Work Text:
Saturday date night meant hotpot. The table before them looked like a tiny battlefield, bubbling red broth, floating chilies like mischievous sparks, and a smell so spicy it could wake sleeping dragons.
Chengyu watched the pot with quiet concern. “Love… medium spicy is enough for normal humans.”
Xiaoshuai lifted his chopsticks proudly. “I’m not normal humans.”
He said it like a hero accepting a quest.
Five minutes in, Xiaoshuai declared victory. His cheeks were pink, his eyes bright, and he bounced a little as he dipped another slice of beef. “See? You always doubt me… hic!”
The hic startled him. Then came another. And another.
He stared at the hotpot in disbelief, as if it had personally offended him.
Chengyu leaned over with a tissue and dabbed his temple. “Still okay?” he asked gently.
“I am in complete control of my body,” Xiaoshuai announced.
His hand trembled as he reached for the chili oil. Chengyu smoothly took the spoon away like this was a familiar dance.
Later, in the car, reality arrived.
Xiaoshuai curled into himself and hugged his stomach. “Why does my body hate me…”
Chengyu rubbed slow circles on his back. “I warned you,” he said softly. “But you’re brave. And very stubborn.”
The ride home was full of soft groans, careful breathing, and Chengyu whispering, “Yes, yes, never again… until next week.”
When Xiaoshuai’s legs went wobbly, Chengyu carried him inside without hesitation. “Let’s take care of you, my stubborn hero.”
On the couch, Xiaoshuai disappeared into Chengyu’s oversized sweater. The sleeves covered his hands, and he held a warm heat pad to his stomach like a lifeline. His serious little frown was meant to be brave, but it only made him look like a sad kitten.
“Chengyu… sit closer,” Xiaoshuai murmured, poking Chengyu’s arm.
Chengyu shifted nearer.
“Closer…”
Chengyu laughed and scooted right against him. That seemed to satisfy Xiaoshuai completely, because he made a tiny sound of approval and slid straight into Chengyu’s lap, as if that had always been his rightful place.
He pressed his cheek to Chengyu’s chest and sighed deeply. “It hurts and I’m mad.”
“At who?” Chengyu asked, stroking his hair.
“My stomach. And also the hotpot.”
“A terrible betrayal,” Chengyu said solemnly, kissing the top of his head.
“A war crime,” Xiaoshuai agreed, nodding weakly.
Chengyu watched as regret passed over Xiaoshuai’s face in soft, dramatic stages.
First came denial. “It’s not that bad…”
Then anger. “Stupid chili.”
Then bargaining. “If I survive, I’ll eat mild forever. Maybe medium. I’ll be good.”
Then sadness. “My life is pain. I’m never eating again.”
And finally acceptance. “…Chengyu, cuddle me.”
Every time another cramp came, Xiaoshuai made a tiny sound and curled closer. Chengyu wrapped both arms around him and rubbed warm circles over his stomach.
“Breathe with me,” he whispered. “In… out… good.”
“You’re banned from extra spicy for a month,” Chengyu declared gently.
Xiaoshuai lifted his head, eyes watery. “You can’t ban my love for fire.”
“I can if it keeps you from crying into my shirt.”
“I’m not crying,” Xiaoshuai said, absolutely crying.
Chengyu wiped his tears with his thumb. “Of course you’re not.”
Xiaoshuai buried his face back into Chengyu’s chest. “You’re mean.”
“You’re dramatic,” Chengyu replied, kissing his temple.
Xiaoshuai hugged him tightly. “If I die, bury me with chili peppers so they know my loyalty.”
“Your loyalty is very dangerous,” Chengyu said fondly.
“I’d rather burn than be boring,” Xiaoshuai declared.
Chengyu smiled and nuzzled into his hair. “Then I’ll stay with you while you smolder.”
They stayed like that, wrapped together, until the sharp pain softened into a dull ache. Xiaoshuai didn’t let go, as if moving might break the spell.
“Stay,” he whispered sleepily.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Chengyu carried him to bed despite weak protests.
“I can walk.”
“You’re not touching the floor tonight.”
“I don’t whimper,” Xiaoshuai said, and then immediately whimpered.
Chengyu laughed and kissed his head.
Under the blankets, Xiaoshuai grabbed Chengyu’s shirt. “You’re too far.”
“I’m already breathing on you.”
“Closer.”
Chengyu rested his forehead against Xiaoshuai’s. “Why do you keep eating spicy if it hurts you?”
Xiaoshuai blinked softly. “Because it tastes good. And life is short. And I like being brave.”
Chengyu sighed with a smile. “You are going to be the end of me.”
“You love me.”
“Yes. Very much. Even when you make terrible spicy choices.”
