Work Text:
Wei Ying has always been a complicated man. Every time Jiang Cheng started feeling like he finally understood him, he was surprised. It’s not that Wei Ying is a complex man. His motives have always been revolving around good food and good alcohol, around good friends and good sex. He simply enjoys life, with a too-wide smile on his face and not enough worries. Which is why Jiang Cheng finds him complicated. Jiang Cheng is more logical, always thinking, always turning things around in his head. He likes having a plan A and a backup plan A and a plan B and a backup plan B and a plan C and… He is often too hot-headed, too passionate to follow them, but he likes their presence in the back of his mind. Wei Ying is similar to him, but without the logic behind it, without the plans and the backups.
It’s why they get along so well, it’s how they fit together. It’s how they love each other; always agreeing with the other’s motives, but never with his actions. That’s not how you should do it. That’s not the way. They’re too good at bickering, at arguing. Jiang Cheng hates that he loves it. He won’t lie and pretend he doesn’t enjoy the make up sex. It’s the best part of the arguments. Sometimes it’s after, when they’ve both calmed down enough. Sometimes it’s during, when they’re both shouting and suddenly they surge forward, kissing as if their lives depended on it.
Jiang Cheng knew it wasn’t completely healthy. He understood why they needed to find some sort of balance, something to calm them before each conversation escalates into a fight –or sex. Jiang Cheng had many ideas for that: better communication, yoga or meditation to keep them calm, new relaxing hobbies like painting or music, couple therapy in the worst scenario.
But Wei Ying has always been a complicated man; his solution is not one Jiang Cheng could have possibly imagined.
They were sharing a bath when Wei Ying brought it up. They just had sex and Jiang Cheng was spent, laying in the water between Wei Ying's legs, his back against his chest. They like to take fancy baths together, with glasses of wine and a bath bomb, a few candles and absolutely no artificial light.
"We should date Lan Zhan."
Jiang Cheng opened his eyes, twisting his upper body so he could face his lover. Wei Ying eyed him back, defensiveness visible in his eyes, in the way he held Jiang Cheng’s stare.
Lan Zhan had been their classmate when they were teenagers. Wei Ying had annoyed him until Lan Zhan had accepted his friendship. At first, Jiang Cheng had been certain that Lan Zhan had despised Wei Ying. Over the years, he had soon realised that the feelings Lan Zhan was harbouring were of a more romantic nature. Jiang Cheng, despite his jealous nature, had never minded Lan Zhan’s attraction to his boyfriend. He knew the man wanted only the best for Wei Ying, and that he knew it was Jiang Cheng who Wei Ying desired. Still, they’d never truly spoken, never spent time alone with each other. It wasn’t out of dislike. Jiang Cheng quite liked Lan Zhan. He was a good man, with a calming presence despite his overbearing righteousness. He was a rule-abiding person –something that Jiang Cheng really appreciated and missed in Wei Ying– and a man of few words –also something that Jiang Cheng loved, and that Wei Ying wasn’t.
To be honest, Lan Zhan was Jiang Cheng’s type. He was handsome, in both his beautiful face and strong body. He wasn’t too talkative, had good values and a job he loved, and an agreeable personality.
(Wei Ying, on the contrary, is definitely not Jiang Cheng’s type. Wei Ying is a dumb gremlin, and everyday Jiang Cheng wonders why he had to fall in love with such a terrible man. It's been years now, and he can’t imagine ever not loving Wei Ying, but still, why?)
To be even more honest, Jiang Cheng really liked how Lan Zhan couldn't hold his alcohol, the way he only blushed from the tip of his ears, and the dumbstruck look on his face whenever Wei Ying called him ‘my Lan Zhan.’
To be completely, absolutely honest, Wei Ying and he had once talked about Lan Zhan in bed –or well, they hadn’t been in bed, but on the couch. Wei Ying had whispered dirty nothings in his ear about Lan Zhan as he fucked him. He’d talked about Lan Zhan and his rare smiles, Lan Zhan and his muscles, Lan Zhan and his (maybe) nice, fat cock. Heat still pools in Jiang Cheng’s lower belly when he remembers that particular orgasm.
"How will we fit in the bath?" he answered.
The rest was history.
More or less.
Adding Lan Zhan as a permanent fixture in their lives hadn’t actually changed much.
