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He Tian takes him home — to his place. Guan Shan, wordlessly, follows.
It’s just that simple, and decided rather quickly. It’s not like Guan Shan can go back to his own apartment and face his mother in this state. Plus they’re both exhausted in their own ways; hurt, badly, in their own ways, too. It’s an odd, new thing for Guan Shan to allow He Tian to approach in silence — to take the fish bag and bloodied jacket from him with no eye contact — because he’s never had someone he could talk to without using any words at all. After all, fear and anger are easy emotions to recognise, to transmit. People flaunt them in the open for everyone to see like red flags in the wind.
But regret? Guilt? Yearning? A different story. Everyone holds them tight to their chest until they’re backed in a corner and forced to relinquish them. The consequences of delicate passion are things no one wants to bear. And so Guan Shan wonders what the hollowness in his own chest as He Tian holds the apartment door open for him, Guan Shan walking inside with an arm wrapped around his bruised abdomen, He Tian following in silence, might mean.
He Tian’s place is cold tonight, more so than usual. Guan Shan has become used to the goosebumps that prick his forearms when he cooks in the kitchen or sits on the couch, but he never had the intention to complain about it because it isn’t his home, nor his money. Still, he’d caught He Tian, once, fiddling with the thermostat when Guan Shan had shrugged on his uniform jacket absentmindedly. It was perhaps one of the most self-conscious things Guan Shan has ever seen him do.
But tonight, He Tian shows no such reserved kindness. Guan Shan sits himself on a kitchen chair with a wince, earrings placed on the table, and listens to the front door slam shut, house keys dropped to the floor, heavy footsteps as He Tian flicks lights in the kitchen, sets down the fish and jacket, and starts rummaging for supplies. Swallowing, Guan Shan looks at the shoes still on He Tian’s feet.
“You’ll get the floor dirty,” he mutters. His throat is sore from coughing up river water and yelling profanities, and his voice reflects it off the bare walls.
He Tian doesn’t respond; still doesn’t look at him, either, as he travels back and forth between the bedroom, guest bathroom and kitchen before setting down what he finds on the dining table beside Guan Shan: towelettes, bandages, cotton balls, antibacterial cream, a bowl of water. He dips his chin towards it all. His face is a statue’s, cold and stone.
“Shower,” He Tian tells him, voice low. “There’re clean clothes on the bathroom counter. And then come out and clean up the worst injuries. We’ll decide if we need to call a doctor afterwards.”
“I don’t— I won’t need a doctor,” Guan Shan says, looking up at him. “Nothing’s broken, just bruised. It’s... superficial.”
He Tian opens his mouth as if to reply — to argue — but seems to decide against it. “Shower,” he says again instead and steps to the side to let Guan Shan get up and follow through. But Guan Shan doesn’t move. They look at each other.
“You haven’t taken off your shoes,” says Guan Shan.
He Tian doesn’t look down to confirm. “I haven’t.”
“Where are you gonna go?”
He Tian only looks at him.
Hollowness, Guan Shan learns, can actually be a filling thing. He feels it extend beyond his chest, up his throat, numbing his toes and fingers. He thinks he sees He Tian’s gaze flicker to where Guan Shan’s Adam’s apple shifts with a dry swallow.
“I have to,” He Tian tells him when the silence stretches. “You know I do. If it’s not you then it’s gonna be someone else, and I’m sick of watching him dance around and pick his fucking battles when I know I can put an end to it. I warned him before, and he ignored it. He did this shit on purpose.”
“Because it’s what he wants,” Guan Shan grits. “He wants the fuckin’ cat-and-mouse game. He wants to get his hands fuckin’ dirty and bloody and mangled because it’s all just a game to him. If you—” His eyes, involuntarily, flick to the fish. Its small black body is motionless at the water’s surface. Maybe it would’ve survived if he’d just left it at the pet store, if he didn’t intervene. Here, it died alone.
Guan Shan takes a concentrated breath and looks away. “You can’t. It’ll make everything so much fuckin’ worse. Just don’t.”
