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“Watch out for the ice, A-Yuan,” Wei Ying says just like a Responsible Father would. The universe punishes him for this boastful thought immediately. During the split-second that his eyes were on his son, round as a dumpling in his winter coat, a second patch of ice formed directly underneath him. The worn treads of his boots are no match for the slick sidewalk. One moment, Wei Ying is smiling at his son and Wangji. The next, he’s flat on his back.
It happens so fast that he doesn’t even have time to curse. Or maybe it’s just that the sidewalk jumped up to slam him so hard that there’s not enough breath in his lungs to grunt.
“Wei Ying!”
The panic in Wangji’s voice smacks Wei Ying’s eyes open—he hadn’t realized they were shut. A blue blob hovers above him, which thankfully blocks out the worst of the laser light that’s trying to fry his eyeballs.
Wei Ying tries to say that he's okay, but all that comes out is an unf.
“Baba, are you okay?”
“Mn,” Wei Ying finally manages. But he is definitely not okay. The first impact knocked out his lungs, but the back of his head is piping up with some frantic distress signals. And oh shit, he bit his tongue. He wrinkles his nose in an elaborate grimace to hide how he’s swallowing blood. The last thing his son needs to see is his father dribbling blood.
“Wei Ying.” Wangji’s hands hover over his chest. The poor sweetheart looks terrified.
Wei Ying tries to smile without opening his mouth, but it must not be very convincing because Wangji’s pretty eyes get even wider. “It’s okay,” Wei Ying mumbles. He sounds like a drunk. Which is probably what he looks like sprawled on the sidewalk.
“Can you stand?” Wangji asks.
A very good question. The kind of question that would be great to ponder while lying down. He could just close his eyes and—
“Wei Ying?”
“Mmhmm.” Wei Ying forces his eyes back open and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Had the day been so bright before? Maybe it’s just that he’s flat on his back staring up at the sun.
“Baba?”
A-Yuan sounds so worried. Wei Ying heroically creaks his head to the side to find his kid.
A-Yuan leans over him and pats his face. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“Pfft. No. I’m fine.” To prove that, Wei Ying sits up. It isn’t so hard, really. The hard part is how everything spins and blurs, like that time at that party. Only way less fun.
“Wei Ying, did you hit your head?”
“Hmm?” Wei Ying squints toward Wangji. Wangji looks so cute in his white knit cap and his puffy blue coat. Like a sexy Smurf.
“Did you hit your head?”
“Does he have a combustion?”
Wei Ying snickers at that. Combustion. Yep, he’s combusted. While Wangji and A-Yuan discuss that, Wei Ying scowls down at his lap. His pants feel wet. Oh shit, did he piss himself? No, piss would be warm—he knows that from shameful experience—but his ass is freezing.
“Cold,” Wei Ying whines.
Wangji immediately takes action. His ridiculously strong arms wrap around Wei Ying and lift him up like it’s nothing, like he’s picking up A-Yuan. That’s fantastic until Wei Ying’s feet settle on the sidewalk.
“Fffffffork!” Wei Ying yelps. He clings to Wangji like a cold, wet sloth clings to a sexy blue tree and hovers his left foot off the ground. “Ankle!”
“You hurt your ankle?” Wangji asks because he’s such a smart guy. Smart, strong, sexy tree Smurf.
“Yeah, ow, shhhhirt. I must have twisted it.” At least the pain clears up some of the dumb fog in his brain. Too bad his head still throbs like a . . . like a bad throbbing thing. Still foggy, then.
“We should call 911,” A-Yuan says. He sounds awfully calm for a seven-year-old who’s currently watching one of his dads trying to climb the other one in the middle of the sidewalk.
“No,” Wei Ying says, putting every ounce of his Dad mojo into the single syllable as he can. “No ambulance. I just twisted it.”
“Wei Ying,” Wangji says, with every ounce of his boyfriend mojo, which is really high on the mojo scale. “You need to see a doctor.”
“Wen Qing. I’ll call her when we get back to the studio.”
“Can you walk?” A-Yuan gives the boot currently levitating three inches above the sidewalk a skeptical look.
Wei Ying rolls his eyes. “Yes.” Maybe. Hopefully. He braces himself and sets the foot down on the sidewalk. “Mmmmmother forker!”
A-Yuan snorts. “‘Mother forker?’”
“Watch your language, mister!”
“Wei Ying,” Wangji says, “I’ll carry you.”
Wei Ying gapes at his wonderful boyfriend, his sweet, perfect Wangji, who has clearly lost his mind. “You’ll what now?”
But Wangji just turns his back to Wei Ying. “Climb on.”
“Donkey ride!” A-Yuan cheers.
“What? No! I can’t—that’s so embarrassing!” Wei Ying looks around at the people streaming past them, no one paying attention at all except to glare at how they’re blocking the sidewalk. Those ash-holes should be grateful that they’re blocking the vicious ice patch.
“Wei Ying can’t walk,” Wangji says without even bothering to turn around. “I’ll carry you.”
“I can walk!” He slams his foot down determined to show his ankle who’s boss. Ow fuck ankle’s the boss. Ankle’s definitely the boss.
“Wei Ying. Please.”
Oh, that isn’t fair. Not the soft little voice. Wei Ying would rip his own heart from his chest and eat it if Wangji asked him to in that little voice.
“Fine. But no one can ever tell Jiang Cheng about this.” He glares at A-Yuan, who grins and promises nothing. Terrible child.
