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Rain lashes the windows and thunder rumbles, low and threatening, as the long-promised summer storms roll over the city. Jiang Cheng sighs as he watches the rain. So much for a long run on the boardwalk. At least the weather was clear through the wedding. Xichen and Meng Yao are safely on their way to their honeymoon, his brother and Wangji have escaped to the Lan Family cabin with their son, his sister and her family are visiting the Jin-laws, and Huaisang is in Tokyo for the summer. Well, at least it will be a quiet summer.
The doorbell gives a sick little chime —I’ve got to remember to change the batteries,— and three rapid thumps on the door follow.
“Are we expecting a delivery?” Jiang Cheng calls back to Mingjue.
“Not that I know of.”
Jiang Cheng mutters a curse and opens the door. “Yeah, can I—“
It’s Lan Jingyi, soaked to the skin, blue-lipped and trembling, propping up a BMX bike. “I’m s-s-sorry to b-b-b-bother you, Uncle.” He tries to perform some sort of bow that turns into a sneezing fit. “I m-messed up.”
“What the fuck did you do?”
Jingyi scratches a calf with the toe of a beat-up sneaker. “Um, I don’t have any food? At home?”
“What?”
Jingyi refuses to meet Jiang Cheng’s eye. “My p-parents are gone. They left me money for f-food.” He sniffles and rubs his nose with his arm. “But I messed up. I thought I had enough, but I have, like, five dollars, and Mom and D-dad won’t be back for, like, two weeks, and Great Uncle is at a conference, and everyone else is g-gone.” He swallows back tears as his teeth chatter, rattling his jaw.
Jiang Cheng comes to his senses as Jingyi is hit with another sneezing fit.
“Shit, get inside, kid.”
Jingyi looks up at him through wet bangs. “Sir?”
“Get inside, numbskull. You’re gonna freeze to death.” He glares until Jingyi leans his bike against the side of the house and shuffles in. “Stay here. I’m gonna get a towel.”
Mingjue comes to his bedroom door as Jiang Cheng passes on the way to the linen closet. “Who was it?”
“Lan Jingyi.”
“What? Why?”
Jiang Cheng yanks a couple towels from the closet. “Because his parents are fucking idiots and left a thirteen-year-old kid alone for god knows how long, and he says he’s out of food.”
Mingjue clenches his jaw. They all have views about Lan Jingyi’s parents. Mingjue follows Jiang Cheng out.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says. “You okay?”
Jingyi shakes his head once. “I’m sorry to bother you.”
“It’s not a bother,” Mingjue says. He leans against the entry wall as Jiang Cheng towels off Jingyi’s hair.
“Wrap up — don’t get water all over the carpet — and go into the bathroom,” Jiang Cheng orders. “Put your wet clothes in the tub. I have some of Jin Ling’s things here that you can wear until we get your stuff dried.”
“Okay, Uncle.” Jingyi still refuses to meet Jiang Cheng’s gaze, but he does as he’s told. He hustles into the bathroom.
Jiang Cheng wipes up the water that has pooled in the entryway. “Hey, call Golden Palace and order some dinner. Get the kid some egg drop soup. You can take some cash from my wallet.”
“I can—alright,” he says to Jiang Cheng’s back.
Jiang Cheng goes to his room and digs around in the closet until he finds some of the clothes Jin Ling left behind after a weekend visit some months back. He finds a pair of sweatpants and an old hoodie that will probably fit. Jingyi is about four inches taller than Jin Ling at the moment, but he’s also slender where Jin Ling is stockier. It will have to do.
He passes Mingjue on the way to the bathroom, smiling when he hears the man say, “Yes, Mr. Lai, that will be for Jiang Cheng.” He knocks on the door.
“Kiddo?”
The door opens a crack, and Jiang Cheng catches a glimpse of pale cheek and purple lips. Fuck. The kid better not get pneumonia.
“Put these on for now, and then come out into the living room.”
