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Song Lan awoke with a jolt, sweating, thoughts, memories, of where (of when) he was rushing back. The man next to him shifted and Song Lan’s stomach turned unpleasantly, wrenching his arm away from the other’s grip.
He was dressed and at the door before his husband was even awake enough to whisper “Zichen?” after him.
But as he left the apartment, carrying only his phone and keys with him, Song Lan heard Xingchen’s bewildered question. Like a knife through his heart (or a blade, the newly awakening part of him provided), he heard him.
--
Xiao Xingchen fairly quickly confirmed that Zichen was not still anywhere within the confines of their small, simple home. There were not many hiding places. They’d picked a place where there were few spots for a thing, never mind a person, to hide itself for long from Xingchen.
This wasn’t like Zichen. He didn’t just leave. Never had. At least, he corrected himself, he hadn’t yet in this lifetime. But Song Zichen had no way of knowing any of that history, that a sudden disappearance like that might bring back… not unless… He sighed, as he called his cousin.
“Xiao Xingchen?” the even voice of his cousin’s husband met his ear.
“Ah, Wangji,” Xingchen smiled, hoping to trick himself into feeling the calm that expression entailed, “Do you and a-Xian have time for brunch today?”
--
“Are you going to answer that?” Wen Qing asked, looking pointedly at the phone, slowly moving its way across the table with the force of its buzzing.
Song Lan shook his head, choosing instead to take a sip of the tea Wen Ning had quietly provided, before a gentle glance exchanged between the siblings led the younger Wen sibling to excuse himself.
Wen Qing set her own cup of tea down and propped her chin up on her clenched hands, saying nothing, though her patient silence spoke volumes.
Song Lan had texted her almost right away, the thought of going or talking to anyone else about this never even crossing his mind. But that didn’t mean he knew exactly what he wanted to say, his head was too much of a confused mass for that right now. So instead he sat, periodically, raising his hands as though to say something, then pulling them back to instead tap the table nervously.
A part of him hoped Wen Qing might come into some sort of latent psychic abilities and know what had happened without him having to say it. Another part of him wished he had just sat out in the rain and risked a cold, then just gone back to the apartment, without telling her there was anything going on at all. The apartment. Their apartment. He groaned put his head between his hands. He had left so abruptly. Just like… What must Xingchen be thinking right now?
“Hey,” Wen Qing laid a hand in front of Song Lan on the table, offering, but not intrusive. Song Lan reached for her hand gratefully, letting her firm grip anchor him. She ducked down and caught his eye, “What are you thinking right now?”
It was a routine they’d been through together before. He’d met the Wen siblings in school, and the three of them had grown to be fast friends. Song Lan had been the first one Wen Qing had come to when she…
He signed, hesitatingly, “How did you decide, in the end, to tell your brother that you remembered?”
He looked at her with pleading eyes and she blinked up at him, realizing.
“Oh. Is that what this is about?”
Song Lan nodded.
--
“Thanks for joining me on such short notice,” Xingchen smiled once the three of them had shuffled into the familiar booth, but he distinctly felt the absence of Zichen, who would usually be squeezed up next to him here. He resisted the urge to try calling or texting him again.
Xingchen hadn’t been surprised when the other two had shown up a bit later than him, It was quite the feat to get Wei Wuxian out of bed before noon on a Sunday. But the delay had given him a lot more time to worry about where Song Zichen had gone. And why.
“Any time, any time. But,” Wei Wuxian yawned, “What’s going on Xingchen-ge?”
Xingchen rubbed the side of his cup of coffee contemplatively, “I was wondering if you two um… might consider telling me the rest of the story? About…” he noticed the sudden absence of shuffling sounds, of any indication of movement from across the table, but he continued in a blunt whisper, “About after I died?”
He was grateful they’d met in a diner, or else the silence that met this question would have been eerie.
“Why now?” Wangji finally broke the tension.
