Work Text:
He Tian is thirteen when he lights his first cigarette.
It is not very easy to be thirteen years old when your perfect life is crumbling down around you, and the only remnant of that perfect life is the forgotten pack of cigarettes. Unfinished still it lies right where his brother left them before grabbing his jacket and walking out of the door for the one last time.
So He Tian is thirteen and he has no hope left. That is it. The comma at the end of the sentence, the last word of his verdict, the end of the story. The damned Sun just might go and burn itself to death – see if he cares. His brother has left, his mother has once again closed herself in her room with her expensive pills and expensive dresses, and he is alone (again). But this time this alone smells like dust in the empty apartment, like cold floors of an abandoned room, and messages that are forever left at Delivered.
He Tian aimlessly wanders around the apartment until he finds that forgotten pack, half-empty, with a cheap lighter squeezed inside.
He goes straight to the spacious lodge, and gets one out, trying to stuff it between his lips so it just won’t fall out. It is surprisingly difficult task, when one is also trying to light the stupid thing up (well, taking in consideration the 25th floor and stormy February winds). First two attempts end in complete and utter failure, but then he remembers exactly how his brother did it. So he clicks the lighter and inhales.
Bitter smoke burns his lungs and makes him dizzy, he coughs until it no longer feels like he is suffocating and makes another attempt. Who knew that smoking is that tiring. Eventually, he ends up on the cold tiles of the floor, and almost succeeds at convincing himself that those tears are from the bitterness on his tongue.
---
He Tian is fifteen, and he really has nothing bad to say about himself.
Well, first things first, he works out. So, while his classmates had fun at karaoke and pachinko, spending money they did not have, He Tian had tried everything there is. Boxing, Muay Thai, Jiu Jitsu – you name it. He may be just fifteen, but those girls asking for his number are university students.
Secondly, that apartment on 25th floor? All his now. His mother has left for a “few days” to get some “fresh air” somewhere outside of the city, but it has been a year now, and if he is to judge by her Instagram photos – she is not combing back just yet.
Finally, He Tian had mastered the art of smoke rings, and they almost reach high ceilings of said apartment.
Well, shit.
---
At sixteen though.
At sixteen, He Tian opens the door with a tightly bandaged hand, and lets every corner in every room be filled with presence.
Those assholes, they don’t wait for his invitation or permission. They make themselves at home, and make his house home. Even the stupid Sun shines like it is sixteen.
He Tian enters last, and closes the door behind. From somewhere inside he hears laughter, rustle, something (or someone) falling, fridge grunting in response to someone peeking in, and for a moment he indulges himself and closes his eyes. Just for a moment he lets himself open up, and fill empty terabytes of memory in his head with this.
“You alright?”
These eyes, for example. Their complex colour, like maple syrup, and autumn leaves, and finest dark chocolate. He studied them, not just once, because they are so different from his own.
(In his there are only smoke, dark waters, and black shadows).
In them he sees worry he doesn't want to see, so (naturally) he snaps.
“It’s lunch time, and I don’t want to eat those leftovers.”
He Tian grins just like he does (“Jerk”, spats Guan Shan and goes straight to the kitchen).
Still, for the first time since his little private apocalypse, the apartment feels warm.
---
When he turns eighteen, he traces the thin scar on his palm, cigarette forgotten between his lips.
Guan Shan is rattling with plates in the kitchen, and when He Tian stops to think about it, something starts to ache deep in his chest.
(Probably, time to quit smoking).
They have less than three months left until the graduation.
And one month ago, on that same kitchen, he was spitting venom, and hoping it will hurt.
Hurt Guan Shan did.
“Why the fuck do you have to be such a dickbag! So fucking mighty and important with you head deep down your own ass. Want to be a fucking drama queen? Be it. Fuck you, I will be doing whatever the fuck I want.”
If He Tian didn’t know him so well, he might have thought that Guan Shan will cry. But as it is, He Tian knew Guan Shan very well, and he is not surprised at all when he hears the door slam.
