Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jinshi had thought it was nothing short of a miracle when he’d moved in with Maomao for their second year of college.

At least, until they’d both brought dining tables. Hers, a hand-me-down from her dad. His, from a garage sale, or so he’d told her. He’d made up a whole backstory, just to be safe : a cute couple, soulmates, been together for the past six years. They’re spring cleaning before they move into their dream home. He’d even given them fake names.

In truth, the table was brand new, purchased by his grandfather. Not that he could actually let anyone know about that.

Maomao had wanted to keep hers— something about wood quality and the climate— and Jinshi had agreed without hesitation, all too ready to throw his own table out and win her favor. Instead, it seems, he’d just made himself look more pathetic in her eyes than he already was, as she grumbled something about idiots sucking up to her.

Even though they no longer suffered from stubbed toes and bruised shins while trying to maneuver around two tables, Maomao still stuck to her own schedule. So he stuck to his, and they stayed far out of each other’s way— much to his disappointment. The only exceptions being their awkward half attempts at conversions when the air gets too heavy, or when Maomao knocks on his bedroom door to tell him that he’s far too loud, far too early in the mornings for her liking.

It’s not even like he wakes up that early. He gets up at six am, goes for his morning runs and comes back to make his breakfast before having to walk to class. His breakfast, because Maomao still continues to refuse every single plate he makes her, instead opting for her convenience store meals. Not at all healthy in Jinshi’s sound opinion.

She even punched him once, although, to be fair, he’d tried to hand feed her without explicit permission. He’s impulsive, okay! And he was getting desperate, Jinshi thinks he can hardly be blamed.

Maybe a little.

Besides, it’s not like he ever complains about the literal explosions that he sometimes hears from her room. Or when she commandeers his spice cabinet to make her natural remedies. Or even that one time he found her stitching up an injured rat! In their living room!!

He likes it, honestly. As much as it makes him queasy, he likes seeing Maomao in her element, all smart and fearless. He just wishes she’d ask before using his stuff— if only so they could talk more! I mean, really, what’s a man gotta do to get a girl to like him?

——

“Maybe start with an apology, eh?” Gaoshun suggests after an entire lunch hour of listening intently to Jinshi’s rambles. “Xiaomao isn’t one to beat around the bush. She’s not going to assume you’re trying to change unless you show her.”

Jinshi hates it when his professor is right. “How can I show her if she won’t let me?,” he whines, haphazardly shoving aside a pile of graded essays, and laying his head down on Gaoshun’s oak desk, with an admittedly childish pout.

“Earn the chance.”

Jinshi sighs.

It’s a nice sentiment, but where would he even start? The only person in this whole school who sees any sort of potential to be squeezed out of his jagged personality is Gaoshun himself.

Honestly, it’s more than a little embarrassing when your closest friend is also your professor, but Jinshi supposes he has no right to complain.

As much as he likes to think otherwise, he’s just as rough around the edges as the men who raised him. Sure, he says he’s nothing like them, nothing like that family. He’s been disowning them at every chance he’s gotten for the past two years. But blood runs thick, and is hard to wash out.

Sometimes, in the late hours of silent nights, Jinshi thinks he’ll never truly escape those shadows.

He shakes his head out, as though it’d help dispel the gloomy thoughts, and turns back to Gaoshun.
“Why’d I let you talk me into coming here, again?”

The older man only chuckles in response. “It was you who insisted on enrolling here, Jinshi sir. I recall you asking vehemently for my help in getting out of attending the imperial academy.”

“Anywhere is better than where my father and brother went to study. I’d rather not be a thing like them, Gaoshun.”

“I know,” he placates. “Where you come from isn’t who you are, but it’ll take more than just saying it to make it true, Jinshi.”

“I’m trying!” Jinshi snaps.

His face flushes hot with regret almost immediately, but Gaoshun, as always, only gives him a reprimanding look. It serves to make him feel worse. Gaoshun had only been trying to help.

“I know you are,” he tells Jinshi, voice soft like he’s coaxing a wounded animal out of biting. “But it will take much more time, and much more effort, for you to get to where you need to be.”

Jinshi’s shoulders deflate. “All I want is for her to see it,” he mutters.

“She will, eventually, and so will others. But perhaps you should start with baby steps rather than strides.”

——

Forget baby steps, Jinshi sticks to crawling for the next few months, replaying their typical ‘tip-toe around each other’ dance and avoiding anything that feels too new. He flirts with Maomao in that same, safe way that he always has, never wearing his heart out, instead boasting a false replica. Maomao continues to bluntly reject him.

They continue to stay out of each other’s ways as much as possible for two people who share two lectures and an apartment. And things stay stable. They make small talk when they need to, and each stick safely to their own turf, never venturing too deeply into the other’s life.

It’s not until winter break that he finally decides to take the first few steps, and even then, it’s a driven ploy.

When he gets a call from Basen, insisting that he and his rowdy, oddball friend group take Jinshi out for his eighteenth birthday, Jinshi nearly laughs right in his face. It’s an obvious setup, Gaoshun must’ve taken pity on him and his lack of friends to go out with. But really? Sending his son? Jinshi figures he’d acted a bit too much like a loner all semester to warrant that.

