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Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng never had much of a poker face. He tried to develop some control, he really did. He looked up to Yanli for so many reasons, but he was most impressed with her ability to conjure up a carefully neutral, polite mask, one she even managed to hold when their mother turned her ire on her only daughter, though she rarely ever felt the weight of that, and when she did, it was because she had stepped between her and Jiang Cheng when his face gave way to furious tears.

Instead, he had cultivated what his brother called his Fuck Off Face, before he was even old enough to realize he’d done it. It didn’t protect him from his mother, but it kept most everyone else away so he could save his energy to deal with whatever his mother threw his way.

He didn’t know there was anything unusual about it because it was all he’d ever known. Until he met Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen. He didn’t know that someone could actually like him, someone who wasn’t obligated by blood, like his sister. He didn’t know that people might actually want to spend time with him because they enjoyed his company, enjoyed his particular brand of acerbic wit, his sharp and creative mind, his devastating smile. He couldn’t imagine what he had to offer someone beyond obedience and sacrifice. He didn’t know how good it could feel to walk in the sunlight of another’s love.

It scared the hell out of him.

He knew he couldn’t go back to the shadowy, moonlit world of Before. He was finally awake, finally warm. He knew if he had to go back, it would kill him.

He heard them talk sometimes, when they thought he had fallen asleep during movie nights or his music leaked from his headphones as he made use of the gym equipment in their spare bedroom. He used to feel like his heart had stopped and his veins had filled with ice. They had changed their minds. They would ask him to go. And he would go, would do anything for them. He listened, really listened, and tonight, what he hears makes him feel so much worse.

He’s not happy.

Give him time, Xichen. He’ll let his guard down.

And if he doesn’t? If he remains unhappy? How can we keep him here?

Jiang Chang hisses as the oil in the neglected pan pops and splatters across the back of his hand. It was his turn to cook. He didn’t like conversation while he cooked because he was too easily distracted, so he put on some music, and Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen took the opportunity to finish laundry. Jiang Cheng had just found a rhythm. The rice noodles were soaking, the sauce for the vegan pad thai recipe he was trying had thickened and been set aside, and he had just scraped the scallions, peppers and garlic into the skillet to sauté when he catches the hushed conversation.

“Fucking hell!” he curses, setting the pan aside and sucking the red spot on the back of his hand.

“My heart?” Lan Xichen calls out. “Is everything alright?”

“It’s fine!” he shouts, shaking his hand. “Dinner’ll be ready soon.”

“I’ll set the table, A-Cheng,” Mingjue says as he brings a stack of tea towels in and puts them in their designated drawer by the stove. He frowns as he catches Jiang Cheng’s furtive movement to hide his hand. “Let me see?”

“It’s fine,” Jiang Cheng says again. “I got distracted.”

A flicker of disquiet crosses Mingjue’s face, but he simply takes Jiang Cheng’s hand in his and presses a gentle kiss on the back. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Setting the table is perfect,” he says. “There’s a pitcher of water with mint and lime in the fridge.”

“I’ll see to it.” He kisses Jiang Cheng’s cheek, careful not to get in the way as Jiang Cheng turns back to the pan. He manages to finish cooking the carrots and bean sprouts without further incident, and by the time he adds tofu, the table is set, and his loves are waiting for him.

Xichen heaps lavish praise on the meal, and Jiang Cheng feels a wave of adoration when he realizes it was genuine praise. Mingjue is also sincere in his admiration for Jiang Cheng’s efforts, and his smile is even brighter when he is handed a bowl of diced chilies — they both liked things on the spicy side.

“I know this isn’t your favorite,” Jiang Cheng says, blushing as Mingjue’s fingers linger against his when he hands over the bowl, “but I saw this recipe on a cooking show when I went to the gym the other day, and I knew Xichen would like it. Next time, though, I have an idea for something I think you’ll love.”

“It is delicious, my heart,” Mingjue says, “truly. But I look forward to your next experiment.”

The rest of the meal passes with warm, if light conversation. Xichen tells them about a student with whom he has finally made a real connection, and Mingjue updates them on the latest installment of a series he has been reading over the last few years. Jiang Cheng is struck by just how beautiful they both are, especially when they talk about things they are so passionate about. He wonders if he will ever have something in his life — aside from the family he is building here — that he could love as passionately. Something must have shown in his face and he curses himself for causing the worried look that passed between Mingjue and Xichen, but it is gone in a moment.

It is Mingjue’s turn to do the washing up, so he urges them away from the table and out to the living room to pick a movie while he handles the dishes. By the time he is done, Jiang Cheng is tucked into the corner of the couch and Xichen is sprawled out, content as a cat with his head in Jiang Cheng’s lap.

“What are we watching?” he asks as he settles in with Xichen’s feet in his lap.

“We need a tie-breaker,” Jiang Cheng says as he accepts a bowl of popcorn from Mingjue and feeds a piece to Xichen. “We can’t decide between the latest episode of Inspector Coyle or that nature documentary about the South Pacific.”

“Murder and incompetent police work, please,” Mingjue declares. “And I bet you it takes at least six corpses before the good Inspector solves the case.”

“Stakes?” Xichen asks, reaching for more popcorn.

“Winner gets a date night?” Jiang Cheng suggests.

“Two corpses,” Xichen replies. “I have faith in Coyle.” He looks up at Jiang Cheng. “What do you say, my heart?”

“Where is this episode set?”

Mingjue takes out his phone and scrolls a moment. “Church fete at Christmas.”

