Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I’m not saying no —”

Lan Huan’s face fell.

Jiang Cheng swallowed, heart thudding painfully in his chest. 

“It’s just — you know how I feel about this.” Jiang Cheng added.

A contemplative quiet.

Lan Huan said, “I understand.”

Lan Huan said, “This is not something I would leave you for.”

Lan Huan didn’t say: I thought I would be good enough , but Jiang Cheng heard it anyway.

*

(Lan Huan did know how he felt about it. Jiang Cheng might not have declared it a deal-breaker, but he made sure to communicate all of his reservations in painstaking, careful ways. He’d read somewhere that letting your potential long-term partner know the specificities of how you were crazy was not only important but thoughtful. 

(And we were all crazy in our own ways).

Jiang Cheng agreed; he would rather let his boyfriends step into a relationship with eyes wide open, so they couldn’t accuse a liar when they disagreed.

And so Jiang Cheng shared his experience being a child who grew up in an environment of both passive and aggressive hostility. At best, he and his siblings were helpless bystanders caught in the middle of his parents’ violent screaming matches. At worst, they were pawns manipulated to score cheap points in endless arguments.

It had caused him a lot of anger — at his parents, yes, but even worse, at himself. He didn’t know why he couldn’t fix things, always thinking perhaps if he had been smart enough, pretty enough, good enough, then their parents would have fewer reasons to fight. 

By the time he’d realised that he and his siblings had nothing to do with why his parents never seemed to be satisfied with each other, it was too late. The damage had been done, and there was no reconciliation to be had. 

He’d learned from early on that he couldn’t rely on anyone but himself — because when not even his parents cared, why would anyone?

Therapy helped, to an extent, but nothing could turn back time. His parents were long gone, consumed by a house fire when Jiang Cheng was still in college, leaving his sister, only a handful of years older than them, to ensure Wei Ying and he survive. Considering everything, it was quite impressive that they ended up being somewhat well-adjusted adults.

The years following were the hardest. Jiang Cheng was caught in the self-destructive cycle of resenting his parents for their negligence and the guilt of not being able to let go of his resentment. 

The result was a boy who had been disillusioned about marriage. It hadn’t changed as he became an adult; he simply had the words to articulate why.

Lan Huan was the first person, the first relationship that made Jiang Cheng wonder what could have been. The small voices in his head persisted: perhaps if Jiang Cheng had had fewer trust issues. Less damaged.  

But along with it: hope. 

Jiang Cheng told him once on their third date, drunk on three glasses of wine and the possibilities he saw in Lan Huan’s eyes, that he might reconsider his stance on marriage if he found someone who was a good enough life partner. 

Jiang Cheng couldn’t explain what he meant by that, what qualities he was looking for. These concepts remained vague to him beyond the ideas he gained from reading self-help books and hours of discussions with his therapist. Perhaps someone like Jiejie.

Truthfully, he’d said these things believing that he would never be able to find that mythical ideal person. Not because they didn’t exist, but because he’d never trust himself enough to believe in them the way he had believed in his parents. 

And the way it had ruined him.)

*

Three weeks later, the car that took Jiejie from a company event with her husband crashed down a steep, slippery hill. There were no survivors.

Four weeks later, Jiang Cheng gained full custody of his four-year-old nephew. 

Jin Ling, who resembled Jiang Cheng so much as a child, with a huge, huge heart, a possessive streak, and a fierce protectiveness of his loved ones. Jin Ling, who didn’t understand why his family of five had abruptly halved. Jin Ling, whom Jiang Cheng and Jiejie had sworn would never be tainted by the toxicity that permeated their own childhood. 

This was why Jiang Yanli had made Jiang Cheng his guardian — something her husband, Jin Zixuan, fully supported. Because they didn’t want Jin Ling raised in a family that had almost ruined Jin Zixuan and his half-siblings, who were only beginning to heal and patch things up from their own unique brand of dysfunctional upbringing when Jin Ling was born.

“I’ll quit school.” Wei Ying had said at the funeral. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, his voice scratchy from crying and lack of sleep through back-to-back flights from across the world, but there was a grim conviction in his tone, as if nothing short of divine intervention would stop him from… 

…giving up his doctoral scholarship from one of the most prestigious universities in the world, only a little more than a year away from earning his PhD title. 

“Don’t be stupid.” Jiang Cheng bit out, “you only have, what, two semesters left in your programme? And you’re just going to let all that go down the drain?” 

Wei Ying looked hurt. “I’m not letting you do this alone!” 

“It’s not up to you, you dumbass!” Jiang Cheng snapped back. 

(The fact that Wei Ying had offered — had been so sure about leaving everything behind for Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling — was the only reassurance Jiang Cheng needed that he could not let his self-sacrificing dumbass of a step-brother do this for them.)

“He’s not going to be alone.” Lan Huan interjected, which was a good thing because their raised voices were starting to draw concerned looks from the guests. “I’ll help out as much as possible.”

