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It had been a long day. Unbearably long. Frightfully, agonizingly long. Wen Kexing was looking forward to curling up on his couch, resolutely ignoring his phone, with wine and trashy television.
He was not at all prepared to come home to a middle schooler sat on his front stoop.
“Does your father know you’re here?” Wen Kexing asked, stepping neatly over Chengling to reach his front door. The boy scrambled to his feet, hauling his backpack high up onto his shoulder and nearly toppling under its weight. He was undersized, for twelve, and Wen Kexing privately thought no amount of martial arts lessons were ever going to change that. Not that he had ever mentioned that to his ex .
“No,” Chengling said, sounding guilty. “He’s working late so I came here right after school to wait for you.”
Wen Kexing had been the one to pick Chengling up from school more than once. The kid had to have been waiting at least an hour, not including the walk. He was a good kid, generally. Whatever he wanted must have been serious, to have him sneaking around.
With a beleaguered sigh, Wen Kexing unlocked his door and stepped aside. “Alright,” he said. “Come on in. Your dad’ll kill me if you get sick in this cold.”
Chengling practically bounced through his door. Chipper little brat. Wen Kexing locked the door behind them and began digging through his bag for his phone.
“What are you doing here, little brat?”
Chengling invaded the kitchen, helping himself to the snack bars Wen Kexing kept in the cabinet by the fridge. He’d done the same a dozen times before, of course, and Wen Kexing had always encouraged him to treat his home like his own… But that had been before .
“I needed you to do something for me,” Chengling said. Wen Kexing raised an eyebrow.
“You don’t have any favors to call in,” he said. “And you’re twelve . What could you possibly want from me?”
“I need you to marry my dad.”
There was silence in the room, silence but for the crunch of Chengling’s snack bar. Chengling stared him down, looking entirely too self assured and confident for someone who hadn’t hit puberty yet, and who was being completely ridiculous .
“Your father and I broke up,” Wen Kexing reminded him, his mouth dry.
“Yeah,” Chengling said, rolling his eyes, “but you do that like, twice a month. It never sticks.”
Had he always been this cheeky? Wen Kexing lamented that he wouldn’t be able to get to his wine until the kid left, or until-- more likely-- his ex came to pick him up. He massaged the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger and sighed out a very deliberate breath.
“You do know divorce exists,” he reminded Chengling, who just shrugged, entirely unperturbed. When Wen Kexing pursed his lips together he just shrugged again.
“Divorce is expensive, and you can’t do it every time one of you forgets to do the dishes.”
“That’s… a very unhealthy way of looking at marriage, little brat. What’s your father been teaching you since I left?”
“You’ve only been gone since Saturday night,” Chengling reminded him, crumpling the wrapper in his hand before crossing his arms. “The new Game of Thrones isn’t even out yet.”
“I’m not going to marry your dad.”
“Why not?”
Why not?? Because dating was hard enough for them. Because they’d been wise to each other’s stubbornness from the beginning enough to keep separate apartments even after being together for two years. Because…
“Because that won’t solve anything, Chengling,” Wen Kexing told him, a little softer than he’d expected the words to sound. “Don’t talk nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense,” Chengling insisted. The frustration made him sound more his age. Like a child. A child who probably didn’t like seeing Wen Kexing and his dad always fighting.
Wen Kexing felt an unfamiliar stab of guilt, the sort of feeling he never had to deal with back when he didn’t date single dads. He didn’t like it. It made him feel too much like a person.
“What makes you think your dad would even want to marry me?”
Chengling held up a hand and began to tick off fingers. “He gave you a whole drawer in his dresser. We have a family photo with you in it--“
“You have a group selfie we took at the park,” Wen Kexing corrected.
“He tried to cook for you instead of ordering takeout--“
“--and no wonder you’re so little, you’re malnourished--“
“Stop trying to distract me,” Chengling huffed, ticking off another finger, “he mopes around the house every time you guys fight.”
“Does he, really?” Wen Kexing asked, curiosity piqued.
“And I know you like us, ” Chengling continued, “because you came to my fifth grade recital and you don’t even think I’m any good.”
“Nobody is good at an instrument in the fifth grade,” Wen Kexing assured him. Chengling leveled a gaze at him that a kid of twelve shouldn't have been able to pull off so masterfully.
It struck Wen Kexing that that was an expression he often gave Zhou Zhishu, rather than the other way around.
More guilt.
The desire for wine grew ever stronger.
"I'm calling your dad." He told him. Chengling's eyes widened in excited disbelief.
"Really??"
"Yep," Wen Kexing unlocked his phone. His messaging app was still open to the conversation he'd had with Zhou Zhishu. "So he can pick you up and take you home."