“Four bodies till he figures it out,” Jiang Cheng says after a moment.

“What if it’s somewhere in the middle? Three or five?” Xichen asks.

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” Mingjue says. He picks up the remote and turns to the show, the familiar strings of the theme song filling the room.

***

“Do we tell him he won?”

“Of course, gege.” Xichen sits up and caresses Jiang Cheng’s cheek. “Wake up, darling.”

“Was it the ...wazzit… the verger?” he asks, sleep still tugging at the edges of his thoughts.

Mingjue laughs. “How do you do that, A-Cheng? You fell asleep half an hour in!”

“I know you didn’t cheat,” Xichen says, snuggling against Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, “but I’m beginning to suspect you might be a little too comfortable with the mind of a murderer. At least those that positively overrun the English countryside.”

Jiang Cheng gives him a sleepy smile and a kiss on his forehead. “It was the staff thingy. Had a weird dent.”

“Alright, but how did you figure it would take four corpses until the killer was caught?”

“Mmm,” Jiang Cheng says, “maybe I’ll tell you when I take you out.”

“But you won, my heart,” Xichen says. “We’re supposed to take you out.”

“I just said a date night.” He grins down at Xichen. “I never said who had to plan it. So.” He kisses Xichen and reaches out for Mingjue, who leans in for a kiss of his own. “Check your calendars and find a date. Each of you. I want to take you each out, on your own.”

“Sneaky,” Mingjue replies. “You could have just said you wanted some one-on-one time.”

Jiang Cheng looks away until he can school his face into something less anxious. “But I do so like to win,” he says, offering them his brightest smile. “And I am also much too tired to argue, so can we go to bed, please?“

He doesn’t miss the look exchanged between Xichen and Mingjue, but he pretends to ignore it in favor of a last piece of popcorn. When he looks up again, the silent conversation between his loves is over and they help him stand and usher him to bed.

Chapter Text

“I thought we were going on an afternoon date?” Nie Mingjue says as he buttons the pine green top he has picked for the occasion.

“We are,” Jiang Cheng replies, searching for the mate to the sock he holds.

“Then why are you bringing that?” He points to the duffel bag beside the door.

“You’ll see,” Jiang Cheng says, grinning up at him before he gives up on matching socks and takes one at random from the basket of unfolded laundry at the foot of their bed.

“Do I need to change?”

Jiang Cheng admires the trim figure before him, toned arms on display in the short-sleeved button-down shirt, dark indigo jeans, the ones that really show off his ass. Later, later, Jiang Cheng tells himself. He smiles again.

“You’re perfect.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Mingjue says, bending down to kiss Jiang Cheng’s forehead, “but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Your outfit’s good, too.”

“Is he wearing the jeans?” Lan Xichen calls from the living room.

“Yep!” Jiang Cheng lets his gaze linger and delights at the faintest of blushes that rises in Mingjue’s cheeks.

“Good!”

“Incorrigible, the pair of you,” Mingjue says, feigning gruffness. Jiang Cheng simply smiles again and rises, taking Mingjue’s hand and leading him out of the bedroom.

Xichen looks up from his cozy spot on the couch and the lesson plans he’s finishing up. “My heart and soul,” he says, eyes soft and fond. He pushes his hair aside and tucks a stray lock behind his ear.

“There’s enough leftovers to put together a decent dinner,” Jiang Cheng says as he sits on the bench by the door to put on his shoes, “but if none of that sounds good, I’ll make you something when we get back. We won’t be too late.”

“I’ll be fine,” Xichen says, turning his face up to accept a kiss from Mingjue. “Have fun. That’s all that matters.”

Mingjue caresses his cheek. “We will. Don’t work too hard.”

“See you tonight,” Jiang Cheng says, hoisting the duffel bag on his shoulder.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, my heart?”

Jiang Cheng looks around, patting his pocket to check for his keys and wallet, and Mingjue clears his throat. He nods at Xichen.

“Oh. Yes,” he mumbles, hurrying to Xichen’s side. “Sorry.”

“Whatever for?” Xichen murmurs, cupping Jiang Cheng’s face and holding him still for a kiss.

Someday, someday, he’ll have this, really have it, the easy freedom of affection that Mingjue and Xichen dole out without hesitation. He vows he will. He puts that promise into his kiss, and Xichen’s hands drift down to squeeze Jiang Cheng’s arms. He knows, and he’ll wait for Jiang Cheng.

“Have fun, my heart.”

“See you tonight.” Jiang Cheng straightens and adjusts the bag. He smiles down at Xichen, at his light.

He takes Mingjue’s hand and holds it all the way to the car, though he can feel Mingjue keeps his grip light and loose, letting Jiang Cheng take the lead, and his heart swells with love.

“I really hope you like this,” he says as they buckle into the car. Jiang Cheng puts it into gear and begins to drive.

“What makes you nervous?”

Jiang Cheng shrugs. “That this’ll be completely lame, and you’ll be bored,” he admits. It’s easier to answer questions when Mingjue is specific. And when he doesn’t have to look at him.

“Are you planning on leaving me alone for a significant portion of the date?”

“No.” He cuts a glance at Mingjue, who smiles at him.

“Then I promise, I won’t be bored.” He lets a hand rest on Jiang Cheng’s thigh. “I’m excited to be with you, to see what you love and what you have planned, but I hope you know that your company is enough. It’s always enough.”

