#my parents bedroom at the old house opened to the deck outside there was a lil platform by the gate on one of the sides that led to where

[daydreamsandcrashingwaves]

You don’t know when exactly it started. You were young, about eighty pounds soaking wet-you’d say if asked-short and thin. Delicate they called you. Blonde hair and blue eyes that shine up at them. No one says anything but you can feel their expectations, they look at you and see a beautiful perfect little girl with manners to match. You grind your teeth and scoff at it. No one pays you any thought.

You’re mother had called for you. A dresser that came up to your chest was drug out onto the deck, an unshift-able weight. You look at it with childhood annoyance, you know what is coming. She calls for a favor more frequently and dread starts trickling through the cracks.

When did it start? Before or after the divorce? Before or after. You think to yourself, it was always so. As soon as you were capable your role was decided. Tools and wood knew your hands and your body knew their weight. You had been eager to learn-be helpful at first.

When did it start? The insistence. The goading. You want to ask who she sees when she looks at you. She does not pity your sore muscles, your excuses. You tell yourself you must be strong. For her. You swallow your words. The dread grows.

When did it start? Was it an accident that happened one day? Or is this a consequence of doing what was asked of you? You do not know. It has always been.

These favors creep up on you like the tide and she drowns you in guilt before you can save yourself. You wonder if she will ever stop asking for help. You are tired and frustrated every time she comes to you. You now look for ways to avoid her gaze and it’s new. It’s scary. It’s liberating.

You are not responsible for what you do not have knowledge of, you reason. She cannot blame you. you did. not. know. She starts asking sooner. The chess game continues.

As you grow, realities become horribly clear. You cannot process the scene in front of you. You will not. Some of it you do not have the experience to manage, some of it you cannot believe is true. You shout at your instincts to quiet. It is not hard. You have been ignoring much more tenacious warnings, what is one more?

She loves you, you know she does, she says she does. You believe her.

More ‘favors’. You cannot turn her away. You bury you’re head. You must bide your time. You dig yourself deeper until the dirt plumes in displeasure as you grind the grit into your eyes. You wish to be blind to the patterns. You wish to be deaf to the sounds. If only your hands could keep their grip on the bucking beast just a moment longe-if only. Perhaps you could. Just. Be.

You are told to go and you do. You drift for the first time on your own. She will not bother to come find you here. (Sometimes as you lie in the dark you wish she would come surprise you for an afternoon, or insist on taking you to dinner because she misses the sound of your voice.)

It feels like coming up for air and it is foreign to you. Everything is. You reach out to touch the person in front of you and startle. In you’re self preservation you have forgotten yourself. When did it start?

You’re a little girl in the sun, on the deck, shifting under your mothers infrequent gaze. She’s here. For a moment. Your emotions are bursting, you bounce with pride and the desperation to prove yourself, so you do as asked. You help her and are convinced you are her only option. Your body futilely tries to mirror her much larger one. You both grip stained wood.

When did it start?

[dankusner]

JOHN LENNON — 1980 CORRECTIONS & CLARIFICATIONS ■ In Sunday’s Business section, a story said On Deck Concepts CEO Brent Tipps encountered John Lennon in 1985, but Lennon was killed in 1980.

When asked about it, Tipps said he believed the person he encountered while working at an Addison bar was Lennon.

Rude awakening

In 1985, Tipps was an aimless 18-year-old junior college dropout living with his parents in Amarillo when his father unceremoniously marched into Brent’s bedroom after Brent had been out late partying.

“I remember him knocking on my door, opening the curtains and saying, ‘Guess what today is? It’s move-out day.’ I look outside, and there’s a U-Haul hooked up behind my pickup,” Tipps said with a laugh. “I’m dead serious.”

The only job he could get was as a day laborer on a construction site, handing sheets of plywood to a roofer.

At Steak & Ale in Dallas, Tipps worked his way up to the head broiler in the kitchen working six-day, 90-hour weeks.

“We had a blast, man,” Tipps said. “We had our hats on backwards with Aretha Franklin playing. I wore sunglasses. We had the fastest, best cook times the restaurant had ever had.”

Tipps tended bar along the Las Colinas canal during the days of easy money in a booming economy.

One night, this “hippie dippy dude with sunglasses” came walking down the stairs barefoot.

Tipps apologetically told him that there was some health department rule about having to wear shoes.

“He goes, ‘OK cool,’ and goes back up the stairs and across to the Omni [Hotel]. The phone rings a little later, and it’s the general manager of the Omni. He told my boss I’d just thrown John Lennon out of the restaurant.

“My boss called me an idiot.”

Cheryl, a journalism graduate of SMU, has covered business for more than 45 years and gets her phone calls returned. She's won numerous awards including several Katies from the Press Club of Dallas and a lifetime distinguished achievement award from the Society of American Business Editors and writers.

CHERYL HALL

He’s booming, Jack

Risk-taking restaurant/bar owner’s uncanny vision, devotion to employees help him thrive

Brent Tipps is about to plunk down a half-million bucks overhauling his original Sidecar Social that he opened in Addison five years ago.

He’s moving the live stage to front-and-center so that a 36-foot wall of TV screens acts as a backdrop.

He’s adding an upstairs bar, two lounge areas and two private rooms with glass walls, replacing booths and seating — and, yes, he’s improving the bathrooms.

The 58-year-old CEO and owner of On Deck Concepts LLC wants to have the re-energized, 16,000-square-foot eater-tainment venue ready for football season in August.

And the work has to be done in off hours.

It’s a quick turnaround, but Tipps is used to hustling.

This is a guy who lasted one semester in junior college, was a construction day laborer, worked the grills at Steak & Ale, became a CiCi’s Pizza franchise owner and launched a successful wings business in Casa Linda — all before he turned 36.

Twenty-two years later, Tipps owns the Sidecar Social in Addison’s Village on the Parkway and a second at The Star in Frisco that opened in September and cost $10.2 million to build.

With 24,000-plus square feet, Sidecar No. 2 features a 40-foot TV, three 20-footers and 85-inch screens scattered throughout.

Folks wanting more privacy can get a private cabana with a TV and firepit.

On Deck’s current lineup also includes 12 BoomerJack’s Grills — including one that opened in Houston four months ago — four District 21 Sports Kitche5D ns (previously Lone Star Wings) and Bedford Ice House, a live-music venue.

Additional BoomerJack’s are underway in Katy, Mansfield and Tomball with more sites in Houston and San Antonio being scouted.

Tipps expects to bring in $100 million in revenue in the next 12 months — more than enough to fuel growth and create opportunities for his management team, who need to see a path for upward mobility, he said.

“If you’re not growing, you’re dying,” he said,

Kindhearted daredevil

Tipps is a piece of work by anyone’s definition — and his own volition.

“Even when he was young, Brent thought of Mount Rushmore as small hurdles,” said Joe Croce, the co-founder of CiCi’s Pizza who hired Tipps in 1990. “He’s been an innovator at every turn.”

Those in his closest circle describe Tipps as adventurous, a high-octane risk taker, generous to a fault, irreverent but deeply spiritual, genuinely kind, devoted to his employees and addictively funny.

They’d all rather Tipps stick to golf as a hobby than his daredevil Can-Am dune buggy racing over dangerous terrain.

Tipps listened to my intel and nodded.

“Risk taker and adventurous, for sure,” Tipps said. “I like to have fun. I do consider myself kind. I’ll do anything for anybody. It just rolls back to you. And I know I’m blessed. I probably shouldn’t be around on this earth with the way I race.

“God’s keeping me around for a reason.”

All of this begs the question: Is this guy for real?

“What you see is what you get,” said Steve Haskins, his closest friend who trained Tipps at the CiCi’s restaurant in Richardson 34 years ago.

“We all had to read the book Nuts by Southwest’s founder Herb Kelleher as part of our culture. Herb always had employees’ backs. That’s Brent,” said Haskins, who owns and operates the latest version of CiCis in Mansfield and runs four other units for another franchisee. “I joke that there were a lot of similarities between Herb and Brent, but Brent doesn’t smoke.”

Mike Cole, his longtime business mentor and co-founder who financially backed CiCi’s early on, said Tipps’ willingness to take on debt would give Cole anxiety attacks. “I’d be checking on the restaurants every day,” he said. “But Brent has great confidence in his team that he’s put together.

“The proof is in the pudding in how long he keeps employees.”

I got to know Tipps through The Dallas Morning News’ Top 100 Places to Work competition, in which employees anonymously rated their employers for leadership, management, benefits and culture.

BoomerJack’s placed No. 3 and No. 4 among our large employers in 2019 and 2020 — the highest rankings ever by a hospitality company.

In both years, BoomerJack’s also received special awards for management.

“I wasn’t always treated right,” Tipps said. “I never thought, ‘Well when I make it, I won’t do that.’ I didn’t have big philosophies. I just want to have fun, take care of people and serve the guests.”

Giveback nation

The company gives to many causes, but focuses on the Joan Katz Resource Center, the Texas Rangers Foundation and GRACE Grapevine Relief & Community Exchange.

His troops follow his lead by donating their time and money while having fun in the process.

BoomerJack’s holds an annual golf tournament for the Joan Katz center — “Tee Off Fore Tata’s — in a personal tribute to Tipps’ mother, Tanya Pakan, who is an 18-year breast cancer survivor. The 2023 event held at Bear Creek Golf Club in October raised $100,000. “That feels really, really good for a company our size,” he said.

It’s quite a turnaround from the first year in 2009, when Tipps made a $4,000 donation on his credit card and the tournament lost money.

“But hey, what was a few more thousand dollars when you’re broke,” Tipps said. “We’ve gotten much better. We take up two courses, and it sells out in a few days. It’s stupid popular.”

Rude awakening

In 1985, Tipps was an aimless 18-year-old junior college dropout living with his parents in Amarillo when his father unceremoniously marched into Brent’s bedroom after Brent had been out late partying.

“I remember him knocking on my door, opening the curtains and saying, ‘Guess what today is? It’s move-out day.’ I look outside, and there’s a U-Haul hooked up behind my pickup,” Tipps said with a laugh. “I’m dead serious.”

The only job he could get was as a day laborer on a construction site, handing sheets of plywood to a roofer.

At Steak & Ale in Dallas, Tipps worked his way up to the head broiler in the kitchen working six-day, 90-hour weeks.

“We had a blast, man,” Tipps said. “We had our hats on backwards with Aretha Franklin playing. I wore sunglasses. We had the fastest, best cook times the restaurant had ever had.”

Tipps tended bar along the Las Colinas canal during the days of easy money in a booming economy.

One night, this “hippie dippy dude with sunglasses” came walking down the stairs barefoot.

Tipps apologetically told him that there was some health department rule about having to wear shoes.

“He goes, ‘OK cool,’ and goes back up the stairs and across to the Omni [Hotel]. The phone rings a little later, and it’s the general manager of the Omni. He told my boss I’d just thrown John Lennon out of the restaurant.

“My boss called me an idiot.”

Preachers, teachers

Croce, originator of the CiCi’s all-you-can-eat pizza concept, initially refused to hire the 21-year-old with a cocky attitude. Undaunted, Tipps literally stalked Croce as he visited his four CiCi’s restaurants. There were approximately 420 CiCi’s in 2003, when Croce sold his interests to his management team for untold millions.

The company has been through several ownership transitions and is now named CiCis.

Tipps became Croce’s “Fix-It Guy” sent in to help CiCi’s franchisees in financial trouble.

He used advice given by a successful CiCi’s owner, who told Tipps that he needed to embrace preachers, teachers and coaches, because they ordered the most pizza or picked where their teams ate. “I’d spend all day long in my truck visiting every church and school in town finding out what we could do to win their business.”

In 1996, Croce finally gave Tipps his shot at being a franchisee after the owner of the CiCi’s in Hot Springs, Ark., locked the doors on Super Bowl Sunday and filed for bankruptcy.

“I started meeting preachers, teachers and coaches and serving pizza made with fresh ingredients,” Tipps said. “I took it from doing like $250,000 annualized to a million three.”

Birth of BoomerJack’s

Tipps used the proceeds from the sale of the Hot Springs store to open one in Coppell.

On Tipps’ way home, he’d stop at the Wingstop for 10 wings and fries.

When Wingstop wouldn’t return Tipps’ calls about buying a franchise, he went dumpster diving to find out what products it used.

He opened his first Lone Star Wings in Casa Linda in 2002.

After CiCi’s laid down the hammer about not owning other types of franchises, Tipps chose wings, chicken tenders and catfish, which were bringing in more revenue than pizzas.

In 2007, Tipps wanted to open a Lone Star Wings in Montgomery Plaza, Fort Worth’s up-and-coming development of converted warehouses on West 7th Street just west of downtown.

But the landlord wanted casual dining, not counter service, in his mixed-use venture.

Not to worry, he had another concept ready to launch — even though he didn’t.

The landlord wanted to see the menu.

Tipps got his design guy to copy and paste from a Chili’s menu with burgers, salads and wings and slapped on a logo. “I faxed it over to [the landlord], and he said, ‘Oh, this is exactly what we’re looking for.’”

Tipps named it BoomerJack’s, and it was an instant success.

So what’s with the names?

Sidecar Social, BoomerJack’s Grill and District 21 (formerly Lone Star Wings) have three things in common: They’re catchy, trademarkable and don’t mean anything.

He recently dropped “bar” from BoomerJack’s name so that moms wouldn’t exercise their “veto power” in deciding where the family was going to eat. “Who wants to take their kids to a bar?” he said.

Tipps is a mega fan of Major League Baseball, hence the name On Deck Concepts.

No repeat offenders

Tipps has spent two years reshaping On Deck, renaming and merging concepts, hunting for prime real estate and turning over daily decision-making to his executive team.

“I’m gone a lot, but I’m in touch with these guys 24/7,” Tipps said. Tipps gives employees the freedom to fail — just don’t be a repeat offender. “I tell them, ‘It’s OK to make a mistake, but if you make the same mistake twice, you’ve got to go. It just means you’re dumb, and you didn’t learn.’”

Michael Currie, manager of the original BoomerJack’s in Fort Worth when it opened 17 years ago, is now director of human resources.

“We’re more of a close-knit, accountable team than a family where no matter what you do, you’re always part of the family,” Currie said. “If you do something illegal, immoral or something that’s going to diminish our brand, there’s going to be consequences.”

Tipps, who’s been broke but never broken, knows he can let spending get out of hand. He depends on his CFO, Bruce Hvidsten, to keep him in check.

“I’m the gas. He’s the brakes,” Tipps said.

Hvidsten (the “h” is silent) says that pretty well sums up their relationship.

“Brent is a visionary who can see around corners. It’s a blast to work with him,” said Hvidsten, 55, who joined On Deck seven years ago.

“We’ve positioned the company over the past several years to see what options are out there. We’re blessed to have that.”

Private equity “tire kickers” have been showing up — but so far Tipps has not been interested in any of them, he said. “When it’s the right time and the right people, I’ll know.”

Personal bucket list

Tipps and his first wife divorced in 2017. He remains close with his son, Graydon, 23, who works with a restaurant group in Oklahoma City, and his daughter, Berkley, a 19-year-old sophomore at Baylor University in Waco.

Brent married Kimberly, 38, six years ago. They live in Keller, have a “chill-out home” in laid-back San José del Cabo, Mexico, and enjoy whirlwind traveling. They’ve just checked off a trip to Alaska from their bucket list.

Kimberly has taught Brent the value of a savings account — something he’d never had before — while she’s learning to be slightly less cautious.

“At heart, I’m definitely not a risk taker,” Kimberly said. “But I’m becoming more of a risk taker given Brent’s track record of his risks turning out really, really well.”

What about his Can-Am dune-buggy racing, which can be extremely dangerous?

“That’s the risk-taking that I find scary, terrifying actually,” she said. “But I support his bad habit.”

Joe Croce is amazed but not surprised by his former employee’s accomplishments.

“The things we tried to rein him in on are the reasons he’s been so successful,” Croce said. “There’s a Tom Brady quote, ‘If you really want to be successful you have to get uncomfortable because that’s where great things happen.’ Brent’s comfortable being uncomfortable.”

Accuracy matters and The News wants it right

Errors hurt credibility, but our journalists have a system in place

Ann D’Amico and husband Dennis devour The Dallas Morning News every day, wading through news stories, comics, the Opinion section.

Ann spends up to 45 minutes with the paper; Dennis gives it at least an hour.

The retired advertising professionals and Dallas residents are longtime subscribers who years ago both majored in journalism.

They know, as Dennis says, that “Reporting is a difficult job.”

Yet the energetic, plainspoken couple have no patience for grammatical errors, typos and factual mistakes, including missing information.

Ann points to a story in late May about a homicide victim, part of a yearlong series that is chronicling the life of every person slain in Dallas in 2024.

It was, she says, “lacking in facts, and that really bothered me.”

Among her questions:

Exactly where did the killing happen? If he died as a part of a shootout, as the story said, did the victim have a gun, too?

Who else was shooting, and why?

Based on my inbox, I’d say accuracy is one of the most important issues for readers.

They are baffled when we get our facts wrong or leave out relevant material. To them, it all adds up to inaccuracy.

“Grant Moise [publisher of The News ] says that the paper strives to give the reader high-quality content that allows them to make informed decisions,” Ann says. “Well, you can only make informed decisions if you have facts.”

Like those who accuse us of deliberate bias, the angriest of those readers choose the worst narrative — that our journalists are indifferent to the truth, animated by a casual disdain for our audience.

I don’t buy that.

But they are right to see this as a challenge that strikes at the heart of our credibility.

In late May, a Metro piece included both a misspelled name and an incorrect date.

In other stories in recent weeks, we used “diffuse” when we meant “defuse,”

“lay” when we should have used “lie,” and

“alright” instead of “all right.”

The headline on a front-page story last month incorrectly referred to mifepristone as an anti-abortion drug.

Another Page 1A story in June contained a missing word and a grammatical error.

Late last month, a headline said that Kevin Costner spent $100,000 on his latest film project. The correct figure: $100 million.

The News keeps a database of its errors.

It includes mistakes by everyone from photojournalists to reporters to top editors.

No one is exempt.

From October 2022 to late May 2024, our staff compiled 471 errors.

Our journalists churn out at least 2,400 pieces of content every month, and so judging by published corrections, it appears that they are accurate most of the time.

We also deserve credit for tracking and publishing corrections, as many media outlets do neither.

Still, we are laboring to build, and rebuild, trust with readers, and mistakes make that task harder.

This is not lost on Executive Editor Katrice Hardy.

“We talk about it a lot,” Hardy says. “We want to really make sure that we’re accurate. We understand that we’re going to make mistakes; we’re human. But the point is that we make as few as possible.”

That means editors are asking reporters, “Where’d you get the information from? Is it a reliable source?” Hardy adds. “Are you checking, going over the names, the dates, even looking at the quotes that you’re using? Is there another place where you could check this information?”

On a typical day, Assistant Managing Editor for News Steve Bruss says, we publish 80 to 100 pieces of content on dallasnews .com.

In this highly competitive media market, immediacy and accuracy often collide, and sometimes accuracy loses. Bruss says many errors are routine — misspelled names, mislabeled neighborhoods, misused words.

He is not minimizing these mistakes.

In fact, just the opposite: He points out that, over time, small errors still blunt readers’ trust.

For example, after spotting a grammatical mistake in the opening paragraph of a Metro story on July 2, Ann D’Amico thought, “ ‘This person doesn’t know what they’re talking about.’ That’s not fair, but it’s my first instinct.”

Our editors have taken a series of steps to improve accuracy.

The corrections database is one.

The news department is also tweaking processes to allow for more stories to be read by copy editors before they go up on our website.

A couple of reporters teach a fact-checking course once a quarter. Newsroom leaders plan to bulk up the onboarding process for newcomers, with an emphasis on giving them more information about the area.

And editors keep telling reporters to slow down.

The stakes could not be higher.

In our Wild West media ecosystem, getting the facts right is one of the few advantages we hold over competitors. It is the quickest, most reliable way to distinguish ourselves from those who traffic in conspiracy theories, unfounded rumors and lies.

Accuracy is one way to perhaps win back readers who’ve abandoned mainstream media. And it is a sure path to keeping readers like the D’Amicos happy.

[whoacanada]

Zimbits - Bartender!Jack + NHL!Bitty AU

Prompt: Retired NHL player Jack Zimmermann takes ownership of a sports bar in Pittsburgh and accidentally falls for the Penguins’ (closeted) new left winger.

A/N - just the start, I’d like to get around to more of this; the basic idea was an It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia AU, but I couldn’t manage to make everyone that terrible so Jack owns and operates a gay sports bar and starts crushing on one of his patrons.

“Can’t believe you’ve owned this place since ’89.” Jack coughs, waving the dust away from his face. “Did you ever come back after we moved home?”

It’d be disingenuous to say Jack had been expecting anything other than cigars and whiskey when his father had invited him on a trip down to Pittsburgh to see Mario and glad-hand some Penguins sponsors. In fact, he’d kind of been looking forward to sulking and getting shit-faced, not limping around a condemned building dodging roaches and rats.

“It was an investment opportunity. That was the trend back then, famous athletes buying up restaurants and clubs — I had big plans for this building. Then your mother got pregnant and I realized I didn’t really give two shits about running a nightclub.”

“Realized you were pretty lazy, huh?”

As Bob laughs, Jack picks at the peeling, lacquered bartop, trying not to imagine how many decades of grime he’s just collecting under his nail, the situation made even more disgusting in such close proximity to the glittering gold championship ring his father had insisted he wear to their lunch meeting with the Penguins front-office suits. Jack flicks the gunk away as Bob levels him with a weighty look, hands braced in the air as if outlining a play and not offering a tour of a cobweb-filled dive.

“Here’s my thought,” Bob says. “The bar. It’s yours.”

Jack leans against the counter, taking some weight off his braced leg, and asks, “What’s mine?”

“This place,” Bob gestures around the room. “The whole building. It’s just sitting here, empty, the bar, the liquor license, there’s apartments and office space upstairs, we’d just need to do some renovations and —“

Jack can’t help himself. He barks a laugh and says, “I’m not moving to Pittsburgh.”

“How many times have you and I talked about opening a sports bar? I’d wanted to get this place fixed up so it’d be ready when you retired, but since the final — you could make it a gay bar, even, if you wanted!” Bob says quickly, offering another awkward olive branch. “A gay sports bar. I wouldn’t care.”

“A gay sports bar. In Pittsburgh,” Jack echoes, reaching for a chirp to defend himself, but he closes him mouth as he realizes a sports bar run by a Zimmermann might not be a terrible investment idea. “The building needs a ton of work,” Jack settles. “I just saw a rat.”

“That was a mouse,” Bob dismisses, not bothering to look at the rat still clearly in view. “Nothing that can’t be fixed. Got a dollar?”

Jack pats his pockets, finds a spare looney and hands it over. Bob doesn’t hesitate, pulling an envelope out of his back pocket to exchange for the coin.

“Congratulations. You are now the proud owner of,” Bob looks around helplessly. “I actually don’t know what they call this place now. A Bar?”

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” Jack swallows against the tightness in his throat, holding the deed carefully in his hands. “Thanks, Dad.”

Bob brings Jack in for a loose hug and they both ignore the soft squeaking coming from the backroom.

Five Years Later

There’s a man examining the announcement board in the vestibule, and Jack knows that posture: the forward hip cant, thick thighs, a small but definite bubble butt — guy’s a hockey player, and he has been for some time.

“Hey. Hi.”

Blondie spins around at Jack’s address. Not quite startled, but something close enough that Jack feels a twinge of guilt. “You interested in playing in our beer league? You look like you might know your way around a rink.”

The man quickly looks at his chest, as if expecting to find something displayed, but relaxes immediately. Jack fights a grin, he was once old hat at wandering into public spaces decked out in identifiable team merch.

“Bitty.” The man squares up to offer his hand; his accent is warm and distinctly southern, not at all what Jack was expecting. “You can call me Bitty.”

“Oh, with a nickname like that, you have to play, now, no excuses,” Jack gives Bitty’s arm a firm shake, surprised at how complementary his grip is; not just an overcompensating bro who’s walked into the wrong club.

“If only I had the time,” Bitty placates wryly. “Is this place new?”

“Been here a few years, but not long. How about you? Are you ‘new’? In town, I mean.”

“Moved for work,” Bitty’s smile is timid, eyes darting around the room looking for other patrons, up at the memorabilia and the various pennants. “First year. Slowly learning the area.”

Jack doesn’t miss the way Bitty’s eyes linger on the Pride flag draped from the second floor railing, but Bitty doesn’t mention it, and Jack isn’t in the business of prying.

“Let me be the first to welcome you to The Bar.”

“I saw that outside, do you not have a name?”

“We weren’t creative. The owner didn’t realize he was filling in the wrong line on the business license so we are literally called ‘The Bar’.”

“That’s actually pretty solid,” Bitty laughs, the sound lifting Jack’s mood easily. “I’ll have to make sure I come back and patron your establishment at a reasonable hour.”

“What you aren’t interested at getting sloshed before noon?”

Bitty laughs, and Jack is enough of an adult to recognize he’s got a tiny bit of a crush.

______

True to form, Bitty slowly becomes a feature of Jack’s early afternoons. The first few weeks, he does little more than quietly purchase a single domestic beer before tucking himself away in a corner booth, hunched over his phone, ball cap pulled low for discretion. Jack gives him space, and aside from a few curious regulars, Bitty is little more than another closeted young man seeking quiet sanctuary.

That is, until, hockey kicks up and Mario hooks Jack up with season tickets beside the bench. It’d taken time for Jack to get comfortable with being in an arena again, especially without the ability to step onto the ice himself, but he’s acclimated and learned to appreciate his new lot in life. He can be happy for his success and mourn the end of his career with equal measure.

(Doesn’t hurt he still gets asked for autographs on the regular.)

Bittle, the new forward traded out of Columbus, spins to whip the puck between Lundqvist’s thighs and the score is 3-2 with a minute left in the third. Jack stands to cheer with the crowd as Bittle’s pulled into a celly with his line mates, and the new angle gives Jack a good look at the man’s sunny face, complete with a familiar, bright smile and missing canine. Jack’s heart leaps into his throat when he realizes Bittle is ‘Bitty’, and Jack can’t help but cheer louder.

________

After the game, Jack does his homework. Pulls up stats pages and articles on Eric Bittle. Looking to link the quiet hottie from his bar with the energetic man he saw tonight on the ice. If Jack wasn’t in love before, he absolutely is after watching highlights from Bittle’s time in Columbus.

The next time Jack finds Bitty slipping into the bar, probably between practice and a good nap, Jack makes his move; filling a pint glass, wedging an orange slice on the rim, and adjusting his shirt before striding to the corner booth as easily as one can with a titanium femur.

“On the house,” Jack says, setting down the glass gently. “Choice goal, Tuesday. Great bounce.”

Bitty’s grateful smile falters, turning into something guarded.

“What goal?” Bitty asks, voice steady, and Jack’s immediately alerted to his misstep. Jack casts a careful eye around the room and doesn’t find anyone watching, kicking himself for not thinking this through. He’s used to playing this game with guys who aren’t quite comfortable, who might be visiting with the wrong people, but he hasn’t had to do the closeted-pro-athlete dance in a while.

“You know, I must have been mistaken.”

“Happens all the time. Very sweet of you, though.” Bitty apologizes and pushes away the beer, but Jack waves him off. It’s the least Jack can do for calling the guy out.

“I should have known,” Jack tries to recover. “You’ve still got all your chiclets. But, between you and me, Bittle’s a spitfire, eh? Crazy soft hands. I’d like to meet him someday.”

Jack whistles low, rapping his knuckles on the table before turning back to the bar, moving slowly enough he catches the way Bitty’s cheeks flare pink at the compliment.

About thirty minutes later, Jack, half focused on counting down the till, nearly misses Bitty’s exit. He looks up to offer a parting wave, and Bitty returns the gesture, flashing a shy, incomplete smile; one canine missing on the left side.

________

“Anything new to report? Sales look good, think you might be able to take some time off and visit your poor parents?”

Jack slides open a window to let some air into his bedroom, not for the first time wishing he’d taken the chance to tear out a wall and convert a corner of the top floor into a balcony. There’s still time — his father never seems to wary of giving Jack renovation loans — but Jack loves his condo and hates the idea of relocating again, even temporarily.

“New distillery opened, cut a deal on some local gin. We’re working on drink specials, if you have any ideas for names I’m open,” Jack eases onto the windowsill and looks down at the line of people waiting to get into the bar. “And I met someone. Think he might be a hockey player.”

“No shit? Beer-league?”

“NHL.” Jack corrects, an edge of caution in his tone he knows his father won’t misinterpret. “Started coming around a few months ago, gave me a fake name. Went to a game last week, scored right in front of me.”

“Well, you going to tell me who or am I going to have to guess?”

“He’s keeping to himself,” Jack holds the curtain steady to catch sight of a particularly flashy person in a glittering teal gown, texting Holster to snag a photo for the bar’s Instagram. “Don’t go hunting.”

“Well, if he needs any help you let me know.”

“What could you do?”

“I don’t know. Talk to . . . someone. I guess.”

“I’ll keep that under advisement.” Jack placates, smiling at the saucy photo Ransom texts back immediately of Holster lifting their favorite Drag Race runner-up above his head like something out of Dirty Dancing.

“So.”

“Mmm?”

“Does this mean you’ve got a little boyfriend, again?”

Jack leans out over the railing and tries to see if the universe has blessed him with a sighting of his favorite new Left Winger. Sadly, it’s Saturday evening and the Penguins are in Dallas, so no Eric tonight. 

“Working on it.” Jack offers, rapping his knuckles lightly against the window sill and trying not to think about the way Bittle’s face lights up when he sees that Jack is working. “Think I might really have a shot at something.”

“Well, you know what Wayne always says.”

“I do,” Jack breathes, pressing his forehead against the cool glass, taking in his one-of-a-kind view of the city. “I’ll let you know how it goes. Once he gets back.”

“ — You know, I’ve got the game on right now. I bet you $1000 I can tell who you’ve got the hots for. You have a specific type — ”

“Papa.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

“Thank you.”

“But it’s the kid we just got from the Blue Jackets, isn’t it. Bittle? You always like the fast ones — ”

“Goodnight, Papa.”

[blueskrugs]

Tim McGraw | Brock Boeser

ahhhh! this is the first fic of the swift series! I can’t believe I am actually going to try and pull this off for the next five months. I hope you guys like it and big shoutout to @broadstbroskis for being my sounding board throughout all this fic planning and then beta-ing this!

length: 1.6k words

But when you think Tim McGraw,  I hope you think my favorite song

Falling in love with Brock was easy. 

It was the summer before your sophomore year of college, on the precipice of both your lives changing, though neither of you knew it at the time. 

Time seemed to move slower that summer, long sunny days blending into bonfire nights out by the lake, September nothing more than a distant day on the calendar. You watched as Brock’s hair turned more blond and his shoulders turned more tan, hours outside in the sun doing their job. 

You remembered the first time Brock kissed you; you weren’t sure it was something you’d ever forget. You’d spent weeks dancing around each other, learning each other, had spent an entire Fourth of July party practically glued to each other’s sides. It seemed more than inevitable by the time it finally happened.

He called you late one night, woke you up and begged you to meet him down at the lakefront. You went, because of course you did, met him down at the dock, where he was waiting with a pile of blankets in the speedboat his family used. He tossed you one of his UND hoodies with a grin before helping you onto the boat. You settled into the nest of blankets in the prow as Brock carefully steered the boat out from the dock and into the middle of the lake. 

It was a clear night, the stars and the full moon shining brightly against the still, dark lake, and a quiet one. The only sounds filling the air were the quiet hum of the boat’s motor and Brock’s country playlist playing quietly from his phone, neither quite loud enough to drown out the constant buzz of the cicadas. 

Brock cut the motor and came to sit behind you. You rested your head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He was warm and solid behind you, and you were both quiet for a moment, just listening to the music.

“This is one of my favorite songs,” you murmured, as Tim McGraw’s “Humble and Kind” started filtering through the speakers.

“I know,” Brock said simply. You didn’t remember telling him that. You could hear his heartbeat beneath your ear, steady and calm. 

You were caught up in trying to remember when you’d told Brock your favorite song when he shifted a little behind you. You twisted in his arms to see what was the matter, but then he was kissing you, softly in the moonlight, and you didn’t get the chance.

“Wanted to do that for a while,” he admitted after he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. His breath fanned across your face when he breathed out a sigh. Tim McGraw was still playing somewhere behind you.

“I would’ve let you,” you said back.

Brock breathed out a laugh and kissed you again, one hand tangled in your hair, the other still wrapped around your waist.

And I was right there beside him all summer long,  And then the time we woke up to find that summer gone

For all that that summer seemed endless while it was happening, it ended abruptly, shattering the peaceful love you and Brock had been building out on the lake. 

You snuck out one last time, both of you dressed in something other than a swimsuit for once, spent the night in each other’s arms with your bare feet dangling in the lake off the dock, the stars and the moon lighting your way once again.

You weren’t sure you’d ever look at the summer stars the same way when you were older.

Brock went back to UND. Your family moved away from Minnesota. Summer romances were never meant to last, you told yourself, as you left yours in the dust.

Brock promised he would keep in touch, pressed a green UND hoodie into your hands and a goodbye kiss to your lips. You smiled at him, because you knew it would never last, and it didn’t. Brock had other things to focus on, hockey and his future. It was only a matter of time until he forgot you. 

You spent a lot of time wearing that hoodie he gave you in the beginning, more time than you cared to admit. You spent more time crying than you cared to admit, too. You kept wearing it long after it stopped smelling like Brock and summer, until it was almost nothing to you and the comfort of it was gone. Almost.

Brock’s texts trickled to a stop before Christmas, but you couldn’t blame him. You’d always had a feeling that this– whatever this had been– had meant more to you than it had to him.

You couldn’t bring yourself to stop following him, though, not even when your friends and family gave you pitying looks, not when UND got booted out of the championship tournament. “He’s just a boy,” they’d say, but they also say you never forget your first love, don’t they? You watched his first NHL game, at home in Minnesota, his first NHL goal, too. And if you cried a little, well, at least there was no else around to see it. 

Years passed, and, slowly, you moved on. Brock’s sweatshirt made its way to the back of your closet. You fell in love again, fell out of love. Stopped loving Brock. You graduated college. You never did go back to the lake, wondered if Brock ever had. If he’d waited for you, or if he’d moved in and found another girl to spend the summer with. For the most part, you forgot about Brock. Forgot about his laugh, about the way he’d roll his eyes when you teased him. How he knew your favorite songs. You did your best to, at least. It was easier said than done for a long time.

But in a box beneath my bed, there’s a letter that you never read from three summers back It’s hard not to find it all a little bittersweet...

You were cleaning out your old bedroom at your parents’ house when you found it. It was a letter you’d written to Brock after that summer, when you were confused and lonely, filled with all the things that you didn’t have the courage to say to his face. It was in an envelope, addressed and stamped, but you’d never planned on sending it. In all the chaos of moving that fall, it had gotten thrown in a box and shoved under your bed to be forgotten. 

You remembered every word you’d written, but you carefully pulled it out anyway. You read that letter again and again over the next few days, always pausing on the last words you wrote before you signed your name: “I love you.”

It was another several days before you pulled out a clean sheet of paper and a pen, wrote a continuation to that letter. You’d loved Brock once, yes, but you didn’t anymore, not in the same way. There were no tears left in this story. He’d always be your first love, and you’d always want the best for him. You just no longer felt your heart break every time you thought of him, and you hadn’t for a long time. 

You hoped that he was happy out there in Vancouver, living his dream.

And there’s a letter left on your doorstep, And the first thing that you’ll read...

“Brock, there’s a letter for you!” his mom called through the house.

“Who sends letters anymore?” he asked, which earned him a smack with the envelope. He took it from his mom anyway. The return address was unfamiliar, out-of-state, and there was no name, but he felt like he’d seen the handwriting somewhere before. He took the envelope out on the back deck with Coolie, carefully slid his thumb under the flap and opened it.

A picture slid out from in-between two folded pieces of paper when he tugged them out. It took only a quick glance at it to tell him exactly who had sent him this letter. It was a picture of the two of you at that Fourth of July party you’d spent together all those summers ago. Brock had spent the entire day trying not to kiss you right there in front of everyone.

Brock smiled at the picture for a moment. His arms were wrapped around your shoulders, your hands reaching up to grasp his. You were both laughing at some joke long forgotten. He didn’t even remember anyone taking the picture. He carefully set it aside to turn his attention to the letter. He read in silence as the afternoon sun slowly dipped lower in the sky. Coolie was off somewhere in the grass, having found a stick to chew on.

Brock read the letter, then again. He stared at your name on the bottom of each page for a minute before carefully refolding them. He whistled once for Coolie, who came running, still carrying the stick. 

“Where are you off to?” his mom asked as he made his way back into the house and grabbed his car keys.

“For a drive.”

When you think Tim McGraw, I hope you think of me

The letter was tossed in his glovebox. Brock plugged in his aux, pulled up Spotify, and scrolled all the way down to his country playlist. There was a song on there he didn’t listen to very often, could never really explain why he always skipped it, but right now he clicked on it and turned the volume up.

“Always stay humble and kind,” sang Tim McGraw as he put his car and drive and allowed himself to remember, just this once.

[briswriting]

『 the three times you kissed kuroo and the one time he kissed you 』

pairing: kuroo x fem!reader genre: angst, fluff warning: characters are 18 when there is underaged drinking wc: 3709

a/n: i’ve been planning to write a 3+1 trope and here it is hehe this is dedicated to my ibff @mikwrites because today is our 6 month friendiversay hehe iykyk! i love you so much mik babie mwah i am so so so glad that we are friends <3 also this is my longest fic oof it was lots of fun to write though!

Elementary school, fifth year; ten years old

The bright sun shining harsh rays of light down onto the opened field, shrieks of laughter drifting through the jungle made of deteriorating metal and plastic. A playground worn down year after year, used by smiling children, then years later used by their own smiling children.

The gleeful expressions shown when seeing a friend approach the park, the sound of cheers when someone was found during a game of hide and seek, and the sorrowful thoughts when it was time to leave the playground, head full of fantasies and dreams for when and what you’ll do the next time you visit this field of happiness once again.

This time you were at the playground alone, sitting on the faded seat of the swing, kicking your legs back and forth as the rusted chains softly creaked from the movement. Minutes felt like hours while you sat there waiting for your friends, Kuroo Tetsuro and Kenma Kozume. The former calling your house phone the night before telling you to meet him at the park, something about wanting to show you and Kenma a new volleyball move he learned.

Lost in thought, you didn’t notice your two friends approaching the swing set you were currently situated at. The young bed headed boy sneaking up behind you, putting a finger up to his lips so the other young boy wouldn’t say anything, before jabbing his index fingers into your sides.

“Boo!” His small voice screams into your ear, a wide grin on his face from your shriek of surprise as you almost fall off the seat of the swing.

With a pout on your face, you jump off the swing and turn around to face the two boys. “Kuroo that was mean. Why didn’t you stop him Kenma?” you whine, arms crossed in front of your chest. The later shrugging, mumbling about how Kuroo probably would have made him do some volleyball moves with him if he said anything about their approach from behind you, also stating that he was only here because his parents told him to play outside for once.

It was hours later, the bright sun finally setting for the day, leaving a soft glow of light on the three kids still at the playground. Hours of watching Kuroo try to do volleyball moves he saw on tv, hours of talking about nonsense with your two best friends in the open field.

“Alright, Kenma, toss the ball as hard as you can. I swear I’ll receive it this time!” And with those words and a roll of his eyes, Kenma tosses the ball into the air and hits it towards Kuroo with all the strength he could muster.

As the ball flies towards the crouching raven haired boy, rather than receiving it with his forearms as he planned, the ball rebounds off the side of his face, startling the young boy and causing him to fall flat on his bottom.

“Omg Kuroo, are you alright?” You quickly rush off to the boy as he sits on the ground, still in a daze. Kneeling beside him to check for any injuries, the hit to his face could have caused.

“Woah, Kenma! I didn’t know you could toss that hard!” He grins, quickly standing up and brushing the dirt off his clothes. “And I’m fine, Y/N, it was a hard toss but wasn’t too hard to knock me out or anything.”

“Are you sure? Should we go to my house and get some ice?” You question, a bit worried that the hit to his face would cause swelling and bruising.

“Nah, it’s alright. If it bruises, I’ll just tell people I got into a fight or something! Imagine how cool people would think I am for getting into a fight with someone.” The expression on his face full of excitement at the thought of him telling people he got decked in the face because he got into a fistfight with someone.

“You should just kiss it better, Y/N. Maybe that’ll shut him up,” Kenma states sarcastically. His words don’t even process in your head as sarcastic, as it’s still full of worry.

From your place by his side, you reach up to plant a quick kiss to cheek that got hit by the volleyball, pulling back with a grin. “There, all better!”

Junior high, third year; fourteen years old

A comfortable silence surrounds you and Kuroo as the two of you sat in his bedroom, waiting for Kenma to come over with the new video game he recently purchased and was eager to show the two of you.

You were seated on the edge of his bed, Kuroo situated behind you as he tried his best to braid your hair. Looking in the mirror every once in a while, you caught glimpses of his concentrated face as he tugged on your hair to try and create the perfect braid.

“Have you had your first kiss yet, Y/N?” His question breaking the silence enveloping the two of you, catching you completely off guard as you look back into the mirror and make eye contact with him.

“I mean, if I did, I feel like I would have told you and Kenma every detail about it,” you laugh out, giggling at the disgusted face he makes due to your words. “Why do you ask?”

“Hmmm, just curious, I guess. Also, there, I finished the perfect braid!” He exclaims, a proud grin on his face as you turn your head to check out the braid in the mirror.

“Kuroo, this braid is terrible!” You cry out, laughter falling from your lips as you examine the braid with pieces of hair sticking out and a large strand of hair not intertwined with the rest of the braid.

“I know its terrible! Braiding is hard; I don’t know how you do it.” With a loud sigh, he dramatically throws himself backward, flopping down on his bed, back to the mattress as he stares up at the ceiling.

Taking your hair out of the braid, mumbling as you work out the tangles with your fingers, you lay yourself down next to him, accompanying him in staring at the blank ceiling of his bedroom. His previous question still floating around in your mind, had he had his yet and was trying to find a way to tell you? “Hey Kuroo, have you had your first kiss yet?”

“Not yet, but almost all the guys at school have already. We’re about to go into high school, and I haven’t even kissed someone yet,” he sighs again, closing his eyes to try and get rid of the thought of not having kissed anyone yet, his braining thinking it was something to be embarrassed of.

From his body language, you knew he was thinking about how embarrassing it was to not have his first kiss yet. Shifting to your side, you focus your gaze onto his face rather than his ceiling. “Hey, it’s not embarrassing to not have kissed anyone yet! I mean, we’re still young, and don’t you want your first kiss to be with someone you care about, and not just some lame kiss to get it done and over with?”

“I guess that makes sense. I don’t know I was just thinking.”

“What you thinking for the first time in your life?” You playfully tease, prodding his side with your finger, a playful and mundane action between the two of you. “Did you bring it up because you want me to be your first kiss?”

Your question causing him to open his eyes quickly, shock evident on his face as he shifted his gaze to look at you. The shit eating grin on your face letting him know that you were just teasing him and his thoughts.

“Don’t say things like that, gonna get my hopes up,” he teases back, a grin on his own face as he shifts to his side, the two of you now facing face to face with each other. “But all jokes aside, if you hypothetically wanted to be each other’s first kiss I wouldn’t be op-”

And with that, you interrupt his words by closing the gap between the two of you, placing a quick peck to his lips before pulling away with a grin, the same kind of grin you made when you had first kissed him on the cheek all those years ago.

A blush evident on both your faces, Kuroo a stammering mess, still trying to process what just happened. The door to his bedroom flying open, causing the two of you to jump apart from your close proximity.

“Hey guys, sorry I’m late, but I have the game! Wait, did something happen? What did I miss? Why does Kuroo look like that?”

High school, third year; eighteen years old

The sound of blasting music and loud chatter filled your ears as Kuroo opened the door to the house of a graduation party the two of you were invited to. Graduation. It was a couple more weeks away, but once it arrived, you would go your separate ways from your friends, Kenma still having another year in high school and Kuroo going to a different university than you.

Although the three of you wouldn’t be too far away from each other, you were all staring different stages of your lives without each other. You were no longer going to have them right across the street from you when you needed comfort; the next step in life was going to be different. Different from the last ten years that the three of you had spent together, side by side.

