[fic] Han Geng/Zhou Mi – SJM – forever (for you) – oneshot

[rabenhorst]

Title: forever (for you)
Author: fonulyn
Rating: PG13
Warnings: none
Pairing: Han Geng/Zhou Mi
Disclaimer: I own no one, only my dirty imagination.
Summary: Han Geng is nineteen when everything changes and his childhood friend becomes something more. He is twenty-two when everything changes the second time. He just hopes it won’t take away what’s most important to him.
Comments: this is for hojaverde~♥ I’m so sorry it took me ages to finish it ;-; this is… something I wrote and re-wrote several times and it kind of strayed from the original path so often. I’m not yet sure how I feel about it since it’s quite different than it was in my head at first, but I hope it’s coherent enough :3 do enjoy!

For all his life, Han Geng has been told he’s something special. After all, he’s the eldest son in the respected Han family, supposed to follow his father’s footsteps until he’s the one holding the reins in his hands to practically rule their province. When he’s seven years old he’s already been taught impeccable manners, cultural skills like reading and calligraphy, and refined martial arts to defend himself. He is a constant process for his parents, in training to be the best son in the world.

That doesn’t stop him from having a best friend his parents disapprove of. Maybe it’s because he’s such a filial son otherwise, always polite and respectful, that his parents grudgingly turn a blind eye and let him run along the fields and forests with the son of their crofter. Maybe it’s partly because said best friend is never anything but polite and friendly, impossible to not like.

Zhou Mi might always wear worn clothes, stitched together to cover his knobby knees and skinny shoulders, that are in crass contrast to Han Geng’s brand new silken shirts that get washed from the slightest speck of dirt, replaced after the first tear. Zhou Mi might have to work the days while Han Geng studies, and he might not know how to write or read his own name.

They’re best friends though, and that’s what matters. That’s the only thing that matters.





Han Geng is nineteen when everything changes. It’s an ordinary day, just like the one before it and like the one after it.

The sun is shining, nearly scorching everything with the intensity and Han Geng knows already when he gets up that he won’t get anything done before sundown. His shirt is sticking to his back and he doesn’t even consider the heavier robes, only slipping into the clothes he uses when he goes hunting, when he has to be agile and move both silent and fast.

Sometimes, Han Geng goes to see Zhou Mi in the mornings. It’s unheard of that the son of the Han family would go and help out a simple crofter family farming their lands, but somehow he gets away with it. The old Zhou is more a father to him than his own has ever been, has taught him a lot more about life than his own family. If he can repay that kindness with a few hours of working side by side with them, he is just glad.

Today is not one of those days though, and Han Geng lets his feet carry him to the riverside, to the only remotely cool place at a time like this. He sits in the shadow of the big trees as he pulls off his boots and sets them aside, cooling his toes in the rippling water. Moments later he’s fallen asleep to the sounds of the light breeze moving the leaves, head pillowed on his hands.

When he startles awake it’s already cooler, the sun sinking down into the horizon. He realizes he’s spent the whole day here, napping, and for a second it makes him feel guilty. Then his attention is pulled back to the moment at hand: he hears familiar footsteps approaching. A smile graces his features as he sits up, leaning his arms on his knees.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Zhou Mi says, softly, as he takes a seat next to his friend. At seventeen he’s taller and lankier than ever, his limbs too long to be in control of them completely. He’s tanned from working outside, though, more strength in his wiry body than one would guess at the first glance. “Were you sleeping?”

Han Geng feels another sting in his consciousness, knowing that his friend has been working on the fields the whole day with his family. He nods. “Yeah. Kind of lost track of time,” he admits.

Zhou Mi smiles, that captivating smile of his that reaches all the way to his eyes. “Did you bring it?”

He doesn’t need to explain any further, Han Geng knows very well what he’s talking about. So he pulls his bag closer and digs out the pieces of parchment he has, finds the cloth he wrapped the coal in, and hands them to his friend. For a while now, he’s been teaching Zhou Mi to read and write. Neither of them really knows why they didn’t do it years ago, but it doesn’t really matter. They’re doing it now.

“Should I practice these again?” Zhou Mi asks, pointing at the characters he’s been writing the last time they had a moment for this. After an agreeing nod he focuses on the task at hand, carefully following every single line until he’s satisfied with the outcome.

