Work Text:
“We had a deal, Shi-xiong.” Pei Ming loomed over the desk, one hand on his hip and the other holding a thermometer that flashed 38.4 on its LCD screen. “No working over 38. Close the laptop and go back to bed.”
Shi Wudu did not close the laptop. He did not stop typing, nor did he acknowledge anything Pei Ming just said. He did, however, clamp his hand over his mouth after a few moments, and stifle a painful sounding cough.
“Shi-xiong.”
“I already took some pills. Give it a few. I’ll be fine,” came the grumpy reply, or something resembling it anyway, Shi Wudu’s nose being so stuffed that all the words came out quiet and garbled. His words were even less convincing when the stifled cough came back with a vengeance, and the ensuing fit was harsh enough to leave him shaking and breathless.
Pei Ming took the opportunity to shut the laptop for him. He also grabbed the glass of water from Shi Wudu’s nightstand-turned-pharmacy and crouched down at his side.
“Bed.” He said sternly. Shi Wudu was practically fading into pale blue silk pajamas, his unkempt black hair sticking to the sides of his face. The groan he let out, as Pei Ming corralled him back onto the fortress of pillows he called his bed, sounded more like a growl.
Once he was forced into laying down though, he stayed down. He closed his eyes, and drew his arm across his face, which Pei Ming took as a sign that he really was feeling worse than the workaholic in him insisted.
“Just try to get some rest. When it goes down, we’ll talk.” Not that Pei Ming expected it to, if the last few days were any indication. He eyed the laptop challengingly. On any other occasion, he would have already hidden it, but courting Shi Wudu’s wrath in that state seemed ill-conducive to his recovery.
Instead, he turned his twitching fingers towards the supplies hoarded onto the nightstand. Shi Wudu had holed himself up in his room with everything he would need for the day, refusing to yield to the flu. Pei Ming picked up a jar of Vaporub and a bag of throat lozenges, settling both on Shi Wudu’s lap before he made his retreat.
Out in the living room, the tv blared and a red-nosed Shi Qingxuan miserably poked his head out from the couch.
“How is he?”
“Give it a few. He’ll be fine,” Pei Ming parroted and went over to check Shi Qingxuan’s forehead. It was clammy, but cool. “How do you feel?”
“I want to die.”
“Glad to hear it.” If he had the energy to complain, then he was over the worst of it, even if he still looked and sounded just as bad as his brother.
“Also, I’m out of tissues.” He gestured to the impressive pile of them on the coffee table in front of the couch. Pei Ming fetched him another box, and as he swept the used tissues into a garbage bag, he realized he hadn’t seen a box on Shi Wudu’s nightstand either. His nose was more stuffed than runny, so maybe he forgot.
He grabbed a box for Shi Wudu, and reopened his bedroom door just as the sound of studio laughter screeched from the TV. Shi Wudu snapped at him to shut it and go away, which Pei Ming relayed to the younger one as a noise complaint in hopes of making him go watch his obnoxious variety show in his own room.
“Everything hurts. Can’t move,” Shi Qingxuan replied dramatically, burying his face into a cushion, and stretching out so that he took the whole of the couch. He hadn’t moved once from it since Pei Ming arrived, except to kick his blanket to his ankles and drape the fuzzy green bathrobe on his pink flannel pajamas over the couch instead.
Pei Ming shook his head as he returned to the kitchen. He tossed the bag of used tissues into the bin and sighed.
He hadn’t really known what to expect when he arrived that morning. With both brothers laid up with the flu, he’d pictured himself on the couch spending his day off in the company of the remote, only occasionally checking in on them to fetch this or that.
Instead…
“Pei Miiiiing ,” Shi Qingxuan’s nasally whine echoed from the living room. “Can you make me more tea? Also, the humidifier is empty...”
“I’m on it,” Pei Ming called to him.
Both of them were so demanding!