“Hey, I’m gonna go grab us some drinks. Go find Yaku and Kai, yeah?” Kuroo shouted over the bustling noise of the party.

“Yeah, I’ll go look for them. I’ll text you where we’re at, but please nothing too strong, Kuroo! We have to walk back home,” you warn him as he starts to leave your side.

“Yes ma’am,” he teases, giving you a playful salute then walking away, towards the kitchen where the drinks were located.

After a quick glance around the house, you heard Kai and Yaku’s familiar shouts coming from the backyard. Peaking your head out the sliding door, you were relieved to finally find your friends, occupied by a game of beer pong with a couple of people you had recognized from school.

“Hey Y/N, you made it! Where’s Kuroo at?” Yaku greets you, pulling you into a hug before taking his turn at tossing the ping pong ball, it lands with a soft splash into the last cup on the opposing team’s side — his and Kai’s shouts of victory ringing in your ears as they high five.

Before you can answer Yaku’s question, you feel a familiar poke to your side, quickly turning around to see Kuroo behind you with two cups.

“You were supposed to text me where you guys were at Y/N. Made me go searching for you guys myself,” he fake pouts at you, handing you your cup before greeting everyone that was outside.

Taking a sip of the drink, he handed you, you were surprised to find that the drink had no taste of alcohol. “Hey, what’s with the surprised face? You said not to make it too strong, and you make it look like I don’t know how to make a drink or something,” he teases, nudging you with his elbow as he stands next to you.

“Oh right, sorry, I forgot you were a professional barista,” you joke with a roll of your eyes and a grin on your face before taking another sip of the drink he had made.

After a few more rounds of watching people play beer pong, socializing with your classmates, and a few more drinks that Kuroo had made you, you suddenly find yourself getting dragged into a game you didn’t want to play.

“Come on, Y/N, it’ll be fun,” Kuroo frowns, tugging at your hand to try and pull you down into the empty spot next to him, an empty spot of a large circle, with an empty beer bottle in the middle.

“We’re seriously going to play spin the bottle? Aren’t we about to graduate high school, this game is childish. Can’t I just watch or something,” you whine, keeping your feet planted outside the circle.

Maybe it was the alcohol coursing through your veins, or perhaps it was the hidden feelings you held for your best friend all these years, but it only took Kuroo flashing you a pair of puppy dog eyes and rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand to finally comply and take a seat next to him.

“Alright guys, let’s get this game going. Remember, you have to take a shot if you don’t kiss the person the bottle lands on,” he grins, shouts of approval from everyone else following his words.

Spin after spin of the empty bottle, it never appearing to land on you much to your satisfaction, you watched as multiple people exchanged kisses, kisses ranging from quick pecks to full on make outs.

Your heart clenching every time the bottle landed on Kuroo as you sat there watching the person you liked kiss someone else, someone who wasn’t you. The grin on his face whenever his lips detached from someone else’s, causing you to regret even coming to the party. If you stayed home, you wouldn’t have witnessed all these heartbreaking kisses.

It was hard to avert your eyes from him when he had to kiss someone, hard not to imagine the girl in his lap being you instead of them. And maybe it was a mixture of jealousy and the alcohol you kept drinking, but you were silently hoping that when it was your turn, the bottle would land on Kuroo so that you’d be able to stake your claim on his lips.

And to your surprise, when it was your turn, the bottle spinning in countless circles, it slowly came to a stop, pointing to the person next to you, the person you had wanted the bottle to land on. But now that the bottle had landed on him, you were nervous, nervous of what could come after the kiss. What if this kiss ruined everything between the two of you? What if he liked kissing the other girls better than you? What if by some miracle this kiss caused him to find out about your feelings and he didn’t want anything to do with you again?

After a couple moments of you not averting your gaze from the bottle, Kuroo broke the silence. “You don’t have to kiss me, Y/N. Just take the shot instead.” His gaze meeting yours when you turn your head to look at him.

With those words, your heart broke. He didn’t want you to kiss him, your buzzed mind believing that his words clearly meant that he’d rather have you take a shot than have your lips on his. Unbeknownst to you, Kuroo had said those words because he thought you didn’t want to kiss him, thought that you didn’t share the same feeling for him that he had for you.

Quickly you finished the small amount of liquid courage left in your cup, needing an extra boost of bravery for what you were about to do next. Cupping his face in your hands, you swing a leg over him, straddling his lap before you press your lips to his in a hasty kiss, the taste of alcohol on his lips, your hands moving to tangle themselves in his hair and his own hands place themselves on your hips as the two of you indulge in each other’s touch for just a moment.

As you pull away breathlessly, Kuroo gives you a grin, a grin that in your mind looks eerily similar to the ones he had been giving to other girls he kissed during this stupid kissing game. A grin stating that this kiss was nothing more than a meaningless make out to him, just like all the other meaningless kisses he gave away earlier that night.

To everyone else witnessing the aftermath of this kiss, it was obvious that Kuroo’s grin was a smile of love and adoration towards you. Still, the two of you were too blind and oblivious to the mutual feelings the two of you had for each other as you quietly situated yourself next to him again, acting like what just happened did not occur at all. Heartbreak evident on both of your faces as you both pretended not to be affected by the heartwrenching kiss you had exchanged just moments before.

University, second year; twenty years old

You were back at the same playground, the playground that brought back years and years of happy memories with your best friends. The situation seeming like deja vu from elementary school all those years ago, you sitting on the swing set that got older and rustier with years of ware as you waited for Kuroo and Kenma to show up, not having seen them in person for a while.

And just like in elementary school, you felt a pair of fingers jab into your side, causing you to jump off the swing and quickly turn around to face the messy haired boy. A large grin evident on both of your faces as you let out a screech, instantly launching yourself into his arms. Arms of familiarity and warmth, arms of comfort when you needed consoling, the arms of the boy you have been in love with for years.

“I missed you so much, Kuroo,” you whispered, wrapping your arms tighter around him, still not believing that you were finally seeing each other in person after such a long time.

“Y/N, we text and video call like every day,” he chuckles, but even with his teasing words, you can feel him wrap his arms tighter around you as well. “Also Kenma said he won’t be able to make it tonight, something about his parents pestering him about wanting to know everything his first year of university. But he said we could come over tomorrow.”

“That’s fine, guess tonight will be just the two of us.” Looking up, you catch a glimpse of Kuroo’s smiling face, sending him your own grin before finally pulling away from his embrace.

“Oh, I actually brought this,” he grins, picking up the volleyball by his feet that you hadn’t noticed until now. “Thought we could toss it around like old times.”

And with those words, you followed behind him as you walked to your spot, the spot in the open field where the three of you shared secrets, laughter, and tears. The field that brought back years of loving memories with your two best friends, a field of happiness.

As the two of you approached your spot, Kuroo quickly spin around to look at you. “Hey Y/N, think fast,” he shouts before quickly tossing the ball in your direction before running away.

Used Kuroo’s antics after all the years of friendship, you easily catch the ball before grinning at his retreating form. Letting out a huff, you quicken your pace to catch up to him, knowing he was running slow in order for you to catch him. And as you approach from behind him, you drop the ball and jump onto his back, catching him off guard as the two of you tumble to the ground in a fit of laughter.

Large smiles on both of your faces, the two of you lying in the grass side by side, trying to catch your breaths from all the laughter you shared together. Side by side, like how it used to be before the two of you went different ways.

A comfortable silence encompassed the two of you as you laid there next to each other. “Did you umm happen to read what was on the ball?” Kuroo’s question breaking the silence.

Eyebrows furrowing in confusion, you turned to him before asking, “There’s something written on the ball?” He slowly nods his head at your question, and you can tell that he’s nervous.

Sitting up from your spot, you reach over to grab the ball on the other side of you, noticing that there is indeed something written on it. Your eyes widening and mouth slightly agape at the words scrawled on it in Kuroo’s messy handwriting. I love you.

Your mind wandering, still trying to process the three words written on the ball. “You should close your mouth, might catch some bugs with the way its hanging opened,” Kuroo whispers with a nudge to your shoulder with his, breaking you out of your trance.

“Y-you love me?” You squeak out, hands gently touching the written words before looking up at Kuroo besides you.

“Y/N L/N, I have always loved you. I was just too scared to say anything, but I finally thought that it’s better late than never, right? I hope you feel the same way; otherwise, this would be really awkward.”

“What would be awk-” And with that, Kuroo is leaning in, cutting off your words as he places his lips on yours in a loving kiss, reminding you of the time you cut him off and kissed him for the first time that one day in his childhood bedroom.

As you reciprocate his kiss, he slowly lays you back down on the ground, hovering over you as the two of you exchange a kiss full of longing and love. A kiss that revealed the mutual feelings the two of you had bottled up all these years.

Pulling away breathlessly, the two of you smiling at each other like love struck idiots, you whisper out your own confession to him. “I love you, Kuroo Tetsuro, always have and always will.”

And with your confession to each other, the two of you laid in your field of happiness as the sunset, hand in hand, exchanging sweet kisses here and there as the two of you caught up on all the missed years of loving each other.

haikyuu taglist:  @shinsousama @samwritesss @atsumubabie @zoppzoop @the-black-birb @dumbassbrigade @kokogxddess @cocoa-bitter @ladyinmoon @unstableye @rcbert-downey @wemissyou3000 @rintarhoe @hq-cuties @bokuto-simp @hqmakkitrash @allywritesimagines @nekoglasses @asweetpotato1 @seijhoes @shoutokageyamafan @yams046 @sugawsites @seijoh​ @moon-390​

[thiswasinevitableid]

for the meet ugly asks, 18 with the ot4? nsfw, if possible? thanks

Here you go! It is indeed NSFW.

18: we were just introduced at a party by our mutual friend and when my partner comes to join us, you freak out because you were just outside making out with them and you pull me aside to tell me

“Duck! Over here!” Aubrey waves him through the crowd, pointing to the lumberjack lookalike next to her, “this is the guy I was telling you about. Barclay’s an old friend of Dani's and, get this, he and Indrid know each other too. Wait, where is mr. mothman?” Aubrey cranes her neck.

“He had to work a late shift, but he says hi. Literally” He fumbles his phone, “fuck, sorry, first thing to go when I’ve been drinkin is my coordination.” He eventually triumphs, showing them the photo of Indrid, silver hair tied back and Void the Rat perched on the sleeve of his ‘Waffle House’ shirt. The sticker on the photo says “Hi!”

“Aww” Barclay’s voice is the epitome of gentle giant, “he always wanted a rat. I’m glad he got one.”

“Whelp, now that I got you two talking, I’m gonna go spend some ‘quality time’ with my girlfriend.”

“Just don't get caught makin’ out in a closet again.” Duck calls. Aubrey flips him off with a smile.

“So how did you and Indrid--oh, there you are babe. Thought you mighta snuck out to take a work call.”

“No, just had to de-escalate a shoving match on the back porch. I know you love Jake, but maybe next time we should just have him over rather than coming to the kind of party we outgrew in undergrad. I’m discovering I don’t enjoy being under the influence in this kind of cramped party anymore."

“Yeah, not really loving the noise. I lose my voice enough in the kitchen. Duck, this is my boyfriend, Joseph. Joseph, this is Duck, he’s a friend of Dani and Aubrey’s.”

Duck crunches his cup as his mind takes a violent spin an hour into the past.

He’d been out on the side deck getting some air and sipping his beer when a guy who looks like he walked in from the set of some splashy T.V show where everyone is hot joined him. His lips looked damn good whenever he sipped his beer and Duck did his best to turn on the southern charm. It was sort of working, until he complimented the guys button up; it was covered in drawings of cryptids--including mothman, Indrid’s favorite--and fit him in the way that made Duck want to rip the buttons off with his teeth. As soon as he demonstrated his enjoyment of listening to a hot guy talk about monsters, the taller man moved gradually closer, bumping shoulders and locking eyes with growing boldness. When Duck said the song booming out of the house was his go-to for putting the moves on someone, the other man asked to see his technique.

They spent the next three songs in the darkest corner of the porch, Duck’s back pressing into metal slats as his new friend wove his fingers into his hair and teased their tongues together with an experts touch.

When Duck breathlessly asked if he wanted to go somewhere more private, he murmured, “Only after we’ve had a chance to talk about some things.”

Then his phone buzzed and he was gone, leaving Duck horny and tipsy under the stars.

Back in the present, he does everything possible to keep from meeting Joseph’s eyes as he mumbles, “I, uh, I, I need some help with somethin in the kitchen? Fuck, yeah, kitchen, Barclay can you come help?”

“Sure. Be right back, babe.”

The kitchen is packed with people doing ill-advised things with drinks, so Duck keeps Barclay in the hall as he whispers, “Man, I, I’m so fuckin sorry but I gotta say somethin’. Joe and I, we, uh, we already met.”

“Makes sense, he’s been in town a year. I just got here.”

“That ain’t the kind of meetin I mean. We got a little, uh, friendly on the porch tonight.”

Barclay gives an “ah” of understanding. Then he chuckles, “thought he looked a little ruffled when he passed me earlier.”

“I’m real fuckin sorry, I didn’t know. ‘Drid and I got an, an agreement, but I shoulda checked to see if he was datin someone.”

“That would have been smart.” Joe appears at Barclay’s shoulder, “but that’s why I said we needed to talk before we did anything else.” He strokes Barclay’s beard, “you and Indrid aren’t the only ones with an open relationship of sorts.”

“Ohthankfuck.” Duck slumps against the wall.

“While I was making sure no one made a punch that could give them alcohol poisoning, you were getting hot and heavy? That’s not fair, babe.” Barclay teases.

“I’ll make it up to you, big guy. Are you safe to drive?”

“Gonna give it another half-hour, just to be safe. You need a ride home, Duck?”

“Uh, sure, that’d be great.”

Soon, he’s bundled in the back of a Subaru, Joe sitting beside him while Barclay navigates through Saturday night traffic. They luck out; the game ran long, so they’re not fighting the throng coming out of the football stadium. When they reach his apartment, Joe stops him and hands Duck his phone. Duck didn’t even feel him take it in the first place. As he waves goodnight, he spots a new number sitting in his contacts and smiles.

----------------------------------------------------------

“...the point is, it amuses me that Joseph shares my taste in me.” Indrid sips his white chocolate mocha, then yawns wide enough for Barclay to spot his tongue piercing, “apologies, I didn’t get to bed until three.”

“Jesus, man, gonna tell Duck to start knocking you out.”

“I was working on commissions.”

Barclay gives him a disbelieving look.

“....I was working on commissions until midnight. Then I spent three hours watching videos on the finer points of home entomology.”

“There it is. You can’t fool me, I remember what you were like at sleepovers.”

“It was very important to read every single Eyewitness book your parents generously bought you.” Indrid takes another sip with an imperious tilt of his head.

Barclay bumps his unoccupied hand, “It’s so fucking nice to see you again.”

Indrid looks at him over his glasses, brown eyes as beautiful as they were when he was sixteen, “Likewise. Oh!” He perks up, “do you know what this means? We can have a double-date! I’ve always wanted to try that.”

“Sure Joseph will be into it; he has a spreadsheet of optimal date locations. Bet he’ll have fun making one for double-dates.”

“That is...exceptionally geeky.”

Barclay sends a love-struck smile into his coffee cup, “Yeah, he is.”

-----------------------------------------------

Joe is more diabolical than Duck gave him credit for. And he thought he was pretty fucking cunning after he suggest seeing the local hockey team; the chilly arena gave Indrid and excuse to cuddle up to anyone who held still for too long and gave Joe plenty of opportunities to make double entendres about sticks in Duck’s ear.

But a night out at “Woofs” AKA the kind of gay bar where Duck and Barclay get hit on constantly is a whole new level of torment. Especially because Indrid hangs off Duck proudly (when he’s not teasing Barclay for the number of free drinks he’s getting) and Joseph even asks him to dance. When he peeks over the taller man’s shoulder, he sees Barclay resting his hand on Indrid’s arm while whispering something that makes him grin.

Dancing really is the most fitting thing he could be doing, because it’s what all four of them have chosen to do about this; dance around the fact that Indrid and Barclay dated, dance around the fact Joe and Duck kissed, danced around the fact that they’re more or less acting like a polycule already.

“Oh no.” Joe mutters, eyes on the door, “things are about to get loud.”

Duck’s about to point out that the club is already loud when he’s pulled out of the path of not one, but two bachelorette parties. They opt to stay, although Barclay gets hit on by someone who doesn’t believe he’s gay. Joe takes him onto the floor for a slow dance while Duck steps into the bathroom. When he comes out, his boyfriend is nowhere to be found.

“You guys seen ‘Drid?”

Joe shakes his head, all three of them already moving for the door. They find Indrid across the street on a bench, hunched over and tapping on his knees.

“‘Drid?” Duck sits gently beside him, “you get overwhelmed?”

Indrid nods.

“You wanna head home?”

Another nod. Duck suspects the overstimulation spiked without warning, which usually means…

“You need to be nonverbal for a bit?”

This time Indrid looks at him when he nods, then cringes when he sees Joe and Barclay are watching.

“Our place is closer.” Joe offers, copying Duck’s tone, “we can all bus back there so you can be somewhere quiet. Or, um, if you need it to just be you two, that’s fine too.”

Indrid holds up a finger, indicating option one. Duck helps him up and let’s him stay hidden against his shoulder while they wait for the bus.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

This used to terrify Barclay. He and Indrid would be hanging out, would be stealthily holding hands in the top row of the football stadium, and his boyfriend would shut down. Barclay, sensing distress, would try to figure out what was wrong, would start to panic when Indrid couldn’t communicate the things happening in his mind and body. They had more than one fight where his attempts to help only made Indrid more overstimulated to the point he snapped at him to fuck off (and, on one occasion, hissed at him).

They worked it out eventually, Barclay keeping a mental list of things that soothed his friend. Watching Duck do some of them, how calm and loving he was, makes something complex bloom in his chest, as vibrant and beautiful as the Dahlias Duck brought them from the garden (“weather’s been so fuckin weird things are bloomin when they shouldn’t”).

When they make it home, Duck stops in the living room and looks between Indrid and Barclay for a moment. Then he murmurs, “‘Drid, you want Barclay to keep you company for a bit?”

Indrid smiles and nods, takes Barclay’s hand and follows him to the bedroom. He lets his memories drive, keeps the light off, arranges his body so Indrid can relax against him, and pets his hair with slow, light motions. His friend hums, meaning he’s on the right track. As he strokes his head he notices the black roots peeking through the silver; it was jarring to see Indrid with pale hair when all his memories were of dark locks of it falling over his face or catching on Barclays hands.

He looks good with the silver. More like himself.

Metal pokes his chest. He takes the glasses Indrid hands him, sets them on Joseph’s stack of library books, then gives a startled, “nnfph” as his friend pulls Barclay on top of him.

“Like the weight” Indrid mumbles, wrapping his arms around him. The longer they lay there, the easier it is to overhear the conversation in the other room.

“I feel awful, if I’d known I’d have never recommended we go somewhere like a loud bar.”

“S’okay, Joe. ‘Drid is still a little wary of tellin people that’s something he has to consider when goin’ out; Dani and them get it, but other folks think he’s bein’ a buzzkill.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re tellin me. Besides, sometimes it comes up so fast, or happens in places he ain’t anticipatin it. He’ll be okay, especially with Barclay takin’ care of him.”

A pause, then, “Do you need someone to, um, take care of you?”

“Joe-”

“It’s alright if the answer is no. But part of my plan was to get everyone in a, um, bit of a frisky mood.”

A snicker, “Frisky?”

“I was trying not to be too crude.”

“Joe, you know how I feel about you. But we gotta check with the others to be sure everythin is on the level.”

“Tell them to come in.” Indrid whispers, a smile plain in his voice.

“Uh, babe? Could you and Duck come in here a sec?”

“Everythin oka--ffft” Duck snorts a laugh, “guess he improvised not havin a weighted blanket.”

“That I did.”

Duck bursts into a grin, hurrying to settle on the bed near Indrid’s head, “Hey, sugar. How you feelin’?”

“Much better. It helps that this one is very soothing.” He toys with Barclay’s hair, sending goosebumps up his arms, “though it seems he had a slighty different reaction to our contact.”

Barclay was so distracted by the conversation that he hadn’t realized his cock was hardening along the familiar warmth of Indrid’s thigh whenever one of them shifted.

“Fuck, Indrid, I’m sorry-”

“It’s alright. In fact, it is rather relevant to what you two were discussing in the hall. Am I correct that we all wish to be in some form of polyamorous relationship with each other?”

“Yes” say two voices along with his own.

“Wonderful. I suggest we hash out details later. Right now, it seems you two have, ah, unfinished business.”

“Fuckin finallyAH” Duck cackles as Joseph knocks him backwards, kissing him frantically while yanking up his shirt. As soon as his belly is exposed Joseph begins pawing and groping from there up his sides. Indrid nudges Barclay so they can sit up, allowing the other two more room to disrobe. Or, more accurately, for Joseph to disrobe both himself and Duck, since the shorter man is having trouble moving his limbs between bursts of laughter and moaning.

Joseph crawls backwards, shoving Duck’s legs apart and groping his thighs, “I’ve wanted to get my hands on these since the party. Lord almighty did you look good in those jeans.” He kisses his way up the left thigh, moaning and mouthing at the skin. His posture puts his perfect ass in the air, which happens to be one of Barclay’s favorite views in the whole world. He unzips his pants, fights to get his cock out as Indrid begins offering commentary from beside him.

“Mmmm, were I not still rather exhausted, I’d make him do that to us both.”

Joseph raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t move his mouth from where it’s teasing Duck’s inner thigh.

“Know you would.” He reaches down to play with Joseph’s hair, “‘Drid’s got a whole fantasy where you blow him while I sit on his face.”

“Funny” Barclay’s voice is turning rough with desire,“he’s got one where he takes all three of us at once.”

Joseph’s face lacks any trace of self-consciousness, a rare thing for him, which means this whole arrangement is fucking brilliant. He simply nods, then takes Duck’s dick into his mouth.

“JEsus, fuck, Joe, ohfuckyeah.” Duck holds Joseph’s head encouragingly, “shoulda known you’d be good at this, you’re so fuckin good at everythin, fuck, fuck.”

Barclay grips his cock, trying to stroke in time with movements of Joseph’s head. Slender fingers carefully push his aside as Indrid purrs, “allow me.”

“You, you don’t have to, you said you were tired-”

“Not too tired for this” he strokes up more firmly, then brushes their lips together, “or this.”

It’s like tasting Hershey Chocolate or Marionberry Pie, transporting him back to their shitty hometown in Eastern Oregon, to summer heat on his skin and basement air in his nose as Indrid proved that yes, kissing boys was what he wanted to do.

Indrid’s certainly gotten better at it since then. Barclay likes to think he has, hopes the other man is feeling even half the things currently piling up in Barclay’s chest.

“Oh.” Indrid sighs as he pulls back, “that’s even better than I remember.”

A particularly loud moan from Joseph, underscored by Duck cursing happily, brings them back to the present.

Barclay moans as Indrid’s hand moves more deliberately.

“Do you remember the first time we did this?”

“Uh huh, c-couch, in that, fuck, that basement rec room at my house.”

“You came so fast.”

“Can’t really blame me.”

“Given the sounds he’s making, he might do the same thing now.” Joseph smiles at them from over Duck’s knee, “that’s one of the best things about you. You’re so sensitive, big guy.”

Barclay whines his name. His boyfriend winks, then dives back down to render Duck speechless.

“You really are” Indrid nips his ear, “remember when we, ah, lost it to each other?”

“Mmmhmm” he whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut as if that might make all this last longer. Joseph echoes the noise, making Duck groan.

“Just picture it, Joseph” Indrid is getting into it now, panting and pink-cheeked, “Barclay, eighteen and even shyer than he is now, in my lap, begging me to fuck him.”

‘I, I wasn’t the only one begging.” He grins.

“Of course not. I was desperate to get to it because just seeing you naked had me certain I was going to--one moment” he releases Barclay’s cock, ignoring his whimper to clamber into a position that allows him to kiss Duck as the shorter man grinds into Joseph’s mouth. He doesn’t pull back until Duck’s hips slow and Joseph is busy wiping his lips.

“I can never resist kissing you while you cum.”

“Fuck I love you.” Duck cups Indrid’s cheek. The silver haired man rubs against his palm a moment, then retreats. Duck growls at Joseph, “as for you, you got ten seconds to open your legs so I can show you a good time.”

“So thoughtful” Indrid pecks his cheek, returns to Barclay, “now, where was I…”

“Shy, AHshit, fuckingchristthat’s good.” Joseph’s legs sprawl open as Duck finger-fucks him, sitting on his side to kiss him without obstructing Barclay’s view.

“Ah yes.” He kisses Barclays neck, hand teasing the head of his cock, “you insisted on bottoming because you were so scared you might hurt me. I can still see it, you on your hands and knees, asking me to take you--those were your exact words--then whimpering when I finally got my cock in.”

“Fuck” Joseph is clearly enjoying the story; if Barclay had known he was into this, he would have made all his exes record voicemails describing their exploits.

“If memory serves I came very fast, because you were so much tighter than I expected and you, you felt so good. I used my hands to get you off-”

“Uh huh, fuck, you hadn’t pulled out yet and it was so fucking good, fuck, Indrid-”

“You made such cute noises when you came” a slow, deep kiss as heat floods him, “I wonder if you’ll do the same now.”

“Probably” is all he grunts out before he’s cumming hard enough that most of it hits Joseph’s stomach rather than Indrid’s fingers. His head lolls as his cock pulses, and beneath his own heartbeat he picks up Duck ordering Joseph to be good and cum for him. After a moment, there’s the distinct moan his boyfriend makes during his climax. It’s followed, confusingly, by weak laughter. His eyes flutter open to see Indrid licking his cum off Joseph’s chest, which happens to be ticklish.

He scoots over to join them, Joseph kissing him sleepily the instant he’s close enough.

“You sure you don’t need to cum, sugar?”

“I’m only half-hard, and I know I’m too tired to make it the rest of the way. Not that this wasn’t supremely satisfying. But you each owe me an orgasm sometime in the future.”

“All in favor of blowin ‘Drids mind tomorrow mornin’”

He and the other two raise their hands in sync. Then the four of them collapse, laughing, in each others arms.

[isolemnlyswearpevensie]

A Moment Apart | Caspian x Reader

Warnings: Nothing

Time/Era: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: After Y/N gets swept to Narnia with her cousins, she meets a certain someone who piques her interest. Goodbyes are hard, but this one seems more like a “see you later.”

Request: Hi ! I just got back home and read your first Caspian one shot, and let me tell you : i LOVE your writing so much!! So im just going to request another caspian os because i love him so much ahah. Can you write something where the reader first meets him during VOTD and she has to go back on Earth then some times after he ends up in our world and meet the reader again? Take care 💕💕

A/N: Thank you so much for such a sweet compliment! If you love Caspian, saddle up because I have 4 more requests for him coming after this one. Thanks for requesting and enjoy! Please give me feedback. I was thinking of doing a part 2 for this, so tell me whatcha think about that idea! :) Also, I was listening to A Moment Apart by ODESZA when writing, so that’s sort of the vibe of this imagine~

Part 2 | masterlist | read on ao3

Being Y/N Scrubb was about as fun as it sounded. Her parents very obviously favored her little brother, Eustace, and didn’t have a care about what she did. Y/N was much older than Eustace anyway, so they weren’t exactly friends either. The only thing that was getting her through the long, boring days was the fact that two of her cousins had come to stay with them. 

Y/N’s cousins, Lucy and Edmund, were closer to Y/N’s age and much more tolerable. Instead of acting as if they were superior due to having an “immense vocabulary,” they were kind and funny. They would actually listen to Y/N and treat her like an equal. Y/N hated being treated as an inferior by an eleven-year-old. 

“How are you even related to that?” Edmund asked one afternoon. He had been the victim of Eustace’s “intellectual insults” a mere five minutes before. 

“I could ask you the same thing.”

~

“Is the water...moving?” Y/N asked, gazing at the painting next to her cousins. Eustace comes in and sits on the bed. 

“What rubbish! That’s what happens when you read-”

“Can you shut your mouth for just five seconds, please?” Y/N turns around and glares at her brother before turning back to the painting. She continues to stare, taking in every detail of the painting. The magnificent blues and greens swirled together to depict a wonderful ocean scene. The boat was just as breathtaking; it had a huge mast adorning a brightly colored sail and what looked like a dragon carved into the bow. It didn’t take long before Edmund and Eustace started fighting. 

There was something about the painting that screams adventure. Whether that be the vivid imagery or the bright colors, Y/N didn’t know, but she wished that she could be on the boat. Maybe then she could get away from Eustace and his constant chatter. 

As if by magic, water started to drip from the corner of the painting. 

“Lu? Do you see that?” Y/N asked as the trickle turned into a constant stream. The water was getting all over the carpet; Y/N couldn’t help but imagine what her mother would say. 

“Edmund! Look!” Lucy screeched, grabbing the attention of her older brother. The painting now had water streaming from every edge of its frame and the water was starting to pool. The bedroom flooded in record time and the four were pushed under. Furniture began to float around them and they had to dodge chairs in order to not get impaled. Y/N had never been the quickest swimmer, resulting in the leg of a chair clipping her arm. 

The need for air overpowered the pain of my arm so she fought to reach the top of the water. When all four of their heads surfaced, they were no longer in the small room, but in the middle of the ocean. 

“What’s happening?!” Y/N screamed at her companions. 

“Swim!!” Was Lucy’s only response. That was when Y/N noticed the huge boat coming straight for them. “Hurry!” Y/N kicked her legs as hard as she could, but the current was strong. 

“Stop!” A hand wrapped around her ankle and pulled her back. “You’re safe now! Stop swimming!’

“Edmund, it’s Caspian!” She recognized that voice to be Lucy’s. “We’re in Narnia!”

Another voice answered her. “You’re in Narnia!”

The voice was deep and strong, laced with a thick accent. It was also slightly scratchy but in the best way. Y/N had the fleeting thought that she wanted to hear it again, and again, and again. 

~

Y/N was covered in a plush towel as soon as she was brought on board. The boat deck was riddled with things and creatures, most of which couldn’t care less about her presence. She scanned the deck for any sign of her cousins; Edmund and Lucy were talking animatedly with a tall gentleman. He was wet, probably one of their rescuers, and his white shirt was clinging to his torso. The stranger’s hair was also sopping wet, pushed to the side and dripping into his eyes. 

“Edmund!” She called out desperately. He looked over and the three walk over. 

“And who might this be?” The handsome stranger asks, looking down at Y/N. He was quite a bit taller than her. Y/N couldn’t bring herself to speak; his hair had fallen to either side of his face and it created a perfect frame around his eyes. His warm, chocolate brown eyes were wrinkled at the corners due to his grin. 

“This is our other cousin, Y/N,” Edmund spoke for Y/N, an amused look on his face. 

The man takes a hold of Y/N’s hand and brings it to his lips. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, my beautiful Y/N. My name is Caspian.” He kissed her knuckles and released his grip. His eyes followed the line of her arm and landed on her injury. 

“Oh, you’re bleeding,” His eyes burned into Y/N’s skin. 

She squirmed under his gaze. “Oh, uh, yeah. A chair hit me.”

“A chair? Hit you?” He crossed his arms and put his weight on one leg. This made his hip jut out slightly and his coat flair. 

The conversation Y/N and Caspian were having seemed to really amuse Lucy and Edmund. They kept sharing knowing glances at each other. Y/N wished she knew what they were thinking. 

“No matter, come with me. I’ll patch you up. We can’t have you bleeding all over my deck, now can we?” He turns on his heel and begins to walk towards the flight of stairs behind him. Y/N looks to Lucy for help. 

“Follow him,” She mouths, a grin taking up her entire face. Y/N bites the inside of her cheek and follows. 

Caspian led the Y/N into a large bedroom that was lit by a wall of windows. There were various different paintings on the walls, a full-sized wardrobe, a desk, and a door leading to a balcony. Y/N came to the conclusion that this was Caspian’s living quarters. Caspian pulled the wooden chair from the desk out and twisted it around. 

“Here, sit,” He motioned his hand towards it. Y/N laid her towel down on the seat and sat down. Her wound had left a large trail of blood down her arm and she fought the urge to wipe it with her hand. Caspian opened one of the desk drawers and pulled out disinfectant and a bandage. 

“Give me your arm,” He said, the words tumbling out of his mouth as he kneeled in front of the chair. He delicately cradled her arm in her hands and examined her cut. The skin of his hand was soft and gentle as it handled Y/N’s forearm. Taking a handkerchief out of his pocket, he tenderly cleaned the blood from her wound. 

“You are very pretty,” He almost purred. Y/N’s stomach burst into butterflies. 

“O-oh, thank you.” She stuttered in response, making him chuckle under his breath. 

He sprayed the disinfectant and Y/N’s body reacted naturally. 

“Ow! That hurt,” Y/N shrieked, pulling her arm back and almost out of his grip. 

“I know, I apologize. But it is necessary, you don’t want an infection.” Caspian pulled Y/N’s arm closer towards him and covered it in a bandage. 

“There you go, as good as new.” His hands trailed down her arm and grasped hers, bringing it to his mouth again. He kissed her knuckles twice then stood up. 

~

In the following months, Y/N and Caspian got very close. He taught her everything about Narnia and all about her cousin’s accomplishments. It was hard to believe at first, but once she saw Caspian and Edmund spar, she believed it. She loved watching Caspian spar; his face always scrunched as he focused and some of the sounds he makes. Mercy, the sounds he makes. 

“I guess this is it, then.” Y/N says, looking up into the eyes of the man she had become to love. 

“I will find you again, my love.” He said, taking a step closer to Y/N. 

“How? Cas, I probably won’t be able to come to Narnia again,” She sniffled. 

“I’ll find a way, I promise.”

Caspian leaned down and pressed a lasting kiss on Y/N’s lips. 

“Goodbye, Y/N. Until I see you again.”

~

Life was boring outside of Narnia. About a month passed since the crew had arrived back home, and none of them have really left the house. Y/N spent most of her time people watching from the window. 

“I wonder what Caspian is doing right now,” Y/N thinks out loud, talking to no one in particular. 

“Probably fighting someone or eating or something. That’s pretty much all he does,” Edmund responds. 

“That is not all he does!” 

“Oh right, he kisses you too. But you’re not there so that isn’t really an option for him.” Edmund grins wickedly and turns back to his book. 

“Ed! That’s not funny!” Y/N frowned. She hated thinking about her favorite boy being sad. Especially because of her.

“I thought it was funny,” He responded. Asshole. 

“Luce, can I go to the store with you? I can’t stand being in this house a moment longer.” Y/N stood up and looked down at the street. It was full of people going about their business. An old man sat upon a bench eating a banana. 

“I’m not sure you would really want to. You might see that boy.” That was another thing Y/N hated about being at home. The last time she went to the market with Lucy, this boy wouldn’t stop hitting on her. He was tall, blonde, and had bright blue glasses. He was conventionally attractive, but there was only one boy on Y/N’s mind. 

“Ack, you’re right. Never mind.” Looking back down at the city below, she saw a strange figure walking down the road. He was wearing a long poofy shirt and black trousers. He looked sort of like a pirate. The fact that he had long hair only added to the pirate look, as did his long boots. He reminded her of Caspian. She sighed and turned her head towards Edmund. 

“Eddie, come look at this guy. He looks exactly like Caspian.”

Edmund groaned and stood up, his only intention was to entertain his cousin. He knew that she was just trying to get over the guy, no matter how annoying it was. He looked down at the stranger and had to do a double-take. 

“Um, Y/N, don’t freak out, but I think that is Caspian.”

[fallen-gravity]

Snow Day

13 year olds Dipper and Mabel decide they want to spend their winter break up in Gravity Falls with their Grunkles and experience their first blizzard. Chaos ensues.

Notes: Here's my submission for a Secret Santa I participated in on discord! It was so much fun and I'm so glad I decided to participate this year!

Happy new year, @anistarrose! I'm your Santa!

The prompt: "I will crave and enthusiastically consume any form of Pines family bonding, time travel shenanigans, Bill getting dunked on, or any combination of the above." I, of course, had to go with the former, because you can never have enough plotless fluff and shenanigans!

AO3

Having been born and raised in California, Dipper and Mabel never got to experience winter the way television always promised they would. They never got to experience snowball fights, sled races, or building snowmen the way all the kids on TV got to.

Sure, they’ve seen snow before, it’s dusted here and there, but it was never enough to stick to the ground overnight. When they were younger, they always hoped the spirit of the season would be enough to bring them a blizzard so they could get snow days like all the kids on the east coast got to have, but it never came to be. They’d just about given up hope on the idea of playing in the snow in their own backyard when they were around ten years old.

Regardless, they looked forward to winter break every year. Their parents used to always take time off work to take them on a short vacation, and when Dipper and Mabel begged them to let them spend their winter break after their thirteenth birthday up in Gravity Falls with their Grunkles, their parents had said yes, which only made Dipper and Mabel look forward to break even more.

They left by bus an hour after their school let them free, and they arrived at the Mystery Shack eight hours later to their attic bedroom already set up for them.

~~

Dipper awakens to the sound of Mabel shrieking her head off at six in the morning. He nearly jumps half a foot in the air, scrambling to turn his bedside lamp on.

“Mabel?” he squeaks. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Dipper, look!” she beams, bouncing up and down on her feet and pointing out the window.

“Seriously?” he groans, rubbing at his eyes as he stands from his bed. “I thought we were already numb to Gravity Falls weirdness by now” he says, but can’t help the gasp that escapes him when he looks out the window to humor her. There’s so much snow falling from the sky that Dipper can’t even see the tree line of the forest beyond the shack, and there’s a layer of snow coating the ground so thick that it completely covers the steps of the back porch.

“Woah,” Dipper gasps. “I didn’t think it could snow that much in Oregon”

“That’s just the thing!” Mabel grins. “What if it can’t? What if the reason it snowed like, two feet overnight is because it’s all a part of the Gravity Falls weirdness? You remember what Stan said when he came to see Grunkle Ford, right? It was snowing!” she throws her arms up in the air dramatically. “Dips, do you know what this means? This could be our only opportunity to see snow like this without having to go to like, Alaska or something!”

“You know what else this means?” Dipper asks, frantically grabbing at her shoulders.

“What?”

He smirks, shoving her towards her bed as he books it for the door. “Race you outside!” he calls behind her, not even bothering to look behind his shoulder for her reaction.

“Hey! No fair!!” Mabel cries, scrambling to her feet and sprinting out of the room in an attempt to catch up with her brother. The young twins tumble down the stairs, and nearly collide with Ford on their way towards the kitchen where they’d last dumped their coats.

They yell a frantic apology in his general direction and unison, but they’re moving too frantically to hear his response. Dipper eventually makes it out of the shack first, and he’s standing with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face when Mabel meets him outside.

“You better not be telling me that I owe you any of my special cocoa for beating me out here” she pouts, crossing her arms over her chest to mimic Dipper. “Cheaters don’t get cocoa”

Dipper chuckles, his arms slipping to his side as he cautiously steps down the snow-covered steps of the deck. “Alright, fair enough.” He points an accusatory finger at her. “But it’s been eight years. You’re gonna have to tell me your recipe someday”

“In time, brother o’ mine,” she replies as she joins his side. “In time.”

For a few moments, neither of the young Pines twins say anything. In unison, they throw their heads back and lift their arms up into the air and let the snow fall gently on their face. Catching snowflakes on their tongues is a lot harder than TV makes it seem, but it feels good to just stand out in the snow and let it land gently on their face.

It’s peaceful. Dipper closes his eyes, and he knows if the snow weren’t so thick and wet and if his winter coat were better suited for it, he’d let himself fall back and lie down in it. But since it’s not, he settles for standing in place and just listening.

It’s peaceful, until it isn’t.

Something cold and wet smacks him in the back, and he’s so startled by it that he yelps. His eyes pop open, and he whips around frantically to see where that could’ve come from.

Dipper just barely misses the sound of Mabel’s maniac giggle before he’s pelted again, this time in the forehead.

“Yes!”  Mabel cheers, pumping her fists in the air. “Bullseye! Two in a row!”

“No fair!” Dipper pouts, brushing the snow off of his hat. “I wasn’t paying attention!”

Mabel smirks as she bends to prepare another snowball. “What, so now you’re against cheating? You seriously need to work on your moral compass, bro”

He just manages to duck in time as he bends to form a snowball of his own. “That was different! It’s not like I’m the one who woke you up unreasonably early this morning!”

“Pssh,” she waves a dismissive hand. “I just as easily could’ve come out without you if I wanted to”

Dipper takes her brief moment of distraction to pelt her in the arm with a snowball. “Nuh-uh,” he mocks, the same way he has since they were toddlers. “Admit it; you don’t have the heart. You love me too much”.

“Ewww, never” she cringes dramatically, and lunges the snowball she’d been solidifying between her hands directly towards his face. Dipper tries to duck, but miscalculates the force and speed of her throw and the snowball splats against his face so roughly and suddenly that it knocks him to the ground.

“Ohmigosh!” Mabel declares, the playful tone in her voice gone. “Dipper, are you okay?” she asks, running to his side. His response is an incomprehensible mumble, muffled by the snow he hasn’t wiped off his face yet.

“What was that?” she asks, leaning closer.

Underneath the snow, Dipper smirks, and balls the pile of snow sitting on his face and shoves it into Mabel’s. “I said you’re going down”

He stands to his feet, bunching his fists into the snow to gather a bunch of it at once, and Mabel half-shrieks, half-giggles as she makes a run for it.  Dipper almost manages to snag her right in the head, until she suddenly takes a sharp turn to hide behind one of the wooden columns supporting the roof of the shack.

“Hey!” he shouts, and just barely dodges a snowball she lobs at him from her hiding spot.

“What?” she calls, popping her head out from being her hiding spot. “Nobody ever said that hiding was against the rules! Besides!” she gestures to the column mirror to hers that’s closest to him. “It’s not like I’m hiding somewhere super-secret, or anything!” She lobs another ball in his direction.  “The longer you stand there the more vulnerable you become!” she singsongs, tossing a snowball back and forth between her hands teasingly.

Dipper makes a dive for it into the snow, and crawls along until he’s standing behind the wooden column, shoving fistfuls of snow into his pocket along the way. Mabel groans, like she can’t believe she didn’t think to crawl away before he did, and attempts to launch a snowball at him as he’s standing up. She misses, and Dipper can’t help but laugh as the snowball sticks to his wooden column and doesn’t budge.

He mashes the snow in his pocket into a ball, and grabs a bunch more snow to make it even bigger. He winds his arm back like throwing it harder is going to make aiming it any easier, and hears the back door creaking open just half a second too late.

The snowball flings out of his hand, but instead of hitting Mabel, his intended target, the snowball hits Ford as he’s coming out of the door with such force that it knocks his glasses off of his face.

Dipper freezes, looking absolutely horrified, and Mabel bursts into hysterical laughter.

“Grunkle Ford!” Dipper shouts, wiping his hands off on his jacket and running towards his great-uncle. He’s expecting him to look shocked, or sad, or even angry, but when Ford gets his glasses back on his face he’s nearly laughing as hard as Mabel is.

“I…” Ford starts, removing his glasses for a brief moment to wipe some of the excess snow from his lenses. “…came out to see how you were doing, because I saw you running by me in the kitchen, but I guess you’ve already answered that question for me”

“Grunkle Ford, I’m so sorry,” Dipper’s gaze falls to the ground, his cheeks turning pink in embarrassment. Ford only chuckles and places a gentle hand on Dipper’s shoulder, prompting him to meet his eyes again.

“There’s no need to apologize, my boy. I love the snow. Stan and I used to have snowball fights all the time when we were kids”

“Really?” Mabel beams, stepping out from her hiding spot.

Ford nods. “Every time we had the day off from school, he’d wake me up by sneaking a snowball into the house and throwing it at me while I was still asleep in bed.” He shakes his head affectionately.  “You could never wake Stanley up early for anything, but the moment school got cancelled on account of a blizzard, he was up an hour earlier than even Ma or Pa”

Ford takes a few steps forward and leans against the wooden pillar, gazing out at the falling snow. “I always did wonder what he was up to those first few winters after Pa kicked him out. I tried forgetting, I tried telling myself he wasn’t worth the time of day, but…”

For the briefest of moments his shoulders tense, like he’s suddenly overcome with the image of Stan freezing to death in his Diablo, but he shakes that image off with a deep breath and his shoulders relax as normal. He bends to pick up a handful of snow, and lets it fall between his fingers. “Now, though, I’m just happy to see it again,” he turns his gaze back towards the younger twins. “Haven’t had a chance to see it in thirty years”

“What?” the young twins ask in perfect unison.

