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Chu Shuzhi opens his eyes to the familiar dark of his bedroom, illuminated by the pale light peeking through the open shutters. Dawn is breaking, and he already sees the dark outlines of neighboring buildings through his window, familiar roofs covered in a downy blanket of snow.
In his arms, Guo Changcheng shifts with a soft sound, eyes fluttering blearily open to gaze up at him.
“Chu-ge?” he mumbles, half into Chu Shuzhi’s collarbone. He’s tired, but there’s a hint of concern in his voice, out of habit — rest has never come easy to Chu, haunted so often by nightmares that jolt him out of sleep and into Guo’s worried arms, ever-patient. Chu blinks the sleep from his eyes and leans down, pressing a gentle kiss on the top of Guo’s head and smoothing callused fingers over the nape of his neck.
I’m fine, he doesn’t say, but Guo still relaxes at the touch, breaths fanning out over the curve of Chu’s shoulder.
“It’s still early,” Chu murmurs, voice still rough and sleep-graveled. “Go back to sleep.” Guo hums softly in agreement, eyes already closing — Chu lets himself linger for a few minutes, thumb rubbing fond circles across Guo’s skin as he watches Guo slip back into unconsciousness.
The blankets are warm where they lie loosely over the two on the bed, and Chu sits up, tucking the covers tight around Guo’s shoulders before he moves, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and getting up carefully. He pads to the bathroom quietly, each motion already muscle memory, ingrained in him from the years of waking at dawn to prepare for work.
Today, despite being a day off, is no different. Old habits are hard to break — Chu Shuzhi knows this better than anyone.
Turning on the sink, he splashes water on his face, glancing up at the mirror. Now, so many years after the fact, with new scars and old shadows on his face, he looks nothing like Nianzhi: the only thing left that’s still familiar is the darkness in his eyes, the steely edge of his glare. It’s bittersweet, and he sighs, hand running absently over his chest, fingers tracing the raised scar there out of habit before shaking himself out of it.
Chu pulls on a black T-shirt and finishes brushing his teeth before walking out, giving Guo’s sleeping form a soft look as he passes.
The kitchen is small but well-stocked, and Chu lets himself get swept away in the easy drive of old routine, cracking eggs and slicing scallions with only half of his usual focus, the sizzle of the pan and whir of the exhaust fan a counterpoint to the scrape of the ladle against the edge of the pot as he coaxes yesterday’s leftover rice into congee, simmering warm on the stove.
It brings back memories of easier times, so long ago now: Nianzhi and their mother and father at the table, Chu at the stove or at the oven, fussing over his latest creation.
He bows his head, eyes squeezing shut for a brief second.
It’s mornings like these, when the sun takes its time to rise and the clouds spread thick in the sky that he feels it most — that sense of homesickness, of longing for a place he can’t go back to, not anymore. The kitchen fan clicks itself off, leaving him in silence before the shuffling behind him alerts him to Guo’s presence.
“Good morning,” Guo says softly, a hand landing gently on the back of Chu’s shoulder. He walks up, eyeing the food on the stove eagerly as he sidles up to Chu’s side.
Chu snorts, but turns when Guo leans into him, standing on his tiptoes to peck Chu on the cheek, affection still easy and sleep-softened. When he pulls away, there’s the suggestion of a blush rising to the tips of Guo’s ears, and Chu stifles a laugh, raising a hand to ruffle Guo’s hair before turning back to spoon the porridge out into waiting bowls, lifting the pan to roll the omelette carefully down onto a plate.
Guo watches with wide eyes and a fond smile, gaze flickering from the food to Chu’s face and back down in quick bursts.
“Ah, Chu-ge — you’re really too amazing!” Guo’s admiration reads clear on his face, and Chu quirks his lips up, giving him a small shrug, as if to say, and what if I am?
“I’ll teach you, sometime,” Chu says, voice tinged with amusement. Guo’s smile grows wider, and Chu feels an answering warmth tug at his chest.
Sometime, he thinks, as if they have all the time in the world — but Guo is solid and warm against his side, real and here and alive, and for that Chu can only be grateful. He raises a hand to stroke over Guo’s cheek, thumb pressing up against the corner of his smile, radiant — and he leans in, leaving soft kisses against Guo’s bottom lip, humming in quiet satisfaction when Guo pushes back up against him, sweetly.
