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does anyone know where the love of god goes? | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x female!reader – post breakout & no ellie AU

summary: crossing the country alone as he searches for his brother, joel stumbles on a farm. winter is closing in, and against his better judgement he's convinced to stay. as the frost covers the land like a blanket, a warmth ignites in his heart for the young woman who's home he finds himself in.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so minors dni!!! canon-typical violence, age gap (reader is mid to late twenties), swearing, dead animals, joel being a sad man, masturbation, no use of y/n

a/n: i soft launched this ao3 last month and it flopped lol so i'm gonna keep my expectations low for this series. anyways this has been a story i've been thinking about since probably october. this is the first part of what i'm hoping will be 3 parts. happy reading i guess

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The leaves rustled against Joel’s boots with every step he took. The sun had turned traitor cold, and he couldn’t feel its kiss against his cheek no more. The trees shivered above him in the wind – the only sound for miles except his heavy steps.

Did he still exist, with no one around? Joel had never minded being alone; after the breakout he’d found that he sometimes preferred it. People could be… well, when you’ve seen the worst of humanity, maybe it’s best to leave it behind.

And wasn’t he the worst of humanity? The things he’d done. The people he’d killed, and killed for. The people he’d lost.

But he had to keep going. For Tess. He promised.

Every night as he stared into the flames his thoughts would drift to her – the memories flickering in the fire. They should’ve never gone through that museum – it was supposed to have been empty – they should’ve never left Boston in the first place. Now Tess is gone because of him, him and his stupid plan to find his brother.

And for what? How is he ever gonna find Tommy?

Joel didn’t even know where he was. Nebraska? South-Dakota? Maybe he’d made it to Wyoming and just didn’t know it? Abe had told him ‘Cody Tower’, but Joel hadn’t seen anything other than mother nature for weeks.

Everything had started to look the same. Trees and more trees, a mountain in the distance, a grey and heavy sky above him. He’d been walking for forever. Slowly he moved west– or at least he thought he was. On the days where the sun hung high in the sky and wasn’t shielded behind a cloudy partition, he liked to watch it as it dipped below the earth. As the days turned shorter and shorter, the display of color had started to get more vivid. Joel would watch the light blue turn red and bloody, fiery tongues of flames licking over the horizon while the sharp edges of the mountains, and the triangular shapes of the trees faded into an intense black– like the shape of the mountain and the trees had been cut out with scissors. There wasn’t much to stay alive for anymore– but Joel lived for those few moments where nature painted with fire. Humanity might’ve gone to shit, but the cyclical regularity of mother nature gave Joel a small sense of peace.

But he missed the kiss of the sun against his cheek now. He’d moved into a large forest a few days ago. Tall trees hovered over him like giants and cast shadows down at him. It was colder here than out in the open country, but at least he’d been somewhat shaded from the rain pouring from the grey cover above his head the last few days.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The sound stopped Joel in his tracks. Muscle memory worked on its own, gripping the shotgun slung over his shoulder. He listened for the sound again, to the steady rhythm echoing through the forest.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

With slow calculated steps Joel walked in the direction of the sound with the shotgun held tightly to his chest, his finger hovered over the trigger. The chopping sound got louder as he closed in on a man. He couldn’t tell his age with the man’s back turned – but he was strong – Joel could tell from how hard the man’s axe hit the tree trunk.

Taking another silent step, Joel got in position, “How ‘bout you slowly turn around and place that axe on the ground.”

Joel’s voice was hoarse after no use, but still cold and calculated as he spoke his order. He could see he’d startled the man, probably thinking he was alone, just like Joel had thought mere minutes ago.

The man obeyed, turning around slowly. He was older than Joel, maybe mid-seventies, maybe older if the wrinkles and creases around his eyes and nose were to be believed. His hair was white as snow matching his unkempt beard. Joel caught his eye. Strong and steady, no trace of fear one would think a man would feel while having a gun pointed at them.

Joel’s grip around the gun tightened. He wasn’t afraid to pull the trigger if that’s where this was headed. The man watched him calmly before he bent his knees, throwing the axe haphazardly on the ground.

“Kick it over here,” Joel commanded again, and the man obeyed, kicking the axe clumsily towards Joel.

Slowly Joel crept closer, gun still pointed at the man. He locked the heel of his shoe against the shaft, dragging the axe behind him and out of the way.

“Hands where I can see ‘em.”

“Are you going to kill me, son?”

The man’s question puzzled Joel. He said it so calmly, like how you’d ask someone to pass the salt.

“That depends on you.” Joel’s answer pulled at the old man’s lips, a small huff of a laugh escaping them.

“Well, you’re the one with the gun. I think it depends on you.”

Joel tightened his grip on the shotgun again – he didn’t know why –to frighten the man? He didn’t seem very frightened.

“Are you alone?” Joel asked.

“Not anymore,” the man answered.

“Don’t be a smartass,” Joel gritted through his teeth, “who you travelin’ with?”

“No one,” the man’s eyes never left Joel, “I live at a farm about a mile away.”

“Take me to it.”

The man walked with a limp Joel noticed. It was barely there, you wouldn’t see it if you didn’t pay attention, but it was there. The man acted tough enough, but his body revealed his weaknesses. It would be easy to kill him, Joel thought, if it came to that.

He followed the man through the trees with his gun pointed at his back. When they reached the end of the forest a clearing revealed itself. They followed a path through a field of, tall but wilted, brown grass until they reached an overgrown gravel road with a fence running along it. Looking out in the distance, Joel could see small spots of white and black wool. The gravel moaned under their feet as they closed in on a small farm. A two-story house sat in the middle of the barnyard where it was surrounded by a barn who’d seen better days, a silo, and a smaller farmhouse – a stable – Joel noticed as they walked closer.

The man trudged up the front stairs of the main farmhouse, a hand on the handrail keeping him steady.

“Put that gun away would you, son? I don’t want you frightening my wife.” The man broke the silence between them, speaking for the first time since they left the woods.

Joel’s grip on his shotgun didn’t loosen. How could he be sure that this man’s ‘wife’ wasn’t some gang of raiders hiding behind the front door? A question he asked the man through gritted teeth when he turned around to look at Joel.

“There’s nothing of the sort around here,” the man said, “we don’t even see any infected.”

When Joel didn’t say anything, and didn’t lower the gun, the man spoke again, “Who are you?”

“Just someone passin’ through,” Joel answered, making the man chuckle.

“You’re something else, passer-througher,” the old man smiled before he turned around again and stepped inside, leaving Joel on the porch alone.

Abandoned outside he lowered his gun slightly. Inside he could hear muffled voices, a deeper one, definitely the old man, and a brighter one, a woman’s voice. He listened, trying to make out their words with no prevail. The man seemed to have spoken the truth up until now. He most definitely lived on this farm – a seemingly normal farm. This man was just someone making an honest living – even after the apocalypse.

Lowering the gun completely, Joel put the safety on before he slung it over his shoulder. Taking a hollowed step towards the front door, movement in the window to the right of him caught his eye. It was there and then it was gone – just a ruffle of blonde curtains. Then, the door opened revealing an elderly woman.

The man’s wife.

“Welcome, traveler,” she greeted, stepping aside to let Joel in.

He passed through the doorway with a “Thank you, ma’am,” never forgetting his manners even after pointing a gun at her husband.

Inside it looked like a picture taken straight out of a Homes & Gardens magazine. The house was cozy, but it was small. He’d been welcomed into what probably used to be a parlor, but now served its purpose as their living room. It was hard to get a read on the house. Not like those open-floor plan houses he’d built too many of back before the outbreak – this was old, maybe hundreds of years old. The floorboard creaked under his shoes as he walked deeper into the living room, the rest of the house locked away like a secret behind three closed doors. The man was seated in a lounge chair by the fireplace, watching Joel with an expression Joel found it hard to decipher.

“Would you like some tea?” the woman asked, “It’s peppermint from our garden.”

Joel turned his head to the woman. She must be around the same age as the old man, Joel thought. He cleared his throat before he answered with a nod, “Thank you, ma’am.”

She pointed to the sofa, urging him to sit down with a smile before she disappeared through one of the doors to what Joel thought must be the kitchen. He felt the old man watching him as he slid his backpack off his shoulders, placing it on the creaky wooden floor behind the sofa. Joel hesitated for just a second when placing the shotgun up against the back, but decided he wasn’t in any imminent danger.

Joel almost groaned as he sat down. He’d been walking for so long, slept on the hard ground for months, he’d almost forgotten what a comfortable chair was. It almost felt surreal, being invited in for tea, like the outbreak had never happened. Here, it was like the time had stood still.

“So,” the man started, “where are you heading to if you’re just ‘passin’ through’?”

Joel cleared his throat again, “I’m lookin’ for my brother,” he answered truthfully, “last I heard he was somewhere in Wyoming.”

“If you’re going to Wyoming, then what you’re doing all the way up here?” The man queried with a chuckle.

Annoyed, Joel grinded his teeth, “Not many signs in the fuckin’ woods are there?” He huffed.

“I guess not,” the man shrugged, “but you’ve made a heck of a detour… where did you come from? Texas? You sound it.”

“Boston.”

“Boston?” the man didn’t hide his surprise, breathing out chuckles in disbelief, “I’ll give it to you, that’s one long trip.”

Joel only huffed in agreement, turning his head from the man to the window overlooking the barnyard.

“Well,” the man broke the growing silence between the two men, “you’re more than welcome to stay for dinner and for the night– you look like you could need a hot meal and a warm bed.”

Joel’s instinct was to say no, but before he could the front door opened, revealing a young woman. You.

You stopped dead in your tracks as you laid your eyes on Joel, “Oh!”.

The door slammed behind you. Under your arm you were carrying a metal bucket filled with apples. You were beautiful, young, but still beautiful – Joel couldn’t deny it.

“This is…” The man paused.

“Joel.” He cleared his throat, introducing himself, “Joel Miller.”

“Mr. Miller is just passing through– he’s looking for his brother,” the old man explained to you.

You nodded at the information, sat the bucket down before you reached out a hand for Joel to take, introducing yourself. Your hand in his was warm and soft while his own dwarfed yours, rough and calloused. He couldn’t help but think about what his hands had done, the people they’d killed. He shouldn’t be tainting yours, painting them red. Joel quickly drew his hand back, balling it into a fist at his side.