“Not even in the multiverse?” Dipper asks, and Ford shakes his head.

“Most dimensions didn’t have a concept of weather. Even the dimension that was supposedly a perfect copy of our Earth was eternally summer” he muses, and steps down from the porch and into the snow. For a brief moment he too merely stands where he is and watches the snow fall, until an idea visibly comes to him and a devilish grin spreads across his face.

“I have an idea,” he says, grabbing two handfuls of snow, and disappearing back into the house.

There’s nothing but the sound of Ford’s boots on the hardwood and the whistling wind, and then nothing at all, and then the sound of Stan shrieking.

Ford comes running out the door again, grinning so hard that his smile could split his face in two. Stan follows close behind, but stops in front of the doorway, clad in his ratty tank top and boxer shirts with a large chunk of snow splatted against his chest.

Dipper and Mabel exchange glances, and can’t help the snickers that escape them.

“For your information, I was in the middle of something very important” Stan grumbles, jabbing an accusatory finger at Ford.

Ford only laughs, forms another snowball, and throws it at Stan, still in the doorway. “Mm, how dare I pull you away from your black and white Victorian era romances right?”

“Alright, that’s it” Stan growls, and slams the door closed. He’s only gone for a minute or two, and when he opens the door again he’s wearing a puffy winter coat and pants. “You want a fight? You’re gettin’ a war.”

He steps outside, sprinting down the porch steps and shoveling handful of snow onto the sleeve of his jacket until he’s got an entire armful. He bunches it all together until he’s got a singular giant snowball in his hands. Ford’s eyes go wide at the sight, and he takes a few cautious steps backwards.

“S-Stanley, I was just joking, you must understand that I’m not properly dressed for this” he chuckles nervously, raising his hands in the air in defeat.

“Y’got your turtleneck, don’t ya?” Stan grins devilishly, solidifying the snowball in his hands. “Besides, that never stopped me when we were kids, now did it?”  He steps cautiously towards Ford so as not to drop his snowball, and lunges it right in his brother’s face.

The hit lands, and Ford falls to the ground the same way Dipper had just moments ago.

The two young twins exchange glances, and can’t help but break into hysterical laughter.  Ford sits up, removing his glasses to remove the snow that had gotten shoved behind the frames, and wipes them off on his sweater before heading back towards the door.

“Fine,” Ford replies. “If you want a war, you’re getting a war”

“Hey, now wait just a minute, brainiac” Stan crosses his arms over his chest. “I recognize that tone. Don’t think I’m letting you use any of your fancy-schmancy interdimensional weapons against me. We got all the weapons we need right here” he gestures to the snow around him. “I may be a professional conman, but at least I have standards when it comes to these sorts of things” he closes his eyes, nodding sagely.  “If we’re waging a war on each other, it better be waged fairly”

He pauses for a few moments, his gaze turning to the young twins. “…and turn those two against each other!” He points towards them, and approaches the two of them. He picks Mabel up by her waist, and places her on his shoulders.  “I call Mabel! Girl’s got aim and can take you and brainiac junior down any day”

“Yes!” Mabel chants, pumping her arms in the air. “Team personality reigns superior again!”

“We reconvene here in five.” Stan says. “Go and get your coat on if you so insist to put any more layers on, and then all bets are off” he bows sarcastically to Ford, Mabel giggling on his shoulders.

“Best of luck to you, Sixer” he teases. “You’re gonna need it”

Dipper watches as Ford disappears inside, and Stan and Mabel run off to another part of the shack’s backyard. Stan kneels on the ground, and Mabel leap-frogs off of his shoulder to help him build a snow fort for defense. Upon seeing that he’s watching them, they both form snowballs in their hand and threaten him with them.

Dipper yelps, and runs back towards the porch before they can hit him. Something creaks, and Dipper nearly jumps a foot in the air, but his tension melts when he just realizes that it’s Ford coming back outside with a thick coat and winter hat.

“How are things looking?” Ford asks, placing a gloved hand on Dipper’s shoulder.

Dipper shakes his head. “It’s not looking good. Mabel’s got strength and sculpting abilities, and they’ve already started on their fort. By the time we can even start on our foundation they’ll already have a castle built”

Ford hums in acknowledgement.  “And we both know how Stan is with cheating” he taps at his chin. “What we’ll need is strategy”

“Hey!” Stan shouts from across the lawn. “Are we talking or are we fighting? Get a move on!” He tosses a snowball that lands in the space between Ford and Dipper.

“…Right,” Ford says. “We’ll strategize as we go along then”

Dipper drops to the ground where he stands, bunching armfuls of snow together to build a small wall. He silently gestures for Ford to help him, and he obliges, wordlessly kneeling to the ground and helping to pile snow onto the singular-walled fort. Once it’s tall enough to cover Dipper, he tugs Ford to a crouching position.

“Okay,” Dipper whispers. “So far, Mabel’s strategy has been to…not have one. She builds a bunch of snowballs at once, and then flings them all at once. If we want to knock her out, we need to wait until she needs to restock”

Ford chuckles affectionately. “She sounds just like Stan when he was a kid. He’d have to make the biggest snowball he could. I’m sure there’ll be an overlap between the two of them needing to restock at some point”

Dipper smiles. “They sure do have a lot in common, don’t they?”

Ford ruffles his hair. “I’m sure they say the same exact thing about us, my boy”

Dipper beams at that, but before he can respond he’s interrupted by the sound of Mabel screaming “CHARGE!” and snowballs being pelted at their small wall. Dipper and Ford dive out of the way, and Dipper starts shoving snow into his hands. Without lifting his head over the wall, he attempts to throw his snowball back at Mabel, but misses and only hits the edge of her fort.

“Hah! That the best you’ve got?” Stan taunts, popping his head out from behind cover. Beside Dipper, Ford flings a snowball back at him, and a soft oof escapes Stan as the snowball hits him in the shoulder. He grumbles something to Mabel that neither Dipper nor Ford can hear, and soon after Mabel pops her head out too. She and Stan start pelting snowballs at Dipper and Ford in unison.  A good number of them miss, but when Dipper pops his head up during a short pause to check and see if they stopped to reload, he’s pelted right in the forehead. Stan and Mabel high five, and Dipper groans as he attempts to scrub the snow away.

“Okay,” Dipper whispers, crouching to the ground once more. “I think they’re restocking.” He bunches some snow into his arms. “You ready?”

Ford nods. “I’m ready”

The two of them pop out from behind their wall, and start pelting as many snowballs at Stan and Mabel as they can manage. Some of them are tiny, some of them are huge, and Dipper doesn’t notice that one of them had a frozen acorn in it until it was too late, but they’re getting a good rhythm going. Dipper manages to knock Stan’s hat off his head, and Ford’s able to knock Mabel’s snowball out of her hand as she’s still trying to put it together.

“Yes!” Dipper cheers, and from across the yard Mabel crosses her arms across her chest.

“Booo,” she calls. “No fair! We never said anything in the rules about strategizing!”

“It’s a snowball fight, Mabel, there aren’t any rules!”

“Exactly!” she calls back. “Snowball fights are supposed to be about chaos!” She throws her arms in the air.  “Not calculating the best angle for wind trajectory, or whatever nerdy thing you and Grunkle Ford have been talking about!”

She chucks another snowball as hard as she can, and this one smacks against Dipper and Ford’s tiny excuse for a fort. It crumples to the ground with a pathetic splat, leaving them vulnerable from every angle.

“See?” She grins. “Just like that!”

“Hah! Nice shot, pumpkin!” Stan cheers, and he and Mabel high-five again. Even from where Dipper sits he can see their playful grins melt away into maniacal smirks, and just barely has enough time to see them shoveling snow into their hands before  Ford grabs his hand and begins sprinting to another part of the yard, doing anything he can to avoid being pelted with snow.

“New plan,” Ford whispers to Dipper as they run frantically around the yard as if it were a minefield. “Take down their fort. Once their defense is gone, they’ll be just as vulnerable as us, and it’ll give us a better chance at taking them down”

Dipper salutes him, trying and failing to keep the goofy grin on his face. “Understood”

With that, the two of them split off into different directions. Dipper doesn’t quite see where Ford disappears to, because as soon as he splits off from Ford he’s on his knees smushing together as many snowballs as he can in one go. Once he’s got enough, he stands to his feet and charges back towards the direction of Stan and Mabel’s fort.  He starts blindly lunging snowballs at them, not risking even a second to give them an opportunity to knock the snowballs out of his arms. Dipper knows that without Ford by his side he’s twice as vulnerable, but he also knows that once Stan and Mabel’s fort comes down they’ll all be on equal ground.

He misses every shot he takes at the fort, but finds malicious satisfaction in “accidentally” hitting Stan square in the face. He dives to the ground shortly after to avoid being hit by the retaliation attack, and his frantic recreation of more snowballs is frozen dead in its tracks at the sound of footprints crunching in the snow quickly behind him. Dipper curls in on himself, afraid of the possibility that Stan snuck away when he wasn’t looking to sneak up and attack him from behind.

The attack never comes, though, and when Dipper finds the bravery to sit up and glance behind him he sees Ford sprinting towards the three of them with a massive snowball in each hand. Stan and Mabel yelp in surprise, ducking beneath their fort for cover, but it’s no use, for when Ford hurls his snowballs at their fort it comes crumbling to the ground.

For a few moments, nobody says a word. Dipper, Stan, and Mabel sit in shock, exchanging glances. There’s nothing to break up the silence between them but the whistling wind and their heavy breathing.

Until Mabel stands to her feet, brushes herself off, and shouts “FREE FOR ALL!!”

She gathers a bunch of snow between her hands, throws it at Stan’s chest, and all chaos breaks loose from there. The rest of the family is on their feet in an instant, chasing each other around the yard in a blur of jackets and gloves and flying snowballs. Dipper gets knocked to the ground face-first by a snowball to the back of the neck, but he’s having too much fun to notice the cold feeling on his face. Ford manages to knock Stan’s glasses off of his face, and Stan retaliates by throwing a wad of snow at the only exposed part of Ford’s neck. The high-pitched squeak that escapes Ford at the sensation makes the kids laugh, and they form a temporary truce to team up against Stan to see if they can get similar results from him. It works, once they’re able to lunge a snowball at his exposed wrists, but comes at the cost of Stan turning and lunging snowballs at them in return.

Dipper’s laughing too hard from the chaos of it all to notice Ford approaching him until it’s too late. Instead of pelting him with snow, though, Ford picks him up by the waist. “I’ve got one more idea to take the others down, if you’re still willing to work with me” he whispers, and Dipper nods wordlessly. Ford places Dipper on his shoulders, gently bends to gather a snowball in his hands without letting Dipper slip off. He then offers it to Dipper, and even without saying a word Dipper can tell he’s got a smirk on his face.

Dipper glances between the snowball in Ford’s hand and Mabel and Stan, and finds a smirk spreading to his own face. He takes the snowball from Ford, and as soon as it’s out of his hand he starts charging towards the other two.

“Sweet moses!” Stan yelps, leaping out of the way of their path. He jumps to his feet, brushing the snow off of his coat, and looks to Mabel. She nods, and he picks her up and places her on his shoulder as well.

“Winner takes all?” Mabel smirks, leaning her elbows against Stan’s head.

“You know it,” Dipper grins, mimicking her gesture and leaning against Ford’s head. “If we win, you have to make us your special hot chocolate. If you win, I dunno, you just get the same old boring hot chocolate I always make because someone is too stubborn to share her recipe”

Mabel sticks her tongue out and blows a raspberry at him. At Stan’s call, the two pairs messily charge towards each other. Stan and Ford struggle to bend down to pick up mounds of snow without accidentally dropping the younger twin off of their shoulders, and Dipper and Mabel struggle to throw the snowballs handed to them by their Grunkles without almost falling backwards off of their shoulders. For the first few minutes Dipper wonders if this was a bad idea, but as soon as Stan and Ford figure out their balance and fall into a pattern with the respective twin on their shoulder, Dipper almost wishes that they’d been doing it this way from the very start.

From up here on Ford’s shoulders, Dipper feels like he can accomplish anything. He knows, logically, that Ford can’t be any more than two feet taller than him, and that he already has gone through the apocalypse and won, but there’s something about this height that just makes Dipper feel safe.

That is, of course, until Mabel pelts him in the forehead with a snowball and nearly knocks him to the ground.  Dipper grips onto the edge of Ford’s jacket just a bit tighter, and Ford nods silently to reach a hand up and gently squeeze Dipper’s hand in reassurance that he doesn’t intend to let go that easy.  The two pairs prove to be a near-equal match, and their battle lasts for nearly an hour until the moment that Stan misinterprets Dipper’s body language and ducks at the wrong time, and Dipper’s able to knock Mabel off of her grunkle’s shoulder with a soft thud.

“Yes!” Dipper pumps his fist in the air as Ford helps him to the ground, and goes to offer Mabel a hand to help her off the ground.

“Good game”

She tries to fake an angry pout at him, but it doesn’t stick. “Good game, you dork” she takes his hand to stand, and punches him in the shoulder as she stands. She walks to take Stan by the hand, and gestures towards the shack. “But you’ve made one fatal mistake, brother” she smirks over her shoulder as she and Stan make their way inside. “You never specified that I had to tell you the recipe if we lost, just that I had to make it for you”

Dipper splutters, and opens his mouth to respond, but she’s already gone before he can think of a good comeback. He pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. A gentle hand on his shoulder tears him from his thoughts, and when he looks up at the source he sees Ford smiling at him in amusement. He doesn’t say anything, just sort of shakes his head, and the two of them follow Stan and Mabel inside.

Once inside, Dipper runs up the stairs to kick off his wet clothes and to change into something dryer and warmer. While he waits for Mabel to finish preparing everyone’s cups of cocoa, he drags all of the blankets from their beds downstairs and drops them into a pile on the living room floor, climbing underneath it for warmth. To Dipper’s surprise, Ford kneels on the ground and joins him under the blanket pile, winding an arm around his nephew for warmth.

“It’s ready!” Mabel cheers, stepping carefully into the room with two nearly-overflowing mugs donned with whipped cream, chocolate shavings, chocolate sprinkles, and a straw-shaped cookie sticking out of the mound. Dipper takes his mug carefully, and Ford chuckles as he takes his own.

“You know, Mabel, the multiverse had thousands of different flavors of whipped cream. The Pines Family sweet tooth is a strong one, and I collected as many as I could without getting caught by their equivalent of customs”

“Really?” her eyes become stars, stopping in her tracks on her way back to the kitchen. “Did you sneak any back home?”

Ford nods. “I’ve got a lovely cherry cream locked away in the basement lab for safe keeping.” He takes a sip of the hot chocolate in his hands, leaving a white moustache of cream across his lips. “If you’d like, I’d love to experiment with making a cherry cordial hot chocolate sometime”

“Are you kidding?” She squeals. “I’d love to!”

If it weren’t for Stan’s soft grunt as he takes a seat on Dipper’s other side, he’d have been too distracted watching Mabel and Ford geek out over food experiments to notice his arrival. Dipper smiles at them one last time before shifting his gaze to Stan.

“Grunkle Stan?” He says, before taking a sip from his own cup.

Stan raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“I wish all of our winter breaks could be like this”

Stan smiles warmly, ruffling up Dipper’s hair. “Me too, kiddo. Me too”

[justlookfrightened]

Home Sweet Home

Prompt: house hunting

“Bits, did you have anything special planned for today?”

Jack sat at the island, the remains of his peanut butter toast and protein shake pushed to the side while he tapped at his laptop keyboard.

“Special? No,” Bitty said, staring at the coffee maker like he was willing it to brew faster. “I wanted to go to the market, and there’s a couple of new recipes I want to try out for my vlog. But nothing important. Why?”

Bitty arched an eyebrow at Jack.

“Now that you’re all sweaty from your run, did you want to go back to bed?”

“Tempting,” Jack said, “but --”

“But if you want to do that, you’re in charge of changing the sheets later,” Bitty said.

“Fine,” Jack said. “But that wasn’t what I was talking about.”

“Okay?”

“You know my birthday’s next week,” Jack said.

“Of course,” Bitty said. “We’re having a party, remember? You’re going to grill, I’m doing desserts and sides, your parents are coming down … ”

“I know,” Jack said. “Remember when you were asking what I wanted for a gift?”

“DId you come up with something?” Bitty said. “Because I have been thinking on it, and I’m drawing a blank. When you want something, you usually buy it, and that makes gift-giving a little difficult.”

“I want a house.”

“What?”

“I want a house. We’ve had this condo for four years, and it’s nice, but I have four more years on my contract,” Jack said. “We’ll be here a while. And I think this is going to be home for us. Providence, I mean. So, yeah, I want a house.”

“Jack,” Bitty said, finally turning completely away from the coffee maker, “I can’t buy you a house. I mean, things are going pretty well for me, and the new book is out in a couple of months, but …”

“Of course you can,” Jack said. “We can afford a house.”

“You can afford a house,” Bitty said.

“We can,” Jack said. “Community property, remember? We share a bank account.”

“But that’s just the checking account,” Bitty said. “For like, groceries and utility bills. And sure, maybe I spend a little too much on clothes and baking supplies. And I know you can afford a house, but how is that a present from me to you?”

“Because I want you to do it with me?” Jack said. ”I want to pick a place out together, and to decorate it -- well, mostly for you to decorate it -- and I want it to be our home. I want there to be space for us to have guests, and for us maybe to have kids one day. I’m going to be thirty years old, Bits. I want to live like a grownup.”

Bitty looked pointedly around the condo, from the kitchen with its matching dish towels and oven mitts to the painting over the sofa and the plants in the corner.

“This … is not living like a grown-up?” Bitty said. “Going to bed at eleven and up by seven for a run, even on Sunday?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Jack said. “I just thought that, maybe it’s time for some more space? We can get you a bigger kitchen.”

“Fine,” Bitty said. “But because it’s something you want. You are not buying me a house for your birthday. What did you want to do about it today? Because don’t we need to, like, find an agent and everything?”

“I guess,” Jack said. “Maybe once we know what we want? I found a few open houses we can check out. Look.”

Bitty pulled a stool closer and turned the laptop towards him. Jack watched his eyes as he read, looked at pictures, scrolled down and read and looked again.

“Jack, those houses are all over a million dollars,” Bitty finally said, looking a little pale.

“I know,” Jack said. “But they’re nice. And did you see the kitchen in the one on the water in Cranston?”

“The one that’s over $2 million?” Bitty said. “We could build a big house that’s half kitchen for half that much.”

Jack shrugged.

“Probably not in that location. It’s a quick commute to the arena and the training facility. But if you want to buy property to build something, we might have to go further out,” Jack said. “Would you rather do that?”

“Build a house?” Bitty said. “Jack, I don’t know the first thing about building a house, and neither do you.”

“Well, I wasn’t thinking we’d build it ourselves,” Jack said. “We’d hire someone. Unless you want to bake a house.”

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann, we are not living in a gingerbread house.”

“But do you want to go to these open houses?” Jack said. “Get an idea of what we want and what’s available? For my birthday?”

Jack tried to do that thing Bitty did to him, where he looked up with huge, pleading eyes, but he was pretty sure he just looked like a demented seal instead of a cute puppy.

Bitty probably thought so too, but he laughed and said, “Fine. The farmer’s market opens in fifteen minutes. Let me go before all the good stuff is gone and then we can go look at houses.”

There must have been a lot of good stuff, because it was nearly noon by the time Bitty was back and had the shopping stowed. Then he had to shower and change. (“I need to look like a potential homebuyer, Jack, not a grocery shopper!” “What’s the difference?” Apparently, in Bitty’s mind, homebuyers dressed like they were going to casual office jobs. Except with khaki shorts instead of trousers because it was nearly 34 degrees outside.)

“Come on, Bits, I don’t want to be late!” Jack said.

“What, you’re afraid all the good houses will be gone?” Bitty asked. “I mean, is there seriously one house you have your heart set on? Because otherwise, I don’t think we have to worry. We’re just going to get an idea of what’s out there today, right?”

“Right,” Jack said.

As soon as they were in the car, he headed for Cranston. There were several places in that area that had open houses, including the place on the river. Two and a quarter million -- more than that even -- was a lot, more than Jack had ever spent on anything in his life, but he had the money. They had the money.

All it would take would be a call to his people. Well, to his lawyer, the one he counted on for everything except contract negotiations. Shelby would call his financial people and take care of everything.

The house was … a lot. Bitty did like the kitchen, especially the double oven and what looked like acres of counter space. There was an island with a breakfast bar where they could eat and where Jack could sit to watch Bitty bake, and look out the windows and over the deck to the water.

“My husband does video segments about baking and writes cookbooks,” Jack told Aila, the listing agent. “So the kitchen is really important.”

The master bedroom wasn’t huge, but neither he nor Bitty were the type to loll in bed all day. And there was a guest house where the parents could stay when they visited.

“The property can be sold without the guesthouse,” Aila said as she not-so-helpfully followed them from room to room. There were no other lookers at the moment, so it made sense, but Jack would have preferred a bit more privacy. That would have helped him sell Bitty on the place himself.

“No, if we bought it we’d want the guesthouse,” Jack assured her.

“Don’t you think it’s a little too … I dunno, grand? For us,” Bitty said, looking down from the second floor landing.

“My parents’ place is bigger,” Jack said. “You seem comfortable enough there.”

“Now we’re competing with a movie star and a hockey legend?” Bitty said. “We’ve never owned a house before.”

“Can we walk around outside?” Jack said, steering Bitty toward the French doors that led off the dining room.

“Of course,” Aila said. “You’ll notice the sophisticated multi-level outdoor living space!”

“What does that even mean?” Bitty muttered, before trudging across the deck and into the grass to look back at the house.

He came back to Jack and said, “Let’s go. This isn’t the place for us.”

“What?”

“Unless you were sure you wanted this house specifically?”

“No. But --”

“Then let’s keep looking,” Bitty said.

“It’s like you saw a ghost,” Jack said. “Is it haunted?”

“Might as well be,” Bitty said.

“What?”

“We can’t move here,” Bitty said. “It’s not big enough.”

“A four-bedroom five-bathroom house with an in-ground pool and separate coach house isn’t big enough?”

Jack knew he sounded incredulous. He was incredulous. The house Bitty’s parents lived in -- the house Bitty had lived in as a high school student -- had four bedrooms, sure, but it was about half the size of this place. Without the coach house. And it only had two bathrooms.

Besides, Bitty usually opted for practicality over ostentation. The only really expensive things he seemed to covet were kitchen appliances.

“All that building?” Bitty said. “On a lot that’s just over a half-acre? Where would we put the rink?”

“What rink?”

“The outdoor rink that you want to build in the backyard for little Johnny or Sally to learn to skate on,” Bitty said. “So they can skate and come in for lunch and go right back outside.”

“We don’t have to have a rink,” Jack said.

“No, we don’t have to,” Bitty said. “But when you talk about when you were little, you talk about skating with your dad all the time. And you get this little smile, like just thinking about it makes you happy.”

“Maybe our kids won’t even like skating,” Jack said.

“But you still will,” Bitty said. “So if you don’t absolutely love this place already, let’s move on.”

“But the kitchen is so great,” Jack said. “Did you see the breakfast bar?”

“We can remodel the kitchen in another house if we want to,” Bitty said. “But we can’t magically make more property here. Do you have other places to visit?”

“There’s a list,” Jack said.

From Cranston they headed south to Barrington, where Jack had seen a few open houses advertised. One house was too small (despite four bedrooms and three bathrooms) and one Bitty ruled out immediately (“I know it’s on the water and it’s beautiful, but $1.35 million for a place with no air conditioning?”). Bitty made the same complaint about an 1894 six-bedroom house on the market for just under a million, but turned down a house a hundred years newer (with central air) because it was part of a suburban development and didn’t have a big enough yard oir mature trees.

When they got home, Bitty started pulling out ingredients for a strawberry rhubarb pie.

“I thought you had some new recipes to try,” Jack said.

“I do,” Bitty said. “But right now seems like a good time for comfort food.”

“Can we make a list of what we want in a house?” Jack said. “What’s important and what’s negotiable?”

“We need space,” Bitty said. “A big yard for a rink. Even a smallish rink will take a lot of space.”

Jack wrote that down.

“It might be better to look further out, then,” he said.

“I’d also like to be close to the city,” Bitty said. “But maybe that’s not as important. I don’t want to build new, though. Not for a first house. My Aunt Judy and Uncle Bob built themselves a brand new home on a lake in Georgia, put in a home theater sound system to watch movies in the great room, and it turned out you could hear it better in the bedrooms upstairs than sitting in front of the TV. I don’t want to make mistakes like that.”

They could probably find and hire a better architect -- and a sound engineer, if it came to designing a home theater -- than Bitty’s Aunt Judy, but Jack kept that thought to himself. If Bitty didn’t want to supervise the construction of a house, Jack wasn’t about to make him, and there was no way Jack could do it during the season.

“It needs to have a good kitchen,” Jack said instead. “I mean, we can get new appliances and do some remodeling, but there has to be enough space for you to work and for us to eat.”

“For you to distract me, you mean,” Bitty said, but he looked fond, and didn’t object, so Jack added it to the list.

“Good schools,” Jack said. “A patio or deck, or at least room for one, and space for a decent gym. And mature trees.”

Bitty nodded at all of that, then said, “I think maybe we should set a budget, then you can talk to Shelby about how we pay for it? And who to work with as a buyer’s agent?”

“You thought two and a half million was too much,” Jack said.

“Unless the house cleans itself and shovels its own snow in the winter,” Bitty said.

“A million and a half?” Jack said. “As a target?”

Bitty shook his head like he was exasperated, but then he grinned.

“It’s your money,” he said.

“No, it’s our money,” Jack said.

The next day, while Bitty was on calls about the next cookbook, Jack called Shelby.

“Bitty and I want to buy a house,” he said. “But we need help.”

“Okay,” Shelby said. “Help how?”

“Help with finding an agent, knowing what questions to ask, how to do the money part of it,” Jack said. “I mean, I think we can afford most places, but I don’t know the mechanics of it.”

“We can help with that,” Shelby said. “Let me make some calls and set you up with a buyer’s agent. They can help with the search, and getting a home inspection and all that. And I’ll get the financial team together to run some numbers. It might make more sense, tax-wise, to get a mortgage, or you might find a seller who will give you a discount for cash. Do you have an idea about the budget you’re looking at?”

“Well, Bits and I went out to a few open houses yesterday,” Jack said.

“You did?” Shelby said. “Oh, my gosh. The agents must have been falling all over themselves. If they recognized you.”

“Yeah, well,” Jack shrugged. Maybe that was why the agents followed them around so much.

“The most expensive place was listed at $2.35 mil,” Jack said. “I thought it was pretty nice, but Bitty thought it was too much.”

“Too much money? Too much house?” Shelby asked. “Do you remember the address?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, and read the address off his phone. “Too much money, yes, and he said it was a bit too grand. But he also thought the property was too small. He seems to think we need room to put in an outdoor rink in the winter.”

“He wants a rink?”

“He thinks I want a rink.”

“Do you?” Shelby asked.

“It would be nice,” Jack said. “I guess. Especially if we ever have kids. But it’s not a deal-breaker for me.”

“What is it that you want?”

“I want Bits to have a great kitchen,” Jack said. “But Bitty pointed out that we can remodel the kitchen, as long as there’s room.”

“Sounds like you two spent some time talking about this,” Shelby said.

“Yeah,” Jack said.

“Okay, let me look for a buyer’s agent,” she said. “I can have some names to you tomorrow. And Jack, congratulations. I know this is a big step.”

Things moved quickly after that. Shelby provided a list of possible agents, along with her recommendation, whom Bitty and Jack agreed to hire. By the Thursday of that week, they had a meeting with the agent, Melissa Field.

“It was so nice of you to come to us,” Bitty said, seating Melissa in the dining room. “Can I get you coffee? Tea? Pie?”

“Shelby said your pie is not to be missed,” Melissa said. “So yes, please. Coffee, too, if it’s not any trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” Bitty said. “I have a traditional cherry pie and a ginger peach.”

“Ooh, ginger peach,” Melissa said.

“Good choice.”

Jack took a seat as Bitty disappeared into the kitchen.

“Did I pick right?” Melissa asked.

“They’re both great,” Jack said. “Though I think I prefer the cherry, so yeah, perfect choice. More cherry for me.”

“Can you tell me about why you decided now was the time to buy a house?” Melissa asked.

“It’s not just my decision,” Jack said. “It’s Bitty’s too. But I am turning 30 next week, and my contract will keep us here for at least the next few years, and it seemed like time to put down some roots.”

Melissa nodded.

“Do you want to wait for Eric to talk about what you’re looking for?” she asked.

“That would be best,” Jack said.

Bitty bustled in and out, first bringing coffee with cream and sugar, then tea for Jack, then three slices of pie: two ginger peach and a sliver of cherry for Jack.

Melissa took them through a very long checklist of what they wanted, what they didn’t want and what they just didn’t care about. Baseboard heat? Built in shelves? Gas fireplaces?

“But air conditioning is important,” Bitty said.

“Okay,” she said. “It’s a buyer’s market, especially just now with school about to start, and there are several properties for sale that might fit the bill. Let me send you information tomorrow and we can make maybe two or three appointments for the weekend. If we have to, we can do the same thing next week, and the week after, until you’re comfortable making a choice.”

“Sounds good,” Jack said.

On Saturday, Melissa had three appointments set up. The first was an 1890 Victorian in Warwick, with five bedrooms and three and half bathrooms and more than two acres of property.

It had been updated inside, Melissa said as she led the way inside, with central air and new plumbing and electrical systems.

Bitty let out a bark of laughter as soon as they entered the living room.

“Dog people, I guess?” he said, nodding at the oil portrait of the German shepherd over the fireplace.

But he wasn’t laughing at the open kitchen, or the laundry room/mud room/butler’s pantry, which had an extra fridge and stove. It was also well within the budget at $1.2 million.

Next was a house in North Smithfield with four bedrooms and six bathrooms, which seemed disproportionate to Jack. But the kitchen was spacious, as was the yard, and it already had a play set, which made Jack imagine what it would be like with kids. Listed at just over a million dollars, the price was no obstacle,but it didn’t have as much character as the first one.

“I’ve saved the best for last,” Melissa said, driving them toward Lincoln. “This is the biggest of the three, with two separate in-law units, an adjoining workshop or studio that you can use for a gym, an in-ground pool, six-car garage and more than four acres.”

The main house, whose oldest parts dated to 1812, was gorgeous, with a stone exterior and clean lines. But the adjoining garage and workshop didn’t seem to match the aesthetic. Then again, what did Jack know about aesthetics?

Bitty was taken with the open land, Jack could see.

The inside of the house was also good, until Jack saw the kitchen. How could a six-bedroom house have a galley-style kitchen?

Jack knew Bitty was disappointed in the kitchen as well, but he didn’t say so in front of Melissa.

“Any thoughts?” Melissa asked.

“Let us talk for a while,” Jack said. “Can I call you this evening? Or tomorrow. I know it’s Sunday.”

“Either is fine,” Melissa said, dropping them at the condo building.

“Come on, bud,” Jack said, heading for Bitty’s favorite diner instead of going upstairs. “Let’s talk about it over food.”

They settled into the booth, ordered and waited for their meals before getting down to business.

“It has to be the last one,” Bitty said, after inhaling half of his grilled cheese. “It’s the biggest, and has the most property, and it has plenty of room for people to stay, and for a gym, too. And it wasn’t any more expensive. Less than the one in Warwick.”

“But the kitchen is small,” Jack said, pulling the toothpick out of his turkey club.

“Maybe we could add on?” Bitty said. “Or not. The appliances are good. I liked the double oven.”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “It’s in the old part of the house, so I’m not sure an addition would work. What about the one in Smithfield?”

“It ticked all the boxes” Bitty acknowledged. “But didn’t love it. I can’t really say why. Too boxy, maybe?

Jack nodded in acknowledgement, chewed and swallowed. “That leaves the one in Warwick.”

“With Rin Tin Tin?” Bitty said.

“We don’t have to keep the portrait,” Jack said.

“It only had a one-car, detached garage,” Bitty said.

“That would probably be easier to expand than the kitchen,” Jack said.

“Or not,” Bitty said. “You don’t know that.”

“I didn’t really like that whole six-car garage thing in Lincoln,” Jack said. “It’s basically attached to the house, but it’s like a big shed. We could do so much better expanding the garage on the one in Warwick. And it has a view of the water.”

“From the third floor,” Bitty said. “How’re those knees holding up, Mr. NHL Player?”

“Fine,” Jack said, a little stiffly. “What do you have against the house in Warwick? You liked it when we saw it, especially the butler’s pantry and laundry room.”

“Nothing,” Bitty said. “Well, besides the dog picture. Could you imagine that room with Lardo’s painting? But we would need a bigger garage, at the very least.”

“I really don’t think that would be a problem,” Jack said. “It’s old, but it’s not landmarked or anything and there’s plenty of room. And it’s not far from Marty and his family. Why are you so set on the one in Lincoln?”

“It seems like a better deal,” Bitty said. “More space -- bigger lot, bigger house, more bedrooms -- for less money. You shouldn’t turn that down just so I have a bigger kitchen to mess up.”

Jack dragged the last of Bitty’s fries through a dollop of mayonnaise.

“I still don’t understand how you like that,” Bitty said.

“It reminds me of home,” Jack said. “And that’s what it is about the kitchen. For me, home is the place where I sit and watch you bake, and eat what you cook, and listen to you go on about butter and shortening and a thousand other things. If I can’t do that, the house won’t be home, no matter how many cars will fit in the garage.

“I want that, and if we do end up with kids, I want there to be room for them to sit in the kitchen and have a snack after school, and do their homework, and talk to us. Remember the way everyone gravitated to the kitchen in the Haus? It wasn’t like that before you got there, but I want it to be like that.”

“So you like the million-dollar house in Warwick because it has the potential to be more like the falling-down frat house we lived in in college?”

“Yes,” Jack said.

“Then let’s buy that one,” Bitty said.

“You’re sure you don’t want to see more?” Jack said.

“Do you?” Bitty said. “I do like that house, and I loved the view from the kitchen. As long as it passes the inspection and all that.”

“Then let’s do it,” Jack said. “I’ll call Melissa when we get home.”

On Monday, Jack woke up to a bouncy Bitty who was already tying his running shoes.

“Coming with, bud?”

“Yep,” Bitty said. “It’s your birthday. And I intend to follow you into the shower when we get back. Fair warning.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

Bitty laughed, then said, “You have to pick up your parents after lunch, so we have to take advantage of our opportunities.”

The run was fine, the shower was better, and the post-shower romp in the bed was best of all.

“Is it weird that I’m thinking about how this is the last birthday we’ll celebrate here?” Bitty said, snuggling up to Jack afterwards. “We’ve had some good ones.”

“This is already a good one,” Jack said. “At least from my point of view.”

“Hush. I have to get up to start getting things ready. Your parents land in two hours, so you don’t have that much time either, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Jack had groaned and stood up, ready for another shower, when his phone rang.

“Jack? This is Melissa. I have good news,” she said. “The owners accepted your offer, at least verbally. Well, of course they did. You offered what they were asking. But I’m going to work with Shelby to draw up a contract and we should be looking at closing before your season starts.”

“Wow,” Jack said. “That’s great.”

He looked around the bedroom with a sudden rush of nostalgia. The new bedroom in the new house would be good too, he told himself.

“What is it?” Bitty said, rubbing at his hair with a towel as he came out of the bathroom. “Everything okay?”

“They accepted our offer,” Jack said. “They’ll draw up the contract and we can close in a few weeks.”

“That is great,” Bitty said. “Even if the change is … a little disconcerting?”

“It’ll be fine,” Jack said. “We’ll do it together.”

That evening, after steaks and portobello mushrooms were grilled, and the guests stuffed themselves with salads and homemade bread and three kinds of pie, Jack stood and tapped his wine glass.

“Everyone, I have an announcement,” he said.

“But he already married Bitty,” Tater whispered to Shitty. “You think they have a baby coming?”

Shitty shrugged. “I dunno,” he said.

Jack could hear every word because Tater’s whisper … wasn’t.

“Not a baby,” he said. “But we are putting down roots. Bits and I are buying a house. Our offer was accepted today.”

His parents hugged him, and Bitty pulled out his phone to show off pictures.

“Look at that portrait of the dog, Lardo,” Bitty said. “Can we commission something else to go there?”

@jackzimmermannturns30

[dripkingpetey]

minnesota-b.boeser

a/n: @sportmodepetey this ones for you erin!

*lowercase intended*

“god, you’re killing me in that bathing suit.”

1098 words

it was a hot summer day in minnesota, you had been out with brocks mom all day getting stuff for conner, you and brocks now three-month-old baby. 

“i’m home!” you said as you were carrying the shopping bags inside while looking around for brock and conner. you made your way around to the kitchen and you saw brock sitting on the deck shirtless with conner, he loved taking naps with conner and that made you melt in awe. you quickly snapped a photo of them before cleaning up the house a bit and went to go wake them up.

you opened up the sliding glass door and that made brock wake up a little “hey brock,” you said sitting down next to him as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder. “hey y/n,” brock said to you with a smile. 

“how was your day?” brock said now that he’s more awake. “good, how was conner?” you turned your attention to the sleeping baby on brocks chest. “he was good, we just sat around with together all day.” you and brock smiled at conner who was now starting to wake up. 

“don’t even think about playing hockey with him yet brock, he can barely hold a spoon.” you said with a laugh and brock had a fake pout shooting right at you. 

“soon babe, just you wait.” brock said in a cocky tone as conner woke up. “your turn to deal with conner?” brock said with a mischievous voice as he passed the baby to you as he got up to stretch.

“hey con,” you said while giving him a kiss on the cheek and hugging him. “woah woah,” where’s my kiss? brock said in a jokingly tone. “should daddy get a kiss?” you said to conner with a smile. “da da?” conner murmured out, you and brock went into shock. “no way!” brock said excitedly while sitting next to you and conner. 

“he said dad first!” brock said with the biggest grin ever on his face. you sighed with a laugh, “yes, yes he did brock.”.  

when you guys headed inside to start making dinner brock whispered to you even though there’s no one around. “hey, why don’t you call me daddy more often?” brock said with a cocky laugh and you shoved him.

-

it was the end of summer, you and brock went down to the lake one last time before you guys took a road trip back to vancouver, it would be easier for you all to take a plane but conner doesn’t do well on planes so you guys take the drive.

brocks taking a sip out of his black-cherry truly while you were getting ready to jump into the lake, conner was spending the whole day with brocks parents so you could have some alone time and they could hang out with conner too.

“are you going in?” brock got up as he finished his sentence. “yeah are you coming in?” you said before jumping into the cold water, shortly after you could feel brock jumping in and him planting a kiss on your cheek.

“god, you’re killing me in that bathing suit.” brock groaned softly in your ear knowing it would turn you on. 

you laughed softly before wrapping your legs around his waist. “i mean its just the both of us right now,” you said while teasing brock a little. “fuck,” brock cursed softly under his breath before kissing your lips and slowly slipping your bikini bottoms to the side.

you and brock finished your business at the lake with no one interrupting, you took a quick shower before going over to brocks parents house for lunch and to pick conner up.

you were helping laurie set the table while brock was playing with conner when she started speaking “this is the happiest i’ve seen brock in awhile,” laurie gave you a genuine smile and you return the favour.

“have a safe trip home guys!” brocks parents said to you guys so you pulled out of their driveway and got ready for the next twenty-five hours. the drive consisted of brock playing country music, brock talking about how excited he is for hockey to start again and whenever you were driving brock would take naps with conner and it was the cutest thing ever.

-

you and conner went to one of brocks home games today, they were against the islanders. it was third period and they were tied 3-3 against them, brock and clutterbuck collided but brock went down right as jake opened the door and brocks tailbone hit where the door was open.

your heart ached as you saw brock suffering on the ice, you watched to see if he was okay for awhile and when he got up to head in the locker room you went down to the locker room to see him.

“hey babe,” you said as you could see he was suffering from the pain, all you wanted to do was give him a hug but you know it would make it worse. you gave brock a quick kiss on the lips before all of the teammates came in and exited the room cause you knew that the boys would be too loud and make conner cry.

you met up with brock again outside of the locker room and gave him a hug cause he’s feeling better. “hey buddy,” brock said with a smile as he held conner.

as soon as you got home brock relaxed on the couch when you put conner to bed, you went back downstairs to see brock watching a movie. “woah, watching a movie without me babe?” you said sarcastically as you sat down and let him shift his head into your lap. 

brock let out a little chuckle and kisses your thigh. “sorry, i know we were supposed to go out for dinner.”

“it’s okay, as long as you’re okay brock.” you started rubbing his back to comfort him. “how are you feeling?” 

“better now I’m with you,” brock said with a wink. “god, you’re still flirting with me even though you’re suffering.” you said with a laugh and a defeated tone. 

you sat on the couch with brock for awhile before helping him up the stairs to your guys’ bedroom. 

brock got into bed and started falling asleep, “y/n you have no idea how much i love you.” he kissed your neck and sighed. “i love you too brock,” you played with brocks hair for awhile until you both fell asleep.

here's the video from the injury if you haven't seen it

[alleycat97]

Veronica×mc where they make out in Veronica's home for the request? I honestly love your writing! Thank you very much ❣️

Sorry it’s late but yes💅🏻

Kinda dirty, little bit of language but that’s what makes it good right?

MC(Bea) x Veronica

...

Christmas Break had arrived for the Belvoire students and that meant one month away from that hell hole. No more rankings, no more kissing ass, one month to be yourself, but that was never really easy if you were in the top 10. Someone was always watching you. But Bea tried to push past that thought as for the first time ever, she was going to Massachusetts to spend some holiday time with her girlfriend Veronica.

“You live here?” Bea said in awe as Veronica pulled into the driveway.

“No I just show up and raid the house on special occasions...of course I live here.” Veronica teased.

“I was just asking jeez.” Bea started pouting.

“Oh here let me fix that.” Veronica tried to kiss her girl all better but Bea noticed the front door open and she wanted to show a good example so she pulled away.

The two girls were met by Veronica’s parents, Thomas and Cecily. Bea could tell immediately where V got her looks from, she looked identical to her mother.

“Hello darling welcome home.” Her parents greeted, “Ah, you must be Bea, Veronica has spoken a lot about you.”

“Hopefully it was all good things, but yes I am Bea. Thank you for having me. You have a gorgeous home.”

“Very respectful and has a great taste, she’s a keeper V.” Thomas teased ushering the girls in.

“I know you aren’t here long Bea, but we’ve managed to clear out a guest room just for you.” Cecily spoke motioning for the butler to gather their stuff.

“It’s rather odd I know, a house with 11 bedrooms, you would think we wouldn’t have to clean out the spare storage room. But we have a large family joining us for Christmas you see.” Thomas said striding over to his mini bar.

“Oh guys you didn’t have to do that. Bea can sleep with me.” Veronica said knowing it would fall on deaf ears.

“We thought about that. And we do trust you sweetie, but you know how your grandparents are. They aren’t as accepting as we are. If they knew you two were sharing a room as a couple...”

“Mom Jesus it’s not that big of a deal. It’s 2020 not 1920. Nonna and Nonno can just deal when they get here.” Veronica protested.

“Absolutely not, now run along with Edward and you two wash up for dinner.” Cecily added turning her attention to the drink Thomas made for her.

Veronica bypassed her room and went to check out the room her parents setup for Bea.

“This is outrageous! It’s nothing but a broom closet with a bed. You don’t even have good WiFi in here! How are you supposed to watch my streams in here?” Veronica hissed.

“It’s ok babe. All I’m doing is sleeping in here. Plenty of room for that.” Bea said trying to find the silverlining.

“Yeah but not much else!”

“Well I figured since it’s balls ass cold outside we won’t be out much, so I figured we would be in your room most of the time.” Bea started. Veronica starting to smirk.

“Mmmhm and that makes you fair game.”

“V we talked about this. I don’t wanna get caught doing that the first time meeting your family. Especially under their roof.”

“Blah blah always so formal with you.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Obviously not you.” V replied. “Before you leave for Iowa. I. Will. Fuck. You. Brainless.”