Carefree times ended three days earlier, when Shi Qingxuan stumbled home early from college, having cut the last of his classes. Any sharp remark at his truancy was instantly cut short with one look at his glazed over eyes, and the weak tearful “Ge…” that preceded a violent coughing fit.
Shi Wudu promptly sprang into action. He was not the sort of man to become easily flustered and panicked, and years of nursing his brother through every illness and injury had turned his routine into a science. Qingxuan was marched to his bed, and within an hour there was a doctor’s appointment scheduled and a pot of soup simmering on the stove. If any alarm openly showed on his face, it was only for how quickly his brother went from the cheerful chatterbox of that morning to the groaning listless lumps below the covers.
Pei Ming, for his part, was kicked out of the apartment and relegated to delivery boy. He spent the next days picking up various prescriptions, supplies, groceries, and on the third night, Shi Wudu’s laptop from his office, which, in hindsight, should have been a tip off.
On the fourth morning, Pei Ming woke up to an early phone call.
“Come over,” came the congested sulky voice on the other end. “Ge’s sick.”
A sick Shi Wudu was an entirely different beast.
He looked like he would bite Pei Ming’s hand as it steadily reached for the thermometer next to the laptop.
“It’s under 38,” was all he had to say about the newer reading of 37.9 .
In Pei Ming’s opinion, that shouldn’t have counted.
The way Shi Wudu squinted at the screen as he typed, and kept painfully clearing his throat made the fever the least of his problems. Pei Ming nudged the freshly brewed pot of tea towards him. One battle at a time, he reminded himself. “I came to tell you that Ling Wen called your doctor, and since he’s already examined Qingxuan before, he agreed to prescribe you the same thing. She’ll bring it over later.”
Shi Wudu nodded, though whether that was at Pei Ming’s words or whatever had just popped up on his screen was unclear.
“I also heated up some soup for Qingxuan just now,” he continued, this time getting a more attentive nod, and even some eye contact.
“Good. He should eat more. Let me know if he’s being difficult.”
Pei Ming scoffed. Shi Qingxuan was enjoying having him at his beck and call too much to be difficult. “I can bring a bowl for you as well.”
“No.” The answer was immediate and accompanied by an all-too-familiar scrunching of his nose, the kind that made clear that nothing anyone could say would get Shi Wudu to consider the soup.
That he had made.
Pei Ming bit back a sigh.
“Alright, so what do you want for lunch?”
“I don’t.”
“You have to eat something. You can’t keep taking pills on an empty stomach.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I really don’t care…” Pei Ming ran his hand through his hair. He had expected this. Even setting aside Shi Wudu’s usual pickiness, few people wanted to eat when their throat felt like someone lodged a hot rock into it, and their entire body felt like it was breaking apart. He vaguely remembered being on the other side of this argument with his mother the last time he was sick, an eternity ago.
Still, sick people needed to eat, and Pei Ming said as much, and was pretty sure he would have won the ensuing argument too if he hadn’t conceded to Shi Wudu’s reddening face, and increasingly painful-looking wheezes.
He would not say that he was chased out of the room.
“This isn’t over,” Pei Ming promised the closed door. The clicking lock had the final word.
Shi Qingxuan watched him round the couch with a steaming soup mug in his hands. The anxious frown on his face as Pei Ming pushed back his legs and sat down at his ankles made it clear he’d known this would happen.
“Ge doesn’t like to eat when he’s sick,” he explained quietly.
Pei Ming rolled his eyes. Shi Wudu did not like to eat, period.
“Your brother isn’t some thousand-year-old god who can sustain himself off his cultivation. He doesn’t get a say in this.” Pei Ming rubbedthe bridge of his nose, eyes drawn to the bizarre obstacle course being presented on the TV screen. What did Qingxuan see in these shows? “Think. There has to be something he’d be willing to eat. Whatever it is, I’ll go buy it.”
