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Chapter Text

The tapping is so faint that at first, Jiang Cheng isn’t even certain he’d heard it. He doesn’t give it more than a half second’s attention, not so much as lifting his eyes from the screen of his laptop. A moment later, however, he hears it again, this time a touch louder; irritated, he glances up and meets the eyes of one of the firm’s junior partners, peering at him wide and anxious through the glass of his office door.

“Come in,” he calls out, trying to keep his voice even. There’s no point in scaring the poor girl further, though privately he does think she’ll need to firm up her backbone a little before she steps into a courtroom, if she’s this timid inside the bounds of her own practice. “What is it?”

To her credit, she seems to gather her confidence a little more once she’s inside his office, squaring her shoulders and setting her jaw as if fully prepared to argue whatever point she’s about to make. “It’s getting quite late, sir, and I wanted to check if you were intending to stay much longer.”

Jiang Cheng blinks at her. It’s not what he’d been expecting to hear, and with his mind still half in the documents he’d been compiling, he truly has no idea how to respond for a long, awkward moment. “I was planning to stay another half hour or so,” he says finally, glancing at the clock on the opposite wall, “since A-Ling has archery club tonight. Is that a problem?”

His obvious confusion actually makes her smile, which is a welcome change from her initial demeanour. “No, sir, of course not,” she assures him. “It’s just that, well… some of us have been a little worried about you, that’s all.”

Jiang Cheng frowns, an unpleasant little knot settling just behind his sternum. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he says, a little too firmly. It is, of course, exactly the kind of thing one says when there is definitely something to worry about. “I’m just getting ahead on some things,” he adds, which is all the worse for being true— Jiang Cheng has never been the type to explain himself to anyone, let alone an overly inquisitive junior partner, and especially about something so insignificant as what he’s up to in his day to day busywork.

She knows it, too, damn her. He can see her itching to push further, but thankfully she chooses to take him at his word and nods, turning to leave. “Have a good night,” she calls back as she leaves, and Jiang Cheng sighs, waiting until she’s out of sight to close his laptop. In truth, everything he’s been doing these long days and late nights at the office are things he could easily pass along to any number of assistants or paralegals. None of it needs him. Unfortunately, with no major cases on the horizon that he can throw himself into with abandon, he desperately needs it .

He takes his time packing up his things, letting the rhythm of setting his desk in order for the next morning loosen the anxious knot in his chest. In the car, he puts on a podcast just for the sake of having something to listen to apart from his own thoughts, and since he has a little extra time, he takes the longer route to avoid some of the traffic and pulls up to Jin Ling’s school just as archery club is letting out.

“Jiujiu!” Jin Ling’s voice is loud enough to be heard even with the windows up, and Jiang Cheng smiles faintly and unlocks the doors as his nephew hurries towards the car. Jin Ling, seven this year, is right on the borderline between thinking his uncle is pretty much the coolest person alive and thinking he’s old and embarrassing and boring, so receiving such an enthusiastic greeting is a less common occurrence than it had once been and Jiang Cheng treasures every instance of it.

“How was archery?” he asks as Jin Ling collapses into the back seat, tossing his backpack haphazardly on the floor by his feet and laying his bow much more gently across his lap while he pulls his seatbelt on. He no longer bothers asking about school, as it usually just unleashes a torrent of complaining, but Jin Ling always loves to discuss archery club.

Sure enough, Jin Ling’s grin spreads across his whole face as he recounts all the fun things their instructor had taught that day, and how he’d managed five bulls-eyes, which is a new personal best for a single practice, if Jiang Cheng recalls correctly. The chatter is soothing, and lasts nearly all the way home before it occurs to Jin Ling to ask how his uncle’s day had been, and the tension that had been slowly easing zips back up Jiang Cheng’s spine to his shoulders again and settles in as if it belongs there.

“It was fine,” he says with a little shrug, hoping it comes off as casual and not evasive. “Nothing exciting.”

Jin Ling looks disappointed, but thankfully not at all suspicious. “Aw, still no big cases?”

“No, which is a good thing,” Jiang Cheng reminds him, but he can’t blame the kid— not when earlier that same day he too had caught himself wishing for a nice big tangled messy divorce or custody battle just so he’d have something to do . Not for the first time he wonders what kind of person goes into a field where job security is cause for disappointment in the human race.

At least, now and then, it gives him the chance to do some good in the world.

“Yeah, I know,” Jin Ling says in the you’re boring tone. “What’s for dinner?”

Jiang Cheng swallows back the instinctive irritation and reminds himself that it’s a good thing— great, actually— that Jin Ling is generally disinterested in his job, in sharp contrast to how he’d been at that age, hoarding any scrap of information his mother let slip about her cases and planning out exactly what courses he’d need to take in high school (still years away) to give him the best chance at acceptance into her alma mater. Family law is lucrative enough, but not always worth the stress and the emotional toll, and he wouldn’t wish law school on his worst enemy, let alone his beloved nephew. He just hopes Jin Ling will eventually find something he’s passionate about— besides archery, which as far as Jiang Cheng can tell has fairly limited career prospects. “Pizza, if that sounds good to you,” he says, turning into the entrance of the gated community where they live and rolling down his window so he can punch in his entry code.

“Pizza!” Jin Ling crows, as excited as if they don’t have pizza pretty much every other week, and Jiang Cheng smiles, thinking a little wistfully how nice it would be to have that kind of enthusiasm for simple joys again.

Between the two of them, the pizza is demolished quite handily, and Jiang Cheng cleans up and prepares their lunches for the next day while Jin Ling does his homework. By the time Jin Ling is in bed, though, Jiang Cheng has entirely run out of things to do; he spends a half hour or so trying to settle himself enough to read a book or watch something mindless on Netflix, but eventually he gives up and heads to bed himself. The small knot of anxiety from earlier has grown to a hollow pit in his stomach, and when he plugs in his phone, the date on his lock screen feels like a flashing neon sign.

January third. The day before the six year anniversary of the worst day of his life.

He sets the phone face down on his bedside table, perhaps a little harder than necessary, and turns away from it as if to turn his back on the date itself. Jin Ling hadn’t said anything today— perhaps he’d forgotten, or perhaps he just hasn’t been feeling the looming spectre of it the same way Jiang Cheng has. He’s glad, really; he wants Jin Ling to know what he can about his parents, to honour and respect them, but he doesn’t want this encompassing, pervasive misery to get its slimy fingers on his nephew, not if he has anything to say about it.

Tomorrow, he’ll just have to do his best to keep his own feelings under control. To remind Jin Ling gently, if he’s forgotten, and allow him space for his own thoughts and feelings, his questions about his parents and his grief at their absence. They’ll go to the family shrine, if Jin Ling wants to. And Jiang Cheng absolutely will not let himself spend a single moment of the day thinking about Wei Ying.

But that’s tomorrow. And tonight, he expects, he will not be so lucky. 

The street Jiang Cheng finds himself on is familiar, and so is the pleasant buzz of just the right amount of alcohol in his veins. There’s a convenience store bag dangling from his hand, weighed down with sodas that he knows will explode from all the jostling if they’re not opened carefully. He’ll have to do it, he thinks automatically, Wei Ying always— 

As if called into being by Jiang Cheng’s thoughts, Wei Ying is sauntering along ahead of him, swinging his own plastic bag carelessly. His voice trails back to Jiang Cheng as he skips from puddle to puddle, ratty sneakers splashing in the shallow water; he’s telling a story, some meandering, meaningless thing, incapable as always of thinking any way but out loud. Under the streetlights, his hair gleams, the stupid red scrunchie he always wears in his ponytail standing out against it like a beacon. His hoodie is too big— wait, no, it’s Jiang Cheng’s hoodie, that little thief— 

Wei Ying , he wants to call out, but the words stick in his throat. Wei Ying swings himself around a streetlight with one hand, laughing, unbearably graceful, and he’s right there , almost in Jiang Cheng’s reach, almost real. 

Then he stops, all at once— stops moving, stops talking, and turns towards Jiang Cheng, who feels a warning needle of anxiety prick the back of his neck. They’re not home yet. Their apartment is still two blocks away. Why is Wei Ying stopping here? 

“Wei Ying,” he finally manages, cold all over, knowing and yet refusing to know. The smile on Wei Ying’s face is wide, beautiful, crinkling the edges of his eyes as it always does when he’s really happy… but with horror Jiang Cheng realizes his eyes themselves are rimmed in red, his cheeks wet with tears, his skin deathly pale. 

Desperately, Jiang Cheng reaches for him, but his arms seem to be made of lead, and then he’s falling, falling right through the sidewalk while Wei Ying smiles that beautiful, terrible smile at him and doesn’t move. 

In his familiar bedroom, in the house halfway across the city from that street, Jiang Cheng sits bolt upright, gasping for breath. 

“Shit,” he whispers, wincing as he becomes aware of the feeling of his sweat-drenched pyjamas against his skin. His heart is thudding painfully in his chest, and there’s an ache behind his eyes that signals the beginning of what’s likely to be a truly spectacular headache. From his bedside table, his phone screen lights up with an email notification, and the damning date stares up at him. 

January fourth. He hadn’t forgotten, but the sight of it still sends a pulse of old, weary anger through him. It’s already going to be a shitty enough day as it is— did it have to start like that on top of it? 

“Begin as you mean to go on,” he mutters, smiling a little in spite of himself at the memory of his sister’s gentle voice saying the same words to him before every new thing. Reminding him that he didn’t have to measure up to some impossible ideal— that he was good enough just as he was. “Okay, jiejie,” he sighs, moving to get out of bed. Just surviving the day will be good enough. He should never expect great things from himself on January fourth. 

“Jiujiu?” A small voice from the doorway breaks through his thoughts as he’s bending to grab clothes from the dresser. “Are you okay?” 

Jiang Cheng turns to look at Jin Ling, who’s peeking around the doorframe, unusually hesitant. “Yeah,” he says— it won’t be the last lie of this nature he tells today. “I’m fine. Why?” 

Jin Ling shuffles his socked feet a little against the carpet. “I, uh… I heard you yelling something. Couldn’t hear what, but… you sounded upset. Did you have a bad dream?” 

Figures . Jiang Cheng thinks back to his dream, to being unable to call out Wei Ying’s name no matter how hard he tried, and he’s fairly sure he knows what he’d been shouting. “Yeah,” he says, tossing the neatly folded slacks in his hand onto the foot of the bed. “Just a bad dream. Nothing to worry about.” 

His words don’t seem to reassure Jin Ling all that much; Jiang Cheng can’t blame him. He wouldn’t believe himself either. “C’mere,” he sighs, and Jin Ling pulls the door a little further open and pads into the room, hopping up onto Jiang Cheng’s bed. When Jiang Cheng sits down next to him, he instantly scoots over to tuck himself against his uncle’s side. Jiang Cheng puts an arm around him, heart squeezing painfully in his chest. I must’ve really spooked him. Shit.  

“Do you remember what today is?” he asks, thumb stroking in a soothing arc on Jin Ling’s shoulder. 

Jin Ling nods. “My mom and dad,” he starts, and swallows. Jiang Cheng grits his teeth, determined not to let his own emotions get the best of him when Jin Ling needs him to be strong. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, when Jin Ling seems to have no inclination to continue. “Remember what your counsellor said about how, when someone important to you dies, it’s normal to feel sad about it for a long, long time?” Jin Ling nods, picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of his well-worn Batman pyjamas, and Jiang Cheng is briefly overwhelmed with a rush of fierce love for this small, precious creature. You’d be so proud of him, jie, he thinks wistfully. “That’s why I sometimes get nightmares around this time,” he says when the lump in his throat subsides enough that he can speak again. “Because I miss your mom, and I’m still sad, even though it’s been a long time.” 

Jin Ling finally looks up at him, then, and the expression on his face is so familiar that Jiang Cheng is already bracing himself for whatever ridiculous thing he’s going to have to fight not to laugh at before Jin Ling even opens his mouth. “But you don’t miss my dad?” he says, and Jiang Cheng knows it’s just innocent curiosity prompting the question, but he can also hear a hint of Jin Ling’s mile-wide stubborn streak in the words and knows he won’t be able to get away with a polite non-answer. 

