The Iron Market wasn’t on the way home, and there hadn’t been any reports of trouble for him to investigate, but Sui Zhou found his way there anyway. He rode through the streets on a horse he’d been forcibly gifted as thanks for resolving a kidnapping; if he didn’t use it, he would be seen as discourteous, and it was a more efficient form of movement for him alone. Even more than the uniform, the horse meant he easily cut through the crowd, allowing him to avoid thinking about where he was going until he had already arrived.
Sui Zhou glared at the gate to Wuyun’s home like it could solve the problem of why he was here, then dismounted and tied his horse to one of the many hitching posts nearby. Nobody would think to steal a horse from Wuyun’s business; Wuyun himself was too well-respected by the Oirat community, and the people who came to him tended to be decent people. Sui Zhou had spent enough time here over the last year to be certain of that.
(He didn’t want to think about how much time he’d spent in this courtyard. He usually hadn’t even had a reason, beyond knowing that Wuyun would glance at him, maybe give him a simple task to do, but otherwise let him sit in silence and not be alone.
Tang Fan and Dong’er were wonderful, but neither of them were good at being quiet, and sometimes that was all he needed.)
Wuyun glanced up from the carriage he was working on as Sui Zhou entered, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Guangchuan,” he said, eyes flickering across Sui Zhou—to judge his mood, he’d said when Sui Zhou had asked about that habit—and then he offered his broad hand in greeting.
Sui Zhou clasped his wrist, noting—as ever—the callused strength of his fingers hidden beneath the soft affability Wuyun liked to present. “Join me for dinner,” he said, which he’d been intending to lead up to more. “Tang Fan and Dong’er left for Hetao this morning, and I dislike an empty table.” He hadn’t minded so much, before Tang Fan had barged into his life and brought chatter and cases and complaints and an unending appetite for a good meal. Now, after all that, it seemed a waste to prepare food only for himself, an unpleasant reminder of different times.
Wuyun didn’t release his grasp, instead studying him more actively. “Do you need me to bring anything?”
“No.” He’d cooked with Wuyun before. Sometimes, because he’d stayed at Wuyun’s until it was late enough for Wuyun to make his own food, and Wuyun had enlisted his help; a few other times, because Dong’er and Tang Fan had been too engrossed in a debate or game for him to have the heart to ask for Dong’er’s aid in the kitchen, and Wuyun had been around to be a skilled set of hands. Once, they’d even planned it, working side-by-side in the kitchen to create a feast of both Oirat and Ming cuisine. Sui Zhou sighed, and squeezed Wuyun’s hand in what he hoped was reassurance. “I just need the company.”
Wuyun nodded, and rubbed his thumb briefly against Sui Zhou’s palm before turning back to the carriage. “Will you wait for me to finish?”
He hadn’t even thought about that; he’d only gotten as far as wanting Wuyun’s presence. Sui Zhou rubbed his face. There were files he needed to review, judgments he needed to pass on promotions and new recruits alike, and— “I’ll wait,” he said. If he didn’t, he might forget about food entirely; it had happened before, more times than he liked to admit.
“Make yourself comfortable,” was all Wuyun said in reply, which Sui Zhou took to mean that he’d expected this. “It shouldn’t be more than half a sichen.”
Sui Zhou circled around to the bench that he didn’t like thinking of as his, but—considering the anger that had swelled up in his chest the few times he’d found someone else on it—probably was. He settled himself on it, took off the hat that marked his rank as surely as his tunic, and leaned his head back against the wall.
He intimidated the Oirat community when he sat here, even when he wasn’t in full baihu dress. He knew that from how their movements became more cautious upon seeing him, how their words were quieter. Sui Zhou had heard, too, the way Wuyun adamantly referred to him as a friend whenever asked, and reassured his customers and Oirat compatriots that Sui Zhou wouldn’t do anything to them while he sat in Wuyun’s home.
Wuyun was right about that; Sui Zhou cared too much about his relationship with Wuyun to interfere with questionably-legal Oirat business he could plausibly deny knowing about. Sui Zhou had learned Oirat during his time on the border, but he didn’t share that information widely. So instead he’d sit, and do simple tasks Wuyun had given him, or perhaps read, and sometimes—when it was quiet enough—even sleep.
Today he’d meant to shut his eyes and doze while he waited. Rest was a precious resource, and one he rarely had a surfeit of.
Instead, Sui Zhou found himself watching Wuyun through half-closed eyes. He worked with a quiet confidence in himself that Sui Zhou wished more of his men had. Wuyun knew exactly where he was in the world, and moved himself through space with a delicacy Sui Zhou had long since stopped being surprised by; Wuyun was no less a warrior for the padding wrapped around his muscles, and his concealed power gave him an edge in a way that Sui Zhou’s lean-boned blade of a body never could.