Shi Qingxuan, save for some coughs and sniffles, stayed silent for a long time. Then, he said, “Maybe some very plain congee…”
And that was how Pei Ming found himself standing over a stove, making congee for the first time in his life. A recipe was pulled up on his phone, which Pei Ming kept glancing at with a furrowed brow as he added rice, ginger, and water to the pot.
From the couch, Shi Qingxuan groused, “You’re not using enough water. Add more.”
“The recipe says eight cups.”
“That’s too little. Ge always uses at least ten.”
In Pei Ming’s experience, instructions were to be followed to the letter, but in the interest of making something Shi Wudu would eat, and also shutting the other one up, he reluctantly added the two extra cups. The water level rose to the brim of the pot. Pei Ming shut the lid and prayed it wouldn’t spill over.
He grabbed his phone, set a timer, and sat back with his arms crossed.
Shi Qingxuan piped up again. “I wouldn’t sit there so comfortably, this needs to be stirred.”
“For the whole hour? Isn’t congee supposed to be easy? I can’t believe it’s this much of a pain in the ass.”
“I can’t believe you’ve never made congee before. How on earth did you survive before my brother found you?”
Pei Ming turned to him. “Would you like to cook instead?”
Shi Qingxuan sniffed. “You’d really make a sick man cook for you?” he asked, and an awfully convenient cough followed.
Pei Ming shook his head and resumed his post in front of the stove. Under Shi Qingxuan’s critical stare, he lifted the lid and stirred the rice for a few circles.
“Good. Keep that up,” he said, with an impish grin. Shi Qingxuan gave another reminder a few minutes later, and one more after that, and then again, leaving Pei Ming with the distinct impression that he wasn’t being trusted to babysit a pot.
He would have been offended if he hadn’t known Qingxuan well enough to recognize the anxiety over his brother’s health in his voice. Deep down, Pei Ming was also grateful to have the company of this Shi Qingxuan over the one from the past few days who miserably hugged his brother’s waist like a body pillow and barely said a word.
Gradually his reminders turned into a series of timed groans, and eventually they stopped. Pei Ming realized he’d fallen asleep.
“Seriously? Where’s your sense of camaraderie?” he asked incredulously.
He untangled the blanket at his ankles, then grabbed the remote to (finally) change the channel to something a little more palatable. The high-pitched upbeat voices of young idols provided a nice soundtrack to his stirring.
This isn’t so bad , he began to think, humming along and giving a small prayer of gratitude for Shi Wudu’s legendarily bland preferences. Congee this simple was perfect for a beginner like Pie Ming, and he found himself getting into a nice steady rhythm, the rice in the pot dancing to the beat of the songs.
The same open kitchen that let Shi Qingxuan backseat-drive his cooking also gave Pei Ming a good, if not a little distant, view of the television. Between songs, the idols answered various questions and were shown doing various activities around the city, drawing Pei Ming in with their innocent giggles and feminine charms.
It was entirely those girls’ fault that he forgot to stir.
When he finally remembered, he found the congee had thickened into a paste and clung mercilessly to the bottom of the pots like a lump of glue.
Frantically, Pei Ming searched the web for suggestions – if congee was (allegedly) the easiest thing in the world to make, then it had to also be the easiest thing in the world to salvage.
He found countless threads and blogs on the topic, most of them recommending one simple piece of advice: add more water.
So he did.
The congee, if it could still be called that, was complete. The steaming mush in the bowl was more water than rice, and even without Shi Wudu’s hesitant stirring, Pei Ming knew he had failed. He shouldn’t have brought him out of his room for this. Shi Wudu had looked a little too unsteady for his liking as he rose from his desk, insisting on the opportunity to check on his brother, before following Pei Ming to the kitchen and staring down the bowl.
It could be generously said that the congee was still edible. Pei Ming had tried it to make sure and merely found it completely devoid of any kind of taste. The ginger had drowned at some point.
The starchy mess of a pot, the evidence of his crimes, sat solemnly in the sink. Shi Wudu eyed it warily, looking between it and the congee.
