Briefly Connected (wangxian)

Chapter 09

Wangji could swear that the doorbell rang right next to his ears, jolting his whole being on the bed. He lights up his phone, forcing his sanded eyes open to find the screen reading 8:21am. Fuck. Forty-five minutes of lying awake.

He kicks up from his bed and makes his way to his front door trying not to squint through the burn, almost toppling on the luggage he left in the living room. The familiar doorknob is cold in his palm, but what it opened to felt warm in Wangji's partially functioning mind.

"Hey—" Xuanyu cuts off at the last consonant. "Oh my god. Were you asleep or haven't you been sleeping at all?"

Wangji curses himself. "Trying to," Wangji mumbles.

"When did you arrive?" Xuanyu looks worried closing the door behind him.

"Hour and a half ago."

Xuanyu sighs, and then his body is against Wangji's chest arms curled around his waist. Wangji thinks, partly, that he shouldn't be burdening him with his shit, but it feels so warm and so affectionate. He can't say if it's just the lack of sleep or if he's trying to grasp on little things in his craving for emotion.

"What went wrong?" Xuanyu asks as if he knew.

Wangji blankets the bony shoulder blades, dumping the pretense on the floor. "I think I messed up," Wangji murmurs. "I don't know what I did wrong. But I think I messed up." His voice comes hoarse as if he'd been crying. He wasn't. He can't remember the last time he was capable of such emotional outlets.

Xuanyu's palms rub from his chest to up his neck, gently pushing him back enough to see his face. They're kissing, it's a familiar path back to the bedroom on which Xuanyu too, tumbles on the luggage. Once there's nothing between them, Wangji recalls how it all started. He remembers why they held on for so long, and he thinks, yeah, this is better than crying. He may not have survived the adaption that tore off a layer of his skin without a distraction this good. If it's a cowardly escape from responsibilities, so be it, it was good.

He remembers once Xuanyu lying half on the pillow and half on his forearm, asking the forbidden question, "If you continue to stay, do you think we'll work out?" and Wangji kissed him without answering because he didn't dare to think about it.

Sometimes, he wonders if he should have. Or maybe this is as good as it gets.

Wangji jolts feeling the dip of the mattress. Xuanyu sat on the edge of the bed, flipping a t-shirt over. He slides his arms in. It falls down his back—it's too big.

Did I doze off?

Wangji fights his drooping eyelids and reaches out. "Wait, let me—"

Xuanyu turns. "Oh, did I wake you? Go back to sleep."

"I'll—"

"Shh, sleep."

When Wangji woke up, he can't recall when or how, but he did fall asleep. The sunlight was bright leaking through the space around his thick curtains, dimly illuminating the edges of his room. He forces his eyes to open to find Xuanyu curled up next to him, right in the middle of the bed like they had been holding each other at some point when they were asleep.

Wangji digs for his phone between the pillows but finds it on top of Xuanyu's MacBook on the nightstand. Something warms up picturing Xuanyu setting it aside, moving the pillows close, making space for himself—Wangji stops thinking. He can't afford to know what put him to sleep.

He hangs his head down, palms digging into his temples. A second of grounding to get himself off the bed. A quick leap like it's an escape.

In the bathroom, he avoids his reflection as if it was his sworn enemy, refusing to meet his cowardly eyes, refusing to examine his post-sex image. He gets over the shower as fast as he could and pulls up a pair of loose shorts in the living room from his luggage.