Joel looked over at the old man, “Your daughter?” he asked with a tilt of his head in your direction.

“Oh, no,” the man answered with a playful smile, “You’re not the first person ‘passin’ through’ who’s shown up on our doorstep.”

The door to the kitchen opened to reveal the old woman with a teapot in her hand, and a stacked tower of teacups in the other.

“Let me help you Alma,” you said, taking the teacups from the old woman’s hand before placing them on the table; one in front of Joel, a second in front of the old man, “Here you go Arthur,” and a third next to Joel.

“Did you also want some tea, sweetie?” Alma asked you as she placed the steaming teapot on the table.

“Yes, please, but I can grab a cup myself– sit down,” you smiled and padded the old woman’s shoulder, then you grabbed the bucket of apples and disappeared into the kitchen.

Alma started pouring the tea as a silence fell over the room. A small, “Thank you, ma’am,” left Joel’s lips as she moved on to pouring tea for her husband.

“So,” the man started before taking a sip of his tea, “what do you say Mr. Miller? You staying for the night?”

That night as he laid in a real bed for the first time in months, Joel had trouble falling asleep. He wasn’t used to this. Hadn’t been used to it for a while. His belly full, soft fabric against his skin, feeling warm, and clean. The old couple had offered him one of the two bedrooms on the first floor, the two mystery doors in the living room now revealed. Laying in his new bed he tried not to think about who he was sharing a wall with.

You.

You were something else, helpful and kind. Everything Joel hadn’t seen since the outbreak. At the dinner table you’d asked him questions and listened intently – even when his answers were short and brisk. There was a glimmer in your eye, and it touched something inside him he hadn’t felt in a long time. But you were young, mid to late twenties he reckoned, maybe a little older– anyways, he shouldn’t be harboring anything for you, it wouldn’t be right. Especially now, now that he’d agreed to stay.

After the dinner plates had been cleared, Arthur had folded a big map out on the table. “Here are we now,” he’d pointed a finger at the map. Montana. Southern Montana to be precise. “I’ll give it to you Mr. Miller, if you’ve made it this far on your own you probably won’t have any trouble making your way down south to Wyoming.”

“But?” Joel watched the grimace pulling at the old man’s face.

“But,” Arthur had said, “Winter is just around the corner and… well, going back out there in the wilderness alone during our winters is a dead trap, I’ll tell you that much.”

Joel had let the man go on about the far below freezing temperatures, the heavy snow, and the tough wind, but Joel wasn’t stupid. He knew the winters up here were harsh. It wasn’t even winter yet, but every day he’d felt the temperature drop lower and lower, and the last few of nights he’d even had to get a fire going, against his better judgement.

So– the deal was: Joel would stay over the winter. Just for the winter, he’d been adamant on not staying longer. He’d get a place to stay, a warm bed to sleep in, and food in his belly on one condition – he’d help out on the farm.

The fire crackled loudly, red tongues licking up the chimney as Joel fed it another log. He watched as the fire caught in the new log, devouring it quickly and with no mercy. It was really starting to heat up now. A small flicker of pride sparked in Joel chest. He’d always been good at building a fire. It was one of those things, Joel had come to learn, where you needed to pay attention, to have patience.

When he was younger, he’d take Tommy out camping sometimes, just the two of them. Mostly they’d go during the summer; Tommy wasn’t a fan of sleeping outside in the cold, though cold had meant something different back then in Texas. But Joel remembered one time he’d managed to convince him to go with him. It was right after he’d gotten his driver’s license, and his parents had given him a beat-up truck for his birthday – for sharing – they’d told him, “You need to give your little brother a ride when he needs it!” Joel wasn’t exactly thrilled about his future as Tommy’s private driver, but it didn’t mean he didn’t love his brother.

A few weeks into October he’d managed to convince Tommy to go camping. They’d packed the truck with their tents, sleeping bags, and fishing equipment, before they’d gotten on the road, driving to a lake where they knew there were fish to catch. Finding a place to camp was always difficult with Tommy. They’d parked Joel’s truck at the edge of the forest before they’d followed a hiking trail. Joel was convinced they’d walked at least three quarters of the way around the lake before they found a spot good enough for Tommy.

It had to be flat, but also shielded. There couldn’t be too many rocks, but there also had to be enough rocks to build a hearth. Tommy wanted it to be private, but he also wanted it to be open enough that he could see if someone would stumble upon their camp. Joel knew not to argue with him when he got like that, opting instead for a defeated, “Whatever.”

Setting up camp went relatively easy. They’d worked together building the tents, collecting rocks for their fireplace, and even managed to find a fallen tree to use as a bench. When the night slowly started to cover them in darkness, Tommy decided to get the fire going. Joel watched him work the logs into a pile as he started on filleting the fish they’d just caught.

“You’re doin’ it wrong,” he’d told his brother, “You’re suffocatin’ it.” He’d washed his hands in the lake, ridding himself of the slimy smell of fish, before crouching down next to Tommy.

The fire was one big bowl of smoke, and Joel caught himself wondering what messages Tommy must’ve been sending to the heavens. He removed some of the heavier logs, and the fire could breathe.

“See?” he’d looked at Tommy, “It just needed air.” Joel had shifted the smaller pieces of wood around and not long after the fire was alive.

That Joel, that green boy who liked to take his little brother camping, that Joel didn’t know how much those skills would come in handy in a few years when the world would get turned upside down.

“Do you have any mittens, Joel?”

Your question pulled Joel from his memories. He turned his head slightly, meeting your gaze from where you were huddled up in the corner of the couch. You looked cozy, but he knew you weren’t. The house was cold this morning, outside a thin layer of frost had stuck to the grass during the night. It was early too, the sun not having climbed high enough yet to peek over the mountains. You looked tired where you sat, clad in a wool sweater with a blanket pulled over your knees. Under the blanket Joel remembered you were still wearing your pajama pants, and in your hand you held a steaming cup of tea, peppermint, Joel knew, his own cup abandoned on the coffee table.

“What?” Joel answered, eyebrows furrowed.

“Do you have any mittens, Joel?” you repeated softly, like the way people tended to speak in the mornings, like they were afraid they’d wake up the world.

His calves were starting to burn from the strain of being crouched in front of the fireplace for a moment too long, and he tried his best to hide his groan, biting his teeth together as he stood to his feet, knees cracking loudly.

“Um, no,” he said, confused about your question.

“I’ll knit you a pair then,” you smiled before putting your cup down next to his.

“That’s… that ain’t necessary,” Joel hurried, but you waved him off.

“Sure it is,” you smiled again, much to Joel’s annoyance. He didn’t deserve your kindness, but you gave it away like it cost nothing. “If you’re gonna be helping Arthur out in the woods this winter, you need some mittens.”

Joel watched as you got up from your home on the couch and vanished into your bedroom. A moment later you appeared in the doorway with a basket under your arm.

“Also…” you gave him another smile as you sat back down again, placing the basket in your lap. It was close to overflowing with yarn, balls of black and white in varying sizes peeking over the top, the homespun ends fraying against the rough edges of the basket. “I’ll have something to do during the evenings,” you winked before you rummaged through the basket and fished out a measuring tape.

Joel shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he watched you. Mittens? Joel can’t remember if he’s ever owned a pair of mittens. Gloves, sure, but mittens?

You patted the cushion next to you, urging him to sit down, kind smile hanging off your lips like always. Sitting down, he folded his hands in his lap, suddenly very aware of how close you were sitting. It wasn’t like he hadn’t sat next to you before; he’d been here a few weeks now, and he was starting to know you, but for some reason, this felt different. Maybe it was the early morning, the quiet house, or the fact that Alma and Arthur were still sleeping upstairs, but it felt like it was just the two of you, alone, and Joel didn’t know how to feel about it.

You shifted towards him, the blanket slipping slightly off the couch with your movement, in your hands you held the measuring tape while you looked at him expectantly.

When Joel didn’t move, a smile quirked at the corner of your mouth before you grabbed one of his hands resting in his lap. You uncurled his fingers slowly, one by one, making Joel hold his breath.

“I need to see how big I need to make them,” you whispered, holding his hand very gently.

Joel’s heart hammered in his chest. Your hand was warm and soft, like the last time he’d touched you as you’d introduced yourself to him. Joel didn’t dare look at your face, or he’d say something stupid, so he didn’t. He looked at your joined hands, his brain trying to remember the last time someone had held his hand as gently as you did, your thumb running over the back of it soothingly.

He can’t remember. His hands are always empty.

With your other hand, a finger curled around the measuring tape, you slipped it around his wrist before leaning closer to look at the numbers.

“Is this too tight you think, or do you want them to be looser?” You asked through your lashes, eyes sparkling in the low morning light.

Joel cleared his throat, “No, that’s fine.”

“Okay,” you nodded, slipping the measuring tape from his wrist to write down the measurement. He hadn’t noticed your notebook until now. It was a little rough around the edges from use, the spined cracked and the paper a little yellow. Placing the pen in the seam, you grabbed the measuring tape again.

Loosening your grip on his hand you placed it over the thick of your thigh. Joel drew a quick breath, his heartbeat hammering in his ears, under his hand he could feel the warmth of you through the soft flannel.

You continued taking your measurements. You didn’t say anything, so neither did Joel, but you looked up at him through your lashes sometimes, and Joel thought that maybe the most useful thing one can do with empty hands, is hold on.

The creak of the stair made Joel jump, and like he’d been burned his hand retracted on reflex, as Arthur’s heavy steps got closer.

“Morning,” Arthur greeted as he ducked his head through the door to the living room.

“Mornin’,” Joel mumbled, head lowered as he gathered his hands in his lap.

“Good morning!” you smiled, always with that kind smile, “Did you sleep well, Arthur?” you got up from your seat before grabbing your teacup to follow Arthur into the kitchen, leaving the yarn and Joel.

Taking a deep breath, Joel pinched the top of his nose. He needed to get it together. You were just being your regular kind self; your soft touch was nothing more than that. Standing to his feet, Joel grabbed his own cup, trudging into the kitchen.

