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Honestly, Jiang Cheng's life is pretty good right now. He's been seeing Wen Qing for almost six months; they still haven't had any kind of conversation about making it official, but he doesn't mind. They go out most weeks, he’ll stay over with her, she’ll stay over with him, and he’s happy. Tentatively, at least.
It feels... different. He feels different around her, like he's at ease in a way he's never been before. He's found himself cracking the silly jokes he trained himself out of by the time he and Wei Ying were teens. It's so simple with her: she makes him laugh, so he makes her laugh. She's honest and silly with him, so he gets to be that back. He loves being the reason for her lovely laugh, and he loves that no matter how often he hears it it never sounds any less pleasantly surprised. He never loves it any less, either.
So, of course, he's always looking for any chance to make her laugh. The two of them are getting dressed, it’s the middle of the afternoon— the perfect time to get out of bed on a weekend, really— and Jiang Cheng is almost giddy when he looks over at Wen Qing, still pulling her shirt over her head. He looks around and spots a comb on her dresser.
“Hey, A-Qing, look.” She does. He scoops the comb up off the dresser and holds it under his nose. “Who am I?”
Wen Qing tilts her head to one side, a small smile spreading across her face. “Who?”
“Nie Mingjue.”
Wen Qing giggles at that. “I guess you are, you have the moustache and everything.”
Jiang Cheng can’t help but grin at her. Her laugh is so cute. “Maybe I’ll ask Huaisang how Mingjue does his braids for next time,” he says as he puts the comb back down.
This time, her laugh is less startled, more warm and full-bellied. It fills Jiang Cheng with delight, bright and bubbly in his stomach. He scans over Wen Qing’s dresser again, searching for something to keep her laughing. He picks up some clip-in bangs— Mianmian’s, no doubt— and clumsily clips them in.
“Who am I?” He doesn’t wait for her to answer, pointing at the bangs and adding, “Mianmian.”
She laughs again, then looks thoughtful for a moment. “You know, you make a cute girl.”
Jiang Cheng’s heart drops into his stomach before he finishes processing the words. Distantly he thinks, make. Not would make. You make a cute girl. Some horrified intrigue grows in him, coloured by shame, as he lingers on the thought, the idea that he’d be cute if—
Nevermind. Wen Qing is watching him carefully now; his expression is clearly giving him away.
“Do I?” He asks. He realises it came out more tense than he intended when Wen Qing winces. Suddenly he feels like he's watching this play out from a distance, somewhere behind his eyes. He tries to force himself to focus. It doesn't work very well.
“I mean, you would.” She’s choosing her words carefully now. “If you wanted to be. Temporarily, or—”
“Don’t say it.” His chest is tight. He forces a couple of deep breaths in and out, counting the seconds, but they’re slippery in his grasp. He wishes it would help. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“Then I won’t say it.” He hates the way she’s looking at him. He knows what she's about to say. “Are you okay?”
Jiang Cheng shakes his head. It’s not an answer to anything. “You won’t say it, but you thought it. I know you’ve thought about it now and I don't know what to do with that because I don’t want to think about it but if I look at you I’ll think about it because—” He wills himself to breathe again. He can feel his joints starting to ache, his heart thumping in his chest. He tries to relax his shoulders, to ease the tension but it’s inescapable, both within himself and between the two of them. “I gotta go. You’re okay, you haven’t— I’ll see you later.” He grabs his car keys off the dining table on his way out.
The drive home is excruciating. Traffic is lighter than it usually is in the afternoon, but that doesn’t make being alone with his thoughts any more bearable. As much as he tries to focus solely on the road, he’s plagued by thoughts and memories that don’t make sense. And worse are the feelings that make too much sense, the ones he really doesn’t want to think about. No matter how often he distracts himself, his thoughts come crashing back to the same questions: why did it hurt so much when Wen Qing said that? And why does he want her to say it again?
As soon as he gets home, Jiang Cheng makes a beeline for the bathroom. He goes to wash up in the sink, to splash cold water on his face, anything to bring him back to earth. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and recoils almost as if burned. So that’s a no-go. He hops in the shower instead, running it cold and curling up on the floor of the cubicle.
