Chapter Text
Dan Heng still has one foot in the shower when he reads the message.
‘Yingxing passed away.’
Shocked, he lowers the phone, its cracked screen sticking to a pale, damp thigh. The off-white walls of his and Caelus’ cramped, steam-filled bathroom close in on him with the force of a collapsing building. Dan Heng can feel that damning, final gust of cold wind raising goosebumps down the length of his arms before everything comes crashing down on top of him.
The next few minutes are a bit of a blur. Body on auto-pilot, he methodically towels himself off and changes into a fresh pair of clothes. Through it all, his brain remains oddly empty, his heartbeat steady. Nothing shakes. Nothing hurts.
Feeling off, head filled with deafening white noise, he steps outside.
There is no good way to say this. Stelle lounges on their cream-colored sofa, nose-first in her phone, one foot propped against the low coffee table in a way that would normally drive Dan Heng insane. March is digging through their pathetically small assortment of tea packets back in the kitchenette while humming something to herself. Caelus won’t be back for another hour or so, chained to his third part-time job of the month.
They were supposed to head out to the movies for some chick flick with sci-fi undertones that March has been dying to see for months now. Today just happened to be one of the rare occasions when all of their busy schedules sort of aligned—Caelus was going to join them right before the opening credits—and while Dan Heng had spent quite some time meticulously planning out this little outing, he did not exactly account for the possibility of Dan Feng’s husband’s untimely death.
“What took you so long?” Stelle mumbles without bothering to look up from her brainrot device, heatedly tapping away. “Were you giving birth in there or something?”
Dan Feng.
A violent shiver races down his spine at the first thought of his older brother. Dan Heng clears his throat, cutting off March’s chipper question of "Mint or pineapple?". His lips feel unnaturally chapped as he opens them, mouth parched. There is no good way to bring this up. “I’m sorry, I just got some bad news. I–I think we will have to disperse.” He can feel both girls’ eyes on him, intent. Dan Heng doesn’t know where to look, so he averts his gaze.
There’s no good way to tell someone these things.
And yet, he still forces out the foreign-sounding words, awkward. “Yingxing’s dead.”
The deafening statement leaves a sour aftertaste on his tongue, much like stomach acid residue. Another shudder rakes down his tense spine.
It’s March who reacts first, the audible gasp and the telling smack of a tea box hitting the counter no quieter than a bombshell going off. Dan Heng visibly flinches as she power walks to him. Thankfully, the girl has just enough common sense to stop herself from enveloping her best friend in a tight bear hug. Her sparkly, painted nails hover an inch above Dan Heng’s stiff shoulder, catching the faint light of the late spring afternoon streaming in through the open windows.
Stelle is the one who breaks the tense, mournful silence. “I am very sorry for your loss,” she offers with every bit of honesty that her flat voice can squeeze out, pocketing the phone. She keeps her distance and remains seated, feet firm on the ground, elbows propped against her knees as she slumps forward. Her yellow-eyed gaze peers into the deepest, darkest corners of Dan Heng’s mute mind, pulling it apart at the seams, looking for damage that it had yet to process. “Is there anything we can do for you?”
March bites her lower lip at that, her sapphire eyes shining with the glossy sheen of compassionate tears. She nods resolutely, finally setting her hand on Dan Heng’s shoulder, soothing.
The well-meaning touch siphons away the meager remains of his strength. Suddenly, he feels exhausted, ready to collapse under the pull of gravity. As gently as he can, Dan Heng extracts himself from his friend’s hold, taking a wavering step back. “I need time to process this. Alone, if that’s alright. Inform Caelus, I’ll be back in my room.”
March looks ready to protest, but a single, stiff headshake from Stelle stops her right in her tracks. “Take all the time you need,” she forces out instead, balling her hands into tight fists. “We’ll be outside.”
“You can leave.”
He hopes that his wishes are clear enough from his tone alone.
Stelle nods, waving her visibly distraught friend away.
By the time he shuts the door of his darkened cave, he can already hear the rustling sounds of his friends pulling on their outdoor clothes.
Dan Heng has never been good at processing strong emotions, despite the constant reassurances from family and friends alike that everything was fine with him. In the end, everyone was built differently, so there was no universal way to feel things out.
Grief has always been a bit of a tricky emotion for him to grasp. After all, he’s never experienced “a true loss”—both of his parents seemed to be alive and well, and so were his grandparents. The ones who were already gone, he was far too young to remember, so their passing meant very little to him at the time, a toddler aged three.
Dan Heng recalls burying their family’s pet finch in the backyard. As calmly as he could, he stood by Dan Feng’s side, hot tears rolling down his rosy, snot-smudged cheeks still plump with baby fat, young heart aching for the feathery creature that had brought them so much joy. He ended up placing a single daisy on the fresh mound of dirt that Dan Feng had flattened with his bare hands because their parents did not think such trite funeral rituals to be a necessity for some old, screeching bird that was far too much trouble than it was worth.
