Work Text:
While Jiang Cheng wouldn’t say that he was unhappy before, he can definitely say now, as he looks at Nie Mingjue on one end of the sofa, snoring gently as the cozy evening leans into night, and Lan Jingyi, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, brow furrowed in concentration as he counts the stitches in the blanket he is crocheting, that he is one hundred and twelve percent in love with his life.
Not that he ever let himself imagine a life like this.
Jiang Cheng sets his book aside when his son (his son!) groans in frustration and drops his hook to unpick another knot in his yarn.
“What’s up, kiddo?”
Jingyi sighs. “I’m trying to finish this blanket since it’s too big to take to class,” he says. One of the therapists Jiang Cheng and Mingjue had taken Jingyi to when he first moved in with them a year ago recommended that Jingyi find a quiet hobby he could work on, something to keep his hands occupied while he listened in class. Huaisang taught him to crochet. Most of the time, he made hats that he gave away or little animals, but tonight, he holds up his project, a bright yellow rectangle, and grins at Jiang Cheng. “I told Jin Ling that if it was good, it would be for Fairy, and if it sucked, he could have it, but instead of losing his temper, he told me that Fairy deserved the best, so I had to pick a fight about something else.”
“Had to, huh?”
“Yup! He was being all peacocky, so I needed to remind him that us chickens are good, too.”
“I see.” He gets up and crouches beside Jingyi. “May I?”
“Sure.” Jingyi allows Jiang Cheng to get a feel of the yarn.
“Very soft,” he says.
“And slippery,” Jingyi complains. “I keep getting knots in it, and I don’t know why.”
“Mm, I’ll have to take your word for it. Maybe a break would help? There’s some cookies still, or I could make popcorn?”
Jingyi brightens. “Caramel corn?”
Jiang Cheng taps his chin, as if deep in thought.
“I suppose so,” he says after an excruciating pause. “Just don’t tell Dad-jue.”
“Do’ tell me wha?” Mingjue mutters from the sofa.
“Nothing, darling,” Jiang Cheng says, flashing a grin at Jingyi. He takes an afghan from the basket by the sofa and drapes it over Mingjue, stooping to kiss his forehead. “You just keep snoozing.”
“M awake,” Mingjue insists. He yawns and blinks at them. “You conspiring to have snacks without me?”
“No, sir,” Jingyi says, shaking his head. “We would never do that.”
“Hmph.” Mingjue yawns again and tosses the blanket aside. “Why’dja let me fall asleep?” he grumbles. “I wanted to watch that thing.”
“As if I could keep you awake,” Jiang Cheng says, offering Mingjue a hand up. “Sleepy old man.”
Mingjue leans in as if to give Jiang Cheng a kiss, and before Jiang Cheng can accept, Mingjue has him in a headlock.
“Who you calling old?” he says, reaching around to Jiang Cheng’s ticklish left side.
Jingyi allows them a minute of playful teasing before he picks up a decorative pillow and bops them both on the head.
“Oh!” Mingjue cries, dramatically clutching his chest. “Oh! How sharper than a serpent’s tooth! Et cetera, et cetera.”
Jingyi rolls his eyes. “Knock it off. I was promised caramel corn.”
Jiang Cheng slings an arm around Mingjue’s waist and huffs, trying to catch his breath. “I made no such promise. I merely suggested it.”
“Well,” Jingyi says, bending down to pack up his yarn, “I heard ‘yes, beloved son, we shall have caramel popcorn and exclude your father,’ but I suppose I could be wrong.”
Jiang Cheng swats Jingyi playfully as he dodges past with his basket of yarn. “Aye, you definitely heard that wrong! I’m sure I said, ‘yes, even though my son is a scoundrel, we should have popcorn.’”
“Caramel corn!” Jingyi calls from the hallway.
“Alright,” Jiang Cheng says. He waits a moment, until he hears Jingyi’s bedroom door open, then tugs Mingjue down for a kiss. “Sweet treat before bed?”
Mingjue sweeps him up in an embrace. “And after?” he asks, mouthing along Jiang Cheng’s neck.
“Obviously,” Jiang Cheng scoffs. He smacks Mingjue’s shoulder. “Come on, our sweetest, tiny, precious baby angel awaits,” he says, volume rising to a shout.
“Gross!” Jingyi shouts from the kitchen. “And also true! And also I have Sushi Go, so come have a snack and let me kick your butts at cards!”
“As if!” Mingjue shouts back. “Just because he got lucky with the pudding cards,” he continues, tugging Jiang Cheng along behind him to the kitchen, just in time to hear Jingyi say something about not hoarding tempura, old man!
Mingjue lets go of Jiang Cheng’s hand to get out the pan and the popcorn kernels. Jiang Cheng ducks into the pantry. He allows himself a moment to revel in the ordinary domesticity of his life, in the joyful sniping between his husband and their son -- their son! -- and he smiles.