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“I think of you.” [1]
A breath brushes over Zhou Zishu’s ear, and a warm hand pushes back the hair that has flopped over his forehead during the night. Still half-unconscious, Zhou Zishu cracks open an eye and tries to focus on his husband. Without his glasses, all he can make out is Wen Kexing’s smile, the pink blur of his lips.
“I haven’t slept.”
“So now you want to make sure I don’t get any sleep either? Lao-Wen, please. It’s too early for this.”
Undeterred, the hand starts to pet over the crown of his head, gently untangling the knots in his hair that it had created hours before. “My body moves. Goes where I will. But though I try… my heart stays still.”
His voice is hushed, the song whispered into the intimate space between their tangled bodies. With the first rays of sunshine filtering through cracks in the blinds, it should be very romantic. And it would be. Except for the fact that Wen Kexing is tone-deaf.
That hasn’t stopped him from attempting to serenade Zhou Zishu since the day they first met at a crowded outdoors farmer’s market. Zhou Zishu remembers when his gaze caught on a pair of bright eyes and a long, elegant neck. Beautiful, he had immediately thought. When the man had begun walking towards him, Zhou Zishu could hardly believe his luck.
Then Wen Kexing opened his mouth.
The hand shifts down. “And so my mouth waters, to be fed.” A thumb caresses Zhou Zishu’s bottom lip, and he has to fight the instinctual urge to suck it into his mouth. He wants to sleep, he reminds himself sternly, not encourage Wen Kexing’s attention-seeking antics.
“And you're always in my head.” The last sentence is spoken directly against his lips before a kiss is pressed there.
“You skipped a bunch of lines,” Zou Zishu mumbles, turning his face away and into his pillow in a last attempt to cling to the remnants of sleep. Of course, it is futile at this point. He groans as he is flipped over onto his back.
“A-Xu! You remember the song?”
With a sigh, Zhou Zishu opens his eyes fully to see his husband staring excitedly at him, close enough that their noses are almost touching. So close that it is making his vision go a little cross-eyed, and he can feel the start of a headache building in his temples. He needs some coffee.
Shoving Wen Kexing’s chest is like trying to push over a brick wall, but the message must get across because the other man sits back onto his knees smoothly.
Pushing himself up and stretching his arms over his head with a yawn, Zhou Zishu says grumpily, “Of course, I do. It’s on your sleep playlist.”
He looks slyly at Wen Kexing, unable to pass up the opportunity to tease.
“The one you play when you get scared of the dark, right?” Laughing, he leans over and pinches the other man’s cheek. “Are you afraid of ghosts, A-Xing?”
“Nonsense!” A blush spreads out from under Zhou Zishu’s grasp over both Wen Kexing’s cheeks and the tip of his nose. He pouts, looking up through his eyelashes at Zhou Zishu. “How could I ever be scared when I have my A-Xu right next to me, ready to defend me at all costs?”
Zhou Zishu snorts, rolling his eyes.
He isn’t too proud to admit that between the two of them, he is the weaker one. Despite all his efforts, he hasn’t been able to regain his full strength since the accident. On the other hand, he once watched Wen Kexing knock out a would-be mugger with one punch before handing back the stolen purse with an admiring remark on its apparently “stunning” quality.
“No!” The sudden exclamation brings Zhou Zishu back to the present. “A-Xu, I could never put you in harm’s way!”
His eyes flashing fiercely, Wen Kexing straightens from his spot on the bed and clenches his hands into fists.
From his dark expression, you would think that instead of discussing some imaginary ghost, there was an enemy holding a sword to Zhou Zishu’s throat.
Wen Kexing takes a deep breath, and, recognizing the action, Zhou Zishu slumps back against his pillows to await his fate. It was going to be one of those mornings.
“You know, I've always been collected, calm and chill.” [2]
“That has literally never been true.”
“And you know, I never look for conflict for the thrill.”
“You deliberately ‘forgot’ your money at home when we went to the grocery store yesterday just so you could see how the cashier would react. And then you made me pay. Again.”
“For you, I'd go step to a dude much bigger than me.”
Wen Kexing points one long finger at Zhou Zishu, clasping his other hand over his heart in a pledge. Unimpressed, Zhou Zishu crosses his arms over his chest.
“For you, I know, I would get messed up, weigh 153.”
“Wait, why is that strangely accurate?”
Ignoring Zhou Zishu’s muttering, Wen Kexing stands up and takes a few steps from the bed, his pajamas falling loosely on his tall, slender frame. His hair tumbles gracefully down his back, and when he turns back around, the long strands fly up. It is unfair that he can be so beautiful and so ridiculous at the same time, Zhou Zishu thinks.
“For you, I would get beat to smithereens.”
There is a tremble in Wen Kexing’s voice, and his already large eyes are now a little too wide. His amusement immediately disappearing, Zhou Zishu gets off the bed and reaches for him, tucking himself into Wen Kexing’s chest.