Wuyun had also stepped away from a life of battle far more successfully, Sui Zhou thought, watching Wuyun compare two pieces of wood and nimbly shave the new one into yet greater alignment with the part it was replacing. Sui Zhou had moved from the army to the guard, and for all that Tang Fan teased him about retiring to own a restaurant of his own, Sui Zhou had never seriously considered such a thing.
(Jia Kui could give him pointers, he supposed, but that would mean finding the man again.)
Seeing the same precision and awareness that made Wuyun one of the best archers in the world turned instead to craftwork was soothing, especially paired with Wuyun’s absent humming. Sui Zhou had grown familiar with the tunes by now, and Wuyun had once—after a late night where they’d both drunk more than they’d meant to out of grief—sung them for him in an untrained but clear voice. Oirat songs; for riding, for working, for hunting.
“It’s not the same with only one singer,” Wuyun had said, and—though music had never been his gift—Sui Zhou had tried to sing along with him. It hadn’t sounded any more pleasing to Sui Zhou’s ear, but Wuyun’s wide smile and the way he’d draped his arm around Sui Zhou’s shoulders with firm and grounding weight had been pleasurable enough on its own.
Watching Wuyun was a different kind of restful than sleeping would’ve been. Sui Zhou let himself lose track of time, attending only absently to anything beyond the movements of Wuyun’s body and the sounds of his tools bringing the carriage back into perfect condition.
It wasn’t too long before Wuyun packed everything up and Sui Zhou blinked himself back to alertness. Wuyun offered him a hand, and Sui Zhou took it without thinking; when Wuyun pulled him upright he had to hold back the warrior’s instincts that said to drive further into that motion and ram Wuyun in the ribs.
He didn’t. He steadied himself, held on slightly longer than was proper, and saw Wuyun’s eyes crinkle up with a smile in response.
Sui Zhou collected his hat and replaced it on his head as they walked out. Wuyun gave a little sigh, one that Sui Zhou knew meant Your Ming fashion is ridiculous, but he also picked up the horse’s reins when Sui Zhou walked straight past the beast. The sound of hooves on packed dirt brought Sui Zhou out of his haze, and he bowed slightly to Wuyun in thanks.
They walked across the city in companionable silence. There wasn’t any need for words between them; they’d known each other too long, and in too many circumstances. It was enough to move side-by-side and ignore the murmured discussions of the baihu and Oirat standing together. Sui Zhou knew perfectly well that this companionship—along with the questionable value of his ties to Tang Fan—was likely to stall out his promotion for the near future.
That was fine. He didn’t need any more money, or further duties; so long as he could stay in his home and continue spending his time with the friends who had become his family, that was enough for him.
Wuyun took the horse to the stables to remove its tack and brush it—a task he had long since made clear he enjoyed—while Sui Zhou entered his rooms to change into more casual clothes. He still didn’t employ servants for more than simple tasks of ensuring trash was removed and the courtyards swept, and those were tasks a worker could do during the day without living here. When Dong’er decided she wanted to work alongside Tang Fan formally instead of only seeing the most interesting cases that he got stuck on, he’d need to hire a new servant. But for now, they did well enough by themselves.
In the kitchen, Sui Zhou made sure all the fires were lit and surfaces oiled in preparation, then arranged the ingredients he’d chosen. He was well into dicing and frying and boiling when Wuyun joined him, perching lightly on the stool Sui Zhou had installed more for Tang Fan’s benefit than anything else. It creaked a little underneath Wuyun’s greater weight, but held; Sui Zhou made sure everything in his house was well-made.
It was easier to breathe when he was cooking, and Wuyun’s solid presence made his body relax yet more. Sui Zhou hummed absently as he worked, though he only noticed when Wuyun laughed and joined in with the words to the song—one of Wuyun’s work-songs, and Sui Zhou didn’t know when he’d even picked up the habit. But he let himself be drawn into singing too, keeping the beat with the movement of his hands as he poured and scooped and stirred everything together into a meal.
Only after they finished eating—not silently, but with idle chatter about their respective work—did Wuyun lean forward onto the table and say, “You don’t need to ply me with food and drink to get me to stay the night, Guangchuan; I thought you knew that by now.”
Sui Zhou froze momentarily in the middle of arranging leftover food into a container. “I never said anything about you spending the night.” He kept his attention on the food, because it was simpler than the emotions Wuyun was rousing. He wished the street children he was giving would let him do more for them than provide food in exchange for information, but they had their pride, and Sui Zhou understood that. It was enough that they’d accepted Sui Zhou and Tang Fan as their patrons after Wang Zhi had left.
Dong’er had likely been an influence. She’d made friends with the boys, and had picked up where Wang Zhi had left off in teaching them to read and write. In exchange, they taught her to disguise herself as one of them and all their techniques for listening and spying. Tang Fan worried about her, but Sui Zhou saw how much she smiled and laughed and grew in confidence with the lessons the street children taught her.
Wuyun laughed and patted Sui Zhou’s shoulder. “You don’t want to be alone,” he said, very confidently. He didn’t let go of Sui Zhou, either. “And the nights are always worse.”
