Chapter Text
Zhou Zishu sighs the sigh of a man long-suffering when he sees Gu Xiang’s hand shoot into the air. Nothing good has ever arisen from her asking a question in his class. “What do you want?”
“Is it true that history is way more boring than literature? Mr. Wen says it lacks pizzazz.”
Zhou Zishu makes a distinctly irritated noise. “No, and you can tell Mr. Wen that if he wants to make baseless claims like that, he can say them to my face.”
“History lacks pizzazz,” Wen Kexing says, grinning, from the doorway. When did he even get here?
“I will destroy you,” Zhou Zishu vows, ignoring the titters from his students.
Wen Kexing smiles wider. That bastard. “I just wanted to open my students’ eyes to the wonders of literature, Mr. Zhou.”
“Get out of my classroom, you fiend. And be quiet, you,” he says, turning back to his class. The little monsters are actually groaning in disappointment as Wen Kexing disappears from the doorway with a wink. Zhou Zishu will deal with him later. “Right. Let’s get back to it after that unnecessary interruption. Zhang Chengling, I swear to god, if your question is not about the Shang dynasty, put your hand down.”
~~~
“You know there’s an Instagram dedicated to shipping us,” Wen Kexing says in the teachers lounge later that day with barely repressed glee. He’s trying to eat his lunch one-handed as his other hand is intertwined with Zhou Zishu’s under the table. “I don’t know whether to find it sweet or a bit creepy.”
“Definitely creepy,” Zhou Zishu declares, also struggling to maneuver his lunch with only one available hand. “These kids are devils.”
“Mhm,” Wen Kexing says. “Sure they are. And that’s why you gave up your lunch period yesterday to give Cao Weining extra help with his history essay?”
“You have no proof of that,” Zhou Zishu counters.
“You could just tell your students,” Luo Fumeng says, reasonable as always, barely even looking up from the papers she’s grading.
Zhou Zishu scoffs. “That we’re married? Absolutely not. I’m not disclosing anything about my private life to those leeches. Who knows what they would do with that information?”
“Do you think they’ve written any fanfiction about us?” Wen Kexing wonders aloud. “God I hope so,” he continues, just as Zhou Zishu replies, “They better not have.”
“You’re not worth writing about,” Ye Baiyi cuts in from a table away, not even sparing a glance in their direction. At his age, Zhou Zishu isn’t convinced Ye Baiyi even knows what fanfiction is.
Wen Kexing shoots Ye Baiyi a dirty look. “Don’t you have biology things to be doing right now?” he says rather sullenly.
“Name one ‘biology thing.’ I dare you,” Ye Baiyi taunts.
Wen Kexing frowns at him, no doubt trying to summon any facts about biology he might’ve learned in high school.
“The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell,” Zhou Zishu says helpfully.
“That’s what I was going to say,” Wen Kexing says immediately, even though it’s obviously a complete lie.
“Great minds think alike,” Zhou Zishu says generously, pressing a kiss to the side of Wen Kexing’s head.
“Ugh,” Ye Baiyi says, “PDA? Right in front of my salad?” So maybe he’s more aware of modern pop culture than Zhou Zishu thought.
“You’re not even eating a salad,” Wen Kexing says, sticking out his tongue.
Zhou Zishu would say it’s a relief when the bell rings to signal the end of the period but, well, it means he has to endure more scrutiny from his students, who are really more invested in his life than they have any right to be. Demons.
“Mr. Wen, are you dating anyone?”
The period is almost over, so Wen Kexing is giving his class a bit of reading time to get ahead on their assignment for the night, and it seems they want to take this opportunity to be unsubtle little detectives. He can see them all looking at him expectantly.
“Oh, Gu Xiang, I wasn’t aware that one of the great themes of this book related to my romantic life,” Wen Kexing says, though his reproving words are a bit offset by his amused smile. “I’m not dating anyone, no.” Technically true. He thinks. Perhaps one could argue that dating is absorbed into marriage, but . . . well, he doesn’t have to get into technicalities with his eleventh-grade honors English students.
“Is there anyone you want to date?” Zhang Chengling pipes up, clearly feeding off Gu Xiang’s confidence. “Like, at this school, say. Hypothetically.”
Wen Kexing smirks as he leans back against his desk, arms crossed. “You guys are certainly feeling bold today. I only wish you would show this much interest in the books we read.”
“Oh, no, we love the books,” Zhang Chengling says hurriedly. “Great literature. Big fan. But wouldn’t you say a well-rounded person has more than one interest?”
Wen Kexing can’t conceal his laugh as the bell rings and they all start frantically packing up. “Nice try, Zhang Chengling, but your grand plans of interrogating me will have to wait. Tell Mr. Zhou I say hi,” he adds cheekily, since Zhang Chengling and many of the others have him next period for history. He may be fanning the flames a bit, but he can’t help it; he’s too busy picturing Zhou Zishu’s cute little frown when Zhang Chengling passes on the message.
~~~
When Wen Kexing gets home after rehearsal, having kindly agreed to take over the drama club from a teacher who retired last year, Zhou Zishu is standing by the window nook in the living room where all of Wen Kexing’s cute little plants live.