“Enough with the dramatics. Have I ever asked you to?” He runs soothing hands up and down the other man’s back, paying special attention to his shoulder blades like he knows Wen Kexing likes.
“No,” murmurs Wen Kexing, “But I would. You know I would have.”
Still in the circle of Zhou Zishu’s arms, he turns his head and kisses his cheek, lingering there for a moment before stepping back. His wide grin is already back in place. Whatever had grabbed ahold of him for a moment is hidden away. Still, Zhou Zishu watches him carefully.
“Well, I’m off to make breakfast. Don’t you dare fall back asleep. I don’t want to waste another minute of this precious Sunday!”
When he reaches the entrance of their bedroom, Wen Kexing pauses and leans against the doorframe. The collar of his shirt slips off one shoulder.
Winking suggestively at Zhou Zishu, he sings, “Switchin' the positions for you. Cookin' in the kitchen and I'm in the bedroom.” [3]
The reemergence of his husband’s usual playfulness is a relief. Yet even for Wen Kexing, the seductive pose combined with the awful attempt at crooning and the accuracy of the lyrics is too shameless.
Zhou Zishu sends a pillow flying towards Wen Kexing, who shields himself from the attack with an excessively loud shriek. Holding another pillow menacingly, Zhou Zishu points towards the kitchen. “Out!”
Wen Kexing laughs and blows him a kiss, continuing to sing entirely off-key as he walks away. “Know my love infinite, nothin' I wouldn't do. That I won't do, switchin' for you.”
Zhou Zishu flops back down into the bed with another groan. What has he done to deserve this?
His husband is a professor of literature, renowned for his work in classical Chinese poetry. If prompted, he can recite hundreds of lines of exquisite prose. He even occasionally writes and publishes his own poems. Yet Zhou Zishu is subjected to a constant stream of modern-day pop from the man, who (by his own admission!) cannot carry a tune to save his life.
By the time Zhou Zishu makes it to the kitchen, the first batch of youtiao is releasing little wisps of steam, filling the air with the scent of fried dough. Wen Kexing stands over a wok bubbling with oil, a pair of chopsticks in his hands as he hums under his breath. A bright pink apron with ‘wifey’ written on the front is wrapped around his waist.
“Why are you wearing my apron?” Zhou Zishu says as he hooks his chin over Wen Kexing’s shoulder.
“Would it get any use if I didn’t?” Wen Kexing scoffs, his gaze not leaving the stove in front of him. He snags a finished piece from the oil with his chopsticks and places it carefully on the growing stack before adding another length of dough to the wok.
Coating a piece of youtiao in milky sauce, Zhou Zishu takes a bite, releasing more steam that curls up from the hot dough. The texture is flaky and soft, the recipe perfected over the course of countless Sunday mornings. He goes to dip it back into the sauce, but Wen Kexing grabs his hand before he can.
“What?” Zhou Zishu asks.
With one hand, Wen Kexing turns off the stove and moves the wok over, the hissing oil quieting down as he stares intently at Zhou Zishu. “Do I have something on my face?”
“Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips.” Wen Kexing smears a drop of sauce from the corner of Zhou Zishu’s mouth over his lips. He leans in. “We should just kiss like real people do.” [4]
The youtiao have long since stopped steaming by the time they reemerge from the bedroom.
----
As Sunday’s tend to do, the rest of the day passes too quickly. They make it to the farmer’s market with an hour to spare before it closes. Wen Kexing whirls between various booths while Zhou Zishu follows in his wake, dutifully opening his wallet and handing over cash for his purchases.
Once they have lugged the bags back to their apartment, Wen Kexing prepares the soup A-Xiang had specially requested for the evening. Zhou Zishu is given the simple task of chopping green onions, which really just serves the purpose of keeping him in the kitchen with Wen Kexing.
Even though there is little chance that even he can mess this up, Zhou Zishu can feel the other man’s watchful gaze on the movement of his knife. Probably a good idea, he thinks ruefully, glancing at the uneven, smashed-up pieces in front of him.
Finally, the soup is ready, and they are off to A-Xiang and Cao Weining’s place. A-Xiang exclaims in excitement when they arrive, snatching the cauldron from Wen Kexing’s hands and eyeing it hungrily. After dinner, there are board games and, at Wen Kexing’s request, karaoke. Zhou Zishu and Cao Weining exchange looks as Wen Kexing and A-Xiang sway against one another and belt in disharmony, their voices cracking on the same notes.
Nothing makes Zhou Zishu feel older than when he glances at the clock, sees that it’s 9pm, and wants to be home. He supposes this is one of those side effects that comes with being in his mid-thirties. Before he can think of an excuse to leave, Wen Kexing is ruffling A-Xiang’s hair and asking Cao Weining for their jackets.
Zhou Zishu squeezes his hand gratefully on their way out and receives a devastatingly soft smile in return.
