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It was supposed to be an easy tomb -- more important for archaeological reasons than for treasure ones, with few traps to speak of. “In and out,” Pangzi had said with a laugh when Wu Xie proposed it to his two friends, before clapping him and Xiaoge on the shoulder with large palms, “You say that every time, Little Comrade, and it’s never true. How much hotpot will you buy me when things go south this time, and Pang-ye has to save you, huh? Let’s settle our debts in advance.”
At the time, Wu Xie had scoffed, wagging a finger at Pangzi’s all-too-knowing grin. His luck was bad, sure, but come on! This tomb could barely even be classified as such; it had more in common with a child’s half-dug hole in the ground than with anything actually dangerous.
...Or so they had thought. Wu Xie had been made to eat his words barely an hour into the expedition, when a misstep on Pangzi’s part sent Wu Xie careening down a newly opened trap door. It was only Xiaoge’s quick reflexes -- the other man launching himself forward from nearly across the room to catch Wu Xie -- that kept him from plummeting to certain doom. Unfortunately, the angle had been off; they had all heard Xiaoge’s wrist snap, the crack sharp and startlingly loud even amid the general chaos of Wu Xie’s fall.
(It was a sound Wu Xie had heard before, and a sound he had hoped to never hear again.)
Despite the likely unbearable pain, Xiaoge had somehow managed to keep his grip on Wu Xie steadfast, eyes firm and resolute even as their edges began to crinkle with pain. Wu Xie had opened his mouth (for what, he wasn’t sure -- to tell Xiaoge to let go? To tell Xiaoge the only secret Wu Xie had worth keeping?), but a sharp glare from the other man, sweat beading along his brow and lips turning down in a grimace, had Wu Xie snapping it back shut.
With a sigh, Wu Xie shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. He fidgeted, concern and fear still not quite faded, adrenaline a lingering throb pressing against the back of his skull. They had taken Xiaoge to the hospital as soon as they had gotten out of the tomb, but Wu Xie hadn’t been allowed in to see him yet. He was currently waiting, rocking back and forth on the balls of his heels with eyes squinted against the sharp fluorescents of the hospital lighting, for the nurse to approve his visitor’s pass. The fracture had been bad enough, and Xiaoge dehydrated enough, that they were keeping the older man overnight.
Wu Xie attempted (and failed) to stifle another squirm as the nurse rechecked his identification for the third time. He was trying to be patient, he really was! But being here kept reminding him of another hospital visit with Xiaoge, the other man far too pale and far too quiet, color seeming to leech out of his cheeks with each passing minute that his eyes stayed closed.
Last time, Wu Xie had left. He hadn’t been able to handle seeing Xiaoge -- his menyouping , strong and beautiful and acerbic -- like that; it somehow felt like both sacrilege and intrusion, Xiaoge’s vulnerability something deeply wrong and yet entirely sacred. Wu Xie had craved for Xiaoge to soften up, to let him in, to lower his ever-present barriers -- but not like that, not because the other man had lost too much of himself.
This time, though, Wu Xie had promised himself that not even the Ultimate could keep him from seeing his best friend. He glanced down at his watch and worried at his lower lip, shooting a calculating side-eye at the nurse behind the desk.
He could beat the Ultimate, sure, but he was starting to have serious questions about his ability to bypass hospital bureaucracy.
It took far longer than he would have liked, but soon enough he was cleared and careening off towards Xiaoge’s room, visitor’s badge triumphantly in hand. He slowed down right outside Xiaoge’s room, trying to calm his heaving lungs and school his expression before actually walking inside. He took a deep breath, straightened, pushed the fringe back out of his face, and poked his head in.
Xiaoge was propped up in bed, looking right at him with an expression that could almost be called endearingly fond, and Wu Xie immediately knew that his attempt at composing himself had been for naught. He huffed a rueful laugh and entered the room; few knew him as well as Xiaoge, after all. He should have known better than to try to hide how anxious he was to check in on the older man.
“You look good!” And Xiaoge did, his eyes alert and pain free, but then again, Xiaoge always did, didn’t he, with those godlike cheekbones and that silky hair -- but Wu Xie was getting distracted. He swallowed, hoping the man on the hospital bed had missed his lapse in concentration, “How is the wrist?”