Bea swallowed hard. She knew that tone. Veronica was harmless, but when she wasn’t getting what she wanted, she would ruin anything to get it. And that anything was Bea.

“Now come on. Nonna and Nonno will be here any minute. And the rest of the Lombardi clan. Pick out something hella cute and here, you’ll need this.”

“Where the hell did you get this glass of wine?” Bea asked perplexed.

“I’m Italian, always gotta stay ready.

...

Dinner came and went without much issue. Veronica’s grandparents were sweet, old school Italians but they were nice to her.

Apparently no one else knew that Bea was Veronica’s girlfriend. Her younger brother kept complaining about how much hotter her other friends are and the fact that he was indeed marrying Chloe when he got old enough. Bea didn’t mind, she just figured Veronica wasn’t ready to fully come out to everyone.

It was late and mostly everyone went to their rooms. Bea slipped into her broom closet and changed into her usual sleep attire. Well lets just say it wasn’t enough. The little room had no vent for the heat to get into so it was teeth chattering cold. And to make it worse, Veronica was in her room live-streaming dropping hints to her Veronicats about Bea and how she could use some “play time.”

Veronica could be a sex nympho and Bea knew she better please her woman or else she would be dead by daylight. Her phone began to go off, it was V.

“Hello?”

“Get your ass in my bed now. You have 4 minutes or I’m coming to get you and you won’t get to cum this time.”

“Dudeee that’s not fair! Your grandma is sitting in the hallway sewing! She will know.” Bea protested.

“Get creative Winchester, you have 3 minutes.” Veronica ended the call. Bea was in some shit because Veronica would hold true to her word. She would get fucked real good but she wouldn’t let her release. So unfair.

Bea eased out into the dim lit hall and made it close to Veronica’s door.

“The bathroom is down the hall and on the right.” Veronica’s grandma called out in rough English, scaring the shit out of Bea.

“Oh! Well thank you!” She replied shakily. “Fuck I’m screwed!” She whispered.

Her phone vibrated, “2 minutes.”

Bea stepped into the bathroom and began to panic, “Think Bea!” She looked around the bathroom and saw a small window above the sink, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Bea opened the window and started to squeeze out onto the roof. Her hips and butt we’re giving her a test, “Come on Bea you cow! I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that extra piece of cake.” Bea finally squeezed through and fell onto the snow covered roof. It was freezing outside.

Her little booty shorts and crop top weren’t doing anything for her. She quickly closed the window a bit and carefully treaded down the roof line and made it to the right window.

To her surprise it was unlocked and she flopped into Veronica’s room like a fresh caught tuna flopping around on the deck.

“Fuck it’s cold!” Bea said shivering trying to get warm. She turned her attention to a very clothless Veronica waiting on the bed, “You’re late.”

Bea internally shattered. It wasn’t fair. “Babe look, it wasn’t....”

“Save it, get over here and please me.”

Unfair or not, Dom Veronica was so fucking hot. Bea would gladly be a puddle of goo for her.

Bea climbed on top of Veronica and began kissing around on her. Their mouths meeting frequently and their tongues fought for dominance. Bea was quickly warming back up.

A little time had passed and Veronica’s grandmother decided to go and check on Bea. She knocked a few times and received no reply. Worried, she shuffled down to Veronica’s room and lightly knocked before entering.

Veronica and Bea, too busy tongue dancing and touching each other to hear the knock, didn’t notice her enter. It didn’t take much however to hear the shriek of Italian coming from the older woman.

“Veronica! Cosa diamine stai facendo?!” (What the heck are you doing?)

The two girls pulled apart and covered themselves up. Not daring to meet the older woman’s gaze.

“Nonna! It’s no big deal!” Veronica pleaded.

“Sto cercando i tuoi genitori!” (I’m getting your parents!)

Oh shit. They both thought, the girls quickly threw what clothes on they could find and Veronica tucked herself back in, Bea giving her a goodnight kiss before booking it back to her broom closet.

Veronica’s parents made it to her room and of course her grandmother barged back in shouting.

Veronica acted like the intrusion woke her up, she sat up rubbing her eyes in confusion.

“Mama, calm down. There’s no one here?” Cecily answered.

Her grandmother was determined to convince her daughter about what had happened but Cecily played it off. “Mama I told you that medication was messing with your head. Let’s go get you in bed. Sorry V, sweet dreams.” Her mother said with a knowing wink.

Yep, Veronica had a badass mom. Sure, she would have to answer for this fiasco in the morning, but she was saved this time.

She shot a quick text to Bea, “I’m not finished with you yet. Double or nothing, 2 minutes, my room.”

Veronica could literally hear Bea hit the floor trying to hurry back, “God I love her.”

[xiaomoxu]

MLQC CN Lucien (Xu Mo) Recollection Date Part 3 & 4

SPOILER ALERT!!

It's Xu Mo Birthday Date which has released on CN server. I'm doing translation for personal reason, so I'm sorry if there's some mistranslation. Kindly tell me if you found some :) feel free for read it~ ^^

PART 3

Read previous part here

(There will be 4 options for this story)

1st Option

MC: What about after opening the door?

Xu Mo: There is an ordinary entrance, where do you want to go?

MC: I want to go left.

Xu Mo: On the left is the kitchen. The kitchen is a bit small, but the kitchen utensils in it are very complete, and always shiny, because it is not used much.

MC: Does the owner know how to cook?

Xu Mo: It can only be said that people are good at different things.

His voice is smiling faintly, as if thinking of some special scene

Xu Mo: "Obviously, pour it into the pot perfectly according to the content of the recipe. Why does it taste so strange?"

Xu Mo: She always said that.

Xu Mo: But she is always busy, so she doesn't have much time to do research in this area.

MC: In fact, those dishes are delicious, right?

Xu Mo was silent for a long time, as if he really wanted to extract the smell from his memory.

Xu Mo: Well, it's delicious.

There seemed to be a young woman standing in front of the stove in front of her. She was swaying in distress between the pot and the recipe in her hand.

She tied up her hair and wore simple home clothes. She didn't look like a "professor" in his population at all. She was full of family atmosphere.

A little boy was secretly hiding outside the kitchen door, looking at her expectantly.

We returned to the hallway again.

2nd Option

Xu Mo: There is an ordinary entrance, where do you want to go?

MC: I want to go right.

Xu Mo: On the right is the living room. Although it is the living room, there are actually bookshelves everywhere.

MC: Is there no study room?

Xu Mo: In fact, because the study can't fit those books, the living room is filled up a little bit.

Xu Mo: In the center is a very soft sofa, where sunlight will shine through the floor-to-ceiling windows in autumn.

Xu Mo: There is a set of very expensive speakers on the opposite side of the sofa, which was specially bought by the little boy's father to listen to some classical music.

MC: On the sofa, while reading a book and listening to music, it must be very comfortable.

Xu Mo: In fact, the most comfortable place is the rocking chair by the French windows.

I felt a familiar body temperature on my left side. Xu Mo seemed to adjust his sitting posture and leaned against my left.

Xu Mo: For the little boy in this house, the rocking chair at that time was just the right size for him. When he was tired from reading, he could turn over and sleep with a book.

Xu Mo: When the weather is good, the rocking chair will be gently blown by the wind and shake slowly.

I seemed to be standing in the living room wrapped in bookshelves and walked to the floor window.

There was a little child, tightly holding the book in his hand, curled up in a slightly shaking rocking chair, sleeping in the brilliant autumn light in.

Maybe he is having an ordinary dream, just like his calm daily life, gentle and precious.

We returned to the hallway again.

3rd Option

Xu Mo: There is an ordinary entrance, where do you want to go?

MC: I want to move forward

Xu Mo: In front is a restaurant. It's bigger than the kitchen, but the decoration is also very simple.

Xu Mo: There are no drinkers at home, so the entire restaurant has only a small dining table and three chairs

MC: Do... the little boy and his parents eat here every day?

Xu Mo: They have no such agreement.

Xu Mo: But they tried their best to share dinner with the little boy every day.

Xu Mo: After returning from a business trip, the little boy's father and mother will definitely make a sumptuous dinner.

The men and women at the dining table seemed to be busy. They even had time to change out their coats, so they rolled up their sleeves and took care of the vegetables and fish they bought.

Man: ....This fish is too energetic.

The fish in the man's hand was full of the will to survive. The little boy sat at the dining table obediently, pretending to read the book, but in fact he didn't read a word.

The floating legs swayed briskly, and he didn't even understand what this mood was.

I just feel light and fluttering, as if lying in the clouds.

We returned to the hallway again.

4th Option

Xu Mo: There is an ordinary entrance, where do you want to go?

MC: I want to go upstairs and have a look.

Xu Mo:There will be a staircase when you go through the living room, and the wooden board will creak slightly when you step on it. When you walk upstairs, there is a small living room.

MC: Isn't it also full of bookshelves?

Xu Mo smiled, and a soft laughter flicked his ears, a little helpless.

Xu Mo: Unfortunately, you guessed it right.

Xu Mo: Maybe I remembered it wrong. This is not a place to live, it should be a bookstore.

Xu Mo: However, the parents of the little boy should distinguish between functions. After all, it is a little closer to the study.

Xu Mo: If you are tired of reading books in the study, you can just walk out and continue reading in this small living room.

MC: So tired of watching it in the small living room?

Xu Mo: Go down to the large living room and have a look.

I was amused by his pretending jokes.

The whole house seems to be filled with books and ink fragrances in every corner, accompany the people in the house to explore the end of the world.

MC: What's on the second floor?

Xu Mo: To the left of the small living room is a long corridor, the first is a large bedroom, and there is a room on the left and right at the end.

Xu Mo: On the right is the study room, which contains more materials, and the books placed are all highly professional books.

Xu Mo: At that time, the little boy couldn't even understand the words on it. Every time he looked at a page, he had to put a large English-Chinese dictionary and an English-English dictionary.

MC: You must understand it now.

I said with emotion. Xu Mo on the side hesitated. He seemed to be recalling something again, and slowly opened his mouth.

Xu Mo: I should have understood it when I was around sixteen or seventeen.

MC: ....

MC: Let's leave this room that doesn't belong to me

The low laughter leaned at my side, making me almost want to open my eyes and tell him to respect the gap between people.

But when I thought that the last room was left, I finally took a deep breath and decided to ignore the constant laughter.

MC: What about the room on the left?

Xu Mo: That is the little boy's room.

Following Xu Mo's words, he steadily opened the last door.

MC: Is there a lot of books in this room?

Xu Mo: No.

Xu Mo: There is no book in the little boy's room. His parents don't want him to read books all the time, so they don't let him bring the books into the bedroom.

MC: Really don't have a copy?

Xu Mo: In fact, there are two books under the pillow.

When Xu Mo said so, I couldn't help laughing.

Xu Mo: This is a very ordinary small bedroom with a bed, wardrobe and small desk...

MC: Wait a minute, there are no books, what is the little boy doing at the desk?

Xu Mo: Play puzzle games.

MC: Huh?

Xu Mo: Such as Kong Ming chess, chess, element matching card game.

MC: It doesn’t sound like a puzzle game for children...

I couldn't help but spit out a bit, and got a deep laugh from Mr. Xu again.

MC: But it does seem to be an ordinary child's room.

Xu Mo: Because the special place lies elsewhere.

This time Xu Mo held my hand and stood up.

Xu Mo: Don't open your eyes.

While Xu Mo said this, he pulled me forward and walked up.

Xu Mo: There is a balcony in the little boy's house.

The brilliant autumn sun shines through my eyelids and hits my retina, shining slightly in the closed world.

I felt as if I was really under the traction of Xu Mo, closing my eyes and slowly walking across the bedroom to the balcony.

Xu Mo stopped and leaned behind me.

Xu Mo: MC, open your eyes to clear up.

The gentle autumn breeze rolled up the golden osmanthus in the sky.

At that moment, Xu Mo and I seemed to be standing on the balcony of the old house, and the fluttering colorful flags were flying happily in the wind.

The mountains and flowers in front of you, white clouds blowing in the wind.

Xu Mo: The balcony of the boy’s room is the best place to see the scenery around here.

Xu Mo: There will be fireflies in the mountains on spring nights, like the secrets of the mountain.

Xu Mo: The streets are always lively in summer. The elderly will play chess on the side of the road and the children will play football on the side of the road, and they will also run to the observation deck on the mountain to sneak off the fireworks.

Xu Mo: In autumn, when it rains, the sound of rain hitting the woods is very comfortable, and the whole world is wetted by the splashing rain and foggy.

Xu Mo: It rarely snows in winter, but small snowflakes will fall. He often imagined the whole mountain covered by heavy snow.

Xu Mo: The little boy's father told him that the world is huge and there are many secrets in the world.

Xu Mo: You will meet them and like them.

I stood in the middle of the open space, looking into the mountains.

The mountains in front of him were nothing but empty silence, and the golden osmanthus swayed silently in the wind.

PART 4

When we arrived at the viewing platform on the mountain, dusk had come quietly.

Xu Mo: Sorry, you kept me fooling around today.

MC: I will be happier if you can do a lot of fooling around like today.

Xu Mo smiled lightly, took my hand and sat on the long seat in the small pavilion.

The street lights on the road down the mountain have slowly begun to be turned on, looking down like a small candlelight in my eyes.

The same small handmade cake was finally placed on the stone slab after a whole day of rushing.

Looking at this cake, I thought of the old house in Xu Mo's memory and the little boy who was lying on the balcony and looking into the distance.

MC: Xu Mo, how did you feel about yourself when you were a kid?

Xu Mo: Why did you ask so?

MC: Just suddenly curious.

Xu Mo was silent for a moment. I didn't look up at him. I was still decorating the little cake in my hand.

Xu Mo: So what did you think about herself when she was a child?

I raised my head and touched my mouth, looking at the blurry lights in the distant city.

MC: I miss her very much.

MC: She was clumsy and reckless, she could do things that seemed great at the time by herself

MC: Looking at the words she had left behind, I was always embarrassed and unable to read, and laughed at her in my heart.

MC: But she is so sincere and brave.

MC: She is the person I cannot become now, and I am very grateful to her.

MC: I just don’t know if I am the kind of person she imagined. If so, that’s fine.

Xu Mo: Will do.

Xu Mo: You must be the kind of person she wants to be.

Xu Mo put his hand on his lap casually, and looked at the dim light with me.

Xu Mo: If I see myself when I was a child, I actually don't know what kind of mood I should be.

Xu Mo: There were so many things he didn't understand at that time, so much that he thought everything would have a specific answer.

Xu Mo: Including happiness, sadness.... (包括开心、难过、悲伤)

>>I put the original word in CN if there's some mistranslation

Xu Mo: And love.

Xu Mo's voice is calm. It is not so much talking about himself at that moment, as he seems to have pulled himself away and simply evaluates an individual.

Xu Mo: He is far away.

MC: You are too harsh on him.

Xu Mo: Huh?

MC: "People are good at different things."

MC: Just like some people cannot understand science, only his weaknesses are placed in a more special place.

MC: He may just be slower, more time-consuming, and deeper to understand those things.

MC: And it's just that kind of him that gradually became Xu Mo in front of me.

I lit the candle and Xu Mo's face was extremely soft against the candlelight.

MC: Happy birthday, Xu Mo.

MC: Xu Mo has been working hard this year! If you were too far away when you were a child, just look at yourself this year.

Xu Mo looked a little surprised when he heard me say this, and looked at me with interest.

Xu Mo: why do you say so?

MC: I think "birthday" always divides people into different stages.

I have a new toy at the age of 7, want to fall in love at the age of 15, take a good college entrance examination at the age of 18, find a good job at the age of 22, and have my own house at the age of 30...

"Birthday" seems to be an invisible reminder. People will look back at one-year-old self on this day, and then they will enter a new stage.

MC: From the time when Xu Mo was young, every year old Xu Mo was connected together to become the current Xu Mo.

MC: This year's Xu Mo, with his academic report, put a perfect end to this year-old self.

MC: He is still full of curiosity about the world and is still on the road of discovering the truth.

MC: He is still a little bit nasty, and always sees me showing off and teasing me...

MC: But such Xu Mo is very good.

MC: I hope you in the future can do what you want to do and become the person you want to be.

MC: You don't have to be happy all the time, but I hope you will be the first to think of me when you are unhappy.

MC: Let me be with you.

There are tiny petals of golden osmanthus in the wind, like foam from waves, reflecting in the candlelight, like burning.

Xu Mo's eyes were bright, filling the night sky of autumn leaves.

Xu Mo: Alright.

He didn't say thank you like he did in the past, but solemnly and sincerely left an agreement, even an oath.

Xu Mo: I think about my wish for this year.

Under the small candlelight, Xu Mo poked his head, slowly picked up his hand, wrapped his left fist with his right palm, and looked straight at it.

After a long time, he raised his head.

MC: Seems to have a lot of wishes this year?

Xu Mo: I'm not just making a wish.

Xu Mo: I still have something to say to them.

Xu Mo looked at me. He didn't explain who "they" were, just as he didn't explain the owner of the house.

He knew I would know.

In this regard, Xu Mo is actually very clumsy. And it is this clumsiness that makes him so real and complete.

MC: By the way, this is this year's birthday present.

I took out a souvenir book from my bag, a long-restored out-of-print book, and a small 6x10 wooden board. Each grid was covered with stickers of different sizes.

Xu Mo: It turns out that you have hidden so many things in your backpack.

MC: Haha...

MC:This is our commemorative album this year, this year also very thick.

Xu Mo slowly turned over the thick album. In Yuelao Temple, Xu Mo's home, summer camp in the orphanage, in class, amusement park, farm, oil painting studio...

Before we knew it, we had so many brand new memories.

MC: This is the previous out-of-print book. Although my craftsmanship is not very good, I did my best!

Xu Mo: It's hard work, MC

MC: And this "Unhappy Blind Box Project".

I solemnly took out the small wooden board and began to introduce it to Xu Mo.

MC: There are a total of 60 grids in it. When you are unhappy, just pick one to open.

MC: There may be props, a sentence, or a picture, and then please call MC to complete it with you.

Xu Mo: 365 days a year, only 60 grids?

MC: Mr. Xu, 60 unhappy times have been a lot, I hope you don’t open it once!

I stared at him a little madly, but found his smiling eyes.

MC: You teased me again!

Xu Mo: MC, Thank you.

The sky gradually darkened, and the lights of the city's thousands of houses slowly lit up under the mountain, like a touch of gentle blessing.

Perhaps for anyone, the world was a monochromatic at the beginning.

With time and encounter, it gradually became stained with colors, giving different people and things their own value.

Slowly, the whole world becomes colorful, it interacts with memory, and has smells and sounds.

Until the most special existence appeared, the color of this world was more distinctive.

It's as if the whole picture has been retouched, so that everything has a new meaning.

While we quietly shared the cake, I looked at Xu Mo's face lit by the warm lights.

MC: Xu Mo, you are now in color.

Xu Mo was stunned, then smiled meaningfully.

He ate the last piece of cake and finally sat next to me. He seldom carried a light and sweet fragrance on his body, and even the breath that came near was sweet.

Xu Mo: MC, to me, you are more than color.

~END~

Thank you for reading, kindly let me now if there's any mistranslation ><

[diaryofabeautyfiend]

Officially Nowhere

“Sam! Where are we going?”

“Trust me, Cap. I know a place. We’re going somewhere safe.”

“Nat, you still with us?!”

“I’m good.” she said. Her breathing was ragged but she was holding on.

“She needs a medic. Fast.”

“I know. We’re 2 minutes out.”

They pulled up to a gate. Sam sped up to drive through. He silently thanked heaven that it wasn’t rigged with explosives. He’d keep that to himself. He knew you wouldn’t be pleased to have all of this commotion dropped in your lap but you’d help anyway. Steve jumped out of the car and grabbed Nat rushing her to your door. He went to go kick it in thinking the place was abandoned. Sam shouted, “WAIT!!” but it was too late. Steve had a gun to his head faster than he was able to release his leg. He froze in place looking to Sam who was running to his side.

“Y/N! It’s me! Don’t shoot!” Sam said putting up his hands.

“Wilson? What the fuck is this?”

“I’m sorry. We need your help. Romanoff is hurt. Please.”

“Lower your weapon, soldier” Steve said in a rather commanding way. You laughed. “I will as soon as she does” pointing to Nat with your chin. Nat had her weapon pointed at you.

“Everyone lets calm down. Y/N they are friendly. I trust them.” Your face softened a bit as Nat raised her hands. You holstered your weapon and stepped aside. “ Put her on the kitchen table. I’ll get my bag.” “Where are we?” asked Steve. “Officially? I am no one. You are nowhere. I’m not helping you. Unofficially I’m Y/N. I’m a former combat medic and this is my house. Nice to meet you. Now please. The table.”

You grabbed some supplies from a hall closet. Nat was talking so she seemed to be breathing ok. “Let’s see.” Steve hovered at her side. “Captain you’ll have to move so I can evaluate her injuries.” He moved out of the way and you got to work. “You know who I am?” He asked still watching you work. “Of course. Everyone does. Romanoff was it?” Nat nodded. “You were hit. Through and through by the looks of it. I can patch you up but you’ll need surgery to see if you’re bleeding internally. She needs to get to a hospital, Sam.”

“No. No hospital.” Nat said through gritted teeth. You gave her something for the pain. She started to drift off. “What did you give her?!” Steve shouted reaching for his gun. “Relax. It’s for pain. I don’t think your girlfriend wants to feel me rooting around inside a bullet wound.” He relaxed a little. Sam went to the fridge to get some water for Steve and a beer for himself. You finished sewing up the wound and swabbed her skin with disinfectant. “That will do for now. I have a spare bedroom in the back. We need to get her there to rest.” Steve picked up Nat and got her to the room. You started an IV and hooked her up to a few machines to monitor her. “She’ll be out for a while, Captain.” You patted him on the shoulder and pulled a chair to her bedside. “She’s lucky to have you.” As you stepped into the doorway he looked back and said, “Thank you, Y/N. I really can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate all you’ve done....and she’s not my girlfriend.”

You went back into the kitchen where Sam was already cleaning up. You opened a beer and got him another. “So. Wanna tell me what’s going on?” “Yeah. We’re fugitives. Hiding out from SHIELD, Hydra the US government. And, if that wasn’t enough, a brain washed super soldier who happens to be Cap’s best friend.” He sunk down onto the couch sighing heavily. You sat next to him laughing quietly to yourself. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Just you. You always get mixed up in stupid ass shit. You’re like a trouble magnet.” He laughed half heartedly lying his head back.

“You have no idea. I’m glad I get to see you you know but not under these circumstances. How have you been doing?”

“You know me, Sam. I manage.”

“Have you been going out on jobs?”

“A few. Mild stuff. Search and rescues...assassinations. Nothing too strenuous.”

“What about the nightmares?”

“They are still around.”

You heard shuffling and saw Steve standing in the doorway. “Sorry. Nat’s awake.”

“Oh great. Let me go see about her.” Steve sat down in a big chair and let out a long tired sigh. “You hungry, man? Y/N has a big grill outside. I can throw something on.” With his eyes still closed he nodded and tried to will himself out of the chair to help. You came back with Nat at your side saying, “Look who’s back from the dead” Nat pressed her hand into her bandage stifling a laugh.

Sam jumped up to help her get situated. “Hey Y/N Steve and I are gonna get the grill going. What can I cook?”

“Oh I got it.”

“No, ma’am. You’ve done enough today. Put your feet up. We got it.” Sam said while he pushed you back down on the couch.

“Check the fridge. I have all kinds of meat in there. Grab what looks good.”

While they were rummaging through the kitchen you checked ok Nat again. “Y/N please. I’m fine. Take a load off.” And so you did. You sat quietly for several minutes watching the men out of the window. They seemed a little more at ease now chatting and laughing. You focused in on Steve. You wondered what he was really like when he wasn’t Captain America. He seemed worn out..worried. Nat was watching you watch him. You didn’t know it but you were biting your bottom lip. You did that when you were really thinking.

“He’s not bad to look at” she finally said. You startled at sound of her voice.

“No, he’s not. What’s his story? Girlfriend? Wife?”

Nat laughed, “he doesn’t date much. Kind of keeps to himself. You should see him on a mission though. The guy is a beast”

“I’ll bet he is.”

“What’s your story, Y/N? How many tours did you serve?”

“Three. Combat medic.”

“Is that how you know Sam?”

“Yeah. I saved his life a few times. Then he saved mine.”

“Can I ask why the Army thinks you were KIA?”

“Because they assumed that, when they left me on the side of the road to die, I actually did die. Thank goodness for Sam. He spotted me when he was out on patrol and took care of me. I owe him everything.”

“Whoa whoa whoa. Your own unit?!”

You chuckled “Yep. My own unit. I was the only woman. I had a nonconsensual run in with one of the guys. Asked to be transferred and swore I wouldn’t report. My last night on the base they took me out for a send off dinner. We never made it. A couple of them pulled me out of the Jeep. They took turns brutalizing and beating me. Pushed me down an embankment. I swear I have no idea how Sam saw me.” Nat’s mouth hung open and closed several times trying to find words. She was at a loss.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you. So you’re just hiding out here? All by yourself? What do you do for money? Physical contact with people?”

“I tend to avoid physical contact unless I have needs to fulfill.” You smiled to yourself. “As far as cash goes, when I was in the hospital I met some of the royal family from Wakanda. They were there on a good will visit meeting wounded civilians. They listened to my story and took me in. Put me to work. That’s why I can afford to stay in the lap of luxury.” You both laughed. She held your hand and squeezed. Giving you a shy half smile she said, “I’m so glad Sam found you.” You had tears in your eyes. You choked them back not wanting to give them any satisfaction. You don’t cry over that night anymore.

“Hey ladies! Soup’s on!” Sam shouted from the door.

You helped Nat out onto the patio. The four of you spent the evening talking and laughing like old friends. You and Steve were definitely flirting. You excused yourself to pick up the dishes. As soon as you were inside Sam an Nat pounced.

“Dude! You are totally flirting with her.” Sam said playfully. Steve waved him off.

“Come on, Cap. She’s flirting back. It’s adorable.” Nat teased.

Steve blushed. “She is isn’t she?”

“Get in there, man. Make a move.” said Sam as he nudged Steve’s arm. He shook his head “no” “GO!” they said in unison. He flushed crimson and sweat started to bead on his forehead. He went into the kitchen to help with the dishes. Steve kept looking out the window at the two of them who smiled like proud parents.

“Christ she’s going to eat him alive” Nat said still smiling.

“It’s hard to watch” Sam replied. The two of them went to bed leaving you two on your own.

“I’ll wash you dry?” You said as you threw Steve a towel.

“Yes, ma’am. So how do you manage to live off the grid like this? Must be lonely.”

“It can be. I work when I am asked. When I have needs to meet I take care of it.”

“I was under the impression that no one knew you existed.”

“I work for the Royal Family of Wakanda. It’s a long story. They’re the only ones.”

“What kind of work do you do for them?”

“I am a War Dog. Part of the central intelligence service of Wakanda.”

“So can you tell me what kinds of missions you go on?”

“Need to know, Captain.”

“I see. I hope you stay safe. And please call me Steve.” He rested his hands on the kitchen island watching you bend over to put away a pan. You could feel his eyes on you. You giggled to yourself.

“I’m the safest.” you say with a wink “And I rather like calling you Captain.” He cleared his throat and adjusted his pants to hide his arousal.

“Well I guess I’ll turn in.”

“Or you can stay up with me for a little bit. I don’t get much company I’m sure you can imagine. Let’s go out to the deck.”

You lit the fire pit and grabbed a couple of blankets. The air was crisp. The slight breeze felt good against your neck. You didn’t realize how warm you were. You pulled the blanket higher around your shoulders your skin shivering into goosebumps. You had a bottle of wine and a glass for each of you. “Red ok?” You poured way too much in his glass. “Red is fine. That’s plenty. Are you trying to get me drunk?” He laughed a little making your cheeks warm. “Me? Never.” “You do know I can’t get drunk? My metabolism is too fast. Alcohol burns right off. “ You plopped down next to him with an exaggerated hmph. “Well that puts a hitch in my plans.”

He smiled at you. This was not his Captain America smile. This smile spread on his lips very slowly like a cat that ate the canary. He rested his hand on your knee and said, “You don’t need to get me drunk.” You let out a small sigh and your eyes fluttered closed. You set your glass down and put your hand on top of his. You stared at each other for what felt like an eternity and you leaned in to kiss him. He was timid at first only softly pressing his lips against yours. “Is this ok?” you whispered. “Hell yes” he replied.

He bent his neck so you didn’t have to strain to meet him. You pressed your lips together slowly snaking your tongue inside his mouth. Your tongues met dancing together exploring each other. His fingers ran the length of your spine before settling at your hips. He pulled you on top of him without having to separate from you. You could feel how hard he was and you pressed down on him making him moan in your mouth. Your hands moved to his belt buckle removing his belt in one fluid motion. He unbuttoned your shirt pushing over your shoulders. You slipped your hand into his underwear stroking his impressive length the tip already dripping. Steve was horny to the point of pain. He moved his hips fucking your hand and was almost ready to cum then. “Wait....I don’t want to cum yet.” he said breathless dropping his head back. “Oh no, Captain, not yet.” Your voice was low and husky. Still straddling him you kissed the stubble on his jaw line down to the spot just below his ear. You felt his pulse racing against your lips. His skin was salty with sweat and smelled delicious. He was panting now. His hands were a vice grip on your hips silently begging you press down to give him release. You sat back on your heels taking off your shirt and bra giving him a little show. You stood up pulling your pants and panties down. He felt like you were moving in slow motion. You were back on him taking off his shirt. You trailed a finger over his abs marveling at the definition. The hair on his belly was sticky with his own juices. His cock looked like it was going to explode. You fisted the waistband of his pants and underwear in your hands and tugged them down. He lifted up a little to make it easier. Your eyes were locked on each other’s, Steve’s mouth open slightly breathing heavy. You slipped two fingers into his mouth and leaned down to whisper in his ear, “suck”. He obliged. Once they were wet enough you removed them and brought them down to your pussy. You leaned back so he could have an uninhibited view of your fingers dipping in. Your other hand was on your clit rubbing furiously. He steadied you with one arm at the small of your back. He wanted to touch you but you slapped his hand away. When you were almost to the point of orgasm you stopped sitting up abruptly. You lowered yourself onto his cock and rode him until you both exploded.

After a few minutes you rolled off of his lap onto the couch. You slapped your hand down on his thigh and said, “ What do you say, Captain? Up for round two?” His lips split into a devastating grin, “I can do this all day.” And so you did twice more. Once was in the shower where you scrubbed each other clean. He pressed your back against the cold tile driving himself into you while he held your legs. The last time was bent over the foot of your bed. When you finished he collapsed his full weight on top of you. Your breathing mirrored his both sated and exhausted. He trailed kisses on the back of your neck slapping your ass as he stood up. You crawled towards your pillow. He stretched out next to you. You didn’t speak. He pulled you onto his chest and held you. As you drifted off to sleep he kissed the top of your head. That was the first night in ages that you were nightmare free.

The next morning Sam was the first one up. He walked to the living room glancing out of the door going out to the deck. Your clothes were scattered on the ground. He chuckled to himself. Alright, Steve. He made his way to the kitchen to make coffee. Nat wandered in next, “Did I see underwear on the deck?” Sam looked over his shoulder, “Our little boy is growing up, Nat.”

You woke up feeling way too hot. Steve was sleeping with his body curled around you. You freed yourself and slid out of the bed trying not to wake him. He didn’t stir. You got dressed and snuck out of the room. When you got to the kitchen Nat and Sam were at the table chatting. “Morning. Ooh thanks for making coffee.”

“Y/N, wanna tell us what happened last night?” asked Sam

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“Is Steve still sleeping?”

“Yep. Or I killed him. Not sure.”

Nat’s phone rang. She stepped outside to answer. She came back in interrupting your conversation. “We have to go. That was Hill. We know what Pierce is planning for Project Insight. I’ll fill you in on the ride. On the road in 10.” Sam was on his feet gathering his things. You grabbed Steve’s clothes. Back in your bedroom Steve was awake but still lying on the pillow. He was thinking about Bucky. You opened the door peeking in. “Hey. Time for you to go to work, Captain. Nat just got a phone call. She said on the road in 10.” You sat on the bed next to him. He held your hand and brought it up to his lips to kiss your finger tips. “I don’t want to go.”

“Ah well. You have a job to do.” He kissed your palm and rested it on his cheek. His eyes closed and he sighed deeply. “Can I see you again?” “You know where to find me.” You smiled and got off the bed, “Now March, soldier”

You said your goodbyes. You told them to come back to visit. You couldn’t help but feel a little pang of sadness. Sam wrapped you in a bear hug. “Be safe, man.” “Thanks for everything, Y/N.”

“Cap. We have to go” Nat shouted.

“Be there in a sec. I’ll come back soon.”

“You’d better. Be safe, Captain.” He kissed you deeply. You hugged him around his neck. Nat beeped the horn. He kissed you again and then he was gone.

Later you saw on the news three Helicarriers were destroyed and crashed into the Potomac. The report said Steve was shot. You grabbed your phone and called Sam. It rang once, “He’s ok.” You hung up. You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath.

Once Steve was out of the hospital he said his goodbyes to Nat and Fury. He looked down at Bucky’s file. “You’re going after him.” “You don’t have to come with me. I have to make a pit stop though.” Sam smiled, “Where to?” Steve smiled back. “Officially? Nowhere.”

[shushmal]

Written for the MDZS Big Bang!! Shout out to @frankensteinsaway-blog​ for their awesome artwork, and to @majesticanna​ for cheering me on!!

Lan Zhan is probably the most fascinating person Wei Ying has ever met. He makes the best faces when Wei Ying teases him, wrinkles his nose at Wei Ying’s handwriting, blushes to his ears when Wei Ying reaches out to tug on his hair.

He's is their top scorer on the soccer team, gets perfect grades, first place in the essay contest, has a solo piano performance at the school concert. But he also sucks at public speaking, hates talking to people he doesn’t know, and refuses to cut his hair even when he gets written up for breaking the dress code. And he smiles at Wei Ying when he starts to grows his hair out into a long ponytail, just so he can get written up for the same reason. It’s the smallest, barest of smiles, but Wei Ying is so stunned by it that he walks into the goal post on the soccer field.

-

Growing up is a painful thing, but there are those who make it worth it.

Read it here on Ao3!

the brunt of the storm 

Wei Ying doesn’t remember the orphanage. Not in a way that’s concrete, like holding an old frame in his hands, with brittle glass and fading edges and the faces of people he’s long forgotten. And what he does remember, he tries best to shove down far into his heart, where it can’t visit him in the night. 

He doesn’t want to remember the feeling of slow hunger of too little food and too many mouths, little bodies sitting elbow to elbow on the back steps of the dirt yard, eating bland porridge with his fingers. He doesn’t want to remember the overworked, harried aunties or the bigger kids that liked to chase them around with sticks. He doesn’t want to remember the faces of all the adults that he had to sit with, to pretend with, that may be his new mother or father. He didn’t really remember the old ones.

He doesn’t want to remember the dogs in the streets behind the yard. Doesn’t want to remember their teeth. Doesn’t want to remember the festering, untreated bite marks.

When the orphanage shuts down and all the kids are scattered about to foster houses, Wei Ying is barely six and all his things don’t even fill a trash bag. The first family he lives with throws it all away and Wei Ying has to sneak into the garbage in the middle of the night to save what he can. The only picture he has of his parents — two faded faces with their arms around each other — is covered in old coffee grounds and rotten vegetables, but he wipes it off best he can, folds it in half, and hides it in his pocket.

In a lot of ways, foster care is worse, but Wei Ying remembers the lessons he learns there better: stay quiet, stay out of the way, and stay out of reach. 

Wei Ying doesn’t start school until he’s eight, when his fourth foster family takes him in. He can’t read, can’t count, can’t understand anything written on the board, but he fakes it well enough, memorizing all the new things his teachers say until it all starts to make sense and his grades start to improve. And the kids with good grades get to do things outside of school, and that’s what changes Wei Ying’s life.

He meets Jiang Fengmian on a Tuesday during the only school trip he can remember. The museum is vast and air conditioned, and Wei Ying looks around with wide eyes, trailing the rowdy group of elementary and middle school students. 

“There’s real bodies here,” one of the older kids is saying. He’s got an ugly look on his face, but Wei Ying still steps closer as he whispers to his friends. “Like dead people split open so you can see inside of them.”

“Gross,” says the girl he’s talking to. “Let’s go see.”

And Wei Ying falls into step with them when a group of ten-year-olds break away from the tour. They’re caught almost immediately, but Wei Ying is small and smart, and hides behind a display case before anyone even notices him.

Left alone in the collection, Wei Ying wanders, looking at the preserved cadavers with a little awe and a little fear. He wrinkles his nose and stares with wide-eyed fascination at the opened up muscles and peeled back skin.

“Excuse me,” comes a soft voice, and Wei Ying spins around from where he’d had his hands and face pressed to a glass case that held a dissected arm.

“Sorry!” he’s already saying. “I got lost from the—"

But the man, with his graying hair and crisp suit, just gapes at him, brows inching closer and closer to his hairline until he finally says, breathless, “Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying straightens, gaping back. “Yeah! How did you know?”

“You look… exactly like your mother.”

“Oh, cool!” 

Thirty minutes later, Wei Ying has been fed a soggy tuna sandwich, sitting at a giant, fancy desk. He’s listening to Jiang Fengmian, who happens to be the museum director and curator, talk quickly and softly into a phone.

“I’ve decided,” he says, and his tone is both final and apologetic before he hangs up on whoever is on the other end. “Wei Ying,” Jiang Fengmian asks, this time gentle, coaxing. “Would you like to come live with me and my family?”

And Wei Ying shrugs, because why not.

-

Yu Ziyuan is nothing like her husband. By the end of the week, Wei Ying is on her doorstep with his familiar trash bag of clothes. She looks down her nose at him, sneering, and her eyes are practically sparking with electricity. Wei Ying shrinks away. Sometimes, if you look pathetic enough, adults won’t even touch you. 

Yu Ziyuan is not that kind of adult though.

She takes one look at Wei Ying before grabbing his arm and dragging him to the bathroom, berating him the entire way. Wei Ying’s greasy, matted hair is shaved off that day, and all his clothes are tossed in the trash. But she does let Wei Ying keep the stuffed rabbit, his bookbag, and school supplies.

“Absolutely sickening,” she’s hissing, digging through his things. “Where in the hell did he even find you, I can’t believe he would dare—"

When Yu Ziyuan pulls out the tiny, wrinkled photograph, she stills, frozen like she’d touched a live wire.

Wei Ying’s eyes bounce from her to the photo. “Please don’t throw it away,” he says in a small voice. Even if she does, he’ll dig it right back out.

“I won’t,” she snaps at him. “It’s disgusting though. I’ll clean it and give it back to you.”

“Okay,” Wei Ying says meekly. He’s not desperate for this woman to love him, but it would be nice if she didn’t hate him either. “Thank you,” he adds for good measure. 

Yu Ziyuan eyes him critically for a moment, her face twisted up like she’s smelt something disgusting. “You’re welcome,” she says anyways.

The next day, it’s returned to him in a frame, the old photo smoothed out and protected behind glass. 

-

The Jiang house is fine. There’s a girl and another boy, but apparently they’re with their grandmother when Wei Ying is moved in. Jiang Fengmian had shown him pictures of them from his wallet: an older girl with crooked teeth in a tutu and a little boy smiling awkwardly at the camera with a violin that’s almost too big for his tiny hands.

He’s supposed to sleep in Jiang Cheng’s room. Jiang Fengmian had already ordered a bunk bed for them, and Jiang Cheng’s pillows are all on the bottom bunk. 

“He’s too little for the top bunk,” Jiang Fengmian says encouragingly, with a barely there smile. “So you can have it. Isn’t that good?”

Wei Ying has slept on both top and bottom bunk beds all through his life, and really doesn’t care one way or another. “Sure!” he says anyways, with just the right amount of enthusiasm to make Jiang Fengmian’s ghost of a smile turn real. “Thank you so much!”

Jiang Fengmian beams down at him. “You’re very welcome, Wei Ying.”

So the house is fine. There’s his room with Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Yanli is just across the hall. Down from that is a bathroom and an office, and at the end is Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan’s bedroom. The other way, a big kitchen, an even bigger dining room, and a HUGE living room. There’s even a sun room that leads to a deck that leads to a massive, green backyard. It’s the nicest house Wei Ying has ever been in. 

But then there’s the dog.

“What are you doing? She won’t bite you,” Yu Ziyuan snaps the first time Wei Ying sees the dogs and screams. “Shut up, you stupid boy! What—"

Wei Ying attaches himself to her leg, wailing, “Please don’t let them bite me, please!”

They grapple for a moment, the both of them shouting and the dogs barking over his begging, until Yu Ziyuan banishes all three of the puppies to the yard. 

“There, they’re gone,” she hisses. “What in the world is wrong with you?!”

“I’m sorry!” Wei Ying makes himself yell through the choking sobs and snot. He’s shaking, because this isn’t pretending to be pathetic, and Wei Ying knows that sometimes if you’re really, actually scared, adults don’t like it. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“Alright, alright!” Yu Ziyuan finally sighs, and very reluctantly pats his head. “It’s done with now, shush already.”

It’s later that night, when she’s forcing him to take a bath, that she notices the bite marks on his arms and legs. She sees the other things as well — the little round burns and jagged edges of scars — and she makes a face that Wei Ying instantly hates. He doesn’t take off his shirt around others after that, for years and years until all those marks have faded away, a distant memory that Wei Ying is glad to forget about.

-

The first thing Jiang Cheng asks when he walks in the door that Sunday night is, “Where are the puppies?”

Wei Ying hears him from where Yu Ziyuan has parked him on the couch, pulling at his new clothes and scratching at the too short shave of his head. He listens closely when Yu Ziyuan snaps at him and Jiang Fengmian tells his son that the dogs are in the yard. 

“They’ll be scared outside,” Jiang Cheng says and there’s a wobble in his voice. Wei Ying hunches his shoulders around his ears, and leans over just enough to catch a glimpse of the other two kids in the hallway, a boy with straight cut, black hair and a girl with braided pigtails and lavender ribbons. “I want them to come back inside!”

“Jiang Cheng, we’ve already discussed this on the phone,” Jiang Fengmian chides. “Wei Ying is scared of them, so they have to live outside, okay?”

“No! Why is he scared anyways! I don’t like him, make him go home!”

Wei Ying chews his bottom lip as Jiang Cheng dissolves into sobs, as Jiang Fengmian sighs and says, “This is his home now. Don’t you want to go meet your new brother?”

“No!” Jiang Cheng sobs. “They’re scared outside, I want them back in!”

“Well, they can’t,” Yu Ziyuan snaps finally, huffing. She’s crouched down next her son, a comforting hand on his back despite the harshness of her words. “They’re outside from now on, so deal with it. A-Li, put those bags down you silly girl, let your brother carry them himself.”

The first thing he hears Jiang Yanli say is a very quiet, “Yes, mother,” her voice soft and demure, gentle. “Come on, A-Cheng, don’t you want to go meet A-Ying?” Wei Ying feels his breath hitch in his throat, and realizes all at once that he’s been crying too, a heavy dread filling his stomach to the brim. 

But no one has ever called him A-Ying before.

“Nooo!” Jiang Cheng is sobbing. 

Jiang Yanli had looked up at the noise Wei Ying had made and smiled, crooked teeth and braces. “But you were so excited this morning!” she says encouragingly, nudging her little brother a little. “You’re happy to have a brother to play with, right?”

“NOOO!”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Yu Ziyuan says, and scoops up Jiang Cheng. Her son immediately presses his face against her shoulder and wails, and she gives Wei Ying a dirty look as she breezes by. Jiang Fengmian pats his head and follows, before turning off and disappearing into his study. 

Leaving Wei Ying alone with Jiang Yanli, who just smiles gently. “Don’t worry, he’s just tired right now. He’ll get used to it. Are you okay?”

Wei Ying quickly wipes his face and swallows back the fear bubbling in his throat. “M’fine.”

Jiang Yanli looks at him skeptically and then reaches down to take Wei Ying’s hands in her own. “It’s okay to cry,” she whispers. “You’re my little brother now, okay? I’ll take care of you.”

Wei Ying nods, because he doesn’t know what else to do with her gentle smile and kindness.

