Chapter Text
Opulence. Unneeded, indulgent opulence.
The reception hall is easily twenty times the size of Shang Qinghua’s apartment, the ceilings are uncomfortably high, the floor intimidatingly polished, and the windows much too large for it to be physically possible for their frames to be able to carry the weight of the glass. Sure, it’s beautiful, but Shang Qinghua can’t appreciate the architecture when he knows he doesn’t belong here.
His arm wraps more tightly into the crook of Mobei Jun’s elbow and guiltily looks at the red envelope stuffed with money confidently secured in Mobei Jun’s fingers. He had tried to contribute to it with some of the tips he’d earned from his double yesterday, but Mobei Jun had refused, insisting that Shang Qinghua needed the money more than his uncle ever would.
Then why is your envelope stuffed with cash, ah?!
He squints at the other attendees’ hands, his stomach flipping. Fuck! It had been bad enough that he was the only non-family member who attended the actual ceremony! And now he’s the only one without a gift?!
“I can hear you thinking. You okay?” Mobei Jun whispers as one of the several family members working the gift table counts out the cash. Shang Qinghua fidgets.
(Of course he’s not okay! He’s just realized how much of a fool he must look in his old sunflower-colored waistcoat and gray pants (which, admittedly, do fit him better now as less-scrawny adult than they did ten years ago as a very scrawny teenager), hair tied back in a messy bun, no red envelope-)
“All done! See you, Junjun!”
“Junjun?” He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and shifts closer to Mobei Jun as they properly enter the hall.
“Mn. Family thought ‘Xiao Jun’ was unfitting after I reached two meters.”
Shang Qinghua barks out a laugh, startling an auntie enough for her to drop a wine glass. He shrinks a bit as she glares in their direction and stalks off to the open bar.
“So, wanna go make out until it’s time to waltz- Ah!” Shang Qinghua stumbles and sucks in a breath through his teeth. He grabs onto Mobei Jun’s shoulder, knuckles white against the dark blue suit jacket. Mobei Jun wordlessly loops his arm around Shang Qinghua’s torso, pulling him close to support his weight.
“I’m fine, it’s fine,” Shang Qinghua gasps, his grip loosening only slightly. Mobei Jun clicks his tongue, eyes narrowed.
(Please don’t look at him like that! He really should be fine, ah?!)
He lowers his leg to the ground, the same stinging feeling rushing into his muscles when his toes touch the ground. He curses under his breath.
Maybe working that double was a mistake…
“Should we leave?”
“No, no, I’m good, I should still be able to-”
“Junjun!” A shriveled elderly woman at least four times as old and a full 50 centimeters shorter than Mobei Jun appears from nowhere. She grabs him by the wrist and pats the back of his hand. “We haven’t seen you in ages!”
“Ah-” His eyes flick over to Shang Qinghua.
“Do you mind if I borrow Junjun for a moment?” She smiles toothily.
(Why is this auntie so scary?!)
Mobei Jun looks wide-eyed at Shang Qinghua, all but screaming for help.
“Um, well, I-”
The auntie, not waiting for an answer: “Oh, thank you! I’ll bring him right back!”
She pulls Mobei Jun by the wrist with a force uncharacteristic of someone so old. Shang Qinghua mouths ‘sorry’ as Mobei Jun, horrified, is consumed by the sea of elders waiting to see the darling of the family.
Rest In Peace, Mobei.
Shang Qinghua flops into the closest chair, propping his foot up in the seat so that he can untie his brace. Hopefully he can just tighten it and it won’t be as painful and oh, fuck, the bruising is even worse. He brushes his fingers over the purples and blues creeping up the outside of his leg.
“Fantastic.” Hello, ten-year old injury! Please kindly fuck off!
(Maybe he can still dance if he’s careful and doesn’t try to show off.)
He's retying the brace, tongue peeking between his teeth in concentration, when he hears a silky poisonous greeting: “Xiao Hua.”