He doesn’t even remember what exactly started that fight. His safe bet though would be that look he gave Guan Shan, when he saw his college application. Poor guy was in the middle of making dinner and did not expect He Tian to snuck behind his back, and take a peek at the papers he had left on the table. But honestly, Guan Shan and teaching? Not to mention primary school.
He was just too unprepared for it (and in retrospect, it is his own damn fault).
So it takes him to where he is now, tracing the scar with his fingertips, and summoning all the courage that he possesses. To not to be a drama queen, to take his head out of his ass, to not to be a dickbag just for one minute.
To do whatever the fuck he wants.
“Hey,” Guan Shan doesn’t bless him with intelligible answer, only a mildly annoyed grunt, as the soup he has on a stove is boiling and-
“I applied for the classic Chinese literature”.
Guan Shan loses it completely, so they end up with a stew instead. It is still delicious, and He Tian asks for a second helping, and Guan Shan still laughs while He Tian takes care of dishes.
---
He Tian is twenty, and he really does not want to die because of blue balls.
But he kind of is. Dying. Because Guan Shan. Ugh.
The worst part is that the bastard doesn’t know.
He just runs around the apartment, getting ready for his first day as temporary substitute teacher (or whatever it is). He Tian lazily watches him, sipping on his first cup of coffee, and fights the desire to suffocate the idiot with a kiss.
He also contemplates whether or not help Guan Shan with a tie, and finally settles on yes, please, because watching him getting upset is way more dangerous.
Guan Shan is all nervous energy and tense muscles, He Tian feels it even through the layers of clothes and half-a-step distance between them.
“Breathe in,” he makes a loop. “Breathe out,” perfect knot is ready.
Guan Shan looks at him, intent but silent, almost as if he is searching for something. He Tian feels too exposed and backpedals.
“Now get the fuck out of here already. Aren’t you late? What about the future of China? Who’s going to make sure little termites are learning well? Shit, do they even know how to read?”
“Watch your language. I can’t believe you got accepted to the university. For a person who knows Chu Ci by heart you sound awful.”
“Obviously, because you weren’t my first teacher.”
“Piss off.”
“Go already.”
Or stay. He Tian wants him to stay really badly, but still waves him goodbye, and asks what should he order for dinner. Guan Shan shouts “Pizza!” from the elevator doors.
He Tian sits down to work on his own thesis, and draws a little pizza on the battered hand-out.
He is so deep into Gua-
He’s so screwed.
---
He Tian is twenty-two. So is Guan Shan.
He Tian thinks that they can solve this problem like two functioning adults they (nominally) are. Guan Shan disagrees, stubbornly extending his hand and looking He Tian into eyes.
“Alright then”.
“Rock, paper, scissors!”
Well. After six years of acquaintance he should have known better. He Tian almost never losses in rock, paper, scissors.
“Come here.” He positively purrs.
He can see how very tips of Guan Shan’s ears turn pink, as he takes one step forward.
He Tian is usually not the one for the long foreplay, but this time everything is different. He is determined to make this experience a pleasurable one, he is set on making sure Guan Shan will never run out of those sweet almost-whines, and shuddered breaths.
He is so beautiful, breath-taking. He Tian caresses smooth pale skin, and thinks of that first cigarette, and how he wasn’t able to simply inhale, and it feels almost the same. Only this time, it is not bitterness that fills his lungs, it’s ribs-crushing tenderness that overflows him. It does sound stupid, he knows, he has a literature degree, thank you very much.
Guan Shan is so beautiful, it scares He Tian. Every single muscle in his body is tense, because gentleness is not his forte, never was. He left so many bruises on his body already, he will curse his own name if even one will bloom on unmarked skin. It scares him, as with every passing second, he is afraid Guan Shan will finally realise that he is too good for He Tian, too damn beautiful, and leave him, and He Tian will have nothing to offer to him, nothing to stop him.
