Work Text:
I'd be wise with which words you say
'Cause they could be the last breath you take
Go ahead baby, tell me
Baby Outlaw - Elle King
A whirlwind romance. It’s what one might call it. Wen Kexing had certainly felt like a whirlwind when he blew back into Zhou Zishu’s life. Being caught up in his... everything, had been an experience that Zishu had never asked for, would never have thought he wanted. And yet here they are, with four months of dating, six years of marriage, half a mortgage, and three adoptions (two human, one feline) under their belts.
When asked, Zishu might roll his eyes. Might scoff and make claims that Kexing had trapped him, call him a clinging leech, or offer to sell him off to the highest bidder. But to be honest, he’s happier than he’s ever been. Even though he’d never seen it coming; the wedded bliss, the devoted spouse, the house in the suburbs, or god forbid the children, now that it’s here he wouldn’t trade it for anything.
And yet.
The tip of his sword has nicked Kexing’s throat. Just a little, he’s barely applying pressure, but he keeps Baiyi so sharp that it’s enough to send a bead of crimson spilling down his pale skin. The tendons flex as he swallows, Zishu can’t help but reflexively do the same. His mouth is bone dry. How many times has he kissed that neck, dragged his lips up to his jaw to make Kexing giggle and squirm? Countless.
It’s a mistake, letting sentiment get in the way. It makes him hesitate and Kexing sees the opening. In an instant he spins out from under Baiyi, and he’s fucking fast. He doesn’t hold back when he slams his elbow down on Zishu's forearm to make him drop the sword. Staggering back, Zishu manages to jump over the sweeping kick that comes for his ankles, but fails to anticipate the way Kexing barrels forward driving a shoulder into his ribs. Zishu may have taken his gun but Kexing is far from helpless. They tumble to the ground grappling for control.
Zishu has never put any thought into what type of fighter Kexing would be. For god’s sake this is his idiot husband, who never misses his bi-weekly manicure, who cries watching children’s cartoons, and wails over stubbed toes. As it turns out, his idiot husband is a dirty fighter. He scratches and spits and pulls Zishu’s hair, knobby knees coming for his balls with lethal intent. Zishu has come to blows with all sorts of people, and he’s always hated a dirty fighter. He himself takes pride in having mastered half a dozen martial arts as well as various traditional sword forms. It's his profession but it’s also so much more. It’s thousands of years of history handed down through generations. It’s what separates men from beasts.
Kexing fights like a beast, and he looks like one too. His hair has come loose from its usual immaculate part, hanging over his forehead and sticking to the sheen of sweat there. His eyes are narrowed to black slits. There’s blood between his teeth when he bares them.
He’s also managed to gain the upper hand. When they roll to a stop Zishu is on his stomach, with all of Kexing’s hundred and fifty pounds pressing down on the middle of his back, and the tip of his own sword buried in the floor inches away from his nose.
“For god’s sake Kexing the hardwood!” He snaps.
There’s a moment of silence where their ragged breathing is the only thing that fills the room. The weight on his back shifts slightly as Kexing adjusts his positions, then says, voice hoarse, “You know I always thought the stain was too dark.”
It’s an old argument many times hashed over the years. The house had been in poor shape when they bought it, old and shabby and untended by the elderly lady who’d owned it before them. Old and shabby was the only kind of house they could afford at the time, and with A-Xiang growing bigger and more rambunctious by the day, they’d been so desperate to move out of Zishu’s tiny downtown apartment they decided to take the risk. The plan was to do the renovations themselves to save cost. Zishu had been determined to revitalize the old floors over needlessly blowing their budget on new ones, swearing that the hundred year-old wood was even better than anything they could get now anyway. He had spent an entire week on his knees stripping and sanding and varnishing only to have Kexing’s face immediately fall when he looked at the finished product.
He’d gotten used to it, of course. Once the walls were painted and their furniture moved in he’d even conceded that the rich espresso tone was a regal feature, one they’d balanced out with a lovely pale green area rug. Bringing it up now amidst all of this....Zishu closes his eyes and presses his flushed cheek to the cool dark wood. He imagines that this close he can still smell traces of the varnish if he concentrates hard enough, bringing forth a wave of memories of those early months. His wedding ring still an absurd novelty every time he glanced down at his hand, the man by his side even more so. And the little girl - their daughter - scampering around filling their days with chaos. Everything had been changing at such a rapid pace and after so many years on his own, grinding away in a job he was beginning to resent, returning to the same empty rooms to drink himself to sleep every night, it was exhilarating. All of Zishu’s memories of that time are bathed in golden sunlight like dawning spring after a long dark winter.
