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what is the point of this, Jiaju thinks, not looking up, a rattle shaken from his throat as he's dumped into a chair.
They want information, as if it makes any fucking difference. It's true, he supposes, there are numbers, names still unknown to them. He had burned a lot of those things. The cops all seem to think they can push him to remember them, though, as if a few bit players' identities matter at all. He might have cared, before, about living, reducing a sentence - but never enough to consider giving up the one thing he'd held closest. He's always had his priorities straight.
The interrogators sit silently.
Now - he doesn't remember much detail now, and it's over. It's all over, now, anyway - what difference does it make?
His ears ringing in the quiet room, Jiaju finally lifts his head to look at whoever has come in today to try to squeeze blood from a stone. Someone new, and - Zheng Bei's chemist. He looks awful.
A thought occurs, a hot thump rising into Jiaju's throat.
He croaks, "Is he dead?"
Gu Yiran and the other cop stare, unresponsive.
"Zheng Bei," he enunciates for these idiots, "is he dead?" Jiaju can feel his raw eyes widen; the cops will see his bared teeth if not the hope in his eyes. The chemist's body jerks; he twitches as if to rise up from the chair, his face hardening, and is halted by the other one clamping a hand on his forearm.
Gu Yiran is too shaken to speak, it seems, and Jiaju's heart sparks, alive, for the first time in days, for just a moment. Just enough time to breathe before the other responds, a little defiantly, "No. No, he's alive, they're both still alive," throwing in Zhao Xiaoguang, too, just to make sure Jiaju knows they failed.
ah, that was a mistake.
Of course he's alive, the relentless fuck. Jiaju feels the spark fade again, the numb settling back in.
Of course Zheng Bei survived. He was never going to simply disappear and stop ruining lives.
They'd just gotten here, after years of struggling. They were free, together, their fates finally their own. All shattered with the strange look on Xiaohai's face when he showed up off schedule in the middle of the night. The gut feeling Jiaju had disregarded, a wish, now, that he'd just grabbed Xiaohai and fled, somehow, left the country with nothing but their lives.
He should have known. Zheng Bei is a fucking curse.
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-summer 1990-
"Lele ge?"
There's blood spreading over cake frosting, its surface tension dispersed.
It might be nauseating, but Jiaju's head is spinning, empty, above their tangled arms while the jarring, disparate pieces of the moment force themselves together.
He's using all his strength to hold them still, wrapped around a wiry, heaving shoulder. Lele's knuckles are white, hand hard as stone around the knife handle. Jiaju pries Lele's fingers from it so he can drop it and stare, murmuring, "Where did you come from?"
Lele just looks up at him, gaze drifting in apparent pain. He shudders and shifts a little in Jiaju's hold, sinking heavily to the filthy tiles.
"...Jiaju," Lele's grip on his arm tightens. "I couldn't let him hurt you anymore."
anymore?
"How long have you been here?"
He suddenly realizes the room's gone quiet, his foster father's pained grunting the only background noise. His friends, other patrons are all watching them nervously; the smell of spilled beer, cake frosting, fresh blood in Lele's hair all come back in a rush. Lele looks older - worn, somehow, and injured. But his eyes are still bright, unmistakable.
"Jiaju, I'll be in trouble for this. I'm sorry - I won't be able to stay for now," Lele's eyes saying keep you safe. Jiaju hears himself laugh weakly, still shocked. "Go away for school, someplace different. I'll find you when I get out." He squirms a little, right arm snaking up from between them to push a thick envelope against Jiaju's stomach. It crinkles over the sound of police yelling their way into the building.
"Do well on the test," he says, as if that's what Jiaju should be concerned with right now. As if Lele's gaze, sharp enough to feel, isn't a linchpin fixing him in place while the world reorders itself around them.