Chengling pouted, chin down against his chest in perfect tween displeasure. He mumbled something, and when Wen Kexing looked up at him, brow raised in anticipation that he'd repeat it, Chengling chewed his lip.
"He's working late," he quietly reminded him.
Shit.
He'd said that.
And as annoyed as Wen Kexing was at his ex-- two days, thirty hours, a car ride, time didn't matter, they were broken up-- he couldn't send Chengling home to an empty house.
He locked his phone again with a sigh. For several minutes they were both quiet, before Wen Kexing hummed and looked at the middle schooler again.
"I was going to make ramen," he said. The boy's eyes widened again.
"From scratch?"
"Hey, only your dad sticks things in the microwave and expects others to call it cooking."
"Can I help?"
"I dunno," Wen Kexing teased, tapping his phone against his chin. "Have you gotten any better at chopping green onions?"
He had not. If anything, Chengling had gotten worse, inheriting his father’s dreadful kitchen skills. The mangled onions floated sadly in the broth, and Wen Kexing made a note to spend some more time teaching Chengling how to properly use a knife— But no, he wasn’t going to be spending time with Chengling anymore.
It still tasted good, though. Wen Kexing ladled out two bowls, setting the table like… like some sort of parent.
Just as they were sitting down to eat, Chengling’s phone rang from the other room. Chengling didn’t move to fetch it right away, face pale when he looked at Wen Kexing.
“You texted your father to let him know you were okay, right?” Wen Kexing asked.
Chengling’s phone stopped ringing, and Wen Kexing’s own began to vibrate in his pocket.
“You texted him to let him know you were okay, right?” Wen Kexing said, aiming for stern and ending up somewhere closer to terror.
Chengling bit his lip, which was answer enough. Wen Kexing fumbled for his phone.
“Hello?”
“Chengling is missing,” Zhou Zishu said, in lieu of a greeting. He sounded panicked. “He skipped his after-school program and he’s not at home. I don’t know--“
“He’s here,” Wen Kexing hastened to assure him. He’s here with me, and he’s fine.”
There was a long pause. “ Why is he with you?” Zhou Zishu finally ground out.
“I don’t know,” Wen Kexing said defensively, “why am I the first person you called?”
Because there was nowhere else Chengling would go, neither of them said.
There was a long pause and then a deliberate sigh. "Did you pick him up from school?"
"No?"
"So he waited alone outside? Why didn't you get him?"
"Because he usually has violin on Mondays!" Wen Kexing snapped. "And you usually don't work late and pick him up."
"Are you really going to use that against me right now?"
Wen Kexing was at a loss for words for a moment, before he thrust his phone out for Chengling to take. Before he said something stupid. Something he regretted.
"Talk some sense into him please," he hissed, and the kid pressed the phone to his ear with both hands.
"Hey… dad."
Wen Kexing could hear the tinny voice of his partner-- ex, ex partner-- through the receiver as Chengling's shoulders slowly moved up and up and up to hide his face.
"No, I'm fine," he mumbled. Wen Kexing stood up from the table and went to get his damn wine. By the time he came back, his phone was by his bowl, and Chengling looked flushed and properly chastened. Wen Kexing took pity and didn't rebuke him any further.
"So what's the plan?" He asked instead. Chengling shrugged, absently moving his spoon through the broth. "Is he going to come and pick you up?"
“Yeah,” Chengling mumbled. “He’s on his way.”
“You are in so much trouble,” Wen Kexing informed him.
“So are you!” Chengling said. Wen Kexing couldn’t argue with that. He hadn’t texted Zhou Zishu either.
“Eat your dinner,” Wen Kexing told him, abandoning him in favor of the kitchen. He boxed up the ramen in several tupperware containers, then found himself looking at them for a long moment.
He sighed, and deposited the tupperware into a reusable shopping bag. So much for leftovers.
Zhou Zishu did not live far-- another reason they’d never bothered to move in together-- and it was only a few minutes before the doorbell buzzed, once, twice, in short, impatient bursts.
Chengling’s dragging footsteps followed after. Wen Kexing gathered up the bag and met him in the hallway.
“ You can get the door,” he told Chengling. “He’s mad at me.”
“He’s always mad at you.”
“And you wanted me to marry him?”
“Bickering is how you show affection,” Chengling said confidently. “Because you’re weird.”
“Hey!”
The doorbell buzzed again. Wen Kexing huffed and threw the door open. “Take this,” he said, gesturing broadly at Chengling. “Remove it from my house.”