Dan Feng was positively livid when they’d suggested throwing out the finch’s remains, storming out with the sealed shoebox pressed tight against his chest, Dan Heng in tow.
He remembers the comforting weight of his older brother’s hand against his scalp, dirty fingers threading through his curly locks in a silent attempt to soothe him, to alleviate at least some of that pain, a burden far too heavy for a child to carry.
All things considered, death is an unfamiliar concept to Dan Heng, one that he has pondered extensively back in his depression-riddled, middle school days. All he knows is that it is the final stop for all things living, gradually erasing all traces of one’s existence with the unforgiving passage of time. A peaceful, eternal rest for the departed, and a neverending ache for the ones left behind, longing for happier times that would never again be experienced, preserved in memories only.
The point is that Dan Heng knows what death entails, what it brings, and what it takes. He recollects the feelings of grief, even though he’s never experienced them to this extent before. Remembers the bitter tears of sadness, the pain of permanent partings, so why is it that right now he finds himself completely hollow? Why is it that he is unable to shed a single tear for the man that he considers family?
Why is it that he is built wrong? Broken?
He boots up his work laptop and checks his phone for notifications, finding a single missed call from Dan Feng, the timestamp indicating that it was made right before that awful message, which he then reads and rereads, barely making sense of the dreadful words.
Dan Heng knows that he should be calling back his brother right away. He's aware of this, but then proceeds to spend the next forty-five minutes watching some video online about a subject that he isn’t even interested in, his mind adrift somewhere in the void, still hauntingly empty.
The faux sense of peace doesn’t last long. Over time, he grows restless enough to pick up the blasted device and hit the call button, taking in a shallow, shuddering breath once he hears the automatic voice of the phone service provider informing him that the line is currently busy.
Yingxing is dead, and Dan Feng, poor, heartbroken Dan Feng, is a three-hour flight away, no doubt dialing numbers and making… other arrangements. Away and unavailable, with no alternative way to reach him.
Dan Heng has no way of making sure that he’s alright. That he’ll make it. He is on the opposite end of the country and has no idea how to properly communicate to his brother just how sorry he is.
Dan Heng is far, far away, and there’s a small, fucked up part of him that is almost glad that Dan Feng did not pick up the phone right there and then, only to hear out another round of empty condolences, this time coming from his emotionless sibling, who clearly wasn’t affected by this ordeal badly enough to sound at least a little bit shaken.
Perhaps it’s self-pity that makes the first tear roll—the gradual realization that he is a bad person and that all of his negative beliefs about himself are undeniably, irrevocably true. Perhaps it’s pity for Dan Feng, the sudden loss of his older brother’s main source of happiness, the snuffed-out flame of the family hearth. Perhaps it’s mourning for a lost life—wrong, strange, and foreign.
There is a gaping sinkhole in his chest, a formless maw consuming every single thought daring to grace the surface of his mind, leaving him incredibly numb.
Wrung dry of feeling, he still finds it in himself to cry, quiet, ragged gasps muffled into the sleeve of his sweater. It feels somewhat forced, yet it is far more real than anything Dan Heng has ever experienced.
When Dan Feng introduces Dan Heng to his one and only lover, he is undeniably surprised.
There’s a certain type of… oddness that comes with seeing a tired med student barely halfway through his rigorous studies tucked against the side of a man who is already showing generous signs of aging, deep-set lines adorning lively, lilac eyes, and more white hair than one could possibly count. Still, Dan Heng quickly chases that notion away, immediately picking up on the whys of this magnetic attraction, rather than the hows.
For one, Yingxing is incredibly charming. Everything about his disposition, from the animated body language to his manner of speech, gives him a special kind of youthful glow that most people his age have already lost and would be extremely envious of. He always makes sure to treat his conversation partner as an equal no matter what, foregoing the rigid notions of imagined seniority. As such, he is open and honest, if not a little bit arrogant, so it is no surprise that the far more reserved Dan Feng has found himself gravitating to this enigmatic persona’s orbit, much like a moth drawn to a flame.
Even though Yingxing is old enough to pass for Dan Heng's father, he can still see the appeal. Good-looking and kindhearted, quick-witted and reliable, he is everything that Dan Heng would ever want, and then some, if not for the simple fact that the older man only had eyes for his deeply infatuated brother.
Dan Heng is quick to bury those creeping, misplaced feelings of want, genuinely pleased to see Dan Feng’s hard-earned happiness finally coming to fruition.
It doesn’t take long for Yingxing to become a constant in their lives. No more than a year later, the two brothers find themselves moving into the famous artisan’s considerably huge house. An impulsive purchase, Yingxing sheepishly offered the very first time Dan Heng came over for a visit, invited for a cozy dinner for three, his jaw slackening at the unexpected grandeur of the older man’s abode.
When Dan Feng nervously broke the news of his impending move, Dan Heng could only offer a small, encouraging smile, having expected this inevitable change, to be left behind to his own devices. Ignoring the sharp pang of loneliness tugging at his gut, he wished his older brother the best of luck and then promptly shut up when Dan Feng announced that he, too, was welcome to stay with the couple for as long as he wanted.
