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Song Lan opens the door of the apartment to quiet melodies of violin and piano. The sun has long since sunk below the line of the horizon. Warm, glowing lights illuminate the main room.
Xiao Xingchen is perched, cross-legged, on a wooden stool, hunched over the canvas he’s pressing paint onto. A smile pulls at Song Lan’s face. Xiao Xingchen sways his shoulders to the music.
He can barely believe this is real. Xiao Xingchen is someone he can’t describe with a single word. He livens up the room as no one else can. He’s elegant and precise but rough around the edges in all the right ways.
Song Lan takes in the way Xiao Xingchen’s hand holds the paint brush. Still. Steady. A perfect reflection of him as a person; a strong personality who goes where he is led but still has the mind to carry out his own actions. Xiao Xingchen tilts his head to one side, swinging his hair over his shoulder. Song Lan inhales sharply.
Xiao Xingchen is beautiful.
Song Lan’s heart tightens. Xiao Xingchen is beautiful. He is beautiful and Song Lan is allowed to love him. Xiao Xingchen is gorgeous physically; warm brown eyes, silky black hair, and flushed lips perfectly shaped for kisses, but Song Lan likes to pay attention to the other ways.
It’s in the little things. It’s in the way that Xiao Xingchen crouches down to pet stray cats at the park with each pat full of love and appreciation. It’s how Xiao Xingchen trusts him with his heart, body, and soul. It’s in the way Xiao Xingchen waves Song Lan off for work every day. It’s in the way that he suggests date ideas and watching the sunrise in the morning.
It’s in the way that Xiao Xingchen loves him back.
Song Lan knows Xiao Xingchen loves him. He hopes Xiao Xingchen is as sure as he is. Even after that first night of whispered truths and honeyed words under a silvery moonlight his feelings haven’t changed. If anything, his love and ability to love Xiao Xingchen has only grown.
Song Lan closes the door behind him as quietly as he can. His bag is set carefully onto the floor and his shoes are toed off in silence. He pads across the wooden floor, cautious of the creaky boards by the walls.
As he approaches where Xiao Xingchen is sitting, the quiet humming of his voice envelops Song Lan. The muted scent of acrylic paint fills his senses.
Song Lan sets his hand on Xiao Xingchen’s shoulder- the same feather-light touch that Xiao Xingchen uses to paint. He tips his head down to press a kiss to the crown of his head.
“Xingchen, I’m home,” he whispers into his hair. Song Lan sits up straighter when Xiao Xingchen tilts his head up to look at him.
“Zichen,” Xiao Xingchen greets. His smile reaches all the way to his eyes and pushes up his rosy cheeks. Song Lan leans down again to leave a kiss on his temple. Xiao Xingchen hums in contentment. He turns back to his painting, bringing the bristles of his brush back onto the canvas.
Song Lan rests his chin on Xiao Xingchen’s head. He slings his arms around his shoulders and clasps his hands together, right above Xiao Xingchen’s heart. His eyes follow the movement of Xiao Xingchen’s hand. He focuses on the up and down, up and down flicks of the brush that create quick, blue strokes.
Song Lan almost misses the hiss that comes from Xiao Xingchen. He pulls away.
“Xingchen? Are you okay?” he asks, his voice laced with worry. Xiao Xingchen nods slowly. He brings a hand up to rub at his neck.
“Mn. My shoulders are a little sore, that’s all,” he replies. Xiao Xingchen climbs off of the stool with his brushes in hand. He makes his way over to the sink in his studio space. His footsteps are so soundless and light it almost seems like he’s floating across the room.
Song Lan watches him put away his materials. Each brush is rubbed into a soapy palm, the palette scrubbed clean with a bright sponge, and the paint under his nails gets scraped away. The brushes are set onto a towel to dry.
This, Song Lan realizes, is part of Xiao Xingchen’s view on the world. Everything he touches is treated carefully, as each object and being in the universe deserves appreciation for its existence. Xiao Xingchen returns to where Song Lan stands.
“How long were you painting today?” Song Lan asks. He takes Xiao Xingchen by the hand and leads him to the couch. Xiao Xingchen lays against Song Lan. He fits perfectly in his arms. Xiao Xingchen’s hand is right above Song Lan’s heart, feeling its steady rhythm under his palm.