In the kitchen Arthur sat in his usual spot at the dining table, the chair closest to the window. “I need to get on with this barn soon,” Joel heard him say as he sat down opposite him. “It’s gonna fall apart come spring if we get as much snow as we did last year.”

Joel tried his best not to look at you as he heard you hum. You were stood at the kitchen counter slicing the bread Alma had baked yesterday, readying breakfast. Instead, Joel opted to gaze down into his teacup, where the peppermint leaves had all gathered at the bottom.

“Um,” Joel cleared his throat, “what needs fixin’?”

“What doesn’t need fixing in that barn?” Arthur sighed, peeling his eyes from out the window to Joel.

“I can uh,” Joel eyes shifted quickly to you before he cleared his throat again, “I can take a look at it, if ya want?”

Arthur’s eyebrows met in a furrow as he looked at Joel.

“I used to be a contractor,” Joel explained with a shrug, before taking a last cold sip of his tea.

“So, you know a thing or two about buildings I reckon?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah, well I used to,” Joel leaned back in his chair.

“Well, that would be very helpful Joel– I’d appreciated it!” Arthur smiled before leaning back in his chair making room for you as you started setting the table. Joel gave him a short nod in return, trying to fight the urge to look at you as you placed the food on the table.

Arthur had downplayed the state of the barn – it was a mess – it was dangerous, and had Joel told him as much. But it was nothing Joel couldn’t fix, as long as he had the right supplies, fortunately for him the forest would provide them with what they needed.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The axe dug a deep wound into the bark with every swing. Joel’s breath was heavy, and his arms ached, but it was a welcomed form of tiredness. A month into it, he was starting to get used to the work. There was something so satisfying about manual labor, of using his hands, of making something – he’d almost forgotten.

The routine of the work felt good. Waking up at dawn, then breakfast, he could use his body for something useful for the first time in twenty years and end the day with a warm meal for supper. This <s>new</s> temporary life was simple, but it was strangely normal.

Originally, Joel was only helping Arthur out in the woods for firewood through the winter– but now with the barn, they’d changed course. The last few days they’d started to become more selective with the trees; looking for the tallest and straightest ones that would fall safely.

A frozen sky hovered over the men as they worked. This morning when Joel had woken up, the thinnest layer of snow had fallen like powdered sugar during the night, turning the world bright with winter. Earlier in the week the frost had perched on the farm, and Joel had known winter was closing in. He’d lost count of the days and months passing while on his own, but Arthur had told him it was late October.

“It will start snowing properly soon,” Arthur said, breaking the silence between them.

Joel hummed before taking a bite of his packed lunch. They’d worked all morning – Joel felling the trees and Arthur cleaning them up and removing the branches. Now they were sat on a fresh tree stump each, their first break of the day.

“I have an old logging sled in the barn– used to be my father’s,” Arthur explained, “I think we should leave the trees here until the snow gets deep enough for the sled and have the horses pull them back to the farm.”

“Fine by me,” Joel took another bite of his lunch.

“The logs will have to dry out over the winter,” Arthur mused, “Then come spring we can start the repairs on the barn.”

Spring. If everything goes according to plan, Joel won’t be here come spring. He needed to find Tommy– he couldn’t, and he wasn’t gonna stay on the farm for any longer than necessary. He’d already decided– when the snow finally started to melt, Joel was gone.

Joel hummed, a non-committed answer. It was easier that way, to not get Arthur’s hopes up. He liked Arthur, he was a good man, a hard worker even in his old age, and silent when Joel wanted him to be. Joel liked Alma too, but her age shined through more easily than Arthur’s. Joel couldn’t help but notice her repeating herself more often and forgetting where she put things. It made life harder for you, Joel could see it. Your responsibilities were already a lot to handle as you took care of the animals mostly by yourself, but as Joel had discovered Alma starting to struggle with the housework, he’d noticed you starting to help her more often. In Joel’s mind it was unfair to you, but it wasn’t like he could blame Alma for growing older, in this world it was a feat.

Still, he’d try his best to help you when he could, like doing the dishes after dinner as you dried them off and put them away. The first few times you were both quiet, it was strangely intimate, only the sound of splashing water filling the space between you. One night he'd gotten brave, breaking the comfortable silence and asked you ‘What you thinkin’ about, sweetheart?’ You’d looked at him with big eyes, searching his own for something, but before he could figure out what it was, you’d answered him with a shrug. It was unlike you, unlike you to be this silent, but Joel didn’t push. The next night the silence persisted, and he’d thought adding ‘Sweetheart’ had been too much, but then the next night you’d sighed quietly and whispered, “I’m worried about Alma.”

Looking down at the mittens in his lap, the guilt gnawed at him. The look of worry in your eyes, Arthur’s hopeful wishes, and Alma’s aging. Joel couldn’t have anything tying him to this place. He was supposed to find his brother.

Suddenly, a black and orange butterfly landed on Joel’s knee. Joel stopped breathing, body going rigid as he tried not to move. How the hell was this butterfly still alive? It sat quiet on his knee, wings slowly retracting and widening behind it. Memories pushed its way to the forefront of Joel’s mind then.

Sarah. Another year had gone by, and the thought made his chest tighten.

“That’s quite a sight at this time of year,” he heard Arthur say, “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Y-yeah,” Joel stammered out an answer, afraid his voice would scare it away.

The longer Joel watched the butterfly he found his guilt started to slowly melt away. It’s okay, dad. It was like the rustling of the trees carried her voice with them. You’re on the right path.

“I can do that f’you want, sweetheart.”

Joel’s boots creaked under him as he walked across the barnyard. You looked up at the sound of his voice, smile blossoming across your face as you tightened your grip on the shovel.

“It’s alright,” you said with a grunt as you picked up more snow, adding it to the growing pile, “Good for me to get some physical work in.”

Joel nodded as you straightened up, hand going to your hip while the other leaned on the shovel, your heavy breath curled in small plumes out of your mouth. You took him in for a second, eyes flickering over his form before they fell on the rabbits hanging over Joel’s shoulder.

“Where’d you get those?” you asked, and Joel shrugged.

“Shot ‘em,” he said simply, “they walked right by me as I was choppin’– seemed too good to pass up.”

“Not for the rabbits,” you muttered, and Joel had to fight the urge to smile.

“You a vegetarian or somethin’?” he asked with a single raised eyebrow, and you waved him off.

“No,” you said pointedly, but a teasing lilt lingered, “Just stating a fact... we don’t eat a lot of rabbit around here, is all.”

Joel nodded slightly; it made sense. He knew there was a gun in the house, but it was a revolver– too small to do any real hunting, and Joel didn’t even know if there were bullets for it. So, Joel didn't ask further. Lucky for him, you did.

“So, you just shot those?” you asked, a frown pulling at your eyebrows, “Aren’t they fast?”

Joel made a nonchalant sort of face. “Ain’t that hard when you can aim straight.”

“Well, how do you aim straight?”

“You learn to shoot.”

You let out a small laugh, one that pulled at Joel’s lips. “And how did you go about learning that?”

Joel felt his smile drop, the leather strap of his shotgun weighing heavy on his shoulder, “Practice.”

You didn’t seem to notice the change in his demeanor as you dug the shovel into the snow, so it stood by itself like a watchman. “Can you teach me?” you asked, the snow creaking under your shoes as you took a few steps closer.

His lips pulled at the corner, “No.”

Your eyes widened with disappointment, eyebrows pulling together in a frown as you asked, “Why?”

“Nothin’ good ever comes from it,” Joel shrugged.

“Okay,” you huffed a laugh, “that’s sinister.” Then you narrowed your eyes at him, gearing up for an argument no doubt with the way you rested your hand on your hip. “What if I also wanted to go hunting?” you posed, and Joel shook his head.

“That ain’t happenin’, sweetheart.”

“Okay, but now you’ve brought us rabbits– and what if I end up really liking rabbit?” you bit down on your bottom lip, unconsciously showing off you own rabbit teeth.

Cute.

“Then I’ll shoot as many rabbits as you want,” Joel countered with a teasing smile before tightening his hold on the rope slung over his other shoulder (the one he’d tied the rabbits to), and walked towards the kitchen door at the back of the farmhouse.

He heard you huff in defeat behind him, your creaky steps following him up the stairs and inside. Walking into the kitchen Joel placed the rabbits on the table before he pulled at his mittens, stripped off his jacket, and hung it neatly over the back of one of the dining chairs. Grabbing one of the rabbits he brought it to the kitchen counter to start dressing it, fighting the urge to turn his head as he heard you enter the room.

“Come on, Joel,” you whined, “Why won’t you teach me?”

“Told you already,” Joel replied, “Nothin’ good comes from learnin’ to shoot things.”

Shifting the rabbit around on the counter he reached for the butcher knife in the knife block.

“You know, that’s a really stupid way of saying you don’t want to spend the time,” you told him, your voice closer now as you leaned against the kitchen counter.

“When exactly did ya hear me sayin’ I don't wanna spend time with you?” Joel asked, his eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

“You won’t teach me to shoot,” you teased, and Joel could hear the smile in your voice.

Joel huffed out a laugh, “Damn right I won’t.”

He heard you let out a whiney huff, before you turned on your heel, muttering out a curse under your breath when you accidently bumped your hip into the counter and Joel couldn’t help the smile teasing at his lips. You sat down with an overdramatic sigh, and Joel still didn’t look at you – he knew he’d cave eventually if he did, say yes against his better judgement – so he kept his eyes on the knife in his hand.

“How’s Arthur?” Joel asked as he worked.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, “The same I think– Alma was up there looking after him last time I checked.”

This time Joel allowed himself to look at you. You sat sideways on the wooden chair, legs crossed and tucked under your chair with your head hanging, eyes glued to your lap. Gone were the teasing, and gone were the smiles.

“He’ll be fine,” Joel said, his eyes back on the rabbit, “it’s just a cold.”

“Yeah… but he’s been getting sick a lot more often,” your voice was low, like you didn’t want them to hear you upstairs, “you can’t help but think the worst you know?”

Joel put the knife down and moved over to the sink. He quickly washed his hands before grabbing a towel to dry off, twisting it in his hands as he approached you. Placing the towel on the counter, he hesitated for a moment as he watched you, watched the way you twisted your hands in your lap with no sense of purpose or intent. It was like the worry dripped down your body. Pushing off the counter Joel knelt in front of you, a grunt escaped him as his knees clicked loudly, his balance slightly off on his haunches.