It’s not that he’d never celebrated his birthday—he has, many times. It’s just, it’s always felt more like an act, a talent show where he’s the shiny object, paraded around as who he’s meant to be rather than who he feels like. It’s enough to put a damper on all prospects of a birthday.

Now, if he’s being honest with himself, Jinshi does feel a small flicker of excitement at the thought of his eighteenth. A week from now, he’ll have a mark on his inner wrist. The name of his soulmate, to be worn on his skin forever— unless he’s rejected— but that rarely happens!

Still, he’ll finally know the name of his one true match. The person meant to love him forever, even when he can’t love himself. Someone who’ll understand him, someone who’ll be patient with him, and see the person he’s trying to be underneath all the icky parts he’s ashamed of.

It feels private, and Jinshi, a little selfishly, wants to keep his soulmate all to himself. At least for a little while.

That's why, after two long days of insistence, he finally relents to Basen, on one condition. “Fine, we can go out. But on the night before.”

“If you insist,” he hears from the other end, “but we’re keeping it big. Since you don’t seem to like anyone in particular, I’m just gonna invite everyone you know—“

“I do like people…”

“Aside from Maomao.”

Jinshi pouts like a kid, even though he knows Basen can’t see it.

“Speaking of Maomao, she’s invited.”

Jinshi perks up, “oh?”

“Well, you’re gonna invite her. I don’t have her number,” Basen explains, and Jinshi’s expression falls right back down to the dark depths of hell.

“I can’t do that! She’ll say no, and then I’ll have to live under a rock for the rest of my life, cause there’s absolutely no way I can continue living with her after such a painfully humiliating rejecti—!”

There’s a couple seconds of static on the other end, before Basen’s voice is back in his ear, laughing. “Dad says you’re overthinking. Stop it. Bye, now.”

“Ugh,” Jinshi sighs as the phone hangs up.
“Baby steps,” he mutters. “Baby steps.”

He should do it, he knows he should. It would be rude not to.

He’d look horribly immature if he didn’t offer her an invite simply because he was scared. Besides, Basen would probably invite Shisui and Xiaolan. Maomao liked those two. Maybe she’d come if she knew they’d be there..

 

——

After a few hours of careful consideration— i.e. procrastination— Jinshi makes his move that night, in the kitchen.

He follows the lead of a nature documentary he’d watched parts of earlier in the week. Step one : find a good vantage point to stalk your prey. Jinshi lingered in circles throughout their hallway, keenly watching the kitchen, where Maomao was weighing and measuring out different spices into little glass containers.

Huh. She must be working on some new remedy. Maybe Jinshi should ask her about it, small talk and all of that, a good way to gain her favor from what Gaoshun’s told him.

Step two : wait for an opening. A very important step, lest Jinshi accidentally irk her ire. The last he’d interrupted Maomao while she was busy had ended with acid on the floor, her hands, and a painful kick to Jinshi’s shin.

For a girl that short, she sure can pack a punch.

So Jinshi puts his patience to the test, and waits until she sets her spices aside to grab a glass of water. That’s when he makes his move.

Step three : pounce.

“Maomao!”

Jinshi grins as wide as his cheeks will allow for, then tones it down a bit when he gets a raised eyebrow in return.

“Maomao…you seem…busy.”

It’s not like Jinshi’s ever claimed to be an expert at making conversation.

“I’m all finished up here,” she says. “Did you need something?"

Okay, so he hasn’t completely weirded her out yet. Good, that’s good.

“Uh, yeah, about that, Maomao—”

Deep breaths, the worst she can do is say no. Then he’ll only have to move halfway across the nation, dig a hole deep enough to reach The Americas, and bury himself till he suffocates. But it won’t be that bad. He might drown in his own tears of humiliation first.

“How would you like to attend my birthday party?”

Jinshi wipes his sweaty palms together under the weight of her gaze. Shit, Maomao’s always been extra mature, what if she thinks birthday parties are childish!

“I mean, it’s not really a party, per se—“ he clarifies, spitting the words out quickly, before the tongue-tie sets in. “It’s more like…a night out. Dinner. And an escape room.”

Maomao hums, tilting her head at him. He throws in his trump card. “Xiaolan will be there! And Shisui! You’re friends with those two, aren’t you…”

Jinshi feels a flush creep up his neck, and he really hopes it isn’t too noticeable. God, he must sound desperate. He feels desperate.

Maybe it was too early to try reaching a hand out. There’s no way Maomao will actually—

“I’ll come.”

“Huh?”

Jinshi stares dumbly for a few seconds, and he’s half tempted to pinch his own cheek just to be sure he’s not hearing things wrong. Surely it can’t be this simple, he’d been expecting to at least have to beg— potentially on his knees— for a few minutes.

“I said I’ll come,” she repeats, and this time Jinshi can’t help the smile that splits across his face. His face feels warm again, but this time it’s a little less of a mortifying heat, it’s gentler. He kinda likes it.

“You will?” He asks, just to hear it again.

Maomao’s lip quirks. “I said so, didn’t I?”

