Work Text:
“That certainly is a lovely poem.” Meng Yao opened his eyes, turning his head towards Huaisang. “Will you tell me who the author is?”
Huaisang hadn’t taken his eyes away from the paper yet, seemingly refusing to meet Meng Yao’s gaze. “I don’t know who it is.”
-x-
“A-Yao!” Meng Yao turned around when he heard the cheerful call of his name, smiling at the sight of Huaisang running over, waving his fan to capture his attention. “A-Yao!” He called again, until he stopped in front of Meng Yao.
“Young master.” Meng Yao bowed, as was still expected of him. Unsurprisingly, it made the other pout.
“Ah, stop that,” Huaisang said, lightly tapping his shoulder with the closed fan to get him to stand straight again. “There’s no one around, you can drop the formalities. Are you busy? Well, never mind that, I’ll relieve you of your duties if you’re busy.”
Meng Yao’s smile grew, waiting for the other to reveal what he wanted to steal him away for.
“You’ll come spend time with me tonight, won’t you, A-Yao?” Huaisang asked, and the combination of his mischievous smile with his large, dark eyes staring up at him, was impossible to say no to. Not like Meng Yao had ever been able to refuse him anything in the first place.
“I’ll be there, of course,” he reassured, and felt a tug at his heart when he saw Huaisang’s face light up even more. This boy was truly going to be the death of him.
-x-
Meng Yao pushed open the sliding door after knocking, walking in with a tray and setting it down on the low table in the middle of the room. He turned over two cups and held back his sleeve to pour wine into one of them, and tea into the other. Huaisang joined him at the table, letting out a soft laugh.
“You’re allowed to drink, you know. I promise I won’t tell Da-ge. I didn’t even ask you to bring wine, though. A-Yao, you know me so well.” Huaisang sighed, reaching out for his cup when it was handed to him, and taking a sip.
Meng Yao smiled and took his own cup, waiting a moment to let the tea cool down before sipping it. “How could I not, after spending so much time with you?”
Huaisang hummed. “I suppose, but it really seems like you know me better than anyone else sometimes. Even Da-ge in rare cases.”
“Ah.” Meng Yao stared down into his cup with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”
“I know, I know. He’s been weird lately, I’m sure you’ve noticed it, too.”
“Hm.” Meng Yao could guess why, all too familiar with the look of jealousy that often spread on Nie Mingjue’s face whenever Huaisang happily received gifts from Meng Yao. Nie Mingjue seemed to think Huaisang didn’t appreciate his gifts as much, but in reality Huaisang simply felt like Mingjue didn’t need to be thanked as excessively as Meng Yao, who had always been a lot more insecure. And now that Meng Yao had started bringing small gifts to Huaisang whenever he had the chance to, Mingjue was doing so much more often as well. He truly was too competitive.
Huaisang sighed and flicked open his fan as he finished his cup. “You’ll take care of me if I get too drunk tonight, won’t you, A-Yao?”
And what else could Meng Yao do besides smile and assure him that, of course, he’d always be there to take care of him.
Several hours later, one of the wine jars Meng Yao had brought was empty, and Huaisang was reading out poems with slightly flushed cheeks. Huaisang had always shown an interest in poetry, and liked to read out his favourite poems to whoever was willing to listen. Meng Yao suspected that he wrote his own poems too, sometimes, but he never asked to hear them.
The one he was currently reading to Meng Yao described a person, in such a way that made it obvious it was a love poem. This wasn’t anything new, Huaisang had always been a hopeless romantic after all, and loved to read tragic stories of lovers finding each other after wars, or trying to hide their love from disapproving families.
The person was being described in great detail, and through all the metaphors and beautiful words, Meng Yao was starting to get an idea of what the object of this author’s affection might look like. The one thing that stood out to him were the dimples, and Meng Yao’s heart skipped a beat. Of course, it didn’t mean anything. Huaisang was simply reading him a poem that he liked, one that he hadn’t written, and the fact that the author mentioned his lover having dimples was purely a coincidence.
Still, Meng Yao allowed himself to dream every now and then.
When the poem was finished, Meng Yao opened his mouth to comment, but Huaisang spoke before him, “I know you’re going to ask about the author, but I really don’t know.”
Ah. Huaisang was right, he’d wanted to ask who had written this. That was okay, he was more than happy listening to Huaisang’s soft voice when he read the poems to him, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Huaisang simply didn’t want to tell him who the author was, for whatever reason. Could it really be that he had so many poems of which he didn’t know the author, all of them similar in writing style?
He heard Huaisang sigh loudly, and watched him reach out for the wine jar only to realise that it was already empty. He wanted to say that he should probably go easy on the alcohol for now, but Huaisang’s pout tugged at his heart, and he handed him the second bottle he’d brought. Huaisang’s smile was worth the guilt he felt over letting the boy drink so much.
“You know, I really like dimples,” he heard Huaisang mumble as he poured himself another cup of wine. “They’re cute.”
Meng Yao didn’t know how to respond, so he kept quiet.