Xiaoge merely tilted his head slightly in response, indicating that he was fine, and Wu Xie took that as his cue to begin his usual chatter. He let himself ramble, brainstorming aloud what secrets the tomb might hold to be so surprisingly well protected, even as he unpacked the bag of snacks. He had dropped by a convenience store while Xiaoge’s wrist was under surgery, carefully picking out Xiaoge’s favorites — some small, brightly colored candies that the older man liked to nibble on, plus a few other sweet treats.
Once the bag was emptied, snacks scattered across the bed, Wu Xie grabbed a bag of gummies he knew Xiaoge had a particular preference for, fishing out one of the individually wrapped candies with sure motions. He took his time, opening it carefully — only to pop it into his own mouth, smiling wide and mischievous at Xiaoge’s ever-so-slightly narrowed glare.
“Consider that one payment for me having to carry your backpack out of the tomb! And for footing your medical bills,” Wu Xie exclaimed, exaggeratedly crossing his arms. Xiaoge merely continued to look at him, unblinking, and it wasn’t even a minute before Wu Xie acquiesced: “You can have the rest as payment for saving my life.”
(Wu Xie didn’t need to say that he’d gotten all of them for Xiaoge, anyway. That he’d only stolen the one he ate because something in him got a distinct thrill, electric and searing and incandescent, at eliciting a reaction from Xiaoge’s stoic features. Xiaoge probably knew, anyway.)
Chastened, Wu Xie made as if to place the bag in Xiaoge’s lap, but the older man stopped him with his free hand (and Wu Xie could have sworn he heard a too fast beep, the slightest stutter in the dry hospital monotony in time with how his own heart skipped a beat, when Xiaoge’s hand grazed against his). Xiaoge looked down at the bulky, immobilizing cast on his broken wrist, and Wu Xie nearly slapped himself on the forehead. Of course Xiaoge wouldn’t be able to open the fiddly wrappers, given the state of his arm.
He shot Xiaoge a sheepish, apologetic smile and settled back down into his chair, where he went about unwrapping some more gummies, verbally picking up his dropped train of thought as he did. Soon enough, he had a relatively substantial pile, and he stood to deposit them into Xiaoge’s waiting hand.
Their fingers grazed again, as light a touch as before — and, again, Wu Xie heard that disconcerting syncopated beat, a tone a half step off time. This time, though, Wu Xie had been glancing over at the monitoring devices when it happened, mind already wandering as he wondered, idly, why hospitals always felt the need to hook Xiaoge up to every single possible gadget no matter how minor his injury.
(In truth, Wu Xie hated them -- the beeps, the screens, the wires, the way they tracked Xiaoge’s every move. They reminded him too much of a childhood Xiaoge himself had long forgotten; of a small boy struggling to become a man under the unblinking, merciless eyes of his elders.)
The machines may leave a bitterly acrid taste in his mouth, worry and protectiveness an ashy film on his tongue -- but they also meant Wu Xie was able to easily identify the source of the odd distortion: Xiaoge’s heart rate monitor, which was indicating a slight uptick.
Wu Xie tilted back slightly and frowned; Xiaoge had seemed cogent and comfortable when Wu Xie got here, and nothing else about his readings seemed to indicate any problems. Why was his heartbeat so erratic? Xiaoge did look a bit flushed, the faintest tinge of pink working its way over his cheeks...did he have a fever? Was something else wrong? Wu Xie couldn’t help it; he leaned forward, worried, and pressed the back of his hand to Xiaoge’s forehead.
The monitor sped up again, beeps coming even faster than before this time, and Wu Xie immediately recoiled, eyebrows wrinkling in concern. He pursed his lips, unsure, but before he could tease out what was happening, Pangzi was sweeping into the room with his trademark loud boisterousness.
“Xiaoge! I’m sorry I left you alone with Tianzhen for so long, parking was impossible to find,” Pangzi placed a companionable hand on Xiaoge’s shoulder. Wu Xie tried not to notice how the monitor remained stable, no unexpected dips or peaks to speak of. “What, no smile for Pang-ye? Has our Tianzhen really already bored you back to the brink of death? I told him not to get started on the effigies…”
Pangzi settled into his typical mother henning, fluffing the pillows under Xiaoge and pushing Xiaoge’s hair out of his face where it had fallen, soft strands messy against his forehead.
The heartbeat monitor remained the same, maddeningly stable even as Pangzi took Xiaoge’s free wrist in his to check his pulse himself. Wu Xie studiously pretended he didn’t notice.