He Tian breathes out. “Mo Guan Shan—”
“I’m the one who got the fuckin’ shit beat out of me, okay?” Guan Shan snaps, angry, because He Tian never just listens, never thinks about anyone but himself. “I’m the one who has to tell my teachers that my dog ate my fuckin’ homework — and textbooks and journals and pencil bag and calculator — on Monday. So don’t fuckin’ stand there and try to be some kind of dark hero because I already fuckin’ lost. Look at me. Nothing is gonna reverse this or get through that psychopath’s head and I don’t have the energy to fuckin’ try. So just pull your head out of your high horse’s ass and just—”
“I don’t—”
“Stay. Please. I— I just want water and a hot shower and to know that you’re where I can— where I need you to be. Just don’t. Stay here.”
With me, he thinks, unbidden.
Guan Shan’s ears ring with the silence that follows. He feels utterly exhausted, shoulders sagged over, t-shirt sticking to his damp skin. His gaze tracks the heavy circles under He Tian’s eyes and the taut pull in his jaw muscles. He knows letting He Tian go looking for trouble right now would be catastrophic. He’s too unstable, the look in his dark eyes not really here or there. If he left, Guan Shan doesn’t know if he would fear for He Tian’s life or She Li’s — or both. He feels sick.
Bracing himself, Guan Shan begins to stand. He mutters, “I’m about to pass out in this fuckin’ chair so I’m gonna shower, and if you aren’t here when I come back then I’m goin’ to find you and drag you back my-fuckin’-self. Try me.”
He Tian eyes his injuries up and down. “I think I can afford to,” he says dryly. But the jagged darkness in his eyes has been sanded down to something less intense, and Guan Shan only watches him a moment more before pushing past him to the bathroom.
When the last of the pink-tinted water washes down the drain and he towels himself dry, Guan Shan comes back out. He Tian is sitting at the edge of the bed with only the floor lamp casting a pale yellow light in the apartment. He’s looking out the windows with hunched shoulders, and Guan Shan can hardly differentiate his body from the cloudy night sky. But the sparse moonlight catches strands of his hair just-so, gleaming them a muted blue, and Guan Shan wonders if He Tian has ever seen himself like this: an inch away from ethereal, untouchable, even in this poor state of events. It’s impossible. But maybe, Guan Shan thinks, he should keep this image to himself. A secret to indulge in whenever his mind wanders. Parts of He Tian only for him to know and see.
“I need help,” Guan Shan says, his voice startlingly loud in the night’s quiet. After a moment, He Tian’s head turns a fraction in his direction. “Some of the scrapes reopened ‘cause of the water, and I can’t reach the ones on my back.”
He doesn’t wait for a response. Guan Shan finds the same kitchen chair again and starts unwinding the bandaging, wetting the towelette. Eventually He Tian joins him, pulling up a chair. They sit face-to-face in the near-dark, their knees almost touching, their eyes not meeting. Guan Shan becomes very self-conscious of his bare torso; he’d forgone the t-shirt He Tian left him because it covered too many of the injuries, but now he wishes he’d just worked around it. When he glances up to hand He Tian the wet towel, he finds He Tian only looking at his clasped hands between his knees.
Still, He Tian takes it as Guan Shan turns around to straddle his chair. A moment passes before he hears He Tian shift closer — and then his breath catches when he feels a warm palm resting above his left hip, steadying him, as fingers trail the edges of the stinging wounds.
“The pressure will hurt more than the shower did,” comes He Tian’s voice. Guan Shan thinks he can feel his breath on his nape. “Just stay still and I’ll work quickly.”
He Tian proves to be right. Guan Shan clenches his jaw against the uncomfortable feeling of the rough towel pressing against the cuts, cleaning up leaking blood. But He Tian gives him a small squeeze of warning on his flank before doing anything that invokes notable pain, and before long, the last of the wounds is smeared with the cream and secured in a bandage. The warmth is retracted from his hip.
Slowly, Guan Shan stands to turn around in his chair. Already, the numbing properties of the antibacterial is replacing the spikes of pain on his back with odd tingles. When he’s settled again, he pauses as he watches He Tian re-wet the towel and prepare more bandages.