“Kexing-”
“Shut up!”
“Wen Kexing! ”
The hand that’s got his arm twisted up behind his back tightens painfully. “Shut. Up. I’m trying to think .”
Typical bossy Lao Wen. Zishu exhales through his nose. At least Kexing seems as shaken as he feels. It’s a relief not to be the only one caught entirely off guard. Because at first Zishu thought that this might have all been one elaborate plot. That maybe Kexing had just seduced him to get access to intel on the agency, to use him to steal Window of Heaven's technologies, or to expose his connection to Minister Jin. (That he’d never really loved Zishu at all, and everything he thought he had was as much of a farce as the rest of it.)
As it turns out, they’re both as clueless as each other.
“When you found me back then.” Zishu murmurs, heedless of Kexing’s annoyed grunt, “It wasn’t just a coincidence was it. You didn’t just happen to stumble into that cafe by chance.” Fated . That's how Kexing liked to tell the story. The way that he’d been struck by a sudden craving for scones while passing Zishu’ regular shop at the precise time he stopped there on his way to work.
The little cafe was so crowded with morning rush that there hadn’t been any empty tables, so Kexing had invited himself to sit at Zishu’s. He’d managed to coax him, grouchy, and pre-caffeinated, into something resembling a conversation wherein they discovered that they’d once been classmates years ago. It was only for a brief time, but they found they both remembered each other keenly. A tight bond formed at the tenderest age in the wild landscape of primary school, cut short when Kexing’s family abruptly moved cities without leaving a way to stay in contact. Zishu had been devastated when he found out his friend wasn’t coming back, and while the loss had faded as he grew up, he’d often wondered what became of the other boy.
Fate, Kexing would say, had brought them together again. Soulmates pulled along by the red strings connecting their hearts across time and space.
The way he hesitates over the answer now is really answer enough. It hurts more than any of the blows they’ve landed on each other tonight. “What were you looking for then?” Zishu asks, “What did you want from me? What was the fucking point of all of this? Huh? Was it just a convenient cover? Some bullshit fantasy you could wave around to deflect suspicion?”
Kexing’s grip has become so tight the bones of Zishu’s wrist grind together painfully. “Shut up no I...it’s not that simple. You make it sound so…”
Fake? Empty? Heartbreaking? “Well what is it then? Because that’s how it looks from where I’m standing.”
When Kexing leans forward and speaks right into Zishu’s ear his tone has hardened, sharp like the blades he’d thrown at his head just minutes ago. Colder than ice. “You aren’t standing right now are you darling? At least I’m not a fucking government attack dog. Really Zhou Zishu? That filthy pig Jin? Of all people to leash yourself to!”
Zishu may be pinned to the ground but he refuses to take that criticism lying down. “Better than being a terrorist!”
Kexing makes a noise that Zishu has never heard come out of his mouth before, and it takes him a second to recognize it as laughter. It’s dark and bitter, everything that his normal laugh isn’t. Then he’s dragging Zishu to his feet and shoving him up against the wall. One of his forearms presses across Zishu’s throat while the other still has both of his wrists caught up between them. Face to face Zishu gets a better look at his husband. There’s a nasty bruise already darkening high on his left cheekbone where Zishu head-butted him. Blood stains his lips even brighter than usual, and he’s bone pale with rage. “Tell me, what exactly makes a ‘terrorist,’ agent Xu?”
“You aren’t stupid, so don’t act like it. Ghost Valley spreads anarchy, people get hurt-!”
“People always get hurt!” Kexing cries, “Everywhere! All of the time! Does a kick hurt any less when it comes from a man in a police uniform? Does a bomb dropped by the military kill fewer people? Does a child care under whose orders her father is taken away from her? No! All that matters in the end is the suffering. You people may have the state behind you, but I don’t think you want to get into comparing body counts.”