“What, Tianzhen, it took me so long to find parking that Xiaoge has finally rubbed off on you? You’ve forgotten how to speak?” At the barb, Wu Xie stuck out his tongue, not caring how childish it made him seem.
At this, the heart rate monitor gave another off-tempo squeak, and Wu Xie shot the machine an ill-tempered glare. Was this retribution for his uncharitable thoughts about hospitals earlier? Had the building itself risen up against him in protest, determined to spite him by driving him to insanity one slow beep at a time?
Pangzi grabbed Wu Xie’s arm and dragged him closer to Xiaoge’s hospital bed, stacking their hands on top of each other. Wu Xie’s hand was right on top of Xiaoge’s, and Pangzi was saying something overly dramatic about being together again (as if Xiaoge had been gone for months, not hours). Wu Xie wasn’t listening though, because the monitor was speeding up again, each beep just a little more sudden and unexpected than the last.
...Wu Xie was losing his mind. He was going hysterical. He was going to scream, and cry, and maybe roll around on the ground a little, and he would never be able to tell anyone why he had a mental breakdown at 3 in the afternoon.
What was he going to say? “I’ve been deeply, madly, irrevocably in love with my best friend for years. Now, his heart rate monitor speeds up when he sees me, and I’m reading way too far into it!”
Wu Xie sighed. Yeah, he was keeping this one to himself.
Several hours later — having gone home, eaten dinner, played a game of pool, and then proceeded to restlessly toss and turn in bed for an extended period of time — Wu Xie was, once again, forced to eat his words. Maybe he should tell someone, if only to get his brain out of this incessant loop of “what if’s.”
In a true fit of desperation, he rolled over to grab his phone and, with eyes squeezed shut, typed out a quick message to Xiao Hua.
It was another hour before Wu Xie managed to fall into an uneasy sleep, his dreams dogged by an ominous beeping.
The next morning, he woke to a one sentence response, with Xiao Hua’s trademark perfect grammar: “You’re a fucking idiot.”
Wu Xie frowned groggily down at the screen. As far as advice goes, he’d received better.
(If Wu Xie spent an extra hour on his hair and outfit before they left to pick Xiaoge up — as though Xiaoge hasn’t seen him literally covered in blood, mud, and gore…Pangzi merely shot him a look that was somehow all too knowing. Wu Xie scowled and avoided eye contact for the rest of the drive.)
Checking Xiaoge out of the hospital was somehow far easier than visiting him had been. The nurses waved them through with barely a glance, and it wasn’t long before they were helping Xiaoge into the comfy, zipper- and button-less clothes they’d brought him. A cramped elevator ride later, and they were driving home.
(Wu Xie had been both pleased and disappointed when they first entered Xiaoge’s room, and all the machines had already been removed. He squashed those feelings immediately in favor of smiling brightly at the man sitting on the bed.)
Now, though, they were back in the familiar, sun-lit rooms of Wushanju. Wu Xie had settled next to Xiaoge on the couch, feet tucked beneath him. Pangzi was cooking lunch for them, going by the clank of dishes and snatches of off-key singing drifting through the open doors.
Xiaoge closed his eyes, tilting his head back as he got comfortable (and Wu Xie absolutely did not get lost in the long lines of Xiaoge’s neck, nor did he imagine nipping at the tempting jut of the other man’s Adam’s apple). Wu Xie smiled, pleased as always when Xiaoge let himself relax, and adjusted his own position to lean his head against Xiaoge’s shoulder. They both dozed like this, warm and languid, time turning slow and unhurried.
Which is when Wu Xie, of course, ruined the moment.
He had snuggled slightly deeper into Xiaoge, gratified to finally have the other man safe and home ( and beside Wu Xie, where he belonged, came the quiet, possessive whisper Wu Xie had long grown used to ignoring). Looking back later, Wu Xie would blame his exhaustion, night of no sleep finally catching up to him, for how he proceeded to sigh happily and say, “You really don’t mind when I touch you, do you? Lucky me.”
Xiaoge stilled underneath him, and Wu Xie wanted to bite his own tongue — the impulse far too little, too late. There was a pregnant pause, Xiaoge seemingly tense while Wu Xie contemplated the most efficient way to flee the country. Would Pangzi kill him for skipping out on the rent before or after Wu Xie made it across the border?
Wu Xie was so lost in his panic that he almost missed Xiaoge’s reply, the older man’s voice even more quiet than usual: “I like it.”
