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There was a chill in the air. Winter had just arrived. Normally, Meng Yao would take some time to enjoy it. Unfortunately, after the day he had, it was the last thing on his mind.
He was home late that evening as he stumbled from the bus stop up to his apartment building's front steps. Traffic had been terrible. He’d been stuck on the usually half-hour bus ride for thrice that time. His feet ached from how long he’d been on them that day. His hips and ribs ached, old injuries from when he’d fallen—been pushed, there was a difference—down the stairs. His stomach ached from hunger. His head ached from all the thinking he’d had to do that day. It was all he could do to stand straight as he riffled through his pockets to find--
Well. his keys weren't there. Sighing, he put his hand in his pocket to grab his phone. He lifted it to his face…
Only to see that his phone was verging on dying.
This time he swore as he unlocked it. He had one shot to get this right. He flicked a cold-numbed thumb across the screen, navigating to his contacts. Which of his boyfriends was likelier to be home? That didn’t help him narrow it down. Lan Xichen wasn’t on tour at the moment, and Nie Mingjue worked from home. It would come down to which one would answer his phone faster.
Which one cares more about me, his brain supplied before he could stop the thought. There was really only one answer to that, then. Nie Mingjue tolerated him. Nie Mingjue was there to love Xichen. That Xichen’s heart belonged to someone else was inconvenient for Mingjue, Meng Yao knew. He was nice enough, of course. He didn’t want Xichen to be upset. But he rarely expressed himself to Meng Yao the way Xichen did. He never initated affection, not the way Xichen did. Meng Yao could think of no other logical conclusion. He pressed his thumb down to call Xichen.
The phone rang five times and then went over to voicemail. “ This is Lan Xichen. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you shortly. Have a pleasant day.”
He blinked. That wouldn’t do. He ended the call and started again. The phone rang again, then once again went to voicemail. Perhaps Xichen was showering. Meng Yao navigated back to the contact window. Before he could press his thumb down on Nie Mingjue’s contact, his screen went black. He was out of battery.
Meng Yao felt like the last string that had been holding him up had been cut. He sank down hard onto the front step. It had been a hell of a day from start to finish. It had just gotten even worse. He had no way of contacting his boyfriends. He was going to be out here, sitting on cold concrete, tired and aching, until one bothered looking outside. Maybe they’d come out in the morning when the mail was due to come by. Part of Meng Yao’s brain, the part that hadn’t endured gridlock and pain and wasn’t consumed with loathing at his own poor planning, tried to remind him he was being ridiculous. It was mostly drowned out. He huddled in on himself, resting his briefcase on his lap and pulling his knees as close to his chest as he could. The night was cold. It wasn’t supposed to be windy, but he had no way of checking to see whether the weather was due to change. It could rain. It could snow. No one would hear him if he knocked, not with his living on the third floor and him not knowing his downstairs neighbors. He was doomed to be out here all night. Perhaps he should stand and trudge over to the nearest convenience store, so that he could get something to eat and call and—
“Meng Yao!”
He looked up from his briefcase to see that the door had, inexplicably opened. Before he could fully comprehend what was going on, he was helped to his feet, someone took his briefcase, and he was led up the stairs.
“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, darling, I’m sorry,” Lan Xichen was babbling rather close to him, keeping his arm around his waist. “I was cooking dinner, I didn’t see, A-Jue noticed you called, have you been out here long?”
He shook his head, teeth chattering. Paradoxically, he felt colder now, standing inside and halfway up to his apartment, than he’d felt when outside.
“Good.” Xichen kept leading him. “Oh, darling, we were starting to worry about you.”
“Traffic bad?” Mingjue asked when he could get a word in edgewise. Right. Mingjue was holding his briefcase. “The news said there were a few accidents, otherwise we would’ve gone out to check on you sooner.”
“Yeah,” he managed to get out between chatters. “T-t-terrible.”
“You must be so tired,” fussed Xichen as Mingjue opened the door to their apartment. When had they made it up there? Meng Yao was more out of it than he thought. “Here, A-Jue, get his things—“ Xichen helped him out of his jacket, then out of his shoes. “Clothes off or on?”
“…on,” Meng Yao decided, mind still a bit behind.
Xichen nodded, then stepped over to the couch, returning to Meng Yao’s side with a large, gray blanket.
“You’ve had a long day, love,” he said softly as he draped him in it. “How about you rest for a while? I’ll bring you dinner when it’s ready.” He kissed Meng Yao low on his forehead, right where his brows met. Meng Yao melted into the touch. “That’s right, love. That’s right.” Xichen half-led, half-carried him over to the couch, where he laid him out in a reclining position, head on a pillow and body tucked carefully into the side. It was a firm couch, stuffed well, perfect for Meng Yao’s back on his painful days.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“Of course, love. Now let me finish dinner.” Xichen glided out, and Meng Yao was for the moment alone.
For the moment. Not even half a minute later, Mingjue emerged from their bedroom.
“I’ve been told I’m good at massages,” Mingjue informed him. “Want me to give you one?”
Meng Yao blinked up at him, pain-dulled brain struggling to catch up to what he’d just heard. Had Nie Mingjue just offered comfort? On his own?
“I can rub your head,” he offered. “You’re tensing like you do when you’ve got a headache.”
“I do have a headache,” Meng Yao said.
“Long day, huh.” Mingjue sat down at the edge of the couch, close to Meng Yao. “Let me help you.”