Heart in his throat, Shang Qinghua tilts his gaze up, greeted by the lithe figure of Linguang Jun. He looks down his nose arrogantly, peach blossom eyes dark.
“Linguang Jun! Um… Congratulations! It was a beautiful ceremony.”
(Red doesn’t suit him.)
Well-wishes ignored, Linguang Jun steps closer. “After crashing my wedding, I didn’t think you’d come to the reception.”
“But I didn’t crash…? Mobei invited me.”
Linguang Jun clicks his tongue. “I did make the mistake of saying he could bring whomever he wanted. I just didn’t think it would be someone so low in society.”
Shang Qinghua’s eyebrow twitches. “Didn’t you just marry someone who owns a-”
Linguang Jun slams his hand on Shang Qinghua’s shoulder, eyes narrowed into slits. Shang Qinghua swallows a yelp as Linguang Jun’s grip grows tighter and tighter.
“Meiyin is a successful businesswoman,” Linguang Jun growls. He leans down next to Shang Qinghua’s ear. “Something I don’t expect you, someone who can barely keep himself fed, to understand. Someone who will never be successful at anything he does.”
(He wants to scream, he wants to hit, but he can’t move-)
“Sorry, these words are too big for you to understand aren’t they?” Linguang Jun laughs in his ear and Shang Qinghua shivers. “You’re a loser. Even my nephew is too good for-”
Linguang Jun’s arm is wrenched away, the man pulled back with a stifled gasp.
“Uncle,” Mobei Jun growls low.
“Nephew.” Linguang Jun frees his arm from Mobei Jun’s grasp and he frowns as he unsuccessfully brushes the wrinkles from his shirt sleeve. “I was just telling Xiao Hua how much I’m looking forward to your performance.”
“Don’t call him that.”
Linguang Jun hums boredly and turns to Shang Qinghua. “I really don’t expect much, Xiao Hua-”
“Don’t call him that!” Mobei Jun lunges towards his uncle, stopped only by Shang Qinghua’s weak grasp on his wrist.
“-but do try to dance your best. My nephew can’t afford any further embarrassment from you.”
Linguang Jun turns on his heel and saunters to his new wife. He smiles gently at her and offers his elbow, then throws a sneer over his shoulder at them both.
A cold pulse wracks through Shang Qinghua’s muscles and he grits his teeth. He pulls the laces tight, the pressure like glass digging into his skin.
“We should leave,” Mobei Jun grits through his teeth, “before I kill him.”
“We’re staying.” He’s surprised by his own voice, his tone flat, poisonous, none of the melodic highs and lows that normally accompany his speech.
“What?”
(He knows he’s rising to Linguang Jun’s bait. He knows this is just a game to him.)
“I said we’re staying.” Shang Qinghua narrows his eyes and ties the brace on his ankle even tighter. The pain doesn’t matter anymore. “And we’re going to dance.”
(But today, for once in Shang Qinghua’s life, it’s a game he can play.)
He grabs Mobei Jun’s hand and, limping, drags him to the dance floor, right next to a smug Linguang Jun and his new wife, who flashes them a genuine smile.
(May she come to realize her mistake soon.)
“Ready?” he mouths, wearing a determined frown.
Mobei Jun nods almost imperceptibly.
“Good. Just like we practiced.” His leg fucking hurts and he wants to cry, but Mobei Jun’s hand on his back makes him even more determined.
Shang Qinghua draws in a sharp breath at the first step, his hand squeezing around Mobei Jun’s tightly. Knifelike pain jolts up into his hip, but he keeps the same practiced, open expression as Mobei Jun throws him into a perfect spin. He slips into the decade-old routine too easily, wants to show off too easily, needs to be perfect.
He spins under Mobei Jun’s arm, a small whimper caught in throat as he pivots on the ball of his foot and returns to Mobei Jun, now both facing the same direction as they glide into a few reverse turns.
(He laments that the dance could have been fun, could have been romantic. He laments that he can’t let it be anything but petty revenge.)
