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The day is sunny.
Beams of golden light whisper streams through the curtains, highlighting Song Qingshi’s delicate sleeping face. The gentle slope jawline, the slowly forming fat on his cheeks that Yue Wuhuan has been working very hard to fill out in previous weeks. The greedy part of him is satisfied to see that it is working. He feels a bit too greedy now, seeing as how he is leaning closer to indulge in a few stolen kisses here and there.
“Qingshi…” Sleep roughens his voice and his lips. The same cannot be said about Song Qingshi’s lips however. Drool trickles in a thin stream down the man’s chin keeping them unconventionally moist. Yue Wuhuan pokes a tongue out to wet his own a bit before going back in for another peckish kiss against Song Qingshi’s nose. He loves the way it twitches—very rabbit like, “Love, it’s time to wake up.”
“Hmnn…” Noise rumbles from his little love’s throat and Yue Wuhuan is utterly smitten, utterly amused and utterly exasperated all in the same go. He sits up on his elbows, crawling somewhat on top of his husband to rain down pecks after pecks. From his ears to his throat, from his eyes to his collarbones. Nothing is left untouched and nothing is left unloved.
A litany of names fall from his lips sweetly until his husband is squirming, whining out little petulant and giggly ‘Wuhuan!’s. Yue Wuhuan’s husband is too cute, truly too cute. Very ticklish too. There will never be anything in this world cuter than his delicate darling husband. He can’t help how his teeth catch a little lump of Song Qingshi’s rounding cheeks. The surprised squeal is a new sound and it’s quickly cataloged in Yue Wuhuan’s enormous memory slots. He’s never been happier to have such a good memory.
“Come now, you told me you wanted to learn how to be a morning person from now on, didn't you?” His lips were now properly moistened and if not a bit swollen, “It’s unfortunately time to wake up in order to do so.”
During their mess of movements they find themselves in different positions at the moment. Song Qingshi sitting up against his headboard while Yue Wuhuan is still half laying down in his lap, moving his kisses from his husband’s face to his clothed chest. His husband’s face adopts a frown, obviously conflicted. Clearly the warmth and comfort of their newly purchased sheets far outweighs Song Qingshi’s longstanding desire to finally wake up at a normal reasonable time.
“Yes but…” There’s a bit of a whine there. They shift simultaneously as Song Qingshi stretches his sleeping legs beneath the sheets and in doing so nudges Yue Wuhuan slightly. Yue Wuhuan waits and waits and he almost for a moment thinks Song Qingshi will ask to stay in bed a bit longer but he doesn’t. Instead Song Qingshi makes the first move to remove the blankets to get up. That is until he realizes he can’t quite move with Yue Wuhuan still laying in his lap. With a smile so beautiful and radiant Song Qingshi beams down on him like he is the sun and Yue Wuhuan is a sunflower following it obediently, “Okay fine… I guess you’re right. It’s about time we start a new routine.”
oOoOoOo
The first time it happens, Yue Wuhuan is confused. There’s a subtle bang like someone’s knocking on the door. It’s in a steady rhythm and it's odd. There’s no one at the door by the time he checks the front. However he does notice that it is quite warm and sunny out still when he opens it. He should take Song Qingshi out for a stroll so that they can start training his legs again to carry him longer distances. The thought is warming as he closes the door again, clicking it shut carefully.
“Was there someone at the door?” Song Qingshi is behind him in a t-shirt that is sized for him but still needs to be filled out. Not to worry, it is a job that Yue Wuhuan is more than willing to do. He locks the door before reaching out to touch and hold his husband in his arms. His hands rest on the man’s thin boney waist and squeezes lightly to really feel how he's growing. It’s still not nearly enough but in due time it will be. His eager hands keep squishing whatever flesh he can grab to really plan out what meals to make in the upcoming future.
A smile twists his lips as he leans down to kiss Song Qingshi’s forehead. His hair tickles his nose but it’s fine because he smells nice like medicinal herbs and clean linen.
“No, there’s no one. I think a bird must have hit the window.” Not likely seeing as how the multiple thuds would insinuate multiple birds hitting the house somewhere but it’s not something he really wants Song Qingshi to be thinking about right now.
A thin furrowed line scrunches between Song Qingshi’s brows as he tilts his head thoughtfully, “Well I suppose but we should look for it shouldn’t we?”
