Chapter Text
Ouyang wakes when their heart throbs with a pain they cannot even begin to describe. Like being run through with a sword, but the sword isn’t really a sword, but the manifestation of pure, inexplicable anguish that comes from a place so deep within their chest that every night when it bursts out it hurts so badly their ribs break.
Zhu stirs in his bed on the other side of their room. His sleepy sigh muffled against a pillow that Ouyang knows is crimson red but that appears black in the absence of light.
Funny, how darkness can take all of the colour away. So quickly and so softly; nothing like the heart-wrenching crack of a light switch, but like a candle being snuffed out between the gentle press of fingers.
“Are you alright, General?” comes a sleepy mumble from Zhu’s bed-cover lump. His head peeks out from under the covers, and Ouyang catches that tell-tale tease in his eyes. Beneath them is a penetrating genuineness that catches Ouyang off guard every time Zhu asks them that innocuous question: Are you alright, General. Ouyang would roll their eyes if they couldn’t hardly keep them focused on Zhu across the room, if there wasn’t such a painful tremor in their chest.
“I’m fine,” Ouyang snaps. Because of course they hide behind malice, just like they used to. And because it’s Zhu, of course, he notices, because Zhu had been the first one to break through that cold exterior Ouyang caged their heart inside, and the world out of.
The covers slip down Zhu’s shoulders. Ouyang realises, belatedly, that their roommate is crossing the room. Zhu’s hand is on their forehead, gentle and persistent, his lips pressed together in a way that speaks as much for his regard for Ouyang than words ever could.
“Well, you’re not hot, you’re cold! What am I supposed to do?”
“Nothing.” Ouyang tugs their covers over their knees. “I’m tired. Go back to bed.”
“That’s no good.” Zhu’s voice is gentle but chiding. He knows what Ouyang is like, that leaving them alone right now would be the worst thing to do — no matter how much Ouyang tries to push him away. Zhu always stays, because she understands. “How about we talk for a little while?” Zhu’s side presses into theirs, her smile warm on her skin as she worms her way under the covers just like she wormed her way into Ouyang’s life three years ago. “Hm?”
Ouyang relents with a sigh of relief.
—
Ouyang always prefers to tell the short version, when they have to tell the story. Which they don’t tell just anyone, and they don’t do so willingly (that’s a lie, it’s a relief to tell it, but the telling process sets them on the edge of a panic attack), so only Zhu and their high-school councillor and a couple therapists have heard the story. It’s as unpleasant to tell as it is to relive, and always leaves a taste of bile in their mouth.
The story is: Ouyang had a lot of self-loathing, before they figured stuff out.
—
Zhu_Yuanzhang
@the_greatest ☀️
she/him
I’m gonna be the first gender-fluid prime minister!!!
—
“You will be my General,” Zhu Yuanzhang said, through a mouthful of sweet bean dumplings. Ouyang tried not to hiss at the spray of food from Zhu’s mouth which speckled the school cafeteria table — as if it wasn’t already gross enough. “No, look, I’m serious! I need allies if I’m gonna win student leader at this damn school. D’ya think they just let anyone be Prime Minister?” Zhu waggled a finger in Ouyang’s face. “No, this is where it begins, General. I will be the greatest fucking Prime Minister this country has ever seen!”
Zhu became student leader, because of course he did.
Ouyang came out as non-binary.
They were inseparable. Two sides of the same coin. Alike and different in all of the best ways, Zhu says. Ouyang still struggles that any of their ways could be seen in a positive light. But the definition of positive light is standing right beside him, and if she can see it, it must be true.
—
In the morning Ouyang makes coffee.
Zhu comes out of their room, stifling a yawn, eyes bright as the morning sun on Ouyang’s crystal ring.
“I slept in your bed, Ouyang, I’m sorry,” Zhu says, outwardly sorry, but inwardly not at all. Ouyang can tell by the quirk of her lip.
Ouyang hands her a cup of hot coffee. Zhu glances at their hands as she takes it and the knowledge that she still checks, that she cares, twists in Ouyang’s chest, not unlike the sword that runs him through in his dreams.
“General…” Zhu begins slyly, round, bug-like face half-hidden behind the rim of the coffee cup. “I can’t keep cuddling you like this. I have a girlfriend. What will Ma think?” And then, and Ouyang knows exactly what she’s going to say because this is the third time this week Zhu has teased this. “I know! We should find a lover for you as well. Do you have anyone you like?”