Lan Zhan and Wei Ying still had the same conversations that gave Jiang Cheng secondhand embarrassment. Instead of being ‘you are the best friend I could ask for’ and ‘no, you are the bestest friend’ back and forth arguing, it had now changed to ‘I love you more’ and ‘impossible, I love you more’. Sometimes there were variants: who had the best smile, who was the prettiest, who was the most funny, who was perfect. Jiang Cheng tended to flee those conversations –but never too far, as sex was sure to follow.
One of the biggest changes was that Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng spent their mornings together. Lan Zhan was a too-early riser and Jiang Cheng, an early riser. With Wei Ying who was a the-latest-possible riser, Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng were often alone in the mornings.
Jiang Cheng enjoyed those mornings, the time he spent with Lan Zhan without the latter’s attention being engrossed in Wei Wuxian. They did yoga together, then each cooked their part of the breakfast as the other showered.
It was nice. Or at least, well enough.
Because Jiang Cheng knew the truth. He knew that Lan Zhan was only there for Wei Ying. Of course Lan Zhan couldn’t love him – Jiang Cheng didn’t even know how Wei Ying loved him. Lan Zhan had loved Wei Ying ever since their teenage years. Of course he would agree to anything for a chance to be with Wei Ying. And if the anything in question was Jiang Cheng, well, Lan Zhan had a thick face. Not thick enough, apparently, because Jiang Cheng could read him. There was adoration in his eyes when he looked at Wei Ying, and never Jiang Cheng had seen him directed at him. It was fine. He understood why Lan Zhan had agreed to being a triad. Having to tolerate Jiang Cheng was a low price to pay, when the prize was Wei Ying’s burning love.
It would have been fine, really. Jiang Cheng was used to not being liked.
It would have been fine, really, if Jiang Cheng hadn’t fallen in love with Lan Zhan.
The coughs started innocently enough. They were in March, the cold was relentless and a wave of colds had spread through Jiang Cheng's office. When he started coughing, his throat feeling dry, he attributed it to the sickness. He considered himself lucky that he wasn’t congested - it was the part he hated the most. He took some cough syrup and called it a day.
It did not last a day. Three weeks later, his cough was only worsening. It was annoying but acceptable. He’d always had a strong immune system, and would now joke that he was feeling how the ‘weak plebeians’ went through colds. Wei Ying would worry, and Lan Zhan would prepare herbal teas, but Jiang Cheng shoved their concern aside. He was fine.
He wasn’t fine. Jiang Cheng had just fled the living room; Wei Ying and Lan Zhan were in one of their ‘no, I love you more’ arguments. Jiang Cheng had needed to pee, and had used that excuse to escape from the room. He barely made it to the bathroom before a wave of coughs shook him. He coughed and coughed and coughed, feeling as if something was caught in his throat.
He was only moderately surprised when he coughed up a few petals. They were white and beautiful. Of course Lan Zhan would give him beautiful flowers. He flushed them in the toilet, and tried not to think of them again.
When he went back to the living room, he found Lan Zhan and Wei Ying kissing. The sight sent him into another coughing fit. His lovers separated, alerted by the sound. Soon, Wei Ying was by his side, tapping lightly against his back, as Lan Zhan hurried to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water.
Luckily, no petals came out. Jiang Cheng sent them both a thankful look, his throat too raw for words. Then he lets himself be kissed, by both Wei Ying and Lan Zhan, and tried to ignore the tickle in the back of his throat.
Can you taste your flowers on my lips?
As the flowers grew bigger and bigger, harder to cough and bloodier, desperation started to ease its way in Jiang Cheng's heart. He had thought that by acting sweeter, nicer, more romantic, maybe Lan Zhan would fall in love with him. For the last weeks, he had tried to be perfect. More open with his feelings, too, pressing soft kisses to Lan Zhan's lips and face and hands whenever he felt like it. Being so open with his affections was difficult. It felt cringeworthy, awkward, but it was a life or death situation. Jiang Cheng could afford to be sentimental and an overly-affectious gremlin like Wei Ying if it meant that he would get to live and grow old. To live and grow old with the men he loved.
But it'd been weeks, and the flowers were only growing bigger. Clearly, making Lan Zhan fall in love with him wasn't working – as if Lan Zhan could look away from Wei Ying long enough to notice Jiang Cheng.
