Work Text:
By the time the train pulls out of the station, he has a travel guide open on his phone and his travel journal ready to take notes.
Huaisang had been a little nervous at first about traveling to Amsterdam by train. But thankfully, finding his platform at Brussels Midi had been fairly painless, and he was even able to stock up on snacks for the journey.
Finding his seat and stowing his bags had also been easy with the train mostly empty. Overall, a much easier time than the early morning departure he’d had in Prague where he struggled to find the right bus stop. He had made it out of the city in near tears, without his gloves, and with the resolve to become fluent in Czech before he comes back.
(Which he will definitely be doing. He hadn’t had time to visit the Kafka museum at all in between his castle tour, the national museum, and his shopping spree down Wenceslas square.)
But Amsterdam promises to be full of excitement. And art! He has a list of Dutch masters already in order of priority, along with his favourites of their works.
Vermeer, of course. And Rembrandt. The Rijksmuseum is a must, and he is reserving a full day for it. But the Van Gogh museum? The timing will be tight, but he might be able to fit it in.
The weather outside the windows is a little rainy and overcast, which is Huaisang’s favourite weather for train travel. Some fog over the hilly countryside would be ideal. He loves the ambience a bit of fog gives off, and the pictures turn out amazing. He’d met solo travellers like him who complain about the rain and the fog, but Huaisang loves it, loves how the cold air stings his nose and the smell of the fog sticks to his coat. And now, just before spring rounds the corner, the air is crisp and fresh with rain, tinging everything with the smell of adventure.
He hopes it does rain. Perfect travel weather, if you ask him.
His coat has a hood, so he’s not worried about getting sick. And even if he does, his older brother had forced a first-aid kit into his travel pack stocked with paracetamol and who knows what else. It had been a bulky thing to work around when he was packing, but the tiny pair of scissors in the kit had come in handy when he needed to trim off the stray threads from some of his new clothes.
And in opening the packaging on some of these snacks!
The little tray table that folds out from the seat isn’t exactly roomy, but if he puts his journal away he can fit the assortment of food he’d bought at the Express minimarket. A packet of cashews, some ham, a bread roll. And the item he’d been looking forward to the most - a round, dimpled peach.
He had hesitated when he saw it in the fruit section. A little tub of fruit salad with all of the fruit cut up into neat cubes would be easier to eat on a train. But the fruit salads had looked… not exactly fresh, and the peach, flushed pink with drops of dew (or just plain water from an enthusiastic employee’s spray bottle, probably) clinging to its fuzzy skin had been so much more appealing.
Huaisang had stowed it carefully in his backpack, nestled into the mass of his long scarf to protect the fruit from bruising, and it looks as if it had fared well enough. He brushes off a few wool fibres from the surface of it and debates eating it last, to end the small meal on a high note. But Huaisang has never been one to delay gratification needlessly, and certainly not over such small pleasures like a fruit.
He takes a bite, his teeth sinking easily into the soft flesh.
Sweet.
His eyes close involuntarily in delight. The fruit is fresh with cold, juice dripping out at the lightest press of his tongue against the fuzzy peel. The slight itchy texture of the skin is easy to ignore when the peach is this delicious.
Before he knows it, one bite turns into two, then three. And then he is holding the pit pinched between his thumb and forefinger, sucking the last remnants of the taste from his teeth. He should have bought two, even if one euro was rather pricey for one piece of fruit.
He gives the peach pit one last lick, sighing in contentment. His tongue still itches a little from the fuzz but he relishes the lingering peach flavour, reluctant to wash it down with his water.
He’d never enjoyed a peach so much back home. Maybe because he’d never had to pay a whole euro for one, but things just feel different when travelling.
He has also been ignoring all of his ge’s messages (the ones on the work email, not the family groupchat. Huaisang wants a temporary break from work, not a permanent one from life.) and perhaps it’s the freedom from work that makes everything tastes sweeter.
He lifts his phone to take a selfie - proof of life, as his brother calls it. His face looks a little red on the camera, maybe from the lighting on the train? Huaisang toggles through his favourite filters, but a careless swipe sends his phone tumbling to the floor.
