Little Talks
word count: 4,572

Now wait, wait, wait for me,
Please hang around.
I'll see you when I fall asleep.

"You have long eyelashes."

Ling Tong laughs, brushes Gan Ning's hand away from his face. "I think yours are longer."

"Nah, I'm pretty sure yours beat mine. I'm too masculine to have long lashes." He flexes his arm muscles for effect.

"Sorry, I don't think that's a discriminating factor." Ling Tong rolls over in bed onto his back. He stares up at the ceiling for a moment before closing his eyes. It's warm but not too warm, the bedroom windows thrown open to welcome the early summer breeze. He feels what can only be Gan Ning's breath pooling on his cheek. Ling Tong cracks an eye open.

"They're seriously long," Gan Ning remarks.

Ling Tong rolls his eyes and kisses him, knowing it to be an effective way to shut him up.

He never liked the weather that came with autumn. Too cold, too windy, too cloudy and too dreary. Ling Tong shoves his hands further into his coat pockets. People pass him on the sidewalk, most of which are dressed similarly in various layers. Couples cling to one another for warmth, and Ling Tong feels a specific emptiness that seems to radiate from his right hand. He flexes his fingers in his pocket, chalks up the feeling to lack of circulation.

Ling Tong pulls out his phone, checks the time, and returns it to his pocket. He isn't going anywhere or meeting anyone, so, really, the current time is irrelevant. He just likes to know things.

"That's stupid," Gan Ning says matter-of-factly.

"You just don't get it."

"So explain it again."

Ling Tong sighs and sets his wine glass down on the coffee table before him. He crosses his legs, uncrosses them, and speaks. "I'd rather know something than not know something, y'know? Even if I don't need to. Like the day of the week or the time of day. I could be living by myself on an island somewhere, not a care or responsibility in the world, but I'd still like to know the date and time if I could."

"Sounds like something in that book you made me read," Gan Ning says as he takes his seat beside Ling Tong. He sets a new bottle of wine on the table but makes no motion to open it. "Which really sucked, by the way."

"Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead isn't for everyone, I guess."

"You can say that again. Or you just have shitty taste in books."

"That'd be like me telling you you have shitty taste in arm tattoos or hair product," Ling Tong says with a wry expression.

Gan Ning laughs and opens the bottle of wine with no difficulty. He fills Ling Tong's glass before topping his own off, nearly to the brim. "Then I'd call you a liar."

"You know that's wine we're drinking, Gan Ning. Not beer."

"Same thing," says Gan Ning. "Both get you drunk."

"I like to know where I am. Even if I don't know where I am, I like to know that." Ling Tong rattles off the lines and takes a triumphant sip of his wine.

"Bravo, learned sir." Gan Ning smiles. "Now, shut the hell up and help me drink this wine."

Even if I don't know where I am, I like to know that.

Ling Tong says the quote again to himself, relishing the sound the way one would relish the distinctive smell of their home after coming back from a long trip. Despite what Gan Ning said, Ling Tong enjoys the various quotes from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. He finds it amusing that Gan Ning remembered the title, despite his obvious distaste (or, rather, white hatred) for it.

So Ling Tong checks his phone again, simply to know the time. It's quarter past four in the afternoon and the clouds hang low in the sky. Ling Tong remembers the meteorologist on TV mentioned something about early evening showers. Remembers, but doesn't care. He adjusts the collar of his coat and steps inside a small coffee shop.

The shop is warm, bathed in the usual dim, yellow-tinted lighting most coffee shops are. There are three other people inside who look to be regulars, two of which are seated by themselves and the third is talking to the woman behind the counter. Ling Tong has never been to this particular coffee shop before, but it has that homey smell of freshly ground coffee beans and baked goods so he decides to stay.

Ling Tong orders a medium coffee once the woman and the customer have finished their discussion. The woman brings up pieces of small talk, mentions the weather and things in the news. Ling Tong obliges her with a friendly tone and a subtle smile. He just wants his coffee, but he's too polite to even fathom ignoring her attempts at conversation.

He takes his cup of coffee to an empty table beside the window and sits. Ling Tong wraps his slender fingers around the mug, ignoring the uncomfortable heat that radiates against his skin. He looks down at the liquid, black and steaming.

"Have you always had your coffee like that?"

Gan Ning looks up from the newspaper in front of him, spoonful of cereal frozen in the motion of lifting it to his mouth. "Like what?"

"Black. Did you always drink it black?"

"Guess so." Gan Ning returns his spoon to the bowl and places his chin in his hand. "I tried it with sugar and creamer once—way too sweet for me. Didn't like it at all."

