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“Aw yiss,” Mingjue says, shaking the pan gently as the first kernels of popcorn pop. Once the kernels have all popped, he sets the lid aside to let some of the steam out as he adds paprika, garlic powder, salt, pepper, and a few dashes of Tabasco to the melted butter, gives it a good stir to evenly distribute the spices, and drizzles the mixture over the popcorn. He replaces the lid and gives the whole thing a good shake to coat the popcorn, removes the lid, and inhales the fragrant steam with deep satisfaction.
“Yes, yes, that is the good stuff!”
He dumps the popcorn into the specially decorated Da-ge’s Snax bowl that Huaisang had given him for his last birthday, grabs a few napkins, a couple cans of his favorite ginger ale, and does a little happy dance as he makes his way to the living room.
Afternoons like this, with no obligations and an empty house are rare treats. He won’t have to slap Jiang Cheng’s hands out of the way as he tries to steal popcorn —this is Da-ge’s! You have your own bowl!— and he doesn’t have to suff- entertain Jingyi’s affront over the drama, Dad-jue, can’t we just see them cut stuff up?
Mingjue loves and cherishes his family, but sometimes, a guy just wants to watch the latest episode of Forged in Fire in peace, you know?
Which means that the moment he sits down and pulls up Netflix, someone is coming in the front door.
“Seriously?” Mingjue grouses. He hits pause and tosses the remote on the sofa, preparing himself to gently urge whatever family member has turned up to come back later.
“Jiujiu?”
Crap. Mingjue’s finely tuned didi/nephew senses tingle as he picks up the tentative timbre of the voice.
“He’s not here, Jin Ling,” Mingjue calls. He peeks out of the living room to see his normally brash nephew slipping his shoes off.
“Hello, Uncle.” Jin Ling’s shoulders slump, and he looks down at his shoes. “Jiujiu’s gone?”
“Uh, yeah. He took Jingyi to the mall to get some shoes. Did you have a plan to meet?”
“No.” Jin Ling shoves his hands into his jacket pocket. “I, uh, I just wanted to get out of the house.” He holds up the keys to the Volkswagen his parents bought for his sixteenth birthday the year before. “You know.”
Mingjue pictures the benevolent chaos of the Jin household, particularly Jin Ling’s four younger siblings, and sighs.
“Yeah, buddy, I get it. Look, I was going to watch Forged in Fire.” He rubs the back of his neck. “You want to watch? I just made popcorn.
“Oh? That show’s pretty cool.” Jin Ling fidgets with his key. “Is it spicy popcorn?”
Mingjue grins. “Not like Wei Ying makes. It’s more savory than anything else.”
“Can I have a coke?”
“Sure, kid,” Mingjue says. “Help yourself to one and anything else you see in the fridge and come into the living room.”
“Okay.”
Mingjue settles back on the sofa and pulls up the show while Jin Ling gets what he needs from the kitchen. When he joins Mingjue, he has a coke and a small bowl with pretzels.
“You don’t want popcorn?” Mingjue asks as Jin Ling sits down.
“I do, but I thought it would be easier if I put a little in this bowl.”
“What, you think I’m afraid of your germs?” Mingjue teases, gently poking Jin Ling’s arm.
“No,” Jin Ling scoffs, sounding a bit more like his usual self, “maybe I just don’t want your germs.” He holds out his bowl and shakes it like he’s collecting alms.
“I am wounded,” Mingjue says flatly as he tips some popcorn into Jin Ling’s bowl.
“I’ll get you a Pokémon bandaid.” He stuffs some popcorn into his mouth. “‘S good.”
Mingjue rolls his eyes and hands his nephew one of the napkins. “Told you, I’m a much better cook than Wei Ying.”
“To be fair,” Jin Ling says, “that’s not a high bar.”
“Touché.” He holds out his ginger ale, and Jin Ling toasts him with his coke. “Alright, let’s watch them make some motherfu—some cool Viking axes.”
“Fuck yeah,” Jin Ling says, cheeky grin he absolutely learned from Wei Ying.
Mingjue debates throwing some popcorn at him, but it’s really good popcorn, so he decides against it.
Jin Ling is a much better TV watching companion than either Mingjue’s beloved husband or his beloved son. When he’s not trying to keep up the arrogant attitude he developed as protection from his bullying Jin cousins, he is wickedly funny, unleashing pointed barbs with precision, but he also appreciates the obvious skill of the contestants. They watch a few episodes, and by the time they’re out of snacks, Jin Ling is sitting a little more easily than when he arrived.
