Work Text:
Wildflower
They were spring.
They were in the breeze that conveyed the scent of orchids and morning dew. They were in the grass that grew too tall, in the buzz of the honey-bees that mistook them for a flower, bright and colorful.
He Xuan didn’t think it was a mistake.
Shi Qing Xuan laughed, gently reproaching the bee before guiding it to the nearest peony. Even as the two figures, ghost and human, were presented with the cacophony of wild flowers however, none among the ocean of pink and purple held a candle to the beauty kneeling before the peony that quivered with the weight of the bee.
He Xuan wanted to ask if it was so interesting—the act of pollination, that is—but the gleam in his lover’s studious gaze only made him wish that it was directed at him rather than the insect.
Maybe He Xuan was jealous of a bee, big deal. He had learned to stop being so stubborn about his feelings long ago. This translated to fleeting moments of possessiveness, like that instant as he bent down next to his lover, securing an arm around their waist. He said nothing, only burying his face in the brown locks that fell across the other’s neck.
Shi Qing Xuan clasped the hand at their side, already used to the cold nip of He Xuan’s skin as they linked their fingers together. They, too, chose to let the silence reign, with only the faint but distinct buzz of the bee for company. Every now and then, they shifted to adjust the load on their bad leg, the little movements not going unnoticed by He Xuan.
He Xuan stood up first, supporting the other as they followed suit. But just as Shi Qing Xuan gained a foothold, they slipped and tumbled forward.
“Hey—!” Just as well, He Xuan caught them in time, though it still had him falling back onto the patch of grass, crushing the poor blooms underneath with a grunt.
He was about to ask if they were okay until he found himself face-to-face with Shi Qing Xuan’s shit-eating grin. His eyes narrowed into slits. “You did that on purpose.”
Shi Qing Xuan neither confirmed nor denied, but then they closed what little distance separated them, the lightest press of plush petals against He Xuan’s lips, and suddenly nothing else mattered. Letting his eyelids fall shut, He Xuan played along with the rhythm of the wind, chasing soft pillows and tickling noses. He drank down the warmth greedily, always insatiable when it came to Shi Qing Xuan.
Now that his lover was mortal, his hunger was beyond avarice.
When they parted, Shi Qing Xuan’s cheeks were flushed red, shoulders heaving—a stark contrast to He Xuan’s unchanging pallor and lack of a need to breathe, but there was a glint in his eyes that betrayed a hidden thrill. He brushed a hand through Shi Qing Xuan’s hair, picking wild seedlings and petals out of the tangled tresses.
Like this, with the image of Shi Qing Xuan against a backdrop of blue and white wisps, He Xuan is at peace.
“I love you.”
Three words. Once sat heavy on his tongue, now rolled off so easily. Three words etched in their memories, in the heady aroma of magnolia that tickled their noses. Three words that they had chosen to live by after years of searching and solitude, before they made their way back into each other’s arms.
Happiness nudged the corners of Shi Qing Xuan’s lips, sunshine gathering in their cheeks. Once upon a time, they would hide behind their fan when their gaze lingered a little too long, smile too fond. Now, the adoration in those warm orbs lay bare for the world to see, sweeping He Xuan off his feet each time.
Somewhere in the hollow cavity he called a chest, He Xuan’s heart throbbed.
In that moment, he wondered if it was all real. The tingle that danced on his lips like playful Aurai, the weight of home sitting atop him.
Shi Qing Xuan answered with a kiss, a testimony in their touch.
“I love you too, He Xuan.”
Fifth
It had been many springs like this one, when they would frequent their favorite meadow. With only nature as their witness, they had tucked memories in-between petals, whispered secrets to the pheasants that looked on curiously. They would lay lazily on the grass, chatting for the sake of hearing each other’s voices.
This year, the meadow greets He Xuan with its usual array of lively flora, the birds soaring above him singing their welcomes. The wind wraps around him in an achingly familiar fashion, beckoning him to dance with the nymphs. But he cannot.
This year, the meadow greets He Xuan alone.
The urn sits heavy in his hands, bearing the weight of his centuries-old ashes, now accompanied by the person he came to love twice over. The first time, he loved as Ming Yi. The second time, he loved as himself.
Both times, Shi Qing Xuan loved him back.
“Wait for me,” he whispers, leaving the words to the wind. There is no address. He can only hope that wherever they are, they will get his message.
It doesn’t matter anyway, He Xuan thinks as he feels the pull of his own remains weaken, trickling out like water from a leaking pipe. He will join them soon.
He buries their shared fragments, laying a familiar fan on top of the urn before replacing the soil. Even then, his eyes are dry.
Despite himself, he prays. To whom, he doesn’t know. He likes to think that there is an answer in the gust that picks up, carrying with it precious times with a precious person.
When he returns, the silence of the manor is foreboding in a way it has not been in the years that Shi Qing Xuan stayed. Those years were but a fraction of He Xuan’s life, yet they were the only time his manor—and his heart—had truly felt occupied. As he makes his way back to his chamber, his footsteps echo thickly in the corridor, the absence of an acquainted pair deafening.
He steps into their once-shared room. The chimes that Shi Qing Xuan had set up when they first moved in welcome him, and He Xuan can almost hear the He Xuan woven into the jangle.
Finally, he lets the tears fall.
In the screen that has stopped, you're smiling at me like summer.
Maybe, this is the last goodbye.
Thank you for staying for so long.