Turns out, Wei Ying can’t actually climb onto Wangji’s back because of his damned ankle, so Wangji has to crouch down for Wei Ying to sort of fall on top of him. When Wei Ying is more or less settled, Wangji stands up without even grunting. Show off.
“Wrap your legs around me,” Wangji says. Wei Ying should get a medal for not blurting out the first thing that comes to mind. He should be guaranteed a place in Responsible Dad Heaven. He should be reincarnated as one of Hozier’s guitars for this remarkable feat of restraint.
Anyway, he says nothing and wraps his legs around Wangji’s waist. That’s a thing he’s done many times, a thing he enjoys very much, but it’s super weird to do it in this position, in front of his child and the rest of downtown. There’s nothing sexy about this. He feels like a big damp koala.
“Hold onto my coat,” Wangji says. Wei Ying blinks out of his koala musing and realizes Wangji is talking to A-Yuan, whose little fingers immediately clutch the hem of Wangji’s coat.
“Smart,” Wei Ying says. Before he went splat on the sidewalk, they each held one of A-Yuan’s tiny mitten hands in a valiant and very cute attempt to keep the kid from slipping on the icy sidewalk. That’s irony or something.
He decides not to worry about it. Worrying is too hard on his brain. His donkey ride is bouncy, and even nuzzling his nose against Wangji’s warm neck doesn’t help the way his brain bangs against his skull. It feels like he knocked it loose when he fell, like his brain is a big rock sloshing in his brain juice.
Thinking about brain juice makes his stomach burble. No more thinking about brain juice. Can’t yurk on Wangji’s head. He’ll just close his eyes to block out the bad sunlight and all the wavy people. This will all be over in a few minutes. He just needs to crash in the breakroom for a second with an icepack and a whole bottle of ibuprofen. Nothing to worry about.
“I think he’s asleep,” A-Yuan says softly.
“Mn.”
Wangji walks a bit faster. He can’t walk too fast because A-Yuan’s little legs can’t keep up, and there could be more ice. He could carry A-Yuan too, but the studio isn’t far now. He just has to hurry. If Wei Ying hurt his head, he shouldn’t sleep. That’s what Wen Zhuliu told him whenever Wangji’s head was hurt. On those nights, Wen Zhuliu made him walk around the basement for hours and threw cold water in his face when he fell asleep on his feet. He doesn’t know why sleeping is bad, but he has to hurry.
“Will he be okay?”
“Yes.” Wangji dares a peek down at A-Yuan and tries to smile. “Wen Qing will fix him.”
A-Yuan smiles back. It is Wei Ying’s brave smile, the kind of brave that comes from facing terrible fear.
“Jie can’t come,” Wen Ning tells them as he ends the call to his sister. “She says she’s sorry, but they’re swamped with flu patients and accidents. All this ice.” He shrugs. “She said to go to the ER. You could have a concussion.”
The word concussion makes Wangji’s heart shake. There is something vague about Wei Ying’s eyes, like he’s gone away inside his head.
Wei Ying scowls from under the icepack Wangji forced on him. A second icepack lies across his ankle. “I’m not concussed! I just banged my head a little. And my ankle will be fine in a couple of days.”
His ankle has already swollen so badly that Wangji could barely pull his boot off. Ice probably won’t be enough.
“Wei Ying—” Wangji begins, but Wei Ying cuts him off.
“Besides, Wangji can’t carry me all the way to the hospital.”
“I can,” Wangji insists. And he could, but Wei Ying just scowls harder.
“Sweetheart, no. I’ll be fine, I promise.”
“Gugu could drive you,” A-Yuan suggests.
“No, I’m not making her come all this way just because I twisted my ankle.”
“Jiang Cheng,” Wangji says.
“At work. Besides, we’re not telling him about this, remember?”
“You could take the bus?” Wen Ning says.
“Is everybody forgetting that I have to work?” Wei Ying says. “Marcus will be here in a few minutes.”
“Marcus will understand,” Wen Ning says.
Wei Ying groans and tips his head back, covering his eyes with the icepack. “I twisted. My ankle. It’s not the end of the world.”
Wangji’s fingers worry the sleeves of his coat. That is a habit he’s mostly conquered for fear of damaging his clothes, but today he can’t help himself.
“I’ll ask Huan-ge.”
Wei Ying sits up so fast that the icepack falls to his chest. Wincing, he tosses it onto the breakroom table. “What? No, Wangji, I told you, I’m fine.
But Wangji is already pulling his phone from his jeans. It’s scary to ask to ask his brother for help. Lan Huan is so nice, but they are still nervous with each other. But Lan Huan said to call if he ever needed anything. And now Wei Ying needs something. Wei Ying has done so much for him. It’s the least he can do.
While Wei Ying sputters, Wangji carefully taps the screen until the phone calls Lan Huan. There is only one ring before Lan Huan answers.
“Wangji?”
“Hello. Wei Ying is hurt.”
Wei Ying groans and flops dramatically, but Wangji ignores him.
“Oh no! Is he okay? What happened?”
“He fell.” More dramatic moaning. “His ankle is hurt. And his head.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. What can I do to help?”
“We need to go to the hospital.”
“I can be there in thirty minutes. Are you at home?”
“The studio.”
“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”
“Thank you.”
Wangji hands shake as he stabs at the screen to end the call, but he feels lighter. Warmer.