Meng Yao might normally protest harder, but his heart was too worn down from a long day to turn down affection. He nodded.
“Right.” Mingjue lifted Meng Yao’s head slightly from the pillow, sat down where it had been, and rested Meng Yao’s head in his lap. His thighs were warm and a bit softer than Meng Yao expected them to be. They were nice to rest his head on. He let out a small sigh of relief as the pain eased by a degree.
Mingjue pressed his fingers down on his forehead and began slowly moving them in circles. His hand was large and just as warm as his thighs were, just as soothing against Meng Yao’s aches. His touch was firm but not painfully so, pressure easing the throbbing already. It felt wonderful. Meng Yao’s eyes slid shut. Mingjue’s hand moved slowly, rubbing his temples, the crown of his head, then easing to the back of his neck, never moving too slowly nor too quickly.
I could get used to this, thought Meng Yao wistfully, then batted the thought away. He couldn’t get used to it, actually. Mingjue just tolerated him. He was helping tonight because he felt bad. That was it. That had to be it.
“Why didn’t you call me?” Mingjue asked. Meng Yao was roused from his thoughts. Mingjue’s hand hadn’t moved from the back of Meng Yao’s head. He kept it there, cupping the base of his skull gently.
“What?” Meng Yao asked. His head hurt less, but the massage had left him feeling comfortably drowsy.
“Why didn’t you call me?” Mingjue echoed. “You know Xichen silences his phone when he’s practicing. If he hadn’t been cooking, neither of us would’ve known you were out there for a while.”
“Why would I call you?” Meng Yao asked.
With his eyes closed, he practically heard the gears in Mingjue’s head turning.
“Because I would’ve answered?” Mingjue sounded confused. “You think I wouldn’t? You’re on emergency bypass in my phone, same as Xichen and Huaisang.”
“I am?”
“We’re dating. Why wouldn’t you be?”
…what? What?
“Meng Yao.” Mingjue’s tone suddenly turned sterner. “Did you think I wouldn’t care?”
He sighed. He’d never really talked about his relationship with Mingjue. It wasn’t polite to being such things up. His mother had raised him with impeccable manners. He wasn’t sure what the conversation would’ve been like anyway. Mingjue had a temper. He might be offended to have their arrangement questioned, especially when it was working out as well as it did.
“Meng Yao.”
“…I wasn’t sure,” he admitted, the combination of the warmth and his own drowsiness and Mingjue’s continued prodding loosening his tongue. “I know you just tolerate me.”
“Tolerate you?”
“Yes. You want Xichen to be happy. I make him happy. You wouldn’t have sought me out independently.”
“Because you joined our relationship,” Mingjue sounded, thankfully not angry, but confused as hell. “Do you think I don’t want you here?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Meng Yao admitted. “But neither would you mind if I were gone.”
“I would mind very much, actually.” A bit of annoyance snuck into his tone. His grip tightened momentarily on Meng Yao’s head, as if involuntarily. “I like having you around.”
“Do you?”
“Why else would I have put all your stuff away and massaged your head? Fuck’s sake, Meng Yao, do you need it in writing?”
Meng Yao finally blinked his eyes open. Mingjue was looking down at him, brow furrowed in confusion and perhaps a bit of frustration.
“I’m sorry,” he said contritely. “I’ll call you next time. You don’t need to worry.”
“Too late. I’m very worried.” Mingjue bit his lip. “Look, I thought you knew. You clearly didn’t, so I fucked up. What can I do?”
Meng Yao shrugged. “You didn’t give out affection much.”
“Because I didn’t think you wanted it! You never asked.”
Meng Yao suddenly felt very stupid. Could it really have been that simple?
“So you mean if I asked you to hold me right now,” he said, feeling something odd flutter in his chest, “you would.”
“Immediately.”
“Then would you?”
Mingjue said nothing, just lifted the still-blanket-cocooned Meng Yao into his arms, then pulled him against his chest. His body was warm and comfortable against Meng Yao’s own tired, aching one. He held on tightly, but not enough to restrict Meng Yao’s breathing.
“This okay?” Mingjue’s voice rumbled in his chest against Meng Yao’s ear. It was very pleasant.
“Perfect.” Meng Yao felt tension he hadn’t even known he was carrying ease.
“I’ll hold you like this whenever you want, you know. Just ask.”
“Alright.”
“Or I’ll ask you.”
Meng Yao smiled and nestled his head in closer. “Even better.”
“Is our A-Yao feeling better?” Xichen’s voice asked from the kitchen door. It was a testament to Meng Yao’s level of comfort that he didn’t turn his head from Mingjue’s chest. A few minutes ago, he probably would’ve.
“Much,” said Mingjue. “Dinner ready?”
“It is,” Xichen said. “I can bring it, or—“
“I can wait,” said Meng Yao. “I’d rather cuddle a little longer. Come over here, Xichen.”
Xichen walked back over to the couch, draping himself carefully on Meng Yao’s other side, kissing his hair and wrapping an arm around his body.
“Dinner will get cold,” he said without any real reprimand.
“Let it,” said Mingjue. “Meng Yao needs to know how much he’s loved.”
“Well, I can do that.” He beamed and settled in, chin on Meng Yao’s head. Meng Yao wasn’t sure how long the three stayed there, curled up together and basking in one another’s warmth. In the end, it was long enough.
The day hadn’t been too bad after all. At least, it was ending nicely.