Han Geng simply watches, like he’s done a million times before. He’s seen the determination etched on Zhou Mi’s features equally often, after spending most of his life together with his friend. Yet right now, in this moment, something shifts. It’s like something in his chest finally slots in its rightful place and the revelation startles him.

When Zhou Mi makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat and moves to start drawing all over again, Han Geng feels something warm fill his chest. Something he’s never felt before.

Only a few heartbeats later Han Geng leans in. His fingertips brush over Zhou Mi’s cheek, almost as a gentle warning, before he kisses him.

Zhou Mi doesn’t pull back and suddenly, Han Geng could swear the birds around them sing a little bit happier.





Han Geng is twenty-two when everything changes for the second time. The sun is shining, the birds singing, a gentle breeze making the heat more bearable, even if just barely. This time when he arrives at their special spot, Zhou Mi is already there waiting for him. A few steps away, Han Geng slows down until he eventually stops, his arms hanging passively on his sides as he looks straight ahead.

Any other day he would have moved closer, would already pull Zhou Mi closer and show him just how happy he is to see him. Any other day he would whisper sweet promises into a long, sweaty neck, paint pictures of a bright future without a shadow of doubt. Any other day he would let Zhou Mi’s melodious laughter wrap him in a secluded bubble, out of this world, into one of their own.

This, this is not like any other day.

Silence stretches on. It’s like even the birds are muted, singing behind a thick veil of hurt.

Eventually Han Geng can’t take it anymore. He clears his throat. “I. Zhou Mi, I’m…” He doesn’t get any further before Zhou Mi looks up, and the look in those eyes makes the words die before they can be formed. He closes his mouth, his lips set to a thin line, as he holds back not to throw himself at the one person he could do almost anything for.

Almost.

“You’re leaving,” Zhou Mi says. His voice is soft, unassuming, and yet there is so much laced beneath the calm surface. “When?”

“Tomorrow,” Han Geng replies as evenly as he can. “I’m going to leave with the first regiment, with Chiao Tai.” He watches as Zhou Mi slowly nods at the name of the young general they both know. At least there’s that, he couldn’t have asked to be sent away under better command. Even though it’s not much of a consolation right now.

“I’m staying,” Zhou Mi says. He refuses to meet Han Geng’s eyes, blinking rapidly as he looks over the river. “My father… he’s not well.”

No more words are needed. It’s not like any of this is news to them anyway. Han Geng comes from a family of soldiers, protectors, and he needs to follow those footsteps to protect his country now. Zhou Mi is the son of a farmer, the only one in his family fit enough to work, and it automatically excludes him when men are drafted.

This is where they’ll part ways. Neither of them is ready to say goodbye, but there is no other choice.

The silence lasts longer this time.

Until something breaks and opens the floodgates. In the darkness they sink into one another, for the last time. Each touch is slow and measured, painfully sincere, as if they could drag this moment on forever if they try hard enough, if they hold on tight enough.

Neither of them sleeps before dawn.

With the first rays of the rising sun Han Geng walks away. He doesn’t look back.





War. War changes people.

Zhou Mi watches as men return, wounded and broken. He helps take care of the broken bones and bloodied cuts, stays awake night after night as a volunteer to ease the pain of the ones who fight their battles for them. He learns to mix the right herbs to give momentary relief to a man whose leg is mutilated beyond recognition, to grant a night’s sleep to those in excruciating pains.

In the midst of it all, he learns that the worst wounds aren’t those that bleed. The worst damage cannot be seen.

It feels he’s going through a war of his own.





Every night Zhou Mi goes back to the river, even as days begin to blend together, the hope growing thinner with each passing heartbeat.

Every night Zhou Mi waits.

Every night Zhou Mi walks back alone in the darkness, sending silent prayers to the moon.

Every night.





The branches of a weeping willow gently stir the surface of the river, creating miniscule waves every time a breeze sways them. There could be nothing more peaceful than this moment, right here. Zhou Mi sits by the tree, gazing into the water as if that could grant him all his wishes and make his dreams come true. He can hear nothing but the humming of the crickets, a bird singing somewhere in the distance.

Then. Footsteps. Heavy boots.

Even though Zhou Mi doesn’t look up he knows who it is. He recognizes him long before he sees the approaching figure from the corner of his eye. Finally, the other man crouches down right next to him.

“I knew I’d find you here.” Han Geng’s voice is a soft whisper in the wind, barely even audible.

