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Jiang Cheng needs to talk to Nie Mingjue.
They’re sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, with what Jiang Cheng likes to imagine is slightly more body contact than the couch demands. At the very least, the hot line of Nie Mingjue’s muscular thigh pressed against his is more than enough contact to overload Jiang Cheng’s poor system. The movie on the screen in front of them flashes with eye-catching explosions and action-packed set pieces, but all Jiang Cheng can focus on is the heat that burns from every point where their bodies touch and the fact that he needs to talk to Nie Mingjue.
Probably. Maybe.
Jiang Cheng chides himself for making a mountain out of a molehill—it’s not a big deal. One small sentence, right after the movie ends, should suffice.
By the way, my ex is coming to the company party on Friday.
Except… it’s not just one sentence, is it?
First of all, he has no idea how to bring it up. While Nie Mingjue has put up with quite a bit of Jiang Cheng’s awkwardness, Jiang Cheng would ideally prefer not to blurt the admission into the void of the movie credits apropos of nothing. And despite wracking his brain for the first 30 minutes of the movie, Jiang Cheng finds himself at a loss for any kind of segue, pre-sentence, or introduction of any kind.
Second, this is Nie Mingjue. A man who manages to make Jiang Cheng feel simultaneously more comfortable than anyone else in the world, and more tongue-tied. Nie Mingjue tends to uproot all natural logic like that, infuriatingly caring and dedicated and handsome, and somehow—against all odds—interested in being Jiang Cheng’s friend. So yeah, this is Nie Mingjue, and Jiang Cheng isn’t trying to be dramatic but the stakes are high. He’d give up almost anything to make sure he doesn’t fuck things up between them and make things weird.
Third, and perhaps most importantly, that one, deceptively simple sentence introduces further questions.
Namely: why the hell should Nie Mingjue care?
They’re friends, and friends don’t care about things like exes at parties.
But… Jiang Cheng can’t shake the feeling that he might care. Or at least the foolish hope that he might care, that Jiang Cheng’s hopeless feelings might be a little mutual and that Nie Mingjue was hoping this Friday was a date as well.
This would all be a lot simpler if he hadn’t fucked up asking Nie Mingjue to come with him to this awful party in the first place. He’d meant to make it clear, truly. The two of them have never shied away from being direct, always understood each other and their respective pasts too much to keep each other in the dark about anything important. Jiang Cheng’s growing, decidedly non-platonic feelings have somehow become the one exception, the threat of Nie Mingjue’s rejection too great for Jiang Cheng to bear.
But with his feelings showing no sign of disappearing, Jiang Cheng had determined to push through. To ask Nie Mingjue out once and for all and deal with the consequences and rejection so that at least there wasn’t this secret hanging between them. It’s what Nie Mingjue deserves, and Jiang Cheng can only hope the residual awkwardness is temporary.
He’d meant to make it clear, had even practiced asking in the bathroom mirror half a dozen times. But when he opened the door to greet Nie Mingjue, he realized he hadn’t come up with any pre-sentence for that question either. So, like an absolute idiot, he’d opened the door and in a godforsaken rush of adrenaline hurled “do you want to come to my father’s company gala with me on Friday?” straight into the air between them.
He’d meant to add three very, very important words to the end of that. He was supposed to say “do you want to come to my father’s company gala with me on Friday as my date” but as quickly as it came, his courage abandoned him. When his mouth stepped in to fill the gaping void between them, the three words that came out instead were “for moral support.”
It was still more vulnerability than Jiang Cheng generally liked to show, this whole business of needing and asking for support, but as always Nie Mingjue hadn’t judged or pitied him. Instead, something in his wonderful deep brown eyes had gone soft and Nie Mingjue had said “of course” before drawing him in for one of those warm, all-encompassing hugs that always makes Jiang Cheng feel like he needs to sit down.
And, well, it’s hard to complain too much about that outcome. He’d sort of met his goal of asking Nie Mingjue out, and he’d sort of succeeded. Like the coward that he was, it seemed all too simple to let himself enjoy the party with Nie Mingjue and be clearer about his feelings about Nie Mingjue another day. Maybe even at the party, if things went well.
Except nothing in Jiang Cheng’s life is ever that simple. One phone call from his sister giving him the heads up that their father had invited his ex to the party has Jiang Cheng straining under rather than relishing the ambiguity of the situation.
Jiang Cheng hasn’t been on many dates recently, but he’s pretty sure that your ex being there is something you’re supposed to warn your date about so they don’t find themselves chatting with someone you used to fuck without knowing. Worse still, Jiang Cheng knows the party will be filled with people who knew they used to date, and he can perfectly picture the snickers and gossip should Nie Mingjue unknowingly end up talking with his ex. Maybe some people could brush that sort of thing off, but Jiang Cheng knows he certainly wouldn’t be able to, and he’s not keen to put Nie Mingjue in that situation either.