Jingyi sneezes. “Thank you.” His voice is rough. He’s definitely got a cold. Damn it.
Jiang Cheng returns to the kitchen as Mingjue finishes placing the order.
“The food will be ready in about half an hour. Want me to go pick it up, or will you take Jingyi over to get some things from his place and then pick up the food? I assume he’s staying with us?”
Jiang Cheng fills the electric kettle and turns it on. “Let’s see what’s going on first. We can dry his clothes, and he can stay tonight.”
“Sounds good.” Mingjue reaches over and squeezes Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “Don’t go chasing down his parents before I get back with dinner,” he says.
Jiang Cheng snorts. “Yeah, sure.”
Jiang Cheng makes a pot of ginger tea while Jingyi changes clothes. It’s ready just in time, as the boy shuffles out of the bathroom. “I wrung — ringed? wrunged? I twisted the water out of my clothes out and put them over the tub,” he says, still sniffling.
Jiang Cheng tries to smile and put the kid at ease. “Good. I’ll put ‘em in the dryer in a bit. You go park it in the living room.”
“Okay.”
Jiang Cheng fills a couple mugs with tea and brings them out into the living room. Jingyi is curled up in one of the squashy armchairs that sit on either side of a coffee table, as if he’s trying to take up as little space as possible. Jiang Cheng suppresses a sigh and instead sets one of the mugs on the end table. He tugs a fleece blanket from a basket by the TV — a housewarming gift from Huaisang when Jiang Cheng and Mingjue decided to share an apartment after their former roommates Wei Ying and Lan Xichen moved in with their respective partners.
“Here, bundle up. Mingjue will be back with dinner soon.”
“Oh, Uncle, you don’t have to. I was hoping I could just, um, borrow some like bread? Or soup? Or pay you back with chores?”
“Kid, what kind of people do you think we are?”
“I didn’t mean to be trouble,” Jingyi says hoarsely.
“Drink your tea,” Jiang Cheng replies. He attempts to keep the gruffness from his voice, but Jingyi winces. “Kiddo, it’s gonna be okay. You were smart to come here.” Jiang Cheng sits in the other armchair. “Now, tell me what happened.”
“I was just so dumb, Uncle, I—“
“Lan Jingyi,” Jiang Cheng snaps, “you are not dumb.”
“Yes, Uncle.” Jingyi sips his tea.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Just, you’re not dumb, okay? Mistakes happen.” He drinks a bit of his own tea and lets the warmth and spice take a bit of the edge off of his mood. “So, how long have you been on your own?”
“Um, two weeks?”
Jiang Cheng grits his teeth but maintains (he hopes) a calm expression. “And what did your parents leave for you?”
“Um, normally they leave food I can heat up, or they take me shopping before they leave, but they got busy, I guess? So they just left me a couple hundred bucks and told me to order food.”
“For two weeks?”
“Um, well, it will be more like four by the time they get back?”
Jiang Cheng has to set his cup down before he hurls it at the wall. “I see. And did they talk to you about budgeting that money?”
“Well, no, but I was doing okay!” Jingyi sits up. “Really! But you have to tip, right? I wasn’t going to be a bad tipper. So I gave them twenty dollars, and—“
“Hold on, hold on.” Jiang Cheng sits up and rests his elbows on his knees. “You tipped delivery drivers twenty dollars per delivery?”
“A Lan is generous,” Jingyi says stiffly.
“Twenty percent is what people typically mean by generous, Jingyi, not twenty dollars!” He rubs his eyes. “Shit.”
“Alicia from Luigi’s tried to give it back to me, but I didn’t want her to think I was greedy.”
“Kid.” Jiang Cheng doesn’t know what to say to that. “Alright. Okay. Well, now you know about tipping. But you’re out of money. How long have you been out of food?”
Jingyi stares at his mug. “Um, two days? Three? I had some cereal, but I ran out of milk.”
“Jingyi!”