Linguang Jun’s eyes flash dangerously when he locks eyes with Shang Qinghua, who then expertly spins back into position, expression still open, but jaw set tightly. He can feel Mobei Jun looking at him, can feel the concern radiating off of him, but he has to finish the routine, he has to-
The music is a few notes from ending when his leg gives out with a wet ‘pop’.
Mobei Jun is fortunately able to stabilize him before he falls and Shang Qinghua bites down so hard on his lip it bleeds. But the last few notes, last few steps are fluid, flawless despite feeling like he’ll shake apart from rage and pain and-
“Fuck…” he whimpers.
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts!
Applause disguises the pathetic, high-pitched whine he’d somehow held in his throat. He collapses forward into Mobei Jun, hands tight on the taller man’s biceps.
“Qinghua, breathe-”
“I felt a pop,” he sobs. “Oh my god, I felt a pop-”
Wordlessly, Mobei Jun lifts Shang Qinghua into an effortless bridal carry to a few scattered wolf whistles. Shang Qinghua wraps his arms around Mobei Jun’s neck, his ears burning when he sees a familiar old woman standing on a chair and shouting.
“Woo! Get it, Junjun!”
Auntie?! You, too?! How are you all so shameless, ah?!
“Why?” Shang Qinghua groans loudly and flops his head against Mobei Jun’s shoulder.
“Shh, breathe,” Mobei Jun whispers, lips brushing against Shang Qinghua’s forehead. “I have you, just breathe.”
Mobei Jun rushes them outside, lowering Shang Qinghua on an ornate iron bench at the entrance. He pulls his phone from his pocket, jabbing at the screen as if it had personally insulted eighteen generations of the Mobei family. Shang Qinghua, whimpering as quietly as he can, props his leg on the bench. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming as he loosens the brace’s vice grip.
Mistake! This was a mistake! Now less restricted, the abused joint immediately starts swelling, purples and blues and reds painfully spreading across his skin.
Shang Qinghua is broken out of his panic when Mobei Jun scoffs and stuffs his phone back in his pocket. “Didi should be here in fifteen.”
“Oh, cool... Do you mind if we go to your place? Mine’s a bit of a wreck.”
“Not going home.”
“Then where-?”
Mobei Jun’s eyebrows twitch. “Hospital.”
“Hospital?! But I can’t afford-!”
“I’ll pay for it!” Mobei Jun snaps. “Stay here. Getting ice.”
“Wait, Mobei-”
“Ice.”
Before he can protest further, Mobei Jun turns on his heel and makes a beeline back to the reception hall. Shang Qinghua covers his face with his hands and growls.
Good job, Airplane. First you let Linguang Jun bait you, and now Mobei Jun will have to cover your hospital bill!
“I’m an idiot.”
“So you’re smart enough to know that, but not smart enough to know not to show off at another man’s wedding. Interesting.”
He peeks through his fingers. Linguang Jun stands in front of the bench, hand in one pocket. He takes a drag from the cigarette in his hand, flicking the ash onto Shang Qinghua.
You again?! Give it a rest, old man!
“How could I show off? The Viennese waltz isn’t hard.” Shang Qinghua removes his hands from his face and crosses his arms. Linguang Jun’s eyes darken as he takes another drag. Shang Qinghua swallows uncomfortably. “And you told me to dance my best, I only did what-”
Something feral flashes across Linguang Jun’s expression and before Shang Qinghua can blink, he slams his heel down directly on the worst of the bruising. Shang Qinghua screams as he hears a sick ‘snap’, feels bone grind against bone.
“Cockroach,” Linguang Jun growls, smirking when Shang Qinghua shrieks.
“Get off me!”
“Mn, no, I don’t think I will.” He flicks more ash onto Shang Qinghua and leans his full weight on the fracture. Shang Qinghua screams and claws at Linguang Jun’s calf. “You see, Xiao Hua-”
“I said don’t call him that!”
Mobei Jun throws his uncle to the ground and pins him with his knee, their noses almost touching as he shakes his uncle by the lapels. Meiyin stands frozen in place, a baggie of ice in her hand.