It’s only fair, anyway, to talk about both of them as much or as little as Jin Ling wants to, especially today. 

“Your dad and I… didn’t really get along,” Jiang Cheng says carefully. He thinks of Jin Zixuan and his prissy mannerisms and the infuriating way he rolled his eyes practically every time anyone dared to speak to him. But he can remember, too, the way he’d looked at jiejie on their wedding day— the way he’d looked at absolutely no one else the entire day, unable to tear his eyes away from his radiant bride. Since then, he hadn’t quite been able to feel the same old animosity, try as he might. “But he was a good man,” he tells Jin Ling, wishing he could find the right words; any he can think of feel so inadequate. “And he loved your mom more than anything in the world, until you were born. The two of you were everything to him.” 

Jin Ling sniffles and tucks his face against Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “I wish I could remember them,” he whispers. 

“I wish you could, too.” Jiang Cheng closes his eyes, and the two of them sit together quietly for several minutes, Jiang Cheng running his fingers gently through Jin Ling’s hair until the boy straightens up and wipes his eyes. 

“Don’t forget about parents’ night,” he says, and Jiang Cheng starts a little. He had forgotten, and all at once he’s furious at the universe again for the sick irony of it all. Today of all days. He should talk with the principal— they should rename it, they should think about the fact that not all the kids have parents, damn them. 

“Right,” he says, because Jin Ling’s looking at him expectantly, and Jiang Cheng’s pretty sure he’s a lot more upset about the whole thing than Jin Ling himself is. “I’ll be there. Now go get yourself some breakfast, I have to shower.” 

The hot water washes away the grimy feeling on his skin, but the unease in his mind lingers. Once he’s dropped Jin Ling— who seems to have recovered entirely from the morning’s distress— off at school, he takes a slight detour so he can go through the Starbucks drive thru on his way to work. The line is long, which doesn’t surprise him a bit at this time of day, and once he gets to the speaker Jiang Cheng rattles off his order without really thinking about it. 

The girl at the window greets him pleasantly, holds out the card reader so he can tap his phone, and then hands him a large cup of something frozen, pink, and topped with whipped cream. Jiang Cheng looks at it in bewilderment, then up at her again. “I don’t think that’s mine,” he says, and she checks the sticker again and frowns. 

“Jiang Cheng?” she asks, looking up from the cup, and he nods, even more bewildered. His usual order is an iced Americano with a little cream, not— 

Oh. She’s only halfway through reading the order back to him when it clicks and his whole body goes cold, then hot. He can almost hear Wei Ying’s cheerful voice listing out the order, and then adding Jiang Cheng’s onto it with a teasing sort of disdain, like he’s the one who’s weird for getting actual coffee at a coffeeshop. 

“Sorry, yeah,” he chokes out, reaching for the cup. She gives him a worried look, but hands it over, and he manages something that approximates a thank you and drives away a little faster than is probably wise. 

This has to stop. It’s been six fucking years . He shouldn’t still be so messed up over it that he’s asking for Wei Ying’s drink order instead of his own when he lets his attention slip for a few seconds. He shouldn’t even remember Wei Ying’s drink order. 

January fucking fourth. Should’ve known.  

He tosses the half-melted drink at the first trash can he sees on the way into his office building’s parking lot and stalks inside without looking back. 

After the way his day had begun, Jiang Cheng hadn’t expected to get anything at all done; however, in the one bit of good fortune he’s likely to have today, by the time he has to leave in the afternoon to go home and change before parents’ night he’s actually accomplished a great deal and is, as a result, feeling much more settled and centred than he has in at least a week. Though he has no idea why, he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he does his best not to think too hard about it as he drives. The traffic near Jin Ling’s school is, as always, abysmal, but even so he’s a few minutes early when he parks and gets out of the car, and he can see the huge smile on Jin Ling’s face even from across the parking lot as his nephew spots him and darts in his direction. 

“Watch for cars,” he barks, and Jin Ling obediently slows down and makes a show of looking both ways before he steps out into the parking lot’s single lane. Still, his good humour isn’t the least bit diminished— he practically skips to Jiang Cheng’s side, and in spite of himself Jiang Cheng smiles, reaching out to ruffle the boy’s hair. 

“You’re in a good mood,” he observes. 

“Well, yeah, ” Jin Ling says in the tone that always makes Jiang Cheng feel like he’s being paid back early and abundantly for his own teenage sass. “You get to meet A-Yuan today!” 

Right. Is there no end to the things Jiang Cheng seems to have ignored, in his preoccupation with his own grief, about what’s happening in Jin Ling’s world? He’s been chattering for weeks about how excited he is for his jiujiu to finally have a chance to meet his best friend. Jiang Cheng thinks of his own younger self’s endless attempts to get his father’s attention and swallows against the sudden lump in his throat, then bends to give Jin Ling a quick, tight hug. “I’m looking forward to it,” he promises, and as Jin Ling drags him back across the parking lot and into the school by his sleeve, he swears to himself he’ll do anything it takes to forget about Wei Ying once and for all— Jin Ling deserves more of him than this barely-present shell, always looking back over his shoulder towards a past he should have left behind long ago. 

He’s been to Jin Ling’s school before, of course, so there’s really no need for his nephew to explain everything they pass in excruciating detail, but Jiang Cheng doesn’t complain. Instead, he tries to picture everything Jin Ling’s telling him, tries to imagine Jin Ling walking these halls next to his friends, playing with them at recess and sitting together to eat lunch in some out of the way corner, just as Jiang Cheng had with his own friends at that age. It’s bittersweet, as nostalgia always is, but mostly he’s just grateful for A-Yuan and Jingyi and Zizhen; before this year, Jin Ling has never really gotten along well with the other kids, and Jiang Cheng had been wondering how best to broach the subject with the therapist Jin Ling sees every few months when those three names had begun to pop up more and more in conversation. 

A-Yuan in particular seems to be a good influence. Jin Ling’s stories are full of times when the group has quite narrowly avoided trouble because of his best friend’s surprisingly responsible attitude. Jiang Cheng is looking forward to meeting him, if only for the novelty of knowing a kid who has his shit together more at seven than Jiang Cheng and his friends had at seventeen. 

“There he is! A-Yuan!” Jin Ling calls out, tugging hard on Jiang Cheng’s sleeve. He’s waving frantically at a boy standing in front of one of the art displays dotting the hallway, next to a tall figure with long hair tied back in a slightly disheveled ponytail. The boy turns at the sound of his name, round face lighting up as he spots them, but Jiang Cheng’s attention is caught by the adult with him; he can’t tell if it’s a man or woman, but there’s something about the way they’re dressed, the way they’re standing, that strikes some strange chord of recognition deep inside him. He follows Jin Ling, a little bewildered at the flutter of anxiety building stronger in his stomach with each step. 

“Baba, A-Ling is here!” he hears A-Yuan say, and then the figure turns too and the rest of the world screeches to a halt around Jiang Cheng as he sees their face. Familiar, beloved, a little older and a little sadder, but it’s the same grey eyes framed by the same dark hair and the same glowing smile now faltering as he looks back at Jiang Cheng. 

Wei Ying.  

He’s not sure how long the two of them stand in this strange tableau, neither willing— or able— to be the first one to break, before he becomes distantly aware of Jin Ling tugging on his sleeve. Slowly— he feels like the air has become something thick and choking that he has to struggle to move through— he looks down at his nephew, takes in the worried, unsure expression on his face, tries to make his mouth move to say something reassuring, and fails. 

“Jiujiu?” Jin Ling whispers. “Are you okay?” 

Jiang Cheng, certain as he is that he couldn’t be any less okay if he tried, somehow manages a nod. Jin Ling doesn’t look particularly convinced, but he also doesn’t ask again, so Jiang Cheng forces a deep breath into his lungs, then looks back up at Wei Ying. 

Fuck. It hadn’t been his imagination after all. Wei Ying is standing right in front of him, barely four feet away, real and tangible. Jiang Cheng could reach out right now and punch him in the nose. He could reach out right now and kiss him. 

Shit. 

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying says quietly, and all at once, like he’s snapping back into his body, six years of fury rushes through Jiang Cheng like a tidal wave. How dare he? How dare he stand here and say Jiang Cheng’s name like he has any right to exist in the same world as him after all this time? How fucking dare he even look at Jiang Cheng, at Jin Ling, as if he didn’t abandon them when they needed him most— when he was the only one left who could have been there for them in the way they needed? How dare he not give them— give Jiang Cheng — the closure of knowing for certain what happened to his sister? 

“Good afternoon,” Jiang Cheng says with icy politeness, drawing all the disinterested professionalism he leverages in the courtroom around his shoulders like a protective cloak. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Wei Ying actually takes a step backwards, as if Jiang Cheng had physically slapped him. It’s gratifying, in a dreadful sort of way. “Ah… yeah,” he manages weakly. “Good to meet you too. A-Yuan, say hi.” 

A-Yuan, who looks as uncertain as Jin Ling now, clings a little more tightly to Wei Ying’s hoodie. “Hi,” he whispers, and a pinprick of guilt penetrates Jiang Cheng’s anger; he hadn’t intended to freak the kid out. It’s not his fault his father (and the idea of Wei Ying as a father is something Jiang Cheng is very firmly not considering too much for now) is the cause of pretty much everything wrong in Jiang Cheng’s life. 

“Hi,” he says, much more gently, and A-Yuan visibly relaxes a little. “I’m glad to meet you as well, A-Yuan. Thank you for being such a good friend to A-Ling.” 

“Jiujiu,” Jin Ling groans, embarrassed, but A-Yuan’s smile is sweet as honey. 

“A-Ling’s my best friend ever ,” he proclaims cheerfully. “We’re gonna be best friends always, right A-Ling?” 

Jiang Cheng can practically feel Jin Ling glowing with pride next to him. “Yeah,” he says fiercely. “Always!” 

“I’m glad,” Jiang Cheng murmurs. “Good friends are an important thing to hold on to.” He very pointedly doesn’t look at Wei Ying; it’s immature, maybe, but he’s earned a bit of that. “A-Ling, we’d better get going if we don’t want to be late meeting your teacher.” 

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng honestly isn’t sure how he makes it through the remainder of parents’ night. He recalls, later, experiencing the time in small, disconnected moments— he’s talking to one of Jin Ling’s teachers, then another, then letting Jin Ling show him around his classroom and introduce him to his other friends, and then it’s over and they’re on their way home. It’s a small comfort that no one besides Jin Ling seems to notice that he’s running on some odd, desperate sort of autopilot, and even Jin Ling doesn’t appear to have connected the dots to decipher the reason. 

When the door closes behind him on his way out of Jin Ling’s room— his nephew hadn’t asked him to come in and say goodnight, but Jiang Cheng can always tell when he needs the extra reassurance— he finally allows his iron self control to slip just a little. He heads straight for the balcony, ignoring the dishes in the sink and Jin Ling’s homework spread out across the coffee table; leaning on the railing, he closes his eyes and lets the cold air sting his skin. 

Wei Ying. 

God, he’d looked so… good. The years have been kinder to him than they have to Jiang Cheng, certainly, and the unfairness of that bites harder than the midwinter chill. He’d seemed settled, rooted in a way that Jiang Cheng has never seen in him before. 

And then there’s the kid. 

A-Yuan had called him baba. Jiang Cheng’s stomach turns as he considers it— Wei Ying a father, his child the same age as jiejie’s, or near enough to be in the same grade. He’d never mentioned a girlfriend to Jiang Cheng, and he’d been so wholeheartedly devoted to jiejie throughout her pregnancy and to little A-Ling when he’d been born… had he known, then? How long had he hidden this whole other version of himself from them? 

And why? That’s the part that Jiang Cheng feels like a knife that’s slowly carving pieces of his heart out of his chest. Sure, it would’ve hurt to see Wei Ying in love with someone else, raising a family, all of that— but it would have hurt a hell of a lot less than raising Jin Ling on his own and finding out six years later that Wei Ying has been right fucking there for god knows how long and just didn’t care enough to reach out. 

