Chapter Text
Wu Xie cursed for the umpteenth time this morning as he pulled out the canister of rice only to find that bugs had made their way inside again. “Why, oh why, did I have to suggest retirement to a village that rained ‘thirty-five days a month’…” he muttered under his breath, glaring at the little black dots blemishing the masses of pristine white. He glanced about the kitchen counter, warily looking out for other unwelcome critters, but fortunately spotting none.
Clearly, the gods were not in his favor today. He’d woken up from the sound of rain beating against the side of the house — he would have thought that after several months of living in a rainy village, he’d have gotten used to it — and started off the day already sleep-deprived. When he went into the bathroom, he realized his face towel had once again failed to dry overnight and taken on a musty scent. The laundry he put out the day before under the wide awning had not dried in the slightest due to the heavier-than-usual rain and added humidity, and his fresh clothes supply was quickly dwindling. After that fiasco came the realization that part of a window was leaking and starting to drip a watery mess in the corner of the kitchen. All of this amounted to a very very terrible start of day and good reason for his current irritability.
Of course, he didn’t want to admit that the biggest reason why he started the day off kilter was due to a notable lack of a certain someone’s good morning kiss and some variation of ‘I’m off’ being whispered in his ear. Instead, what he’d woken up to was a cold bed, annoying rain, and just a short text message that read — I’ll be back soon.
Part of him — the more rational side — was touched that Xiaoge left a message even if he hadn’t given Wu Xie his usual morning greeting; it was something that they seemed to adopt tacitly, this morning ritual. Ten years had been too long a separation, and the traumas of Xiaoge disappearing again were difficult to shed, many a times startling him awake in cold panic. Mornings had been the worst, when the light of day would bask all of Wushanju in naked visibility, chasing away the comfortable corners of darkness where he might turn and expect the other to be. Instead, he’d have to suppress the irrational flare of anxiety as he crept through the halls in search for the familiar figure, the tension receding only after he found him or when said man reappeared from whatever business he had in the morning.
At some point, or perhaps even from the very beginning, Xiaoge picked up on this anxiety of his, a concerned eye trailing him in the mornings and taking in the persistent fatigue despite the late hour. One day, instead of first waking up to a cold bed, Wu Xie was instead briefly awoken by the placement of a gentle kiss on the nape of his neck and a whisper of ‘I’ll be back later ’ in his ear. He wasn’t sure if he ended up falling asleep after that, flittering somewhere between the realms of sleep and consciousness, but later when he did fully wake, the memory felt so surreal that he chalked it up to his imagination. Still, it was the first time in a long time where an early-morning dream didn’t consist of calling Xiaoge’s name repeatedly only to find the man had disappeared, and it was the first time in a long time where he’d finally woke up feeling somewhat refreshed.
When it happened again the next day, and the day after that, it eventually got through to him that it wasn’t a dream. A wash of adoration swept over him at the realization, yet a part of him still had to work hard at reconciling this version of Xiaoge with the Menyouping1 that had disappeared on them all those times. As if afraid of upsetting the surreality of it all, he never commented on it outright, only allowing himself a content smile and half-conscious hum in response each time before drifting back into the embraces of slumber, always warmer than before.
Over time, it became a habit, and the effect of it was indisputable — gone were the bags under his eye that he had deemed practically permanent as of three years prior, and his mornings were now full of bright energy.
Except this one.
“Damned bugs… All. The fucking. Time,” he muttered under his breath, then sighed and went about washing the rice.
A large yawn drifted through the room, followed by a sleepy response of, “I told you you had to use those airtight jars, or they’d get inside every time.” Pangzi shuffled into the shared kitchen and living space in a large T-shirt and Pokemon pajamas and ungracefully plopped down onto the couch.
He leaned down, exasperatedly thunking his head against the counter once before straightening back up to respond, “That airtight jar you bought is a fucking menace. I can’t get it to open at all.” The water had filled the pot sufficiently, with many bug carcasses surfacing even before he’d stuck his hand in the rice. He started picking these out extra viciously in an attempt to mollify his sour mood.