But should Jiang Cheng's feelings stay unrequited, soon the flowers would grow too much and threaten his life.
But death wasn't as worrying as the secret coming out. What would Wei Ying say, were he to learn of it? Would he blame Lan Zhan for being unable to love Jiang Cheng? Would he blame Jiang Cheng for not being lovable? Would he laugh because Jiang Cheng had been dumb enough to catch feelings?
No, no one could know about the flowers.
Anyway, Jiang Cheng could still get the operation. It wasn't too late, still.
Yet the mere thought of the operation scared him shitless. He couldn't imagine not loving Lan Zhan anymore. What would his life become, when the light blush of the tip of Lan Zhan's ears wasn't enough to light up his whole day? What would it be like, to look into Lan Zhan's eyes without feeling the butterflies in his stomach?
And worse, what if the operation also took away his feelings for Wei Ying?
He could hardly remember his life before Wei Ying. What would it be like, to see the man and not feel anything? What would it be like, to think of all their shared memories, without the warmth of melancholy?
No, Jiang Cheng couldn't go through the operation.
No, he'd have to make Lan Zhan fall in love with him, no matter how hard it was. Maybe it was just time to change his technique. Clearly, trying to be more lovable wasn't enough.
Jiang Cheng didn't even know why he had tried that. Lan Zhan's type was clearly Wei Ying, and Wei Ying was an absolute gremlin.
Oh!
Maybe that was it! All Jiang Cheng had to do was to be more like Wei Ying. It couldn't be too hard, he'd just have to be extra obnoxious and whiny.
As it turned on, it was hard, and went beyond being extra obnoxious and whiny. The flowers were sucking away his energy. He was tired and out of breath enough already without running and screaming all across the room, like the original Gremlin(tm). Still he tried.
When Wei Ying and Lan Zhan did their back-and-forth of « no, you’re the best boyfriend/most beautiful/most amazing/hottest, » Jiang Cheng would join in, insisting it was Lan Zhan and giggling. Lan Zhan and Wei Ying would simply look at each other in confusion, and Jiang Cheng would willfully ignore how ridiculous he was. Instead, he’d continue to act as a gremlin, until he’d feel the urge to cough and puke out the flowers. His actions were inefficient in gaining Lan Zhan’s affections.
When Lan Zhan would read a book in the living room, as he often did, Jiang Cheng would slide into his lap. He would propose a distraction, flirting and begging, until Lan Zhan’s eyes would darken and he would put down his book, his reading long forgotten. Sometimes they would make it to the bedroom. Most times, they would stay in the living room, or abandon themselves to each other halfway through the hallway.
In the warmth of his lover’s arms, he would close his eyes and pretend he could not feel the tickle of petals in the back of his throat.
Surprisingly, it was Wei Ying who brought it up first.
“You’ve been all over Lan Zhan, recently,” he said slowly.
“He’s my boyfriend, too,” answered Jiang Cheng, immediately defensive.
Wei Ying couldn’t know. Not when there was the possibility that he would blame Lan Zhan for Jiang Cheng’s death.
Yet Wei Ying immediately bristled.
“I know that,” he said, before he deflated, shoulders drooping down. “It’s just… You’re not all over me anymore. Is there something wrong? Between us?”
Those words twisted something inside Jiang Cheng. Of course Lan Zhan couldn’t love him, not when he was so selfish as to hurt Wei Ying this way.
"Of course not," he is quick to say, but Wei Ying interrupts him.
"Do you still love me?"
He sounds so fragile, like a mere touch could break him, shatter him to pieces too small to ever be put back together.
"More than life itself."
Wei Ying shivers. "Warn a guy before you say something like that," he says, breathless.
"You asked for it, you gremlin!"
He flicks his forehead, chuckling when Wei Ying howls in mock pain. Kissing him feels like coming home, like the ripple of a fallen leaf on a windless lake. So simple, so natural, yet so moving. Wei Ying's kisses are what makes the world so beautiful.
They lay in bed after their makeout session, so lax Jiang Cheng feels like they are floating on clouds. Wei Ying is smiling, wide and beautiful, and Jiang Cheng feels like he can confide in him. In a moment of weakness, the question slips from his mouth.
“Would you rather I die or stop loving you?”
Jiang Cheng expects a chuckle. None come. Instead, Wei Ying’s eyes turn wet and red.