“I’m sorry! I messed up!” Jingyi wails as he bursts into tears.
“No! No, no, no.” Jiang Cheng hauls himself out of the chair and crouches down in front of the sobbing boy. “Hey, no, it’s okay. We’re not gonna let you starve, Jingyi.” He takes Jingyi’s mug and sets it aside.
“But I d-don’t want to be a burden!”
“No! No, it’s, you’re not—“ Jiang Cheng’s jiujiu instincts take over, and he pulls Jingyi down into his lap and holds him, murmuring soothing nonsense words until Jingyi is calmer. “It’s okay, kiddo.”
“I can pay you back,” Jingyi tries again, but Jiang Cheng cuts that off.
“You’re gonna stay here tonight, eat some soup and possibly an obscene amount of fried chicken. Tomorrow, we’ll figure out what to do, okay?”
“Chicken?” Jingyi perks up, and Jiang Cheng bites back a smile.
“Yeah. You still like it, don’t you?”
Jingyi scrubs a hand over his eyes. “Yeah, it’s good.”
“Good. Okay, you hop back up in that chair and drink your tea. I’m gonna put your clothes in the dryer.”
Jingyi nods. “Thanks, Uncle.”
“Yeah, you’re welcome, kiddo.”
They don’t talk over dinner, not about Jingyi’s situation. They eat in the living room and watch a movie. Jiang Cheng thinks nothing of sitting on the floor while Mingjue and Jingyi take the chairs. It’s cozy. Jingyi’s finally warmed up, full and sleepy and dozing in the chair, and that’s when it hits Jiang Cheng.
Where the fuck is the kid gonna sleep?
“Why didn’t we get a sofa?” he mutters as he wraps up the leftovers.
“Because you wanted to discourage visitors,” Mingjue teases as he washes the dishes.
“Untrue,” Jiang Cheng gripes. They didn’t need a sofa. Wei Ying and Wangji had a bad habit of making out whenever they got too comfortable on a sofa, and whenever they got together with Xichen and Meng Yao, they went over to their house because it has a nice deck. “A little true,” he says after a moment. “But that doesn’t help us right now. Where’s the kid gonna sleep?”
“Ah.”
“Yeah.” Jiang Cheng puts the food in the fridge and leans against the counter. Mingjue copies his pose.
“Well,” he says after a moment, “I have a king-sized bed, so you and I could share while the kid takes your bed?” He wipes his hands on a towel. “It’ll only be for a few days, right?”
Jiang Cheng rubs his eyes. “Yeah, probably. Shit, we need to call Lan Qiren and let him know what’s going on.”
“You should do that,” Mingjue says. “He likes you better.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s true, A-Cheng. You’re secretly his favorite.” Mingjue grins. “You both have such sunny personalities.”
“You’re an asshole,” Jiang Cheng says, aiming a kick at Mingjue. Mingjue dodges it with a laugh.
“Yeah, but you love it.” He puts the last cups away. “You call Old Man Lan, and I’ll go put clean sheets on my bed.” He pats Jiang Cheng’s shoulder as he leaves the kitchen. “It’ll be fine. It’s just for a couple days.”
“Mm.” Jiang Cheng takes his phone from his pocket, but pauses. He doesn’t want Jingyi to overhear the inevitable bad-mouthing of his parents, or anything that might make him feel like he’s causing trouble. Jiang Cheng goes to his own room, gets his pajamas, phone charger, and pillow. He puts clean sheets on the bed for the kid, then gently bullies Jingyi out of the living room and into bed. He’s out like a light in seconds. Only then does Jiang Cheng retreat to the kitchen and make the call he’s been dreading.
“Wanyin,” Lan Qiren says in lieu of a greeting. “I hope you’re going to tell me why Jingyi didn’t answer when I called to check on him this evening.”
Jiang Cheng grimaces. “He’s here with me and Mingjue,” he says. “I apologize. He came over a couple hours ago, soaked from the storm, and we were busy getting him warm and fed.”