“I can do the rest myself,” Guan Shan tells him. He hates how awkward he sounds, how uncertain. He Tian is volatile, and so is Guan Shan, and neither of them know how to approach one another without leaving scorched ground and burned flora. But now, Guan Shan wonders if there’s anything left to burn.
He Tian replies, “I’m already here, and my hands need to be doing something if I’m under house arrest.”
Guan Shan frowns, his torn lip pulling. “It’s not house arrest. It's a preventative measure.”
He Tian huffs with little humour. “Preventing what, exactly?”
“You, being fucking expelled. Or sued or— legally punished. I know what you’re capable of, asshole, and I don’t need you to make more problems for me over somethin’ so fuckin’ stupid.”
He Tian frowns. “They made you jump a bridge. They assaulted—”
“And you’ve got nothin’ to prove by avenging that shit,” Guan Shan cuts in. “He’ll only come back with twice the goddamn motivation, trust me. You don’t know him like I fuckin’ do.”
He Tian weighs the towel in his hand. “Nothing to prove,” he repeats, low, then reaches out. Guan Shan instinctively closes his eyes as the towel stings the cut circling his neck. He tried not to look at it in the bathroom mirror. He knows exactly what it looks like. Knows what it feels like. The final blow from She Li, the finishing statement. It’ll scar, if only a little. It’ll live with him.
It’s only when She Li’s grin starts to burn behind his eyelids — “We’re the same kind, you and me.” — does Guan Shan open his eyes. And then he stops breathing.
He Tian’s hand is still on his neck, the towel dripping down Guan Shan’s collarbone. He looks frozen in time, chest barely rising and falling as he looks at Guan Shan’s wounds, head tilted down. But Guan Shan can still see that his eyes are red, just as they were when he found him, and his lashes are wet with moisture. He watches as a single tear escapes his dark lash line, dripping soundlessly onto his leg without leaving a trail. But no other tears come; He Tian breathes, and blinks, and the worst of it fades away in a minute. It’s like it never happened.
The towel drops from Guan Shan’s neck. He Tian leans back in his chair, wetting his lips as he looks at the floor, and says nothing.
And then, finally, he sighs.
“I can practically hear your thoughts.”
Guan Shan blinks. “I’m not... What do you think I’m thinking?”
He Tian sniffs, swiping at his nose briefly, then smiles without humour. “Here he goes again, making it all about him, making me deal with it when I have my own shit going on.”
Guan Shan frowns. Deal with it? “That’s... not even remotely fuckin’ close. Everything’s shit right now, and you’re allowed to be...”
He trails off. He doesn’t know what He Tian has been allowed to be; doesn’t know what he thinks He Tian should be in this moment. But no matter what, he knows that He Tian is being it right now, with him, sheltered in privacy and intimacy. It makes Guan Shan’s chest tighten painfully.
“It’s not like you haven’t seen me like that, either,” he says quietly, remembering a warm embrace, hands cupping his wet cheeks. He’s thought of it often; he’d never had it before.
But He Tian shakes his head. “It’s not the same.”
“How?”
A scoff; disgust aimed back at its speaker. “You cry when you’re hurt, or when you’ve hurt someone else, and I don’t— I should’ve— well, no, even before this happened,” he gestures flippantly to Guan Shan’s wounds, expression tight, “I should’ve known. Should’ve seen that we were fucking up your work schedule, taking all your time. Should’ve known that the way I was... the way I handled things between us would end up this way. And I did. I did know because I see myself. I know who I am and what I do, but it was so much fucking easier to assume you would be the one to sort through it and figure it out so that I could do what I want with— us. I just assumed that you would make the time because I wanted it, and you did, and you paid the price in the end while the rest of us fucked off without a word.”
He shakes his head, jaw tight. “And then you paid it again with She fucking Li. And I — none of us were there. You were upset, and it was justified, but I still fucking thought it was unfair to me. Like I didn’t get a good enough heads-up to figure out a half-ass solution before it was too late and I became the one to blame. My mother always said my father is constantly papering over the cracks, and I…” A pause. “After you blocked us, Jian Yi said you were barely even friends with any of us to begin with and I still...”