Zhou Zishu’s eyes narrowed. He was clearly still itching for a fight; usually they left each other alone until they felt less prickly, but Chengling had forced their hands. “He’s not an it ,” he hissed. “He’s a child.”
“You didn’t see him eat,” Wen Kexing retorted.
“I’m--”
“You don’t feed him enough, clearly,” came the next response, as Wen Kexing held the bag out to him. “Nor yourself. You can’t just survive off of coffee you know.”
Goddammit. He wasn’t worried. He was annoyed.
When Zhou Zishu didn’t immediately take the bag, or his child, as Wen Kexing had told him to, he sighed and offered the food to Chengling instead, along with a gentle shove against his shoulder.
“Go on.”
Chengling turned around and wrapped his arms around Wen Kexing’s middle in a hug that was a little tighter than Wen Kexing thought he warranted. He awkwardly patted the kid on the head.
“Hey, come on.”
“Just think about it okay?” Chengling mumbled against him. Wen Kexing’s jaw tensed.
“I will not,” he informed him, but hugged the boy back regardless. He did not hug Zhou Zishu, who was watching the two of them with the kind of exhaustion that is born of too much work, too little sleep, with a jigger of loneliness thrown in. Wen Kexing saw that look in the mirror more often than not, when they were fighting.
He raised his hand in what he hoped passed for an indifferent wave as the two set off, and shut the door with a click.
Hours later, with something stupid on TV, his fourth wine glass emptied, and his head throbbing with the promise of a morning headache, Wen Kexing had to admit defeat.
He was thinking about it.
Zhou Zishu was irritated.
He tried not to be irritated with his son. All the parenting books extolled the virtues of patience and understanding.
But for five minutes tonight, he had thought his son was missing , and that had been a horror he never wanted to experience again.
“You’re grounded,” he told Chengling. “School, extracurriculars, home.”
Chengling nodded. He didn’t look as upset as Zhou Zishu thought he should have, but then, when was the last time Chengling had gone anywhere without Zhou Zishu or him ? The kid needed more friends. Maybe a girlfriend. Boyfriend? Was twelve old enough to know?
Zhou Zishu tried to remember if he’d known at twelve, but he’d blacked out most of middle school, as any sane adult should.
“You can’t go over there again, Chengling,” he said apologetically.
“Until you get back together,” his son said, nodding.
“We aren’t getting back together.” It had been a particularly bad fight. Zhou Zishu couldn’t even remember what had started it, but by the end they’d both been shouting.
"You always say that," Chengling pointed out, and Zhou Zishu couldn't argue that. Maybe he was being the world's worst role model for his son, having such a shaky relationship that was on one moment and off the next. Maybe this had to be the last time they broke up, make it stick for more than a few days.
He couldn't think of the last time he hadn't had Wen Kexing in his life. In their lives. Sure, the calendar could tell him, but he was just such a fixture now. Always there, ready to pick up Chengling if Zhou Zishu couldn't, muttering unhappily in the mornings as he made them both coffee so Zhou Zishu could get out the door in time for work…
"Yeah," he agreed vaguely, "maybe it's about time I kept that promise."
"Can you keep another one?"
Zhou Zishu looked up. Chengling was folding up the bag Wen Kexing had given them, the ingredients for ramen already mixed in a bowl for Zhou Zishu to eat.
God it smelled good.
"What?"
"Can you promise to get back together instead?"
Zhou Zishu blinked, before bringing a hand up to rub his face. His eyes hurt. He hadn't slept well. Neither had Wen Kexing, if the bags under his eyes were anything to go by. And it wasn't because he was missing him or anything. Not because he couldn't sleep well until Wen Kexing was sprawled out in lazy repose across the entire California King…
"Chengling--"
"Just… when we were talking, he mentioned something," Chengling shrugged. "And I think you should give him another shot."
Zhou Zishu laughed, a soft puff of air more than a sound. "I know you like him,"
"So do you," Chengling challenged. "And he likes you. A lot."
Zhou Zishu hummed and moved towards the counter, choosing it over the table to have his dinner at. He just managed to get the first fragrant spoonful into his mouth when his son spoke again.
"If you two got married--"
Zhou Zishu choked, spitting ramen up over the counter. He glared at his son, reaching for a paper towel to wipe up his face and his mess. Chengling utterly failed to look intimidated.
“We aren’t getting married,” Zhou Zishu said firmly. Chengling pouted.
“Why not?”
“Besides the fact that we aren’t together?”
“Besides that,” Chengling agreed, as if anything he was saying made sense.
“Lao--” Zhou Zishu stopped and corrected himself. “Wen Kexing isn’t the marrying type,” Zhou Zishu told him. Before they’d met, Wen Kexing had slept with any pretty face that passed by, something Zhou Zishu had never judged him for but was also not going to repeat to his twelve-year-old.