Yue Wuhuan shakes his hand. The waist in his hands is far too thin and needs attention now. A good meal would do wonders for it, “We’ll look for the bird later. I made you breakfast already so we should eat.”
While convinced he can tell from his husband’s expression that his concerns still lie with the bird.
“I promise Qingshi,” Yue Wuhuan’s voice is sweet and low. He leads them back to the kitchen where each assorted food lies in different plates on the table. Steaming buns, rice congee with dates, scallion pancakes, a pot of tea with osmanthus and goji berries. The aroma itself is enough to draw most of his husband’s attention. The table itself is small enough for two people to sit comfortably side to side and it has always been set directly next to a window so that the sun can keep Song Qingshi warm while he eats, “I will go look for the bird afterwards.”
With his mouth halfway open, Song Qingshi relinquishes with a soft sigh followed by a fond smile, “I suppose. My Wuhuan never lies to me.”
oOoOoOo
The second set of bangs is mildly irritating.
They had just returned from their walk when Yue Wuhuan had set his husband down for a well deserved nap. Song Qingshi had made it nearly fourty-eight minutes before deciding that that was his limit for now. As always Yue Wuhuan had carried him home on his back but the look on his husband’s face had been heart breaking. Of course Song Qingshi would be upset at how little he himself had been able to walk. He knew that while Song Qingshi liked being taken care of, his sickness had robbed him of his mobility for a very long time. It was understandable that now that he was able to have it back he would be upset at how little he could use it despite it being just within reach.
So after about an hour of a gentle conversation and encouragement, Song Qingshi had finally laid his head on the pillows for a blissful nap. Soothed by the ideas that they would have the future to keep going on.
Yue Wuhuan had been in a somewhat good mood but also a somewhat bad mood when he heard the knocks again. They were louder now. Not obnoxiously so but definitely louder than they had been in the morning. It’s just that when he had opened the door there had once again been no one. Even though the door was windowed there hadn’t even been a glimpse of the shadow of the person on the other side.
This was getting stupid.
With his husband in bed, Yue Wuhuan closes the door and makes his way outside. The weather is still about the same seeing as how it is still early in the morning. The man knows that whatever is banging on the door isn’t a bird, what bird knocks like that? No it must be a child being naughty or an adult looking for a restraining order.
He searches everywhere. Up high and down low, peering through thick bushes and even in narrower perimeters of the house that someone could just be slightly hiding behind. He must be out there for an hour because his phone alarm vibrates inside of his pants alerting him that now would be a good time to wake up his husband so that he isn’t too cranky or groggy.
Still… With all his prodding and searching, whoever is knocking on their door for entertainment should find it in their best interest to leave.
oOoOoOo
The third time the knocks start, they’re just about ready to sit down and finally review old search papers Song Qingshi had started years ago but was forced to put on hold. Yue Wuhuan feels like he’s going crazy. Maybe it’s all the excitement of the past few weeks or maybe it's the lack of sleep also due to the last few weeks.
“Qingshi do you hear that?” He finally asks about ten minutes of continuous banging again and again. The sound is aggravating. He had been hoping to wait it out but whatever it is obviously is just trying to piss him off.
Song Qingshi, who had been too engrossed with one of his oldest papers, looks absolutely puzzled. There’s a crumb of banana bread on his lip. Yue Wuhuan leans in to kiss it off with a tight fond knot in his throat before pulling away. It’s almost enough to make him forget about that damn knocking.
“I…” Should he say something? What if Song Qingshi thought he had finally gone mad and dragged him out for a divorce? The hysterical insecure part of him screams momentarily before he shushes it into silence. It took time but Yue Wuhuan is finally secure enough to know that would never happen. Not if his husband had anything to say about it. A tight smile plays on his face, “I just keep hearing knocking. It must be the pipes but I’m going to check on it anyway.”
“Mhmm…” There’s a strange look on Song Qingshi’s face. The man tilts his head, an endearing habit that Yue Wuhuan realized long ago resembled a puppy trying to register a thought. His husband’s hand catches the end of his shirt as he stands, “If you find anything just let me know. I’ll have the pipes redone if that really is the case. I don’t want to worry you with water damage in our house.”
Yue Wuhuan is winded by the mere mention of ‘our house’. He’s not used to it yet, the assurance that this is their house and their future. He finds himself smiling something genuinely warm and affectionate.