“I…” Xingchen gulped, “I think Zichen might have… I just can’t think of anything else that would…” he sighed, then took a swig of coffee, “I don’t know for sure but… I think he remembered.”
“So,” Wei Wuxian started, his tone taking on an unusual gentle quality that Xingchen usually associated with one of the Jiang siblings needing comfort, “So why don’t you ask him?”
Xingchen smiled even as a sad note slipped into his tone, “I don’t know where he is. He just… woke up, and left,” he shrugged, “I was just wondering… I know you’ve never wanted to tell me, but I wondered if there was something that happened after that would explain…” Receiving no feedback from the other two, he started to become self-conscious, “It’s… it’s fine. I know how you two feel about telling others and…”
“You’re not exactly Jiang Cheng, Xingchen-ge,” Wei Wuxian laughed, though his tone soon sobered, “But still, I think this is something better left between just the two of you.”
Xiao Xingchen had expected as much, though he was a bit surprised that Wei Wuxian hadn’t even entertained the idea. He’d expected Wangji to be the one to eventually shut him down. Wei Wuxian went on, explaining, “It’s not our story to tell, but know that I… don’t think you have anything to worry about. At least… not the same kind of worry that I had for my brother.”
“Or that I have for mine,” Wangji added, voice just as gentle as his husband’s.
Xingchen nodded, processing this. He didn’t have all the details about what had happened after his own death to Lan Wangji’s older brother, and had never really met the man back then anyway. He did know is that it had something to do with people Lan Xichen was now close to, people who he may feel differently about if he had the context of this past life that Lan Wangji still refused to share with him. Xingchen hadn’t truly been worried about anything like that though. The idea of Song Zichen doing anything Xiao Xingchen found unforgiveable was laughable.
The true fear was whether the inverse was true. Xingchen had, of course, been knowingly in breach of the request Zichen had made centuries ago since the moment Xingchen had remembered the words.
I never want to see you again.
Had it actually been more of a betrayal to stay with his husband, once he remembered their shared past, than it might have been to leave without an explanation? He hadn’t wanted to leave, but now that he was sure Zichen had remembered, he wondered if the memories would have been easier if Xingchen had kept his distance in this life.
--
“You should tell him,” Wen Qing said, not even a hint of hesitation to her voice once Song Lan finished explaining even the most painful details of the memories that had shocked through his system as he awoke that morning.
“it’s a lot to put on someone,” Song Lan’s quick, precise signing much less revealing of how torn he was than the frantic way in which he chewed his lip, “Especially… he seems so happy right now. Why bring up painful things?” And ways that I failed him, his mind added.
“You don’t have to tell him everything, you know,” Wen Qing said, sipping her tea, “A-Ning doesn’t know it all.”
Song Lan looked up at her, eyebrows creasing as his hands motioned, “He doesn’t?”
She shook her head, “He knows he doesn’t know all of it though. I told him some of it is best left to the past. If he ends up remembering on his own, so be it, he’ll know I’m here,” she shrugged, “And if not? He’s happy, and I won’t feel like I’m hiding anything important from him,” Wen Qing had never been one for subtlety when it came to advice.
Song Lan turned that over in his mind a couple of times. Telling Xingchen he remembered. Telling him that they had been together in a past life. Telling him that things had happened that he didn’t want to really discuss… “You might be right,” Song Lan finally slumped back in his seat.
Wen Qing merely nodded at this obvious conclusion, “Don’t go another lifetime keeping what you want to say inside, ok?”
Not even a little bit of subtlety.
--
Wangji and Wuxian – well, mostly Wuxian – had insisted on Xingchen taking the morning to relax. Wei Wuxian took his phone and promised to let him know if anything important came in, instead of Xingchen constantly trying to refresh every mode of contact he and Zichen had. They took a long walk through the city, then through a park, eventually rounding their way back towards Zichen and his apartment. And as good as Wei Wuxian’s intentions had been, it only took one step into the lobby of the building for all of Xingchen’s fears to come rushing back. He tried to reassure himself with the possibility that Maybe he didn’t remember. Maybe there’s another explanation. But he struggled to believe this. The elevator chimed, telling him he was on their floor.