Chengling made a face. “What does that even mean?”
“It means he wouldn’t say yes, even if I asked him.”
Chengling looked doubtful. “How do you know if you don’t try?”
Zhou Zishu leveled him with a look. “This isn’t brussel sprouts , kid. It’s a person. I know, because I know Wen Kexing. He doesn’t want to get married. It would have come up by now.”
"Maybe he's been too scared to ask?" Chengling replied, giving Zhou Zishu a wide-eyed look that screamed false innocence. He was getting good, this kid. Zhou Zishu had no idea what he'd do when Chengling entered high school…
"I doubt it."
"Why?"
"Have you ever seen Wen Kexing scared of anything?" Zhou Zishu asked, careful, this time, to take another spoonful of ramen when he was sure Chengling wouldn't foist another ludicrous idea on him. "If he'd wanted to ask, he'd have asked. He doesn't, so he hasn't."
"Maybe he's asked but you didn't listen?"
"Chengling."
"No, like, how you tell me to get home safe, and leave me notes in my lunch box, and I know you're saying 'I love you' without actually saying it." He reasoned. Zhou Zishu found he could do nothing but continue eating, avoiding his son's keen eye.
"Maybe debate club this early was a mistake," he mumbled after a while. Chengling grinned. Zhou Zishu found he couldn't keep the smile off his face either, though he fought it. "Go get washed up for bed, kid."
As Chengling moved past him, Zhou Zishu reached out to grasp his arm.
"Hey," Chengling blinked at him. "Don't scare me like that again, okay?"
"Were you really scared?"
"Yeah, I really was."
Chengling's smile softened and he turned to give his dad a quick squeeze of a hug.
"I promise," he said, and Zhou Zishu sighed, relieved. "I promise not to scare you again if you think about it."
Hands on Chengling's shoulders pushed him back enough that Zhou Zishu could meet his son's victorious grin with his own attempted scowl. Yeah, debating had really been a bad idea this early. Chengling was too smart for his own good.
"You won't scare me again," Zhou Zishu stated instead, "and I won't think about it."
Chengling rolled his eyes but didn't argue, so Zhou Zishu let him go. He listened to his son's footsteps on the stairs and over his head as he made far too much noise for a middle schooler.
And he definitely didn't think about it.
Wen Kexing thought about it. He thought about it twice an hour for the next three days. He thought about it when he laid in bed at night. He thought about it when he ate dinner alone. He thought about it three sheets to the wind, half slumped on his couch. He thought about it when he finally, finally texted Zhou Zishu an apology, and got one in return.
“This might be a new record,” he joked when he picked Zhou Zishu and Chengling up for dinner the next night.
“Your record is nine days,” Chengling said, hopping into the car. “This was only five.”
They were a bad influence on that kid, for sure, but Wen Kexing couldn’t seem to stay away. Something about Zhou Zishu always pulled him back in.
He thought about it again when they were seated at the restaurant, a slightly more upscale place. A good place to propose, if one was the proposing sort. Wen Kexing wasn’t, or at least he hadn’t been.
That terrible brat and his terrible ideas. They were infectious.
“Lao Wen.”
Wen Kexing blinked and the table came back to focus. “A-Xu.”
“You’re distracted,” Zhou Zishu said, indicating Wen Kexing’s untouched wine. Chengling looked between them with great interest. He had sauce on his chin. It ruined the romance, just a bit.
“I’m fine,” he told Zhou Zishu. Turning to Chengling, he added, “Come here, kid,” and used his own napkin to wipe Chengling’s chin.
Since when did he do that ?
Since when did he… That was such a parent thing to do. Wen Kexing was not parent material. He was more of a-- a fun, drunk uncle, than a step-father. He didn’t even know how to be someone’s stepfather! His own adult influences, after the death of his parents, had hardly been stellar examples.
He deliberately drained his glass of wine right after, eyes on Zhou Zishu as though to reiterate without words that this was fine. He was fine.
The food was fine too, and the company was more than welcome. Chengling, as always, made sure that there weren't any silences to fill by chatting away about school, about his clubs, the books he was reading.
He challenged Zhou Zishu to a staring contest and Wen Kexing realized he couldn't take his eyes off his partner either, and he wasn't even playing. He had that messy sort of handsomeness that was entirely unfair; Zhou Zishu looked just as good when he was in a tailored suit as when he had bedhead and was stumbling down the hallway stifling a yawn.