Wei Ying slumps onto the table and hides his face in his arms. “I can’t believe you called him. This is so embarrassing.”
Wangji leans over and brushes a kiss over his hair. “Don’t fall asleep. Huan-ge will be here in thirty minutes.”
Wei Ying whines and grumbles, but when Wangji gently lays the icepack on the back of his head, Wei Ying whimpers once and stops fussing.
Twenty-two minutes later, the bell tinkles on the studio’s door. Wei Ying pouts over the juice box he’s slurping because A-Yuan insisted it would make him feel better, but Wangji ignores the pout and goes to greet his brother.
A-Yuan beat him to the door and is already dancing around Lan Huan, chattering about Wei Ying’s fall. Even in his turmoil, Wangji has to pause to take in his brother, who’s wearing a huge white puffy coat and a white knit cap with a little ball on top. This ball jiggles as Lan Huan turns his head to watch A-Yuan bounce around him.
“Huan-ge,” Wangji calls.
Lan Huan’s head snaps up. “Hi, we came as fast as we could. We brought Mingjue’s car.” He points toward a large black SUV idling at the curb. “I thought with Wei Ying’s injury—there’d be more room this way?”
Wangji’s heart races at the black SUV, but it’s only Nie Mingjue. Nothing to be scared of. “Thank you. I’ll get Wei Ying.”
When Wangji returns to the breakroom, Wei Ying slams the empty juice box on the table and points a finger at him. “You are not carrying me.”
Wangji sighs and picks up Wei Ying’s discarded boot. Wei Ying breathes hard while Wangji gently wiggles it back on his foot. He has to leave it mostly unlaced due to the swelling, and it would be useless if Wei Ying were actually going to walk on it, but at least it will help keep his foot warm. After the boot is finally on, Wangji helps Wei Ying stand, which is only allowed with a great deal of grumbling. Wangji hands Wei Ying his coat, then throws on his own as quickly as he can so that he can help Wei Ying with his, which spurs another string of complaints. Wangji ignores this and buttons Wei Ying’s coat. As gently as he can, he settles Wei Ying’s knit cap on his head, but Wei Ying still moans at the pressure.
Once he’s bundled up, Wei Ying demands to walk unaided. After one hesitant step, he hisses and stops, gripping the table. Wangji pulls Wei Ying’s arm over his shoulders and wraps an arm around his waist.
Wei Ying grits his teeth. He’s trembling with pain. “It’s just a twisted ankle,” he whines.
“Twisted ankles hurt. Let me help you. Please.”
Wei Ying sighs, but he nods. They begin the awkward journey from the breakroom in a series of hissing hops.
When they reach the storefront, Wei Ying plasters on a smile for Lan Huan. “Hey, sorry to drag you out! I keep telling him it’s nothing.”
“We were happy to come,” Lan Huan says. “My classes are finished for the day, so it’s no problem.”
Wei Ying doesn’t seem soothed by this. He peers out at Nie Mingjue’s SUV and scowls. “Mingjue came, too?”
Before Lan Huan can reply, A-Yuan pipes up: “Can I come?”
“You’d better stay here with A-Ning,” Wei Ying says. “It won’t be any fun, trust me. Just a lot of waiting and filling out forms.”
“Okay,” A-Yuan sighs. He comes for a hug and ends up kind of clinging to both of them as they struggle not to tangle their feet and topple over.
Once A-Yuan is satisfied, Lan Huan holds open the door and watches as Wangji helps Wei Ying hobble out. Then Lan Huan races around them to open the SUV’s backdoor.
“I feel like the president,” Wei Ying mutters as Wangji half-lifts, half-shoves him into the backseat.
When Wei Ying’s injured ankle is secured in the footwell, Wangji heads around the car. The freezing wind bites at his ears. He was so focused on Wei Ying that he forgot his own hat and gloves.
Inside the car is toasty, though. “Oh wow,” Wei Ying exclaims, wiggling his butt around. “Are these heated seats? I’ve never seen those in the back before.”
Nie Mingjue grunts yes. “There are climate controls back there if you get too hot.”
“Are you kidding? I could live in this thing!”
Lan Huan chuckles as Nie Mingjue pulls into the street. “So what happened? Wangji said you fell?”
Wei Ying groans and covers his face. “I just slipped on the sidewalk. I’m such an idiot. I’m like a tourist!”
“There is nothing to be ashamed of,” Lan Huan says. “I must have seen at least six people fall down on campus this morning. This ice is terrible.”
“Yeah, but did they have to be carted off to the hospital?” Wei Ying grumbles. “Not that I don’t appreciate it! You guys are so nice.”
“We’re happy to help,” Lan Huan says, smiling directly at Wangji. “After what you’ve done for Wangji, it is the least I can do.”
Wei Ying ducks his chin and mumbles something that even Wangji can’t catch. Wangji reaches out and takes his hand. Wei Ying squeezes his fingers, then jerks his head up. “Wangji, where are your gloves? And your hat?”
Wangji looks from Wei Ying’s accusing glare to Lan Huan’s concerned face. Guiltily, he roots around in his pocket until he finds a glove, which he holds out like a shield between him and the people who love him with such confusing intensity.
“Hat?” Wei Ying demands.
“Breakroom. But my coat has a hood.”
Wei Ying sighs and grabs both of Wangji’s hands, rubbing them between his own gloved fingers. “You’re going to need the hospital when you get pneumonia.”
When Wangji dares another glance at his brother, Lan Huan is looking out of the windshield, smiling softly.