Yingxing, the kind, giving soul that he was, only nodded in agreement, offering his lover’s seventeen-year-old brother a blindingly brilliant smile, a wide, calloused palm smoothing over the stiff, stress-riddled arch of Dan Feng’s shoulders.
The next two years were a wonderful experience. It didn’t take much for the three of them to turn that hulking, empty house into a home. Doted on by the couple who felt as though they’d been together for three lifetimes rather than a handful of years, for the very first time in his life, Dan Heng felt a true sense of belonging, a part of a loving family that he’d always so desperately wanted.
It was a humble dream that was mercilessly ripped away from him by his parents on the night of his older brother’s banishment, as they were no longer willing to deal with his “rebellious, untraditional ways”. Torn between staying with those cruel, close-minded individuals and following his ever-supportive sibling, Dan Heng chose the latter. As fast as he could, he packed his things and ran out the front door without ever bothering to look back, chasing after the faint outline of Dan Feng’s retreating silhouette.
Just as Dan Feng was his salvation, Dan Heng vows to become his—seven years down the line and already living his own life, about to graduate from university. Five years have passed since he left their family nest in pursuit of quality studies, dutifully clearing out his bedroom for the imminent addition to their little family, a daughter on the way.
He’ll become a pillar of support for his brother’s shattered family, sturdy enough to lean against through thick and thin. Dan Heng knows that it’s what Yingxing would want, his stomach lurching with nausea at the rather vivid, horrifying visual that his imagination paints when he thinks about his niece’s inevitable reaction to her father’s passing.
He’ll put away his broken, wrong grief into an unlabeled box and then shove it into the recesses of his blank mind, all for the sake of taking over with the more unpleasant parts that come with making funeral arrangements. He cannot let Dan Feng do this alone. Not like this. Not now.
Not when he’ll have to pick up his precious daughter from kindergarten and explain to her that Yingxing won’t be coming home tonight.
Caelus comes home right as Dan Heng blazes a trail on the off-red carpet with his restless pacing, constantly redialing Dan Feng’s number, his lower lip raw with how much he’s been gnawing it.
He silently sits by Dan Heng’s side once his roommate’s weak knees noodle out and he sinks into the sofa, the call finally going through.
Dan Feng’s tinny, ragged voice is like a muttered curse in Dan Heng’s ears, filling him with unspeakable dread as his older brother attempts to gather his thoughts and then promptly breaks down, no longer able to keep up appearances.
It was fast, Dan Feng tells him. He collapsed in the hallway and he didn’t suffer. A consequence of the long history of heart-related issues running in the family. Perhaps it’s the bottle of wine that the two of them had shared yesterday. A missed pill in the morning.
"It doesn’t feel real," Dan Feng forces out, words cracking pathetically at the end. Only thirty minutes before his husband’s death, he'd received a text from him asking what he would like for dinner.
All Dan Heng can do is allow Dan Feng to vent, listening to the steady, garbled streams of "Why him?" and "What will I do now?", making sure to counter each one with a heartfelt apology that he means from the very bottom of his heart. Each broken sob stabs into his heart with the accuracy and precision of a thrown dagger coated in slow-working poison.
His own face feels tight, hot, and wet when he takes in a slow, shuddering breath, grip white-knuckled on his jeans, close to ripping the thin material. Detached from his physical body, through the fog in his vision, he sees a tanned, slightly larger palm covering his own, giving it a grounding squeeze that Dan Heng doesn’t quite feel.
“We’ll get through this, I promise,” he tells his wrecked brother, who has gone awfully quiet on the other end, almost as though he could no longer withstand the weight of his crushing emotions. Privately, Dan Heng wonders if he, too, has gone numb. “I’ll be there as long as you need me to.”
Dan Heng knows that Dan Feng’s entire world, his entire universe, is collapsing in on itself when, instead of the usual dismissal, followed up by a playful jab of being perfectly capable of handling everything by himself, he receives a breathy word of thanks.
Dan Heng loses track of the calls that he has to make.
Dan Feng’s cozy home reverts to a cold, uninviting house without Yingxing’s larger-than-life, sunny presence there to brighten up the atmosphere. There is a distinctive lack of stories and witty jokes, and there is no smell of aromatic, fine food wafting from the empty kitchen. Without the distant rumble of the television or the hum of the radio playing some old-timey love song that Yingxing would undoubtedly know the lyrics of, poorly singing along to it, everything about this place feels… wrong.
The only reminders of his existence come in the form of family pictures and plenty of trinkets that he's gifted to his beloved. Handmade, perfect, because Dan Feng deserves nothing less. Yingxing's beige work jacket still rests crumpled and abandoned on the sofa, wrung into a mess by Dan Feng’s unsteady hands as he wept into it, muffled screams so raw that they no longer sounded human, each pained wail making Dan Heng’s eyes well up with a fresh wave of tears, palms twitchy and moist on top of Dan Feng’s shoulders.