“How can you ask something like that? I’d rather die myself than lose you.”
“I thought it’d be funny.”
Wei Ying eyes him for a moment.
“That’s pretty cruel of you.”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
The words feel flat. He’s sorry for so much more than just those words, but Wei Ying will never know about it.
“I love you more than anything. You and Lan Zhan.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeats.
“It’s you and I against the world, right?” grins Wei Ying.
“And Lan Zhan,” corrects Jiang Cheng.
Half because Lan Zhan is so important, too. Half because soon it will just be Wei Ying and Lan Zhan against the world.
“You’re right, A-Cheng,” concludes Wei Ying solemnly. “It’s you and I and Lan Zhan against the world.”
Jiang Cheng presses closer to him, breathing him in. He doesn’t bother correcting him. He’s too tired and weary and exhausted.
Wei Ying will stand corrected soon enough, anyway.
Jiang Cheng makes a mistake.
He comes back early from work, one evening. His throat feels raw and he can't stop coughing, so he decided to work from home rather than keep hurrying to the office’s bathrooms, where it would be so risky to be overheard by a colleague.
Their home is silent when he arrives, and in his hurry to get to the toilet, he doesn’t close the door behind him.
One of his colleagues got engaged, and it was the talk of the office. His older coworkers told tales about their own engagements and marriages, while the younger ones listened diligently. Then they had spent hours discussing their dream marriage, how many children they wanted, what would their names be.
Jiang Cheng, while not participating in the chatting, had allowed himself to dream, too. He had imagined himself in red, bowing three times with his lovers. He’d imagined Wei Ying playing with a child, and Lan Zhan holding a baby in a carrier on his chest. But Jiang Cheng couldn’t imagine himself with a child; he was too rough, too bitter, and would undoubtedly hurt their children with his words if not his actions.
Maybe it was a good thing, then, that he wouldn’t live long enough to have a child, let alone to see it grow up.
Still, the romantic thoughts and the giggles of his coworkers had made his throat itch all morning, and he’d barely been able to eat. The disease was getting worse now, if Jiang Cheng felt the need to cough up just by thinking about Lan Zhan.
Finally home alone, he allowed himself to finally cough out the flowers, crouched next to the toilet. A few petals come out bloody, but Jiang Cheng simply closes his eyes in denial while he flushes them down.
When he opens them again, Lan Zhan is standing in the door frame, eyes wide and face pale.
“You have hanahaki,” he breathes out.
Jiang Cheng stands up with a jump, and almost falls down because of the dizziness. Lan Zhan surges forward, catching him. They are close enough to kiss, but Jiang Cheng is aware of how wet his lips are, from both bile and blood. Disgusting. It’s no surprise that Lan Zhan can’t love him back.
"Wei Ying can't know about it!” he begs his lover. “He'll feel guilty. He's the one who wanted you in. Without that, I wouldn't have fallen in love with you. I mean, I've always had this dumb, secret crush on you, right? But if Wei Ying hadn't had the guts to ask you, it would have stayed just that. Not, you know, Hanahaki levels of love. I’m not saying that I blame him. I’m the stupid one who caught stupid feelings. I’m not blaming you either. I know how I am. There's no guilt on you for not being able to love me.”
“Wha–” starts Lan Zhan, but Jiang Cheng shushes him.
He still doesn’t look up. He knows his throat will tighten, keeping his words prisoner, if he has to look at Lan Zhan’s impassible face as he confesses. It’s easier to look at everything but Lan Zhan’s face.
“I’ve made my peace with it,” he says. “It sucks, true, but it’s alright. I already had so much more than I deserve. What matters right now is that Wei Ying can’t know. It would hurt him. Okay? He can’t know.”
Lan Zhan stays silent. While it is not an abrupt refusal, it’s not an agreement either.
“Lan Zhan,” presses Jiang Cheng. “Wei Ying can never know about it. You have to promise me, alright?”
He grows anxious, louder. Why won’t Lan Zhan say anything? Why doesn’t he agree? Doesn’t he love Wei Ying, too?
“Promise me!” he says, insistent, desperate. “Promise me you won’t tell him. Wei Ying can’t know. Lan Zhan, you know why he can’t know. He can never know. Promise me you won’t tell him.”
“What can’t I know?”