Jiang Cheng stared at his boyfriend. He didn’t… quite know what to say to that. He was relieved; he wasn’t going to lie. He knew for sure that some of the men and women he dated would have left the second they found out that Jiang Cheng was a single parent. It was only fair; it wasn’t what they signed up for.

But it wasn’t what Lan Huan signed up for, either.

Lan Huan was the kindest, most dependable person he knew. But it was this kindness that made Jiang Cheng apprehensive. It was not strange for Lan Huan to take on huge responsibilities at his own expense for the people he loved. It was one of the best things about him. 

However, Jiang Cheng knew that even the best people could grow to resent the choices they made on impulse.

Wei Ying still looked conflicted, but he had known Huan-ge since Jiang Cheng started dating him. They’d even hung out together, as Wei Ying would crash at Jiang Cheng’s place during his break. Wei Ying had always been a good judge of character, able to see the core of people despite their flawed packaging. And he’d deemed Lan Huan a good person befitting of his little brother’s affection and loyalty.

“Jiejie would’ve wanted you to finish.” Jiang Cheng finally said, knowing he was playing dirty.

It was also the truth, and from the dismayed look on his face, Wei Ying knew this.

Later that night, cuddled up together in bed, Jiang Cheng stared at Lan Huan and asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I am, love.” It was dark, but Jiang Cheng could see the sincerity in his eyes. 

“It’s going to be different from now on. I have to- A-Ling is the most important thing in my life. He’s all I have left of A-Jie. I have to put him first.”

“I know.” Lan Huan squeezed his hand.

“It’s not gonna be easy.” He whispered. “God, it’s gonna be really hard. I will understand if you want to walk away. Just wait until Wei Ying’s gone.”

It wasn’t easy for Jiang Cheng to say any of this — Lan Huan leaving would crush him. But Jin Ling was more important. Jin Ling was everything.

“A-Cheng.” Lan Huan put a hand on his cheek, forcing Jiang Cheng to look him in the eyes. “I’m staying. Trust me.”

Try as he might, Jiang Cheng could not silence that niggling doubt in his heart.

*

Jiang Cheng met Lan Huan at a house party.

Jiang Cheng was sipping his drink at a deserted corner of the room, bored, unwilling to join Nie Huaisang fluttering about and charming everyone in the room into unwittingly parting with their deepest secrets. He’d noticed a few interested looks, but he was honestly much too unmotivated and too drained to start anything. The general air of grumpiness took care of the rest.

He knew he was bordering on being impolite. It was Huaisang’s da-ge’s birthday party, after all. Jiang Cheng would have felt bad if Nie Mingjue himself looked like he couldn’t wait to get away from his own party – one thrown by Huaisang clearly against his wishes. Jiang Cheng didn’t know (would rather not know) what game the half-siblings were playing with each other this time.

“Jiang Cheng.”

Speak of the devil.

“Mingjue-ge.” Jiang Cheng stood up straighter. It was a reflex, almost. Nie Mingjue was a tall, hulking man who could probably bench press Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang with one hand. 

“This is Lan Huan. My best friend.” 

This was when Jiang Cheng realised that Nie Mingjue was supporting an inebriated man on his side. Said best friend was attractive, even when his cheeks were ruddy from alcohol, wearing a lopsided, dumb smile. His tawny eyes were glassy and unfocused.

Jiang Cheng nodded. He had a feeling he knew what was coming.

“He’s drunk. I’m trusting you to drive him home and make sure he isn’t dead in the morning.”

Nie Mingjue said it like it was a done deal. Jiang Cheng sighed. It would give him an excuse to leave this party. Nie Mingjue was clearly perceptive enough to know that. 

“Fine. Please help me carry him to my car.” 

Nie Mingjue keyed in Lan Huan’s address into Jiang Cheng’s phone and handed him the unconscious man’s keys and wallet. The rest of it was as expected: Jiang Cheng drove his unconscious guest home, took off his shoes, put him on his bed, and left a bucket, a glass of water, and a packet of aspirin on his bedside. The bare minimum of what a decent person would do for a friend of a friend. 

The morning after, he woke up to a long text message full of apologies and expressions of gratitude. He brushed off Lan Huan’s offer to take him to a thank-you brunch, and that was that. 

All in all, it was really quite unremarkable, the way they had met. Growing up, Jiang Cheng often heard about how his parents met: how sparks flew between them and his mother demanded his father marry her after a few months of dating. When he was a child, people seemed to think it was equally scandalous and romantic. 

Lan Huan and Jiang Cheng had a much quieter start.

Jiang Cheng was his usual reticent self — distantly polite with Lan Huan, who seemed insistent on getting that brunch with Jiang Cheng. After two weeks of good-natured pestering, Jiang Cheng found himself agreeing to spend his afternoon with Lan Huan at a dog park, equidistant from where he and Lan Huan lived because he didn’t want to inconvenience the other man. He was dog-sitting A-Ling’s puppy anyway. 

Just a casual cup of coffee, he thought, they’d walk around the park while the puppy entertained himself, and then part ways amicably, Lan Huan’s sense of obligation satisfied.

