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Sui Zhou wakes in the middle of the night. He’s unsettled: his nightmare has changed again. Tang Fan is there to meet him after he digs himself out of the corpses of his brothers-in-arms, but this time instead of armor he wears the ivory robes he often relaxes in at home. This time he isn’t covered in blood and grime, and he doesn’t name Sui Zhou a bane. He shines like a beacon in the night, beckoning to him, and he calls to Sui Zhou, Guangchuan, that’s enough. That’s enough, now. It’s time to come home.
Sitting up, Sui Zhou tries to get his bearings. He looks around. The sound of Tang Fan’s voice has followed him from sleep; it was so clear in the dream that Sui Zhou half-expects to see him, standing in the doorway, reaching out a slim hand. Sui Zhou rubs a hand over his face. He’s not entirely awake but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to get back to sleep either, so he gets up and heads towards the kitchen. He’s not flushed with adrenaline like he typically is after a nightmare, but his usual strategy still seems like it will help; he can do some simple preparatory work to calm his mind.
He’s surprised to see a light coming from Tang Fan’s rooms and detours to check if he’s fallen asleep at his desk again. Tang Fan had been caught up with a case when Sui Zhou went to bed, promising that he’d be Just a minute more, Guangchuan, go to bed, go to bed, stop pestering me, waving him off with an affectionate, if distracted, smile. As Sui Zhou gets closer he can hear subtle sounds of movement, but he keeps his steps quiet. After all that has happened—the bolangs, the assassination plot and everything that came with it—Tang Fan has his own nightmares. If he has fallen into a restless sleep over his writing, Sui Zhou doesn’t want to wake him suddenly, startling him into knocking lit candles or lamps onto paper.
Sui Zhou looks through the door that Tang Fan has left ajar. Tang Fan is not asleep, although it looks like he had made a start at getting ready for bed, with his underrobe thrown on over his zhongyi. His hair is down and falling into his face; as Sui Zhou watches he tosses his head to clear it from his eyes. He is bent over his desk, but he’s not writing. He’s sewing.
Sui Zhou recognizes what he’s mending: Sui Zhou’s own blue robe, the one that he wears under his black surcoat with the embellished shoulders. It had been torn during a recent case. They had been waiting in a restaurant, staking out the illegal gambling establishment across the street. Tang Fan had been waxing poetic about the chance to try the dan dan mian that was supposedly a specialty of this particular restaurant, and he’d looked comically dismayed when their quarry emerged before their food order arrived. Sui Zhou had chased their suspect down and the man had put up a good fight, grappling with him. In the struggle he had yanked on Sui Zhou’s arm in such a way that his sleeve had torn along the shoulder seam.
When Sui Zhou had gotten home that evening and changed into his cooking robes he’d put the robe into the basket of mending set next to the laundry. It is only a little surprising to see him doing it; Dong’er usually takes care of those chores but Tang Fan will sometimes help her, complaining or fussing about it even as he shows her a new stitch or explains how they will test some new stain-removing method. From the looks of things he’s been at it for a while, the to-be-mended pile still in the basket on the floor next to him smaller than the stack of finished work he’s laid to one side of his otherwise clear desk.
Sui Zhou stands in the doorway watching Tang Fan sew. He holds one hand steady, fingers pinching together the seam he’s repairing, while the other pushes the needle into the fabric and pulls the thread through in careful, regular motions. His stitches are small and precise. Still not entirely awake, Sui Zhou gets lost in the rhythm, watching Tang Fan’s hands.
After Tang Fan places the last stitch, clipping the end of the thread with a small pair of scissors, he puts his needle back into its place in the mending basket. He smiles down at the robe, smoothing his hands over the fabric with something that looks like fondness. Sui Zhou feels it like a phantom touch and sucks in a sharp breath, loud in the silence.
Tang Fan startles and looks up, smiling when he sees Sui Zhou in the doorway. “Sui Zhou, you scared me,” he says, keeping his voice low and trying to fake a frown that doesn’t hold for long. He’s teasing; since they became intimate he only ever uses Sui Zhou instead of Guangchuan when he is pretending to be angry. There is a beat of silence as they stare at each other; Tang Fan’s smile fades and his brow furrows in concern. “You couldn’t sleep?”
Sui Zhou shakes his head. “No, I slept but…” He hesitates.
“A nightmare?” Tang Fan’s face falls even more.
Sui Zhou straightens from where he’s been leaning in the doorway, shrugging and shaking his head again. He doesn’t know how to explain. He has to look away from Tang Fan’s expression. “No.” Not exactly. Not this time. Guangchuan, come home now.
From the corner of his eye Sui Zhou can see Tang Fan lean forward, trying to search his face, one hand still absently stroking the rugged blue fabric of the robe where it falls from the desk to spread over his lap. Sui Zhou feels himself starting to tense but Tang Fan sits back, subsides, and doesn’t press.
Sui Zhou is surprised enough by this reprieve that he looks up, meeting Tang Fan’s eyes. Tang Fan can evidently read Sui Zhou’s expression and he ducks his head a bit sheepishly before looking back at Sui Zhou. “It’s alright, Guangchuan, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” He reaches out with the hand not holding the robe to beckon Sui Zhou over. “Come, come sit with me.”
The echo of the dream is too much, and Sui Zhou has to swallow down a surge of emotion that gets caught in his throat, blinking against a stinging in his eyes. Still, he can’t refuse Tang Fan, so he enters the room, sitting down on the opposite side of the desk. Tang Fan has turned his head back down to the robe, ostensibly checking his stitching but sneaking concerned glances at Sui Zhou from the corner of his eye even as he holds his peace.