And really, would it be such a bad thing if they did get married? What would change, really? They had things to talk about, they were social enough, or just as happy to spend an evening with their feet up watching some B grade horror movie when Chengling had gone to bed.
The sex was great.
The sex was great.
So would it really--
"Daaad," Chengling laughed, sitting back with a huff. "You cheated."
"I did no such thing!"
"Well, winner has to challenge Wen Kexing," Chengling shrugged, and Wen Kexing had to wonder if he was responsible for making this kid as sneaky as he was, at twelve. Something akin to pride bubbled up in his stomach somewhere.
"The reigning champion," he agreed, rolling his shoulders as though preparing for a fight. Chengling snorted. Zhou Zishu just lifted an eyebrow and rested his elbow to the table, his chin in his palm.
"We'll see." He said. And that… that was when Wen Kexing realized he was screwed with this challenge. Zhou Zishu could flash him bedroom eyes in a passing millisecond and Wen Kexing was horny all day, and now…
"We will," he smiled, setting himself up similarly, fingers drumming against his cheek.
They looked into each other's eyes. Zhou Zishu’s were beautiful, unfairly so. Everything about him was beautiful. When Wen Kexing had met him, he’d been half-drunk with someone else’s wine splashed down his shirt, but Wen Kexing had seen his shoulder blades and known even then he had to be beautiful.
Wen Kexing could feel heat rushing to his cheeks. They should have been long past blushing and shyness, but Chengling’s words were echoing in his head.
I need you to marry my dad. Marry my dad. Marry my dad.
Over and over again, on loop, with every beat of his heart. The corner of Zhou Zishu’s mouth turned up in a knowing smirk, though he could not have had any idea what was going through Wen Kexing’s head. Wen Kexing swallowed thickly.
He blinked.
“So much for the reigning champion,” Zhou Zishu said with a snort, straightening up and draining the last of his wine glass.
“You’re right, Chengling,” Wen Kexing said. “He cheats.”
"Green's not your color, Lao Wen," Zhou Zishu told him, sitting back with a smirk. Wen Kexing wished they weren't in public right then so he could show Zhou Zishu that red was certainly his.
"Can we get ice cream?" Chengling asked.
"Yes." Wen Kexing answered, at the same time Zhou Zishu sighed a very deliberate no. Silence. Amusement. And Wen Kexing stood up to go pay for their meal, squeezing Zhou Zishu's shoulder as he passed.
They acted like an old married couple already anyway, maybe getting hitched wouldn't change anything?
No.
He was just being stupid. Stupid, and relieved to not be in a fight anymore, and thinking rubbish. He bought a huge melting moment cookie from the piled up display at the counter and palmed it to Chengling as he returned to the table again.
It was too cold for ice cream anyway.
In the aftermath, Wen Kexing usually fell asleep, one leg thrown over Zhou Zishu, an arm wrapped tight around his waist. Zhou Zishu stayed up, and watched the moon cast light and shadow over Wen Kexing’s lax features.
He really was a beautiful man, as beautiful as he often falsely accused Zhou Zishu of being. Zhou Zishu could appreciate the planes of his face, the cut of his jaw, the long column of his neck. He looked ethereal in the moonlight.
He looked like something worth keeping.
The problem with ardently not thinking about something was that, inevitably, that thing became the only thing you could focus on. Actively thinking “don’t think about it” was, in fact, thinking about it, and Zhou Zishu was thinking about it.
It was not the concept of marriage that worried him, clenched at his throat and silenced him with the words still in his chest. He had never thought he would get married— it was why he had adopted Chengling on his own— but he was not opposed to the idea. Nor was he opposed to the idea with Wen Kexing, specifically.
What worried him was that Wen Kexing was opposed to him . They bickered so often, and sometimes that was just what they needed as a couple, but still, why would Wen Kexing want to marry him and put up with that every day?
Zhou Zishu let his hand caress a stray lock of hair from Wen Kexing's face, and watched a frown gather on his features for just a moment before they cleared to peaceful laxity again.
Another thing to think about, and perhaps the most important, was Chengling.
Sure, as a twelve-year-old he still had the sunny notion that all fights would end, that every argument would be forgiven, that every person involved would offer an apology. But he wouldn't be twelve forever.
What would happen once their bickering got too much for him? What if he came to resent them both for it? If it messed with his psyche? If it ended up hurting him?
For Zhou Zishu, his son always came first. Always. It had taken him a long time to even introduce Chengling to Wen Kexing, though he'd never lied about being a parent to the latter. He'd told him from the beginning and Wen Kexing, flighty, flirty, impulsive Wen Kexing, had grinned and told him that he must be a very good father.