He’d promised to become Dan Feng’s pillar of support, but at that moment, he didn’t feel particularly strong or reliable, morphing back into a lost child, unable to properly be there for his older brother yet again.
While Dan Heng sort of knew what he could expect, it was their daughter that he was entirely unprepared for.
Bailu hadn’t dared to step inside her home ever since Yingxing’s passing, taken in by her deceased father’s closest friend, Jing Yuan, who immediately dropped everything to accommodate Yingxing’s bereaved husband and child. Mind and spirit thoroughly shattered, Dan Feng had only shown up to allow Dan Heng inside and to collect his and Bailu’s belongings.
A sore mistake that delivered yet another great blow to his sanity, or what remained of it. An hour later, Dan Heng was in the driver's seat of Dan Feng's car, not trusting the latter man with such a precise task, constantly casting worried glances at his older sibling, unkempt, greasy hair leaving misty smudges against the window as he watched the urban scenery pass by with dead, unseeing eyes, one of Yingxing's oversized jackets wrapped around his significantly smaller frame, a security blanket still smelling like the faint traces of his beloved.
Jing Yuan greeted them at the doorway, his usual smile not reaching those golden eyes, creasing with sympathy at the first sight of Dan Feng’s haggard appearance.
Dan Feng was quick to excuse himself, asking the other two to inform his daughter that he’d be taking a long bath. Without much conversation between them, aside from a few pleasantries, Jing Yuan led Dan Heng to one of the guest rooms, quietly knocking on the ajar door to inform Bailu of their presence.
Dan Heng had no idea what face he should be making when faced with his baby niece, suddenly at a loss for words, fearful of what he might find.
Tears were a given. Perhaps a childish lack of understanding, but he was not prepared to see her calm as ever, staring out the window with Jing Yuan’s chunky, snow-white cat curled up on her lap. Sitting in the quiet, dim room, she barely acknowledged their arrival, pale blue eyes fixed on the bright pink lining of the fluffy clouds covering the rapidly darkening sky.
Slowly, she turned to see her beloved uncle awkwardly standing in the doorway, a hint of surprise passing over her face as she carefully set down the snoozing pet and launched herself at Dan Heng, nearly barreling him over, face buried in his sweater.
With a meaningful look thrown over his shoulder, Dan Heng attempted to wordlessly communicate to the host that he would like to be left alone with his family, but Jing Yuan was already retreating, granting them their privacy with a single, concerned mutter about checking in on Dan Feng.
Together, they spent some time simply standing there while wrapped around each other, Bailu’s petite shoulders shaking all the while, much like Dan Feng’s. One of Dan Heng’s hands rested on her quivering upper back, while the other burrowed itself in her loose, purple hair. Once he finally opened his mouth, having gathered just enough courage to say something to the small girl suffocating against his torso, she beat him to it, words muffled against the knit material of his clothes, but her tone no less grave.
“Don’t,” she interrupted before Dan Heng could get anywhere with his half-assed condolences, snapping his slack jaw shut. “Don’t say it. Too many people have said it already.”
Dan Heng blinked, feeling cold and warm all at once. “Alright,” he acquiesced, giving her another pat. “Is there anything that you would like to do?”
Finally, his niece pulled her face away, misty-eyed, a determined twinkle in her gaze. She was so much like her proud parents in that way. Briefly, Dan Heng thought that it was wrong for a small child to run away from "big, scary" emotions like this, but he firmly refused to do anything about it, picking up on the hints of his hypocrisy. After all, he too was unable to feel things out in “proper” and "socially acceptable" ways.
“Dad got me a new book right before he…” A sniffle, sad and pathetic. “Can you read it for me? I don’t want to ask Papa.”
Dan Feng would not be reading anything anytime soon, Dan Heng thought to himself, picking up on a distant, resounding sob, followed by a muffled, consoling murmur from Jing Yuan. A single look at Bailu, who’d flinched back from the entrance upon hearing it as though she’d been slapped, looking no worse than a frightened, sopping-wet hamster, immediately forced Dan Heng into motion.
He quickly closed the door behind himself, stepping closer to an intricate table lamp. “Okay. Do you mind if I turn the light on? I don’t think I’ll be able to see the text clearly without it.”
In no less than a few minutes, Dan Heng was curled up with his niece on the queen-sized bed, cozy beneath at least three layers of Jing Yuan’s pristine, fluffy blankets, Mimi the cat napping away between them, an educational book about biology for children in his hands.
Right as he stifled a yawn into his hand, almost lulled to sleep by the sense of comfort, his niece’s head warming his shoulder and the chunky kitten his side, Bailu called out to him, a hand rubbing at her tired eyes.
“Dan Heng?”
“Mh?”
“Where’s Ren?”
The unexpected question quickly chased away all and any lingering remains of tiredness, much like being doused with ice-cold water. His spine grew rigid, tensing with alertness, as Bailu remained blissfully unaware of his internal plight.