“Shit,” Joel huffed out a laugh, and you followed. Your palms landed on his knees to keep him steady, warmth spreading like jolting electricity.

“Sweetheart, I’ll tell you what–” he stopped himself when you looked at him through your lashes, trying to ignore the way your eyes focused on his mouth as he spoke. “’s just a cold, he’ll be up ‘n walkin’ tomorrow– man’s got gumption.”

“Yeah?” your eyes flickered upwards, meeting his.

Suddenly, under your gaze Joel felt brave. His hand moved on its own accord, cupping your cheek in his hand. He let his thumb ghost over your skin, still cold under his fingertips from being outside, but warming under his touch.

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, you only watched him with glimmering eyes, like you were under a spell. Maybe he was too.

“Still,” you sighed, “Would be better if I could pick up more of the slack around here... Arthur does a lot, and I wish I could do more to support them.”

“Like what? You take care of the animals all by yourself– that’s more than enough.”

“Well, I could learn to shoot rabbits,” you told him, before the corners of your mouth pulled into a pleased smirk as he rolled his eyes at you.

Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away, making a move to stand when you grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“I’m kidding, Joel,” you smiled, before a more serious look washed over your features. “I mean it’s… It’s gonna be empty here without you,” you said, “I’m starting to really like having you here, Joel.”

Joel turned his hand to rest the back of it on your thigh, your hand fitting in his.

“I uh,” his eyes fixated on your joined hands, then he cleared his throat, “I’ll stay as long as you need me to. I’m not leavin’ you alone, sweetheart.”

Your eyes lit up at his words, smile growing large across your face. Joel’s heart drummed in his chest as your eyes flickered down to his mouth again.

“Thank you,” you said in a low voice, and then you did something Joel thought was gonna make his heart stop beating. You leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. It bloomed against his skin, and made wings flutter against the walls of his stomach.

“You’re a good man, Joel Miller,” you whispered before you pulled away, looking at him with kindness in your eyes.

If only you knew, Joel thought, if only you knew the blood on his hands.

He couldn’t look at you when you looked at him like that. Like you believed your own words. So, he cleared his throat awkwardly and stood to his feet, his knees clicking as your hand slipped from his movement. He walked back to the counter, fingers grabbing the towel with no other purpose than to calm himself down.

After placing the towel back where it usually hung, he grabbed the knife again, turning his attention back to the rabbit, allowing himself to steal a few glances at you where you sat looking out the kitchen window.

“Hey, uh,” Joel broke the growing silence after a few minutes, “how ‘bout rabbit stew for lunch?”

Your head snapped to look at him as he spoke, a smile ghosting over your lips as you said, “I’ll go get some vegetables from the cellar.”

Joel wouldn’t necessarily call himself a good cook – he wouldn’t even call himself a cook in the first place. Back before the outbreak he’d been forced to learn the basics as a fresh single dad, but he’d never been able to provide Sarah with gourmet meals very often, and when Sarah had gotten older, he’d been embarrassed to say that her food was always better than his – eggshells and all. One summer he’d bought himself a nice grill– one of those way too expensive gas grills with too many fancy accessories for Joel to regularly use. He’d had a job that ended up paying well, some rich guy’s mansion that needed renovating, and decided to treat himself for once. That summer all their meals had come from that grill, well mostly, and afterwards Joel looked at himself as a pretty good griller, if nothing else.

You on the other hand, you knew what you were doing, it was clear in the effortlessly way you moved beside him as you got the vegetables ready for the stew. Joel seared the meat to the best of his abilities, making sure it was properly browned on both sides before setting it aside. After that, it was clear that you were in charge, and Joel let you boss him around and tell him what to do. It made his heart warm around the edges, watching how you put so much love and care into everything you did.

An hour later you finally sat down to eat; two hearty bowls of stew each as light snowflakes covered the world outside. You’d let the pot simmer on low over the heat as you’d wanted to bring up a bowl for Arthur and Alma later.

“So…” you started, watching as Joel dug into his bowl, “How’s the stew?”

“’s good!” Joel nodded through a mouthful, and he wasn’t lying. It was good, really good in fact.

“Yeah?” you bubbled through a smile, before you dug into your own bowl to see if he’d spoken the truth. He watched as you face brightened as you chewed, nodding your head to confirm his verdict.

“I think I really like rabbit, Joel,” you said through a teasing smile, and Joel couldn’t fight the chuckle from spilling.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, teasing smile not going anywhere, “So… when are you teaching me to shoot?”

“Shut up.”

The living room was quiet, safe for the cracking of the fire. It had almost died out when Joel had stepped out of his room. He’d been twisting and turning again, counting sheep, but nothing had been able to pull him under the blanket of sleep. He was plumb tired too, that was the worst part. The embers hummed with a low light, and with a small stick Joel had spread them out before placing a small piece of wood on top. No less than a minute later the fire fed on the log.

Taking a seat and leaning back in the lounge chair, Joel looked out the window with tired eyes. The moon looked down on him, big and bright, it shone its white light over the barnyard like a spotlight. His thoughts were clouded over as he gazed up. A billion little lights turning into bright spheres in the sky.

On nights like this, Joel felt like he was barely breathing at all.

His thoughts didn’t stray for long before they found you again. Lately, you were always on his mind. He thought about how you’d looked mere hours ago, when he’d sat in this same exact chair, only this time it was facing towards the sofa and not the window.

You’d been sat curled up in the corner, blanket thrown over your lap with a book in hand. You’d told him you’d read all the books in the house already, but it didn’t stop you from coming back to your favorites. Joel had been reading his own book, an old western he’d found in the bookshelf in the upstairs hallway a few days ago. It was entertaining, but not enough to hold his attention. He found his eyes had a mind of their own, slipping over the top to steal a peek at you as you read, feeling a smile tug at his lips at the barely there furrow of concentration between your eyebrows.

“Joel.”

Joel perked up at the whisper of his name, the memories fading like ripples in still water. He looked around the room –nothing. He sat quietly in his chair for a moment, listening, as his heartbeat quickened in his chest. It had been your voice, hadn’t it? Or was he starting to lose it? His eyes fell to the door of your bedroom. He hadn’t noticed it until now, but he could see it was slightly ajar.

“Joel.”

The voice was louder this time, almost strained, but it was yours. A thousand scenarios flashed before his eyes then at your tone. Was there someone in your room? Were you in danger? Seconds later Joel crossed the room, a mix of fear and protectiveness overcoming him.

Leaning up against your door he listened for the intruder as he readied himself. The soft crinkling of your sheets combined with your strained whimpers was all it took for him to push the door open, fearing the worst.

And…

It was empty, your room, you were alone. Joel immediately felt stupid– the only intruder here was him.

He was about to step out, embarrassed at his actions, when he heard it again, his name falling from your lips. It was all Joel needed to finally take in your body, squirming under your sheets, still asleep. The realization of what he’d just walked in on made Joel’s eyes widen.

Laying on your back, the duvet had slipped down your torso from your movements to reveal the thin t-shirt you wore to bed. Like this he could see your perked nipples through the fabric, as your chest quickly rose and fell, making Joel’s imagination start to run wild.

“Joel.”

In his pajama pants, Joel could feel his cock come alive from the soft whimper that left your lips along with his name. He couldn’t move, like some farm elf had glued his feet to the floor while he wasn’t looking. He watched as you scrunched your face together in pleasure, another whimper falling from your lips, and all the blood in Joel’s body rushed down south.

As if the soundwaves from your voice had broken against him, he took a step backwards, and then another, and another until he crossed the threshold of your door. He tried his best to be quiet, to not wake you and have you catch him in your room in the middle of the night.

The image of you squirming under your sheets, dreaming of him, didn’t leave him as he closed the door to his own room. With a sigh his head fell against the door, a strong hand gliding down his front to hover over his aching cock.

Joel Miller was no saint, but what he was doing– what he was about to do, was bad.

“Shit,” he quietly hissed, running his hand up his clothed cock. He hadn’t touched himself properly in a long time, not since he left Boston.

His cock reacted to his touch, growing harder and harder until he couldn’t take it anymore. He hooked his finger around the hem of his pajama pants, pulling them down to the thick of his thigh, freeing himself. He hissed at the cold air hitting his length, as it bopped with the movement of being freed. Bringing his hand to his mouth, Joel spat, before he wrapped his spit-soaked hand around himself.

His mind found you again as he started stroking himself, slowly at first, pumping himself with a practiced hand, squeezing himself at the base before bringing his hand up to thumb at the tip. Joel couldn’t get the way you sounded out of his mind. Couldn’t forget how you were squirming in your bed, dreaming of him. Couldn’t shake the thought of pulling those moans and whimpers from you with his hands, and his mouth, and with his cock.

“Fuck.”

Joel tried to be quiet, but he couldn’t fight the moan from slipping from his lips. Fuck, he wanted you. He wanted his hands all over you. Closing his eyes his mouth dropped open as he imagined what he was dying to do to you.

How much he’d wanted to help you out of your t-shirt, run his hands over your breasts and tease your nipples. Take his time to pull those moans and whimpers from your soft lips as he teased you with kisses down your body, down the valley of your breasts, your tummy, down to you to your–

Another low moan fell from Joel’s lips. He squeezed himself tighter as he jerked himself off, precum pearling at the tip, and slipping down his length, mixing with his spit.

The sound of the slick rhythm of his hand filled his bedroom as he increased the pace of his strokes. He had to bite down on his lip to strangle a groan when thoughts of getting between your legs, spreading them open and getting his mouth on you filled his head. He fantasized about how you’d taste falling apart on his tongue–Fuck, how you’d sound falling apart around his cock.

His eyes fell shut as he fisted himself faster. Joel could feel his orgasm quickly building, coiling tight in his tummy. With his free hand he cupped his balls, and then he couldn’t help but imagine it was you, a picture of you on your knees before him flashed behind his eyelids, your tongue lapping at his balls while your hand pumped his cock.

“Shit.”

With a strained groan, thick ropes of cum spilled over his knuckles and down his length, coating him in his release. His breath came out ragged, as he continued his strokes, milking himself of the rest of his release.