Scrubbing angrily at his face with his sleeve, he digs his phone out of his pocket and shoots off a text to the only person he knows that might have some inkling of what the hell’s going on. Huaisang, we need to talk. 

The reply is immediate and so characteristically Huaisang that any other day it would make him smile even in a bad mood. Whatever it is, I didn’t do it! And if I did, it was totally an accident. 

Tonight, though, Jiang Cheng doesn’t think anything could make him smile. Did you know Wei Ying was back (still?) in town? he replies, and watches, stomach sinking lower and lower, as the three dots indicating Huaisang is typing appear, disappear, appear again. 

Yeah, is all the reply says when it finally comes through. Then, before Jiang Cheng can decide how to react, another text immediately follows it. I didn’t know how to tell you. He’s been back for about a year. I tried to get him to talk to you, I swear I did, but he seemed scared or something. I don’t know why, he barely talks to me anymore either. 

Jiang Cheng has to take several deep breaths and remind himself very firmly that throwing his phone over the balcony would be an immature, not to mention dangerous, course of action. He’s a grown adult, he can manage his anger constructively. Maybe. I saw him at parents’ night at Jin Ling’s school, he texts, knowing Huaisang will understand the questions— and the hurt— underneath the words. 

This time Huaisang’s reply takes almost five minutes. Is his kid in A-Ling’s class? I swear I didn’t know, Cheng-ge, I would’ve said something ages ago if I had. 

Jiang Cheng believes him, but it doesn’t make the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach go away. Huaisang had known— not only that Wei Ying was in town, so close, he’d known about the kid, too. Even though he’d said Wei Ying barely speaks to him. Fucking hell, was everything he used to think they were to each other a lie? 

It’s fine, he tells Huaisang, even though it’s not and they both know it. Thanks. Then he mutes his phone, suddenly exhausted, and drags himself to bed. 

To Jiang Cheng’s mixed relief and fury, there’s no attempt from Wei Ying to get in touch with him. It’s not like he’s particularly difficult to find; as a senior partner in his firm, and someone who does a good deal of pro bono work for various charitable organizations, he’s pretty sure he’s easy enough to track down that a kid Jin Ling’s age could do it. Which means that the continued silence from his former— whatever can only be explained as Wei Ying deliberately avoiding him. 

Not, he thinks, that that should be a surprise. He’d never gone anywhere in the first place. If Wei Ying had ever wanted to find him… well, if Wei Ying had wanted anything to do with him he wouldn’t have fucking left at all. 

Thankfully, Jin Ling never asks him about what had happened that night. He’s a sharp kid, and he knows his uncle well, so Jiang Cheng is sure there’s no way his behaviour had gone unnoticed, but for whatever reason Jin Ling has either decided it isn’t his business or (much more likely) forgotten about it entirely. Jiang Cheng is also grateful that he doesn’t stop talking about his friends as a result— it’s not easy to divorce the idea of A-Yuan from the idea of Wei Ying’s son, but given the choice between struggling with that in silence or knowing he’s being shut out of one of the most important parts of Jin Ling’s life, this is the option he’d pick without a second thought. 

Even so, keeping himself from reacting the next Thursday evening when Jin Ling gives him the mildly devastating I-want-something pout and asks if A-Yuan can come over for a sleepover the following day after school takes every ounce of willpower he possesses. He’s in no way averse to the concept of hosting sleepovers— in fact, he’s been rather looking forward to the inevitability of it now that Jin Ling actually has friends— but having A-Yuan and only A-Yuan over means that he has no option to sucker one of the other boys’ parents into coordinating, and therefore no choice but to talk to A-Yuan’s father directly about it. 

Fucking hell. 

Doing his best not to let any of this show on his face, Jiang Cheng pretends to be thinking it over for long enough that Jin Ling starts to squirm, then shrugs and stands to clear the table. “Sure,” he says, hoping it sounds an approximately normal level of casual. “If his parents say it’s fine. Do you have their number?” 

The way Jin Ling’s face lights up is worth every moment of discomfort he’s anticipating. “Yeah,” he says, jumping up so quickly that his chair wobbles dangerously behind him for a few seconds before landing steadily on all four legs again. “A-Yuan wrote it down for me earlier in case you said yes, let me grab it!” 

Jiang Cheng watches him dash off to his room; a few minutes later, he returns with a slightly crumpled post-it note in his hand, which he presents with an air of solemnity that reminds Jiang Cheng of being handed his diploma at graduation. Briefly torn between laughing and crying, Jiang Cheng does neither, instead taking the post-it as calmly as he can manage and forcing himself to think only of how important this is for Jin Ling. 

How he feels about it is wildly irrelevant. He’s not going to mess this up for his nephew, and that’s that. 

He shoos Jin Ling away to do the rest of his homework, not wanting a small shadow lurking over his shoulder while he makes the call. Even once he’s alone, though, he feels oddly self-conscious, and it takes going out to the balcony and pulling the curtain across the door behind him before he can actually bring himself to dial the number that’s written on the small square of paper in surprisingly tidy printing. 

Holding his breath, Jiang Cheng listens to the phone ring once, twice, three times. He’s almost begun to hope that it’ll go to voicemail when the fourth ring cuts off midway through. 

“Hello?” Wei Ying’s voice is cheerful and so, so familiar. Jiang Cheng swallows and squeezes his eyes shut. This is for A-Ling, that’s all. 

“It’s Jiang Cheng.” He hears the roughness in his own voice and prays it won’t be audible to Wei Ying. “Apparently your kid wants to sleep over tomorrow night.” 

A beat of silence, during which Jiang Cheng’s heart pounds so hard he can feel it in his fingertips. “He mentioned that,” Wei Ying says finally, all the cheer gone from his voice. Jiang Cheng has heard him sound this cautious, this guarded, before— but never speaking to him. “Are you okay with it?” 

Obviously, why would I be calling if I weren’t? Jiang Cheng swallows down the instinctive sarcasm, because clearly it’s not his place to speak to Wei Ying with that degree of familiarity anymore. “Yeah,” is all he says instead. 

“Great!” Wei Ying’s voice is too loud, too bright. “Do you want me to just send him home with you guys after school, then?” 

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Jiang Cheng honestly can’t tell whether he’s more desperate to end this conversation as soon as possible or to hear Wei Ying’s voice for as long as he can. The uncertainty keeps him silent for a moment too long, and Wei Ying awkwardly clears his throat on the other end of the line. 

“Great,” he says again. “Cool. Uh… anything special he should bring?” 

All of a sudden Jiang Cheng is so tired he can barely think. “No,” he says, closing his eyes and leaning back against the door. “Toothbrush, pyjamas, clothes, all that. We’ve got everything else. Any allergies I should know about?” 

“Oh— no allergies. He’s a little bit lactose intolerant, but he knows what to avoid.” Another too-long pause. “What time do you want me to pick him up on Saturday?” 

“Whenever’s good, or I can drop him off.” 

“No, I’m good to pick him up. Around two? You can text me your address.” 

Jiang Cheng tries not to let his relief come through too plainly in his voice. He really doesn’t want to know where Wei Ying is living now— he wants to know as little about him as possible, because the more he knows, the more room there is for his stupid, foolish heart to wish. “Sounds good.” 

“Good,” Wei Ying echoes. “Okay. Um… guess I’ll see you Saturday, then.” 

When Jiang Cheng goes back inside, Jin Ling has abandoned all pretense of homework to wait for him on the couch. Glad he’d taken the time to compose himself first, Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow at him; Jin Ling, at least, has the grace to look a little sheepish, but it doesn’t stop him from following Jiang Cheng to the kitchen and watching him anxiously as he starts to make himself a cup of tea. 

“What did he say?” he asks when it becomes clear that Jiang Cheng isn’t going to volunteer the information. 

“How do you know I spoke with his father?” Jiang Cheng says instead of answering; even drained as he is, Jin Ling is much too easy to mess with for him to pass up an opportunity like this. 

Jin Ling makes an impatient noise. “He doesn’t have a mom, who else would you have talked to?” 

It’s sheer force of will alone that keeps Jiang Cheng from reacting outwardly to that. He’s not sure why, but the idea of Wei Ying being a single parent had never even occurred to him— it’s hard to picture a free spirit like Wei Ying managing the kind of structure and workload that he’s become so familiar with over the last six years, but he’s clearly done an outstanding job if what Jiang Cheng knows of A-Yuan’s behaviour and disposition is true. 

Just like him, to be better at everything even now. 

“And why would I know that?” he says irritably. “A-Yuan’s coming home with us tomorrow, so you’d better clean your room if you want him to have anywhere to sleep.” 

In spite of his own mood, Jin Ling’s enthusiasm is contagious, and it’s impossible not to smile a little as his nephew throws his arms around him in an exuberant hug. “Thanks, jiujiu!” he crows, and Jiang Cheng rubs his back lightly and resists the urge to lean down and press a kiss to the top of his head— something Jin Ling has definitely outgrown in the last year, at least according to him. 

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, glad he’d managed to push through the discomfort of it all for A-Ling’s sake. Maybe this will be a good thing, in the end. Maybe he’ll get some closure and finally, finally be able to move on. 

Jiang Cheng hadn’t really paid much attention to A-Yuan when they’d met at parents’ night, too preoccupied with the shock of seeing Wei Ying again, so when the boy climbs into the back seat of his car the next afternoon next to Jin Ling, he turns in his seat and takes a moment to look at him as they both put their seatbelts on. He can’t really see much of Wei Ying in A-Yuan; where Jin Ling is thin, bordering on scrawny, with his grandmother’s sharp, almost fox-like features and Jiang Cheng’s own strong cheekbones, A-Yuan’s face still carries what some might unflatteringly term ‘baby fat’, lending him a softer, sweeter appearance. His eyes are a warm honey-brown, very unlike Wei Ying’s startling grey, and even his expressions and the way he moves seem measured, thoughtful, serious even— words that no one who’s spent more than five minutes around Wei Ying would ever use to describe him. 

He must be just like his mother, Jiang Cheng thinks. She must have been beautiful. 

Breathing through the sharp hurt until it dulls into the more manageable ache he’s used to, he smiles when A-Yuan looks up and meets his eyes. “Did you boys have a good day?” he asks, always simultaneously amused and dismayed at how old asking that question makes him feel. 

“Yes, Jiang-shushu,” A-Yuan answers politely. “Thank you for letting me stay over tonight.” Jin Ling rolls his eyes and smacks his friend’s arm good-naturedly. 

“Stop being so formal,” he complains. “It’s weird.” 

Jiang Cheng presses his lips together tightly until the urge to smile passes. “You’re welcome, A-Yuan. There’s no need to be formal, but do whatever makes you most comfortable, all right?” He shoots a pointed look at Jin Ling, who is long inured to such things and just sticks his tongue out in response. A-Yuan looks between them, then grins, shoulders visibly relaxing a little. 

“Okay,” he says, cheerful.  

Satisfied, Jiang Cheng turns back around and starts looking for a gap in the slow but steady flow of cars that he can squeeze his way into. “Any ideas what you want for dinner tonight?” he asks absently. “We can grab takeout on the way, or I can cook something.” 

“Can you make my mom’s soup?” Jin Ling sounds a little hesitant, and Jiang Cheng can’t really blame him; it’s only in the last couple of years that he’s been able to even look at the recipe card, the ingredients and steps written in his sister’s delicate handwriting and carefully preserved under lamination, without breaking down. The number of times he’s actually made it can be counted on one hand. 

This is important, he reminds himself. Jin Ling’s first sleepover, with his first best friend. Of course he wants to share something so meaningful. 

“Sure thing,” he says, trying for casual and, at least to his own ears, mostly succeeding. “We’ll have to stop at the market for a couple things, but it won’t take long.” 