-

And that’s how he starts his new life with the people that would become his family. Jiang Cheng cries about the dogs for the next week before he finally lets it go. But then he complains about Wei Ying not playing with him outside, or Wei Ying being bad at video games, or worst of all, that Wei Ying still sometimes cries at night.

“He wakes me up,” Jiang Cheng complains at the breakfast table, where all five of them are sitting. Jiang Fengmian awkwardly looks away and Yu Ziyuan just sniffs, glaring. 

“Do you have nightmares, A-Ying?” Jiang Yanli asks. She’s piling more food on Wei Ying’s plate.

“If you have nightmares, Jiejie makes them go away,” Jiang Cheng says around a mouth full of waffles. He perks up and kicks Wei Ying’s chair. “I can too! I’ll beat them up!”

Jiang Yanli laughs encouragingly, but Wei Ying just hunches over his food. 

“You can come to me if you get scared,” she says, all sweet smiles and gentle words. Wei Ying ignores her, eyes on the plate in front of him. The older kids at the foster homes or the orphanage were not like Jiang Yanli — Wei Ying is used to being chased off or pushed down. He’s not used to the way Jiang Yanli pats his head or smiles or sneaks him candy. He doesn’t know how to act around her.

He doesn’t go to her despite his own whimpering and tears each night, but he’s gotten better at muffling them. Jiang Cheng stops complaining, and that’s good enough for Wei Ying. They won’t kick him out as long as he’s not bothering anyone.

But she still offers like she knows that Wei Ying spends his nights running from biting teeth and grabbing hands. He ignores her until the night he finds himself in front of her door before he’s fully awake, shaking and sweaty. “Jie,” he whimpers and then Jiang Yanli is there, holding him tightly.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she murmurs, hugging him. Wei Ying doesn’t know what to do, wrapped up in someone else’s arms, so he just bows his head awkwardly against her shoulder and bites back his tears.

-

They enroll him into a nearby school, but it’s not the same one that Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli go to. So every morning when the two of them are being packed up into Yu Ziyuan’s car, Wei Ying goes to sit in the front seat of Jiang Fengmian’s.

On his first day, Jiang Fengmian pulls up to the curb and smiles. “Go to the front office, okay? They’ll get you sorted.” And then he drives away.

This school is miles better than his last, the textbooks clean and shiny, the library bigger with new computers. Wei Ying soaks it all in like a sponge, interested in everything. Despite starting in the middle of the year, his teachers all dote on him, and his reports go home to Yu Ziyuan. She sniffs disdainfully, but she never fusses. When the summer break rolls around, she concedes.

“He can go,” she tells Jiang Fengmian at the table, Wei Ying’s report cards and recommendation letters from the school board between them. “But if he loses the scholarship, we aren’t paying for it.”

Crouched just outside the door, Wei Ying feels something bubbling up in his chest and he grins, even when Jiang Cheng grabs his shoulder and pulls him away.

“Maybe you’ll be in my class,” Jiang Cheng is whispering excitedly. “Then we can play all the time.”

Wei Ying, still grinning, ruffles Jiang Cheng’s hair on a whim, making him squawk. “I’m older than you Chengcheng,” he sings. “They won’t put me in the baby class.”

“I am NOT a baby,” Jiang Cheng snaps. But he has his hands on his head where Wei Ying’s fingers had just been, and he’s looking at Wei Ying with a different light in his eyes.

Pinching Jiang Cheng’s cheeks, Wei Ying laughs giddily. “You’re a baby to me!”

Jiang Cheng hollers a war cry, so Wei Ying takes off running, their footsteps thundering down the hallway, catching Yu Ziyuan’s attention. 

“No running!” she yells.

“Sorry!” Jiang Cheng yells back, and slams the door to their room where they both collapse, giggling on the floor.

-

That first day, Yu Ziyuan walks all three of them into the school like the other parents, Jiang Cheng’s hand tucked safely in hers, and Wei Ying clutching to the back of Jiang Yanli’s shirt. Wei Ying is nearly ten, but he still sticks close to her, despite the excitement he feels bubbling in his stomach. Not even Yu Ziyuan’s disdain can dampen his spirits.

“You know where to go?” she asks Jiang Yanli, physically pulling Wei Ying off her. 

“Yes, mother,” Jiang Yanli says. And when she turns to Wei Ying, her smile is big and bright, showing all of her teeth. She doesn’t usually smile like this in front of her mother, but today she does for Wei Ying. “Have a good day, A-Ying. You too, A-Cheng.” 

“Bye Jiejie,” Jiang Cheng calls. 

Yu Ziyuan leads them away then, Wei Ying trailing behind. He turns his head left and right, looking at the rows of lockers and the cases of trophies and the display of awards. The halls are crowded, kids and their parents making their way to find a classroom and greet their teachers. Wei Ying is so distracted by it all that he doesn’t even notice when Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Cheng disappear, his wandering feet carrying him until the hallways are empty and all the classroom doors are shut.

It’s a low melody that draws Wei Ying to the side, peeking through a cracked doorway to a room full of single chairs and small black music stands. But his eyes fall immediately on the boy sitting in the front row, a guitar nearly as big as he is in his lap, focused on strings beneath his fingers.

He’s short, with a round face, his dark hair falling into his eyes. As Wei Ying watches, the boy plucks at the guitar, his hand walking down the strings with ease, playing something complicated but bright. Wei Ying watches for a long moment. He’s listened to Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng practice their instruments enough for a lifetime, but they never sounded this good.

And when the boy finishes, pressing a hand to the strings to silence them, Wei Ying says enthusiastically, “Wow, that was really good!”

The boy’s head pops up startled, and he glares. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

“Well, neither are you,” Wei Ying shoots back with a pout, and then pauses. “Probably.”

“The music teacher gave me permission,” he says. “He said I could be in here until the bell rang.”

“Oh, it rang a long time ago.”

The kid straightens, and quickly puts the guitar away in its case, grabbing his bag, and goes to hurry past. He pauses, and glares again at Wei Ying. “Are you coming?”

“I don’t know where I’m going,” Wei Ying says, grinning.

Huffing, the boy jerks his head for Wei Ying to follow, and Wei Ying does, matching his long strides at a jog. “What’s your name? Mine’s Wei Ying!” When he doesn’t get an answer, he pouts. “It’s rude not to introduce yourself!”

The boy huffs again. “Lan Zhan.” 

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying sings, because he’s sure it will annoy him. Judging by the glare, it does.

When they make it to Lan Zhan’s classroom, it’s to find Yu Ziyuan glaring at him. Wei Ying knows he’s going to be scolded within an inch of his life tonight at home, but in front of everyone, she’s silent except for a few sharp words. Wei Ying might have felt worse about it, but he’s given the seat right next to Lan Zhan. 

-

Wei Ying likes school the same way he always has: an escape from the house he’s living in and full of interesting things to know. Most of the other kids here have rich parents, and find him only interesting enough that he’s not as prim and proper as the rest. But this time, Wei Ying has friends.

There’s a girl in his class that turns her nose up at him but at the same time treats him the same way she treats everyone. When they get paired up for a science fair project and he suggests making a full skeleton to size, she actually has a hard time hiding her enthusiasm. Wen Qing spends a lot of time at their house that month making bones out of foam and paper mache, with Jiang Cheng hovering over Wei Ying’s shoulder for absolutely no reason until Wen Qing goes home. Her younger brother comes with her every time, and suddenly Wei Ying finds himself with two very good friends. Wen Ning is in the grade below them, but that doesn’t stop them from eating lunch together every day.

Being friends with Wen Qing means being friends with Luo Qingyang, even though she’d rather beat him up than say they’re friends after Wei Ying calls her Mianmian the first time and then the entire school starts to do the same. But they’re friends regardless, and she makes him join the soccer team with her when she realizes how fast he is.

With Luo Qingyang, unfortunately, comes her cousin Jin Zixuan. Wei Ying is not friends with him, but they do play on the soccer team together, and that, unfortunately, is where Jin Zixuan meets Jiang Yanli. And suddenly Wei Ying is invited to pool parties and birthdays, and “Both your brother and… sister are invited too.” Worse yet, Jiang Yanli happily goes everytime.

Better than all of them, though, is Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan who is in Wei Ying’s music and literature classes, who also plays on the soccer team, who very, VERY begrudgingly agrees to tutor him in language when a teacher assigns him. That first year, Wei Ying spends his free period in the library with Lan Zhan and finds out that his classmate is meaner than any of the teachers. 

But Lan Zhan is probably the most fascinating person Wei Ying has ever met. He makes the best faces when Wei Ying teases him, wrinkles his nose at Wei Ying’s handwriting, blushes to his ears when Wei Ying reaches out to tug on his hair.

Lan Zhan is their top scorer on the team. Lan Zhan gets perfect grades. Lan Zhan gets first place in the essay contest. Lan Zhan has a solo piano performance at the school concert. Lan Zhan also sucks at public speaking, hates touching or talking to people he doesn’t know, and refuses to cut his hair even when he gets written up for breaking the dress code — that first day that Lan Zhan joins Wei Ying in detention is something Wei Ying remembers fondly for years later.

Lan Zhan doodles bunnies in the margins of his notes and only eats vegetarian food and coughs for ten minutes when he tries Wei Ying’s spicy noodles one time. Lan Zhan teaches him scales on the piano, and then how to sight read sheet music, even though Wei Ying is only in the music classes to hear Lan Zhan play. Lan Zhan lets him press stickers on his guitar while he’s playing, even though he scowls each time.

Lan Zhan smiles at him when Wei Ying starts to grow his hair out into a long ponytail just so he can get written up for the same reason. It’s the smallest, barest of smiles, but Wei Ying is so stunned by it that he walks into the goal post on the soccer field.

So Lan Zhan may hate Wei Ying, but that doesn’t mean he’s not Wei Ying’s best friend.

-

As the years go by, Wei Ying grows like a particularly annoying weed. By the time he’s sixteen, he’s one of the tallest boys in their grade, a fact that he lords over Lan Zhan for a few months until he gets a growth spurt of his own and manges two centimeters over him. Lan Zhan doesn’t show it on the surface, but Wei Ying can see how smug he is about it.

For his birthday, Jiang Fengmian converts his office into a bedroom for him — mostly to stop Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying from fighting so much. There’s still a screaming match between Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian about it though, so Wei Ying isn’t quite as thankful as he should be.

As teenagers, they stop having pool parties and start having actual parties — the kind held in someone’s basement while their parents are gone so no one catches them with the copious amounts of alcohol. Wei Ying is a frequenter to these as well, though usually only with Luo Qingyang, and rarely with Wen Qing. 

Wen Qing won’t let Wen Ning anywhere near alcohol, and she always hesitates to leave him alone at home where they live with their uncle. Wei Ying has met Wen Ruohan exactly once, and he reminds him a little too much of his least favorite foster home memories. But their uncle is often away on business trips, so sometimes she’ll still come out with them.

Jiang Yanli is about to graduate and doesn’t have the time for it. Jiang Cheng wrinkles his nose at loud music and the smell of beer, and not even the promise of Wen Qing’s company can get him to tag along. 

“But you looove her!” Wei Ying teases him on his way out the door, laughing when Jiang Cheng’s face turns red and he splutters.

Wei Ying never bothers asking Lan Zhan, but never hesitates to tell him every detail of his weekends, even the ones that aren’t true. 

“She was so cute Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying says, describing something that absolutely didn’t happen. “We made out all night!” Wei Ying had actually passed out around midnight on someone’s couch.

Lan Zhan hums noncommittally, but he has this tiny wrinkle between his brows and his mouth is puckered like he ate something sour. He’s always extra mean on those days, and it makes Wei Ying giddy. Lan Zhan’s hair is down past his shoulders now, laying in straight black lines on the elegant curve of his neck. He’s somewhere between child and adult now, growing into someone beautiful even though his cheeks are still round and boyish. Wei Ying likes to tug on his hair still, just to make Lan Zhan glare at him.

Wei Ying asks Lan Zhan to a party once, and only once, in their last year of high school. 

Jiang Yanli has graduated, gone to school with a culinary track only after months of begging her mother. Wen Qing can’t be bothered, studying hard to get into a pre-med program, and Luo Qingyang has a sports scholarship she’s unwilling to blow for an end of high school party. So Wei Ying is alone, unless he asks Lan Zhan.

And Lan Zhan surprises him by saying yes.

Which is how Wei Ying finds himself incredibly drunk in someone’s house, plastered to Lan Zhan’s side and talking his ear off about… something. But Lan Zhan seems to be listening intently enough, looking at Wei Ying’s lips as he chatters, his arm held captive against Wei Ying’s chest, and his ears pink. Wei Ying isn’t really paying much attention to what he’s saying, staring at Lan Zhan’s ears as they redden the closer Wei Ying leans in, until he’s murmuring right into the shell of Lan Zhan’s ear.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan chokes when his lips brush against his lobe.

Backing up, Wei Ying blinks hazily at Lan Zhan, looking at his widened eyes, the line of his jaw, the small part of his lips. He’s already tilting back in, intent on the pink curve of Lan Zhan’s mouth when someone knocks into him, pushing him the rest of the way.

Their lips crash together in a teeth aching kiss, and Lan Zhan immediately jumps away, hand over his mouth, a trickle of blood already dripping down his chin.

“Oh, fuck,” Wei Ying says, immediately sober. “Lan Zhan, I’m so sorry, are you okay?!”

Lan Zhan nods, eyes still wide and fingers bloody, but he lets Wei Ying drag him to the bathroom, shutting them away from the loud music and drunk kids.

“I’m so so sorry, it was an accident, I don’t know what I was doing,” Wei Ying says, wetting a wad of toilet paper and pressing it to Lan Zhan’s split lip. He says it again when Lan Zhan flinches, but he’s perfectly still as Wei Ying wipes away the blood on his chin. “Fuck, it’s on your shirt too. Ugh, Lan Zhan this is the worst.”

But Lan Zhan still doesn’t say anything at all, wide-eyed and silent, even when Wei Ying drives him home, still rambling apologies, not even to hiss at him for drinking and driving. The truth is, Wei Ying has never felt more sober, familiar dread pooling in his gut as Lan Zhan opens the passenger door and closes it without a word.

-

Tugging at the cuffs of his suit under his gown, Wei Ying squints at where the headmaster is giving his speech at the front of the long line of graduating students and pretending like he’s not sweating underneath the hot spring sun. Lan Zhan is three rows ahead of him, his hair falling perfectly down his back, and no matter how hard Wei Ying stares at him, he doesn’t turn around to look.

Wei Ying tries not to feel the sting of the avoidance, tries not to hurt that Lan Zhan hasn’t spoken to him since the party three days ago. He tells himself he isn’t bothered by the unanswered texts.

But after the ceremony is through, Wei Ying rushes towards Lan Zhan to grab him for a photo, only to see Lan Zhan’s retreating back leaving the building.

So he tells himself he’s not hurt, smiling for all the photos Jiang Yanli demands to take, flanked on either side by Jiang Cheng and Jiang Fengmian. He throws his arms around Wen Qing and Luo Mingyang, grinning, and even hooks his arm with Jin Zixuan when the soccer team gathers for a shot. Lan Zhan is absent in all of them.

Wei Ying keeps smiling through all the dinners, through Jiang Cheng’s sour mood, through Yu Ziyuan’s snide comments. Afterwards, Jiang Fengmian takes him to the side and has a whole speech about how proud he is of him, proud that he’s going off to great school on scholarship. Wei Ying smiles through it, his cheeks hurting from the effort.

And when he’s finally back in his room later that night, his face aching and his throat squeezing, Wei Ying sits on his bed and bows his head over his knees, and struggles to breathe. 

“A-Ying?”

Gasping, Wei Ying sits up and quickly wipes at his face. “Shijie! I didn’t hear you come in.”

“What’s wrong?” Jiang Yanli asks, sitting beside him and putting an arm around his back. She’s still so tiny, with thin arms and delicate hands, but Wei Ying has watched her lift full stock pots across the kitchen without breaking a sweat. And his sister’s hugs will always be one of the few things that can comfort him. “I didn’t think you’d be this sad to graduate.”

“I’m not, I’m not,” Wei Ying hastens to say. “I’m really excited about school!”

Jiang Yanli smiles, her gaze gentle. “You’re going so far away, too. Are you nervous?”

“Not at all,” Wei Ying says with a grin. His face aches with the effort of it, and it falls away when Jiang Yanli tilts her head and looks at him. “It’s just… I may have messed up.”

“Is this about Lan Zhan?”

Wei Ying hunches his shoulders, and nods, quiet as he tries to find the words. And when he does speak, he really isn’t ready for what comes out of his mouth.

“I think I’m in love with him.”

“Oh, A-Ying,” Jiang Yanli breathes, and everything falls out of Wei Ying at once.

“I tried to kiss him and I was drunk, and some asshole bumped into me so totally broke Lan Zhan’s face, there was blood everywhere and he didn’t talk to me at all on the drive home—"

There’s an unflattering snort and then Jiang Yanli bursts into laughter beside him. Wei Ying gapes at her, and then all the dread in his chest melts enough until he’s laughing along.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but oh, A-Ying,” she says, still giggling. “Your first kiss was worse than mine!”

“That wasn’t my first kiss!” Jiang Yanli quirks her brow at him, smirking. “Okay it was, but— Wait, who was your first kiss?!”

“Not telling!”

“Ugh, it was that Jin Zixuan wasn’t it. Gross.”

“Hey!” She smacks his arm, but she’s still smiling. “But yes. He kissed me, started crying, and then ran away. I thought for months I’d had really bad breath.”

“Hah, what a loser,” Wei Ying says, cackling. “Oh, that’s why you started having breath mints with you all the time.”

“Shush you, and don’t tease him please.” She leans into him again, resting her head on his shoulder. “It took him forever to approach me again and apologize. Don’t tell mom or dad, but sometimes he takes the train over to see me on the weekends. It’s sweet.”

“Ew,” Wei Ying says, wrinkling his nose. He rests his head on top of her’s, sighing. “As long as he’s being respectful.”

“He could stand to be less respectful.”

“Please change the conversation immediately.”

Jiang Yanli laughs, the sound of it echoing in Wei Ying’s head, her shoulders shaking against his. They’re quiet for a long moment, before she speaks again. “I don’t know Lan Zhan like you do, but he’s a quiet boy. Give him some time, okay?”

Wei Ying shrugs his unoccupied shoulder. “It doesn’t matter, anyways,” he tells her. Because it doesn’t. People leave Wei Ying, so he doesn’t hold on to them. He’s glad that Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng hold on to him instead. They could let him go at any time, but it won’t hurt as bad when they do as long as he’s not holding them back.

Not like the way Wei Ying had started to hold tight to Lan Zhan.

But people leave. And Wei Ying has gotten his reminder not to hold on ever again.

“Besides,” Wei Ying says, chipper again. “I’m going halfway across the country! Who needs him anyways?”

Jiang Yanli sighs, like she can hear him lying through his teeth. “Just give it some time,” she says again. She kisses his cheek as she stands, brushing the hair out of his eyes. “And don’t ever forget how much I love you, okay?”

Wei Ying grins at her, and this time it feels more real. “How could I forget? As long as Shijie loves me, everything is great.”

Snorting, Jiang Yanli rolls her eyes at him. “Good night, A-Ying.”

“Good night, Shijie.”

And that night, under his blankets, Wei Ying pushes Lan Zhan to the back of his mind and looks forward to something better.

-

the flowers that we've grown

Jiang Fengmian dies that summer, on some random Tuesday in July. It’s sudden, a wet tire on a washed out road, but it’s not sudden enough. The three of them sit two nights in a hospital waiting room while Yu Ziyuan smokes herself through pack after pack of cigarettes just outside the doors. They don’t sleep. They don’t eat. 

Wei Ying stays right between his brother and sister, and he lets himself go numb, just so that he can sit up straight enough that he won’t be crushed under their weight as they sleep on his shoulders. He doesn’t even falter under Yu Ziyuan’s withering stare each time she checks on them

They spend three days and two nights just like that, until a nurse comes back and tells them that Jiang Fengmian is dead.

-

The funeral is a quiet, small ceremony. Wei Ying doesn’t really remember most of it. Jiang Yanli had cried in his arms the entire time, but Jiang Cheng was a silent ghost at his mother’s side, as if he could hold her up if she started to fall. They were statues beside each other, meeting everyone’s eyes, but had no smiles for the well wishes and sympathy. Wei Ying had watched them both through the services and after, watched the brittle way they held themselves, so untouchable that they might fall apart. 

Yu Ziyuan did not cry at her husband’s funeral. 

But that night, when Wei Ying had pulled the covers over Jiang Yanli’s exhausted shoulders and made his way back to his room, he could hear her muffled sobbing from behind her bedroom door.

-

Barely a month later, Wei Ying is packing his things.

“You could stay here,” Jiang Chen is saying, looming over him as Wei Ying stuffs a few books into a box. He’s scowling, but he always is these days, annoyed with everything Wei Ying does, like he’s doing it in his mother’s stead because Yu Ziyuan can’t even look at him. “You don’t have to live in the dorm, you can keep living with us.”

“I am still living with you,” Wei Ying sighs, snatching his duffle bag out of Jiang Cheng’s hands before he can dump it out for the third time. “I’m just also living in the dorms.”

Jiang Cheng acts like he hasn’t heard Wei Ying even say anything. “I can’t believe you’re leaving,” Jiang Cheng hisses. “You’re so fucking selfish. It’s a waste of money.”

Wei Ying’s shoulder hunch up to his ears. “I have a scholarship.”

“Yeah but that doesn’t pay for everything! Mom still has to feed you, and buy you clothes—"

“Then I’ll get a job, no big deal,” Wei Ying says as nonchalantly as he can manage. 

“Absolutely not,” Jiang Yanli interrupts as she comes through the door with anohter empty box, shooting Jiang Cheng a stern look. “You should focus on your grades, A-Ying, you don’t have to worry about money. Right, A-Cheng?”

“You sound just like dad,” Jiang Cheng sneers under his breath.

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Ying snaps, gaping.

Jiang Yanli’s face drains of color and her eyes brim with tears, but she smiles regardless, even as Jiang Cheng goes just as white, arms dropping to his side. “Dad would be so proud of you, A-Ying,” she says, her voice forced as a few tears slip down her face. She quickly wipes them away. “And anyways, I think it would be good for you at the dorms! You’ll meet so many people and make so many friends.”

“Yeah,” Wei Ying says weakly, eyes bouncing from one sibling to the other. “Yeah, hopefully.”

Jiang Cheng scoffs and stomps away, slamming the door to his room behind him. Jiang Yanli just gives Wei Ying a wobbly smile, smoothing his hair back, before she leaves him the keys to her car. 

“I’m sorry,” she says on her way out, unable to look at him, like she’s apologizing for his decision to ditch the fancy school ten hours away, for his decision to stay closeby, for his decision to change his life completely around.

Wei Ying swallows, takes a deep breath, and finishes packing. He loads it all up in the tiny little sedan, before heading off toward his campus across the city, where he carries it all up to his dorm room by himself. His roommate is already all moved in and unpacked, though he’s nowhere to be seen, so Wei Ying just dumps his stuff and drives home to drop Jiang Yanli’s car off. 

By the time he makes it back, Jiang Yanli’s face has regained its color, though her eyes are a little red. Still, she presents him with a large thermos and a large bag of her homemade goodies.

“I know you’ll probably want to get back to hang out with your roommate and get to know them, so I made you dinner with some to share!” she says cheerfully. “It’s your favorite.”

“Thank you, shijie,” Wei Ying says, taking all of it from her. He hugs her tightly, dropping a kiss on her forehead as he does.

No one else sees him off as he leaves, and Wei Ying tries not to think too hard about it as he catches the bus. It’s a long ride, and it’s dark by the time he gets to his dorm. His roommate still isn’t there, so Wei Ying eats his dinner alone, eating of Jiang Yanli’s soup and telling himself that he’s not homesick. 

-

Wei Ying sees him first thing on the first day of classes, climbing elegantly out of a powder blue electric car, taller than Wei Ying remembers and even handsomer, even though it’s been only a few months since Wei Ying last saw him. Startled, he freezes, watching the way Lan Zhan leans down to grab his bag, speaking a few parting words to whoever is driving. When he stands and turns, his eyes land immediately on Wei Ying, standing in the middle of the sidewalk like an idiot.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, eyes wide, perfect lips parting just slightly. 

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying says automatically with forced cheer.

“And I’m the queen,” says some grumpy guy behind Wei Ying. “Great, we’ve all met, now can you get the fuck out of the way?”

“Right, yes, of course,” Wei Ying babbles, grabs Lan Zhan’s hand, and dashes away. Lan Zhan follows, jogging to keep up until they’re tucked behind one of the dorm buildings, and Wei Ying whirls on him. “What are you doing here?!”

Lan Zhan regards him for a long moment, before he quirks his brow. “Going to class.”

“Here though?!” Wei Ying shouts, waving his hands. “At a community college?”

“Yes,” he says, and then awkwardly tacks on, “The music department here is… good.”

All the air leaves Wei Ying at once. “Oh, yeah, I remember seeing that.” He swallows. “I thought you were, you know, going overseas to that private institute.”

“Yes. But plans change,” Lan Zhan says, not unkindly, but looking at Wei Ying closely, his eyes understanding. It feels like the first time someone has looked directly at Wei Ying since the hospital.

“O-Oh,” Wei Ying manages. “Yeah, that’s… true.”

The bloody kiss that Wei Ying managed to land on Lan Zhan, that Wei Ying can’t remember whose party it even was, feels like it happened twenty years ago. It doesn’t sting like it once did, but it’s awkward standing in front of a guy he might still be in love with who might still hate him. But then, Wei Ying has never known Lan Zhan to hate anyone really, and part of him isn’t surprised when Lan Zhan offers him one of his rare, gentle smiles and asks,

“Can I walk you to class?”

-

Wei Ying finds himself waiting at the edge of campus every morning, sometimes as the sun dawns over the city for Lan Zhan’s brother to drop him off. He’s met Lan Huan briefly at soccer games and recitals, but only from a distance or just before Wei Ying would tug Lan Zhan away for one reason or another. Now he sees him every morning, and Lan Huan makes a point to roll down his window if there’s time to chat, conversations that begin with distance that warm up over the passing weeks.

“It’s good to see you, have a good day!”

“Good luck today, hurry or you’ll both be late.”

“Are you eating enough? I’ll make extra tomorrow for you and A-Zhan to share!”

“How’s your classes? A-Zhan says you have exams coming up already, those engineering classes must be tough! Take care of yourself.”

Sometimes they will chat for several minutes, Wei Ying crouched on the sidewalk with his arms resting on the car door as they talk, until Lan Zhan sighs and tugs at Wei Ying’s sleeve. 

Lan Huan isn’t like his brother, who will meet Wei Ying’s chatter with his own measured, but no less enthusiastic replies, but Wei Ying will probably always prefer Lan Zhan’s silence and the occasional thoughtful hum as he speaks. And he’ll always cherish Lan Zhan’s observations when Wei Ying has run out of steam, just a few words that sometimes makes Wei Ying contemplatively quiet or that sometimes sets him off on a completely different tangent.

Wei Ying likes that, so much.

-

Lan Zhan is a bit of a dictator about studying, and he never lets Wei Ying off the hook for whatever block party or late-night dorm mischief Wei Ying gets up to when he’s not on campus. So sometimes he shows up to Wei Ying’s dorm room purposefully at the crack of dawn when he knows Wei Ying is hungover, just to drag him to the library, or, if he’s feeling generous, the little coffee shop down the street. 

Wei Ying likes those mornings despite himself though, because Lan Zhan always has a little thermos of coffee that he insists is to share with Wei Ying. Lan Zhan doesn’t drink coffee.

He makes friends with people in his classes, with college kids smoking on ratty couches, the guys on his hall that like to mattress surf down the stairs at midnight, and maybe with his roommate who Wei Ying sees maybe twice a month. Xue Yang is weird like that, and Wei Ying is more worried about the guy pulling a knife on him than how often he’s in their shared dorm room.

But Lan Zhan, like always, is Wei Ying’s favorite. The table they share habitually at the library is his favorite, the latte that Lan Zhan buys him are his favorites, the way Lan Zhan sometimes lets him lean against his shoulder as he talks is his favorite, the way Lan Zhan doesn’t comment when Wei Ying starts sticking stickers on his guitar again is his favorite.

The way Lan Zhan wrapped his arm around his shoulders once, when everything was so overwhelming,  is his favorite. The way Lan Zhan shyly reached out, fingers hesitant, to hold his hand on the way to class is his favorite. The way Lan Zhan smiles more and more, each one of them is Wei Ying’s favorite.

-

It’s a Friday in the middle of the semester when he asks.

“Can I kiss you?”

Wei Ying immediately wants to put his foot in his mouth, and Lan Zhan freezes. He watches, fascinated, as Lan Zhan’s ears burn pink then red, bright enough to match Wei Ying’s own blush. A lot of people think Wei Ying is shameless in all ways, but sometimes it’s really just that he doesn’t know when to shut up.

“Please?” he asks because he really, really doesn’t know when to quit, and waits. Lan Zhan likes to think things through, or maybe his big, beautiful brain has finally decided to blue screen. Wei Ying will miss him.

He thinks that maybe he should get up and go find a hole to fall in, when Lan Zhan hesitantly looks up and meets Wei Ying’s eyes. He nods.

And Wei Ying thinks it would be too excruciating to ask again, so he leans forward, quick as thunder, and presses a kiss to the corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth. And then he immediately stands.

“Okay!” he says, far too loud for the library. “Awesome! Bye!”

Lan Zhan ducks his head behind his book as Wei Ying beats a hasty retreat.

-

Their second (third) kiss is much better. They’re squished together on Wei Ying’s tiny bed in his dorm room, and his chronically absent roommate is away for the weekend, and Wei Ying has somehow managed to lay his arm across Lan Zhan’s shoulders as they watch a movie on Wei Ying’s laptop. It has long since migrated over to Lan Zhan’s lap because Wei Ying couldn’t stop fidgeting.  

And that’s mostly because Wei Ying is fully distracted by the loose braid at Lan Zhan’s neck, falling neatly over his shoulder. Wei Ying finds himself playing with the end of it, fiddling with it between his fingers. Lan Zhan pays it no mind, eyes so focused on the screen that he doesn’t even notice that Wei Ying’s been staring at him since he pressed play.

Wei Ying doesn’t think he can take it much more.

“Can I kiss you?” he blurts.

Lan Zhan stiffens, shoulders ridged under Wei Ying’s arm, and Wei Ying is immediately drawing away, ready to stammer an apology when Lan Zhan grabs his sleeve and pulls him forward.

This kiss is bumping teeth and awkward touches, and it takes Wei Ying a moment to relax into it, tilting his head just a bit. His breath hitches when their lips slot together, just right, and that kiss turns into something slow burning and sweet.

Wei Ying’s hand tangles into Lan Zhan’s hair, sliding up his neck into the loose twist of his braid, and he urges Lan Zhan even closer. Lan Zhan’s arm comes around Wei Ying’s waist, tugging him nearly into his lap and sending the laptop tumbling to the floor. That’s fine though. All of Wei Ying’s things are made for abuse ever since he dropped Jin Zixuan’s tablet in the pool when they were ten. 

Wei Ying barely even registers the thump, too caught up in the way Lan Zhan is clinging to him, mouth open against his, the heat of his breath against Wei Ying’s face. He doesn’t want to stop, licking into Lan Zhan’s mouth and feeling Lan Zhan’s fist clutch the back of his shirt.

He doesn’t notice that they’ve laid out across the bed, legs tangled, until Wei Ying is suddenly too aware of the hardness between his legs, and the matching one against his thigh.

“S-Sorry,” he gasps, sitting up, but Lan Zhan pulls him right back down, his arm like a vice around Wei Ying’s waist. He groans into Lan Zhan’s mouth, shaking, his fingers still tangled in Lan Zhan’s hair. And then he whines, pitched high, when Lan Zhan’s hip grinds up against him.

“Okay?” Lan Zhan asks, his voice pitched so low and raspy. The sound of it travels all the way down his spine and up again.

“Perfect, so good,” Wei Ying babbles when Lan Zhan does it again, pulling Wei Ying down to meet him. “Oh my god, I can’t believe this is happening, I have no idea what I’m doing so sorry in advance, holy shit.”

And Lan Zhan tragically pauses, looking up at Wei Ying with his brows furrowed. “I thought…” he says and trails off.

It takes a moment for Wei Ying’s brain, devoid of all thought and blood, to catch on. “OH!” Wei Ying says and sits up completely, straddling Lan Zhan’s lap. He covers his face, and says muffled, “Lan Zhan, I haven’t — you know — ever.”

Lan Zhan’s brows drop even lower. “But you said.”

“Lan Zhaaan! I say a lot of things!”

“So you lied.”

Hands dropping from his face, Wei Ying scowls at him. “So what!”

“So, I thought—" Lan Zhan’s eyes drop to the side, glaring at the wall, like he’s visibly struggling with the words.. “I thought that you wouldn’t—  With me, that it wasn’t—"

He gets it then, and he feels all the embarrassment leave him in a sudden rush. “Oh, oh, Lan Zhan, no,” he breathes, and lays himself across Lan Zhan’s chest to press as kiss to Lan Zhan’s frowning mouth. Lan Zhan gasps, his hands coming up to Wei Ying’s hips, and he kisses him back, hesitantly, almost like he wants to turn away.

Wei Ying can’t help but smile, shifting back just enough that he can look into Lan Zhan’s eyes, dragging his fingers through the loose strands of hair on Lan Zhan’s forehead. All that hurt he once felt when Lan Zhan wouldn’t talk to him melts away instantly.

“Do you want to know a secret?” he murmurs, tracing his fingertips lightly across Lan Zhan’s cheek. “You’re my first kiss. Well, my only kiss, actually.”

Lan Zhan’s lips part, eyes widened, and the look of shock on a face that is usually so passive has Wei Ying laughing, pressing his giggling into Lan Zhan’s chest until Lan Zhan flips them over and kisses him again even though Wei Ying can’t stop smiling.

-

Wei Ying calls Jiang Yanli the next day. They see each other every weekend when Wei Ying takes the bus to meet them for Sunday dinners at Yu Ziyuan’s insistence. He spends most of those days being grilled on his grades, and then grilled again by Jiang Cheng about everything else. 

The empty spaces in the house are so loud, that Wei Ying doesn’t know how Jiang Cheng can stand it there by himself with just his mother, and occasionally his sister who drives four hours each day to and from class. But Wei Ying’s texts and calls have gone unanswered for so long that he doesn’t bother anymore, even if it hurts. But Jiang Cheng monopolizes him every Sunday, like he’s wringing Wei Ying out of all his time in just one day so he doesn’t have to think about him for the rest of the week.

So Wei Ying and Jiang Yanli talk as often as they can otherwise.

“Ooh, A-Ying!” she coos, laughing because Wei Ying is a little breathless after his rushed babbling that descended upon her as soon as she picked up the phone. “I’m so happy for you!”

Twisting in his chair, Wei Ying can’t keep the smile of his face, cheeks aching. “Yeah, it’s pretty awesome,” he tells her, elated. “But, whatever, enough about that, how are you? How’s class?”

He can hear Jiang Yanli’s smile in the way she huffs, telling him about her classes with more cheer in her voice that Wei Ying has heard since before the funeral. Graciously he doesn’t interrupt her when she gushes about Jin Zixuan, but his ‘hmm’s and ‘uh-huh’s are more begrudging than hers had been. 

They go back and forth, laughing and teasing, and talking around their brother and Jiang Yanli’s mom, and the ghost of a dead man that never had much to say anyways, standing tall over the both of them. Jiang Yanli is getting better at ignoring him enough to be happy again. 

And Wei Ying can only do what he always does best: he moves on.

-

He’s not as interested in the block parties and the kids he had started to smoke with behind the dorms each Friday night, when Lan Zhan is right there instead. He still meets with the other environmental engineering students each week, and sometimes a few of them will sneak into a bar, but Wei Ying much prefers the company of his Lan Zhan instead.

Because dating Lan Zhan — really, actually dating him — makes Wei Ying so excited and so nervous at the same time, and he’s a little addicted to the feeling.

Addicted to the feeling of Lan Zhan’s hand in his, Wei Ying’s arm around his waist, Lan Zhan pressed against his side, their shoulders bumping, Lan Zhan kissing him, Lan Zhan smiling at him.

And then there’s Lan Zhan in his tiny dorm bed, leaning over him and kissing the breath out of him, hands and mouths wandering.

The night Lan Zhan has his hand against the bare expanse of Wei Ying’s belly, Wei Ying looks up at him and asks, “Can we?”

Lan Zhan leans back from where he had been sucking bruises along Wei Ying’s neck, his long hair, falling over his shoulder and brushing against Wei Ying’s face. Wei Ying’s fingers automatically reach out, tangling through the softness at Lan Zhan’s scalp. Lan Zhan stares at him, eyes half lidded and sparkling, before he’s pressed against Wei Ying’s front, and he gasps against his lips, “Yes.”

Wei Ying moans, tugging at Lan Zhan’s hair and biting at his mouth until Lan Zhan gives, rolling to the side until Wei Ying is on top of him, the both of them stripping out of their clothes quickly.

“How — ?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lan Zhan breathes, sitting up with Wei Ying in his lap and helping him pull his shirt over his head. “Either way. Any way,” he says against Wei Ying’s lips, and Wei Ying moans.

“Okay,” Wei Ying says, dazed, because Lan Zhan’s shoulders are broad and elegant, and Wei Ying shouldn’t be so turned on by that. “Okay,” he says in a groan when Lan Zhan’s hands fall to the fly of his jeans and start working them off his hips. 

Lan Zhan tugs until Wei Ying rises up on his knees, pulls Wei Ying’s underwear off his dick, and then swoops down to take it in his mouth. Wei Ying makes a dying whale noise, and buries his fingers in Lan Zhan’s hair, tugging.

“Oh my god, stop, stop, I’m gonna—" he chokes, his body tingling all the way to his toes. Lan Zhan pulls back just enough to glare at him. “Please, I want to—"

He pushes Lan Zhan until he falls on his back, shirtless and long legs stretched out over Wei Ying’s bed. His lips are wet, shiny, and a little red where they had been wrapped around Wei Ying cock.

“Oh my god,” Wei Ying says again, and thinks he might come all over Lan Zhan’s stomach just from that. Quickly, before Lan Zhan can distract him again, he reaches over to the bedside draw and pulls out the bottle of lube. “I want to—"

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying startles into a laugh.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“Whatever you want,” Lan Zhan says, his voice soft, reverent in a way that makes Wei Ying both giddy and uncomfortable. He leans down, his bare cock trapped between them, to whisper in Lan Zhan’s ear.

“I want you in me.”

Lan Zhan groans, hands coming up to cup Wei Ying’s face as he kisses him, hot and demanding, growling when Wei Ying starts to laugh again as he struggles to kick his pants off. Wei Ying sits on his hips, naked, and uncaps the bottle.

“Do you want to watch?” he says, coy, excitement bubbling in his belly, because Lan Zhan is looking at him with so much heat and want. 

He turns, bending over, his cock dragging across Lan Zhan’s thigh, and reaches between his legs. And Lan Zhan watches him finger himself open, face red and mouth parted as Wei Ying slides in a digit and then another, all the way to the first knuckle. Lan Zhan hands come up to cup his ass, parting his cheeks for him so that he can watch closer as Wei Ying stretches himself on his fingers.

“You know I do this,” Wei Ying says, panting and balanced on his knees with only Lan Zhan’s hands supporting him. “All the time, ah, thinking about you.”

“Fuck,” Lan Zhan says and Wei Ying gasps on a bark of laughter.

Lan Zhan’s thumb slides down, across the heavy weight of Wei Ying balls and his dripping cock, and back up over his perineum until his finger meets Wei Ying’s, sliding in slowly alongside and into Wei Ying’s ass. Wei Ying groans, arching his back.

“If you do that, I’ll come,” he pants, twitching when Lan Zhan’s fingers dig into the flesh of his backside.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan chokes.

And Wei Ying doesn’t really care if he’s ready or not, his fingers slick with lube as he begins to fumble Lan Zhan’s pants open. Lan Zhan doesn’t hesitate to replace him, finger sinking all the way into Wei Ying in a smooth slide. His touch is cold, but when Wei Ying gets his hands on it, his cock is heavy and red. Wei Ying has had Lan Zhan’s cock in his mouth before this, but looking it now, long and curved, he feels weak.

“Off, off,” he says, swatting at Lan Zhan’s thigh until the finger in him slides out, and Wei Ying turns around, crouching over Lan Zhan’s hips. Lan Zhan’s hands fall back to Wei Ying’s waist as he lines himself up, and sinks down over the head.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan gasps, shaking with the effort to hold still as Wei Ying sinks down inch by inch, fingers biting into Wei Ying’s hips. “Oh, fuck, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying can barely hear him against the rush of sound inside his head, the stretch as he takes Lan Zhan slowly in, the burn sparking up his spine until Wei Ying’s head lolls back on his neck and he moans, low and long. 

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” he breathes, finally seated in Lan Zhan’s lap, filled to the brim and more. It’s too much. It’s perfect. “Ah, feels so good.”

Beneath him, Lan Zhan trembles, his fingernails biting into Wei Ying’s skin. He chokes on another moan when Wei Ying lifts himself back up, bouncing experimentally, relishing the sparks that turn into a fire as he finds his rhythm on Lan Zhan’s lap. Sweat is dripping down the center of Wei Ying’s back as he moves faster, his cock bobbing in front of him, the sound of Wei Ying fucking himself onf Lan Zhan’s cock filling the room. It’s hot, it’s so hot, and it feels like a fire has lit in Wei Ying’s belly.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, aaah,” Wei Ying rambles, mouth hanging open as he fucks down on Lan Zhan’s lap. His head falls forward as his thighs work, trembling with the effort, and finds Lan Zhan watching him intently, eyes sliding from Wei Ying’s face to where his dick disappears again and again into him. “I can’t,” he breathes. “Baby, I—"

Sitting up, Lan Zhan puts an arm around him and flips them over until Wei Ying is pressed into the thin mattress, and then he moves, hips awkward, but chasing the feeling until his thrusts are even and powerful. Wei Ying arches into it, wrapping his legs around him and digging his heels into Lan Zhan’s ass to urge him faster.

“C’mon, I’m just, I’m right there,” Wei Ying gasps, reaching down for his cock, jerking himself quickly.

Lan Zhan leans over him as he comes, biting at Wei Ying’s gaping mouth and shuddering as Wei Ying tightens around him, before pulling out to come over Wei Ying’s stomach.

It should probably be embarrassing, how fast it was all over, but Wei Ying’s thighs ache and he’s sweaty and dirty, and it’s probably the best thing ever.

He’s still gasping when Lan Zhan collapses on top of him despite the mess between them, mouthing hotly down Wei Ying’s throat as he catches his breath. Wei Ying wraps himself around him, arms and legs, and Lan Zhan grunts when he squeezes, huffing a soft laugh against Wei Ying’s ear.

“You’re the best,” Wei Ying sighs, and Lan Zhan kisses him, long and sweet, and stays the night.

-

Wei Ying has been in the music building several times over the semester, sitting on the floor outside Lan Zhan’s classes and occupying corners of the practice room, doing math homework while Lan Zhan plays on pianos and guitars, and even a few times on a long wooden guqin, loaned to the department specifically for Lan Zhan to play in an upcoming concert. 

But today, Lan Zhan takes Wei Ying’s hand and leads him to an out of the way practice room, motioning him to sit in one of the two chairs available. 

Lan Zhan is quiet in the way that tells Wei Ying he’s hesitant. Not nervous, or anxious, but cautious, and Wei Ying is quiet in response, meeting Lan Zhan at his pace. By the way Lan Zhan smiles at him, pulling his worn, sticker covered guitar out of its case, Wei Ying knows that he appreciates it. 

“It’s for you,” Lan Zhan says, strumming his fingers along the guitar strings. “For your birthday.”

Jaw dropping, Wei Ying sits up a little straighter. 

Wei Ying doesn’t celebrate his birthday much, even when he was younger and Jiang Fengmian still wanted to throw him parties. Wei Ying much preferred trick or treating with Jiang Cheng than think anything about a nine-year-old birthday and presents. By the time Wei Ying had turned thirteen, everyone had well and truly given up on it.

So, Wei Ying had barely had a passing thought beyond the birthday texts from his siblings, until Lan Zhan had begun to play. It’s a gentle chord that turns into a sweet melody, something melancholy, something yearning.