Lan Qiren’s relief is palpable even through the phone. “He’s safe then?”
“He is.”
Jiang Cheng swallows down a bubble of laughter when Lan Qiren mutters what he really thinks about Lan Jingyi’s parents. When he finishes what passes for a rant, he says, “I can leave the conference early, but I won’t be back for at least two days.”
“Sir,” Jiang Cheng says, “there’s no need to rush back. Jingyi is safe here. I’m working from home for the time being, so he won’t be left alone.”
“It’s not necessary.”
“It’s fine. Mingjue and I aren’t going anywhere, and we’re not sending him back to his house alone.”
“You have my deepest gratitude, Wanyin,” Lan Qiren says.
“It is truly no trouble to look after Jingyi.” He pauses, considering his next words carefully. “But sir, I think there maybe should be some trouble when you get back, if you catch my meaning.”
“Perfectly.” Lan Qiren sighs heavily. “I should have stepped in sooner, but I didn’t like to interfere, as long as he was — as long as he looked well and happy.”
“I do understand,” Jiang Cheng replies. “He’s gotten very good at covering, I think. I’ll let you go now, but when you come back, we’ll talk. You’ll have my support, whatever that needs to be, and I suspect you’ll have Mingjue’s as well.”
“Good, good.”
Jiang Cheng smiles, picturing Lan Qiren’s contemplative beard stroke.
“Alright, I will call tomorrow evening, if I may, and continue to check on the boy. I know he expects it, and I do not want to let him down. The conference ends in a week, and I’ll take him then.”
“Sounds good. In the meantime, you have my number. Good night, sir.”
“Good night, Wanyin. Be sure and tell Jingyi I will call tomorrow.”
“I will, I promise.” He pockets his phone when Lan Qiren hangs up and looks up to see Mingjue leaning in the doorway.
“So, I take it we’ve acquired a child for the week?”
“I can stay with him at his house,” Jiang Cheng says.
Mingjue waves him off. “No way. Have you ever been to his house? It’s like a model home. Cold, sterile, no place for someone like Jingyi.”
Jiang Cheng sighs. “Fine, as long as you don’t mind—“ He waves vaguely toward the bedrooms.
“I’m sure we’ll manage,” Mingjue says. “I’m going to bed. You coming?”
“Yeah, in a few minutes.”
Mingjue gives him a look he can’t quite parse, but he leaves Jiang Cheng alone.
The week passes more quickly than Jiang Cheng anticipated. He takes Jingyi to his house to get clothes and anything he might need for his stay, and Jiang Cheng has to agree — the place is like an ice-cold prison. In contrast, Jingyi fits in easily with Mingjue and Jiang Cheng’s routine. He’s able to keep himself occupied while Jiang Cheng and Mingjue work, makes himself useful despite their insistence that he doesn’t have to do anything to pay them back.
The kid, as it turns out, loves to cook, so Jiang Cheng gives him free range of their kitchen, and he spends the days experimenting and replicating dishes he sees on YouTube. On the third night of his stay, he makes ramen that tastes as good as the stuff they get from their favorite place in town, and Jingyi practically bursts from the praise Mingjue heaps on him. By the time Lan Qiren collects Jingyi at the end of the week, Jiang Cheng is sorry to see him go. He stands on the porch, waving goodbye after making plans to meet Lan Qiren for coffee in a couple days to discuss the situation. He closes the door and is about to move his things back into his bedroom when Mingjue calls him into the kitchen.
Mingjue sets a beer down by Jiang Cheng’s usual seat and sits across from him with his own drink. They clink the bottles, and Jiang Cheng has just a moment to think that it’s too quiet in the apartment when Mingjue says, “We are adopting that kid.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Lan Jingyi. We are gonna adopt him. He will be our son, and we will be his dads.”
“We? What do you mean we? We’re just roommates, aren’t we?”