Just as Pei Ming was about to tell him to forget it, Shi Wudu took the spoon into his mouth. The resignation on his face spoke volumes.
“Qingxuan tried his best,” he said, as though that justified everything.
Pei Ming’s jaw dropped. What kind of reaction was that? No more importantly, he was the one who had warred with the pot for two hours, engaging in a complicated battle of adding water and draining it, and was about to indignantly correct Shi Wudu on this matter when he realized – Shi Wudu was taking another spoonful.
“Yes,” Pei Ming agreed with an exaggerated nod. “Qingxuan worries about you most of all. He wanted to make something his gege would eat.”
“So unnecessary,” Shi Wudu muttered under his breath, taking another sip, and then another. Each time he brought the spoon to his lips, his expression seemed softer.
Pei Ming leaned his head on his hand and watched Shi Wudu, a fond smile spreading across his face. It was this side of him that Pei Ming found hilariously adorable. He was the pickiest eater Pei Ming had ever met, an especially impressive feat considering he spent several years living off Qingxuan’s leftovers. He found fault in every kind of flavor and texture imaginable, yet somehow the dubious congee he thought his little brother made was where he decided to join the clean plate club.
“Why are you making that face?” Shi Wudu frowned.
“I was just thinking how we could fix your eating habits forever by sending Qingxuan to culinary school.”
“My eating habits are fine. Quit staring. It’s weird.”
Pei Ming did not. He had never cooked for someone else before, and thus had never known how wonderful it could be to just watch someone eat. And in his heart, he felt a small twinge of glee that it was his congee, the first he’d ever made, that got this hopelessly picky eater’s appreciation.
And then the little brother finally woke up, and dragged himself to the kitchen, wrapped in the blanket. “Ge… you’re up,” he said blearily. “You’re eating?” His eyes landed on the half-finished bowl of congee.
“You added too much water Qingxuan,” Shi Wudu scolded without missing a beat. “You need to let the congee thicken more.”
“I - what? I didn’t–”
He caught Pei Ming’s meaningful look just in time.
Don’t you dare. Look at how much he’s enjoying it. Don’t say a fucking word, the look said.
“I’m sorry, Gege. I’ll be more attentive next time,” Shi Qingxuan said demurely and sat down at the table. Out of Shi Wudu’s sight, he fixed Pei Ming with a meaningful look of his own.
Some things were just understood.
Shi Wudu collapsed onto his bed the moment he returned to his room. For a moment, Pei Ming was afraid the congee really had poisoned him, but no, his fever just rose.
Pei Ming got him to sit up long enough to swallow a couple of more pills, then settled him under the blanket and fetched a wet towel. He wiped down his brow, then his flushed cheeks, then started on the back of his neck, in hopes that the cool water would provide some much-needed comfort. Shi Wudu leaned into his touch.
“I hate this,” he muttered, sounding just a little too honest. Maybe it was because he’d finally eaten something. Or maybe he felt so bad that he didn’t care to pretend otherwise anymore.
Pei Ming rubbed circles on the back of his neck through the towel, pretending the sudden change didn’t make his chest tighten. Already he missed the stubborn defiance from that morning. “I know,” he whispered, soothingly. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll leave you alone.”
“You don’t have to.” It must have been tiredness, either Shi Wudu’s or Pei Ming’s own, that made him sound hopeful . Pei Ming took it as an apology for earlier.
With a wry grin, Pei Ming laid down on the other side of the bed, and, despite protests, opened his arms to pull Shi Wudu in close. He was shivering under the blanket, and tentatively pressed against Pei Ming’s chest for a source of warmth.
“Five minutes,” Shi Wudu muttered. “Then go look after Qingxuan.”
“Qingxuan’s doing fine. He’s got variety shows to watch and friends to message.” As though that reassurance was all Shi Wudu needed, he closed his eyes, and, thankfully, quickly gave in to sleep.