“What did you do?!” Mobei Jun bellows, teeth gnashing. Linguang Jun’s jaw drops open, his eyes wide when Mobei Jun shakes him again. “Fucking answer me!”
“Mobei Jun, get off of Linlin!”
“Answer!”
“Enough!” Meiyin drops the ice on Shang Qinghua’s lap and grabs Mobei Jun by the collar with both hands. She drags him back, leaving Linguang Jun a panting and rumpled mess on the pavement.
“A-Mei, he-!”
“I saw what happened, Linlin!” Meiyin pushes Mobei Jun aside and marches to Linguang Jun, her red heels clicking threateningly. “Explain why I have to break up a fight on our wedding day.”
“But-”
“Now.”
“Shang Qinghua-”
Mobei Jun bares his teeth again, pressing a baggie of ice against the worst of the bruising.
(“What do you think he has against my legs, ah?” Shang Qinghua laughs wetly.)
“He outdanced us so you decided to stomp his leg?!”
(“Not funny,” Mobei Jun murmurs, a small break in his voice.)
“Answer me, Linlin.”
“...yes.”
Meiyin lifts Linguang Jun by the tie, dragging him to Shang Qinghua and Mobei Jun. Mobei Jun stands, blocking Shang Qinghua from the approaching couple; Meiyin simply tsks and softly pushes him aside.
“Apologize.”
“...”
“...”
“...”
“Apologize, Linlin.”
“Me?! Why do I have to-?!” He sputters when Meiyin pulls at his tie again. “Apologies, Nephew.”
“Not to Junjun!” She lets go of his tie and smacks his shoulder. “To Qinghua. Try again.”
“...”
“Linlin.”
Linguang Jun takes a deep breath through his nose. “Apologies, Qinghua,” he says, teeth bared.
(Well, it’s a better apology than expected…)
“And you will pay the medical fees to fix his leg, correct?”
Linguang Jun squints at Shang Qinghua’s leg and grumbles under his breath.
“Correct?”
“...yes.”
“Good.” She turns to Shang Qinghua. “You danced really well, Qinghua. Thank you for coming to our wedding.”
“...Ah, y-yeah, of course.”
“Let’s go, Linlin.” Meiyin grabs Linguang Jun’s tie again and drags him inside. When his uncle is finally out of sight, Mobei Jun kneels down next to Shang Qinghua and readjusts the ice pack with a shaky hand.
Shang Qinghua bites the inside of his cheek and they wait for their ride in silence.
⤜❅⤛
Airplane: SO
Airplane: BAD NEWS!
Airplane: leggy broke :(
Airplane: IMG073.jpg
Cumbro: BRO
Cumbro: WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT GROSS LEG PICS?
Airplane: WORSE NEWS!!!
Airplane: may need surgery :( :( :(
Airplane: GOOD NEWS!!!!!
Airplane: Found wine! Two of them!! Two whole wine!!!
Airplane: ALSO!
Cumbro: Oh god, how drunk are you?
Airplane: very drunk, don’t interrupt
Airplane: anyway BETTER NEWS!!!
Airplane: Free medical care bc LGJ’s wife is a boss bitch!
Cumbro: Which you wouldn’t need if your leg wasn’t broken.
Airplane: shut up
Airplane: BEST NEWS
Airplane: GUESS WHO IS GETTING DRUNK WITH ME
Cumbro: It’s obviously Mobei Jun.
Airplane: ITs MOBEI!!!!!
Airplane: IMG074.jpg
“Why do you look so grumpy in our selfie, ah? We just had our first date!” Shang Qinghua flops his head on Mobei Jun’s shoulder, phone sliding out of his hand. The sun had set an hour ago, but they had stayed seated at the base of one of the rooftop garden’s lattices, the string lights woven into it twinkling above.
(It would be romantic if he hadn’t joked about having a two-person rave under the rapidly blinking lights earlier.)