With another half a bottle gone, Huaisang was now truly drunk, and sitting much closer to Meng Yao than he was before he started drinking. Without any warning, Meng Yao felt a soft hand rest on his cheek, Huaisang’s thumb gently stroking across one of his dimples.
“A-Yao, you’re so lucky,” Huaisang complained. “These are my weakness, I can’t believe you’ve got dimples and I get to look at them every single day.”
Meng Yao was speechless for a second, but before he could respond, Huaisang had moved even closer and was now cupping his face in both his hands, still lightly stroking his dimples. He wasn’t looking at them, though. He was looking into Meng Yao’s eyes with that sweet smile of his, and for what felt like hours, neither of them said anything.
“A-Sang-”
“Smile for me?” Huaisang cut him off.
Meng Yao offered a sad smile, placing his hands over Huaisang’s to gently pry them off. It was clear he was very drunk and not able to think straight, and Meng Yao had promised to take care of him. If he let this go on, Huaisang might do something he’d end up regretting later. Despite what Meng Yao’s heart was trying to make him believe, that Huaisang would want to be this close to him while sober too, that he thought Meng Yao was pretty and that his feelings weren’t one-sided, he knew this to be false, and only a result of too much alcohol. Huaisang had always been touchy, draping himself over his friends and clinging to their arms.
“A-Sang, let’s go to bed.”
Nothing could prepare him for the way his heart hurt when Huaisang’s smile dropped and his brows furrowed. But no matter how disappointed both of them were to pull away from each other, Meng Yao knew it would be irresponsible to let this go on any longer.
“I’ll clean up, why don’t you get changed?” He attempted a gentle smile, but he knew he couldn’t hide his sadness. Meng Yao had expressive eyes, ones that easily revealed what he was thinking to a person looking closely enough.
Huaisang didn’t speak when he got up and walked behind the modesty panel to change into his night robes, leaving Meng Yao to clear up the table. Both of them were silent for several minutes, until Meng Yao heard a frustrated noise coming from the vanity Huaisang was now sitting at, attempting to undo the intricate braiding at the top of his head, and clearly failing. In his defence, the hairstyle was complicated enough to undo while sober, and he’d had a lot of wine. Meng Yao couldn’t help an endeared smile and walked over to help.
He took Huaisang, who was now dressed in only his inner robes, and sat them both down on the bed so he could help take out the braids. He combed through the soft hair and received a pleased sigh, noticing Huaisang was leaning back slightly into the touch. It was sweet, but made it hard for Meng Yao to focus on the task.
“A-Yao…” came a soft mumble, and he hummed in response, encouraging him to speak.
“Play with my hair until I fall asleep?” Huaisang requested, his voice small and unsure. “You- you don’t have to, but,” he sighed, letting his head hang a bit, “it feels nice.”
This wasn’t the first time Huaisang had asked for something like this. Ever since he was young, he’d had trouble falling asleep. It was easier when there was someone around, comforting him and holding him, and for a few years Nie Mingjue had allowed him to sleep in his bed with him, but eventually told Huaisang he was too old for that and made him sleep in his own room.
Huaisang slept poorly for years, until Meng Yao was taken into the sect and the two grew close. He’d never been too afraid of asking for things he wanted, and one night when the exhaustion was particularly bad, he’d asked Meng Yao to hold him until he fell asleep. After that, it became common for Meng Yao to stay in his room, softly brushing his hair, holding him in his arms, anything to help Huaisang fall asleep, and he’d always leave quietly once he was sure the other wouldn’t wake up.
“Of course,” he told Huaisang, and adjusted their positions until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, Huaisang’s head in his lap to allow him to run his fingers through the silky strands. Meng Yao never allowed himself to look at Huaisang in moments like these, afraid that he’d become too tempted by the sight of his rosy cheeks, his long eyelashes still curling up despite his eyes being closed, and his lips slightly parted as he breathed calmly. No, that was far too inappropriate, and so he usually closed his eyes as well, or forced himself to look at the collection of painted fans displayed up on the wall in front of him.
He was so deep in thought that it took longer than usual for him to notice Huaisang’s breathing evening out, a soft snore escaping every few minutes, telling him that the boy had fallen asleep. He made sure to be careful when he removed Huaisang’s head from his lap and pulled the covers up over him, not wanting to wake him up. He went around the room, blew out the candles, and lastly picked up the tray that he’d brought with him, before he left, still not allowing himself to indulge and look at Huaisang. It was too dangerous.
Once in his own room, changed and ready for bed, he looked at himself in the mirror, ran a finger over the dimples in his cheeks, and blinked back his tears. He was weak. He had to stop this before it got out of hand, how could someone like Huaisang ever return his feelings? It was selfish to even hope.
That night, Meng Yao fell asleep with tear-stained cheeks, allowing himself to be vulnerable only once, in the privacy of his own room before he had to get up, smile and bow and pretend like nothing had ever happened. Before he had to get back to his duties in the morning and speak to Huaisang like he wasn’t hopelessly in love with him.