Work Text:
He Xuan had fallen ill — offensively, impossibly badly timed.
Shi Qingxuan was darting about the flat, unable to keep still. Worry, anger and despair cluttered his chest — all at once, and there seemed no end to them.
Three years — three damned years now! — since they had got engaged abroad. And before that, another five years of friendship, two years of living together, and half a year more for Shi Qingxuan to realise, with astonishment, that he was flirting with the guy he had spent years considering merely his best friend.
And all that time, he had kept silent. Had kept his love, his marriage, his happiness secret from the person seemingly closest to him.
His older brother.
Shi Qingxuan himself didn't understand why he stayed silent. He simply hadn't had the courage to share what was most precious to him. Hadn't even had the nerve to invite him to a small celebration. And it gnawed at him day after day. He Xuan, meanwhile, sidestepped the subject of meeting Shi Wudu with surprising dexterity — too dexterous to be mere coincidence. As if he were brazenly taking advantage of the fact that Shi Qingxuan couldn't bring himself to make the first move in such a difficult matter.
And now, when everything was finally settled — the meeting arranged, his brother forewarned, He Xuan reluctantly but definitively on board, and Shi Qingxuan himself having scraped together the last of his nerve — all the plans had gone to pieces!
Right before supper, He Xuan, as if to spite him, had collapsed with a fever.
Shi Qingxuan was angry. He didn't show it, but he was near to bursting with the rage that filled him. He wanted to believe that He Xuan had got sick on purpose, that he simply wanted to delay the inevitable. Yet the fever was real, the cough was racking, draining, and the look in his eyes was so exhausted, so clouded with weakness, that the anger in his heart was swiftly replaced by worry.
"Gone out of my mind with fear, that's what," Shi Qingxuan berated himself, changing a cold compress while He Xuan rambled in his fever.
Only when the temperature at last began to drop did he allow himself to lie down beside him — just for a minute. But not an hour had passed before the silence was sliced open by an insistent ring at the door.
"Quiet, will you! I'm coming!" he shouted, tripping over his slippers on the way.
The bell went on shrilling insistently; the lock stubbornly refused to turn. At last the door swung open — and Shi Qingxuan froze.
"Brother?"
Shi Wudu stood on the doorstep — frowning, composed, clearly in no mood for excuses.
"I cancelled the meeting..." Shi Qingxuan added, bewildered.
"I worried," Shi Wudu replied shortly, and attempted to step inside.
Shi Qingxuan mechanically blocked his way.
"A-Xuan?"
"Ha-ha-ha, brother, really, you needn't have worried, everything's fine with us," Shi Qingxuan blurted out, and immediately bit his tongue as the treacherous "us" escaped his mouth.
Shi Wudu's eyebrows arched slowly.
"Are you going to keep me on the doorstep?"
Shi Qingxuan gave another nervous laugh in reply:
"It's late! You're tired after work, go home. We'll see each other tomorrow, we can go somewhere..."
"Will you be inviting that sickly guei of yours, too?" Shi Wudu enquired dryly, nodding behind him. "He doesn't look well."
Shi Qingxuan went cold, pressing himself against the doorframe.
Behind him, a hoarse cough sounded. He turned — and in the same instant, threw the door shut.
"Was that your brother?" He Xuan rasped, and promptly fell into another coughing fit.
He stood in the hallway, pale, his damp hair dishevelled, wearing a faded dark T-shirt with a rock band logo. Shadows beneath his eyes, a weary crease on his lips. Truly — a sickly guei who'd escaped from Diyu.
"Qingxuan!" came a muffled shout from the landing.
His heart was beating every bit as loudly as Shi Wudu's fist against the door.
"Baobei, let me," He Xuan said, shifting Shi Qingxuan aside, and then opened the door.
Shi Wudu froze on the threshold. Their eyes met. A moment — as sharp as a blade.
"You..." Shi Wudu began.
"Come in," He Xuan rasped, and turning, walked away into the kitchen.
Barely breathing, Shi Qingxuan watched as Shi Wudu entered the flat, casting a quick glance around while taking off his shoes and shrugging off his jacket, then followed He Xuan into the kitchen and placed a small bag of groceries on the table.
"Vitamins. And soup," Shi Wudu explained. "Qingxuan didn't specify which of you was sick. I brought for both."
He Xuan gave a grateful nod and silently set the kettle to boil. He poured tea into mugs. His fingers trembled almost imperceptibly, but he held himself straight under Shi Wudu's steady gaze.
Unable to stand it any longer, Shi Qingxuan decided to break the tension:
"Brother, we..." he started.
"How long?" Shi Wudu cut him off dryly.
"What?" Shi Qingxuan faltered.
"A long time," He Xuan confirmed calmly.
Shi Wudu frowned, but said nothing more.
Shi Qingxuan never did manage to deliver the speech he had rehearsed. All the words — about love, about fear, about why he had kept silent — stuck in his throat.
He Xuan, in spite of his weakness, did not retreat to the bedroom. He sat at the table, slowly sipping his tea, and held Shi Wudu's gaze without challenge, but without submission either.
After a while, Shi Wudu gave a brief nod, as if he had reached some decision for himself, and stood up.
"A-Xuan, will you see me out?" he asked.
"Me?" Shi Qingxuan jumped in surprise. "Yes, of course."
Shi Wudu nodded at He Xuan in farewell, and as soon as he was alone with Shi Qingxuan, asked:
"A good person?"
"He-xiong? Of course he's a good person," Shi Qingxuan answered, bewildered. "Wonderful! I... we... he..."
Shi Wudu didn't let him finish.
He looked displeased — yes. Reserved — without doubt. But no lectures followed.
"Once he's better, invite this one to supper. We'll talk," he threw out curtly.
And left.
The door closed.
Shi Qingxuan leaned his forehead against it and at last let out a breath. It hadn't gone the way he had dreamed. There had been no solemnity, no right words, no rehearsed confessions.
But they hadn't fought. They hadn't torn the flat apart. They hadn't turned away from each other.
For a first meeting — that was almost a miracle, wasn't it?