Lele thumps the paper against Jiaju's chest just before the cops loom, barking, hauling them both up. Out of the corner of his eye, arms wave excitedly- his friends, the crowd are telling the police what they saw. His foster father is rolled onto a gurney and carried out, repulsive voice still moaning. The envelope slips and Jiaju barely catches it; strangers' hands clamped on his arms push toward the door to take him along for questioning. He doesn't take his eyes off Lele until they're separated into different cars.
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- summer 1995 -
The sun is scorching, the idling cab behind Jiaju radiating even more heat as he picks at his damp clothes, trying to stay focused on breathing slowly and evenly. His stomach lurches when the prison gate suddenly squeals open, figures moving in the gap. Nerves are dancing in his guts - it's been five years since he's been here, just that one time.
-
The first thing Jiaju noticed when the guards walked Lele in was a clumsy bandage perched on his head, his hair crudely shaven off. Big eyes trained on Jiaju, a little incongruous in a much older face. Jiaju let himself take in the sight for just a moment before asking the thing that had been looping in his head for weeks, now, while he'd waited to finally be allowed in. "Lele ge, why - what were you doing in Zhanzhou? How long were you here?"
Lele just sat there, smiling at him, leaning forward but still far from the steel mesh separating them.
"I have a different name now. Xiaohai. Jiang Xiaohai. It'd just been too long, Jiaju, " he says, falsely casual, " I wanted to see how you were doing."
"That's it? You just decided, like that, to come all the way down - were you still up north?"
Lele ge - no, Xiaohai - nodded like it was really that simple. "I had time, money for the train ride," he said, shrugging. "My godfather's contacts helped me find you." He smiled wider, eyes squinting.
-
Now, finally, his sentence up, Xiaohai steps out of the gate with a couple of others. He's the shortest in the group, but he looks older, yet again - bigger, healthier, somehow, not swimming in his clothes like he was that day. Hair still shaved short. Jiaju's mouth twitches up in a nervous smile and he glances quickly, looking for injuries. Wondering, as he has every single day, how difficult it might have been for him in there, wondering if he'll still want to talk to Jiaju after all this. He hesitantly steps forward, and at the same time someone else who's also been parked nearby, waiting, approaches, getting there first.
"Xiaohai-" the man says flatly, handing him a small gym bag. "Qin Laoban sent you spare clothes, some money. I have tickets for the train back tonight."
But Xiaohai ignores him, looking only at Jiaju. He's beaming, actually, a grin nearly splitting his face. He reaches out to take the bag, but barely spares a glance at the other man.
"Jiaju, you're here."
Jiaju huffs, "Of course I am." how could he not be?
-
He sat there staring at Lele through the barrier, trying to wrap his head around it. "When? When did you find me?"
"About a month ago, maybe." Lele - Xiaohai - squinted at him again, a newer habit maybe, his head tilted slightly. "Jiaju, you got so tall - and when did you start wearing glasses?"
Jiaju snorted softly, amused despite himself. "Why didn't you just tell me you were here?"
Xiaohai shrugged again, saying, "I didn't want to cause any problems. Wasn't sure how your situation was going, didn't want to make things harder for you."
Jiaju didn't understand - how could his reappearing have been bad? When would that ever happen? Although Jiaju could probably have tried to keep him away from his foster father if he'd known.
-
The sun beats down on them; Xiaohai finally looks at this other person. "I'll thank Godfather properly when I get back, but I'm going to stay a little longer. We have a lot of catching up to do," he says, pointing with his chin, indicating Jiaju. The guy just nods, unbothered, drops his cigarette and steps on it before walking back to his car and driving off.
-
Visits were limited to 30 minutes; Xiaohai distracted him by asking questions about school, where he thought he'd go, hoping the money would help (Jiaju didn't want to use his overly generous gift, especially not knowing whether he could really spare it), and suddenly their time was up. He didn't even get the chance to ask if Xiaohai's head injury was being properly treated, or make it back to visit again when a last-minute acceptance at a school in France had him scrambling to be ready in time.