“Are we?” Mingjue asks it like a serious question.
Jiang Cheng picks the label on his beer bottle. He likes living with Mingjue. They get on well, have similar ideas about socializing. They like the same shows. It’s comfortable sharing space with him. And the last week? Sharing a bed? It…it hadn’t been as awkward as he’d feared, although Mingjue had kept a respectful space between them.
“I mean, yes?” Jiang Cheng takes a drink from his bottle. “I needed someone to help with rent when my gremlin brother eloped, and you, quite understandably, didn’t want a front-row seat to the XiYao Show.”
“They’re disgustingly affectionate,” Mingjue agrees. “Those Lan boys.” He shakes his fist at Jiang Cheng. “Which is precisely why we can’t let Jingyi live with Lan-laoshi. Something in that stern and silent house turns Lan boys into … into …”
“Yeah, alright,” Jiang Cheng waves his hands to cut off Mingjue’s train of thought. He, too, has been traumatized by Public Displays of Lan. “But you’re missing the point. We’re just friends, Mingjue. We can’t adopt a kid!”
“Why not? I’ll grant, it’s unusual. But seriously, why not? Why do two people have to be fucking as a pre-requisite to having a kid together?” He pauses and makes a strange face. “Okay, yeah, I know how that sounds, but you know what I mean, don’t you? It’s the twenty-first century, Jiang Cheng. Why can’t a family be two miserable bachelors and a snarky teen?”
“Because you just described the plot of a terrible sitcom, not a viable life!”
“Why, though?” Mingjue insists. “Give me one good reason.”
Jiang Cheng looks at Mingjue. “Okay, okay. What happens when one of us moves? What if I get a job and have to move? Who gets the kid? Or what if one of us falls in love and gets married? Are we just gonna start some kind of fucking commune?”
“Actually—“
“I wasn’t serious.”
Mingjue sighs. “Okay, I see your point.” He studies Jiang Cheng for a long, tense minute. “A-Cheng,” he says, voice soft. “May I try something? To address one of your first points?”
“Yes?”
Mingjue rises and comes over to Jiang Cheng’s side. He kneels by Jiang Cheng’s chair. He pauses, giving Jiang Cheng time to object, to move away, and Jiang Cheng closes the distance between them, accepting the kiss that he’s wanted since … it doesn’t matter. He grabs handfuls of Mingjue’s shirt and keeps him close, kissing him breathless.
Mingjue finally breaks away, laughing, and leans in, resting their foreheads together. “Just friends?”
“Fuck you,” Jiang Cheng growls.
“In a minute,” Mingjue replies. He steals another kiss. “I think, given our history, that it wouldn’t be inappropriate to make this official, immediately, and then convince Lan-laoshi to help us adopt Jingyi.”
“Jingyi technically still has parents,” Jiang Cheng points out. “Jingyi is also thirteen and probably has some opinions about his own life.”
“Ugh, why do you have to be logical right now?”
“Because you’re an idiot,” Jiang Cheng says, infusing the word with every ounce of affection he can muster. Mingjue must agree, because he spends a few minutes kissing him about it.
“Okay, I am an idiot,” he says when they take a break. “But I’m also serious.”
“About Jingyi?” Jiang Cheng can’t help but ask.
“And you,” Mingjue replies, correctly interpreting Jiang Cheng’s unspoken anxiety.
Jiang Cheng rests his head against Mingjue’s shoulder. “Can we talk about it more? Tomorrow?”
“Of course,” Mingjue says. He runs a hand up and down Jiang Cheng’s back. “What are we gonna do now?”
Jiang Cheng kisses the crook of Mingjue’s neck. “I’d like to see how compatible we are,” he says. “You know, if we’re gonna do this.”
“Hell yeah,” Mingjue replies. He stands and hauls Jiang Cheng up with him. “Your room or mine?”
“Yours,” Jiang Cheng says immediately. “Your mattress is better.”