His hand rested warmly on Xiaoshuai’s stomach, slow and careful. Xiaoshuai relaxed completely.
“Your hands feel nice…”
“That’s my job.”
Xiaoshuai’s fingers curled into Chengyu’s shirt. “Next time… less spice. Maybe.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Chengyu pulled him close and kissed his hair. “Sleep, love. I’ll protect you from every pepper in the world.”
Xiaoshuai sighed happily and drifted off, safe and warm and very loved.
A brave warrior defeated by hotpot, but treasured like the softest thing in Chengyu’s arms.
Sunlight slipped lazily through the curtains, warm and golden, the kind that made the whole world feel slow and safe. Xiaoshuai woke first, blinking into the glow and becoming aware of the steady heartbeat beneath his cheek.
He was draped over Chengyu like a living blanket.
Chengyu’s arms were still wrapped around him, one large hand resting protectively over Xiaoshuai’s stomach, as if standing guard against any imaginary ghost pepper that dared approach in the night.
Xiaoshuai felt his cheeks heat up.
He had been held like this the entire night.
…He didn’t hate it. Not even a little.
Before he could decide whether to pretend he was still asleep, Chengyu’s sleepy voice rumbled against his hair.
“Morning, troublemaker.”
“Nooo,” Xiaoshuai mumbled, burrowing deeper into Chengyu’s chest until only his eyes peeked out. “I want to sleep for three more years.”
Chengyu laughed, low and fond, the sound vibrating gently through Xiaoshuai’s cheek.
“You feeling better?” he asked, brushing Xiaoshuai’s hair back with slow, careful fingers.
“Mm… stomach still complaining,” Xiaoshuai admitted, pressing a hand to his belly. “But… you helped.”
“Of course I did,” Chengyu murmured and kissed his forehead. “Your personal pepper exorcist.”
Xiaoshuai snorted, then immediately winced. “Ow.”
“Still fragile,” Chengyu teased softly.
Before Xiaoshuai could protest, the bedroom door banged open.
Thump.
A ginger blur launched itself onto the bed.
Luan’er.
Tail high. Eyes demanding. Mission clear.
He sniffed Xiaoshuai’s face, then began kneading directly on his stomach with full devotion.
“Ack— traitor—!” Xiaoshuai wheezed, curling up.
Chengyu quickly scooped the cat into his arms like rescuing a princess. “Buddy. The tummy is out of service today.”
Luan’er let out the most offended mrrrow, clearly insulted that his sacred kneading ritual had been interrupted.
Xiaoshuai weakly waved at him. “It’s okay, Luan’er… your dad is just jealous because I love you more…”
“I’m sorry?” Chengyu raised an eyebrow.
“You heard me,” Xiaoshuai said bravely, despite looking like a collapsed dumpling.
Chengyu leaned closer until their noses nearly touched. “Oh? Then who kept you alive through the Great Pepper War last night?”
Xiaoshuai pouted. “Food is worth fighting for…”
Chengyu tapped his nose. “And I love that stubborn heart of yours. But next time, let me cook the spicy food properly.”
Xiaoshuai blinked. “You’ll make mala noodles?”
“For you?” Chengyu said calmly. “I’ll make you a whole hotpot kingdom.”
Something warm and fluttery tumbled in Xiaoshuai’s chest.
He tried to sit up.
Immediately failed and flopped back down with a tiny groan.
Chengyu chuckled and slid out of bed. “Stay. I’ll get breakfast.”
“Something gentle…?” Xiaoshuai asked weakly.
“Porridge. No peppers.”
Xiaoshuai gasped dramatically. “Cruel. Heartless.”
“You want to survive today, don’t you?”
“…Debatable.”
Luan’er chirped in agreement and hopped into Xiaoshuai’s arms like a fluffy bodyguard. Xiaoshuai scratched under his chin and whispered,
“Don’t tell him… but maybe next time we use just a little spice.”
Luan’er purred. A clear act of treason.
Chengyu returned with a tray, warm porridge, chamomile tea, and a soft kiss pressed gently to Xiaoshuai’s lips.
“Good morning, love,” he whispered. “Let’s start today slowly.”
Xiaoshuai looked up at him, eyes soft and full.
“With you,” he said quietly, “every day feels easier.”
Chengyu froze for half a second before his expression melted completely.
“I really am doomed,” he murmured, resting their foreheads together.
Xiaoshuai fed him the first spoonful of porridge, because love meant sharing everything, even painfully bland food. Chengyu accepted it like it was a luxury meal.
Outside, the city woke up.
Inside, they had their own small morning world.
Warm blankets.
Sleepy smiles.
A grumpy ginger cat.
And love gentler than any spice.
Even Xiaoshuai had to admit it.
Life could be soft, too.