Chapter Text
Jiang Cheng only meant to ride his motorcycle until the fizzing in his veins calmed enough so he could sleep, but like his thoughts, he found himself inexorably pulled toward Nie Huaisang.
He parks outside Huaisang’s building. The lights in his apartment are on, and a (single) shadowed figure moves behind the curtains. He presses the buzzer, and Huaisang’s face fills the view screen. Before Jiang Cheng can apologize, Huaisang sighs.
“I’ll put on pants,” he says, and the lock releases.
Jiang Cheng takes the stairs, and when he finally gets to the fifth floor, Huaisang is waiting. He waits for Jiang Cheng to remove his shoes before shoving a bowl of something into Jiang Cheng’s hands.
“Eat,” Huaisang says. He has his own bowl, filled with a mix of tan shapes and brightly colored blobs. He gestures to the box on the counter. “It’s breakfast cereal. American.”
Jiang Cheng pokes at the contents with a spoon.
“Where did you get these … Lucky Charms?” He tries to shape the unfamiliar syllables.
“The grocery store that caters to foreigners. Down by the ferry terminal.” Huaisang shakes another portion into his bowl. “They have unicorn marshmallows, A-Cheng!”
Jiang Cheng plucks one of the blobs and bites into it. He cringes against the unpleasant sensation of something compacting between his molars. “Are they supposed to be so … crunchy?”
Huaisang shrugs. “Dunno. Don’t tell da-ge, but I paid seventy five RMB for them.”
Jiang Cheng chokes on his spoonful of the cereal. “You what?!”
Huaisang shrugs again. “They had unicorns, A-Cheng. Unicorns.”
Jiang Cheng scoops up another spoonful of the acid-bright marshmallows and tan shapes that are simultaneously too bland and too sweet. “And Americans like this shit?”
“Andy says it’s nostalgic.”
Ah. Andy. One of the visiting artists at the theater where Huaisang is a costumer.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Andy,” he says, trying to keep his voice neutral. Huaisang, of course, sees right through him.
“Is that what this is about?”
“What what is about?”
“This house call?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Jiang Cheng says, “so I went for a ride and saw your lights on, and--”
“Jiang Cheng. Come on.” He sets his bowl aside. “Something’s up.”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Jiang Cheng puts the bowl of vile shapes -- he refuses to call it food -- down beside Huaisang’s. “You’re different,” he says. “Ever since you came back from that internship in Seoul. And now you’re working with all these cool, sophisticated foreigners, and I guess, I don’t know. I’ve barely left China!”
Huaisang blinks owlishly at him, eyes luminous behind his round glasses. “So?”
“So, some day, you’re going to meet some amazing, cultured, worldly person, someone so beautiful, someone who sweeps you off your feet, someone who has been to, like, Paris, someone who can afford Lucky Charms every day, and you’ll look at me and I won’t even begin to compare.” He bites his lip. He hadn’t meant to say any of that.
“Oh, A-Cheng.”