Again, presuming Nie Mingjue is his date.
The tv goes silent, and for a moment Jiang Cheng thinks he’s managed to panic through a full hour of the movie. He really hopes Nie Mingjue doesn’t want to know what he thought, or, frankly, ask him to name any of the film’s major characters. But when he looks up, he doesn’t see credits, just an actor mid-fight with a group of goons.
A warm squeeze to his shoulder redirects his attention to Nie Mingjue, and he tries not to jump at the reminder of how close they are (or worse, or do something utterly inane like melt into the comforting hand on his arm).
“Everything okay?” Nie Mingjue asks, thick brows knit together. “Normally you’d have made a half dozen comments about how unrealistic the action sequences are.”
Jiang Cheng shifts on the couch, trying fruitlessly to get comfortable.
He just needs to spit it out. Maybe it’s even better if Friday isn’t a date, and Nie Mingjue won’t care, so he can just say it and then they can go back to watching a movie like they usually do. This is normally Jiang Cheng’s favorite night of the week, and he is ruining it.
“It’s—“ Jiang Cheng grasps for the least awkward way to introduce the topic. “It’s nothing, really. Just thinking about Friday. It’s silly, but, um, my ex is going to be there.”
There, he’s said it. Carefully, he studies Nie Mingjue’s face, but other than a slight stiffening of the large hand on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, his body language gives nothing away.
“Okay,” Nie Mingjue says quietly, and Jiang Cheng’s eyes dart back down to his own hands, twisting nervously in his lap.
“Not that you care, obviously,” Jiang Cheng tacks on with a nervous laugh. “Just…”
There’s no end to that sentence, so Jiang Cheng lets it trail off into nothingness before reaching for the remote to restart the movie and save Jiang Cheng from this hell of his own making. He’s just about to hit play, when Nie Mingjue interrupts him.
“Do you care?” Nie Mingjue’s voice is quiet, but the words are rushed together, like a quick exhale. “I mean, did you…” Nie Mingjue removes his hand from Jiang Cheng’s shoulder to rub at the back of his neck. “Who broke things off?”
“He did,” Jiang Cheng confesses.
The humiliating truth is that Jiang Cheng has always been the one who’s been broken up with. He’s always the one left clinging to ghosts, even when it’s clear that a break up needs to happen and even when Jiang Cheng is miserable. Over the years Jiang Cheng has gained a better understanding of why he keeps falling into the same patterns, but that doesn’t make the embarrassment sting less.
Nie Mingjue gives an indecipherable grunt.
“Doesn’t sound like a winner,” Nie Mingjue finally mutters, and Jiang Cheng startles.
“That’s not—” Jiang Cheng winces, fumbling for words. “It wasn’t really his fault. He treated me well enough, I just… I couldn’t let anyone treat me well back then. But, I like to think that’s changed now.” Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath and, in a burst of daring, adds, “thanks to you. And some other people, but… thanks.”
Funny how now that the movie’s paused it’s all he can bring himself to stare at. He feels Nie Mingjue exhale beside him, long and slow.
“Of course, Jiang Cheng. It’s what you deserve.” Nie Mingjue speaks carefully, voice tight in ways Jiang Cheng doesn’t understand. “I… hope things go well for you two. You deserve someone who will treat you well. I don’t have to come, if you don’t want me to anymore. Or I could… if you need someone to wingman…”
His voice trails off and Jiang Cheng’s heart twists with a familiar pain. Because isn’t that the nail in the coffin of his fledgling hopes? It’s officially not a date, and Nie Mingjue is officially completely fine if he goes off to date someone else. Would happily help him do it, good friend that he is.
“That’s not necessary,” Jiang Cheng says, and even to his own ears his voice sounds stiff and formal, like he and Nie Mingjue haven’t been with each other for months. “I’d still like you to come, though, if you don’t mind.”
He needs something to drown out the awkwardness of the moment, so he reaches for the remote and slams the play button before Nie Mingjue can respond.
The movie roars back to life, gunfire and explosions blanketing Nie Mingjue’s quiet, “whatever you want.”
———
Jiang Cheng is fixing his tie when the doorbell rings. No matter how many of these he goes to, he still has to look up a stupid video and it still always looks wrong, like he’s a kid playing dress up.
He leaves the tie for the time being; Nie Mingjue always does him the courtesy of being punctual and Jiang Cheng refuses to make him wait just because he’s a grown adult who can’t make a tie knot sit right.
When he opens the door, the sight of Nie Mingjue is like a punch to the gut.
Jiang Cheng has seen him in jeans and workout gear and, one very entertaining time, a Santa suit. He’s always looked good, always made it hard for Jiang Cheng not to stare.
But this? This is unfair.