He unlocked the door, holding his breath.
Xiao Xingchen was delighted, if still anxious, to hear the sound of Zichen’s playlist as he entered the apartment. It was their signal that Zichen was home, and today, maybe a sign that they could talk. Or that Xingchen had made a big deal out of nothing.
He smiled, thinking it safest to pretend the latter.
“Ah! Zichen, that smells so good!” Xingchen exclaimed as the smells from the kitchen hit him. It was true, but it was also the first thing that occurred to Xingchen to say that wasn’t along the lines of where’d you go? Where have you been? Did you remember? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
Zichen hummed pleasantly in response and Xingchen sat at the kitchen table, inhaling and trying to lose himself, as he often did, in the smell of the spice blend that was, as far as he knew, unique to Song Zichen. And to his murdered Baixue Temple family a cunning voice reminded him, echoes of a voice that he had, thankfully, only heard in his head so far in this lifetime. But it still made him shudder.
The sound of sizzling petered off. A chair scraped. A hand clasped over his.
“Oh,” Xingchen smiled reflexively, “I’m sorry Zichen, just… thinking about something. Nothing to worry about.”
Another scrape of the chair and the music stopped abruptly, Zichen apparently willing to talk. Quick tapping sounds, then Zichen’s phone’s voice, “I love you. You know that.”
Xingchen’s heart quickened at the words, never too used to them for them to have an instant effect, “Of course,” he whispered, lowering his head towards his husband’s shoulder, “I love you too.”
Song Zichen let out a frustrated grunt. Xingchen quickly lifted his head, startled. Had that not been the right thing to say?
--
Song Lan was a keen reader of anyone’s expressions, but Xingchen’s especially so. His husband had an unselfconscious expressiveness and that, paired with the amount of time Song Lan had spent looking at his face, made it as easy for Song Lan to read as a children’s book. So he watched as his husband entered the room. As anxiety turned to relief, then calm, and suddenly, back to fear, seemingly without prompting. But much as Xingchen’s face was an open book, he rarely was so clear with his words.
Song Lan was trying to find an opening to explain himself. He recognized that his sudden departure that morning was likely no small part of the tension that had Xingchen ricocheting so rapidly from emotion to emotion.
He wanted Xingchen to hear that, although Song Lan had loved him deeply and completely before, now, he had so much more context in saying so. He wanted an opening to share that he now knew they had a shared past, a way to make it easier to explain that there were parts that Zichen wanted to apologize for, to avoid Xingchen having to remember, if that was ok. It was a difficult subject to bring up. He had hoped, in a way, that Xingchen would respond to his words with questions – why had he left so quickly? What could be wrong? But Xingchen, being Xingchen, had instead responded with a heart meltingly warm smile, had echoed the sentiments, had somehow made them seem so much realer, purer, than anything Song Lan felt his own straightforwardness could convey.
How could he explain their shared past, when it might taint the clarity of Xingchen’s feelings? Make that smile falter?
But how could he hide it, when he knew it was something that might make Xingchen change his mind about him?
--
“I was hanging out with a-Xian and Wangji today,” Xingchen took up a casual tone as Zichen awkwardly withdrew from the table, needing to return whatever had been cooking to the burner, presumably.
Zichen hummed, tone unreadable, possibly more focused on recovering the dish from the pause from heat.
Xingchen went on, not sure whether this approach was a good idea, but he just couldn’t stand this odd tension, whatever it was, “Yes. We were talking about how a-Xian told a-Cheng and a-Li why he was so sure about Wangji? About how he remembered his past life even before he met his soulmate,” Xingchen chuckled, “Lucky them right? Knowing with such certainty where they stood with each other? Remembering their past lives at such a young age?”
