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“—nearly forty fucking years old, Mingjue! What the actual fuck made you think this was a good idea?”
Lan Xichen doesn’t hear Nie Mingjue’s reply, but if Jiang Cheng’s voice carries all the way to Xichen’s attic studio, something must be really wrong. He drops his paintbrush into the jar of water beside his easel and hastens down stairs.
He pauses at the threshold of their kitchen. He had thought nothing Mingjue or Jiang Cheng might get up to could surprise him after so long together, but he has to admit, he never expected this.
Mingjue sits at the table, holding a bunched up t-shirt to his face. Jiang Cheng’s t-shirt.
“It was a small ramp,” Mingjue says around the fabric.
“My darlings,” Xichen says, walking towards them “what are you…” He stops short as he registers the entire scene before him.
Mingjue holds Jiang Cheng’s t-shirt to his face to stop the blood welling from a dozen scrapes on his cheek and chin. His own shirt is being carefully cut away by Jiang Cheng, revealing a long scrape along his torso. The entire left side of his body is marked up with scrapes and scratches. Blood drips down his knee into his sock.
“What the fuck?” Xichen doesn’t mean to shout. He means to be calm and rational in the face of a crisis, but instead, he says again, “What the fuck!”
Jiang Cheng casts a dirty look Mingjue’s way and turns to Xichen. “We were taking Lucky for a walk in the park, and this complete fucking idiot decided he could show up a bunch of literal children at the skatepark, despite not skating in at least a decade.” He waves a hand at a thoroughly chastened Mingjue. “This is the result.”
“What the fuck?” Xichen says helplessly.
“Sorry,” Mingjue mumbles.
Xichen shakes the initial shock away and makes his way to Mingjue’s side. “Should we go to the doctor?”
“It’s just road rash.” Jiang Cheng tosses aside a bloodied scrap of Mingjue’s shirt. “Sit still,” he orders Mingjue. “I’m going to get the first aid kit.” He stalks toward the bathroom without waiting for a response.
“Sorry,” Mingjue says again, and he sounds so miserable, the bubble of anger in Xichen bursts. Well, Jiang Cheng will be angry enough for the both of them.
“This is going to hurt,” he says, brushing aside a strand of Mingjue’s hair to examine the scrape along his face. The wound is perilously close to his eye, but it looks like the damage is all relatively superficial.
“Yeah.” Mingjue’s shoulders slump. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to kiss it better before A-Cheng gets back,” he says, managing a weak grin.
Xichen tries to glare at him, to register his displeasure that Mingjue would be so reckless with his safety, but Mingjue looks so thoroughly wretched that Xichen relents.
“Where does it hurt, love?”
Mingjue gestures to the scrape across his cheekbone. Xichen takes hold of Mingjue’s chin and turns his head to the opposite side, kissing the undamaged skin. Mingjue’s soft huff of laughter draws an answering smile from Xichen.
“I suppose I deserved that.”
“Mmm.” Xichen drops another swift kiss on his cheek. “A little.” He squeezes Mingjue’s hand. “I suspect A-Cheng will sleep in the guest room, at least tonight.”
“‘He’s really mad.”
“I am, too,” Xichen says. “It’s obvious you weren’t wearing knee pads. Did you at least wear a helmet?”
Mingjue’s silence is answer enough. Xichen sighs. He stands and retrieves a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water and hands a few tablets to Mingjue. Mingjue swallows them gratefully as Jiang Cheng returns with the first aid kit. Xichen takes the kit and sets it down before pulling Jiang Cheng into a tight embrace.
“Xichen. Let me go, please.”
“In a second.” Xichen runs his hand through Jiang Cheng’s hair and kisses him. It’s not going to fix anything, not completely, but it might at least ease the sting.