Work Text:
Jiang Cheng is alone in the little house by the sea when he gets the call.
“When?” he asks.
“Late last night,” Jin Zixuan replies.
Jiang Cheng tries not to read too much into the fact that his brother-in-law is calling to tell him that his father has died instead of his siblings. Or his mother.
“I can be back in two days. Maybe three if I have to take the train. Will that be alright?”
“I’ll make sure it is,” Zixuan assures him. “Nothing important will happen before you arrive.”
“I just want to be there for the memorial service.”
“Jiang Cheng—“
“Thank you for calling. I need to make travel arrangements.” Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath. “I’ll call you tonight, okay? I just, I need… I need to book a flight.”
“Of course.”
Jiang Cheng can tell that Zixuan wants to say more. He can picture his brother-in-law, sitting at the desk in his seldom-used home office, framed photos of his family taking up most of the shelf space. Jiang Cheng’s shoulders slump, and he curls in on himself, forehead resting on the kitchen counter.
“I’ll feel better once I have my travel plans set,” he says. It’s strangely hard to breathe.
“I understand,” Zixuan says. And he does, better than most people Jiang Cheng knows. “I’ll have my phone on me, so call any time, for any reason, okay?”
“I will. I’ll call you once I have my flights and forward the info as well.”
“Alright.” Zixuan pauses, then pushes out, “I — we love you, A-Cheng.”
Jiang Cheng’s breath catches. “I love you, too. I’ll call you tonight.”
Jiang Cheng leans against the counter, simply breathing, until the rushing in his ears subsides. He goes into his home office, books the first available flight to Yunmeng. It leaves the day after tomorrow, and he forwards the details to Zixuan, then turns off his phone and falls into bed. It’s only nine-thirty in the morning, but Jiang Cheng fights to keep his eyes open long enough to shuck his jeans and pull the comforter up over his head. He has just enough foresight to switch his bedside alarm clock for five-thirty the next morning, and then he closes his eyes.
He sleeps fitfully, occasional dreams cutting through the fog that has settled over him. He thought he’d grieved for his parents when they disowned him five years ago, but now he realizes he had been holding onto a fragile, crystalline hope, that his father would acknowledge him, love him, once more. And now he’s dead, and everything Jiang Cheng wanted to say has died with him.
He wakes with a start, disoriented, in a pitch-black room. He’s curled on his side in the middle of the bed. The mattress dips behind him, and before he can process the movement, a warm, reassuring bulk presses against his back and arms circle his waist. Then the bed dips again, in front of him. Soft, familiar lips brush across his, then press a kiss to his forehead, and long, calloused fingers wrap around his hands, and Jiang Cheng’s crying as a gentle litany of we’re here, A-Cheng, we’re here wraps around him.
Mingjue cradles him like something precious, his sturdy form pressed against the length of Jiang Cheng’s body. Xichen’s forehead rests against Jiang Cheng’s, and he caresses Jiang Cheng’s cheek with one hand as he squeezes Jiang Cheng’s hand with the other, and Jiang Cheng comes back to himself, to his body, anchored in their bed, in their home, that little house by the sea that belongs to no sect, to no past. Their home, their present. Jiang Cheng clings to his loves and allows himself to mourn.