The boys chatter away in the back as he drives, and he half listens to the radio and half attempts to follow their conversation— it’s full of inside jokes and references that he doesn’t understand, but far from being annoying, it warms his heart to hear Jin Ling so easily included. When they arrive at the market, the boys opt to come along rather than waiting in the car, which means he gets to witness Jin Ling showing A-Yuan around the familiar stalls with a mix of superiority and earnestness that is so reminiscent of Jin Zixuan that Jiang Cheng is hard pressed not to roll his eyes or embarrass Jin Ling by laughing at him. A-Yuan, on the other hand, listens seriously and is entirely unbothered by the occasional, probably-accidental condescension, and when the shopkeeper speaks to the boys in her heavily accented English as she rings up Jiang Cheng’s purchase, A-Yuan replies in perfect Mandarin that has her beaming and reaching across the counter to pat his cheek fondly. 

The interaction sticks in Jiang Cheng’s head as they leave the market and cross the narrow street to the car, ducking their heads against the wind. How in the actual fuck, he wonders, did Wei Ying manage to raise a kid who’s more like Jiang Yanli than her own son? 

When he starts cooking, A-Yuan hovers for a moment before offering to help; Jiang Cheng shoos him off to join Jin Ling in the dining room, where he’s already got his homework spread out over nearly half the surface area of the table. Jiang Cheng’s a little impressed that he hadn’t even attempted to procrastinate, but judging by how conscientious A-Yuan seems, Jin Ling probably knows he wouldn’t have gotten away with it if he had. As he had in the car, he half-listens to them while he cooks, a warm little glow of pride lighting him up as he realizes Jin Ling is patiently helping A-Yuan with their spelling quizzes without a single hint of the self-important cockiness he’d begun to exhibit since starting grade school. 

Why did it have to be Wei Ying’s kid? He struggles to muster the old anger, honed into a gleaming weapon by years of constantly turning it over and over in his mind, but it’s oddly difficult to find. 

The soup never turns out quite as well as when his sister had made it, but Jiang Cheng is the only one who can attest to that, so he doesn’t say anything on the topic as he dishes it out, smiling a little at the two eager faces watching the steam rise from their bowls as he serves up his own portion. Jin Ling can never manage to wait long enough not to burn himself with the first spoonful, but A-Yuan blows on his delicately until it’s cool enough to put in his mouth; Jiang Cheng watches, an odd apprehension tugging at his stomach, as A-Yuan’s eyes go round with surprise. He chews and swallows carefully, then tilts his head a little, like he’s trying to figure something out. 

“Everything okay?” Jiang Cheng asks. He can feel his pulse thudding in his head, and he wishes A-Yuan would answer that he doesn’t like it or ask what’s in it or something other than what he’s pretty sure the boy is about to say. 

“Mmhm! It’s really good!” A-Yuan assures him quickly. “I’m just surprised. A-Ling said this is the soup his mom used to make, but it tastes exactly the same as what Baba makes sometimes when one of us is sick or sad.” 

Jiang Cheng inhales, then exhales, deep and measured. It doesn’t help. All he can think of is Wei Ying standing alone in some cluttered apartment kitchen, weary and heartsick as he follows a recipe now known to only two people in the world. Jiang Cheng had kept the recipe card jiejie had given them; if A-Yuan says this tastes just like what Wei Ying makes, it must mean that he’d remembered, maybe made it over and over to fix it in his mind or written down what he’d been able to recall and tweaked it painstakingly until it was as right as either of them could ever get it. 

He wonders if Wei Ying had cried, the first time, as he sliced the lotus root and stirred the broth. He wonders if, like Jiang Cheng, he still does sometimes. 

Abruptly he realizes just how dull and brittle that weapon he’d forged from the hurt and helpless fury he’s felt all this time really is. He’d thought he could use it to lash out, to make Wei Ying as miserable as he’s been, but it’s been six years and he’s tired of being angry. He musters a small smile for A-Yuan, who’s looking back and forth between him and Jin Ling as if anxious he’s said something wrong, and nods. 

“A-Ling’s mom is the one who taught us both to make it.” 

Both of them stare at him like he’s grown an extra head. A-Yuan’s eyes probably couldn’t get any wider if he tried, and Jin Ling’s frozen with his spoon halfway to his open mouth. Finally, he drops the spoon back into the bowl with a loud clink and points at Jiang Cheng accusingly. 

“I knew you knew him! You were so weird at parents’ night, and then when you had to call him. I knew it!” Then he swallows and adds, much more softly, “A-Yuan’s baba knew my mom?” 

Jiang Cheng nods. “We grew up together.” It’s easier than he’d expected to talk about it, with two wide-eyed, expectant little faces watching him across the table. Jin Ling deserves whatever scraps of knowledge about his parents he can get, and it’s stupid and selfish of Jiang Cheng to withhold any of that because of his own feelings. “His parents died when he was young, so he didn’t have a family of his own— he spent a lot of time at our place when we were in school.” 

“Wow,” A-Yuan whispers. “I didn’t know that. Baba always got sad when I asked him about his family, so I stopped asking a while ago.” 

Jin Ling is squinting at Jiang Cheng suspiciously. “Why did you act like you’d never met him, then? And how come you’ve never mentioned him before? Did you have a fight?” 

“A-Ling, don’t ask things like that,” A-Yuan scolds gently, but Jiang Cheng shakes his head— he’d known right from the moment he’d decided to tell them the truth that he’d have to explain this. 

“It’s okay,” he tells A-Yuan. “It’s a valid question.” Turning back to Jin Ling, he takes a moment to think over what he’s about to say. “We didn’t fight,” he says finally. “After your parents died, he moved away, and we haven’t spoken since.” It’s the most neutral way he can think to phrase it, and he can tell it doesn’t satisfy their curiosity in the least, but when Jin Ling looks like he’s about to start asking more questions, Jiang Cheng lifts a hand to stop him. “You don’t need to know all the details,” he says in his most authoritative tone, and Jin Ling slumps in his chair, clearly displeased but knowing better than to question the I-mean-business voice. 

Jiang Cheng is pretty sure they’re just going to ask Wei Ying about it instead. In spite of how faded and dull his anger has become, there’s still a certain vindictive pleasure in knowing Wei Ying will never be able to shut them down as well as he can. Let him deal with figuring out how to explain why he left; he’s the only one who knows the answer to that, anyway. 

The rest of the sleepover is only slightly overshadowed by the conversation, and by the looming spectre of Wei Ying coming to pick A-Yuan up the following day. Jiang Cheng manages to distract the boys with popcorn and video games, and hangs out with them for a while before relocating to his office to give them space, leaving the door open in case they need anything. Jin Ling protests a little when he comes back a few hours later to shoo them off to bed, but A-Yuan obediently starts picking up their mess, and after a moment Jin Ling grudgingly follows suit. Jiang Cheng lets them help for a little while, then takes over so they can go brush their teeth; in no way could he have prepared himself for the painful way his heart tries to squeeze out of his chest when A-Yuan shyly hugs him goodnight before scurrying off after Jin Ling. 

Wei Ying arrives precisely at two— another small thing that makes Jiang Cheng feel like he doesn’t know him at all anymore. He genuinely can’t remember more than a handful of times in their school days that Wei Ying was on time for anything. He’s sitting on the porch swing with a mug of coffee as Wei Ying pulls into the guest parking spot in front of their townhouse in an old but well-maintained black car; the boys, who have been sitting on the steps playing a game on Jiang Cheng’s tablet, immediately look up as the engine cuts, and A-Yuan hops up and off the steps in one fluid motion to dart over to the driver’s side door so he can hug Wei Ying tightly the moment he steps out. 

“Aiya, you missed me that much?” Wei Ying laughs, bending to put his arms around A-Yuan in return. “Here I thought you’d have forgotten my face, after so long, little radish.” 

“It was only one day, Baba,” A-Yuan says, voice muffled in Wei Ying’s wool coat. 

“No, no, I missed you too much for it to only be one day,” Wei Ying argues, grinning. Then he looks up, looks over at Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling, and Jiang Cheng isn’t sure what his face is doing but it must be unfriendly if the way Wei Ying seems to shrink into himself is any indication. 

“Thank you for having him.” He sounds so dreadfully polite that Jiang Cheng feels ill. 

“No trouble,” he says, voice rough. “He’s welcome anytime.” And, in spite of all the words struggling to burst out of him, he stays quiet as the boys hug and say goodbye, as A-Yuan climbs into the back seat and Wei Ying starts the car, carefully not looking at Jiang Cheng as he backs out of the parking spot and drives off. 

He can feel Jin Ling’s eyes boring into him, but it’s not until the car is well and truly out of sight and the two of them have headed inside, Jiang Cheng with his half-finished coffee and Jin Ling with the tablet still playing the tinny, cheerful background music from their game, that he seems to figure out what he wants to say— or gather the courage to say it. “Jiujiu,” he begins, and when Jiang Cheng looks over at him, he has that mulish set to his jaw that means this topic isn’t going away anytime soon no matter what Jiang Cheng says. “Why don’t you talk to him?” 

How is he supposed to answer that? It’s too hard— so is seeing him like this, treating him like they’re strangers, watching Wei Ying act afraid of him. He hurt me— even in his own head the words sound like they belong to a petulant child, far too close to ‘he started it’ for Jiang Cheng’s comfort. 

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I guess I don’t know how.” 

To his surprise, Jin Ling comes over to hug him tightly, and Jiang Cheng has to close his eyes against the prickle of tears threatening to well up at the rare, sweet gesture. “You should try,” he says. “You’re really good at figuring things out.” 

Jiang Cheng truly doesn’t know how to argue with the simple confidence in those words. Maybe Jin Ling’s right— after all, it’s not like he can make things much worse. 

Chapter Text

Over the course of the next week, Jiang Cheng composes, and subsequently deletes without sending, somewhere upwards of a hundred different texts to Wei Ying that all boil down to the same very simple message: Can we talk?  

In the end, that’s exactly what he winds up sending. Three words, stripped of any passive aggressiveness, hurt, resentment; in a way, it feels more vulnerable than anything else he might have put out there. He doesn’t have to wait long for the reply, either— barely two minutes pass before his phone dings, and Wei Ying’s reply echoes his own, simple and straightforward. 

when & where?  

They decide on meeting up at the park near the boys’ school; this isn’t a conversation he feels comfortable having in a more public setting, like a restaurant or cafe, but neither of their homes feels like neutral ground so much as a constant reminder of the years they’ve lived without each other. He leaves work early on the day they’ve chosen, drives the familiar route from his office to Jin Ling’s school, then keeps going, ignoring the apprehension prickling under his skin. The park is only a few blocks away, but even that short distance seems like it takes an eternity to travel, more than enough time for him to remind himself yet again of all the reasons this is a horrible idea. 

Thankfully, he’s had a lot of practice ignoring himself over the last six years, so he doesn’t let that stop him. 

Wei Ying is easy to spot, his lean form folded into one of the swings, idly kicking his feet against the springy rubber surface of the playground. Jiang Cheng resists the temptation to pause and watch him for a while, hating how much he’s missed the sight of him; stubbornly, he keeps his feet moving, and tries not to let the sting of it show on his face when Wei Ying spots him and stills, the sole of his sneaker scraping against the ground until the swing comes to a halt. 

Briefly, Jiang Cheng weighs dignity against sheer emotional exhaustion. The latter wins, and he strides up and drops himself onto the swing next to Wei Ying, staring out across the grass until he can handle the odd, stifling knowledge of how close they are to each other. “Hey,” he says finally, and Wei Ying makes a startled sound that might be a laugh. 

“Hey.” 

For a moment, that almost feels like enough. There’s the beginnings of a bridge where before there had been only a yawning chasm, too wide to see the other side of, too deep to fathom crossing. But Jiang Cheng knows he can’t get away with just a ‘hey’— the chasm is still there, waiting to swallow them both if he can’t get this right. 

“This is stupid,” he mutters. “Look, you can’t really get away from me as long as our kids are best friends. We might as well get to the point where we can at least not freak them out every time we’re in the same place at the same time.” 

Wei Ying makes a thoughtful sound, and when Jiang Cheng turns his head to investigate, he finds those too-familiar grey eyes fixed on him, unreadable but— he thinks— not unfriendly. “Yeah,” Wei Ying says after a pause during which Jiang Cheng barely breathes. “You’re right. Sorry I’ve been weird. I guess I just… didn’t know where to even start.” 