Pangzi shrugged and started up a game on his Nintendo DS. “Get your laogong2 to open it for you. He’s up early enough.”
He leveled a bland stare at the other even though he knew the latter couldn’t see. Flicking one of the bugs ineffectively in Pangzi’s direction, he retorted, “Ha-fucking-ha.” Then a beat later, “Xiaoge’s usually out by the time I’m up.” Then another beat later, and more annoyed, “Also, why am I always the ‘wife’?”
A snort was his immediate reply. “Well, you’re the one who does most of the cooking and cleaning and gardening while me and Xiaoge go hunting…?”
He arched a brow while washing the rice carefully. “That’s just plain sexist. Besides, you also do a lot of cooking. Arguably better than me sometimes.”
A scoff. “Sometimes? More like all the time. Pangye3 is a master chef in the kitchen. And don’t you know? All the great chefs are men—”
“That’s likely due to more rampant sexism—”
“Maybe, but my point is that having the master chef stepping in from time to time is definitely not stereotypical of the ‘wife’ role.” Pausing in reconsideration, he added, “The only feminine role I need to adopt is playing your goddamn mother all the time, given your amazing inability to take care of yourself.”
He just glared at Pangzi, who looked entirely too smug about the exchange, and took his anger out on the rice by giving it an even harder scrub. “Well someone has to do the cleaning obviously. But you’re an absolute pig, and Xiaoge is never unclean so he barely knows what is involved in cleaning. I’m stuck with the job by process of elimination. As for gardening, you managed to kill the entire batch of vegetables by watering it with liquor —”
“That was such a heartbreaking mistake. The loss of that liquor was so tragic—”
“Si Pangzi4, those were just starting to sprout and you fucking messed it all up the first time I asked you to water them!”
“Yeah, yeah we’ll call it even,” came the hand-waving response. “I gave your plants holy water; they didn’t appreciate Pangye’s good gesture.” Here, he pivoted around as a thought occurred to him. “Also, how come Xiaoge doesn’t get equally called out on this? I notice you didn’t even ask him to help out at all! That’s unfair.”
Wu Xie drained the pot of washed rice of excess water, placed it in the rice cooker, and set the cook time. Turning around and leaning back against the counter, he crossed his arms and simply offered Pangzi another unimpressed look. “...Xiaoge has other things to do.”
Narrowed eyes scrutinized him, followed by another snort. “Shameless preference for your laogong, and blatant exploitation of your poor mother, eh?”
“Shut up,” he murmured and turned back around, unable to provide any sort of adequate comeback.
Pangzi raised a curious brow at the unwitty remark. “Someone’s in a bad mood today…”
He vacillated between keeping stubborn silence and whipping around and snapping at the other that yes, yes he was indeed not a happy camper today, and as a result, Pangzi should watch himself.
In the end, the stubborn silence won out, partly because it already stretched for a while as he was deliberating, and it seemed wiser to pretend that was his intention from the get-go. Plus, there was the fact that a headache was beginning to form, and he didn’t think he could manage any sudden movements or yelling.
“Well anyway, speaking of Xiaoge, where is he off to today? I thought Sundays are our chill-at-home days… ‘laze in bed till the sun shines on our asses’ day.” Pangzi blinked, sensing something wrong with the statement. “OK, bad figure of speech for a place like this I suppose.”
“He just said he’d be back soon. He didn’t specify where,” Wu Xie responded, suddenly feeling a bit drained. Lunch needed to be prepared though, so he shuffled over to the fridge to fetch the ingredients. They had some leftover meat dishes that just needed a bit of re-heating, and then he thought he’d stir fry some string beans, and tofu and mushrooms, which Pangzi had foraged the other day.
He eyed the mushrooms a little suspiciously though, asking, “You’re sure these mushrooms are the good kinds? I don’t need you tripping out on me for a whole day again and being utterly useless.”
Pangzi shot him an affronted glare. “What do you mean again? The mushroom only felt a little off. And I may have been a little drunk. I was asleep for most of that day mostly because I was very tired—”
“—from tripping out and crashing, exactly,” he helpfully finished.