Jiang Cheng allows himself to briefly touch Mingjue’s hand before returning his concentration on the drive. “Okay,” he says.

The drive isn’t long, and Jiang Cheng’s anxiety spikes when he catches Mingjue’s puzzled expression as they park in front of the community center, but he pushes the nerves down. “We’ll need to change into something a little more casual,” he says, taking the duffel bag from the trunk. “And we’re running just the tiniest bit late, so we’ll have to hurry.”

They change in the men’s locker room, and Jiang Cheng leads Mingjue to one of the small gyms at the end of the building which houses the community center. He is more relieved than he cares to admit when he hears Mingjue’s delighted gasp as he pushes the heavy double door open and walks into the large open room.

“Huaisang said you used to do this when you were kids,” Jiang Cheng says, gesturing to the small group gathered in the center. Several young men and women were laying out shining silver swords along one wall of the gym while a pair of women about Jiang Cheng’s age fiddle with a portable speaker and stereo. “I saw a flier a few weeks ago when I came down to work out, and I thought it looked like fun.”

“A-Cheng!” It’s clear that whatever Mingjue thought Jiang Cheng planned, something like this never crossed his mind, and Jiang Cheng feels a thrill of happiness run through him for pulling off this surprise. Mingjue grabs his hand and drags him into the gym.

“Mingjue!” Their attention turns to a slender young man with a clipboard in hand. “What are you doing here?”

“Xingchen?” Mingjue wraps the young man up in a fierce hug. “You’re back?”

The young man claps Mingjue on the back. “Put me down, you absolute brute,” he says with a laugh. “Yes! We’ve been back for a couple months.” He hugs Mingjue tight, then pushes him back to get a look at Jiang Cheng. “Hello,” he says, extending a hand. “I’m Xiao Xingchen.”

“Jiang Cheng,” he replies, shaking the man’s hand.

“My partner,” Mingjue says. Xiao Xingchen frowns, briefly, but Jiang Cheng registers the look.

“Xichen?”

“At home. A-Cheng and I are having a date night, well, afternoon.”

Understanding blooms with a dazzling smile. “Well, aren’t you a lucky bastard!” he says with a wink, and Jiang Cheng’s tension leaves him as he leans into Mingjue’s side.

“The absolute luckiest. And Zichen?”

“Home with our daughter today.” He takes out a phone and shows them the background photo, a smiling, dark eyed toddler holding onto a plush cat.

“Fuck,” Mingjue breathes, “you really did settle down. Congratulations!”

“Thank you.” Xiao Xingchen turns to Jiang Cheng. “So, have you tried sword dancing before, or did Mingjue talk you into this?”

“I didn’t get the chance to do a lot of extracurriculars like this when I was a kid,” he admits, “and it seems like fun.”

“You’ll love it,” Xiao Xingchen assures him.

The next hour and a half passes in something of a blur. The gathered students split off into groups of six. Xingchen takes Jiang Cheng and Mingjue into his own group, and he takes them through a few basic steps to build a rudimentary routine. It doesn’t take long for Mingjue’s muscles to remember long-practiced motions, and more than once, Jiang Cheng finds himself distracted, watching him. He’s a compact, muscular man, but Jiang Cheng knows better than most the easy grace hidden underneath.

Xingchen bumps him with a shoulder the third time he catches Jiang Cheng lose focus of his own movements to watch Mingjue.

“Before you leave, give me your number, and I’ll send you links to some YouTube videos of a high school competition. You can be distracted by the dancing to your heart’s content — if you can ignore the teenage mustache your lover sported back in the day.”

“No!” Jiang Cheng whispers.

“Oh yes. And if the videos have been taken down, I have a DVD somewhere. And photos.”

“What’re you two whispering about?” Mingjue says, regarding them with suspicion.

“Nothing!” Xingchen says at the same time as Jiang Cheng blurts “Mustache!”

“No! No no no, Xingchen, you will NOT!”

“Oh, my friend, it is fate indeed that brought you to my class today.”

When they part a short time later, with plans for dinner the Friday after next, Jiang Cheng and Mingjue clean up quickly and change back into their regular clothes.

“Did you like it?” Jiang Cheng asks as he starts the car.

“Aside from the deep regret that I didn’t destroy every video from my wretched high school days? I absolutely loved it, A-Cheng.” He kisses Jiang Cheng before he puts the car in gear and takes out his phone. He chuckles as he scrolls through the messages Xichen had sent. “Xichen, it seems, is finding ways to occupy his time a bit longer,” he says, showing Jiang Cheng a series of texts that just say “NAAAAAP!” over and over.

Jiang Cheng laughs, caught in a wave of fond affection. “We should let him sleep, then. I’m hungry. Let me buy you a late lunch.”

“Tacos?”

“And beer.”

“And churros,” they say together.

Thanks to the class, they arrive at El Toro’s, their favorite Mexican restaurant, just after the lunch rush. Their server directs them to a table in the corner, against a vibrant turquoise wall draped with colorful woven blankets. Conversation is easy as they work through an impressive stack of tacos and bottles of Tecate.

“So,” Mingjue says as he hands Jiang Cheng another pastor taco, “Huaisang really never showed you pics of my tragic teen ‘stache?”

“Mmm mmm,” he replies. He takes a drink from his bottle. “Teen Huaisang was much more interested in, um, his other stash.”

Mingjue frowns before comprehension dawns. “Oh my god,” he laughs, “he was such a horny little fucker.”