Nie Mingjue radiates pure power in his well-cut suit, his attire matching the lethal competence that Jiang Cheng knows he possesses. The deep gray fabric somehow makes his tanned skin glow and his freckles more noticeable. The cut of jacket only emphasizes how impossibly broad his shoulders are, and the downright pornographic stretch of his button-up from his pecs has Jiang Cheng imagining how much effort—if any—it would take before the shirt would give up completely. In a fit of delirium, Jiang Cheng wonders why anyone bothers to send unsolicited dick pics when they could just send photos of themselves in suits.
Although, upon further consideration, Jiang Cheng thinks he should probably be making a concerted effort not to think about dicks when he’s standing this close to Nie Mingjue.
In a desperate act of self-preservation, Jiang Cheng spins on his heel to head back to the mirror and fix his tie.
“Just give me a minute. Come in,” he says awkwardly, once he can safely look up and not be confronted with the sight of Nie Mingjue.
Nie Mingjue trails him to the bathroom, and even though he can no longer see him, Jiang Cheng can feel Nie Mingjue’s gaze.
Jiang Cheng’s face is dangerously flushed, so he goes on the offensive.
“What?” he demands, fixing Nie Mingjue’s reflection with a glare, even as he tugs at the knot of his tie.
Nie Mingjue startles a little, shaking his head, but he isn’t cowed.
“Nothing,” Nie Mingjue says, with the same sincerity that Jiang Cheng has come to trust. “You look incredible.”
Jiang Cheng’s heart picks up to double time, and he chides himself for reading too much into a simple compliment.
“You’re definitely going to recapture the heart of your ex,” Nie Mingjue says softly, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
Now it’s Jiang Cheng’s turn to startle. That’s the second time Nie Mingjue has mentioned something along the lines of him wanting to be with his ex and… this is stupid. They’re always honest with each other, and maybe it’s just that foolish hope again, but maybe Nie Mingjue does care.
“I don't want to get together with my ex,” he says plainly, jerkily tightening his tie.
He almost jumps when Nie Mingjue places his hands on Jiang Cheng’s shoulders, gently reorienting him until they’re standing face to face. His hands drop to cover Jiang Cheng’s fussing hands, stilling their movements. He releases Jiang Cheng’s hands to work on the tie, but the skin on the back of Jiang Cheng’s hands where they touched burns in their wake.
“Well,” Nie Mingjue says, clearing his throat, “you’ll capture the heart of whoever you want then, assuming they’re not an idiot.”
Jiang Cheng’s heart is in his throat, and he prays to every god there is that he isn’t about to fuck this up again.
“You’re not an idiot,” he whispers, and Nie Mingjue’s hands freeze.
Nie Mingjue chuckles, but his eyes are deadly serious as he meets Jiang Cheng’s gaze. “I’ve been called that before.”
“You’re not an idiot,” Jiang Cheng repeats fiercely, because he might be fumbling his way through this right now, but at least he has more sense than the absolute fools who have underestimated Nie Mingjue.
“Okay then,” Nie Mingjue acknowledges. He’s done with Jiang Cheng’s tie, but his hands linger. “Then I guess the only question left is: do you want me?”
The question’s directness knocks the wind out of Jiang Cheng. And yet, he knows the answer. Confidence surges in Jiang Cheng, and suddenly it feels like the most natural thing in the world to trust his instincts, trust Nie Mingjue’s actions and words, trust the way they treat each other. It’s the kind of certainty he hasn’t felt in years. So he pushes up onto the balls of his feet and closes the distance between them. It’s just a quick brush of lips, but it sets Jiang Cheng’s whole body alight.
Nie Mingjue doesn’t make him wait, doesn’t leave any room for the nerves to set in. As Jiang Cheng starts to pull away, Nie Mingjue chases after him, not stopping until their lips are pressed together again, until Jiang Cheng can taste the mint on his breath and then on his tongue, until Jiang Cheng finds himself sinking his hands into Nie Mingjue’s hair.
When Nie Mingjue finally pulls away, Jiang Cheng has to smile at how disheveled they both are. Nie Mingjue reaches up to smooth a lock of his hair, a tender gesture that somehow complements the determined fire blazing in his eyes. He’s beautiful. Before Jiang Cheng can kiss him again, however, Nie Mingjue speaks.
“I want you to tell everyone that you’re my boyfriend today. And every day after that, if you want.”
And Jiang Cheng does want, wants that very much. A stupidly wide grin overtakes his face, but he finds he can’t bring himself to care. He can’t quite get the words out, so he nods and nods again, keeps nodding until Nie Mingjue presses them together again.
As it happens, Jiang Cheng doesn’t end up introducing Nie Mingjue as his boyfriend that night. There aren’t any introductions, in fact, no old flames, no prying family members, and no party at all. But Jiang Cheng isn’t worried about that as they let time slip between their fingers under the dim lights of his small bathroom; something tells him he’ll have plenty of chances to introduce Nie Mingjue as his boyfriend for years to come.