“Is that what you tell yourself?” Zishu hisses. He finds that the empty void that had gaped in his chest a minute ago is suddenly full of hot fury. “You know best, is that it? The law shouldn’t apply to you because you have all the answers. Let’s all just step back and let you do whatever the fuck you want. What a society that would make for!”
“As opposed to what? This great society that we currently have? Pah!” Kexing presses even closer, so that their noses nearly brush, a painful echo of tender embraces they’ve shared. “I know what your Window of Heaven does. The things that happen when you decide somebody is guilty of a crime. What does your law and order say about fabricating evidence? About those cameras you have all over the country, surveilling your own citizens? The doctored CCTV footage? The convenient accidents? Do you truly think yourself superior when these are your methods?”
Whether it’s from the arm on his windpipe or the words ringing in his ears, Zishu can’t quite gather the breath to respond. It’s not like he hasn’t had the doubts himself many times over the course of his career. Which only adds to the sting of this situation. I was going to leave. He wants to scream back in Kexing’s face. I wanted to leave! And then you showed up! “Well these methods have been funding our lifestyle dear husband.” He rasps, “Look around you! Somebody had to pay for those new curtains you needed so badly! The annual trips to Hawaii! The damn minivan! In case you didn’t notice, this family is expensive!”
He feels Kexing flinch all along where their bodies are pressed together, and even in this position Zishu feels a pang of remorse. He’s never leveraged money in arguments before. Kexing’s job at the outreach charity could never offer much in the way of wages - there are some months that, after bills and operation expenses are settled, nothing is left to pay the staff. He’d been so passionate about the work that it never mattered, Zishu was happy to take on the bulk of their household bills because he saw how much the charity meant to him. The charity , Zishu realizes with a sudden flash that chases the guilt straight away, it must be a front for Ghost Valley. ‘Philanthropist Wen’ my ass!
Anger sends a fresh rush of reckless energy through his limbs, which he uses to break Kexing’s grasp and get some space between them. They wrestle for dominance, exchanging blows and blocks, more equally matched than anyone Zishu has encountered in years. But he can tell Kexing is tiring, the cut on his neck hasn’t stopped bleeding and by now the collar of his shirt is drenched red. Zishu feels confident that he can beat him.
They’re back against the wall, this time Kexing is the one on the defensive, and he jerks to try and flip them back when he loses his footing and both of them slide wildly to the side, colliding with a large frame that hangs there. The picture drops to the floor with a deafening crash that freezes them both in place, completely breaking the momentum of the fight. The stand staring at the fallen frame for a second, Zishu not registering that he’d relaxed his grip until Kexing steps out of it to kneel and pick it up. “Careful,” He says automatically, inanely, “there’s glass.”
Of all damned things, it’s the family photo from the day A-Ling’s adoption was finalized. It’s not the nicest portrait they have together, but Kexing had ordered it printed out as large as possible and had it properly framed to display in the main room for all to see. It’s about how happy they’d been - the liminal time leading up to it had been hard on them all, not knowing what the future held. The relief of the paperwork going through had lifted a weight off the whole family and they’d been all smiles that day. They’d gone out for lunch afterwards to A-Ling’s favourite American burger place all dressed up like they were going to dine at the Ritz. A-Xiang had asked if she could order the absurdly giant banana sundae, like she did every time, and for once they’d said yes. It sits front and centre in the photo, a comical mountain of ice cream and syrup. Their thrilled grins split their little faces in half, Zishu and Kexing on either side smiling nearly as wide. Their arms interlock on the cushion behind the kids. They’d held hands all day, Zishu recalls, in the car on the way to the court house, Kexing’s long fingers vice-like with tension, and then later swinging freely between them as they walked out with the signed papers. Keeping each other grounded, united.
Kexing flips the frame over, sending shards of glass tinkling across the floor. One corner of the moulding has split from impact and come apart at the join, and the finish is badly gauged all along the edge. The things that Zishu would have normally said scroll through his mind like a script, had this been a normal accident. If A-Xiang had knocked it while running around playing one of her wild games. I can fix it. We can go get new glass tomorrow don’t worry, it's fine. Be careful not to cut yourself.
Zishu doesn’t say these things. He stands silently looking at his husband crouched in the mess they’ve made of their living room. With the adrenalin subsiding, he registers a sharp pain in his right hand. The knuckles of his first two fingers are split from where he’d punched his husband. A rush of sick dizziness passes over him at the sight.