“Yeah.” Jiang Cheng selects another taco. “Well, none of us were particularly cool.”

Mingjue sighs. “Xichen was.”

“Really?” Jiang Cheng finishes his taco and wipes his hand on a fresh napkin. “I can see that. He must have been gorgeous, even then.”

“He was.”

“I looked like a scarecrow.”

“I don’t believe that,” Mingjue says, surreptitiously rubbing the back of Jiang Cheng’s hand. “I bet you were adorable.”

Jiang Cheng sighs and scrolls through his phone. He hands it to Mingjue. “High school theater camp. Oklahoma.”

Mingjue’s face lights up as he takes in the vision that was seventeen-year-old Jiang Cheng in dusty overalls and a blue plaid flannel shirt. “How did you have such sharp cheekbones, even then? Why did you have a mullet? And why do you have this on your phone?”

Jiang Cheng shrugs. “Luck and a late growth spurt for the cheekbones. I have no explanation for the hair. As for the photo, Wei Ying used to threaten to post it on social media whenever he thought I was getting too cocky.” He accepts his phone from Mingjue and puts it in his pocket. “I figured I could be embarrassed or own it.”

“A-Cheng, I fucking love you!” Mingjue leans across for a fierce kiss but backs off when Jiang Cheng freezes. “Shit! Shit, love, I am so sorry.”

Jiang Cheng takes a few breaths before he looks up at Mingjue. “It’s fine. I mean, I will be fine.”

“I—“

“Really.” He rests his hand briefly on Mingjue’s arm. “I appreciate the apology, and the consideration.”

“We can go home,” he says, looking around for their server.

“Before churros? No, Mingjue, it’s alright.”

“If you’re sure?”

“I’m always sure about churros,” Jiang Cheng says, desperate to bring back the easy, open conversation they’d been sharing. He wants it, the normalcy of their banter. He wants so much to be like other couples, to be someone who doesn’t flinch away from affection. Mingjue looks as though he wants to object, but he flags down their server and orders churros.

“Another beer?”

“Please,” Jiang Cheng says. He waits. He knows there is a lecture coming, and he figures his short answers won’t be rude if his mouth is full.

“My heart,” he says after their dessert has been delivered, “do you, um, who do you talk to?”

“I have friends. You’ve met them.”

“You have my brother, your brother, his husband, your sister.”

“Yes?”

“I mean, someone invested just in you. Someone who isn’t worried about keeping the peace.”

Jiang Cheng sighs. “My insurance doesn’t cover therapy.”

“Wanyin.”

Jiang Cheng flinches. “Don’t, okay? Just. Don’t. Not today.”

“Can I just ask you one thing?” His hand twitches, as if he wants to grab Jiang Cheng’s hand, but he takes another drink from his beer.

“Go ahead.”

“If something happened to me, or Xichen. Say, I don’t know, one of us got sick and had to go to the ER. Everything was fine but we had to pay our copay before we left, and we had to get an expensive prescription. Say we didn’t have our wallet. What would you do?”

“Pay it,” Jiang Cheng says without hesitation.

“And when would you expect us to pay you back?”

“I wouldn’t! I mean, not on a schedule or anything. I trust you.”

“So why do you expect differently from me? From us?”

There it is. The old argument.

“You want to know what I really want, Mingjue?”

“More than anything.” He takes Jiang Cheng’s hand this time, and Jiang Cheng gives it a squeeze.

“I want to put a garden out on the balcony.”

Whatever Mingjue expected, it isn’t this. He is silent.

“A small one. I saw a thing online about making a vertical garden, perfect for urban spaces. I can grow marigolds, basil, lemongrass, mint. Maybe get some ferns or those ones with the big leaves, the ones that look like they belong on wallpaper.”

“Monstera?”

“Yes! Those!” He takes up the pen the server has left with the credit card slip and opens a napkin, sketching a floor plan. “We could put a table on the north end, a bench or something with cushions. You could sit out there and read when the weather is nice. We’ll put up a screen. Marigolds and lemongrass are supposed to help keep mosquitoes away, but we can put some citronella candles out. We could leave a space on the south end for Xichen to set up his easel. We’d have to be careful not to block his light, but…” He trails off when he realizes he’s rambling. He looks up, and Mingjue has the oddest look on his face, almost like he’s sad.

He crumples the napkin and stuffs it in his pocket, but still Mingjue stares at him.

“What? What did I say wrong?”

“Nothing, my heart. Nothing wrong at all.” He lays his hand on the table, palm up, waiting for Jiang Cheng to take it. He does, after studying Mingjue’s face again. Mingjue kisses the back of his hand. “I fucking love you, Jiang Cheng,” he says, his voice full of wonder.

I wish I knew why, he thinks.

“Jiang Cheng, love, do you really want a garden?”

“Yes?”

Mingjue gives him a look.

Jiang Cheng takes a breath. “Yes. I do.”

“Then you’ll have a garden.”

“Really? Shouldn’t we talk to Xichen first?”

“Mmm, yes, we’ll talk, but my love, this is the first time — the first time — I have ever heard you speak so passionately about something, the first time I have seen you so full of love and joy for something that wasn’t your siblings or us.”

“Shut up, no it’s not.”

Mingjue kisses the back of his hand in lieu of an answer.

Jiang Cheng looks at their hands, fingers laced together. Could it really be that simple? He clears his throat, pushes down the tangle of feelings threatening to come to the surface, pervasive as morning glory vines.

“We should get back. I want to make sure Xichen gets something decent for dinner.”

