Work Text:
Qinglang was asleep when Changyang left the bed.
At least, Changyang thought he was. He had lain awake for nearly an hour, staring into the darkness, listening to Qinglang's slow, even breathing beside him. Every time he closed his eyes, the same thought came back.
How could they still be doing this?
Qingtian was gone. He had been gone for long enough that Changyang sometimes wondered if people simply expected everyone else to forget him too. But Qingtian’s boyfriend's parents hadn't. They continued posting things about Qingtian online—cruel, humiliating things, dragging his name through the mud because they had never accepted who their son had loved.
Changyang couldn't stand it anymore.
He carefully pushed the blanket aside and slipped out of bed. He told himself he would be quick. He told himself Qinglang wouldn't even notice.
Neither turned out to be true.
By the time Changyang returned to the car, his hands were trembling. He had gone there intending to make one thing clear. Qingtian was already gone. What more did they want? Why couldn't they simply leave his name alone? Why did they still have to be cruel to someone who couldn't defend himself anymore?
Changyang hadn't expected the encounter to leave him feeling so hollow.
He sat behind the steering wheel for several minutes without starting the car. His throat hurt, and his eyes burned. He pressed the heels of his hands against them and breathed slowly, willing himself to calm down.
It didn't work.
A tear slipped down his cheek.
Changyang wiped it away angrily.
"Not now."
But another followed.
He eventually started the car. The drive home passed in a blur of streetlights and silence. Changyang kept his eyes on the road, blinking repeatedly whenever his vision blurred. He didn't make a sound. He simply let the tears fall, wiping them away whenever he could.
By the time he reached home, his eyes were red around the edges.
He parked the car and sat there for another minute.
Qinglang should be asleep.
That was good. Changyang could sneak back into bed, pretend nothing had happened, and deal with himself in the morning.
He walked inside as quietly as he could. The apartment was dark, and for one brief second, relief loosened something in his chest.
Then he reached the bedroom.
And stopped.
Qinglang was sitting awake on the edge of the bed.
Changyang froze.
Neither of them spoke. Qinglang's hair was messy from sleep, his expression tired and, admittedly, a little angry.
"Where did you go?"
Changyang looked down.
"I just went out."
"I noticed."
The quietness of Qinglang's voice somehow made it worse.
Changyang swallowed.
"I had something to deal with."
"You could have told me."
"I didn't want to wake you."
"Changyang."
"I'm fine."
Qinglang stared at him.
Then his expression changed.
The annoyance disappeared almost instantly. His eyes settled on Changyang's face, on the redness around his eyes and the faint tear tracks he hadn't managed to wipe away completely.
And suddenly, Qinglang wasn't angry anymore.
"Oh."
Changyang looked away.
That tiny sound was enough.
His eyes filled again.
He hated it. He hated that Qinglang could look at him for two seconds and somehow see everything he'd spent the entire drive home trying to hide.
Qinglang stood.
He didn't ask what happened. Didn't ask where Changyang had gone. Didn't ask why he was crying.
He simply walked over.
"Come here."
Changyang shook his head.
"I'm okay."
"I know."
Qinglang reached for his hand.
"But you're coming to bed anyway."
Changyang let out a weak breath that was almost a laugh, except it broke halfway through.
Qinglang gently tugged him toward the bed.
"Come on."
Changyang followed.
The moment he sat down, he covered his face with both hands. His shoulders trembled.
Qinglang's heart hurt.
He sat beside him and carefully pulled Changyang's hands away from his face.
"You don't have to explain."
Changyang looked at him through wet lashes.
"I don't?"
"No."
Qinglang brushed a tear from his cheek with his thumb.
"Not tonight."
Changyang's expression crumpled.
He leaned forward before he could stop himself, and Qinglang caught him immediately.
Changyang pressed his face against Qinglang's shoulder, finally allowing himself to cry properly. Qinglang wrapped both arms around him, holding him close without asking a single question.
"It's okay."
Changyang's fingers curled weakly into the fabric of his shirt.
Slowly, Changyang curled himself around Qinglang, burying his face against his chest.
For a second, Qinglang didn't move.
This wasn't how they usually slept.
