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Jiang Cheng is twenty five years old. He is the fearsome Sandu Shengshou, the powerful leader of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect, a credit to his family and admired by his peers. And he’s fine. He’s absolutely fine.
He is not sitting at the end of a pier, under a full moon, legs drawn up to his chest. He is not resting his head on his knees, counting his breaths, trying not to cry.
He does not look up when a familiar presence settles beside him on the pier and leans against him. He does not inhale the beloved scent of pines, mingled with the fragrant perfume of lotus flowers. He absolutely does not fall apart when an arm reaches around him, warm and solid and there, for him.
When he pulls the threads of himself back together, that warmth is still with him. Nie Huaisang shifts to allow Jiang Cheng to sit up straight and wipe his face, but he keeps his arm around him as he looks out over the water, somehow managing to give Jiang Cheng both space and the security of his touch.
Huaisang looks at Jiang Cheng, who manages the barest sliver of a smile, enough to ease the worry Huaisang can’t, or won’t hide from him, and Jiang Cheng nods, turning toward Huaisang, who kisses his cheek, his forehead, and finally, softly, his lips.
“How are you feeling?” Huaisang asks as he looks back to the water.
“Tired,” Jiang Cheng replies.
“Just tired?”
Jiang Cheng shakes his head. He doesn’t want to say it, to admit this weakness, but Huaisang will simply wait him out, even to the edge of time, so he takes a breath and says, “I’m homesick.”
Huaisang squeezes his hand. “Any particular reason?” he asks, and the knot that has been tightening in Jiang Cheng’s chest loosens, because of course Huaisang understands.
Jiang Cheng reaches into a pocket and pulls out a bit of carved purple jade. It used to be a figurine, a little frog, but it’s cracked and dirty. “One of the men working on the new dormitories for the disciples found it.” He rubs his thumb over the jagged edge of the piece. “It’s one of a pair I gave to Mother when I was very young. I think it was for her birthday.”
“Construction’s not very far along,” Huaisang says. “I’m sure we could find another place for the dormitories.” You could leave those memories buried, he does not say, and I would support you.
Jiang Cheng draws another shuddering breath and pockets the figurine. “It’s a good place for them. There’s plenty of room, and with the new defenses, it’s one of the safer places here.”
“That’s a reasonable answer, Sect Leader, but no one would fault you if you changed your mind.”
“Someone would. There’s always someone who finds fault with what I do, no matter how long I’ve been in charge.”
“No one who matters,” Huaisang amends, but he doesn’t push the matter further. Instead, he turns his gaze back to Jiang Cheng. “Would it help to go on a walk?”
“In the middle of the night?”
“The moon is full. We’ll have light enough to see.”
Jiang Cheng kisses Huaisang. “Tomorrow, maybe.” He takes in Huaisang, the robe hastily tied over his sleeping clothes, and wonders what woke him and brought him here.
Huaisang smiles again and allows Jiang Cheng to help him to his feet. He kisses Jiang Cheng once more before taking his hand. “Then let me take you home.”