Hands still intertwined, they sit in companionable silence during the drive back to their apartment. A quiet Wen Kexing is always a bit unsettling yet Zhou Zishu stops wondering about it, stops thinking coherently when as the elevator doors close, Wen Kexing crowds him against the back wall.
“Something in the air is giving me bad ideas. Something in the air is giving me dangerous thoughts tonight. Why don't you stay at mine tonight?” [5]
“We live together, Lao-Wen,” Zhou Zishu feels compelled to point out, trying to suppress his body’s obvious reaction to the weight of Wen Kexing against him.
Still, he can’t help but shiver when Wen Kexing sets his mouth under his jaw, biting at the rapid pulse there. The moment the elevator doors slide open, Zhou Zishu wrenches himself away, ignoring Wen Kexing’s petulant whine, and drags him to their apartment.
“Touch your lips just so I know. In your eyes, love, it glows so.” [6]
“Wen Kexing, I swear—”
“Yes, yes, yes. A-Xu, don’t you know? I'm bare-boned and crazy for you.”
“A-Xing, I am warning you, I will stop—”
“Hush, A-Xu. Yes, that’s it. Right there, yes. Right there. When you come crash into me, baby.”
“Lao-Wen!”
“Crash into me!”
----
Much later that night, when it should probably be more properly called morning, Wen Kexing shifts closer to Zhou Zishu, his eyes closed as he presses their foreheads together. Zhou Zishu blinks sleepily, drifting awake.
“A-Xu?”
“I’m here.”
There is a long pause, but Zhou Zishu is patient. He has been waiting for this since he had felt the crack in Wen Kexing’s armor that morning, when he had caught a glimpse of what his husband usually hides so well.
“I've been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night.” [7]
There is no hint of a melody in Wen Kexing’s voice when he finally breaks the silence. Yet Zhou Zishu knows that these are not his words, that he is using someone else’s pain to show Zhou Zishu a piece of himself.
This is a piece that Zhou Zishu is familiar with. He has already run his hands over its edges and twisted curves many times. It shouldn’t surprise him when his fingers catch on another snag along its surface. Despite years of gentle handling, it hasn’t worn completely smooth.
“There are so many lines that I've crossed unforgiven. I'll tell you the truth, but never goodbye.” He sounds haunted, breathless like he’s running from a demon that’s just two steps behind.
The fear of a child, one who could only love carefully because the claws of abandonment were sunk too deep into his chest. The fear of an adult, one who had almost lost the person he loved the most.
Zhou Zishu remembers Wen Kexing’s bloodless face under the fluorescent lights of the hospital. His terrified eyes when he saw the shrapnel embedded into Zhou Zishu’s chest. His cold, trembling hands brushing over Zhou Zishu’s heart, where another wayward shard of metal could have ended it all.
Releasing a long, even breath, Zhou Zishu looks at the familiar tension in Wen Kexing’s tightly shut eyes, in the furrowing of his brow. Time has passed by like water flows endlessly in a stream but this pain can’t be washed away. All Zhou Zishu can do is hold onto Wen Kexing and refuse to let him go.
“I'll do anything you ever dreamed to be complete.” [8]
As Zhou Zishu sings, he draws Wen Kexing in even tighter, closing every space that remains between them. Tucking his husband’s head under his chin, he presses his face against the other man’s soft hair and continues.
“Put your arms around me. What you feel is what you are. And what you are is beautiful.”
Wen Kexing’s arms reach tentatively upwards along Zhou Zishu’s back until his hands are flat against his shoulder blades. His fingers dig painfully into the bones there, so close to the surface of the skin.
A promise of light after the darkness, of a sunrise after an endless night.
“I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you. I don't wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you.”
Zhou Zishu kisses Wen Kexing’s forehead, smoothening out the lines there, and finishes the song the other man started.
“I've been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night. Now I'm wide awake. And now I see daylight, I only see daylight.”
There is a hot wetness against Zhou Zishu’s neck, but the body that is wrapped tightly around his is no longer trembling. He feels exhausted, completely wrung out, but Zhou Zishu has one more trick up his sleeve. Placing his mouth right next to Wen Kexing’s ear, he sings to him, his voice low and sweet.
“'Cause nobody knows you, baby, the way I do. And nobody loves you, baby, the way I do. It's been so long, it's been so long, maybe we're fireproof. 'Cause nobody saves me, baby, the way you do.” [9]
Wen Kexing’s head snaps up, and Zhou Zishu thanks his quick reflexes for saving him from a broken nose. He looks at Zhou Zishu with his wide, puppy dog eyes, the effect only enhanced by the tears that hang like dewdrops on his eyelashes.
“A-Xu, you memorized a One Direction song for me? You really do love me!”
How could he still have any doubt? Zhou Zishu thinks, shaking his head at his husband’s absurdity. “Of course, I do. Now go to sleep so you can sing me awake in the morning.”