“Of course, my heart.” Mingjue releases his hand.

The drive home is quiet. Thoughts he had long buried, seeds he thought were dead and useless, take root. Truths that withered in the darkness send out questing shoots, reaching for the sunlight in which he now walks.

He parks, and they sit together, waiting for the other to make the first move.

“A-Cheng,” Mingjue says at last. “May I ask you for one thing?”

“Anything!” he says, eager for some task, something to prove he is worth their love.

Mingjue reaches for him, turns him and cups his face between his hands. “A-Cheng, I am asking for this one thing from you.” He kisses Jiang Cheng, soft and sweet. “Wherever you go, whatever you choose, whatever you want, will you let me —let us — walk with you? Will you promise me this? Just to walk with you?”

Jiang Cheng pulls Mingjue close, flush against him, and kisses him back. “I will,” he says. “I will. I will.”

Chapter Text

Lan Xichen eyes the classroom with nervous skepticism. “And we’re only going to learn how to make sauces?”

“The mother sauces of French cuisine,” Jiang Cheng says, handing Xichen an apron. “Bechamel, veloute, Espagnole, Hollandaise, and tomato.”

“Oh, tomato,” Xichen says lightly, attempting to mask his uncertainty. “Humble tomato doesn’t get a fancy name?”

Jiang Cheng puts the whisk he was testing down on the counter and takes Xichen’s hands. “You’re uncomfortable,” he says. “I’m sorry. I really thought this would be fun, but we can go.”

“No, it’s alright. It’s just… it’s unexpected. What made you choose this?”

“Well, I know you like to learn. You always want to know how things work, how they’re put together. I thought, I mean, I’m not saying you’re a bad cook.”

“But I am.”

“So bad,” Jiang Cheng says, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen such a disaster in my life.”

“Alright, well, disaster might be a bit strong,” Xichen says, taking his hands away.

“The waffles?”

“I still can’t figure out what went wrong with those,” Xichen says as he accepts a spiral-bound recipe book from the older woman leading the class. “My latest theory is that somehow, I offended a household god, or one of those spirits who turns milk sour if you don’t pay them proper tribute.”

Jiang Cheng grins at him. He adores these moments when Xichen gives in to the undercurrent of whimsy he lets few people see. “Maybe we should get a talisman to hang up. Wei Ying has been bugging me to let him get some sort of gift for the apartment. Maybe he can paint something for us.”

“Does this mean we can have a party?” Xichen lights up. “Nothing big,” he quickly assures Jiang Cheng. “A sibling dinner. Maybe a board game.”

“Only if you can promise there won’t be a repeat of the Scrabble Incident.”

Xichen stiffens. “You don’t have to be cruel, A-Cheng.”

Jiang Cheng snakes an arm around Xichen’s waist and pulls him in for a quick kiss. “Never. A dinner party — a small one — sounds good.”

Xichen allows himself to pout a moment longer, enough to get another kiss from Jiang Cheng, and then turns his attention to the front of the room, where the instructor reviews the tools they will be using.

Jiang Cheng considers the whole enterprise a success. Xichen burned the roux twice, scorching it without actually setting anything on fire, but Jiang Cheng freely admits that Xichen’s tomato sauce, with perfect garlic and caramelized onion highlights, is the best in the class.

“You have no idea how relieved I am that your tomato sauce didn’t turn out,” Xichen confesses as they get in the car. “My ego was really starting to take a hit.”

“I’m really, really sorry, Xichen,” he replies. “I really had no idea sauces could be so finicky. I mean, it’s hard to fuck up pad thai sauce. But the French.” He waves his hand. “I should have taken us to the art museum.”

“My heart,” Xichen says, “you have nothing to be sorry for. I’m honored you thought to share something you love with me, and that you also let me participate. You didn’t just give me something, although I do love it when you make delicious things.” He leans in to kiss Jiang Cheng. “Every delicious thing,” he whispers as Jiang Cheng blushes. “But if you feel as though you must soothe my poor, bruised ego, you could take me to Charlotte’s for some pain au chocolat.”

“I’m so proud of you for not holding a grudge against the French after this class,” Jiang Cheng jokes, putting the car in gear and heading east toward the cafe.

“Mmm, I wouldn’t go that far,” Xichen replies, his face perfectly serious. “I’m reasonably sure that ‘bechamel’ is just French for ‘bane of Lan Xichen’s existence,’ but it would take a lot for me to turn against pain au chocolat.”

“Good to know.”

“What? What’s that face for?”

Jiang Cheng flashes a grin at him. “You just gave me a really good idea. But it’ll have to wait.” He grins again but keeps his eyes on the road. “Pouting doesn’t work when I’m driving.”

Xichen huffs and pokes Jiang Cheng’s side, gently, and Jiang Cheng laughs.

By some miracle, they arrive at Charlotte’s just as a fresh tray of pastries is being put out, and their favorite spot, a worn, gold velvet loveseat in a sunny corner surrounded by potted ferns, is available. Jiang Cheng sends Xichen off to claim their seat. He orders a pot of Earl Grey and the pain au chocolat for Xichen and an espresso and some chocolate orange shortbread for himself.

“The barista recommended this tea paired with your dessert,” Jiang Cheng says, arranging their treats on the low table in front of the loveseat, “and I figured you wouldn’t mind the caffeine because it’s still pretty early, but I can go back and get something else if you want.”