On the way, Wei Ying and Nie Mingjue argue politely about which hospital to go to. Wei Ying insists that the nearest one is fine; Nie Mingjue says that one is a “death trap.” Since Nie Mingjue is driving—and Wei Ying doesn’t dispute the “death trap” part—Nie Mingjue wins easily.
The sun sinks as they drive to Nie Mingjue’s choice of hospitals. As they ride, Wei Ying calls Popo to ask if she can look after A-Yuan after the studio closes. Popo lectures Wei Ying so long and so loudly about his fall that even Nie Mingjue laughs.
When they reach the hospital, Nie Mingjue pulls the SUV up to the door, behind a silent ambulance with racing lights. “I’ll grab a wheelchair,” Lan Huan announces as he steps out of the car.
“Wheelchair?” Wei Ying screeches, but Lan Huan is already striding inside.
“Go on,” Nie Mingjue grunts. “I’ll park the car.”
“You guys don’t have to stay!” Wei Ying wails, but Nie Mingjue just stares at the ambulance like he didn’t hear anything.
“Thank you,” Wangji tells Nie Mingjue as he pulls on his gloves and yanks the hood over his head. By the time he reaches Wei Ying’s door, Lan Huan is already pushing a wheelchair towards the SUV.
Wei Ying cringes from the wheelchair like it’s a snarling dog. “This is silly. I can walk, I swear.”
“I’m sure you can,” Lan Huan says. “However, this way, you can avoid pain.”
“Or I can carry you,” Wangji adds, moving toward Wei Ying with obvious intent.
Wei Ying throws up his hands. “Fine, fine. I’ll ride in the damned wheelchair. You two are ridiculous!”
Wangji helps him out of the car, and Wei Ying lowers himself gingerly into the wheelchair. Even though Wangji lifts Wei Ying’s injured foot onto the footrest as gently as he can, Wei Ying still lets out a tiny gasp.
When that's done, Lan Huan steps away from the wheelchair and gestures for Wangji to take over.
Now Wangji is the one examining the wheelchair with dread. “How do I . . .?”
“It’s like pushing a shopping cart,” Lan Huan says with his gentle smile.
Wangji nods and grips the handles. He expected the chair to be harder to push, and his first shove nearly sends Wei Ying sailing off the sidewalk.
“Easy there, Speed Racer,” Wei Ying chuckles. He grips the chair’s arms and cranes around to grin. “Don’t break the chair. I don’t even want to know what the hospital would charge for that.”
“Sorry,” Wangji mumbles. He pushes much more gently, and the chair rolls along the gritty sidewalk. It’s much easier than he thought, and the hospital door opens automatically, just like the ones at the grocery store.
Lan Huan leads them to a counter and speaks with the woman behind the desk. While they talk, Wangji looks around the waiting room. He’s never been to a hospital before, but Wei Ying took him to doctor for a “check-up.” And the dentist and an eye doctor. There are doctors for everything, apparently. This one doesn’t seem much different, which is a relief. On TV, the ER is always full of shouting and running, but here, everyone just sits in chairs talking or looking at their phones.
Once Wei Ying has handed over his insurance card and gotten a form to fill out, Lan Huan and Wangji have to sign in. Wangji watches carefully as Lan Huan presents his ID and leans in to a screen to have his photo taken. Lan Huan sticks the badge the woman gives him to his sweater, inside his puffy coat.
When it is his turn, Wangji is already waiting with his ID in hand. He hates talking to receptionists. They always seem like they know that he has no idea what he’s doing. Wei Ying says that being judgmental is just part of being a receptionist and that they make everybody feel like that, but most people know how things work much better than Wangji does.
But Wei Ying is hurt, so Wangji doesn’t care much about what this receptionist thinks of him. He looks away from her eyes peering over her mask and does what he’s told. Then he has his own badge to stick on his sweater. It says “Lan Zhan.” He still feels a strange chill at that name, but that’s what his ID says because that’s what all his paperwork says his name is. Wei Ying says it’s just on paper for “official stuff,” so he can use whatever name he wants. Lan Huan says he’s happy to call Wangji whatever he wants and that he’s just happy to have his brother back. It still feels like lying, like he’s pretending to be someone he isn’t, no matter what name he uses.
As Wangji wheels Wei Ying over to the seats, Nie Mingjue blows in and goes through the ID process. Nie Mingjue is a very nice man, but at first, he seems growly and mean. Even the receptionist seems cowed. Nie Mingjue probably never worries what receptionists think of him.
Once Nie Mingjue joins them, Wangji watches Wei Ying squint at the form he’s filling out. His head must still hurt. Sometimes getting hit in the head makes your eyes hurt like that.
When Wei Ying finishes the form, Wangji takes the clipboard back to the receptionist. Only a few minutes later, a man comes to get them, but they only go to another waiting room. This one is much bigger, full of people, and there are bright vending machines along one wall.
There are so many people that they can’t find four seats (or three seats and an empty spot) together. Wangji pushes Wei Ying to a row with an empty seat at the end and parks him beside it. Lan Huan and Nie Mingjue sit behind them.
“This is going to take forever,” Wei Ying sighs. “They take people with the worst problems first. No one’s going to care about my stupid ankle.”
However, someone does come soon after to take Wei Ying. The nurse says they have to “check his vitals.” When Wangji tries to follow, the nurse waves him back. “It’ll only take a minute,” she says.