Jinshi’s stomach flips.

“Yeah, yeah you did.”

Maybe, just maybe, his birthday won’t be too bad this year. Maybe he’ll even learn to enjoy it.

——

All things considered, the party goes pretty well.

Jinshi’s dragged out to a nice western style diner and herded into a corner booth, along with the couple other people whom Basen has deemed friendly enough with him to be invited. The casual attention is a little intense, but not overbearing, and Jinshi finds himself starting to relax as the night goes on, shoulder’s going loose as he breathes in the smell of greasy French fries til it’s all he can taste, even when his mouth is empty.

He lets Basen pay with his card, it’s a good excuse as any to waste some of his grandfather’s money. Really, if the blood money is going to be forever chasing him, then the least he can do is spend it on something decent, like his friends— classmates? He’s not too sure.

Jinshi’s finding that he wouldn’t really mind having these people as friends. He wants to earn that label, despite the fact that they only really talk during and after lectures. To get to spend more nights surrounded by warm voices.

Still, he drowns the thought away with a large gulp of soda. He can worry about his social life later. Not tonight.

 

Things don’t start perking up with Maomao until they get to the escape room— a slasher themed room, not by Jinshi’s choice.

Maomao’s already in nerd mode, he can tell by the way her eyes gleam while she surveys a puzzle. Jinshi slides in next to her and reads over her shoulder; it’s a set of symbols they need to decode to reveal their next clue.

“Any ideas?” He mutters.

Maomao hums in reply, “the polygons are consonants, the dots are vowels.” Her hands are already at work, mixing and matching the shapes til she can find a combination that works. Her wide and focused pupils glittering as she examines the challenge at hand. God, if that look doesn’t get him every single time he sees it.

“Oh—“ sure enough, there are twenty one polygons, and five sets of dots. Gears skid into place somewhere in the back of Jinshi’s head, and he reaches around her , sliding one of the blocks into place. “Left.”

Sparks flicker in Jinshi’s chest when Maomao nods, nudging him and pointing to their left. He’s too preoccupied with holding back a shiver, his skin still tingling where they’d touched, to notice the latch on the left wall. At least, not until Maomao is taking him by the wrist and pulling him towards it.

“There,” she says, her hands already reaching up to flip the latch, “that’s our next clue.”

The latch slides into place, revealing a trap door, which Maomao pushes open with only a few moments of struggle. It reveals a second, darker room. Jinshi can hardly see enough to gauge its size. He turns back to call the others over, but Maomao’s voice stops him again.

“Leave them,” she decides curtly. “They’re working on the second puzzle. It’ll save us time later on.”

Okay. That makes sense. It’s the most logical and time efficient decision. Anyone would’ve made the same call, it doesn’t mean anything. Still, Jinshi can’t stop his heart from thrumming in his chest, ricocheting so hard against his ribcage that he’s sure the bones will break beneath the force. They’re going to be in there, in that probably small room, all alone. And Maomao is making that choice willingly.

Stay calm, he reminds himself, as the two of them make their way— crouching down past the trap door in his case— into the dim room. It’s a little dusty, Jinshi coughs, and the door automatically slips shut. He resists the urge to jump.

“Are you okay?”

Jinshi takes a moment to clear his throat, swallowing down his saliva in hopes of easing the dry muscle before he replies.

“…I’m good.”

Gratitude, Gaoshun had once taught him. It’s not like Maomao had needed to check up on him. “Thank you,” he adds on. “And you?”

He gets a quiet chuckle in response. “I’m alright.”

Of course she is, he’s never known Maomao to back down out of fear. Honestly, it’s one of the first things that drew him to her, ever since their first pharmaceuticals lab where she’d corrected their professor— in front of everyone in the room— on a misconception surrounding beef tallow in skin care products. Jinshi had gone home that night and done some research on the ingredients in his own moisturizer cream.

He’d thought of that moment later too, playing it on repeat in his head the morning he told his grandfather that he no longer wished to inherit his real estate empire. And even though he hadn’t gotten much fruition out of the conversation, he’d still felt lighter afterwards. Shone with pride, because for once, that moment had been his. And it had been Maomao who lead him there, guiding the words out of his mouth even when his throat would clog up with nerves. It had been Maomao by his side, even if she hadn’t known it, and even if she never will.

“Jinshi—“

Jinshi snaps out of his brief trance at the sound of his name, turning back to face those deep blue eyes. He only then realizes that the room is no longer dark, soft blue L.E.D lights illuminating the small space, and Maomao is standing in the centre of it all, pointing to a key hung high on the wall.

“Our clue,” she mutters.

“Yeah…”

“I can’t reach it.”

Jinshi blinks owlishly for a moment. Then he laughs. He can’t help it, okay!

He earns a light kick to the shin for it, and is immediately put to work, reaching up and grabbing the key off its hook. He spins around with a flourish, presenting Maomao with the key. Not too up close this time, lesson learned after the honey incident, Jinshi does not want to repeat that.

“Your key, fair maiden,” he teases.

Maomao raises a brow, but her lips are quirked into a slight grin. “The door, sir,” she points a hand to where they’d entered from.