Coffee turned into a long walk around the park, and then dinner, and then supper. Fairy loved Lan Huan, snoozing on his shoulder as they walked down the half-empty street discussing their favourite haunts in the city. The sight gave Jiang Cheng a pause — something about a tiny fluffy thing cradled in the man’s large, elegant hand was giving him strange, not-unpleasant feelings , so much so that he didn’t protest overmuch when Lan Huan insisted on carrying Fairy throughout their walk home.

One date turned into two, and then three, and before Jiang Cheng knew it, he was spending all his weekends with Lan Huan. His sister was busy with her toddler and Wei Ying had just left for his doctoral degree abroad. Jiang Cheng felt a little lonely, maybe, and it had never been easy for him to make friends, and Lan Huan was easy to be with.

He should’ve known — dogs were a good judge of characters.

Lan Huan —

(“Huan-ge.” The older man requested, gently, flustering Jiang Cheng into silence. He’d refused to address the other man so intimately, at least at first. But Lan Huan was good-natured about it like he was about everything, persistent but never harsh. In fact, he’d never demanded more than the time Jiang Cheng gave to him, as if spending time with Jiang Cheng was a gift in itself.

When Jiang Cheng first called him “Huan-ge”, he made sure to be as casual as possible, something he said off-handed, literally asking the other man to pass the popcorn during one of their movie nights. 

There was a pointed silence.

“Here you go, A-Cheng.”

Jiang Cheng was going to die. He refused to look at Lan Huan (Huan-ge!) for the rest of the movie, ignoring the obvious uptick in the other’s mood. Lan Huan seemed even happier than normal, he was humming as he cleaned up after the movie ended. 

Jiang Cheng hated how awkwardly flustered this made him, but he also felt like could endure… somehow… if this made Huan-ge as happy as it did).

— was the kind of person who would walk lost tourists to their obscure destinations, or let harried parents cut the line at the grocery store. It seemed like he had a bottomless well of patience and a zen smile for every occasion. Jiang Cheng had never heard him complain once. 

“Hilarious,” Wei Ying cackled, during one of their weekly calls. “You complain like it’s a competition!”

This was true. Jiang Cheng wasn’t even mad about it. However, Lan Huan simply looked at him with indulgence when Jiang Cheng went into one of his rants about idiots driving on the street. Sometimes, he even hummed in agreement.

What an odd, odd man.

Lan Huan had a preternatural calm to him, like the deep, still waters of the lake behind his old family home. Jiang Cheng knew very well how deceiving those peaceful waters could be. Even then, he couldn’t help but be swayed by the undercurrents, the inexorable pull of Lan Huan’s comforting presence.

In his rare moments of weakness, Jiang Cheng would even admit to falling in love.

This was incredibly unsettling.

Because in some ways, Lan Huan reminded him of his father.

Jiang Fengmian was also a mild-tempered, pleasant man, at least to everyone else but his family. Jiang Cheng still remembered how nice his father used to be. Jiang Fengmian was a pacifist. He was the kind of man who would rather inconvenience himself than confront unpleasant truths, no matter how necessary it was. He would sweep things under the rug, never to be discussed again. He used his smiles like a shield, covering all the ugly, volatile issues under the surface, ignored and unresolved.

The quieter his father was, the louder his mother yelled. So his father became more and more avoidant. Eventually, he turned cold and dismissive, resentful. Not just to his wife, but to his children as well. It made his mother contemptuous. She accused him of not caring about her, the family, about Jiang Cheng, reinforcing his insecurities.

When silence treatments no longer worked, his father started shouting back. It didn’t resolve things, of course. His father never said the things his mother needed to hear; never the ones that mattered. His parents’ arguments devolved into cruel words hurled to inflict as much pain as possible on the other. These arguments never ended well, each fight seeming like they were just collecting old hurts and mistakes for ammunition in the next one. 

Over time, the fighting happened so often that any mundane routine, like family dinners, became as tense as a lit fuse, bristling with the prospect of explosions. 

The thing was: explosions were uncontainable. They harmed everyone in their vicinity. A-Jie tried many times to plead for his parents to stop fighting, but they couldn’t hear her — didn’t want to hear her, not even when Jiang Cheng started crying, distressed beyond comprehension by the rage and shouting surrounding him. 

This was usually when Wei Ying, also pale and stiff with stress, pulled him out of the room and sat together with him as they waited for A-Jie to join them.

Looking back, it was clear that through the bitterness and the refusal to listen, his parents no longer knew how to communicate with each other. Worst of all, they no longer cared.

It was awful. Jiang Cheng didn’t know whether he feared becoming his mother, or marrying someone similar to his father.

(And people always remarked how much Jiang Cheng resembled his mother).

*

“I’m so sorry.” Jiang Cheng said for the third time. He rubbed a dry palm against his face, exhausted. 

“It’s okay, love.” Lan Huan said, his voice almost drowned by A-Ling’s wails. Jiang Cheng could hear the patience in his voice, even as he appeared in and out of view, rocking the inconsolable toddler in his arms. 