If there’s one thing Huaisang hates about train travel, it’s the lack of leg room. He gropes a hand beneath his seat, cursing under his breath when his fingers only skim the plastic case. Things like this makes him want to splurge for a first class seat one day, just to see.
“Ahem, excuse me, sir?”
Huaisang lifts his head, phone in hand, to see his reflection in dark, polished Italian leather shoes. Well made and, by the looks of it, very expensive. He follows the long (long!) line of the tailored trousers above the shoes to see a pressed white shirt and a navy blazer.
And very broad shoulders.
“Sir?”
Huaisang smiles, straightening up in his seat as smoothly as he can. “Yes? How can I help you?”
The man – devastatingly handsome with his long black hair pulled back into an elegant ponytail and his sharp jawline, Huaisang is looking intently – smiles hesitantly and says in French accented English, “Ah, it’s just… you look hot.”
“Oh?” Huaisang grins, “You’re not so bad yourself, stranger.” He looks Chinese too. Huaisang’s grandmother would be happy. She was always telling him to marry someone from a good Chinese family.
But the man shakes his head. “N-no, I mean, you look flushed. Are you alright?”
Huaisang tilts his head a little. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just the light reflecting off these seats, I think.” He holds up his phone, and laughs a little. “It’s been tough to get a good picture. Though I guess with a face like yours, you wouldn’t have trouble in any lighting.”
The man blinks. “Ah?”
So maybe he needs things spelled out. No worries. Huaisang is willing to do the heavy lifting in this relationship, as long as his future husband does the actual physical lifting for everything else. Huaisang’s arms aren’t built for it.
“I’m saying that you’re handsome, handsome.” He raises his face, looking at the man through his lashes. “Would you tell me your name though? I can’t keep just calling you ‘Handsome’ in my head.”
The stranger’s eyes light up with intent, his hand reaching out to touch Huaisang’s face. But before Huaisang can get too excited the man tilts his chin back further and to the side.
This isn’t the right angle, Huaisang thinks in the space of one startled breath. His face is all the way to one side like this, how is he supposed to get at the stranger’s mouth?
But then the man says, “Sir, I think that you are having a medical emergency. Have you eaten something today that you are allergic to?”
“Wha- What, I just ate a peach, what-”
“And you’re positive that you’re not allergic to peaches? Never felt itchy after eating them?”
Huaisang splutters. “Of course I felt itchy! From the skin!”
The stranger lets go of his chin and speaks to him soothingly. “A rash is coming up around your neck and your temperature is rising. You’re having an allergic reaction, sir. Any trouble breathing?”
“N- No, I can breathe just fi- fi-”
Oh shit, he’s having trouble breathing.
“It’s going to be alright,” says the man, voice calm as Huaisang is starting to panic. “I’m a doctor. My name is Lan Huan. What’s your name, sir?”
“N-Nie Huaisang,” he replies. He watches as the doctor, Doctor Lan, opens the bag that he’d carried over. Huaisang hadn’t noticed him holding that before. He sniffles. “I was- I was going to give you my number...”
Doctor Lan shushes him, patting his suddenly shaking hand. “You can give me your number later. Right now, I’m going to give you this injection, and then we are going to be disembarking at the next stop. Okay, Huaisang?”
“O- Okay.”
“You’re doing great.” Lan Huan smiles, so beautiful it steals whatever air Huaisang has left.
But that needle he’s holding sure is big.
“Now just a little pinch...”
...
..
“... Holy shit, bro.”
“I know, right?”
Wei Ying shakes his head. “When you said that you were going to go on a trip to Europe to get yourself a man, I didn’t think that you were actually going to do it.”
“All of you keep underestimating me,” Huaisang huffs. “But that’s not even the best part!”
He leans in, eyes glittering with plans and schemes. Wei Ying has learnt to be wary when his friend looks at him like that, but he is also much too curious to not take the bait.
“What is it?”
“My hot French doctor boyfriend,” says Nie Huaisang, “has a brother.”
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