“Alright, I will.”
By the time Yue Wuhuan gets there and has his hand wrapped around the knob for the front door, the banging has stopped.
oOoOoOo
The sun is just barely setting by the time the knocks come again.
They’re much louder now and in an unnatural blend of frantic and steady.
Yue Wuhuan is glad at this point that Song Qingshi is capable of bathing by himself now because he wouldn’t want his husband seeing him like this. At his wit’s end and absolutely infuriated. Truly whoever must be out there is trying to get a rise out of him because they are winning and he is truly almost tempted to kill them. The only thing stopping him is the fact that his husband is recovering and he doesn’t want his husband to worry about him in jail.
This time around Yue Wuhuan reaches the door in half a minute. His speed is astounding as he stares at the silhouette standing in the glass panes of the door’s windows. The backlight of the sun’s setting rays help give shape to whoever this is because finally whoever it is decided to stay around long enough for him to catch them. With the aggressiveness of a tiger with their jaws wrapped around their prey’s throat he practically rips the door from its hinges. It swings with such speed and yet when it’s fully open whoever is there is gone.
An angry exasperated laugh bubbles in his throat but is snuffed immediately as he hears his husband calling from the bathroom a little ways away.
“Wuhun I forgot my towel! A–choo!”
Yue Wuhuan abandons his thought to run around outside their home to find this person who’s been harassing them all day in favor of swaddling his dearly beloved in a thick fuzzy towel and carrying him off to bed where he won’t sneeze again and catch a cold. After all his husband’s constitution is still weak and recovering, Yue Wuhuan can’t take any chances.
“I’m sorry sweetheart, I’m coming!” Yue Wuhuan yells back, closing the door gently unlike how he opened it earlier. One thing is strange however he thinks as he finds himself grabbing a thick, fresh out of the dryer towel, he could have sworn that he had already left a towel in there prior to helping Song Qingshi into the bath.
oOoOoOo
Song Qingshi looks most relaxed when he’s asleep. Even during the time he spent sick and in pain, sleeping was a balm to his aches and while he enjoyed Song Qingshi’s company he never forced him to stay awake if it hurt too much. Yue Wuhuan smiles a little to himself while brushing the stray hairs in his husband’s face carefully so as to not wake him. The man’s face twitches lightly under his gentle touch but still remains asleep. They’ve come so far. Actually—to rephrase that—Song Qingshi has come so far. Yue Wuhuan merely followed behind him a few steps.
A not so tiny snore rumbles from his sleeping husband and it takes all of Yue Wuhuan’s will power to not selfishly kiss him. It would ruin his husband’s sleep and he has already been too selfish today with how many kisses he’d stolen from Song Qingshi simply because he could and because he wanted to. It had taken time to get to that point where he would take what he wanted instead of waiting for Song Qingshi to initiate. How long has it been since then? He honestly couldn’t remember. The thoughts in his head are blurry now this late into the night.
The bed is soft beneath him. His husband is snoring lightly against him. The blankets draped over their bodies are warm and the subtle boney bump of Song Qingshi’s waist in his hand is a comforting thing. Yue Wuhuan finds himself drifting slowly until he hears that fucking knocking again.
Only that it isn’t knocking anymore.
It’s a banging. Loud and noisy and heavy like someone is hitting their body repeatedly against their door in that same steady frantic except it doesn’t come from the front door. Their room isn’t nearly that close to the front door. Whoever it is is banging on the door is in their house, banging on their bedroom door.
How did they get in?
A chill runs through Yue Wuhuan as he shoots up in an instant, his feet are flat against the carpeted floor as he stands between the door and his husband. Did he leave the door unlocked the last time? No, he was sure that he had locked it.
His head is spinning.
The cold feeling is washing over his body again, soaking him in its awful embrace. Had he not closed the door tightly enough? Had they simply pushed it open because he had not fully shut it? No, Yue Wuhuan doesn’t think so. Their door was the kind where it had a bolt to lock it in place too and he was sure he had bolted the door.
Yue Wuhuan feels like the room is spinning but he yanks the door open anyways but whoever is there is gone but the sound is still there. Constant and heavy like drums. They’re at the front door now but how is that even possible?