Jiang Cheng stared at his laptop screen, helpless, stuck hours away from his sick nephew. The cold and fever came out of nowhere. A-Ling had been with him for a few months now and had, miraculously, dodged the various viruses that were circulating among the children in his daycare. This was the first time Jiang Cheng had left A-Ling for more than a few hours. 

His boss had been exceptionally patient in the months following Jiang Cheng’s abrupt introduction to parenting a toddler, but Jiang Cheng had postponed this field visit twice, and he could no longer avoid it.

Jiang Cheng managed to pack his visit in such a way that he’d only need to spend three days on the field and arrive home late evening on the third day. He’d made preparations and asked Lan Huan to stay over at his place to care for A-Ling. A-Ling knew and trusted him, after all, having spent time with his Jiujiu and ‘wan-Shushu’ even before losing his parents.

Of course, because the universe hated Jiang Cheng, A-Ling had fallen sick the day he was supposed to fly home.

The one moment A-Ling needed him most, and this fucking storm had grounded all flights until tomorrow morning.

“No!” A-Ling wailed, beating his tiny fists against Lan Huan’s back, deep in his sickness-induced tantrum. “Don’t want you! Mama! Baba! Mama!” He cried, before devolving into chest-wracking coughs. 

Lan Huan cuddled A-Ling closer and rubbed his back soothingly. “I know, baobao, I know, it’s okay. Shh. It’s okay, A-Ling. Breathe, duckling. It’s okay…” 

Jiang Cheng could feel the telltale heat in his eyes. The pain was so sharp and sudden, he had to look away for a moment. He should be there with A-Ling, not Lan Huan. A-ling had no one else in the world but him. This was Jiang Cheng’s job. Lan Huan shouldn’t have to lose sleep and leave his responsibilities to care for his boyfriend’s child. 

Lan Huan shouldn’t have to upend his life and routine for something he didn’t sign up for.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. 

I’m sorry I got you into this. 

“It’s not your fault.” Lan Huan heard him, somehow, when Jiang Cheng wasn’t even sure whom he was saying it to. “He’s sad and uncomfortable.” Lan Huan smiled, but there was no hiding his tiredness. He was clearly sleep-deprived and probably contracting whatever bug A-Ling had. Despite that, he kept walking around, patting A-Ling’s back and making soothing noises.

“I think his fever is starting to go down.” Lan Huan said after a short silence, punctuated only by A-Ling’s exhausted hiccups. “I’ll go put him in his crib. Why don’t you get some rest? You’ll have to leave for the airport in a few hours, right?”

Jiang Cheng nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and stared into his screen long after Lan Huan hung up. 

Lan Huan shouldn’t have to deal with any of this.

*

Jiang Cheng put his key into the lock and turned it, slowly and carefully. The click of the latch was quiet, but in the dead silence of the pre-dawn hours, it might as well have been a gunshot. 

The door of his two-bedroom apartment opened to the living room. He grimaced as he pushed it open, clutching the handle and tilting the block of wood close to the hinges so it wouldn’t creak. 

The storm had raged well into noon, which meant Jiang Cheng had waited in the airport for twelve hours and spent fifteen minutes arguing with the airline management to be allowed to catch the first available flight back — a red-eye that required him to transfer at another city, but at least he wouldn’t have to wait until morning to fly back.

Two bodies lay prone on the couch: Lan Huan sleeping against the side with his neck at an angle that would annoy him tomorrow (but not quite enough to make him complain because he never complained), and little A-Ling cuddled up against his chest, drool and snot smeared against Lan Huan’s shirt. There were dried tear tracks on the baby’s face. Jiang Cheng’s heart clenched. 

Gently, he put his bag on the rug and crouched in front of them, stroking A-Ling’s forehead with the back of his fingers. 

The fever was completely gone. He breathed a sigh of relief. 

When he looked up again, Lan Huan was watching him with a soft, sleepy smile. 

“Welcome back.” Lan Huan mouthed soundlessly. He looked lovelier than the sunrise.

You’re going to leave me. Jiang Cheng thought.

*

So Jiang Cheng started pulling away.

Lan Huan noticed — it was clear from the way he hesitated, after a question that was left a little too long unanswered, dinner invitations that Jiang Cheng made excuses for. Most glaringly, Jiang Cheng stopped inviting Lan Huan to afternoons in the playground with A-Ling. 

Jiang Cheng knew he was being a coward — he should just break up with Lan Huan. He was hurting Lan Huan, he knew. Even worse, he was hurting A-Ling, who didn’t understand why his routine, his support system, had changed yet again. 

(Jiang Cheng saw the irony, of course. It didn’t make him more forgiving or understanding about what his father did. It just made him hate himself.)

It came to a head one night. Lan Huan had come over to his apartment for their weekly movie night, one that Jiang Cheng made an excuse for before Lan Huan reminded him that he had cancelled the two weeks before. Jiang Cheng relented, and they watched Moana — Jin Ling’s latest obsession — in tense awkwardness. Even Jin Ling could feel that something was up, fidgeting anxiously on the couch between the two of them. 