“You’re home early,” Huaisang says when Jiang Cheng eventually exits the bathroom.
He shrugs, shooting for dismissive but landing closer to devastated.
“Bad day?” Their tone is less teasing than usual.
Jiang Cheng nods, squeezing his eyes shut. He feels like he’ll scream if he even tries to speak.
“You wanna watch some TV, buddy?”
Another nod. He can’t blink back his tears fast enough. He’s rude, he’s prickly, he’s downright awful if he’s in a bad mood, which happens way too often. Why is Huaisang still so nice to him after having lived with him this long?
“Go get dressed and I’ll get us set up, okay?” Huaisang turns away without waiting for a response, so Jiang Cheng rushes to get into something comfy.
And that’s how he ends up on the couch, not quite curled into Huaisang’s side, watching the newest season of the glass blowing reality show that Huaisang saves for days like this. He doesn’t speak for the rest of the evening, letting Huaisang carry the conversation while they order food and subsequently wait for it to arrive. He doesn’t watch the women on the show too closely, he doesn’t watch and think about what they wear in the workshop and how they can be strong and feminine at the same time. He doesn’t think about how he might look with hair or clothes or tattoos like that. He certainly doesn’t think about the comparisons to his mother that he weathered when he was younger. Huaisang doesn’t ask, thankfully, but if they did, Jiang Cheng would say his eyes are watering from his szechuan beef, even though it isn’t as spicy as he usually likes it.
Jiang Cheng’s usually serene drive to work is the first thing that suffers, after that. He usually likes it. Wen Qing has joked that he likes it too much, because he doesn't put music or a podcast or anything on, just sits there focusing on the drive and letting his thoughts wander. He likes having that space to be alone with them and see what they do, except now he's alone with them and seeing what they're doing. He spends all that time wondering why he’s so off balance, why he’s been so off balance all weekend and his thoughts haven’t cleared up.
It’s a miserable day, grey and overcast. The kind of day when even normal people don’t want to go to work. Jiang Cheng isn’t feeling very normal, but he needs to be, so he takes a second once he’s out of his car. A couple of deep breaths in and out. His thoughts ran wild on the drive over, but being around his colleagues can’t be that bad, right? Right. He just has to acknowledge everyone in the usual way on the way to his office, then he can close the door and just get some damn work done.
After at least five minutes psyching himself up in the parking lot, he heads in through the front doors. He can do this. Elevator, fifth floor. He can do this. Ok, there are three other people getting in the elevator. He can do this. Did she just look at him funny? Is something different today, what does she know? No, that doesn’t make sense, he can do this. Out of the elevator, away from people looking at him funny. He can do this. His breathing is a little heavy, which is weird since he’s not running or anything. He nods at a couple of juniors on his way through the main office. They smile back knowingly. Oh god, he can’t do this. Everyone can see him and see the gaps in his armour and they can see his stupid thoughts all over his stupid face and they’re all thinking it. Thinking he’s weak and pathetic and unmanly for feeling so undermined by a silly little comment from his maybe-girlfriend? His nods, half-smiles, and mumbled hellos don’t falter. He struggles not to break into a run. How fucking long is the walk from the elevator to his office?
Click. He leans back against the door to his office, closed behind him. Slides down to the floor, forces air back into his lungs to try and stop his stupid eyes from burning. He levels back out gradually. After a few minutes, he’s up off the floor, parking himself behind his desk, settling in and pretending nothing happened and no one saw anything and he can just get some damn work done.
It’s fine. It was only that first day at work that had Jiang Cheng off balance. The first day back after his weekend with his girlfriend where nothing in particular happened and no comments were made on anything. Every other day at work has been at least a little easier. He’s keeping a lid on it. It’s fine.
What isn’t fine is that keeping it together at work means keeping it together in other ways. Other ways which include personal hygiene which includes shaving regularly. Which is also fine actually. He’s not sure why he might’ve thought it wasn’t fine. Because it is fine. Jiang Cheng shaves every other day or so, he’s used to it. Except today he can’t get used to it; his razor feels almost alien in his hand.