“So,” Mingjue says, clicking the remote and shutting off the TV, “are you feeling better?”
“I felt fine when I got here,” Jin Ling snipes, but he takes a breath and tries again. “I do. Thank you.”
“A-Cheng should be back with Jingyi soon. I can distract Jingyi if you want to talk with him.”
“No, that’s okay.” He cuts a quick glance at Mingjue. “But, do you think I could..?”
Mingjue, fully used to the way his nearly-forty year old brother would simply flop on him, appreciates the warning. He holds out one arm, and Jin Ling shuffles across the couch to lean against him. While Mingjue knows that Jiang Cheng reigns supreme in Jin Ling’s heart, he’s pleased that Jin Ling is comfortable enough to accept him as a substitute. He doesn’t get Jin Ling to try and talk. He just lets his nephew be comforted. He’s reasonably sure there’s nothing more serious going on than general teen angst and ennui anyway, since between Jiang Cheng and Jingyi, Mingjue is kept well informed about the lives of his sprawling family.
He’s also not hurt when Jin Ling leaps up at the sound of the front door opening, though he is flattered that Jin Ling stays in the living room instead of barreling into the hall and throwing himself at Jiang Cheng.
“We’re home!” Jingyi yelps, and Mingjue chuckles as he hears two thumps and Jiang Cheng’s gentle admonitions. “I got the coolest shoes, and also a new fall jacket, and hey! Ling-Ling!” Jingyi dives for the couch like his team is behind and it’s the World Cup final, landing with his head on Mingjue’s lap and feet on Jin Ling. “What are you doing here?”
“A-Ling?” Jiang Cheng joins them in the living room. “Jingyi, you lummox, get off of your poor cousin and father.” He grabs Jingyi’s hand and hauls him up. “Did I forget plans, A-Ling?”
“No.”
Mingjue notices Jin Ling’s mouth twitching toward a pout, and judging by Jiang Cheng’s questioning look, he notices, too.
“Baba said to bring Jingyi over for dinner,” Jin Ling continues. “Uncle made me a snack because we had to wait forever for you.”
“Oooh, dinner? What’s on the menu? Please say it’s your dad’s uh-may-zing pork buns!”
Jin Ling shrugs. “Dunno. You wanna come or not?”
“Is it okay, Dad? Dad-jue?”
“It’s fine with me, bud,” Mingjue says.
“Yeah, that’s fine.” Jiang Cheng steps out into the hall and retrieves a shopping bag which he tosses to Jingyi. “Put your stuff away first.”
“Let me put this bowl away, and then you can show me your shoes.” Mingjue pauses to squeeze Jin Ling’s shoulder and plant a kiss on Jiang Cheng’s cheek.
By the time he returns with Jingyi, Jin Ling looks a bit happier. He waves to Mingjue and drags his cousin out with promises to bring him back before ten.
As soon as the boys have gone, Jiang Cheng pulls Mingjue to him.
“Hi,” he says, kissing his husband, “what’s up with Jin Ling?”
“Hello,” Mingjue says, kissing him back. “Nothing specific. He just wanted his jiujiu, I think. He seemed content to chill with me, so I don’t think it’s anything serious.”
“Mmm.” Jiang Cheng hugs Mingjue tight. “They’re too big, all of them. Jingyi said something about university while we were out, and I almost wept.”
“Rude.” Mingjue kisses Jiang Cheng’s forehead. “We’ll have to get as much quality time as we can over the next year and a half. Maybe you can take Jin Ling to the aquarium next weekend, get some quality jiujiu time in?”
“Yeah, maybe. Jingyi’s gonna spend the weekend with Lan Qiren.” He looks up at Mingjue. “You don’t mind the interruption to our alone time?”
“We’ll have plenty of alone time when they go off to university.”
“Hey!” Jiang Cheng pokes Mingjue in the side. “Don’t remind me! Weeping, remember?”
“Sorry.” Mingjue kisses Jiang Cheng thoroughly to apologize. “Would it help if I got us takeout so we could make the best use of our free evening?”
Jiang Cheng taps his chin and makes an exaggerated show of thinking over the proposition. “If you get pineapples on my half of the pizza.”
“I guess,” Mingjue says with a practiced air of suffering gracefully under terrible circumstances. “But only because I love you.”
“I love you, too.”