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Zhang Ping stood up, dusting off his robes and walked home with his head held high. His jaw clenched tightly, ignoring the stinging cut on his lip as the wind picked up. The wound was minor but the ache in his heart was heavy, a boulder lodged deeply in his chest making it hard to breathe properly. Every step taken was laden with increasing embarrassment and the weight of utter humiliation followed him through the door, up the stairs, and finally settled under the blankets with him. Melancholy and sorrow came quite easily despite his outwardly blasé demeanor.
He had never been anyone’s priority ever since he settled in the capital, and he understood that; accepted it, even. Rising early every morning and working at his noodle stand with Chen Chou was enough. It was adequate. But throwing himself in investigating the royal court politics and secrecy allowed him the luxury of feeling useful. His obstinate nature and inquisitive conduct was considered an asset to Lan-daren. Perhaps it even earned a bit of respect from Wang-daren.
But that’s all he had to offer.
And something as simple as his conviction would eventually lose its value.
The heavy blankets lost its usual warmth that evening, and Zhang Ping curled into himself futilely seeking any semblance of comfort. It’s a strange notion feeling unwelcomed in your own home, in your own bed. His limbs suddenly felt too long and clumsy, the indentation on the mattress no longer cradling his body properly despite being molded perfectly to his frame.
He thought long and hard about what it meant to be so dear to someone they would easily disregard another potential life lost. What’s wrong and what’s right converge into dull grey. Morality was a fickle thing when it came to something remarkably precious, and for the first time Zhang Ping longed to be cherished to that extent; to be protected so fiercely, to know he was just as valuable.
Slumber was a flighty creature. Dawn was nearing by the time he fell asleep.
****
Begging wasn’t a trait Mowen inherently possessed. He walked away enough times to recognize some things are better left unresolved and it hadn’t troubled him before. Numerous situations were out of his control and he had been okay to let sleeping dogs lie. Certainly, official investigations were the exception. It’s his job after all, and he’s quite good at it. But personal squabbles were all eventually out of sight, out of mind.
His hands noticeably shook as he put the tea cup down with a rattle.
“I didn't mean it.” He watched Peizhi pace back and forth, eyes blank and face unreadable.
“I didn’t mean it. Not like that.” Mowen swiftly stood up, breathing loud and hard through his nose, almost knocking over the low table. “Never like that.”
Peizhi stopped mid stride in the middle of the room, his stone face chipping around the edges.
“I know.” Peizhi’s eyes softened. “I know, Mowen.”
“He’s too brash,” Mowen tried to clarify, voice rising as he continued. “He jumps head first without thinking, putting you in danger. Putting himself in danger. He invites peril with every corner he turns. There’s no liability and I need him to understand this.”
Peizhi stepped nearer, footsteps silent as if approaching a wounded animal. He reached out to placate him, and Mowen recoiled. Their hands clasped anyway.
“You and I, we grew up together. You know what I’m thinking and how I operate. You even know my moods by the froth in the tea I make.” Peizhi rubbed his thumbs over Mowen’s knuckles, feeling the familiar ridges as he proceeded. “Zhang Ping, he’s reckless. He is as impetuous as you say. But he’s so very sweet, Mowen. His heart is vast and he is easily hurt. I’ll never risk my life callously; I’m too selfish. But for Zhang Ping, for Ping’er, I’ll raze the endless southern mountains, just as I will do for you. So, tell me. What is it you’re really trying to say?”
Mowen took a deep, shaky breath, anxiously getting his thoughts in order.
“He is treasured and worth more than…,” Mowen cleared his throat, “…more than anything I can possibly offer.” He lowered his head, gently squeezing Peizhi’s hands. “He’s too careless about his own wellbeing and I’m afraid. I’m afraid there will come a time that I can’t save him. That we can’t protect him like he deserves. I don’t know why I punished him earlier. I don’t. But I regret it immediately. He is just as worthy and cherished.”
“Hmmm,” Peizhi failed to hide his small smile and stood even closer. “Anything else?”
“I’m smitten.”
“Good. Go to him when the sun rises.”
****
Zhang Ping startled awake and sat up abruptly with his heart beating in his throat. The heavy footsteps paused closer to his bed. He rubbed his eyes harshly trying to see who was in his house, vision too blurry from the sudden rousing as the panic rose from his chest. His hands fumbled about trying to find anything in the vicinity he could use to defend himself. He was told by the Court they had one more day to bring in evidence, so why was someone already here to drag him in?