Qinglang was always the little spoon. Always. He liked being held, liked having Changyang's arm around his waist, liked stealing the blankets and pretending he hadn't.
But tonight, Changyang was the one holding on.
His arms slipped around Qinglang's middle, his forehead pressed into his chest, his body curled inward as though he wanted to disappear somewhere safe.
Qinglang's irritation disappeared completely.
He didn't ask again where Changyang had been. He didn't ask why his eyes were red or why his breathing was uneven.
He simply lifted a hand and rested it gently against the back of Changyang's head.
His fingers moved through his hair, slowly and carefully.
Changyang's breath trembled.
Qinglang's chest tightened.
"Hey."
No response.
"It's okay."
His fingers continued their slow rhythm through Changyang's hair.
"You don't have to talk."
Changyang's grip tightened slightly around him.
Qinglang kept stroking his hair.
"I'm here."
Another slow pass through his hair.
"You're home."
Changyang closed his eyes. A tear slipped down his cheek.
Qinglang felt the dampness against his shirt but said nothing. He only held him closer.
"Get some rest."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"Whatever it is... you can leave it for tomorrow."
Changyang's shoulders shook once, then again, but Qinglang's hand never stopped moving.
"Just breathe."
A pause.
"That's it."
Gradually, Changyang's breathing began to settle. He remained curled around Qinglang, his face hidden against his chest, refusing to let go.
Qinglang didn't mind. He would have stayed like that all night if he had to.
He had never seen Changyang this sad. Not like this.
Changyang could be stubborn, annoying, impossible when he wanted to be. But he was rarely fragile.
Tonight, though, he seemed almost unbearably so.
Qinglang brushed his thumb gently over Changyang's temple.
He softly kissed his temple.
"Sleep."
Changyang's grip loosened. His breathing became softer, and eventually, he fell asleep.
Qinglang stayed awake.
He stared into the darkness, his hand still resting in Changyang's hair. He wondered what had happened, where Changyang had gone, and why whatever it was had left him crying so quietly that he had tried to hide it even from the person sleeping beside him.
Qinglang looked down at him.
Changyang was finally peaceful.
Whatever had hurt him, he hadn't been ready to share it.
And Qinglang wasn't going to force him.
He could wait.
For now, he pulled the blanket a little higher around them and gently pressed his cheek against Changyang's hair.
"Whatever happened, you don't have to face it alone."
His hand moved once more through Changyang's hair.
Then Qinglang finally closed his eyes.
Neither of them spoke about what had happened that night.
Not yet.
The next morning, Changyang woke before Qinglang. For a while, he simply lay there, staring at the ceiling. Qinglang was still asleep beside him, one arm resting loosely across the space where Changyang had been curled against him the night before.
Changyang remembered everything—the tears, the questions, the things he hadn't admitted. He quietly slipped out of bed before Qinglang could wake.
By the time Qinglang came into the kitchen, Changyang was already making breakfast.
"You're up early."
Changyang glanced over his shoulder.
"Couldn't sleep."
Qinglang hummed and sat down. For a few minutes, neither of them said anything. Changyang focused on the food in front of him, carefully avoiding Qinglang's gaze.
Qinglang noticed. Of course he did. He didn't say anything, though. Not yet.
Changyang placed a plate in front of him.
"Eat."
Qinglang looked at him, then at the food, but said nothing. Neither did Changyang. They simply sat across from each other and ate in silence, something that had never happened before. Usually, there was always some small conversation between them—complaints about the food, teasing, or some random story from their day. Today, there was nothing.
Qinglang quietly observed him instead. Changyang kept his eyes fixed on his plate, carefully avoiding his gaze, his movements almost unnaturally deliberate. He knew Qinglang was watching him, but he refused to look up. He could already feel the questions sitting between them, waiting to be asked, and he wasn't ready to answer any of them.
As soon as they finished eating, Changyang stood and began collecting the plates.
"I have some documents to sort out."
Qinglang looked up but remained silent.
"You can read your scripts while I do that," Changyang continued quickly. "Didn't you say you had to go through them for the next drama?"
"I did."
"Then you should do that."
Changyang carried the plates to the sink before Qinglang could say anything else. He turned on the tap and began rinsing them, moving far quicker than necessary.