He doesn’t need to think about it right now. Somehow his husband is in an unsafe situation and he needs to figure out who the hell is fucking with them. He chases the sound to the front door, it's weird, it's really weird. His usually practiced elegant strides are clumsy and he feels like he’s walking through thick tar. He must be exhausted.
The door is shaking and rattling in place. Just outside the delicate framed glass in the door is a figure standing there. Their back is lit up by the moonlight. Yue Wuhuan feels sick with a strange fear. They’re banging their head against the glass repeatedly like they’re caught in a trance. Yue Wuhuan reaches for the phone he keeps tucked in his back pocket but finds it empty.
No that’s…
He always keeps his phone there in case of any minor emergency. He’s always had it there.
He…
What emergencies? Song Qingshi had been getting better, there was no emergency. Not anymore. Not since they…
Yue Wuhuan finds that with a startling sense of sickness he can’t remember anything past this morning.
His eyes keep staring at the figure’s shadow in the window. Vaguely what he can remember is… Something very similar. Terrifyingly so. Yue Wuhuan feels like he might throw up. His mouth is watering and the bile is rising but he doesn’t because he can’t because it’s not possible here.
Yue Wuhuan doesn’t feel angry anymore despite the noise. The heavy banging like someone is trying to get his attention—To get him to look at them.
This time when his fingers find their way to the door’s lock and bolt he feels sickeningly calm. One click, then two and then this time the figure doesn’t disappear. No, because he knows what this is.
He catches Song Qingshi as he falls through the doorway threshold. The man is horrifyingly light. His limbs which he had seen fleshed out and thicker with life were now back to how they were again. Thin, gaunt and gangly. Boney hands land on either side of his chest to cushion his head as it connects between them. A small little thunk noise is all that can be heard.
Yue Wuhuan doesn’t need to go back to their bedroom to know that the Song Qingshi whom he had spent the whole day with—who had been full of life—is no longer there, he would never be there. This is the Song Qinghi his heart knows. The one whose body lay dying while his mind remained living.
His husband—No. Like many things right now, this detail was also wrong. Song Qingshi… He hadn’t actually been his husband. No, in fact he remembers that Song Qingshi had outright refused to marry him not because of a lack of love but because he didn’t want to curse Yue Wuhuan to be a widow for the rest of his life. Except Yue Wuhuan does not think that Song Qingshi considered that the only one that could ever be in his life was Song Qingshi. There would be no other.
“I’m sorry.” Yue Wuhuan finds it in himself to speak. His arms wrap around Song Qingshi’s figure fully and hysterically he thinks that the man is so thin he could wrap his arms around him twice, “I took awhile to figure it out that—”
He feels the way Song Qingshi wraps him up with his arms in reciprocity as if he needs to be comforted. It chokes him, the grief suffocates him.
“You died.” The words fall harsher than he wants. He wants to vomit it all out, the feelings in his chest and his undying love that now have nowhere to go. He feels like a Biyiniao cleaved in half by fate.
Song Qingshi nods slowly against his chest, his voice is muffled, “I did.”
The realization lands and Yue Wuhuan drags Song Qingshi down onto the floor. It’s not at all difficult pulling him into his lap. The Song Qingshi in his arms feels so utterly small. He holds him there and forces himself to remember.
What happened before all of this? Surely he must be asleep right now but what happened before this? Why was he having such a horrible dream? His head is spinning again. Yue Wuhuan only registers he’s stable when those cold hands are holding his face, keeping his gaze steady manually for him.
Song Qingshi’s skin is pale and cool to the touch. His cheeks are sunken in but still he smiles and Yue Wuhuan wants to claw his own chest open. He wants to carve a safe place to tuck Song Qingshi into and keep forever because the only place that’s safe for Song Qingshi is with him.
Before he fell asleep he had murmured something sweet to Song Qingshi. Held his hand tightly while swaying sitting by the man's bedside. Yue Wuhuan had been up for a very long time, almost four days. He'd continued to stay up well past when Song Qingshi had fallen asleep himself, simply just watching him in a daze. He thinks he saw his chest stop moving subtly. He thinks maybe he watched his jaw go a little too slack. Or maybe he just inherently knew in his heart that by the time his exhausted body woke up from where it collapsed against the bed, there would no longer be a Song Qingshi in this world.
