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Nie Mingjue wakes with a start in the dead of night, but he eases back into the pillow before he realizes what’s happening. A cheek pressed against his chest nuzzles in and a hand soothingly pats his stomach, and he’s halfway to sleep before it clicks.
Jiang Cheng. In his bed. Curled against his side murmuring something about … durian dumplings?
Mingjue shudders. He respects the king of fruit, but he does not like it.
Oh, right. Jiang Cheng.
Mingjue’s right arm is under Jiang Cheng, and he shifts just a bit until he gets his hand free of the pillow and reaches up to stroke Jiang Cheng’s bicep. He’s gentle, careful not to wake the man. Jiang Cheng sighs, rubs his cheek against Mingjue again, and says, “Yeah. Soup.”
Mingjue has to bite his other hand to stop laughing.
It’s been a long time since he’s slept with anyone. Properly slept, slumbering side by side, legs tangled, arms around each other. The previous week, while they had Lan Jingyi over, he’d offered Jiang Cheng one of the bolsters that Huaisang insisted every well-appointed grown up adult bedroom needed. Mingjue typically chucked them on the floor, but Jiang Cheng had carefully placed it between them. Mingjue took the hint and kept a respectful distance. Still, that week, just having Jiang Cheng beside him, Mingjue slept better than he had in years.
And now?
This is fucking great!
Even if Jiang Cheng is — yep, he’s drooling a bit.
Mingjue itches to turn on the bedside lamp and look at Jiang Cheng. He wants to see that face, so long beloved, smoothed out and at peace. It’s been a hell of a couple weeks. He had been afraid, after one particularly tense phone call to Jingyi’s parents, that he was going to have to bail both Jiang Cheng and Lan Qiren out of jail, but the next day, they’d gotten a call from one of Zixuan’s better cousins. Jin Ziyi had a small family law practice, and in addition to helping Meng Yao settle any of Jin Guangshan’s indiscretions in favor of the child, she also offered her services in setting up a guardianship for Lan Jingyi.
In a few weeks’ time, they’d be dads.
“Why’re you awake?” Jiang Cheng mutters.
Mingjue laughs then and presses his lips against Jiang Cheng’s forehead.
“Just thinking,” he says.
“Well stop. Is rude to think, so late.” He shifts out of Mingjue’s hold so he can flop across Mingjue’s chest and pin him to the bed.
“Even if I’m thinking about you?” Mingjue asks.
“Mmmph.” Jiang Cheng is still for so long that Mingjue thinks he’s gone back asleep, but he sits up. In the weak lamplight that filters through a gap in the curtains, he can see Jiang Cheng scowling at him. It’s adorable.
“Come back,” Mingjue says.
“What are you thinking about me?”
Mingjue almost says it’s nothing, but there’s a hesitancy in Jiang Cheng’s words.
Right. In between all the talks about Jingyi and all the kissing (so much kissing! Yay!), they have had a few harder conversations. About why neither one confessed their feelings. About expectations. About what they wanted. Underneath so many of Jiang Cheng’s words, Mingjue heard one question over and over. Why? Why me?
“I’m thinking,” he says, reaching up to cup Jiang Cheng’s cheek, “that we should probably get married. Like, tomorrow.”
“What?” Jiang Cheng gently slaps Mingjue’s shoulder. “Shut up, that’s crazy.”
“Sure, but I still want to do it. Sooner rather than later.”
“Why?”
Mingjue sits up and leans against the headboard. He wants to draw Jiang Cheng to his side, but he also wants Jiang Cheng to see that he’s serious, so he turns on the bedside lamp and takes Jiang Cheng’s hands.
“I want to marry you because I love you. That’s the most important reason. If I’m getting married to anyone, it’s going to be you. But also, I think it would help us with the guardianship. I know Ziyi said that she can make the paperwork ironclad even if we were doing this as friends, but it would help, and, later, if we ever got the chance to actually adopt Jingyi? I think it would make things easier. Third,” he says, with a cheeky grin, “I can stop worrying about getting in trouble for using your Netflix password.”
His words have their intended effect of making Jiang Cheng scoff and smile.
“You wouldn’t last in prison,” Jiang Cheng says. “You’re way too pretty.”
“I am,” Mingjue agrees. “But I’m also serious. About the first two things. I love you, and I don’t want to wait to marry you.”
“Our families will go nuts.”
Mingjue shrugs. “Huaisang’ll get over it if he can throw us a party when he gets back.”
“And my mother? You want to face that wrath?”
“I believe there’s something in many wedding vows about better and worse, good times and bad. If we get the really bad time out of the way first, it’ll be smooth sailing for the next fifty, sixty years.”
“And if I live to be a hundred?”
“The next seventy years then.”
Jiang Cheng’s expression belies the storm of emotions he’s trying to process, but to Mingjue’s great relief, he settles on something like joy, an emotion Mingjue now realizes he has seen far too little of and is determined to bring out as much as he can.
“Okay. Let’s do it. I just want one thing.”
“Anything.”
“Let’s call Lan Qiren and tell him first.”
That … is not what Mingjue expected.
“I want to go on a honeymoon this weekend, if you can get the time off work, and I don’t want him to worry. In case Jingyi needs something and they can’t get a hold of us.”
“Oh, sure.” Mingue reaches up to stroke Jiang Cheng’s cheek again, warmth curling through him as Jiang Cheng leans into it. He has to kiss this man.
Jiang Cheng allows it for a moment before pulling away.
“You really want to marry me?”
“As soon as possible. We’ll call Lan Qiren in the morning.” He glances at the clock on the nightstand. “Later in the morning. And I’ll take the rest of this week and half of next week off work.”
“Okay.” Jiang Cheng yawns and rubs his eyes. He leans in for one more kiss. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”