He stops trying to reach for words, abrupt. Guan Shan can’t help but wonder if this is hard for him: to talk and not just do. Because when He Tian does just do, people let him. They marvel at his kindness. They brush off his rudeness. They attribute his good days to him enjoying their company and his bad days to oh, I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that.
And Guan Shan is no exception. He lets He Tian stick around. He lets He Tian pull him in. He lets him treat him like shit and then make up for it with money or protection or a smile, and Guan Shan is weak to it. He’s weak to him. Guan Shan also knows himself — he knows who he is and what he does, and so he knows he lets He Tian get ahold of him at any given moment. He knows others envy him for the attention He Tian gives him and he knows something irreplaceable in him would break if he ever truly lost it.
He knows that despite everything, he will always follow He Tian home.
“That’s not true,” says Guan Shan. “None of that. Since She Li, you and those idiots are the only people I have, and you know that. And obviously I knew the whole fuckin’ time that I was getting into deep shit with the Auntie, but I still made the choices I did. So… getting pissed at you guys was wrong. I was just… It’s always easier to have someone to blame that isn’t yourself.”
He Tian smiles coldly. “I don’t think it’s so wrong to blame me, too.”
“I agree,” Guan Shan says. For a split second, He Tian’s brows draw together, unconscious, almost a wince. Guan Shan inhales slowly, then continues, “But not for everything. We haven’t been good. To each other. But... it was still okay enough for me to put up with it because I wanted to. I figured it out every time you three got in my way because I wanted it, too. And I— I know it sounds so fuckin’ stupid and not at all what I act like when you’re around but it’s easier because when shit like this does happen, I’m…”
Prepared. Emotionally, physically, to lose you.
Guan Shan exhales, sharp. “Moral of the story: it’s everyone’s fuckin’ fault. Okay?” he mutters, looking down. “I just— want to stop pointing fingers. I’ll find a new job. Go back to normal. What’s done is done.” He shakes his head, frowning. “So can we just… move on?”
It takes a moment, but then He Tian’s response comes in the form of warmth grazing Guan Shan’s jawline. Guan Shan follows the urging of the fingers upwards until his eyes meet He Tian’s. He’s hard to see in the dark and Guan Shan tells himself that dropping his gaze to He Tian’s mouth unaware is just a mistake that he quickly corrects. But He Tian doesn’t miss it; he never does. This time, however, he has the mercy to not comment on it.
“Let me finish this, then,” He Tian murmurs instead, shifting the towel back in hand. On his cheek, He Tian’s thumb grazes along his skin. “Lift your chin.”
It’s as good of an answer as any. Guan Shan complies, tilting his head to the side and feeling his wounds pull at themselves. He shuts his eyes as the towel returns to its duties, but this time for a different reason. The relief in his chest is a full-body experience, like the warmth of a campfire spreading across skin, its smoke clinging to his hair. He hardly feels the sting of his cuts; it’s replaced by the pressure of He Tian’s gentle prodding, the quiet sound of him breathing, the hand that has found a resting place on his thigh. One by one the wounds on his face and neck are tended to, empty bandage wrappers falling by their bare feet on the floor.
Guan Shan rolls his head to the other side as He Tian ministers another swipe of cream, and just as Guan Shan is about to ask how much more is left — I wasn’t beaten that bad, was I? — his eyes flit open as he feels a brush of hair against his cheek, a displacement of air that smells like He Tian, and a soft warmness pressed to the underside of his jaw. Guan Shan doesn’t move. He only breathes as He Tian’s mouth moves against his throat, carefully avoiding the dressings like a maze, a hand coming up to caress the other side of Guan Shan’s face. He exhales, dizzy and warm, as He Tian’s tongue swipes against his rapid pulse, tilting into the hand cupping his jaw so that He Tian can reach more of his neck, moving steadily as a hand travels to find the burning skin of his abdomen.
“He Tian,” Guan Shan whispers, eyes falling shut, fingers gripping at his shirt, pulling him in and in. He Tian’s breathing has become a bit shallow, hot puffs against Guan Shan’s skin, and strands of hair tickle Guan Shan’s cheek as He Tian shakes his head, pressing his mouth to his collarbone.