The stirring abruptly stopped. There was a pause. Then tapping on a phone. Then the stirring returned as the words came, “And then a-Cheng didn’t speak to him for a year, right?”
Xingchen laughed nervously, “Ah, yes. Not until a-Li convinced them both that they just had to attend the joint birthday party she was throwing for them,” he chewed his lip, “Do you think a-Xian should have kept it a secret?”
“Lots of people don’t tell people about their past lives… for lots of reasons,” this was the only response Zichen gave.
“I suppose a-Xian is just one of those people who doesn’t have trouble speaking his mind when he wants to.” Xingchen smiled. He didn’t know what he had wanted Zichen to say, but that answer had been… disappointing, somehow.
“But I think Yanli was glad he told her though, even with everything that came with,” Zichen replied to the sound of him scraping something that smelled delightfully of sesame onto a dish, “And I think Wanyin was too, eventually.”
Xingchen hummed in agreement, then, taking a deep breath, “So if… if I remembered… would you…”
The dishes were suddenly on the table, clattering down more quickly than they probably had originally been intended to be. One fumbling hand met Xingchen’s, while the other hand typed out a hasty response, “Do you? Remember?”
Xingchen’s expression grew solemn, “For a long time. Yes,” then, hesitating but needing to know. Not sure whether he hoped there was nothing to explain, or that Zichen didn’t have those sorts of memories weighing him down, “What about… you?”
A quick double squeeze of Xingchen’s hand. One of their earliest signals. Yes.
“This morning?” Xingchen asked quietly.
Two squeezes. Yes again.
“And you’re…” Xingchen pursed his lips, wanting the answer, needing the answer, but also wanting to linger where there was certainty that there was the possibility that the memories hadn’t affected Zichen the way he feared they might, he gulped, then continued, “So you... you remember… that I… what I…”
He had missed he tapping at Zichen’s phone as he had hesitated, stumbling over his words, so that in the end, at the same moment, they both said the same thing:
“I’m sorry.”
A beat.
“Wait… you’re sorry?” Xingchen asked, “For what?”
“I thought you said you remembered,” Zichen replied.
“I could say the same…” Xingchen said, bewildered, “What could you possibly have to be sorry for? Especially after all I did? How much… I hurt you. And so many others.” His voice caught as he remembered slashing down what he had thought were fierce corpses. A little girl who depended on him. A small temple that had always welcomed a friend of Zichen’s as if he were their own.
Hands were on his cheeks, wiping away the tears he had hardly noticed were falling, as the phone’s voice spoke Zichen’s reply, “None of that was your fault. I am so sorry that you ever, ever, in this life or the last, thought otherwise. Or that I may have been part of that.”
“Zichen…” Xingchen whispered gently, a burden he hadn’t even known was there, that he had been carrying for so long, started to lift. But then he realized. If it hadn’t been anger with Xingchen that had made him leave this morning… “And I don’t, of course I don’t, blame you. I never have. Not for anything. It’s always just been… I wanted you to be happy. With or without me.” Xingchen stumbled over his words in his haste for Zichen to hear them.
And he did. Zichen pulled him into a close embrace, dinner probably growing cold, but was already long forgotten. Zichen’s message was clear. Zichen, too, only wanted Xingchen to be happy. And now, they had the chance to know that, no matter what had happened, neither regretted their time together, during this lifetime or the last. Each only wanted the other to be as happy as they could help them be. And now they understood. That that meant staying by each other’s sides, as long as they could.
They would get to the finer details, of course.
One day, Zichen would talk about his travels after everything had ended. How he travelled with two swords, two souls, how he had hoped to heal them both. How the fact that Xingchen was here now gave him hope that they might find her somewhere, hopefully happy as well (and if not, they would be sure to help).
One day, Xingchen might disclose even the darkest details of his time in that town – ones he hadn’t even shared with his cousin, who had plenty of old darkness of his own.
But for now, they simply held each other. Knowing. Feeling. Being.
Side by side. For as long as they could manage it.