He hates looking in the mirror. He always has. Today is worse. He's spent his entire life fixing all the things he hates — learning about skincare and fashion and posture and not being weird and practising the way he talks to women and friends and superiors in front of the mirror and on his drive and in his bedroom and... everything else. Everything he thought he needed to hate himself less. To love or at least like himself. But he still can't stand the sight of the man he sees in the mirror.
He startles at the sound of his razor landing in the sink. He didn’t even realise he had dropped it. When he glances back up at his reflection, he feels suddenly, irrevocably angry. Fuck this. Why should he sit here worrying in the bathroom like anything’s changed? None of it matters. He doesn’t hate his reflection more than he already did. He doesn’t hate shaving more than he already did.
So what’s changed? Nothing. Nothing’s changed And he can prove it. He washes up, puts his razor away and leaves the bathroom, unshaven. Which is normal, since he hates shaving anyway. Just like it’s normal that he’s stomping across the house, back to his bedroom—
And the world explodes in pain, because he stubs his fucking toe on his fucking bedframe. It hurts more than it should. Jiang Cheng hops around for a moment, hissing curses at his ceiling before crumpling onto his bed, giving up on holding tears back. Distantly he thinks Why did I have to wear those bangs? Why did Wen Qing have to say anything? Now everything that was settled is unsettled again. Everything’s unsettled and everything’s wrong and I stubbed my toe and— He buries his face in his pillow as his thoughts break down and he starts crying even harder.
His little toe is still throbbing by the time he makes it back to the bathroom an hour later. He can’t look himself in the eye when he grits his teeth and actually shaves.
It’s not that Jiang Cheng is avoiding Wen Qing exactly. It’s just that the few times she’s messaged him in the last few days it’s always let me know if you want to talk and I’m here if you need anything. It’s all so serious and all he can say is thank you or you too or ok. Because really. What can you say to that sort of thing? It’s so painfully honest and open and vulnerable. And Jiang Cheng has never needed anything from anyone in his life.
But, if he supposed for a moment, completely hypothetically, that he did want to talk or that he did need something from Wen Qing, he wouldn’t even know where to start. He wants to let her know that, yeah maybe he could bear talking to someone, and maybe everything isn’t perfect and maybe something’s wrong. Except that it feels like losing.
He would have to ask for help, which is weak. To ask for help he’d have to admit to someone that he’s struggling (which he isn’t), and that’s weak. Struggling, asking for help, even admitting he just wants to talk to someone— it’s weak, failure, losing, giving up. He feels the sting of tears welling up. It’s been happening a lot lately. God, what would his parents think if they could see him now?
(He knows what they'd think. His mother taught him that needing help was weak, even if she didn't mean to. His father taught him that asking for help wouldn't get him anything. He's too tired to be upset at them, but he still is.)
Anyway, he’s a better person than his parents were, even if he’d never say so. What they thought doesn’t have to hold him back. So why not talk to Wen Qing? Why not ask her if she knows why her throwaway comment has done this to him? If she can tell there’s something heavy sitting in his belly and she put it there?
Except that that’s unfair to her. It’s not really her fault, and he knows that much, even if he can’t think about it too hard without wanting to throw up. Except that this is a Jiang Cheng problem, from start to finish: refusing to ask for help because he wants to feel brave, but being too cowardly to do anything but repress it. Jiang Cheng is a festering pile of jealousy and resentment and anger and cowardice and Wen Qing didn’t do anything to make him that way. She just tripped over some of the ugliest feelings that even he didn’t know were down there. He’s lucky she’s even texting him. He can’t say anything without showing her how disgusting he is. Maybe one day he’ll be the man she deserves and grow a fucking spine but maybe she’ll leave him first. He doesn’t think he can deal with either of those two things, but only one of them lets him turn his phone off and toss it under his bed, so he does that one.
It keeps getting worse. Of course repressing his problems means they get worse, because it's never done anything fucking else. He’s feeling restless to say the least. He’s getting less and less out of his free time. Work and sleep are all he has keeping him grounded. He ran out of episodes of Blown Away earlier in the week and he can’t rewatch earlier seasons because he already knows who wins and how annoying all the contestants are. He has no one to talk to. Huaisang’s out for the night and Jiang Cheng has already put so much work into seeming normal around them. He’s looked at his work Slack account so many times that his manager asks what he’s doing online on a Friday night. At least she’s in a different time zone and has an excuse.