When the movie was over, Jiang Cheng went through the motions of putting Jin Ling to bed as Lan Huan cleaned up the remains of their dinner.

Jiang Cheng stalled his return to the living room, only leaving Jin Ling’s bedroom long after the boy had fallen asleep. Lan Huan had finished cleaning up, then. He was waiting quietly at their dinette, two cups of tea freshly prepared in front of him. 

Jiang Cheng knew without checking that Lan Huan had prepared his favourite — lady grey with a drop of honey. 

“We should talk, don’t we?”

It was truly predictable that Lan Huan managed to not be demanding even then. He still sounded kind, even when Jiang Cheng could see the sadness in his eyes. 

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

Jiang Cheng looked away, wrapping his arms around himself. 

“Was it-” There was a catch in Lan Huan’s voice. Jiang Cheng hated himself so much for making him sound like that. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No!”

The speed and vehemence of Jiang Cheng’s reply shocked even himself. Lan Huan seemed startled, too, before the look in his eyes turned to confusion.

“Then what happened?” He asked after it was clear that Jiang Cheng wasn’t going to continue. “Will you tell me what’s going on?”

Jiang Cheng closed his eyes. It was foolish of him to think that he could end this without being honest with Lan Huan. At the very least, he owed it to Lan Huan.

“I think you should stop doing this.” He mumbled. 

“Do what?”

“All of this.” He gestured at the apartment, at himself. “Helping me. Sacrificing your time and your energy, your – your life for me. For A-Ling... You shouldn’t feel obligated just because – because we’re together.” He shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

Lan Huan stared at him. He opened and closed his mouth again, and took his time to reply: 

“Shouldn’t that be my choice?”

“You think it was your choice, but having A-Ling was never in the discussion! You’re just – you’ve convinced yourself that you want this, now, but in three, five, ten years, you’ll start to hate this, hate me , and I can’t — I can’t deal with that.” Jiang Cheng swallowed the crack in his voice. “I will not put this on us.”

I will not be the reason for your regrets.

“You won’t – what? Where is this coming from?” Lan Huan asked. He was the most bewildered Jiang Cheng had ever seen in the years they’d been together. “Have I ever said anything to make you think that I didn’t want this? That I’d rather walk away?”

“No! You didn’t – you don’t know. You think you do, you –”

“Don’t.” Lan Huan said, quiet but terse. Jiang Cheng had never heard him use that tone before. He’d never heard Lan Huan cut anyone off, much less this abruptly. Lan Huan was the kind of person who’d let the other person finish, even if they were wrong and long-winded about their bullshit. 

“Don’t tell me what I’m thinking. I know my own mind.” 

Jiang Cheng shook his head.

“Doesn’t mean that you won’t regret it in the future.” 

“That’s –” Lan Huan took a deep breath. “That is incredibly condescending. Are you saying you want to break up, because- what, because you can see the future and just know that I would regret choosing you? Choosing A-Ling?”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t answer, because it was the truth.

“That is ridiculous.” Lan Huan hissed, “I would never -”

“It’s not ridiculous! My father regretted us!”

Lan Huan stared at him, wide-eyed.

Jiang Cheng thought, half-hysterically, that he finally understood what it meant for a silence to be so loud, it was deafening.

Apparently, in his insistence on dumping his trauma on his prospective life partners, he’d forgotten that there was a difference between sharing your trauma in a clinical, pragmatic way, the way a therapist might have done to explain how it had shaped him as a person –

and sharing the ugliest, most vulnerable parts about the way his trauma had hurt him and how the wound still festered. 

“A-Cheng…” Lan Huan’s voice was so gentle, it was unbearable. 

Jiang Cheng fled his apartment.

*

(In reality, Jiang Fengmian had never said anything about regretting his marriage, about being forced to conform to traditions and the only path to being a respectable member of society in his time. In many ways, Jiang Cheng didn’t even think his father felt that way at first because Jiang Cheng had seen childhood pictures of them being happy.

There were pictures of trips to the lake, his father teaching him and Jiejie and Wei Ying to swim, pictures of him and three children with sunny, gap-toothed smiles on Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying’s first day at kindergarten. 

He had no recollection about any of it, but he’d looked at these pictures as an adult and thought, when did all this go to shit?

The only thing he knew was that at one point, his father had grown increasingly distant. He’d barely acknowledged them unless his mother brought them up, either in rebuke or during one of their arguments. His parents had done what they had to do to keep their children warm and fed, but sometimes Jiang Cheng caught their father looking at them and there was that split-second of contempt and what he eventually recognised as disappointment.

A gradual, terrible realisation came to him: that perhaps his father had deceived himself that he’d wanted the life he had — the marriage, the children, the domesticity. Jiang Cheng had only ever talked about it once with his siblings, under the cover of darkness in the bedroom they’d shared, in one of their dreaded annual family vacations. 

(Jiang Cheng didn’t know why they kept going — none of them ever enjoyed these trips.)

Jiejie’s silence was confirmation enough. 