“Are you talking to the plants again?” Wen Kexing asks loudly.
Zhou Zishu starts, looking rather guilty, which Wen Kexing takes as an affirmative. “I have never done that.”
“The carbon dioxide is good for them.”
“I don’t talk to your vegetation.”
“Maybe you should start, then, so they don’t get lonely.”
“They’re plants.”
“A-Xu! How can you say that about our leaf babies?”
Zhou Zishu huffs with exasperation. “I’m going to shower, and when I come back I hope you will stop anthropomorphizing the foliage.”
“I will when you stop talking to them!” Wen Kexing calls after Zhou Zishu as he makes his way down the hallway. That’s a lie, anyway—Wen Kexing will definitely never stop referring to the plants as their children, because the plants are their children. But the point is moot, because he’s certain Zhou Zishu isn’t going to stop talking to them when Wen Kexing isn’t around, no matter what weak denials he makes.
When Zhou Zishu returns from his shower, Wen Kexing is hard at work dicing onions at the kitchen island, wearing Zhou Zishu’s favorite hoodie in a routine act of thievery. Zhou Zishu sidles up behind him and wraps his arms around Wen Kexing’s middle.
The whole scene would be rather romantic if Zhou Zishu hadn’t then murmured against Wen Kexing’s back, “Your chopping is uneven.”
Wen Kexing swats him with a nearby dish towel. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t be living off instant noodles if you didn’t have me here to cook actual meals. Ungrateful.”
“I could learn to cook, if I wanted to,” Zhou Zishu says unconvincingly, detaching himself from Wen Kexing to take a seat at the island.
“Oh, yeah? And would your perfectly chopped onions come before or after you started a fire in a fit of frustration?”
“Well, I don’t need to learn to cook, anyway, because you’re here.”
Zhou Zishu’s eyes are warm, his lips curved into a little smile as he watches Wen Kexing prepare dinner. Wen Kexing knows what he’s thinking, because he himself is thinking the exact same thing: that he is so immensely grateful he married this man, his soulmate, and gets to spend forever with him.
“You’re staring,” Wen Kexing chides after a moment.
“Just thinking about how much I love you.”
“Wow,” Wen Kexing says delightedly. “How embarrassing for you. I’m just living in your mind totally rent-free.”
Zhou Zishu laughs. “Lao Wen, we’re married.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s not embarrassing,” he replies, but he also leans across the counter to give Zhou Zishu a soft kiss. “I love you too.” He pauses, considering. “We can’t let our students hear us say that. We’ll send them into cardiac arrest. Their fragile hearts couldn’t take it.”
Zhou Zishu groans. “Those little goblins. I’m going to quit one of these days just to escape them, I swear.”
Zhou Zishu’s insistence that his students are an undisciplined nightmare would be concerning if not for how not-so-secretly and deeply he cares about all of them. Even more heartwarming is how much his students clearly love him in return; he’s widely known as one of the most popular teachers. Wen Kexing had always suspected Zhou Zishu would be this way in a classroom, but getting a job at the same high school a few years ago had blessedly allowed Wen Kexing to witness Mr. Zhou in action, in all his frowning glory.
“Better not do that,” Wen Kexing says, busying himself with the stove. “If you quit, they’ll definitely find someone else to set me up with. What are you gonna do when you’re jobless and I have to leave you for Shen Shen because it’s what my students want? All you know how to make is instant noodles!”
“Well, to start, I’d murder you. And Shen Shen.”
“I do what the people want, love.”
“That’s not what you said in your vows, love.” Zhou Zishu’s tone might be taken as hostile if not for the way his mouth is turned up at the corners like he’s trying not to let on how much he enjoys this. It’s one of Wen Kexing’s favorite A-Xu Smiles™, along with . . . well, every other one.
“I can be persuaded not to leave you for Shen Shen, I suppose.”
“Oh, how generous of you. What are your terms?”
“Well, to start, you’ll have to let me keep this sweatshirt forever.” Wen Kexing gestures at the garment in question.
Zhou Zishu rolls his eyes. “I didn’t realize you were such a fan of basketball,” he says, nodding at the logo on the sweatshirt.
“I could be into sports,” Wen Kexing argues.
“Sure you could,” Zhou Zishu says, definitely knowing full well that if he asked Wen Kexing to name any basketball player ever Wen Kexing would be at a complete loss. What about Wayne Gretsky? Does he play basketball?
Zhou Zishu fiddles with the thin gold chain adorning his neck. On it hangs his wedding ring, identical to the one concealed underneath the sweatshirt Wen Kexing is wearing. “Anyway, my point was that those kids need to find new hobbies.”
“I think you should just embrace the fact that your love for me is so palpable that high schoolers can sense it.”
“I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going to quit; I’m going to get you fired.”
Wen Kexing grins, undeterred. “I can’t wait to be a house-husband and spend my days baking cakes in the shape of your face.”
He laughs so hard at Zhou Zishu’s resulting facial expression that he almost burns their dinner.