Then Lan Zhan begins to sing. 

Watching him, eyes downcast, his lashes as a dark fan across his smooth cheeks, Wei Ying can barely breathe. Lan Zhan’s voice is clear and smooth, a low tenor that’s so soft, Wei Ying sways forward in his seat, hanging on each word.

It lasts for eternity. It lasts for a second.

And when Lan Zhan is done, fingers holding the strings still, Wei Ying realizes that there’s tears on his face. Lan Zhan reaches out, cupping his cheeks, his touch so delicate, like the first snowfall of the season.

“Did you like it?” Lan Zhan asks, a quiet question in a frozen room. 

Wei Ying nods, choking on a quiet sob, his hand reaching up to grasp at Lan Zhan’s wrist, fingers trembling. He’s trying not to cry harder when Lan Zhan gets out of his chair and kneels in front of him, both hands on Wei Ying’s face, thumbs swiping away tears as they fall.

“I…” Wei Ying tries, and fails. “I…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Lan Zhan says. He smiles up at Wei Ying, that little crescent of his mouth, pink lips stretched thin. He looks at Wei Ying like he understands everything in Wei Ying’s head, even when Wei Ying himself doesn’t know where to begin. “It’s okay.”

“I… I love you, too,” Wei Ying finally chokes, his words cracking on a sob, and he throws himself against Lan Zhan, burying himself in his waiting arms. “I love you, too,” he says again, and again for good measure.

Lan Zhan holds him, arms wrapped tight, and presses his smile into Wei Ying’s neck.

“I love you.” 

-

It’s almost a dream. Wei Ying can’t remember a time when he was happier and even Yu Ziyuan’s increasingly scathing comments about him at weekend dinners can’t phase him. Jiang Yanli just giggles over his mooning, and Jiang Cheng scowls but doesn’t say much. 

So Wei Ying’s days are filled with classes and studying and Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. 

Lan Zhan across the table from him in the library, their text books spread out between them, their feet tapping against each other beneath. Lan Zhan waiting outside his dorm building before their morning classes, a thermos of coffee in his hand for Wei Ying. Lan Zhan squeezed into a booth beside him, Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli chattering loudly.

Lan Zhan making out with him on Wei Ying’s tiny dorm bed. Lan Zhan fucking him on Wei Ying’s tiny dorm bed. Lan Zhan getting fucked on Wei Ying’s tiny dorm bed.

Wei Ying is ridiculously, incandescently happy. 

“C’mon,” Wei Ying says, their chairs shuffled close together, Wei Ying’s ankle hooked with Lan Zhan’s. “Stay a little longer with me? I don’t want to go back just yet.”

The coffee shop is busy and the other two chairs at their table have long been claimed by others, students packed into the warm coffee shop to escape the cooling autumn air. It’s nearly winter, and nearly time for final exams, and everyone is out to leech as much time as they can from each other before the break.

Wei Ying is no different, monopolizing Lan Zhan’s time as long as he can before he’ll take the bus back home when classes are over. He has no intention of suffering Yu Ziyuan on his boyfriend, and Lan Zhan hasn’t ever invited him home. So Wei Ying is bracing himself for weeks without him.

And Lan Zhan smiles at him, the sweet curve of his mouth, and leans even closer where they’re pressed together, shoulder to hip. He kisses Wei Ying’s cheek, and listens to him chatter for another hour before he goes home.

-

There’s a knock on Wei Ying’s door at nearly one in the morning. He’s still awake watching a horror movie while he’s doodling in his literature textbook, when he should be writing his essay. Xue Yang has only been gone for a few days since he last saw him, so Wei Ying thinks it must be the guys down the hall looking for someone to join a card game when he opens the door. 

“Lan Zhan!” he gasps.

Shifting, Lan Zhan stands at his doorway, his shoulders a tight line and his back straight. He’s not looking right at Wei Ying, his eyes focused somewhere around his left ear. He sounds… wrong, when he says, “Wei Ying,” in reply.

Wei Ying has about a hundred questions that begin with ‘How did you get into the building?’ and end with ‘What’s wrong?’ But he asks none of them except, “Do you want to come in?”

Lan Zhan shakes his head.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Wei Ying asks, and he takes Lan Zhan’s hand in his when he nods. 

They slip out the dorms and onto the darkened campus, the trees casting trailing shadows from the golden glow of the lapposts that line the quad. Lan Zhan says nothing as they meander through the dorms towards the administrative buildings and nearly all the way to the soccer fields, but Wei Ying does what he does best, and fills the silence.

He’s rambling about some language project when Lan Zhan pauses in the middle of the rec fields, tugging Wei Ying to a stop. His fingers are cold against Wei Ying’s palm.

“My father,” he says, and stops. Wei Ying turns to stand in front of him, his sneakers sliding through the wet grass. He squeezes Lan Zhan’s hand. “My father is dead.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying says.

It hangs between them for a moment, and Wei Ying feels his stomach twist uncomfortably in the silence, his head bowed, staring at the point where their fingers are intertwined. He feels something drop, a splash of wetness against his wrist. And when he looks up, Lan Zhan is crying.

“Lan Zhan,” he breathes. Wei Ying doesn’t know what to do, twitching forward and then stepping back.

Dropping Wei Ying’s hand, Lan Zhan mirrors him, turning to the side and wiping his face. The sudden space between them yawns open and Wei Ying doesn’t know how to bridge it, how to reach across and make it better.

“H-How— When—" he says, fishing for something, anything. 

“This afternoon,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying finally places what’s wrong in his voice, the suppressed emotion sitting tightly in Lan Zhan’s throat. “He killed himself.”

Wei Ying’s jaw drops and he gapes at Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan who he’s known since he was eight, who lives with his older brother and his uncle. Lan Zhan who is awkward but fiery, shy but proud, rigid but warm, kind but lonely. Lan Zhan who used to look down his nose at Wei Ying, who would still let Wei Ying hang off his arm. Lan Zhan who forces Wei Ying to do his assignments. Lan Zhan who brings him coffee in the morning. Lan Zhan who kisses him and holds him.

Lan Zhan, who’s father just killed himself today.

With a sob, Wei Ying throws himself against Lan Zhan, arms wrapped tightly around him. Lan Zhan moves like he wants to flinch away, but he makes himself stay still, his arms awkwardly coming up to hold Wei Ying back.

“Fuck, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying is saying, pressing his face into Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Lan Zhan says nothing. In Wei Ying’s hold, he’s tense and stiff until he’s not, until he’s all but collapsing against Wei Ying, pressing his face into Wei Ying’s hair. And Wei Ying can’t stop himself from crying, loud sobs that burn in this throat. Lan Zhan doesn’t make a sound, but Wei Ying can feel the wetness against his neck, so he just holds Lan Zhan tightly and hopes he’s enough.

He didn’t cry this hard when Jiang Fengmian died.

Eventually, when he’s dried out and shaking, Lan Zhan whispers, his voice a bare rasp, “Thank you.”

Wei Ying swallows and shakes his head, takes Lan Zhan’s hand again. He leads him over to a bench where they sit, Wei Ying’s head on Lan Zhan’s shoulder, and Lan Zhan’s cheek resting against his hair. 

They’re quiet for another moment, and then Lan Zhan starts to talk. He talks about their mother who died when he was a child, and how his uncle took them in when their father couldn’t take care of them. How his uncle raised them, how Lan Huan had raised Lan Zhan. How their father rarely left his room until he grew sick and bedridden. How Lan Zhan had a scholarship to a better school, but gave it up so his brother could keep both his classes and his internship instead of taking care of their father. 

How Lan Zhan had taken the bus home this afternoon from the coffee shop. How Lan Zhan had walked into his father’s room and found him.

Wei Ying almost wants to cry again, listening to it, a cold pain sinking into his heart.

“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying says.

Lan Zhan doesn’t reply, presses his face against the top of Wei Ying’s head. 

The sky is just barely lightened, a gray-blue cast when they stand. Lan Zhan walks him back to his dorm building, their fingers intertwined, and he stops. Slowly, he raises their hands and kisses Wei Ying’s knuckles, his eyes looking right into him.

“Thank you, Wei Ying,” he says, quietly.

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying starts, but what can he say. Instead he leans forward and kisses him, gentle, sweet, a little warmth between them before he rocks back onto his heels. 

The look Lan Zhan gives him is so full of grief, but soft, and his lips twitch up into something that tries to be a smile. “Good night,” he says.

“Good night.” Wei Ying swallows. “Let me know when you get home, okay?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t reply. He lets go of Wei Ying’s hand, his arm dropping lifelessly to his side and he turns away. Wei Ying watches him for a long time, until Lan Zhan disappears into the morning gloom. He doesn’t look back once.

Wei Ying doesn’t know that this will be the last time he sees Lan Zhan for years.

-

i'll be waiting here

In fact, he doesn’t know it for weeks. The next morning, Wei Ying is standing on the corner with his phone in his hand, waiting to see if Lan Zhan will either show up or text him back. The last thing Lan Zhan messaged him was a bunny sticker rolling its eyes, and everything after that is Wei Ying’s increasingly worried questions from the day before.

Me (2:33 a.m.) - did you make it home?

Me (2:40 a.m.) - let me know that you’re okay

Me (4:02 a.m.) - is there anything i can do? do you need me to get anything on campus for you?

Me (6:52 a.m.) - text me back when you can, okay?

Five minutes before his class starts, Wei Ying glances down the road, hoping to see Lan Huan’s car crawling towards him. He’s nearly twenty minutes late to the lecture.

Lan Zhan never messages him back.

Wei Ying still waits on the corner all that week. And the next.

Lan Zhan never shows.

-

“You look terrible,” Jiang Cheng says when he steps through the front door that Saturday.

Wei Ying just shrugs. “Is your mom here?” The last thing he wants is to see Yu Ziyuan today.

“Out with Jin Zixuan’s mom,” Jiang Cheng mutters, his brows furrowing low over his eyes. Wei Ying can’t meet his gaze. His throat is already closing up, and the last thing he wants to do is cry in the middle of the foyer. “Hey, seriously, what the fuck is up with you? I’ve never seen you like this. Why are you even home today?”

“Nothing.” He slides past his brother up the stairs, but Jiang Cheng is on his heels. “Just failed a test, it’s fine.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “As if failing a test as ever bugged you. Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“What,” Jiang Cheng says, and Wei Ying can hear him rolling his eyes. “Did Lan Zhan break up with you?”

And Wei Ying has no control over the way he suddenly sobs. Jiang Cheng freezes behind him, and normally Wei Ying would want to see what kind of stupid face he’s making right now. He would love to turn around, grin and tell him Just kidding!

Instead, he escapes to his room, slamming the door behind him. By the time Jiang Cheng has recovered, Wei Ying has curled himself under his blankets, trying and failing to stop crying like some broken-hearted teenager. He doesn’t even notice the door open until there’s a weight against his back.

“I’ll kick his fucking ass,” Jiang Cheng hisses, vhenement. But he rubs his hand awkwardly up and down Wei Ying’s back, like Jiang Yanli used to do when either of them got in trouble with Yu Ziyuan. 

Wei Ying chokes on a laugh, watery and weak, suddenly all too aware that this is the most they’ve spoken in weeks. “If you can find him, let me know so I can beat him up too,” he says, even though he doesn’t mean it at all.

Jiang Cheng pauses. “You don’t know where he is?”

“No,” Wei Ying says, and the word cracks in two on his tongue, a fresh wave of tears stealing his voice.

“Oh. Oh, fuck, uh, come here,” Jiang Cheng says, stumbling over his words and tugging on Wei Ying’s arm. 

Wei Ying goes, sitting up just enough to bury his face on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder as he cries. Jiang Cheng’s hug isn’t like their sister’s. It’s not warm and soft and safe, but Jiang Cheng’s is just as good. When he’s cried as much as he can for now, he finds a laugh bubbling out of his throat when Jiang Cheng sniffs.

“Fuck you,” he huffs, wiping at his eyes when Wei Ying sits up. “I’ll really kick his ass for making you cry.”

Somehow, Wei Ying finds it himself to smile, mopping at his face. “Ah, I got snot on you.”

“Ugh, gross.”

And they both burst into laughter. It’s the best Wei Ying has felt all week. It’s the best he’ll feel for a long time.

-

That night he goes to a party and gets so drunk, he doesn’t remember getting back to the house the next morning. Yu Ziyuan finds him still in his club clothes at noon and screeches at him for the rest of the day. He does the same thing that night as well. He’s so hungover that Monday, he misses four of his five classes and falls asleep at his desk on the last. There’s a rager at an apartment block down the street from his dorm on Tuesday. Wednesday night is one of the rare days Xue Yang drops by. He takes one look at Wei Ying and grins, saying, “I got just the thing you need.” By the time Saturday rolls around again, Wei Ying really doesn’t remember much of the week.

But he hasn’t cried since he made a mess of Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, so he isn’t very bothered by it.

-

“A-Ying,” Jiang Yanli sings when he answers the phone. Something that’s been twisting up inside him settles for the first time all day. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” he says, and by the way his sister hums, he must not be very convincing. But Jiang Yanli is too sweet to press on fresh bruises.

“How are your classes?” she asks. Wei Ying has to wince, because he really doesn’t know. He hasn’t left his dorm room in weeks except to trail after Xue Yang, who’s around constantly now. “Are you eating well? Finals are coming up, so make sure you’re taking care of yourself!”

“Aaah, shijie, I’m totally fine,” Wei Ying lies through his teeth. “Don’t worry so much about me. Tell me about your apprenticeship! Have you taken over the kitchen yet?” he asks, just to hear her laugh. 

He settles back to listen to her, glad for this one thing that anchors him in this moment before he’s adrift again.

-

He should probably be upset right now. He should probably dread going home. He should probably say something as Yu Ziyuan screams at him. But instead, Wei Ying feels nothing.

“You ungrateful little shit,” she hisses, flinging the letter at him. “Academic probation? You expect me to pay for you now that you’ve lost your scholarship? You’ve lost your fucking mind.”

Wei Ying sits, slouched and still, at the dining table and stares at nothing. Across from him, Jiang Cheng is fidgeting like he always does when Wei Ying is getting punished. If he could meet Jiang Cheng’s eyes right now, he would get a look begging him to say anything, anything to make this better. But Wei Ying can’t make it better, so he stares at the thinning varnish over what was once expensive wood grain and waits.

“Nothing to say at all?” Yu Ziyuan snaps. “Are you so worthless that one little break up is all it takes for you to fuck me over?” 

Wei Ying doesn’t say anything, because there’s no way to answer that. There’s no way to tell this woman who raised him that Lan Zhan had been the one teaching him how to breathe right, how to sleep through the night, how to trust someone so wholly for the first time in his life. There’s no way to tell her that he hates himself too, that he detests himself for being so dependent on someone, that he let himself trust that he wouldn’t be left behind.

And he says nothing still, when Yu Ziyuan leans in close and says, “Get your shit and get out of my house.”

-

Wei Ying spends one cold night outside, his bag of clothes under his head on a tucked away park bench in the corner of the city park. He has only a change of clothes, a few extra socks, and the wrinkled, faded polaroid that had lived next to Wei Ying’s bed for the past nine years. He’d been lucky to grab even that much, Yu Ziyuan looming over him with the police on the phone. As soon as he’d managed to snatch up his wallet, he’d bolted, past his silent brother without even saying goodbye. He even left his phone behind.

It’s better like this, he had told himself on the bus.

It’ll be better like this, he had told himself when he’d laid down on the bench.

He didn’t sleep. He pretends like he wasn’t crying. And when the sun rose, Wei Ying had sat up and reluctantly hunted for a payphone and called a number he barely remembered. Wen Qing picks up on the second ring and listens to him while he sobs his way through the whole story from the side of a run down gas station. 

“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying hiccups. “I didn’t know who—"

“Shut up,” is the first thing Wen Qing says to him since she picked up the phone. Wei Ying’s mouth closes with a click of his teeth. “Where are you right now, give me an address.”

“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying babbles, wiping hard at his face. He lists off the address the best he can guess, some corner street near the freeway. When she shows up, it’s night again, and Wen Ning has to half pick him up to get him into the back of the car. 

He doesn’t remember the ride beyond the sound of his own voice, words unintelligible, Wen Ning’s arm around his shoulders, and Wen Qing’s knuckles white on the steering wheel.

-

Wen Qing’s house is tiny, with only two bedrooms and a small fenced yard in the front. For a while, she had lived here with her great aunt and her two sons’ families, forced together after Wen Qing’s uncle ran his business into the ground and got arrested in their last year of high school. But before long, as Wen Qing’s cousins had gotten jobs and bought homes, it became just Wen Qing and Wen Ning who live here.

And, for now, Wei Ying. 

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like,” Wen Qing tells him. “As long as you need to. In fact, I’m not letting you move out unless I say it’s okay.”

“A-jie…” Wen Ning says quietly.

Wei Ying tries to smile, but it feels like a ghost on his face — too tired and too transparent to see even at midnight. “Thanks,” he tells them both and then proceeds to not move from their couch for a solid week.

And that’s as long as Wen Qing will let him sulk. Wen Ning starts to ask him to go to the grocery store with him, or Wen Qing will force him to help her with her pre-med homework. They’ll ask him to help cook, or if he’d go grab them something from the store, or to meet them for dinner after their classes. 

Both of them are in college and juggling it with part-time jobs and internships, and it isn’t long before Wei Ying wakes up enough to realize how patient they’ve been with him, how much of their time and money he’s taken up.

“You don’t have to,” Wen Ning tells him when he starts circling job adverts in the paper. “It’s… only been a few weeks.”

“Too long to just be mooching off the two of you,” Wei Ying grumbles.

“A lot happened. It’s okay if you’re not ready to just… move on right now.” Wen Ning says it in that gentle way of his, like he’s worried Wei Ying is burying a lot of pain and trauma instead of processing it. 

“That sounds like something a therapist would say.”

“Well… You know…”

“Fair enough,” Wei Ying says with some humor. “But I can’t pay for a therapist if I don’t have a job.”

And Wei Ying takes on three, an opening shift at a cafe, an afternoon gig at a small theme park, and nights cleaning and sanitizing at a local gym. It’s nothing grand like he once dreamed of, on a scholarship for forensic science across the country. And it’s not the steady salary he had once hoped for in the environmental science department at the community college. But it’s work, and he manages to rake by enough to pay the Wens rent and buy groceries every third week. 

It’s not what he had once thought he could have for himself, but he’s not unhappy.

-

Five years pass like that in a blink, losing himself in the ups and downs of part time work, still sleeping on Wen Qing’s couch. Wen Ning says they could squeeze another bed in his room, but that would require moving out his desk. Wei Ying adamantly tells him no, that nursing majors need their beauty sleep and the couch is too comfy to give up.

He’s not really lying, it’s a great couch.

These days, he’s working full time at the cafe, managing college-aged part timers, creating new menu items, and taking care of the accounts. Wei Ying may never be a good cook, but the exactness of baking works out fine for him. Every morning before the crack of dawn, he heads for the store to start that day’s pastries, reveling in the stillness just between him and the kitchen. And when it’s time to open, he preps the roaster and the coffee maker just in time for the first customer to step through the door. And he likes it. It’s fine.

He could be something like happy, he thinks. Maybe. And when he’s not, he at least has the Wens, as much as he’ll allow himself to. He doesn’t hang onto them, not in the way he used to with… 

Well, he’s learned his lesson twice over. People leave Wei Ying. So Wei Ying won’t hold his breath until they do.

-

And then, Wen Yuan is there one day, all of a sudden, a baby bag left by the door and a car seat on the table. The kid inside is dark haired and dark eyed, with pudgy little hands that reach out, wrapping around Wei Ying’s finger while Wen Qing is telling him the story, tears in her eyes. There was a car wreck. Her other cousin has kids of his own. Popo is too old to take care of him. Wen Qing will have to drop a few classes, but it’ll work out.

“What, why? You don’t have to do that!”

Wen Qing glares at him. “Of course I do, he can’t take care of himself!”

Pausing, Wei Ying looks down at the baby in front of him, his little hand wiggling back and forth with Wei Ying’s finger still captured in his fist. “I have a lot of free time.”

“What do you know about taking care of babies?” Wen Qing scoffs.

“Probably more than you,” Wei Ying says, raising a brow at her with a smirk. “I grew up in an orphanage after all. One of the aunties hated changing diapers, so she would always make us do it.”

Sighing, Wen Qing deflates. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Sure you could,” Wei Ying says nonchalantly. “You saved my life. Plus, he’s cute, and he likes me.” Wei Ying jiggles his finger to emphasize his point, and Wen Yuan giggles, a little, gurgling laugh. 

Wei Ying might fall in love on the spot, meeting Wen Yuan’s waving hands to pick him up, cradling him against his shoulder. In truth, the last time he held a baby was when he was seven, but Wei Ying still remembers how delicate they feel in his arms, the quiet terror that he may break them, and the warmth when they curl close against his neck, rubbing their noses into his shirt. 

“You don’t owe us,” Wen Qing says, but she’s watching Wei Ying with a hint of relief in her red-rimmed eyes. 

-

Somehow, Wei Ying manages to wheedle paternity leave out of the cafe owner, and Wei Ying spends two weeks with Wen Yuan on his hip and going through every little thing a baby might need with Wen Qing. Wen Yuan is still so young, not even old enough to crawl. He keeps Wei Ying up with bottle feedings until he’s settled enough to sleep through the night.

They move his crib into Wen Qing’s room when Wei Ying goes back to work. Each morning, Wen Qing drops Wen Yuan off at daycare and each afternoon, Wei Ying picks him up, and Wen Ning in the event that either one of them cannot. 

It’s a strange pattern, three parents to one child, but Wei Ying finds himself loving it. 

On sunny days, when he picks Wen Yuan up from daycare, he’ll take him to the park and slather him with baby sunscreen and let him roll around a blanket on the grass for a few hours. On others, he’ll pick up a new toy or a baby book and spend an afternoon reading to Wen Yuan, teaching him the words like he already understands all his letters and numbers. His phone suddenly fills with pictures: Wen Yuan’s first taste of ice cream, Wen Yuan covered in noodles, Wen Yuan wiggling around the floor of their living room. 

It’s a strange feeling, to wake up after a long sleep to find someone there waiting for you. Wei Ying had been feeling so adrift, like he might float away if it weren’t for this little kid with his big eyes and messy hair. 

-

“You know, I was really worried about you.”

Wei Ying glances up from icing the cake in front of him, a tiny little tier that’s white and blue with a giant number one piped on top. Wen Yuan’s birthday felt like it came fast and hard, but babies don’t really remember birthdays anyways.

“Worried about me?” Wei Ying asks, distracted. He has frosting in his hair and flour on his face. He’s not usually this messy in the cafe, but it’s not like Wei Ying is often making cakes. “I haven’t been sick in years.”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes, dragging her finger through a bowl of leftover whipped cream. “I was worried about you, idiot, not your health.”

Finishing one last piped flower, Wei Ying straightens and looks at her with a furrowed brow. “What are you talking about?”

She huffs, looking at him dead in the eye like she sees right through him. “I was always worried one day you were just going to disappear, you know? You’ve been so… absent, since, well, you know.”

And Wei Ying does know, knows that he really hasn’t been all there in the years since he came to live here. He prefers not to think about it, ignoring the homesickness and loneliness and the hurt that’s built up with each passing month, with each passing year. Sometimes, he would wonder if... But most of the time he pretends like that part of his life didn’t exist at all.

“But now,” Wen Qing continues, her eyes dropping to the little cake Wei Ying decorated for the kid he’s a guardian of. “Now I think this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

“I was happy in high school,” Wei Ying says, just to defend himself. He’s not that much of a drag, he hopes.

Wen Qing just gives him a flat look. “You were miserable in high school.”

“Stop psychoanalyzing me.”

“I wouldn’t if you would have at least a drop of emotional intelligence, you stunted asshole.”

“I resent that. My asshole is just fine, thank you very much.”

Wen Qing socks him in the arm, hard, just as Wen Ning steps into the kitchen with Wen Yuan in his arms. “No fighting, please,” he says, chiding and Wen Yuan repeats after him, babbling, “No no no fighting please.”

“That’s right,” Wen Qing says, cooing at Wen Yuan as she takes him in his arms. “Take after Ning-ge, so you can grow up to be sweet like him.”

“No no no fighting please,” Wen Yuan says, grinning at her. “Asshole.”

Wei Ying is ducking out the door before Wen Qing can start throwing things at him, laughing the whole way around the house as she chases him, Wen Yuan giggling madly in her arms as she goes.

-

When Wen Qing gets a job nearly four hours away, she almost doesn’t take it. And when Wei Ying and Wen Ning finally convince her — we’ll be fine, between Wen Ning and I, we can take care of him, don’t miss this opportunity, it’ll set you back even further — she sighs forlornly about the commute and they have to spend another hour convincing her that she can afford an apartment.

She goes, rather reluctantly, but she goes. The house is a little emptier without her clutter on the kitchen table, but she makes Wei Ying move all his and Wen Yuan’s things into her room as she goes.

“Don’t keep sleeping on the couch when there’s a whole unused bed, idiot,” is all she says. His clothes had already been tossed into her room.

Wen Ning takes a lighter class load that semester, despite Wei Ying’s attempts at convincing him otherwise. 

“You really don’t have to do that, I can handle everything for A-Yuan,” he tells him.

“It’s fine,” Wen Ning says, smiling placidly. “Honestly, I could use a little less stress anyways, and if it makes it a little easier on A-Yuan, then it’s good.”

And so their routines change. Wen Ning goes to class in the morning while Wei Ying drops Wen Yuan off at daycare, and Wen Ning picks Wen Yuan up during Wei Ying’s new afternoon shift and gets dinner ready. That evening, the three of them pile around Wen Ning’s laptop to video chat with Wen Qing, who’s eating microwave dinners around her paperwork and listening attentively while Wen Yuan tells her about his day. And when she’s free, she makes the three hour drive to visit and Wei Ying chivariously gives up his bed for his old couch stand-by.

“This one is mine anyways,” he laughs the first time she tries to refuse. “I’ve missed it so much, why would you separate us again?!”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “You’re an idiot. You better have washed the sheets.”

It’s good though, the change. Wei Ying is so fiercely proud of her for following her passion, proud of Wen Ning for taking better care of himself, and proud of Wen Yuan for how well he’s handled the transition, especially for a kid who’s had so much terrible change in his short life. 

Wei Ying loves them, these friends and this new life of his. It’s not what he thought it would be, but he’s happy. And he wants to stay that way.

-

“He deserves a dad,” Wen Qing says one weekend on her rare days off. They’re at the zoo on a Saturday because Wen Yuan begged — he actually just asked in his timid little way, but it’s just as effective as if he’d laid on the ground and screamed — and Wen Ning is crouching low, petting bunnies with Wen Yuan. He’s nearly four now, his hair around his ears, and his eyes bright and excited.

Wei Ying’s smile drops off his face. “Of course he does,” he says, hesitantly. There’s a long pause between them. “I guess, some uncle is wanting to adopt him?”

“Oh my god,” Wen Qing scoffs. “No, stupid. I mean you.”

“Oh.”

Wen Qing raises her brow.

“Oh!” Wei Ying gasps. He feels like the breath has been punched out of him, an unfamiliar emotion soaring through his blood. “Me?!”

“Yes, you idiot!” she snaps, and lists off on her fingers. “You take him to school, you pack his lunch, you pick him up, you play with him, you teach him, you read him stories at night. You are practically already his dad!”

“Wait, you’re serious?” Wei Ying says desperately, because he’s starting to recognize that feeling is hope. Hope is a dangerous thing, but Wen Qing has never given him a reason to be wary of her.

“Yes!” She explodes, glaring at him. Then her face changes. It’s a strange thing to see her uncertain, hesitant. “Unless of course you’re uncomfortable—"

“I didn’t say that!!” he breathes, shoving his shaking hands into his pockets. He feels a bit like he’s panicking, but in a good way, and incredibly aware of what a horrible place this is to be having this conversation. “I just —  I mean —  GAH! He’s your family! I’d figure you wouldn’t want, you know, someone who’s not, to care for him.”

Wen Qing stares at him for an uncomfortably long time. Around them, kids are giggling and shrieking, cooing over the animals. There’s a group of children gathered around one of the keepers, a giant rabbit in her arms as they all gently brush their little fingers over its shiny fur. Among them, settled on Wen Ning’s knee, is Wen Yuan, his face bright with wonder and excitement as he pets one velvety ear. Wei Ying watches him, teetering on the edge of hope and crushing disappointment. Now that it’s been brought up, Wei Ying can’t think of anything that he’s wanted more than this. 

“Wei Ying,” Wen Qing says finally, dropping her hand on Wei Ying’s slumped shoulder. Wei Ying turns to her, chewing his lip, and tries to meet the softness in her gaze. “You are family. You’re my family, just as much as A-Ning and A-Yuan.”

Swallowing, Wei Ying finds he doesn’t have any words for that.

“You know that right?” Wen Qing asks.

And Wei Ying can only nod. Wen Qing smiles her small, amused smile that she rarely shows to anyone, and wraps her arm around Wei Ying’s back. In turn, he settles one over her shoulders until they’re tucked together, the two of them watching as Wen Yuan looks up and waves at them.

-

Wen Yuan becomes Wei Yuan that next spring. They have a little ceremony and everything, Wei Ying in his best slacks and button down, and Wei Yuan in his tiny little suit that Wen Qing had thrifted for him. Wen Ning takes about a million pictures of the two. 

Before though, Wei Ying had sat Wen Yuan down and asked him if it would be okay.

“I’d be your dad,” Wei Ying tells him, and finds his throat closing up. Wei Ying never had a father, no one that he can remember, but Wen Yuan doesn’t remember his parents, the same way Wei Ying doesn’t. And here Wei Ying is, trying to be something he’s not, but so desperately wants to be. “If you want.”

“My baba?” Wen Yuan asks, grinning in that sweet way of his. 

Wei Ying laughs, tearing up. “If that’s okay with you.”

And Wen Yuan doesn’t call him anything else, repeating “Baba Baba Baba,” for the rest of the day.

-

make this hole a home

It’s a Tuesday half a year later, and Wei Ying is starting to believe that Tuesdays are cursed.

Fall is just starting to settle over the city, cool breezes and falling leaves and pumpkin everything. Wei Ying smells so much like walking pumpkin spiced latte that he might as well start showering in the shit. He doesn’t hate it though. 

And fall means halloween, which means matching father-son costumes. Last year, Wei Ying was roped last minute into trick-or-treating duty and was unprepared. This is Wei Ying’s first Halloween as a father, and he’s more excited about it than Wei Yuan is. 

“How about Batman and Robin?” Wei Ying asks. 

Wei Yuan makes a thoughtful hum, eyes focused on his feet as he balances on the low stone wall that edges the sidewalk, clutching to Wei Ying’s hand. “How about Spiderman and Robin?”

“You can’t mix universes like that. Ningning would laugh at us.”

“Ning-ge would not!” Wei Yuan says, outraged.

Wei Ying snorts. “Fair enough. Jiejie would though.” 

“Jiejie would,” Wei Yuan agrees. “Is she coming, too?”

“Nope, it’s you, me, and Ning-ge. Ooh, we could be the three musketeers!” Wei Yuan makes a face. “Yeah, I’m not too interested in the tights either. Cool swords though.”

“If Jiejie came, she could be Velma and Ning-ge could be Shaggy.”

“What about us?”

“I could be Scooby! And you can be Daphne.”

“I do look great in purple.”

“But I guess we can’t do that,” Wei Yuan says, jumping down from the wall, and looking seriously up at Wei Ying. “Why can’t she come?”

“Awe, kiddo,” Wei Ying sighs, crouching down. They don’t get to see her as often as Wen Ning, who lives now in an apartment building just a few blocks away from their house. “She’s on call that day. Most residency doctors have to be, so it’s important she’s there. Don’t worry, she’ll be here for Christmas.”

“Fine,” Wei Yuan says. “We didn’t have anyone to be Fred anyways.”

Wei Ying ruffles his hair and stands. “Maybe next year, okay? We can probably kidnap that Jingyi kid to be Fred.”

“No way!”

“Yeah, he probably couldn't pull off an ascot anyways.”

And that’s when he looks up, and sees him.

Lan Zhan is stopped, stock still in the middle of the path, and Wei Ying feels himself frozen, caught. Because it couldn’t be anyone other than Lan Zhan: his long black hair falling in perfectly straight lines behind his ears, his shoulders broad and strong, the delicate cut of his jaw, the sweet, heart shape of his face. For a moment, Wei Ying is breathless, drinking him in.

And then Lan Zhan takes a step forward, eyes wide, his lips — full and dusky pink, just like Wei Ying remembers — part as he speaks, “Wei Ying."

Wei Ying graps Wei Yuan and bolts.

He doesn’t stop until they’re clear across the park and Wei Yuan is complaining in his ear. Panting, he stumbles to a stop and sets Wei Yuan on his feet.

“Who was that?” he asks, patting Wei Ying’s sweaty face where he’s bent over, trying to catch his breath.

“No one,” Wei Ying gasps. “I just really hate this park. We’re never coming back.”

“Awe, I liked the swingsets.”

Wei Ying chuckles, glad that his kid is so used to Wei Ying picking him up and swinging him around at any given moment. Nothing like throwing a four-year-old over his shoulder to prepare him for running from his ex. He takes a moment to swallow back the sudden rising emotion in his throat, the hurt, the anger, the joy of Lan Zhan filling him until he might explode like a geyser with too much steam.

It’s fine. It’s a big city, and the odds of running into Lan Zhan again is so small, Wei Ying shouldn’t have to worry. They’ll avoid the park, and that’ll be it. He never has to see Lan Zhan again.

And like most things in Wei Ying’s life, that doesn’t even last to the end of the week.

-

Wei Ying is glaring before Lan Zhan even looks up, the door sliding shut behind him with a rattle of bells. If it weren’t the middle of the afternoon and he wasn’t the only person on shift to staff the front, Wei Ying would already have ducked into the kitchen to let someone else deal with this.

And the shocked look on Lan Zhan’s face should be gratifying, but Wei Ying is really just too pissed off to laugh.

“What can I get you?” he asks when Lan Zhan opens his mouth, cutting him off harshly. 

“Wei—" he starts.

“I recommend our special,” Wei Ying snaps, waving a hand at the little chalkboard on the counter. It’s covered in lopsided sunflowers and butterflies, even though it’s the middle of October and no one’s had the heart to erase it because A-Yuan drew them in summer.

Lan Zhan pauses, and Wei Ying tortures himself by wondering what he thinks of the little chalk decorations his son drew. Odds are, Lan Zhan doesn’t even notice.

“A tea,” he eventually says. “A green tea, small,” he clarifies when Wei Ying’s glare turns frosty.

Wei Ying swipes his card with enough force to snap the plastic and slaps it down on the counter for Lan Zhan to pick up. He doesn’t wait for Lan Zhan to say anything else, and makes the worst cup of green tea he can imagine: luke warm tap water, loose tea leaves, and five healthy dollops of agave syrup.

Lan Zhan’s face doesn’t change when Wei Ying slams it on the counter in front of him, eyeing the cup for a moment before he pulls the lid off and downs it in one go. Wei Ying gapes. It has to taste terrible, bitter and sugary at once, but Lan Zhan’s taste buds have either died in the decade since Wei Ying last saw him or he has an amazing poker face.

“Wha—" he starts, but Lan Zhan pulls a wad of cash out of his wallet, wraps it in a napkin, and shoves it into the tip jar.

“Thank you,” he says, meeting Wei Ying’s eyes head-on for the first time in ten years and it nearly takes his breath away.

He’s out the door before Wei Ying’s brain can come back online. 

Immediately, he fumbles for the tip jar, grabbing the neatly folded cash still wrapped in the napkin. There has to be over a hundred dollars there, but Wei Ying just drops it back in, more interested in Lan Zhan’s hasty note, written when Wei Ying’s back was turned.

Wei Ying, it says, I understand your anger. I know I have a lot to answer for. If you would like to speak, please contact me. I won’t bother you at your workplace. I hope that you have been well these past years.

Below is a set of numbers, and beside that, a half-formed bunny. Lan Zhan used to doodle them on Wei Ying’s papers all the time because Wei Ying liked them. It’s enough to make a few tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and he crumples the note in a fist before tossing it in the trash.

Good. He better not come back, he thinks resolutely, wiping quickly at his face and glad for the empty cafe around him. I never want to see him again.

Yet, barely a minute pases before he’s digging the note back out, now stained with coffee grounds. He smooths it out best he can, carefully folding it and slipping it into his back pocket, and into the back of his mind as a gaggle of teenagers step through the door. 

-

That night, when Wei Yuan is settled in front of the television with his chicken nuggets and carrots and Wei Ying has collapsed onto the couch, he digs the note back out of his pocket. The ink has run a bit, but Wei Ying still drinks it in with a hunger that almost fills him with shame.

Ten years. It’s been ten years, and still he’s…

He sighs heavily, and throws an arm over his eyes. How stupid, to still be so caught up on a guy he barely dated for half a year, one that had dropped out of his life in an instant. Wei Ying is perfectly aware of his abandonment issues, but ten years! 

“Pathetic,” he murmurs to himself.

A little hand smacks down on his forearm. “Babaaa,” Wei Yuan whines. “Baba, are you sick?”

Wei Ying uncovers his face, smiling as Wei Yuan looms over him, his little face pinched in a frown. There’s little ketchup stains around his mouth. “Baba’s fine, baby,” he says, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Did you eat all your dinner?”

“I’m full.” Wei Yuan reaches out and pets Wei Ying’s hair. “Don’t cry, baba.” 

“Ah,” Wei Ying starts, registering the wetness on his face. He quickly wipes it away with his sleeves, the wrinkled napkin still between his fingers.

“Are you sad?” his son asks, and Wei Ying almost starts to laugh when Wei Yuan leans down to place a sloppy kiss on Wei Ying forehead, just like Wei Ying does whenever he cries. “Don’t be sad, Baba, I love you.”

Grinning, Wei Ying sits up and sweeps Wei Yuan into his arms. “Well, how can Baba be sad then, if you love me so much!” Wei Yuan shrieks and giggles, his hands on Wei Ying’s cheeks when he begins to peck kisses all over his chubby face. 

“Baba, no!! Shh, it’s quiet time!”

“Quiet time!” Wei Ying gasps, glancing at the clock. Indeed, it is past eight, when Wei Ying usually starts to get Wei Yuan ready for bed. “Boring! Who raised you, huh? Let’s eat cookies and stay up ‘til midnight!”

Wei Yuan takes a moment to think it over, before he says, very pragmatically, “Jiejie would get mad.”

Sighing, Wei Ying nods, thinking of how Wen Qing would reach through the phone to strangle him when she inevitably finds out. His son is a snitch. “A-Yuan is right, as always,” he laments, smacking one last kiss to his chubby cheek. “Let’s go get you a bath then, ketchup man.”

He places the note onto the arm rest, chewing his lip, before he follows Wei Yuan’s enthusiastic chattering to the bathroom. When bathtime is over and bedtime stories have been read, it’s just past nine, and Wei Ying wonders if Lan Zhan still keeps the same schedule. If he’s in bed already, or if he’s waiting by his phone for Wei Ying to text or call or whatever.

Sitting on the edge of the couch, Wei Ying pulls out his phone, staring hard at the black numbers and the little rabbit doodle, and Lan Zhan’s ‘I understand your anger.’

Does he? Does he really though? Wei Ying had trusted Lan Zhan in a way he’d never trusted anyone else. 

He’s typing before he really considers what he wants to say, a whole long paragraph that rapidly fills the composition frame on his phone, and somehow that pisses him off too. Ten years, and still he’s so mad and hurt about it. Wei Ying has brushed off worse hurts all his life, but somehow this still feels like an open wound, a crack in his skin that won’t heal no matter how many years Wei Ying puts behind him. It still hurts, and it shouldn’t. So Wei Ying pours it out and hits send without reading it over.

And immediately, he’s disgusted with himself. Already he can imagine Lan Zhan reading all of it, imagines how it might hurt him, wonders if it will hurt him. He throws his phone onto the cushion so he doesn’t have to look at it. Tomorrow’s Saturday, he doesn’t even have an alarm set, so he leaves it there.

He pretends like he isn’t crying when he crawls into bed.

-

Like clockwork, Wei Yuan bounces onto the bed at seven the next morning, and flops bodily onto Wei Ying stomach. “Good morning!” he sings while Wei Ying does his best to catch his breath.

“Sure,” Wei Ying wheezes. His face still feels a little puffy around his eyes, but he manages his usual grin and good morning kiss. “I can’t wait until you’re a teenager and you sleep past lunch.”

Wei Yuan crinkles his nose. “But breakfast!”

“But breakfast, indeed,” Wei Ying agrees, heaving himself upright. “Pancakes?”

“Pancakes!”

Swinging Wei Yuan up and squeezing him until he giggles, Wei Ying heads for the kitchen, already half a mind on a mental grocery list when his eyes catch on his phone sitting innocently where he tossed it last night, face down on the couch cushion. He ignores it, dead set on breakfast and the squirming kid in his arms.

They make a huge mess of pancake batter and bacon that morning, Wei Ying too distracted to clean up afterwards. There’s flour in Wei Yuan’s hair, and egg on Wei Yings pajama pants, but they don’t burn anything, and their breakfast is almost picture perfect. He doesn’t dare go anywhere near his phone. 

Wei Ying is cutting a stack of pancakes into bite-sized pieces when his phone dings with a new message and he jumps violently, spine straightening and stomach twisting, and nearly knocks a full glass of milk over.

Wei Yuan, his feet swinging back and forth under his chair, looks up at him with wide eyes. “Baba?”

Fumbling, Wei Ying rights everything with shaky hands. “Sorry kid,” he says with a smile. “You good? Want me to put on cartoons?” 

“Yeah,” Wei Yuan says, his voice small, and Wei Ying kind of hates himself, hates that his kid picks up on his mood so easily. He drops a kiss to the top of Wei Yuan’s head, pasting on a quick smile. 

He picks up his phone and the remote, and takes his time finding a good channel. WeI Yuan stuffs his face with pancakes, just as intent, and starts kicking his legs again when Wei Ying settles on some colorful show to keep him occupied.

Dread sitting heavily in his stomach, Wei Ying picks up his phone, unlocking it to find two new messages.

Wen Ning (8:43 a.m.) - obligatory message to let you know finals didn’t kill me! yes i’ve eaten regularly, yes i’m fine, yes i am going to sleep for another twelve hours, good bye

Wei Ying would laugh, if his eyes hadn’t fallen to the text below.

+5552387310 (yesterday, 9:58 p.m.) - I do love you.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at the stupid message on his phone. The screen goes dark until he taps it again. Wen Qing replies to Wen Ning. Wei Yuan sips his milk noisily, his head nodding back and forth as he glances from Wei Ying to the television. 

It’s the sudden thump from their upstairs neighbor that shakes Wei Ying from his stupor. His fingers are clammy and it takes a few tries to unlock his phone.

I do love you, says Lan Zhan’s message still, sent barely five minutes after Wei Ying’s wall of text above it. 

“Are you stupid?” Wei Ying asks under his breath. He scrolls up to his, frankly embarrassing, message.

Me (yesterday, 9:54 p.m.) - i don’t really have a lot to say to you. you’re an absolute asshole and i know you know exactly why. you couldn’t have given me a heads up? literally anything? you could have at least broken up with me before you fucked off for the rest of my life, but you just disappeared and i never fucking knew if you were okay or if you were safe or fuck if you were even alive. you were just fucking gone. so fuck you, i don’t have any questions for you to answer for or whatever. i was so goddamn sure you loved me, and i loved you so much, and it hurt like hell that you didn’t even care enough to say goodbye. so no lan zhan, i don’t give a fuck what you think you have to answer for. and for all i care, you can fuck right back off again. 

+5552387310 (yesterday, 9:58 p.m.) - I do love you.

Wei Ying takes a deep, shaky breath and sets his phone face down on the table. When he turns, Wei Yuan is looking back, his eyes big and worried.

“Aaah, what’s with that face?” he asks, leaning over to rest his hand on Wei Yuan’s head, ruffling his hair. Wei Yuan doesn’t reply, chewing his lip, and tears filling his gaze. Wei Ying feels his heart shatter for the hundredth time, and he stands, gathering his son up in his arms. 