Wangji stands in front of his chair, tugging at his sleeves as he watches the woman wheel Wei Ying away from him.
He flinches when a hand lands on his back. “It’s okay,” Lan Huan says. “They’ll bring him back in a minute.”
Wangji nods and sits back down, trapping his nervous hands between his knees. It’s okay. Real doctors aren’t like the ones Wen Ruohan used. Real doctors are more like Wen Qing and the nice woman who cleaned his teeth. But he still doesn’t like watching Wei Ying disappear behind the door.
The x-ray tech takes one look at Wei Ying’s ankle and whistles. “That thing’s broken.”
“Is not,” Wei Ying mutters. Yes, he’s acting like a child, but he’s been trapped in a wheelchair with a throbbing ankle and what feels like a tequila hangover. Even Wangji massaging his head hasn’t helped.
The tech ignores him to wrestle the x-ray thing into the tiny room where Wei Ying and Wangji waited another 30 minutes after leaving the waiting room. Wangji eventually has to step out to make room for the machine, but he hovers in the doorway to watch. No, to guard. Wangji stares at the machine like he’s ready to rip it apart with his bare hands at the first sign of trouble.
“It’s just an x-ray,” Wei Ying assures him. “Like you had at the dentist.”
Wangji’s eyes flick to Wei Ying, then go back to burning a hole in the machine. Oh well, he tried.
Somehow, Wei Ying manages not to yelp and upset Wangji even more as the tech manhandles his ankle into the thing, but he nearly bites through his tongue again.
Finally, it’s over, and the tech shoves the machine back into the hallway. “We’ll go take a look at the scans, but it’s definitely broken.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Wei Ying sighs. A broken ankle and a hefty hospital bill to look forward to. It’s been a great forking day.
Then it gets even better: the next set of scrubs declares that Wei Ying does indeed have a concussion.
“We’re going to hold you tonight for observation,” the woman says. A doctor, probably. She has a lab coat and a badge with a bunch of acronyms on it. But she also looks about 15, so who knows.
“Uh, no,” Wei Ying says, wiggling to sit up straight in the wheelchair. He’s never bad-mouthing Ziyuan’s chair again, not after enduring this hospital’s torture devices. “No thanks, that won’t be necessary.”
The doctor frowns. “Mr. Ying—”
“Mr. Wei,” Wei Ying says. “Or better yet, just Wei Ying. And I’m fine! The headache’s practically gone already, I swear.”
“Mr. Wei,” the doctor begins. She clearly doesn’t believe him, which is fair since he’s lying his ass off. “Even if that’s so, we still need to observe you. Head injuries can be unpredictable.”
“Yeah, but we’ve got a little boy at home. I can’t stay here all night!” Wei Ying turns to Wangji for back up, but Wangji looks even more nauseated than Wei Ying feels.
“I understand,” the doctor says, even though she obviously doesn’t. “However, with an injury like this, your symptoms might worsen. There is even the possibility of a coma.”
Wangji squeezes Wei Ying’s fingers so tightly that Wei Ying forgets about his ankle for a few seconds. Oh no. It was definitely a mistake to let Wangji and A-Yuan watch Regarding Henry.
“Sweetheart, no,” Wei Ying croons. “I just bumped my head. No coma, I promise.”
But the damage is done. It only takes about three seconds of Wangji’s concerned face for Wei Ying to surrender. Motherforking shirtballs.
Wangji refuses to leave him even to talk to his brother in the waiting room, so Wei Ying calls Lan Huan and puts the phone on speaker so that Wangji can listen. After he’s heard the bad news, Lan Huan says, “Excuse us a moment,” then mutes the phone.
Wei Ying raises an eyebrow at Wangji. Wangji blinks back at him.
Then Lan Huan is back. “Sorry about that. We’d be happy to watch A-Yuan tonight—if that’s okay with you.”
“Huh?”
“It’s okay if you aren’t comfortable with that,” Lan Huan says, talking weirdly fast. “But we could stay at your place. I’m sure A-Yuan would feel more secure there, in familiar surroundings.”
“Well, yeah . . .” Wei Ying wiggles his eyebrows at Wangji to ask if he understands what’s happening, but Wangji looks just as confused. “But you guys don’t have to do that. I can call my brother. Or our neighbor. A-Yuan’s stayed with her plenty of times.”
“Of course,” Lan Huan says in that genteel voice. He’s a much more believable Responsible Father than Wei Ying is, and the guy doesn’t even have kids. “But we’d be happy to do it.”
He does sound happy. Even eager. Like babysitting a seven year old is something he’s dreamed of doing. Weird guy.
“Um, okay. We appreciate it.”
Another hour passes before someone comes to move Wei Ying to another room. This time, a man pushes Wei Ying’s wheelchair, which is a relief but also not. Wangji follows closely to make sure the man doesn’t take Wei Ying away from him.
They get into an elevator. The last time Wangji was in an elevator, it was with Wen Zhuliu. But Wangji only has time to remember that for a few seconds before the man speaks.
“This your brother?” the man asks Wei Ying.
“My husband,” Wei Ying says quickly. He looks up at Wangji with wide eyes, like he’s trying to tell him something, but Wangji’s heart is thumping too loudly to understand. “He’s my husband.”
Wei Ying and the man talk some more, but all Wangji hears is my husband, echoing in his mind.