Wu Xie snapped his head so fast towards Xiaoge that he actually saw stars for a second, black dots crowding his vision, “You — you what ?!”
Xiaoge merely gave him a look of long suffering, and Wu Xie had the nagging feeling that he was missing something. Something that maybe he’d been missing for a while. But for now all he could do was stare dumbly at Xiaoge, mouth agog, as Xiaoge’s words (Xiaoge admitting to liking something! Xiaoge admitting to liking something related to Wu Xie! ) looped through his head on an endless repeat.
Xiaoge lifted his other hand, graceful despite the cast, to gently close Wu Xie’s mouth. The touch was delicate, but somehow unbelievably intimate, and Wu Xie felt his face flush a distinctly bright red. Xiaoge smiled, shifting his fingers to trace along the flaming curves of Wu Xie’s cheeks, and Wu Xie wasn’t sure if the roiling in his stomach was embarrassment or excitement or both. It was exceedingly rare that the older man initiated touches, and even more so touches that were just for the sake of it— not to restrain or to save, but simply to feel . Wu Xie felt almost shakey, like when he’d had to go too many days without eating in a tomb, and he wet his lips with his tongue without thinking about it.
Xiaoge’s eyes fell down to his mouth.
Wu Xie’s heart skipped a beat.
(And suddenly all those moments in the hospital made sense, didn’t they?)
Wu Xie wasn’t able to share his epiphany though, because Xiaoge was shifting, then leaning forward, pausing with his lips a hair's breadth from Wu Xie’s own. The older man held himself still, so close that his breath was landing in small puffs on Wu Xie’s face. He flicked his gaze up to Wu Xie’s eyes, and Wu Xie had to swallow, dryly, at the realization that Xiaoge was close enough that Wu Xie could count his eyelashes.
Xiaoge waited, always so patient for Wu Xie — but Wu Xie had spent years pining, years assuming he would never have this. He was surging forward, lips meeting Xiaoge’s in an ungainly clack of teeth, between one breath and the next.
It wasn’t his best kiss, in no small part because he couldn’t stop smiling, but it was still perfect . Xiaoge was next to him, against him, huffing a laugh into his mouth, and it was both exactly and nothing at all like what Wu Xie had imagined might happen if he ever worked up the courage to tell the other man how he felt.
He wriggled a hand under Xiaoge’s shirt, corners of his grin turning wicked as he finally had the opportunity to feel up those stunning abs that he, frankly, spent far too much time thinking about.
Unfortunately, his explorations were cut tragically short by Pangzi leaning into the living room and interrupting them with a tut. Wu Xie nearly groaned in frustration, hand dropping out of Xiaoge’s shirt; he could’ve sworn the older man let out another quiet laugh at his obvious disappointment.
“Alright kids, break it up, lunch is ready. Come on, come on, let him breathe Xiaoge, he’s not going anywhere — stop glaring, we’re all very happy for you. Especially Hei Xiazi, who just won the betting pool,” Wu Xie nearly squawked in indignation. A betting pool ? And more importantly, Hei Xiazi won?? So much for the Iron Triangle knowing each other best. He shot Pangzi a dirty look, but, “Don’t look at me like that, Tianzhen, I lost because I bet that you would both get your heads out of your asses forever ago. You have no one to blame but yourselves.” Pangzi gave them a final indignant waggle of his cooking spoon before turning away to head back towards the kitchen.
Wu Xie sighed, loathe to let go of Xiaoge when he’d only just got his hands on him — but it was never a good idea to leave Pangzi waiting when food was involved. He pressed his forehead to Xiaoge’s, breathing in deeply one final time, before unfurling himself from both Xiaoge and the couch. He reached out a hand to help the other man up; Xiaoge took it, pulling himself to his feet with feline grace and then simply...not letting the hand go, choosing to weave his fingers through Wu Xie’s instead.
Wu Xie ducked his head, trying to hide a blush. They would need to talk, to clarify what this meant for both of them, but for now, Wu Xie was content. Xiaoge’s fingers were warm against his own; Xiaoge’s taste was lingering, sugar sweet and coffee bitter, in his mouth.
He squeezed at Xiaoge’s hand, shooting the other man an almost shy glance. Xiaoge looked back, the faintest curves of his smile giving him away, and Wu Xie let himself hope, let himself get lost in the softening angles of Xiaoge’s face.
Maybe I can read into this.