Ling Tong grimaces across the table. He adds another spoonful of artificial sweetener to his coffee and stirs it absentmindedly. "But black is disgusting. It's like drinking hard liquor straight up."

Gan Ning smirks. "You forget who you're talking to."

"Whatever." Ling Tong folds his reading glasses and tucks them back into their case. "I think it's just you and your masculinity hang-up again. There's nothing wrong about putting cream and sugar into your coffee."

"Just drink your flavored coffee, Gongji," Gan Ning says as he rises from the table. "I'm gonna go hunt bears and skin them with my bare hands. You make sure to keep the house clean while I'm gone and look after the children. I want a nice, hot meal on the table by the time I get back from man-hunting."

Ling Tong rolls his eyes and gives an earnest, joyful laugh. "Of course, my big, strapping manly-man. But you bring me back a grizzly—that black bear hide just doesn't match the rest of the furniture."

Ling Tong sips his plain coffee over the next half-hour. He looks out the window at the people on the sidewalks, watches them dash across streets and through small clusters of fallen leaves. One of the other customers in the shop gets up and leaves. Two young girls come in after, giggling and bustling with energy, though not loud. They order fragrant lattes and Ling Tong smiles, looking back down at his cup of coffee.

The sound of a soft rain reaches his ears as he finishes the last of his beverage. He glances out the window again, eyes following the straggling pedestrians who now run for shelter.

Ling Tong returns his cup to the woman behind the counter. She asks if he'd like an umbrella, she's got an extra in back. Ling Tong politely declines her offer, tells her he finds the rain refreshing and he hasn't much farther to walk.

He leaves the warmth and closeness of the coffee shop behind him as he steps back out into the crisp chill of fall. The rain has already given the city a fresh, earthy smell. Ling Tong smiles. It's a steady, even rain that drips off the tip of his nose as he makes his way down the sidewalk. Some of the other pedestrians give him curious stares as they pass, tucked under the safety of umbrellas. Ling Tong continues at a leisurely pace and ignores the faces around him.

"You're too conscious of what other people say about you, Ling Tong. You know that? You always have been."

"Like that's supposed to make me feel any better."

Gan Ning sits up. They're lying in bed. Somewhere in the apartment, a clock chimes twice. "Sorry, but you really need to get some thicker skin. Don't give a fuck about what other people think."

"Easier said than done." Ling Tong rolls onto his back and decides to indulge Gan Ning's desire to carry out a conversation at two in the morning.

"Tell 'em to go fuck themselves! Live your own life however you goddamn please." He props an elbow on his knee and looks thoughtfully out over the dark bedroom. "If you want to listen to opinions and criticism, take it from the people you actually care about—not some nobody passing by."

Ling Tong is content to listen. He props himself up enough to enjoy the way the moonlight illuminates Gan Ning's naked torso. Ling Tong silently thanks whoever installed the skylights.

"Sound good?"

Ling Tong nods and slumps back into his pillow. "Yep. Get tougher skin. Don't give a fuck about other people's opinions. Tell them to fuck themselves. Got it." He gave a thumbs-up.

Gan Ning laughs and flops down beside him. "Tell 'em all to fuck off," he says as he reaches for Ling Tong's face, slowly running his thumb over the other man's cheek. "You've got everything you need."

"Do I?" Ling Tong fights a smile.

"Damn right." Gan Ning presses their lips together, lets his linger there as he speaks again. "And so do I."

It's by complete chance that he runs into an old friend, and quite literally. The smaller man hurries past him, hood pulled well over his head and blocking his peripheral vision. He collides full-on with Ling Tong as both round the same corner. The smaller man falls backwards, right into a pool of rainwater. Ling Tong staggers and balances himself against the building.

"I'm so sorry," the smaller man is apologizing before he even stands, now thoroughly soaked to the bone. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching—I was in such a hurry…"

"It's no problem, really." Ling Tong extends a hand to the smaller man and pulls him to his feet. When his hood falls back, it only takes Ling Tong a second to recognize the face. "Lu Xun?"

"Ah—" Lu Xun seems just as surprised, if not totally in shock. "Ah—Ling Tong! What are you doing out in this weather? You're completely soaked!"

Ling Tong offers a chuckle. "I'd say the same to you, friend."

Lu Xun looks down at his ruined clothes and groans outwardly. He invites Ling Tong to stop by his apartment—it's only a few blocks away. Ling Tong hasn't seen his friend in ages, so he accepts the invitation, even if the apartment is a few blocks in the opposite direction of where he's headed.