-
The ride home is short; Jiaju feels like he spends most of it staring in disbelief at Xiaohai who is always looking back, grinning broadly. They had managed to send a few letters over the years since he'd been locked up, but the distance and unreliability of prison mail handling meant they'd take ages to go through, if they ever did at all. So they've barely spoken since he left - still barely spoken since they were separated as kids. And somehow they're right here in the back of a cab, now, sweaty knees splayed to press together over the hump. Jiaju is still nervous, but before he has a chance to speak Xiaohai asks, "You still live here?"
He nods, thinking about the weeks he's been back, finding work and a one-room rental, settling in and being too anxious to return to the prison, chickening out to wait for Xiaohai to be released. "I stayed abroad to work for a while after graduating, but yes, I came back." for you, he doesn't say. "I'm sorry I didn't visit sooner."
Xiaohai reaches out with a hand on his shoulder. "Nothing to apologize for. You were here waiting for me when I got out." He squeezes, then shoves playfully, grinning wide enough to show teeth. Jiaju sways. The cab driver could be taking them in circles around the city and he'd have no idea, he hasn't spared a glance out any of the windows.
"I wanted to," he admits, "visit sooner. But I wasn't sure if - whether after so much time in prison because of my foster father, you might resent me."
Xiaohai's smile collapses and he pulls Jiaju sideways, twisting himself to be able to wrap around him in a hug, squeezing surprisingly hard. His voice rumbles in Jiaju's shoulder, "Never. Do you hear me?"
His eyes suddenly burning, Jiaju presses his face into Xiaohai's neck and nods instead of trying to respond in a voice that might wobble.
The car bumps and rocks them through a turn; Xiaohai finally releases him, still staring intently. "What are you doing for work, then?"
Jiaju shrugs. "Scraping together a little trading business - I have a few connections from school. It's sporadic. I've just been doing odd jobs otherwise, but rent's cheap here at least. What about you?"
"Going back up to Halan. My godfather, sister are there. Going to start a business."
The ride finally ends; Jiaju pays and walks them up a flight of rusty stairs to his tiny apartment. The hollow steel door groans as he opens it, continuing, "Godfather? Sister? You lived in Halan all those years?"
Xiaohai nods, eyes roaming the small room and its one window, writing desk, rickety cabinet, narrow bed. "Got beat up pretty badly the winter we lost touch. Qin Yi was out walking, found me before I froze to death and took me in, set me up with a family, some acquaintances of his."
Jiaju's heart clenches at the thought that Xiaohai had been through it again, being stranded outside and nearly freezing, again, and Jiaju hadn't even known. He takes a new towel (bought yesterday) from the cabinet and turns back to pull Xiaohai into another hug, whispering, "I'm sorry I wasn't there to help," then offers to show him to the building's bathrooms.
Jiaju is painfully happy. He wants to drop to the floor and cry. Xiaohai might see it in his eyes, or the way his hands are still shaking a little, but he continues, "The mother died early, the father was no good. A drunk, abusive. But their daughter - we're close. She's my sister now. She moved down this way to work, around Huazhou, and I didn't need to put up with staying there anymore, so I came down to find you a little while after that. She wasn't going to come back up while her father was still around, but he died, so she's back home now."
Talk of Halan filling his head with bleak, cold memories; Jiaju asks, "Did you ever run into any of the others?"
Xiaohai shakes his head. "Nope, just the two of us." He slips behind the vinyl curtain and showers quickly, Jiaju washing the sweat from his own face and arms while he waits.
They go out for food; Xiaohai insists on paying and Jiaju can't talk him out of it. The sun finally sets and the air starts to cool; full on grilled meat and iced melon, they stay outside to drift around in the growing crowds and find a bench to sit on and drink cheap beer. Jiaju tells him a little about France, but, still feeling negligent, drops what feels like small talk to stare at the bottle in his hands as he picks at it with his thumbnail, saying, "I never forgot about you. Not just these 5 years, but since the beginning. Once I went back to school it was much more difficult to get away to try to find you at the market. Eventually I went to the address you'd given me - but they said you were already gone."