“I want to die Qingshi,” Yue Wuhuan manages to croak out. His voice is raspy and a trembling thing. The half dead Biyiniao gives a pathetic flutter, “I want to die please, I have nothing else in this world just let me die.”
“You can’t.” The man wriggling in his lap holds his face as tightly as his weak hands can manage which isn’t at all tight. Thin thumbs run across his cheekbones comfortingly the same way Yue Wuhuan has always done for Song Qingshi, “You should live for the both of us.”
“I can’t do that.” His eyes are burning, how long he’s been crying he doesn’t know. He refuses to acknowledge it, “You can’t ask me to do that, it’s not possible.”
Yue Wuhuan makes a move forward trying to kiss him. He doesn’t know how much longer he has here. If he wakes up and Song Qingshi really isn’t there he really might just kill himself. He never makes contact.
oOoOoOo
When Yue Wuhuan finally opens his eyes he’ll take Song Qingshi's hand and squeeze and feel every knuckle and tendon. Cold, still and terrifying thin. They've always reminded him of a branch sprouted but yet to bloom. The hand is too stiff, rigor mortis has set in.
Song Qingshi died over six hours ago.
Yue Wuhuan waits for a long time. Dazedly soaking in the quietness of Song Qingshi’s passing. Hyperventilating. Thinking. Processing. Crying. Accepting. His hand never leaves Song Qingshi's. His thumb, previously calloused now smooth, runs along each stiff finger and each dull nail carefully tended to by none other than them.
He will wait longer.
He will call those as they have planned when the sun peers again between cherry red curtains.
He will sit in place as Song Qingshi's family comes to their hollowed out home.
Song Qingshi's father who has never quite approved of him after that one dinner will whisper soft words thick with guilt. Song Qingshi's mother will take him by his shoulders, even as she is wracked with grief, embracing him tightly in her own blanket of loss. Song Qingshi's siblings are too broken up with their own sadness to even look at him.
He won't remember the movement of his listless lips later on as he drones off plans Song Qingshi he had made but he will know them from the way they've been carved into his cheeks. He's always had a perfect memory and Song Qingshi had been confident they wouldn't need a pen or paper, they just needed him. Maybe that was just his way of making sure they would stay nice to him.
The notion is nauseating.
He will meticulously assemble together the future Song Qingshi had written out for himself. Not one he would willingly choose. Song Qingshi had aspirations.
The flowers are to be made mostly of white chrysanthemums. They had been Song Qingshi's immediate choice. White lilies and white roses were to accent them simply because he insisted they felt too gaudy as the centerpiece.
The bulk of joss paper had to be ordered because he had insisted for days before Song Qingshi caved and allowed him to order it. Song Qingshi had been confused because he didn't see the point of burning paper but understood regardless. Where Song Qingshi didn't believe in anything after death, he did not. Song Qingshi was rich in life but he had insisted Song Qingshi also be rich in death.
The food and caterers. Soups were made to be slightly sweeter and meats glazed with savory caramel sauces over rice. Candies too, Song Qingshi had insisted with a serious frown. Peanut candies with sesame seeds and little milky taffies wrapped in rice paper laid out to be picked from bowls. Song Qingshi had suggested shyly once that maybe, if he was willing, there could be sweet little hard candies, the ones flavored like guava that he had only allowed Song Qingshi to have rarely in the case of a cavity. Like they were a once of a lifetime treat. He feels sick thinking about it. He should have let him eat as much as he had wanted. Of course it would be there. If Song Qingshi wanted it, Song Qingshi would have it.
The funeral itself will last seven days and the rituals will continue on for forty-nine.
He never truly goes home after Song Qingshi is buried. A part of him stays behind with Song Qingshi in the plot of worm filled earth within the Song Family's ancestral home lying there like they had always been one.
When he is finally forced to go home he eats the food sitting in the cold fridge he had cooked for Song Qingshi. The portion is small because they had shared it together. It was a simple plain broth with bits of quail meat cut thin and ginger for flavor. Song Qingshi had eaten it greedily as if it were the most delicious thing he’d ever had. The smell is off and the texture is strange as he spoons it into his mouth in congealed chunks but it tastes like Song Qingshi's last night.
Looking around he notes that the table is dusty, the chair next to him is empty and the sun is warm. One of many realizations hit him.
The day had been just as sunny the day Song Qingshi had died.