Wangji hovers in the corner of the hospital room as people move around doing things to Wei Ying. They made Wei Ying change into a gown that ties up the back. Wei Ying did that in the bathroom, then hopped to the bed holding the gown closed behind his butt. A-Yuan would have laughed. Wangji just wants to wrap Wei Ying in a blanket and hide him from all these people and their machines.
But more than that, he wants to ask Wei Ying why he said they were married. He doesn’t get a chance because when the people leave, Wei Ying calls Popo and they both talk to A-Yuan. Then Lan Huan comes up to the room.
“Mingjue’s on his way to get A-Yuan,” Lan Huan tells them. He hands Wangji two plastic bags. “I picked up some things for you: toothbrushes, toothpaste, portable phone charger.”
Wangji peers into the bags. It looks like Lan Huan bought an entire convenience store. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Wei Ying says. “You guys didn’t have to do all this.”
Lan Huan just smiles. “I thought I’d take Wangji down to get something to eat. You, too. I’m sure you’ve missed the meal service.”
“I’m good. You guys should go, though.”
Wangji pleads at Wei Ying with his eyes, but Wei Ying insists. “You can grab me some crackers or something while you’re down there,” Wei Ying says, which means that Wangji has to go even though there are Ritz crackers in Lan Huan’s bag.
Lan Huan sets off confidently down the hall, but Wangji swivels his neck, trying to map the path back to Wei Ying’s room. The hospital is so big, and everything looks the same. And the numbers on the doors don’t make sense. Room 406 is across the hall from room 424. And what if he forgets Wei Ying’s room number?
“These places are so confusing,” Lan Huan says even though he doesn’t seem confused at all. “They’re even worse than college campuses. But if you get turned around, you can ask the nurses.”
Talking to strangers, especially to admit that he’s lost, is terrifying, but Wangji nods like that’s a good idea.
They get on a different elevator than the one Wangji and Wei Ying rode before. This one has more passengers, all wearing normal clothes instead of colorful pajamas. They ride down several floors before they get off.
It only takes a few steps for Wangji to realize they’re in a basement. It looks just like the rest of the hospital, but he still knows they’re underground.
“Wangji?” Lan Huan turns when he realizes that Wangji stopped walking. “The food court is just down here. It’s not far, I promise.”
There are bright, familiar signs on the walls with arrows pointing at Subway and Starbucks. Food smells fight with the stinging scent of the hospital. People walk past them wearing nurse clothes and regular clothes. Everyone looks tired or busy, but no one looks scared.
Wangji nods and follows his brother.
At Subway, Wangji orders a sandwich for himself and one for Wei Ying. No need to be nervous about that because he knows Wei Ying’s order by heart: extra peppers, no olives. Even though the mingling smells of antiseptic and meat are making him sick, he orders two chocolate chip cookies. Too bad Starbucks is closed—hot chocolate would be good right now.
Lan Huan doesn’t want anything because Nie Mingjue is picking up a pizza for them and A-Yuan, so they take the food back to Wei Ying’s room. It isn’t as hard to find as he’d thought. There are signs everywhere. It’s still good that he doesn’t have to ride the elevator by himself, though.
Wei Ying crinkles a smile when Wangji hands him the Subway bag, but he doesn’t open it. He looks so small in the hospital bed. And so tired.
“A-Yuan’s so excited about your slumber party,” Wei Ying tells Lan Huan, the sandwich getting cold in his lap. “Don’t let him bully you, though. At nine o’clock, just toss him in his bed and lock the door.”
Lan Huan laughs and backs to the door. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. Get some rest.”
When Lan Huan leaves, Wangji sets aside his own untouched sandwich and takes the white bag to Wei Ying. “Cookies.”
“Such a sweetheart.” Wei Ying eats two bites of the cookie, then sets it down, licking chocolate off his fingers. “I’m sorry about all this. You didn’t have to stay with me.”
Frowning, Wangji picks cookie crumbs off Wei Ying’s blanket. “I wanted to.”
“I know,” Wei Ying sighs. He grabs Wangji’s hand and squeezes. “It’s going to be awful, though. They’re going to barge in here all night. And that couch is way too short for you.”
Wangji glances at the couch. Someone brought pillows and a blanket while he was downstairs with Lan Huan. It does look short, but he’s slept in worse places. “I’ll be okay.”
Wei Ying tugs at his fingers until Wangji looks at him, then wiggles his eyebrows. “Wanna get in here with me?”
Alarmed, Wangji turns to the door like a nurse is standing on the other side waiting to pounce. “Is that . . . would we get in trouble?”
Wei Ying snorts and wiggles to the side. “Just to snuggle. Naughty boy.”
Wangji’s ears burn. That is not what he meant. But he takes off his boots and carefully lies down in the space Wei Ying made. It’s difficult enough to fit both of them on the narrow bed, but he also has to avoid hitting Wei Ying’s ankle. Eventually, though, they manage something almost comfortable, with Wangji curled as small as his body will go and his face wedged against Wei Ying’s neck.
When they’re in place, Wei Ying sighs. “This sucks.”
“I can get up.”
“No, sweetheart, not you.” Wei Ying cranes his neck to kiss Wangji’s forehead. “I mean the rest of it.”
Wangji hums. It does suck. But it’d be even worse if Wei Ying was in a coma. Especially if he didn’t remember anything when he woke up, like the man in the movie. Like Wangji. Thinking about Wei Ying not remembering him, not remembering himself, makes him shiver.
“Cold?” Wei Ying asks, chafing his arm.