Fuck.

His cock softened in his hand as he calmed down from his high. With a quiet groan he pushed himself off the door, looking around his room for something to clean himself up with.

The guilt of what he’d done washed over him quickly, settling in his chest like a heavy weight. You were so young, and beautiful, and Joel just an old man. He shouldn’t want you like this, shouldn’t want you this much.

Climbing under the covers, Joel couldn’t shake his thoughts of you, of you dreaming about him in your bed, about your smiles, and your touch. A supercut of you rolling like a tape in his minds eye. A supercut of you bundled up under a blanket on the sofa, knitting him his mittens. Of you, your own knitted hat pulled tightly down over your ears as you stepped out into the snow to check on the animals. Of the way you’d looked at him for the first time, with the bucket of apples under your arm, and the sweet taste of them as you’d offered him one later, after dinner.

Finally, Joel could breathe.

i hope someone liked this? if you did a comment, reply or an ask is always welcome and they make me super happy <3 other than that thank you for reading!!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #tlou smut #tlou fanfiction #the last of us smut #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 2 years

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After Each Midnight Begins A New Day

Extra #12 - Thank You, and I'm Sorry

This extra immediately follows the events of the main fic and is set sometime during 3zun's stay in Jinlintai. Nie Mingjue, wanting to apologize to/make up with Nie Huaisang, travels from Lanling to Qinghe to see his brother, and Jiang Cheng, having heard that his husband was called urgently to Cloud Recesses, has travelled to Qinghe to support Nie Huaisang through the aftermath of his somewhat-disastrous visit.

[Masterpost] [AO3]

-/-

Jiang Cheng knows the Unclean Realm like the back of his hand - as well as he’s ever known Lotus Pier. The servants and disciples still show him respect and deference when he arrives, of course, but he’s no longer treated like an outsider, like a guest. His marriage to his childhood sweetheart had solidified that nicely, and now that he leads Yunmeng Jiang and his husband leads Qinghe Nie, they’re treated like the Sect Leader in each other’s homes as much as their own.

Which is why when one of his Nie intelligence cultivators - personally trained by Nie Huaisang himself early on in his time as Sect Leader - comes to him to tell him that Nie-Zongzhu was summoned unexpectedly to Gusu, Jiang Cheng wraps up what needs doing in Lotus Pier and flies to Qinghe in an evening. If it was something requiring his presence in Gusu then someone would have told him so he doesn’t go running after his husband, but that doesn’t mean that Nie Huaisang won’t need him when he returns home. Jiang Cheng works out of Qinghe frequently enough that no one really blinks twice at his assertion that he’ll be there through the end of the month, and within two days the reports and letters that require his special attention begin arriving, redirected from Lotus Pier by his second-in-command.

So he sets up camp in Nie Huaisang’s quarters. He runs the senior disciples through their saber drills when he needs the fresh air, and he spends his free hours admiring his husband’s paintings or his aviary in his private gardens, and he waits for the man himself to return with news from Cloud Recesses.

“We received word from the outer patrol that Nie-Zongzhu will be arriving this evening,” his husband’s Second informs him when they bring him the latest batch of news from Lotus Pier. “Would you prefer to meet him or shall I?”

Jiang Cheng shrugs and pulls the stack of letters closer. “I’ll meet him at the gates at dusk.”

With a quiet, “Yes, Jiang-Zongzhu,” Tang Ming bows and leaves him to his work. The noise in the hallways and corridors begins to pick up as the dinner hour nears, and when dusk begins to settle in the corners of the rooms and the paper over the window fades to cream, lit more from the inside than the out, Jiang Cheng stands and shakes out his robes to stride through the fortress to the gates.

He arrives just in time for the portcullis to rise, and as always something deep in his chest settles at the sight of his husband even before he dismounts his horse and their eyes lock across the space between them. He’s treated almost immediately to a wide, surprised grin and he can’t quite keep his own smirk off his face as his husband - elegant, dignified, gentlemanly Nie Huaisang - hurries across the courtyard like an excited young boy to link their arms together and cuddle up against his side.

“A-Cheng!” he greets despite their audience of disciples and cultivators. Jiang Cheng’s cheeks immediately grow warm and he turns without a word to usher Nie Huaisang towards the inner clan residences. Nie Huaisang laughs at him for his inability to flirt in public but the sound is like music in his ear so Jiang Cheng allows it, simply ushering his husband inside and into a storeroom for ink and paper to gather the man up into his arms.

Nie Huaisang tucks himself into the contours of him with ease and Jiang Cheng sighs into his hair, lips pressed to the top of his head in between two of his braids. “I’ve missed you,” he says softly, because it’s true and he never lies to his husband. Is incapable of lying to him, actually. Nie Huaisang is easily one of the craftiest and most perceptive men in the cultivation world, Jiang Cheng could no sooner lie to him than a military force could storm the Unclean Realm.

“Is that why you decided to show up weeks early for your next visit?” Nie Huaisang teases and skates his hands up and down his arms a few times before snuggling in again. “Is that why we’re hugging in a storage room instead of going to our quarters to eat dinner together?”

While once such teasing would have riled Jiang Cheng up and fanned the ever-present flames of his flustered irritation, now all he can do is shrug a bit helplessly and duck down to kiss Nie Huaisang’s cheek. “Yes. Are you complaining?”

“No.” Nie Huaisang sighs and settles more firmly against him, so Jiang Cheng reaches a hand up to cup the back of his head, to hold him close to his chest and kiss his temple slowly until he feels his husband’s shoulders begin to unclench.

“Everything alright in Gusu?” he asks eventually. Nie Huaisang shrugs noncommittally and withdraws with a reluctant sigh. Jiang Cheng lets his husband take his hand to pull him from the storeroom and towards their quarters again, the pair of them tangling their fingers together at the same moment as they wander at their own pace down the corridor.

“It will be. Da-ge and I got into an argument, it’s not a big deal. We’ll make up soon enough.”

Jiang Cheng, who’s been privy to quite a few dust-ups between the Nie brothers, knows very well that it’s only a matter of time before a teary-eyed Nie Mingjue shows up at their gate to apologize and dote on his little brother in his own ways. He can never stay angry for long, at least not at Nie Huaisang, whom he practically raised.

“What was the argument about?” he asks instead of speaking his thoughts aloud.

“Mmm something of a miscommunication I suppose,” Nie Huaisang sighs and flicks his fan open in his free hand, already pouting prettily. “Must we talk about this now? I’ve been traveling for a day and a half, and I’d very much like to be treated to a bath and a da-ge sized portion of whatever the cooks have made tonight.”

Jiang Cheng has been playing his husband’s games for a very long time, and so he allows the subject change for now despite how much it still chafes at him to play this back-and-forth. Things would be so much faster and easier if everyone would just say what they mean, but Nie Huaisang has never been the type, even since they were children playing together and a romantic relationship wasn’t yet the smallest blip in their minds.

“You can have whatever you want, it’s your house,” Jiang Cheng reminds him somewhat gruffly. Nie Huaisang knows him well enough not to take it personally by now, and so his husband just grins up at him and tugs him along a little faster.

“A-Cheng, you spoil me! First a surprise visit and now anything I want? You should come see me more often.”

Jiang Cheng sighs but ignores replying in favor of ushering his husband into their quarters and behind the screen to get out of his traveling clothes. One of the perks of being the Sect Leader’s husband will always be access to his private soaking bath - something Jiang Cheng had never seen anything like in his entire life prior to their official courtship - and so he finds it no hardship at all to join him once he’s ready to step down into the recessed pool fed by a hot spring a little further up the mountain that guards the Unclean Realm’s rear flank.

“Da-ge never really used this thing, you know,” Nie Huaisang tells him once they’re settled in together, Nie Huaisang’s back to his chest so Jiang Cheng can stroke his hair for him, watch the ends of it swirl gently with the edies of the spring. “He always groused that he didn’t have the time, or the inclination to sit and soak like this. I think san-ge and er-ge were able to talk him into it a few times, but he never loved it like I do.”

Jiang Cheng wrinkles his nose a little at the idea of what those three might have gotten up to in what he privately thinks of as his and Huaisang’s bath, but of course that would have been a long time ago, and the water is, of course, not even remotely the same water as they would have used. It’s rare that Nie Huaisang is in a mood to share things like this, and Jiang Cheng can’t help but feel that it’s related to something that happened in Gusu, so he just keeps his mouth shut and continues stroking his husband’s hair as if trying to coax a particularly skittish cat to trust him.

“He’s so different,” Nie Huaisang muses, mumbling almost too quietly to be heard over the faint burbling of the water. “He’s…he’s better…than when he was here. He’s happier in Gusu. He could never really be happy here. Too many memories, I think. Father used to chase us up and down the corridors. I was still young enough at first to think it was a game, and when Da-ge would tell me to hide my giggling gave me away every time. I was always whisked somewhere else by a servant or a disciple when Father caught us. Usually they’d take me to the gardens, but sometimes the kitchen for a snack.”

Jiang Cheng presses a soft kiss to his husband’s neck as he draws the curtain of his hair aside with one hand, silently reminding him that he’s here. That this is not the past.

“Da-ge still tried to use the same trick with me even when I was old enough to understand Father was on one of his rampages. I think Da-ge didn’t want to accept it, that I was growing up and I knew enough by then to be afraid. He never wanted me to worry, or be upset. He’d always do his best to take care of me.”

There are days, sometimes, even weeks, when Nie Huaisang’s eyes turn haunted, and his mind is so far away Jiang Cheng worries that he’ll never find his way back. Nie Huaisang never tells him where his mind goes when he gets so contemplative, but at the same time it’s not like Jiang Cheng ever presses him too hard. After all, he’d grown up watching his brother do the same. Sometimes, he figures, childhoods and memories of the past can creep back in like ghosts to haunt them - it’s not as if either of them had a particularly charmed life when they were young, no matter what sort of images they project now.

Jiang Cheng can hear that same faraway quality to his husband’s voice now without even needing to see the glazed look in his eyes.

“I couldn’t take care of him. There was a time once when he needed me, and I couldn’t protect him. And someone we had trusted hurt him down to his core - literally. If I were to hurt that person in return, would that be so wrong?”