A smile ghosts over Zhou Mi’s lips. This is where they said goodbye. This is where they meet again. He has been waiting.

Zhou Mi stands up, slowly. Sand creaks underneath his bare feet, water splashing silently against the rocks. Neither of them conceal the starving looks, the way they drink in the sight of one another, making sure this is real. Momentarily, Zhou Mi is painfully aware of his worn clothes, in clear contrast to the silk Han Geng is wearing, to the silvery shine of his armour.

“You look well,” Han Geng speaks so softly his voice is barely audible. Still, it’s enough to break the magic, to shatter the invisible barrier between them. Zhou Mi smiles, a genuine smile that reaches all the way to his eyes, and it is impossible not to mirror that.

The next second Zhou Mi practically throws himself at Han Geng. He is all thin, awkward limbs in Han Geng’s embrace but he is warm, he is solid, and he is so very real.





Zhou Mi talks all the way back home. He talks about the villagers, about their childhood friends, about the new people who moved in and the old people they lost. He talks about the weather, about the crop, about the quality of rice. He talks about the baker’s old dog, who is slowly going deaf. He talks, fills in the silence, although they both know there are questions burning on his tongue. How was it? What did you see? What did you do?

Are you still you?

Han Geng stays silent. A part of him wants to get it all out in the open. A part of him wants to answer all of those unvoiced questions, lying heavy between them and twirling unspoken in the darkness of Zhou Mi’s eyes. But he can’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

He is grateful that Zhou Mi doesn’t ask.





“I’m sorry it’s not much,” Zhou Mi says. He avoids Han Geng’s eyes pointedly as he sets the bowls on the table. He knows fully well that some rice and vegetables isn’t much, not by anyone’s standards. Not even though he’s more generous than he could actually afford; this meal means he will have to split his regular portions for the rest of the week.

“Zhou Mi,” Han Geng says, patient. “I’m not here to see food.”

The words are enough to again make Zhou Mi smile. There’s certain warmth splashing in his chest and he tries hard to hold onto the last shards of his dignity.

“Your parents..?” Han Geng asks, carefully.

“My father died not long after you left,” Zhou Mi says. He can see the sadness in Han Geng’s eyes, in his whole posture, and he knows that the old man was as much a father for them both. “My mother lasted a while longer but after he was gone…”

Zhou Mi tells how his mother hadn’t had much will to live after losing her husband, how he took over farming the land, how he makes the ends meet with what little vegetables he grows by exchanging half of them for rice. He is careful not to complain, he knows there are those more unfortunate than him, but there is no hiding the facts. Han Geng listens silently, asking a question or two in between.

Eventually the words die down. There’s only so much that can be said, even after such a long time. Zhou Mi falls silent and closes his eyes, his head resting on Han Geng’s shoulder. He missed this, more than he has words for. The closeness, the warmth, the way Han Geng’s scent lingers around him and makes him feel at peace. He inhales deeply, tilting his head just enough to press his nose into Han Geng’s neck.

“Remember when we used to go to the river and look at the moon?” Han Geng traces his fingers up Zhou Mi’s arm. “Every night,” he says, “before I fell asleep, I thought of you.” The words swirl in the air like warmth from a fireplace, surrounding Zhou Mi and wrapping him in. He remembers the countless nights he looked up at the moon, and knowing he wasn’t the only one makes it all seem worthwhile.

When Han Geng leans down, Zhou Mi angles his face up to meet him. They kiss with aching slowness, savouring each second that passes. Even when they cross the small room and fall on the rough sheets there’s no explosion, not one moment when it all snaps. Instead there’s a gradual build-up, each touch measured and meaningful as they map out the planes and angles of each other’s bodies.

Long limbs tangle together as they focus on one another, the outside world shut out entirely. They’ve both changed, they’ve both grown, but the more things change the more they stay the same. It’s like coming home.

Zhou Mi falls asleep to the steady beat of Han Geng’s heart, strong arms holding him close.

When he wakes up there’s nothing but a burnt-out candle on the bedside, a blanket carefully pulled over his naked form.





Soon it’s a familiar routine.

Zhou Mi spends his days exactly like before: he was born a farmer and he will die a farmer. Somehow it’s a lot better now, though. He can take the solitude when he knows it will end before sundown. It’s been so long since he last hummed while working, sang a little song just because he felt like it.