“...because some people decided to go to bed late the previous night and weren’t very quiet —”
Heat crept into his cheeks. Fortunately, he was facing the other way washing the mushrooms, so Pangzi couldn’t see the slight pink on them. “As if, you sleep like a log. And if we’re going to complain about noise, might I remind you your snores shake the entire house—”
Pangzi snorted. “My snores are like a soothing background noise. And your Pangye can sleep like a log once he’s asleep. Falling asleep, on the other hand, is a little challenging when there’s a battering ram—”
“Right!” he cut off, starting to feel a bit light-headed from the blood rush to his head.
“Honestly, I was amazed you made it through the entirety of the next day without crashing. Our Xiao Tianzhen has quite the stamina, huh.”
A groan of embarrassment escaped him. “OK please no. It sounds so wrong when you call me ‘Xiao Tianzhen’ in that kind of context. I feel like you all are viewing me as some underage boy with some sort of daddy kink.”
Pangzi blinked, mulling over the comparison. “I mean… Xiaoge is like waaaay older than you,” he finally pointed out.
Wu Xie mentally kicked himself for walking right into that one. Rolling his eyes, he simply said, “Well I’m not an innocent teenage boy though.”
Pangzi snorted again. “Not when it comes to others, maybe not. But I swear you revert to no better than a dumbass teenager half the time when it comes to Mr. Cool and Handsome Zhang Qiling.”
“Well what does that make you then, a middle-aged old man discussing a supposed teen’s love life?” was the only response Wu Xie could grasp out of his abysmally unwitty mind today.
“I’m your overly concerned mother, remember?” Pangzi then batted his eyes a couple of times for dramatic effect. “Raising you was and continues to be a life-long and dedicated job.”
He ignored this jab with a shake of his head and went back to sorting through the mushrooms and string beans. After he finished prepping the vegetables, he turned on the stove, poured a liberal amount of oil into the wok, and waited for it to heat. He briefly considered parallelizing the effort by starting up another wok, but glancing out the window and seeing no sign of that black hooded jacket, he figured there’s no particular rush.
He was stir-frying the string beans when the door opened, a gust of wind instantly sweeping through the space, making him shiver but look up with a smile. “Xiaoge, you’re back?”
A puddle of water quickly formed where Xiaoge was standing and holding a plastic bag. He placed the bag aside and shed his rain gear, hanging the rain jacket and trousers up on the hooks they’d set up by the doorway. Slipping out of his combat boots, he traded them for the pair of fuzzy house slippers Wu Xie insisted on having him wear — You are not trekking water all over the house and our bedroom, and you should learn to appreciate the comforts of warm fuzzy slippers! Wu Xie had told the other when they first moved in.
“You’re cooking?” Xiaoge inquired delicately, coming up behind him and settling his hands comfortably on Wu Xie’s hips. He felt the light cool press of the other’s lips against his temple and barely managed to restrain the whine hovering in his throat, the touch sending a wave of weakness throughout every nerve in his body. It startled him, his own reactions, because he wasn’t usually quite like this, so sensitive, and it irked him because Pangzi’s comments were still echoing around his mind and were now accompanied by a pulsing headache.
“It’ll be done soon,” he answered a bit tiredly. “After that, it’s just the mushrooms and tofu.”
“Wu Xie,” came the tone with a slight hint of disapproval, though he wasn’t sure why. The sudden loss of heat as Xiaoge pulled away from him really did have him letting out a barely audible whine however. Recovering from the disappointment, he turned his head halfway and hummed in acknowledgement, continuing to stir-fry the beans.
But Xiaoge only studied him with a barely perceptible frown.
“What?” he finally prompted, tossing a quick glance at the other man, curiosity outgrowing his patience.
The silence stretched for a moment more. “...Pangzi,” Xiaoge at last called out, to which he received a grunt. “Take over.”
“What? Why? Tianzhen burning the food there?” Pangzi called back, eyes still trained on the game of Mario Kart he was currently engaged in.
