Chapter Text
It’s quiet. Hua Cheng doesn’t know if he ever fell asleep, or if it all has been a dream since he saw Xie Lian arrive at the central train station. Shaken by his cursed eyes, the edges of reality vibrate, blurry and unstable, creating a tunnel vision that expands and contracts with the fluctuations of his consciousness. Regardless, he sees him, floating in the crimson cloud made of pillows and blankets where he’s burrowed himself. For the first time in eight years, Hua Cheng sees him with his eyes open, and he doesn’t plan to close them, not even to blink. He doesn’t turn the lights off either.
Xie Lian keeps his hands close to his face, breathing life and warmth into them, soothing his aching fingers. His hair, dark like the depths of the summer night sky, coils in a braid over them, alleviating some of the vulnerability that comes with not wearing gloves. Without his glasses or contacts, Hua Cheng can’t see the details of his face. Unless he gets really close, he can’t count the eyelashes on his lids or the freckles that, he imagines, pepper his nose and cheeks. And he wants to get close, so much that there’s no space left, and stay like that, holding him and listening to him until the vibration of his voice tunes the precarious grasp Hua Cheng has on the world, making it right at last, making it right again.
The moment is perfect and everything else is in shambles. Xie Lian shouldn’t be constantly on edge, looking over his shoulder or worrying for money, he shouldn’t be so quick to say sorry or to smile out of fright. It’s all the fault of those pieces of shit. If it depended on him, Hua Cheng would let Xie Lian sleep in until late and stay in the apartment, safe and warm, hidden from the ugly world until that plague is taken care of once and for all. His plan was to get everything sorted and then find a way to bring Xie Lian to the city, but the other party must have caught wind of what he’s doing, and they probably lured Xie Lian in ahead of time to try to get an advantage.
It doesn’t matter. Hua Cheng is one step ahead. He got to Xie Lian before they did, he’s with him now and he’ll protect him. Everything he has done is for him, every step in the ladder that he has climbed has had the goal to pull Xie Lian up, back to the heights of freedom where he belongs. Everything, including things that Xie Lian wouldn’t approve of, that would make him afraid and disappointed and disgusted, that blur the lines distinguishing Hua Cheng from the scum that makes his hands ache.
Those hands are in front of him. With only a small movement, he could touch them. Xie Lian fell asleep so fast and so deeply that there’s a real chance he wouldn’t notice, or that, if he does, he’d think it was just a bad dream. However, it’d be a sin. No matter his intentions, doing it would cause Xie Lian pain and he doesn’t deserve any more of that. He’s had enough of traps, impositions and betrayal, of having others put words in his mouth and deciding on his behalf. Just being able to see him is fine. Even if it's like this, in blurry lines of broken glass, it’s more than enough.
A low rumble fills the bedroom, distant like faraway thunder. Hua Cheng blinks slowly and the colours fuse with each other, the world turning into a fractured kaleidoscope. The pale sun, deep in slumber, rests on the horizon, turning it red. A single white lotus tiredly keeps its petals above a lake of blood. A heavy black chain keeps a pure swan tied to the mortal world. Xie Lian is sleeping in front of Hua Cheng and he doesn’t want to miss a thing.
The mirror of morning reflects your fair face,
Cold light shines over the thorns in your hair.
The hoarse whisper is too gentle to make Xie Lian stir, which is fortunate, because Hua Cheng didn’t remember to change his alarm tone and he doesn’t know whether Xie Lian would appreciate waking up to the sound of his own voice.
The hands of sunrise are stained with crimson.
Under their touch, the white bloom turns red.
This is a rather liberal adaptation that Xie Lian made of a series of classical poems many years ago, back when he was just starting to experiment with harsh vocals. It holds a special place in Hua Cheng’s heart, and it’s particularly fitting for the scene that he’s got in front of him.
The mountain cries ice, casts it on the world.
A thousand peach trees turn to glass, so brittle.
Unaware, I lay in bed with a yellowing book,
But my eyes are frozen in your lines of crystal.
Xie Lian gasps slightly, then turns to lay on his back and sighs. His silhouette doubles and vibrates, Hua Cheng has no way to tell whether he’s awake or not. He decides not to talk, just in case.
Your altar is covered in crimped red satins
With floral embroidery the colour of yeast.
“Good morning, San Lang,” Xie Lian greets with a husky voice, then clears his throat.
“... Good morning, gege.”
It is not perfect, yet please, don’t decry it.
The silk would be stone if it didn’t have knits.
“How did you sleep?” Xie Lian mumbles and turns to the side again to hug his pillow, getting closer, becoming more solid. Hua Cheng exhales slowly. It isn’t a dream, it really isn’t.
No river compares when one has seen the ocean,
There are no clouds like those crowning Mount Wu.
I walk through flowers without sparing them a look,
Holding on to my faith in Tao and my devotion to you.
“Really well,” Hua Cheng lies.
“Me…” Xie Lian stops to yawn again and unconsciously snuggles. “Me too.”
Hua Cheng squints to get Xie Lian into focus and sees that he’s fallen asleep again. That’s okay. He needs more time, both of them do: one to rest, the other to commit every smeared detail to memory.
There are flowers of all colours between heaven and earth
But only pear blossoms are as white as your bones.
A singular pear tree still stands by the river
With nothing but leaves to face spring on its own.