“I don’t know,” he offered distractedly while trying to locate the last sentence that he’d read, coming up empty-handed. His thoughts were now pulled elsewhere, cruelly invaded and occupied by a pair of blazing, infernal eyes and midnight-blue hair, resting in messy knots against pale blue sheets.
He hadn’t thought about them for quite some time.
“Will he come?” The girl lifted her head just enough to get a better look at her uncle’s impassive face, quivering her lower lip.
He could have lied, could’ve set her mind at ease with false promises. In the end, he chose not to.
With a defeated sigh, he closed the book. “I don’t know, Bailu,” he patiently told his niece, watching her round, angelic face fall at his apologetic tone. “I can’t let you know for sure.”
“Did anyone tell him?” she continued questioning, her distress growing more and more apparent. “Does he know that Dad’s—” Bailu whimpered, lips pulled taut.
To do damage control, Dan Heng arranged them to lie side by side, now staring into her big, round eyes, shining with unshed tears and filled with uncertainty. Fear for the future. Hurting for his little girl, he smoothed a hand down her chubby cheek, rubbing small circles into it with his thumb.
“He knows. I’ll ask him again,” Dan Heng added, squeezing back Bailu’s left hand that had wormed its way into his palm. “Don’t think about that now. I think you should get some rest.”
“I can’t sleep, not since...” she whined, only for her uncle to firmly shake his head, a deep, concerned frown pulling at his lips.
“Try. It might be hard, but try. You will feel better.” Then, as a last-ditch effort, he added. “Try for Papa, alright? ”
Dan Feng, who had not slept a wink since he found his husband collapsed in their family home. Who, in his panic, ended up dashing outside as fast as his legs could carry him to beg for his neighbors’ help, despite having felt no signs of life beneath his well-practiced fingers, delusional with denial. Who hadn’t dared to call the ambulance, his hands shaking far too badly for him to pick up his phone, leaving the insurmountable task to the handful of people crowding the entrance, shooting him pitying looks.
Dan Feng, who had gone awfully quiet once more, observed by Jing Yuan’s ever-watchful eye.
Dan Feng, who was beside himself with grief, unable to properly care for his daughter, to do something as simple as put her to bed.
Dan Feng, who had entrusted Dan Heng with managing future communications with Yingxing's family, far too emotionally unstable to continue listening to the same old reassurances he had been receiving for the past decade.
‘You were the shining moon in his starlit sky.’
A month after their big move to Yingxing’s place, Dan Heng gets introduced to Ren.
Yingxing has high hopes for their potential future friendship. He calls Ren a troubled kid, a difficult child who is, at his very core, extremely lonely and socially awkward. It would do him good to meet new people like Dan Heng, who is mild, pleasant, and polite, a soothing salve for one’s weary soul, meant to fix all wrongs and undo all and any underlying anger issues driven by teenage angst.
Yingxing is a little delusional, so to speak, but Dan Heng is far too grateful for this man’s presence in their lives to not cave in with only minimal persuasion, agreeing to this strange playdate that he is far too old for.
Even though he isn’t exactly looking forward to it—he’s always been the type to enjoy peace and quiet, and Ren seemed to be anything but peaceful, waging constant wars on his exhausted, elderly parents, much like Dan Feng used to—he cannot help but be a little curious, Yingxing’s stories about his baby brother painting a very vivid, perhaps biased image in Dan Heng’s mind.
Their generous age gap has always gotten in the way of them forging a solid sibling bond, with Ren being fifteen and Yingxing well on his way to his forties, old enough to be his parental figure, but it was undeniable that Yingxing cared deeply for his misfit younger brother, wanting nothing more than for him to be happy.
The first time Dan Heng meets Ren, he meets him face-to-a-solid-chest right as he opens the door for him. Briefly, he thinks about how unfair puberty is, with this brat, two years his junior, towering over him with his impressive 190 centimeters of height.
Dan Heng cranes his head up, confused, thinking that someone must have gotten the wrong address, but one glance at Ren’s face betrays an undeniable blood connection to Yingxing, minus the sour expression. Piercing red eyes and midnight-blue locks that fall into a tangled, untamed mess, cascading over broad shoulders that should not belong to a high schooler. Far too many earrings than Dan Heng can count, their metal rings catching the bright, homey light of the spacious hallway, making them gleam. Black snakebites nestled beneath downturned, rosy lips. The leather jacket, ripped jeans, and heavy boots combo, accentuated by a washed-out band T-shirt of which Dan Heng has never heard of, give him an air of bona fide pretentiousness and douchebaggery that immediately makes him frown, deeply judgemental.
Ren frowns right back at him, his eerie eyes pulling a perfunctory once-over of Dan Heng’s far more casual, sporty appearance. He was not aware that they were going to a garage gig afterwards. Perhaps Ren did not get the memo.
If Yingxing looks like the embodiment of a golden retriever, then Ren is, without a doubt, a snarling Dobermann looking a second away from snapping his jaws in Dan Heng’s direction, eager to tear out his nervously bobbing throat.