Jiang Cheng freezes, his palms clammy. He turns around, facing the one who has just spoken. Wei Ying stands in the doorway, his brows furrowed and a frown on his lips.
“What are you hiding from me?"
“It’s nothing, Wei Ying.”
“Don’t lie to me! Jiang Cheng! Lan Zhan! Why are you crying?”
Jiang Cheng presses the back of his hand against his cheek, blinking in surprise when he feels wetness. He hadn’t realised he was crying. He eyes Wei Ying, who glares back. His lover looks on the edge of tears himself, one of his hands gripping the doorway tight enough for his joints to blanch.
“It doesn’t concern you,” says Jiang Cheng, because he is dumb and tired.
Wei Ying steps back, looking as if he’d just been slapped.
“Am I not part of this relationship, too?”
“It’s between Lan Zhan and I.”
Wei Ying, instead of retreating like Jiang Cheng had hoped, just looks angrier.
“Oh, I know. I’ve fucking noticed. Everything now is between Lan Zhan and you! Is there no place for me anymore in your heart?”
“Oh, shut up!” snaps Jiang Cheng.
Why does Wei Ying have to be so rude? Jiang Cheng is just trying to survive. He’s just trying to live, for them, with them.
“Not everything is about you! You already have all of Lan Zhan’s love! Why can’t you share? Why can’t he love me, too? Is it too selfish of me that I don’t want to die?"
There's a sharp intake coming from behind him. It's Lan Zhan, undoubtedly shocked to hear that Jiang Cheng lied to him. It wasn't a lie per se. Jiang Cheng has made his peace with his death, but of course he'd prefer to live. Of course he'd prefer to be loved.
"I don't... love you?"
It does sound like Lan Zhan's interrogative tone, but Jiang Cheng knows it is a statement rather than a question. Pain flares up in his chest. It hurts so much to hear it materialise, to finally see the truth acknowledged. He looks at Lan Zhan, more out of surprise than wilfully. Lan Zhan's eyes are rimmed red, but Jiang Cheng doesn't have the time to decipher what it could mean. Coughs begin wracking through his body. He crumbles forward, trying to catch his breath.
It feels more like puking than coughing, his body trying to expel the flowers caught in his oesophagus. White flowers spill on Lan Zhan's feet. It's poetic, almost, that Jiang Cheng will die throwing up his love at someone's feet.
His throat burns as the flowers darken in colour. It's a painful realisation to see that the flowers are actually still white, and it is blood that taints them.
You taint everything you touch, he can almost hear his mother say.
He knows she said that to Wei Ying, once or twice or more. Maybe she told it to him, too. To her own son.
Maybe she was right.
Jiang Cheng can feel Wei Ying by his side, strong hand holding him in place, despite his gasps and coughs and coughs and coughs.
All he can see are the white flowers and the blood. There's so much blood. He doesn't understand. It was barely bleeding before, just little flecks of red. But it's there now. Dark red. Wet. Tainting the flowers. Tainting Lan Zhan's hands.
Here's Jiang Cheng, gone, tainting his lovers.
When Jiang Cheng comes to himself, it doesn't smell like his flowers and the stench of iron. Instead, it smells like white and hand sanitizer. A machine beeps by his side.
He is in a hospital, then.
He wants to call out for Wei Ying. For Lan Zhan. For someone. For anyone.
He can't. There's something in his mouth, in his throat. Forcing him to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
"Lan Zhan, say something" It's Wei Ying's voice.
Lan Zhan, if he is truly present, says nothing.
"You're scaring me, Lan Zhan, say something. Please. Don't let me deal with this alone."
Jiang Cheng wants to scream. This is what he had tried to stop. Why should his boyfriends have to pay for his sins, for his flaws?
“It's my fault.” It’s Lan Zhan’s voice, but it sounds weird. Cracking, as if he had cried. “Not enough.”
"No, don't say that, please Lan Zhan. Don't."
Wei Ying is crying. A sob breaks through the silence. Jiang Cheng wants to tear off the tube keeping him breathing, keeping him alive. This is exactly the situation he had tried to avoid. How could so much have gone so wrong, so fast? He tries to move, but he feels so, so exhausted. It's as if his body refuses to move, refuses to walk over to his lovers one last time.
“My love is not enough, and it killed Jiang Cheng.”
“He’s not dead yet.”
There’s a moment of silence, as if both Lan Zhan and Wei Ying are frozen by the words.