As they grew older, Jiang Cheng and his siblings felt as if they had to earn their existence — by excelling at school, achieving the best grades; the constant, unspoken pressure to prove that they were of value, somehow.

Even then, it was never enough. Because why would his father feel compelled to acknowledge something he’d never wanted in the first place?

Jiang Cheng only wished that his father had done something , like divorcing their mother and leaving their family. Being happy for himself. That would have been preferable to performing a happy family, while his aunts and uncles gossiped about the cracks that they could see forming under the surface. Sometimes without even trying to lower their voices.

But his parents were dead. Jiejie was dead, too. 

None of it mattered anymore.)

*

Jiang Cheng hadn’t gone far or long, knowing that Huan-ge would wait in the apartment until he returned because he wouldn’t leave A-Ling alone. He was thoughtful like that. Jiang Cheng just needed a little time and the frigid cold to clear his head.

His therapist, Dr. Wen, would be so disappointed in him for regressing. 

(Okay, he wouldn’t. Dr. Wen was one of the most empathetic men he knew. Besides, Dr. Wen had such a puppy air about him that Jiang Cheng wasn’t sure he could affect disappointment if he’d tried.)

In his rational mind, Jiang Cheng knew that he was projecting his fears and insecurities onto Lan Huan. And try as he might, he couldn’t shake off the fear of being found lacking, yet again.

Of being seen as a mistake, again.

He pulled out his mobile phone and stared at the time. He knew that Dr. Wen would still take his call, even though it was almost ten in the evening. They’d developed that trust in each other over the years. 

Instead, he found himself calling Wei Ying.

“Sup, didi?” 

Wei Ying picked up after the first ring, as usual. It was pre-dawn where Wei Ying was, and that was how Jiang Cheng knew he was still awake. Wei Ying kept weird hours, always claiming that he was most inspired to write his dissertation during the odd hours when normal people should be sleeping. Jiang Cheng had long given up trying to understand his brother’s circadian rhythm.

“I think I just broke up with Huan-ge.” He said, bluntly.

There was a pointed silence at the other end. 

“What the fuck?” Wei Ying finally breathed. “What happened? Are you okay? Should I fly back there and kick his ass? I mean, not that I can kick his ass, but I’m sure I can find people who’d help me do it.” 

“Shut the fuck up, oh my god.” Jiang Cheng was regretting this already. “There will be no ass-kicking. I’m the one who fucked up here.”

“Nonsense. You’re perfect. If you’d fucked up, it’s because he fucked up first.”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t help but laugh at that, even though it was flat and sad. Just like that, he spilled everything to Wei Ying – his frustration and Lan Huan’s unthinking selflessness and self-sacrificing nature; his fear about inheriting the destructive toxicity they had grown up in and of passing it down to A-Ling. 

“Chengcheng,” Wei Ying said, after a prolonged silence. “I think you’re not being fair.”

Jiang Cheng knew that. He told Wei Ying so.

“No, I think– I think you’ve always seen Lan Huan as this perfect person, which, I understand why. You love him, you’re biased. But he isn’t. No – hear me out.” Wei Ying said as Jiang Cheng started protesting.

“Yeah, he’s a good person. He’s patient and kind, helps old people cross the street, saves cats from trees, whatever. But he is also… cunning. Have you seen him talk to those religious freaks at the corner of Market Street? Lan-da speaks so well he can charm people into doing things for him for no good reason – he knows how to use his kindness to use people! I’ve seen him do that many times — did you really not notice the way he dealt with those screechy, demanding customers? You remember how they were being assholes about the subpar – no, admit it, Lan-da makes shit coffee — and ended up leaving not just a tip but three pots of baby plants?” 

“All I’m saying is – yeah, he probably is selfless and kind, but he’s not just that. And like. You ever thought that maybe, just maybe… he is being selfish , not selfless, by doing this for you? Sharing domestic responsibilities with you, raising A-Ling with you, so… basically, being your husband in every way but legal status and residence.” 

Jiang Cheng didn’t know what to say.

“And now that I’ve given you food for thought, I’ll let you… I don’t know, marinate in it. Love you, Chengcheng. Text me tomorrow morning.”

A click. Jiang Cheng stared at the dark screen of his mobile phone for long, long moments. 

*

The apartment was the way it was when he returned, dim lights, untouched mugs of tea left cold on the table. If there was anything that told Jiang Cheng that Lan Huan was still in the apartment, those mugs were it. His apartment might be cluttered, but Lan Huan could never allow himself to leave messes in other people’s homes. 

There was a low, muffled conversation from A-Ling’s room, so Jiang Cheng quietly made his way over, pressing his shoulder lightly against the half-open door as he peered into the room. It seemed like A-Ling had woken up and got thirsty, judging from the plastic cup of water on his bedside that wasn’t there when Jiang Cheng put him to bed earlier.

Lan Huan was laying on A-Ling’s bed, A-Ling cuddled up against his side as Lan Huan rubbed his back.

A-Ling had become so comfortable with Lan Huan.  

He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but A-Ling’s words stopped him from announcing himself.