He’s actually grateful when he hears a knock at the door. He slams his laptop shut, trying to put the awkward conversation with his manager out of his mind. The relief still wins out over the vague distaste he feels when he opens the door and sees Lan Zhan.
“Lan Zhan, what are you doing here?” Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes suspiciously before he can help himself.
“Wei Ying said you weren’t feeling well. I work nearby, so I brought soup.” Lan Zhan holds out the plastic bag in his hand like he would rather be anywhere else. “Wei Ying asked me to.”
Bile rises in Jiang Cheng’s throat, despite himself. “Awfully presumptuous. Why would he think I’m not doing well? I’m doing fine, as a matter of fact.” He is not doing fine. He has been hoping for the chance to talk to someone for days. Almost praying that someone would ask him what’s wrong. He doesn’t know why he says the things he does.
“Wen Qing mentioned it. At one of their dinners.” Lan Zhan stays impassive. Nothing for Jiang Cheng to dig his nails under. He doesn’t know how Wei Ying managed it, back then.
“Well, what’s it to him anyway? What’s it to her, or you for that matter?” He’s barely keeping himself from shouting. The feeling itches under his skin. He hates it.
Lan Zhan sighs. “Wei Ying misses you. He worries.” He hesitates. Which is weird, because it's not a thing he does. "Many of us do."
All of the heat leaves Jiang Cheng at that. God, he’s such an asshole. He looks at Lan Zhan for a long moment after that, searching for something. Some sort of connection. Understanding, or at least a listening ear from someone who is at least external to his stupid brain.
“I think I want to be a woman.” He says it without thinking. He ought to feel ashamed, he thinks. He doesn’t. He just feels relief.
Lan Zhan, for his part, doesn’t react. He doesn’t startle, or look surprised, or laugh at Jiang Cheng, or anything like that. He doesn’t even give Jiang Cheng his usual judgemental glare. If anything, he looks… thoughtful?
“If Jiang Cheng wants to be a woman, then she can be a woman.” He says it like it’s so simple.
It hits Jiang Cheng like a truck. A punch in the gut couldn’t knock more wind out of him. He reaches out to take the plastic bag from Lan Zhan.
“Thank you for the soup, Lan Zhan.” He feels numb. He takes the bag to the dining table and sits.
“Good night, Jiang Cheng,” Lan Zhan offers after a long silence. He closes the door behind him as he leaves.
Jiang Cheng takes the lid off the bowl and stares at it. Pork and lotus root. It’s not as good as his jiejie’s, but it makes him cry anyway.
Jiang Cheng’s hands are shaking. He’s not sure exactly how he’s supposed to get ready for work in this state. He tries to tie his tie for the third or fourth time before giving up. He’s too inside his own head. Lan Zhan said it, like it could ever be that simple, and now Jiang Cheng can’t stop thinking it. It can’t be that simple, he’s spent years knowing it can’t be that simple at this point, and yet.
He’s spent years convincing himself it can’t be that simple— convincing himself that everything he felt hadn’t mattered. It didn’t matter how he preened when his mother’s friends said he looked just like her. It didn’t matter how he’d wanted, desperately, more than anything, to be beautiful. Puberty came for him anyway. And it was the worst time of his life, since all it did was make him ugly, and he was convinced he had to suffer through it. Become a man. If it is that simple, then all of the pain and anger and discomfort was for nothing.
His reflection is scowling back at him. He looks even worse than he feels, his eyes puffy and bruised. His hair still down and unbrushed, wilder than usual. He can’t stand any of it. Something snaps in him. He digs frantically through the bathroom drawer. He closes his hand around a pair of scissors and brings them to the nape of his neck. If it’s all for nothing, why not just cut it off then?
He stops himself just short of making a first cut. Why would he cut his hair? He likes his hair. Of course he likes it. Women call it beautiful, but he doesn’t like the way other women like his hair. The way they’d look at him, the few times he dated or slept around before his… whatever it is with Wen Qing. The way they’d say how sexy long hair is on men— there it is. He drops the scissors as if they burned him.