“This is perfect, A-Cheng.” He goes straight for the pastry, biting through the flaky outer layer, eyes widening in surprise as warm, melted chocolate escapes out the sides and catches on his chin. Jiang Cheng chuckles. He reaches out to wipe the chocolate away with his thumb. Xichen catches his hand, stares him down, and licks his thumb clean.

Jiang Cheng just manages to take his hand back slowly instead of jerking away like he’s been burned, but his face flushes scarlet. “You’re the worst,” he mumbles, turning his attention to his coffee. He stirs in a few packets of sugar, keeping his eyes cast down until he thinks he has a bit more control over his expression. When he looks up, Xichen is drinking a cup of tea, calm as anything, though he does give Jiang Cheng a little wink.

This is a test, Jiang Cheng thinks. Will he flinch, close up and push Xichen away? He wants to, just a little, though he will not say that to Xichen. It’s not worth the disappointment he will see. Instead, he focuses on his coffee, on his dessert, and asks Xichen after his progress with a particularly difficult class of seventh graders. It’s not just a distraction. He loves watching Xichen talk, elegant hands waving in increasingly large gestures the more excited or intense he gets. He loves passionate Xichen, envies him. He wonders, sometimes, if he studies Xichen’s easy grace enough if he’ll pick up some for himself.

“...and I don’t want to quash that rebellious spirit, not entirely! Artists need to be rebels! But I finally just had to say, ‘no, Danny, you cannot draw a comic about sentient dicks. Not in a middle school art class.’”

Jiang Cheng chokes on a mouthful of shortbread and knocks Xichen’s teacup out of his hand. He laughs, really laughs, as Xichen scrambles to both clean up the tea and ensure that Jiang Cheng isn’t actually choking to death.

“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng wheezes, wrestling himself under control. “How do you do it? How do you not incinerate the little bastards on sight when shit like that happens?”

Xichen smiles serenely and pours himself a fresh cup of tea. “Patience,” he says, “and having people to whom I can vent. And, some weeks, a lot of wine. I’m making Marjorie, my co-teacher, take me out for drinks next weekend.”

Jiang Cheng wipes his eyes and leans back against the sofa cushions. “I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head, “I don’t think there is enough alcohol in the world to get me to do what you do. There certainly isn’t enough patience.”

“Patience is a practice, my love, not a thing.”

Jiang Cheng stills as those words reach him. He looks at Xichen.

“What? What’s wrong?” Xichen puts his cup down and takes Jiang Cheng’s hands.

“Nothing,” he replies, and he means it. He feels the moment Xichen realizes he’s not lying or trying to deflect. His smile is brighter than the sun.

Xichen squeezes his hands, then returns his attention to his tea. “You could do it if you had to, A-Cheng. Maybe not middle school, but you have the heart to be a good teacher, if you ever wanted to. But you’re right, it’s not for everyone.”

“Mmm,” Jiang Cheng agrees. He reaches for his own cup, but his espresso is long gone. “I’m going to get another drink. Would you like another pastry?”

“No, thank you,” he says, “but we should grab one of those apple tarts before we go. They’re Mingjue’s favorite.”

“Smart.” Jiang Cheng heads to the counter, selecting the perfect tart and ordering an iced coffee for himself, caffeine jitters be damned. Xichen leans against him, rests his head against Jiang Cheng’s shoulder when he returns to the sofa, and they relax into one another’s company. Xichen is warm against his side, warm in the gentle sunlight filtering through the cafe’s window, and Jiang Cheng closes his eyes, peace settling around him like a well-loved quilt.

“My heart?” Xichen says, shifting against him. Jiang Cheng opens his eyes and looks down at him.

“May I ask you a question?”

“Yes?”

“How far have you gotten in the planning process for your garden?”

Tension flows out from his center, stiffening his shoulders and arms. “Oh.” Jiang Cheng shrinks back, eyes cast down. “Um, not far.”

“Oh, no, my heart, no!” Xichen grabs his hands. “No!” He squeezes Jiang Cheng’s hands. “I should be more careful with my words. No, I have been thinking about our living situation, the apartment—no! A-Cheng, this isn’t anything bad. I don’t want to stop you from having a garden.”

“Have you talked with Mingjue yet?”

“No, not yet. I’ve just started thinking about this.” He pauses to take a drink from his tea. “No, my love, I was thinking, we only have two bedrooms right now. We don’t have much personal space. The balcony garden would be lovely, but I was thinking, maybe we should look for a house?”

“Oh!” Jiang Cheng sits back. He can’t help shaking as his emotions rise and fall.

“A-Cheng, my love, my heart!” Xichen reaches for him. “I apologize! I should have planned this better.”

“It’s not your fault, Xichen.” Jiang Cheng manages a smile. “I’m, it’s fine.” He rubs his thumb across the back of Xichen’s hand. “It’s, uh, it’s been a steep learning curve,” he admits.

“Yes.” Xichen brings Jiang Cheng’s hand to his lips and kisses it. “It certainly has.”

“Why didn’t you talk about this with Mingjue first?”

Xichen sighs. Instead of answering, he takes a pen from his pocket. “Give me your hand.” Jiang Cheng offers it without hesitation, and Xichen pushes his sleeve back, exposing the sensitive skin above his wrist, and begins to sketch.

“What are you—“

“I’ll explain in a moment,” he says. He continues to draw, first a circle, then a series of curved lines that create a trio of interlocked ovals. He blows on the skin to dry the ink, and Jiang Cheng shivers as a shot of desire runs through him, desire which spikes when Xichen runs his fingers across the design. “Do you know what a triquetra is?”