The two enter Lu Xun's apartment appearing as though they've just stepped out of a lake fully clothed. Both drip generous puddles across the wooden floor as Lu Xun scurries to get the fireplace started, insisting to Ling Tong that the water is no problem and that he should make himself at home.

Ling Tong hasn't been here in at least several months, or maybe even more than a year now. He thanks Lu Xun for the offer of a dry set of clothes, though the two are clearly very different sizes, and politely declines. He opts for several warm towels and a seat in an old wooden rocking chair. Lu Xun fills the room with light-hearted conversation and politely asks Ling Tong about his life and how he's doing. Ling Tong smiles despite himself.

Lu Xun hasn't changed a bit.

"I don't like him."

"Don't like who?" Ling Tong keeps his eyes on the road as he rounds a narrow bend.

"Lu Xun."

Ling Tong turns several more narrow bends and watches for the reflection of deer eyes in the headlights before responding. "And why don't you like him?" He indulges his companion, knowing the other won't stop pouting until he's said his fill.

Gan Ning flicks the window switch idly, hardly giving the device enough time to move up or down before he changes the direction. "He's too…happy. Or cheerful. Or something."

"That's a stupid reason to not like someone."

"I bet he's hiding something," Gan Ning concludes after several minutes of hard thinking. "He's probably miserable as hell, but likes to project this perfect little picture."

"Or maybe he's actually that happy." Ling Tong stifles a yawn and waits for the light to turn green. The car accelerates gently, then stops half a mile later at another red light. "There's nothing wrong with being happy or cheerful. I think this is that masculine thing of yours again."

"There is no thing," Gan Ning says, "so you can stop pretending there is. I let you drive this time, didn't you?"

"Only because you drank too much to safely operate machinery."

"Whatever."

Ling Tong offers a small laugh. "Well, I like Lu Xun. He's happy and friendly and means well." They drive along for a while in companionable silence. Ling Tong's lips are still quirked upward. "I like him."

Gan Ning shifts in his seat. "I guess he's okay… But if he ever puts a move on you," he points at Ling Tong, "I'll knock his lights out."

Lu Xun insists Ling Tong take an umbrella with him when he finally excuses himself roughly two hours later. Had it been anyone else, Ling Tong would have politely declined. But it was Lu Xun, so Ling Tong accepts the umbrella and promises to return it soon. Lu Xun asks if he has far to walk. Ling Tong says he doesn't have much farther to go at all, thanks him for the umbrella again, agrees to another visit sometime soon, and steps back out into the street.

The lights in the streetlamps are now lit and rain continues to fall. Ling Tong opens the umbrella and checks his phone. It is somewhere between quarter after seven and seven-thirty. No one is on this particular stretch of sidewalks aside from himself. Ling Tong returns his phone to his pocket, adjusts his coat (now dried), and picks up where he left off earlier.

As he passes them, Ling Tong glances into the little shops that adorn the city streets. There are several bars stuffed with bodies, all gathered around a television set and cheering loudly. The smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol wafts out the opened doors as he passes. He feels the corners of his mouth quirk up and he shakes his head.

"Son of a bitch!"

Several other men near the TV share in Gan Ning's cursing, though most settle for loud complaints and exaggerated groans. They gradually dissipate as a commercial comes on the screen.

"Another," Gan Ning says to the man behind the bar counter. The barman obliges and sets another beer out.

"Look who gets to be designated driver tonight," Ling Tong remarks to himself in a tone of sarcasm. "Me. How lucky."

"At least your team is winning." Gan Ning jabs his thumb in the direction of the TV. "My fuckers don't even look like they know how to play football."

Ling Tong rolls his eyes and snatches Gan Ning's beer before he can reach it. He takes several long gulps before setting it back down, grinning. "Guess who actually placed some bets this time, too? I might even make enough to cover your loss and then some."

Gan Ning grabs his beer, lest it be stolen from him again. He takes a drink, swallows, and purses his lips. "You think we should take a vacation?"

Ling Tong snorts. "With the money from the bet? I think we'd be able to afford a daytrip to the next city over, and that's high-balling it."

"Not with the bet money, you idiot." Gan Ning finishes what's left of his beer and turns on his barstool to face his companion. "No, I meant a real vacation. Like finally take off of work and go somewhere nice."

The sport broadcast is back on the screen for three seconds before Gan Ning forgets his point and whips around to face it, engrossed like a child. Ling Tong settles for eating peanuts and watching the rest of the game while he waits.