God, fuck, okay. So maybe he doesn’t want people to see him as a man. Shit. He can feel his eyes starting to sting again. Imagine crying over something as stupid as hair. Something as stupid as caring about how other people see you. Jesus Christ.
Jiang Cheng stumbles back to his bedroom, leaving the scissors in the sink where he dropped them. He locks the door behind him and collapses onto his bed. Gravity and what's left of his self control can't stop the tears bubbling up. They flood up out of Jiang Cheng’s eyes, hot and furious. She rolls over and buries her face into her pillow, and finds that her cheeks are already stinging from salt and misery and it just makes her cry even harder.
She hates this. She hates crying, how she’s always been an ugly crier, how it’s always been her first instinct at fear or sadness or frustration, how she never has control over what her face does, the way her snot runs and the ways sobs are wrenched from her throat and she has to struggle to breathe. She hates how even this feels different. All this week, today, right now. Even this feels different, when she thinks about it.
Once her breathing levels back out, she reaches for her cellphone and calls in sick to work. Some excuse about being stuck in the bathroom all morning. Not technically false. She tosses her phone on the bed, refusing to give it any more thought. Except that then, as she’s opening her laptop to check her work emails anyway, she’s thinking about it again. She leaves her laptop to start up, grabs her phone, and makes a second call.
She tries not to fidget as it rings on the other end, if only to convince herself she’s calm.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me. I know I haven't called in a while. I'm sorry."
There's a silence on the other end that suddenly clatters into motion and noise. "I'm coming over— I mean. Can I come over?"
"Please," Jiang Cheng says, before she even realises she's saying it. It's what she needs, even if the idea of seeing anyone right now also fills her with horror.
"I'm. See you soon."
Jiang Cheng hangs up and slides down the wall, tucking her head between her knees.
Jiang Cheng is pulled from her thoughts by a knock on her door. She knows she looks like shit; she never tied her hair up and she’s sure her eyes are still red from crying. She drags herself to the door and opens it just a crack.
“Hey, it’s me. A-Sang let me in.” Wei Ying sounds as chipper as he always does. Even at 10 in the morning, even when it’s likely that Jiang Cheng’s call is what prompted him to roll out of bed.
“Come in.” Her voice feels rusty with disuse, after the last week and a half of avoiding conversation. She hates how it sounds.
Wei Ying doesn’t wait for Jiang Cheng to close the door before he perches on the edge of her bed. He’s still smiling. It seems almost forced, like he’s trying to seem relaxed. Jiang Cheng knows him well enough to know better.
“So…” Wei Ying looks around Jiang Cheng’s bedroom idly. The silence hangs for a moment. Jiang Cheng doesn’t know how to break it, or if she wants to.
It’s not long before Wei Ying stops pretending to be chill. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s—”
“Yeah, nothing’s wrong. Nothing’s ever wrong with you. Bullshit! I had to pry it out of Qing-jie that you two aren’t talking, and A-Sang told me you’ve been acting weird all week. Which I only find out because you call me out of the blue and apologise, which freaked me out enough to want to come over right away." He grimaces, dropping his voice. "I didn't mean to yell. I'm just... worried."
Jiang Cheng shoves down the frustration threatening to bubble up. People keep saying that word, worried. They keep giving her those pitying looks. They look at her like Wei Ying is looking at her, concerned and pitying and sympathetic like she’s a fragile little flower. Like she’s soft and weak and all of the things she isn’t allowed to be. She doesn’t want any of it. She doesn’t want Wei Ying of all people worrying about her like that.
Her mouth is dry when she finally speaks. "Lan Zhan said he was too. That lots of people are."
Wei Ying opens his mouth, then shuts it. Jiang Cheng knows what he was going to say. Of course we’re worried about you, which would be bad enough, except he clearly knows that she doesn’t want to hear it. She needs to get back onto even ground with her brother, which means she has to go through with it.
Fuck, she really hates this. “Okay.” She blinks back tears. “Promise not to laugh at me.”
“Of course, didi.”
He's called her that forever, but it stings now. She presses on. “I mean it. Promise not to interrupt me until I’m done.”
