4. Chapter 4

Week two, and Shen Wei is still stubbornly resisting Zhao Yunlan’s charms. Daqing is laughing at him (Zhao Yunlan, not Shen Wei) and his father is (probably) planning his (probably) long-dreamed-of act of filicide if only to escape the relentless, one-sided flirting.

But Zhao Yunlan knows that Shen Wei is interested. He can see the little tells of red ears and sly smiles picking up again when the “sexual escapades report calamity” had faded after a few days. He can feel the vibration of the button-downed scholar’s attraction. There is something between them and Zhao Yunlan is not giving up unless he gets a firm and unequivocable “no.” Shen Wei is resisting, it’s true — but he hasn’t put the brakes on, either.

Let it be known that Zhao Yunlan respects boundaries but is also pathetic enough to take what he can get.

Meanwhile the ‘panic in the streets’ part of the crisis has calmed down enough for Zhao Yunlan to be called on the carpet by everyone who has an official government title and time to spare. His bastard of a father gleefully throws him at the bureaucrats with a sharp grin and a half-assed ‘good luck!’

Zhao Yunlan prefers when they dislike him because those meetings are short. The ones who try to be his friend are the worst, because they invariably say something like, “let’s take this conversation somewhere less formal!” and drag him out for drinks.

Too many drinks, too many nights in a row.

He’s sitting on the curb, curled into himself and riding the waves of agony when he feels a cool hand on his shoulder.

“Zhao Yunlan! What is wrong?” It is the wonderful, calming voice of Heavenly Shen Wei, coming to soothe all his aches and his pains and his heart. Zhao Yunlan can’t help but lean into his hand.

“Stomach. Not so good. Drinking: bad.” He nods to himself.

“I wouldn’t know,” Shen Wei says, crouching down next to him. Of course Zhao Yunlan would pick a teetotaler for a wife. Ah well, he thinks, he needs to cut back on drinking anyway.

He hopes he did not say any of that out loud.

“Come on, Lord Guardian, let’s get you home.”

Strong arms are pulling him to his feet, but the pain is miraculously lessened and he thinks he might be able to walk under his own power to a taxi stand. “M’not. Lord. Guardian,” he says as he tries to stumble but is kept upright by the lean, firm body of Professor Wifey.

“What did you call me?”

“Nothin’,” he says as his mind calmly drifts away from him.

He wakes up in the taxi, Shen Wei lifting him out with surprising strength, then wakes up again on his bed with Shen Wei is pulling his shoes off.

“My bed,” Zhao Yunlan says in satisfaction. Yes, absolutely, this is where Shen Wei belongs: in his home, in his bed, in him.

“Ah, maybe try not to talk,” She Wei says, an odd tilt to his voice.

“C’mere.” Zhao Yunlan holds his arms out for a cuddle. He gets an armful of his quilt instead. He tries to pout but then Shen Wei’s cool hand is on his forehead and he drops into a deep, peaceful slumber.

He wakes up to the smell of tea and egg congee and...vinegar?

Rolling over, he nearly falls out of bed when he clocks Shen Wei sitting next to it like a creeper.

“Were you watching me sleep?” He asks, trying to pull himself back into a seated position with some sense of decorum. He’s wearing his ducky pajamas but he tries anyway. He also does not question how he got into his ducky pajamas.

“You were unwell. I wanted to make sure you would not need medical attention.”

It’s a totally reasonable excuse and also totally weird, but Zhao Yunlan is too busy marveling at the fact that he does not have a hangover or a stomach ache to complain. Shen Wei holds the bowl of congee that was sitting on the table for a moment, then hands it over. It is steaming hot and smells divine. Zhao Yunlan is a selfish man, in the main, so grabs it and starts eating.

“What’s with the vinegar?” He says around a mouthful of the best breakfast he’s ever had. Even that one girlfriend in college who was in cooking school did not gift him food this delicious. It’s simple but flavorful with the perfect texture to melt in his mouth.

“I, ah, took the liberty of cleaning up a little?” Shen Wei’s ears are bright, bright red.

Zhao Yunlan pauses, lowers the bowl, and looks around.

His apartment is fucking spotless.

Lunging up out of bed, he inspects the bathroom, his closet, the kitchen, the refrigerator. It’s all cleaner than when he moved in. Still holding the bowl of congee, he turns to Shen Wei. “What.”

“You were sleeping, and I was bored, and—”

“No no no. No! ‘Being bored’ is why you sneak onto my laptop and watch porn. That is not why you scrub my toilet!” He’s caught between hopelessly charmed and mildly disturbed.

“Zhao Yunlan, sit down,” Shen Wei scolds, his expression fond if mildly embarrassed. “Eat your breakfast.”

Zhao Yunlan is going to be a model husband so he sits the fuck down and eats his damn breakfast.