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It wasn’t the first time Zhou Zishu woke up in a ditch, but most people went their entire lives without it ever happening. And it wasn’t supposed to happen at all once he gave Cousin Helian Yi the bird and quit. Funny how when he stopped beating people up, people stopped trying to beat him up. The wonders never ceased.
Not that any of that was relevant as he wiped the blood from his lips with the one clean patch left on his sleeve. Zishu paused and blinked at his stained sleeve in the fading light. He wasn’t a clothes horse by any stretch, nor did he particularly care about having a style, much to Jing Beiyuan’s chagrin over the years, but the fact remained Zishu didn’t recognize the shirt he was wearing. For one, it fit nicely around his shoulders without hanging too loose under his pecs. For two, it was a highly saturated cyan that he wouldn’t have purchased and even if it had been a gift, the color wouldn’t have survived being tossed in the laundry with the rest of his clothes.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a hookup, not that he would have intentionally stolen someone’s shirt. So the shirt was both a mystery and a loss because it was caked with mud and worse from the ditch. Right. He needed a shower and a glass of wine and then maybe he would puzzle over who was still angry enough and competent enough to leave him unconscious in a ditch.
Zishu was halfway across town before he realized he was going to the wrong place. His bruised-and-battered state put him on auto-pilot back to the apartment complex most Jin employees lived in, rather than the spacious condo he blew almost all of his savings on after quitting. It was a stupid, four bedroom, ostentatious monstrosity with a great view from the master bedroom that he’d purchased for cash to spite himself. And to prevent death by cirrhosis, but no one else needed to know that.
The doorman took one look at Zishu and averted his eyes immediately. He nonetheless still called the elevator, so Zishu took it as a win. The elevator was soundless and had been spotless until Zishu stepped in and dried mud flaked off his clothes to litter the polished floor. Zishu would leave a nice tip for the building staff once he had the money.
…
…
He could have sworn he’d found a new job already, but Zishu couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was. Oh well, he had taken a rather serious knock to the skull. He’d figure it out before his next shift. Zishu paused in front of his door. It wasn’t that he’d lost his keys. It was because there was a doormat. He most certainly did not have a doormat. And if he had had a doormat, it would not have had a cute dog and the phrase “Wipe your paws!” on it.
The cleaning staff must have accidentally put it in front of his door instead of his neighbor’s. That was what Zishu told himself as he put his key in the lock. He definitely wasn’t holding his breath as he turned the key. It, rather anticlimactically, opened without a hitch.
Zishu had barely crossed the threshold when he was assaulted. First, by smell. The makeshift shrine he’d made for Qin Huaizhang in the corner was built up into an actual, proper memorial with incense. Then there was the sharp bite of fresh onion and cooking garlic from the kitchen. Then his eyes were barraged with a riot of color. Fresh flowers sat in vases, delicate paintings hung on the walls and a bright rug laid across the entryway.
Two voices yowled in unison. The first was a giant ball of black and brown fur that meowed at an ear-splitting pitch from his feet. The second was a yell of “A-Xu!” from the kitchen combined with a clatter of pans and a loud snickt as the stove was turned off.
Zishu turned around and had his hand on the doorknob to leave this alternate house when the man from the kitchen grabbed his shoulders and spun him bodily around. The man was handsome, gorgeous, even, and Zishu would have cared if his vision wasn’t blurry and he wasn’t covered in muck and grime and if the stranger wasn’t cooking in Zishu’s kitchen.
“A-Xu, you look terrible, what happened?”
Zishu blinked, trying to gauge the sincerity in the stranger’s face, but after walking across town twice his thoughts could only swirl drunkenly around behind his eyes. “What the fuck are you doing in my house?”
“Oh dear.”
The stranger touched Zishu’s head and when he pulled his hand away, it was stained with blood and plasma. His entire face changed with his dismay. He had such an expressive face, Zishu thought before blinking and finding himself in his shower on a sturdy seat with warm water beating down on him.
The water ran clear, so Zishu had been under the spray for some time. He examined himself in an attempt to catalogue the damage from his latest adventure in a ditch, only to be quickly distracted by the mess of his right arm. Zishu made a fist and, yes, there it was. The muscles definitely moved wrong under the scars. The bulk of the scarring was from a burn with a clearly defined patch that had received a skin graft, but there were several incision marks. An explosion with shrapnel? It seemed to fit (and now that he was thinking of it, there was a sharp whine in his right ear until the sound of the shower), but he didn’t remember any explosions.
Or how he got in the shower, actually. Or what happened to that stranger.
Still on the shower stool, which he also never purchased, Zishu leaned over and turned off the water. He sat there dripping for a minute while he mustered up the energy to reach for his towel. The towel made it all of the way into Zishu’s lap before the door opened and the stranger was back, carrying an armful of clothes.
“I hope you know they’re going to yell at me in A&E, A-Xu and you’re going to owe me for that.”
“Who are you?”
The stranger flinched, but then sighed and set the clothes on the counter. He took the towel from Zishu’s hands and set about efficiently drying him. “I’m Wen Kexing. Your husband. We went over this.”
Zishu snorted his disbelief, but there had been a mystery ring on his hand. He’d just assumed it was for a job. He found it was much easier to get through social mixers and to his target if he didn’t have people hitting on him.
“Why are you going to A&E, anyway?”
Wen Kexing pulled back, looked in his eyes and sighed. “You see, this, this is what real amnesia is like. No short term memory! Not forgetting our romantic courtship.”