And then to make matters worse the room is lit with a sudden of white light that bursts in through the bay window. The crunch of car tires approaching up the driveway and low rumble of an engine idling before cutting off. Kexing’s chin jerks up and they make panicked eye contact. It’s that late already?
For a second it seems unsalvageable. The trail of destruction starts from the dining room where their uneaten dinner lays strewn across around the room. Half a dozen knives pepper the walls, and two of the hanging bulbs of the light fixture had been shattered by a careless elbow when Zishu vaulted over the table. The kitchen is no better, with the addition of the pool of spilled wine and the great big chip where Baiyi had deflected into the island countertop.
Switching himself to crisis mode, Zishu strides across the room and hits all the light switches except for the hallway; the darkness should be enough to hide the wreckage for now. Kexing sways to his feet bone pale and wide-eyed. His gore splattered blouse and face makes a horrifying spectacle. Zishu is only marginally more presentable. “I’ll handle it, go clean yourself up. They can’t see you like this.”
Without a word Kexing darts upstairs leaving Zishu to tug his disheveled clothes, pausing at the foyer mirror to try and school his expression into something resembling calm. He’s not sure how successful he is but it has to be enough, as a moment later the patter of little feet hits the front steps before the doorbell is pressed three times in rapid succession.
“A-Xiang, we've discussed this. You only press the doorbell once.” Zishu chides once the door is open. He seizes his daughter's arm before she has a chance to run into the house, holding her firmly in place. He doesn't let himself flinch when A-Ling greets him with his customary monkey hug, jostling his battered ribs. “Say thank you and goodbye to Li-bóbo.”
“Thank you Li-bóbo!” They chorus obligingly, A-Ling only slightly muffled where his face is buried in Zishu’s hip.
The old man crosses his skinny arms and scowls up at Zishu from the walkway, “Oy you horrid brat! Aren’t you going to invite your elder in for tea? I’ve spent the whole night wrangling these monsters for you!”
“Like you had anything better to do, you lonely old fool.” Zishu shoots back. “No tea tonight, Kexing has a headache.”
Li raises a bushy brow, “Drank too much did he? Whatever, ungrateful youth with no manners or alcohol tolerance. I didn’t even want to come in anyway!”
“Sure you didn’t. Bye old man.” Zishu shepherds the kids over the threshold and kicks the door closed in his incredulous face. “Come on, right upstairs and get your pyjamas on.”
It’s a little bit early for bedtime, but hopefully their fun-filled evening has worn them out enough to settle right down. A-Xiang chatters away about the movie they’d seen as they march up the stairs and down the hall, past the closed door of the master bedroom. They’re too excited and sugar strung to ask after Kexing, who would usually have been there to greet them with a flurry of kisses. Zishu manages to autopilot through the nighttime routine on his own, only the years of practice masking his exhaustion. But then it’s story-time which has always been firmly Kexing’s purview. When Zishu picks up the book he’s currently reading to them and opens it where they’d left off the previous evening, he’s met with scathing rejection.
“No!” A-Xiang wails, little fist balled up in A-Ling’s Sailor Moon comforter, “You don’t do the voices right! Where’s a-diē? We want a-diē!”
Zishu attempts to assert his authority, he really does, but even sweet A-Ling refuses to give him a chance. So he sighs and makes his way across the hall. Kexing is still in the en-suite, but comes right out when Zishu knocks. He’s managed to clean up well, concealer covering the bruise on his cheek enough that if you weren’t looking for it you wouldn’t notice the faint puffiness. He’s donned a bulky turtle-neck sweater with a high enough collar to cover the neck wound. “They won’t let me read to them.” He explains awkwardly. “I can say that you’re asleep if it’s too…” he trails off, not sure what he really means. If it’s too difficult? Too painful? Because it’s both of course.
“It’s fine, I’ll do it.” Kexing answers dully, avoiding direct eye contact. He goes to brush past, but Zishu snags his sleeve pulling him to a halt.
“You have to act normally. If you can’t keep it together-”
Kexing yanks his arm away, scowling. “Don’t patronize me, I know . Don’t forget I’m a devious liar who’s been faking it for years right? I can handle a bedtime story.”