Xiaohai sighs and leans, bumping shoulders with him. "I'm sorry I left you hanging like that. Things weren't good at that house, and after Qin Yi found me the Jiangs kept me busy, but I should have found you sooner." The way Xiaohai turns and looks at him makes something in his chest hurt.
Jiaju's hands have finally steadied, but now his voice creaks when he says, "You don't ever need to apologize to me for anything, ever, okay?"
Xiaohai leans into him, their arms pressing together still sticky-warm, and he finally starts to relax into the possibility that Xiaohai understands, and maybe never stopped thinking about him, either. The idea has been in the back of his mind for hours, now, and finally he feels brave enough to say it aloud. "Xiaohai, take me with you."
Xiaohai turns and stares; Jiaju smiles more a little confidently than he feels. "You're out, heading back north. I don't need to live here, I don't want to live here. There's nothing for me here." I see home, a future in you, he hears himself think. "It's too damned hot, anyway. Please let me go with you. I could help."
"Help?"
"With your business."
Xiaohai's mouth hangs open for several seconds; he looks like something difficult is making its way through his head, his gaze drifting to skim over the crowded street. Is he not sure whether he wants Jiaju around?
Xiaohai blinks, nodding slowly at first, then more resolutely. "Okay. Yes, come with me," he says while that vanished smile stutters back to life on his face. "You won't have to worry about food or a place to live- my family will help me get resettled."
Jiaju tries not to be apprehensive about the indecision he saw in Xiaohai's eyes, but soon he's exhausted anyway and it drifts from the front of his mind, after the sleepless night and the heat and the beer, Xiaohai adorably tipsy. His heart refuses to settle in his chest as they stumble home, Xiaohai takes the keys from him, fumbles them, and they laugh at each other - once they finally succeed at opening the damned thing Jiaju turns the fan on, doesn't bother with the light. "The bed is small, I hope you don't mind."
"With what we've lived through? This is fine, Jiaju, it's more than fine."
On their sides, stripped to boxers, they settle close but not quite touching, still sticky in the heat, the thin sheet tangled around their feet. Jiaju realizes he'd almost forgotten they'd lived like this once, for a short time. Summer in the tin house, all the windows open, insects freely coming and going. Before that winter.
Xiaohai rolls over to face Jiaju, who can just see by the street lights outside the bare window. Still smiling, he murmurs, "Thank you for coming to get me today," and seems to want to say more but his eyes flutter heavily. He can't have had any alcohol for years, so even the thin beer they drank must be winning the battle - he passes out quickly. Jiaju, who barely slept last night, might be more tired than drunk but can't get himself to drift off in this tiny, barely familiar bed full of Xiaohai, close enough he can feel him breathing, overwhelmed by the beer and the heat and giddiness, a different kind of warmth - affection for this person he thought he'd lost years ago, and feelings resurfacing from old memories of when they were last together like this.
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- winter 1979 -
The youngest of too many, more of a burden than anything, most familiar with being invisible - Jiaju doesn't know what it's like to be relied on. Being taken to the tin house isn't even much of a change; at least here he doesn't feel the guilt of being another mouth to feed, and so he's never bothered counting the days, unlike a few of the others. He misses school, but that was a luxury, maybe. And here at least he's possibly more useful, if not cared for. All he knows is that his second spring is coming when all hell breaks loose because of the new kid, an oversized idiot - and after a full day out searching the adults come back exhausted but still in a rage, dropping a body like a frozen wad of clothes on the floor and kicking it before walking off to argue about something that sounds urgent.
Jiaju stands there, frozen in his tracks. The little heap lying on the tiles - it's Lele ge. He might be dead. If not, he's probably dying.
It takes a moment for Jiaju to realize no one else has moved to help, either. He's never known how to be the first in a crowd to do anything, but doesn't anyone care? Lele ge has always been nice to him, never treating him like competition for food or anything else - always bright, even from a distance. He's never mean to anyone. Are the others just too scared to go near and risk the adults' anger being transferred to them? A few have already decided to ignore the situation entirely, leaving the room.