And it’s like the world stops to listen.

Zhou Mi sits in the shadow as he eats what little food he took with him, smiles at the birds and shares the crumbs of bread. It’s like he’s twelve again, enjoying the days with his family despite the work. Sometimes, when he closes his eyes he can see his father’s broad shoulders as they work side by side, hear his mother’s infectious laughter in the distance. As if they were never gone.

The setting sun is painting the horizon golden with its glow when Zhou Mi finally gets back home. His skin is as dusty as his clothes as he peels the damp layers off, and he hopes they’ll be dry before morning. He scrubs himself clean with icy cold water, discarding the thought of heating it today. By the time he’s clothed again he almost feels reborn.

Zhou Mi has come to expect it, but still he startles slightly when there’s a soft knock that announces the presence of another. He looks up to meet Han Geng’s eyes, a smile lighting his tired features. “Hey. Have you eaten?” His stomach growls, as if to remind him he hasn’t, not after midday.

“No,” Han Geng says. “Here.” He sets a basket on the table, and even without standing up Zhou Mi can spot round breads and fruit. “I can make you something?” Han Geng suggests as he reaches out his hand. Zhou Mi takes it, instinctively, and is instantly pulled up and against the other man.

It’s not like Zhou Mi even tries to hold back the brilliant smile. He agrees heartily, and presses his lips on Han Geng’s before releasing him, almost as a thank you.

They work side by side in the small space, their shoulders bumping together every time one of them as much as shifts slightly. It’s been long since the house has been filled with laughter like this, and Zhou Mi doesn’t know how he ever lived through the deafening silence.

They set the table like it’s a special occasion, just because they feel like it. The dinner isn’t grand but it’s a lot more than Zhou Mi is used to, more than Han Geng lived on during the long years of war. Zhou Mi thinks it feels almost odd now that he isn’t hungry all the time. Somehow things have started to look brighter in more ways than one. In addition to the rice and varying treats Han Geng brings almost daily, it feels that there’s a sudden influx of food from other sources, be it the extra chunk of meat from the butcher, or the warm buns he got for free when he bought bread from the old Joong.

Zhou Mi still saves more than he eats, though, carefully storing everything he can. It’s clear how Han Geng wants to tease him for it but he holds back and just indulges him, smiling.

“I could get used to this,” Han Geng admits as he sneaks an arm around Zhou Mi’s waist and pulls him closer. He enjoys good food, but even more he enjoys how these moments practically make Zhou Mi shine, make his eyes sparkle and his smile come easy. He doesn’t say it, he never will, but he knows.

The initial answer he receives is a soft hum, before Zhou Mi tilts his head slightly. “Want to go to bed?”

As an answer, Han Geng leans down to kiss him. When Zhou Mi’s lips part in a breathy gasp they both know where this’ll lead.

Like always.





Zhou Mi could get used to falling asleep in Han Geng’s arms night after night.

As days go by, he finds himself struggling to stay awake just a little bit longer, to soak in the presence next to him a little bit more. He fights sleep and tries to keep it at arm’s length, and he doesn’t want to give in to it. Still, the battle is lost already before it really begins and finally he lets the shared warmth lull him to sleep.

In the morning he hates himself for it. For falling asleep means waking up alone.





“I left the vegetables outside,” Zhou Mi smiles by way of greeting as he steps inside, bowing at the young woman lightly. They grew up together, their parents trying to arrange for their marriage before she was engaged to another. “The usual.”

She nods, her eyes gentle as she spares him a glance. Swiftly, she picks three bags of rice, one by one, and places them on the low table. “Here you go. See you again next week.” She already makes a move to go back to her work, but something stops her and she looks up.

Zhou Mi is staring at the bags. Three bags of rice. He knows with the vegetables he brought, he is only entitled to have one. Even then, he gets a discount, but he has helped enough to earn it. He knows the woman and her husband remember the roof he repaired and how he helped pull their firstborn out of the swamp the past spring. None of that amounts to this much, though.

She sees the confusion written on his features already before he asks, her smile too quick to be convincing. “Oh the prices have come down.” She pushes the bags closer to him, nearly to the edge of the table. “You earned it.”

Suddenly something clicks in Zhou Mi’s mind. “What is this,” he sighs barely audibly. He doesn’t look at her and when he rubs his eyes he can feel a headache coming. “Lin, tell me.” It’s not really a command, it’s far too soft for that, but she takes it as one anyway.