“’m sorry,” he says into him, muffled. It’s so quiet that Guan Shan would’ve missed it if it weren’t for the fact that He Tian is pressed against him, his voice a heavy vibration that travels through Guan Shan like electricity in a live wire. Guan Shan puts a hand on his shoulder and pulls back to look at him. Silenced, He Tian looks back.
Guan Shan runs his hand against the side of his neck, tracing the tan skin there. “You should be,” he tells him, and the smile they share is brief and warm before their mouths are meeting, at first tentatively, but then Guan Shan wraps himself into He Tian, mouth falling open, and is kissed and kissed and kissed until he’s flushed and breathless and his.
Later, when Guan Shan finally comes back to himself as he straddles He Tian’s lap in his chair, forehead pressed against his shoulder as a warm hand traces shapes on his back, He Tian mumbles against his temple, “It’s late.”
Guan Shan nods. He’s exhausted and sore, albeit content. He doesn’t even want to know what time it is, nor how much time they lost in each other.
“Where do you want to sleep?”
Guan Shan snorts. “One kiss and you’re already expectin’ me to spend the night, huh?”
He Tian huffs a laugh. “More than one kiss, first of all. Second of all, we both need rest more than anything else right now. I’ll behave.”
“Mmh,” Guan Shan hums flatly, unconvinced. He tries not to imagine what it might be like if they weren’t so torn up. Instead, he says, “I don’t think I’m gonna sleep well anyway. Too much shit to think about, too many fuckin’ bruises on my body.”
“In that case, there’s your answer.” Gently, He Tian pats his back and Guan Shan sits back to look at him. “To the bed, then,” He Tian says, jerking his chin. He reaches up to run a thumb under Guan Shan’s eye as if to erase the inevitable bags there. “It’ll be better for your injuries than the couch.”
“What about you?”
“I’m not the one that jumped off a bridge and then got jumped. The couch’ll be fine.”
“You were sittin’ outside in the cold for hours, waiting. You’re not necessarily in the best shape either, idiot.”
He Tian hums, amused. “Is that the excuse you’re going with?”
Guan Shan swallows, feeling the burn of his ears. “Do I need a better one?”
“Absolutely not,” He Tian says, a gleam in his eye. “I’ll even let you pick your side first.”
“Oh, aren’t I just so goddamn lucky,” Guan Shan rolls his eyes, then begins to climb off him to do just that. Cool sheets and a warm body sounds incredible and he can’t resist the sleep pulling at his eyes any longer. But before he’s able to call it a night, He Tian stops him with a hand.
“One last thing,” he says, oddly serious. “I don’t know where you got it, but… the fish. It’s dead, I checked. Do you want me to flush it?”
Guan Shan shakes his head, swallowing. “No. I think… I think I’m gonna bury it somewhere. It feels wrong to just…”
He Tian, for all that he is, doesn’t question it. He nods. “I’ll put it by the door and we can do it tomorrow morning. The earrings, too. We can get new ones.”
For some reason, Guan Shan feels a sharp sting in the corners of his eyes at the words. Throat closing up, he nods then turns and ventures to the bed as He Tian moves the fish, puts his bloody jacket in a hamper, and shuts off the lights. Guan Shan slides himself under the covers, every intake of breath smelling of He Tian, the sheets cool against his cheek. Tomorrow, he knows, he will have to face the frantic questioning of his mom, and he’ll be looking over his shoulder every time he goes outside, and he’ll have to try and figure out what the fuck he’s gonna do about his burned backpack and missing phone.
But none of that matters right now. Tonight, He Tian settles himself beneath the sheets beside him, the bed dipping slightly, and Guan Shan finds himself face-to-face with him on the pillows. They look at each other in the dark, gazes searching, before Guan Shan closes his eyes first, exhaustion taking over. He feels a rhythmic stroking of fingers through his hair as He Tian crowds close, pulling him against his long body. His warmth is real, and true, and Guan Shan is glad his eyes are closed because the wetness is building unbidden and overwhelming.
And even if they weren’t, Guan Shan would still slip them shut because He Tian’s love doesn’t need to be seen to be felt — and, god, Guan Shan has been so stupidly numb to it for too fucking long.