Chengling liked him. He'd reach out to hold Wen Kexing's hand when they walked, spend time at his house when Zhou Zishu worked late, talked his father's ear off about the fun he and Wen Kexing had had building a house of cards on the counter when the power had gone out during a storm one time.
And Wen Kexing…
For someone who so flippantly brushed off the idea of being partnered let alone a parent, he was fantastic with Chengling. He never talked down to him, he listened, he carried the boy on his back when he got tired at the mall, helped with homework, picked him up from school, wiped his face when he had something on it at a fancy restaurant…
With a groan, Zhou Zishu drew both hands over his face and up into his hair. He was thinking about it. He was thinking too much about it.
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, clumsily hauling him in. He collapsed against Wen Kexing’s chest, and felt his chin digging into the crown of his head.
“Sleep, A-Xu,” Wen Kexing told him. “It’s late.”
“Didn’t mean to wake you.” Zhou Zishu told him. Wen Kexing’s warm, broad palm rubbed gently up and down his spine.
“If you’re up, I want to be up,” Wen Kexing said. “And since I actually don’t want to be up right now, you have to go to sleep.”
Zhou Zishu tucked a laugh into Wen Kexing’s collarbone. He wrapped himself up in Wen Kexing, a hand twisted up into his hair, their legs intertwined. It was comfortable here. Safe.
He always felt safe with Wen Kexing. It was a rare enough feeling for him to take note. Maybe he could ask him now? Half-awake and comfortable? It might be met with a mumble, a groan, a laugh, maybe. It might be met with a yes.
But no, if he was already thinking about it to the point of thinking about it he couldn’t just do that. No, it had to be done right if he was going to do it, and it seemed like he was quickly barreling down towards that exact outcome. He was going to ask. He was. But later, when he’d planned properly, taken time off to maybe go somewhere right after… or maybe when Chengling’s school let out for holidays so they all could… that would be another few weeks at least--
“I can feel your brain working,” Wen Kexing mumbled against him, words sticky with sleep. “Make it stop working.”
“What if it’s thinking about something important?”
“Right now,” Wen Kexing sighed with his whole chest and clung to Zhou Zishu a little tighter, “sleep is important and I am important.” After a pause, he released Zhou Zishu just enough to tuck his head down and meet his eyes with a sleepy gaze. “Are you thinking about me?”
“Spreadsheets,” Zhou Zishu informed him, and with another groan, Wen Kexing blindly fumbled for the duvet to drop over both of them.
“No thinking,” he reminded him with a grumble. “Or I’ll just have to tire you out all over again. Don’t think I won’t.”
Despite such proclamations, Wen Kexing was dozing not seconds later. A little after that, Zhou Zishu fell asleep as well.
Things weren’t going wrong so much as they just weren’t going quite right.
First of all, they’d been a bit late to get Chengling to the concert hall. That wasn’t entirely their fault, he’d just forgotten where his spare bow was and while they tore the house apart looking for it, time got away from them.
No matter, they were here now, Chengling was in the green room with the rest of the youth orchestra, and they were…
“God I think I’m going to throw up,” Zhou Zishu whispered, hands white-knuckled with how tightly he had them clasped. Wen Kexing snorted and petted his palm over them.
“It’s just a recital,” he reminded him, “not his audition for the philharmonic.”
“It took you two hours to choose what to wear this afternoon,” Zhou Zishu muttered back, and Wen Kexing couldn’t argue that. He was nervous, and he was rooting for him, little brat that he was, but he couldn’t let Zhou Zishu see that and think he was being parental. That could only lead to madness.
“He’ll be great,” Wen Kexing assured him. Off Zhou Zishu’s look, he corrected himself. “Okay, no, he’ll be pitchy, he’s twelve , but he’ll be better than every other kid on that stage. He practiced for hours. I listened to so many dry runs that I was humming the music while brushing my teeth yesterday.”
None of this was doing anything to calm Zhou Zishu’s nerves. If Chengling was terrible, he would feel terrible. Zhou Zishu would have an armful of crying kid, just like he had after little league games where Chengling had tripped over the bases.
And if Chengling cried, Zhou Zishu was going to cry. Mostly out of frustration that he couldn’t just right the world for his kid. The best he could do was offer ice cream, and it was 50/50 on if that would actually cheer Chengling up.
Wen Kexing reached for his hand. Zhou Zishu snatched it away.
“Oh, come on, don’t be like that,” Wen Kexing complained.
“Like what ?”
Wen Kexing narrowed his eyes. “Stubbornly refusing to be comforted because you think you don’t deserve it.”
“I don’t need to be comforted over a sixth grade recital.”
“Don’t you?”