Jinshi’s cheeks heat up, and yet he’s not too bothered. She’s smiling at him, and that’s worth it.
“Yes, how silly of me,” he says, walking the few strides back to the door.

——

Jinshi has to squint from the light when they reemerge into the main room. He’s then immediately met with Shisui’s very unwelcome laughs, directing at him along with a smirk.

“Where’d you two run off to?”

Oh, he wishes. He doesn’t say that though, instead he just rolls his eyes and prays his face isn’t flushing too noticeably.

“We found a key,” he says, holding the offending item up for the rest of their group to see.

Shisui, still sporting a far too teasing look for his liking, nods back to where Xiaolan and Basen are standing at the far end of the room, investigating some sort of wooden box.

“Good,”she says. “Cause we found a box that needs a key.”

The key fits, and they all huddle around the little box as Jinshi flips it open to reveal a code of numbers written on the inside face : six, four, nine, one.

Basen cheers, punching the air with a fist, and Xiaolan gives an excited squeal. Maomao is already at the door, punching the code into the auto-lock to end the game. A green light flashes from the lock, signaling their win— with thirteen minutes to spare. Not too bad.

——

Jinshi waves goodbye to everyone as they all head off on their separate ways. It’s a little awkward trying to carry a whole handful of gifts back to their apartment, but he doesn’t want to have to bother Maomao about it, especially not when they’ve been having a good day. Maomao does enough of solving other people’s problems on the daily as it is, and Jinshi would rather not pile more on top of that.

Maomao stays quiet most of the journey home, which isn’t too unusual for them. They’ve probably spoken more tonight than they have in their past three months of living together.

Still, as they walk the few blocks from the train starting back to their apartment building, Jinshi can feel her gaze occasionally slide back to him. Or more so, to his arm.

“Are you nervous?” She asks, breaking the silence.

Jinshi’s stomach flutters.

“A little,” he admits. God, he’s going to get his mark in a few hours.

“Dont worry so much,” she says. “Marks don’t mean too much. Plenty of people don’t get with their soulmates. It’s not a binding contract.”

Jinshi figures she was trying to help, but it misses the mark.

Shit. By tomorrow morning, he’s going to have his soulmate’s name imprinted on his skin, forever, with no way around or out of it. He isn’t sure whether he should laugh or cry.

——

Cry, Jinshi decides. Definitely cry. Maybe even scream too.

He’d purposely worn a long sleeved shirt to bed the night before, despite the warm enough weather, so that he wouldn’t stay up all night staring at his wrist and saddled with nerves.

This morning, Jinshi had employed nearly all of his willpower to not immediately check the mark.

It’s a feat, really, that he’d forced himself through his typical morning routine of washing his face, brushing his teeth, making his bed and changing out of his pajamas. All without once checking the mark.

Whether it was avoidance out of nervousness, or some sort of innate desire to build the anticipation, let the excitement peak before he uncovers his one true love, he’s not sure.

He’d kept his eyes shut tight while he’d changed his shirt, then he’d sat down on his fully made bed, and finally pulled his sleeve back.

He wishes he hadn’t.

He wishes he’d just cut his arm off and chucked it out the window.

Because, right there on his wrist, clear as day and forever lasting, it read…

Maomao.

His palms were sweating and his stomach was dropping a mile a minute, time and time over as he continued to stare.

This is just a bad dream, really. He closes his eyes tight before looking back down at his wrist as if that might erase the words altogether.

No such luck.

In a neat cursive, as flowing and gentle as the waves of the sea, her name still stares right back up at him, mocking him. Relishing in his pain.

It’s not like he doesn’t want Maomao, of course he does. But there’s no way in hell she’d want him, not the Maomao who told him only hours ago that soulmarks don’t mean anything. She’s not into feelings and all that stuff.

A sharp bang on the door has Jinshi jumping six feet up in the air, and stuttering out a shaky “…yeah?”

“I need to use some of your rosemary. A tablespoon. For an experiment.”

Jinshi’s head is still racing far too fast for him to think too much about the fact that she’s actually asking first this time. Instead, he pulls open his bedside drawer and scrambles for something— anything— to cover his mark. He can’t deal with it right now.

“Ah— sure. Take as much as you want!” He calls back, pulling out an unused roll of bandages from the deepest darkest pits of his nightstand. It'll have to do for now.

He wraps the bandages tightly around his mark, then takes his shirt off, replacing it with a thin but oversized sweater, and pulling the sleeves down as far as they’ll go, to cover his wrapped up wrist.

Extra precautions never hurt anyone, not when they’re in as much of a mess as Jinshi currently is.

His window is still open, and he still considers jumping.

Chapter Text

Logically, Jinshi knows he’s going to have to tell her. There’s no way he can keep a secret this big hidden forever. Unsurprisingly, however, he’s having an embarrassingly long time broaching the topic. It's already been– what, two weeks? Since his birthday– and the skin around his mark is starting to itch from the constant wrapping.

It’s not like he can just walk up to her, though, and talk through the dilemma like some sort of off-brand couples therapy session. Nope, that would surely spell trouble, and Jinshi would really rather have a leaceful end to the year. Focus on his midterms, and on getting his life together. Nice and simple.