“You couldn’t sleep?” Sui Zhou’s voice is hoarse but he’ll blame that on having just woken up.
“Ah, no. Well, yes. I mean, I solved the case—it was the butler, of all the clichés—and I was too…” He gestures at his head, circling his hand. “To try sleeping, so I needed something to occupy myself.” He lifts the robe, holding it across the desk toward Sui Zhou and smoothing a thumb over the mended seam. His smile looks a little sad, wistful. “I’m glad I could fix this. I know you like it.”
Sui Zhou blinks at him. Tang Fan’s not wrong—he does like it. It’s a comfortable outfit, practical; it is casual enough to let him blend into many settings, which is helpful for his work. Sui Zhou can admit that he likes the shoulder embellishments. But it’s not something he talks about, his taste for comfortable, practical clothing with interesting details.
Tang Fan interprets his look and replies to his unasked question, “You wear it so often.” His voice lilts at the end, making it almost a question, and Sui Zhou nods.
“You’re right.” He should have known—Tang Fan is nothing if not observant. It should feel uncomfortable, to be so… seen; he should wonder what other unshared personal quirks Tang Fan has noticed. He isn’t surprised to realize that it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t mind. There’s nothing he would hide from Tang Fan; after so long and all they’ve been through, he doubts he’d be very successful at it even if he wanted to.
“Tang Fan…” he starts. He doesn’t know how to say what he means, but he has to say something—maybe if he can convince himself he’s still dreaming... “Runqing.” He reaches out and covers Tang Fan’s hand where he’s holding the robe. “Thank you.”
Tang Fan lets go of the robe, turning his hand to clasp Sui Zhou’s. “Guangchuan,” he breathes out. His eyes dart over Sui Zhou’s face, searching his expression, and he squeezes Sui Zhou’s hand. “Guangchuan, you don’t have to thank me. You, of all people—all you’ve done for me, for Dong’er—”
“Not for this.” Sui Zhou looks down, touches the mended seam with his free hand. “Well, not just for this.” He pauses, frustrated that he can’t find the words for what he’s feeling. “It’s… better. Everything is better with you here.” He lifts his head, meets Tang Fan’s gaze, hoping that he’ll understand. “I’m glad you’re here, with me.”
Tang Fan rises up on his knees so that he can lean forward, bracing his hands on top of the desk. “I’m glad, too. Oh, Guangchuan, me too.” His eyes are bright and his smile is trembling and Sui Zhou has to kiss him. He leans up and in as Tang Fan ducks down and their lips meet softly.
Tang Fan makes a familiar yearning whine, pressing in, and then a startled yelp as the fabric of the robe slips over the smooth surface of the desk where he’d been bracing his hand on it, tipping him forward abruptly. Sui Zhou reaches up to catch him by the shoulders and kisses the gasp from his lips, licking in to taste more of him. He can never get enough. In all the other domains of the life they have built together Tang Fan is the greedy one, but in this they have found that Sui Zhou is greedy, too. Tang Fan’s hair falls around their faces as he arches forward, almost climbing over the desk, and his hands settle from where they’d flailed out for balance, one on Sui Zhou’s bicep and one on his neck, curling over his nape and pulling him in tighter.
Tang Fan sighs into the kiss and Sui Zhou loses time, caught up in the softness of Tang Fan’s lips, the heat of his mouth. They’re both tired and overwhelmed, and the kiss is unfocused for all its intensity: wet, messy, a loose slide of open mouths. Sui Zhou breathes deeply as their lips part and blinks his eyes open slowly to see Tang Fan leaning back and opening his own eyes.
Tang Fan doesn’t go far; his hands come up to cup Sui Zhou’s face and he runs his thumbs over the skin under Sui Zhou’s eyes. “We should sleep,” he says. Sui Zhou makes a wordless, protesting sound, but Tang Fan shushes him, “I know, I know.” He leans forward for another kiss but pulls away too quickly for Sui Zhou to stop him, half-awake as he is. “I know, Guangchuan, but that’s enough for now. It will keep. Come to bed.” He lets go of Sui Zhou’s face, leaning back and pushing himself up from the desk. He gathers up Sui Zhou’s robe, laying it across the stack of mended items before standing and blowing out all the candles. He picks up a small lamp and circles around the desk so he can tug at Sui Zhou with his free hand, pulling him to stand up. “Come to bed, Guangchuan. Come to bed with me.”
That’s enough. Come home, Sui Zhou hears. He shivers, but it’s not unsettling, this echo of his dream. It’s a muscle held tightly for too long finally being released; it’s a relief. Tang Fan steps into Sui Zhou’s space, presses the words into Sui Zhou’s lips, “Come to bed.” Tang Fan steps back and takes Sui Zhou’s hand.
“Yes, Runqing.” Sui Zhou lets himself be led to Tang Fan’s bedroom. He watches as Tang Fan sets the lamp on his dresser and strips off his underrobe, letting it fall carelessly across the floor. He follows Tang Fan’s gentle nudging back to the bed, sitting down and pulling Tang Fan down with him.
Sui Zhou lies back and Tang Fan cuddles into his side, nudging himself up and over to pillow his head on Sui Zhou’s chest. He hitches his hip up, winding their nearest legs together. Sui Zhou wraps an arm around his shoulders. They fall asleep like that, entwined.
When Sui Zhou wakes in the morning it’s to the sound of Dong’er cheerfully greeting the goat as she crosses the courtyard, heading to the kitchen to start breakfast. If he had any more dreams in the night, he doesn’t remember them. He runs his hand gently over Tang Fan’s tangled hair, listening to the sleepy, protesting sounds he makes over having been woken, and is content.