Goddammit they were falling into that tone again, the tone that raised hackles and guards up in equal measure. They didn’t need this, not today, not here. They’d gone a good three weeks without a fight bad enough to warrant one of them leaving the room to cool off, let alone something bad enough to have Wen Kexing refuse to stay over. He took a deep breath, then he took two more, forcing his jaw to relax before he looked at Zhou Zishu again.
“What’s worrying you so much about this?” he asked, tone gentler. “He’s a kid, A-Xu, messing up is how we all grow up.”
“Just stop,” Zhou Zishu muttered, shoving his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. “It’s not helping. Let’s just… go in, and sit down, and listen, and--”
“You need to lighten up,”
“I--”
“Because if Chengling looks out into the audience and sees his dad looking like he’s just attended his damn funeral he’ll definitely mess up,” Wen Kexing finished, raising a haughty eyebrow when Zhou Zishu narrowed his eyes at him. “Come on, you know the face you’re making.”
Wen Kexing imitated it, exaggerating the pout, the furrowed brows, in a way that usually made Zhou Zishu snort and shake his head, but today did the opposite. The tension had built, with the recital, with his work, with thinking over, and over, and over about possibly asking Wen Kexing to marry him… he didn’t need this.
The doors opened to let the audience file in, and the two of them stood unmoving, there was still time enough til the thing started.
“You’re such an asshole,” Zhou Zishu told him, and Wen Kexing did snort then, shaking his head and releasing a long deliberate sigh. He nodded, just once, before taking Zhou Zishu by the shoulder and directing them both away from the stream of people making their way inside and towards one of the more secluded hallways.
“Is that why you mope when I don’t call you?” he asked. Zhou Zishu blinked at him.
“What? I don’t--” he interrupted himself with a thin smile and crossed his arms over his chest. He wanted to do this here? Fine. Fine. “At least I don’t drink my emotions away.”
“I like the taste of wine.”
“You’re a lush.”
“You’re neurotic!” Wen Kexing hissed, stepping closer so their voices didn’t carry. “Your kid’s about to play the violin as badly as any twelve-year-old should and you’re having an aneurysm over it! Can’t believe I almost--”
“Almost what? ”
“Almost listened to Chengling and asked you to marry me!”
There’s an alarm bell there, in that Chengling had said the same thing to the both of them, had possibly been manipulating them both towards the same end. Zhou Zishu didn’t hear it. All he heard was the rush of blood in his ears, the echo of Wen Kexing’s words.
“So you don’t want to?” Zhou Zishu said, feeling validated and devastated at the same time.
“Of course I want to, what the hell are you talking about?”
That didn’t fit with Zhou Zishu’s pre-established, cynical worldview, and it completely threw off whatever he’d been going to say next. “No you don’t,” he finally said. “You can’t .”
“Who says I can’t?” Wen Kexing scoffed.
“I do! You don’t want to get married, you never have, why would you want--” to marry me , Zhou Zishu swallowed back.
“Why?” Wen Kexing crowded him back against the wall and lowered his voice further. “Because you infuriate me. You drive me nuts, A-Xu, and there hasn’t been a single goddamn day since I met you that I haven’t had you on my mind, all the time. Because no one else can make me laugh as hard as you do, especially when you try to make breakfast and burn it every goddamn time. Because you’re like this over a recital, since your kid means the world to you.”
“You don’t like kids,” Zhou Zishu replied softly, mind not quite functioning enough to supply any more than that for the moment.
“I really, really don’t like kids,” Wen Kexing agreed, setting his hands to Zhou Zishu’s cheeks and pressing their foreheads together. “But I love that little brat, and I love you, and if you don’t marry me I’ll hound you for the rest of your life and not let you forget it.”
Man, their view of romance was massively skewed, maybe this was an awful idea?
“Is this you proposing, then?”
Wen Kexing groaned quietly and closed his eyes. “I… haven’t gotten around to buying a ring yet. So it’s…” he snorted, “it’s the sixth-grade violin recital version.”
“And they say romance is dead.”
“They don’t matter,” Wen Kexing countered, amused. “Are you saying yes?”
“To what? You haven’t asked me anything.”
Wen Kexing sighed, a dramatic sound that should have warned Zhou Zishu what was coming next. And then, in the middle of a school hallway, parents still trickling in just around the corner, he dropped down on one knee.
Really, this was Zhou Zishu’s fault. He was the one who’d challenged him. But he’d kind of expected Wen Kexing would just ask, or tell him to wait for a proper proposal.
Instead, here he was, kneeling on ugly tiled floor with Zhou Zishu’s hands in his.
“Zhou Zishu,” Wen Kexing said. “My A-Xu. Light of my life.”