He grimaced in response, mild irritation flaring up again. “I only burnt string beans once, OK? And that was because someone accidentally flooded the bathroom—”
Xiaoge must have leveled a rather cool glare at Pangzi though, because before he could finish, the latter was already scrambling up from the couch and saying, “Okay, okay, I’m coming. Jeez… Just don’t tell me you’re making me cook so you can play grabby hands with Tianzhen here… that’s a little much, you pair of horny newlyweds…”
“What— I can handle it!” Wu Xie cried out in affront as Pangzi butted in from his right, taking over the wok and spatula.
Pangzi just shrugged. “Take it up with your laogong."
He wanted to continue protesting, but Xiaoge was already tugging him towards the kitchen table. “Sit,” he commanded in a tone that brooked no argument, and Wu Xie found he had no energy to offer any, so he complied. Only after sitting did he feel a sudden wave of listlessness overwhelm him.
Satisfied that he wasn’t about to move again, Xiaoge then walked back to the door and brought over the plastic bag that he then set on the table. He pulled out what appeared to be some medicine, some pain relievers and fever reducers, and Wu Xie was wondering why he got them — they weren’t about to embark on any tomb expeditions? — when Xiaoge popped open one of the bottles, grabbed Wu Xie’s hand, then shook out two pills into his palm.
Oh. Of course, he thought rather stupidly, mentally smacking himself for being such a massive idiot and trying to ignore the way his brain traitorously dredged up the comment Pangzi had just made about his inability to take care of himself. He nearly groaned at the obvious signs — how had he not realized? The fatigue, the muscle aches, the general irritability as a result… In his defense however, it’d been years since he was last sick from something that wasn’t poison, injury, or general over-exhaustion induced. The slow creep of a normal cold was something that he honestly could not remember experiencing in the past decade and probably longer. It was no wonder he no longer recognized the signs, or so he explained himself.
Unfortunately, it appeared he wasn’t the only one who made the association to prophetic comments, because Pangzi had apparently turned to check on them, and was now cackling up a storm. “Oh, Tianzhen… what did I just say, huh? Thank god you’ve got such an attentive laogong now and your poor Pang-mama doesn’t have to spend every literal minute of the day watching over your troublesome ass.”
He managed a weak glare in the other’s direction, but dry swallowed the pills obediently. Blinking, he then started, “Xiaoge, you went into town this morning?”
He received a nod in reply. “It took a little longer than expected. The roads were badly flooded.” There was an apology in his tone, but Wu Xie was too busy melting at the thoughtfulness behind the other’s action to argue the sentiment.
“Thank you,” he said quietly with a light smile, the words laden with a deeper meaning and gratitude, and Xiaoge’s eyes softened just barely.
“After lunch, you should sleep,” Xiaoge declared.
A lazy smile found its way across Wu Xie’s lips. “Will you join me?” He asked a little petulantly, knocking a knee against the other’s.
A chiding gaze met his eyes. “Sleep only,” Xiaoge acquiesced after a brief silence.
Wu Xie smiled innocently in return. “Of course.”
“Tianzhen, for the love of all that is holy, you better plant your ass firmly in bed and rest. God, it’s a wonder you survived for so long. Now, Xiaoge, since your laopo5 over there has the constitution of a flower, can you grab me a plate and take this over?”
Xiaoge dutifully obeyed, making no reaction to the term as Wu Xie had earlier, and a few moments later there was a plate of steaming warm string beans on the table. Pangzi must have started another wok in parallel, because not too long after that, the mushroom and tofu dish also appeared in front of him.
He had to begrudgingly defer to Pangzi’s culinary skills once again. The slight crisp around the tofu edges were just right in a way that he could never manage, and the umami scent of the mushrooms was extra tantalizing given its ability to tease even his tampered sense of smell6.
A bowl of rice suddenly appeared in his line of vision, and he glanced up to see Xiaoge holding out a pair of chopsticks. “Start eating.”
He complied, pace slow, as his stomach was not particularly hungry. But he knew he’d get mother-henned to death if he didn’t eat enough, so he trudged along.