He understands so much better than he wants to. First his mother, then his grandfather, and then his father. That’s a lot for a little kid to lose in a year. It made Wei Yuan sensitive, in the same way Wei Ying once could feel the exact moment Yu Ziyuan’s eyes fell on him. The way a silent house would make Wei Ying’s heart beat a little faster. The way long car rides would make his stomach twist until he vomited. Jiang Cheng used to think he got car sick.

Wei Yuan’s therapist says it’s good that his son feels safe enough to come to him for comfort, and Wei Ying can recognize that. He’s so proud he can be a safe haven for his son.

Once, Wei Ying had thought he’d found that too. The thought makes him want to cry all over again.

Instead of breaking down, Wei Ying does what he does best: distract. 

Pressing kisses Wei Yuan’s cheeks, they settle on the couch together, cuddling close and watch cartoons for the rest of the morning. Wei Yuan clings to him, arms just barely suffocating around Wei Ying’s neck. Wei Ying rests a cheek on top of his head, gently rubbing his back until Wei Yuan speaks.

“Are you going away?” he asks, and Wei Ying holds him a little closer.

“No, sir,” Wei Ying says, his voice quiet and serious. “I’m staying right here with you.”

Wei Yuan sniffles. “Okay.” And then, after a long moment, he says, “Mama was sad before she left.”

Closing his eyes, Wei Ying breathes in, trying to calm the storm of his heart. He knows they’ll never know what really happened to Wen Mei, that he will never have an answer to Wei Yuan’s questions as he grows up.

“This is different,” Wei Ying says, chewing over his words before he says them. “Someone I used to really love… He really hurt me once. And now he wants to be friends again.”

“Oh,” Wei Yuan says, very seriously. “If he hurts you, he has to say sorry.”

Wei Ying chuckles. “That’s true.”

“Did he say sorry?”

“He wants to.”

“You don’t have to say it’s okay,” Wei Yuan tells him, parroting back Wei Ying’s own words. “Not until it is.”

Snorting, Wei Ying tugs gently at Wei Yuan’s hair. “Well aren’t you smart. How did you ever get so wise, my noble son?”

Wei Yuan sits up, and he’s smiling so brightly that Wei Ying can’t help but grin back. “Baba told me. Can I go play?”

Wei Ying bursts into laughter, relieved that the heavy atmosphere has left them. “Ah, you really bounce back easy, huh? Yeah, yeah, go on,” he says, grunting as Wei Yuan crawls off of him, racing off to his room to play without a second glance back.

For a moment he’s still, and then he’s up, and his phone is in his hand.

+5552387310 (yesterday, 9:58 p.m.) - I do love you.

“Idiot,” Wei Ying says again, and starts to type.

Me (10:33 a.m.) - you’re stupid

Lan Zhan (10:33 a.m.) - I know.

Me (10:34 a.m.) - you’re the biggest asshole i’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting

Lan Zhan (10:34 a.m.) - I know. I’m sorry.

Me (10:37 a.m.) - it’s not okay

Lan Zhan (10:37 a.m.) - I know.

Lan Zhan (10:42 a.m.) - If you are willing, I’d like to make it okay one day.

Me (11:01 a.m.) - you’re going to spend the rest of forever grovelling before it ever becomes okay. It’ll be 80000000 years before i forgive you.

Lan Zhan (11:02 a.m.) - I will for the rest of my life, and for 80000000 years afterwards.

Me (11:02 a.m.) - are you proposing?? what the fuck lan zhan

Lan Zhan (11:03 a.m.) - Not yet.

Me (11:03 a.m.) - OH MY FUCKING GOD

Wei Ying throws his phone down, face on fire and heart pounding, and fuck he must be an idiot to be giddy over the first real conversation that they’ve had in years. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

“A-Yuan, do you want to go get ice cream?” he shouts, already putting on his shoes.

Wei Yuan comes running, and frowns at Wei Ying. “Baba, you’re in your pajamas still.”

-

Wei Ying must be insane.

He’s sitting on a park bench a week later, watching Wei Yuan run, shrieking, around the playground with a gaggle of other kids. It’s chillier today, and Wei Yuan is wrapped up in a jacket and scarf. He’ll probably get hot soon with all his jumping around. Wei Ying bounces his leg and fiddles with his phone and considers that he must be insane.

“Wei Ying,” comes a soft voice to his side, and Wei Ying startles so hard that he has to catch his phone before it clatters to the pavement.

He almost doesn’t want to look up.

But Wei Ying has never fancied himself a coward, so he does.

Lan Zhan is standing several respectable feet away, watching Wei Ying intently, like he’s looking his fill the same way that Wei Ying is doing to him. His hair is pulled back today in a loose braid that lays over his shoulder and he’s wearing a light grey peacoat left open over his chest. He looks so beautiful and Wei Ying almost wants to cry.

Instead, he clears his throat, and still his voice croaks when he says, “Lan Zhan.”

-

He doesn’t know how he feels about it, the way Lan Zhan is suddenly there. 

It’s awkward at first, meeting up at the same park bench and trying to talk around each other. Lan Zhan brings him coffee each time, and the first time Wei Yuan runs up to him, several weeks into these dates, and asks if he gets anything too, Lan Zhan says, “As long as it’s okay with your father. Do you have any allergies?”

Lan Zhan is Wei Yuan’s new favorite person after that, excited each weekend to go meet him.

“Are you trying to bribe my kid with donuts?” Wei Ying asks, chucking over Wei Yuan’s powder sugar grin.

“Maybe,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying bursts into laughter.

After that, it’s easier. Lan Zhan fits into their house like he belongs there, sitting on that same couch that Wei Ying slept on for years with Wei Yuan beside him, demanding he read him books or play games. Lan Zhan is terrible at board games and takes it in stride when both Wei Ying and Wei Yuan bully him for it. Sometimes he stays late enough to see Wei Yuan to bed and then will thoroughly thrash Wei Ying at poker. 

He’s there more, and more, to the point that it scares Wei Ying, worry pooling in his belly after every movie night and phone call. Wei Ying has a picture of all of them — Wei Yuan in Lan Zhan’s lap, Wei Ying pressed against his side, and Wen Ning leaning across Wei Ying’s legs — crowded on a couch for a movie night. The last time he video called Wen Qing, Lan Zhan had been forced to speak to her over Wei Ying’s shoulder, pleasantly answering all of her questions and asking after her in turn.

Wen Qing and Wen Ning had been worried at first.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Wen Ning would ask him. “I’m right here if you need me.”

“Take care of yourself,” Wen Qing would say, vaguely threatening. “Or I’ll take care of him for you.”

But the more Lan Zhan hangs around, the more they ease up to him, forced pleasantries turning into something warmer, until Wen Qing and Wen Ning stop looking at him with so much concern, and more with hope.

“Just take it slow,” Wen Qing says on a night he calls her halfway panicked over everything stewing heavily in his chest. “Take your time, and you know Wen Ning and I are here.”

Lan Zhan is constantly buying them things, new toys, groceries, dinners. Wei Ying doesn’t think he’s eaten so well in a decade, even if it fills him with guilt.

“You have got to stop buying us things,” Wei Ying sighs one day. “A-Yuan’s room is too full.”

“I want to,” is all Lan Zhan says in response.

The day Wei Yuan gets so sick that Wei Ying bustles him to the emergency room, urgently talking to Wen Qing on the phone the entire time, Lan Zhan shows up almost the same time they get there, concern etching deep lines on his face. He takes Wei Yuan from Wei Ying, rocking him back and forth as he cries, while Wei Ying talks with the nurse and Wen Qing.

Later, he’ll tell Wei Ying that Wen Qing had texted him since Wen Ning had been in a final exam at the time. “You didn’t have to do that,” Wei Ying sighs.

“I want to,” is all Lan Zhan says. Wei Ying stares at him, watching as Lan Zhan makes chicken noodle soup on his stove, and thinks that he wants to kiss him.

Then there’s the week that Wei Ying comes down with the flu so bad that he barely knows which way is up and if he still has feet. Wen Ning takes Wei Yuan for the week so he doesn’t catch it, and Lan Zhan sleeps on his couch.

“You don’t have to,” Wei Ying says, nasally and gross and hiding under the covers. It’s so hot and so cold all at once, and Wei Ying hates being sick. “I’ll be fine.”

“I want to,” is all Lan Zhan says, wiping away the sweat on Wei Ying’s forehead, his fingers gentle and cool against Wei Ying’s skin, brushing the damp hair from his face.

“You always say that.” And Lan Zhan smiles, the way that makes Wei Ying’s heart start to beat out of his chest. He’ll pretend later that it’s the fever that makes him say, “Stop making me fall back in love with you.”

Lan Zhan pauses, and his touch is hesitant after that. “Do you really want me to stop?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

“No,” Wei Ying says, turning over so he doesn’t have to see the gentleness in Lan Zhan’s eyes. “But you should take me on a date if you keep doing it.”

-

The date Lan Zhan takes him on is the kind of evening Wei Ying could have had without him, and Wei Ying loves every second of it. He takes Wei Ying for hotpot and orders the spiciest dishes, sweating through the entire meal despite Wei Ying trying to hide his laughter. They walk through the streets after, picking up street foods as they go, and stopping briefly for a glass of wine. 

Later, when Wei Ying is pressed up against an alley wall with Lan Zhan’s mouth at his throat, he’s suddenly very glad Lan Zhan never drank with him while they were in college.

“Lan Zhan,” he whines, gasping when Lan Zhan bites at his neck, dragging his teeth down Wei Ying’s pulse. “Lan Zhan, if you do that, I’ll—"

Lan Zhan hums, pressing wet kisses against his skin, his hands sliding down to cup Wei Ying’s ass to pull him tight to his front. There’s a clear bulge pressing into Wei Ying’s hip and he groans, all the blood in his head rushing south as Lan Zhan drags him into a kiss. It’s heated and wet, Lan Zhan licking impatiently into his mouth, and Wei Ying’s fingers automatically find their way into Lan Zhan’s hair.

They kiss there for what feels like hours, Wei Ying’s head swimming with the feel of Lan Zhan against him, his hands roaming him, his knees going weak with how much he missed Lan Zhan.

“Er-gege,” he breathes, panting when they pause, foreheads resting against each other. “Take me home, okay? Take me home, I want to—"

Taking Wei Ying’s hand, Lan Zhan drags him home, where they fall into bed immediately, hands and mouths and teeth. Wei Ying doesn’t hesitate, even though he’s nervous, hands trembling as he unbuttons Lan Zhan’s shirt, sliding it off his shoulders. They struggle, kicking off their pants and sliding out underwear, until they’re both bare on top of the covers.

Sitting back on his knees, Wei Ying’s legs on either side of him, Lan Zhan stares, looking over every inch of Wei Ying, setting Wei Ying on fire with his eyes.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, pleading. “Touch me.”

And Lan Zhan does, crawling over Wei Ying to kiss him, his lips, his cheeks, his nose. He trails kisses and touches down Wei Ying’s chest, and across his ribs, biting at his hips, mouthing at the base of his cock. Wei Ying moans, bucking up into it before Lan Zhan moves down, kissing at the insides of his thighs, his knees. 

“Wei Ying,” he says against Wei Ying’s skin, his breath hot and his touch cool. “Wei Ying, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying feels like he could cry hearing the reverence in Lan Zhan’s voice, shaking with each touch, with each kiss. “Lan Zhan,” he says, gasping. “Please, please fuck me.”

There’s the click of the lube bottle, Lan Zhan clumsily spreading it across his fingers, and the moment he slides the first into Wei Ying, he swallows his cock at the same time. Wei Ying tugs at his hair hard in reaction, hips thrusting into Lan Zhan’s mouth, but Lan Zhan just moans around him, sucking him harder.

“Hurry, hurry,” Wei Ying says, lost in the heat of Lan Zhan’s mouth and the feeling of Lan Zhan stretching him open ruthlessly. “Please, I want you fuck me, please, Er-gege.”

Lan Zhan moans again, and it vibrates all the way up Wei Ying’s spine. Wei Ying tugs at his hair, hard, and Lan Zhan pulls off, grabbing Wei Ying at his thighs and pulling him right onto his cock.

Wei Ying’s back arches off the bed, gasping. “So good, give me more,” he pants, fingers twisting in the sheets as Lan Zhan lifts him further into his lap and fucks him. “Just like that, fuck, harder, harder.” Lan Zhan does as he says, until the room turns humid, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the air.

Reaching down, Wei Ying takes himself in hand, jerking himself as Lan Zhan pounds into him, until he’s coming across his fingers. Lan Zhan groans, low and loud as Wei Ying tightens around him.

“Can I — ?”

“Yeah, baby,” Wei Ying says, eyes unfocused as he watches Lan Zhan still fucking him. “Come in me.”

When Lan Zhan comes, it punches another moan out of Wei Ying, Lan Zhan’s hips stuttering against him. They collapse into each other, gasping for breath, and lay there for a long moment. Wei Ying presses his face into the side of Lan Zhan’s neck, his heart bursting in his chest.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” he whispers. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

Lan Zhan hums, arms tightening around Wei Ying, and snores. Shaking with laughter, Wei Ying wiggles out from underneath Lan Zhan’s sleeping form, leaning down to kiss the furrow in his brow when Lan Zhan frowns at his absence. He cleans himself quickly, and pokes Lan Zhan until he moves off the ruined covers, grumbling until Wei Ying throws a clean blanket over him and slides into the bed at his side. 

“Good night, my Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying murmurs, curling close underneath Lan Zhan’s arm and throwing a leg over Lan Zhan’s waist. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

-

Being with Lan Zhan is as easy as it had been before, Lan Zhan’s hand fitting perfectly in his, Lan Zhan’s arm around his shoulders. Lan Zhan falling asleep with his head hanging off the back of the couch during movie night. Lan Zhan’s quiet laughter when Wei Ying squishes Wei Yuan between them in a hug. Lan Zhan letting Wei Yuan tug on his hair as he rides on his shoulders through the park. 

Lan Zhan staying at their house more nights than not, the two of them curled around each other and talking through the night. 

Lan Zhan tells him about the years after his father’s death, the way he had blamed himself, the way his uncle blamed him as well. The guilt he felt when he realized that he’d never replied to Wei Ying’s messages for weeks. The hurt he felt when he’d found Wei Ying’s number had been cut off. The anger he’d felt when he’d reached out to Jiang Cheng to ask about him. The way his uncle made them all move overseas, and Lan Zhan had given up on ever seeing Wei Ying again.

Wei Ying tells him about the drugs and the night on that park bench, about Wen Qing driving all day to get him and all night to take him home. About the years he slept on the couch because he didn’t want anything else. He tells him about Wei Yuan, how perfect and wonderful he is, how Wei Ying needs Wei Yuan as much as Wei Yuan needs Wei Ying. About how proud Wei Ying is to be a father.

“I’m a little terrible at it,” Wei Ying says, laughing wetly in Lan Zhan’s arm. “But he’s so happy, so I have to be doing something right. Right?”

“You’re a wonderful father,” Lan Zhan says. He kisses the top of his head, and Wei Ying can almost believe it.

Sometimes, Lan Zhan is still too much for Wei Ying though.

“If you want to finish your degree, I’ll pay for it.”

Wei Ying nearly drops all the plates in his hands, fumbling with them until Lan Zhan steadies him. He glares at him, shocked.

“Do what?”

“Your degree,” Lan Zhan says, taking the dishes from Wei Ying to put away. “If you want to go back to school, I’ll pay for it. There’s also a forensic science track as well, if you’d prefer that.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying sighs, trying to calm his beating heart. “You can’t do that.”

“I want to.”

“You’re so stubborn,” Wei Ying laughs, poking at the furrow that appears between Lan Zhan’s brows. “You absolutely cannot pay for my tuition. Boyfriend rules.”

“I don’t like that rule.”

Wei Ying throws his head back and laughs. “We don’t even live together and you want to act like we’re married! Er-gege, you’ll be the death of me, please have mercy.”

Lan Zhan smiles and wraps an arm around Wei Ying’s waist to pull him close, kissing him soundly. “No.”

Wei Ying catches him that night on his laptop with a real estate agency on the screen, scrolling through available homes, and screams, “Are you buying a house?!”

-

Lan Zhan somehow fits half of their things in his tiny little electric car through some kind of tetris magic. Wei Ying had tried to help once and only once with packing, and Lan Zhan had given him such a scathing look that Wei Ying had resigned himself to being the muscle for the move. Still, somehow Lan Zhan trusted him to drive their rented moving truck, so Wei Ying won’t complain.

The house — and it’s a HOUSE — is two stories with a garage and an enormous backyard, and it feels almost too much for living together.

It still makes Wei Ying squirm. They’ve only reconnected last year, and they’ve only been dating for five months. Isn’t this too fast? Isn’t this too much? 

What will he do if Lan Zhan leaves again?

He’s thinking about it again as he’s setting another box down in the kitchen — a GIANT kitchen —  and Lan Zhan looks at him.

“Nothing,” Wei Ying says, automatically, because that’s all Lan Zhan has to do anymore. He just looks at Wei Ying and sees right through him. Or maybe into him, because Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything. He sets his own box down and then wraps his arms around Wei Ying’s waist and kisses him.

“Ah,” Wei Ying sighs, even as he’s kissing Lan Zhan back. “You can’t just do that every time.”

Lan Zhan hums and just holds Wei Ying, waiting, until Wei Ying finally relaxes into his arms and presses his face into Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

His words are muffled into Lan Zhan’s chest and he can feel it when Lan Zhan laughs. 

“Wei Ying,” he abominishes, chuckling. “I can’t understand you.”

Wei Ying lifts his head and jams his chin into Lan Zhan’s chest. “I said I love you.”

Lan Zhan, when he smiles, always manages to dazzle Wei Ying. “I love you.” He kisses Wei Ying’s nose.

“Do you?” Wei Ying asks, wrinkling his nose and distracted. When he realizes what he said, he wants the ground to swallow him whole.

It makes Lan Zhan pause. Wei Ying never verbally questions Lan Zhan on his feelings, even though he must know Wei Ying is… insecure. Wei Ying knows Lan Zhan knows. Lan Zhan is the only person in this world who has paid so much attention to Wei Ying’s moods and thoughts and feelings. But at the same time, Wei Ying wishes he wouldn’t.

Lan Zhan tightens his hold on Wei Ying, pressing him close and ducking his face down into Wei Ying’s hair to press a kiss against his ear. “I do,” he says gently, and Wei Ying both doesn’t want to hear the way Lan Zhan’s voice is gentle and loving, and at the same time desperate for it. “I love you Wei Ying. I always have.”

“I know,” Wei Ying says. “I—"

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan interrupts, kissing Wei Ying’s ear again, and a fire ignites at the base of Wei Ying’s spine. His breath hitches, shuddering when Lan Zhan’s teeth drag along the ridge. “I love you.”

Whining, Wei Ying obligingly tilts his head to the side as Lan Zhan’s mouth meets his neck. “N-No fair.”

Lan Zhan hums and then bites him right at the juncture of Wei Ying’s throat and shoulder, and Wei Ying’s gasp echoes in the empty house, still bare of any of their belongings. Lan Zhan’s hands have travelled down from Wei Ying’s waist, over his ass, and to the back of his thighs until he lifts Wei Ying and places him on the counter.

Instantly, Wei Ying’s legs go around Lan Zhan, dragging him close, kissing him heatedly, moaning into Lan Zhan’s mouth. “Ah, ah, Lan Zhan,” he breathes, arching into his boyfriend when he starts unbuttoning his shirt, cold hands trailing along Wei Ying’s heated skin. 

“I love you. I love everything about you,” Lan Zhan says lowly, against Wei Ying’s lips, against his neck, his chest, his ribs, kissing his way down until he’s reached the bulge in Wei Ying’s jeans. 

He unbuttons Wei Ying’s pants as he says, “I love your laughter.”

He pulls down his underwear as he says, “I love your intelligence.” 

He kisses the tip of Wei Ying weeping cock as he says, “I love your resilience.”

Wei Ying, red all the way down to his chest, bangs his head back onto the cabinet, hands clutching at Lan Zhan’s shoulders until Lan Zhan ducks even further down. He looks, the red of his cock against Lan Zhan’s pink lips, and nearly comes right there.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says when Wei Ying tries to look away. “Watch.”

So Wei Ying does, hands trembling on his thighs, as Lan Zhan takes him into his mouth, his eyes never leaving Wei Ying’s as he sucks him down all the way to the root. Lan Zhan’s cheeks hollow out and Wei Ying can feel his tongue moving against the underside of Wei Ying’s dick.

“Fuck,” Wei Ying chokes, and his fingers go to Lan Zhan’s hair. Lan Zhan moans, tilting his head back a little more, and Wei Ying’s cock slips further into his throat. “Fuck,” Wei Ying says again, his voice cracking, his fingers tugging at the long, silky strands of that gorgeous hair. He knows there’s no way he’s going to last, still caught in Lan Zhan’s gaze, sharp and heated, like he’s committing Wei Ying to memory, every moan and gasp, the red flush of his skin. 

“Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan,” he cries as Lan Zhan bobs his head. “I’m not going to—"

And he does then, almost immediately, and Lan Zhan doesn’t even flinch, even as Wei Ying shudders, fucking into his throat and curling over him, babbling, “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, so good.”

Wei Ying is nearly soft when Lan Zhan finally pulls off, his lips fucked red and glistening. He kisses Wei Ying, and when Wei Ying says, “I want you to fuck me,” he pulls Wei Ying to the edge of the counter and slides his pants all the way off.

“Is this,” Wei Ying starts, breathless, because Lan Zhan already has a spit-slick finger sinking into him. “Is this going to be a regular thing now?” 

“What?” Lan Zhan rasps as he pulls a bottle of olive oil — OLIVE OIL — out of a nearby box.

“Fucking in the kitchen,” Wei Ying says, distracted by the way Lan Zhan is coating his dick with olive oil. “How is that so fucking hot?”

Lan Zhan snorts, and presses the head of his cock against Wei Ying hole and thrusts in, smooth and clean. “Unsanitary,” he says, voice tight, and his teeth sinking into Wei Ying’s shoulder.

“You’re the one with your dick in there,” Wei Ying whines, head rocking into the cabinet as Lan Zhan fucks him until Lan Zhan’s hand sneaks into his hair so it doesn’t bang against the wood. 

“I mean the kitchen.” Lan Zhan is panting, hips rolling powerfully with each thrust, Wei Ying legs around his ears. He leans in further, his other hand pressing into Wei Ying’s back, until Wei Ying is folded in half as Lan Zhan pounds into him.

Wei Ying isn’t paying attention anymore, moaning into each biting kiss Lan Zhan presses against his mouth, his hands in Lan Zhan’s hair and pulling until he’s coming between them again, hot against Lan Zhan’s belly. Lan Zhan groans and practically picks Wei Ying up, fucking into him a moment more before he comes as well, gasping against Wei Ying’s ear. 

“What was that about the kitchen?” Wei Ying asks, dazed, as Lan Zhan sets him back down. 

“No more fucking in the kitchen,” Lan Zhan says, winded. He hides his face into Wei Ying’s sweaty neck, and Wei Ying presses a loud smooch to the side of his face.

“You started it.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t reply to that as they stay there, Wei Ying wrapped around him, and Lan Zhan holding him up against the counter until Wei Ying’s back begins to ache and his ass goes numb. He digs his heel into Lan Zhan’s back.

Lan Zhan grunts, pulling back enough to give Wei Ying his favorite bitchy face. 

Wei Ying laughs. “If you wanted to cuddle, you should have brought the mattress in first.” He shrieks when Lan Zhan pinches his ass. “Excuse me, sir! I thought you were a gentleman.”

“I am,” Lan Zhan says, and pinches Wei Ying again, smirking when he squirms.

“Lies! The highest of insults! Release me fiend,” Wei Ying hisses.

“No.”

“Trapped! Trapped like a rat!” Dramatically, Wei Ying goes limp, nearly sliding off the counter until Lan Zhan bends down and throws him over his shoulder, Wei Ying’s underwear still hanging off his ankle. Wei Ying heaves with laughter as Lan Zhan tosses him down onto the couch and crawls over him.

They don’t get back to unpacking the moving truck until Wen Ning calls them hours later that he’s on his way with Wei Yuan. 

-

Wei Yuan loves his new school with the immediacy only a five year old could manage. It’s close enough that the two of them can walk, hand in hand, and sometimes Lan Zhan will join them if he feels like it. It’s so perfect, and the dread in his stomach is like acid, bubbling and painful.

He doesn’t think about grad school and Lan Zhan doesn’t bring it up again. He’s happier at the cafe, managing the morning bustle. 

And everyday, he gets to come home to Lan Zhan and Wei Yuan, cooking dinner or playing games, Lan Zhan stretched out on his front on the floor, his long legs crossed on the carpet as he listens with a very serious face to all of Wei Yuan’s ridiculous rules.

Wei Ying loves it so much, and he’s terrified that it’ll one day go away. 

-

Wen Qing visits as often as she can, which is maybe once a month. They make Wen Ning stay as well, even though his apartment is only twenty minutes away.  Which means that they get to host both of the Wens often, and they never feel like guests. Even if Lan Zhan tries to treat them as such.

“I know where the towels are, Lan Zhan, really!” Wen Qing huffs at him, flapping her hand at him.

Lan Zhan, used to this by now, just nods his head and leaves her to it. Wei Ying would laugh at them both, but they’re scary when they team up on him, so he keeps his teasing for when he can get either of them alone.

But Wen Qing always gives Wei Ying this pointed smile when Lan Zhan’s back is turned, and if Wei Ying didn’t know any better, she’d say she’s happy for him.

-

“Are you nervous?” Lan Zhan asks, wrapping his arm around Wei Ying’s waist. 

Shrugging, Wei Ying continues to fiddle with his tie, doing his best not to be distracted by Lan Zhan. He’s dazzling in his suit, black with a white-gold embroidered filigree that must have cost a fortune. But, it’s not every day that Lan Zhan’s brother gets married.

“Not at all,” he says airily, straightening and re-straightening his tie. “Just another night, right?”

Lan Zhan hums, the corner of his lip quirking up ever so slightly, and he takes Wei Ying’s hands in his, squeezing them gently and then smoothes the wrinkled tie for him. “It is,” he agrees, and kisses Wei Ying’s forehead. “But if you need anything, you can ask Meng Yao. He said he would keep an eye out for you.”

“The wedding planner? Won’t he be too busy to bother with me?”

“He’s a close... friend of my brother.”

“Friend?”

Shiftily, Lan Zhan glances away.

“Nooo, no, you must tell me the drama, Lan Zhan, I demand it!”

“It would be inappropriate.”

“Lan Zhan!! I am your boyfriend!” Lan Zhan’s ears pinken, and his lips quirk up again, pleased. Wei Ying grins triumphantly. “You must tell me these things, it’s a boyfriend rule!”

“Boyfriend rule?” Lan Zhan arches a brow at him. “Ridiculous.”

“It is, er-gege,” Wei Ying whines, wrapping his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck. He’ll wrinkle his suit if he’s not careful, but Lan Zhan doesn’t push him away, just rests his hands on Wei Ying’s hips in turn. “Please, baby?”

When Lan Zhan’s ears redden, Wei Ying knows he’s won.

“Meng Yao is… Brother’s ex-boyfriend.”

“Oh?”

“And Nie Mingjue’s ex-boyfriend.”

“Oh?!”

“The three of them are still… very close.”

“Oh my god, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying breathes. “Your brother has two lovers.”

“I don’t know. I’d honestly prefer not to know,” Lan Zhan admits, but he smiles. “Uncle knows nothing of it though. You can imagine.”

Wei Ying has only met Lan Qiren twice since their flight and with Lan Huan always there as a buffer, but, yes, he can imagine it in detail. He mimes zipping his lips, locking it and throwing away the key, and Lan Zhan chuckles, dropping a kiss onto Wei Ying’s pursed mouth.

“Ridiculous.”

Grinning, Wei Ying steals another before Lan Zhan has to take his place near the front as his brother’s best man.

The ceremony is grand and large, the ballroom filled to the brim as Lan Huan and Nie Mingjue say their vows. Wei Ying should probably pay more attention, but he knows literally no one else in the room, and he’s sat, somehow, right behind Lan Qiren. So he watches Lan Zhan watching his brother get married, his eyes a little misty, and his stoic face gone soft and happy. He’s stunning, and honestly Wei Ying can’t look anywhere else.

Their eyes meet during the service, and Wei Ying can’t help but grin at him. Lan Zhan’s head tilts, softening his expression even more.

The reception is even bigger, hundreds of people milling around, some dancing but most chatting. Wei Ying is lost amongst them, sipping on the most expensive champagne he’s ever tasted when Lan Zhan finally finds him.

“There you are,” Wei Ying says, breathing a sigh of relief, laughing when Lan Zhan presses a kiss to the side of his head. He straightens when he catches sight of the happy couple.

Wei Ying has talked several times with Lan Huan over the past year, more so since he and Lan Zhan had moved in together. Lan Huan is nearly as stunning as his brother, and Lan Huan’s husband… Well, Wei Ying isn’t sure how he’s managed to become on speaking terms with the hottest group of people he’s ever seen, but he won’t complain about it. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Huan greets, smiling widely. “I hope you’re having a good time.”

“Of course! The wedding was beautiful. Congratulations to you both!”

Lan Huan’s smile grows somehow, and it only makes him handomer. Beside him, Nie Mingjue is beaming, his hand on the small Lan Huan’s back. “Thank you,” he says. “We’re glad you could be here.”

Considering that Lan Zhan had paid for his flight and his suit, Wei Ying really can’t take any credit. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Ah, excuse me,” a soft voice interrupts them. A short man with a waterfall of long, dark hair down his back and dressed in fine gold, a perfect match to the wedding colors, smiles brightly at the four of them. “Da-ge, it’s almost time.”

“Right,” Nie Mingjue says, flushing. He turns to his new husband, flustered. “I’ll be—"

“I’ll meet you there,” Lan Huan says, leaning up to kiss Nie Mingjue on the cheek. “Don’t be nervous.”

“Who’s nervous?” Nie Mingjues grumbles, and Lan Huan laughs as Meng Yao leads his husband away towards the dance floor.

“Sooo,” Wei Ying starts slyly before Lan Huan can follow. Lan Zhan pinches Wei Ying’s side, but he ignores it. Wei Yuan’s pinches are harder after all. “What’s going on there?” he asks with an eyebrow wiggle.

Lan Huan’s smile doesn’t falter a bit, and he turns to give Wei Ying a wink that is saucier than it has any right to be, leaving Wei Ying spluttering. 

The reception is as lovely as the wedding. Wei Ying meets Nie Mingjue’s little brother, Nie Huaisang, as he flits about the reception like a bird, always with a glass of champagne and often with Meng Yao at his side, keeping him out of trouble. But Wei Ying has seen Meng Yao dance with both of the grooms several times over, that he doesn’t feel awkward about Meng Yao being on babysitting duty.

Plus Nie Huaisang is hilarious when he stops by to chat briefly, hanging heavily on Lan Zhan’s arm. “You must be Wei Ying,” he says, his voice almost a slur, but still managing to sound sly. “Did you know that Lan Zhan pestered me for years trying to find you?”

“Oh?” Wei Ying says, trying to hide his laughter, because Lan Zhan’s face has stiffened.

“Ugh, yeah, it was a pain, because he nagged me constantly. And you!” He points at Wei Ying, somehow managing not to spill a drop from his glass. “Who doesn’t have ANY social media! You weren’t even listed on the site of that cafe you worked at. So frustrating, I finally found you when that paper did a review.”

“Oh yeah,” Wei Ying says. “I actually poured coffee all over that reporter, and she still gave us top marks.”

Behind them, someone scoffs loudly, and Wei Ying watches as Lan Zhan’s face pales.

“Uncle,” Lan Zhan says warily, and Wei Ying turns to meet Lan Qiren’s icy glare.

-

Wei Ying doesn’t talk about it on the flight home and the weeks that pass after, even though Lan Zhan and Lan Huan had both apologized profusely. He feels terrible about it, the whole scene at Lan Huan’s wedding and making Lan Zhan come between him and his uncle. He does his best not to think about all the terrible things Lan Qiren said to him. But it festers, a new wound on top of an old one.

You’ve ruined him, dragged him down, and now you dare think you can show up here.

“Maybe you should go.”

Lan Zhan pauses where he’s putting groceries away in the cabinet, his back stiffening. Wei Ying watches as he clenches his jaw, and his face goes icy, blank. And still his voice is gentle.

“I have nowhere I’d rather be.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying sighs. He swallows around the lump in his throat. People leave Wei Ying, it’s a given, but this is the first time he’s told someone to go. If he’s honest, he doesn’t want to. “You should go back to your uncle and your brother, it would be—"

“I don’t want to,” Lan Zhan says, voice soft and quiet, but when he turns to meet Wei Ying’s eyes, all he can see is the pain shining in them. “Wei Ying, I don’t want to be anywhere where you aren’t.”

His fingernails bite into the palm of his hand as Wei Ying clenches his fist. “You won’t be happy here.”

“I am happy here.”

“But your career…”

“I can write music anywhere. I’d rather write it here, with you.”

“Your family—"

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, crowding into him suddenly, a hand on Wei Ying’s cheek. “Wei Ying, you are my family. You and Wei Yuan, you’re the most important to me. I’m not going to leave you. Ever.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying mumbles, and then presses his face into Lan Zhan’s shoulder to cry.

-

There’s the sound of guitar music floating through the house when Wei Ying wakes that next morning. Burrowed still in all the blankets in their house, his eyes still aching, Wei Ying sits up just enough to see that it’s light outside, the autumn sun shining bright through the window. He can hear the sound of Wei Yuan giggling underneath the music.

He rolls out of bed, carpet soft on his bare feet as he sneaks into the living room.

Lan Zhan sits with that same old guitar, still covered in stickers and sharpie doodles, and Wei Yuan on his lap with his hands on top of Lan Zhan’s. Slowly, he strums and Wei Yuan’s hands follow his as he walks his fingers down the guitar neck, playing a song Wei Ying recognizes from Wei Yuan’s favorite movie.

Wei Yuan grins. “I’m playing it!”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan says, smiling. “You’re very good.”

“I’m not actually playing it,” Wei Yuan says, giggling. “Don’t be silly, Daddy.”

Wei Ying watches as Lan Zhan’s smile grows, his ears turning pink and he drops his face into Wei Yuan’s hair. He must make a sound because Lan Zhan tilts his head, catching Wei Ying leaning on the doorframe, eyes shining.

“Baba!” Wei Yuan says, and wiggles out of Lan Zhan’s lap. “Okay, okay, you have to play.”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says, eyes never leaving Wei Ying.

And then he plays that familiar tune that Wei Ying still dreams about sometimes. He never asked Lan Zhan to play it again, even when they had started dating, even when they had moved in together. It catches in his chest, a hook in his heart that tugs him closer as Lan Zhan sings that same song. 

It’s low and yearning, and it sounds sadder than Wei Ying remembers. Lan Zhan’s eyes never leave his as he plays, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. By the time it’s done, the last note trembling in the air, there are tears threatening to spill down Wei Ying’s face. 

“Lan Zhan—"

“Baba!”

Wei Ying looks down automatically, and Wei Yuan holds up a small box to him, black velvet with a small red bow. Freezing, Wei Ying gapes.

And then Lan Zhan is there, kneeling down next to Wei Yuan and looking up at him. He’s smiling, that little curve of his mouth that’s so perfect and beautiful, and he takes Wei Ying’s hand in his and says:

“Marry me.”

-

there's no place I'd rather be

Wei Ying is getting married. He doesn’t know when or where, but he’s getting married. Dazed, he sits down on his couch that evening, Wei Yuan curled in his lap and dozing while Lan Zhan is making hot chocolate in the kitchen. 

Married. Wei Ying is going to get married. To Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan wants to marry him.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan says, his voice low. Wei Ying looks up. Lan Zhan is staring at him, a little concerned.

“You asked me to marry you.”

Lan Zhan snorts, setting down the three mugs before he sits close, pressing a kiss to Wei Ying’s cheek. “I did,” he says, running a hand along Wei Yuan’s back until he stirs and sits up. “Do you want your cocoa?”

“Yes, please,” Wei Yuan says sleepily, his eyes drooping. Lan Zhan hands him his mug, half full and warm, and watches him as he carefully takes a sip. Wei Yuan hums happily, laying back against Wei Ying’s chest as he drinks.

“We’re getting married,” Wei Ying says.

Glancing up at him, Lan Zhan’s lips twitch into a small smile. “If you haven’t changed your mind.”

“No,” Wei Ying says, still a little dazed. “I haven’t.”

Lan Zhan chuckles, his laughter warm and quiet, and he kisses Wei Ying’s cheek again. “Good.”

“Good,” Wei Ying echoes. He grins then, and leans against Lan Zhan’s side, Wei Yuan slurping down his hot chocolate. “We’re getting married.”

“We’re getting married,” Wei Yuan repeats sleeplily, giggling when Wei Ying bursts into laughter.

-

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says one Tuesday a few weeks later. He’s looking at his phone with his brows furrowed, still stirring a pot of soup. Wei Yuan is on the counter beside him, watching his progress, and Wei Ying had been gazing at them from his place of banishment on the other side of the kitchen island for attempting to add too much hot sauce. 

“Yes?” he asks. His brows raise when Lan Zhan turns off the burner and picks Wei Yuan up to set him on the floor. Lan Zhan’s face is twisted into a complicated expression, hesitant and concerned. “Did something happen?”

“My brother just messaged me,” Lan Zhan says, looking up. “Someone reached out to ask about you.”

“Oh?” Wei Ying asks, surprised. Lan Huan and he text regularly, so he’s not sure why he didn’t message Wei Ying directly. “Who?”

“Your sister.”

“Wen Qing?” Wei Ying asks, even more confused, before it clicks. “Oh.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything, and they watch each other for a long, long moment. Wei Yuan, glancing back and forth between, tugs on Lan Zhan’s pants until he’s picked up again, Lan Zhan settling him on his hip. 

“I don’t—" Wei Ying starts, and stops. “How did she…?”

“She has a mutual friend of Brother’s,” Lan Zhan says gently. “She saw you in the wedding photos.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying says again. His eyes drop down to the counter. He wonders idly what kind of photo Jiang Yanli might have seen, if Wei Ying had been smiling in it, if he and Lan Zhan had been dancing. “And she wants to…?”

“To get in contact with you. She stressed to Brother that she’d like to see you, but only if you were comfortable with it.”

Wei Ying swallows, swallows again. “I don’t know,” he says, running his thumbnail over the marble countertop. Lan Zhan had loved the marble when they’d first toured the house, a creamy white with a golden grain. “I don’t know,” he says again.

“That’s okay,” Lan Zhan says. He comes around the island and sits on the stool beside him, Wei Yuan in his lap. “You don’t have to know right now.”

“Baba,” Wei Yuan demands, arms outstretched, and Wei Ying automatically pulls him into a hug, pressing his face to the top of Wei Yuan’s head. Lan Zhan puts a hand on Wei Ying’s shoulder, and leans close to press a kiss to his forehead.

“I’ll tell Brother that you’re thinking about it,” he says, brushing Wei Ying’s hair back, tucking it behind his ear.

“I should just do it,” Wei Ying murmurs.

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“Then you should wait,” Lan Zhan says. “Until you know for sure.”

Wei Ying feels his chest lighten a little, and he looks up, managing to smile. “Okay. Thank you, Lan Zhan.”

“No need for thanks,” Lan Zhan says, pressing another kiss to Wei Ying’s forehead before going back to cooking their dinner. 

-

Wei Ying’s leg bounces against the leg of the table, his phone set in front of him. Behind him, there’s cartoons on the television, and Wei Yuan is munching on a bowl of dry cereal as he watches. It’s so much like the last time Wei Ying was given a number of someone who used to be a big part of his life, to reconnect with them. Except this time, Lan Zhan is on his other side, cutting up an egg before setting it in front of Wei Yuan. 

Lan Zhan blessedly doesn’t say anything, silently buttering and spreading jam over a piece of toast before he sets it in front of Wei Ying. His hand comes down once he’s done, resting against Wei Ying’s bouncing knee with a gentle squeeze.

“Sorry,” Wei Ying says automatically.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Lan Zhan says. “Take your time. Eat.”

Shaking his head, Wei Ying bites his lip. His stomach is flipping in his gut, twisting itself into some complicated knots. “Can’t.”

“Okay.” Lan Zhan stares at him for a moment, his hand a gentle, grounding weight against his leg. “It’s okay,” he says eventually. “I… can’t imagine how hard this is for you.”

“Not as hard as texting you was,” Wei Ying admits. He gives Lan Zhan a forlorn smile when he bows his head, as if shamed. He knocks their shoulders together. “Then again, that didn’t turn out so bad, did it?”

Lan Zhan hums, reaching over to take Wei Ying’s hand in his, kissing his knuckles. “Not bad at all.”

“Can I get down?” Wei Yuan pipes up, having successfully eaten his eggs and cereal. Lan Zhan stands before Wei Ying, patting his shoulder before helping Wei Yuan out of his booster seat.

Watching them for a moment, Lan Zhan with gentle hands and Wei Yuan with a sugary grin, some of the dread loosens in his chest. Wei Ying stands and Lan Zhan’s eyes immediately turn, taking in Wei Ying’s wobbly smile and wide eyes.

Straightening, Lan Zhan leans over and presses a soft kiss to Wei Ying’s mouth. “It’ll be okay.”

Nodding silently, Wei Ying retreats to their bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, and fiddling with his phone, typing and retyping the number Lan Huan had sent him. 

Wei Ying hits the call button before he can talk himself back out of it. It rings just once, before there’s a click, silence, and then…

“A-Ying?”

Swallowing hard, Wei Ying lets out a shaky breath, his voice wobbling. “Shi… Shijie,” he murmurs.

“Oh, A-Ying,” Jiang Yanli says, and then she’s crying. The both of them are, stuttering out a myriad of apologies and platitudes, until their tears eventually turn to laughter, their voices still wet and choked. Jiang Yanli is a married woman now with a husband and a three year old.

“I bet you were a beautiful bride, Shijie.”

“I… I’ll show you pictures,” she tells him, and then adds quietly, “I wish you had been there.”

“Me, too,” Wei Ying says.

Jiang Cheng is a partner at a law firm with one of Jiang Fengmian’s old friends. He had worked quick and hard through law school like a man on fire, always busy and driven.

“But you should see him with A-Ling,” Jiang Yanli tells him, and he can hear her smile through the phone. “He adores him, he always fought Zixuan to hold him when he was a baby.”

Wei Ying laughs, because he can almost imagine his scowling brother with a baby in his arms. Except he hasn’t seen Jiang Cheng in nearly ten years. 

“Is he doing well?” he finds himself asking.

Jiang Yanli pauses. “He’s…” she starts, but never finishes her sentence. 

“Yeah, okay,” Wei Ying says, because there’s nothing else to say.

“A-Ying, listen,” Jiang Yanli says, her voice almost pleading. “Can we come out there and see you? I just… I want to be part of your life. You’re still my little brother.”

“And you’re my big sister,” Wei Ying says. He chews his lip. “Who’s we?”

“Just me, and Jiang Cheng,” she says. “I’d like to introduce you to Zixuan—"

Wei Ying scoffs, “I remember that jack—"

“And A-Ling,” Jiang Yanli says over him, giggling. “I’d like for you to meet more of your family.”

“Ugh, I’ll take the nephew, but you should leave the brother-in-law there.”

“A-Ying.”

Laughing, Wei Ying shakes his head. “Okay,” he says finally. “Yeah, I’d like for you to come out here. Maybe… we can meet somewhere. Unless you want to meet A-Yuan.”

“And Lan Zhan.”

“You’ve met Lan Zhan.”

“But I’d like to see him again. He’s your boyfriend isn’t he?”

“Uh, about that.”

“Oh,” her voice goes soft and gentle. “Did you…”

“No! Oh gosh no, he, uh, asked me to marry him.”

“Oh A-Ying! Congratulations!”

They talk like that for an hour more, and Wei Ying can almost pretend that there isn’t ten years and hundreds of miles between them, that the hurts don’t hurt anymore. And when he hangs up with Jiang Yanli already promising to see him within the week, Wei Ying lays down on the bed, buries his face in Lan Zhan’s pillow, and tries to breathe.

-

Jiang Yanli is in his doorway by that Saturday, tears in her eyes and hugging him so tightly like Wei Ying might disappear at any moment. She had told him over the week, haltingly, how she had no idea until a week later when Wei Ying had been long gone. That Yu Ziyuan wouldn’t change her mind, that Jiang Cheng wouldn’t speak to her for months.

