“Qiang?” he calls uncertainly, worry etched in his tone.
“I take it this was the family emergency?” Tristan asks, and I’m notsurprised that Coach said something to him when I didn’t show up for practice.
That isn’t something I ever do, and on the exceedingly rare occasions I have done so, Tristan has always known about it in advance.
I nod towards Tristan before looking back at Qiang. I reach up and caress their cheek, pulling their attention to me.
“Are you ready to tell him?”
Qiang’s eyes drift unseeing for a moment before they slowly nod.
“Yeah, I think so,” they say quietly, their eyes snapping to mine, and determination replacing the fear and pain that’s been there since earlier.
“Are you gonna be okay?” I verify because I think they should have this talk with Qi alone, but I also don’t want to assume they’re ready for that, which is a bit ridiculous, since they just did. But then again, while their bond with Qi is deeper than their bond with me, I also wasn’t on Sterling Adair’s wishlist.
Qiang sits back on their heels and squeezes my hand before climbing off of me shakily, but determinedly.
“Yeah, I got this.”
“Okay, I’m gonna tell Tristan,” I let them know.
I already insinuated earlier that I was going to, but I also need them to be on the same page as me here.
Qiang grimaces for a moment, looking between my resolute face and their confused ones.
“Marcus, please be careful.”
I stand up and wrap my arm around Qiang, leading them towards Tristan and Qi.
“I promise, we know what we’re doing,” I assure them, as I place their hand in Qi’s.
Qiang searches my eyes for another moment. Hesitation laced in their features, but I know what they’re seeing staring back at them; determination, resolution, and so much goddamned conviction.
They let out a shaky sigh before tugging on Qi’s hand. Qi goes willingly, without even being asked, as if he already knows that Qiang needs him.
It’s a fair assessment. Qi has been the pinnacle of good things for Qiang. The one bright light they could always count on and lean on. Even when they were at odds, they were still steady for each other.
Once I hear the door snick shut, I turn towards Tristan.
“Not to be weird, bro, but I could use a hug.”
Tristan’s eyes widen for a moment before he lets out a small laugh.
“Can honestly say I didn’t see that coming,” he says, reaching his arms up for a hug.
It’s not like we’ve never hugged before; it’s just something we do more casually. I think the only other time I’ve ever looked him or Darryl in the eyes before and expressly said I needed a hug was when my uncle died.
But all that shit with Qiang was deep, and it hurt. It hurts knowing the world is like this, and it hurts that Qiang’s hurting, and I hate it so much.
I squeeze Tristan’s shoulder before stepping back out of the hug.
“You better?” he asks, peering at me curiously.
I shake my head. “No, not really.”
“Maybe you ought to schedule another session with your therapist, just to get some of this off your chest,” he suggests mildly.
No trace of judgment, just concern. So ardently Tristan-like that his predictability is comforting in itself.