Pei Ming chuckled. It was always easy to compare Qingxuan to his brother – his boundless confidence, his forceful nature, the little ways in which his lip would curl in distaste or how he’d gesture flippantly with his hand. They were the sorts of mannerisms that were picked up naturally when growing up in one’s care.
It was funnier to think about how like his brother Shi Wudu really was, how beneath the cold attitude and perfectionist nature lied an equally spoiled man, full of particulars, who loved fiercely and was loved fiercely in turn. It had only taken him a few meek words to find a bed in Pei Ming’s arms, where he snored through his congestion with his mouth open, looking his age for once, young and vulnerable.
That was the greatest resemblance between the brothers, Pei Ming thought – their unmatched ability in making others want to care for them.
It’s what allowed him to ignore the discomfort of the furnace lying on his chest or the sharp smell of menthol stinging his eyes. Pei Ming’s hand traveled up and down Shi Wudu’s back in a steady rhythm. He didn’t know how much time had passed before his phone buzzed in his pocket.
How are they? Ling Wen had sent.
Careful not to disturb Shi Wudu, Pei Ming shifted his position, held up the phone in one hand and wrote back, Qingxuan’s on the mend. Wudu’s pretty out of it. Sleeping now.
If not for how rare and personal the sight of him sleeping so innocently felt, Pei Ming might have sent her a picture.
Her reply was immediate. And you?
Tired.
Don’t get sick before Wudu recovers.
Pei Ming smirked at this. I never get sick, he wrote. He was very proud of himself for it.
Somehow, he could feel Ling Wen rolling her eyes on the other end before the next message came in.
Wudu’s prescription should be ready soon. I’ll pick it up after work.
Appreciate it. Can’t really move right now.
He smirked at Shi Wudu, again fighting down the urge to send Ling Wen a photo. Or at least take one for himself. He lifted his phone up, just as another text came in.
Good. Stay where you are. You shouldn’t spread the germs around.
Pei Ming scowled. I told you, I’m not going to get sick. I made a vow, remember.
They exchanged a few more messages, then Pei Ming stuffed the phone back into his pocket and turned to face Shi Wudu. As though sensing the attention was on him again, he pressed closer.
“Look at you,” Pei Ming remarked, with a disbelieving shake of his head and a chuckle. “Acting tough all the time, when you’re just as needy as your little brother.” He brushed away some damp strands of hair from Shi Wudu’s face.
His own tiredness from the day’s surprising busyness had his eyes start to droop.
Then the door creaked open. Qingxuan peered inside.
“You’d better not do anything to my brother in that state,” he warned.
Pei Ming threw a pillow at him.
“Here. Order what you want for dinner,” Pei Ming said, prodding Shi Qingxuan’s leg with his phone. Shi Qingxuan lifted his head from the armrest.
“You’re not cooking?”
“No way. I’ve had enough of that for one day.”
“Aw really? You did such a great job before,” Shi Qingxuan teased as he sat up to study the takeout menu. “Except for the part where you let Ge think I made that rice-flavored water.”
“It got him to eat it, so what’s the harm?”
“The harm is to my reputation. Now Ge thinks I don’t know how to make congee.”
“Sometimes we must sacrifice the plum tree for the sake of the peach tree.”
Shi Qingxuan pouted at him. With his cheeks puffed out as he scrolled through the menu on the screen, Pei Ming worried he’d retaliate with a large dinner order that none of them would finish, but the phone he got back in the end only had a couple of small appetizers added to it, and Shi Qingxuan promptly leaned onto the armrest once more. Pei Ming added his own order, and sent the menu to Ling Wen, figuring she may as well join the group (she could also pick up the food since she was already on her way).
Qingxuan watched as he pocketed his phone, then turned his attention back to the drama they had settled on watching together. Night’s fall had dampened his energy levels, and Pei Ming suspected he was feeling bad again even if his fever hadn’t returned. He’d stopped asking for things, and hadn’t made any protest when Pei Ming had him surrender a seat on the couch.