The vacation topic is forgotten that night once the game is over. Gan Ning is too busy rattling off curses under his breath and complaining about "bitches who don't know how to play football," and Ling Tong happily drives them home, a comfortable wad of cash now in his wallet.

The chill of the night catches Ling Tong somewhat off guard. He passes the warmth of another bar and draws the collar of his coat closer to his neck. It is still raining. The sound of the drops hitting the cold pavement creates a sleepy rhythm, emphasized by the pattering on the top of his borrowed umbrella. Ling Tong takes in a deep breath of the cool, crisp night air and slowly exhales. He still has several blocks to go: he can't be tired yet. Part of him longs for another cup of coffee, the other part blaming the first cup for this sudden fatigue.

Ling Tong passes exactly no one as he continues down the city's sidewalks. Everyone is either at home or at a bar or somewhere indoors, shut in by the cold, dreary weather. Ling Tong never cared for the weather that came with fall, but there wasn't anything he could do about it, so he keeps walking.

The only living creature Ling Tong does happen across is a stray cat. He pauses, considers the animal with fur matted down from the rain, as he is safe and comfortable under the umbrella. Ling Tong thinks of the cat back at the apartment and feels a pang of empathy for the stray before him. So, he takes a step closer, sits on his haunches, and extends a hand in a friendly gesture. The cat regards him for a moment before hissing and running off into the rain. Ling Tong remains on his haunches.

"I think we should get a cat."

Gan Ning snorts from his spot on the couch. "Yeah right." He flips through several channels on the television, pauses on one for a brief moment, and continues to flip through more.

"What's wrong with a cat?" Ling Tong asks, lifting Gan Ning's leg up so he has a place to sit.

"Cats are for old housewives with nothing better to do," Gan Ning replies. "Or drug addicts."

Ling Tong laughs. "That's a new one. Why drug addicts?"

"Dunno." Gan Ning shrugs. He gives up on the TV and tosses the remote onto the coffee table. "I bet they talk to them, though. I don't know—I just don't like cats and cats don't like me. Let's get a dog."

"What kind of dog?"

"Something big." Gan Ning smiles and raises his arms wide, as if to show scale. "Like a Doberman or Rottweiler or something."

Ling Tong nods, feigns consideration. "That's a great idea, but we live in an apartment, Gan Ning. Keeping a big dog—or any dog, I think—in a place this size would be punishing the thing. Besides, the lady who owns that coffee shop we go to—remember her? Anyway, she's got some kittens for sale and said she'd give me a discount if we wanted one."

Gan Ning scoffs. "Like I want some little tiny kitten."

"Let's at least go look at them."

Gan Ning glances over at him. Ling Tong pouts ever so slightly and rubs a hand up and down the length of Gan Ning's leg. With a defeated sigh, Gan Ning agrees to look at the stupid kittens, but doesn't promise he'll like any of them. Ling Tong thanks him for his consideration with a generous kiss.

Not even a full twenty-four hours later, Gan Ning finds himself in the coffee shop owner's apartment, surrounded by several playful kittens. He stands, awkwardly, in the center of them, as they've gathered around him out of sheer curiosity. The woman and Ling Tong are talking when Gan Ning interrupts, unintentionally.

"Hey! Get away from him!"

Ling Tong and the woman look. Gan Ning scoops up what appears to be the runt of the littler—a small, gray striped kitten with white paws that make it appear as though he stepped up to his elbows in paint. Gan Ning casts dark eyes at two larger kittens and holds the gray one against his chest.

"What happened?" Ling Tong asks.

"They were picking on him," Gan Ning replies without hesitation. "Little bastards are bigger, too. Wasn't even a fair fight."

The woman and Ling Tong exchange glances, knowing full well the kittens were just playing. Gan Ning, however, still looks deeply offended and keeps the kitten safely in his hands. He doesn't appear to know he's been petting the little creature since he picked it up.

"We'll take that one," Ling Tong says.

The rain has lightened into a soft drizzle by the time Ling Tong reaches the start of the familiar iron fence. He shoves his free hand deeper into his coat pocket and follows the fencing down the sidewalk. Ling Tong thinks about the kitten—which isn't much of a kitten anymore—and smiles. He thinks of the time at the bar and smiles.

As usual, the large, iron gates are shut. Ling Tong knows they aren't locked—they seldom are—and pushes one just wide enough for him to slip through. The gate lets out a tired creak, and Ling Tong closes him umbrella so he can squeeze between the gap. Though no one is around to chastise him otherwise, Ling Tong closes the gate behind him.