Guan Shan is so beautiful, He Tian honestly doesn’t know why he is still chooses to stay with He Tian.
“Kiss me more.”
Guan Shan doesn’t wait for him to actually do it first, he just goes for He Tian’s chapped lips, like he wants it, and-
That is the end.
Like supernova explosion, firework burst in the depth of night sky, single plum blossom falling off the tree, reflection of the full moon in a shadowy mirror of still water.
Beginning, too.
Like first brush stroke on a blank canvas, spring breeze high above the trees, first punch of air after a deep dive. Almost like He Tian that holds him so tight, as if he is afraid to let go.
If he lets go, Guan Shan might leave. But even then, He Tian will run, trail, crawl after him, so he can find him, save him, and take him right back into his embrace.
He Tian is a little bit worried, that it is not exactly healthy to love like that.
In the silence of their shared apartment, he tries to convey just how much does he love. He does not count words, and is not ashamed of them, picking the most elegant, most precise from what he knows. To the collarbones, he says how he loves their fragility and the way Guan Shan drinks coffee in the mornings from his old cup. To the shoulders, he admits that Guan Shan’s voice is his favourite sound, and nothing will ever compare to it. Chest, stomach, hips, to all of them he makes these little confessions, and kiss them sure that they are true.
He can do that all night long, honestly. But he has the grand confession to make yet.
“I love you now, I loved you before, and I will love you as long as you let me. Please.”
“Shut up, idiot.”
He doesn’t really mean it.
He Tian kisses and touches him more, and just dies a little bit more every time those honey and chocolate eyes meet his own. He also promptly forgets every poem he knows.
---
He Tian is thirty, and he is still madly in love.
“Waking up at 6 am, gazing lovingly at sleeping Guan Shan, and finally succumbing to the impulse” kind of madly in love.
Words lay down on the blank pages, as early morning dew grazes upon waking city. Guan Shan won’t wake up at least until noon today. But just because it is the first day of school vacations and he deserves it. There is no looming “tomorrow” they should to worry about, so He Tian puts away the notebook and snuggles back into the warmth of their shared blanket.
Actually, take that “tomorrow” away completely. He will gladly have just now.
---
Guan Shan is sixty. But He Tian is forever fifty-nine.
Only on the pages of this notebook he is still eighteen, or twenty-two, or thirty.
It still hurts like a bitch, reading a stupid thing. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry, so sometimes he does both.
Stupid He Tian and his stupid chronicles.
12/22/2019.
Lost Guan Shan’s favourite scarf somewhere while walking back from Xi’s place. Apparently he is really pissed. Had to go back, no luck. Honestly, didn't try hard though.
Reading these after decades was fun. Guan Shan did remember the scarf, and the karaoke night they had that evening, quiet snowfall, the long walk they took through the dimly lit streets. For a change He Tian wasn’t a complete jerk that night, but he did get really cold (arrogant and stupid enough not to wear proper winter clothes). Guan Shan lent him his scarf, and that jerk managed to lose it.
Guan Shan remembers how angry he was, and how reluctant to accept apologies (but to be honest, back then he still didn’t know how sincere they were).
He also did not know what He Tian himself thought about it. Until he read the damn diary.
Through years and lives,
I will come back to you.
These two lines were written in the same day, but they didn’t make much sense at first. Or maybe Guan Shan just was not ready to realise, to see.
To see He Tian, the way he always was – raw, bright, honest - but hid it so well, on these yellowed pages.
These same two lines repeated so many times in his later works. In the books he published, as characters’ lines, as the poems he wrote. Maybe it’s just Guan Shan never knew they were about him.
But now he believed them. He trusted them, and trusted He Tian.
They didn’t find the scarf, so fuck it. He never actually liked it so much, never loved anything as much as he loved that person. That stupid jerk with a scar on his palm, summer thunder in his voice, with tenderness so deep down dark eyes, Guan Shan almost missed it. He is glad that he didn't.
Guan Shan loved-
Still loves him so much.