"I'll be busy for a while anyway."
Qinglang remained at the table, still eating as he watched him. He didn't understand what was happening. Changyang wasn't angry, and he wasn't exactly upset either. He just seemed nervous, like he was afraid that if Qinglang asked the wrong question, everything he had been trying to hold together would fall apart.
Qinglang lowered his gaze to his plate, thinking carefully about how to approach him without making him feel cornered.
Changyang rinsed the last plate and set it aside before drying his hands.
"I'm going out."
He turned toward the doorway.
"Changyang."
He stopped but didn't turn around.
"What?"
"What happened last night?"
Changyang's fingers tightened around the towel in his hand.
"Nothing."
"Don't do that."
Changyang glanced over his shoulder.
"I told you. I just had something to deal with."
Qinglang stared at him.
"Then why did you come home crying?"
Changyang immediately looked away.
"I was tired."
"That's not an answer."
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
Changyang swallowed.
"We both have work today, Qinglang. You have your scripts, and I have documents to sort out. We don't have time for this."
He started toward the door, but Qinglang reached out and caught his wrist.
Changyang stopped.
"Let go."
"No."
"Qinglang."
"Look at me."
Changyang's heart began pounding. He couldn't. If he looked into Qinglang's eyes, he knew he'd be able to see everything he'd been trying so desperately to hide.
"I really have work to do."
Qinglang's expression hardened slightly.
"Changyang."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
Changyang tried to pull his wrist free.
"Can we talk later?"
"When?"
"Tonight."
"You'll find another excuse tonight."
Changyang went still. Qinglang's gaze softened, but he didn't let go.
"You've been avoiding me since you woke up."
"I'm not."
"You won't look at me."
Changyang's throat tightened.
"Because you're scared, I'll ask."
Changyang finally looked up.
Their eyes met, and that was all it took.
Whatever fragile control Changyang had managed to hold onto that morning finally snapped. His eyes filled almost instantly, and he looked away again as the first tear slipped down his cheek.
"Hey."
Changyang shook his head.
"I'm sorry."
Qinglang released his wrist and reached for his hand instead.
"Come here."
Changyang didn't move.
"I don't know how to say it."
"You don't have to."
Qinglang gently pulled him toward the couch. Changyang followed without resistance this time, his shoulders trembling as he sat down beside him. Qinglang immediately wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer, giving him a moment to breathe before saying anything. He could feel how tense Changyang was beneath his touch, like he was still fighting the instinct to get up and run.
For a while, Changyang simply stared at the floor, his fingers twisting together in his lap as he tried to find the words he'd been avoiding all morning. The memories had been sitting heavily in his chest since he woke up—the mountain, the fog, the shoe he'd found, the blood he'd seen. He hadn't seen Qingtian's body, but he had known. Somehow, he had known.
Then he whispered,
"I think it's my fault."
Qinglang's chest tightened.
"What is?"
Changyang swallowed hard.
"Qingtian."
Qinglang went quiet.
Changyang took a shaky breath. "I keep thinking about what happened. I showed him the ghost flower. I told him how to look for it, and then I called you to come get me."
His voice grew quieter.
"If I hadn't called you, you would've been with him."
Qinglang didn't interrupt.
"Maybe he would still be alive."
The words barely left Changyang's mouth.
Qinglang's arm tightened around him.
"Changyang..."
"I know it's stupid." Changyang wiped at his face, frustrated when his fingers came away wet. "I know I couldn't have known what was going to happen, but I keep thinking that I shouldn't have shown him. I shouldn't have told him anything about the flower. I shouldn't have called you away."
His breathing became uneven.
"You know... I was the one who found the shoe."
Qinglang's expression fell, his own eyes beginning to sting. He remembered that day too clearly—the frantic rush back through the mountains, Changyang appearing from his camp, the way his face had changed when he'd realized something was wrong. He remembered wanting to see his brother, wanting to search for him himself, and Changyang stopping him because he already knew what Qinglang couldn't bear to accept.
Changyang stared down at his hands.
"It just felt unreal." His voice wavered, his gaze unfocusing as the memory threatened to surface again. "I kept thinking he'd come back. That Wen Shu would find him. That we'd find him somewhere in the mountains and he'd be angry at everyone for worrying."