“This design?”

Xichen nods.

“I’ve seen it before,” he says. “It’s Irish, isn’t it?”

“Mm, Celtic. We just finished a unit on illuminated manuscripts with one of the advanced classes.” Xichen bends forward and kisses the mark on Jiang Cheng’s arm. “If I may offer an observation?” He looks to Jiang Cheng, waiting for his permission to continue.

Jiang Cheng swallows hard and nods.

“I’ve been thinking about us,” Xichen says. “The three of us. Out of balance.”

“Xichen, I—“

“Shhh.” Xichen cuts him off. “This isn’t a rebuke or a criticism. At least, not a criticism of you alone. I feel as though you view us, view our partnership, as something like a seesaw, with Mingjue and I on one end and yourself, separate from us, on the other. That you have the responsibility alone to keep us in balance.” He looks up at Jiang Cheng. “Am I wrong?”

Jiang Cheng lets out the breath he was holding in a rush. He shakes his head, not trusting his voice. Xichen gives him a sad smile.

“You’re not responsible for that, not by yourself.” He leans back into Jiang Cheng’s side, and Jiang Cheng wraps an arm around him. “When I saw the design of that knot, something clicked. It’s not enough to make a space for you in the life Mingjue and I have built. Come what will, we need to walk together, in a life we build together.” He takes Jiang Cheng’s hand and spins the ring Jiang Cheng wears on his left index finger. “That’s why I think we should at least talk about getting a new place, a house or a bigger apartment, I don’t know. Not because you aren’t welcome in our home, but because it’s not really our home, the three of us. I think, if we just make changes to that space, you won’t ever really feel like you belong. I think you’ll keep believing that Mingjue and I are just tolerating you in our space.” He sits up now and takes Jiang Cheng’s face in his hands. “My love, that could not be further from the truth, but I don’t want you to just have to trust my words.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t realize he’s crying until Xichen reaches for a napkin to wipe his tears away. He clears his throat.

“Can we go for a walk?” he asks.

“Of course, my love.” They gather up their dishes and put them on the counter. Xichen takes the box containing Mingjue’s tart in one hand and Jiang Cheng’s hand in the other. There’s a small park across from the cafe, and, after depositing the tart in the car, they wander along a shaded path.

“Can you tell me what you’re thinking, A-Cheng?” Xichen asks.

“You were right,” Jiang Cheng admits. “I disrupted your whole life. I have tried to minimize the effects, but I haven’t been successful.”

“Jiang Cheng.”

He freezes and looks at Xichen.

“Did you just use your teacher voice on me?”

The corner of Xichen’s mouth twitches in a smile, but he schools his face into a serious expression. “Desperate times.” He looks around and spots a bench set back against a hedge of blooming roses. “Come. Sit.” When they’re comfortable, he takes Jiang Cheng’s hand. “I did not say you were a disruption, A-Cheng, and it’s not your job to mitigate your impact on the world around you. Not like you seem to think, anyway.” He stops when he realizes Jiang Cheng is staring down at his lap. “Look at me, please, and listen.

“It’s true that we were not looking for you, Jiang Cheng. I wasn’t looking for Mingjue either. We had been friends since we were kids, and when things changed?” He sighs and squeezes Jiang Cheng’s hands. “I haven’t thought about this for so long. When things changed, it scared the hell out of me.”

“How did you get over it?”

“Patience. And time.” He lets go of Jiang Cheng’s hands to stroke his face, and Jiang Cheng feels a bit of tension bleed away. “And my heart, my love, I must beg you to accept my apology.”

“You don’t—“

“Do me the courtesy of letting me finish,” he says, leaning in with his teacher voice again. “I do need to apologize. I forgot what it feels like to have such a change drop into one’s life. My heart, you are a gift. Unlooked for, yes, but no less wonderful, no less precious. I will not speak for Mingjue, although I’m fairly certain he would say the same thing, but I hope that you can accept me, accept what I can give you, because you deserve everything that I can lay at your feet.” He takes Jiang Cheng’s arm in his hands and reveals the knot again. “There is space in this design, but there is connection. There is room to move and grow, all the while holding on, all the while allowing yourself to be held.” He kisses the mark. “I’m willing to work, to find the balance.”

“Xichen,” Jiang Cheng whispers. He scrubs at his eyes with his free hand. “I want this. I want to try.”

“My heart.” Xichen smiles and kisses each of his eyes, his cheeks, the tip of his nose. “May I ask you for one more thing today?”

“Of course.”

“Take me home?”

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng hopes he never gets used to this: the patter of rain on the glass conservatory, the peace that comes after a morning of nephew-wrangling, a quiet space for himself in a home he shares with the loves of his life.

The house is better than anything he dared hope for: a modest two-story Victorian house with a tower and a sizable back yard with room for his garden. Xichen claimed the attic for his studio, adding skylights to bring in the sun. Mingjue set up a library in the second-floor tower room. Jiang Cheng’s conservatory is attached to the kitchen. These spaces are sacred, and they leave them to their respective occupants unless express permission has been granted to enter, as Xichen now seeks, knocking on the stained glass door with the floating purple lotus design he commissioned as a birthday gift for Jiang Cheng.

“Come in,” he says, pushing aside the notebook in which he had been idly sketching designs for his spring garden. He doesn’t fight the adoring smile that takes over as Xichen shoulders in, carrying a covered tray.