“Shushu,” Jin Ling mumbled. “Don’t — don’t tell Jiujiu that A-Ling miss mama, okay?”

Lan Huan’s strokes faltered briefly, but he recovered soon enough. 

“Can you repeat that, baobao?”

“Don’t tell Jiujiu.” A-Ling said against Lan Huan’s shirt.

“Okay. But why?” Lan Huan hummed, keeping his tone light.

“‘Cause…”

“Cause. Cause A-Ling made Jiujiu sad. A-Ling said it when — A-Ling said it, that one day, and Jiujiu got sad. Really sad.”  Jin Ling curled closer against Lan Huan’s chest, fists balled around Lan Huan’s shirt, clearly upset. “Don’t- don’t wanna make Jiujiu sad…”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes stung. There was a moment of silence, and when Lan Huan finally spoke, there was a catch in his voice that Jiang Cheng was sure would have mirrored his own.

“A-Ling, baobao, no…”

A-Ling sniffed.

“Duckling, hey.” Lan Huan shifted, moving A-Ling gently so he could wipe the little boy’s tears. “A-Ling. Your Jiujiu isn’t sad because you mentioned your mama, yeah? Sometimes he just misses her — like you miss your mama. Don’t you get sad when you miss your mama?” 

A-Ling nodded, sniffling. “I miss mama and baba.”

“And it’s okay.” Lan Huan “It’s okay to miss them. It’s okay to cry. Your Jiujiu will understand, I promise. He loves you more than anything and anyone in this world, you know that, right?”

Jin Ling should know — Jiang Cheng told him that every day.

“Da-jiu, too?”

Lan Huan grinned. “Oh, he definitely loves you more than he loves your da-jiu. More than me, even.”

“But,” A-Ling pouted. “But he’s going to make you leave.” 

Lan Huan stilled. “Why do you think that?”

“I heard you, earlier. I wanted- I wanted some water.” A beat, and then: “Is it A-Ling’s fault?”

Jiang Cheng had to stop himself from bursting into the room at that. He felt like shit. Lan Huan and he had tried to keep their voices down earlier, arguing in hisses rather than shouts. Jiang Cheng was sure that he’d pulled A-Ling’s door shut. Evidently, that meant nothing against a thirsty child. A-Ling still heard them. And now he was hurting.  

What shitty parents they were.

“No,” Lan Huan’s reply was empathic, at least there was that. “Not at all. Sometimes — sometimes adults fight, but it’s never, ever the child’s fault, do you understand?”

Oh.

Jiang Cheng blinked back tears; his chest felt full and light at the same time. It was so strange.

“Then why does Jiujiu want you to go?” A-Ling insisted.

“That…” Lan Huan’s hand began caressing Jin Ling’s head. He sighed. “I might not have a choice, baobao. Because… because I make your Jiujiu sad. You don’t want your Jiujiu to be sad, right?”

A-Ling shook his head. He sniffed.

“I don’t want to do that, too.” there was a softness in Lan Huan’s voice. “So, if your Jiujiu wants me to go, I’ll – I’ll have to leave. But A-Ling, I promise. I promise that I will always be available for you, okay? And I promise that I’ll always make time for you if you want to see me, as long as your Jiujiu lets you. Okay?”

“You promise?”

“I promise, duckling.”

Jiang Cheng walked away from the door.

When Lan Huan left A-Ling’s room, he took one step forward and froze. Jiang Cheng was waiting at the kitchen dinette, two fresh cups of still-steaming tea in front of him. He had prepared Lan Huan’s favourite — silver needle, pure. It was the perfect symmetry to the picture they had made two hours ago.

Jiang Cheng could understand why Lan Huan approached him carefully.

Jiang Cheng knew what he should do. In the end, it was quite simple. He started by saying the two words his parents had never said to each other in earnest:

“I’m sorry.” He said, soft but sure. “I wasn’t being fair.”

He ended with the one thing his parents had never said to each other at all:

“Please don’t leave me.”

Once he got through the hardest parts, everything became easier. “I know- I know there are still things I need to work on. And I know I’ll be fine, eventually.” Jiang Cheng’s faith in resilience, his strength, was hard-won. It was also unshakable. That was how he knew he’d be able to get through this, with or without Lan Huan. 

“But I- I think I’d prefer to figure it out with you. If you still want to stick around.”

The relieved joy on Lan Huan’s face took his breath away. 

The older man sat across from him, one hand reaching for his cup of tea, the other halfway across the table between them, open-palmed, inviting. 

Jiang Cheng put his hand on top of Lan Huan’s and held on.

In the morning, he woke A-Ling up and brought him to the kitchen, where Lan Huan was preparing breakfast for all of them. A-Ling was subdued but clingy, but he lit up with hope at the sight of his ‘wan-shushu. Jiang Cheng put him down and ruffled his hair when A-Ling washed his hands without being prompted.

Jiang Cheng was not an affectionate person by nature, but once he had A-Ling with him, he learned that not only physical affection was important for children, but witnessing affection between his caregivers went a long way towards reassuring them that everything was fine in the world.