Gan Ning is sitting at the kitchen table, skimming over the sports section in the newspaper. Every now and then he takes a sip of his coffee (black), complains about the contents of the newspaper, and turns to the next page. The kitten, fondly named Fang (as Gan Ning insisted he needed a "tough sounding name to make up for his small size"), is sleeping on the empty chair to Gan Ning's right. It's a typical Sunday morning, and Ling Tong is perfectly content to watch. He leans with his back against the refrigerator and watches Gan Ning go about his usual routine.

"What do you think about," Gan Ning says without lifting his eyes, "when you stare at me like that?"

Ling Tong smiles. He picks up his cup of coffee, drinks from it, and takes his time in seating himself across the table. "What do you think I think about?"

Now Gan Ning glances up. "Sex." He smirks.

"No, that's only you who thinks about sex twenty-four hours of the day."

"So how often do you think about it?"

"Twenty-three."

Gan Ning laughs, short but loud. He shakes his head and returns to his paper. "No, really. What the hell do you think about?"

"I don't know." Ling Tong drags the tip of his index finger around the rim of his mug, an idle notion. "Everything. Nothing."

"Don't give me that Shakespeare crap."

Sighing, Ling Tong decides to indulge him. "Fine. I think about you and I think about us. I think about our cat and our apartment and why the electric bill is so goddamn high. I think about our future and our past—my past. I think about everything. My brain's a mess on Sunday mornings." He gives a small, nervous laugh.

Gan Ning notices and looks up. "Hey," he says.

"What?"

"I just so happen to love that fucked up brain of yours."

"I said messed up, not fucked up."

"Well, I love it, anyway. So quit worrying." He sets down his newspaper and stretches. "You've got all the time in the world to worry—later. Think about the past and the future later. For now," he stands, "let's enjoy the present." Gan Ning moves around the table and stands beside Ling Tong, extending a hand.

Ling Tong looks at it and smirks. "What?"

"What I think about twenty-four hours of the day and you think about twenty-three," Gan Ning replies, grinning. "What else?"

Ling Tong shakes his head and takes Gan Ning's hand. He has to enjoy the present, after all.

Ling Tong draws a deep breath and closes his eyes. It always feels colder when he closes his eyes. Lonelier, too. He opens them and steps forward into the field of stone.

He's walked this path several times, dozens of times—too many times and yet not enough. He regards the names on the stones with solemn eyes. Names of people he's never heard of, names of people who sound familiar or names of people he knows relatives of. Ling Tong walks past these stones to the southernmost patch. Seventh row back, fourth stone in.

Ling Tong sets the umbrella down and runs his fingers along the engraving on the stone. He brushes off the dirt that's accumulated there, regards the stone with kind eyes. It's dark like ebony and simple, serving its purpose. It's dark like ebony, and Ling Tong looks at the name engraved into it. He swallows the lump forming in his throat, but it promptly returns. Gan Ning, etched out in clear, capital letters, the Chinese characters written neatly beneath it.

Several minutes pass before Ling Tong reaches into a pocket, withdrawing a single golden bell. He sets it at the base of the stone, swallows the lump in his throat again, and smiles.

"It's me," he says. The rain has picked up, dripping past the tip of his nose. He tells himself it's the rain, anyway. "Sorry it's been so long." He rings the bell twice, smiles, and sets it down again. "Fang misses you. He wanted me to give you this."

Ling Tong regards the stone for a while in silence, running his fingers along it every now and then. The rain has picked up; it's nearly a downpour. Ling Tong blinks the raindrops out of his eyes. He presses two fingers to his lips, then presses them to the name on the stone.

"I miss our little talks," Ling Tong says. "I think about them every time I come here. I miss them." He pauses. "I miss you."

The rain is loud and hard. Ling Tong looks at the stone and blinks rapidly to keep his vision clear. "I miss you," he says again, "but I have to go now." Ling Tong pauses again, leans forward to press his lips against the cold granite stone. The last three words are lodged in the back of his throat, as they always are.

Ling Tong wipes his face several times, picks up Lu Xun's umbrella, and stands. He regards the stone one last time before making his way back through the field of stone. The gate creaks behind him as he shuts it and opens the umbrella. He pulls out his phone and checks the time. It's a little after eight. Ling Tong peeks up at the sky from the safety of the umbrella.

He never liked the weather that came with autumn.

A/N: So…I've been playing with a different writing style for a while, now, but I haven't finished anything…until this! I hope it's alright. ;u; I wanted to get back into third-person after doing first for so long.

This was just a one-shot that was the result of a sappy playlist on repeat at the desire to write more ningtong (since I get stuck with Not Bad At All rather frequently). I hope it was alright.

Thank you for reading. :)