“Revenge is usually justified when you bother to worry about it,” Jiang Cheng murmurs against Nie Huaisang’s heat-flushed skin. “If the pain was equivalent, if it was the proper price to pay, it’s not so wrong.”

“Mm. Maybe. It’s in the past now, either way. It hardly matters anymore. But Da-ge…he’s so straightforward about everything. I went behind his back to do it, and learning about it now has been…upsetting. For all three of them, really. I think that’s why he’s upset, more than at me directly. I accidentally hurt his husbands trying to make things right.”

Jiang Cheng tightens his arms around his husband’s chest and presses a palm over his rabitting heart. “If anyone hurt you, I wouldn’t sit idly by and allow it,” he vows. “You can’t expect him to do nothing if the people he loves have been hurt.”

“True,” Nie Huaisang sighs. “I really messed up this time, I think. At least in his eyes. I can’t honestly say I feel sorry for it, even though I probably should.”

Jiang Cheng snorts softly at that and presses one more definitive kiss before he sits up straight and squeezes Nie Huaisang tightly around the middle.

“I’m pretty sure you could do no wrong in his eyes, at least once his temper’s cooled off. You have this fascinating way of winding angry men around your fingers and never letting us stay angry at you for long.”

“Don’t compare yourself to my brother like that,” Nie Huaisang laughs softly, still with that melancholy edge. “I have you both wrapped around my fingers in entirely different ways, and you’re not the only jewelry I wear. I have many people right where I want them, but you always know you’re special.”

“Mhm. Nie Mingjue will come around,” Jiang Cheng soothes, not one to be too distracted from the topic at hand (he’s had plenty of opportunities to grow at least somewhat immune to his husband’s tactics). “Give him some time to cool off, let the ones who married him do all the heavy lifting of calming him down again. He always comes back to apologize, it’s just a matter of time.”

“You’re right, of course, zhugong,” Nie Huaisang teases and Jiang Cheng smiles a little at both the title and the return of levity to his husband’s voice. “Now will you tell this humble husband why you’ve graced Bujing Shi with your scowling face weeks in advance?”

Jiang Cheng splashes him for the teasing until Nie Huaisang is laughing in his arms and crying out for mercy. He only deigns to answer him once he’s turned to give him a few consolation kisses and settled in his arms again with a happy little sigh.

“A little bird told me you’d been summoned quickly and unexpectedly to Gusu, I was worried. I thought you might appreciate a chance to talk through your thoughts with a captive audience rather than to your plants. I’ve arranged to stay until and through my planned visit, you have me at your disposal for an entire month.”

Nie Huaisang’s genuine happiness at his pronouncement and the kisses he peppers his face with once he turns around once again are as good a reason as any to abandon such heavy topics, so Jiang Cheng settles in to enjoy his husband’s company for the night, the matter of what happened in Gusu settled to his satisfaction.

—

Jiang Cheng has been in the Unclean Realm for a few weeks when a letter arrives from Lanling. It’s brought to his desk in Nie Huaisang’s office as it’s been written on his sister’s favorite stationery, but when he opens it to glance at the contents he recognizes his brother-in-law’s hand immediately. He skims it quickly to make sure it’s not an emergency, and when it proves itself to be a simple request to come visit he sets it on Nie Huaisang’s painting table - where he’s much more likely to see it than on his desk - and returns to his own work without much more thought about it.

When Nie Huaisang reads it later, though, Jiang Cheng can’t help but notice the pinching at the corners of his mouth or the worried little frown between his brows. Normally requests to visit from Nie Mingjue are a welcome thing, even if the Nie brothers have recently had an argument that requires apologies to be given, so Nie Huaisang’s reaction is negative enough to set off a little alarm bell in his head.

What if this time their argument is something that drives a true wedge between them? They’ve been inseparable since they were all children - hell, Nie Huaisang had been distraught when he couldn’t be near his brother during their summer studying in the Cloud Recesses - but they’re growing older now. Growing apart. Nie Mingjue still has a hand in leading the Nie from a distance, but the role is mostly to make him feel better about having stepped down early to live in Gusu for the sake of his health. That particular fight had lasted for months, Nie Mingjue’s pride and bone-deep sense of duty pitted against Nie Huaisang’s stubborn patience which can outlast the stars and the seas - it hadn’t been pretty.

But even then, Nie Huaisang hadn’t ever turned away the opportunity to see or speak with his brother.

“What’s wrong?” Jiang Cheng asks when Nie Huaisang has finished reading the letter for a fourth time. “You don’t want him to come?”

“I don’t know if it’s been long enough for his temper to have cooled off and he wants to make up, or if he wants to come and yell at me some more,” Nie Huaisang pouts, and for anyone else the pout would’ve been good enough to hide the fact that he’s genuinely afraid. But Jiang Cheng can see the fear sitting deep in his husband’s eyes, and the tension making his shoulders rigid under the stiff layers of silk that make him look broader than he really is. He stands up from his work to cross the room and settle in on his knees behind his husband to begin combing his fingers through the loose section of his hair, careful not to dislodge his guan or any of his intricate braids or ornaments.

“Can you tell me what happened in some more detail?” he coaxes quietly after a few long moments. He hadn’t asked for the details when they’d talked about it that first night, and he still hasn’t asked in the weeks since, but the curiosity has been simmering low in his chest the entire time. He can’t imagine that Nie Huaisang hurting someone - anyone - could be such a problem with Nie Mingjue that he would be furious with the brother he adores for so long, but Nie Huaisang is clearly convinced that that’s precisely what’s happened.

“Not without telling you a whole bunch of stuff that would upset you, too,” Nie Huaisang mutters and sets his favorite brush down a little too hard with a huff.

“You said before that you hurt Lan Xichen and Meng Yao…what did you do?”

Nie Huaisang takes a few deep breaths in and holds them, clearly trying to calm himself down, so Jiang Cheng leans forward to wrap his arms around Nie Huaisang’s waist and prop his chin on his shoulder.

“Whatever you did, I’ll still love you just as much as I do now,” he whispers, and even after all these years he flushes ever so slightly with embarrassment to say such things out loud. “Hurts can always heal, even if it’s not perfect after it’s all said and done. Just tell me what happened?”

Nie Huaisang breathes deeply again and brushes ink-stained fingers against the backs of Jiang Cheng’s hands, his touch light and cool as a spring breeze. Jiang Cheng closes his eyes and leans more firmly against the other, his mind wandering lazily through all the years of their relationship. They’ve been married for a while now, but even before that Jiang Cheng had vowed his heart to Nie Huaisang. For him, there hasn’t been anyone else he would even think of courting, and he knows that Nie Huaisang is well aware of his adoration. He can only hope his husband finds comfort in knowing that nothing in the world could break it.

Their minds must be following similar paths, because Jiang Cheng can hear a soft smile in Nie Huaisang’s voice when he says, “You’ve always been so devoted, A-Cheng. I’ve loved that about you for a very, very long time, you know. Longer than you’d ever guess. If anyone ever hurt you, I’d never be able to rest until I’d destroyed them.”

“I know,” Jiang Cheng murmurs, because he does. Not everyone sees it, in fact he’s fairly sure that virtually nobody sees it except him, but Nie Huaisang is ruthless, like all Nies are. It’s less obvious than it is in Nie Mingjue with his many loud declarations over the years of what’s right and what’s wrong, but Nie Huaisang’s moral compass is just as harsh. He’s just as likely as his brother to focus on what he thinks is right at the expense of anything else, and to only think to deal with the consequences of his actions after the fact. Jiang Cheng has thought for years that the cultivation world is lucky that Nie Huaisang’s interests lie in the arts and not in warfare, or else they’d be living in a very different world than they do now.

“I’d do the same thing for da-ge. I’d hurt anyone who hurt him. I’d ruin them, everything they loved.”

“I know that too.”

Nie Huaisang doesn’t continue, but Jiang Cheng stays where he is and waits him out. Being with Nie Huaisang for as long as he has has done wonders for his patience, though it still only really applies to his husband. No one else (except for, of course, Jiang Yanli) deserves his precious reserves of patience, so easily depleted.

“Er-ge hasn’t been feeling well, and Wei-xiong thought I might be able to help,” Nie Huaisang eventually reveals. Jiang Cheng rewards him with a kiss to the side of his neck. “And he was right, I could, but I…well I wasn’t very nice about it, and because of what I did to try to help, er-ge stabbed san-ge. Straight through. I watched Shuoyue come out of Meng Yao’s back.”

Jiang Cheng freezes as he tries to process that, that something so violent could happen between his brothers-in-law, who love each other to the point of it being downright disgusting. Lan Xichen stabbed somebody? Anybody?? Their lives have been so peaceful for so long that sometimes Jiang Cheng forgets, in the quiet course of his daily life, that his family are all remarkably powerful and formidable in battle. But Lan Xichen is, without a doubt, one of the most peaceful men in the cultivation world - what could have possibly driven him to violence?

“You were behind Meng Yao when Lan Xichen stabbed him,” Jiang Cheng notes when he’s got his metaphorical feet back under him. Nie Huaisang plays this game frequently, dropping little hints and clues about what he means without actually saying it outright, and though Jiang Cheng finds it maddening he’s also resigned himself to the reality that that’s just what it’s like to be married to one of the cleverest and most non-confrontational men in the world. “Something must have happened to Lan Xichen to make him unbalanced enough to draw Shuoyue too quickly for anyone to stop him, because I can’t imagine anyone was happy to see him stab Meng Yao. You included.”

“No, I didn’t want him to,” Nie Huaisang agrees, his voice low and oddly neutral in a way Jiang Cheng isn’t sure how to interpret. “He moved too quickly for Da-ge to stop him.”

“Who did?” Jiang Cheng asks. “Meng Yao or Lan Xichen.”

“Oh. I meant Er-ge, but I suppose it works for both of them.”

Jiang Cheng tightens his grip around Nie Huaisang’s waist and holds him close, lips pressed firmly against his neck, as he puts together the pieces that tell him that Lan Xichen had been aiming for him.

He was behind Meng Yao, who had moved too quickly for anyone to stop him. Moved in front of Nie Huaisang, to put himself between him and Shuoyue.