Jiang Cheng couldn’t remember seeing his parents do that. 

So that morning, he made sure to lean into Lan Huan’s touches, let himself be pulled for a quick peck on the cheek and welcomed the bite of sweet potato from Lan Huan’s plate. It was gratifying to see A-Ling’s shoulders slowly relaxing, and eventually, he returned to the chatty brat they all knew and loved.

Jiang Cheng knew they were doing this for A-Ling. He hadn’t expected to find them reassuring for him, too. Somewhere along the way, Lan Huan’s touch had become something familiar and comfortable, safe. 

*

A few months later, they were having another movie night at Jiang Cheng’s apartment, just the two of them this time. Wei Ying was visiting for a few weeks and had decided to take his nephew on a da-jiu-and-A-Ling bonding trip at the nearby hills, looking for the meteor shower. When Wei Ying left the apartment, he winked at him and Huan-ge in what he most likely thought was salacious. It just made him look like an idiot. 

Lan Huan had proposed a quiet date night at home — he’d cook his special vegetarian mushroom risotto (with truffle oil and white wine, so fancy even Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng, who swore by pork ribs, admitted that it was the best risotto they’d ever had), followed by this two-part documentary about deep sea creatures that Jiang Cheng had been saving for when he had an uninterrupted three hours.

Sometime in the middle of that documentary — which turned out to be boring — Jiang Cheng realised that he was content. Happy. Nestled in Lan Huan’s arms on the couch, legs haphazardly tangled, the lingering smell of truffle oil in the air.

He didn’t know if he wanted this for the rest of his life (yet), but he knew for certain that even if things ended, he would not look back and regret the choices he made now.

It occurred to him that perhaps, he ought to give Lan Huan that grace as well. 

And maybe, just maybe, he was the present that Lan Huan wanted. The one that he knew he wouldn’t regret – even if it had to end, one day.

“Marry me.”

Behind him, Lan Huan grew quiet and very, very still.

“Could you repeat that, love?”

Jiang Cheng shifted his body around so he was facing Lan Huan, and made sure that he had all of the older man’s attention.

“I’m asking you to marry me, Huan-ge.”

“A-Cheng…” Lan Huan said, after a long, protracted silence. “I already told you, I won’t leave. You don’t have to…” Lan Huan paused and took a slow breath. “It’s not a condition for us to stay together.”

He smiled. It was small and kind; it was sad,

It was soul-crushing. 

“I know,” Jiang Cheng said, “And it’s not- it’s not that I’m not scared anymore. I still am.” He chose his words carefully, knowing full well that they meant something to Lan Huan, that he owed him to Lan Huan not to be careless with his words and feelings.

“It’s just that… I feel safe with you, even when I am scared. You make me a little braver. All my life, I’ve thought of marriage as a cage. I still do.” He closed his eyes. He thought therapy would help him get over the pain of traumas long past, but he could still feel the dull echoes of them. “The difference is, I think I’d rather be in this cage with you, than out of it, without you.”

“I think… I think we can build a home here, together. And if it doesn’t work out one day, if one day everything has to end…” Unexpectedly, his emotions got the better of him. He swallowed; and swallowed one more time. “If things have to end one day, I know it’s not gonna be because we haven’t tried our hardest to make things work.”

Lan Huan looked like he was a hairsbreadth away from crying. “We can still have all that without getting married.” He murmured. “They’re just papers, after all.” 

Once again, Jiang Cheng marvelled at how unselfish Lan Huan was, that even when Jiang Cheng was offering him what he wanted on a silver plate, he still thought about what Jiang Cheng would want.

“Yeah, but I know that it’ll make you happy. Make you feel reassured.” Jiang Cheng smiled wryly. “I didn’t realise that I’d need that reassurance as well, now that- now that I know I want you here with me and A-Ling, if not for forever, for a very, very long time.”

Lan Huan’s tears fell. 

It was — well, Lan Huan was not a pretty crier. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes and sniffed, loudly. Jiang Cheng, against all reason, started laughing, even though tears were wetting his cheeks as well. 

“Lord, we’re gonna have to get ahold of ourselves or we’re not gonna make it past the vows.”

Lan Huan sobbed harder at that. 

“Huan-ge!” Jiang Cheng teased, “Is the idea of marrying me so horrible?”

“No!” Lan Huan cried out. “I’m just — I’m just so happy . I’m such a mess.”

Lan Huan was definitely a mess right now, which was even funnier to Jiang Cheng because Lan Huan had never lost it in the three years they’d been together, not from anger or grief or frustration. He’d always known how to deal with his negative emotions in a way that didn’t impact the people around him.

Jiang Cheng supposed it was okay, if the only way Lan Huan would “lose it” was when he was incredibly happy. 

“So that’s a yes to marrying me?”

Lan Huan jabbed him in the ribs.

“Ouch! Huan-ge!” Jiang Cheng laughed again. He couldn’t help it, he was over the moon.

“Yes,” Lan Huan finally said — eyes swollen, nose bright red, and still the most beautiful man Jiang Cheng had ever seen. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” 

*