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“It’s...” Wei Ying tried to think of something nice to say as he scanned the cramped space. There weren’t even pictures on the walls, aside from a nice framed photo of Jin Ling. The fridge had a few drawings on it, but it hardly even looked like someone lived there.
“It’s a shitty apartment,” Jiang Cheng said. “You can say it. I was pretty worried about money at first, and then I didn’t want to bother breaking the lease. Huaisang and I’ve talked a little about getting a place together when this runs out. He’s in a sublet.”
“I still can’t believe the two of you hooked up,” he said.
“You have no room to talk. You thought you were straight.”
“Still! You’re so grumpy, and he’s so...does he ever stop talking?”
Jiang Cheng’s glare narrowed. “I hung out with you for fifteen years, apparently I’m into that shit.”
Wei Ying cackled. “Still! I didn’t realize you missed me that much.”
That hung in the air.
“Fuck,” Wei Ying said. “I—shit, I’m sorry.” He walked over to the counter and leaned against it.
“I did miss you, asshole,” Jiang Cheng said, bitterness and resignation in his voice. “I tried—I should have tried harder. I should have moved out the day I turned eighteen.”
“They kicked me out when you were at practice for a reason,” Wei Ying said. “I...didn’t figure that out for a while.” And it was only Nie Huaisang talking to A-Jie that had brought out the truth, that Jiang Cheng had wanted to look for him, that his foster brother had been serious and stubborn enough that his own parents had responded with violence. Jiang Cheng still hadn’t really explained how his arm had been broken (in three places, A-Jie had reminded them all), insisting it had been an accident. When pressed, he’d admitted that his parents had taken his phone away for two weeks while he recovered. By the time I had my shit together, the Lans had taken you in, and I figured you didn’t want to talk to me.
“You were dealing with a lot of shit,” Jiang Cheng said. He grabbed an onion from the counter, then opened the refrigerator and dug out some mushrooms and peppers.
“Yeah, I guess.” He shook his head. “When I realized I was in love with Lan Zhan...part of me thought oh, they were right all along. They knew before I did, and I’d been lying to them.”
“They didn’t know shit,” Jiang Cheng said, assaulting the onion with grim focus.
“You could have told me,” Wei Ying said, softly. “Before any of it happened. I know I thought I was straight then, and I know that must have been weird, but...”
“I know,” he said. “But that wasn’t—I didn’t want to think about it. I liked girls, anyway. I figured I’d get married, have kids, do what our parents wanted, like Jiejie. I liked looking at guys once in a while...it wasn’t a big deal. I thought it wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t realize they’d find any of my shit. I didn’t think they’d think it was yours.” He paused. “I knew how you were about Lan Zhan, so I just left it alone. You’d figure it out eventually, and I didn’t need to get in the way.” He started in on the peppers. “I guess I was right about that, at least.” He paused. “I am glad about that. I know—I’m glad you’re happy. I’m glad you had him.”
He was alone in the house after you left, A-Xian, A-Jie had said once. It was the first time Wei Ying had realized that things might have gotten worse for Jiang Cheng after he’d left, instead of easier. He’d thought he was the problem. But Wei Ying had finally understood that Lan Zhan and Lan Huan had been right all along. The problems were bigger than any of them.
He remembered sitting in front of them, a unified front for once, telling him it was fine, that they’d send him somewhere he could be fixed. He still hadn’t realized he was queer, but the thought of being changed had still made his stomach churn.
“Do they know—”
“I don’t know,” Jiang Cheng said. “They fired me when I left, but they got someone else at the office to send the email.” He shrugged. “I figured that was coming. I stayed at Jiejie’s for a while, and when I got hired at General Produce, I got this place. I was lucky that something opened up there and I could ask Meng Yao for a reference. Probably what got me the job.” He glanced at Wei Ying. “It’s been kind of nice working there, honestly. Nobody looks at me and sees my parents.”
Meng Yao probably understood that better than most people. “Good,” Wei Ying said.
“It could pay more, but—” He shrugged. “They like me. I’m doing okay. I get a discount on food, that’s pretty good. The frying pan’s in the cupboard next to the sink, can you grab it?”