Wei Ying smiles. It doesn’t look forced this time. “Cross my heart.”
Jiang Cheng does her best to explain, and Wei Ying listens. She tells him about Mianmian’s clip-on bangs, and the silly Nie Mingjue impression, which makes him laugh. She tells him what Wen Qing said to her, and the ensuing week and a half of emotional bullshit. And as sure as she is that Wei Ying is going to interrupt, he doesn’t. He just listens. He doesn’t laugh or even smirk. If anything, Jiang Cheng sees her own emotions reflected on his face. When she talks about being upset and frustrated, when she talks about crying and wanting to give up and scream, she sees it all reflected back at her. By the time she’s finishing explaining, both of them are close to tears.
“So. Like I said to Lan Zhan last night, I… I think I want to be a woman.”
Is that it? She feels like she should explain herself more, except that she already has. Wei Ying already heard every ugly thought and feeling she’s had about this in the past week. He already knows everything else about how she grew up, how they grew up. Even if she wanted to say more — to justify herself, or explain how frightening it is to face this, or even begin to talk about the changes she might have to make — she can’t. The words are stuck in her throat. She’s done too much talking and too much crying for there to be anything left.
“Okay,” Wei Ying says. “And what did Lan Zhan say?”
She frowns. “If Jiang Cheng wants to be a woman, then she can be a woman,” she says flatly. It comes out sounding more like a Lan Zhan impression than she intends it to.
Wei Ying snorts. “Yeah, he would say that.”
Jiang Cheng rolls her eyes. “Fuck him. He made it sound so simple, after all this. Like he had any right to just… say that to me. To switch pronouns like that, like it wouldn’t fuck me up. Who does he think he is, you know?”
“That’s my man,” Wei Ying laughs. He sits up so he can meet her eyes properly. “Seriously though, I’m mad he got to do it first just because I asked him to drop off some food. I wish I could’ve been here for you, meimei.”
His eyes are so kind. It hits her that he really means it, and she can't help but let the tears that have been building finally fall. Wei Ying pulls her into a hug. There’s a softness to it that doesn’t feel like pity anymore.
As soon as Jiang Cheng tries to call Wen Qing, she realises she needs to talk to her in person. So she drives over to her apartment building as quickly as she can, and she almost runs up the stairs until she’s standing at the door to Wen Qing’s apartment. She knocks her usual pattern. Through the thin door, she can hear the clatter of something being dropped, and Wen Qing running to the door.
She’s breathless when she opens it. They look at each other for a moment, Jiang Cheng’s mind completely blank. But Wen Qing smiles at her.
“Hey,” she says softly. “It’s good to see you.”
All of the words Jiang Cheng thought she could say die in her throat. She can feel tears threatening to well up again. God, she’s so stupid, this is all so stupid.
“Come in,” Wen Qing offers. “I’ll make some tea.”
And Jiang Cheng still just stares at her, even as she follows her inside. She’s not even thinking clearly until she’s sitting on Wen Qing’s couch, making extended eye contact with the cat plushie that lives there. The one that Jiang Cheng got for Wen Qing on their second date. And that’s somehow the final straw, the little calico cat with its little glittery eyes, and suddenly she’s bawling.
She stifles her sobbing. She shouldn’t be here, sitting on Wen Qing’s couch like everything’s okay. She thought this would be easier. She thought that, after talking to Wei Ying, everything was supposed to slot into place and it would all make sense. Instead, it’s more confusing than ever. The one set of rules she had to learn, the ones that would’ve made her a good man, aren’t enough to hold her life together. There are more rules that she has to know and she hasn't learned them and it’s like she’s drowning, trying to keep her head above water because she needs those rules to live. What do you mean the rules aren’t real? What do you mean they won’t make her happy? That can’t be true. She needs them. She needs them.
She’s working so hard. Worked so hard. And now she’s sure that Wen Qing’s going to look at her, and she’ll have to tell her the truth and she won’t want her anymore. That she’s going to say she was only interested in the man Jiang Cheng. But he isn’t real. Not anymore.