“No.” It is cold, though, now that he thinks about it. But it’s warmer pressed against Wei Ying.
“We can ask for more blankets when the nurse comes back. And she will. They always come back. After Jie had A-Ling, they busted in at least once an hour. I’m like, the poor woman just gave birth, let her sleep!”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Mysterious nurse reasons.”
“Mn. Why did you say we were married?”
Wei Ying inhales sharply but doesn’t say anything at first. That’s disappointing. Sometimes when he’s talking a lot, Wei Ying will answer questions without even realizing he’s doing it. Wangji didn’t manage to trick him this time, though.
“Oh, um, well, sometimes hospitals won’t let you stay in a patient’s room if you aren’t immediate family.”
“What’s immediate family?”
“Like fathers and sons. Or brothers and sisters. Or spouses. Which is why I said we were . . . spouses.”
“The man asked if we were brothers.” Wangji raises up a little so that he can see Wei Ying’s face, but Wei Ying stares at the TV jutting from the wall like he’s interested in the car commercial playing with no sound.
“Yeah,” Wei Ying says. “I guess I could’ve said we were brothers.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Wei Ying blows out a breath and pouts at the ceiling. “Hey, I’m concussed, remember? My poor lumpy head is doing the best it can.”
“Mn.” Maybe he is being too mean. Wangji settles back down and nuzzles into Wei Ying’s neck. He listens to Wei Ying breathe, to the faint mechanical beeps from the hallway, the hum of heat rolling through the vents.
Wei Ying’s fingers twitch on his arm. “Did you, um, are you . . .?”
“Hm?”
Wei Ying makes a little grumbly sound in his throat, which means he’s annoyed at himself. “Did that bother you? When I said that?”
“That we were married?”
“Yeah. That.”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“I would like to marry Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying squeaks and jerks, then hisses as the movement knocks his hurt ankle into Wangji’s leg.
Wangji sits up and hovers his hands over Wei Ying but doesn’t know how to help. “Wei Ying?”
“I’m okay.” Wei Ying grimaces as he eases his leg straight. “Glad they didn’t put a cast on it. I probably would’ve broken your shin.”
“Are you upset? Because I said I wanted to . . .”
“No!” Wei Ying finally looks at him, his eyes so bright in the dim room. “No, of course I’m not upset! You just surprised me.”
“A good surprise?”
Wei Ying laughs and tugs him down until they’re lying face almost to face, nose tips touching. “A very good surprise,” Wei Ying says, and finishes with a kiss to Wangji’s nose.
“We can get married?”
“Do you want to?”
Wangji nods so hard that Wei Ying laughs again. “Do you want to?”
“Of course I do! Who wouldn’t want to marry such a sweetheart?”
Wangji smiles back at him, his heart so full even in this awful hospital bed. “Are you sure? You are concussed.”
Wei Ying’s eyes crinkle and shine. “I’m sure. I was sure yesterday. I was sure months ago.”
“Months?”
“Yeah.” Wei Ying’s smile softens into a warm smile that’s only Wangji’s. Even A-Yuan doesn’t get this smile. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about it, but we’ve been working on getting all your paperwork straight first.”
The paperwork is a lot of trouble. But he still wants to marry Wei Ying, no matter how many forms he has to fill out. “When can we do it?”
“Pretty soon, I hope.” Wei Ying’s fingers comb through Wangji’s hair, and it’s almost like they’re in their own bed, warm and safe and forever. “You want to marry a guy on crutches? I’ll have to hobble down the aisle.”
“I’ll carry you,” Wangji promises.
He kisses Wei Ying’s laughing mouth until a nurse comes in. She shoos him out of Wei Ying’s bed, but as soon as she’s gone, he climbs back in and goes back to cuddling his (almost) husband.
Eventually, he leaves Wei Ying alone in the bed so that he can sleep. The nurse said it was okay for Wei Ying to sleep, that he needs rest. Wen Zhuliu must have been wrong about that.
Wangji can’t sleep. He lies on the couch, watching Wei Ying frown in his sleep. Wei Ying talks a lot, but the words are so garbled that Wangji can’t understand them. Not that they would make sense anyway. None of Wei Ying’s sleep talk ever makes sense. Wangji still wishes he were close enough to hear the words instead of alone on the couch.
A nurse comes in and wakes Wei Ying up. She listens to his heart and takes his blood pressure. When she leaves, Wei Ying goes right back to sleep.
Wangji pads to the bathroom in his socks. The flush doesn’t wake Wei Ying even though it’s louder than Wen Ning’s drum set.
There is a window above the couch. Wangji looks out the window while he eats the fruit snacks Lan Huan brought. The hospital curves around, so Wangji can see the windows of what must be more rooms like Wei Ying’s. In one of the windows is a little white rabbit. It’s a statue, not a stuffed one like his was. He smiles at it until it occurs to him that it might be a child’s. There could be a little boy like A-Yuan in one of those beds. Maybe sick or hurt like Wei Ying.
As sad as that is, at least the little boy or girl has someone who loves them, someone who brought them a bunny to make them feel better. Maybe he should get something for Wei Ying. He and Lan Huan walked by a gift shop in the lobby. It had balloons that said Get Well. A balloon might make this room brighter.
That’s something a husband might do.
Smiling, Wangji turns to watch Wei Ying sleep. Yes, he’ll get Wei Ying a balloon. If the clerk asks who it’s for, he’ll say it’s for his husband. He might tell the clerk even if they don’t ask.