Pei Ming suspected the same of Shi Wudu when he emerged from his room sometime afterwards, looking pale and haggard despite a decently long nap. Shi Wudu looked at the two of them with visible confusion before he gestured for Pei Ming to move to the middle and let him claim the remaining armrest.
“What are you watching?” he asked absently as he leaned against it and rubbed his throbbing temples. Pei Ming sympathetically grabbed the remote to lower the volume as Shi Qingxuan scrambled over him to reach his brother’s forehead.
“Ge, how do you feel?”
“I’m fine, Qingxuan. Don’t jump around so much.” He similarly felt Shi Qingxuan’s temperature, although Pei Ming wanted to point out that he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference either way.
No, rather, he really wanted to remind the two of them that he was still sitting right there, and he would be more than happy to retract his claim over the couch entirely and give them their privacy if Qingxuan would just get off his lap.
He poked Shi Wudu’s shoulder. “Hungry? I can heat up the rice-flavored water for you.”
“Don’t call congee that,” Shi Wudu frowned at him. He also shook his head, blocking off that escape route.
“Ling Wen’s going to bring over the good drugs soon. Hang on a while longer.”
“I already told you, I’m fine.”
“Ge, I’m sorry I got you sick.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Shi Wudu chided him, and seemed to finally realize what position they were all in and pushed his brother back to the other end of the couch. “By the way, Pei-xiong, what are you planning to do?”
Once more, Pei Ming’s valiant attempt at giving the brothers a moment was foiled.
“About what?”
“You may as well move your things in. It’ll be easier to look after you here.”
Shi Qingxuan realized what his brother was getting at and made a face. Pei Ming liked to think it was the same one he put on.
“Why are you acting like it’s a given that I’ll catch this? In all the years you’ve known me, have you ever seen me sick?”
“Did you think your earlier cuddling would have any other conclusion?” Shi Qingxuan asked incredulously. They both pretended not to notice Shi Wudu’s reaction. “Actually, did you take any precautions today?”
“I don’t need precautions because I don’t get sick. I promised myself in high school.”
“What happened in high school?”
“Got strep, hated it, vowed to never feel like that again.” Even now he shuddered at the memory. Two weeks of weakness, unable to talk, and worst of all – still being forced to go to school because of exams.
Shi Qingxuan looked skeptical. “And you just… haven’t gotten sick since? Not even once? Through sheer willpower? ”
Pei Ming crossed his arms in triumph. Willpower was a wondrous thing.
Shi Qingxuan and Shi Wudu exchanged looks.
“Ge, cough on him. He needs to be punished for his hubris.”
“You little brat! Is that what you say to the person who’s been taking care of you all day? I’ll have you know this Pei – Shi Wudu! Stop clearing your throat !”
When Pei Ming opened his eyes again, it was to a dimly lit room and a silent TV. He stared ahead in confusion, blinking away the heaviness, with a distinct sense that he was not the one who’d put the room into this state.
An unknown amount of time had passed. There was a crick in his neck and soreness in his back from a lengthy period of sitting still, but an attempt to stretch quickly banished the tiredness in favor of a different problem.
He couldn’t move.
On one side he had Shi Wudu leaning against him, head on his shoulder. On the other, Shi Qingxuan had pressed a throw pillow to his thigh and curled up against it, legs dangling off the side of the couch. Pei Ming’s hand was on his shoulder.
Pei Ming yanked back that hand, and slowly reached for the phone in his pocket, careful not to wake either of them up. His screen lit up revealing a significantly later hour, and also that he had three new messages from Ling Wen, who was quickly revealed to be the culprit behind the TV and lights.
Meds are in the kitchen, her first message read.
Her second was a photo, a third person view of the exact situation Pei Ming now found himself in, only with himself also asleep, his head tilted back with his mouth wide open. He stared at it with a wry smile. Later there would be bristling, and berating, and two embarrassed Shi brothers locking themselves in their rooms.
For now, there was just calm.
And an ominous third message that read, You’re next.