Life would beg to differ, it seems.

As though he wasn't busy enough already, his phone rings in a mocking laugh, almost daily. Calls from his father and his grandfather, even one from his mother. But as much as he’d love to simply power the device off and pretend the three of them didn't exist, Jinshi was pitifully aware that he couldn't ignore their incessant calls forever. Not unless he’d like one of them to call Gaoshun– or worse, for his grandfather to come knocking on his door.

As funny as it would be to watch the old creep try to navigate his way through the narrow and bustling city streets without his chauffeur, that would still leave Jinshi with the trouble of having to host him, which he’d really rather not deal with.

So he sucks it up, sits down on his bed, and starts with the lesser of two evils. Time to talk to daddy dearest.

His dad picks up on the fifth ring.

His voice is faraway, muffled by the thumping beat of music, and people talking loudly in the background.

“My boy” he calls through the static, “how are you?”

Jinshi suppresses a cringe. “Hi dad.”

“Wasn’t it your–”

Jinshi pulls the phone back from his ear with a flinch, as the mic lets out a scratchy whine. “Where are you,” he then asks, “I can hardly hear a thing you’re saying.”

There’s a few seconds of shuffling around before his dads voice comes back, clearer now. “Cabo,” he says, “your mother won us tickets in a beer pong competition, isn’t she awesome?”

So they’re halfway across the globe again. Wonderful. It’s not like they ever stay within the country long enough for it to actually matter, anyways.

Jinshi tries to echo at least a smidgen of excitement into his voice when he replies with a “yeah…cool.”

“Anyways,” his father continues, “wasn’t it your birthday, like…yesterday? We’ve been excited to ask about your soulmark-“

And oh isn’t that just the last thing he’d ever like to discuss with his parents. They wouldn’t understand, wouldn't take it seriously, everything’s just far too easy for them. They'd probably find some way to get maomao’s number and call her themselves, which would only end up digging him an even deeper grave than he’s already doing to himself. So he grits his teeth and says, “yeah, i got a name. Don’t know her though, I'll let you know if I meet her.”
The lie slips off his tongue easily, and maybe once– a couple of years ago, he would've cared more to tell them the truth. Now though, he’s content with the white lies.

“Well isn’t that a shame. But don’t you worry, you two will be a perfect pair. Just like your mother and I.”

Well, perfect, that sure is one way to put it. They sure do compliment each other, a good couple, he supposes, if you were to ask all the people they’ve met along their path. Free of consequence, and living out their life, far from aristocracy. But Jinshi likes to think that he’d actually care to stick around and raise his child, if he were to ever have one. Accidental or not.

He ends the conversation soon after, citing some on-the-spot nonsense about schoolwork and studying, then closing off with a quick ‘have a nice trip’. Life, more like. It makes him want to scoff.

Jinshi crashes back against his pillows with a deep sigh, the soft fabric of his comforter rustling underneath him. That…wasn’t as bad as usual. Didn’t make the gaping hole in his chest feel painfully bitter. But maybe he’s just growing detached.

———

He pulls himself up from his bout of misery soon after. Undoes the bandages around his wrist, and rubs the sore, pink-ish skin there. Then he decides that he should probably make himself some food.

The kitchen is freshly stocked, courtesy of his grocery shopping spree yesterday, so he figures he can prepare duck and rice. Ooh, maybe if offers real nicely– a lesson burnt into his brain after the honey incident a couple months back– then Maomao will agree to forgo her typical energy drinks and try his meal instead! Then, if he focuses real hard on perfecting the ginger to cassia cinnamon ratio, and lady luck happens to be on his side, then he might even get a compliment out of Maomao!

The thought spurs him into motion for the next couple of hours, patting his duck dry and rubbing it finely with salt, the way he’d watched his nanny do time and time over. His grandfather had disliked the kitchens, and the elderly women who’d worked there. That had made it a good passtime– bouncing around between the stoves while the women worked to prepare meals. It must've been useful too, seeing as he's not entirely helpless in the kitchen now.

Then, he lays his duck flat on a tray and ladles boiling water over its skin, stopping to face the other way when the steam fogs up his eyesight. When the skin is just as shiny as tight as jinshi would like, jinshi soaks it thoroughly in maltose syrup and vinegar, then lets it rest in the fridge while he prepares a pot of rice.

His hair is tried back in a knot, beaded with sweat, by the time he gets around to stuffing the duck. It had been one of his first lessons learnt after moving away from his grandfather’s estate, that good food did not come easy, nor was cooking a simple job. He idly thinks he owes Suiren a thanks– he had been a demanding child, often picky about his meals. He can hardly picture having to prepare peking duck fresh every day to satisfy a kid’s whims.

For Maomao though, he thinks he could do it every day. Maybe that's also why Suiren used to do it for him, or maybe she was just doing her job. Jinshi doubts he knows enough about labors of love to truly decipher his caregiver’s intentions.

He’s– finally– just about to pull the duck out of the oven when Maomao pops her head into the kitchen like a summons from his thoughts, and steps inside once she confirms that he's in there.