Wei Ying wakes up early and cranky. He demands snuggles and grumbles against Wangji’s chest, then scowls at the nurse who comes in.
“I survived the night,” Wei Ying says. “No vomiting or comas. Can we go home now?”
The nurse smiles like she’s used to grumpy patients. “Not until the doctor makes her rounds. And we’ve still got to get you a boot for that ankle.”
Wei Ying pouts even harder, but Wangji knows how to help. “There’s a Starbucks in the food court.”
“I adore you. Get me two extra shots. No, three!”
Wangji will do no such thing, but he nods. Wei Ying will never know that Wangji deprived him of unhealthy amounts of caffeine.
Finding the Starbucks isn’t hard. He gets turned around once, but the signs lead him back in the right direction. Being in a basement is still creepy, but it’s full of people and smells like coffee, so it isn’t so bad. Besides, he’s too tired to be scared.
The line at Starbucks is really long. Most of the people are wearing scrubs, or at least that’s what Wei Ying calls them. By the time he gets Wei Ying’s coffee, it’ll probably be time to leave, but he can’t go back without Wei Ying’s caramel macchiato. What kind of husband would he be if he couldn’t even get coffee?
When his order is finally ready, he stuffs his bottle of orange juice and the muffins in his coat pockets to keep his hands free for the coffee. Even with what Wei Ying calls the “coffee condom” around the cup, he still has to switch hands sometimes to keep from burning himself.
As he’s heading up the escalator to the main floor, someone starts playing a piano. It’s such an unexpected sound that he almost trips at the top of the escalator. Hot coffee dribbles onto his hand, hitting him in the worst spot—the web between his thumb and forefinger. That shocks away the surprise, and he stumbles off the escalator, sucking the coffee off his skin.
It’s definitely a real piano, not recorded. It’s a little out of tune. It’s nice, though. A little like home.
He shuffles out of everyone’s way and stands beside a fake potted plant to listen. The song is jazz, but not anything he knows. Some of the notes are wrong, but the rhythm is good. Wei Ying says that rhythm is the most important part of jazz.
After listening a bit more, Wangji starts moving again. He should get back to Wei Ying. But he wanders a little farther into the lobby, too curious not to.
He doesn’t have to go far to find the piano. It’s a small upright, its black finish shining in the morning light from the huge windows. The man playing it wears a gown like Wei Ying’s, but he’s wearing pants underneath it. That’s good. There are people going in and out through the revolving doors, letting in the cold air, and this man is old and fragile. His dark skin is almost as gray as his hair. But he smiles like Wei Ying does as he plays, his eyes closed in bliss.
The piano bench has been moved aside to make room for the man’s wheelchair. A metal pole stands beside the wheelchair, a tube running from a bag on the pole into the man’s arm. A nurse waits behind the pole. The nurse frowns at his phone, not paying attention to the music. He looks bored, like he’s anxious for the man to finish.
Wei Ying says there are people like that, people who don’t care about music, as impossible as that seems. This nurse must be one of them.
Wangji ignores the unhappy nurse and moves closer to the piano. The jazz player’s fingers must have warmed up because he’s playing better now. His fingers are gnarled, but they move smoothly over the keys.
The man’s eyes open, and he grins at Wangji without missing a note. “Morning.”
“Good morning,” Wangji says, only a little shaky. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”
“It’s no bother. You like jazz?”
Wangji nods. Wei Ying says that Wangji likes every kind of music, which is almost true.
“Do you play?”
Wangji nods again. “I’m learning.”
“Me too,” the man says, and grins even wider. “I’ll take requests if you have time to listen.”
Wangji hesitates, switching the coffee cup to his left hand. Wei Ying wouldn’t mind, but he shouldn’t have to wait for Wangji to listen to some song.
“It’s okay,” the man says, still smiling. “You’ve got someone to look after. Maybe some other time.”
“Thank you. I enjoyed your music.”
The man nods, then closes his eyes again, sinking back into the music.
As Wangji walks away, the song changes. Wangji almost stumbles when he recognizes the new song. It’s not the same as the one Wei Ying plays, but it’s still beautiful. The man’s cracked voice joins the piano, singing about “a place beyond the sun, just a step beyond the rain.”
Smiling at this unexpected magic, Wangji walks toward the elevator. Other people smile, too. Not all of them. Some must be untouched, like that unfortunate nurse. It’s sad that they can’t feel it, this light the old man shines into the world.
While Wei Ying sips his coffee, Wangji tells him about the man and the piano. Just hearing about it makes Wei Ying happier. “What did he play?” Wei Ying asks.
“‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow.’”
Wei Ying laughs and offers him the coffee. “He must be a mind-reader.”
Wangji smiles and sips coffee that’s sweeter than his lemon muffin. He knows the jazz player didn’t really read his mind. He’s just a good musician, like Wei Ying. Good musicians know what people need. They know how to make people happy.
Someday, Wangji will be a good musician. But first, he’ll be a good husband. He’s learning what makes Wei Ying happy and what Wei Ying needs, which isn’t always the same thing. Learning the difference is hard, but he will make sure that Wei Ying gets everything he deserves: snuggles, macchiatos—even a long night in a dreary hospital.
“What are you smiling at?” Wei Ying asks.
“My husband,” Wangji says, and keeps smiling as Wei Ying blushes and hides behind his cinnamon muffin.