“He was hurt,” she had told Wei Ying. “By everything, you know? First dad, and then everything else…”

“I understand,” Wei Ying had said, but Jiang Yanli had made a desperate sound.

“He shouldn’t have blamed you. It wasn’t any of your fault. But I think it was just easier for him, to think you didn’t want to be there.”

And now, Jiang Cheng is here, hovering awkwardly on Wei Ying’s front step, a scowl on his face and looking around with a sneer in his eyes. He doesn’t thaw for the rest of the visit, sitting on Wei Ying’s couch silently while Jiang Yanli grills him about the wedding that Wei Ying hasn’t had a spare braincell to think about. 

“A-Ying,” she says, a little breathless, her eyes shining. “You might already have someone in mind, but can I please help you plan your wedding?”

“Uuuh,” Wei Ying says, because he can see that kind of obsessive enthusiasm in Jaing Jiang Yanli’s eyes that she used to get when she was excited about a new interest or challenge. It used to be kind of scary, but now it fills Wei Ying with warmth to see something so familiar about her. “I’d have to ask Lan Zhan, but I’d be happy if you want to,” he says, smiling.

Beside them, Jiang Cheng scoffs and the smile drops from Wei Ying’s face.

-

Jiang Yanli texts him every day after that, just like she used to when he was in college, and Wei Ying finds himself sliding back into that routine, the words between them becoming easier and easier with each passing day.

He gets a million pictures of Jin Ling and several selfies of Jiang Yanli, sometimes with her husband and rarely with Jiang Cheng. Each time, Wei Ying’s brother is scowling like he’s been forced into the picture. Wei Ying tries not to cringe each time. 

He sends Jiang Yanli back a million and one pictures of Wei Yuan, and a few thousand of Lan Zhan just in case, only a handful of himself, usually making silly faces. He sends her latte art and candid shots of strange customers at the cafe. And the first time he sends her an image of a wedding cake, the floodgates open.

Their chats become about venues and food and guest lists, and Wei Ying is so overwhelmed that he pushes her off onto Lan Zhan, who takes it in stride. Thus Wei Ying begins to find his fiance several evenings a week in deep discussion with his sister about wedding planning, a whirlwind affair that Wei Ying really wants no part of. 

He’s glad to let Jiang Yanli handle all of it. Just thinking about picking out invitations and napkins makes him want to break out in hives. Lan Zhan’s different though, and lets Wei Ying disappear into the backyard whenever his sister shows up on their doorstep with her — frankly terrifying — wedding binders.

Some things, though, he can’t get out of.

“Did you both want to have a wedding party?”

“Wedding party?” Wei Ying asks, where he’s intently trying to pry his fingers out of Lan Zhan’s hold. “Isn’t that the reception the part?”

Jiang Yanli reaches over and baps him on the head with her pen. “No, you goof. Do you want a best man and groomsmen?” she asks, her tone so chiding that Wei Ying settles back on the couch without a fuss.

“Uh,” Wei Ying says. He looks at Lan Zhan, just in time to catch him turning away to hide the face he’s making. Which means he wants Wei Ying to decide this one, despite what Lan Zhan wants.

He’s only done this twice: once for the date, and once for the guest list. Those were things Lan Zhan considered important that Wei Ying had to express his feelings about, no matter how much Wei Ying assured Lan Zhan that he was allergic to all emotions and would much prefer to just show up the day of. He hadn’t really cared about the date, except Wei Ying doesn’t really like holidays anymore and he’s only had one good birthday his entire life, and would prefer not to curse his wedding day with it. The guest list was harder, because it was Wei Ying who had to champion invitations to Yu Ziyuan and Lan Qiren. Both Jiang Yanli and Lan Zhan had scowled at him, but invitations had gone out and now both of them were coming, and Wei Ying absolutely wasn’t regretting his choices. 

So now: groomsmen. Or maybe grooms people. A best man. Once upon a time, it would have been no contest and Wei Ying would have bullied Jiang Cheng into it, but now… 

Who would Wei Ying even ask? Wen Ning hates being in front of crowds, though he’d do it if Wei Ying asked. Wen Qing might do it, but she’d probably wear a suit and Wei Ying can’t have that kind of competition on his wedding day.

Just then, Wei Yuan comes barreling around the corner, Jin Ling shrieking in his arms, and bops Wei Ying with his toy light saber.

Immediately, the tense atmosphere — that Wei Ying hadn’t even noticed while he was thinking —  disappears, and he bursts out laughing, dragging the two kids into his lap. Lan Zhan has to dodge the business end of the light saber as it swings wildly in Wei Yuan’s hand.

Across from them, Jiang Yanli is smiling brightly. “A-Ling, are you having fun?”

Jin Ling, his fingers already tangled in Wei Ying’s ponytail, shouts right into Wei Ying’s ear.

“Aiyah,” Wei Ying winces, working at untangling his hair from Jin Ling’s sticky fingers. Wei Yuan has already abandoned him, crawling peacefully into Lan Zhan’s lap and smacking his shoulder with his toy. Lan Zhan lets him with an indulgent smile. “A-Yuan was never this loud you know.”

“I know!” Jin Ling yells. 

Wei Ying laughs, and tickles his nephew’s sides, grinning when he shrieks. Across the table, Jiang Yanli is smiling benevolently, her eyes sparkling. “A-Ling, you love your uncle Yingying, don’t you?” she coos.

“No!” Jin Ling shouts, wiggling immediately out of Wei Ying’s hold, and Wei Ying gasps dramatically.

“My own flesh and blood,” Wei Ying says, falling gently on top of Wei Yuan in Lan Zhan’s lap. “Betrayal! Hurt! Pain! Lan Zhan, my love, I perish.”

Lan Zhan pats his head. “There, there.”

Wei Yuan laughs and copies him, patting Wei Ying’s head just as softly. “There, there, baba!”

“Ah!” Wei Ying gasps, twisting around until he can blow a raspberry into Wei Yuan’s cheek. “I am loved again! All better!”

Grinning Wei Ying sits up. “Aren’t you both the best,” he says, and his eyes light up. “Hey, Wei Yuan, you’ll be my best man right at my wedding right?”

“We’re getting married!” Wei Yuan says, laughing. 

“Yes, we are!” he looks up at Lan Zhan smug. “Ha, I get A-Yuan, so I guess you’re stuck with your brother.”

Lan Zhan’s smile is indulgent, his eyes glittering. “Naturally.”

-

The months before the wedding go by in a blur. Lan Qiren visits briefly with two months to go, to see the venue and, though he turns his nose up on their guest bedroom, his eyes light up when he sees Wei Yuan. Wei Ying watches as his son suddenly has the experience of having a grandfather. Lan Qiren sneers at him any time Wei Ying or Lan Zhan try to keep him from buying Wei Yuan new toys or sweets.

“Well, at least your uncle likes one of us,” Wei Ying says with a laugh, trying to close Wei Yuan’s now overstuffed toy box. Lan Zhan doesn’t seem too impressed with that joke.

Jiang Yanli is in and out of their house almost as much as they are, her notebooks bulging terrifyingly. She takes each of them separately to get fitted for suits, Wei Yuan included. Wei Ying spends a day cooing over the photos she sends him, showing off his dapper son to anyone that will look at the cafe.

They don’t have bachelor parties, instead inviting everyone involved to the house, packing nearly ten people all in while Jiang Yanli and Lan Zhan cook dinner. 

Lan Huan and Nie Mingjue brought Nie Huaisang with them, and he and Wei Ying hit it off again, pointedly not speaking about the last they saw each other. Wen Ning has both Wei Yuan and Jin Ling in his arms as he talks to Jin Zixuan. Jiang Cheng has avoided Wei Ying completely since he arrived, sitting in a corner with his back straight and glaring at anyone who dares come near him.

Wei Ying tries not to care. He’s getting married in a week. His fiance and his sister are laughing quietly together as they cook. All the people he cares about in this world are here with him, even the ones that might not want to be.

He’s glad for it. 

And still he finds himself outside, trying to breathe.

He almost doesn’t notice when Wen Qing sits down on the back step beside him, and when he turns to look at her, it feels like he’s trying to see her through a mirror, unreal, a face in a shadow. The night around them is dark and cool, and soon he’ll be getting married.

“I’m getting married,” he tells her, and Wen Qing snorts.

“You’re getting married,” she agrees, bumping their shoulders together. “How are you feeling?”

“Kind of like I’m floating,” Wei Ying says. He fingers the silver band, twisting it around his knuckle. “It doesn’t feel real,” he admits, voice quiet.

Wen Qing hums, leaning into him so they’re pressed together. There’s a silence between them that they’ve always shared, two people comfortable with their own thoughts, Wen Qing with her eyes on the cloudy skies above them and Wei Ying’s on the ring on his finger.

When she finally speaks, it’s in a quiet voice. “It is though, Wei Ying. This is real.” She takes his hand in her’s and squeezes. Her fingers are delicate compared to his, but her grip is strong, grounding. Wei Ying focuses on it, trying to ignore the sudden tears in his eyes. “This is real,” she says. “And you deserve it.”

Choking on a laugh, Wei Ying wipes his face quickly. “I don’t know about that,” he says, and his voice sounds raw, jagged in his own ears.

“You do,” Wen Qing says simply. She leans closer, resting her head on his shoulder. “You deserve every bit of it and more.”

-

Wei Ying is sweating. There’s snow on the ground outside and he’s sweating. Nie Huaisang, who Wei Ying has only met twice, is fanning him desperately with a fake smile plastered on his face.

“It’s fine, don’t worry, Da-ge said he wouldn’t let him.”

“Listen, your brother is a badass, but I really don’t think he’ll be able to stop Lan Qiren from stopping the wedding—"

“STOP THE WEDDING!”

The both of them jump, Nie Huaisang dropping the fan, when the door is slammed open. They gape openly at Jiang Cheng standing in the doorway.

“Don’t marry him!” he screeches, glaring at Wei Ying.

All at once Wei Ying straightens up, standing, livid. “Don’t marry him?! What the fuck, why not?”

“Because he’s an asshole.” 

“Yeah?” Wei Ying asks, crossing his arms. “I like that about him.”

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Jiang Cheng hisses. “That asshole will just drop off the face of the earth again, how can you trust him like that?”

Nie Huaisang inches for the door, his eyes bouncing between them as Wei Ying’s face goes from pale to red. “I’ll just… go get… someone?”

“How can I trust him?!” Wei Ying snaps, voice raising with each word, ignoring when Nie Huaisang runs off. “What do you even know about it?! He spent years looking for me because he loves me! He loves me, and you don’t want me to marry him?!”

“He made you cry!”

“So did you!” Wei Ying bellows.

“You left!” Jiang Cheng roars. “You left, even though I needed you. Dad left and Jiejie left and then you left, too.”

All the fight leaves Wei Ying all at once. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“You did even fight,” Jiang Cheng hisses, rubbing quickly at his eyes, but he’s still crying, cheeks wet. “It was so fucked up, everything was so fucked up, but you didn’t even argue with her. And then you invited her to your goddamn wedding. What the fuck, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying shifts, uncomfortable with the burning in his throat. “I thought that you—"

“Oh fuck, shut up,” Jiang Cheng says, laughing wetly. “You did not invite my mom because you thought it would make me happy.

“I did!”

“God, you’re so stupid.”

“So are you! ‘Stop the wedding,’ it hasn’t even started yet, you stupid.”

“A-CHENG!”

“Uh oh,” they both say at the same time and Jiang Yanli rounds the corner, eyes on fire.

“Jiejie, I—"

“Shijie, it’s fine—"

“I can’t believe that you would pick a fight on his wedding day, are you a child?!”

“Shijie, it’s fine, it’s fine, no more fighting!!” Wei Ying says, patting her shoulders to calm her down. “And please, please tell me you didn’t tell —  Oh! Lan Zhan, love of my life, my stars and moon, oh gosh, you know you shouldn’t be here, bad luck to see the bride you know, why don’t you—"

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says from behind Jiang Yanli, intruptting Wei Ying’s panicked babbling, his eyes sliding slowly from Wei Ying to Jiang Cheng and back. Jiang Cheng visibly stiffens under his gaze “Are you okay?”

Breathing a quiet sigh, Wei Ying manages a smile. “As long as your uncle doesn’t stop the wedding, I’ll be just fine, I promise.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes narrow. “He won’t,” he says, finally. He reaches out and straightens Wei Ying’s tie. “I’ll see you out there?”

“I’ll be there,” Wei Ying promises, pressing a quick kiss at Lan Zhan’s jaw, before pushing him out the door. “Okay, seriously, it’s bad luck right? Go go go!”

His eyes shining with amusement, Lan Zhan gives him one parting smile before he leaves. 

Jiang Yanli glares at both of them, her arms crossed tightly in front of her. “So you’re not fighting?”

“Not any more,” Wei Ying says, and turns to Jiang Cheng. “Uh, right?”

Snorting, Jiang Cheng refuses to look at him. “It’s fine.”

“You owe me free babysitting for saving your life.”

“What? Babysitting?! Isn’t A-Ling enough?”

“Nope! Two nephews now! Oooh, can you help Wen Ning with him tonight?”

“Absolutely not—"

“Wen Qing will probably be too tired, but she’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”

Jiang Cheng folds his arms in front of his chest, pointedly ignoring Jaing Jiang Yanli’s sudden coughing fit. “Where would I even sleep? You’re going to make me sleep on the couch?”

“You can stay in our room.”

“Hard pass.”

“We change the sheets regularly!”

“You should burn them,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. “But fine, I can do that.”

Laughing, Wei Ying drags the both of them into a hug. “I’m glad you’re scared of my husband, makes it easier to blackmail you into things.”

“Why is he so scary,” Jiang Cheng hisses. “And you’re not married yet, so shut up.”

-

The hall is filled, packed in with everyone Wei Ying has ever met, people he hasn’t seen since high school all staring at him as Lan Huan is saying something to them from his place beside Lan Zhan. They had rehearsed all of this last night, Lan Huan’s introduction, their vows, the wine and the rings. But Wei Ying can’t remember a word of it, eyes stuck on Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan in his deep blue suit, velvet and embroidered with silver clouds, a match and compliment to Wei Ying’s red. He’s smiling at Wei Ying, so openly and happy, and Wei Ying can feel the weight of it in his chest.

“Wei Ying,” he says, dragging Wei Ying back down to earth. “You know I’m not good with words,” he starts, eyes dropping down to their clasped hands. “And I’ve hurt you in the past. But believe me when I say, I will forever be at your side.

“I want to spend every moment with you, because no one has ever made me as happy as you do. I love you.”

Wei Ying can feel his tears slide down his face, over his cheeks stretched on a grin. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” he says, all his vows completely forgotten as Lan Zhan looks at him. “You’re really great.”

There’s a snort from the audience.

Laughing, Wei Ying babbles on, “I like you, I like you so much. I want to sleep with you—"

“Hey!”

“ — I want to listen to everything you have to say forever. I like you, I love you, I fancy you, I want you, I can’t leave you. I whatever you. I everything you.” Lan Zhan huffs a laugh, raising their joined hands to press a kiss to Wei Ying’s knuckles. “In other words,” Wei Ying says, taking a deep breath. “I want to be with you forever.”

And then he surges forward, shaking his hands free to cup Lan Zhan’s face, and kisses him.

-

Wei Ying is married. He can barely believe it, his head floating in the clouds as Lan Zhan spins him around the dance floor, his suit soft under Wei Ying’s hands. Distantly, he’s aware of the eyes on him, the photographer circling them with her camera, but he feels like he's walking through someone else’s dream. If it weren’t for Lan Zhan hand in his, his fingers cool against his palm, Wei Ying might decide he’d stolen someone else’s life.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan calls him in a whisper, and Wei Ying looks up from where he had been staring at their feet. 

“Sorry,” Wei Ying whispers back. He smiles when Lan Zhan drags him closer, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m just… I don’t know.”

The corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth quirks, and he leans in just enough to press a small kiss to Wei Ying’s lips, soft and sweet. He looks at Wei Ying like he knows everything about him, inside and out, and it makes Wei Ying’s heart flutter in his chest.

-

They’re barely in the hotel suite when Lan Zhan is already backing Wei Ying against the nearest wall, hands cupping his face and kissing him deeply, hungrily. Wei Ying hums, pleased, into his mouth and drops his hands to Lan Zhan’s belt. 

“Lan Zhaaan,” he sighs when Lan Zhan breaks away and begins mouthing down his neck. He’s already gotten his hand into Lan Zhan’s pants, palming his filling cock over his underwear. “So greedy, we only just got married!”

Lan Zhan bites him, hard enough to bruise, and Wei Ying moans, hips jerking off the wall. Hands falling to his waist, Lan Zhan pulls in close, pressing them tightly together and grinding himself against Wei Ying’s hips. They rock together for a long moment, Lan Zhan sucking bruises along Wei Ying’s neck and Wei Ying struggling to unbutton Lan Zhan’s shirt.

“Aaah,” Wei Ying moans as Lan Zhan grinds his length against his hip. “Aaah, Lan Zhan —  Do you really want to —  right here, when there, ah, a bed?” He nips at Lan Zhan’s ear, and Lan Zhan’s hips stutter. He groans low and hot against Wei Ying’s neck.

“Here,” Lan Zhan breathes, dragging his teeth along Wei Ying’s pulse. “And then again on the bed.”

Wei Ying gasps, and then grins. “Awe, but Lan Zhan, you’ll get my present for you dirty.”

Pausing, Lan Zhan leans back an inch, eyes dark and blown out. His gaze is so heated that Wei Ying can feel it stoke the fire in his belly. He rolls his hips against Lan Zhan’s again, rubbing his erection against Lan Zhan’s thigh. 

“Don’t you want to unwrap me?” he says, coy and batting his lashes. Lan Zhan’s hand drops to the bulge in Wei Ying’s pants, rubbing him through the fabric. “I’ll give you a hint,” Wei Ying murmurs, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. “They’re white.”

Lan Zhan’s hands drop to the back of Wei Ying’s thighs and he lifts him easily, Wei Ying tumbling half over his shoulder with a squawk and a laugh. He’s still laughing when he’s dropped onto the bed, breathless as Lan Zhan looms over him, stripping Wei Ying quickly of his shirt before his hands fall back to his waist. Lan Zhan moans deep in his chest as he slides Wei Ying’s pants down his thighs, revealing the white lace lingerie beneath: a thin pair of panties and thigh garters. 

Grinning, Wei Ying kicks his pants the rest of the way off and opens his legs invitingly. “Isn’t there some tradition where you have to pull these off with your teeth?”

And Lan Zhan, Wei Ying’s beautiful, perfect husband, drags his eyes away from where the white lace lays across Wei Ying’s golden skin, his gaze burning, and says, “I’m going to make you cry.”

Wei Ying’s breath catches deep in his chest, and he can feel the way his entire body explodes with a hot flush, and then Lan Zhan is between his legs, pressing his face against the lingerie and mouthing along the line of Wei Ying’s cock beneath the fabric. His thighs come up automatically around Lan Zhan’s head and Wei Ying moans, hips bucking up, grinding his cock against Lan Zhan’s face. Lan Zhan lets him, hands biting bruises into Wei Ying’s waist, sucking at the spreading wet patch at the tip of Wei Ying’s dick. 

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying moans, fucking up against Lan Zhan’s lips. “Baby, please, aah—"

“Please what?” Lan Zhan asks, his voice lower and deeper than usual.

“Please, baby, please suck my dick,” Wei Ying begs shamelessly, still rutting up against Lan Zhan’s chin and jaw. “Please, I want to fuck your mouth.”

Lan Zhan groans, hooking his fingers around the edge of the panties and pulling them over just enough to suck Wei Ying down, and Wei Ying practically wails, hips juttering off the bed. He fucks up into Lan Zhan’s mouth, soft and pliant, his head held still as Wei Ying gasps and drags his cock over his tongue. Wei Ying can feel the drool sliding down his length. He wants to wrap his legs around Lan Zhan’s neck and stay right there in his mouth, Lan Zhan’s lips wrapped tight around him.

And when Lan Zhan’s fingers slide down past his balls to rub against his entrance, Wei Ying’s back arches off the bed, hands in Lan Zhan’s hair. The first slide into him is a spit-slick burn, just on the right side of painful. Lan Zhan fucks him slowly with a thumb as Wei Ying thrusts jerkily into his mouth. 

Wei Ying is too caught in the heat around his cock and the burn at his hole to notice the sound of an uncapped bottle, but then their are two lubed fingers sliding into him and Wei Ying stops breathing at the sudden stretch. He can feel everything tighten, arching off the bed to bury his cock to the hilt in Lan Zhan’s mouth, trembling. 

And Lan Zhan knows him too well it seems, because he presses further into him until his finger brushes against that perfect spot, and Wei Ying comes down his throat with a half sob.

Humming around Wei Ying’s oversensitive cock, Lan Zhan swallows it all down easily, sucking gently as he continutes to fuck his fingers into Wei Ying’s hole, sliding his finger tips across that spot over and over until Wei Ying is whimpering. He squirms, his thighs squeezing around Lan Zhan’s ears, fingers tugging at his hair. 

Still, he’s panting, “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” as he hardens again in Lan Zhan’s mouth, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes.

By the time Wei Ying is back to thrusting sloppily against Lan Zhan’s tongue, he’s well stretched. Lan Zhan presses him to the bed and licks along the length of his cock one last time before he sits up, Wei Ying legs around his waist, and shoves himself in with one, smooth thrust. 

Wei Ying jolts, back curving, as Lan Zhan bears down over him and holds him down by the wrist, biting at Wei Ying’s panting mouth. 

Lan Zhan fucks him with a slow, tortuous roll of his hips that makes Wei Ying whimper and scowl.

“More, Lan Zhan, please,” he gasps, tugging at Lan Zhan’s hair and twisting his hips to meet Lan Zhan’s thrusts, urging him faster, harder. “Please, baby, don’t tease me like this.”

“Hm,” Lan Zhan hums, dragging his teeth down Wei Ying’s ear. “Have I really teased you?” he asks, and licks into Wei Ying’s mouth, and Wei Ying can taste himself on Lan Zhan’s tongue. He moans into it, gasping when Lan Zhan picks up the pace just like Wei Ying likes anyways, bending Wei Ying in half until his knees are around his ears and Lan Zhan is fucking into him quick and powerful.

“Yes, yes, just like that baby, aaah,” Wei Ying groans, and he yanks on Lan Zhan’s hair, swallowing his grunt in another biting kiss. 

Lan Zhan’s rhythm sputters as he comes with another sharp thrust, pausing only a moment to catch his breath, and then he keeps going, arms holding Wei Ying’s thighs to front as he continues to pound into him, making Wei Ying wail. Wei Ying comes, untouched.

“If you keep fucking me like that,” Wei Ying pants, still seeing stars. “You might put a baby in me.”

Glaring, Lan Zhan pinches Wei Ying’s ass before he collapses beside his husband. Wei Ying, despite the mess across his stomach and between his thighs, crawls half on top of him, resting his head on Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

They lay there, sweat cooling on their skin, the night deepening outside their window. Wei Ying dozes, Lan Zhan’s hair in his face and the bed a mess, and can’t keep the smile off of his face.

-

“BABA!” Wei Yuan screeches, trotting through the airport and throwing himself in Wei Ying waiting arms. “Baba I missed you!”

Wei Ying throws his head back and laughs. “You missed me? It was only one night!” he cries, peppering Wei Yuan’s face with kisses. “I guess this means you can’t ever grow up and move away, you’ll just have to be my baby forever.”

Wrinkling his nose, Wei Yuan glares at him in a familiar way. “I’m not a baby!”

“Oh god, you spend one night with your jiujiu, and you’re already taking after him.”

Behind him, Jiang Cheng huffs. “I revoke my free babysitting services,” he grumbles, glaring at Jiang Yanli when she starts to giggle. It’s just the two of them at the airport, dropping off Wei Yuan with his bag. “You’re welcome for driving all the way out here, too.” 

“And you’re welcome that we gave you the bedroom at our place. I hope you and Wen Qing didn’t stay up too late.” Wei Ying missed making his brother blush red over his twenty-year-old crush.

“You—"

“Alright, alright, you three should get going!” Jiang Yanli says, clapping her hands together to quickly interrupt their fight. It’s so familiar and unfamiliar, the three of them together, that they pause. She shakes it off quickly, throwing her arms around Wei Ying’s neck for a quick hug. “Congratulations again, A-Ying! Have a good trip okay?”

“I will.” Wei Ying presses a quick kiss to her cheek before she releases him to go fuss over Wei Yuan and Lan Zhan. He turns towards Jiang Cheng and holds his arms open. “You gotta hug me too!”

“Did you shower?”

“Oh my god, of course,” Wei Ying says, laughing, as Jiang Cheng wraps him up in a hug. He’s taller than Wei Ying now, and he kind of wants to kick him for it. Instead, he reaches up on his toes like has to do with Lan Zhan, and smacks a loud, slobbery kiss on his cheek.

“UGH!” Jiang Cheng pushes him away, wiping at his face and gaining the attention of everyone in the lobby. “You’re so gross.”

But Wei Ying has already beat a hasty retreat, swinging Wei Yuan up in his arms, and waving maniacally at Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli as Lan Zhan follows behind with their bags. The both of them wave back, standing in one spot until they’ve turned the corner and out of sight.

It’s still hours later until they’re on their plane, Wei Yuan in the seat between them, eyes already drooping from the excitement of the morning. Wei Ying pushes the hair from his foreheads as he curls up against Wei Ying’s thigh. He looks up to find Lan Zhan watching him, that smile on his face that Wei Ying knows is all love.

“Wei Ying,” he says, voice low under the clamour of the loading plane. But Wei Ying hears every word. “Are you happy?”

Wei Ying feels his face stretch in a smile. There’s a little bruise high on Lan Zhan’s neck, just visible over his collar, and his hair is a little wavy because he didn’t have time to brush it properly before they had to leave for the airport. He’s the most beautiful thing Wei Ying has ever seen.

“I am,” Wei Ying says, leaning over Wei Yuan sleeping between them, to steal a quick kiss. “I’m very happy.”

[summersubin]

reminiscence

- beomgyu x reader

- 1.3k

- your boyfriend beomgyu takes you to visit his parents’ house, and you discover his old guitar in his childhood bedroom

- a/n: beware of cavities… i listened to the great oak tree - oliver padgett while writing this. i hope this shows the feeling i was trying to portray~ thanks for reading and enjoy! 

~

the first time you ever saw him play guitar, it was outside on a quiet night. the sun wasn’t down yet, still leaving a blue glow in the sky. he sat on an old chair on the deck of his parents’ house, trusting it with his weight, hunched over the instrument.

it had been an eventful day, joining beomgyu on his trip back to his childhood home and being able to get a glimpse into his past. you were hesitant at first, but him and his parents were nothing but welcoming and insistent, which you couldn’t have been more grateful for.

earlier, standing in his old room, your eyes had fallen upon his old guitar standing against the wall. the sight of it was almost sad, giving off a feeling of loneliness. you ran a finger along the neck, a small smile lacing itself on your lips at the image of a smaller beomgyu holding it in his arms, discovering his passion. he appeared in the doorway then, mouth opening to tell you something until he saw the object of your attention.

leaning himself casually against the doorframe, he knocked on the wall with his knuckles a few times, startling you. you looked up at him like a kid caught trying to steal cookies from the jar, and he crossed his arms, smirking. “done snooping yet?” he asked, voice lilting. 

you turned back to the guitar and sighed at being caught in his room. “this was your old guitar,” you murmured, unsure of what else to say. his eyes softened, and he stepped off the wall, striding over to you. “yeah,” he said, hand going to touch the neck, copying your actions. “it’s a good guitar.” you watched his face as he recounted old memories. 

“you should play it,” you suggested. after a pause of silence, you added, “it looks kind of sad. maybe it misses you.”

he laughed at that, hummed, and straightened up again. “anyway, i came in here to let you know my mother’s food is ready. you better give her lots of compliments on her cooking, even if you don’t like it,” he said, narrowing his eyes playfully at you at the last part. you laughed at the expression, quickly reassuring him before following him out of the room.

dinner passed smoothly, but while helping beomgyu’s mother clean up afterwards, you found that he had suddenly disappeared. it wasn’t until you heard muffled sounds of fingers thrumming guitar strings that you knew exactly what he had gotten up to. his mother urged you to go find him, saying she could finish up on her own, a fondness in her eyes.

it looked perfectly effortless, the way he held the instrument in his hands, fingers strumming the strings delicately. he paused briefly to adjust the tuning, and you took a step closer, making your presence known.

he lifted his head at the sound of your footsteps, face adorning a smile at the sight of you. he looked back down, plucking a few strings experimentally and listening attentively. 

“out of tune?” you asked quietly, perching yourself on the chair across from him. he nodded slightly, not saying anything, a small crease between his eyebrows as he tried to find the perfect pitch. “it’s been a while,” he added gently.

there was a pause, and you asked, “why didn’t you take this one with you when you moved out? why leave it here?” 

he stayed silent for a moment again, the cool breeze fluttering his hair. he shrugged. “i spent a lot of time saving up for the one i have now. i wanted that guitar so badly,” he said with a laugh. you recalled what his current guitar looked like, and agreed that it was a bit nicer than this one. 

“here, let me play you something,” he murmured in his low voice, finally satisfied with the instrument’s tuning. you put your hands under your legs, leaning forward to watch.

he readjusted his guitar on his knee, and then he was strumming, the notes flowing with ease. you admired the way his hands looked, moving expertly to finger the chords and pluck the strings. it was a peaceful song, gentle, not quite sad, but not quite happy.

he watched himself playing with a fondness on his face, glad to be able to show you this part of himself. the music bled into the air, carrying itself across the darkening sky. it faded, and his hands fell, looking up at you. there was a pause, and you looked at him in silent awe.

“here, want me to teach you some chords?” he asked, a brilliant kind of joy in his eyes. “sure,” you giggled. he handed you the guitar, and you flipped it and held it against your chest. beomgyu stood, footsteps sounding against the old wooden deck as he walked behind you.

he leaned down, and goosebumps erupted on your skin. his hands reached gently over yours, guiding them to the perfect placements along the neck and against the strings. 

“this is G,” he whispered against your ear, placing his fingers on the chord, and then removing his hand so you could copy him. you did so, and his other hand wrapped around yours against the strings, gesturing for you to strum gently. he moved your hand along, and you felt the strings thrum under your thumb, releasing a perfect harmony of notes. it took you a while to realize how fast your heart was beating, the proximity of his body behind yours dizzying.

“and C,” he said, showing you the fingering. you copied him again in silence. the note was lighter, and sounded bright. “now you try,” he whispered, a smile on his lips. he suddenly pulled away from you, the coldness of the air creeping back onto your skin from the absence of his warmth.

you laughed nervously, exclaiming, “wait, wait!” he sat down across from you, looking amused. his face brightened with laughter as a blush creeped onto your face. “you can’t just abandon me…” you lamented, turning to look at the guitar in your hands pitifully, having already forgotten the chords. you had been too focused on his gentle touch guiding you, his breath hitting the back of your neck. you fumbled, hitting a sour few notes that made you bite your lip in embarrassment.

“cute,” beomgyu laughed. there was something about you with his old guitar in your hands that made his heart ache. 

he got up from his chair, taking a step forward and caressing the side of your face, raising your head upward with a finger under your chin. then he was leaning down, meeting his lips with yours in a soft kiss. when he pulled back, you chased his touch, pressing your lips into his again. and you both smiled.

“play me another song?” you asked shyly. he hummed, looking into your eyes. “yeah, i guess so.” a smile curled on the side of his mouth as he took the guitar from you, settling it in his arms like it was second nature. before he could begin playing again, you opened your mouth to speak.

“thank you for bringing me to visit your parents,” you murmured.

“more like the other way around,” he responded, keeping his eyes on the guitar. “they love you.”

“i love you,” you said quietly, letting the words leave your lips freely. he raised his head, wrapping his arms around the body of the guitar like he was hugging it. he watched you for a moment, eyes gentle, letting the words sink in.

“i love you, too,” he replied softly, the sounds of the night beginning to emerge as the sun continued setting on the horizon. birds chirped to one another in the distance as the bugs hummed in the background. he grabbed his guitar and began to play again, and when he was finished, the two of you retreated from the cooling night to the indoors where it was warmer, and where you could talk some more about the kind of boy he used to be when he was smaller, and just learning to play the guitar.

[universe-n-3276]

Carrying the Moon

Chapter 16

It had been almost a year since Charlotte had left, and life had gone on for everyone.

Time is something ethereal, ineffable, theoretical, and relative. Usually, when someone disappears as Charlotte did, after some time, no one can perceive how many days have passed. One closes his eyes and suddenly, it's been ten days. Ten months. Ten years.

But, of course, Charlotte didn't like conforming herself to the regular conventions of life. She vanished, but she had left Hero behind her. On his face, everyone could almost count the days one by one. The passage of time was so clear, it was scary.

It was mid-July.

In a month, Hero would be one year old.

He could walk and talk, or at least he tried. He often made very long speeches with words that were mostly made up, or that only his dads were able to understand the meaning of.

Their life was tiring, but beautiful and happy.

Everyone had survived, even without Charlotte, and Sander would never expect it.

They had graduated, and although the future was still uncertain, they allowed themselves to relax and have fun without thinking about anything, during the last months of summer.

Jens and Lucas, who had returned home from the hospital, were thrilled at the prospect of finding a full-time job so that they could finally afford a larger apartment, in which they could welcome all their new and old friends.

That morning, Sander and Robbe were driving north to the beach house Sander had rented for a well-deserved weekend of relax. Hero had been left in the loving care of his grandmother, with the promise of two FaceTime calls a day. His parents wanted to take him with them to see him play in the sand and have his very first experience on the beach, but after so much effort to graduate on time, the two of them needed to spend time alone.

Sander was driving because Robbe had always flatly refused to take a driver's license.

He had one hand on the wheel and with the other, he was holding his fiance’s. The car was being filled by Bowie's warm voice, which was entertaining them towards their destination.

Sander momentarily took his eyes off the road, hearing Robbe laugh. He was looking at his phone with a happy expression painted on his face.

“Hey, only I can make you smile like that!”

Robbe rolled his eyes and shook his head, trying to hold back a smile.

“First of all, watch the road. Second, it’s your mother. She sent me pictures of Hero taking a bath. He's so cute.”

“I want to see them too!”

Sander pouted and pushed his lower lip out, looking at his fiance who promptly made him turn his face back to the street.

After a while, the music was again the only sound filling the car. Robbe was staring blankly out the window as he listened to Sander humming along with Bowie.

Just a few months earlier, their everyday reality would have seemed only a pipe dream. Robbe touched the ring on his finger and smiled. The thrill of being officially engaged to the love of his life hadn't left him yet, and he wished, he could go back to when as a teenager, he had felt lost, alone, and scared, to whisper in his ear that everything would have been fine in the end.

When the car's GPS showed them that their destination was nearing, both boys looked up to the dark sky above their heads and sighed. It would have probably rain soon. It was certainly not the weather they expected to find, especially Sander who had planned everything.

The beach house was beautiful. It looked like it came straight out of a movie, with the terrace overlooking the sea, and despite the bad weather, the view was still breathtaking.

They brought their bags inside the cabin, just before it started raining, and decided to explore the house they had rented, knowingly looking at each other, as soon as they saw how inviting the bed was.

They kept exploring the remaining rooms as the storm raged outside. They could hear the rain hitting the windows and the sound of the waves that almost drowned out the thunder. There was something strangely relaxing in it, despite the anger of nature manifesting itself, in all its power, before their eyes.

Abandoned on a piece of furniture they found a deck of UNO cards and decided to play a few rounds to spend some time. Sander and Robbe weren't used to having anything to do, but they swore to themselves, they wouldn't spend the whole weekend in bed.

They had been playing for about an hour and Sander kept losing each round. By that time, all his competitiveness had vanished due to the humor of the situation, and his fiance too had begun to cheer for him, despite being playing against each other.

When Robbe laid another +4 on top of the discard pile, they both screamed in amusement and Sander threw his cards on the table in a dramatic way.

“Nooo! Robbe! I thought you loved me!”

“Sorry!”

“Why are you keeping doing this to me?”

“Because you suck at this game, babe.”

“It's because when there are only two players, it's only a matter of luck.”

Sander suddenly looked down at his phone, frowning. He had behaved like this for days, but when they sat face to face, it became very evident.

“Why are you so jumpy every time you get a text lately?”

“I'm not jumpy.”

“Sander, I know you.”

Robbe was looking at him skeptically, with a raised eyebrow. Sander could often read him as if he had his thoughts written on his forehead, but the other way around was also true. Robbe knew his fiance’s every gesture and knew when he was acting weird.

“I'm not! I swear!”

“And now you are hiding your phone! Who are you texting, Sander?”

“It's just my mom.”

“Let me see it, then.”

In seven years of relationship, neither of them had asked the other to read his texts, and neither of them had ever hidden anything. Sometimes Sander or Robbe got a text and the other read it, just because they never had this kind of boundaries. That situation seemed very unusual, and it was a symptom of something.

“No! Why?”

“Are you texting Noor?”

“Noor?”

Sander's mouth dropped open, looking at his fiance as if he just grew another head. He couldn't believe Robbe thought he was cheating on him. Especially after less than a month since they were officially engaged. He felt offended by that thought and that sudden insecurity on Robbe’s part. Sander wanted to say something about it, but he couldn’t because he was actually texting someone without telling Robbe.

He had texted Charlotte about their engagement, and she had replayed immediately, but the conversation died there, although Sander still hoped that his sister would start a conversation sooner or later, so every time he got a text, he was afraid it was her and that Robbe would find out.

He hadn't told him about it yet, because somehow if Charlotte got closer to them and eventually wanted to take Hero away, it would be his fault, and he didn't want to give Robbe any worries.

“We just got engaged!”

“Robbe, I'm not texting Noor, or anybody else. Just trust me, okay?”

“I'm tired of playing. This game is boring if it’s just the two of us. I'm gonna go to bed.”

Robbe got up, leaving his cards on the table, and disappeared into the bedroom. Sander buried his face in the palms of his hands and sighed. He hated hiding things from his fiance, making him feel insecure, and worried but at the same time, he didn't want to talk about Charlotte, especially at that moment, when they should have simply been happy, enjoying some freedom.

He stood up to join Robbe, finding him curled up against a pillow, lying on his side with his eyes closed. Sander lay down behind, spooning him.

“Baby.”

Robbe said nothing, and Sander sighed, starting to rub his nose on the back of his fiance’s head, as he held him tighter against his chest.

“I know you're not sleeping.”

“Have you already regretted it?”

Those raw words left Sander breathless for a few seconds. He really couldn't believe Robbe was asking him such a thing.

“I hope you're not talking about our engagement because you can't possibly be serious.”

Robbe turned slightly, to look his fiance in the eyes, and at that moment Sander wished he didn't know how to read the other so well because his face was painted with mordant emotions that had the power to hurt both of them.

“Why are you being this weird? It's because I wanna adopt Hero?”

“What? No! Absolutely not!”

“I just don't understand.”

“Because there’s nothing to understand.”

Sander felt guilty. He was making the love of his life believe that he was seeing things that weren't there. He was making him question his instincts, deceiving him. He felt terrible, but he had to do what was best for both of them, so when Robbe pushed him away, he pulled back, trying to make his most convincing puppy eyes.

“Robin.”

“Don't call me that when I'm mad.”

“Robin, please.”

He begged, pouting this time because Sander knew very well that no one had ever been able to resist that combination, and he also felt that Robbe was letting himself go in his arms.

“I hate you.”

“We came here to celebrate, don't be mad.”

“You and your puppy eyes. Fuck.”

He said, burying his face completely against the Sanders' chest. Then he smiled, intertwining their legs together. Their love getaway could officially start.

***

Jens woke from his nap at the sound of a broomstick falling to the floor. He frowned and stood up, still sleepy, walking towards the source of that noise. Standing in the kitchen, with a mop in his hand and a bucket full of water and detergent at his feet, there was Lucas who was trying to wash the floor with just one hand.

“What the hell are you doing, Lucas Van der Heijden?”

“I'm just trying to help!”

Lucas's voice was frustrated, just like the expression on his face. Since they got back home from the hospital, Jens had prevented him from doing anything but staying in bed, watching tv, or going to the kitchen to eat. He was afraid that Lucas would get hurt again, and that his complete recovery would be further prolonged.

Also with a broken wrist, there was very little he could do. But as usual, he had underestimated his boyfriend's stubbornness.

“Put that mop down!”

“No! I wanna help!”

He said, pouting. Jens had never thought they would argue for who should not do the cleaning, and instead there he was, trying to take the mop away from Lucas's hand, while he spun around with the agility of a ballerina.

“You have a fucking cast!”

“Right! But I have two hands. The last time I broke my wrist, I kept skating. Besides, chores are not dangerous!”

“When you broke your wrist at 14, I wasn’t your boyfriend.”

“Jens, please. I'm almost done.”

Lucas knew perfectly well that Jens couldn’t resist him at all, so after a little bit more of pouting and begging, Jens just sighed, going to lean on the door-frame.

“Fine. But I'll stay here to check on you.”

Lucas smiled and resumed fumbling with the mop, in a strangely effective way for a single-handed person. He finished cleaning the kitchen in five minutes.

Jens let him put away the bucket and mop without saying a word, and when he was done, Lucas walked over to his boyfriend, looping his arms around his neck.

“See? It wasn't that hard.”

“You could have slipped on the wet floor.”

“But I didn't. Now, kiss me.”

Jens smiled, happy to please his boyfriend, and pressed his lips against the other’s. Lucas slipped his fingers through Jens' hair, pulling them slightly, and opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, moaning when his tongue met Jens’.

They hadn't had sex in a while, so it was very easy for both of them, to heath up at the bare minimum.

Jens stroked the back of Lucas' thighs and lifted him off the ground, while the other tied his legs behind his waist. They kept going like that until both had to break the kiss to catch their breath.

Lucas rubbed his nose against his boyfriend's, smiling softly at him.

“You're so handsome.”

“So are you.”

“Sure, must be that purple bruise under my eye, or the greasy hair.”

“It's just a few more days, Luc, then we can shower together.”

“So hot.”

“Yeah, so hot.”

They both laughed, and Jens carried Lucas into their bedroom, making him sit on the bed. They continued to cuddle for a while, while a comforting silence reigned throughout their apartment. It was nice to be alone, slowly rediscovering each other. Taking their time to admire every detail on the other's face, since other areas were still off-limits. It felt like they were teenagers again, when they spent hours kissing and laughing, hidden in their bedrooms, without the world disturbing them.

Lucas leaned on Jens' shoulder, playing with the neck of his boyfriend's shirt, suddenly becoming more serious. It happened often since the accident and what worried him ended up being always the same matter, Jens knew it.

“Lucas, stop thinking about what happened. You said sorry a million times.”

“I know, but I realized that pushing you away, being angry and mean, is my coping mechanism. I saw my parents do this so many times during my childhood, especially my mom, and I don’t know. Maybe I was just trying to protect myself.”

“Protect yourself from what?”

“From the idea that eventually I’d get hurt. I always saw Sander and Robbe as an ideal couple and when they broke up I thought they didn’t make it, so why Jens and I should? I kind of convinced myself that we were about to end things up too.”

Jens was confused. No matter how many times they talked about that, there was still something new coming up to the surface. It was good because it meant they were working things up, and their relationship was starting to heal.

“Why haven't you mentioned this before?”

“It wasn’t something I did on purpose. But you know what? we survived Jens, thanks to you.”

“Next time something bothers you, even if you don’t know what it is, please tell me, and we’ll try to figure it out together.”

“I promised.”

Lucas smiled, pressing little kisses to Jens' jaw, who closed his eyes and sighed, completely touch-starved. He wanted to feel Lucas everywhere again, but he needed to be responsible for both of them, so he gently squeezed his boyfriend's hand to make him stop.

“Jens, please. I want to make you feel good.”

“But you are already making me feel good by saying all of these things. Besides, I'm super hungry, we should start cooking something!”

Jens freed himself from his boyfriend's arms and quickly got up before the other could reach him again. It was painful but necessary. Lucas rolled his eyes and grunted crossing his arms on his chest, and that was it. There was no way he couldn’t kiss away that adorable pout from his face, so taking Lucas by surprise he crushed his mouth against his boyfriend’s, because maybe if they were really careful, there was something they still could do to make each other feel good.

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