Thankfully, Yingxing is there to quickly extract Dan Heng from this rather unpleasant scenario.
All things considered, the dinner goes well. Despite sitting right in front of Ren, Dan Heng hardly meets those vermillion eyes, pointedly keeping his gaze either fixed on the table or Yingxing’s smiling face, as the man takes it upon himself to steer the conversation whichever way he wishes, with Dan Feng going above and beyond just to keep this sinking boat afloat, contributing far more than he normally would.
Despite Ren’s haughty appearance, his presence is nearly non-existent. For the most part, he is polite, if only a little snappy whenever he is speaking to Dan Feng, which, in turn, grates against Dan Heng’s nerves. Still, he doesn’t say much, quietly going through the three-course meal painstakingly prepared by his older, try-hard sibling, who doesn’t fail to hype up Dan Heng a little too much once they reach the dessert, leaving the teen in question flushed.
If Dan Heng is being completely honest with himself, he knows that he's gotten in Yingxing’s way too much, barely contributing anything to the creamy masterpiece sitting on the tiny plate before him. It was a miracle that Yingxing hadn't kicked him out of the kitchen when Dan Heng spilled flour all over himself while trying to whisk in the eggs.
Upon hearing such high praise, Ren’s unrelenting stare pricks the side of Dan Heng's cherry-red face for the tenth time in thirty-something seconds, offering a murmured "Delicious" of acknowledgement, the tip of his tongue poking out to chase after the lingering remains of sweetness sticking to his pierced bottom lip.
If Dan Heng blushes any harder at that, no one is able to tell.
By the end of the night, they find themselves upstairs in Dan Heng’s small room with its own private, little balcony, a cigarette dangling between Ren’s lips. A cheap, plastic lighter is already sparking to life as he throws a dispassionate "Do you mind if I smoke here?" over a broad shoulder, not expecting any response or resistance, perhaps far too accustomed to getting his way, easily intimidating the less well-adjusted souls into submission with his size alone.
Ren may be built like his bedroom closet, but that doesn't stop Dan Heng from standing his ground, marching right outside and plucking the cancer stick straight from those slack lips, privately reveling in the look of surprise that passes over those red irises, clearly taken aback by the host's boldness.
“I do mind,” Dan Heng hisses, puffing up to appear slightly bigger. Immediately, Ren’s hand lashes out to retrieve his cigarette, which Dan Heng smoothly moves out of range, pulling it behind his back. The cramped, practically non-existent space, along with the motion of Ren’s swipe, leaves them standing uncomfortably close to each other. He notices that Ren smells good. Too good, in fact, sharp teeth bared, the bridge of his slim nose crinkling with displeasure. “Have some respect.”
“I’m being plenty respectful,” Ren forces out through gritted teeth, eyes gleaming dangerously. Dan Heng feels a shiver of absolute thrill run down his spine, sparking like electricity. “I did Yingxing a solid and showed up to this nonsense. I was on my best behavior, so I think I deserve a break now.”
Another lunge, another side-step. A complicated dance with no room left to navigate. The small of Dan Heng’s back presses into the tiny balcony’s intricate rail. Ren doesn’t relent despite the precarious position that could easily send them both careening over the edge and into the lush hedge below.
“What is your problem?” Dan Heng questions, now mildly annoyed. A disappointed frown tugs at his lips as he eyes Ren warily, taking in the other’s rude scoff. Those crimson eyes scorch his face with the intensity of a million burning suns. “Yingxing went through all of this trouble to make you feel included, and the entire night you’ve been acting like we’ve stuck pins and needles in your chair. Tell me, are you always like this, or is tonight just exceptional?”
“You,” Ren says, voice hard, “have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.” Before Dan Heng can blink, the taller boy leans over him, retrieving the cigarette in one fell swoop. He holds it close to Dan Heng’s face, positioned between his middle and pointer fingers, adding insult to injury.
Ren’s fierce, unsettling eyes never leave Dan Heng’s as he brings the filter of the cigarette to rest between his teeth and then takes a generous step back. The shorter teen lets out a strained breath that he’s been unknowingly holding in, heart positively jackhammering in his tight ribcage. “My mother thinks that Dan Feng,” Ren calls out Dan Heng’s brother’s name with a mocking undertone, clicking the lighter to life once more, “is the best thing since sliced bread. I only came here to see what the fuss was about. Nothing magical, let me tell you.” Ren gives Dan Heng a quick once-over, a mean snort bubbling up in his chest, bordering on derisive. “As far as I’m concerned, the sun doesn’t shine out of his ass.”
Unperturbed by the pointed glare, he continues, taking a long drag from the lit cancer stick. “Yingxing may have that whole “suave man” thing going on for him, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s way too emotional, not to mention dumb as bricks. The last fling that he had, with an age gap that wide, left him damaged and in debt. I just wanted to see for myself whether he was stepping on the same beartrap again.”