He doesn’t ask what Nie Huaisang did to anger Lan Xichen to such an extent. He doesn’t try to even guess at it, whatever it was it’s in the past. It’s already happened, and now Nie Mingjue, who carries the same sort of righteous anger on behalf of his loved ones as Nie Huaisang does, wants to come to the Unclean Realm to see his brother.

“You should tell him to come,” Jiang Cheng murmurs after a few long minutes of silence except for the sound of Nie Huaisang’s birds out in the garden and the occasional clang or shout from the training grounds a few courtyards away. “Soon, while I’m still here. See what he wants, and if he tries to hurt you because of whatever you did then I’ll protect you.”

“My A-Cheng is so loyal,” Nie Huaisang purrs, levity creeping back into his tone as slowly and softly as a sunrise. He turns then in Jiang Cheng’s arms to look at him and Jiang Cheng leans back enough to allow it, meeting his husband’s eyes steadily and not worrying at all about the guilty look in them. “I’m sorry I can’t..tell you all the details. You know I don’t like keeping things from you.”

Jiang Cheng shrugs and tucks a stray hair behind Nie Huaisang’s ear. “And I don’t really like you keeping secrets from me, but I haven’t been with you for decades just to start getting upset now that there are still things I don’t know about you. I know what I volunteered for.”

“You’re so lucky I snapped you up when I did instead of letting you loose to get taken advantage of, trusting little thing that you are,” Nie Huaisang tuts and pats him on the cheek with a playful smile. Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes as he jerks back from the contact and he fights against the urge to smile when Nie Huaisang just laughs at him. He stands to return to his desk with a little flick of his sleeves, shooting his husband a stern look over his shoulder as he goes.

“Write back to your brother and tell him to come here and apologize. Everyone survived the stabbing incident so he can’t be mad for too long, right? Might as well get it over with.”

“A-Cheng is right, as always,” Nie Huaisang demures with one of his dreamy little smiles that have been certified to make Jiang Cheng blush since they were teenagers.

He returns to his work without a fuss, and after another long reread of Nie Mingjue’s letter Nie Huaisang sighs, picks up a brush, and writes his response.

—

Nie Mingjue strides into the Unclean Realm a few days after he’d sent off his reply, and Nie Huaisang wonders if he’ll ever truly be used to it, seeing his brother older than he ever got to be the first time around.

Most days he doesn’t think too much about his own age. Though he hadn’t truly lost as much time as Wei Wuxian had - considering he hadn’t died, unlike his friend - he still sometimes thinks of those years he’d spent pursuing his revenge as well as the 5 years of the aftermath as having been barely lived at all. He’d spent so long mired in grief and fear and carefully constructed webs of manipulation with no one at all he could trust that he can’t really remember anything worth living for from those years. Most of the time he feels as young as he ever has, nothing more nor less than..himself.

But some days, like today, the truth of how many years he’s lived sits heavily on his shoulders and it’s a wonder to him that he isn’t beginning to go gray at the temples, that there aren’t lines around his eyes or mouth to telegraph to anyone who might look at him that he’s tired. This life is infinitely better than the one he’d left behind, that much is absolutely true, but sometimes the weight of both of them is just this side of too much.

He’d asked Jiang Cheng to wait for them inside, and now that he’s seeing Nie Mingjue for the first time since that awful night he’s glad that he did. His brother’s expression is cracked open, uncertainty and guilt and, yes, anger written plainly for anyone to read.

“Da-ge,” he greets when the man is close enough, and he can’t help but notice that he’d arrived alone despite the news he’d heard that all three of his brothers had gone to spend time with their family in Lanling following Meng Yao’s recovery. “Just you?”

“Xichen and A-Yao wanted to stay in Jinlintai,” Nie Mingjue says gruffly. “I’ll go back when I’m done here, we’re imposing on Jin Zixuan’s hospitality for a while longer.”

“I see.” Nie Huaisang doesn’t ask if it’s out of a desire to avoid him or to give Nie Mingjue space to do what he needs on his own, and Nie Mingjue doesn’t clarify. He gestures towards the nearest cluster of buildings without a word and Nie Huaisang turns to lead him inside, his stomach twisting uncomfortably with anxiety.

In his adult life, Nie Huaisang has done what he’s needed to do, and he’s made too many sacrifices to easily count. He’s lost everything once, and he’s lost plenty of it all over again. Whatever it is that Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian have done to improve this life, they couldn’t prevent the loss of Lao Nie, or the degradation of Nie Mingjue’s health and wellbeing before Nie Huaisang had arrived and intervened. Lan Xichen has had a closer relationship with Nie Mingjue this time, that much had been evident from the beginning, but without Nie Huaisang’s intervention it wouldn’t have been enough to save him. And even though Nie Huaisang has saved him, he’s also lost him in the process, in a way. His brother lives in Cloud Recesses with his husbands, blissfully unaware of how desperately Nie Huaisang has missed him and therefore ignorant of how much his absence leaves Nie Huaisang bereft and, some nights, shaking through the aftermath of nightmares in which none of this second chance has happened at all and he’s lost his brother once again.

But in spite of - or maybe because of - how many hard choices he’s made in the past, anxiety still grabs at the hems of his robes, twists its claws into his heart at the slightest hint that all of this is going to be swept out from under his feet again. For maybe the first time in this new life he can’t tell what Nie Mingjue is thinking, and that alone is more than enough to make him afraid of whatever’s going to happen next.

He’d told Lan Xichen on his last evening in Gusu that he could bear to lose their trust so long as Nie Mingjue was still alive, and it had been true. He could bear it. It would just be a torment he very deeply hopes he won’t have to endure.

Nie Huaisang leads Nie Mingjue through the Unclean Realm, down familiar paths from one building to the next until they step inside the pavilion containing the Sect Leader’s office, once Nie Mingjue’s and now Nie Huaisang’s. It’s empty, Jiang Cheng having apparently elected to give them a bit of space, though Nie Huaisang is sure he’s near enough that he’ll be easy to fetch should an emergency arise.

“Xichen told us everything, after you left.”

Never one to beat around the bush. Nie Huaisang smiles ever so slightly to himself before he schools his expression into wary neutrality again and turns to face his brother standing behind him, near the door.

“Everything?”

“Everything he knew. More than Wei Wuxian told us when all of this started.”

Nie Huaisang nods, unsure what to say to that. By the end, of course, Lan Xichen had learned everything there was to know about the whole affair. Jin Guangyao’s numerous betrayals, his own blindness, the many strands in the web of Nie Huaisang’s revenge for the man now standing hale and hearty in front of him. If he’s shared every bit of it with his husbands now, then -

“I’m sorry.” Nie Mingjue says it as sincerely as he says everything, and somehow it still leaves Nie Huaisang utterly floored. Nie Mingjue doesn’t apologize easily - his pride rarely allows him to honestly acknowledge his faults, and rarely does he truly regret an action he thought was right - and to hear it now is actually disorienting. Their apologies when they fight aren’t typically apologies, but rather a mutual understanding that whatever it is that happened is over now and they’re going to move past it as if it never happened. They’re going to just forget about it and continue as they always have.

Nie Huaisang manages to choke out a slightly strained, “What?” before Nie Mingjue crosses the room in a few strides and grabs him. Pulls him into a crushing hug.

“I’m sorry, A-Sang,” Nie Mingjue says into his shoulder. Nie Huaisang wraps his arms tightly around his brother’s waist and clings to him like a child, burying his face in his heavy gray robes and breathing deeply of the familiar smell of him, virtually unchanged even after so many years spent away from home. He smells like the musky soaps he always buys from the markets in Qinghe, like leather and the iron tang of metal, and the dust of the road. Like open air and freedom and strength. Nie Huaisang hides his face in his brother’s chest and clings on for dear life, all the years of his lives falling away only to leave him feeling small and unsure.

“You saved my life, and you’ve done so much on your own - in this life and also..before. Whatever it was. I still don’t understand it and I refuse to listen to Wei Wuxian try to explain it, but whatever has happened you’ve always done everything you could for me. Even when it should have been me taking care of you.”

Nie Huaisang muffles a sob in Nie Mingjue’s robes but gives in when Nie Mingjue presses a hand to the back of his head to press him in closer, giving him tacit permission to keep crying if he needs to.

A small, frightened, animal part of him is crying out for his brother even though he’s right here, aching for the time they’d spent as children before everything got messy and complicated, when Nie Mingjue had sworn to protect him and give him everything he could and Nie Huaisang had lived free and easy, secure in the surety that his brother would protect him from everything, give him anything. No matter what happens, no matter what kind of arrays Wei Wuxian invents, no matter how many times someone turns back the years and returns to childhood, Nie Huaisang knows that the youth of innocence must always be lost. There’s no way to escape it except to die young, and Nie Huaisang wants, more than anything, to live on into old age with everyone he loves.

He wants to live in a world that contains his brother, and in which he hasn’t destroyed his relationships with Lan Xichen and Meng Yao. He wants to live with Jiang Cheng and enjoy his husband’s company, he wants to dote on his nieces and nephews and teach the next generation of Nies how to cultivate in ways that won’t send them careening to an early grave. He wants to enjoy the fruits of his labor, and he knows that no matter what he won’t trade this life away for anything.

Not even his innocence.

Nie Huaisang is older than Nie Mingjue, but he is, at his core, Nie Mingjue’s little brother. Nothing can take that away from him, which means that his brother will love and protect him until his last breath. Nie Huaisang doesn’t think he was wrong to be anxious about what this visit would bring, but he does feel a little foolish now for having forgotten, even momentarily, that Nie Mingjue’s oath to be the best brother he could be for the rest of their lives wasn’t an oath he took lightly, even though he’d made it as a child.

“Thank you, da-ge,” he eventually manages, his voice thick and snotty. “I missed you.”

“I’m sorry I ever left you alone,” Nie Mingjue rumbles, and Nie Huaisang knows he doesn’t mean in this lifetime. Because he hasn’t left him alone, not really, not when he takes any excuse to come visit and writes letters constantly to check in on things here. “I’m sorry I lost myself like Father did, and that I let -”

“It’s okay,” Nie Huaisang sniffles before Nie Mingjue can apologize for falling prey to Jin Guangyao’s schemes. “It’s all so far in the past now, da-ge, and…at the end you couldn’t bring yourself to hurt me, even when you were qi deviating and you didn’t know me anymore. And I’ve been here since I was fifteen anyway, I’ve had plenty of time to do my grieving and enjoy getting to grow up with you again. It’s all more immediate for er-ge than for any of the rest of us, I’ve…I’ve forgiven them.”