“I don’t suppose you got to eat lunch yet?”

“It did slip my mind,” Jiang Cheng admits, making room for Xichen and the tray at the small table. “Kiddos still sleeping?”

“They were when I checked about twenty minutes ago.” He sets down the tray and fishes his phone from his pocket. “I sent these to the family group chat.”

Jiang Cheng scrolls through the photos while Xichen unpacks the tray. Jin Ling, Lan Sizhui, and Lan Jingyi, asleep on a massive pile of cushions in the playroom they set up, snuggled up like puppies. “The little monsters,” he says fondly, handing Xichen his phone. “You’re going to stay and eat with me, right?”

Xichen indicates a second bowl as he fills Jiang Cheng’s. “I had hoped you would ask.” He hands Jiang Cheng a bowl heaped with cold sesame noodles and a little jar of chili oil. “It’s not much, but I figured, once the boys have been taken home, we could go out somewhere tonight.”

“Thank you.” He spoons some of the chili oil onto his noodles and stirs it in. “These are perfect. Bechamel be damned,” he says, waving his chopsticks at the noodles, “this is where it’s at.”

“It’s been two years, my heart,” Xichen says with a laugh. “I’ve forgiven the French. Although it is very sexy of you to continue to defend my honor against the wretched sauces.”

Jiang Cheng wipes his mouth on a napkin before leaning in to kiss Xichen. “Always. I’ll kick any sauce’s ass. You want me to take down alfredo? I’ll do it.”

“My champion.” Xichen kisses him.

Jiang Cheng grins. “I got your back.”

“So,” Xichen says, pointing to Jiang Cheng’s notebook, “what grand schemes are you planning? Did you think of a way we can get a small lotus pond out back?”

“Mmm, maybe,” he replies around a mouthful of noodles, “but I’m going to put that on hold for awhile.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm hmm.” He takes another bite of noodles before continuing. “I was thinking, the nephews are still pretty small, and Yanli’s been talking about a sibling for A-Ling. It doesn’t seem smart to put a pond in the yard if we’re gonna have little humans running around for the foreseeable future.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Xichen pours them some tea from the small pot on the tray. “What are your new thoughts?”

Jiang Cheng pushes his bowl aside and takes up the notebook. “I wanted to talk with you and Mingjue before I got too far into planning, but what about this?”

Xichen looks over the rough sketches. “Are those giant sunflowers?”

“Yeah. I saw this thing online awhile ago. You can plant them in a ring around some stakes, and they can be trained to make a little room. Like a little fort. And they’re just so beautiful.” He turns the page to another sketch of the garden. “We could put them along the back fence. I know roses are more traditional, but I just love these sunflowers. They grow so fast, are nearly impossible to kill, and they’ll make a nice little privacy screen without much effort.”

“What an ingenious solution!” Xichen traces over the drawings. “But,” he says, a strangely shy and hopeful look on his face, “do you think maybe we could have a little fort? Not a treehouse, but something similar?”

“I thought about that,” Jiang Cheng says, scooping more noodles into his bowl, “but if the kids fall? Or wasps? Those nasty fuckers like to build their nests against sheds and forts and…” he trails off as he notices Xichen has closed in a bit, his shoulders hunched. “Wait.” He laughs and takes Xichen’s hand. “You want a fort, don’t you?”

“I’ve read that playhouses and forts encourage imaginative play in children and help strengthen critical thinking skills while—“ Jiang Cheng cuts him off with a kiss.

“Lan Xichen, you want a fort!”

He blushes. “Yes, alright? Yes. I want a fort.”

“That is the most precious thing I have ever heard in my life.” He laughs. “Alright. We’ll sit down with Mingjue soon and map things out.”

“Map what things?” a familiar voice calls from the doorway. They look up to see Mingjue, their soul, leaning against the door frame.

“You’re back!” Jiang Cheng pushes away from the table and launches himself at Mingjue.

“Missed me, did you?” he chuckles before catching him in a kiss. He holds a hand out to Xichen, who folds himself into their embrace. “My light and heart,” he says, deep satisfaction radiating from his core.

“I thought you had another day?” Xichen says, leaning against Mingjue’s shoulder.

“We finished everything that required my personal attention this morning, and I decided to leave the rest to Zhang Lin. It’s why I made her my partner in this whole wretched venture, after all.” He pulls Xichen into a deeper kiss.

Jiang Cheng clears his throat.

“I haven’t forgotten you, A-Cheng,” he says.

“It’s not that,” Jiang Cheng replies. He points a finger up, and they pause, hearing the tell-tale sounds of nephews waking from a nap.

“They rise!” Xichen says, dramatically clutching his chest.

Mingjue groans. “Did I rush home for nothing?”

Jiang Cheng pokes his side. “We are not nothing, Mr. Nie. And my sister’s useless husband promised to be here by four to retrieve the littles.” He checks his watch. “Which means you have forty minutes to unpack, take a shower if you want, and decide where we’ll go for dinner tonight.”

“Delivery,” Xichen and Mingjue say together.

“Alright,” Jiang Cheng says with a laugh, “then you have to decide what we’ll order.” He ushers them out of the conservatory. “I’ll go occupy the kiddos.”

He leaves them in the kitchen to quietly reacquaint themselves after a week apart and walks through his house — his home. The rain continues outside, but inside, there is warmth, love, and joy. Storms come and go, but Jiang Cheng knows that any way the wind blows, it will bring him back here.