Work Text:
Meng Yao refuses to assign this day any special meaning. It is a Wednesday. He deals with troublesome clients every day of the week. On Wednesdays, he has lunch with the particularly troublesome Su She, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. His body, however, didn’t seem to get the message. He waits until all but his secretary have left before he staggers to his car. He probably shouldn’t drive during a flare up, but he will not call for a ride because that would be admitting that today is not an ordinary day.
When he enters the home he shares with Xichen and Mingjue and sees his special pillows from the guest bed out on the sofa, lights down low, everything warm and quiet, Meng Yao knows he’s lost. Well, it’s what he gets for trusting Mianmian to hire his secretary. The woman takes vicious glee in taking care of people against their will.
“I’m home,” Meng Yao calls softly.
Mingjue comes out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. He kisses Meng Yao’s forehead, holds him steady while he kicks off his shoes, and steers him toward the ottoman and positions the pillows in front of him so he can lean forward. Meng Yao loathes the pillows, and the soft gray recliner beside the sofa, because having it out means he can’t even lie down properly in bed and go to sleep.
“Come on,” Mingjue says. “Sit down.”
“Where’s Er-ge?”
“He ran to the store. We're out of tiger balm.”
Again. Mingjue doesn’t say it, but the word hangs there.
“Come on. Sit. Let me try and work out the worst of the kinks so you can eat something before taking any of your pills.”
“Da-ge…”
“Sit.”
“I’m doing it,” he mutters, “shut up.”
Mingjue’s rumbled laughter soothes his frazzled spirit a bit. He eases Meng Yao’s shirt off and helps him get situated against the pillows. He rubs his hands together to warm them up and gently massages his back. The muscles, which Meng Yao strains as he attempts to avoid making the pain in his spine worse, slowly warm and loosen up, and Meng Yao strains to focus on the motion of Mingjue’s hands instead of the constant, infernal pain.
“I need surgery and I can’t put it off much longer and I’m afraid.”
Oh. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He blinks back angry tears, but Mingjue merely kisses the top of his spine, whiskers tickling the sensitive skin there.
“Thank you for telling me,” Mingjue says. “I’ve got eight weeks of vacation. A-Huan has a good rhythm working from home. We can be ready in two days. Maybe three if we need to travel for your surgery.”
“Da-ge…” Meng Yao’s voice cracks.
Mingjue scoots in closer and loops an arm around his waist.
“We miss you,” Mingjue says, “and we’re here.”
Meng Yao sighs and leans into Mingjue’s embrace.
“Thank you,” he says.
Mingjue kisses his cheek. “We love you, too.”