand dollars every year for four years. And that was just tuition. It didn’t include the room and board, the overpriced textbooks, the expensive art supplies.

“I didn’t get enough, did I?” Huaisang’s voice had never sounded so little. So disappointed.

“No, baby, that’s not it,” Mingjue grabbed Huaisang’s hands in his, pressed their foreheads together like he’d seen Xichen do with Wangji, and suddenly he’s a kid again. Suddenly he’s a kid again and Huaisang is asking if mom and dad aren’t coming home because Huaisang was bad. “You did everything right. You worked so hard, and I’m proud of you. I’m so proud of you.”

“But it wasn’t enough.” There was a level of finality and sureness in his voice, like Huaisang already knew this school was off the list. Like it didn’t matter that this school was his dream school. No matter how hard he’d tried, Mingjue hadn’t been able to protect Huaisang from the life lesson that dreams don’t matter when the money doesn’t add up.

“No, it was,” Mingjue insisted, scooting his chair closer to Huaisang and pulling the little bundle of disappointment close. “It was enough.”

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Huaisang said, voice muffled against Mingjue’s chest. “I’m not a child.”

But you are, Mingjue though, resting his chin on Huaisang’s head and wrinkling his nose when soft hair tickled his face. The smell of Huaisang’s fruity, flowery shampoos and hair oils was just as comforting as the smell of baby shampoo had been a lifetime ago.

“It was enough. It’s just. . . It’ll just be tough for a bit.” Understatement of the year.

“Really?” Huaisang asked, pulling back and looking up at Mingjue with wide and searching eyes, his joy so hesitant that it made the cold feeling of failure wash up like a tsunami wave. Not only powerful, but also inevitable. Where all you can do is watch it build because there’s no escaping it.

This kid should have everything he wants and more, he shouldn’t be held back by a big brother who can’t take care of him.

“We won’t be able to do gifts or big fancy meals at holidays, we’ll be getting your dorm stuff and textbooks secondhand—”

“I’ll sleep in a box outside, I don’t care!” Huaisang grinned and straightened up like the life had just been poured back into him.

“We’re not gonna go that far,” Mingjue said, the image of Huaisang sleeping outside all alone flashing through his head like a three-second horror movie.

“I’ll get a job to cover textbooks and school supplies, and I can just use stuff I already have for my dorm. I don’t need new things,” Huaisang said, getting up and beginning to pace around the table. It was a quirk he’d picked up from A-yao, and the reminder made him ache for his boyfriend who always had a plan. “And I can get two jobs over the summer. And I can take as many classes as possible each semester so I can graduate early.”

Mingjue sat back in his gray rolling chair, watching Huaisang work himself up into an excited little storm over all the ways he was going to help pay for college. Mingjue himself was going to be picking up extra hours at work and getting a second job. It wasn’t perfect. His little brother helping cover the cost of school wasn’t ideal, but Mingjue wasn’t too prideful to refuse help when he knew he needed it. It was one of the first rules he’d learned. The kid comes first, even before your pride.

“So, I can accept the offer, right? I can go tell Rose we’re accepting it?”

“Yeah, kiddo,” Mingjue said, mustering up as sincere a smile as possible. “Go tell Rose.”

Huaisang didn’t even wait for Mingjue to get up, already running out of the room. Mingjue could listened to Huaisang chattering with a very happy Rose through the wall and his resolve hardened. He was going to make sure his brother could have this. He was going to give this kid his well-deserved four years of freedom and independence and exploration, an experience Huaisang was never going to forget and was always going to look back on fondly, hopefully alongside some new lifelong friends.

And sure, Mingjue was going to miss pretty much everything with his kid over the next few years as he worked his ass off to keep Huaisang in school. And, yeah, Mingjue didn’t have much time left with this version of Huaisang, this baby-faced kid who was full of wonder and still needing his big brother, because the man who graduates four years from now would be completely different from the boy accepting his scholarship at this moment. But that was just part of the game. Mingjue was investing in not only his little brother’s future, but he was investing in his brother growing up.

Feeling like the air had been punched out of him, Mingjue pulled himself up and dragged himself into Rose’s office, legs heavy like he was walking through wet concrete. Huaisang was sitting on a mossy green armchair, legs curled under him as he leaned against the arm of the chair and talked Rose’s ear off about some art thing Mingjue couldn’t comprehend.

“Mr. Nie!” Rose said, warm smile and cheery voice making it sound like she was honestly happy to see him. “Huaisang says you’re already prepared to accept the offer. I’m so excited that Huaisang is joining us, I think he’ll really like it here and he’ll definitely be the perfect addition to our student body.”

Mingjue couldn’t help but grin, albeit a bit tiredly. Anytime someone praised that little monster, Mingjue straightened up and felt like beaming. Their parents would be so proud of how Huaisang turned out, and he forced his face not to reflect the way his heart squeezed at the thought.

“I’m glad you think so,” he said, voice carefully even. He took the armchair next to Huaisang, dropping his hand on the kid’s head and matching his brother’s smile with one of his own. “Now, what paperwork do we have to fill out today?”