Zishu wrinkled his nose at Wen Kexing to keep from thinking about just how attractive this man claiming to be his husband was. After all, there was no way it was true. “You call me throwing a bottle of wine at you romantic?”
Wen Kexing looked to the heavens for help, but none came. “I won’t assume you remembered that. You’re simply just that way. Yes, you did throw a bottle at me.”
“And you’re still here? Good thing you’re going to A&E. I think you’re the one who hit your head.”
Wen Kexing hissed a breath in through clenched teeth. “Zhou Zishu, you are going to Accident and Emergency and you are subjecting yourself to whatever tests my colleagues throw at you or so help me..!”
“So you pulled me out of a ditch, followed me home and then never left? Presumably like the cat?”
Wen Kexing covered his eyes with one graceful, long-fingered hand. “He remembers the cat, but not his dutiful wife.”
---
The trip to A&E was a wash. Seeing Wen Kexing scolded by seemingly every member of the staff was entertaining, but offset by the fact that they all recognized Zishu on sight and said some variation of, “I’m surprised he lets you out of the house.”
Not only did all of Wen Kexing’s colleagues know Zishu, but apparently Wen Kexing was one of those horribly besotted spouses that overshared every detail of his wedded bliss to everyone unfortunate enough to encounter him.
(Though there was one memorable appearance from an intern who stared at Zishu with wide-eyes before turning to Wen Kexing to say, “Wow, he really is that pretty!”)
Zishu was not an insecure man, but even he could be annoyed at the constant affronts to his masculinity between scans. Even though initial readings had no information on his amnesia, Zishu was more than happy to be released to Wen Kexing’s care - since it meant going to his own home to sleep in his own bed and not staying overnight at the hospital.
But it was a miscalculation because Zishu’s condo housed more than just himself. In addition to the cat and Wen Kexing (yes, the cat did get top billing) was a baby (a teenager) who hugged Zishu tight around the waist and cried into his chest and a child (a slightly older teenager) who smacked his shoulder.
“Zhou-shu, you’re alright! I was so worried,” the boy said.
“How dare you worry my ge like that, Zishu-ge!” the girl shouted loud enough the neighbors would surely wake.
“A-Xiang, I told you and Chengling not to wait up,” Wen Kexing said. “You have school tomorrow.”
“No,” Chengling said from Zishu’s hoodie.
Zishu patted the boy’s head and glanced at the girl. She’d done a good job cleaning herself up, but Zishu could see the aftermath of tears around her eyes. He met Wen Kexing’s eyes. “I think it makes sense to let them take the day.”
Wen Kexing’s eyes went wide with mock-outrage. Zishu could hear what Wen Kexing wanted to say as if they had a direct mental link. You don’t even know who the children are and here you are undermining my parenting!
(Zishu was close, Wen Kexing’s actual thoughts were closer to: Oh you remember them, but not me? )
Wen Kexing threw his hands in the air. “Fine! But you’re both cleaning your rooms tomorrow! And I’m not helping!”
Zishu suspected that Wen Kexing both cleaned their rooms regularly, meaning there wasn’t much mess, and that he would help them regardless. But they did eventually trail their tired way to the, he supposed, now-former guest rooms. The adrenaline from hearing he’d been hurt had clearly run its course now that he was home.
“A-Xu…” Wen Kexing, too, looked suddenly exhausted.
“You know that’s not my name, right?” Zishu asked.
Wen Kexing let out a comically aggrieved sigh before ushering Zishu into the master bedroom. “I didn’t tell them about your, frankly, unbelievable amnesia. I truly don’t know what’s going on and it’s going to frighten them.” The look in his eyes made it clear that he was frightened, but gamefully holding it together.
Zishu had never been particularly moved by other people’s emotions, but he had a severe head injury, so he pulled the beautiful man into his arms and breathed in the smell of him. (That was a mistake - he smelled like the hospital and nothing masculine or romantic, but it was the thought that counted.)
“They’ll be alright. Kids are malleable,” Zishu said with all of the confidence of a former martial arts student who tossed his shidi around like ragdolls to no ill-effect.
Wen Kexing held him tightly, like he might make a run for it or disappear. “You realize amnesia doesn’t work like this.”
“Are you worried about me?”
“Of course, I am.” Wen Kexing rubbed his cheek on Zishu’s shoulder. “My husband doesn’t remember me or our children.”
“If you convinced me to marry you and take in two babies in less than a year, I’m sure this is far from the hardest thing you’ve ever done.”
That got a weak, wet and weary laugh out of Wen Kexing.
“Alright, A-Xu. I’ll remind you you said this later.”
“Mmm.” Zishu walked them in the direction of the bed (larger and with much nicer bedding than he ever bothered with). “As long as you don’t sleep on the right side of the bed, we’ll get along just fine.”
Wen Kexing shoved him away shouting, “Zhou Zishu!” He waggled his finger in Zishu’s laughing face. “You threatened to throw out my good moisturizer the one time I slept on the left!”
With a smile on his face, Zishu pulled off his clothes and threw them in the direction of a wicker basket that looked like it might be a hamper and then slipped under the covers. He let Wen Kexing fuss over him, fluffing his pillow and tucking the sheets around him.
Zishu caught his long fingers as he went to move away. His mouth was still curled up on one side. “I had no intention of being in a relationship, let alone settling down. I mean it. If you got this far, we’ll be fine.”
Wen Kexing pulled his hand up and kissed Zishu’s knuckles. “How romantic.”
“You’re stuck with me, now, Lao Wen.”