And where's that idiot, Zheng Bei? Did they kill him? Did he manage to escape?
Jiaju's head spins; something in him quietly breaks apart and he drops to the floor to peel off Lele's wet coat and shoes, making sure he's still breathing, managing to drag him a little closer to the coal stove where the floor's not as cold. He balls up one of the heating stones from the stove in his own jacket, tucks it against Lele's stomach, and pulls his legs in so he's curled around it.
A glance around the room determines that everyone else has disappeared completely. Jiaju has never taken care of anyone, has no idea how to, but it's obvious that Lele needs to get dry and warm, instinct that without other options, Jiaju needs to curl himself around behind him. He's frozen, clothes still damp in places, and although he's taller than Jiaju he feels so thin, so fragile it's scary - but Jiaju can feel the heat from the stone spreading through his coat. He holds it close to Lele's thin belly, which just barely moves under his arm as he breathes slowly, miraculously.
Jiaju gets away with this for a while, but before long heavy footsteps thud close and he's kicked from behind, pain ripping up his side and through his guts while Pockmark shouts. Hoping they haven't had time to get too drunk yet, he yells back as well as he can through searing back pain, "Zheng Bei forced him to go! It wasn't his fault! He was always good before, wasn't he?"
Pockmark snarls,"Oh, so that little shit made him hit me in the back of the head, too, did he? Fine, keep him alive if you can. If you can't you'll be digging his grave with your bare hands."
They're ignored for the rest of the day while the adults bark orders and the others carry their few things out into the back of a half-rusted-out van, Jiaju peeled away and Lele hauled up like a rag doll, tossed in on top of the boxes and piles of clothing and blankets. Jiaju hurries in behind him to try to shift Lele into a comfortable position away from the freezing metal walls, relieved when the others crowd in and the space warms up a little.
The move goes by in a blur, Jiaju completely preoccupied with keeping Lele warm. That night, Pockmark gives Jiaju enough food for one, staring down at him like he wants an excuse to beat him bloody. Jiaju doesn't risk it, rushing back silently to the dark bedroom. Lele barely stirs, his eyes fluttering, but he can swallow, weakly - Jiaju is so relieved he doesn't even think to keep any food for himself.
The next stretch of time is peaceful, the search for new locations to beg taking their keepers a full day - Jiaju does nothing but help Lele eat and drink, little bits at a time. He wakes up more easily, now, but barely responds, eyes dull, even more silent than when he's asleep. It scares Jiaju and he asks what happened, if he's badly hurt - Lele ge only responds with a quiet, "He left me behind." His eyes flutter over a cold spoon of congee, and he tells Jiaju that he's Lele's last friend. Jiaju's 10-year old heart breaks; he imagines standing over Lele like this, weak, helpless, lying in the cold like Zheng Bei must have, and he's so distraught at the thought of just walking away from him like this that it makes him cry. Lele whimpers and twitches in dreams, mumbling, and when Jiaju makes out a -gege among his sad little noises, he's angrier than he thinks he's ever been. How could Zheng Bei do this to him? How did he just leave him out in the snow and ice after being given his loyalty, his devotion? He's so mad he barely feels the cold at his back all night, and doesn't sleep either, listening to Lele struggling through a nightmare, still clinging to Jiaju in his sleep.
In the morning when he's helping Lele, still weak, walk back from the toilet, Pockmark stomps over and winds up to whack Jiaju. Lele steps around him faster than he's moved in days and gets knocked down instead. While Jiaju picks Lele up from the floor, they're told they're going back to work - they've lost too much money and aren't going to get away with lying around like this after days already wasted. Lele can barely stand, but tries to placate him anyway, promising he'll do his best, begging them to leave Jiaju alone. Jiaju desperately wants to protect him, but all he can do is stand there, holding him up.