His voice cracked.
"But he didn't."
Qinglang turned toward him.
"Look at me."
Changyang shook his head.
"I can't."
"Changyang."
"I can't."
His voice broke completely.
Qinglang gently cupped the back of his neck and pulled him closer, not forcing him to look, simply keeping him close enough that Changyang couldn't retreat into himself.
"You didn't cause his death."
Changyang's tears fell freely now.
"But I showed him the way to search for the flower."
"You showed him because you cared about him."
"I should've known."
"You couldn't have known."
"I should've—"
"No."
Qinglang's voice was gentle, but firm.
"You don't get to punish yourself for something you couldn't have known."
Changyang covered his face with one hand, his shoulders trembling.
"I'm sorry."
Qinglang gently pulled his hand away and wrapped both arms around him.
"I know."
"I'm so sorry."
"I know."
Changyang finally leaned into him, hiding his face against Qinglang's shoulder. His fingers curled tightly into the back of Qinglang's shirt as he tried to steady his breathing.
For a while, Qinglang said nothing. He simply held him, one hand moving slowly through Changyang's hair. When Changyang's breathing hitched again, Qinglang pressed a soft kiss to his temple.
"You don't have to apologize for hurting."
Changyang's eyes squeezed shut.
"I was scared you'd hate me."
Qinglang pulled back just enough to look at him. He brushed the dampness beneath Changyang's eyes with his thumb before placing another gentle kiss against his forehead.
"I could never hate you for that."
Changyang's lips trembled.
There was another memory between them, one neither of them needed to explain. Lan. The video. The anger that had followed. The months when they'd been apart, when Qinglang had been hurt enough to say things he hadn't truly meant and Changyang had carried those words with him ever since.
Changyang's gaze dropped.
"You said you regretted meeting me."
Qinglang's expression softened immediately.
"I was angry."
"You meant it."
"No."
Changyang finally looked at him.
Qinglang shook his head.
"How could I have told you that I regret meeting you? That was one of the stupidest things I've ever said."
Changyang's eyes filled again.
"I hurt you."
"We hurt each other."
Qinglang brushed his thumb gently across Changyang's cheek.
"But we're here now."
Changyang looked down, unable to hold his gaze for long.
"You lost him too," Qinglang continued softly. "You don't have to carry all of this alone just because you were the one who found him."
Changyang swallowed hard.
Qinglang gave him a small, reassuring peck on the cheek before pulling him back against his chest.
"You're allowed to be sad."
His fingers slipped gently through Changyang's hair.
"You're allowed to miss him."
Changyang's eyes filled again, but this time he didn't try to hide it.
"And you're allowed to stay here until you're ready to get up."
A tiny, broken laugh escaped Changyang.
"You're really annoying."
"I know."
Qinglang smiled faintly, pressing another kiss on his forehead before leaning back just enough to look at him. Changyang's eyes were still red, his cheeks damp, but there was something calmer in his expression now.
Qinglang gently wiped away the last tear beneath his eye.
"Better?"
Changyang gave him a tired look.
"Not really."
"Then I guess I'll have to stay."
"You were planning to leave?"
"No."
Changyang's lips twitched into the smallest smile.
Qinglang leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. When he pulled back, Changyang stared at him for a second before quietly leaning forward himself, returning the affection with a brief, soft kiss.
It wasn't enough to make the grief disappear.
It didn't need to.
Qinglang rested his forehead against Changyang's, their breathing finally settling into the same quiet rhythm.
"You don't have to be okay today," he murmured.
Changyang closed his eyes.
"Can I just stay like this?"
"As long as you want."
Another small kiss landed against his lips, warm and reassuring, before Qinglang pulled him back against his chest. His fingers slipped gently through Changyang's hair, occasionally brushing over his temple in a slow, familiar rhythm.
Changyang finally let himself relax into him.
The guilt was still there. The grief was still there. Qingtian was still gone, and nothing either of them said could change that.
But Changyang no longer had to sit alone with the weight of it.
For once, he didn't need to explain himself, fix anything, or pretend he was stronger than he felt.
He just needed to be held.
And Qinglang stayed.