“He’s not dead,” rectifies Wei Ying. “He won’t die. The doctors said it's not terminal yet. We still have a chance. We can make this right."
"How?" Lan Zhan asks.
His voice is low, and too full of pain. It's the first time Jiang Cheng hears him like this, and he absolutely despises it.
Suddenly, a feminine voice speaks up. Jiang Cheng recognizes it immediately. It's Wen Qing, his best friend and maybe also the doctor treating him.
"Is he awake?"
Her anger is all too present in her voice. Jiang Cheng gulps and tries to be as lax as possible. He's never been good at pretending to be asleep, but he doesn't want to face Wen Qing. He knows how angry she will be, how disappointed. He knows she would have wanted him to get the operation. He wonders if it is too late now. Maybe she'll press for him to have it done. He would be too weakened to oppose her.
"Not yet," answers Wei Ying.
Jiang Cheng expects the clacking of her heels as she walks up to his bed, but she stops next to his lovers.
“Good,” she says. “You’re the ones I want to talk to. Jiang Cheng is stable for now. But,” her voice breaks. “You need to get your shit together, or he won’t be for long.”
“What can I do?” asks Lan Zhan.
“Couple therapy,” she immediately answers. “I’m not joking. I have no doubt that you both love him, so clearly something must have gone wrong somewhere."
"There's nothing wrong with our love!" Wei Ying is quick to defend.
"That is not what I'm saying," responds Wen Qing. "But obviously something has to be done. And I think you need professional help for this. I know you think you don't need help, but you can't just kiss it better. You can't half-ass this. Do you understand? This is a life or death situation for Jiang Cheng. If you're not willing to do this, then I ask that you try and convince him to get the flowers surgically removed."
"No," breathes out Lan Zhan.
"Then pull your heads out of your asses and love him like he deserves. Gods, I knew it would end up badly. I told him when he started dating you. Twice! But this stupid dumbass was 'but you don't understand, I love them so much' like you two aren't two absolute dumbasses."
Wow. Sometimes Jiang Cheng forgets how rude his best friend can be, and how much he absolutely loves her. Maybe the surgery wouldn't be so bad, he thinks. He would still have her, and Huaisang.
But Wen Qing is not quite done with her tirade.
"Jiang Cheng deserves the whole world, and what he has are a dumb gremlin incapable of deep thoughts and a cold-hearted statue incapable of speaking up for more than half a sentence."
The words resonate across the room. It's as if no one is breathing, not even Wen Qing. She crossed a line, and she knows it. Before she can take back her words, her anger, Lan Zhan cuts in.
"Shut up. Wei Ying is not dumb, even if he is sometimes too impulsive."
Jiang Cheng feels sick, knowing this is only what Lan Zhan has to say against Wen Qing's words. He feels the painful tickle of petals in his throat but stubbornly holds them back.
"I'm not cold-hearted," then adds Lan Zhan, his voice faltering. "I'm... It's hard for me to show... I don't know how to express– I love Jiang Cheng. I am not the best at showing my affections, but... I– I assumed he only accepted me to please Wei Ying. I am glad– regretful– despite the circumstances, I am pleased to know my affections are returned. I will not make the same mistake twice. I– I will aim to do better."
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying breathes out, and his voice sounds so pained.
“It’s my fault, Wei Ying. I love you both so much and yet my love isn’t enough, and it is killing him.”
Wen Qing clicks her tongue, audibly annoyed. “Do any of you have knowledge of hanahaki outside of rom-coms? This isn’t some sort of magical disease, you know.”
There’s a moment of silence, and she sighs. “I know all the romantic movies and books depict hanahaki as something that can be solved by telling him you love him. But it’s not how it works. Falling in love with the affected doesn’t change anything. Hanahaki is not some sort of magical judge that decides if you love him enough. It’s more of a mental disorder.”
“Jiang Cheng’s not crazy,” Wei Ying protests, and Jiang Cheng can Wen Qing rolling her eyes at the ableist response.
“Hanahaki is a strange disease,” her voice sounds somewhat calmer, more tired. “Most professionals don’t know how to classify it, because it’s a hybrid between physical illnesses and psychological ones.”
Lan Zhan and Wei Ying must look confused, because she sighs and starts over.
“The amount of love you have for him –or lack thereof– is not what causes hanahaki. There is no magical link between your feelings and his lungs, do you understand that?”