“So that’s what this is all about?” Dan Heng starts, first uncertain, then quickly firing up, much like a firecracker going off. “You’re treating my brother like a prick because you think that he’s a gold digger?”
And yes, while the idea of Dan Feng being anything but madly in love with his partner is completely mind-boggling to Dan Heng personally, that doesn’t mean that others share his personal views. Least of all Ren, who only seems to be looking out for his older brother just to make sure that he doesn’t get hurt twice in a row.
Anyone with half a brain would side-eye the couple if only they knew that Yingxing was, in fact, loaded, wary of Dan Feng’s convenient beauty and his young age. If they knew that Dan Heng was mostly freeloading in his brother’s boyfriend’s home, with the small exceptions of helping out with the more tedious household chores and entertaining rude guests. It’s a small price to pay, one that he covers with his personal time and his rapidly dwindling sanity, receiving more and more psychic damage with every second spent trapped here with Ren on this small balcony, with the early autumn breeze combing gentle fingers through those messy, long locks and the setting sun catching in those blazing irises just right.
Feeling Dan Heng’s stare on the side of his handsome, angular face, Ren turns to face him, puffing out smoke. It curls attractively over his form, carried by a gust of warm September wind. “I guess time will tell, now won’t it, Dan Heng?” the taller boy purrs, his deep voice raising goosebumps along Dan Heng’s arms, thankfully hidden from view by the long sleeves of his forest-green hoodie.
And time really does tell.
It takes a few more months for Ren to stop passing judgment long enough to finally make up his mind about Dan Feng, who is nothing but patient throughout the lengthy screening process. At one point, he even lets it slip that he finds the boy’s protectiveness endearing, although he could seriously work on his prickly attitude.
Thanks to Yingxing’s unrelenting nature and his desire to integrate his younger brother into their household, Ren ends up visiting their home every other weekend or so, gradually mellowing out with each kind word and gesture extended to him by Dan Heng's older sibling. It doesn’t take long before Dan Feng completely tames the beastly kid, viewing the other as some sort of pathetic, hissing stray deserving of tasty food and love.
While Dan Feng and Ren start to get along, for a long while, Dan Heng and Ren remain at a standstill, with Dan Heng not exactly liking this new, chaotic addition to his mostly peaceful life, which is completely fine because Ren seemingly shares the sentiment anyway.
And yet, something shifts between them by the very end of that first winter, with the first rays of warm sunlight gracing the frosty blades of wilted grass and the slippery surfaces of iced-over puddles, thawing the dirty water. One moment they’re working on Ren’s incomprehensible Advanced Calculus problems that Dan Heng can barely make sense of even with the two years of extra math experience under his belt—who knew that there would be such a difference in education between a public and a private school?—and the next, Ren is brushing aside the coal-black hair of Dan Heng’s overgrown fringe falling into his seafoam green eyes, framed by thick-rimmed reading glasses.
Another moment, filled with bizarre, lingering tension and deafening silence, unspoken questions to which the two of them had no answers, and their mouths are roughly meshing together, clumsy with inexperience but no less eager to connect, to fill in the missing gaps, several months of mutual attraction finally reaching its peak.
By sunset, Dan Heng is left completely breathless, mark-covered torso exposed to the pleasantly cool temperature of his room, Ren’s massive frame partly draped over him, seemingly fast asleep, face partially obscured by the thick, tangled curls of his long hair.
They don't end up doing much of anything, aside from some casual fondling and languidly sucking face for hours on end, unwilling to stop for more than five minutes, but it only takes them three days to pick up the pace, with Dan Heng's pants now joining the ever-growing pile of their clothes.
This continues for about two years.
The entire time, they don’t bother to ask each other what they are and where they're headed with this… seemingly entirely physical relationship between them. At first, everything goes exceptionally well, with this untraditional arrangement suiting the pair perfectly. Dan Heng never sees a need to discuss such trivial matters, and neither does Ren, content with whatever the older boy is willing to give him, reveling in the well-meaning physical contact like a touch-starved, overgrown cat. There is no suitable term out there to accurately describe their relationship or what they mean to each other, but that’s alright because Dan Heng doesn't like to put labels on his emotions like they’re last year’s jars of pickled vegetables, collecting dust in the dim basement of his mind.
There’s a sort of mutual understanding. A mutual acknowledgment of the distance between them that shouldn’t be crossed no matter how tender their kisses get or how emotional their sex becomes.
The first crack appears when Ren starts holding Dan Heng like he is his entire world, starts looking at him like the other could build him up and tear him down with a single word, destroy him with a single rejection, and Dan Heng doesn’t enjoy being given that kind of power, no less holding it in his hands. Not when he isn’t entirely sure whether he’ll ever be able to look at Ren with the same type of awed reverence that his partner does.
Dan Heng picks a respectful university halfway across Xianzhou. Ren remains in school, too young to follow.