He flicks his eyes up to see Mobei Jun take a large mouthful of wine from the bottle. Mobei Jun grimaces, his nose wrinkling.
(It’s adorable! Shang Qinghua’s little gay heart can’t take it!)
“Mobei?”
“Mn?” The wine bottle clinks against the concrete.
“You dance really good.”
Mobei Jun blankly stares ahead, his face slightly flushed.
“Seriously!” Shang Qinghua sits up and beams at him. “You’re really good! I didn’t even prepare you for half the stuff I did at the wedding and it didn’t even phase you!”
“Mn.”
“I've never seen someone pick it up so-” Shang Qinghua is interrupted by a near inaudible sniff. “Are you okay?”
“Am I-” Mobei Jun blinks at Shang Qinghua. His face twitches. “Am I okay?! You-” Mobei Jun cuts himself off and rubs the bridge of his nose. “My uncle breaks your leg and you’re asking if I’m okay.”
“So that’s a ‘no’...?”
“I shouldn’t have taken you! The asshole’s tried to hurt you before, why would he change?” Mobei Jun runs his hand through his hair. “And now you need surgery-”
“Might need surgery.”
“-and I ruined any chance I had with you!”
Mobei Jun’s eyes widen at his own outburst; he looks down at his lap, face almost as red as Meiyin’s qipao.
(Shang Qinghua suddenly regrets not getting Mobei Jun wine drunk years ago. He’s so cute like this.)
Shang Qinghua stands, stumbling slightly on the orthopedic boot, then holds his hand out. Mobei Jun frowns and tilts his head to the side; he takes Shang Qinghua’s hand and pushes himself up. He watches Shang Qinghua interlace their fingers as he moves Mobei Jun’s other hand to his hip.
“Qinghua, what are you doing?”
“Slow dancing with you.” He places his own hand on Mobei Jun’s chest, smiling to himself as Mobei Jun’s heartbeat speeds up. “Or trying to. Stop being so stiff.”
Mobei Jun grumbles, but relaxes enough for them to languidly sway back and forth.
“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you invited me.”
“You’re happy your leg is broken?”
Shang Qinghua snorts. “Could have done without that actually.”
Mobei Jun lets out a bemused ‘tch’ and Shang Qinghua giggles once before laying his head on Mobei Jun’s chest. Mobei Jun pulls his waist closer, completely enveloping him and kissing the crown of his hair. He sighs, drinking in Mobei Jun’s touch, his heartbeat, his breath. Even if they’re just swaying back and forth, the two of them are finally, finally able to touch each other uninterrupted, unhindered.
“I’ve wanted this for a long time, you know? Stupid that I never said anything.”
Mobei Jun lets go of his hand and he hooks two fingers under Shang Qinghua’s chin. Weightlessness bubbles in Shang Qinghua’s chest when he tilts his head up, their lips brushing against each other. Shang Qinghua shivers at the spark that works its way down his spine.
“Me, too.” Mobei Jun kisses the freckles underneath Shang Qinghua’s left eye and then bumps their foreheads together. Shang Qinghua’s heart thuds in his ears as Mobei Jun’s thumb strokes his jawline, as long fingers snake through his hair.
He decides to be brave.
Shang Qinghua closes the space between them, melting at how soft Mobei Jun’s mouth is, so much more plush than he’d imagined. Mobei Jun deepens the kiss and Shang Qinghua can taste the wine on his lips, his tongue. He runs his fingertips against the fuzz of Mobei Jun’s undercut, reveling in the man shivering at his touch.
(Fuck, he didn’t know how much he wanted this.)
Mobei Jun breaks the kiss far too soon, both men breathing hard and fast.
“We’re going on our first date tomorrow.”
“But today was our first-”
“You broke your leg. Doesn’t count.” Mobei Jun bites Shang Qinghua’s bottom lip then kisses him again. It’s slow, melts warmly into his bones.
After a long moment, Shang Qinghua pulls back. “One request.”
“What is it, love?” Mobei Jun whispers, nuzzling his cheek.
“We’re not going dancing.”