Numbly Zishu let’s him go. Sure enough when Kexing starts reading he sounds like his normal self, animated voice ringing loudly through down the hall, doing the silly characters, the sound effects, the extra little comments he improvises on the spot. The kids squeal in delight over his antics like they always do. It’s a familiar scene that’s played out every night for the past two years. Usually Zishu would go sit with them, rolling his eyes and griping about Kexing getting them hyped up right before bed but unable to hide his fondness.
Tonight he stays away. Makes his way back downstairs to the dark bottom level and sits down heavily on the sofa. He buries his face in his hands and fails to wrap his head around what comes next.
Just this morning he’d sat in the exact same spot drinking his coffee while Kexing made breakfast and packed the kids’ lunches. Zishu had gotten them dressed like always, tried to mitigate A-Xiang’s eclectic wardrobe choices, braided her hair, helped A-Ling brush carefully around his two loose teeth. The biggest concern on his mind at the time was how his son's sneakers were suddenly too small, like he’d outgrown them overnight, and whether they could wait until the weekend to buy him a new pair. Kexing has departed first, leaving Zishu with a firm kiss, to drop the kids at school on his way to work.
Work. Where he’d been called up to Minister Jin’s office and handed his new assignment. The nondescript folder had looked like every other mission briefing he’d ever received. Only his boss’s loaded expression had hinted that this one was any different. “We’ve found him, my friend.” He’d said, low and gleeful, “The leader of the ghosts. After all these years we’ve finally found him.”
It was big. Ghost Valley has eluded authorities for decades, managing to sew more discord than any other criminal organization while somehow remaining completely untraceable. For as long as Zishu’s been here Ghost Valley has been Jin’s ‘white whale’, always one step ahead of his spies, always managing to dance beyond their reach. It was as if they were chasing literal ghosts, one minute you’d think you had something concrete only for it to turn to smoke and slip between your fingers. It’s mysterious leader the most of all, a looming figure that cast a long shadow in the criminal underworld, but who never left a single clue as to their identity. A total enigma.
The photograph in the file showed a face that’s more familiar than Zishu’s reflection in the mirror. It was a bit pixelated, clearly having been harvested from CCTV footage, and blurry with motion. The subject was mid stride, crossing a deserted parking lot, but his face tilted up at just the right angle for the camera to capture. The Ghost Chief. The man Zishu has slept beside almost every night for six years.
There wasn’t much else in the file, just the photo and an address on the outskirts of the city. Thankfully nothing that would link him to their home or the children. There were more photos of Kexing standing beside a big black SUV with two ‘associates of interest’ that Zishu recognized because they had attended his wedding. They’d been the only ‘family members’ that Kexing invited; the one he called ‘Luo-yi’ and the younger woman she’d bought as her plus one.
Zishu’s gut reaction was, of course, disbelief. It must be a set-up, perhaps Duan Pengju had somehow figured out that Wen Kexing is his husband and was attempting to set him up. He’s wanted Zishu out of the way for years, and he certainly wouldn’t be above targeting his loved ones. But as he flipped through the rest of the file, the evidence was undeniable. More photos, transcripts from recordings, some scans of transaction documents of various illegal goods under an unfamiliar company name. Clearly they’d been gathering evidence for some time now, and finally had enough to bring Zishu into the fold.
Nobody in Window of Heaven had ever met Kexing. They’d run the background check mandatory for all potential partners before they started living together, but Kexing’s legal name had come back totally clean. Zishu stared into his bosses’ eyes and tried to gauge whether or not he knew. But Jin remained as inscrutable as ever. Zishu had taken the folder and retreated to prepare. For his new mission.
Track down and eliminate the leader of Ghost Valley.
He only notices Kexing come down the stairs because his nerves are still on high alert. The man moves silently, as befits a ghost. But Zishu sees the shadows on the rug flicker as he approaches, and lifts his head to watch as the other man runs a finger along a long scrape the Baiyi had left in the paint.
“Zhang Yusen.” Zishu speaks into the stillness. Kexing looks at him, brows drawing together in confusion. “March 24th 2019, the Mirror Lake massacre.” Zishu prompts. “They found Ghost Valley’s calling card at the scene. Was that you?”