He was frightened, terror suddenly seizing his entire body. Strong arms wrapped around him as he fought to get away, his bedding tangling at his feet. The struggle lasted long enough for his trepidation to turn into sobs, his entire body shaking from the onslaught of fear and anguish. He couldn’t even save himself, how was he going to save Lan-daren?
“Zhang Ping.” Mowen tried to keep his voice down to de-escalate, arms tightening a bit more around the thrashing man. “Zhang Ping, it’s me.”
“…Lan-daren. He has to escape,” Zhang Ping whispered to himself as he continued the losing battle of being detained. “…Has to be safe. Get to a safe place.”
Realization dawned on Mowen. Zhang Ping was trying to sacrifice himself to bide enough time for Peizhi to get to safety. He bent down closer, lips faintly brushing against the shell of his ear and shushing him softly, loosening one arm just enough to rub up and down his back.
“Ping’er.”
Zhang Ping ceased pushing and tried to blink away the tears, hearing his name called so tenderly in a deep, rich voice. His breathing was still too rapid, heart still beating too quickly. Shutting his eyes firmly, he allowed the darkness to block the hysteria. Time seemed to stand still in the house but the sun continued to climb higher settling its warm beams on his face. He tensed with eyes still closed and deliberately shied away.
Silence enveloped the room with the occasional bouts of shaky exhales. Mowen pulled back, eyes roaming from Zhang Ping’s ankles to his face tucked against his shoulder, making sure there were no injuries during the scuffle. He honed in on the bruised lips, the wound still red and angry. Mowen truly hated himself.
Self-assurance always came naturally to him. Growing up in the Court, Mowen never questioned his future. His life was relatively cut and dry, knowing what was expected of him and what he expected from himself. He’s sharp and astute, bold in a way his position in life had granted. Meeting Peizhi was like coming home.
He never anticipated meeting Zhang Ping was like wading through the currents to finally reach the shore.
The bed dipped as Zhang Ping shifted, and Mowen gently cupped the back of his head bringing it to the crook of his neck.
“I want to apologize. But I can’t bear you looking at me.” He felt greedy requesting it but the guilt was too tangible for him to overlook.
“I’m listening.”
“Zhang Ping,” Mowen whispered. “I’m sorry. If sorrys are infinite, there still won’t be sufficient time for me on this Earth to unravel what I’ve done. You are cherished, needed in ways that cannot be defined. Your life, your being, is just as precious, Ping’er. Believe me.”
He paused, chewing on his lips knowing his apology could be justifiably rejected.
“Even if you refuse to grant me forgiveness, please allow me to remain near you.”
It’s quiet in the little house, the feeling of tranquility rather misplaced. He waited and Zhang Ping stayed in his embrace.
“Is Lan-daren safe?”
“He is.”
“We should prob— “
“You are, too,” Mowen interrupted. “You’re safe with me. With us.” He reached down, thumb brushing over Zhang Ping’s wound, his lips still so rosy and inviting. “If you’ll permit me to offer you comfort.”
“I’m still incredibly angry with you.” Zhang Ping surged forward and Mowen kissed him soft and sweet, careful of the injury; their lips slotting together perfectly as if they kissed lifetimes before.
Mowen moved to kiss Zhang Ping’s forehead, ghosting down his nose and to each cheek; his lips dancing over his jaw as his eyes focused on his inner robe sliding down revealing smooth, unblemished skin of his shoulder. He jolted out of the trance as Zhang Ping steered him back face to face.
“You cannot treat people like that.” Zhang Ping swallowed the lump in his throat. “You will not treat me like that again, Wang-daren.”
“I won’t.” He hauled Zhang Ping impossibly closer, resting his forehead against his. “I promise. It will never happen.” His hands unconsciously slid from his back to his hips, such slender waist made impeccably for his hands. Easily imagining another pair of hands joining his, he descended on the bare shoulder, nipping and kissing up to his neck until he reached behind his ear and mouthing at the soft skin incessantly like a starved man.
“You’re safe with me, too.” Zhang Ping shuddered, holding Mowen tighter against himself.
“Wang-daren, do you hear me? You and Lan-daren are safe with me, too.”