“You can start by apologizing for fucking off at the worst possible time,” Jiang Cheng says sharply before he can stop himself. Wei Ying’s gaze darts away, and at the edge of his vision Jiang Cheng can see him picking anxiously at one of his fingernails. 

“I know,” he whispers. “I just— how do you even apologize for something like that? Sorry for being the biggest asshole known to mankind? It’s always felt like too much to get around.” 

Jiang Cheng sits for a long moment with the knowledge that Wei Ying feels the weight of what he’d done, even if he can’t possibly understand how deeply it had destroyed Jiang Cheng. It doesn’t make up for it— he’s not sure anything could ever make up for it, exactly— but it does ease something in him that has hurt for so long that he’d almost stopped noticing it. “Don’t apologize, then,” he says. “Prove to me that you’re not going to do it again, instead.” 

He can tell that whatever Wei Ying had been expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. It’s oddly gratifying, the way his head whips around to stare at Jiang Cheng, wide-eyed— and then a smile lights up his face, bright and warm and sweet, and Jiang Cheng knows immediately that he’s absolutely fucked. 

Wei Ying has always been it for him, and apparently six years and a hell of a lot of heartbreak hasn’t changed that. 

“I will,” he promises fervently, and it’s so, so tempting to believe him. But Jiang Cheng doesn’t have only his own stupid heart to think about now— Jin Ling has already lost enough, and it’s Jiang Cheng’s job to protect him from losing any more if he can help it. 

“Fine,” he says with a curt nod. “Then we’ll see how this goes.” 

The next day, Wei Ying texts him. It’s a photo of A-Yuan holding an incredibly soft-looking white rabbit and beaming at the camera; the rabbit, clearly familiar with the boy, has its ears flat against its back and its eyes closed, the absolute picture of relaxation. Wei Ying captions it jin ling should come visit the bunnies sometime!  

Jiang Cheng reads it over several times, then squints at the picture, wishing he didn’t feel so suspicious. It genuinely seems like a peace offering, an open door, like Wei Ying is— at least for the moment— taking this seriously. 

You have rabbits? he texts back, hoping his dubious tone comes across in the words. When they’d been in college, Wei Ying hadn’t been able to keep even the hardiest houseplant alive; clearly he’s done well enough with A-Yuan, but kids, even in their earliest stages, are very adept at communicating when they need something in a way that’s impossible to ignore. 

no way, is the reply he receives a few minutes later. they’re lan zhan’s, lmao, I just have visitation rights  

Though Jiang Cheng hadn’t really thought about it, he’s not the least bit surprised to know that Lan Zhan is in the picture. Since the day they met, the two of them have had a connection that Jiang Cheng had tried very hard not to envy. It’s never been romantic or sexual— that’s not Lan Zhan’s thing— but somehow that had only made it seem deeper, more unbreakable. 

Honestly, he’s not even jealous now. If Wei Ying hadn’t kept in touch with Lan Zhan, he’d have to question whether it’s really Wei Ying at all who’s talking to him or if they’re in some kind of alien shapeshifter situation. 

Then you probably shouldn’t offer up the rabbits you don’t even have full custody of without asking first, he texts, a little bemused at how easy it is to fall back into the way they used to tease and joke and needle each other.  

I asked!! The punctuation speaks volumes about Wei Ying’s indignation. I’m very considerate of these bunnies, I’ll have you know. their dad said it was okay. a-yuan can teach jin ling how to hold them. 

Jiang Cheng smiles in spite of himself. Fine, fine. Now go away, I’m working.  

He receives a rather rude sequence of emojis in response, which he doesn’t dignify with a reaction— at least, not one Wei Ying can see. 

Wei Ying, in a surprising show of responsibility, must not have mentioned the idea to A-Yuan until he’d received Jiang Cheng’s approval, because it’s not until the following day after school that Jin Ling mentions it, face alight with excitement. “Can I, jiujiu, please?” he begs. “This weekend? A-Yuan said I could sleep over there, this time, and we can go see the bunnies on Saturday morning.” 

Jiang Cheng pretends to think it over for a moment. “I suppose so,” he agrees eventually, and resigns himself to the knowledge that Jin Ling is not going to shut up about it for the remainder of the week. 

It’s not until he’s automatically taken the turnoff he’d usually make from his office to Jin Ling’s school on Friday afternoon that he really thinks about how this will be the first time his nephew will spend the night away from home— away from him — since he’d taken the boy in. Scowling, he forces his attention back to the road, but the thought is pervasive, and even the texts he receives from Wei Ying here and there throughout the evening don’t do much to ease the loneliness of being in the house by himself. 

He wants to ask if Wei Ying had felt this way, the first time A-Yuan had gone for a sleepover, but that’s a level of vulnerability he’s not prepared for yet. Instead, he makes himself a tea and curls up with a book, which he pretends to read for almost an hour before giving up and deciding to go to bed early. 

It’s as he’s getting his pyjamas out of the closet that something catches his eye, tucked away high on the shelf above his head, in the very back corner. Briefly, he stands there looking at it; it’s not that he’s forgotten about it, this plain, unobtrusive shoebox, though goodness knows he’s wanted to more often than not, but something about his strange, melancholy mood has him wanting to take it out for the first time in quite a while. And since, for the first time in quite a while, that desire isn’t accompanied by a bone-deep certainty that it’s a terrible idea, he does. 

It’s so light. Jiang Cheng stands in front of the closet for a minute or two after he’s retrieved the box, just holding it and wondering at how small and light it feels in his hands. He’d remembered it being bigger— but maybe all along that had only been the dark cloud of misery that had settled over him whenever he looked at it. Bringing it over to the bed, he sets it down and sits cross-legged in front of it, feeling a little ridiculous as he lifts off the lid with all the caution of someone half expecting to find a snake or tarantula inside. 

There is, of course, no snake or tarantula— the box is mostly empty space, really. Reaching in, Jiang Cheng runs his fingers lightly across the few items it holds, then lifts them out, one by one. A red scrunchie, its velvety texture worn with use; a beaded bracelet; an iPod, cracks spiderwebbing the tiny screen, earbuds wrapped around it; four photos, glossy newness protected by the still, dark environment in which they’ve been kept; and under all of it, a worn sketchbook, doodles sprawling over the cover, pages creased and stained. 

He honestly doesn’t know what possessed him to keep these things, to gather up the items from their old apartment that had most reminded him of Wei Ying as if by doing so he could hold on to him when he’d already slipped away. Dozens of times he’s thought about throwing them out, or maybe burning them, but something’s always stopped him, even at his lowest. 

Maybe it’s his sister’s smile in the photos, recalling how happy she’d always been when the three of them were together. Or maybe some part of Jiang Cheng has always believed Wei Ying would come back, even if he couldn’t acknowledge that belief until Wei Ying actually did. 

He picks up one of the pictures, traces a trembling finger across Yanli’s beaming face. If there’s one thing he knows for certain, it’s that he owes it to her— and to her son— to do the right thing, whatever that might be in this situation. He can’t run away from it all any more than he can just forget about the last six years and fall back into Wei Ying’s arms without caution or care for the future, no matter how tempting both options feel. 

“You better not fucking leave again,” he mutters, staring at the photos until the people in them grow blurry and indistinct. What he needs most now is time, time to figure all of this out—  and time has always been his enemy when it comes to Wei Ying. 

“Come on, seriously?” Wei Ying groans and flops back onto the couch dramatically; A-Yuan, giggling, sits on him and raises his arms in victory. 

“We won again, Jiang-shushu!” he calls, and Jiang Cheng, grateful for the open floor plan, looks over from where he’s standing at the counter chopping vegetables and gives the boys a thumbs up, smirking at the look of betrayal Wei Ying shoots his way. 

“You’re taking their side?” he laments. “What happened to us old folks having to stick together?” 

“I never agreed to that,” Jiang Cheng says calmly. “And it’s not my fault you can’t beat a couple of seven-year-olds.” Jin Ling gives him a mutinous glare, and he raises his hands in surrender. “Sorry, a couple of very cool seven-year-olds.” 

“It’s not your fault, Baba,” A-Yuan reassures him. “Lan-shushu says that kids are always better at games, because grown-ups have slower reflexes when they get old.” 

Wei Ying stares at his son in disbelief. “Aiya, now you’re calling me old, too? Will this treason never end?” 

Jiang Cheng smiles down at the cutting board as he scrapes the diced vegetables into a pot on the stove and checks on the water for the pasta. The house has never been this noisy, but rather than overwhelming, it feels frighteningly normal. It’s the first time Wei Ying’s come over along with A-Yuan, and there’s a not so little part of Jiang Cheng that doesn’t want either of them to ever leave again. 

It’s dangerous, absolutely. But right now, Jiang Cheng is doing his best to take each moment for what it is and nothing more.  

“Do we have time for another round before food’s ready, jiujiu?” Jin Ling is giving him puppy eyes over the counter that divides the kitchen from the living room. Jiang Cheng assesses the state of the sauce now starting to bubble on the stove and the pasta, which he’s just put in the pot, and nods. 

“One more, okay?” 

After dinner, they all pack onto the couch for a few episodes of the anime the boys’ friend group has been avidly watching this month. They’re starting in the middle of the second season, and the boys’ enthusiastic but slightly incoherent explanations aren’t much help in actually clarifying what’s going on, so Jiang Cheng mostly tunes it out; it’s hard to focus, anyway, with the scent of Wei Ying’s cologne in his nose. At one point, he glances over and catches Wei Ying looking back at him— Wei Ying turns away quickly, cheeks a little pink, and Jiang Cheng can’t needle him about it with the kids sitting between them chattering over the show and each other, but he’s still thinking about it as Wei Ying and A-Yuan take their leave. 

Surely it doesn’t mean anything. But… well, it’s nice to dream again, after so long. 

I hear you’ve been talking to an old friend, Huaisang texts him the following week just as he’s leaving his office to grab coffee and an early lunch. Jiang Cheng, long used to Huaisang’s meddling, doesn’t bother to answer until he’s back at the office, at which point he just sends back a single word. 

So?  

Hey, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing! Just checking on you. 

That’s unexpectedly thoughtful, and Jiang Cheng immediately feels guilty for his defensive reaction. Yeah, sorry, he texts back. I’m good, I think. Honestly, I've been trying not to think too hard about it.  

Are you ever gonna tell him, Cheng-ge?  

Jiang Cheng knows exactly what Huaisang’s talking about, as tempting as it is to play innocent. That doesn’t mean he knows how to answer the question, though. Is he ever going to tell Wei Ying how he feels— how he’s felt all along about him? His instinct is to recoil from the very idea, but he forces himself to give it due consideration anyway. 

I don’t know, he finally answers, figuring honesty is best— Huaisang can always see through him, even when all he’s got to go on is words on a screen. Not yet, that’s for sure.  

Yeah, that’s fair. I just think you should keep it in mind.  

Why all the matchmaking all of a sudden? Jiang Cheng can’t help feeling a little testy about it. This tentative peace is still new— Wei Ying being in his life at all again is still new. It’s only been a couple of months. Jiang Cheng’s still struggling just to trust that he’s not going to wake up one morning to find Wei Ying’s number disconnected and A-Yuan pulled out of school with no explanation or closure. 

It’s not sudden, I’ve been trying to matchmake you two for half our lives! Huaisang answers flippantly. Do you know how embarrassing it is to fail with two people who are actively sleeping together?  

Jiang Cheng doesn’t know how to reply to that, so he doesn’t. A few minutes later, another text from Huaisang arrives. Sorry, sorry. Seriously, I’m just happy you’re together again. I don’t want that to get wrecked by either of you keeping secrets.  

It’s a perfectly reasonable worry to have, but something about the way he puts it sets Jiang Cheng’s nerves on edge. Either of them. So Wei Ying’s keeping secrets of his own, and Huaisang knows something about them. 

Mind your own business, he texts back, and throws himself into his work for the remainder of the afternoon, determined not to think too deeply about it. 

The following week, he finds himself with most of a day free after wrapping up the last of the closing paperwork for a client; briefly, he debates going home and taking a nice, long, uninterrupted nap, but he’s not actually tired so much as drained. Before he can really think too hard about it, he’s shrugging on his jacket, phone on speaker on his desk. Three rings in, Wei Ying answers, sounding a little out of breath but cheerful. 