“You’ve been in here for hours now,” she says, "I had half a mind to start thinking you’d slipped and died.”

Well, that's morbid. But at least he was an occupying thought in her head, albeit a dark one.
“Oh, Maomao,” he quips back, “you know I could never travel somewhere as far as the afterlife without having you at my side–”

She raises a single eyebrow at him, but her lips quirk up into a slight smile on one side. A pretty curve that makes his heartrate pick up a couple extra paces. “How lovely. But I am here for a reason.”

“Dinner?” he offers. Hopes, actually, he really hopes she’ll say yes.

Maomao hums in response, “sure. I’m curious on what's kept you busy so long. I do have news though, and you should listen.”

Jinshi cuts up and plates slices of the duck, as Maomao lets him know that her father will be coming to visit in a fortnight. He’s only ever met Luomen once, when he and Maomao were first moving in, but he seems a levelheaded man. Jinshi wouldn’t mind seeing more of him, learning about the person who shaped Maomao into the fiercely authentic personality she embodies.

“For the new years,” she explains, while he carries two plates out to their small dining table. “He’ll be staying here for a few days.”

She’s silent for a moment before adding on, almost as an afterthought, “he’ll take my room, don't worry.”

“Oh, uh, alright.”

Wait, would that leave Maomao on the couch? The rooms here aren't big enough to comfortably fit two.

“I mean, he can take mine. I wouldn't mind.”
He doesn’t think Maomao will take the offer— she rarely asks for help. Still, if he keeps offering, maybe one day he’ll manage to break past her barrier of handling things alone.

He gets the expected hum in response, and he’s not surprised. He finds her stubbornness admirable most of the time. Times like this though, he wishes she would lean on him, if only a little bit.

Then they take their seats, opposite each other, and eat in a quiet silence. It’s not uncomfortable, he’s in no rush to break it, content with simply basking in her presence and savoring the fruits of his kitchen labor. Not to be boastful, but Jinshi’s pretty proud with his results. Even more so when Maomao actually finishes her plate. It makes his mouth twist into an involuntary smile.

“I take it the food is to your liking?”

She swallows a bite down and licks her lips quickly. “It’s good,” she says,”your spices are balanced well. I hadn’t expected you to be a very good cook when we first moved in, but you’ve managed to prove me wrong. Good job, that's not an easy feat.”

Okay, Jinshi’s not entirely sure that’s a full compliment, but it still makes his cheeks flush with warmth. He pouts a little, if only for show, “What’s that supposed to mean, yeah?”

And she honest to god laughs. A free chuckle, lighter than the usual ‘i just successfully stitched up a wounded critter or fixed up a new poison’ laugh. And oh how jinshi would kill to be the one to draw that sound out of her for eternity. He thinks he’d burn with a smile if hers were forever this warm.

“I might not know all your secrets yet, Jinshi, but it’s no mystery you grew up rich.”

This time, his face heats up for a whole other reason, caught red handed. Was he really that obvious? Or maybe they’ve just spent too many months coexisting in the same space– it's not like he’d been trying to come off as an entitled rich prick, in fact, it's the exact thing he’s been trying to avoid!

“Im not– it really isn’t”

Then she's laughing again. Sharp, with teasingly narrowed eyes, this time. “No need to act spooked, it isn’t necessarily a bad thing, not if you don’t make it one. I simply meant that you don’t come off as the type to have always cooked your own meals.”

Jinshi focuses on slowing his breathing down a bit, and figures it couldn't really hurt to open up on his own behalf. Or, you know, it could. It could hurt a lot and totally backfire, and leave Maomao thinking he’s a complete loser— but he won't know till he tries. So he reaches out, just a little.

“I didn’t, actually…I used to have a nanny.” He says softly, almost cautiously. “I would watch her cook a lot of the time though! So that kinda proved helpful when I moved out…”

“Hm, I suppose it did. You understand that I’ll have to conduct a proper investigation though, yes?” Maomao says with a tilt of her head.
“I’d have to sample more of your work before I can give a verdict. Investigations must be thorough, and repeated, you see.”

It’s his turn to laugh a little, the tension leaving his body as they ease back into a comfortable silence of munching and chewing. They should make this a habit, really. Jinshi would have probably daydreamed about this a few months ago, but now that Maomao’s grown receptive to his meals, he no longer has to fantasize.

He briefly wonders if he can sneak her favorite dishes in next time, or if that would be too obvious—

———

 

The day that Luomen was set to arrive, Maomao had said she’d pick him from the nearest metro station at six. So both Jinshi and Maomao are a little surprised when he knocks on their door at five. Well, judging by the purse of her lips, he thinks she might actually just be resigned, rather than surprised. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, it seems.

“I knew you’d do that,” she says, getting up to greet Luomen and lead him inside,”did you walk the whole way by yourself while carrying those bags?” At that, Jinshi gets up and occupies himself with taking the bags from the doorway, one light duffel and a small backpack, placing them inside by the foot of Maomao’s room. He’s about to head back out and greet them, but his feet freeze up in the hallway, and instead, he finds himself standing mid-hall, watching them reunite and figuring that he should probably give them some space.