Both Xiaoge and Pangzi were at the kitchen counter now, with Pangzi giving directives and Xiaoge taking on the role of sous-chef, not that there was much remaining to do. He watched them with a loppy smile, a warmth that wasn’t from the fever ensconcing him. He had to hold back a laugh when Xiaoge was stuck holding a giant daikon rather cluelessly, courtesy of Pangzi’s inadequate instructions.
The ministrations continue, and he contentedly listened to Pangzi’s off-key singing of some trending internet pop song, which was punctuated only by some short instructions here and there, and amusedly observed the subtle look of confusion or unimpressed glare Xiaoge tossed at Pangzi on various occasions. A couple of times, he caught the other man sneaking a glance towards himself, and he tucked his face into his bowl in an attempt to hide his rather silly smile.
It was difficult to believe that just a few months back, he and Xiaoge were playing the mutual pining game. It was quite embarrassing in retrospect, how a man who was almost forty and a man who was definitely way over forty could behave like a couple of shy teenagers around their first crushes. Although to be fair, he’d argue that he and Xiaoge probably were each other’s first real crushes… he vaguely recalled having a surface crush on a few girls in high school, then university, but they were always shallow and fleeting, and he was never particularly disappointed when they didn't pan out.
The development in their relationship was painfully slow — it had taken them ten plus years to even acknowledge their feelings after all — but Wu Xie was for once, not the least bit impatient. The obsessive urge around understanding, knowing, and deciphering the man that was Zhang Qiling had mellowed over time. Instead, every moment he spent with Xiaoge was something to be cherished in and of itself.
Admittedly, it wasn’t exactly a switch that he could simply turn off, this curiosity of his about the other man’s everything. The ability to disregard the past and present to live only in the now… Wu Xie confessed that that ideal was most certainly easier said than done7, and he had a newfound appreciation for those monks who so thoroughly achieve this. But ever since Xiaoge came back, there was a sense of peace, of contentment that anchored him, so even if he did at times still get a bit caught up in it all, he managed to find the calm at the end of the day, safely wrapped in the other’s embrace.
Who knew Menyouping could be such a thoughtful romantic?
His heart warmed in recollection of the little unspoken gestures that passed between them, Xiaoge slowly learning to understand Wu Xie’s inner feelings and accommodating them in a way that was so typically Xiaoge in its utilitarian execution, yet also so strangely sweet in sentiment, which were words he never would have associated with the other man before.
“Did the fever fry your brain or something, Xiao Tianzhen? Yoo-hoo, earth to Tianzhen,” came the taunt that interrupted his thoughts.
When he looked up, Pangzi had already sat down at the table and was waving a hand in front of him. He blinked, then processing the insult, narrowed his eyes. “Si Pangzi…” he cursed without any heat.
“Just checking if you were still there since you were starting to drool rather magnificently with those chopsticks hanging out of your mouth,” Pangzi defended, scooting his chair closer to the table. Xiaoge too, had sat down at the table and was watching him with a slight glint of amusement in his eyes.
He reflexively moved to wipe his mouth, then glared after sensing it was perfectly clean. But before he could make a comeback, Pangzi was already pouring a shot of liquor for himself and what appeared to be apple juice for Wu Xie and Xiaoge and saying, “Alright, so this week’s weekly toast is going to have to be a bit more sober than usual, given Tianzhen managed to fall sick doing absolutely nothing—”
“—hey!”
“—but here’s to another perfectly uneventful, peaceful, absolutely-no-life-threatening-incidents, wonderful week in this lovely village. Even though I still wish for my towels to feel not damp for once, I won’t hold that against any gods listening. Amen.” Pangzi then downed the shot and followed with a satisfied smack of his lips.
“Amen?” Wu Xie raised a skeptical brow. “Pretty sure downing a shot is not what people do after saying that.”
“That’s where you’re naive, Xiao Tianzhen! They drink wine in churches!” Pangzi cried out excitedly.
Finding neither the energy nor the will to argue, he settled for a simple shake of his head and an exasperated but fond smile, meeting Xiaoge’s own amused gaze across the table.
Uneventful and peaceful, where the most dire day to day wishes they had were things like having dry towels and bug-free rice.
Wu Xie thought he could get used to this.