Ouyang knows they’re blushing because Zhu has the audacity to chuckle between her next sip of coffee. “No,” Ouyang says, wishing they could pretend to be furious with her (but not really, because it hurts to think that they used to hate her out of misdirected self-loathing) but hardly managing not to smile.
It’s so embarrassing.
“I know! Isn’t there someone in your Classics seminar? Wow, it sure would be convenient if you had a history — say you were childhood friends. That’s a romance waiting to happen! If only you were.” Zhu grabs a biscuit from the tin, slamming the lid with a metal clang that rings like a sword on armour — “Oh wait! You are childhood friends. You know he liked all your posts last night? Did you leave him on read again? Ouyangggg.”
“W-why are you logged into my Instagram!? Give me your phone, Zhu Yuanzhang!”
Of course, Zhu, the traitor who saved Ouyang’s life from the dark it had been awash in, just stands there holding his sides, laughing.
—
Ouyang_03
@general_ouyang
They/Them
Fencing & Football
—
Ouyang is proud. They didn’t look at Esen for that entire Classics seminar, unless absolutely necessary. Now their heart flutters, in an unpleasant way, like frightened moths — big ones.
They clutch their chest where the point of the sword presses in and sinks into the cushioned seat of the study booth. The one at the edge, designated for Ouyang in case it gets too busy in the library and they need to make a quick, unobtrusive exit.
Ouyang hates bothering people.
The lights are not too bright or too dim. Their group’s booth is situated near the doors but not so near that any draft bothers them. Zhu chose it. For some reason, the design team went with lime green for all of the cushioned seats, which Ouyang would find unpleasant, if not for the rich, chocolate brown of the tables and the forest artwork on the walls.
Ouyang takes a deep breath. The point of the sword stings and they wince.
“Generalllll,” Zhu smirks. “I had an idea.”
Ouyang narrows their eyes at Zhu across from them, steaming cup of Pot Noodle between them.
“If it’s for me to eat that it’s not happening,” Ouyang says.
Xu Da nudges Zhu’s shoulder. His teasing brown eyes mirror Zhu’s as perfectly as Zhu’s gender experiences mirror Ouyang’s. “No, little sibling,” Xu Da clears his throat. “I…” his voice drops to a whisper, and he places a hand between his mouth and any imaginary listeners outside of their cosy circle. Ouyang is foolish enough to lean closer. “I brought the thing.”
Ma gasps and her hands fly up to her mouth from beside Ouyang. Ouyang stares at her for a moment, they’re sure they make a picture with the way they’ve been told their forehead wrinkles in such moments of confusion. The thing? What thing?
Ouyang catches a flash of pink as Xu Da plucks an item from his pencil case. Oh no. That thing.
“What?” Ouyang looks between Zhu and her brother. “Why? It’s not a special occasion.”
“Little sibling, I have seen many people pining needlessly over love, when all it would take is—”
“Painting your nails!” Zhu says excitedly.
Ouyang clenches their jaw. “Just because you don’t like to paint your nails, doesn’t mean you can paint mine at any opportunity.”
“But you don’t let us do it at just any opportunity,” Zhu whines, chin sinking into the table. “And it makes you so happy! It’s just what you need, Ouyang, I promise!”
Ma reaches for Zhu’s hands across the table. “You are so thoughtful, my love,” my says, wistfully.
Zhu grins. At Ouyang.
Xu Da shrugs, unable to hold Ouyang’s penetrating gaze.
It is so very Zhu Yuanzhang that Ouyang can’t even complain. Trust Zhu to try to set Ouyang up (by painting their nails? How will that help? HOW?) with their childhood crush by giving them a gift of encouragement in front of his girlfriend so that said girlfriend can shower him with affection and show Ouyang exactly what they’re missing out on.
Ouyang makes to slide out of the booth but Ma catches their arm. Her beautiful dark eyes pin them to the spot. Ouyang’s mouth goes dry in the face of her loveliness. “Stay, Ouyang,” she says softly. “Zhu will put the polish away if you don’t want to paint your nails. She says you might want to talk to us about Esen. We’re here for you, you know.”
Ouyang melts into the cushions again.
—
Ouyang and Esen were childhood friends. Esen took Ouyang under his wing because they were shy and reserved and bruises bloomed easily on their high cheekbones, so they needed looking after. Ouyang loathed Esen, the same way they loathed Zhu. But with Esen it was different. Ouyang wanted so desperately, that it ached, for Esen to ask. For Esen to take them home with him after school.
But Esen didn’t see what Ouyang needed, only what he needed, which was to protect Ouyang when he saw them hurting, when the other kids were cruel, as children were, about any weakness they could find in the pale, shy kid. All so that Esen didn’t have to watch something ugly. See something cruel. But when the bell rang, Ouyang’s life went on, separate from Esen’s, worlds apart.