The day crawls by, he's so worried, and when Jiaju gets back that night Lele is already there, sprawled out awkwardly, passed out on the mats. Even in the dim light Jiaju sees new scrapes, a long bruise on his neck. He climbs in close under the quilts for warmth and to be able to feel whether Lele is breathing normally. The shaking might be what wakes him - he straightens out and turns around with a little whimpering, and wipes Jiaju's sticky cheeks with his thumbs, trying to comfort him, misunderstanding why Jiaju is upset. He promises he won't let the adults go after Jiaju again, and Jiaju has to shake his head and tell Lele that he's crying because he doesn't want him to be hurt any more. Lele promises he'll be fine, but that night and for days afterward, even though he tries to act cheerful for Jiaju, every night he's hurt somewhere new.
The days pass, though, the adults' anger with them finally dissipating, and when the weather has just started warming they're both sold off to different people. The moment they realize they're going to be separated they promise to try to find each other at the only market street they both know. Later, it feels incredibly lucky when they do manage to meet up a few times - but Lele's new keepers force him to work long hours, and Jiaju's foster father, pressured by family, sends him to school. He has Lele's address, but doesn't have time to check on it for months - when he finally does, they tell him he'd long since run off. And finally their paths simply don't cross anymore.
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- summer 1997 -
"Jiaju, are you home? I need to - I'm coming up."
The call is unexpected, worrying - it's the middle of the night and Xiaohai is supposed to be staying in his basement apartment for three more nights. He almost never deviates from the schedule.
Jiaju throws on a few robes and shuffles out to the monitors in his slippers, hugging a hot water bottle. Cold radiates in from the outer walls; a few silverfish drift on the concrete in the edge of his vision while he waits to see Xiaohai walking stiffly past the cameras.
They've been so careful to make sure no one picks up on either of them, but especially Xiaohai, traveling to the lab - this kind of thing has only happened a few times in the past two years. Most weekends, to make it out here without being noticed, Xiaohai just slips away through crowds out eating and drinking late, lucky ones out enjoying the new 5 day workweek. He's young and single, late nights out would be expected of him, and he has so many friendly acquaintances that no one would think twice about it. Even Yingzi, with a daughter to take care of, wouldn't be likely to pay much attention.
Weekdays together are more sporadic; it's Tuesday. Or more specifically, very early Wednesday morning.
Barely making a sound, Xiaohai comes in, hands stuffed in his pockets. He walks right up as Jiaju says "What's going on," and the look on his face might not be unnerving except that he holds it a long, unsettling stretch of time. Jiaju puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes to snap him out of it, but he doesn't say anything, only swallowing, turning the side and blinking furiously. Jiaju does his best not to envision a thousand horrible hypothetical situations.
Xiaohai finally opens his mouth and makes a strange involuntary little noise, takes a step toward the couch, pauses and says, clipped, "I saw Zheng Bei tonight."
Something flips in Jiaju's stomach, a burning flash in his nerves that spreads fast and cold, the fuzzy feeling of space compressing around, into him.
"Where?" is all he can think to say.
Now Xiaohai sits, barely, on the couch arm, rubs a hand roughly over his face, and explains what happened earlier at the glass factory. "Did he recognize you?" Jiaju asks, feeling like it's a stupid question. How could he not recognize Xiaohai?
Fucking Zheng Bei is a cop. It fucking figures. Why now? Xiaohai lived in this city for years and never ran into the asshole, as far as anyone knows.
"He didn't see me, I don't think. But I might get called in for more questioning."
Jiaju leans down and puts his hand on the nape of Xiaohai's neck, squeezing in what he hopes is a soothing way while forcing eye contact. "Stay away from him," is the one thought Jiaju can make into words right now.
"What if he recognizes me?"
The thought has already shocked Jiaju, and his mind blanks when he tries to come up with a plan. "just... keep your distance. You don't owe him anything."
Xiaohai sighs through his nose, body stiff as a board, Jiaju can feel it through his shoulder - he stares into space for a few moments and wordlessly slides out from under Jiaju's hand to pull a half-empty bottle from the liquor cabinet.