“Jiang Cheng! Hey! Sorry, couldn’t find my phone— it was under an entire canvas somehow, no idea how that happened. What’s up?” 

Jiang Cheng picks up his phone and switches speaker off, locking the door of his office behind him as he heads out. “I’ve got the rest of the day free until school’s out,” he says, only now starting to feel a little nervous. “Want to come over for lunch, if you’re not too busy?” 

He’s not sure if he’s imagining the startled inhale he thinks he hears over the line, but thankfully he doesn’t have much time to overthink it. “I’d love to,” Wei Ying answers almost immediately. “Give me half an hour, I need to shower and change so I don’t get paint all over your house.” 

“No problem. See you soon.” Jiang Cheng hangs up, takes a deep breath, and slumps over briefly, head on his steering wheel. 

“What are you doing, ” he mutters, but in spite of the nerves twisting his stomach the entire drive, he doesn’t call Wei Ying back to cancel. 

By the time Wei Ying arrives, hair damp and wavy around his shoulders— Jiang Cheng has to forcibly restrain himself from reaching out to run his fingers through it— he’s got lunch ready, a simple soup he’s thrown together with the last of this week’s vegetables and some tofu and noodles. Basic as it seems to him, Wei Ying devours two bowls, grinning sheepishly at Jiang Cheng’s raised eyebrow. 

“You already know I’m not much of a cook,” he says, sitting back with a contented sigh. “That hasn’t changed. I manage to feed A-Yuan pretty healthy food most of the time, but it’s nothing special— really, I’m surprised he lets me cook for him at all, Lan Zhan and Wen Qing both make way better meals.” 

Jiang Cheng’s stomach turns over at the unfamiliar name. He hasn’t been letting himself think about A-Yuan’s mother much, but when he does he’s been assuming she’s dead— for some reason, it hasn’t even occurred to him to think that she might be alive and well, even seeing A-Yuan and Wei Ying sometimes. “Wen Qing?” he asks cautiously. “Is she…” 

Wei Ying tilts his head, blinks, then bursts out laughing. “Wait, no, that’s—“ At the disgruntled look on Jiang Cheng’s face, he makes an obvious effort to get his amusement under control, but it takes a while before he can speak without dissolving into giggles again. “Sorry! I’m sorry,” he gasps, shaking his head. “I’m not laughing at you, I swear. I’m not!” he adds when Jiang Cheng’s eyebrows lift practically into his hairline. “I’m just— god, trying to imagine Wen Qing putting up with me any more than she has to.” He snorts. “She’d kill me in two days flat. No, we’re not— we’ve never been like that.” 

The relief that washes through Jiang Cheng leaves him weak for a moment. It’s ridiculous, he knows that; whether it’s Wen Qing or someone else, A-Yuan is proof that someone else has, at some point, had a part of Wei Ying that Jiang Cheng had first, but never got to keep. Still, he doesn’t want to know any more than he has to. Even a name is too much. “Anyone would kill you in two days flat if they had to live with you,” he says, hoping the reflexive snark hides the brief lapse in his defences. 

“You didn’t,” Wei Ying points out cheerfully. “A-Yuan hasn’t. Actually, I did live with Wen Qing and her brother for a bit, though, when the adoption stuff was going through. It was easier and kinder than shuttling A-Yuan around all the time.” 

Jiang Cheng blinks. “Adoption?” he repeats, as if he’s never heard the word before. 

It’s Wei Ying’s turn to stare at him, clearly confused. “Yeah? I— you didn’t think A-Yuan was mine, like, biologically?” 

Jiang Cheng just looks at him. His expression must convey how deeply unimpressed he is; Wei Ying frowns for a moment, thinking, then grins sheepishly. 

“I guess I didn’t ever mention it,” he concedes. “And it’s not like it’s something A-Yuan would have a reason to bring up to you. I’m not even sure if he’s told his friends— it’s not really something that seems to matter much to him. Aiya, I’m sorry, Jiang Cheng, I guess I didn’t even think about you not knowing.” 

Mollified slightly by the apology, Jiang Cheng gets up to gather their bowls and spoons and bring them to the kitchen. He’s still reeling, but there’s no denying that in some ways this makes significantly more sense than the idea of Wei Ying having the time, let alone the inclination, to go fool around and get some girl pregnant when he’d been spending every spare moment making sure jiejie was as pampered and doted on as possible throughout her pregnancy. 

“How’d you wind up with him, then?” he asks, putting the kettle on and returning to the table. They’d both talked about wanting kids one day, back then— idle chatter that had never meant what Jiang Cheng wished it could mean— but Jiang Cheng can’t picture Wei Ying seeking out single parenthood on purpose any more than he had himself. 

“It’s a long story,” Wei Ying says, a fond smile curving his lips. “You sure you’ve got time?” 

Jiang Cheng glances pointedly at the clock on the oven, which makes it fairly plain that they have close to three hours before school lets out. He knows what Wei Ying is really asking, but he’s never really known the right words to reassure him that he’s wanted, that he’s not taking up too much space. “Plenty of time,” he says dryly. 

Wei Ying grins. “Okay, okay. It was a dark and stormy night…” When Jiang Cheng kicks him under the table, he laughs, delighted— and then he launches into the real story, and in spite of himself Jiang Cheng finds he’s hanging on every word. Wei Ying describes the siblings he’d mentioned, Wen Qing and her brother Wen Ning; Jiang Cheng notices how he skirts expertly around explaining how he’d met them, but he doesn’t know yet if he’s allowed to just shove in and ask point blank the way he would have, once. Besides, there’s a haunted, hollow look in Wei Ying’s eyes, a shadow that passes once he’s moved on to talk about the rest of their family, their grandmother and cousins and little two-year-old A-Yuan, and doesn’t return even when he describes the accident that had claimed both of A-Yuan’s biological parents. 

“Not taking him wasn’t an option,” Wei Ying says softly, hands curled around the mug of tea Jiang Cheng had brought him a few minutes into his story. “Wen Qing was in her last year of medical school, about to start her residency, and Wen Ning was in and out of the hospital and trying to graduate at least semi on time so he could get a job, and Granny had too many health problems herself to look after a rambunctious two-year-old mostly on her own. I— I couldn’t let him just wind up with some stranger and never see them again.” 

Jiang Cheng stares at the steam rising from Wei Ying’s tea, unable to look directly at his face. It’s not that he disagrees, on principle, with what Wei Ying is saying— and it’s not like he’s unhappy that A-Yuan is where he is now, not least because without him Jin Ling might not have made friends for goodness knows how long yet. It’s just that… well… 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Wei Ying murmurs, and Jiang Cheng forces his eyes up to see that Wei Ying looks as miserable as he sounds. “I know. I left you to raise A-Ling alone and adopted some stranger’s kid instead. There wasn’t a day I didn’t think about how stupid I’d been, trust me. But I couldn’t go back and undo that, and A-Yuan needed me.” 

“So did I.” 

Jiang Cheng hadn’t really meant to admit that in so many words. Years ago— hell, even months ago— it would have come out harsh, bitter, if it had come out at all; now, though, it just feels like what it is. A statement of a fact that, somehow, he’s learned to live with. And, almost like saying it aloud has unlocked something in him, he keeps going, because what the fuck is even the point of pretending he doesn’t still want Wei Ying every bit as badly as he always has, ever since he learned what wanting someone meant? “I needed you, and you weren’t there— let me finish, shut up. I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty, I’m saying this because I want you to understand something. I took it for granted that you’d always be there, and then when you weren’t, it fucking destroyed me.” He meets Wei Ying’s gaze, heart aching at the raw grief reflected there. “I can’t handle that again. So if you don’t think you can stick it out this time, you need to tell me now so I don’t get any more invested than I already am.”  

Wei Ying is frozen, a statue made of spun sugar so fragile it seems a breath could break him. He says nothing, not aloud, but the look in his eyes— shame and hope and fear and longing all tangled so tightly together it seems to be choking him— speaks clearly enough that Jiang Cheng can’t stand the careful distance he’s put between them any longer. Gently, he takes Wei Ying’s mug out of his hands and sets it on the table. Then, heart pounding so hard it’s making him a little nauseous, he leans in to kiss Wei Ying’s unmoving lips. 

It’s not really anything like he remembers kissing Wei Ying to be. Back then, Wei Ying was a whirlwind, a being of pure energy, perpetual motion. Kissing him was like throwing yourself into quicksand; you had to immediately make peace with the knowledge that you’d never really resurface. None of that wild exuberance is present now. Jiang Cheng can almost feel Wei Ying holding back, thinking, and some half-delirious part of him wants to laugh— sure, now’s the time he chooses to start considering the consequences of his actions. He lingers until Wei Ying finally twitches out of his careful stillness, and then a dreadful breath longer as he waits to see if Wei Ying will pull back or push him away or— 

Oh. Or this, Wei Ying grabbing him by the front of his shirt and hauling him closer, kissing him now with a clumsy desperation. He can feel wetness on his cheeks, but he has no idea if the tears are his or Wei Ying’s; it doesn’t matter, not when he’s settling into Wei Ying’s lap, thighs bracketing his slim hips, both hands winding into the tangled waves of his hair as he’s wanted to do since Wei Ying had first walked in. 

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying gasps against his mouth. “Jiang Cheng,   you—“ 

Jiang Cheng bites his lip to shut him up. 

Several minutes later, he finally pulls away enough to look at Wei Ying, who blinks up at him hazily. His face is flushed, his hair is a mess, and his lips … he catches Jiang Cheng staring at them and quirks them into a grin, tongue darting out to wet them slightly in a move that should look stupid but just makes Jiang Cheng want to kiss him again. 

“You’re such a shithead,” Jiang Cheng says, unbearably fond. 

“Your shithead,” Wei Ying replies, as he always has, and Jiang Cheng can see the moment where he realizes what he’d said, immediately followed by the moment where he decides not to go back on it. Pleasure blossoms in his chest, makes him feel lighter than air, if only for a few seconds.  

“Mm.” Reluctantly, he gets up; topic of conversation aside, he’s not a teenager anymore, and the awkward position has started to make his knees complain. He holds out a hand to pull Wei Ying up, too, and doesn’t let go as he leads the way over to the couch. 

“I can, by the way,” Wei Ying says softly once they’re settled, curled close together at the corner of the sectional. Jiang Cheng tries and fails to follow the thread, but thankfully Wei Ying doesn’t let him struggle for too long. “You wanted me to tell you if I thought I couldn’t stick it out. I can. I’m… I’m different than I was back then.” 

Jiang Cheng snorts and flicks Wei Ying’s temple lightly. “I gathered that,” he says, but in spite of his flippant response, he’s weak with relief. Wei Ying may be different in some ways, but the way he looks when he’s making a promise, one too important even to name as such, hasn’t changed. It’s nowhere near enough to erase Jiang Cheng’s fears— if there is to be real trust between them again, it’ll take a lot longer than a couple months and a lot more than a promise that has yet to be proven true— but it makes it a little easier to breathe, and for now that’s all he can ask. For the rest of it, time alone will tell. 

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng quickly discovers that the strangest thing about being with Wei Ying again isn’t the uncertain, undefined nature of the relationship, nor is it having to keep a distance that had never been there before in order to protect himself, but rather how alike and yet different it is hiding it from Jin Ling and A-Yuan compared to how it had been hiding it from Jiang Cheng’s parents. Now, with years of distance and the perspective of an erstwhile parent himself, Jiang Cheng can admit that his own parents probably knew, but back then— barely into high school when they’d kissed for the first time— their certainty that they were being careful enough was matched only by their certainty that there was some dreadfully important reason they had to be so careful. 

The consequences, back then, would have been some yelling, a guilt trip or seven, maybe a few more rules around sleepovers and a slight diminishing of Wei Ying’s near-constant presence in the house. Now, while everything is so raw and neither of them have any idea where the path they’re treading blindly will lead, the consequences are so weighty they don’t bear thinking about; these two boys, whose young lives have already held far more than their share of trauma and instability, are the ones who will bear the brunt of it if things don’t work out. They don’t even discuss it— they’re so wholly in agreement about the need to protect the children as much as possible from whatever mistakes they may be about to make that Jiang Cheng hasn’t even gotten through saying we should keep it to ourselves for now before Wei Ying’s nodding emphatically, and that’s that. 