Ouyang realised (with the help of therapy) that, at seven years old, of course, Esen was blind. Esen didn't see inside, and couldn't help them any more than he was already doing.
They didn’t know each other for very long. Esen left before they finished Primary School because he got a sports scholarship so he finished that stage of his education somewhere amazing. That’s the way young, hateful, Ouyang saw it, anyway. (Don't say that about your younger self, General! You felt that way for a reason, and it's not your fault.)
But the image of his face, tanned the most beautiful bronze like an embodiment of the sun itself, his smiling brown eyes, dark hair. The look in his eyes, of sadness — no heartbreak — when he saw Ouyang’s surface. But never inside.
No one did, until Zhu.
—
“But you think about him all the time!” Zhu says, exasperated. The Pot Noodles have multiplied and reluctantly Ouyang takes a sip. It’s hot, too hot to tell how salty it is, so Zhu pours some cold water from her water bottle.
“Only since I realised it was him,” Ouyang mumbles. “At most, he’s wondering what happened to me since school.”
“Happened to you, as in,” Zhu gestures to their entire self. Sky blue t-shirt with white lace around the collar and sleeves. It’s beautiful. Like wearing the sky. Glaringly feminine, but Ouyang learned to embrace their femininity.
“Yes,” Ouyang says.
“Let’s look at it this way,” Ma says, “he’s probably noticing how much happier you are, and how much you’ve come into your own.”
For some reason that makes Ouyang feel guilty.
Zhu picks up on the conflict immediately. “That doesn’t mean he was a bad friend. You were children, this stuff takes time, General.”
“My only memory of my childhood is him.” Ouyang sips their Pot Noodle. How does Zhu eat this chemical soup? “I bet he thinks I quit football… I would never quit football. God, it sounds so stupid but I literally promised him I wouldn’t quit, and it’s part of the reason I didn’t.”
Zhu nods thoughtfully. “And now you’re probably the best player in the country.”
“Zhu Chongba,” Ouyang glares. “I play for a university team.”
“And how many times have you been scouted? Hm?” Zhu crosses his arms. “Point made.”
“I want to focus on fencing.”
“Yeah, you’re a God at that too,” Xu Da says. He’s fiddling with some game on his phone. Probably Clash of Clans. So cringe.
Zhu slams her hands down on the table, startling everyone. “I know!” She leans over her pot noddle, scheming face on. “Ask Esen to try fencing with you! There are try-outs in a few days, right? We’re all going!”
Ouyang softens. “Are you sure? I thought you were worried about your arm.”
Zhu grins, slapping her prosthetic right arm. “It’ll be fine! Never stopped me before.”
It has, actually, Ouyang thinks. The prosthetic should theoretically function the exact same way as a human arm, but it has caused Zhu hassle many times. Airports (basically any metal detectors), swimming, sports… But Zhu never lets it show, and she does always find a way.
When I’m Prime Minster, I’m gonna make things easier for people with disabilities!
“That would be a wonderful idea, Zhu, but Esen plays for The Dragons and there’s a game on Saturday,” Ma says sympathetically. Trust Ma to keep up with the football. “We could go, maybe?”
“No,” Ouyang says. “That’s so obvious and so embarrassing.” They shove some slimy noodles into their mouth. “This is stupid. Why are we even talking about this? Even if Esen liked me he’d never want to date me.”
“Why not?” Zhu says, frowning.
“I’m… I don’t know!” I’m a mess. I’m broken and still figuring things out. I’m an inconvenience. “He could date anyone. Why me?”
“Because,” Zhu says exasperatedly. “Childhood friends to lovers! Romance! Destiny!”
Destiny. Ouyang struggles to swallow their next mouthful of Pot Noddle - and not because it tastes disgusting.
That’s how they’ve always felt about Esen, and it makes no sense. How can you be destined to be with somebody you only knew briefly as a child? Someone so perfect in every way?
But Ouyang can’t deny the recurrence of their dreams with Esen in them. They’re strange dreams… experiences they’ve never had together in this world but, in another life, maybe they did.
Maybe if Esen feels it too… But no, that’s impossible. Ouyang just has those dreams because they’re weird and starved of affection most of their life, and because Esen was the best thing to ever happen to them until Zhu.
People dream about their crushes. But Ouyang realises that they probably don’t dream about knowing them in another life a thousand lifetimes ago and running their heart through with a sword.
Fuckkkk.