He hopes Xiaohai's bitterness is strong enough to hold up in the living, breathing face of that manipulative prick. He hopes Xiaohai still remembers how awful it was, how he almost died because Zheng Bei dragged him out and abandoned him in the cold.
Heart beating behind his eardrums, he chokes out, "Space heaters are on in the bedroom. Don't stay out here."
The booze is half gone before they even make it to the bed and Jiaju takes it away, scolding; Xiaohai knows he'll just be lying half awake metabolizing the stuff as soon as the buzz wears off. Xiaohai acquiesces, nodding silently in the dim red light of the alarm clock. They pull their outer clothes off quickly in the cold, curling up under a thick pile of blankets, slotting their knees together, Jiaju pulling the blankets in to close a gap behind Xiaohai and smoothing his palm over his side. Xiaohai is dead quiet, unusually still, clinging tightly to Jiaju like he hasn't in a long time, not quite shaking but tense, rubbing his nose against Jiaju's shoulder and sighing, just like he did when they were kids - at least until the booze does its job. Xiaohai's breathing finally smooths out while Jiaju's worry churns restlessly in his gut and he breathes the dry smell of cigarettes and winter in Xiaohai's hair, feels the tension in Xiaohai's muscles finally relax. They've slept like this countless times by now, though it's really only been a couple of years, and he realizes he'd already almost forgotten how it felt to huddle in the dark with a threat lurking outside that he didn't feel capable of protecting them from.
Xiaohai still has nightmares most nights. Jiaju doesn't like thinking about the years he would have slept alone before he got out of prison. The nights he still has to spend in his decoy basement apartment. But they're not in a position to let their guard down, at least not yet. The very first night Xiaohai had come home in Zhanzhou, Jiaju had just barely drifted off and was woken again by twitching, soft whimpering. Then and every night he's been able to since, Jiaju will try to gently wake him from it and then help him back to sleep. They've never talked about it; it's just part of their lives, a given that Xiaohai dreams of terrible things, tense and scared and small, so unlike he is when he's awake, trained, hardened, and so good at defending himself. Jiaju is the only one who knows, the only one Xiaohai, half awake and painfully vulnerable, pulls closer and clings to in the dark while he brings him out of it with soothing hands on his back.
It's always dark down here where they live under the factory, time of day impossible to feel. Jiaju still aches with needing sleep when Xiaohai wakes him up later by climbing on top of him, pressing his face into Jiaju's neck, fingers digging into his sides. It's been maybe two or three hours; the alcohol must have worn off. Jiaju's arms come up automatically to hug, reassuring - Xiaohai seems less tense, now, maybe from the few hours of rest - but his hands feel like they're shaking. Jiaju hums a small questioning noise. are you ok? Xiaohai answers by opening his mouth against Jiaju's neck. He shivers, groaning; it's been a couple of weeks, ages since they touched each other like this. He's always careful, still a little hesitant about initiating anything aggressively, determined not to screw things up by complicating the most important thing in his life with something as selfish as expectations. But now Xiaohai is sliding a hand up under his thin shirt, needing him. Jiaju's body thrums with heat, waking quickly- he brings his fingers to Xiaohai's jaw as he rises up on his elbows, sliding his nose along Jiaju's cheek, locating his mouth and feathering a sigh against it, opening it with his own in a slow kiss. He shifts further above, settling his weight on Jiaju's hips and rocking into him.
They've never talked about this, either. Xiaohai tells him he needs him all the time, though, with everything he does; Jiaju knows maybe he could, other people would- but he doesn't. He doesn't worry about what Xiaohai might call this, what they are, in his own head. He knows he's needed as much as he needs, and that's all that he cares about.
He knew they'd need time for whatever it was when Xiaohai called, earlier. He knows the sun must already be up by now, glad that he's already left a message on the office answering machine, banging out, planning to sleep in. They need each other now, more than ever.