“Mn,” goes Lan Zhan.
“Good. What can cause someone to be affected by the disease is the belief that they aren’t loved. Anything can cause that, from self-esteem issues to a cheating partner to communication problems in the relationship. Then the apparition of the first petals cements the affectee's belief that they have unrequited feelings, and it becomes a vicious circle. Now, I think we all know each other here. Jiang Cheng’s self-esteem issues have self-esteem issues and he thinks he’ll spontaneously combust if he ever shows the littlest inkling of affection for someone. Wei Ying, it’s amazing how someone talkative like you can be so good at miscommunication. And Lan Zhan, dear, I’m sorry but I’ve seen stone more expressive than you.”
"Mn."
"It's agreed then," Wen Qing continues, her voice unwavering. "Dr Xiao Xingchen is waiting for you in his office."
There's a silence that stretches across the seconds, both Wei Ying and Lan Zhan frozen in place.
"Chop chop, let's get to it!" Wen Qing snaps.
"Now?" asks Lan zhan, just as Wei Ying goes "Really?"
"Yes, now! If you don't want to, or if you can't take it seriously, tell me now and we'll get him in the operation room."
Jiang Cheng freezes, feeling the telltale tickle of flower petals in his throat, the simple thought that they'd prefer for him to get the operation almost enough to startle a new flower out of his lungs.
"Now go."
Jiang Cheng hears the sounds of their steps, and Wei Ying hovers at the door.
"Tell us when he wakes up. Please."
No one talks, but he can hear them move and then both Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are gone.
"You can open your eyes, now."
When he does, Wen Qing is walking over to his bed, and she looks absolutely pissed. She walks up to him and removes the tube in his mouth, her movements soft despite the anger burning in her eyes. The tube scrapes his throat as it goes up, and Wen Qing has a bowl waiting for him when he retches at the sensation.
When he finally opens his mouth to talk rather than puke, she immediately shuts him down;
"No, you better shut the fuck up."
"I'm your patient," he croaks, his throat stinging from the branches and the bile he puked up.
"You're my best friend first. And a dumbass second. No, don't talk, just listen. I'll tell you what I think happened. and you just nod yes or no. We good?"
He nods, knowing better than to argue with her.
"So you started showing symptoms and, fearing your death, you started wooing Lan Zhan like crazy."
He hesitates, because it’s not how he would word it, but eventually nods.
"Great. All you did was confuse the heck of them."
He nods, again.
She sighs and pulls out something from the pocket of her white lab coat. It's a few tissues balled up together, and she carefully opens the small package.
Inside are a few purple petals. Jiang Cheng frowns, not recognizing the petals he's been coughing up: his are as white as the entirety of Lan Zhan's wardrobe.
"The misunderstandings are spreading. I caught Wei Ying coughing these up in the bathroom, just an hour ago."
He remembers, suddenly, the way Wei Ying had pouted, complaining that Jiang Cheng was all over Lan Zhan. It hadn't been possessiveness that had animated him then; it had been jealousy. It dawns on him, and the realization is suffocating. It claws at his lungs, up his throat.
There is no petals nor flowers, no blood nor bile, yet his breath grows short. He is dizzy with the knowledge he could have led Wei Ying to his death.
Wen Qing is by his side in a second, her small hands cupping his face.
"It’s okay, a-Cheng, I am here. Just breathe. Breathe with me."
He does, or at least he tries, focusing on her mouth as he tries to match his breathing to hers. It feels like hours before the feeling of helplessness relents. The dizziness subsides, but leaves him exhausted.
"Will he be fine?"
Wen Qing's eyes fill with pity. "Take care of yourself first."
"That’s not an answer."
"He should be, if you heal well. He said his symptoms started very recently, so his condition is less threatening. But beyond that…" Her voice goes low, hesitant. "I'd have to do some research on hanahaki. See what would happen to the flowers in his lungs if yours killed you."
It's emotional blackmail like only Wen Qing is able –Huaisang's is of a different kind– but it is effective nonetheless.
"You said they love me."
She smiles, but there is something in her eyes that seems sad. "They do. But it would be better if you could take their word for it rather than mine."