Sui Zhou grunted. “If you want to stay, you’re welcome to.” He turned away, picking up the box of leftovers. “There’s plenty of space.”
“In your room?” Wuyun asked pleasantly, and even without looking at his face Sui Zhou could hear his hunter’s smile. “Or is that not on offer tonight?”
Sui Zhou leaned against the door frame for a moment, torn between his instinctive desire to retreat from Wuyun’s bluntness and the deep yearning ache in his chest at Wuyun’s offer. “So long as it’s not Tang Fan’s or Dong’er’s rooms,” he said at last, the closest he could come to saying Please, “you may take your pick.”
Then he fled to the back of his house to hide the leftovers for the children. Wuyun wouldn’t press further—they’d done this dance for more than long enough—but he wouldn’t hide his satisfaction.
And, because of that, Sui Zhou would be forced to admit how much he wanted Wuyun’s presence. Sui Zhou slid the box into a hollow space within the bushes where it wouldn’t easily be seen and sighed. Over the last year, Pei Huai had pointed out how much he had trained himself to avoid thinking about, and also given him assessing—and pleased—looks upon seeing him lean into Wuyun’s touch in recent times. Sui Zhou had glared back at him, whenever that happened, but nothing could quell Pei Huai’s delight in seeing his friends heal.
When Sui Zhou returned, it was to Wuyun tossing a handful of dice on the table. “Unless the night is already too late?” Wuyun asked, pulling out a handful of coins with a gleam in his eye.
“I’m not allowed to bribe you with a good meal, but you’re allowed to ask me to gamble?” Sui Zhou shook his head and poured them both a cup of wine before he sat. “How seriously are we taking the stakes, Wuyun?”
“It’s just a friendly game,” Wuyun protested.
Sui Zhou raised his eyebrows meaningfully. He had played dice with Wuyun more than enough to know that Wuyun’s idea of a “friendly game” included loud and extended arguments about possible cheating. Since both Tang Fan and Pei Huai were happy to have those arguments, Sui Zhou let them be, but it wasn’t his idea of a friendly game.
Wuyun sighed and slapped a coin down. “Just a way of passing time,” he said with a smile. “You don’t cheat.”
“So trusting.” Sui Zhou laid down his own stake and picked up the dice. “Don’t you know that the army is even more cutthroat than scholars?”
“The army is,” Wuyun agreed, “but you aren’t.”
Sui Zhou laughed, then settled into the familiar sound of dice on the table and mocking comments about luck that meant nothing at all. It was easy, and—though he was losing more than he won—Wuyun was right about it settling him.
When the wine was gone, and the piles of coin had been shuffled back and forth between them, Sui Zhou raised a hand to block Wuyun’s continued offer of dice. “It’s late,” he said, and his heart beat just a little too fast as he finally let himself voice what he’d been wanting ever since he’d left his work. “Come to bed with me.”
“Gladly,” Wuyun said. He collected his dice and coins and put them back in his belt pouch. “Lead the way.”
Sui Zhou did, though it wasn’t necessary. This was far from the first time Wuyun had spent the night not just in his house but in his bed. None of their friends had quite managed to tease them about it yet; Tang Fan had come close a few months ago, when Sui Zhou had given in and bought himself a bed big enough for two people to comfortably rest upon, but his teasing had been quickly defused. Sui Zhou had just needed to ask if he wanted a larger bed of his own, and Tang Fan had blushed more deeply than Sui Zhou had expected and run away.
It was frustrating, Sui Zhou thought as he shed his excess layers, that he understood Tang Fan’s desire to flee. Wuyun had taken every extended look, every choice of time spent in his presence, every lingering touch, and put together the full picture with all the patience of someone who had grown up stalking prey. Sui Zhou didn’t like being chased, most of the time, but it was different when he’d been asking in the only way he had been able to allow himself.
He liked Wuyun’s gentle perseverance, the amount he understood without Sui Zhou needing to explain himself in halting words, and how it meant that Wuyun was now pressing him into the bed with the full weight of his body.
Sui Zhou groaned, and adjusted himself under Wuyun until he could breathe easily. His hands settled on Wuyun’s hips, not grasping or pulling but simply enjoying the way they felt.
Wuyun propped himself up on his elbows and smiled at Sui Zhou. “Just sleep, tonight?”
“Yeah.” Sui Zhou closed his eyes and slowly began relaxing all his muscles. “It’s not…”
When he didn’t finish his sentence—he didn’t know how to—Wuyun stroked a thumb across his cheek. “There are more days to come.”
Sui Zhou nodded and turned his head slightly into Wuyun’s touch. There would be other days, to cook together and sing together, for him to take Wuyun out to the fields and forests and hunt together and camp under the open stars.
And tonight there would be rest, and he would dream of nothing more than the arms wrapped around him, and that was a gift all of its own.