Work Text:
Mo Ran had chosen the restaurant—a well established one so that the tables were clean enough for their Shizun, but small and family-run so that the food was actually good. The three of them were seated in a circle around a small table.
Shizun and Mo Ran sat so very close to each other. It made Xue Meng feel strange—still felt like puzzle pieces that wouldn’t fit together in his mind, even after almost a year of seeing them together like this.
He’d never begrudge them something that made them so clearly happy, not after all they’d been through. But growing up with them and apparently never realizing what lay between them … It was a blow to Xue Meng’s already broken heart. There was so much that had slid under Xue Meng’s awareness over the years, and he would forever be ashamed of his naivete.
“Xue Meng,” Shizun said softly, and Xue Meng didn’t know how people ever thought he was cold. He looked at Xue Meng with an attentiveness that Xue Meng didn’t get to experience anywhere else now, not since his parents-
“Yes, Shizun?” Xue Meng said, hoping that his voice didn’t sound as tight as the vice around his heart.
“Eat some more,” Chu Wanning said. He used his chopsticks to place a piece of meat in Xue Meng’s bowl. “You look like you’ve lost weight.”
Mo Ran subtly slid another piece of meat into Chu Wanning’s bowl, looking so intent it was as if their shizun’s diet was more important than anything else in the world.
But then he looked at Xue Meng, too, and frowned. “Didi, you need to take care of yourself,” he said, and then placed a prime slice of meat in Xue Meng’s bowl, too. Xue Meng’s chest tightened like it always did when Mo Ran called him brother, claimed Xue Meng as his. Mo Ran was the only real family he had left.
Mo Ran took a deep gulp of his rice wine, and the glossy coating of the container made him look even more elegant than usual. This wayward shige of his had become a man before he knew it—had outpaced and outgrown Xue Meng, (had left him behind). When Mo Ran put down the cup, his cheeks were rosy pink. He smiled brightly. “Well, that was delicious. I told you I’d chosen a good place.”
Chu Wanning’s eyes were warm. It was like he and Mo Ran were the only ones in the room. But then, he suddenly looked at Xue Meng.
“What’s wrong?” Chu Wanning asked, brows furrowed. “Did it- was it something I said?”
Xue Meng looked at him, bewildered, and then realized his cheeks were warm—but he hadn’t drunk any alcohol. He lifted a hand to his cheek and- oh. It was wet.
He scrubbed at his face, feeling humiliated. “I’m so sorry,” he said, trying to force himself to calm down. He took a deep breath, but it caught on the edge of a sob. “I’m- I’m ruining your evening, I’m so sorry. I can stop in a few minutes, let me just-” He stood up quickly and backed away, but Mo Ran was faster.
He put a firm hand on Xue Meng’s shoulder and guided him back to his seat. “It’s alright,” Moran said soothingly. “Didi, stay. You’re not ruining anything.”
Chu Wanning looked stricken. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Mo Ran reached out to hold his hand, stroking it comfortingly and that seemed to bolster Chu Wanning’s courage.
He looked up at Xue Meng and said, voice steady as always, “Xue Meng, I’m still your shizun. You can always come to me for guidance.”
Xue Meng couldn’t hold back the sob that tore out of him—it made him sound like a sick, newborn animal, weak and naked and disgusting.
Chu Wanning’s eyes widened. He moved his chair closer to Xue Meng and placed a hand on Xue Meng’s arm, near his elbow. The touch was light, like he was unsure if Xue Meng would welcome it.
But how could he possibly think that when his presence alone was a balm to Xue Meng’s heart—was medicine for the wound that he’d thought had healed, but had really just been festering under tightly wrapped bandages, hidden from the sight of others.
The three of them were linked in a circle—Chu Wanning and Mo Ran’s hands still intertwined, each with their other hand on Xue Meng’s arms. Xue Meng’s sobbing was becoming unsightly in that way he only allowed himself when he was alone. Chu Wanning and Mo Ran moved closer to shield him from onlookers.
Xue Meng hated the impression he was making. He wanted his shizun and his brother to think he was strong, that he could handle things. But the other part of him was unraveling like a coil that had been forced into place by unyielding hands for too long. And now, all that tense energy finally had a space to be released.
“I miss—” he choked out, and the force with which his body shook scared him a little. “I miss—”
Mo Ran’s hand on his arm tightened. “I know,” he said, and his voice was tight, too. “Auntie and uncle. I- I miss them, too.”
Xue Meng’s head bowed with the strength of his grief. He couldn’t see past his tears anymore. “I do miss father and mother, more than I can stand. But—” and Xue Meng finally gasped out the words trapped in his chest. “I miss you both, too.”
There was a heavy pause, and then Chu Wanning slid closer and nudged Xue Meng toward him. Xue Meng fell into his side just as he’d shamelessly done when he was a teen. In reality, that memory hadn’t been so long ago, but so much had happened since then that he felt like he’d aged decades. The innocent child he’d been before was just a faint dream now.
Xue Meng knew his shizun didn’t like touching people. The fact that he sat there strong and steady, not moving away as Xue Meng buried his tears in the fabric of his sleeves, meant the world to Xue Meng.
Mo Ran patted his back in a steady rhythm, humming under his breath like Xue Meng was a toddler to be soothed. For once, Xue Meng stopped thinking about how he wasn’t supposed to act wounded. He just cried his heart out, and something frozen inside him finally began to melt.