“Get up ,” Zhou Zishu hissed, “before someone sees you.”
“My one and only love,” Wen Kexing continued, undeterred. He was grinning now, the bastard, utterly pleased with himself. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my husband?”
“We are in a school ,” Zhou Zishu reminded him. A smile was tugging at his own lips, and he dragged a hand down his face, mortified.
“That’s not an answer.”
“Get up .”
“Not until you say yes.”
“Get up, or I’ll say no,” Zhou Zishu countered.
Wen Kexing paused for a moment, clearly not expecting that, before snorting and ducking his head to kiss Zhou Zishu's knuckles.
"You're sneaky, A-Xu." He said, but he did stand up. Before he could say anything else particularly clever, he was grabbed by his tie and yanked in for a kiss. Vaguely he could hear a few people cooing, clapping, whistling, but he didn't care, he happily kissed back.
"So?" He asked, a bit breathless by the time Zhou Zishu let him go.
"You're incorrigible," Zhou Zishu muttered, cupping his cheek. "Of course I'll marry you, you absolute nuisance."
"Knew you would," Wen Kexing grinned. Zhou Zishu just shook his head.
"No you didn't."
"Yeah, I did."
"Shut up."
Time did weird things after that. Wen Kexing was sure they'd just kissed again, just once, but they only stopped kissing when they heard the first flourish of music starting from the concert hall.
"Shit," he hissed, laughing, grabbing Zhou Zishu's hand and damn near marching him to the now-closed auditorium door, as though he didn't know where to go. "Shit shit shit."
"They won't notice if you're quiet about it," Zhou Zishu told him.
"No that's… that's not it."
"What?" Zhou Zishu looked at him, expression filtering to flat disbelief. "What. Changed your mind already?"
"No! It's…" Wen Kexing laughed, gently knocking his head against the door. "I'm a father now. What have you done to me?"
Zhou Zishu laughed at him.
The concert was bad, pitchy in places, discombobulated in others. Chengling was the best of them all, and his solo began with a nervous squeak as he drew the bow across the strings at the wrong angle. It was a mess, as all proper school recitals were.
Both of them were beaming the whole way through, and still grinning when they met Chengling outside of the auditorium with nothing but praise.
“It was terrible,” Chengling said flatly.
“It was the best recital I’ve ever been to,” Wen Kexing assured him. “Even if it was for a meddlesome brat.”
“I’m not meddlesome,” Chengling protested, handing his instrument case to his father to be carried to the car. He had long since given up on insisting he wasn’t a brat; neither Wen Kexing nor his father seemed inclined to call him anything else.
“You are entirely too meddlesome for your own good,” Zhou Zishu informed him, “or the good of anyone around you.”
"It'll bite him in the butt more than anyone, in the end," Wen Kexing said, amused, draping an arm over Chengling's shoulders as they walked. "Two parents are always scarier than one."
"And more meddlesome," Zhou Zishu agreed.
"If you can't beat 'em," Wen Kexing grinned. Chengling stopped walking, looking between the two of them with badly veiled suspicion.
"Okay, what happened."
"Happened?" Wen Kexing glanced to Zhou Zishu. "Did something happen, A-Xu?"
"Nothing of significance," the other shrugged.
"No, it wouldn't be, for you, would it?" Wen Kexing snarked back, before taking Chengling by the shoulders and guiding him ahead of himself towards the car. "I thought about it, awful boy. Enough to put thoughts into actions."
"You proposed?!" Chengling's voice carried across the entire parking lot and Zhou Zishu sighed heavily.
"He gets that from you," he muttered. Wen Kexing beamed.
"He does get that from me!"
"So you're getting married?" Chengling was almost vibrating with excitement at the thought, hopping his way to the car when they were close enough to it. "See? I told you it was a good idea."
"Yeah, yeah, meddlesome little matchmaker, get in the car," Wen Kexing shook his head. When Chengling was safely inside, he rubbed his eyes with a sigh. He was a dad, now.
"Oi, Lao Wen," Zhou Zishu's head popped up over the roof of the car. "Father of the year. Some time this century please?"
...and a fiancé.
Somehow, neither thought brought anything but giddiness. He raised an eyebrow.
"Let me drive, then, if you're in such a rush."
"No."
"You drive like an old lady."
"No."
"A-Xu!"
"Get in the car before I leave you behind."
"Oh, no," Wen Kexing flung his door open and slid in, grabbing Zhou Zishu by the hand. "No, nooo, you're stuck with me now."
Zhou Zishu just leaned in to kiss him. "Yeah," he agreed. "Awful, isn't it?"