Kexing’s usually animated features are as rigid as a jade statue. “If our calling card was there it must have been. Why do you ask?”
“Chengling’s surname was Zhang.” Zishu informs him, “He was found hiding in the pool house covered in his own father’s blood as the house burned around him. He was fucking four years old. Somebody stabbed him in the stomach!”
Kexing sinks down slowly into the bottom step. “You - you said he was your cousin’s…”
“Well I lied. Did you do it then, were you there? Did you kill A-Ling’s family yourself or just give the order?”
“I didn’t. I wasn’t there, I don’t know…”
“You’re their leader aren’t you?” Zishu hisses, cognizant of the children sleeping just down the hall, but livid . “How can you not know? Just give it to me straight.”
“I was here!” Kexing says, eyes flashing up to Zishu’s face. The jade has cracked and he looks frantic, like he’s begging for something. Unfortunately for him, Zishu isn’t feeling the least bit benevolent. “I was here with you that night, you know I was. You left early that morning to fly to Xi’an for that big emergency salvage project you…” He blinks several times rapidly. “Ah. There was never really a burst water heater, was there? That call was-”
“Was to let me know that Zhang Yusen had been assassinated, yes. I went there for the clean-up.”
Kexing leans sideways against the banister. “Would you even believe me if I said that it wasn’t my doing?”
Zishu stands up, sitting still suddenly unbearable. He can feel Kexing’s eyes on him as he paces to the window. “Are you, or are you not the highest ranking member of Ghost Valley? You expect me to believe one of your people killed a prominent state official and his entire family in their own home without your permission?”
“You can believe whatever you want. I’m not...A-Shu please. You know I wouldn’t hurt children.”
Zishu whirls around, “I don’t know anything! I thought-!” He stops, drags a hand through his hair and gives the roots a sharp tug, focussing on the physical pain instead of the terror threatening to split his chest. “Are we in danger? Do the people who tortured A-Ling’s brothers to death know where we are?”
“Of course not! No matter what you think of me, give me some credit!” Kexing is on his feet now too, fists balled at his sides.
Zishu exhales. “Are you sure?”
“Yes!” Kexing’s voice and expression are emphatic, to the point that Zishu can’t help but believe him. At the very least to believe that Kexing believes his own words to be the truth. “Why do you think I only wanted your name on the lease? Anything that's linked to you is under Zhen Yan. I’ve kept that name separate, they would never be able to connect it to the Ghosts.”
This much Zishu knows to be true from the background check. Except - “Your ‘Aunt’ Luo? And her girlfriend?”
Kexing shakes his head adamantly. “They wouldn’t betray me. They’d die before exposing A-Xiang’s location.”
Zishu frowns, “A-Xiang. Tell me the story there. The real story.”
Kexing hesitates before nodding. He walks to one of the armchairs, brushes a mess of feathers from a ripped throw pillow and takes a seat. Zishu follows his lead and sits back down on the sofa.
“I wasn’t chief back then.” He starts, “A-Xiang’s parents got tangled up with the former leader, owed debts they couldn’t pay. They tried to run, I think, I don’t know all the details. But the old chief was not the type to give second chances. He took A-Xiang as an incentive, but even then they couldn’t come up with the money. I’m not sure what he intended to do with her once he killed them, but I wasn’t going to wait around to find out. Luo-yi helped me get her away and hid her until I could figure out a way to keep him from coming after us.”
Zishu swallows down bile. “Her nightmares.”
“She was just two year old, too young to remember the details. But you never truly forget that sort of trauma.”
Zishu thinks about it and does some mental calculations. “That was what? Seven years ago? Right before we met?”
“Ah you’ve caught me.” Kexing laughs wetly. “The only thing I could think to do was find myself a baby daddy.”
“Don’t joke with me right now.”
“I’m dead serious.” Kexing is smiling wide but unsteady. “I knew that the chief would never let us go, it was the principle of things. I’d stolen something that belonged to him, which meant he had to make an example of me to send a message to the others. What else could I do but kill him before he killed me? I just wasn’t sure I could pull it off, so I needed to make sure A-Xiang had somebody to take care of her if I didn’t make it.”
“But why me ? We hadn’t seen each other since we were eight years old.”