This is so stupid. She's crying so hard that tears are dripping off her chin and onto Wen Qing’s couch. She’s crying so hard that she barely hears Wen Qing set two mugs of tea on the coffee table and sit down next to her. She doesn’t look surprised to see Jiang Cheng in this state, but she does look worried.
“Hey,” Wen Qing says, so soft and kind that it hurts. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I—I’m.” She tries to force the tremor out of her voice. “I’m a— I mean. I think I’m a woman.” She looks away, but she can still feel Wen Qing’s eyes on her. “I hope that’s okay, I still—”
It’s not going well. Maybe she was already crying too hard to explain herself well, but she’s certainly crying harder now. “I mean, if you still want to, I—”
She buries her face in her hands, even though it makes it even harder to breathe. Her nose is running and every breath she takes escapes with a pathetic panicked whine. “I’m so so sorry I didn’t say anything.”
It’s quiet for a moment, apart from the rattle of Jiang Cheng’s breath. Quiet enough that she can feel it cracking open her ribcage and pulling her heart out of her chest and suddenly she really, really wants to go home.
“It’s okay, A-Cheng. Really,” Wen Qing says finally. Her eyes are warm and a little teary. Jiang Cheng can’t look at her for more than a second before it feels like too much.
She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I-I couldn’t, I didn’t mean— I’m so sorry.” She cries and cries and gives up on stringing words together.
Jiang Cheng has spent the entirety of this relationship, this nerve-wracking and wonderful and terrifying and too-good-for-her relationship, walking on eggshells because she’s been so sure she’s going to fuck it all up. She’s spent the last six months trying to be a good boyfriend, trying to be something she doesn’t know how to be. And now she knows she can’t be that for Wen Qing. And she’s so sure that’s the end of it, that she’s deceived Wen Qing so it’s over and she’ll feel betrayed or at least not interested and that’s all there is to it.
She goes in circles like this until Wen Qing pulls her in and gathers her into her arms. And Jiang Cheng barely feels it, for long seconds or minutes, until she finally notices Wen Qing’s gentle hand stroking her back, her gentle voice soothing her.
“It’s alright, it’s alright. My silly darling, this must’ve been so hard for you. I’m sorry you felt you couldn’t come to me, but I’m here now. I’m here and I’m staying and I’m not going anywhere.”
That feels too good to be true. Then again, so does the idea that she’s allowed to be— that she is— a woman, and she’s trying very hard to accept that. She’s trying very hard to be a good partner too, and she’s sure Wen Qing is worth the effort, but she’s so tired. She wants to take it at face value. She wants to trust Wen Qing. She’s trying. She doesn’t know why it’s so hard.
“But I thought—” She hiccups. She’d be embarrassed if she wasn’t already in such a state. “I thought you only liked me because I was a guy? I thought you were—”
“Straight? Oh god no, not at all.” Wen Qing stifles a laugh, but her eyes are warm. “I like you because you’re you.”
Jiang Cheng sniffles pathetically. “So you really still like me?”
“I really, really do.” Wen Qing reaches for her mug of tea, probably long cold by now. “I like my lovely girlfriend.”
It occurs to Jiang Cheng that they never did have a ‘what are we’ talk. “Wait. So. Was I your boyfriend before? We never said what this—” she gestures vaguely— “is.”
“Darling. I just told you I’m not going anywhere. I think that supersedes the whole ‘what are we doing’ thing. I think girlfriends works just fine.”
Something does slot into place then. She’s here. Wen Qing is here, and she’s not leaving. She knows Jiang Cheng and she’s not leaving. She knows, on some level, all of the terrible thoughts and feelings and everything Jiang Cheng thought she could never say, everything Jiang Cheng thought would make her leave, and she’s here. She’s here in Wen Qing’s arms and, for now, that’s enough.
Jiang Cheng smiles despite herself. “Girlfriends.” It feels right.
“A-Cheng, I love your blouse!”
It’s August 12th. Which also means it’s Wen Qing’s birthday. Jiang Cheng even dressed up for it, unlike every other birthday party she goes to. Unlike every other birthday party she goes to, she didn’t even try to worm her way out of this one. She wouldn’t miss it for the world.