He pulls back, just a little bit, forehead leaning against Guo’s — Guo chases him for a beat before letting him go.
“Help me bring this over to the table?” Chu asks. Guo pulls back and nods swiftly, eagerly, diligently picking up both bowls and the plate in a practiced stack.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” Chu calls, leaning back against the counter, watching Guo walk over and set the table.
“After my parents passed away, my uncle and aunt put me through college. I still felt bad about having been such a burden on them, though, so I worked a few odd jobs to pay off some of my tuition, so they wouldn’t have to do so much.”
Guo looks down at his hands, fingers curling at the edge of a placemat before he glances back up at Chu with a sheepish grin. “I never really kept any job for very long though — I was never any good at any of them, I guess.”
Chu smiles to himself, imagining the disaster that must’ve been Guo Changcheng as a rookie waiter. The poor restaurant.
“Oh,” Guo says, snapping Chu out of his thoughts, fretting around his chair. “Chu-ge, let’s eat!” Chu blinks in confusion before an understanding quirk slides up onto his lips, walking over with a small shake of his head. Always so dutiful, he thinks, watching as Guo plops himself down into his chair a beat after Chu takes a seat.
They eat — Chu quietly and Guo much less so, talking excitedly about the new SID recruits and Lin-ge’s latest inventions and Hong-jie’s recent move, Chu nodding and asking superficial questions here and there to keep him talking. As much as Chu complains about Guo’s rambling, there are times when it’s almost calming — if not his voice itself, then just the ease of watching him talk like this, a smile on his face, as if none of the troubles of the world can get to him.
But Guo stills, after a mention of his uncle, and Chu looks up questioningly.
“What’s wrong?” Guo swallows and doesn’t reply immediately, eyes flitting away to fix on the floor.
“Hey,” Chu murmurs, leaning forward. “Changcheng. What is it?”
“I forgot to tell you yesterday. M-my uncle,” Guo continues again, in dismay. “He set me up on another date — and I told him not to, Chu-ge, I really did say that I didn’t want to go, but he didn’t listen, and — and now I don’t know what to do.”
Chu frowns, taking a sip from his cup.
“I — I think I want to tell him,” Guo starts, and Chu all but chokes on his water. Chu manages to swallow, thickly, and stares up at Guo.
“You’re sure that’s a good idea?” Chu replies. Guo glances up at him with wide eyes before looking away, honesty almost painful in his voice when he speaks quickly, words tripping over themselves.
“I want to be with Chu-ge,” he says, “No matter what he says or thinks — or, or what he can do, I want that,” and Chu feels it like a blow, breath hitched in its wake. He closes his eyes slowly, before Guo can see the beginnings of tears in them, and he takes a deep breath, slowly nodding.
“Okay,” Chu says, voice calmer than he feels. “Okay,” he repeats, because Chu has never been one to give a damn about what anyone else could think of him, because he has never been one to care whether or not he’s accepted, much less approved of, because he would go through another century of torture again if it meant Guo could be safe, could be happy — but his hands shake a little when they curl at his sides, because he wants, in the way he’d thought he’d forgotten, between the lifetimes of blood and loneliness and pain.
Guo’s chair scrapes against the hardwood floor, and Chu hears him step around the table before he feels the gentle press of slender hands against his face, turning it to the side.
“Chu-ge,” Guo says, alarmed, wiping away a tear before it falls. “Did I say something —“
“No,” Chu says, shaking his head. He raises a hand to press against the back of Guo’s hand, keeping it on his face. “I — It’s good.”
“Okay,” Guo says, echoing him, and Chu opens his eyes to see Guo in front of him, flashing him a watery smile. Chu’s heart feels like a brittle thing in his chest, raw and exposed, before he’s pulling Guo down into a kiss. Light streams in through the shutters, the smell of home-cooked food in the air, and Guo’s lips are soft on Chu’s when he kisses back, pliant — it feels like home, morning light warm on Chu’s back and Guo warmer still in his arms.
I want this too, Chu wants to say, more than anything.
Guo leans back and presses his forehead against the crook of Chu’s neck, fingers tangled in the hem of Chu’s shirt.
“Come over this weekend,” Guo murmurs. “For New Year’s dinner.”
“Yeah,” Chu replies, tangling their fingers together with a light squeeze.
They stay like that for a long time, watching the dawn flare into the day, before they pull apart.