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He isn't immediately sure it's real. Jiaju thinks he's been hallucinating, folding himself into memories, done with the world, though he should have known the world isn't done with him yet. He's woken and hauled into an interrogation room again when, surely, they've realized by now there's no more in him to scrape out. He sags in the chair, ready to drift back into unconsciousness here as well as anywhere, if it will take him. Then the dragging sound of a strange gait interrupts his descent, and even more unreal, more unwanted, the chemist is walking Zheng Bei into the room.
Jiaju laughs, a rusty, empty sound. why is he here? "You're not here to get information out of me."
Is he here to gloat? Has he still just not caused enough suffering?
Jiaju only watches his careful movements, slow lowering into a chair, because it's fading evidence of the last marks Xiaohai left on the world. He makes eye contact with Jiaju, looking small, deflated, and it only pisses Jiaju off; Gu Yiran seems to half-sit, hovering over his own chair, bristling. Jiaju can see it even without his glasses.
"Oh, is this for closure?" In retrospect, he really should have seen it coming. "Fine then. Great. Fuck you. It should be you that died."
Gu Yiran visibly stiffens - what is he, Zheng Bei's guard dog?
"It should have been you from the beginning, you arrogant ass. He was a good kid!" Jiaju's voice breaks, "You should have just kept your head down. You should never have let anyone else get involved in your idiocy. He was such a good kid - they should have cut your tongue out!" He's yelling, the chair rattling under him, cold metal biting into his wrists.
He can see Zheng Bei nod slightly - who does he fucking think he is? Jiaju can feel his ribcage biting into his insides as he breathes roughly through his shredded fingers, still folded over the creaking chair, to set this one last thing straight. "It should have been you. You should have stayed, you should have rotted under the ice. He shouldn't have bothered helping you, they should have cut your tongue out, you ass, why couldn't you just keep your head down? You deserved it!"
Zheng Bei is subdued through all of this, only leaning to the side to plant both hands on Gu Yiran's arm and hold him down, slowly leaning over to say something into his ear, trying to calm him. Gu Yiran leans in even closer and they argue almost silently, Zheng Bei's hand covering Gu Yiran's clenched fist, the other moving up onto the back of his neck. what the fuck is this?
Jiaju wants to scream but it won't come - he shakes silently, so hard the cuffs rattle on the wood. Zheng Bei has this now, too? How long has it been since the cops hired Gu Yiran to help destroy their lives, and Zheng Bei's got him nearly in his lap? How will he ruin this one?
The chemist finally sags, spine bowing subtly; he leaves the room without another audible word. Zheng Bei sits there, still silent; Jiaju wants to vomit at the fucking confidence in his posture. When he finally speaks, though, his voice is thready; it doesn't match the image.
"I wish - I do wish he hadn't tried to help me. I never wanted to leave him behind- I thought he was dead. I spent the years after trying to help people, trying to stop criminals like those traffickers."
Jiaju scoffs at that. "You think that will ever be enough? Do you think you should be forgiven just because you felt bad?"
he just can't stop making excuses for himself, can he?
it should have been you-
Jiaju can't do this anymore; just sitting takes more than he has left in him. "Just schedule the execution already."
"Jiaju-"
Jiaju closes his eyes, dredging one last burst of energy from somewhere deep, to just make him stop, crying, "If you'd ever loved him like you should have, we wouldn't be here right now!"
His throbbing head drops to the desktop and he almost sobs when he hears Zheng Bei, unrelenting, shuffling closer. Jiaju doesn't want to look, but what is he doing? He opens his eyes; Zheng Bei is too close - Jiaju looks up and can see, now, how wet his face is. His hands twitch, looking automatically for his glasses, something to put between them. But they're gone, lost somewhere as he was pushed around from room to room in detention, and he hasn't bothered asking for replacements.
He really shouldn't be surprised when Zheng Bei bows once, apologizing in a weak, maddening voice.
Jiaju croaks, "Go to hell," throat shredded from yelling, and drops his head back to the desk. A cool feeling finally washes over him - he knows it's the last thing he'll ever speak aloud.