They try to make it work long distance for less than a year afterward, the messages and calls few and far in between, as they have never actually bothered to properly communicate with each other, letting their bodies do most of the talking. Still, the few times Dan Heng flies in for a visit during the major holidays, he and Ren are practically hot-glued to each other, unwilling to let go. But that’s all it is.
Unfortunately, Dan Heng is self-aware enough to realize that’s all they’ll ever be.
At the six-month mark, the night before he has to head to the airport at the asscrack of dawn, Dan Heng sits Ren down and tells him that it would be in their best interest to stop this, whatever this even was, and move on with their lives. It was unfair for both of them to keep on waiting for months on end, all for brief moments of bliss, when they could be investing that time and energy into something or someone else.
Ren seemingly takes their not-breakup exceptionally well, not once bothering to cut off Dan Heng’s nervous spiel, nodding in understanding. With bleary eyes, Dan Heng can only watch him pull on his long coat and adjust his haggard appearance before stepping downstairs and closing the door behind him with a faint click.
Just because there is no umbrella term for what they are or what they were doesn’t mean that it hurts any less. That night, Dan Heng cries himself to sleep, a horrible, sinking realization in his gut screaming at him that he just made a terrible mistake, every nerve ending in his body alight.
And yet, Dan Heng ends up powering through his loss without chasing after Ren’s retreating silhouette, thinking this to be for the best. Ren deserves someone better, someone who will actually get to know him on a deeper level. Someone who will give him what he wants, who will say the right words at the right time, words that he so desperately wants to hear more than anything, and who will mean them from the very bottom of their heart. Someone who will be able to confidently tell him what they are and where they’re headed.
Dan Heng wonders whether he loves Ren. He isn’t sure. He doesn’t have much to compare to. All he knows is that he is gone and that life is worse without him.
He knows it when they encounter each other again in the hospital, both nervously awaiting news of their niece's birth. He knows it when Ren brings him his favorite coffee and sandwich, when his fingers weave into Dan Heng's, powering through the latter's white-knuckled grip as they continue to wait side by side. They don’t talk much, but they don’t need to.
He knows it whenever he sees Ren during family holidays, more often at first and then less so as the years go by, with him having moved to another country for work-related reasons. Whenever he does return, he isn't always available for a chat, with someone always lingering by his side—either Kafka or Silver Wolf, both of whom appear to enjoy accompanying their close friend on international trips.
They’re nice, Dan Heng supposes, and yet, their presence always erects an impenetrable barrier between him and Ren.
He knows it when he sees Ren grow up to be the man of his dreams, so similar to Yingxing in the prime of his youth. He knows it whenever they entertain Bailu so that her parents can have a free moment for themselves, getting roped into her silly, impromptu games that always end up in stains on their clothes.
Dan Heng knows it when he dials Ren’s phone number and the other immediately picks up, foregoing the generic pleasantries between them, his voice tight when he says, “I already know.”
It’s an unpleasant call to make, one he never expected to. Dan Heng worries at his lower lip, unsure how to proceed. A flake of dry skin peels clean off, leaving it bloody. “How…” He sucks in a sharp breath, rubbing at his face. “How are things on your end?”
A beat of silence. Dan Heng can only hope that he hasn’t somehow offended the other. “As well as you can expect,” Ren says, tone flat. “Mother is on three types of different anxiety medications. Father hasn’t looked me in the eye since.” A pause. “Since it happened.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Save it.”
More silence. Dan Heng has never been sure how to speak to Ren when he's like this or how to deal with the curtness of his clipped tone. Perhaps that's why they'd often end up butting heads, unable to see each other’s perspective. Dan Heng, ever the pacifist, the rational one, and Ren, who could light up like a candle doused in gasoline at a moment’s notice.
He hears Ren make a frustrated sound, misconstruing Dan Heng’s bout of quiet for something else entirely. “And you? Dan Feng? Are you alright?”
The automatic "Yes" sticks to the roof of his mouth like a piece of chewy gum, the sensation close to suffocating. “No,” Dan Heng confesses, his head close to bursting, the thrum of a barely contained, persisting migraine sending a painful pang beneath his burning eyelids. “It’s bad. I don’t know what else to do. Will you just…” He stops himself before he can say anything stupid, anything that he might regret later, feeling his breath hitch uncomfortably at the thought of his soulless older brother and his poor daughter. “Will you show up at the funeral?”
He can practically visualize Ren’s flabbergasted frown. “Must I really answer that?”
“No,” Dan Heng hiccups, his entire body aching with the all-consuming need to see Ren again, the one constant in his shitty life that sounds like he still has it somewhat together. “No. I don’t know why I asked. I’m sorry.”
“Dan Heng—”
“I’m sorry.”
He hangs up.
The phone doesn’t ring again.
He still has two more calls to make.
There is no response from either one of his parents. He cannot say that he is surprised, but he is still left disappointed, further cementing his belief that his spawners are horrible, unfeeling monsters.
Perhaps that is why he is built wrong. Perhaps that is why he isn’t able to be there for Dan Feng in a way that truly matters, taking over the organizational side of things instead.