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“Xichen, my darling, my angel, my one and only lover, you have to get up.”
Xichen stretches like a cat against the (mostly) fresh sheets, happy that Mingjue sprang for the expensive Egyptian cotton when they bought new bedding after moving in together.
“Xichen.”
“No, thank you,” Xichen murmurs. “I have considered your proposal and do not find it meets my needs at this time.”
“Dork,” Mingjue says fondly. He pokes Xichen’s side, the ticklish spot in the crease of his waist. “I have plans, and you’re ruining them.”
“Mm, sounds like a you problem.” Xichen knows he’s being what Mingjue lovingly calls “a little shit,” but he also knows how much Mingjue loves it when he discards Lan rigidity to be silly.
“Typically, yes, you are my problem,” Mingjue says as he tugs the duvet, trying to wrest it from Xichen’s grip, “but my plans include our closest friends and family coming over in about an hour.”
Xichen flops on his back and blinks up at Mingjue. “Why? It’s not brunch weekend.”
Mingjue leans down and gently flicks Xichen’s forehead. “Because it is your birthday, and for some reason, they want to celebrate you. So you need to get dressed, unless you want to wear your robe, Arthur Dent it up and turn this into the theme party Wei Wuxian wanted.”
Xichen sits up now and rubs his eyes. Right. Today is his forty-second birthday.
“You forgot?” Mingjue asks with a laugh.
“Noooo,” Xichen says. “I sort of hoped you had, though.”
“What? Why?” Mingjue flops onto the bed beside Xichen and puts his head in Xichen’s lap. “I thought you liked your birthday.”
“It’s not that.” Xichen toys with a strand of Mingjue’s hair. He hadn’t been himself for the last month, and Mingjue had noticed, but he also gave Xichen his space and waited for him to talk when he was ready. He sighs. “It’s not the party,” he says, stroking Mingjue’s hair. “It’s this birthday. My father.” Xichen swallows around a lump in his throat. “My father only made it to forty one. Mother was just thirty five. Somehow it doesn’t feel right.”
Mingjue sits up so he can hold Xichen. “Yeah, I get that.”
Xichen curses himself because of course Mingjue does. Mingjue’s parents didn’t make it to fifty. He leans into Mingjue’s side.
“Is that what’s been bothering you?” Mingjue asks.
Xichen nods.
“Do you want to cancel the party? I’m sure everyone will understand.”
“No,” Xichen says firmly. “No, I think being with my family is exactly what I need.”
“You sure?”
“I am.” Xichen kisses him. “Thank you for arranging it.”
“You’re welcome.” Mingjue kisses him and then helps him out of bed. “And look at it this way. Your uncle’s gonna live to be, like, a hundred and fifty, so really, we’ve got a long time to go. You’ve got those good Lan-shufu genes.”
“You want a hundred more years with me?”
Mingjue kisses him. “Yes, and not a minute less.”