Kexing looks down and fiddles absently, twisting his wedding ring back and forth, back and forth. “Do you remember that day we decided to run away? Your dad was taking you to the city for spring holiday and you didn’t want to go, so we decided to hide in the forest so we could stay together instead? But it started to rain and my boots filled with water, and then I slipped on some rocks and scraped up my chin. It was a disaster.”
Zishu does remember. He remembers how easy it had been to lift little, under-sized Zhen Yan up and carry him on his back. He’d somehow managed to navigate back to the park beside the forest, where they’d taken shelter in a tunnel slide. He remembers feeling so intently determined to protect his friend and get him home safely.
“You kissed my chin as many times as I asked you to. It didn’t even hurt that bad, I just wanted you to kiss me. Do you remember what you said to make me stop crying? You said, ' Don't be scared A-Yan, I promise, nothing bad will happen to you as long as you’re with me.'"
Zishu’s eyes sting, and he snorts skeptically to try and disguise his rising emotions. “A very bold statement from an eight year-old.”
“I believed you. And do you know what I said to my mom later, after they found us and took us home? I kept talking about how, ‘I’m going to marry A-Shu when I grow up.’ Apparently I wouldn’t shut up about it. My parents thought I was just confused about what having a best friend meant, but I remember being so sure that if I could just stay with you forever nothing bad would ever happen. Because you promised.”
Zishu can’t keep holding back the tears that escape at that. Now that he knows what came soon after, that little Zhen Yan would be whisked away and they wouldn’t see each other again for decades. That at some point during that time apart, ‘something bad’ had obviously happened that led him to join Ghost Valley. “So what?” He chokes, “You thought it was a good idea to look for me after all that time? Because of a silly promise I made as a frightened kid?”
Kexing shrugs, “Yes. It made me feel so safe at the time, and that’s what I wanted to give to A-Xiang. That absolute certainty that she’d be protected. I looked you up, it was easy enough. You were everything I could have hoped for - taking over and expanding your grandfather's antiques restoration business? It's so delightfully mundane! And I could tell you were as beautiful as I imagined you'd be, even though your profile picture was so awful. I thought i'd struck baby-daddy gold."
“That is....such a stupid plan.”
“I know. But was I wrong?”
Zishu glares at the other man through his watery eyes. Kexing is crying too, cheeks streaked with tears. “I was literally just trying to kill you.”
“Were you? You didn’t do a very good job, special agent Zhou.”
It occurs to Zishu all of a sudden, “That would have been when you went on that ‘networking trip’ right after our wedding, wouldn't it? Was that when you did it?” Kexing’s guilty grimace confirms it. “You left me alone one week after we got married, dumping me with a severely traumatized toddler, to go stage a hostile takeover of your terrorist gang? What was I supposed to do if you got yourself killed, you bastard?”
“You’re a big boy, I assumed you’d figure it out - ouch! A-Shu!”
Without thinking about what he was doing Zishu had lunged forward to pinch Kexing’s shoulder in punishment. Kexing smacks ineffectively at his arm, nothing at all like the deadly killing instinct he’d displayed earlier. When Zishu goes to draw his arm back, Kexing catches it, keeping him close. “A-Shu…” He repeats, barely above a whisper now. “Please.”
“What ? What do you want?”
Kexing pouts, tugging on him shyly like A-Ling might pull at him to get his attention. Then he lifts one sender finger to tap one, two, three times on his own chin, right below his split lip.
Ah well there it goes. Zishu’s heart clenches in his chest and he knows that his fate is sealed. He raises his hand to cup his husband’s upturned face, leaning in to grant him the requested kiss. Kexing looks smug for all of five seconds before Zishu uses the same hand to cuff him upside the head. “You’re still an asshole.”
“Oh are we going to fight again now? Because I was about to kick your ass-”
Zishu gapes at the audacity, “What? Like hell you were!”
Kexing uses the hand he still has on Zishu’s arm to tip him forward into his lap. Zishu is about to try and dodge away when Kexing wraps both arms around his waist, abandoning all pretence to bury his face in his chest. With the embrace the last of the tension drains out of him, and Zishu lets his arms drift down to his husband’s trembling shoulders.
There's a lot to still talk about. Lies and secrets to untangle, plans to make, scrapes and bruises to kiss better.
And above all, they have promises to keep.