Nie Mingue lets him go then, finally, to level a look at him, one thick eyebrow raised in disbelief, but Nie Huaisang just shrugs.

“Alright fine, so my forgiveness may look a little strange all things considered, but I could have just killed Meng Yao when I woke up in Cloud Recesses and found him having the time of his life flirting with er-ge all over the place.”

“Not funny, A-Sang.”

“I’m not trying to be. I had just destroyed everything Jin Guangyao had worked for and treasured after years of waiting and plotting, it was all over for better or for worse, but suddenly he was right in front of me again and completely unaware that I was someone he should be watching out for. He’s sneaky and he’s smart, but he was easy prey back then. I could have done it, da-ge, but it’s over and done with. I’ll do what I have to do, but I won’t go any further than that, and it wouldn’t have accomplished anything except Meng Yao would be dead though he hadn’t even done anything wrong yet.”

Nie Mingjue glares at him but Nie Huaisang stands his ground, doesn’t take any of it back. If they’re going to move on from this then Nie Mingjue is going to have to see that his ruthless streak is a lot wider than anticipated (though in Nie Huaisang’s opinion that’s inevitable since no one thinks he has one at all).

“Does Wanyin know you’re like this?” Nie Mingjue asks a bit helplessly, and Nie Huaisang mentally corrects himself; there’s one person who knows exactly how wide it is.

“A-Cheng is maybe the only one who knows exactly what I’m like and always has, at least this time around. But for the rest of it, I don’t think he needs to know.”

Nie Mingjue’s expression turns serious again, sad under his furrowed brow, and Nie Huaisang watches him warily.

“Wei Wuxian said that part of the reason they wanted to start everything over was because everyone was miserable after everything that happened, even five years later. Including you and Wanyin.”

Nie Huaisang carefully shutters his expression as he takes a moment to tamp down the panic that occasionally sneaks up on him when he remembers just how firmly he’d been shut out of Jiang Cheng’s life before. Even before Nie Mingjue had died and the Sect had passed to him, he’d never truly gotten to help Jiang Cheng shoulder any of his burdens. He’d watched from afar as tragedy after tragedy turned the boy he loved turned into a man who was as cold and unyielding as a granite cliff to anyone who wasn’t his nephew. And after everything had come to light after Jin Guangyao’s death Nie Huaisang had been helpless as, somehow, an even wider gulf had opened between them, him alone on one side and Jiang Cheng on the other. He knows the chances of it happening again in this life are nigh on impossible, but sometimes he still can’t help but worry.

“We were. What of it?”

“I’m glad you have him now, didi. I’m grateful that he loves you.”

Nie Huaisang can’t help but squint a little at his brother, but he looks perfectly honest. Painfully earnest, as ever, his emotions always right at the surface.

“Thank you,” he finally settles on. “And I’m happy that you have er-ge and san-ge again, properly this time. No matter what happened before, it’s…things are different now. I’m glad they’re ending differently. Better.”

Nie Mingjue nods, and some of the tension of the conversation lifts enough for Nie Huaisang to feel like he can breathe again. They move on to talking about less fraught topics then, a strange mixture of their current lives and details Nie Huaisang can tell him from his previous life that Lan Xichen wouldn’t have known or thought to tell him. He can tell Nie Mingjue isn’t entirely comfortable talking about that other time, but it’s equally clear that he’s making an effort for Nie Huaisang’s sake, to understand him and love him for everything he is, and Nie Huaisang is more than capable of appreciating the gesture.

He doesn’t see Jiang Cheng again in private until after dinner, the two of them retiring to their quarters earlier than usual so that Nie Huaisang can have the freedom to shed his heavy outer robes, his guan, his weapons, and climb into bed to curl up tightly against Jiang Cheng’s chest. His husband holds him in his lap, arms and legs wrapped around him without question as Nie Huaisang hides against him, face buried in the crook of his neck, and breathes deeply until he feels a little less like he’s going to disintegrate.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t tell him that it’s alright, or ask him what happened, or anything else. He just holds him, presses kisses to the top of his head at irregular intervals, rubs his thumb slowly back and forth against his arm, the sensation slightly muted through his shirt.

“You don’t have to tell me anything about it,” Jiang Cheng murmurs when it’s late enough that theirs are probably the only lanterns still burning in the Unclean Realm. Nie Huaisang stirs a little from his dozing and starts to sit up, but Jiang Cheng presses a hand to his head to keep him curled up against him before he can. “But I…I overheard a little of what you were saying earlier, and I wanted to ask you something.”

Nie Huaisang very consciously doesn’t stiffen, but Jiang Cheng can probably feel it in him anyway. He’s attentive like that, even when Nie Huaisang sort of wishes he’d be just a little less observant.

“Alright,” he allows finally, and Jiang Cheng presses a long kiss to his forehead right in the center of his hairline.

“When were we miserable?” He whispers it carefully into Nie Huaisang’s forehead but he can still hear the uncertainty in his husband’s voice, the fear that he’s missing an important piece of information about their relationship. “I heard Nie Mingjue say that we were, and you agreed, but I don’t…I can’t think of a single time I’ve been unhappy with you, let alone for years. You’ve never made me miserable.”

“A-Cheng no,” Nie Huaisang rushes to comfort, sitting up and taking his husband’s face in both hands to press their foreheads together tightly. “How could I ever be miserable when you love me? That wasn’t - it’s…” He exhales sharply and closes his eyes, resigning himself to the reality that the only way to get that hurt-but-trying-to-hide-it look off of Jiang Cheng’s face is to tell him the truth.

“I’m going to tell you something, and all I want is for you not to leave me. You can hate me, you can be mad at me, but just..please don’t leave.”

“That’s not very comforting,” Jiang Cheng huffs but wraps his arms tightly around his waist again anyway. Nie Huaisang readjusts until he’s straddling Jiang Cheng’s lap, his calves pressed along the outsides of his thighs through the sheet and his hands resting lightly on his chest. He trails one hand up enough to feel his heartbeat, steady and regular, and he lets it soothe him as he finally drags the truth out of the shadows.

“You and I have lived this life before, but very differently. It’s too much to explain in full tonight, but…you didn’t love me then, like you love me now. We were never married, barely even spoke to each other in the end. We both lost…everyone. Everything. We were extremely unhappy, but it has nothing at all to do with this life. We got a chance to try again, so I took it and I’ve never regretted any of it, not even once.”

Jiang Cheng stares at him blankly for a few long, breathless moments and then says, “Oh heavens, you’re serious.” Desperately though he wants to, Nie Huaisang doesn’t try to pull Jiang Cheng’s hands away from his face when he raises them to cover his eyes, instead letting his husband have a moment to think through whatever he needs to.

“I never wanted you to know,” Nie Huaisang can’t help but whisper, desperate to defend himself as his old panic begins to creep in again. “All I’ve ever wanted is for the people I care about to be happy. All I want is to be able to love you - you can’t be angry with me for doing everything I could to make sure I’d be allowed to, can you?”

Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath in and finally lowers his hands, and Nie Huaisang’s shoulders sag in relief to see that his husband doesn’t look angry or even hurt, just a bit shocked.

“No. I’m not angry. But I want a full explanation at some point, preferably when it’s not almost dawn. I want to understand what’s going on.”

Nie Huaisang nods and hurries to duck in and hide in Jiang Cheng’s chest again - he thinks sometimes that they were perfectly built for it, they fit so well together and they both take so much comfort from holding each other like this.

“And you’re not going to leave me?”

Jiang Cheng huffs a frustrated exhale that ruffles his hair. “No I’m not going to leave you, you already know I would never dream of it. I’ve known what you’re capable of for decades, A-Sang. You can't scare me off that easily.”

The remaining tension leaves Nie Huaisang’s shoulders at the typically-gruff reassurance and he lays down properly when Jiang Cheng coaxes him away from his lap to get settled in for the night. He lays in their bed and watches Jiang Cheng go through the ritual of blowing out each lamp one by one, and when the room is fully dark he listens to the familiar rustling as his husband makes his way back to him, slides into bed beside him. Jiang Cheng pulls him close the second he’s horizontal, and Nie Huaisang tries not to cry as he fits himself right where he belongs against Jiang Cheng’s side under his arm, head pillowed on his chest. He listens to the steady thumping of his heartbeat under his ear and the whisper of Jiang Cheng’s hand running up and down the soft silk of his shirt, rubbing his back in soothing circles until he begins to feel drowsy enough to sleep.

In the end, he does tell Jiang Cheng everything. It’s harder than he’d like to admit, but when it’s all out in the open and his final, biggest secret is off his chest, he can’t deny that it makes him feel lighter. Freer. Like this life is finally completely his, and he can live it exactly as he wants to without the shadow of the past looming behind him and threatening to bring it all crashing down around him. It’s been so long since he’s been able to live without watching his every step, his every word, that it actually takes an effort to remember that he doesn’t have to hide anymore. But every time he manages it, the feeling of relief and being known is its own reward, and every happy kiss or smile from Jiang Cheng is an extremely welcome bonus.

#the untamed fanfic #Sangcheng #Nie Huaisang #Jiang Cheng #Nie Mingjue #crybaby nie brothers rights #After Each Midnight Begins A New Day #HAHA SUCKAAASSSS I'M STILL NOT DONE WITH THIS UNIVERSE #anyway I guess what I'm getting from the last few things I've worked on is that my writer's block can be cured by Jiang Cheng so that's bee #*been fun #Love my angry purple man with a heart of gold #some anti commented on the main fic a long time ago (I think it was the xiyao troll 🙄) that I completely misrepresented/misunderstood #the Nie brothers/ that NMJ would never get angry at NHS or something like that #and I was like first of all that's completely incorrect CANONICALLY #but also fuck off I wrote their argument with this reconciliation already in mind #and then I just straight up never finished writing it lol #but the Muse has Gifted Me

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