“I started just a little after you left. I took a break at noon for lunch and tea,” he replies, sighing into the crook of Song Lan’s neck. Song Lan moves his hands up to knead at the muscle in Xiao Xingchen’s tense shoulders. His hands carry the same care that Xiao Xingchen treats the world with.
“Remember to take care of yourself, too. You give so much to others and never take any in return,” Song Lan reminds him.
Xiao Xingchen lifts his head up to look into Song Lan’s eyes. It’s an awkward angle but the thought is what counts.
“But I have you to take care of me,” Xiao Xingchen whines. Song Lan cranes his head to place a kiss onto Xiao Xingchen’s nose.
“And I’ll take care of you for as long as you want me by your side.”
“Even if it’s forever?” Xiao Xingchen asks and Song Lan’s heart hurts. As if he would want anything different. If there was any way to guarantee they find each other in every life after this one he would have already done it.
“Forever is preferred, actually,” he muses. Xiao Xingchen laughs and presses his face back into Song Lan’s shoulder. Xiao Xingchen relaxes against Song Lan, who moves his hands down to his lower back.
“Zichen.”
“Yes?”
“I love you,” Xiao Xingchen confesses. The ghost of his breath traces the curve of Song Lan’s ear. Song Lan combs his fingers through Xiao Xingchen’s hair.
“I love you, too,” Song Lan whispers back. Xiao Xingchen giggles.
“Zichen, that’s gay,” he teases. Song Lan feigns a frown.
“Xingchen, we’ve been married for five years,” he scolds lightly. Xiao Xingchen’s shoulders shake with his laugh.
Song Lan could stay like this for the rest of time. His life is perfect as long as Xiao Xingchen is with him. It’s gentle and routine the way he likes it and filled with the chaos his husband craves.
He takes the time that he has to focus on his surroundings. The speaker in the living room is still playing music. Xiao Xingchen’s arms around him are a comforting weight. The pressure grounds him. The song on the speaker changes.
“Oh, this is my favorite one,” Xiao Xingchen muses. “Zichen, want to dance with me?”
Song Lan’s hand stills on his hair.
“Xingchen, I haven’t danced since our wedding,” he comments. Xiao Xingchen looks up at him.
“That’s not a ‘no,’” he points out. Song Lan hums.
“It isn’t.”
“I can teach you,” Xiao Xingchen suggests. He pouts at his husband. Song Lan’s heart melts.
“How could I ever say no to that?” he asks. Xiao Xingchen smiles and rolls off of Song Lan. He pulls Song Lan to his feet and leads him to an emptier space.
“May I have this dance?” Xiao Xingchen asks with an outstretched hand. The struggle to hold in his laughter is evident in the way his lips are pressed together. Song Lan sets his palm against his husband’s.
“I would love nothing more,” he replies. Xiao Xingchen cradles his head with his free hand and pulls him in for a kiss. He’s warm and full of love; Song Lan can’t stop the smile that pulls across his face. Xiao Xingchen pulls away and presses another kiss to Song Lan’s forehead, for good measure.
“Put your hand here, I’ll lead,” Xiao Xingchen instructs as he guides Song Lan into the proper place. They settle into position. The music fills the room with a warmth that complements the lights overhead.
Xiao Xingchen’s lead is firm at the start. It coaxes Song Lan back into the feeling of dancing. The initiative balances out when Song Lan settles back into the movements.
Song Lan steps back at the same time Xiao Xingchen moves forward. The banter their movement reflects is familiar, a parallel to their dynamic. Song Lan lifts his gaze from their feet to Xiao Xingchen’s face and almost falls over.
Xiao Xingchen is stunning. His hair fans out behind him when they change directions and his eyes twinkle with something that Song Lan has never been able to describe fully. It’s full of happiness, love, care, and something else that he can’t quite put his finger on.
“You’re beautiful, Xingchen.”
“You tell me that every day,” he says with a smile. Song Lan breaks their rhythm to kiss him.
“I always mean it,” he replies. Xiao Xingchen pulls him closer. It’s not the proper form for dancing like this, but they’ve always been the type to follow their own path.
They love each other, and that’s all they need.