“The son of the Han family,” she explains, averting her gaze, embarrassed. “He told me to triple your portion. He paid me extra for not saying anything.”

Zhou Mi smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you, Lin. I will be back next week.” He takes one bag, the two left untouched on the tabletop. He knows she will return the money.





It is dark when Han Geng steps into the house, but he doesn’t knock. A single candle illuminates the room, the shadows dancing on Zhou Mi’s back as he carefully slices the potato into equally sized parts. He ignores the presence behind him, until Han Geng’s hand comes to rest between his shoulder blades, making him straighten.

“I’m sorry I’m so late,” Han Geng whispers into Zhou Mi’s neck, his hot breath enough to cause shivers. Zhou Mi knows the longer he waits the less his self control gets and he turns to push Han Geng off.

“Stop that.”

Han Geng lets his hands fall to his sides as he steps back, takes just enough distance between them for them to look at each other. Confusion is clear in the furrow of his brows but he doesn’t ask, not with words. Zhou Mi’s hand is still outstretched, as if he tries to keep himself safe, tries to keep the other man away. “Stop, Han Geng. You can’t just walk back and expect me to wrap my life around yours.”

He swallows, averts his gaze and holds back the angry tears. Still his eyes are glimmering with them as he turns to glare at his childhood playmate, his best friend, his lo-

“I am not your paid whore, Han Geng.” Zhou Mi’s voice wavers just the tiniest bit but he keeps his chin up, refuses to let his walls crumble. It’ll hurt less if he ends it fast and doesn’t let it go on any further. Not anymore. “If you want nothing more than that you can find your playthings elsewhere.”

Han Geng takes half a step closer, reaching for Zhou Mi’s hand with his own. “Zhou Mi, let me–”

That’s as far as he gets before Zhou Mi spins around, his knuckles white as he grips the knife in his hand so tight. “Get out. Get out of my house!”

They both flinch at the sound of Zhou Mi’s voice, so broken and hoarse, unlike anything it’s been before. He can’t mask the hurt, or the anger, but he’s too exhausted to care. He just wants to be alone, wants to piece his life back together somehow. Maybe it would’ve been better if the war– He doesn’t let himself finish that thought.

For a few heartbeats, the two men stand there and look at each other. Han Geng’s eyes are dark with sadness, mixed with so many emotions swirling in the depths. Zhou Mi won’t analyze it further though, he doesn’t want to. There’s an all consuming emptiness inside of him and he has enough to do trying to fight it off.

In unbroken silence, Han Geng backs out and lets the door slide shut.





It’s pitch black outside and Zhou Mi knows he should be sleeping, but he can’t bring himself to blow out the candle, now beside his bed. He keeps staring into the flame, as if it holds all the answers of the universe. The food is still untouched and unprepared only steps away from him but he turns his back at it and pulls the covers over himself better.

In retrospect, he should’ve heard the floorboards creak before a warm presence settles behind him on the thin mattress, a strong arm sneaking around him. He doesn’t protest when he’s pulled back into a tight embrace, against a firm chest. Despite everything, it’s still the one place where he feels like the world straightens and looks a little more right.

Han Geng’s breath is warm against his neck and for a moment he waits for words. They never come. The silence stretches on until it turns from expectant to comfortable and finally the steady movement of Han Geng’s chest against his back lulls Zhou Mi into sleep.





In the morning, Zhou Mi wakes up surrounded by the familiar scent, wrapped up in long limbs that hold on to him like he might disappear in the blink of an eye.

That is how he wakes up every morning from then on.





“We should go back inside,” Han Geng murmurs right against Zhou Mi’s shoulder. He knows it’s going to fall on deaf ears anyway, judging by the way Zhou Mi looks up into the clear sky and counts the stars, draws the lines between them. The moon illuminates his face and for a moment, he looks almost unreal in the evening fog.

Slowly, Zhou Mi shifts and turns his eyes from the constellations. “Remember when you used to bring me here.”

It’s not a question, it’s a statement. They both know it’s etched into their memory and can’t be erased. “Come,” Han Geng smiles as he slips his warm hand into Zhou Mi’s cold one and twines their fingers together. “I’ll make you tea.”

Hand in hand, they walk into the night.

Together.

---
(4468 words)


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