In high school, having a mostly-secret sort-of-relationship had felt exciting— a little transgressive, a little sweet. Jiang Cheng had liked that he hadn’t had to share Wei Ying with anyone, even abstractly. As adults, it’s… honestly just kind of annoying. 

“I have Thursday morning free this week,” Wei Ying says hopefully, voice clear enough across the video call that Jiang Cheng can almost pretend Wei Ying’s in bed next to him instead of peering out at him from his phone screen propped against a pillow. He sighs, closing his eyes briefly. 

“I don’t. Half the damn city has decided to get divorced at once.” 

Wei Ying makes a sympathetic sound that actually loosens some of the tension Jiang Cheng is carrying in his perpetually stiff neck and shoulders. “Poor baby. Hey, I could come watch you at court sometime! I’d love to see you tearing entitled white men a new one.” 

Jiang Cheng snorts. “You’ve been watching too many dramas. It’s not anywhere near as exciting as you think it is. At most I get, like, ten minutes per day of tearing entitled white men a new one, if I’m lucky— the rest is nonstop fucking nitpicking until their arguments fall apart.” 

“I mean, I already knew you were a pedantic asshole,” Wei Ying says breezily, grinning. “No surprise there.” 

“Fuck off,” Jiang Cheng says fondly. “Is Thursday the only time this week that’d work for you?” 

Wei Ying huffs, nose scrunching up in that adorable way that makes him look a bit like a rabbit. “Yeah. I’ve got a few deadlines and they keep calling me in at the daycare to cover shifts.” His annoyed expression melts into a pout that tugs at Jiang Cheng’s heartstrings in spite of his best efforts to remain impassive. “I miss you, dammit.” 

“Me too,” Jiang Cheng agrees softly. 

“It’s not the same at play dates. I keep almost forgetting.” Wei Ying laughs a little, though there’s a melancholy look in his eyes that doesn’t quite fade all the way as he does. “This was a lot more fun when we were young, wasn’t it? I feel like… you’re right there, but you’re so far away at the same time. I’ve had enough of missing you for a lifetime.” 

There’s something soothing about hearing his own thoughts echoed in Wei Ying’s voice, especially when he’s so sweetly candid about it. “Yeah,” Jiang Cheng says, glad Wei Ying can’t see the way he just brushed his fingertips across the little image of his face on the screen. “It’s not forever, though.” 

Wei Ying’s smile grows a little brighter, a little more genuine, at the reminder. “Right. We can do this.” And, because even now he’s incapable of being sincere for more than five minutes without ruining it, he adds with great enthusiasm, “Go team!” 

Jiang Cheng hangs up on him. Wei Ying sends him a selfie prominently featuring that irresistible pout, and Jiang Cheng sends back a picture of his middle finger, immediately followed by a heart emoji. He can’t stop smiling even as he drifts off into sleep. 

It feels too perfect. For once, he’s trying not to take that as a sign that everything is about to fall apart. 

The call comes just as Jiang Cheng is sorting his files carefully into his briefcase to leave the courtroom. His client is already gone, whisked away by her sister to celebrate after both of them had spent several minutes thanking him profusely for his efforts; he always feels a little uncomfortable with such thanks, generally feeling that it’s more than enough to have had a hand in helping people obtain a sense of safety and autonomy after the upheaval that even amicable separations tend to cause, but he’s long since learned that accepting it gracefully has better results than trying to explain all that, so he lets himself be thanked and sometimes hugged and often cried on and then uses the time afterwards to collect himself as much as to collect his paperwork. His phone is always on do not disturb in his jacket pocket when he’s in court, and Jin Ling’s school is the only number that he’s set to allow through, so when he feels it buzz against his side, the spike of adrenaline that jolts through him is so intense that it paralyzes him for a few seconds. The school doesn’t just call in the middle of the day for no reason. Something must have happened. 

A-Ling.  

Dropping the file he’s holding, he fumbles to extract his phone and answers it, heedless of the concerned looks the bailiff and his opponent’s defence are giving him. “Jiang Cheng speaking,” he says, his voice somehow remaining almost entirely steady. 

The voice on the other end is familiar— Jin Ling’s history teacher, Luo Qingyang, who also coaches his archery club. “I’m sorry to bother you at work, but there’s been an incident,” she says, and Jiang Cheng knows too well the sound of someone trying very hard to stay calm. His stomach turns. “Jin Ling is okay,” she adds hurriedly, “but I’m on the way to the hospital with him. Could you meet us there, please?” 

“Of course,” Jiang Cheng manages, gripping onto the edge of the table to keep himself upright. “I’m just leaving court now, I can make it there in…” He forces himself to take a deep breath and do the mental calculations. “Fifteen minutes? Hopefully less.” He knows the back streets between here and there; if he has to run a red light or three when there’s no one around to see, that’s his business. 

“Don’t drive like an idiot, jiujiu!” he hears Jin Ling shout in the background, barely audible over what he now recognizes must be the beeps and whirs of ambulance equipment, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut briefly to keep from breaking down. Whatever’s going on, Jin Ling couldn’t possibly be in better hands, but Jiang Cheng would still give anything to be there now . 

“Tell Jin Ling I’ll drive however I damn well please,” he says, finally letting go of the polished wood of the table to scoop the rest of his papers haphazardly into his briefcase. Luo Qingyang’s little laugh in response and her gentle admonition to be careful are reassuring, but as he hangs up and hurries out to his car, the panic is still clawing its way up his throat, threatening to choke him. 

Jin Ling has to be okay. He has to. There’s just no other option. 

It takes him fourteen minutes, one red light run, and several of what could only very generously be termed ‘rolling stops’. He pulls into a parking spot near the emergency room entrance, barely managing to get the car shut off and locked before he’s darting across the pavement and in through the sliding double doors. The second he walks in, he can feel a different kind of panic seize him, the very air around him seeming to shift to something thick and heavy with memories, and only his momentum keeps him moving. Thankfully, the nurse he intercepts to ask about Jin Ling knows immediately who he means and comes around the edge of her station to lead him through a set of double doors and down an incomprehensible set of halls to an area full of curtained-off enclosures; she pulls one open slightly and Jin Ling’s pale face lights up when he sees Jiang Cheng standing there, still trying to catch his breath. 

“Jiujiu,” he cries, and Jiang Cheng can hear the wobble in his voice. It makes it impossible to continue to stave off his own tears, and he hurries to Jin Ling’s bedside and bends to hug him tightly. 

“I’m here,” he whispers into Jin Ling’s messy, sweat-damp hair. “Jiujiu’s here, baby.” 

Jin Ling must be in quite a lot of pain, because he doesn’t raise a single objection to the pet name Jiang Cheng hasn’t dared to use in years now. Instead, he grabs the lapels of Jiang Cheng’s jacket with both hands and turns his face into his uncle’s neck; Jiang Cheng listens to his breathing, unsteady and thick with the effort not to cry, and waits until Jin Ling has regained control of himself somewhat before pulling back to sit down. He pretends not to notice when Jin Ling swipes at his eyes quickly, sure that if he acknowledges it they’re both going to break down entirely. Instead, he looks across the bed at Luo Qingyang, who gives him a wan little smile and a nod and says nothing about the state either of them are in. 

“Thank you for bringing him,” Jiang Cheng tells her, wishing he could impart the depth of his gratitude without having to try and find the right words. He’s gotten to know her a little in the time Jin Ling’s been attending this school, and he’s fervently grateful that it’s her who’d come along with Jin Ling— his nephew likes her a great deal, and more importantly he trusts her in a way he doesn’t often trust adults, let alone teachers. Not only that, Jiang Cheng can trust her as well, to give him an accurate and fair report. “What happened?” 

“I wasn’t actually there at the time,” she says with a sigh. “My understanding is there was some sort of argument during lunch and another boy pushed A-Ling from the top of the playground equipment. His leg is definitely broken, and he did hit his head, but the paramedics said he’s not showing any signs of head injury or concussion so far.” 

“My head’s fine , Luo-laoshi,” Jin Ling protests. 

“What, and you thought because you said that I wasn’t going to tell your jiujiu about it? What kind of a teacher do you think I am?” She glowers at him, and Jin Ling huffs, but doesn’t argue further. 

“A-Ling,” Jiang Cheng says quietly, and Jin Ling looks up at him, eyes wide. Jiang Cheng realizes immediately that some hint of the simmering fury crackling just under his skin must be audible in his voice, and he reaches out to stroke Jin Ling’s hair back from his forehead, trying to reassure him wordlessly that it’s not him Jiang Cheng is angry with. “Tell me what happened. All of it.” 

Jin Ling deflates a little, lowering his gaze to the thin hospital blanket covering his legs; there’s a bulky shape under the covers on one side that Jiang Cheng realizes belatedly must be some kind of temporary cast holding the injured leg still. “There’s these guys— not in our class, they’re a grade up,” he mumbles, only barely loud enough to be heard. “They always make fun of us, and normally we just ignore them. They make me and Jingyi really mad, but A-Yuan says if we fight back it’s just gonna make it worse, ‘cause they’re bigger, right? But today they were— they were making fun of Zizhen for being a crybaby. Calling him a sissy and a— a girl .” Jin Ling’s lower lip trembles, and he stares fixedly at his hands, clasped tight and immobile on his lap. “It just made me so mad I couldn’t take it anymore! So I told him—” He swallows, a flicker of shame crossing his features. “I told him he was a horrible, ugly person and everybody likes Zizhen way more than they’ll ever like him, and then I said if he didn’t shut up I’d break his face. And then he pushed me.” 

Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. From the corner of his eye he can see Luo Qingyang looking very determinedly at the heart monitor next to Jin Ling’s bed, a slightly pinched expression on her face that he recognizes as someone trying with all their might not to laugh. He can’t blame her one bit— there’s a part of him that’s right there with her. There’s a part of him, too, that’s swelling with a fierce sort of pride, the same part that remembers insults like that being levelled at Huaisang when they were little, the part that still recalls the satisfaction of throwing his first ever punch and feeling it land solidly on his target’s face. 

But right now he has to be an adult— a parent, really— first and foremost. “I see,” he says as levelly as he can manage, and Jin Ling’s gaze darts to his face and then away. “Thank you for being honest, A-Ling.” Gently, he gives Jin Ling’s shoulder a squeeze. “We can talk about it more later. I’m just glad you’re all right.” 

“Am I in trouble?” Jin Ling’s voice is small and sad, the kind of voice that always makes Jiang Cheng want to cave and give him anything he wants even if it’s the worst thing he could do. He exchanges a look with Luo Qingyang, who’s smiling faintly now. 

“You will be,” Jiang Cheng says honestly, giving her a tiny smile back before returning his full attention to Jin Ling, “but right now you’re in the hospital. Consequences are something we can also talk about later. Let’s take one thing at a time.” 

Luo Qingyang leaves a short time later, and Jiang Cheng thanks her profusely and promises to text her as soon as the full extent of Jin Ling’s injuries has been assessed. Then he sits at Jin Ling’s bedside for what feels like days, trying his best to keep his nephew’s spirits up while not showing any signs of the creeping, stifling dread that’s taking up more and more space in his mind the longer they’re here. It’s a relief when Jin Ling is whisked away for x-rays, but not quite enough of one; figuring he’ll have a few minutes at the very least, he goes in search of a vending machine, as much because he needs to move as because he actually wants something to drink. It takes him a few minutes to get his bearings, but at last he manages to find a small waiting room nearby, and he hurries towards it, hoping there won’t be anyone there. 

Thankfully, there isn’t. He makes his way over to the row of vending machines that runs along the far wall and stands in front of it, but the bright lights make his eyes glaze over and he can’t seem to summon the focus to choose one of the drinks. Which one does Jin Ling like, again? He knows this, but it’s like the knowledge is locked away behind a series of doors and Jiang Cheng dropped the keys somewhere along the way. Frustrated, he tips forward until his forehead is resting against the cool glass and closes his eyes. 