“Thanks, Wei Ying. A-Qing helped me pick it out.” She smooths down her blouse. It's silk, a simple sleeveless cut in a lilac that had caught her eye the moment she'd seen it. Wen Qing had seen the look on her face and bought it for her immediately, and that's why it's her favourite.
“Oh, well, look at you two,” Wei Ying gives Jiang Cheng a knowing smile. “A-Qing, you with your red nail polish, her with her purple earrings…” he waggles his eyebrows.
Jiang Cheng knows that he’s doing it on purpose. For once, she chooses to keep her bristling strictly internal. “We look great together, don’t we?”
She probably sounds a little smug, but why shouldn't she? It's been a rough year, and she's proud of how things have gone. It’s been a couple of months since she came out to Wei Ying and Wen Qing and everyone else who matters, and she’s happy. Happy, and maybe also nervous. It’s her first time really dressing how she wants to, even if she’s still wearing jeans and boots. Except it’s jeans and boots in a girl way this time.
She’s doing better than she usually does at these things too. She’s been making the rounds, chatting to everyone including the friends and colleagues of Wen Qing’s she doesn’t know. She’s even introduced herself as Wen Qing’s girlfriend, and that’s gone over fine. Even if it is scary as hell.
Even talking to people she knows is a little scary. But Wen Ning compliments her earrings, and Jin Zixuan is excruciatingly awkward but manages to mumble something about welcoming her 'to the club', and by the time she gets to Lan Zhan, she's almost relieved. Lan Zhan just nods at her, in that way that he does, and stands with her for a couple of minutes while they watch the rest of the party.
"It's good to see everybody happy," he says. He's not looking at her, but she knows what he means.
Eventually, she finds herself squished into the middle of a two-seater couch. On her left is Wen Qing, who’s leaning over the armrest wrapped up in a conversation with Mianmian and Mingjue about something Jiang Cheng can’t follow. On her right is Wei Ying, who’s doing his best to elbow her in the ribs and apparently psych her up.
“You know,” Wei Ying stage-whispers. “It’s almost cake time. You should totally make a toast.”
Anxiety drops into her stomach. “What? No way! You know how I am with—” she looks at her knees— “public speaking.”
“Come on! You care about Qing-jie don’t you? Today of all days?” He’s giving Jiang Cheng a grin when she looks up at him. He’s shit-stirring and he knows it.
“I do but. I’m not here to show off.”
Wei Ying scoffs at that. “And you don’t think Qing-jie wouldn’t want to show off her beautiful girlfriend? Today of all days? Coward! Do it!”
Ugh. Jiang Cheng pinches the bridge of her nose. It doesn’t do anything to slow the butterfly flutter of her heart. “Fine.”
Oh god, she’s really doing it isn’t she? Before she’s even sure she’s ready, she’s standing up and clearing her throat.
"Hello, hi, everyone…” She does her best to make her face relax. She can feel herself doing the resting bitch face thing that she struggles with when she’s anxious. She clears her throat again.
“To Wen Qing today, on her birthday. To the best girlfriend anyone could ask for, and someone who’s made my life so much better by being in it.”
She leaves it there, keeping it short and sweet. She could go on if everyone let her, if she’d let herself, if she could bear to be open and honest in her love in front of god and everyone. Better not to take the focus off of Wen Qing though. It is her birthday after all.
Jiang Cheng holds up her beer to toast, everyone else following suit. Everyone coming together for Wen Qing like this leaves her with a warm feeling in her chest and maybe a tiny little lump in her throat.
When she sits back down, Wei Ying elbows her in the side again. “I told you,” he whispers. She ignores him.
On her other side, Wen Qing nudges her more gently. “I think the ‘best girlfriend anyone could ask for’ might be you, actually.” She smiles at Jiang Cheng, wet-eyed.
Jiang Cheng can’t help but smile back. She takes Wen Qing’s hand and gives it a squeeze, trying not to tear up herself. She told herself she wouldn’t cry in front of everyone today, but it doesn’t matter too much. A lot of stuff is still up in the air. Jiang Cheng hasn't chosen a name or even decided if she wants to change it, but she doesn't mind.
She’s happy. Yeah, she could say her life’s pretty good right now.