"There's two of us with hanahaki," he laughs bitterly, and the sounds come up choked. "At this point I'd rather have the opinion of an outsider, someone more objective. And I trust you. If you're pushing us to have couple therapy, it's because you think there's a chance it will work. Otherwise you'd push for the operation."
"You'd hate me for it."
He nods, but shifts to make some room for her on the bed, and taps the mattress in a silent invitation.
"I would. But I think the hate would maybe go away with the flowers."
With his love, he doesn't say, but they both hear it.
She doesn't hesitate before climbing in bed next to him. The bed is too small for the both of them, but he is too glad to be curled up against her to care.
He looks at the ceiling –white, ugly, sad.
"I knew my issues had issues," he starts, repeating the expression she used. "But I honestly thought I'd become better at dealing with them."
"You've been better. If this had happened years ago, you would have gone straight to get the operation. You wouldn't have waited, because you wouldn't have believed there was a chance they could love you back. But look at you now. You flirted with Wangji, because you believed there was a chance. If that's not an improvement, I don't know what is."
"I didn't really believe in it," he confides. "I just thought I had to fight for it, because I knew my death would, you know, put a damper on their relationship."
She blinks.
"If, you know, Wei Ying were to blame Lan Zhan for it," he adds.
Tears pool up in her eyes. "Fuck, I hate you so much. Do you hear yourself? 'I don't want to die, it would make my boyfies angsty.' Shit we need to buy you some preservation instinct."
"I'm sorry," he says, nuzzling against her before she can hit him.
"I wish you could see yourself the way we see you."
"I'm sorry," he repeats. He doesn't know what else to say.
"They really love you, you know. Wei Ying's been a mess and Wangji thinks he's bad at love. His gifted child syndrome is flaring up." She chuckles, but it's joyless. "Between your complete inability to receive affection, Wangji's inability to show his emotions and Wei Ying's utter gremlin-ness, I'm honestly amazed you lasted so long before getting hanahaki. Fuck, I should have seen it coming."
He wants to cry, because this is everything he feared. Both Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are hurt, and even his best friend now feels guilty for not having prevented it.
"Don't feel guilty, please. I'll do the couple therapy. I'll do therapy alone, just me, too. I'll go see a psychologist —or a psychiatrist, I don't even know the difference. It can be Dr Xiao, or anyone you trust. But don't feel guilty, please."
"Do it for yourself, not for me, you absolute dumbass." She laughs wetly and kisses the crown of his head. "But I'll hold you to your word."
He nods. He had wanted to talk to a professional, years ago, already aware of his numerous issues with both his temperament and self-esteem, but his father had been vehemently against it. 'What will people say if they learn my son needs mental help?' he had said and to this day the words still resonated in Jiang Cheng’s head. Maybe consulting would make him weak in his father's eyes, but Wei Ying, Lan Zhan and Wen Qing were each worth it.
Wen Qing sighs, as if reading his mind. "Don't make this face. If your dad gives you shit, I'll go talk to him myself. With my fists."
He laughs. "Don't do that; he won't let you marry Yanli-jie."
"We'll elope. Anyway, bold of you to assume she won't come with me to talk to him. Do you… Do you want me to call your mother? I could give her my professional opinion, if that can help."
"Which is?"
"That y'all have communication issues. That I do think couple and private therapy is recommended for both of you to heal well, and to ensure that the disease won't come back. Communication can easily be an issue in couples, especially in the context of polyamory. You'll have to work on your communication. Not just for the hanahaki, but also for the relationship itself, if you want it to last and for each of you to be happy."
He nods. All of it makes sense, especially in light of how she had explained the illness to Wei Ying and Lan Zhan, when he was still pretending to sleep.
"I'll call my mother myself, when my throat is faring better."
Wen Qing nods, and moves to stand from the hospital bed.
"Good. Now sleep a little, you need rest. I'll schedule you a meeting with Dr Xiao, and your boys will be back by the time you wake up. Is that good?"
He yawns as an answer, and she chuckles before pressing another kiss to his forehead. Then she helps him readjust his pillows and the blanket, until he is comfortably settled. His eyes close almost immediately and his breath softens, an undeniable proof of his exhaustion. She eyes him with a worried smile on her lips. His skin is not as pale as when he came in, but he is not yet out of the woods.
She leaves the room and closes the door behind her. She doesn't look back, nor does she need to. Maybe she is bolder than Orpheus, for she knows her best friend and is confident he'll pull through.