Get it together. Jiejie deserves—  

The slip sends a chill through him and he wrenches himself back to the present with as much force as he can muster. A-Ling needs you, he corrects himself. It’s Jin Ling he’s here for. Brave, loyal, seven-year-old Jin Ling, who’s getting a broken leg x-rayed and is going to be completely fine. Not Jiang Cheng’s sister, twenty-five and barely a year into having the life she’d always dreamed of, laying on a hospital bed cold and pale and breathing only thanks to machines, waiting for her twenty-year-old brother to make the kind of decision he never should have had to make alone. 

He’s not sure how long he stands there, struggling to breathe, struggling to stop remembering , when he hears a soft footstep behind him; before he has a chance to try to pull himself together— or flee— someone touches his shoulder, and then a familiar voice is murmuring, “A-Cheng.” 

Past and present blur together sickeningly for a moment. “Wei Ying?” he breathes, half knowing it’s him, half believing there’s no way it could be. 

“Hey, I’m here,” Wei Ying says, unbearably gentle, and then Jiang Cheng is pulled into the warmest, steadiest hug he could have asked for. Only then does he realize he’s crying, and briefly he tries to pull back so he doesn’t get snot all over Wei Ying’s hoodie, but Wei Ying doesn’t let him, one hand landing firmly on the back of his head to tug it down to his shoulder. Giving in, Jiang Cheng sways into him with a stifled gasp. 

“A-Yuan called me,” Wei Ying says. Even his voice is soothing, low and calm. “Is A-Ling okay?” 

Jiang Cheng nods as best he can without lifting his head. He’s dimly aware of another, much smaller pair of arms winding around his waist, and he frees an arm from Wei Ying to put it around A-Yuan’s shoulders. “He’s got a broken leg, but that’s it aside from some bruises. They’re doing x-rays now to see how bad it is.” 

Wei Ying hums a quiet acknowledgement; in spite of his outward calm, Jiang Cheng can feel him slump a little with relief. “And are you okay?” he asks, even more softly. 

“What do you think?” Jiang Cheng whispers back, unable to summon even a hint of sarcasm. Wei Ying laughs, though not unkindly, arms tightening around him. 

“Fair point.” 

They stand like this for what Jiang Cheng can only estimate to be several minutes. Wei Ying’s arms around his shoulders and A-Yuan’s around his waist ground him better than any weighted blanket or white noise machine has ever managed, and eventually he realizes he’s stopped crying and is breathing almost normally again. 

“Jiang-shushu,” A-Yuan pipes up hesitantly, “can we go with you to see A-Ling?” 

Jiang Cheng considers the challenges of fitting all three of them in the tiny curtained-off enclosure along with the bed and all the machinery, and then he thinks about the way Jin Ling’s face will light up when he sees A-Yuan and figures it’s worth a try, even if the nurses end up kicking them out. “Yeah,” he says, rubbing A-Yuan’s back gently. “I think he’d really like that.” 

Pulling away from Wei Ying’s comforting embrace isn’t easy, but it’s made a lot more bearable by the way he sticks close to Jiang Cheng’s side afterwards. Jiang Cheng buys a soda from the vending machine for the boys to share and a bottled iced coffee for himself and Wei Ying; on their way back they cross paths with the nurse who’d taken Jin Ling for his x-rays, and she gives the three of them a brief, dubious look, but thankfully doesn’t say anything as Jiang Cheng holds the curtain open for Wei Ying and A-Yuan before ducking back in himself. 

“A-Yuan!” Jin Ling, apparently thoroughly recovered from the trauma of the experience (most likely helped along, Jiang Cheng thinks fondly, by the opportunity to see the x-ray machine up close) sounds delighted to see his friend— A-Yuan, on the other hand, takes one look at Jin Ling stretched out on the hospital bed with that bulky plastic enclosure swallowing his leg and a pretty impressive bruise starting to darken on one cheek and bursts into tears. 

Jiang Cheng isn’t the least bit surprised, and Wei Ying doesn’t seem to be either; A-Yuan’s a sensitive kid, a real peacemaker, and it must have been terrifying to see his best friend hurt so badly and be unable to do anything about it. Jin Ling, however, looks thoroughly alarmed, and when A-Yuan clambers up onto the bed next to him to hug him tightly and cry into his shoulder, he gives the two adults a look of such helpless bewilderment that Jiang Cheng is hard pressed not to laugh. He lets Wei Ying lead him over to the chair he’d abandoned earlier as Jin Ling awkwardly pats his friend’s back, and smiles wanly when Wei Ying drags the other chair over next to him, grateful for his apparent unwillingness to let Jiang Cheng out of arms’ reach. Opening the bottle of iced coffee, he takes a swig and passes it over to Wei Ying; with him here, it feels almost normal. He can almost forget about the earlier panic and the horrible, stifling memory of the last time he was in a hospital. 

He’d been alone, then. He pushes the memory away firmly; he’s not alone now. 

“I’m really fine, A-Yuan,” Jin Ling says with surprising patience. His awkwardness had faded quickly, and he seems almost comfortable now, resting his cheek against A-Yuan’s hair and rubbing his back. A-Yuan’s still sniffling, but he raises his head to peer into Jin Ling’s face, a stubborn seriousness written all over his small features that reminds Jiang Cheng startlingly of Lan Zhan. 

“That was so stupid ,” he scolds. Just as Jin Ling seems about to get huffy, though, A-Yuan’s expression shifts into a shy smile. “But… you were really cool. Zizhen and Jingyi said so, too.” 

Jin Ling blinks. “Jingyi did? Really?” 

“Uh-huh.” A-Yuan shuffles himself into a semi-seated position, still tucked up against Jin Ling’s side— he seems to have no intention of moving, and Jiang Cheng certainly isn’t about to move him. “Zizhen’s okay. His dad came and yelled at the principal. Jingyi looked like he was gonna laugh himself sick.” 

Jin Ling snorts. “I bet. I’m glad he’s okay. Those boys better not mess with him ever again.” 

Wei Ying leans forward to hand them their soda, and settles back in next to Jiang Cheng as the two of them pass it back and forth, their conversation turning to lighter topics. After a moment, Jiang Cheng murmurs, “I’m keeping A-Ling home tomorrow. If you think A-Yuan could use a day off, you two could come over. Spend the night, if you want.” He doesn’t know how to explain the fear he feels at the thought of being alone after this, the nightmares he knows will plague him, half-memories made worse by his unconscious mind’s attempts to process them, but Wei Ying’s smile is immediate and sunshine-bright and leaves him no room to worry. 

“Sounds great. I think they could use some time to decompress.” And so could you, he doesn’t say, but the brief nudge of his shoulder against Jiang Cheng’s says it for him. 

It’s almost two more hours before they’re finally released, Jin Ling’s leg now encased in a proper plaster cast that A-Yuan immediately begins doodling on with the sharpie Jiang Cheng finds in his briefcase. He’s got an entire city skyline in miniature, complete with a tiny Godzilla, stretching around half of Jin Ling’s ankle before they have to part ways to go to their separate vehicles— Jiang Cheng admires it as he helps Jin Ling into the back seat of the car, and when he mentions it Jin Ling beams with as much pride as if he’d been the one to draw it. 

“Isn’t he great? He’s been drawing and painting with Wei-shushu since he was really little.” 

“I can tell,” Jiang Cheng says with a smile, remembering the scribbles and doodles that had always covered not only Wei Ying’s notebooks but his own when they’d been in school. “He’s really good.” 

Jin Ling is silent for most of the drive home, but as they’re turning off the main road into their neighbourhood, he says, quiet and much more serious than usual, “Jiujiu? I’m glad you and Wei-shushu are hanging out. You seem happier now.” 

Jiang Cheng swallows hard past the lump in his throat. He supposes it shouldn’t be a surprise, and yet— he’d hoped maybe Jin Ling hadn’t actually noticed how unhappy he’d been, before. “I am,” he says softly. 

It doesn’t take long, once they’re in a familiar environment, for the adrenaline and excitement of the afternoon to ebb away and leave them all exhausted. Jiang Cheng orders take-out and they drag their way through eating it; Jiang Cheng barely tastes it, and he gets the impression that everyone else is having a similar experience. They pile onto the couch to watch a movie, but by halfway through Jin Ling is dozing against his shoulder and A-Yuan is only barely holding himself upright, so Jiang Cheng makes the executive decision to abandon the movie in favour of an early bedtime for the boys. They’re tired enough that they don’t protest as he and Wei Ying coax them into pyjamas and leave them to brush their teeth, and when Jin Ling’s bedroom door is closed behind them Jiang Cheng leans against it for a moment before forcing himself back down the hallway, body feeling like it weighs a thousand pounds. 

“I need a fucking drink,” he says with a sigh, going to the cabinet by the fridge to see what he has in the way of wine. “You want one?” 

Wei Ying doesn’t answer, and Jiang Cheng pauses, thinks back over what he’d said, and feels his body go cold. Shit . He dares a glance at Wei Ying, who’s sitting very still on the couch, a little pale, lips pressed together in a tight line, watching him. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he mutters, putting the bottle he’d pulled out back into the cabinet and closing it with a decisive click. “I wasn’t thinking.” 

“It’s okay,” Wei Ying whispers, but he still looks a little shaken, a little haunted. Jiang Cheng comes over to sit next to him, peering at him curiously. 

“Hey, you can tell me to fuck off if you want, but… what happened to you? Like, I knew you quit, but…” Jiang Cheng trails off, not sure he wants to bring up the memory Wei Ying’s expression had surfaced— the reek of more alcohol than any one person should be able to consume, the wild, unseeing rage in Wei Ying’s eyes, the way Jiang Yanli had flinched back from him. The first and only time his sister had ever been afraid of one of her boys. Wei Ying had looked at her long enough to finally see her and immediately fled the room to puke his guts out and then cry on the bathroom floor for the remainder of the night, and the next day had promised them both that he wasn’t going to drink anymore, that he was done for good, that he finally understood what they’d been telling him for months as things grew worse and worse. 

Is it that time he’s remembering now? It makes sense, but there’s something in Jiang Cheng that says that isn’t all of it. 

“I’m not gonna tell you to fuck off,” Wei Ying says with a wan ghost of his usual smile. “But I… I don’t think I can talk about it yet, if that’s okay.” 

Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. So there is something else. “Wei Ying—“ he starts, and then forces himself to shut up, clenching his jaw closed with an audible click. Don’t jump to conclusions, A-Cheng , he can almost hear jiejie telling him gently. Try not to react until you have all the facts.  

Maybe whatever Wei Ying’s keeping to himself is nothing to do with him drinking at all— maybe it’s something to do with A-Yuan, or something he witnessed, or any number of other things that Jiang Cheng would have no reason to get angry with him about. There’s no way of knowing until Wei Ying is comfortable enough to tell him. 

Wei Ying is watching him anxiously, so Jiang Cheng takes another deep breath to quell the remainder of his instinctive reaction and leans in to bump their shoulders together, followed by a quick, sweet kiss. Both of the simple gestures make Wei Ying visibly relax, and his smile when Jiang Cheng pulls back is almost normal, colour back in his face and obvious relief in his eyes. “Why don’t we just go to bed?” Jiang Cheng suggests. “It’s been a long fucking day.” 

“Bed sounds nice,” Wei Ying says, and while the words are innocent, the tone he says them in is anything but. Jiang Cheng swats him on the arm, struggling to keep a laugh from breaking through his scowl. 

“To sleep , you freak,” he huffs. 

Wei Ying only grins wider, and Jiang Cheng knows he’s going to give in— Wei Ying is irresistible, made all the worse by the fact that Jiang Cheng doesn’t even want to resist. 

I love you , he breathes soundlessly against the soft skin of Wei Ying’s back, later, as Wei Ying bites the pillow to keep quiet. This, too, is familiar— it’s the closest he’s ever come to telling Wei Ying the truth, and the habit settles around him like a well-worn blanket even more than six years after the last time he’d done it. I love you. Mine. My Wei Ying.  

Don’t leave me again.