It’s hard to look away though, so he watches. They’re still standing in the apartment’s entrance, and he looks on in idle fascination as Maomao tips up and kisses her father’s temple. Luomen rubs her hair with calloused hands, and the usually veiled emotions on her face melt into something softer. Something a little more open. Oh, he’d like to be the cause of that expression someday.

 

It's a sweet scene. Tugs on Jinshi’s heart in a way he’s not entirely used to, but that he thinks he wouldn't mind seeing more of.

In fact, simply just watching them gets Jinshi thinking of Gaoshun. He can see some of that same paternal energy, the same warm aura exuded in Maomao’s father. He wonders randomly if the two men would get along, they seem similar in a way that he can’t really put his finger on.

He lingers there quietly, letting them have their moment together in peace, until Maomao turns around and spots him. Of course, nothing ever gets past her.

“You have no reason to hide,” she says, beckoning him out. “It’s your place as much as it is mine”

“Right… I know that.”

He remembers then that he’s yet to say hello, and steps out to properly greet Luomen.

“Hello, sir.”

Kind eyes regard him, roving over him as though Luomen can read every single thought or secret that’s ever crossed his mind, all in the span of a glance. And yet, it doesn’t feel invasive, not in the way his grandfather’s stares do. It feels warmer, like dusting off an old book.

“Jinshi, right?”

“Yeah sir, it’s Jinshi.”

Luomen hums thoughtfully, his eyes flicking between Jinshi’s face and his wrapped wrist. “I worked with a woman once, she was a lot like you.”

“…oh?”

“Yes,” he says, “though it mustn’t be any more than a coincidence, the consequence of many years blending together.”

Jinshi gets the sense that there’s more to the story, but he doesn’t feel up to figuring out any double meanings right now. Besides, he might just be overthinking, so he squashes down the odd feeling and replies with a “surely that’s it.”

He excuses himself to prepare them all a pot of tea, and scurries into the kitchen. Now, call Jinshi many things, but a bad host is not one of them. Perhaps the only good thing he got out of his years of living under his grandfather is the knowledge of proper hosting, granted, it was usually a maid dealing with the tea. That job is up to Jinshi now, though.

He brings the pot out to where Maomao and her father have settled on the dining table, and sets out three cups of tea, pouring them each a drink. The pot is hot against his palms. He doesn’t like it very much.

“Maomao dear,” Luomen starts, “would you let me know where the good shops here are? I’ve got quite a few errands to run.”

Maomao raises an eyebrow at the statement, “what sorts of errands?”

“I’ve promised lots of people from home that I’d bring them treats and teas from the city, for new years.”

Her expression goes resigned, lips falling flat into a knowing frown, and Jinshi wonders what that might be about.

“You’re here to rest. Not to go shopping for others—“

“Well, the ladies from the Verdi-Gris salon have said they would really like—“

“That is because madam knows you’d never tell them no.”

“It really isn’t that much trouble–”

“No,” she cuts him off, “I’ll go do your shopping. You need to quit taking on so much work for others.”

Well, she’s never been one to beat around the bush.

Jinshi watches them go back and forth, his eyes flitting across the table as though it were a tennis match, until Luomen relents to Maomao’s insistence and digs a scribbled shopping list out of his pocket to hand to her.

“I’ll join her,” Jinshi offers, lips moving faster than his brain has time to think. “I’ve…got my own new years shopping to do anyways.”

And maybe, just maybe he’d like to spend any extra time he can with Maomao before his secret eventually unravels and ruins the foundations of their newfound friendship. Besides, he probably should do some gift shopping.

They both eye him with perfectly mirrored comprehending stares for a few seconds, before Maomao shrugs.

“Alright,” she says, “we’ll go tomorrow. At six.”

——

The local shopping mall is pretty packed for a weekday evening, when they get there the next day.

He’d met up with Maomao at the metro station after his last lecture of the day, and they’d taken a half hour ride to the mall. To which Jinshi had gasped and nearly decided to just turn around and go home, after seeing the pure amount of people filling the wide halls.

In hindsight though, he figures it’s kind of expected, being only a week off from the new years, there was bound to be an atrocious amount of people getting their last minute shopping done.

Maomao hadn’t seemed all too bothered by the crowd, simply worming out a path to get her where she needed, occasionally checking back to make sure Jinshi hadn’t lost her in the fray.

Oh, it’s one of those few rare moments where the planets and stars all align and Maomao actually looks for him. On second thought, maybe he owes the crowd a thank you.

They manage to find the department store they came here for, and Maomao digs for her father’s list.

“Do we shop together, or go separate ways?” Jinshi asks. Though, he already knows the answer he’d prefer.

Maomao looks around them in contemplation for a moment, then turns back to him. “We’d likely lose each other for good if we go separate ways.”

Yes, Lady Luck is definitely on his side today!

Jinshi considers fist pumping the air for a good two seconds, before deciding that it isn’t worth the stares he’s likely to get for it. Instead he just nods, “yeah, that sounds good. We should stick together.”