“Yeah,” Wei Ying said, walking past him. “What else can I do?”
“Oil, the usual. Start the rice, too.” Jiang Cheng paused. “Shit, when was the last time we cooked something together?”
“Long time,” Wei Ying said. “A long fucking time.”
“I missed you,” he said to the vegetables.
“Me too.” Fuck, it felt weird to say it. To feel like he could say it. Lan Zhan had been so angry on his behalf, and it had been what he’d needed. He hadn’t been ready to be angry at all, at first. But he’d missed his sister, and Jiang Cheng, and even his aunt and uncle sometimes. Lan Zhan couldn’t understand what that was like; he didn’t have much for memories of his father to feel weird about. But he had loved Wei Ying enough to tell him, often, that he had deserved better.
He got the oil into the pan and started looking for the spices.
“Other side,” Jiang Cheng said, automatically. Wei Ying opened the other cupboard and started getting things out. There was a fresh bottle of Lao Gan Ma chili sauce there. Everything else was store brand, aside from a few jars that were clearly home-canned, from their sister or some aunties that were trying to look out for the quiet young man in their neighborhood. Jiang Cheng had always been pretty good with the aunties.
The aunties wouldn’t have brought him Lao Gan Ma.
Wei Ying wanted to give Jiang Cheng a hug, but he had a knife in his hand still, so he just grinned to himself. He got the pan on the heat and waited for Jiang Cheng to finish chopping.
Jiang Cheng had gotten better at cooking since A-Jie’s lessons in high school, but Wei Ying had, too, and after a few minutes of awkwardness they were more or less on the same page. It was fun to not have to dial the spice down as much as he did at home.
Hey,” he said. “Um. I know A-Jie said she wanted us to make up for A-Ling’s sake, and, I mean, I do too, but...”
Jiang Cheng shot him a look. “But?”
He swallowed. This was the hard part. “We’re getting married,” he said. “I think she thought—I mean, I know she’s upset I didn’t go to her wedding, and I wish I’d been there, too. I think she doesn’t want—I mean, I want you there too, I just—”
Jiang Cheng very slowly put the knife down. “You do?”
He nodded.
Jiang Cheng said, “Of course I’ll come. Fuck. I—if you really—”
Wei Ying looked him in the eye, steady and calm. “Really.”
“Okay,” Jiang Cheng said. “And your boyfriend—your fucking fiance is going to be okay with it?”
“He wants me to be happy, so...yeah.” He had his future brother-in-law to thank for that. Lan Huan had dealt with a lot of families that had been fucked up by the kind of bullshit that had gone on at the Jiang house, and he’d known how to deal with Wei Ying, too. He’d let Wei Ying be angry, and hurt, and didn’t mind when he was exhausted or snippy or tried to laugh everything off. He let Lan Zhan be angry too, but in his gentle, cautious way, he had helped Lan Zhan understand that his anger was only so useful. The Lan brothers had given him a home and let him heal. He hoped Jiang Cheng had been able to heal a little too.
Knowing about the broken arm hadn’t hurt either, honestly.
“He’s gonna be okay,” Wei Ying promised.
“Okay,” Jiang Cheng said, and grabbed him.
They were almost exactly the same in height and build, still—they’d traded clothes all through high school, and they’d both bulked up in similar ways—but Jiang Cheng grabbed him so tightly he lifted Wei Ying a little off the floor. He’d always been the only person who could hug as well as Lan Zhan did.
“Okay!” Wei Ying squeaked. “Okay, it’s all right, A-Cheng, it’s all right.”
“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng said, his voice choked with emotion, and Wei Ying was going to start crying too, if he wasn’t careful. “I won’t be a coward again. I promise I won’t.”
Wei Ying hugged back, tight, and said, “You weren’t. But thank you.”
“Don’t be stupid, you don’t have to thank me for—”
“Okay,” he said. “I don’t have to. I want to. Thank you. Thank you, A-Cheng.”
“You’re so fucking sentimental,” Jiang Cheng said, through his tears.