They scour through the aisles while Maomao locates the items on her list, boxes of teas and spices in different flavours. Jinshi catches her snagging what he thinks is ox bezoar.
“Er… what could you possibly need that for–”

The way in which her eyes suddenly glint with dangerous excitement has Jinshi shivering. It’s an attractive look, but it leaves him more than a little worried. Both for her safety and for the state of their place– he’s found literal acid burns going through their tablecloths before.

“It’s a potent antidote,” she casually replies, maneuvering between aisles, "I'll be testing it out on some poisons.”

“Not on yourself, of course?”

He’s met with a purposeful silence.

“Maomao!”

She chuckles deviously in response, and turns sharply left to a row of sweets boxes. They manage to grab the straggling ones left on the shelves amidst what feels like a thousand other grabbing hands.

Now that most of their shopping was through, Jinshi and Maomao start making their way back through the store and towards the checkout, though on their way out, Jinshi’s attention is caught by the pretty display of a porcelain tea set. Gaoshun likes tea. He’s always got a pot going whenever Jinshi visits, always carrying a hot thermos when he’s on campus.

He picks up the box set and puts it in their cart. And it feels good, like a slice of the gratefulness he wants to express to Gaoshun, even if he never manages to show it properly. He makes a mental note to come back another day and pick something out for Maomao, and he figures he can just give envelopes to everyone else.

Finally done with their shopping, Maomao and Jinshi check out at the register, where a bored looking girl rings up their total and piles their goods into two bags, which Jinshi takes on their way out.

It’s already dark by the time they leave.

“Hey, we should hurry or we’ll miss our train,” Maomao notes, checking the time on her phone.

Figuring she’s right, they both pick up their paces to a brisk walk, until they get to the metro station.

For all the good it does them, they’re still two minutes too late to catch it. And the walk home is a bit too far to reasonably want to take after having already been on their feet for so long.

“Guess we’re stuck,” he mutters to Maomao.

“How long till the next train?”

Jinshi digs his phone out and checks the train schedule, “about half an hour.” It’s not the longest wait ever, but he figures they should still find somewhere to sit while they wait. And he sets an alarm on his phone, just in case. “Wanna head back up and find a place to wait?”

Maomao nods, “there’s a park right by here. We can wait there.”

Outside the station, it's only a short minute’s walk till they get to said small park, the grassy area now empty save for a small group of kids, sat in a circle on the opposite end.

Jinshi takes the swings, setting their shopping bags down while Maomao gets onto the swing beside him and idly kicks her legs back and forth. She’s quiet, but that’s not too out of the usual.

At least, not until he catches her eyeing his wrist. Suddenly, the silence feels heavier.

More daunting.

“Are they dead?” she asks softly, breaking the quiet.

Oh.

Somehow, while stuck in his own head, he’d grown used to every-now-and-then stares he’d get, and had failed to consider what other people might think of his covered mark.

“…I…”

In hindsight, it makes sense that she— and maybe everyone else— might think his soulmate is dead. That the bandages were there to cover a name gone pale, practically fading into his skin unlike the usual popping black.

It would be easier, really, if that were the case. If he could simply mourn the idea of a soulmate he’d never known. It would surely hurt less than looking into the iridescent blue eyes sitting across from him, and knowing what he wants is right within reach yet still unattainable.

Sometimes the dead can feel closer than those around us, and Jinshi wishes he could bridge that gap without breaking the branches they’ve started to form.

Maomao’s still watching him, in a way that feels almost somber, and it pulls him out of his thoughts long enough to remember that he still hasn’t clarified himself.

“…ah…no. They’re not dead.”

“Hm.”

He can tell she’s curious, it’s in her nature, but she holds back from prying. He’s not sure if it’s because of the slightly anxious shift to his face, but either way he’s thankful she spared him a questioning.

Unfortunately, curiosity tends to kill cats, and now Jinshi can’t get his own questions out of his head.

“You’re not a fan of the whole thing, aren’t you? Soulmates, I mean.”

Maomao shrugs, “I don’t believe in fate. I think you should choose who you want to write your story with.”
“
It’s…an interesting take, not necessarily a bad concept, but Jinshi prefers the safety of someone destined for him. Someone completely his.

“Why so?” He pushes.

Her eyebrows pinch like she’s contemplating something difficult, then she lets out a soft breath and sighs.

“My biological parents were soulmates…it didn’t work out very well for them.”

Jinshi isn’t sure what to say to that. Failed soulmates are rarely heard of.

“…I’m sorry that happened to you—“

“Don’t apologize,” she cuts him off, “I hardly knew them. My mother’s been comatose since I was very little.”

She sucks in a sharp breath, kicks her feet in the grass and turns her gaze directly to Jinshi.

“I don’t know my father, but I know they used to love each other. It lead them straight into a dead end, regardless of their marks.”

Her gaze bears into Jinshi’s skin, searingly hot. His throat feels suddenly dry.

“I don’t know what you’re hiding under there, but I do know that it only matters if you let it. Write your own story, Jinshi. The way you want it to go.”

———

Jinshi’s phone rings with a high pitched alarm, shattering tension. They both take the train back home in silence.